Day 4 in Wine Country: Crossing the Vine Curtain

Our fourth day in wine country began much the same as every other day. We picked up coffee at the roasters. Deciding on a smaller breakfast, we chose croissants over the usual eggs and bacon at Cafe Sarafonia. Then we packed into the car and prepared to make our drive. But rather than turning left at the corner of Lincoln and the St. Helena Highway, we turned right. We were headed north and west towards the Alexander Valley and the Russian River. We were passing from one county to another. Crossing the vine curtain between Napa and Sonoma.

There are, of course, important differences between the two counties, beginning with geology and extending through winemaking traditions. But the same can be said for different appellations within each of the counties. Savvy winemakers understand the differences between Mt. Veeder cabernet grapes and those grown in Stag's Leap. The same is true for the Sonoma Coast and the hillside grapes in the Alexander Valley. So there is not an immediate way to differentiate Sonoma and Napa wines, especially when the arbitrary county line is the only effective marker between the two.

But not surprisingly, competition between those with the different addresses is stiff. It almost has an "eastside-westside" feel to it. The woman I had been forced to ride next to in the airplane had eventually pried out of me the fact that my destination after SFO was wine country. "Where are you staying?" she asked. "Calistoga," I told her, and intimated unwisely that we were visiting a few of the wineries in Napa. "We have better wine in Sonoma," she responded.

I'm not ready to concede so chauvinist a sentiment. Sonoma County has whatever syndrome one might ascribe to little brothers who can't measure up, no matter their successes. Truth be told, it was Napa vintners who shocked the world at the Judgment of Paris in 1976, and it is Napa cabs that sell for the highest prices in the world (save select Bordeaux First Growths). Napa is synonymous with fine California wine.

None of which means that Sonoma wines aren't better than Napa wines. In fact, that is largely beside the point. Napa and Sonoma do some similar things, and do some things differently. I don't really see why someone would have to choose, or to declare some kind of loyalty. An exploration out into Sonoma County and along the Russian River should not feel like we've loaded up a car full of Jets to take into Sharks territory, after all.

But there were differences, and I have to admit readily apparent ones. The 128 North out of Calistoga wound between the mountain peaks and into a quiet Alexander Valley. Napa was not exactly bustling, but it was definitely more traveled. And better heeled. In Napa, the roadside is landscaped. Wildflowers all, but planned and pruned all the same. In Sonoma, the road was narrow and uninviting. The vineyards that surrounded it were much the same, but the valley beyond seemed more wild. The towns bore the same mark. The ostentatious wealth of Napa's small towns is conspicuously apparent. Sonoma's towns seemed more utilitarian. People lived and worked there. It had the mark of the agricultural community still upon it, and I strongly suspected that many of Napa's service labor force makes home in Sonoma.

Holding before the Crush

We had landed in the Russian River Valley a little early for our first appointment, and were looking for a way to kill the time. My goal had been to make it to Westside Drive, just past Healdsburg. This was the site of several groundbreaking vineyards and wineries that had begun, some thirty or forty years ago, planting pinot noir grapes. At the time, it was a decision fraught with risk. Clarets (and thier grapes) were the high point of sales and zinfandel was still the grape of choice in much of Sonoma. Pinots were disparaged as thin and weak grapes which, while they might thrive in the region of Burgundy back in France, were never going to produce world class wine in California. But several visionary winemakers began planting pinot noir nonetheless. And the results were heaven. The Russian River makes its famous left turn at Healdsburg, heading towards the Pacific. The cool ocean fog snakes up the Russian River Valley almost as far as Healdsburg, providing a cool enough setting to grow the famously finicky grape. And the rest is history. Whether one is tasting a lot-specific Pinot Noir or a blend from these vineyards, they produce interesting, complex, and delicious wines.

We tried to stop at Rochioli outside of Healdsburg, but the winery was not yet open when we arrived. Disappointed, we tried an adjacent tasting room that did not really fire the senses. This was a disappointing start to our Sonoma experience, and we rather dejectedly moved on, ending up at Gary Farrell's winery almost thirty minutes in advance of our appointment.

The pourer at Gary Farrell told us we could wait on the patio, and graciously gave us a glass of Chardonnay to sip on while we waited. (I was unaware that part of the appointment I had booked included a tour, so we were definitely on their schedule.) She must have liked us, because she gave us a different wine about fifteen minutes later.

French oak casks are used for three years at Gary Farrell

When the tour did come, it was informative. The tour guide had worked in the wine industry her whole life. We learned about the history of Gary Farrell wines (he was a pioneer in Sonoma), the buying of grapes, the crush, and the inner workings of a winery that produces a modest 35,000 cases a year. Although Gary long ago sold the winery to corporate America, it was apparent that the old ways had been respected.

Gary Farrell's wines were elegantly crafted. Well balanced, distinctive fruit, supple tannins. Steve Heimoff calls them age worthy, and I hope they are. I will lay a couple of bottles by.

After the tasting we drove down Westside road and just got lost. We stopped for lunch ... somewhere. The food was fresh and good. The waiters were stoned, I'm fairly sure.

That big building is a hop kiln

We ended up at Russian Hill. This was one of the early pinots we encountered in Chicago, nearly a decade ago, and so visiting the winery seemed necessary. The tasting room was situated on a hill overlooking the valley. It was gorgeous. The wine was very much what I remembered. An earthy, peppery pinot. A little fruity. But distinctive nonetheless.

We drove a different road back to Calistoga and ate dinner at Jolé, at the bar. We were delighted to meet a couple of locals there, including a gentleman who had been making wines in Napa since the 1970s. Of course, we didn't know that while we were sitting with him. All we learned was that he was the son of Polish immigrants. We talked about, of all things, politics, and children. He gave us his card when we left and it was only later that we learned that he was a vintner with a formidable reputation. It was probably for the best. I would have peppered him with no end of questions if I had known. And that would have spoiled our wonderful dinner.

One question I might have put to our new friend was whether the grapes really are better in Napa or Sonoma. He had farmed his whole life near Calistoga, so he doubtless had an opinion on the subject. But then again, to even pose the question to someone who spent their life in agriculture would be to admit outright that you are a rube. If you truly believe that a county line drawn by the state of California means a thing, then I have some beachfront property you might be interested in. So perhaps it is best to leave the vine curtain out of it.