a wine cellar update

primitive, but effective

The wine cellar has sat all winter at a temperature of 55-60 degrees. The fluctuation has not been wild, and most of the time it has been at 56. It's been a cold winter, of course. But as of mid-March, we are still holding steady at 58 degrees.

I have several age worthy pinots and two promising cabernet franc's in the cellar. I'm still setting on a 2004 Pomerol which, someday soon I should probably open. It has not been kept at an ideal temperature for most of its shelf life, so I'm sure it has not aged ... properly. Otherwise, the wine rack I built (at left) has not fallen apart, the rack gets no direct light, and is otherwise stable and undisturbed.

Some facts I had not been aware of when I took inventory the other day.

1) I have a tremendous surplus of whites, particularly Chardonnays. Everything from Mersault to Russian River Valley (or further east--Sonoma Coast).

2) I'm sitting on nearly a case of fine Pinot Noirs, most from Gary Farrell.

3) I have a large number of age-worthy cabernets that I bought at table wine prices. Peters', an Alexander Valley winery, chief among them.

4) After my next shipment, I will be close to running out of space. Time to build another wine rack, and try to push a 100 bottle reserve. At present, I really only have about 30 age worthy wines in the cellar.

Viña Eguía Rioja Reserva, Tempranillo

Not a bad $10 wine that we found at Whole Foods. Worth a stock for weekday quaffing, and for foods  that might take an earthy and mildly spicy companion.

Evolúcio Furmint (Tokaj) 2011

A little confession--I was uncertain what to make of the bottle because I did not immediately recognize Furmint. Combined with the clearly foreign spelling of Evolution, I half wondered if this was a proprietary or regional name of a blend. Perhaps this was the Hungarian version of a claret (only white, of course). Or maybe worse--a Frankenstein wine. After all, in an age when yeast is now being coaxed into producing synthetic sandalwood and vanilla, one can only imagine what small producers in Tokaj are doing in their spare time to compete with the Loire and Napa.

But, in the end, nothing that exciting was occuring. Furmint is a cold weather grape, appropriate of course for Tokaj and its world famous noble rot. It is dry and acidic without being bracing. It lacks the distinctive aromatics of Sauvignon Blanc, and is much closer to Riesling in its complexion and makeup. DNA profiling has established Gouais Blanc as the (perhaps unwilling) parent of this grape. My initial uncertainty was largely due to native ignorance. While I had quaffed a few Tojak glasses in my day, I am not an avid drinker of dessert wine. I prefer Cognac to Brandy, and whiskey to port. After a sumptuous dinner, the sweet does not usually appeal. So I had never closely examined a bottle of Tojak, or bothered to learn the first thing about it.

Furmint produces non-distinctive aromatics, as far as I can tell. I would have confused the nose with any number of whites. But this makes the grape probably more of a blank slate. And when one is looking for a quaffable white wine to start with, or to accompany a mildly spicy dish, or just to drink on a hot day, this grape is an option. And the Evolúcio was a pleasant and affordable option to stash away and pop into the fridge when necessary.

Cellar Up

If the Department of Agriculture can gather stats correctly, it appears that middle income parents spend anywhere from $240,000-$400,000 on one child. And that's only through high school, so it doesn't include college, an all-expense paid summer trip to Europe, law or medical school tuition, a down payment for a house, etc.

So, by rough calculations, one child equals roughly one good wine cellar. I can now smile at my first grader across the breakfast table, and while she dedicates an abnormal amount of concentration on correctly spreading honey over every bit of surface area of her bagel, think "you are why I can't afford cases of 1998 Bordeaux or 2005 Burgundy, or California cult cabs."

Of course, many people can afford both. I'm not one of them, so I've been forced to live bottle to bottle my whole life. My sole holdings amount to a 1994 Pomerol, a 2001 Port whose name I can't remember, and a bottle of red table wine from Cadeuceus Cellars in Arizona. The last one is a horrible wine, or at least it was a horrible wine when I tried it a couple of years ago. I felt obliged to buy at least one bottle since I'd made the trip to their tasting room in Jerome. The pilgrimage is worth it, as Jerome is a fantastic landmark mining town, and the food there and in neighboring Sedona is world class (or at least at the top of its class regionally). Proprietor Maynard Keenan is threatening to make wine cool, and everything from his website to his bottle designs to his styles denote an impish originality. Too bad the wines are awful. I did not take tasting notes at the time, but I just remember floating gobs of jam. The wine had no center, no essence. But that is not to say that time will produce something extraordinary out of Arizona, and if it does, I can at least claim I was there at the creation, and brought a bottle home to stick in the cellar.

My cellar is really a cellar. I have begun temperature tracking it and, given that I am not storing anything serious in it, am not all that concerned about temperature control. I can never imagine having more than 300 bottles in any case, and about the time I clear 100, I will build a drywall container to try to maintain temperature control. As it is, the summer temperatures have never been above 75. While that is 20 degrees too hot for a real cellar, it's only for a few months a year. And better wines have been kept at worse temperatures.

So cellar on. I'll try to build up a running stock, designate some for long keeping, come what may. I am not a collector--I have no desire to stockpile cult bottles of overblown, overpriced wine never meant to be drunk. I want to age some ageworthy wines while keeping good bottles in the cellar for immediate drinking. Table wines will be held upstairs.

4th and Swift, redividus

It's been too long. After being seduced by Atlanta Midtown's glitzy Empire State South, I drifted away from what might be Atlanta's most inviting, stylish, and inventive restaurant--4th and Swift. But its style and invention is not of the nature of a Kevin Gillespie enterprise. Rather, it is what I had always imagined as a kind of bedrock for good dining, something I would always return to and be able to be both comforted and surprised. After all, it was 4th and Swift that awoke me to the possibilities of the Cherokee Purple heirloom tomato. And their tomato salads are still on the menu when I return today, yet I learn new heirlooms when I arrive. Could one imagine a devoted spouse carefully presenting a Wednesday night meal with such a coquettish grin?

We had a bountiful harvest at meal tonight. Woodfire grilled octopus. Corn chowder with Tybee Shrimp. Sea Bass. Waghu steak.

And most impressively, a Smith-Madrone Cabernet. Rare to find so cultish a cabernet, so artisinal a production, in the sticks. It has the ruby texture, a nose of mountain wildflowers, and a palate of chocolate over fruit, followed by a textured acidity. A wine of great beauty.

So long live the restaurants that do it right.

Michel-Schlumberger 2012 Pinot Noir

I am at an immediate disability to describe this wine. I liked it, and it appeared to have all of the characteristics of Russian River Valley pinot noirs that make them so fascinating. But it was the second bottle we opened and, the other one being a chardonnay, I had no basis of comparison. It had a ruby sparkle, and I recall earthy notes on top of a plate of fresh fruit. It also gave off too much heat. I think the alcohol sat at nearly 15%, making it boozy as well as intense. So greeting the Michel-Schlumberger was a little like meeting a drunk Amazon redhead at a bar and suddenly realizing that she's picked YOU.

It could be that Michel-Schlumberger was experimenting with pinot. The winery is located in Dry Creek Valley, an upper-Russian River appellation known more for its Zinfandel and Syrah than anything else. The winery and vineyards were established by Jean-Jacques Michel, and later joined with Jacques Pierre Schlumberger. The latter retired in 2011, and apparently new management has taken over--which means, as far as I can tell, well, nothing.

In any case, I am not impressed enough with the pinot to recommend buying it again, except at discount. But then again, I would need to try this wine against another pinot to be sure. And it certainly is a bargain if found at the right price.

Day 3 in Wine Country: From Spring Mountain back down the hill

The tasting trailer

After a picnic lunch at Smith-Madrone, we drove up the hill to the Behrens Family winery. Although Spring Mountain is a mom-and-pop place, Behrens does have a professionally landscaped garden, a beautiful view, and a dedicated tasting room. Well, tasting trailer. Their director of marketing is Robin Cooper, and she pours the wines as she unfolds the story of the Behrens Family Winery. The family history is complicated, and at times almost operatic. One confronts a bewildering array of names, both because several wineries operate off of the property, and because the winery itself changed names more than once. So, one might drink an Erna Schein, a Behrens and Hitchcock, or something with the word Drinkward in it and be drinking one of the Behrens wines.

OK then.

I chose to visit Behrens for two reasons. First, it was a small family winery, which appeals because they are not constrained by having to produce 10,000 cases of $20 pinot noir for the mass market. The small wineries can produce more distinctive wines. Second, the winery's reputation was for risk taking. They produced "rich" and "powerful" wines. This is usually a danger sign, signalling fruit bombs, but the welter of reviews online suggested that they made interesting wine. It is one thing to appreciate the hand-crafted elegance of Smith-Madrone; another, however, to be excited by experiment. My taste in most everything is driven by a terrible ambivalence. I lean conservatively towards tradition in my music, food, art, and wine tastes. But I am also attracted to the avant garde. The edge. Throw the rules to the wind. Take risks. Fail. This yin-yang between tradition and experiment informs an aethetic dialectic that keeps me confused about what really is beautiful. Or even just good.

Behrens was busy when we arrived. There were two different wineries running tastings (Behrens and some other one that operates on the space). But I should use busy in a qualified way--this was not the tasting room at Kendell-Jackson, with a long stretch of bar jammed with tourists just off the bus and "intimate tours" conducted every thirty minutes by some schlep. Or at least this is what I presume Kendell-Jackson's tasting room would look like--I've never been. Behrens-busy just meant that there was a terrace pouring going on and one in the trailer. We sat with a couple from Tennessee under the canopy and chatted about what we like about wine.

the gardens at Behrens

Robin (whom I recognized from her picture on the website), ushered the prior guests out of the trailer and told us she'd be with us shortly. I passed the time photographing the gardens. The midday heat was upon us, and the thermometer was quickly approaching the mid-nineties. This was a forty plus point swing from the morning, and I was beginning to regret my decision to forgo my fedora. So when Robin ushered us into the air-conditioned trailer, I suddenly felt sorry for the poor folks having their tasting on the terrace.

Robin walked us through a history of the winery that unfolded with each new wine. Her presentation was well scripted--clever and informative. This was someone who loved the wines she poured, and whose affection for the winemakers was genuine. It lent itself to a nice conversation in the trailer as we enjoyed pour after pour. We learned along the way that the husband-and-wife team that ran the winery had originally owned a restaurant, had started this as a hobby, and that they had been able to turn their attention full time to winemaking after Robert Parker had announced that Behrens' wines were "the next big thing."

Uh oh. Parker is the critic that everyone loves to hate. His famous 100 point scoring system and taste for big fruit favored the New World over the Old, the fruit-forward wine over the tanic-and-acid, and has prompted more than a few winemakers to urge more than a few grape farmers to delay the harvest, over-ripen their fruit, and otherwise make their wines bigger and bolder. Parker's oversized influence has, according to some wine writers, contributed to a "dumbing down" of wine by the creation of a mass palate. As more and more winemakers try to impress Parker, the argument goes, wine becomes standardized. It tastes more like every other wine and loses its sense of "terroir," or place.

I'm not sure I buy the argument. The development of a larger market for wine would necessarily include the production of large-scale, inexpensive quantities to satisfy its burgeoning middle, but that would only seem to multiply the niches of anti-Parkerites out there. I am investigating this phenomenon now, and will post on it later.

But I digress. If I rewind back to the trailer at Behrens, to Robin's announcement that Beherens wines were once (some ten years ago, I believe) christened by Robert Parker as "the next big thing," I can report that I felt the mental equivalent of a fight-or-flight response. I detest jammy wines, especially when they come advertised as claret. I associate Parker with jam, so now I was associating Beherens with it. And this doubtlessly colored the rest of my tasting. Association is a powerful phenomenon, and I could not get over the fact that the fruit was now just a little too big. The alcohol a little too high. These were hot wines. Not quite jammy, but definitely big.

But then we tried the Cab Franc. This is a wine that I have never tasted properly. The grape usually finds itself rounding out a Bordeaux in my glass, rather than standing alone, so I didn't know what to expect. And it tasted ... vegetal to me. Almost stewed. But these are words typically used to describe Cabernet Sauvignon grapes that have soaked up too much water and nutrients on the valley floor. But if a Cab Franc is supposed to taste different, then, well, vegetal might not be the word to describe it. All of which is to say, I was tasting the wine expecting a Cabernet Sauvignon. Which is like tasting pork when you think your tasting steak and then complaining that the flavor is not rich enough.

By now I was confused and petulant. Each wine we tasted came from a different winemaker somehow associated with Behrens. The $100 Cab Franc reminded me of V8. I was losing patience even with the labels, which were small paintings and sported names like "The Road Les Traveled," a tribute apparently to Les Behrens's favorite poet, Robert Frost. Except with the bad pun. ("The Road Les Traveled.")

I honestly have no clue what this was.

I'm fairly certain that the marketing director was losing patience with us as well. The couple who shared our tasting was quite nice, but knew absolutely nothing about wine. The woman kept telling us how much she loved the stories, and it was clear after several wines that they were not going to buy anything. I didn't think we would either, but we ended up leaving with six bottles.

Which, I think, was fitting. The wines were creative. Feisty. Surprising. This was the experimental side of the wine world. Even if the mess of labels, absence of adequate branding and occasional lack of focus was annoying, it was still intriguing.

We made our way down Spring Mountain, hit Lava Vine, and then collapsed back in our room. We had a big night planned at a fancy Yountville eatery, but after drinking too much wine at Jolé while we ate our nightly helping of Padrones peppers, we decided to stick to Calistoga and put the car keys on the shelf.

Day 3 in Wine Country: Smith-Madrone triumphant

Curly, the official winery greeter

Our third day in wine country began much the way the others had. The weather was almost sweater-worthy. The fog obscured the mountains around Calistoga. We pointed the car south on the St. Helena highway, picked up some picnic items in St. Helena, then took the right turn to head up a narrow, windy road to Spring Mountain. Our destination: Smith-Madrone. Finding the winery was a bit of a challenge, but the directions the winery provided us were helpful ("when in doubt, turn right!"). Smith-Madrone is a working winery with no tasting room, no dedicated pourers, and about as little pretension as one might imagine. We parked the car in what looked like a parking ... area and were greeted by an English setter (I think). He led us down the walk to the winery. Stu Smith, one of the two owners, was up on a ladder tripping the hedges. "That's Curly," he told us. "The official winery greeter." I knew it was Stu Smith because of his distinctive facial hair, a full beard and walrus mustache. He eyed me steadily from the ladder. "Are we expecting you?" he asked. Indeed you are, I replied. "Then Curly will take you around the way," he said. Then he went back to work. Curly was as good as his word. Stu's older brother Charles was in the winery, working when we pushed open the enormous sliding door and stepped inside. He turned and greeted us, and asked if we could wait a few minutes. We assured him it was no problem. "Let me pour you something," he said, and promptly poured a glass of Chardonnay for each of us. We walked out, past the holding tanks, and into the vineyards, which start literally right outside the winery's doors.

Hillside vineyards

The vineyards at Smith-Madrone sit on a steep slope. The mountain loam seems fertile enough, but the tough vines look dry and haggard. They practically scowl at you from the roots. The Smith brothers used drip irrigation to establish the vines but now dry farm the vineyard. So the roots dig deep into the mountainside in search of water and nutrients. If the Chardonnay in our hands was any indication, the minerality was apparent, as were subtle flavors past the usual Chardonnay tropical fruits. Here were wines of complex flavors and a round quality.

Charlie, meanwhile, had opened up the doors and called us back in. Curly trotted along after us. We talked for a few minutes, getting to know one another, before Stu came in for some reason or another. He talked briefly with Charlie, who introduced us all around. The Smith brothers were particularly keen to learn that my wife was from western Canada, as part of their clan was located out there. They all talked briefly about how beautiful Banff was. "Watch out for the elk during mating season," my wife said. "They have been known to go after cars." Stuart Smith was unimpressed. "Not if I have my gun," he remarked. If the boar's head on the wall was any indication, we had stumbled across an avid hunter. 

the tough mountain vines

Stu left to go back to work, and Charlie began pouring other wines. Smith-Madrone is famous for their Riesling, which may well be the best in North America. That, of course, is a loaded claim for which there will be no definitive proof, but even the great Steve Heimoff, whose affection for Sonoma County vineyards is no secret, pays homage to the Smith brothers' grapes. I loved the Riesling. It is a wonderful wine, pairable with spicy food, and good on a hot day when a sip or two brings memories of drinking from a mountain spring, with that hint of limestone especially in the back of the mouth. 

As if we needed any reminder that this was a working winery, or that it was the owner who was talking to us, Charlie kept having to take phone calls during our visit. They were always quite short, and it allowed me a chance to take photographs or pet Curly, who had taken up residence under the casks. We tasted the Cabernet and the new Cabernet reserve--Cook's Flat, which is only the fourth varietal that Smith-Madrone produces. It is also four times the price of their Cabernet. This is a wine made for collectors, not for drinkers. It was noticeably different from the Smith-Madrone cab, both by its elegance and range of flavors.  It carries the promise of ageability, if that is even a term. I am obviously out of my depth here.

A barrel in the storage room

"I don't like to describe a wine before you taste it," explained Charlie, apropos of nothing in particular. But it was thrilling to taste a wine that didn't have a paragraph of praise written by the winemaker instructing the taster to find "kiwi, strawberry, and hints of passion fruit" followed by a palate of granite and a "touch" of asphalt. It reminded me of how poor my palate really is, but it also allowed me to explore and expand it. What struck me immediately and has stuck with me ever since my first taste of their wines was just how elegant and, well, European, they tasted. Charlie and Stu prefer balanced wines, not the heavy fruit bombs lobbed into the market by the unthinking producers searching for strong Robert Parker reviews. I got the distinct sense that the Smith brothers make the wine that they want to make. Reviewers be damned.

Curly in the vines. Chewing on a rock.

We shook hands at the end of the tour. Although another group was waiting, he let us hang around to talk about our respective childhoods and, of all things, the Civil War. He wrote down a few of my book recommendations. We said our goodbyes. Charlie told us both to come back to the winery if we were ever back out in Napa Valley.

All of which sounded quite good.  We walked up the hill to the winery's picnic spot. Curly dutifully trotted after us. As I trained my camera lens on vines and olive trees and circling red-tail hawks, I couldn't help but feel like I'd seen something special. As Stu said to us, "once you've seen the top of Spring Mountain, nothing else compares." It was definitely a hidden part of Napa. Perhaps not too hidden, but away from the investment bankers and oilmen who prowled the tasting rooms looking for $1000 Cabernets to show off and the half-in-the-bag bridal parties coasting the wineries in slender sundresses before the big send off. It was quiet up here. And the wine was ... beautiful.

The view from Spring Mountain

Spring Mountain invoked for me memories of growing up in the cattle country of southern Arizona. The Smith Brothers could easily have been ranchers and the community of Sonoita back in the 1970s probably bore a lot of resemblance to Napa, at least in terms of the characters it attracted.  But the economic dynamics were worlds apart. Cattle take more resources than grapes, and that industry was doomed for the small producers, at least in the water-parched desert where 15,000 acres was needed to run 500 head of cattle. When the federal government contemplated tripling grazing fees in the 1980s, the last of the small ranchers headed out, and ranches became land-investment properties for the über-wealthy. Corporatization has also taken Napa and Sonoma. But small producers still have a niche to fill, so we still get to enjoy Smith-Madrone wines. And we are better for it.

Wine Country 2013: up and down the Silverado Trail

We arrived Thursday, late-afternoon, and fought the vicious San Francisco traffic out of the bay, through Oakland and Berkeley and countless other Bay area cities until we had passed the last of the tolls and were skating quietly towards the northern mountains. The cool air followed us in, even if the fog moved more deliberately. We arrived directly on time at the Farmstead Restaurant for our reservation at 7:15 p.m. We wouldn't have needed a reservation, although the restaurant was plenty busy. The Farmstead is what passes for a family restaurant in the affluent town of St. Helena. It is warm and inviting, unsupervised children run around in the garden, and everyone seems happily intoxicated. On wine, of course, from the Long Meadow Ranch winery, which runs the restaurant. The food is comfort food, which in St. Helena translates into superbly crafted meals, although the portion sizes are too big and they are served on oversized plates. And so passed our first night in Napa--sitting on a garden terrace surrounded by plum trees trained on trellises to resemble grape vines, a lush set of garden rows sporting melons and squash and tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers a stone's throw away. We finished off the evening by driving to Calistoga and dropping in at the Hydro Grill for a nightcap.

Day 2 was low key. Calistoga sits at the north end of Napa, tucked into the hills where it is a little cooler than the valley. It is also more relaxed than the affluent environs of St. Helena, or the over-the-top luxury appointments of Yountville. We took a walk around the town, ate a big breakfast at the local diner, hopped into our Toyota Camry and drove the Silverado Trail to Rutherford to visit the Elizabeth Spencer tasting room.

At the Elizabeth Spencer tasting room

We had chosen Elizabeth Spencer because it was one of the first good wines we had ever tasted. Our old friends at the Chicago Wine Merchants shop in Lincoln Square had, over ten years ago, first introduced the neighborhood to fine wine, hosting unpretentious tastings and offering expert advice when asked. We were serving lamb one night, and Gerard (may he rest in peace) suggested we go with an Elizabeth Spencer pinot noir. At the time, the winery was only six years old and the two wine makers who owned it--Elizabeth Pressler and Spencer Graham--were better known for their work at other wineries. We were immediately impressed, and we have never forgotten them.

Nor did they disappoint us in person. We began the tasting with a Russian River Valley Chardonnay that was so elegant, refined, and flavorful that we were instantly converted to the grape. I've always been contemptuous of chardonnay. If it wasn't slathered in oak, then it seemed austere and almost sour. I had no use for it. But this grape was different. Complex, buttery, mild fruit, toasted almonds. We swooned. In fact, the entire tasting was brilliant. Elizabeth Spencer makes elegant and beautiful wines. They are sometimes a bit too big for my taste, but somehow the winemakers can make big seem elegant. We joined their wine club, which amounts to an expensive commitment to drink at least a case of Elizabeth Spencer wines every year, and will more than likely result in more.

From the succulent Sinsky garden

We wandered back to the Silverado Trail and dropped by the Robert Sinsky winery. They have a spectacular tasting room flanked by organic gardens and vineyards. They serve small plates with the tastings. The winemaker is apparently also the photographer and he composes some pretty pictures (which one can find on the website). Our pourer chatted about changes in the valley over the past few years, and recommended we stop by Lava Vine on the way back to Calistoga. "If you ever need a reminder that at its heart Napa Valley is an agricultural community," he said, "Lava Vine is the place to go." He was right. The vintners are the pourers at Lava Vine. You can only get their wines through their tasting room, which is in a barn and is dog friendly. The vintners are California-relaxed, chatty, and the tasting fee is only ten dollars, waived if you buy a wine. (Of course, this latter policy is the industry standard.) Upon hearing that Jan was a musician, one of the vintners came out with an autoharp. We would learn later that they regularly book musicians and comedians in their small storage room. These people were really having a good time--that much was obvious. There was so much conversation, in fact, that we only made it through three wines before we had to run back to Calistoga for an appointment. The vintners told us to come back tomorrow rather than pay up front.

Getting down at Lava Vine.
That thing is an autoharp.

That night we went for dinner at Bouchon, Thomas Keller's place in Yountville. I was underwhelmed. It seemed a high energy food mart more than a restaurant. The steak on the steak frites was slathered in onions. Preparation was otherwise flawless. But boring. We were frankly more moved by the appetizers we had at Jolé in Calistoga, which consisted of Pádrones chilies perfectly prepared in olive oil and sea salt, and a few cheeses (all local). The bartenders are knowledgeable, affable and the crowd much more laid back. It is likely Calistoga's best restaurant, although the chef up at Solbar is louder and gets more attention. We'll take Jolé.

Of Serendipity and Cliché: Wine Country 2013

Trips to wine country are perhaps a rite of passage for the American bourgeoisie. Affluence, after all, brings with it certain responsibilities, and traditionally that has been a greater appreciation for the arts, for fine dining and intelligent conversation, and of course for wine. All of America caught the bug more than a decade ago, and the explosion of wine culture followed.

It really was wine culture that exploded. It was not just that people drank more wine--although they did. But it was much more. Suddenly people expressed interest in grapes and clones and terroir and vintages. The shopping market wall full of labels both graphically funny and austerely intimidating became an object of curiosity and exploration. And most promisingly, strange and arbitrary rules were probed and questioned. My favorite was the old saw "whites with fish and foul, reds with meat" was abruptly disproved one day more than a decade and a half ago when my then-girlfriend announced that it no longer applied. "They don't say that anymore," she informed me. "They say to drink what you like with what you like." I never asked her who the "they" were. I didn't drink wine at the time. But in retrospect, that was an amazing moment. Somebody, somewhere, was telling the consuming public that they needed to develop their own palates and their own ideas.

And develop them we did. About the time that the movie Sideways appeared, wine was everywhere. Tastings were commonplace. To be able to talk about wine in a sophisticated way--to understand the difference between a Rioja and a Rhone, or why the Languedoc-Roussillon was France's most exciting wine region--was, well, cool. No longer the province of just the snobs, wine culture became about craft and style. One could enjoy it, marvel about its subtleties, and never stop learning about it. And it helped usher in interest in craft beers and craft cocktails. Perhaps even the slow food movement. I'm a little sketchy on the timeline, but the case can be made for wine driving interest in food. Why not?

Yet it took me nearly ten years after my first interest in wine developed to make my own pilgrimage to wine country. Forsaking a year's of savings, my intrepid wife and I cast out into the perilous wilds of Napa and Sonoma counties to see what all the fuss was about.

dessert wine: Royal Tokaji Tokaji

At H. Harper Station two nights ago we enjoyed, among other things, a glass of Royal Tokaji dessert wine. I make a simple record of it here because it would be worth finding again and actually tasting--as well as an opportunity to learn about Hungarian wines. So--will take the opportunity.

Pelissero Munfrina 2009

Pelissero
Munfrina 2009
Dolcetto D'Alba, DOC
13.5%
$30? Sherlock Wine Merchant

This was a wine of some sophistication and elegance. Good spice, tobacco, and leather notes. Tannins were big, but not overpowering. A reminder of the fact that the $30 price point means something.

cocktail blogs

A list of cocktail blogs to check out, updating constantly:

Kaiser Penguin

Cocktail Slut

The Kitchn (direct link to "mix your own cocktails" post)

Oh Gosh (direct link to review of aromatic bitters post)

Benito's Wine Reviews (direct link to review of Fee Brothers bitters)

Spirits Review

Good Spirits News

American Cocktails

Humberto Barberis Gran Reserva Malbec, 2006

Ansley Park Kroger
$40 ($25 on sale)
Malbec, 13.8%

Humberto Barberis
Malbec 2006
Gran Reserva
Mendoza Argentina

This was a fruity and rich Malbec. Worked well with a ribeye, as it brought out some of the structure, but in the end it is a Malbec. I would have to have a proper tasting in order to discern whether this was worth the big price tag.

Alexandria Nicole Alderdale Cabernet Sauvignon 2008

Cabernet Sauvignon
Ansley Park Kroger
$28

Alexandria Nicole Alderdale Cabernet Sauvignon 2008
Destiny Ridge Vineyards
Horse Heaven Hills

The 2007 was a Double Gold Winner for the Seattle Wine Awards. It promises big fruit, cassis, herbes de Provence, lingering milk chocolate and toffee. Wine Spectator gave it 90 points in its December 15, 2010 issue.

We'll see what the 2008 does.

UPDATE: tasting was brilliant. Big mouthful of fruit on the tongue. Well structured. Nicely balanced. The toffee/milk chocolate finish was very pleasant. This one was a success at our EPGTC tasting.

Clos de l'Eglise Lalande de Pomerol, 2008

Ansley Park Kroger (talk to April)
$25
Merlot 80%, 13% alcohol

The Lalande de Pomerol is an appellation directly north of Pomerol, very much in Pomerol's shadow. It is known as a great value region, and one that adds a rustic touch to its wines. The soil is well-drained gravel.

This wine was a knockout. I find myself gravitating towards the French and Italian styles, increasingly. They are rich and subtle even when big. The EPGTC tasting named this the favorite amongst the wines. It was also the first. But it produced an immediate reaction that made it hard to follow this wine with fruitier, new world varieties.

Perrin Reserve, Cotes du Rhone 2007

Perrin Reserve, Cotes du Rhone 2007
$10
Dekalb Farmer's Market

Having always been a fan of the Rhone wines, especially their peppery layers and hints of flavors that earn tags like "wet earth" and "underbrush," I am always on the lookout for something both affordable and quaffable from the region. This means, of course, picking through bottles from southern Rhone vintages, mixing primarily grenache and syrah grapes. (Apparently in the northern Rhone, of the red grapes, only Syrah is planted.) The southern Rhone is of Mediterranean climate--arid and wind swept, with some worry about cold winds sweeping down the valley. In the past thirty years, the Rhone has become synonymous with "French red wine," (or so they say), and this means a lot of plonk comes out of the region. Of course, plonk is pretty good these days. Just not that interesting.

So I'm not sure where to place this one. It is fruity and light. Cherry blossoms linger on the tongue. This is balanced with white peppercorn, and both flavors fade into a kind of grassy slope. I would give it a strong rating for a $10 wine. I find it more drinkable than fruit forward California wines at the same price point. In fact, I opened a bottle of this after starting with a Hahn Cabernet, which was a typical Hahn offering: flawless; complex; and it cold cocks you. One glass only, please. I could drink the Perrin Reserve all day. While working in the garden. It's a little short up against a steak, but it wasn't completely destroyed by the tri tip roast we made last night.

Rate it: buy again.

2009 Cotes du Rhone

According to Eric Asimov, the 2009 Cotes du Rhone vintage suffered from too hot a summer and thus too jammy a yield. The wines lack complexity--the earthy, herbal, or smoky character that has often accompanied cotes du rhone over the years.

I reviewed a Farmers' Market cotes du rhone earlier, and was quite surprised to find it fruit forward, but did not find it jammy. It lacked complexity, but for $10 a bottle, is a decently good buy. It had a long finish and nice balance with tannins, and as such I'll keep it on my recommended list. Would love to get some 2008 to compare it with.

Peirano Estate Petite Sirah

$12, DeKalb Farmer's Market

Peirano Estate Vineyards
Petite Sirah, 2009
Lodi, California

Elegant, kind of like a Humvee in terms of raw power, but not displeasing to the senses. Nothing petite about any petite sirah I've ever had. This one bears repeating, and goes well with steaks, strong fish, sauced meat, and chocolate.

Camille Cayran, Le Pas de la Beaume, Cotes du Rhone

$10, DeKalb Farmer's Market

Camille Cayran,
Le Pas de la Beaume,
Cotes du Rhone

14% alcohol wine, but not wearing a big hat, if you will. Cherries on the front end, but not particularly sweet. The tannins are supple and round, balancing the fruit well. 75% Grenache, so the fruit is forward, but in a French rather than California way.

Can handle meats to vegetables, strong to light flavors, although I'm not sure it would complement a steak so well.