The Halo's Crooked

Okay, first off let me apologize to my loyal readers (yes, I'm hoping it's plural) for the indefensible gap between blog postings. On Sept. 1, just a few days after my last post, I began a new job with a steep learning curve and some pretty significant demands on my time. And, while I'm not any less opinionated then before, my time has been occupied getting up to speed with my new employer, its distributors and its wines.

This is only the fourth time in my 25 years in the wine business that I've joined a new company, so I'm a little preoccupied.

Meantime, on a long drive from a trade tasting this week, I resumed thinking about the blog and a subject I've touched on briefly in the past. It's the halo effect, something that a lot of MBA's in the wine world use as an excuse to expand a winery's offering far beyond its original fame and reputation.

What got me to thinking about this is a new book from a veteran business journalist. Entitled Trade-Off: Why Some Things Catch On, and Others Don't, its primary theme is that products of any kind can appeal to our sense of quality or our sense of convenience but not to both. The author is Kevin Maney, former USA Today and Fortune magazine columnist. I'm a fan of his, too. He's also a musician and plays a Fender Stratocaster, as do I, and wrote and recorded a song entitled "Wouldn't Want to Be Bill Gates." Hell, yeah.

Quality implies snob appeal; convenience implies ease of purchase and low cost. Think Nieman-Marcus vs. Wal*Mart. Maney call this the "fidelity swap." He defines it as the ever-present tension between fidelity (the quality of a consumer’s experience) and convenience (the ease of getting and paying for a product).

Many companies not just in the wine business have a corporate strategy to grow a brand beyond its original market. "It looks tempting," Maney writes, "Some companies believe they can get there, and life will be beautiful. But as it turns out, any company or product that attempts to capture both is likely to fail."

In the wine world many of those companies are owned by conglomerates and staffed by MBA's with little or no experience in wine. They see brand equity in the same way some homeowners viewed their property's equity until recently--just something to spend. Well, as many homeowners have found the value of their homes decline, they've found equity to be elusive. So, is it far-fetched to believe that these conglomerates who have sucked the equity out of established wineries won't or aren't meeting the same fate?

Robert Mondavi (the brand not the man), Beaulieu Vineyards (BV), Beringer, Sterling, Penfolds, Ravenswood, and even the storied 1st Growth Bordeaux Chateau Mouton Rothschild (Mouton Cadet, et al) have spent their equity with cheap, convenient imitations of their fidelity brands. We in the business like to think that these massive line extensions answer consumer demand, that the consumer knows full well the difference between Robert Mondavi Napa Valley wines and Robert Mondavi Private Selection, between Beringer Private Reserve Chardonnay and Beringer Founder's Estate Chardonnay, between Penfolds Bin 389 Cabernet-Shiraz and Penfolds Koonunga Hill Shiraz-Cabernet.

They don't.

A very earnest gentleman came up to me at the aforementioned trade tasting and after tasting an Argentinean Malbec at my table proceeded to tell me that the upswing in Malbec's popularity was due to the fact that Malbec is a dry wine with no sugar, thereby making it a safe beverage for diabetics. I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one in this blog, but come on.

The point here is that this is the kind of misinformation common out there, folks. The average consumer likes to drink wine and doesn't care to research it much. We're kidding ourselves if we think most wine drinkers care to delineate the differences in these line-extended brands. So buy the cheap imitation. It's convenient, costs less, and is easy to understand. Convenience, yes; fidelity, no.

Malbec's Turn In the Spotlight

As stodgy and tradition-bound as the wine world sometimes seems, it is subject to the whims of changing tastes, as much as popular music, movies, and fashion. Unlike those, however, wine is agricultural based. It's the luxury liner in a harbor full of speed boats--can't be turned easily.

As a beer industry executive said recently, "The trouble with wine is you can only make it once a year."

Worse yet, grapes come from vines planted in the ground, often expensive ground, and the silly things want to produce the same type of grapes every year. So when tastes change rapidly, the wine world lags behind and then usually overreacts.

Merlot shot up in popularity in the 1990's, ostensibly as the softer version of Cabernet Sauvignon. This was part of a sea-change resulting from a 60 Minutes broadcast entitled "The French Paradox," which examined how the French were able to eat a diet much richer than ours yet have less heart disease. The difference Morley Safer intoned: "Red wine."

Overnight, the U.S. went from consuming about 60% white wine to 40% red wine to the reverse of that. Consumption of red wine increased 44% in one year. Red table wine blends were suddenly in short supply. Merlots were allocated and in very short supply. Prices shot up. Supply and demand.

Supply caught up with Demand (and beat its skinny little ass into the ground) as growers and wineries reacted by planting significant new acreage of Merlot, often in places not suitable for it, and by grafting over vines of then less popular varietals. As a result, within a decade, we had a lake of watery, one-dimensional, dull Merlot from the world over; its nadir cemented in the 2004 film Sideways when Paul Giamatti's character Miles Raymond screams, "No, if anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving."

The movie also spurred an intense interest in Pinot Noir, Miles' passion. And, off we went again. Even inexpensive Pinot was suddenly in short supply. More plantings, more Pinot, please.

Now, it's Argentina's turn in our spotlight with, ta-da, Malbec. Easy to pronounce Malbec (Mall-bec), though, is not Merlot. Merlot's popularity had to do with smoothness and softness. Malbec has a spicy, earthy richness to it with enough character and complexity to be appealing in its bang-for-the-buck ratio.

Originally one of the five varieties used in Bordeaux (not so much now), Malbec is the primary grape of Cahors in southwestern France. It has been widely planted in California, Washington, Oregon, and several other states, used mostly as a blending grape. But, in the last decade plantings in California have increased sevenfold. Here, we go again.

Although there are pricier and cheaper versions available from Argentina, the sweet spot seems to be around $10. The big wine companies, as usual, are doing the Me-too dance, and Malbecs are suddenly everywhere.

History, as it is want to do, repeats itself. Substitute the word Australia for Argentina, Shiraz for Malbec and this could be a decade ago or so. Australia, with few exceptions, was not able to establish its premier grape beyond the $10 bottle, nor delineate its regional differences in the minds and tastes of U.S. consumers. It fell out of fashion.

I fear the same fate for Argentina and Malbec. But in the meantime, here are some pretty girls in the latest styles, the hit of this year's party:

Altos Las Hormigas Malbec, Mendoza, 2007, $9.99

Although clocking in at 14.5% alcohol (usually a warning to me to stay away), this wine has terrific balance. Everything seems in place. Spicy notes with blackberryish, plummy fruit and a white pepper note. Easy to like.

Imported in Washington by Elliott Bay Distributors, in Oregon by Domaine Selections.

Trapiche Oak Cask Malbec, Mendoza, 2007, $9.99

There's a velvety texture to this one with blackberries and plums predominate in the fruit. Not as overtly fruity as the Altos, but seems more complex with black pepper, smoke, and a touch of vanilla. Long finish. Both are amazing values.

Imported by Frederick Wildman & Sons.

Prices quoted are average retail. Prices may vary.

The 3 R's of Summer Wine Drinking

June in Seattle is not a summer month. Junuary is what we call it. It's wet and cool and indistinguishable from January here. Usually. But not this year. We had a record-tying 29 days without rain, and July has continued a mostly dry, hot summer. Summer usually begins here on July 5th, so most years, this is when I begin to lighten up on the food and drink more white wines than red.

But with this run of hot weather, I've been in my "clean, crisp, and refreshing" mode of drinking for some time. And, I've discovered a basic rule that has kept me happy and smiling in hot temps:

Riesling, Rose, Repeat--the three R's. Repeat after me--Riesling, Rose, Repeat.

Now, I'm not talking about insipid sweet, mass-produced rieslings, the kind that Washington wineries used to churn out for cash flow. No, I'm talking about clean, crisp, dry riesling. And, I'm not talking about anything labeled "White Zinfandel" or "White Merlot" or "White Tuiti-Fruity." These wines are clearly not white; they're pink and ashamed of it. No, I'm talking about dry rose wines here, proud and manly enough to call themselves rose.

Here are a few of my finds. All are widely distributed in western Washington and Oregon. Distributors for both states and national importers are listed below.

Triennes Rose, 2008, Provence, France. This wine comes from an estate in the south of France owned since the 1980's by two of Burgundy's titans--Jacques Seysses, founder of Domaine Dujac, and Aubert de Villaine, co-owner of Domaine Romanee Conti. This wine is a blend of Cinsault, Syrah, and Merlot, and possesses more body than most roses but with a sense of freshness and lightness still intact. Flavors of strawberries, cherry, and watermelon with just enough crisp acidity on the finish to ask for seconds. Under $15. Imported by The Sorting Table, Napa, CA. Distributed in WA by Cavatappi Distribuzione, Ltd., Seattle; in OR by Galaxy Wine Company, Portland.

Paul Jaboulet "Parallele 45" Cotes du Rhone Rose, 2008, France. 50% Grenache, 40% Cinsault, and 10% Syrah, this beauty shows a ripe fullness of fruit on the palate, with crisp, citrusy notes underneath. Freshness here as well and hints of strawberries, too, but the bracing acidity and richness make for a wonderful companion to grilled vegetables and burgers or just al fresco relaxation. Around $10. Imported by Frederick Wildman & Sons, New York. Distributed in WA & OR by The Odom Corporation.

Chateau Ste. Michelle Eroica Riesling,2007, Washington. Ste. Michelle has a dramatic lineup of Rieslings, most of which are great summer wines, but this is the crown jewel. Made in a joint partnership with Germany's Dr. Loosen, this wine delivers citrus flavors of orange and lime with a crisp acidity that along with the added complexity of mineral notes combine to elevate this to the level of elegance. Under $24. Distributed in WA & OR by Young's Columbia Distributing.

Penfolds Thomas Hyland Riesling, Adelaide, 2008, Australia. (Full disclosure: I previously worked for the company that owns Penfolds.) This wine joined the enormous Penfolds line up just a couple of years ago, but is fast becoming the critic's darling. Produced from fruit grown in the cool-climate Adelaide Hills, the Hyland Riesling is crisp and clean with a lemon and lime citrus streak and mineral notes that expand on the lengthy finish. Under $13. Imported by Foster's Wine Estates, Napa, CA. Distributed in WA & OR by Young's Columbia Distributing.

Notice that the roses are both 2008. The fresher, the better--so always look for the most recent vintage and drink up, don't age. Rieslings, on the other hand, can age magnificently and gain body and complexity. One of the most memorable wines in my life was a 20-year-old German riesling, an Auslese (late harvest), on the dry side, served blind at the German Wine Academy. Not one of the Brits and Americans there, me included, could identify the wine. It was fabulously rich, oily, complex, big-bodied, and exquisite. I can still taste it.

Good Times, Bad Times

We Americans hold certain truths to be self-evident, that among these is this: When times are tough, we drink more. A new Gallup poll released this week shows otherwise.

The poll found that 64% of Americans regularly consume alcoholic beverages, a figure that has remained fairly steady for the last decade. Moreover, the number who consume eight or more drinks per week is at 14%, also unchanged in the last 10 years.

Also, the poll found virtually no change in our drinking habits in the past year when the recession deepened.

So, the self-evident truth here is that in good times and bad, we continue drinking--not more, not less. Besides, while it may be easy to tell the really bad times, the good times are most often only viewable through the rose-colored rear view mirror. I, for one, don't drink to forget the bad times or celebrate the good times (well, okay, yes, I do and with Champagne to boot--both for good and bad times).

I drink wine because I like the incredible array of flavors, the way it enhances the food I'm eating, the conviviality, the frivolity, the fun, and the relaxation. And, occasionally, with a great wine, the WOW factor. And, more often, with just a good wine, the YUM factor.

I can't remember ever opening a bottle of wine because the economic times were unsettled (they always are), the international situation was in crisis (it always is), or because life was uncertain, unfair, or unfathomable (yes, it is). For me, and many of you I hope, drinking wine is divorced from current events. It's the wine, not the economy.

Respect Yourself

We Americans have an inferiority complex, especially when it comes to adopting something from an older culture. I had a classics history professor in college who, when I expressed a preference for American history, harrumphed, "America doesn't have history; America has 200 years of current events."

So, as we have taken on the Old World's preference for wine, which dates back to antiquity, we who are used to blazing our own trails, reinventing ourselves along the way, and blithely ignoring tradition, ritual, rules, and common sense, find ourselves unsure and intimidated when it comes to wine.

We crave affirmation. Ratings from wine publications, recommendations from waiters, sommeliers, and store clerks, a respected friend's latest find, and untold numbers of wine blogs (mine included), tweets, and other web-based info--all demonstrate that we are bewildered by wine. Is it just too many choices? Are we afraid to trust ourselves? Or, is it fear that we'll make a mistake?

Well, for your sake, make a mistake. Buy something you've never tried. Trust whatever you know about wine, and then buy something, try something about which you know nada, zip, zilch. What's the worst that could happen?

At best, you find a new wine style you love; at worst, you waste a few bucks. Then, write a review, if only in your head. "A plucky, little number with way too much pretension: I give it an 85." Or, "Yuck, this wine sucks." These are actual reviews from acquaintances, as legitimate as any in The Wine Spectator, as informative as I needed to try the first and avoid the second. (Well, actually, I tried the second, too, just to taste a really sucky wine.)

Respect yourself. Who listens to you better than you? Whose opinion matters more than yours? Whose pleasure is it anyway? Ratings assigned by wine critics are just random numbers. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Respect yourself, your opinion, your taste, your thoughts--the only ones that matter.

How to Remain Anonymous (you could write a wine blog)

Mourvedre. Mataro. Monastrell. Balzac. And, about 50 other aliases worldwide refer to just one grape, a thick-skinned red variety that is late budding out and late ripening--a late bloomer, if you will. And, as with other late bloomers, it may be poised to capture the fancy of those who've been around the block with the more precocious.

Then, again, maybe not. Imagine finding out your new girlfriend or boyfriend went by another name in another town. And, worse no one you know can pronounce his/her name. Whoa. That silky Merlot is a lot easier to explain to your friends than More-what, M'Tar-oh (the rapper?) or Monster-oil. A rose by any other name. . . Call her what you want.

But everyone knew her as Nancy.

Now Malbec, that's a different story. The skyrocketing popularity of Malbec, especially from Argentina, is not something I would have predicted a decade ago. In 1999, Americans consumed about 11 bottles of Australian wine for every one bottle of Argentinian. That figure has dropped to about 3 bottles of Australian for every one from Argentina. And, most of that is $10 Malbec.

But, success breeds excess and now many of the large companies have decided they need to jump on that bandwagon, so we're already seeing loads of Argentinian Malbec virtual wines (wines without a winery) hitting the store shelves near you. Many of them are bland, pale imitations of the spicy, peppery, blackberryish Malbecs that spawned the trend.

So now what? Good Malbec is still obtainable at a surprisingly reasonable price. You've got to dig a little and trust your local wine merchant. But, the quest for good value in wine is about the journey not the destination. Next stop. . . the 3-M Company: Mourvedre, Mataro, or Monastrell.

This grape grows well in warmer climates, such as Spain, where it is believed to have originated. But it is probably best known as one of the primary grapes blended to make Chateauneuf du Pape in France's Southern Rhone Valley, where at some estates, such as Chateau de Beaucastel, it can comprise 70% of the blend. Australia has significant old-vine acreage of Mourvedre where it is often blended as in Chateauneuf with Grenache and Syrah. d'Arenberg is one of the few there that produces a 100% Mourvedre, "The 28 Road." California and Washington produce some notable ones, too, including Jade Mountain, Cline Ancient Vine Mourvedre, and McCrea Cellars Mourvedre.

But for the same kind of value that launched Malbec, here's a suggestion: I bought a beauty the other night at one of my favorite Seattle shops, McCarthy & Schiering. For less than $10, the Castano Monastrell (pictured above) from Spain's Yecla region, was an absolute stunner. This wine delivered tones of body with rich, juicy blackberry-like fruit with freshness and enough acidity to match some pretty rich meats. The winery's been discovered, though. Jay Miller writing in Robert Parker's The Wine Advocate rated this 90 points and called the price "unreal." So, don't wait to search for this one. But write the name down before you leave home. Or just say you're looking for Monster Oil.

Castano Monastrell is imported to the U.S. by Eric Solomon's European Cellars.

I Touched Brian Wilson's Coat and Met Robert Mondavi

When I was 11, a friend and I attended an in-store appearance by the Beach Boys. This was 1963, Kennedy was president, and the Beatles were still unknown in the U.S. The Beach Boys were hot. They spoke to the crowd, mostly giggling girls, from a flatbed truck set up in front of the store. My friend and I couldn't see a thing, so we ducked inside in hopes of getting a closer look when they exited through the store.

At the end of the event, thinking the place was empty, store employees locked the doors and only allowed the Beach Boys in. As they passed, I jumped up and started following them through the store. I had almost caught up with Brian Wilson, the group's leader, who was trailing the rest of the band. I don't know why, but the only thing I could think to do was to reach out and touch the hem of his coat. Biblical, huh?

Brian turned around and said. "Hey kid, how're you doin'?" To which I replied, "Ah. . .Ah. . .Ah. . ." He said, "Thanks for coming today," turned around and was gone. I hadn't said a word.

Other than explaining some of the beginnings of my lifelong love of rock 'n' roll, what does this have to do with wine? Well, it popped back in mind the other day as I was recounting to a friend some of the legendary wine people I've met in the business over the years.

Back in the 1980's, one memorable day I had Jean-Michel Cazes, owner of Chateau Lynch Bages, and Anthony Barton, owner of Chateau Leoville Barton and Chateau Langoa Barton, riding in my beat-up Ford Mustang. Anthony graciously offered to and did put his 6'4" frame in the back seat, which amused Jean-Michel to no end.

I have met Angelo Gaja, Count Lur Saluces of Chateau d'Yquem, the late Erwein Graf Count Matuschka-Greiffenclau of Schloss Vollrads, and Christian Pol Roger of Champagne Pol Roger (who gently reminded me as I let one of the corks from his wine loudly pop, "Young man, when Champagne is opened, it should moan not scream.").

And, there were more. None evoked the Brian Wilson reaction in me, except one.

Robert Mondavi.

At this, the one year anniversary of his passing, I've read several tributes to the man, and it brought to mind meeting him in 2001. I was lucky enough to be invited to an event at the winery and had just entered the grounds with my new boss who knew Robert well. As we started to enter the gift shop, I opened the door and there was Robert Mondavi the man.

"Ah. . .Ah. . . Ah. . ." Fortunately, my boss handled the introductions and Robert, as he always did with everyone, immediately put me at ease. "Wine is part of the gracious way of living." he used to say. He, indeed, was a gracious man.

By the time of his death, he and his family were no longer involved in making the wines that still bear his name. Julia Flynn Siler's excellent book The House of Mondavi, The Rise & Fall of an American Wine Dynasty captures the details. Highly recommended. You'll come away with an appreciation of a man whose dream made the U.S. a country of wine drinkers.

Recessed, Depressed, and Undressed

I was talking with a couple of veterans of the wine business last week when the talk turned to the current recession/depression. Recession or Depression? To-ma-toe or To-mat-oe?

In any case, the talk was depressing or recessing or something. The wine business is always changing, part of why it's so attractive to so many people--that and the endorphin factor. But rapid change is not something an agricultural-based industry handles well, especially one based on slowly maturing vines and slowly maturing wines.

This economic nosedive has been relatively sudden for the wine business. Restaurants have been hit particularly hard, as fewer consumers have the dollars or think they have the dollars to spend eating out. More are staying home, drinking still, and even entertaining.

So the great shift is on. More wine sales in grocery stores, less in restaurants. Not such a big deal, right? Well, it is. Besides the loss of more than a few terrific restaurants and the jobs that go with them, consumers are stair-stepping down from their usual comfort level of wine affordability, even in stores. Those for whom a $30 bottle appealed are now looking under $20; those comfortable with $20 bottles are finding comfort in $12 wines.

And although volume is not dropping overall, the slide in sales for the high-end spells trouble for a lot of recent start-up wineries. A shake-out is inevitable, but how broad is any body's guess.

Americans drank an estimated 317 million cases of wine in 2008, a record set even as the economy tanked. In March, dollar sales were +0.1%, even though Easter, traditionally one of bigger bumps to wine sales, was in March last year. This figure is only a measure of what is scanned in food and drug stores nationwide, but it shows, especially without the Easter bump, that we're drinking wine.

“It’s almost like people hit the reset button, and all of a sudden we’re back to 20 years ago where people are looking for wines under $10,” said Jon Fredrikson, president of Gomberg, Fredrikson & Associates, one of the leading wine industry analysts. In a speech earlier this month Fredrikson said the recession has caused people to eat out less, driving down wine sales at restaurants last year by about 10 percent, a figure likely to increase this year.

A big fear in the business is what consumers will do once this economic crisis passes. Will they be content with the lower-priced wines they're now drinking, or will they return to their old ways and once again be swayed by the romance of the marketing and the fear of loss in the supply-demand equation? Will they rather save their money, drink their cellars, and forgo this year's allocation of that formerly hard-to-get boutique Cabernet Sauvignon? Scary stuff.

Protecting Your Wine From Yourself

When I first got into the wine business, classified-growth Bordeaux was relatively inexpensive, and I worked for a wine distributor with some of the best available. Kid in the candy store.

What I quickly discovered is that cellaring that Chateau Talbot 1982 had an enemy--Me (there's no "I" in enemy, but there is a "me" hiding behind the "Y" or why). Now, I'm only slightly schizophrenic--I'm okay and so am I--but, the Cellaring Me envisioned sitting on this wine for 20 years (waiting for that special occasion that never comes, see "Open That Bottle Any Night" below). Unfortunately, the Party-Hearty Me would invite some friends over for dinner and after a couple of bottles of more pedestrian wine, PH Me would say something like, "Oh, man, you gotta try this incredible Bordeaux I just bought." Boom, gone.

So, Cellaring Me devised a devilish plan to thwart PH Me. I obtained several wood wine boxes with lids, and I placed the wines to be cellared in those boxes and nailed the lids shut. I then stacked them on top of each other and put wine racks on top of the stack. Tough thing to do to PH Me, but somebody had to step up if I were ever to have a wine cellar.

I still have the same set up, and it still thwarts what little is left of PH Me. Unfortunately, it also means that I have a fair amount of wine I should have drunk by now. I'm just too lazy to unstack those boxes to get to it.

Cellaring wine is an inexact, unpredictable exercise. When a wine is at its peak is anybody's guess and always just a guess. Cellar conditions affect how quickly a wine ages, and few of us have perfect cellar conditions. Mine is a consistently cool, dark place with little vibration. I don't worry about humidity variations, nor should you. (Here's why.) So far, it's been sufficient. As with any cellar, I've had my surprises, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Corks, for instance, can be an unpleasant surprise in any cellar. Most corks last at best 25 years in the bottle. As they age, they contract even with the bottle on its side and the wine in contact with one end. Eventually, they fail and wine starts to drip out of the bottle--fruit fly nirvana. The contact with air is the wine's demise. This is why several of the 1st-Growth Bordeaux chateaux, Mouton and Lafite, and Australia's Penfolds regularly conduct re-corking clinics throughout the world. Great after-market service.

I've found that any wine older than a decade is probably best opened with an Ah-So, sometimes called a Butler's Friend. These two-pronged openers can often retrieve a dry cork, a crumbly cork, or any other cork in a fragile state.

And if you have a wine over 25 years old, what are you waiting for--Open That Bottle Night? How much older do you and that wine need to get?

When I'm 64

I'm often asked how long a particular wine will age, and I say it's a crap shoot. Depends. (No, not that one.) Depends on your cellaring conditions. But a lot depends on you. Do you like aged wines? Most think wine, particularly Cabernet-based red wine, continues to improve in a never-ending upward trajectory. It doesn't. Most go through peaks and valleys, opening and closing, and improving gradually, plateauing, then fading.

But even still, do you like aged wines? With age, everything recedes. (Insert age-related comment here) That intense fruit of youth fades into the whole of the wine over time. If anything was out of balance, e.g. high alcohol or cheek-drying tannins, when the wine was young, that receded fruit will make it more so when it's older.

Appreciating an older wine, with its lack of youthful fruit, but with complexity and subtleties gained from aging almost begs a comparison to that of a woman--pretty and fresh in her teens yet beautiful and enchanting in her maturity.

I once heard Rob Davis, longtime winemaker at Jordan Winery in California, tell a story about walking in the vineyards near harvest time with legendary winemaker Andre Tchelistcheff. Rob had picked several grapes and examined them with his refractometer, a device that measures the sugar content of grapes. With great certainty, he pronounced the grapes ripe for harvest.

Andre picked one of the grapes, popped it into his mouth, and said, "Yes, but are they ready?" Rob told him he didn't understand the difference. Andre said, "Ripe is a an 18-year-old virgin. Ready is a 40-year-old divorcee."

That would be a great place to end this post, since it can't be topped. But, let me just say that enjoying wines in their maturity is not for everyone, nor should it be. Youth, although wasted on the young (I wish I'd said that), is very appealing even with wines traditionally thought to need cellaring. Winemakers today generally craft their wines to show well upon release. What more do you want? And, if you can answer that, you should be cellaring wine.

Open That Bottle (Any) Night

Ten years ago, Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher, the husband-and-wife team who write the column "Wine Notes" for The Wall Street Journal, conceived "Open That Bottle Night." Every year on the last Saturday of February, they encourage all of us who have "Hotel California" cellars ("You can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave") to take one of those "special occasion" bottles out of the cellar and drink it on that night.

The point being that there's never an occasion special enough to open those bottles. Thanksgiving? The whole family's together, but the food clashes with most wines. Christmas? The whole family's together, but Uncle Bill will pour his glass to the brim, and Aunt Jill only drinks sweet wines, and Aunt Pill thinks she's allergic to sulfites. . .

So, the point being that opening that special bottle is a special occasion, and it's about the wine, not someone's birthday, graduation, wedding, or promotion--all fine occasions for celebration and certainly wine should be involved, preferably Champagne. But the subtleties of a fine, aged wine are rarely appreciated when crowds, commotion, and exotic foods are involved.

My special bottle-occasion night would involve standing up that bottle for several days beforehand. A younger wine I would decant; a really old bottle I might not. Although it would undoubtedly throw a fair amount of sediment, an old wine might have a very short window of life once it's opened and decanting would hasten that. I'd make the food enhance the wine. Roast beef or roast chicken without dramatic spices or capsaicins put the focus on the wine not the food.

And, for Pete's sake, let's do this more than once a year. Maybe once a month is more like it. And, don't worry that the occasion is not special enough. None is. And, if the bottle has emotional meaning (and what long-aged one doesn't?), drinking it will heighten and focus that emotion but not end it. When the wine is gone, the bottle, label, and memories remain, including now the memory of drinking it.

Plastic cup or Polystyrene Cup?

Riedel or Libbey? Spiegelau or Luminarc? Stem or tumbler? Or how about colored crystal stemware elaborately cut and handed down from your grandmother? What is the proper wineglass?

How about plastic cup or Polystyrene? (Tangent: there's no such thing as a styrofoam cup, but Polystyrene is what we commonly call a styrofoam cup. For the tangentally inclined, read more here.)

I've enjoyed many wines served in a tumbler at pasta palaces and find nothing objectionable about the practice except the pretentiousness that we have much in common with Italian peasantry. But then pretentiousness are us in the wine business, so hard to get excited.

No, what separates the cork dork from the wine drinker is that unavoidable occasion where nothing that could technically be called "glass" is available. Think small town motel with in-room coffee maker, Polystrene cups stacked up beside it. Plastic cups in the bathroom, nicely shrink-wrapped. It's Sunday and not a store that sells glassware is open. You have not brought your travel box of Riedel. What do you do? What do you do?

Do you refuse to open the bottle because it would be unfair to the wine? Because without the proper stemware, it would lessen your enjoyment to the point of pointlessness? Congrats, you are a dork.

It's only a bottle of wine, for Christsake. (See Post # 1, "It's Only a Bottle of Wine.") And, if you brought any wine that couldn't stand the vibrations of a road trip, congrats, you are a dork.

No, for the wine drinker, the question wouldn't be whether to open the bottle. It would be "Plastic Cup or Polystyrene Cup?"

Okay, so the answer is obvious, if you are tangentally inclined and read more here or up there.
Alcohol will increase the styrene migration from the cup into the wine, so the plastic cup wins out.

Wine is for drinking.

Thanks,
Jim

Me, too! Hey, me, too!

A wine buyer at an upscale grocery store once told me his biggest pet peeve was the "Me, too" wine sales rep. The buyer would put up a successful display of, say, a $14.99 Chianti Classico Riserva, and the competing sales reps would all pitch their own Chianti Classico Riservas for display.

"My kingdom for an original idea."

The "Me, too" yahoo is in many ways responsible for that "dizzying array of wines available today" I mentioned in my first post. When Pinot Grigio sales took off in this country, so too did the number of wineries making it. Me, too, try ours.

The phenomenal success of Yellow Tail led many major wine companies to create their own critter-label brands. Me, too, ours is cuter.

Syrah? Me, too. Pinot Noir? Hey, me, too. Riesling? Ah, ah. . .yeah, me, too.

These are called "line extensions" which marketers like to say take advantage of the "halo effect" of a well-regarded brand name. But they dilute and weaken the reputations of wineries. Jack of all trades, master of none.

Starting with Robert Mondavi back in the 1980's, many Napa Valley-based wineries loaned their names to wines grown from, well, somewhere in CA. Beaulieu (BV), Beringer, Mondavi, Sterling, and others unhinged their names from Napa Valley. Yes, they all still produce Napa-grown wines, but that's just for the halo effect, a cynic might say. Me, too.

Thanks,

Jim

Nielsen Schmielsen

I was asked recently by someone, who didn't know my tendency to overexplain everything, what's been the most significant change in the wine business in the last 25 years. And, while it would be easy to signal out the phenomenal growth in the number of wineries and the amount of wine consumed, that's not it.

No, for me, it's the UPC, the Universal Product Code, that ubiquitous bar code that now adorns every product and will probably be genetically engineered onto our foreheads soon.

I predate the UPC on wine bottles. This is the wine business equivalent of saying "I predate electricity."

Before bar codes, every bottle was hand-marked with a price sticker. Most grocery stores had a wine key on their cash registers, so had a reasonable idea how much wine was sold, but only a vague idea about what wine sold. The UPC changed all that.

Enter Nielsen.

That's the A.C. Nielsen Company, famous for its TV rankings, but which also collects wine sales data from all major chain grocery stores, thanks to the UPC. So, now wineries and wine companies can see where, when, and how much their wines sold. Most large wineries and wine companies now employ armies of sales analysts (ever notice the first four letters of that last word?). They dissect the minutest of detail hoping to ferret out significant trends.

Meanwhile, most wine distributors, at the insistence of their supplier wine companies, report back all of their sales, so the analysts can also see what restaurants and shops buy their wine.

So, what does all this rear-view mirror gazing mean to you and me?

It means that the status quo is reinforced, time and again. It's why chain grocery stores display the same wines year in and year out. It's why a few large companies with data in hand hold enormous sway over retail buyers. It's why that large wine section seems to be all about Chardonnay, Cabernet, Merlot, and a little bit "Other." Breadth they got, depth they don't.

It's why a beauty such as the Cotes de Brouilly I mentioned in my last post won't be found in most stores and why the real treasures in wine take some digging.

Thanks,
Jim

It's only a bottle of wine

"It's only a bottle of wine, for Christ's sake." A colleague of mine back in the 1980's said that upon hearing the price of 1983 Chateau Mouton Rothschild would exceed $100. Supply and demand, I suppose, with the 1st Growths of Bordeaux, then and now. But isn't it amazing how many wines top the $100 mark now? For that matter, $50 or even $30--and often for wines with no track record or first releases from new wineries.

So much of what passes for supply and demand these days in the wine business is manipulation by marketing. "Limited Release" often isn't; "Reserve" with all its adjectives--Private (really?), Winemaker's, Cellarmaster's, Vintner's, Grand, and Everyman's--is rarely. And, that's just a start.

The dizzying array of wines available today makes it tough for anyone to navigate through a wine department or wine shop without feeling overwhelmed and undereducated. Me included.

So what I'd like to do here with this blog is strip away some of the pretentiousness of wine, and by that, I don't mean reducing wine to four or five varietals from California that are just easy to understand. No, let's look at the world's wine and have some fun with it.

I'll explain some of the mystifying terms on labels, and we'll write some quick notes on favorite finds. For example, I had a great little 2006 Cotes de Brouilly from Ferraud & Fils (imported by Vinum Wine Importing, Seattle, WA) last night at 10 Mercer, one of my favorite Seattle restaurants. Cotes de Brouilly is one of the Grand Cru villages of Beaujolais. The red wines from that region of France are made from the Gamay grape, rarely planted in this country. Such a pity. This wine had a fruity nose with some earthiness, very much like its more expensive Pinot Noir cousins to the north in the Burgundy region. Soft, supple and a terrific match for a variety of foods.

Yet, Beaujolais is a rarity on the shelves and wine lists these days. Why? Hard to pronounce or understand labels? Let's look into this more next time.

Thanks,
Jim