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.