The Ethics of Sampling

One evening earlier this week, I Twittered about as much as I ever have in a single session: three or four times in fairly rapid succession, my regular pattern being more along the lines of three messages per week. What drew me into such garrulousness was an ongoing discussion of blogging ethics. The finer point in question was whether or not a wine blogger (or any person in the wine writing trade, I suppose) who accepts press samples is obliged to publish a review of every wine received. At least one person thought yes, others thought no, and I found myself siding with the latter camp.

I’ve never gotten around to publishing a “policies” page here at MFWT, so let me clear up any questions you may have. I do accept samples for review. I also promise to taste everything sent my way with as open and critical a mind as possible. And I’m happy to provide feedback, as Lenn suggested, in the form of a raw tasting note to anyone who sends me a sample. I can’t promise I’ll get to every bottle immediately, so if you’re looking for instant review gratification, I may not be your man. But again, I do promise to get to each and every bottle in due course. When I do blog about a wine I’ve received as a sample, I’ll always state that it was a sample and let you know who sent it my way.

In any case, and more importantly, I’ll blog about the wine only if I find something compelling to say about it, only if its context and quality – good or bad – move me enough to make me want to write about and share my experience. It’s as simple as that.

Or is it?

What happens when a sample comes from someone you know, even from someone you consider a friend? In such cases, I think there’s a natural human reflex to soften one’s step, to be kinder, gentler or – in a negative scenario – silent.

I also think it’s important, no matter how difficult, not to let those reflexes sway you.

I found myself in just such a situation recently when Terence Hughes, the man behind Mondosapore and co-proprietor of Domenico Selections, sent me a box full of wines for review. It’s not as if Terry and I are best buddies or lifelong chums. I’ve only actually met the guy once…. But between that, the occasional email correspondence and following each others blogs for the last couple of years, I have come to count him as a friend.

As I’ve already written up one of the wines he sent me, it should be obvious that I've already worked my way through this ethical pickle. And I’d like to think I reviewed the wine just as honestly and bluntly as I would one I’d purchased or one I’d received from a more anonymous sample sender. I don’t think Mr. Hughes would have wanted it any other way.

With one of the other wines he sent, though, I found myself holding back, writing less quickly than I might have otherwise. That may have been influenced by the fact that Terry smartly sent two bottles of each wine. I knew I’d be able to give the wine another look, get to know it better before putting pen to paper, fingers to keys and posting to the blogosphere.

Does that make me hypocritical or unethical? That’s for you to decide, I suppose, though I’d like to think it just means I’m careful and considered in my work here at MFWT.

Or do you think this is all just a long winded prelude to and softener of a harsh review? For answer to that question you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, as I do think it would be unfair to bury a review – good or bad – at the end of this pseudo-dialectic discourse.

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My Picks for the Super Bowl

What’s that you say? It’s a bit late? The game’s already on?

I like to tell people I don’t know what the Super Bowl is but the fact is that it’s impossible to live in the US and not be barraged with predictions, marketing campaigns and hyperbole all geared up around the biggest sports event on the American calendar. This year, I’ve even seen people making wine recommendations for your Super Bowl Sunday viewing pleasure.

So, without further adieu, here are my picks for the big game.

The underdog: Meursault-Perrières. It’s just not fair that such a great vineyard will never win that Grand Cru ring. Pick a wine from the reputable producer of your choice then sit back, swirl, sniff and sip in smug satisfaction that you’re drinking great white wine while watching what’s clearly a red wine sport. Me? I’m a long time fan of the ’85 from Robert Ampeau.

The favorite: Football a red wine sport…? Speaking of fair – or in this case, fer – I hear the Steelers are playing tonight. The only wine of choice for those supporting the team from the iron city has to be Marcillac, the great country wine of Southwest France. After all, iron is its first name (it’s made from none other than Fer Servadou). And it’s way yummier than Iron City Beer. Tastes great, less swilling.

Those are my picks and I’m sticking with ‘em. You didn’t really think I was going to make a prediction, did you?

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The Heat Miser Strikes Again

Last night, I cooked an easy Tuesday dinner and uncorked a bottle of wine, thinking in the back of my mind that I might find something to write about the pleasures of simple food and simple wine, or about pairing red sauced pasta with white wine. Instead, I find myself writing about that pervasive old culprit, heat damage.

This is not a rant against the wine in question, the 2006 Falanghina “Sannio” from the large Campanian producer Feudi di San Gregorio. I’ve enjoyed this wine and others from Feudi di San Gregorio in the past. When it’s in good shape, it’s a lively, well-balanced white, brimming with peach, lime and fresh herbal flavors, backed by medium acidity, medium body and a faint hint of minerality. It’s refreshing, a versatile food wine and, at around $12-13, a pretty solid value. But this bottle was dead in the water. Though not totally undrinkable, it was all but devoid of fruit, its alcohol was much more prevalent than it should be in a wine clocking in at 13%, and that savory herbaceousness was no longer savory. Think instead of herbs that have sat unused for too long, wilting and tasting more of decomposition than of freshness, of death rather than life, and you’ll have a sense of what I found.

This is not a rant, either, against the store where I bought the bottle, against its importer, the distributor or the winery. In one way or another, they’re all responsible for the fate of this bottle. So am I, for buying it in full knowledge that it might be flawed. It would be way too idealistic and optimistic on my part to think that every spoke in the wheel of the global wine distribution system will ever take the steps necessary to prevent heat damage from happening. But until they do – and I’ll try to hold out a glimmer of hope, in spite of my natural skepticism – nearly every bottle of wine you and I buy will carry with it the distinct possibility of not being what it was meant to be.

How do I know this bottle was heat damaged? Well, part of it can be chalked up to plain old experience. As I mentioned above, I’ve had good bottles of this wine in the past. I know it’s good in its youth – it’s a wine I’d usually look to buy as young as possible – yet I also know that it has the stuffing to last for a couple of years with no problem.

This case was actually tougher to detect than some others, though, as the effects of its heat damage were subtle rather than profound. The bottle passed all of my usual point-of-purchase inspections. Its capsule spun, there were no signs of seepage or leakage and no sweet or sour aromas emanating from below the capsule. Its fill level was good and there was no schmutz on the bottle. So, obviously, I bought it. When I opened it, though, I found that all my inspections had not been enough.


Corks, in spite of their own inherent problems, can provide great evidence in sussing out questions of poor handling. Just take a look at the picture above. The bottom of the cork was perfectly moist and seemed to have kept a good seal. However, the sides of the cork told a different story. Stains, now dried out, appeared at varying heights, like the graph of a very erratic heartbeat. This is not the signature of wine that’s begun to soak up through the cork over time. Rather, it’s the sign of wine having been forced up between the cork and the neck of the bottle by the increase in pressure caused by heating of the bottle’s contents. In this case, the heat exposure wasn't extreme enough to piston the cork or to cause leakage, but it was definitely enough to bruise and dull the wine. There’s no telling when or where this might have happened. It could have been in the hold of a ship, in the back of a delivery truck, on the shelves of a warm wine shop or in a warm distributor’s warehouse, or even on the driveway at the winery, where the wine could have been left out on a sunny day waiting to be picked up.

The problem with this kind of heat damage lies in its very subtlety. As mentioned above, the wine was not totally undrinkable. It just wasn’t what it could or should have been. And I can guarantee that you, I and everyone who has ever bought more than a couple of wines in their lifetime has had many a wine like it.

For obvious reasons, many importers, distributors and retailers tend to downplay the prevalence of heat damage. Even professional wine writers and avid connoisseurs have been known to deny its effects, sometimes because they may have vested interests in protecting the agents of wine’s global supply chain but also, I think, because they may not want to admit – to themselves or others – that many of the wines they may have drunk, written about or stashed away in their cellars may have been damaged in much the same way as was this poor Falanghina.

So no, this isn’t a rant against the handlers, sellers and other enablers in the wine business. It’s also not a shill based on the fact that I work in a totally temperature controlled wine shop, from point of origin to point of sale. I buy wine for my own enjoyment from many, many outlets, as I’m not willing to limit my sphere of experience to the few sources that do what’s necessary to prevent heat damage from occurring. It’s just a call to awareness, backed up by a little pseudo-scientific detective work, that I hope will help us all to recognize some of the many signs of heat damage.

* * *
For those unfortunate enough not to grasp the “Heat Miser” reference or to recognize this posting’s lead-off image, here’s a clip from the original source, just in time for the holidays.



By the way, Mr. Snow Miser’s influence on wine is much less insidious than the Heat Miser’s, although the Ice Man will rear his head from time to time when you do this.

PPS: You can also read about a slightly different experience with heat damage as reported in one of the first experiments conducted at the Rational Denial lab. I'd like to see that lab test recreated, this time using a wine the Director already knows and enjoys.

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A Very Special Offer

With all due respects to Bill Nanson at Burgundy Report, who often lists “similar” opportunities, here is today’s offering from renowned Burgundy specialists, Italian Wine Merchants. In IWM partner Sergio Esposito’s own words (mostly):

It’s no secret that the economy both here in the United States and abroad in Europe is, well, really bad, to put it mildly. It’s kind of inescapable — everywhere I turn I’m reading, hearing or seeing evidence of financial woes, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it hasn’t gotten to me. In response, [here’s the latest value offering from Burgundy’s Domaine de la Romanée Conti, brought to you courtesy of IWM].

Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Parcel
(includes the bottles listed below in non-OWC)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Romanée-Conti (1 Bottle)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Montrachet (1 Bottle)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 La Tâche (3 Bottles)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Richebourg (2 Bottles)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Romanée-St-Vivant (3 Bottles)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Echézeaux (2 Bottles)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Grands-Echézeaux (2 Bottles)
Domaine de la Romanée-Conti 2005 Parcel…$59,500

Look at it this way: that’s only $29,749.94 each for one bottle of Romanée-Conti and one bottle of Montrachet. In addition, you’ll receive twelve more bottles — an assortment of La Tâche, Richebourg, Romanée-St.-Vivant, Echézeaux and Grands-Echézeaux — for the unbelievable sum of one penny per bottle. That’s a total of not just two but fourteen entire bottles of wine for a mere $59,500 (shipping and handling charges may apply).

What do you think? Should I re-mortgage my house tomorrow? Seems like as good a time as any.

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Labeling Quirks and a Blog of Note

As I expect most food and wine bloggers do, I spend a decent amount of my non-blogging on-line time reading other food and wine blogs. The ones that keep me coming back tend to be those that both entertain and educate. One such that I’ve really been digging of late is Amy Lillard’s, La Gramière. It’s named after the property she and her husband purchased in the Côtes du Rhône a couple of years back and the winery they subsequently established on the estate. On her blog, Amy is chronicling the happenings throughout each vintage at La Gramière. It’s one of the most enjoyable winery blogs I’ve come across, neither tiresomely technical nor grossly marketing driven. Instead, it’s honest. Amy’s not afraid to talk about the difficulties faced at the estate. Reading her work gives me a sense of their place, their struggles and their joys, and it often teaches me something along the way. As one might expect given Ms. Lillard’s responsibilities in the vineyards, it’s not updated every day but she always keeps it fresh enough to keep me coming back.

Her recent post on some of the inherent hassles of wine labeling for a diversified distribution chain didn’t just teach me something, it also got me thinking. In it, she details running afoul of US regulatory authorities as the result of a labeling snafu and the subsequent conscription of labor and impromptu assembly line required to get her latest release into the US market. The offending item: a tiny icon of a pregnant woman overlaid with the classic “no” symbolism of the circle and slash. Many a French winery began placing the symbol on their labels as early as a year or two ago in anticipation of it (or a textual version) being required on all bottles of wine in France as of 2008. It’s very much the equivalent of the Surgeon General’s warning that has appeared on all wine in the US for years.

Even though she doesn’t much like the image, Amy chose the symbol over the prolix version of the warning for its less space-intensive traits, only to find out that the US has now banned any appearance of the symbol on bottles of wine entering the US market. While I’d seen the icon popping up on French bottles over the last year or so and was aware of the new French warning requirements, this was the first I’d heard of the American ban on the appearance of the symbol. Her solution was to scrape the back labels off a sizeable portion of her bottles – an ugly job from the sounds of it – only to reapply new ones that would meet with the demands of US regulatory authorities.

This first got me thinking of how all the other wineries throughout France would deal with the situation. La Gramière had placed the symbol on their rear label. The majority of French wines, when sold on their home market, don’t even have a back label. (The marketing novellas so common on the back of New World wines are still relatively uncommon on the European front.) A winery that sells to multiple nations will almost always have a different rear label for each country, even one each for multiple distributors in larger markets such as the US. But front labels? In my experience, they’re the same for most if not all markets. Put the pieces together and you’ll realize that most French producers who opted for the iconic warning option had to place the symbol right on their front labels.


Here’s how at least one producer handled the situation. The first shipment of Henri’s 2005 came through with the symbol intact. The second time around, it had simply been colored in with what I suppose is the French equivalent of a Sharpie®.
After talking about the issue with a few of my coworkers, what really got me thinking – actually, what really irked me – was why the powers that be in the US had to make an issue of this in the first place. From a bureaucratic perspective, it’s just nitpicking to the nth degree, at the expense of time, money and frustration for the people affected. From a sociopolitical perspective – whether or not you like the imagery of the symbol – it amounts to cultural whitewashing – censorship if you prefer. If it’s accepted as meaningful in France, why can’t it be accepted here as well? The Surgeon General’s warnings are going to appear on the back label either way. Are the American people that much in need of being protected from potential offense? I don’t have the answer to that, but my sympathies go out to Amy and all the other wine growers like her who’ve had to jump through hoops to prevent the question from ever being faced.

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New Heights in Customer Service Theory from the PLCB

What’s the latest, misguided stroke of Orwellian benevolence to issue forth from the hallowed halls of the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB) you ask? It’s front page news here in Philadelphia: a proposal to install wine vending machines – kiosks if you prefer – in supermarkets. According to current PLCB Chairman PJ Stapleton, the Board’s “focus right now is on what the consumer wants.” He and the rest of his staff in the state capital seem to have figured out that being able to buy milk, Pepsi and wine in the same place is the foremost desire of citizens throughout the state.

If the PLCB moves ahead with its plans, consumers will be able to do just that. Only just. The vending machines are designed to hold 500 bottles but will offer a scant dozen selections. The plan is likely to result in about as diverse and natural an array of options as on the menu at your local McDonald’s. And it will be almost as convenient.

To use the machine, all you’ll have to do is register your proof of age, credit card information, fingerprints and an infrared scan of your arm with the PLCB customer service department. Until you’ve completed the registration process, you won’t be able to see what’s on offer in the machines. The selections will be enshrouded behind opaque glass, a manifestation of the PLCB’s ongoing campaign to protect minors from the inherent evils of viewing wine bottles. Just place your arm and fingertips in the kiosk’s biosensor unit and, voilà, the glass will clear and your dozen choices will be revealed.

As the PLCB has already figured out through their years of experience running Pennsylvania’s state liquor store system, consumers don’t actually want knowledgeable guidance in making their wine selections. So, for your shopping convenience, the machines will be unmanned. However, the system will monitor your buying habits – just to make sure you’re not developing any bad habits – and check your blood alcohol level before allowing you to make a purchase. Just what you’ve been waiting for, no?

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Google Ads are Going Bye-Bye

I'm sure someone out there is earning a buck or two by placing Google Ads on their blog but it sure isn't me. Besides, I'm sick of seeing ads for "How I Lost 55 Pounds" peppered in with wine and food links I've never visited myself. Arrivederci, baby!

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The Revolution Will Be Televised

Word on the street is that the computers that drive the special liquor order (SLO) system at the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB) have been down for days. This means that restaurants all over the state are unable to order the non-"regular” wines they rely on as the bread and butter of their daily beverage programs.

My heart goes out to all of the sommeliers and beverage managers that are scrambling around their local state stores looking for wine to fill the gaps.

But my mischievous side is smiling with glee at this massive system failure in terms of the repercussions it could have for the PLCB. Maybe this is just the fuel needed to fire the revolution that will be necessary to bring about the long overdue dismantling of Pennsylvania’s state controlled system. A long shot, I know, but one can always hope.

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Marc de Grazia Grand Tour 2008 Tasting

I’ve been struggling for several days now as to whether or not to post this. As you’re now reading it, my decision should be obvious. However, it wasn’t reached easily. It took encouragement and inspiration from a few friends. Really, it wasn’t until I saw Jeremy Parzen’s video of his recent visit to the Gambero Rosso tasting in San Diego and, subsequently, Brooklynguy’s reluctant report on the Gambero Rosso event in New York that I made up my mind. Even then, coming to a decision took a little more self-inflicted torture. The reasons are many. First and foremost, the tasting occurred in the middle of a busy workday. I tasted fairly but did not have the time to sample all of the wines present or to take notes in as much detail as I’d usually like. Second, I found little to like among what I did manage to taste. Even after years in the trade and a year-plus of blogging, I still feel a tug of self-conflict when griping about something for which I didn’t pay.

It’s time to get over it, McDuff.

The whites:
The only producer whose wines I enjoyed across the board, white or red, was Gini, an estate located in Monforte d’Alpone at the heart of the Soave Classico zone. Their 2006 Soave Classico “normale,” done all in stainless and unusual in its claim of being 100% Garganega, was pure and well-balanced, with golden pear fruit and mouth watering acidity. The 2004 Recioto di Soave Classico “Col Foscarin” was simple but lovely for its honeyed fruit and, again, good acidity. More compelling was their botrytis affected cuvée, Recioto di Soave Classico “Renobilis” 2003. The extra concentration provided by the noble rot lent the wine more aromatic depth and a longer, spice-tinged finish.

Overall, the whites in the de Grazia portfolio fared better than the reds, though mainly by dubious virtue of falling in the neutral zone, that undistinguished, middle of the road, neither bad nor characterful part of spectrum. This, of course, is an issue that many critics have pointed out with all too many Italian white wines in general. One such pundit, Terry Hughes at Mondosapore, has been digging for the exceptions to that rule lately (see here and here). Along with him, I’ve been looking to Campania in search of some of those exceptions. The wines I tasted today, though, didn’t quite raise the bar.

The 2006 Falanghina from Cantina del Taburno was corked, so I’ll withhold judgment (aside from the fact that they were pouring it). Their Greco from the same vintage was perfectly acceptable for its fruitiness yet was boring. But then, I’ve yet to find a Greco I have liked much… any recommendations out there? On the flipside of the simple yet fruity coin was the 2006 Fiano di Avellino from Collio di Lapio; it showed intense structure, with both acidity and apparent extract on the palate, yet it was nearly bereft of fruit.

Moving up the boot to Umbria, the Orvieto-based estate Palazzone was showing three of their whites. Their 2006 Orvieto Classico Superiore “Terre Vineate” fell very much into the same camp as the Greco from Cantina del Taburno, perfectly nice yet ultimately uninspiring. More interesting and soundly up there in the “wines I liked” category was their vineyard designated 2004 Orvieto Classico Superiore “Campo del Guardiano.” Fourteen months of bottle aging prior to release, along with what would appear to be better quality fruit, had give it firmer texture and a savory, herbaceous and nutty character. Falling totally flat, however, was Palazzone’s 2005 Umbria Bianco IGT “L’Ultima Spiaggia,” a barrel fermented, varietal Viognier. De Grazia’s signature barrique stamp had robbed the wine of any varietal character, with wood dominating the fruit profile, aroma and texture of the wine. The idea of a “de Grazia signature” moves me right along to…

The reds:
As mentioned earlier, I was a touch pressed for time. So rather than letting my brain lead me to the southern Italian reds with which I’m slightly less familiar, I let my heart lead me right to the region of Italy to which I feel the strongest affinity – Piemonte.

I so wanted to like the wines from Cavallotto Fratelli. I’ve enjoyed their Freisa on occasion and have particularly fond memories of drinking a bottle of their 1996 Barolo “Bricco Boschis” Riserva more or less in situ, over lunch at the fantastic restaurant Le Torri in the town center of Castiglione Falletto. Relatively speaking, I did find at least a little to like. A 2004 Barbera d’Alba “Bricco Boschis Vigna del Cuculo” was still tightly wound and loaded with plump yet structured Barbera fruit. The 2003 version of their Barolo “Bricco Boschis” showed some character, especially for the vintage, on both the nose and palate. Both wines, however, were marred by an overzealous use of oak and were lacking, respectively, in juiciness and nerve.

It was with the line-up from Domenico Clerico that I really hit the wall. Across the board, the wines were over-extracted, over-oaked, inky black and lacking in a clear expression of place. Their 2005 Dolcetto d’Alba “Visadi” was missing both the aromatic nuance and fruity charm of which Dolcetto is capable, instead clamping down on the palate with aggressive tannins and closed, over-saturated fruit. One de Grazia rep called it “not your father’s Dolcetto” (I doubt my father ever drank Dolcetto but that’s beside the point). Another boasted that the wine had somehow gained nuance by being aged in barriques formerly inhabited by the estate’s Barolo…. Ahem. Next. A similar fate befell the Barbera d’Alba “Trevigne” from 2004 that was just plain overblown. Worst of all was the estate’s 2004 Langhe Rosso “Arte,” a blend of 90% Nebbiolo and 10% Barbera done in 100% new barriques. I look to Nebbiolo for nuance, for structure, for delicacy intertwined with sinew; this was loaded with oak and tannins but had nothing else to say.

Clerico’s 2002 Barolo smelled great, with lots of spice, tar and wild red fruits. Yet it turned out to be unpalatable, marred by an apparently dogmatic insistence on using all new barrels in spite of the difficult, slightly dilute nature of the 2002 vintage. Only in the 2003 Barolo “Ginestra Ciabot Mentin” was there enough natural substance for the resulting wine to stand up to the oak and vinification techniques that were thrown at it. Even then, this is Barolo designed for lovers of the overtly modernist style – big fruit, dark color and lavish oak.

A couple of my coworkers who ventured over to the tasting later in the day assured me that I hadn’t missed much with the Tuscan and southern Italian reds. Their essential summation: “Everything tasted the same.”

It may seem unfair to judge de Grazia’s portfolio after going through only a subset of his producers. But my experience at the tasting is backed up by similar past experiences with wines from other estates in his Piemonte cadre alone, such as Paolo Scavino and, in particular, La Spinetta. Like them or not, it’s hard to argue that they don’t fall into a very narrow extreme of the stylistic spectrum.

This brings me full circle to the main message and inspiration of the posts from my fellow bloggers. The Gambero Rosso awards, as with most of the points-based systems used by major print critics, have come to favor high alcohol, high extract, in your face, drink me now wines. That’s just too many extremes to balance, even if a real, honest and truly good wine does occasionally sneak into the fray.

It also brings me to my final discomfit. The dominant trend over the last 15-odd years to reward high alcohol, overtly modern wines that end up lacking a sense of place – fueled by the Gambero Rosso and similar systems – is irksome enough. A portfolio of wines from an importer that, from what I’m given to understand, pushes its producers to make wines to appeal directly to those systems – via the promotion of roto-fermenters and required new barrel aging regimes, for instance – is even harder for me to swallow.

* * *
Related links, aka, flame off:

For a very thoughtful essay on the topic of modernist vs. traditionalist Barolo, see Craig Camp’s 2003 article on the Barolo wars.

A fair-handed piece on the pros and cons of roto-fermenters:
Fast and furious: rotary fermenters have fans and skeptics
from Wines & Vines, April, 2005, by Tim Teichgraeber

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Hot, Hot Wine

“Hot.” So many meanings can be conveyed with one little word. In this case, alcohol level has nothing, at least not directly, to do with it. This is a story about stolen wine. It probably would never have hit my radar if not for an email from my main man in Monterey, Steve. He sent along a link to an article from The Monterey County Herald, "Savvy Thieves Steal Rare Wines from Cheese Shop.” Said thieves broke into the Cheese Shop Carmel after hours just a few days prior to Valentine’s Day and made off with a veritable bundle of wine, including multiple bottles of:

2000 Bond Melbury; 2000 Bond Vecina; 2001 Bond Melbury; 2001 Bond St. Eden; 2002 Bond Melbury; 2003 Bond Melbury; 2003 Bond Pluribus; 2001 Dalla Valle Maya; 1997 Dalla Valle Maya; 1999 Dalla Valle Maya; 1996 Harlan; 1997 Harlan; 1998 Harlan; 1999 Harlan; 2003 Harlan; 1997 Peter Michael Les Pavots; 2000 Peter Michael Les Pavots; 2003 Screaming Eagle; 2004 Screaming Eagle; 2002 6 Litre Silver Oak Alexander Valley.

I’d visited the shop with Steve during a visit in January last year and had also been there years earlier while in Monterey for a business conference. Even so, I wouldn’t normally be writing about pseudo wine news from 3,000 miles away if not for a couple of synchronicities that inspired, nay compelled me to do so.

• An alarmingly similar if larger scale theft occurred within days of this one, yet on an entirely different continent. Do Bianchi reports, with tongue firmly in cheek, on the theft of a thousand bottles of Barolo and Barbaresco from La Spinetta.
  
  
• At very much the same time, Wine Camp posted on the frustration of ordering wine at hot restaurants. Hot as in popular? Perhaps; but more to the point, he was referring to hot as in serving temperature – of wine. It’s a common problem in bars and restaurants, where wine is all too often stored in proximity to heat sources and without due regard to ideal serving condition.

So what does one have to do with the other? As much as I hate to hit a guy while he’s down, I have to say that both times I visited the Cheese Shop Carmel, I walked away only with cheese and bread. I took a pass on wine, not because they carry only absurdly overrated cult reds. There’s also a reasonable selection of both California and European wines. I took a pass because the wine portion of the shop was a balmy 80 degrees. That may be comfy for the t-shirt clad staff members but it’s no good for the vino. Those wines were hot before they were stolen, savvy?

The burglarized bottles will almost certainly turn up on the gray market, to be sold to buyers who are, as shop owner Kent Torrey ironically bemoans, “unsuspecting of their illicit provenance.”

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Pale at Heart

What is Coeur Blanc? Why is Coeur Blanc Special? How is Coeur Blanc Made? Why is Coeur Blanc Made?

These are the questions posed in the context of a full page ad which appeared in the December 15, 2007 edition of Wine Spectator. They’re repeated in similar terms on the branding page for Coeur Blanc, the latest stroke of genius from Oregon’s Domaine Serene. The last question is actually my snidely paraphrased version of another question posed on the product’s website, “Why do we make Coeur Blanc?” Why indeed?

“Coeur Blanc (White Heart) is a one-of-a-kind, barrel-fermented white wine made exclusively from mature Pinot Noir grapes. Gently pressing whole clusters limits contact with the red grape skins so that only the purest essence, or “white heart” juice, is expressed. This delicate approach creates an unprecedented dry wine from red grapes. Coeur Blanc is aged for 15 months in French oak barrels and a further 12 months in bottle prior to release. Enjoy!”
– Tony Rynders, Winemaker

Domaine Serene has already glommed plenty of attention for marketing the most expensive Oregon Pinot in history, the 2002 “Monogram,” released and sold-out at $200 per bottle. With the introduction, and subsequent sell-out, of their latest "new idea," I can’t help but believe that Serene is pulling the wool over its customers’ eyes. In the estate’s own cleverly spun words, “Less than half of the available juice is taken from each grape for Coeur Blanc, making it a rare and delicate style of Pinot Noir.” Hmmm, why didn't Roumier think of that? Or Domaine Romanée-Conti? The whole concept strikes me as suspiciously similar to one of the most typical ways of producing rosé wines, the saignée method, which has the inherent bonus of further concentrating the red wine from which it is bled via an increased ratio of skins to juice. Coeur Blanc is intentionally bereft of pinkness, through a total avoidance of skin contact. But do you really think they’re tossing more than half of the “available juice,” along with all those Pinot Noir skins and pips? I seriously doubt it. What better way for Domaine Serene to beef up a batch of red and build upon its reputation for producing a big, opulent style of Pinot Noir?

If Coeur Blanc was indeed Coeur Rose, and sold for – given US pricing standards – around $25 per bottle, I’d be absolutely fine with it. Willamette Valley Pinot Noir rosé? Why not? But a “barrel fermented white wine from Pinot Noir grapes” that is “extremely limited” and sells for sixty bucks? With that I take issue.

Lest I be accused of going on an unjustified slamming spree, let’s do a little research. According to the Spectator’s Harvey Steiman, writing on Domaine Serene’s own website, “The idea [for Coeur Blanc] came from a northern Italian vintner who makes a dry white wine from Pinot Noir by pressing the grapes, barrel fermenting them like a white wine, and letting them age on the lees like a Chardonnay.” The north, especially the northeast, of Italy happens to be one of the globe’s hotbeds of vinicultural experimentation. A cadre of wine makers there seems intent on trying out new and unusual things, or upon returning to the traditions of long ago. It’s also an area, particularly in the far north, where in a difficult year Pinot Noir might not darken sufficiently to make a satisfactorily colored red wine. So why not give white a try? It’s been done in Champagne for ages, after all.

Oregon, though, is hardly known for its place on the cutting edge of the wine frontier. Its producers are not, as in northern Italy, growing a dizzying array of autochthonous vines – they don’t have any – and experimenting with vinification techniques in an effort to produce wines of either regional character or international appeal. Oregon is known, however, for a growing group of small to medium-sized producers who are attempting to push the esteem level of their wines by styling increasingly rich, heady (and expensive) red wines from a grape, Pinot Noir, which is more naturally inclined toward high acid, moderate alcohol and delicacy of color and aroma. It’s also known for its white wines, usually slightly more moderately priced, from varieties like Pinot Gris, Riesling and Chardonnay.

But white wine, barrel fermented, from Pinot Noir, marketed as a great, new, stand-alone concept? Perhaps it’s just Tony Rynders’ way of saying that Chardonnay does not have great potential in the Willamette Valley. However, it strikes me more as an extravagant demonstration of wine making ego, as the epitome of human interventionism, done simply for the sake of being able to market a new, luxury product. Some might think it’s the wine making equivalent of being the first person to step on the moon. But it’s hardly a giant step for mankind. And I’m not buying it.

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Bachelor of Wine?

In my ominipresent efforts to ensure that the letter of the law is upheld, I've been acutely yet silently sure, since the inception of this blog, to write at a high enough level of prose so as to dissuade the not-yet-of-age crowd from reading the very content your eyes are currently beholding. Heaven forbid, after all, that anyone under the age of 21 -- by more than a couple of years, at least -- should enjoy good food or an occasional taste of wine. It would simply destroy one's future....

Thanks to Professor Bainbridge, who apparently wants the younger set to sample the nectar of the vine and the treasures of the table, for the inspiration.

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Marketing Gone Awry, or Wine as Crass Commodity

Vrac [vrak] nm en – in bulk, loose, wholesale, pell-mell.
– from Putnam’s Contemporary French Dictionary

Image at right courtesy of Bertrand Celce.

Travel through any corner of French wine country and you’re sure to see signs along the byways hawking wine en vrac – literally, “in bulk.” Locals drive up to the local cave cooperative or to their favorite private Domaine, haul their five liter plastic jugs out of the trunk and fill them up from a gas station style pump which taps directly into a concrete tank, steel cuve or old wooden cask. For a Euro or two per liter, sometimes less, they’re set for the week with a cistern full of their tipple of choice.

There’s a clear distinction at these wineries, regardless of size and intrinsic merit, between wine en vrac and wine in bottle. Bottled wines, even at the lowest levels, are representative of a producer’s “fine wine.” Wine en vrac, on the other hand, is bulk wine made up of leftovers, afterthoughts, the lowest quality fruit from the youngest, highest yielding vines, the poorest fringes of the property or the least ambitious members of the co-op. It is wine to be consumed without thought and without much if any expectation of quality beyond, hopefully, rudimentary drinkability.

So I responded with disbelief, which quickly transitioned into a wickedly satirical sense of glee, when an e-mail hawking a Côtes du Rhône and a Mâcon-Villages from a “winery” called VRAC landed in my in-box a few days ago. The wines have apparently been on the market for a couple of years but this was the first I’d heard of them. The message was from Gary’s Wine & Marketplace, a North Jersey shop which, following in the footsteps of neighborhood rival Wine Library, has become more and more aggressive in their Internet marketing efforts over the last couple of years.

I’m not sure what the marketing executives at the French company that manufactures these wines were thinking when they decided to call their wares “VRAC.” It seems the French equivalent of the self-righteously stupid American wine product called “Cheap Red Wine.” Did they think no one would get it? Or were they just hoping that people would line up to buy the wines to congratulate them for their brutal honesty? In either case, at $10-12 per bottle, they’re certainly not being sold at en vrac price levels.

What I really don’t get is why a “fine wine” merchant that wants to be taken seriously would carry these wines, much less trumpet their availability to thousands of e-mail subscribers, complete with ratings assigned by a shop employee. Just because someone out there will buy just about anything doesn’t mean you should sell it. Does it?

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The Question of Corks

If you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, you may have noticed that I’m not much of an adherent to the school of writing short, quippy posts. That said, I do occasionally rant as much as the next food and wine blogger. Lately though, I’ve found myself inclined to take on some larger topics, from an exploration of Burgundy, including a brief discussion of oxidation, to the culture of wine shopping and the frightening combination of “enjoying” wine with a smoke.. Should we bloggers be leaving the big issues only to the “big guys?” That wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?

If there’s a topic that has been bandied about in the wine world more than any other in the past few years, it must be the issues surrounding TCA and the continuing use of natural corks. One of those arenas where science meets ritual, the cork question has captured the attention of just about everyone who is remotely interested in wine. We’ve all heard the debates about the pros and cons of various closure types; even I’ve lent my voice to the discussion, as featured in an article by Rob Kalesse in this year’s annual bar issue of Delaware’s Spark Magazine. The question – What’s up with corks and screw caps? – comes up at just about every tasting event or class I conduct and has become a near daily query in the course of working a wine shop floor. The answer is simple: screwcaps are the wave of the future.

As simple as the solution seems, a comment or article crops up once in a while that is either so egregious or so insidious that it grabs my attention, practically forcing a response. The egregious examples are obviously the easy targets, so let’s start there. While skimming the letters to the editor in the June 15, 2007 edition of Wine Spectator, my jaw dropped in disbelief when I read a submission from a reader in Florida:

“I’ve never detected TCA, although… I’m sure I’ve had tainted wine. It would be interesting to know how many consumers, even serious wine snobs, can detect TCA. I find the whole TCA scare a bit alarmist.”

This is tantamount to a reversal of Descartes’ “Je pense, donc je suis” (I think, therefore I am). If I haven’t experienced it, it must not exist! Sorry, but that’s not how it works. TCA, the taint which can result from the cleaning processes inherent in the production of natural cork closures, is inescapable, certainly affecting 5% at minimum of all bottles sealed with cork. A taster’s lack of experience with how to detect it does not make its “scare” any less real.

It’s the insidious takes on the cork issue, by nature harder to spot, that tend to stick with me the longest and really get under my skin. They’re often written by major wine personalities or published in widely circulated magazines. What makes them insidious is that misinformation or plain wrong-headedness is often couched in the context of a well-written or otherwise smart piece. The most recent article which really made me itch was “Searching for Closure” by Anthony Dias Blue in his “From the Editor” column in Patterson’s The Tasting Panel Magazine (August 2007). Patterson’s is not exactly a household name or a major wine journal; it’s essentially an industry insider vehicle for trade advertising and small tidbits of news and editorial content. It shows up in the mail at work and I’ll leaf through it during the occasional quiet moment. Anthony Dias Blue, however, is unquestionably one of the most prominent personalities in today’s wine world.

ADB’s piece, like any good editorial, is meant to inspire thought and rebuttal. It starts out brightly, as he observes some improvements over the last year or two in the quality of natural cork on the general market. Complaints by consumers and winemakers seem to have gotten back to the cork industry which in turn has raised the bar on quality control. Perhaps this does account for my rather modest approximation of a 5% rate of cork taint, as that statistic seemed much closer to 10% not long ago. He also rightly recognizes that cork taint will never be eradicated as long as natural cork continues to be used.

Mr. Blue gets a bit more daring when turning his attention to synthetic corks. Whether produced from cellulose or foam bases, he decries their use as cheapening the perception of the wines they seal, pointing out along the way some of their faults and the quality problems inherent to their use. I was right along with him up to and including this point. I can see only two real reasons to use synthetic corks, neither of them good.

• First, some wineries wish to avoid the inherent problems with natural cork yet balk at the investment necessary to convert bottling line equipment and supplies to a screwcap system; it’s economically short sighted but at least understandable.
  
• Second, and more bothersome, is a common fear that conversion to screwcaps will hurt sales. Wineries of all sizes seem to be holding their breath, waiting for more famous, more “important” wineries to take the plunge first. As Mr. Blue concludes his piece, “It’s time to be a leader not a follower.”

It’s in the editorial space between the discussion of synthetic corks and his finale that Anthony’s path goes astray. In his own words,

“The screwcap or twist-off is the best of all closures. It is virtually impervious to TCA, it is hygienic, it is streamlined and easy to use and it re-closes effortlessly…. Nevertheless, anyone who thinks the whole wine industry is going to embrace the screwcap needs a reality check. Can you see Château Margaux in screwcap? Not likely. The natural cork is still a superb wine stopper. If there was no such thing as TCA we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I have a solution…. I would like to see a third to a half of all wines under screwcap…. All wines that are destined to be consumed within a year or two should be in twist-offs. If you are making Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc… or any number of other wines that should be consumed young, you should be ashamed of yourself if you are using natural corks.”

On the surface, his argument seems on point (aside from the inclusion of Riesling in his list of short-lived wines). He’s right about TCA and natural corks; without the issue of taint, there would be little reason to change. And he’s right not to expect the entire industry to change, at least not rapidly. But he falls prey to the all too common opinion that screwcaps are not viable for age worthy wines. Mr. Blue also succumbs to the same cultural perception he’s trying to dispel – that screwcaps aren’t suitable for expensive wines – even though he does later champion Michel LaRoche for using them on his Grand Cru Chablis. Why shouldn’t Château Margaux use screwcaps? Sure, there are still century old bottles of Château Margaux which have been sleeping in collectors’ cellars for far longer than the history of the modern Stelvin enclosure. But who’s to say that those bottles aren’t corked? Cork taint does not go away as wine ages. It only becomes more heartbreaking when the wine is finally opened. Furthermore, is the risk of TCA somehow more acceptable when you’ve spent $500 and upwards on that special bottle? Why ask for insurance only when buying your everyday wines?

It’s been a long time since the ivory towers of Bordeaux’s top classified growths have led the field in any area other than outrageous price escalation. To echo Mr. Blue’s conclusion, why shouldn’t they be the leaders when it comes to a clear and simple choice?

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Wine in the Grocery Store?

Taylor, blogger extraordinaire behind Mac & Cheese, left a comment in passing recently:

“....I did wine… in Wilmington! Yay! If only they (DE) could get wine in the grocery store.”

Her comment got me thinking. Would it really be a good thing if wine were available in grocery stores in Delaware? Or more precisely, is it a good thing for wine to be available in grocery stores in general? I’m not thinking of the small, gourmet oriented shops that like to play things down by putting “grocery” in their name. I’m talking about the big guys: Acme, Giant, Safeway, Piggly Wiggly, Food Lion and their equivalents throughout the rest of the country and the world. And yes, I’m also thinking of Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, two big players that market themselves as small guys that care.

My real point is this: to what extent are people willing to sacrifice quality for the sake of convenience? I’m all for being able to walk into the super market, grab a cart and slalom the aisles for a quart of motor oil, some laundry detergent, a couple of pounds of dried pasta and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. When it comes to meat, fruit, vegetables and cheese however, I’ve become increasingly unwilling, over the years, to settle for what’s available at the grocery store. Produce is worth going the extra mile: to the local farmers markets for seasonal veggies and fruit, to a quality butcher or fishmonger for meat and seafood, to great shops like Downtown Cheese, Murray’s or Talula’s Table to satisfy a cheese craving.

I look at wine in the same way. At its best, wine is a natural, living thing. It’s an agricultural product. It’s produce. And I don’t want to buy my produce from a shop that treats it like just another SKU on the shelf. I want it to come from a purveyor who knows and cares about what they’re selling. That’s just not going to happen at the local Safeway. Nor is it going to happen at the grocers and discounters like Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s or Costco that have developed some reputation for their wine selections. Even if there’s a certified “wine expert” in the home office somewhere, their purchasing decisions will still be driven by cost-per-unit, brand recognition or “Can I put a 92-point shelf talker on it?” decisions. And even in a world where a new wine blog pops up every day, where wine courses are offered at every community center and where Robert Parker has become a household name, it’ll be a long time before we can expect to see a sommelier working the floor at every grocery store.

So, support your local, independent wine shop. Better yet, find a few shops that have good selections, care about what they sell and how they choose it, and employ knowledgeable and helpful staff. Then go out of your way to support them. It’ll be worth the inconvenience.

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Eat this, Berlusconi!

In an Associated Press article which appeared in this Sunday’s Philadelphia Inquirer, we learned of a debate currently raging in Italy as to the appropriateness of garlic in culinary applications. Half humorous, half frightening, the article describes chefs and politicians who’ve started a war against garlic as an overwhelming flavor or as an offender of personal space. Like it or not, garlic has an important place in the traditional cuisines of much of Italy, the entire Mediterranean region, large parts of central and southern Asia and in many other cultures of the world. Of course, too much of anything can be bad. But just try some fresh, quality garlic and you’d be insane to want to eradicate it from the table. Julie Barrett of Willing Hands Organic Farm has produced garlic – grown from seed material provided by Keith Stewart at the Union Square Green Market – that is one of the most pristine flavors to have graced my table all year. Give it up? No way!

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Wine and Cigarettes

Let’s start with a full disclosure on this post’s subject matter: I despise smoking. I smoked cigarettes for about two months when I was in the seventh grade. I did it to be cool and, luckily, quickly thought better of it. Against my own better judgment, I’ve also been known to smoke a cigar here and there, say once every year or two. Each time, I regret it for days, which is exactly how long it takes for the burning, dulling effect of the smoke to wear off my palate.

And now for a good non sequitur: I’ve been an undying fan of the films of Jim Jarmusch since the release of his first “major,” Stranger Than Paradise, in 1984. More recently, the 2003 release of Coffee and Cigarettes presented a quirky, edgy yet charming series of vignettes built around the [sub]culture of caffeine and nicotine. It’s up to you to decide whether the film glamorizes smoking or simply depicts it as a natural aspect of social interaction. For me, there’s something dodgily acceptable about the film’s C&C combination, at least in the setting of Euro-cafés, roadside diners and good, old-fashioned coffee houses. However, when the beverage of choice switches from coffee to wine – whether before, during or after a smoke – my acceptance level plunges straight to zero.

What’s my point? I’m not suggesting that the smoking/drinking combination should somehow be banned, the way of trans-fats in New York or foie gras (however short-lived) in Chicago. My point is this: there’s nothing more deadening to the palate, not to mention one’s sense of smell, than smoking cigarettes or cigars. The olfactory senses of taste and smell are the most important tools we have in pursuing the assessment, production or plain enjoyment of wine.

Hey, I’m all for personal choice, but why knowingly handicap yourself? As a casual imbiber or even an acknowledged wine connoisseur, if you choose to smoke, more power to you. Just know that you’re missing out on the full expression that each sip of wine has to offer. At the next stop down the slippery slope, as a member of the wine trade, be it as a sommelier, educator or sales consultant, if you smoke you knowingly diminish your capacity to perform your job functions. I wouldn’t want to take food and wine pairing advice from a smoker any more that I’d ask for music recommendations from someone who is tone deaf.

At the most extreme end of the spectrum, at least to my sensibilities, I am ever and always stunned when I discover that a winemaker smokes. Why is that a problem? As an example, a trained chef, in theory, could follow a recipe and turn out a perfect dish. But if that chef can’t taste the food he’s preparing, how can he be sure it’s at its best, that the ingredients are in balance, that the seasoning is properly adjusted. The same principles apply to the art and science of producing wine. A winemaker could just practice the formulas and principles he learned in oenology school or simply follow the same procedures and traditions that his father did before him. But if winemakers can’t taste every nuance in their fruit, can’t smell the air in their cellars or can’t detect the scent of spoilage yeasts in their barrels or reduction and volatile acidity in their wines, how can they make the best possible produce from what nature has given them?

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