Standing on the Ridge

98 Lytton Springs Vineyard, bottled 12/99
El Niño delayed the 1998 growing season by an entire month; late August brought an unseasonably early rain and some water damage in the clusters. We opened the vines to light and air, and thinned repeatedly over the next forty days as soon as any damaged fruit appeared. Aided by fine weather, we had clean, very ripe grapes at harvest. Intense fruit, a rich structure, and firm tannins characterize this lovely vintage, which will be at its best over the next five to six years. Alas, the severe thinning has resulted in significantly smaller quantities than usual.

— PD [Paul Draper] (11/99)

Now there's 750ml less....

I've always liked Ridge's packaging, from the short silver capsule that lets the winery and vintage info stamped on the cork show through the bottle neck, to the crisp, minimalistic styling of their label's typography and layout. I also like Paul Draper's liner notes, driven by marketing as are all such label talkers but, much more than most, also informative and inclusive of some meaningful information.

There was a time when I also might have said that I've always liked Ridge wines. But as my preferences have changed over the last ten or twelve years, my relationship with Ridge has become one based more on respect than on unabashed admiration. The wines are absolutely well made and expressive — I think it's fair to say they're standard bearers — but they just don't deliver the pleasure they once did, at least not to me.

A side effect of this shift in my tastes is that I still have a decent little cache of Ridge wines, mostly from the mid- to late-90s, resting in my wine fridge. So, when friends from the neighborhood trudged over for a post-blizzard dinner this weekend, bearing gifts of bacon-wrapped filets mignon, I figured it was due time to make a cellar sacrifice.

California Dry Creek Valley "Lytton Springs," Ridge Vineyards 1998
~$25 on release. 14.3% alcohol. Cork.
One of the things I have always respected about Ridge is the ability of their wines to age. Five years beyond the drinking window originally recommended by Ridge proprietor Paul Draper, the 1998 Lytton Springs is still chugging right along, with another five or ten years to go, easy. What's happened over the last ten years in bottle? Well, the wine still does show some of its characteristically raisin-rich Zin notes but on a frame that's grown narrower with age. In a way, that's let a certain elegance show through that, if my memory of long ago consumed bottles is at all accurate, was somewhat less evident earlier on. Now, spicy yet subtle red berry fruit intertwines with cedar and tobacco leaf aromas; a firm yet supple tannic quality and still bright, medium-acidity help the wine achieve its sense of balance. It paired just fine with the richness and smokiness of the beef and bacon, not at all too high in alcohol to work with food.

So what's not to like? For me, and I've said it here before in similar but slightly less kind terms, it's the indelible oak signature born by nearly all of Ridge's red wines. American oak, in particular. In spite of the elegance that's emerged from the good raw materials of the Lytton Springs Vineyard, and in spite of the life that continues in the bottle, there's a wood-driven, cedar-y character that dominates the wine. It doesn't totally obscure the fruit; it just makes it much harder for the fruit's voice and, one could argue, the vineyard's voice, to be heard. It's part and parcel of the Ridge winemaking signature. I just have a harder time swallowing it than I once did.

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Elsewhere in the blogosphere....

Wolfgang Weber recently wrote a piece, which I think deserves your attention, on the apparent prevalence of cork taint in Italian wines. If there's one thing that the Italians, and most European wineries for that matter, could learn from their US counterparts, it's the value of shelling out the dough for high quality corks.

Though I'm sure there's a TCA-tainted bottle out there somewhere, I've never once had a corked wine from Ridge. The high quality of their corks has to play a role in that track record. A trace quantity of tartrate crystals was in evidence on the stopper pulled from the '98 Lytton Springs, but there was nothing to suggest that the cork had been in the bottle for more than ten weeks, much less for ten-plus years.
Also, the frequency with which my wine blogging peers and I seem to find ourselves on similar topics at similar times is a never ending source of amazement. Point in case, I stumbled upon Lyle Fass's recent post about Opus One and, you guessed it, changing tastes regarding oak influence, while taking a break from writing this piece. It's worth a read too, especially for Lyle's take on cowboy boots and suits.

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Buffalo Soldiers

Is there a more quintessential American food and wine pairing than buffalo and Zinfandel? Whatever your answer, it seemed like a good idea when this Memorial Day weekend presented the perfect opportunity for a long overdue get together with some good friends for a bit of cooking, eating and wine tasting. Besides, what better opportunity would come along to try out my grilling skills on the bison flank steak I’d scored at the inaugural day at the Oakmont Farmers Market? Or to open one of the bottles of Ridge Zin that has been collecting dust in my cellar for the last seven or eight years?

Rod Wieder of Backyard Bison has committed to setting up his trailer at the Oakmont market this season and I was eager to sample the fruit of his labors. Though a bit disappointed on first visit that nothing was available in a never-frozen state, I nonetheless eagerly selected a bison flank steak and a package of ground buffalo. After toying with several preparation options for the flank, including the marinade recipe provided by Rod and a recipe for stuffed bison in the D’Artagnan cookbook, I finally decided on the purist route – grilling with nothing other than salt, pepper and a modest rub of olive oil. The method: a hardwood charcoal fire, direct medium heat and all of about three minutes on each side. The results: perfectly medium-rare, an agreeable workout for the mandible and very flavorful. Bison is not at all gamey, the flavors being more like beef but a touch sweeter and a good deal less rich, probably due to its much lower fat content. All of this spelled good tidings for a well made wine match.

Every time I open the door to my cellar – which includes an entire row of bottles with short, silver capsules – I’m presented with a clear reminder that I cut my teeth on Ridge’s wines. Over the years, what once was unabashed fondness has morphed into more of a passing interest, as my tolerance has waned for high-alcohol, in-your-face wines. The upside of that evolution is that I now have a decent number of Ridge’s bottlings that are approaching or starting into their second decade. Just on the cusp was the bottle selected to accompany the bison: 1998 York Creek (Spring Mountain, Napa Valley) Zinfandel. Winemaker Paul Draper’s label notes suggest that the wine should have passed its prime if not headed downhill by now. My experience, however, has been that Ridge Zinfandels – aside from their simplest bottlings – possess a longevity that far surpasses the norm for a variety not overwhelmingly known for its age-worthiness. This bottle maintained that track record, still showing plenty of red cherry and spicy red berry fruit, softened yet untarnished by age and presenting a persistent backbone of dusty tannins. The 14.9% alcohol level hid well and the wine paired admirably with the lean, flavorful meat.

The concept of marrying things from a place can often work wonders in the wine world. Just think of Roquefort with the sweet whites of Southwest France, a raw bar assortment with a brisk, briny Muscadet, or – why not – buffalo steak with good Zinfandel. Sometimes, though, that practice can be taken too far. Case in point: the wines of Ridge Vineyards. I can’t help but think how much better this wine could have been if not for one major stylistic stroke. Ridge insists on pairing their quintessentially American wines with the use of American oak in the cellar. It’s a match that I feel works to the detriment of their wines, lending them an intense aroma of cedar and giving them edgy, green wood tannins. Even after ten years in bottle, when these tones have mellowed, they’re still unmistakable. I don’t think switching to French oak would render Ridge’s wines any less American; it could simply make them better. One can’t help but admire Paul Draper and the team at Ridge for sticking to their guns. That said, we should never be afraid to question dogma in whatever form it takes.

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Relevant reading:

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