Gold Hill Vineyard 2004 Zinfandel
$20
Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠ 1/2

Couple weeks ago I took you through my trip up through California’s “Zin Dorado” — the vine-laden strip of foothills along the state’s Highway 49, which abuts the mighty Sierra Nevadas.

Earlier this week I opened one of the wines I had tasted (and purchased), Gold Hill’s 2004 Zin. I’d been over at my lady-friend’s house and we were making spaghetti in meat sauce. We opened the zin and the first thing that hit us right out of the bottle was the strong black-fruit nose with its hint of spice. The first hit on the palate was berries and jam quickly followed by a strong black pepper middle that lingered long into the finish. It was perfect with our mild-spicy pasta.

Here’s the rub: next morning, even though we’d both brushed our teeth, I could taste those blackberries in my girl’s goodbye kiss.

Yowza, that! 

—Michael Mattis, Proprietor

Like Ulysses and the Sirens, The Oenophliac, J.M. Garcia III, is enticed by Central California’s Rhône style blends… Unlike Ulysses, he delightedly succumbs to their charm…  

California wine, there’s a very good chance you started life as a fan of Napa Valley wines. They got the giga-point ratings, had (and still have) all the 600 lb. gorilla names and tons of P.R. Maybe, if you were a madman rebel like I am, you might have been up to speed with Sonoma wines too… you wild rascal, you.

But pretty much this is where it all ends for 90 percent of the people who prefer to drink California wine. Aloha Tom (not his real name, although if you saw him you’d recognize him) sent me a flyer to the effect that his shop, Aloha Tom’s Wine Shack, would be having a tasting of “alternative California Reds.” Eager to expand my horizons, I nodded assent and went.

Other wine regions of the globe have had a moment of discovery, so the time has come for the South Central Coast of California, roughly from Paso Robles to Santa Barbara. Much like Cabernet Sauvignon was the breakout wine for Napa, Pinot Noir has been for the Santa Barbara area. While not bad, my bet is on the wines that are riffing nicely on the Rhône theme. These were the ones to which I was inexorably drawn.

No foofy varietals-driven marketing for me, thanks.

As it turns out, my favorite wine makers are concentrating their efforts on producing blends of Syrah, Grenache and Mourvèdre. This produces results which would make my palate perform somersaults and triple lutzes — if it weren’t firmly affixed to my skull, of course — being reasonably priced and pathologically food-friendly.

Mark you, I mean reasonably priced, not cheap, wines. You’re looking at wines that will alleviate your wallet’s burden in $20 to $40 lumps. The joy and mirth here, though, is that just as much Rhonic goodness may be found at the $20 end as in the $40 end. Yes, these are not as easy to find as the 99 point Huge Oaky Red (on sale for $84), but neither will you need a bloodhound and magnifying glass. Even better, they have just enough — and no more than strictly necessary — tannin support to make cellaring a viable proposition.

As I mentioned, this sort of wine is also very seriously food-friendly. You can practically see yourself at some sidewalk restaurant, drinking an elegant glassful of this with your steak frites in a café in Paris as you ponder going on strike for six more weeks of paid vacation. Think of simple, elegant bistro beef dishes and you’re on the right track. Entrecote Vigneron, steak frites or au poivre, tournedos, or a roast tenderloin… all of these are vying to become best friends with these Rhône blends.

That’s the other key to the savvy purchase of these wines. You want the blends, and you want them labeled as such. Any wine that highlights a grape varietal (in this case, usually Syrah) is going to perform additional violence to your credit card without any commensurate improvement in the experience. So get blendy.

Now, within this sphere there are many excellent winemakers but two really stick out for the purposes of this little scribble of mine; Villa Creek and Tablas Creek. Of the two, the “steal” of the bunch is:

2004 Tablas Creek, Côtes de Tablas, Paso Robles ($22)
Red with vestigial traces of purple… if I had my kids’ box of crayons I’d tell you exactly what it was called. The nose is tickled with hits of strawberry, cherry and oak. The mouthfeel is very rich and juicy. It features a lively spiciness and yet more cherry with other red berry flavors singing backup. The spicy thing lasts a good while. Right through the finish, in fact. While it has the tannic underpinning I’d say they are more “powdery” than dusty and dry. This is wine you simply do not tire of drinking.

If you can score some of the 2002 and 2003 you’ll be very pleased with yourself.

Buy this wine at Wine.com:
Tablas Creek 2004 Cotes de Tablas - Rhone Blends Red Wine

—J.M. Garcia, III 

Faiveley Burgundy Pinot Noir

$20

Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠

We finally got around to trying the 2004 Faiveley Burgundy — excuse me, Bourgogne — Pinot Noir and were not disappointed. We had a moment of panic at first, as the cork was dry and broke in half when we pulled it. But it was a false alarm: The wine had not turned and, indeed, seemed quite well preserved.

After letting ‘er breath for a good hour, we poured and she opened up beautifully. The Faiveley has a pleasant but not overbearing nose of cherry and dried blackcurrant. Its elegant, full structure bespeaks its Burgundian roots and the high quality of the Faiveley terriors.

A wine that would go superbly with flank steak, pork, lamb or pheasant — or with just a baguette and some brie — it took me back to the bistros and cafés of Montmartre. Ah, to be in Paris.

For the price, the 2004 Faiveley Pinot is an excellent choice. Good job, Vendome.

Buy this Wine from Wine.com:

Faiveley 2004 Bourgogne Pinot Noir - Red Wine

The Oenophiliac, J.M. Garcia, III, meditates on Monstant, the little known region in Spain that produces premium wines at way-too-sub-premium prices… Oh yeah, and he also mentioned Japanese Bondage… 

If you’ve been paying even the slightest bit of attention, you know my wine radar beeps for only two things:

1. How does this wine “eat?” and:
2. Does a bottle of this wine require a co-signer to handle the financing options involved in purchasing a bottle?

That said, one thing I utterly abhor is the concept of “everyday” wine. This implies that there are times when the wine needn’t rise above the standard of a shrug and a mumbled “meh.”

Read me loud and clear: This way lies madness.

There is no reason why a wine ought only meet the barest criteria of acceptable potability. Remember, the issue here is not cost. There are enough wines running around for $15-$20 per bottle which leave the muscle-bound $500 examples bound and gagged in the viticultural equivalent of Japanese bondage.

Look at it this way: If you can’t dine with a given wine, all the (misguided) points it has scored and its GDP-like price tag become monumentally irrelevant. After all, nobody ever gets up from dinner raving about the wine and bemoaning the fact the food failed to peacefully coexist with it.

This brings me to discuss the Next Big Thing in wines; especially in biggish reds. I speak — of course — of Montsant (Spain). The wines are invariably spectacular, the prices are closer to outright larceny than retail, and the food friendliness will leave you weeping with joy. This has the added thrill of making it very difficult to go wrong. In fact, you’d have to really show initiative, stamina and dedication to find a bottle for over $30, and even locating one over $20 will take a bit of work. Finding a bad one will take more effort than any sentient human, such as perhaps yourself, can comfortably muster. You simply will not believe the prices. Of course, the world being what it is, these too will likely go the way of those other, previous Next Big Thing wines, which now hover relaxedly in the price ionosphere.

In general, you’ll find these wines to be your best friends if you’re serving something from the lamb-game end of the spectrum, particularly if you’re partial to these foods when accented with something from the berry kingdom. The star grape of this appellation is the Garnacha (Grenache’s Iberic cousin) and as a result, you’ll often notice the spice (ranging from anise to allspice to black pepper) thing going on and also some teasing action from the raspberry/cherry/blackberry seating section, as well as a pleasing floral aspect and minerally core enveloped by manageable tannins that tell you “Now or later? It’s all good.”

While there are several worthy of your attentions, I’m going to suggest three:

2005 Can Blau Montsant (the 2004 is also glorious, if you can find it)
Sharp purple-ruby in color, with an intense and refreshing nose of blackberry, cherry and a hint of anise and “sweet” floral notes as an afterthought. There is some excellent mineral action here too and a very refreshing acidity. Get extra to lay down, these will hold happily for 4 years. I’m thinking squab, but not the ones perched atop your office building. $14 (!)

2004 Buil & Gine 17-XI Montsant
Deep garnet, lots of that juicy, chewy cherry/raspberry thing happening, with cracked pepper and anise singing backup. It has good fruit weight, but it’s not sticky-marmaladeish-dull due to the presence of discreet tannins which act as bouncers. Excellent finish. It should evolve interestingly in the next couple of years. This one screams “game” such as venison or buffalo. $15 (!)

2004 Cellers Capçanes Mas Donís Barrica Montsant
Deep, deep crimson, with an affirmatively spicy nose of anise, pepper and blackberry. The berry thing helps compensate for the good (i.e., not overdone to death) oak and tannins which are present. It has a wonderfully long, fruity finish that will tempt you to gulp it shamelessly. This one could really develop beautifully in the cellar with at least 5 years of rest. But get some to drink now, especially with slow-roasted lamb. $11 (!!!)

Had Mattis not required me to do so, I would not have given you the prices (keep in mind that street price will likely be $1-$2 per bottle lower) of these, because I firmly believe you must experience the full effect of reverse sticker shock without any help. Alas, I haven’t been given the privilege of altering reality to suit my worldview, so there you are.

— J.M. Garcia, III

2004 Monterra Chardonnay

$10

Rating: ♠ ♠ ½

On my way home tonight I dropped by Vendome, friendliest wine shop in The Valley, to pick up a bottle for a special tasting at the office tomorrow. Okay, technically it’s a meeting and not a tasting, but we’ll be discussing Vinapedia, and how could I not serve wine? (For the record, my day job is at Yahoo! Search Marketing.) For the meeting I chose a Burgundy in honor of one of the meeting goers, who comes to our team from France.

But more on the Burgundy after I’ve tried it, tomorrow.

I also picked up a cheap Chard to enjoy with my chow mein and eggroll dinner. This being Vendome, I reckoned that, no matter how little I spent, I’d probably be satisfied: I was.

While the dryish 2004 Monterra Chardonnay doesn’t exactly come at you with a whole lot up front (a little pear, maybe) it offers a nice bit of nut and oak on the mid-palate and a little citrus on the finish. Not bad for ten bucks and certainly a good wine for a little Chinese food.

This is Part II of our visit to California’s “Zin Dorado.” For Part I, click here. 

After visiting Gold Hill, I headed down-slope to little Coloma, the frontier town where James Marshall first stumbled across a few gold nuggets in the race of Sutter’s Mill, precipitating the California Gold Rush, which historians agree was one of the largest voluntary mass migrations in history.

Local Color
I couldn’t help but ponder the historical parallels between that time and our own. The “color,” as the gold was sometimes called, has largely petered out, at least until the point where extracting it is more expensive than it’s worth. When I was a boy growing up in Davis, El Dorado was really just a hill-country backwater, a place of slightly ill-kempt historical curiosities visited at times by caravans of grade-school kids on field trips. Today, wine is El Dorado’s new gold, but at least this time the “color” is a renewable resource. The new Gold Rush was in evidence at my next two stops, Narrow Gate Vineyards and Busby Cellars.

Narrow Gate lies a few miles south of Placerville along Pleasant Valley Road. The tasting room/barrel room stands amid a cool grove of trees through a not-very-narrow gate (go figure) and up a winding car-path. Inside, Teena Hildebrand greeted me with a smile. She showed me around, letting me feel the heat coming off one of the vats of Syrah and explaining that she and her husband, Frank, had been living in working in Southern California, in the fashion industry, and had become “real wine geeks” when they decided to move north and try their luck at wine-making. At first they looked into the Paso Robles area, but land there had already become too expensive, so they explored and, fell in love with, El Dorado. And who can blame them? There’s something gently magic about the Gold Country, a kind of friendliness in the small towns hard to come by nearer the coast.

Teena first poured the 2006 Rose ($16), explaining it was made according to the saignée method, without a secondary fermentation, making it quite soft though with a little tang and bite in the mid palate.

Next up was the 2005 Mourvedre ($17). This lightly purple, youthful, fruity little number is accented with soft cherry and pomegranate — a nice, stand-alone wine, good perhaps for an Indian summer’s eve. Too light in the tannins, I think, to make a really stand-out food wine, some might call this Mourvedre a bit “girlie.” I say it depends on what you’re after, and the drinking occasion.

Narrow Gate’s 2004 Syrah ($22), Teena explained, is “a bit slow,” meaning that it’s aged a bit longer before being released to make it a bit smoother. I immediately liked its earthy nose and the way it sort of opened up in the mouth with blackberries and a little build of the tannins in the mid-palate

It was about this time that I discovered that Frank and Teena are practically family. Frank, it turns out, came up in Woodland, about ten miles north of Davis, and knew my older cousin, Mark in High School.

They say familiarity breeds contempt, but not in this case, and certainly not for Franks and Teena’s wines. If anything, I was disposed to look on Narrow Gate’s 2005 Cab/Syrah ($32) blend even more favorably. Not that I wouldn’t have liked it to begin with. This super-dark wine is made using whole-berry fermentation from grapes cloned from Langeudoc, Beaucastelle and the Rhone and is chock full of black fruit along. It’s incredibly smooth.

The 2005 Dunamis Estate ($32) derives its name from the Greek word meaning “power,” and it is not a misnomer. Aromas of smoke, leather, oak and spice hit the nose right away, before you’ve even stuck your face in the glass. Made from 65 percent Grenache, 31 percent Syrah and 4 percent Mourvedre, this superb wine’s main flavor note is black fruit with accents of black pepper other spices. Powerful stuff.

The acute reader will, at this point in our story, no doubt notice that, once again, we have visited a Zin-free winery, and that this was supposed to be a Zin-inspired adventure. (Actually, Narrow Gate does have a Zin, but they weren’t tasting it that day). Well, some mistakes are happy ones, and I don’t regret visiting Narrow Gate and would encourage anyone who enjoys both good wine and great hospitality to do the same.

Teena was kind enough to direct me to Busby Cellars, where, she said, I could find some quite peppery Zins. Being a huge fan of pepper in all things, I immediately decamped for Busby, a few more miles down the road.

Old Gold
What a difference a few miles make. Where Narrow Gate stand in the lee of a forested hill, Busby’s vines face west and south, drinking in all the hot afternoon sunlight. At the doors to the small tasting room I was greeted with the World’s Friendliest Dog, Hank, a four-year old German Short-haired Pointer, who immediately trotted up and pressed his face against my leg.

Thus broken in, I was greeted by Elliot Graham, who owns Busby along with his wife, Sherrie. Elliot and Sherrie had bought the land on a shoestring sometime around the turn of the century — sounds so funny to write that now — planting vines in small lots when they could afford it, while in the meantime buying grapes from other nearby vineyards, aging and bottling the resulting wines under their own labels.

That can be a really good thing, as the 2005 El Dorado Zin ($16) amply showed. The grapes used in the El Dorado come from three local vineyards, two of which are old-growth vines. This hot little number doesn’t show its age, however, with lots of alcohol, pepper and clove up front, but with a lingering finish.

Then came the 2005 Fair Play Herbert Vineyard Zin ($18). Wow. This was the Zin I was yearning for! It starts a lot like the 2005 El Dorado, with lots of alcohol on the nose, but then, Shazaam! the pepper just explodes on your palate and continues into the finish as if you’ve just had a bite of a crisp Caesar salad with fresh cracked pepper on top. The Herbert Vineyards, which supplies the grapes for this wine, is an older “dry farm” vineyard, that produces really hearty, highly concentrated grapes. That, combined with 16 months in the barrel and three in the bottle, Elliot told me, is what gives this wine its damn-your-eyes spiciness. I love it and can see this as a great wine with prime rib or other richly-cooked meats without a lot of spice of their own, if you know what I mean.

What a great trip: Great wines and friendly hospitality and history all rolled into one. El Dorado is truly California’s Gold. 

 —Michael Mattis, Proprietor

For Part II of this post, click here. 

I lit out for Zinfandel country and other points north last Thursday, just before the Labor Day weekend. I sped up Highway 99 through the San Joaquin Valley and California’s agricultural heartland and on up into the Sierra Foothills along Highway 49, the scenic byway that winds through what was once Gold Country and is now Zinfandel Country.

The lovely little Gold Rush towns, each with its own “grand” hotel, saloon and “opry” house came and went—Jamestown, Sonora, Angels Camp, San Andreas, Mokelumne, Jackson and Sutter Creek. I finally stopped for the night at Old Hangtown (sometimes called Placerville) and hit the sack early intent on hitting the El Dorado zineries in the morning.

I’m fascinated by Zinfandel, the rich, fruity, spicy varietal that is California’s viticultural gift to the world. I’m fascinated by Zinfandel not only because its characteristics are so widely varied and yet so distinct (you can almost always tell that a Zin is a Zin, no matter where it’s grown), but because its origins are a bit of a mystery.

For a long time it was thought that Zinfandel might be a grape native to California. With the advent of genetic profiling however, we now know that Zinfandel is almost identical, genetically speaking, to the southern Italian grape, Primitivo and the Czech grape Crljenak. Research from the University of California at Davis (my home town) has found that Zin is in fact a clone of Crljenak. It is now thought that Zinfandel came from somewhere in Albania or Greece. Records show that the grape probably first came to the U.S. from the Austro-Hungarian Empire, from whose Imperial State Nursery a one George Gibbs brought cuttings. How the grape got to California is a matter of some debate.

Despite all this and the fact that Primitivo was introduced into Italy after it was first grown in the U.S., in 2002 the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau, a U.S. government bureaucracy, declared that Primitivo and Zinfandel were synonymous, allowing Primitivo producers to label their wines Zinfandel and vice versa. California’s Zinfandel producers were not amused, as Primitvo producers could flood the market with cheap “Zinfandels” whose character is completely unlike the California varietal. Ah, well.

The Rhone of the West
First stop next day was David Girard Vineyard, which does not produce a Zinfandel. (So my approach isn’t exactly scientific. So sue me.) Instead, Girard’s focus, according to G.M. and winemaker, Mari Wells, is on Rhone-style blends, which I can certainly live with. First up in the flight was the 2006 Coeur du Terroir Blanc ($22), a sharp, citrus-accented blend of Rousanne, Granche Blanc, Rolle, Marsanne and Viognier. This would be a great wine with fish and light meats—definitely a meal wine, rather than stand-alone quaffer or a picnic wine.

Mari then “accidentally” poured me the 2006 Viognier, which is supposed be reserved for the David Girard wine club, mistakenly identifying it as the 2005 Chardonnay (see below). I promised I wouldn’t embarrass her by divulging the error, but I lied. I had to, because this Viognier pretty much blew me away with its odd grassiness, mild oak and long finish. It didn’t taste like a Chardonnay at all, however, and I said so, which is how we discovered the mistake (the bottles and labels are nearly identical).

Nevermind. The 2005 Chardonnay ($20) turned out to be a winner as well. Made without a secondary fermentation, this Chard has a creamy viscosity that shows right up front in the nose—yes, it even smells slippery. But the real stand out characteristic of this wine was in the mid-palate, where a kind of “stinky cheese” flavor takes over. Stinky is good.

The 2005 Rose blend ($16)—Grenache, Mouvedre, Counoise—is a nice little stand-alone afternoon wine with a cherry nose and black fruit notes with just a hint of pineapple.

We quickly passed on to the Rhone style reds, starting with a nice 2005 Grenache ($18). Blended with a pinch of Malbec and a dash of Syrah, this wine had a rich red rose color, a spicy cinnamon nose a bit of black fruit up front. It’s rich and surprisingly complex.

Next up we had the 2003 Rive D’Or ($18), a truly Rhone-style Rhone style blend, being a hearty blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cab Franc, Merlot and Malbec. Not kidding around, the Rive D’or is a deep red with violet highlights with berries up front and medium tannins, a long finish with a surprise ending of a little sharp citrus tang. Uncommon, to say the least. 

The 2004 Coeur de Terroir Rouge ($24), a blend of Mourvedre, Grenache, Syrah and Counoise is also an odd bird, with a red-orangy color a creamy nose and creamy soft and simple finesse. I can’t see it as a really good food wine, but as a stand-alone quaffer would definitely offer some reward.

Finally, we ended on Girard’s prize pony, the 2004 Syrah ($32). With a dark, pink-purple color and a really creamy, lush mouth feel, plus soft fruit punctuated by a tannic bite mid-palate, this wine one pair well with all manner of meat dishes and soft cheeses. 

I very much enjoyed David Girard’s wines and cellar-mistress Mari Wells’ company, but this was supposed to be a Zinfandel-centric junket. So I asked Mari about El Dorado Zins in the neighborhood and she gave a few recommendations, including Gold Hill, right next door to Girard.

Gold in Them There Hills  
If David Girard Vineyards is a Buick Regal, Gold Hill Vineyard is more of a Chevy truck, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Where David Girard’s tasting facility is Mediterranean-style and designed to the hilt with polished countertops and pure white walls, Gold Hill’s is down-to-earth funky—a bit of working barn walled off to make a tasting room for its wines and beers. Pictures are unpretentiously tacked to the walls and there’s random stuff scattered here and there… You get the idea. I like a little funky and down-home, thank you.

Gold Hill’s wines certainly stand out as anything but work-a-day. I opted not to try their whole flight, this being only my second stop of the day (and I hate to spit), but concentrated on the two that really piqued my interest: The 2004 Zin (of course) and the 2004 Barbera (both 20 bones). All I can say is “wow and WOW.” OK, that’s not quite all I can say: The Zin was great, having a rich, fruity nose and a delicious cream sherry note to it. This continued on the palate as nutty and barky wood flavors took over and lingered. But I have to admit it was the Barbera that was the real stand out. The fruit in this little number hits the nose like a freight train hauling cars full of plums, black currents and dried strawberries. The mid-palate and mouth-feel is creamy smooth with a nicely alcoholic bite at the end. Bravo, Gold Hill.

Return soon for Part II of my trip through California’s “Zin Dorado.”

Resources:

David Girard Cabernet Sauvignon 2002

—Michael Mattis, Proprietor

The Oenophliac, J.M. Garcia III waxes eloquent over an elegant and strong-willed Rioja 

When one is a gregarious sort of wine devotee, one looks for a nearby society of likeminded types to join. Here in South Florida I am fortunate to have—-quite a short hop away—one such society. Based at the historic Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables, The Cellar Club affords social foodie/grapie sorts of people the opportunity to browse and sluice in civilized comfort. These sorts of organizations generally have a broad array of events and The Cellar Club is no different: Tastings (either casual and freeform or structured and guided), winemaker dinners, food and wine pairing events, wine festivals, etc. You get the idea.

One of my favorite of the events on the calendar is the monthly wine tasting. Generally these are rather relaxed affairs, with an array of wines grouped along some thematic spectrum (France vs. Italy, Crisp Whites, International Blends, etc.) and delicious tapas-like noshes to pair up with them. Last night’s tasting dealt with an array of Mediterranean wines. Mostly reds, but a couple of whites were on the tasting cards we were handed upon admission.

Since I am one of those who are adamant that wines are meant to travel alongside food, the trick was to select likely edibles to accompany a given wine. The nice thing about the wines on offer at this event is that they are specifically skewed towards food-friendliness. This is key. All of them proved up to the task but one, specifically, stuck out in my mind:

2001 Berberana Viña Alarde Reserva Rioja (about 16 bucks)

The first thing that hits you is the textbook ruby-red color, and when you proceed to the swirl ‘n’ sniff, your olfactory apparatus gets treated to a good dose of dried cherry with a hint of—no, I’m not crazy—leather. Tasting it gives you another whack of (this time, fresh) cherries as well as other supple fruit notes; I’m thinking cranberries, in particular. Like all traditional-ish Riojas, and this one is definitely on the traditional end of the spectrum albeit in a very good way, it has a noticeable oakiness. However, the tempranillo grape seems to deal with it in a more nonchalant way than many other grapes, so this isn’t bothersome in the least. What you notice mid-palate is a very delicate balance this wine offers, with excellent acidity, brightness and lush mouthfeel, to say nothing of the very, very compliant tannins that add character without trying to sandpaper off your tastebuds.

No easy feat, that.

This wine worked exceptionally well with Manchego cheese and Serrano ham, and I could easily see it getting along wonderfully with roast turkey. Think Thanksgiving: It’s not too early! Also felicitous would be pairing this wine with lighter roasts (especially sweet-inflected ones such as game dishes as influenced by Andalusian, Sicilian and North African cuisines) and anything in which caramelized onions and/or roast garlic feature prominently.

Many Rioja producers are off on a tear chasing marquee reviews on one 100 point scale or another, eschewing what makes a wine typically Rioja in favor of something addled with The Usual International Monster Red Wine Grapes. Oh, yeah, it also makes an excellent all-around, go-to, default wine for your next tapas bash. Something the Big Monster Red (regardless of provenance) cannot say as it seeks your electoral support.

—J.M. Garcia III

2005 Coppola Diamond Claret
$20

Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠

I’ve got to admit to a soft spot for just about anything Coppola. It’s not just that The Godfather and Apocalypse Now stand as two of the greatest films in American cinema. Rather, it has to do with San Francisco, and North Beach, where Francis Ford Coppola owns a large, and lovely, flatiron-style office building, and the fact that he was an investor in Enrico’s, the old-school watering hole where I worked for several years. Ever imperious, Coppola would sometimes hold court in the dining room, entertaining big shot actors like Nicolas Cage and Matt Dillon.

So when Coppola went into the wine biz, I figured his wines would be as big and chewy and expansive as his films and as himself. Thus far he has not disappointed—at least not on the The Godfather III level.

But it was a bit of a surprise when I came across Coppola’s 2005 “Claret” on the bottom shelf in the wine section of my local Right Aid (don’t ask). “How odd,” I thought. But then I began to think a little more and decided perhaps that labeling a wine “Claret” was perhaps part of the reason this more than serviceable food wine found its way into the oenological remaindered bin. Fact is, hardly anyone in the U.S. knows what claret is.

For the record, claret—pronounced “claire-ette” not “claire-ay”—is the English term for a Bordeaux blend, based on Cabernet Sauvignon, but which may also include Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Petit Verdot, Malbec, and Carmenere. Dyed-in-the-wool British oenophiles will insist that the only true claret is one that comes from Bordeaux, but since this is not a protected term, winemakers everywhere are free to use it… if they want their wines not to move, that is.

In the U.S., Bordeaux-style blends are often sold under the moniker “Meritage,” and there is a Meritage Association which was founded to help ensure the quality of U.S.-made “claret.” (For more on this, see the Red Blends & Regionals section, and my previous article “Grin and Claret.”) I’m not sure “meritage” is any more familiar a term than “claret,” but whatever.

Anyway, if there’s one word that sums up Coppola’s 2005 Claret it would be “spicy.” Ol’ Francis is definitely not fucking around with this bad boy. It’s bold, tannic and forward, with a chewy mouth feel that’s like sucking on warm, peppery pebbles. This claret would go great with a really big steak or chop, but also with a big bowl of spaghetti. And I can tell you for certain that it was absolutely bang-up with the two chimichangas and the handful of almonds I ate for dinner last night.

Claret Links from Wines.com:

Francis Coppola 2004 Diamond Claret - Bordeaux Blends Red Wine

Newton 2005 Claret - Bordeaux Blends Red Wine

—Michael Mattis, Proprietor