2005 Pazo de Señorans 

Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

One of the unexpected fringe benefits of being — simultaneously — something a pioneer, a raving cheapskate, and a man of exacting and refined tastes is finding new-to-us wines. Discovering, much like Columbus discovered Ohio, something to share with those similarly predisposed. Thus far, my ruminations and suggestions have mostly embraced red wine because, well, that’s just the way I roll. But there is much to recommend the white wines once you manage to effect an a Plisskinesque escape from Done To Death. The white wine which has caught my fancy of late is the Albariño from the Rías Baixas, in the Galician part of Spain. Galicia is the northwesternmost region of Spain, and it’s best known for it’s fjord-like coastline and estuaries called in the local dialect “Rías Baixas” probably because a word like fjord gives the Iberic tongue an ambarrassing pain, to say nothing of being Norwegian. But I digress.
 
As a wine hub, this place has made its reputation mostly (OK, solely) on the white wines which are produced from the otherwise unknown Albariño grape, which have proven to be something of a surprise hit. I say something of a surprise, because white wines have also suffered from the dreaded Internationalization Plague, and have often become butterier, fatter, oakier, an so forth. As our taste for seafood grows and our palates learn to discern better, it’s only natural to gravitate towards wines that are crisper and lighter and “racier.” In keeping with this, the archetypal Rías Baixas wines tend to be monumentally aromatic: Herby, citrusy and apricot/peachy all tend to be adjectives that fly around when these wines are the focus of a tasting. Very happily for people who enjoy eating seafood that is not lobster aswim in butter, the Albariño wines (at least from the Rías Baixas) only sees oak when being transported through a forest. This allows its natural racy acidity to help it marry spectacularly with seafood, especially those ultrafresh examples where its briny-sweet character is on display.
 
Of these wines (and you have a mission ahead of you to find a bad one) I’m partial to those from Pazo de Señorans. This winery belongs to a crusader of sorts. In the late 1980s, its owner, Marisol Bueno helped spearhead the appellation, which now benefits from a Denominación de Origen. As a result of her efforts, the appellation was formally born in 1988, with the happy result of quality benchmarks, which in turn begat worldwide recognition. As befits someone interested in keeping things as close to the traditional ideal, her estate is one property among the few still operating in a family-owned model. By design, it has resisted expansion in order to keep up a near-fanatical level of quality. So you can imagine how well-pruned teh vines are, keeping the yields nice and low.
 
Now, the wines of Rías Baixas are very much influenced by the proximity of the Atlantic, which gives the place a verdant character with a hint of salty tang in the breezes. (I’ve been there, and unlikely as it sounds, it does have a salty tang.) Yes, it has lots of rainfall and humidity. This keeps the temperatures in the moderate range and affords the region a very fertile profile. From looking at it, you’d swear the countryside was the love child of Ireland and Norway, with its fjord-lets and a surplus of green, gently rolling hills. It’s on these hills the vines are planted, under which lies rich and minerally soil. Pazo de Señorans is at the northernmost part of the Rías Baixas.

The 2005 Pazo de Señorans definitely lives up to expectations. The color is a pale, bright gold, and it has a minerally bouquet with a riot (in a good way) of apricot/peachy notes. On the palate, you are immediately aware of its dry and crisp nature, that yields to an intense outburst of peach subtext, with additional honeyed elements and a slight richness from sitting on its lees. The finish? You should live so long. Naturally, it’s not oaked and thus is ideal for the lighter, brinier seafoods. Think oysters in mignonette or not overly brash crudos or even simply grilled flounder/sole or seabass, maybe with a delicate herb crust and a spritz of citrus. This wine is spectacularly delicious.
 
5 spades. Yes, 5.

2005 Paul Jaboulet Aîné Parallèle 45 
Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠ 1/2 

As part of my New Year’s resolution to only drink wines that are uncompromisingly spectacular, monumentally food-friendly and absurdly cheap, I bring to you the 2005 Paul Jaboulet Aîné Parallèle 45.

Diligent Vinapediacs such as yourself will recall my waxing lyrical on the California Rhône-style blends and it was in the course of rigorous investigative journalism that I decided the only noble thing to do is sacrifice myself and launch into an exploration of Rhône Rhône-blends. I mean, it’s the only decent thing, right?

I was fully expecting these sorts of wines to prove serviceable at table and none-too-abusive of my cash reserves. What I was not expecting was the near-uniform goodness these wines what can only be called, in the technical argot of the industry, “way cheap prices.” Yes, you could drum up four-figure invoices with a few judiciously chosen bottles if you wanted to. But why would you want to? Unless you have become enthralled with serious wine expenditures as a means to shelter income from confiscatory taxes – in which case, keep in mind my day job is right in that field and I will travel – there is no reason to do so.

One of the very big wheels in Rhône wines is Paul Jaboulet Aîné. Not only in importance is this big wheelness manifested, but also in the bewildering gamut of wines bearing this imprimatur. To give you an idea, if you were to traipse (on foot or, more easily, online) merrily seeking to purchase one bottle of each bottling, you’d be saddled with almost ten cases of generally wonderful wine. In which case I remind you that I will travel to render assistance.

This wine, which I have kindly chosen to focus upon on your behalf, will certainly provide you with reverse sticker shock. The official price is a paltry $10 a bottle, but you’d have a serious job finding it for more than $8. As I reviewed my receipts and tasting notes, I simply could not believe this wine was priced correctly. To be blunt, this wine is too inexpensive and too food friendly to be believed.

In the glass, it is a limpid purple with some crimson, and a clean blueberry/floral nose. The first tastes are of blueberries (What? Again?) and blackberries , with hints (and I mean hints) of currants and sun dried plums and a half-floral (violet?) half-minerally edge. It has a racy acidity and just enough tannins to give it a bit of scaffolding to make purchasing a case for consumption through the next few months an eminently reasonable proposition. This wine is ideally paired with foods that would be just a bit too overpowering for a rosé. An herby crown roast of pork with savory-sweet aspect to play the complementary card, or something along the moderately spiced ragout (sausage, mushrooms, etc.) spectrum if you wanted to showcase a pleasant contrast…that sort of thing.

If I told you it was $20/bottle, you would be right to sprint to your local Wine Shack, but at $8? You should leave skidmarks in the parking lot.

—J.M. Garcia III

A Journey to Napa’s Rubissow-Sargent winery

By Leslie Nesbitt

 “This wine has balls.”

The waiter giggled and so did I. I had just tasted a smashing Cabernet at Ford’s Filling Station in Culver City, Calif., I had eaten there many times and knew the food was consistently good. I was trying Rubissow-Sargent wine for the first time.

Later I Googled Rubissow to see where I might buy a bottle or case in the Los Angeles area. One independent distributor was listed. Several Los Angeles restaurants were mentioned which offer the wine by the glass or bottle. The Rubissow website also noted that they were searching for a person or couple to oversee the vineyard and house. My husband Greg and I joked about our moving from busy Los Angeles to sleepy Napa, quickly transforming into Grant Woods’”American Gothic” painting.

Fast-forward to four months later. Greg and I are visiting in Mill Valley, Calif., and we rent a car and drive to the Napa Valley Rubissow-Sargent estate. (We had queried them online and received an invite to our own private tasting the next day.) After passing through the Napa city limits, we drove a narrow winding road draped by autumnal trees. We were instructed to make a left at the blue mailbox. We spotted the mailbox and turned, leaving the paved road onto a gravel incline. “10 mph,” said the sign. After climbing a few slopes we stopped before a high wire gate marked ”Please close gate; keep the deer out.” I love this kind of discovery and adventure. Totally non-commercial and certainly not gussied up to accommodate the lumbering tourist. Right on !   

Melinda greeted us warmly on the porch of the 105 year old farm house adjacent to the vineyards. It was she who had gotten the advertised job of  house and visitor caretaker! She said 100 people had applied for the job. She has a degree in agriculture and enjoyed the solitude offered by her new post. She told us she has dial-up internet only and occasional cell phone reception.

Seated at a rustic picnic table, we tasted several Rubissow-Sargent blends. (Cabernet Franc 65 percent and Merlot 35 percent.) A rustic plate set before us offered Spanish manchego cheese, crackers and raw almonds. While sipping the richly intense meritage, we marveled at the verdant landscape and hummingbirds that darted by. Indeed we had arrived on a day of warm sunshine and stunning blue skies. A painted crockery vase sat nearby awaiting our discards. Not a chance. Too good to toss.

The blends were both labeled 2003 which we learned means the year of harvest, not the year bottled. Named “Trompettes,” they are part of the Rubissow insignia. Next we tasted a smashing merlot. Flavors of black plums and dark cherry with a rich finish were bold companions to the sharp cheese. Strolling the grounds with glasses in hand Melinda answered our questions, spilled a bit of family gossip* and instructed us in the makings of the wine. Rusissow-Sargent produces just 2,000-3,000 cases each year, well under the 5,000 cases that mark a small production.

The vineyard is wholly organic. Returning to the front porch (think TV’s Petticoat Junction minus Uncle Joe,) the Cabernet was poured. Yes, my “warrior” Cabernet. Memory did serve. The wine’s wonderful density rang out on my tongue. I tasted clean rich lavender and other herbal aromas. The finish was strong and  bold. Each drop earthy and berry-beautiful, just like the night at I was first introduced. Some may consider my choice of blue phrase that night at Fords boorish, but I can’t think of a better compliment. This Cabernet demands a ribald moniker. 

* I took a pledge of secrecy, so shshshsh!

The more cynical among us will note that Chicago’s Al Capone was the last person in America to celebrate St. Valentine’s Day in the manner it truly deserves. Fast forwarding sixty-some years and it takes an Capone-like lifestyle (or shouting about it in rhymes) to afford the big names in sparkling wines. Unless you are sporting a three carat Asscher cut stud in your tie or earlobe (it’s a bit nouveau to go for both), Cristal or Dom Perignon is pretty much beyond your grasp.

When we speak of sparkling wine, we are not speaking only of Champagne or even only of its offspring of varying degress of legitimacy, i.e., methode champenoise wines. There are also crémant wine, frizzantes, spumantes, and so forth. Prosecco, the new kid on the carbonated block, we’ll leave for another time. This is St. Valentine’s season and your Valentine is expecting “champagne, caviar and chocolate.”

We can’t help you with the latter two as this is Vinapedia and not Caviarpedia or Chocopedia. We can go as far as saying that champagne doesn’t actually taste very good with either, not that mant will heed our sage advice, and will force these combinations past unsuspecting uvulae, and wonder why all the fuss and expense. OK. You’ve been warned.

At any rate, the methode champenoise way of making wine is a bit different from your usual winemaking. You’ll note that very few winemakers do both champenoise and still wines. Store that thought for future rumination. Anyway, for more detail on the whole cast of sparklies, click here. The brief version is: The grape is usually Chardonnay, but variations made with Pinot Noir and/or Pinot Meunier exist. The wine, after bottling, undergoes a second in-the-bottle fermentation and the residual sugar determines the sweetness. “Brut” is the second least sweet and the emblematic style of Champagne.

It is the consensus of the board here at Vinapedia Tower that gigabuck non-vintage champagne/Champenoise is a mug’s game. Many of the bottlings generally associated with well-armed gentlemen in white fur coats carry price tags that would make a masochist wince and, frankly, are not especially more wonderful than others with the decimal point scooted over one spot to the left. Also, the “NV” (that is, “non-vintage”) bottlings are made with a very keen eye for consistency in the house style; something which has been perfected after decades of expert palates being in charge.

Another interesting semi-secret worthy of your inspection. champenoise/Champagne wines are available in half (or even quarter!) bottles to a far greater degree than its their still cousins. This is especially noteworthy if your beloved is infinitely likelier to look longingly at the bed for slumber purposes as a consequence of more-than-usual wine consumption. I’m just saying. You save some of the expense (although half the wine costs more than half the price) and bother of storing an opened bottle of bubbly. Beside, smaller bottles make some people gush “It’s so cute!”

Here are my suggestions:

NV Domaine Chandon Etoile Brut Napa/Sonoma County ($30)
This wine is about 3:1 Chardonnay : Pinot Noir (instead of the more customary) 100% Chardonnay, but this blend is geared specifically to afford the drinker more of a stereotypical Blanc de Blancs experience than others which wave that nomenclature. It has a crisp, Granny Smith apple aroma with hints of cloves and nutmeg and it has a creamy and very slightly toasted yeast thing happening there. The bubbles are persistent pinpricks that constantly massage your palate in a refreshing manner, and despite its Californianness, it tastes precisely the way a Chandon from Champagne would. To those sophomore Vinapedics just graduating to sparkling wines this is an ideal Champenoise, with its fruitier-than-usual characteristics. Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠

NV Louis Roederer Brut Premier ($32, $20 for the half bottle.)
If the previous bottle was a Californian that tasted of its France, this is a French one that brings to mind its California cousins, although it brings forth a touch less fruit and touch more yeast creaminess than Roederer’s California bottlings. Still, breeding will out, and the gene pool comes through bright and clear. The color is an apple-green, with aromas of apples and pears; flavors are citrus (call me crazy, but I’m thinking tangerine) and yeast and honey. Maybe even a wisp of smoke and cinnamon/pepper, too. Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠1/2

NV Laurent Perrier Brut L-P ($33, $19/half bottle)
This is for more seasoned Vinapedics. Clearly it stands proudly, hands on hips with its cape flapping in the twilight breeze and “Brut” emblazoned on its chest. Bright gold, it has citrus (Meyer lemon springs to mind) and green apple overtones a yeast thing tahst reminds me exactly of cake yeast when you crumble it. It also has a slight minerality balanced by an equally slight butterscotchy thing. It has a lovely (and lively) “mouthroundfulness” with pleasant spiciness and insistent finish. Rating: ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

Snob Tip: The “regular” NV Laurent Perrier Brut is almost as good and slightly more easy to find. Price is within a buck.

— J.M. Garcia III

Proprietor’s Note: Loyal vinapediacs will have noticed that we stirred a bit of controversy when we posted The Oenophliac, J.M. Garcia III’s, piece, 100-Pointless, on the over-oaked and over-extracted wines that make it into the 95-plus range. One veteran wine journalist from the Bay Area was so upset that he flamed us repeatedly, though he wouldn’t stand behind his words and state them publicly. Still, we answered this fellow’s charges and pointed out his errors, here. When Ted Talley, proprietor of Terra Firma Wines Company, also in the Bay Area, got wind of the controversy, he got riled, too. After reading the orginal piece and our response, he had this to say to our detractor.

Dear Sir,

The point is a question of probability — the highly oaked, overextracted wine is more likely to get fat points. There are very few areas of the world where both of these conditions exist in traditional winemaking. It’s the parvenues of the wine world that have made this the current fashion — and it’s just that, a fashion. Balance always wins, though it doesn’t always get the fat points.

There are very few wines that come in at above 15 percent that can stay balanced. Chateauneuf du Pape, Amarone, Sagrantino come to mind. But the list kind of stops there. And, back in the day (say more than fifteen or twenty years ago), these wines didn’t suffer new oak. Oak is a spice, not an ingredient. Too much is too much.

The problem is that wine is expensive and wrapped in ego. One doesn’t want to look like an idiot, so people gravitate towards the 94-plus point wines, and then that over-oaked, over-extracted sytle becomes the norm for what “good” wine is.

If it didn’t cost $80/btl for a good Village Burgundy from a good producer, you could go out and buy several bottles on a whim and try them and see what you like. But unless you have a fat wallet to empty out at your local wine merchant, it’s a minefield of labels out there and the wine that has sweetness (oak & alcohol & residual sugar) will be appealling and “good” at first sip. But can you drink the whole bottle over the evening and find something different in each sip? Does it change and unfold and reveal different aspects of itself? Or is the last glass the same as the first?

This is what I find to be the case with these fancy Brave New World (and here I include lots of wines from the Old World) wines. Great wine (not necessarily high-scoring wine, eg, “off” vintages of Rayas, Ferrando Carema, etc) reveals something new every time you go back to it.

Sincerely,

Ted Talley,
Proprietor,
Terra Firma Wine Company

Back in November, the Oenophiliac, J.M. Garcia III, posted a piece lambasting the 100-point wine rating scale as all but useless . Knowing the piece was bound to raise hackles — and loving a good fight — we sent out a press release on PR Web pointing to the post. The article was duly flamed, and in short order, by a well-known, veteran wine reporter who writes for some mid-sized papers located in the duller parts of the San Francisco Bay Area.

Without so much as a “dear sir,” he wrote:

About ten years ago or maybe more, Frank Prial, then the NY Times wine columnist, and a very savvy gent, who did not use the 100-point scale, commented on it. 

He said he did not mind it in the least because all it meant was that the reviewer who gave one wine 87 points and another wine 86 was saying nothing more than he liked the 87 point wine a little bit better.

Mr. Prial was right then and he is right now. Your rant misses the point, and essentially says that wine is not about small differences, when, in fact, that is exactly what separates one wine from another, one vintage from another, one maker’s Chardonnay from a particular vineyard from another makers’ wine from the same vineyard.

If small differences are of no import ot you, then you are missing the point. Wine is not a non-differentiable commodity like beer or soap and our enjoyment of it has the same characteristics that we bring to the differences between hamburgers or croissants or diamonds or tennis rackets.

They maybe be good, bad or indifferent, but they are distinct in their differences, and it is those differences that cause us to like one version and not another.

An interesting response, we thought. I wrote this intrepid reporter back and asked why he did not submit his comments through the Tasting Notes Blog so that all and sundry could benefit by his wisdom.

The writer responded, saying that his comments were for our eyes alone. He went on to note that: 

There is no such thing as a perfect ratings system, and it always strikes me as a bit silly when one reviewer or another or one observer or another proclaims to have found the “truth”.
 
As one of my readers said, “I don’t care if you use a ten chopstick system”. It is your judgment and comments that count. I can do the rest of the calculus for myself.”

At this point I was at a loss, as this was indeed the gist of Garcia’s “rant.” I began to suspect that this reporter may have read the press release but not the actual article. We wrote, saying, “If you actually read the post, you’d see that we didn’t claim to know ‘the truth.’ The author, Garcia, did however express an opinion. We’re allowed that, are we not?”

Mr. Veteran Wine Reporter then confirmed our suspicion: 

I will admit that I had not looked at the actual post when I responded. Instead, I was reading the rather more provocative press release.

That’s some wildly shabby reporting. No wonder he didn’t want to associate his good name with his comments. When I was in  journalism school, had I responded in print to a press release without actually investigating the story behind it, I would have gotten an instant “F.” I wonder what the editors at this reporter’s papers would think?

But never mind. Admission of poor reportage out of the way, he went on to slam Garcia again, anyway:

I have now read the entire post. It is more than opinion. It purports to tell people that wines over 90 points are not representative of place and grape.
 
Here is an actual quote: “To get 90-plus points you cannot make the traditional, authentic wine of the region with the native grape. You must ply the wine with oak, load it up with overripe and jammy fruit, wildly astringent with tannins, and heavy with alcohol until it resembles the other 90-plus wines and not the ideal Beaujolais, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo or Chablis. Which means you can’t pair up this wine with paella, or bucatini amatriciana. And that leaves you back where we started. ”
 
What arrant nonsense. Has the writer not heard of good Chiantis, great Chablis, mannerly Puligny-Montrachets?
 
Does the writer mean to say that Matt Smith’s brilliant, gold-medal winning Chenin Blanc is not representative of Chenin Blanc? What arrant nonsense.
 
I could go on forever with this. It is, of course, true, that wines with intensity will frequently score more highly than wimpy wines. But, the issues are balance, adherance to varietal character and drinkability, not oak, tannin or dried grape concentration. Intensity is not the same as excess. Otherwise, the lack of intensity would be the focus of wine worship.
 
And does the writer also mean to say that all wines with oak and tannin are inappropriate? I hope not, but that is gist of what is written.
 
So, I guess I disagree with the direction of the article. I appreciate your willingness to read my comments.
 
And I hope that your interest in wine will continue to grow, and that you will do as most of us do, listen to your own palate and taste wines broadly. No one, not Parker or me or the Wine Spectator or Mr. Garcia knows all the answers. Your palate will tell you what is right or wrong for you, and whether you like big wines or balanced wines or midsized wines, you will find that the best examples of all of them do adhere to the notions of balance, varietal character and drinkability — even if that drinkability is not always immediate.
 
Authentic wines of Bordeaux have never been immediately drinkable but they have been and remain authentic.

It would be unfair not to let Garcia respond. Here it is: 

The problems with the scale, for those who prefer large fonts and small words is that it does not convey what it says it conveys, and it is not useful to the vast majority of non-Gnostic wine lovers. Using that system, not all wines are, in real terms, eligible for the top scores. The commenter said: “Has the writer not heard of good Chiantis, great Chablis, mannerly Puligny-Montrachets?”

I defy anyone to show me a Chianti that has garnered a 95-plus point review from the major wine media that was not oaky and high in alcohol with masses of jammy fruit. Such wines have more in common with other Very Big Reds than they do with fellow Chianti bottlings.

Some have suggested that adherence to varietal character is what earns a wine a 95-plus point rating. We agree, up to a point…if the varietal is Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, etc.  Not so much if the wine is a Barbera or a Viura. One of the flaws of this scale is its glass ceiling for certain varietals. Put bluntly, some varietals, under the present regime, will never earn a 95-plus review if they stay in character.

Another comment chided us for suggesting – we didn’t – that all wines with oak and tannin were bad or somehow “wrong.” Which is, of course, not only drivel but drivel disprovable by a proper reading of the piece. Oak and/or tannin are only appropriate to some wines, and in turn these wines “go” with only certain types of food. If you start making wines with the aim to please the critics, you will eventually arrive at an appalling sameness which leads to a impossibly monotonous menu if your aim is to have a 95-plus wine which complements every meal.

Which is the genesis of the gripe. 

The naysayer missed the point. The point is that the 100-pt. scale is putatively an aid to consumers who — one presumes — don’t have time or resources to go touring the Loire in a Citroen with Oz Clarke. Therefore where it stands or falls is in its capacity to aid consumers in making an informed choice. The 100 point scale manifestly fails to do that. If someone thinks it does, I’d be thrilled if he (or she) were to explain it to me, in crayon and monosyllabic words. We can sit and discuss it over a 95-plus point bottle of Albariño or Brouilly.

My treat.

Although I don’t owe this fellow any professional courtesy to do so, I have elected to withhold this guy’s  name. (Though I will tell you that the names of two of the Bay Area papers he writes for rhyme with “slimes.”)  Futhermore, as a professional reporter, he ought also to know that words like “off the record” and “my comments were are for you only” are completely without meaning, legal or otherwise. “Never tell anything to anybody that you don’t want to see in print” is J. 101.

But such is the state of journalism today.
 

Against the “International Style” 

Tom Wolfe once excoriated the International Style in architecture — those now ubiquitous glass boxes that have sprung up like weeds since the 1950s. J.M. Garcia III does the same for the new International Style in wine, with its move toward homogeneity.

I am one of those sensible sorts of men who places the potable at the service of the edible.

Therefore, I’m adamant the wine (and occasionally the beer) serve the purpose of making the food a higher, better version of itself. The wine, then, is given a sacred duty to discharge: become the means for the wine’s self-actualization. This is hardly a menial role. It is the cement which holds the edifice of the meal together and erect. While expressing this very opinion recently, I was told this was a very French way of looking at things. I was thinking this was very Iberic rather than very Gallic, but I shan’t quibble over what part of the Roman Empire begat this very sensible outlook. I s’pose the Italians may view this sort of opinion in a proprietary manner themselves.

It’s my greatest thrill when sampling a wine to realize I know exactly what sorts of foods will pair off beautifully therewith. “This would be ideal with grilled lamb chops!” or something like that.

There are others, alas, who take an opposite view. They stash away overoaked tannin bombs and then try to pair off these juggernauts with something edible. Failure is inexorable. Why? Because this is what the mass opinion of the wine writers have led these poor deluded fools to believe. If you are willing to take a large, expansive, big-picture view, you’d notice the modern wine writer’s palate has done as much for modern wine as phylloxera. Actually more, because when phylloxera strikes, it doesn’t replace what it destroys with something abominable.

In some quarters, such a representative of the modern wine, er, press could be safely called “Father Christmas” (no, not because mention of his name makes you want to belt out “Oh, Tannin Bomb!” in a ringing baritone, although that’s a proper instinct) because the International Style of WineTM which he has seemingly championed — with its varnish-dissolving tannins, clumsy masses of fruit, blunted and stunted acidity, forests of oak, and hot with ethanol — really have made winemaking very easy for the non-conscientious or expedient-minded vintners; with the added cultural component of allowing them to charge confiscatory amounts for 750ml of abused grape juice. You can’t blame the winemakers, exactly. They run businesses and not charities for the oeniphilically sophisticated. They produce wine to sell at a profit, not wine to store amid glad smiles of knowing self-satisfaction.

The lesser-known French, Italians and Spanish haven’t fully succumbed. Yet. But the 100 point scale is handwritten on the wall. One day, the scion of some grand family (an enterprising lad, who’s been to the city) will rip out acres or, if you’d rather, hectares of ancient native vines and replace them with Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot or some other ubiquituous-yet-incongruous varietal and proceed to make his best caricature of a California clone of a Bordeaux grand cru.

His efforts will be rewarded with a 95-plus rating and he’ll have to hire additional workers to harvest all the ducats which will inevitably be showered down upon him, courtesy of grateful serfs, the denizens of Winegeekville.

And you will have to seek out another unspoiled place in order to find a wine that, when paired with your favorite food, doesn’t make the entire enterprise taste as if one of the more misanthropic Borgias was the steward of the feast.

Think of it this way. It’s as if women of all ages, races, ethnicities and nationalities decided to start emulating the look of Pamela Anderson.

Not that I feel passionately about this or anything.

But all is not lost. There are still winemakers who have declined to, as it were, “drink the Kool-Aid” becoming recusants in the face of the International Style of WineTM, and even some of the most egregious offenders still have little-known bottlings worthy of your search. We cannot turn back the clock, but we can turn back the tide.

Your call.

—J.M. Garcia III

Holiday Gift Choices for the Cork-minded 

By Nellie Day
 
There are a million different reasons to give gifts this time of year: to say thank you to a loyal client, to express your gratitude for a party invitation or to fill your secret Santa stocking. As the holiday season seems to start earlier and earlier every year, the number of dinners, holiday parties, after-work get-togethers and present exchanges just keeps growing.

Though these occasions can be fun, they can also be stressful as etiquette and the all-around desire to offer others something that will truly please dictates that one gift may not fit all. This is not true, however. There is one gift that is appropriate for almost every need and occasion.

Almost 6,500 years after the ancient Greeks gave it to the Egyptians, wine is still a primo gift. But with so many choices and so little time, how is the average person supposed to sort through all the varietals to pick a bottle that will please all the people he or she will encounter during the holiday season?

As daunting a question as this may be, the answer is not as difficult to reach as you may think. The first thing to do is think of your favorite well-known varietals. This is done to eliminate any tertiary wines that may be tasty to the seasoned enthusiast but may intimidate the average party guest. An easy way to do this is to think about where you dine often and what kind of wine that restaurant serves as its “house” wine. Typically Merlot, Cabernet, Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio are popular house wines.

After establishing a few favorites you’ll want to choose brands that are more on the fruity side than the acid side. If you’re unfamiliar with how to distinguish between the two a wine wheel may be helpful, or you can simply ask a clerk to suggest a few fruity labels.
Another thing to think about when choosing the perfect wine is whether or not the person receiving the gift will be serving or enjoying the wine with food. Though it may be difficult to guess what the main dish of any party may be, establishing what will be served as appetizers and desserts can be made even easier by bringing a small dish that will complement your wine. Merlot is sure to be enjoyed if you also provide some salami, cheese and crackers. And a Port will not go to waste if it is handed over in a gift basket containing quality dark chocolate.

Being that it is the holiday season, Champagne and sparkling wines are also appropriate, popular and convenient choices. They are beverages that are often associated with celebratory times, need very little introduction and are not necessarily paired with food. Though prices can range from a few dollars to a few thousand, a good champagne or sparkling wine does not need to cost an arm and a leg.
No matter what kind of party or gift-giving occasion, presenting someone with one of your favorite wines can be a very thoughtful, well-appreciated gesture. Just get a feel for your audience and have some fun—after all, that’s what wine is all about.
 
Nellie is a food and beverage writer in Hermosa Beach, California. She’s recently discovered a fondness for Cabernet, and is in the midst of creating the wine list for her wedding.
 
E-mail Nellie at nellie.day(at)gmail.com

In his latest dispatch, The Oenophiliac, J.M. Garcia III, wrestles with the 100-point wine rating scale… and pins it to the mat. 

We have but one goal in mind: To demystify the world of wine for those who have, heretofore, been mystified by it. Surely a noble calling. Yet we were not the first to take steps towards this goal. Several pioneers, seemingly quite interested in both numerology and viticulture have preceded us. In their wake they have left tools and resources of varying degrees of usefulness. The most famous such tool is the now infamous 100-point wine rating scales used such heavy-hitters as Robert Parker and the editors of The Wine Enthusiast. Now, any vaguely sentient wine enthusiast has, by this point, begun to notice there have been rumors, whispers, meaningful glances and murmurs against the venerable 100-point scale. But you won’t get any whispers or murmurs about it from me.

Instead, you’ll get an unambiguous broadside against it.

Sexy, but Vapid
Sure, the 100-poin scale makes a lot of sense from a marketing standpoint. A “99-point wine” sounds pretty damn sexy. But the sad fact is that, like many things which seem sexy when viewed casually and from afar, it’s actually vapid and meaningless. (Think “Young Hollywood.”)

Better yet, this scale is so meaningless, on so many different levels, that it’s a veritable buffet for oeno-malcontents. If you would be so kind as to notice — or simply be so kind as to trust me on this — the number of wines rated below 70 by the major adherents of the 100-point scale is functionally zero. Why, if a wine ever received a 60-something-point rating, the vintner would probably be subject to prosecution by an international tribunal in The Hague. So, right off, we must admit this is really only a 30 point scale.

Big, Important Wines Only Need Apply
Compounding the uselessness of the scale is those wines that manage to sit in the 90 to 100-point step of the ziggurat. You’d think a wine that scored 97 points would be near the top of its kind. You’d also be wrong. The wines that hit that rarefied air are almost all “Big Important Wines” — Cabernets, Chardonnays, Bordeaux, the odd Rieslings… that sort of thing. Still don’t believe me? Let’s take a little test.

Go to your favorite wine publication’s website and click your cynical self over to the “search the ratings” section. Select a Beaujolais. Now ask the search to return only those Beaujolais with a score of 95-100. How many did the search bring up? None? Now try it with, say, Sauvignon Blanc. Or maybe a Rosé, any Rosé. Still nothing? Hmm. How about Chenin Blanc?

Starting to see a pattern here?

Cynics would proclaim that any wine that’s not hovering at 15 percent alcohol and tasting of a half-forest’s worth of oak stands no chance of the big score. Not I, of course, but cynics would. Seen from a different angle, this means that if you limit your purchases to 95-plus point wines, your cellar will look mighty monotonous. To make things more interesting, if you decide that you want to eat only what will pair well with such a cellar, you have a lifetime of ceaseless black-and-blue prime rib ahead of you (making said lifetime conveniently briefer) with the odd lobster for variety.

Reflect on that for a moment.

And while you’re being all reflective, add to the mix this interesting factoid: The greatest (authentic) Beaujolais ever will never score as well as a Great Big Cabernet from a half-decent year. Stop me if I am spouting lunacies. Then you have the problem that it’s usually one single person who assigns a score to a wine. You’re counting on that reviewer to not have had a fight with the teenage daughter the night before, to have gotten a good night’s sleep, to not have gambled away the milk money in Vegas, etc.

If it was left there, then this would be but a mere annoyance. But it’s not. You see, the average wine drinker, when graduating to more serious levels of sophistication, starts taking these all-but-arbitrary numbers as Gospel. When Chateau St. Nobody gets a 95, and its sales quadruple overnight, other winemakers in similar situations start looking like Uncle Scrooge when he discovered his next door neighbor picking diamonds out of his backyard. For these guys, the ticket to fame and lucre is simple: get a wine rated at 90-plus points.

By now you have spotted the flaw, haven’t you? To get 90-plus points you cannot make the traditional, authentic wine of the region with the native grape. You must ply the wine with oak, load it up with overripe and jammy fruit, wildly astringent with tannins, and heavy with alcohol until it resembles the other 90-plus wines and not the ideal Beaujolais, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo or Chablis. Which means you can’t pair up this wine with paella, or bucatini amatriciana. And that leaves you back where we started.

Do We Really Need All 100 Points?
Naturally, we are not going to dismantle, or even reform, the 100 point scale. (Yet.) Instead, let’s constrict the 100-point-but-really-only-30-point scale a little bit more. If the current scale throws out all numbers below 70,  let’s take it a step further and throw out all numbers below 85. And then, to show ‘em who’s boss, throw out all the numbers above 89. There. We have just hacked the unwieldy 100 point scale to its real range of 30 and then to its useful range of five. To make it even more fun, you can use symbols instead of numbers. You know: hearts, peace signs, My Little Ponies or, like Vinapedia, spades.

So let’s go back to the online ratings experiment, only instead of seeking wines rated 95-plus you seek wines rated 85 to 89. Better selection, right? But what else have you noticed? That’s right. Prices are also far more reasonable. In fact, if you want to have fun, contrast the average price of an 89-point wine to the average price of a 90-point wine. Then ask yourself if that extra point is worth the 20 to 45 percent jump in price.

Answer: No.

So there you have it, a clearing in the ratings jungle.

—J.M. Garcia III

Great Tasting Wines!

by Alex A. Kecskes

From the far corners of the world, there are literally hundreds of wines with unusual names. For example, there’s a Chardonnay called Fat Bastard and a Sauvignon Blanc called Cat’s Pee on a Gooseberry Bush. These two wines are best sellers and are two of the amusing names you might come across in your travels. All told, there are more than 230 unusual labels from as far removed from “wine country” as China, Thailand, and thirty-two other countries offering vintages dating from 1972.

Available every day throughout Greece, Retsina is a style of wine you won’t find anywhere else. Aged in pinewood barrels, the pine resin imbues what is often described as an acquired taste. If you’re visiting South Africa, try Andrews Hope, the inaugural vintage from The Spice Route Company. It received its name from the home of Jabulani Ntshangase, South Africa’s first Zulu vineyard owner.
 
Back to familiar wine tasting haunts, you might treat your palate to The Cataclysm from J Lohr Winery in San Jose. The label — resembling the graph from an earthquake monitor — tells the story of this unlucky vintage: Caberbet Sauvignon from one of Napa’s premiere vineyards. Harvested on 17 October 1989, the day of the San Francisco earthquake. The traumatised vines were then chainsawed and replaced by Merlot: the ultimate in stressed vines. Hasta la vista Cabernet! The back label with the trembling vine giving up its fruit needs no words.
 
A pleasant dry fruity blend of Trebbiano and Malvasio varieties, Est! Est!! Est has quite an interesting history. In 1110, Bishop Johann Fugger’s servant was sent ahead to find suitable inns to stay and was told to mark the doors of those with truly excellent wines.  When the Bishop finally arrived at a small hilltop village of Montefiascone, overlooking Lake Bolsena, he discovered one inn whose door was marked Est! Est!! Est. The Bishop imbibed and the wine was so much to the Bishops liking, he stayed there until the end of his days. He even specified in his will that a barrel of the wine should be poured over his tomb annually on the anniversary of his death.

In Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, wine maker Serge Hochar painstakingly creates Chateau Musars, an exceptional world-class wine from a blend of cabernet sauvignon and local grapes. Even during the fierce civil strife that gripped Lebanon, grapes were gathered under the bullets and rockets of local warlords. The winery was repeatedly cratered by shells, and delivery trucks ran roadblock after roadblock. Nonetheless, wine aficionados around the world were able to enjoy the delightful taste of Chateau Musars.

What? A wine called Fat Bastard? True. It’s a southern French chardonnay that has rapidly become the biggest seller in the U.S. Its unfortunate name arose when Guy Anderson was visiting French winemaker Thierry Boudinard. The plan was to launch a new brand, but they were in search of a worthy wine and name. They then embarked on a wine tasting journey, sampling every available wine. Thierry, who had just returned from a wine making stint in Australia, sampled a surprisingly robust chardonnay. Showing off his new vocabulary, he turned to Guy and said, “Taste zis fat bastard!”

(Try Fat Bastard from Wine.com)

When Kenwood Vineyards set to launch its premium Artist Series collection in 1975, its label featured a tasteful reclining nude, for which it quickly became known to local Sonomans as the ‘Naked Lady’ label. Unfortunately, the new collection had a short initial bottling, for the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms claimed the label was obscene and indecent, so only 50 cases found their way to market. Kenwood protested, whimsically resubmitting the label with a reclining skeleton. But the Bureau nixed this as well. Then, in 1997, the ‘Naked Lady’ was resubmitted. Prudishness gave way to the new liberalism of artistic expression and the label was approved. Now, a decade after its rebirth, one of the world’s most renowned collections of wine can once again be enjoyed by all.

For classic film buffs, there’s Marilyn Merlot (no it’s not a misspelling). Each vintage features a different image of Marilyn Monroe and a unique label design. The Marilyn Monroe image, licensed to Nova Wines by Marilyn Monroe’s estate, has as its beneficiaries Anna Strasberg, widow of famed acting coach Lee Strasberg, who was Marilyn Monroe’s friend, and the Anna Freud Center for Child Psychiatry.

Now for the name you’ve been waiting for—Cat’s Pee on a Gooseberry Bush. How did this moniker come to be? It all started when TV’s zaftig Jilly Goolden described the experience of drinking New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc as not unlike ‘diving into a gooseberry bush.’ Some believe the rather socially awkward name came from her colleague Oz Clarke who coined “cat’s pee on a gooseberry bush.” And so it goes that this description became the name for a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, now one of the biggest selling wines in Britain. In a surprisingly prudish attempt to scrub clean the name, the second word in the name is spelled ‘Phee’ in the U.S. Silly Americans.

By any other name, a rose is just a rose and a wine is just a wine—enjoy!