There’s some crazy stuff going on in Oregon these days. There’s energy and inspiration in spades, while a desire to let the vineyard sing in the wines both drives that energy and infuses it with the kind of humility that seems to be the common denominator among people who produce truly expressive vino.
Lately, the Boss (aka “the Accomplice”) and I have been hanging out at SE Wine Collective, on Division street in Portlandia. The brainchild of owners Kate and Thomeas Monroe, it’s sheer brilliance, a place where a half dozen or so producers share equipment and space, allowing all the space and the gear to realize their various projects without the considerable investment of setting up shop solo. With a restaurant that doubles as a retail outlet, it’s essentially both studio and performance space for some of the area’s most talented, up-and coming wine producers.
Better still, it’s temple of wine passion and serious geekdom, with the restaurant offering a small, but incredibly well-chosen selection of wines from around the world to complement the menu and the resident wineries’ offerings. Last Friday, when I was there to meet my good friend Barbara Gross, of Cooper Mountain Vineyards, Thomas insisted we begin with a flight of chenin blancs from various regions from Vouvray to the Willamette Valley to Walla Walla (Thomas makes several superb, terroir-driven chenins blanc, under his mmmmm, which are, sadly, presently sold out until the release of the new vintages - - more about Thomas and Kate’s wines in another post).
Onward, then, to tasting though more wines from the Collective, a few new Cooper Mountain releases that Barbara brought along (getting more and more impressive with every vintage—more on that soon, too) and barrel sample of a Chardonnay that Thomas is making with fruit from cooper Mountain. Great stuff.
I’ve come to think that great wine is a lot like the printed word, or music – it’s best when enjoyed and explored in good company—and truly amazing when you have the opportunity to taste wine with people as passionate, inquisitive, experienced and humble as Thomas and Barbara. I could’ve hung there all evening – and am sure to be back soon. If you’re down in P-town you should check it out!
Lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer … (with apologies to Nat Cole).
While being a “person of a certain” age has its obvious downside, there’s plenitude of reasons to be grateful, if not downright cheerful, not the least of which are those lovely little “aha” moments that go hand in glove with no longer having time to burn on [meaningless projects].
I’ve been re-discovering lately just how little interest I have in anything that smacks of more, bigger, louder, lusher, richer and all those other turn-up –the-volume sorta things, especially when it comes allocating brain cells and liver function. Keep chasing after that stuff and all you’ll do is chase, ‘cause more always begs another more, right?
Just got a mail advertising some new Washington releases. A brand new round of the the usual fare: Blockbuster! Plush! Brand new oak! Concentrated! A gazillion months of brand new oak! Concepts! Techniques! I’m thinkin’ I’ll hafta keep my wallet in my pocket and miss that one. Oh well.
Meanwhile, right up my alley, I had the opportunity and absolute pleasure last week to join a crew of local wine industry types at a lunch and tasting with Luca Currado of Vietti. The wines were, of course, incredible – and for this go-‘round we’ll skip an attempt at description that’d be predestined to fall far short of doing them justice. My only advice is to pick up a bottle of anything Vietti and let the wine tell the story. You’ll see what I mean.
That story is all about the place, and one of them most remarkable stories about vignaioli like Luca is the depth of thought and humility with which they approach their roles as translators of place. While the hallmark of New World winemakers is to use technique to “make” grapes into wines of a certain style, the Old World approach is to use whatever technique best permits the character of the vineyard to speak in the wine. It’s not about making a stylistic imprint as much as it’s about staying out of the way, subtracting one’s own ego and not leaving a signature. Think accompanist, rather than soloist, as our friend Jean-Pierre Vanel often says.
As Luca says: “I don’t care anymore about making wines to please people. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but all I want to do is to make wines that tell the story of the vineyard.” (I don’t know about you, but I’m hard pressed to find anything arrogant in that statement. ) Later, as I complimented him on the wines, he smiled and said “grazie, ci proviamo (we try).”
In your obedient correspondent’s humble opinion, that’s grace – something you can taste in a wine that’s made with passion and humility, but that no amount of money or ego can buy. But grace requires that you pay attention. It's not a blockbuster, it won't blow you away. But it's there for the taking, whispering stores of enchantment and down-to-earth, honest dirt.
And that, as Martha says, is a good thing.
Everyone knows that: Rosé and riesling are sweet wines (and sophisticated people don’t drink sweet wine), white wine is the pairing of choice with fish, Italy and Spain are all about red wine, big brands are big because they’re the best, Lambrusco is the soda pop of red wines, white wines should be served very cold, and only a hayseed would ever dream of chilling red wine. You know.
Well dang. Isn’t it amazing how completely wrong conventional “wisdom” can often be? I mean, not just a little bit misguided, or not quite right, but completely, thoroughly, barking-up-the-wrong-tree erroneous? I can personally testify, cross my heart, Scout’s honor that the above “truths” ain’t necessarily so. Which serves to make your summer a heckuva lot more more delicious, particularly because of the temperature thing.
The fact is that, year-‘round, most of us drink our whites way too cold and our reds way too warm. Most of us are familiar what happens to aroma as its source is chilled – it vanishes, by degrees. Chill that bottle of grower Champagne or white Burgundy to near freezing and you essentially squander the loveliness your hard-earned ducats bought. Just be cool, not ice cold and your reward is refreshment and the full pleasure of all discovering all the nuance and charm your wine has to offer.
On the other hand, drinking a red wine at “room” temperature often volatilizes the alcohol, making it seem disjointed and out of balance. Crank up the temperature a notch or two on a warm summer day and things can really get out of whack, pretty much taking all the pleasure out of a nice bottle of red. Granted, a big, powerful, tannic red is less likely to sound very refreshing on a toasty day, but a fruity Beaujolais, a young Rioja, a grenache-based Côtes du Rhône, or a nice fresh Dolcetto (not to mention a savory Lambrusco) are often not only the perfect match for warm weather fare, but all the more refreshing with just a hint of a chill. Not cold, mind you, but just a few degrees above “cellar” temperature—somewhere between 50 and 60 degrees, depending.
So, thirsty for something red with your al fresco dinner? Just chill, the possibilities are endless.
Free your palate…
I love the Vigneron Indépendant logo. It makes me smile, calls to mind all the reasons beyond a paycheck that I’m in this business, makes me think of France and all the cool people we work with from over there, and ultimately—makes me thirsty. When it comes to the wine-y things that matter most, it says it all: vigneron—the idea of vine-grower versus winemaker; hard work and, most of all, independence.
Independence. It’s a big idea, requiring more time and effort to wrap one’s brain around than most of us generally allocate it. The idea (and its mmmmm) infuses just about everything we buy, eat, drink, do or think here in the land of the free. It’s everywhere, and in everything --but like all of the truly good things in this life-cycle, you have to think about it and choose to exercise it, or effectively abdicate it.
So, ahem, here you go. Riffing on my contention that wine is a metaphor for everything, voilà my little wine-themed attempt at making like Thomas Paine on Independence Day.
Big, corporate “wineries” are no different than religious sects, political parties or Wal-mart. Choosing brand x over to wine a, or Big Box over friendly neighborhood guy, is just that – matter of choice. Those who have something thing to sell, (and in particular a lot of it), generally need a little help to move all that product. Think hearts and minds. Big marketing budgets and sheer ubiquity are the most potent means of peddling the corporate kool-aid, playing off our innate tendency to equate sheer might (in all its various forms) with right. Not to mention the promise of whiter whites, a greener lawn, shinier car and the envy of the ever-present Joneses. Buyer beware. Freedom ain’t free --but, fortunately, mental exertion is its most basic currency. When it comes to wine, it's liberating to think before you drink.
To paraphrase Terry Theise, you should drink wines from independent producers if you’d rather buy REAL wine from a person, a family or a farmer than product from a factory. You should drink wines from independents if you’d rather support someone who thinks you’re a human, rather than a “consumer.” You should drink such wines if you want to drink wine that’s expressive of where it grew and who grew it. Most of all, you should drink it if you want to fill your glass with a vital, expressive, character-driven wine that’s good for your soul.
Finally, the law of the land may say that money is speech and corporations are people – but that doesn’t mean that you, as a free, thinking person, need to fuel that speech or personhood with the fruits of your toil – much less for soulless product.
Life is short. Make every glass count.
…and [everything else] will follow. Vive les indépendants!
I just read a short interview in Relix magazine the with singer-songwriter extraordinaire Rodney Crowell – he of Emmylou Harris’s original “Hot Band”, the source of more hits than you can shake a gold record at and an amazing discography of his own, impressive work. Like many of my favorite wines, yet another example of the most amazing stuff that almost no one has ever heard of. Bizarre. Anyway ... a couple thoughts in the piece prompted some extended riffing on one of my favorite themes, music in terms of wine, and vice-versa.
In the article, he talked about how his approach to both live shows and recording has evolved over the years, from a production to a performance-oriented approach — much as a non-interventionist approach to “making” wine is founded on aiding and abetting what vineyard and vintage provide; one in which the vigneron assumes the role that Stefano Inama or Jean-Pierre Vanel refer to modestly to as that of accompanist.
Rodney Crowell views the work of songwriting humbly, relying on a blue collar work ethic and the patience of a “song whisperer” to appease the muse. His take on both recording playing live are equally modest — and refreshing: “I like to take production out of the mix."
"It’s all about performance,” he says of recording. “There were a lot of years when I operated from a production angle and as I’ve gotten older and more confident in myself as a guitar player and singer I have become more interested in the performance ... Part of the romance of our recording process is we ditched the headphones and figured out how to play without them. That put us in a different mindset.”
And each night on tour, fans should expect a slightly different, if no less spiritual, interpretation of the songs. “I have no interest in reproducing a song the way it was on the record” he says. ”You can use certain musical signposts, but as far as dragging musicians around with me so they can recreate what someone else did night after night, that’s not of interest.”
Performance versus production makes for an apt wine metaphor (as does the songwriter who views their role as a conduit for inspiration, rather than its source). Wine-wise, there are, obviously, the ubiquitous mega-labels where the goal is to make fruit into a product that’s identical vintage in, vintage out. But production isn’t the sole domain of mass-market brands, it’s also an uber – upscale tool, as producers pander to the palates of the wine press, manipulating fruit in search of the magic metrics that generate 90 point ratings.
If having your good old, reliable glass of La Crema or 14 Hands is your ticket to paradise, that’s what you ought to be drinking and you won’t get any argument from me. And if you’ve got the palate (and the pocketbook) for big points, hats off to you and your good fortune. Likewise, Top 40, flawless studio production, 16 tracks of overdubs, ear-saturating digital delay and lush string arrangments make your ears sing, turn it up. Or catch it “live” with every lick a faithful reproduction of the album, just the way it was back in the day. Sounds fine to me.
But for my time (and money), I’ll take the humility of the songwriter who embraces a blue collar work ethic to be worthy of the muse, whose variability – imperfection even, of live performance, who’ll roll the dice, betting on the maginc that happens when the musicians just play, whose shows are different every night in every town. And I’ll wash it down with wine made by a guy who’ll never even dream of making enough wine to be a household name, who has dirt on is hands, makes wine with sweat and toil rather than a spreadsheet, who knows his vineyards like the back of his hand &emdash; and bets the farm on the magic of the amazing interplay of vines growing in a no-other-place-like-it piece of dirt, nourished by a never-to-be-repeated rhythm of sun, wind, rain, night and day. That’s not just a performance ... that’s art. And there’s nothing else like it.
(Stefano Inama evangilizing in Soave )
There are probably as many ways to go about the business of selling wine as there are folks who get up in the morning to do just that. But all that variety pretty much amounts to variations on a handful of basic themes – of which a couple in particular seem, if not mutually exclusive, then mighty divergent at the least.
Back in the day, when I was just starting out in the wine biz (when it was just the job I happened to have at the moment, no thought whatever of “career”), it seemed to me that that success amounted to becoming versed in the hierarchy of brands and attaining the credentials to hawk the “good stuff” – the wines that were revered in the pantheon of upwardly mobile adoration.
Which works, of course. It’s hard to argue with the idea of selling “stuff that sells itself.” Except, as we eventually discover, the Emperor has no clothes – and the “good stuff” often really isn’t so good. (“Grande Marque” Champagne is a great example—for the most part, average, mass-produced, tarted-up fizzy wines, with huge marketing budgets, a luxury reputation and a spellbound customer base).
What’s left once you realize that a lot of the hype is just that? The “Vignerons Indépendants” motto says it all: Authentic Wines and Personalities. Think small guys, farmers, families, often fiercely passionate souls who set out to put the soul of a place in every bottle they make. Not luxury goods, just the goods. Real wines, for real people to drink…every day.
In an almost resolutely brand-conscious world, selling those goods takes a little work. But once you’ve had those flavors in your mouth, there’s no going back…and things can start to feel a little bit Quixotic. Eventually, you come to realize that it’s all about evangelizing. Tell the stories, get folks to take the leap of faith on something they’ve never seen before, share the love. Talk, talk, talk and talk some more. Broadcast it, baby.
It isn’t always uphill, though. Along with all the great wine and people, sometimes you get a tailwind, too. Last week, Seattle Sommelier Christopher Chan graciously invited me to join him, along with local wine entrepreneur, personality and ambassadot David LeClaire on his “Happy Hour Radio.” Once past the anxiety of talking into a conduit to who-know-how-many ears, it was a blast. A chance to essentially hang out and taste with two very bright, experienced, discerning palates—and talk about wine. To talk about wine, and through the magic of radio, have a conduit to those who-know-how-many folks’ ears. Brilliant. Check it out, right here:
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it’s 82 degrees and my mid-afternoon reveries are turning to Jerez. My friends Laine and Toni just texted photos of the Manzanilla they’re enjoying – on tap, no less, in NYC. Sounds like a plan. While there isn’t a Sherry bar in this burg (yet?), I know what to do.
Hasta luego, y'all...
Nebbiolo. Palms poised over the keyboard, at the ready, bent on saying something pithy, insightful, maybe even flat-out brilliant (how’s the song go -- set my sights on heaven and I wind up on the floor?). I type the word nebbiolo, my mind gets all cluttered, and here I am, Sogni di Nebbioloten minutes later…
But isn’t that the way with things you love? And isn’t it extra appropriate with nebbiolo, pinot’s Italian counterpart? Precocious, enigmatic, ineffable, a kaleidoscope of unfolding nuances, a flower of layered textures and flavors that allude and infer while playing an always unfolding counterpoint of theme and variations. Like great Burgundy, a blessing and a curse. Taste one great bottle and you’ll never be the same, seized with thirst that can placated, but never satisfied. A thirst whose the quenching begets still more – and stronger -- desire.
So. Forget the stab at description, toss any delusion of brilliance. The Accomplice came home with an open bottle of this ridiculously affordable, amazing delicious Barolo from Damilano. Lecinquevigne is, as the name suggests, blended from nebbiolo grown in five distinct townships within the Barolo DOC. You want brilliance? This is it, for a relative song. Meanwhile, take note of the Damilano name. While the family business has roots in the region that go all the way back to the 1890’s, the winery has begun a remarkable renaissance under the management of the family’s fourth generation, Paolo, Mario and Guido Damilano.
Over the past several years, the family have added parcels of some of the most expressive vineyard in Barolo to their holdings, making them a force by sheer dint of the quality and quantity of vines under their control. More important (and impressive) however, is their commitment to expressing the incredible, ineffable place that is Barolo in their wines. The Damilano family feel that having such a stake in the region implies a responsibility and their winemaking philosophy is to do their utmost to render that incredible sense of place in their wines.
Having had an opportunity recently to taste through wines from all the Damilano Crus, the wine in the bottle is without exception a testament that they’re succeeding -- magnificently. Do I think highly of the wines? I’ll put my money where my mouth is… you can bet there’ll be plenty of Damilano wines gracing my cellar, and my table for a long time to come.
Thank heavens. It’s now been officially deemed OK to drink Languedoc - Roussillon wines by that most Esteemed of Mouths, Monsignor Advocate, Bestower of Scores, Robert Parker.
Our good friends at Domaine La Madura, Nadia and Cyril, sent us a piece of promotion from the CIVL (that’s the Conseil Interprofessionnel des Vins AOC du Languedoc – see why they go with the acronym?) touting the 2013 vintage (a highly tout-able vintage, I’m here to humbly testify), that included the following quote from His Bobness:
“The wine world is going to get less elitist. Good value for the money and good volumes of sunshines wines like from the Langeudoc – Roussillon will be full steam ahead in 2014, in amore global democratic shift in the core range. It’s good news for both the consumer and the Languedoc.”
Whew. Glad to know that things are getting less elitist and more globally democratic (whatever that means). Makes me feel vindicated, and just that much less Quixotic in having spent pretty much an entire career thinking that wine oughtta be less uppity. Ally-ally-oxen-free, do we get amnesty for having promoted the heck out of the Languedoc for these past five years, before it was officially recognized (and given the Bob-speak moniker of “Sunshine Wines”, no less)?
Hallelujah! Good news for the consumer and the Languedoc. Humble consumers are no longer squandering their dough on “pointless” wines, and the producers in the erstwhile backwater may now consider all that manna anointed, sanitized, legal tender.
But, I wonder, does the blessing apply only to über ripe, oaked-up examples or does the entire region get a pass? Never mind, I’m drinking St. Chinian to celebrate, before Napa appeals the ruling.
I’m just sayin’…
While pink, in all its amazing shades, is on my palette of flavors year-round, something magic happens as late winter turns to spring. Just like that, the light is all different, colors start their brilliant metamorphosis and although we all know that it ain’t really gonna quit raining ‘til the 5th of July, everything is just a little bit brighter, in every sense of the word. Lighter shades red of transcend their places in the cast of tasty options, to the star status of full-blown cravings.
Today, I’m thinking Tavel. Monsieur Soleil inspires me to hues of pink, but that cool edge to the breeze makes me want the warmth of red, something heady, bright, grenache-ish, Rhône-ish, with spicy red fruit and that inimitable stony undercurrent.
Tavel, baby. France’s only appellation that’s devoted solely to pink wine. Refreshing, cool and dry, with a heart that beats red fruit, and recites poetry with a garrigue-y accent. Blood oranges and raspberries, the citrus accented with the bitter edge of the rind, just-ripe berries imprinted with the incredible earthy tinge of their skins, the enticing hint at bitterness that plays perfect counterpoint with fruit.
This, of course makes me hungry. Like all the best wines, it’s best with the companionship of some mets, particularly savory things. Perfect with sardines, anchovies or escargot in a very simple preparation. Fresh greens, chèvre or other piquant cheeses, jambon, olives… see where this is going? As for me, I’m inspired, thirsty, hungry -- and going to the store...
Words. Wine. Song. Voila, the three realms that give color, flavor, texture and an esquisse (sketch) of sense to this old boy’s romp through the life cycle. While each in its own way is hugely responsible for forming the collective bundle of pleasure, pains and ideas that led to my particular here and now, they all more or less inform and color one another (quite handy when it’s time to reach in the metaphoric bag o’ tricks). I often think of books in terms of wine, music in terms of books, wine in terms of music...and so forth.
I find this little habit of mind especially useful when tasting wine. Thinking of wine in terms of music doesn’t just make for a nice set of metaphors, it’s actually an amazingly precise way to describe—and evaluate—wine. Texture, ripeness, residual sugar and alcohol readily lend themselves to orchestral or acoustical interpretation. Think of red Burgundy in terms of Debussy, brilliant, elegantly balanced whites as Mozart (or Beethoven) string quartets, and the Rhone as Ravel’s orchestral works (for example). On the other side of the Atlantic, old school California cabs are the Stan Kenton band, while Zinfandel is a bad-ass tavern band…and all those overripe, over-oaked, ego-centric expositions of plushness are everything from a metal band turned up to 11 to “smooth jazz” laced with layer upon layer of digital delay—walls of lush, silky, sentimental, processed sound. Oak is the wild card, the magic tool, the special touch, the producer’s ace, everything from lush strings to saccharine vibrato --think Leonetti Cellars wines channeling Kenny G offering a prime example (for those who have the means).
Perhaps the most useful musical reading of wine is in terms of basic harmony. The basics, the roots, the timeless stuff that gave birth to most of everything else that matters, musically. Think Bach chorales, for example. Four voices: Soprano, alto, Tenor, Bass. In well-balanced, cleanly rendered wines, all voices sing clearly, cleanly and in harmony. Solo or featured voices will stand out, of course, due to varietal or vintage considerations, but the parts should always all be present. White wines, for example, should see the soprano as featured soloist, or in strong support of an alto soloist, (Too often, overripe white wines become lush textures of alto and tenor, with no voice in the soprano part.), with tenor and bass present, but laying down the proverbial foundation. Likewise, red wines should tend to feature tenor and bass voices, but not to the exclusion of the altos and sopranos. Those high harmonies provide a bright contrast, providing depth and context for the profundity of lower voices.
You get the idea. There are endless examples, of course, but check it out over your next bottle or four. Think in terms of basic, four-part harmony and find the individual voices in the wine. See how they contribute to the texture and provide counterpoint for one another. And, of coursed, a little Bach (or Basie, Beethoven, the Beatles or Buddy Miller) on the side doesn’t hurt, either…