The enologist has no clothes...I'm just sayin'...
It happened again yesterday evening. La Copine and I had a couple sips of the Priorat, the fruit of ridiculously low yielding hillside vineyards, resplendent in its raiment of polished tannins and adornment of spendy French oak. Proceeded to dump our glasses in prder to refill ‘em with the sample bottle of eleven dollar Carinena, straightforward, unadorned, and as amiable as some character down at the corner tavern. You know, wine that’s just wine. Wine that has the local accent of its birthplace. Wine that’s not self-conscious, wine that’s made for people to drink, inconspicuously, just because it tastes good and goes with food and friends. Just a beverage.
It’s gotten to be damned near a habit, this business of dumping out the fancy – pants, big points, high dollar, rock-star-enologist bottle in favor of drinking the modestly priced vino from some hard working grower who toils in relative anonymity. Last week it was a bottle of Rosso from one of Friuli’s most revered estates, where the wines are spendy, practically impossible to get, and whose owner routinely blows off appointments with the likes of Robert Parker (a practice we applaud). Same story, the wine was technically correct, with all the parts executing their roles at virtuoso level. But there just wasn’t any “there” there. No soul, no character. And interestingly enough, the estate is farmed biodynamically, producing lovely, lovely fruit—grapes that should express their terroir with profound focus and depth.
So what’s the deal? Where did all that goodness go? I lay it at the feet of the idolatrous idea that anyone can make wine. Take great fruit and try to craft it to hit some sort of paparazzi-pleasing, points-garnering, popular “profile” –and the result is character turned to soulless, buffed-up, innocuous product. (Think Coltrane, teamed up with Kenny G’s producer. ).
And so it goes. La Copine and I have the fortune to both work “in the biz”, hence exposure and the opportunity to taste lots of wines. It's astonishing how, given all those choices, how often we find ourselves loving the unheralded, un-ranked wine made by blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth farmer types. In the end, not only do we get a heckuva lot more pleasure from the deal, we save a few ducats – and those ducats get to support families, rather than big egos.
More on this topic later. Meanwhile, open your bottles--they're for drinking, not saving.