Dipping into the Cellar

By Scott W Clemens

In the early part of my career as a wine writer, when I was reviewing wine for both Vintage magazine and Wine & Spirits Buying Guide, I tasted around 450 wines a month at the office, and I received a few samples at home from producers wishing to be reviewed. Sometimes I’d already reviewed the wine at the office, so the sample went into my cellar. I still review wine, but as our readership is small, so are the number of samples that arrive at my door. So I’ve been dipping into the cellar over the past three years, re-sampling some of the now well-aged reds from the 1981 through the 1997 vintages. It may seem strange now, but in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s the common consensus was that California wines couldn’t age because they were grown in a warm area and were thus too ripe.

The 1981 vintage in California was maligned at the time as a difficult and very hot vintage. The pundits, including dozens of winemakers, all predicted the wines would not age well. They were wrong. I finished the last of my 1981s last year, most of them Cabernets, but also some Merlots and Zinfandels, and they had all aged supremely well. Not one, of the 20 or so wines I tasted, was over the hill at 27 years of age! An Eberle Cab from that year was one of the best California Cabernets I’ve ever had (out of many thousands). And incidentally, all of them were under 14% alcohol.

In rummaging through the cellar I also found inexpensive wines from 1989 and 1991 that I had simply forgot about. Two, in particular, I remember: a 1989 Round Hill Cabernet Sauvignon, and a 1991 Forest Glen Cabernet Sauvignon, both of which are marketed as wines for current drinking, not designed to age. I opened them with the expectation that they would either be on the decline, or undrinkable. They were wonderful. They had not developed great complexity, but they were remarkably fresh.

This past month I had the opportunity to open two really marvelous bottles. The first was a Bayview Cellars, 1991, Napa Valley, Tradition, Cabernet Sauvignon, made by former Inglenook winemaker, John Richburg. It was complex, nuanced, and perfectly balanced (and just 13% alcohol), and it reeked of Rutherford Dust. In these days of over ripe wines, few Rutherford wines actually display their origin. This one was perfect, with cassis and black cherry flavors, light dusty tannins, and a subtle minerality. The second was a Buttonwood 1996, Santa Ynez Valley, Tres (a blend of 55% Merlot, 36% Cabernet Sauvignon, and 9% Cabernet Franc), weighing in at 13.7% alcohol. It was complex and oh so interesting, with layers of flavors that only come from long aging: threads of soy-Worcester, cloves and caramel run through cherry pie fruit. The tannin has all but disappeared, giving just a hint of astringency in the long, long lingering finish. This is exactly what aging is all about, why we age wine, and what we hope to gain from the exercise. Pretty close to perfect.

Lodi Wine on the Water

TREASURE ISLAND WINE FEST

“Lodi Wine on the Water”

by Scott W Clemens

Lodi vintners staged the first Treasure Island Wine Fest in San Francisco on a blustery day in October. For the past 20 years the wineries of Lodi, in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, have produced a sea of affordably priced wines of very good quality. The area has been particularly renowned for its old vine Zinfandel and such Rhone varieties as Mourvedre and Viognier. But at this tasting I discovered a new facet to Lodi’s personality; a few wineries are also producing excellent wines from Spanish and Italian varietals.

Of the more than 40 wineries pouring, four were standouts. I present them here in alphabetical order:

BOKISCH VINEYARDS

Bokisch specializes in Spanish varieties.

2008 Bokisch , St. Clement Hills-Lodi, Terra Alta Vineyard, Albariño:

Lean and minerally with a bit more fruit (neutral and edging toward green apple) than Spanish versions, with an extraordinarily long mineral and spice finish. Excellent balance and very refreshing. 88 points. $16

2007 Bokisch, Lodi Garnacha Rosado:

An excellent dry rosé with plum, clove and black pepper notes and great length. 94 points $18.

2006 Bokisch, Lodi Graciano:

Plum and cranberry with crisp acidity. 87 points. $26

2006 Bokisch, Lodi Tempranillo:

Dry cranberry-cherry flavors with light tannin, a touch of earth, and lovely s tructure. 90 points. $21

CHRISTINE ANDREW

Christine Andrew, a separate label from Ironstone Vineyards, produces an array of French varietals, as well as Tempranillo and Zinfandel, but at the tasting they were pouring:

2007 Christine Andrew, Lodi Viognier:

Complex and subtle with layers of white peach, rose petals, spice and minerals. All stainless steel fermented and a reasonable 13.5% alcohol (on the low end for Viognier). 90 points. $13

2007 Christine Andrew, Lodi Malbec:

Lush, briary, with spicy loganberry fruit, light tannin, light to medium body, with a very long, fruit and mineral finish. Excellent value. 94 points. $15

2006 Christine Andrew, Lodi Old Vine Zin:

Unlike so many Zinfandels these days, this one is not overblown and not high in alcohol, yet it shows intense raspberry fruit, with a mineral and light spice background, soft tannin, firm acidity and excellent balance. 93 points. $15

LUCAS WINERY

A winery making small lots of fabulous wines that are kept in the bottle a few years before they’re released. This is masterful winemaking, as you’d expect from owners Heather Plye-Lucas, former winemaker for Robert Mondavi’s reserve and Italian joint venture wines, and David Lucas, who was responsible for Mondavi’s California vineyards.

2006 Lucas, Lodi Chardonnay:

Just released, the 2006 displays bright grapefruit and pippin apple aromas and flavors, with crispy acidity, silky texture and a long finish. It’s amazingly aromatic. 94 points. $30

2005 Lucas, Lodi, ZinStar vineyard, Zin:

After spending a year in French oak and four years in the bottle, the 2004 offers intense raspberry and allspice aromas and flavors. Light, lively and ridiculously intense. 94 points. $35

UVAGGIO

All Italian varietals.

2008 Uvaggio, Lodi Vermentino:

Uvaggio is the largest California producer of Vermentino, a white variety grown on Sardinia and in parts of Tuscany. This version shows subtle floral notes and melon rind aromas and flavors. Only 100 cases produced. 88 points. $14

2008 Uvaggio, Lodi Moscato:

A lovely and refreshing wine with intense honeysuckle and hawthorn blossom character, crisp acidity yet silky texture. 93 points. $14

2005 Uvaggio, Lodi Barbera:

Lodi is the perfect place for Barbera. This one has a lovely restrained nose, and great varietal definition with its plum and chocolate notes and crisp acidity. A very correct Italian-style Barbera. 90 points. $18

2007 VINTAGE PORT

Portugal’s Port producers swept into town last week, to declare their 2007 vintage Port, which really is a remarkable vintage. At this young stage it rivals 1977 as the best of the past three decades. Fonseca, Taylor-Fladgate, Smith Woodhouse, Croft, Warre, Graham, Dow, Quinta do Vesuvio, Quinta do Noval and Silval were all present, pouring both the 2007 vintage and one older Port representative of the house style, to illustrate how well the wines age.

Vintage Port isn’t widely appreciated in The United States, or even in the modern world in general, as few have the patience to age it long enough to bring out the nuanced complexity an extra 30 years in the bottle will yield. Most of the 2007s will be drunk during their youth, when they’re full of fruit and power, and perhaps that’s the way most consumers enjoy it — god knows they buy enough 15% alcohol Zinfandel to have developed a palate for it.

Of the 2007s offered, I was most entranced by Taylor’s Vargellas Vinha Velha, a spectacular Port, soft, rich and balanced by bright acidity. At this stage it shows floral notes over blackberry and plum fruit, bittersweet chocolate, and silky tannins. The only problem is, just 200 cases were produced and a bottle will cost you $240. With 10,000 cases produced, the Taylor Fladgate is a better value at $95, showing well-balanced structure, concentrated cassis character with floral nuances, and a bit of fennel. Also notable was the beautifully balanced Warre, the nicely balanced Dow, with its plum, cherry and butterscotch flavors, and the spicy Quinta do Vesuvio. All of these wines promise great longevity.

Of the older contingent, Dow’s 1980 was still remarkable young; Taylor’s ’77 was lovely in that house’s lighter, constrained and more elegant style, while the still youthful ’77 Smith Woodhouse brought forth waves of floral scents over candied blackberry and jammy strawberry. Lastly, the 1985 Fonseca is delivering amazing complexity at 24 years, and should only gain momentum over the next decade.

Keeping in mind that this tasting was organized by the producers to hype the 2007 vintage, I discussed the wines with Darrel Corti. “It’s a lovely vintage,” he said, “but the problem is the price [of these wines — the average being about $100 a bottle]. Why would I buy a 2007, when I can get an older vintage cheaper?” — particularly in the light of the sad fact that some of us won’t outlast the wines.

The Enigma of Terroir

 by Scott W. Clemens 

If you read the wine press you’ll inevitably come across the French word terroir, literally soil. Ask a Frenchman why one wine is better or different than another and he’ll explain it in terms of terroir. About twenty-five years ago there was a great debate between New World and Old World winemakers as to the real importance of soil—afterall, it’s just one of the variables. At the time the French backtracked and explained that in reality the word has wider connotations; it also encompasses microclimate and viticultural traditions. Taken together, they argued, soil, microclimate, and viticultural traditions account for a wine’s quality. 

In the ensuing years New World winemakers and winery publicists have embraced the idea that terroir is what makes one wine different from (better than) another. Place, afterall, is one of the major differences between wine and beer. There is no doubt that wine, springing from a finicky agricultural crop, is affected by weather, microclimate and soil. 

The problem with the terroir argument is that it leaves winemaking out of the equation and loses sight of current reality. In past centuries there was a semblance of vinicultural tradition; technology changed slowly and there was little interaction between winemakers from one area and another. Over the last 60 years, however, technology and interaction have increased exponentially, and the proof is in the glass. But just as shared knowledge and technology have driven quality higher, they have also unwittingly contributed to a certain homogenization of style. This is nowhere more apparent than in Chardonnay.

A few examples are called for here. When I first started reading about wine in the early 1970’s the wine literature used the adjectives steely, flinty, minerally and sometimes austere to describe classic Chablis (Chardonnay from the Chablis district of France), as opposed to the fatter, softer, more opulent Chardonnays from the Côte d’Or. But it was a “classic” tradition only about 25 years old, born of the transition from barrel fermentation to stainless steel, temperature controlled fermentation. Then around 1980 winemakers in Chablis started going back to traditional barrel fermentation, and mimicking other winemaking techniques of their Burgundian cousins. And suddenly Chablis no longer tasted like the Chablis we had grown to know. The descriptors were no longer valid. 

The same can be said of California Chardonnay in every five year increment since 1970. At first most were simply cool fermented in stainless steel. Then along came barrel aging, barrel fermentation (along with the attendant choice of forest; domestic, French or Slavonian oak; new or used barrels; the amount of toasting and choice of cooper). Add to that: malolactic fermentation, sur lie aging, and the various clonal selections, rootstocks, trellising techniques, and yeast strains, as well as the age of the vineyards, irrigation, and a far greater understanding of how viticultural practices affect the final product, and you can understand why the concept of terroir as the arbiter of style is completely outmoded. 

The point was driven home once again in a late 1990s tasting of Meursault, at Beltramo’s wine shop in Menlo Park, California. Through the 1960s, 70s and ‘80s, Meursault [a Chardonnay from the town of Meursault in Burgundy] was almost exclusively fermented in Limousin oak, so “classic” Meursault was known for its fat, buttery, vanilla flavors with a toasty background. The character was due to Limousin’s phenolic characteristics and wide grain. But the wines of this tasting were much sleeker, still giving the impression of richness but not as oaky, and virtually indistinguishable from many of the top California Chardonnays. 

In my subsequent investigations I found that many of the Meursault producers had switched to Nevers and Tronçais oak, tighter grained and slower to impart vanillin and oxidation. Then a light went on in my head—I remembered Alain Fouquet, of Seguin Moreau cooperage in Napa Valley, saying that Limousin was not really suited to wine; it was better for brandy production. He therefore recommended to all of his clients that they buy barrels coopered from tighter grained oak grown in the center of France (the forests of Nevers, Allier and Tronçais). So it appears that to a large degree barrel manufacturers dictated the change in the Meursault style, and that a regional character which was once considered a product of terroir, was nothing more than a local consensus concerning vinification techniques.

One of the most important innovations in the history of winemaking was the introduction of barrels, which could serve both as fermentation and storage vessels. French oak barrels were used only in France. Other countries constructed their own barrels from locally grown trees. So the flavor profile imparted by French oak, belonged only to the French. And that flavor became part of the terroir. Today, French oak is available (at a price) all around the world. You can find French barrel fermented Chardonnays from California, Chile, Australia and Italy. So the particular flavor imparted by French oak is no longer exclusive to French wine. Wine culture has become so international that the distinctions between one wine region and another are blurring, especially in regards to the diaspora of French grape varieties.

Until the introduction of stainless steel fermentation in the 1940’s, the production of wine had remained unchanged for centuries, and while temperature controlled fermentation has revolutionized wine production (and totally changed the character of many white wines), there have been even more advances in the vineyard. Consider a farmer in Burgundy in the 18th or 19th centuries. Everything he did, from planting to pruning to picking was dictated by traditions handed down from generation to generation. He didn’t know a clone from a cocker spaniel. He’d never heard of American rootstock, or clones, and the vineyard was dry-farmed (i.e. farmed without irrigation). He put his effort into producing the biggest crop possible on that piece of land, yet poor soil and inadequate rainfall made the job difficult. Under those circumstances, some places were notably more suitable to growing grapes for wine production.

That old farmer no longer exists. Today’s farmer is a scientist, and his vineyard is his laboratory. The choice of rootstock, clone, trellising and pruning practices, cover crops, yield and managed stress are employed to give the vintner the best possible fruit with which to make his wine and hit his price point. The public relations department may talk about tradition, but tradition is only useful if it achieves the desired end—to produce the best product possible within economic limitations.

I remember writing in 1982 that Chardonnay was a good medium for oak because the grape had little complexity in and of itself, and its flavor profile included a hint of vanilla, as did the oak. Times have changed. A winemaker can now make a complex Chardonnay by blending the various clones that have been isolated in the vineyard. There are clones that taste of apples and pears, clones with a distinct lemony character, and clones with lush tropical fruit character (yeast selection also affects the fruitiness of the wine). Chardonnays with tropical fruit character were once thought to be solely the product of a cool growing climate like Monterey. But with the right clone, hot climate Chardonnays can now achieve the same degree of tropical fruit flavor.

So back to terroir—do soil and microclimate effect the grapes? Yes, of course. Is one vineyard intrinsically better than another? Yes, again. Is it possible to tell that a wine came from particular vineyard or area? Yes, but with qualifications. One of the more fascinating aspects of wine is that it can reflect a sense of its place of origin. In my experience, the two grapes that best reflect their terroir are Pinot Noir and Riesling. But for wine expert and consumer alike, in an era when viticultural and vinicultural techniques change so rapidly, where information flows freely across borders, and regional traditions are in flux, there are very few wines that emphatically declare their origins. More often, winemaking masks the true terroir. Figuring out where the impact of the land leaves off and technology takes over is largely impossible. It is now possible to make decent, sometimes even spectacular, wine from grapes grown in areas that would have been inhospitable to grapes in the era of tradition and dry-farmed vines. Winegrowers can now outsmart Mother Nature.

I’m not questioning the importance of microclimate and soil, but the next time someone explains that a particular characteristic is due to the terroir, take it with a large grain of salt and consider the other factors. Tradition is dead; innovation thrives, and therein lies the fallacy of the whole concept of terroir.