8
Apr
2011
0

Wines of the Week: April 4-10

Everyday: The saga of Soave is a sad one, replete with overproduced plonk. But some Veneto winemakers are still doing it the right way, as the Tamellini Soave ($15) shows. What a nose: spring flowers and a touch of nuttiness. On the palate there are herbs, spices and minerals galore in this puppy, plus citrus and green-apple flavors. It’s vibrant but smooth and persistent on the end. This makes a great aperitif, especially since it sings with a tray of light cheeses and fresh fruit.

Special occasion: OK, so now I’ve had two flat-out delicious white wines made with pinot noir grapes (with the skins removed early in the process). Domaine Serene’s Couer Blanc is sublime but spendy. The 2009 Novy Willamette Valley Blanc de Pinot Noir, on the other hand, checks in at around $25. A floral, creamy beginning turns layered and spicy, a fruit cocktail of sorts through the rich finish. It should be delightful with roast chicken or a slab of salmon grilled on a cedar plank (it is Oregon pinot, after all).

8
Apr
2011
0

How John Shafer selected a hillside

Objectivity shmobjectivity. I was pumped to land an hour-plus last summer with one of the Napa Valley’s iconic figures, John Shafer.

In previous years, I had spent a good bit of time with his gregarious and hilarious son, Doug, and his gifted and meticulous winemaker, Elias Fernandez. Completing the Shafer trinity was going to be seriously cool.

A former World War II bomber pilot and publishing executive, Shafer came west in 1972 and bought some Stags Leap land with scraggly vines planted a half-century earlier. He ripped those up and replanted, and within a few years had a coveted vineyard. In 1978 he launched Shafer Vineyards.

Rather than get in the way, I’ll let John tell more of the story in his own words:

“In 1968 I was with [Stags Leap grower] Nathan Fay and had the best wine I’d ever tasted. I knew then I wanted to come to Stags Leap. 

“I had a hankering for farming; don’t know why. And I wanted a hillside. 

“In 1978 for the cab, we had to use electric blankets to get malo. 

“Mike Robbins of Spring Mountain tasted our 1978 [cabernet] and said “˜I want a 20-year contract.’ We were in the same square-dance group. Aside from Taylor’s Refreshers, there were two restaurants in the valley: the Grapevine Inn [now Brix] and Wolfdale’s. 

“Early on we were focused on finding the right grapes for the right place. In 30 years we’ve learned how to catch up with the Europeans. 

“See that hill over there? That’s where they shot a wedding scene for “˜Falcon Crest.’ That Lana Turner, she was something. 

“In Stags Leap we use little or no merlot because we don’t need it. [Wine writer] Bob Thomson always said that Stags Leap plays Margaux to the west side’s Pauillac. 

“In 1989 I went to Italy. I wanted to do a red proprietary wine, but not an Opus or Insignia, more like Tignanello. I came back and told Doug, let’s try a sangiovese-cabernet blend. There were 150 wineries making sangiovese. We all thought it would be the next merlot. 

“A wine has a responsibility to taste good. And if it does, it’s almost always because it’s in balance, the fruit, tannins, acidity. 

“We’ve chosen not to be organic, because Mother Nature throws a lot of stuff at ya. 

6
Apr
2011
0

Mondavis come full circle

Our story begins, as so many wine-soaked sagas do, on the Iron Range of northern Minnesota. It was there that Cesare Mondavi moved from Italy’s Marche region just after the turn of the last century, joining his brother, Giovanni.

While in Tundraland, the two of them squired several children. One of Cesare’s, born on June 18, 1913, was called Robert.

When Giovanni died in the mines. Cesare (left) found himself “chained to so many paisanos,” according to his great-granddaughter Carissa, that he had to find a vocation that was more remunerative ““ and less dangerous ““ than mining.

Cesare had been traveling to California every autumn to buy bulk grapes and tote them back home for some North Country winemaking. Sensing that California was the place he oughta be, he loaded up the truck and moved to “¦ Lodi.

He shipped grapes around the country during Prohibition and learned the business, and in 1943 had saved enough to buy the old Charles Krug winery for $75,000. “Not bad for an Italian immigrant who came to America in 1906 at the age of 18 with $15 in his pocket,” said Carissa.

His sons Robert (left) and Peter helped out, then famously feuded for years before Robert left the winery in 1965. (In his autobiography, Robert wrote that they had a fist fight over a fur coat Robert had purchased for a White House visit.)

Robert started his eponymous business in 1966 ““ the first winery built in Napa since Prohibition — with the goal of making world-class wines.

He succeeded.

He also became a de facto worldwide ambassador for California wines. “It was amazing going to France,” Carissa (left) recalled, “and have [Chateau Haut-Brion icon] Jean-Bernard Delmas] saying “˜You see this, Bob? I learned this from you.’

“My grandfather liked to say “˜there are very many visionaries in this world. But there are very few who can achieve that vision.’ He rode the Robert Mondavi winery to the edge several times. 

Too many times, it turned out. In 2004, Robert was forced to sell to Constellation Brands, which now makes scores of wines bearing his name, few of which are remotely up to their namesake’s standards.

“We lost the family winery, but we can’t bemoan that,” Carissa said. “That’s America: You can build something big, and you also can lose it. 

Carissa’s dad, Tim (left), who had been a guiding force at his father’s winery for decades, saw the setback as an opportunity. He founded Continuum in 2005, with the goal of making only one wine, a terroir-driven Bordeaux blend.

The result is spectacular. The 2007 Continuum is one of the best wines I tasted last year, equal parts power and elegance, with the depth and structure to age beautifully. But man, is it delicious now. Drinking it elicited one of those rare “ahh, so THIS is wine” reactions.

If any $135 wine could be called a bargain, this one is it.

So the Mondavi clan has come full circle, with Tim’s wing all working together. Carissa is a wonderful ambassador, and her sister Chiara painted the striking label, the shadow of a 25-year-old cab franc vine planted by her dad.

And nearly a century after Tim Mondavi’s grandfather turned Lodi grapes into wine in Virginia, Minn, he is making a single wine from a single estate, from 62 acres in the Pritchard Hill region.

The Continuum name, Carissa said, “speaks to the fact that we haven’t missed a vintage since 1919. “The wine “honors my great-grandfather’s pioneering spirit and my grandfather’s extraordinary vision. 

True, all of that.

3
Apr
2011
0

Geeking out: Beer vs. wine ‘enthusiasts’

The original premise of my article about beer geeks in Saturday’s paper was narrower, more along the lines of: Beer geeks vs. wine geeks, which are geekier?

So in the course of my reporting, I talked to a couple of friends who admit to having their toes in both worlds, and got some fascinating fodder that I wasn’t able to use in the article.

Brian Tockman said he found beer geeks to be “more technically oriented (equipment, recipes, measurements) while wine geeks are more into contextual details (producer histories, terroir and relative terroir — what’s next to what geographically, vertical & horizontal tastings, auction markets, etc.).”

Great points, I think. The geekiest among us oenophiles care about the types of yeasts and know every pinot noir clone’s properties and history, but most are not the way our beer counterparts are about hops. But it’s close.

My friend Reid Plumbo thought that “beer geeks are a lot more interested in the brewing process than wine geeks are about the winemaking process. … Maybe it’s because homebrewing is so much more common than making one’s own wine.”

Agreed, but again it’s close. Reid also offered up some very interesting analogies between wine and beer groups.

“You have your Barolo/Burg guys in wine, and they’re your Belgian beer drinkers. They’re really into ‘pure’ beer and tradition — Old World.

“Then you have the California/Rhone guys who love bolder, hoppier beers (this is me). This crowd enjoys newer styles and experimentation. New craft beers made in new ways appeal to this group.

“The Australian Shiraz drinkers would be your Stout and Porter drinkers. Think Surly Darkness. Subtlety is not a virtue; they want to be beaten with the oak paddle.

“Your box wine/Fetzer crowd is the Bud Light community. They drink it because it’s cold.”

Wish I’d written that 😮

1
Apr
2011
0

Oldie but goodie

Sally was driving home from one of her business trips in Northern Arizona when she saw an elderly Navajo woman walking along the side of the road.

As the trip was a long and quiet one, Sally stopped the car and asked the Navajo woman if she would like a ride. With a silent nod of thanks, the woman got into the car.

Resuming the journey, Sally tried in vain to make a bit of small talk with the Navajo woman. The old woman just sat silently, quietly looking intently at everything she saw, studying every little detail, until she noticed the brown bag on the seat next to Sally.

“What’s in the bag?” asked the old woman.

Sally looked down at the brown bag and said, “It’s a bottle of wine. I got it for my husband.”

The Navajo woman was silent for another moment or two. Then, speaking with the quiet wisdom of an elder, she said: “Good trade.”

25
Mar
2011
0

Zin Buddhism

I used to wonder what was up with all the hating on zinfandel. Was it the bad puns? The jam-o-rama-and-nothing-else nature of so many of them? Some latent association with white zin?

OK, I’m going with “none of the above” because I have a new theory:

Many of us on this wine journey have a need to feel as though we have moved beyond a certain varietal. But that approach assumes that the journey is a straight line, that once we’ve left Chicago on Route 66, we can never return.

Well, I call shenanigans on that notion. I prefer to circle back to some of the places that I have thoroughly enjoyed along the way. Including, perhaps especially, zin.

I might not alight on the exact same brands. The “three R’s” of yore, erstwhile reliable renditions of this varietal, are down to one for me: Ridge, still delicious, complex and interesting. I have not enjoyed the Ravenswoods I’ve sampled of late, and Rosenblum Cellars sorely misses the guiding hand of its founder, St. Paul native Kent Rosenblum, who sold the winery a few years back.

But there are plenty of fascinating and flavorful zinfandels out there. Many of the better ones — earthy A. Rafanelli, ethereal Sky, rich but rustic Brown, bold Outpost, voluptuous Carol Shelton — are not available in Minnesota, but can be ordered online.

But Turley, once rare in these parts, is popping up on retail shelves and restaurant lists with increasing frequency. In this week’s Star Tribune column, I mention several other zins that I find worthy of their price tag, in a variety of styles. Since I wrote that, I have tried another gem in the $13 range, Montoya’s Lodi Zin.

When I started on that column, I was concerned that zin was on the wane. My friend Bill Summerville at La Belle Vie and Sea Change is an avowed disdainer, and my friend Craig Ritacco at Mission American Kitchen is among many local restaurateurs who have reduced their zin offerings.

But then I talked to a few merchants and learned that retail customers still like zin just fine. And I remembered that a coterie of cork dorks with whom I share an occasional bottle has among its regular outings a ribs-and-zin night. And that a local character with an amazing palate and cellar, a man known alternately as “Burgundy Bob” and “Barolo Bob,” holds an annual zinfandel tasting.

And of course, there’s this angle: The wine aficionados who sniff at, rather than sniff and sip, zin are leaving more for the rest of us. As for that whole image thing, maybe this guy will help zinfnadel get a little less disrespect.

16
Mar
2011
0

A great read: Kermit Lynch, ‘Adventures on the Wine Route’

It’s been more than a quarter-century since Kermit Lynch wrote “Adventures on a Wine Route.” But this masterwork is dated only in the sense that many of its fascinating subjects have since slipped the surly bonds of Earth.

Lynch, blessedly, is still alive and well, dispensing wisdom and lovely wines from his Berkeley store. “Adventures” chronicles his early travels as an aspiring wine importer.

As those who have sampled his imports know, Lynch likes esoteric wines. So it’s no surprise that he’s given to high-culture allusions.

He frames an analogy of two Rhones in Nietzschian terms: Hermitage wines are Apollonian, harmonious, with more architectural and formal beauty, while Cote Rotie is Dionysian, more immediate, more passionate than cerebral. In one of the first explanations of something that avid travelers have come to know, he explains why wines taste better at their place of origin: “like [hearing] Debussy on a rainy night in Paris. The wine is not different, you are.”

And he’s quite opinionated, of course. Macon should never be more than 12-percent alcohol; new oak mutes the expression of the Rhone grapes; cabernet flavors tend to dominate environmental factors, while syrah, pinot and mourvedre express environmental factors.

But he hardly lacks in colorful metaphors, usually involving women. “Loving Chablis is like falling in love with a frigid floozy,” he writes. Beaujolais “should not be a civilized society lady; it is the one-night stand of wines.”

Even with all of Lynch’s wit and wisdom, the best part of this book is the people and places he encountered (some captured in simply amazing black-and-white photos).

The era might be gone, but these icons, and many of the wines they made, spring to life on these pages.