Side-Taste: Mettler's Cabernet Sauvignon

Last night, Tracy had a mid-evening craving for a sip of something delicious. I pulled out a bottle of Mettler Family Vineyards's 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon ($25), and I realized after a quick taste that I had to make a little sketch of this wine.

The reason? I had a really distinct flavor experience: woodsmoke. Try a mouthful and notice how clearly this single note rings out at the top of the palate. What is this "woodsmoke"? I'm not sure, but I'm trying to name this very distinct, very clear flavor, and I think it's the taste of a burning log. A hardwood. Not the dense, ashy, suffocating part of woodsmoke, but the delicate residue part. The October night smell. I could also rightly say this is the scent of a hard smoked salami, something smokey, meaty, a little fatty.

What a great flavor! 

I also really like how this rustic smokiness asserts itself against the backdrop of the wine's lighter, more delicate texture. It's very nicely balanced, displaying many ripe berry fruit flavors and a crisp acidity. That's what makes this smokiness all the more welcome.

At $25, it's not a cheap option for dinner, but this would go so very well with red meat, especially a porterhouse steak. I don't eat meat (except for occasional pieces of fish), but in the interests of objectivity, I admit that this Cabernet would pair well with it. Or even a nice blue cheese. Or just on its own in a Burgundy glass because Tracy wanted a taste of something sweet.

Sauvignon Blancs

I love Sauvignon Blanc, but I've never really thought too much about it. It's always seemed a go-to wine, never all that bad and sometimes really good. I guess I've always had an instinctive distrust of white wine's depth, figuring that because it's so light it somehow offers less. I also never knew that there exist so many styles of Sauvignon Blanc, though the more I learn about wine I realize that no matter what grape one begins with, terroir and the process of winemaking itself play large roles in determining the taste and feel of any wine.

Having said that, I should add that Sauvignon Blanc is, more than almost any other major wine grape, the least manipulated and manhandled of varietals. About an hour before the tasting, I read Matt Kramer's column in the current issue of Wine Spectator. Kramer argues that there is less "intervention" in the wine-making process with Sauvignon Blanc than in grapes like Chardonnay or Pinot Noir, and many others. It's true that some special processes are used at times, things like "extended lees contact," in which the dead yeast and other organic detritus are stirred up into the fermenting juice to impart more flavor, or barrelling in oak (and very little of that last one). However, these are somewhat rare, and the reason for this hands-off attitude, Kramer points out, is that the Sauvignon Blanc is fine on its own. The grapes themselves have tons of flavor and character, and getting that straight into the bottle is job one. Sauvignon Blanc needs no gauze on the lens.

Last night, Tracy and I were joined by Jeff, who lives in the neighborhood, for a tasting of four good Sauvignon Blancs. For this tasting, I set out four wine glasses filled with various fruits--honeydew, pineapple, lemon, and apple--and we used them as "taste markers" to help us detect these flavors in the wines themselves. This is a great way to begin noticing flavors, and it's something I think we'll do from now on.

The Wines were, in order of appearance:

2008 Otto's Constant Dream Marlborough New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc ($16)  
2008 Whitehall Lane Sauvignon Blanc Napa Valley ($16)
2008 Cade Sauvignon Blanc Napa Valley ($32)
2008 Sancerre Clos des Bouffants Domaine Roger Neveu ($28)

Marlborough
New Zealand's Marlborough region is recognized as a producer of powerful, expressive Sauvignon Blancs. To sample the this varietal in its various forms, a Marlborough is required. This wine, which Tracy scored a 21.5 and I scored a 21 (Jeff didn't score his wines), had all the fruity bouquet and floral punch of a typical Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc. The taste markers worked well: I sniffed the fresh honeydew and then tasted the wine and could immediately pluck out those melon notes. We also tasted grass, citrus, and pineapple, all to be expected of such a wine. Other pleasing things here included the wine's balance: while the fruit jumped right out, it was held in check by the prickly acidity and slight bitterness. Jeff said the wine had "different altitudes" and he could taste the honey and citrus working in some sort of spatial simultaneity. It is a full but light wine, "excitable" (Jeff) with lots of light, zing, and "pith" (Tracy). One of the most impressive qualities of this wine was the Raymond Chandler finish--that is, it says the long goodbye. In fact, the flowers and tropical fruit remained hovering in my sinuses for about as long as it takes that chord at the end of the Beatles's "A Day in the Life" to fully fade.

Whitehall
If you've seen Sideways, you may remember the scene where the the two couples go out to a long dinner with numerous wine pairings (it's the dinner following Miles's infamous anti-Merlot hissy). The first wine they try is a Sauvignon Blanc that has been aged in oak. Miles, who has seen a lot when it comes to wine, swirls his glass and says, eyebrows raised, "interesting." In fact, while it's unique to age Sauvignon Blanc in oak, it's certainly not unheard of. I imagine that Miles's apparent surprise issues from politeness. As I'm sure he knew, some oak-aged Sauvignon Blancs are among the more expensive bottles. Still, this practice is much more rare than the straightforward vine-to-bottle winemaking described above.

The Whitehall, if you haven't guessed, is an oaked Sauvignon Blanc. I should say immediately that the oak is not overpowering. Only 30% of this wine spent time in oak, and for just seven weeks. Still, this light oaking imparts an acerbic tilt to the outright friendliness of the other wines we tasted. Tracy (who rated this wine a 20.5) detected silt, tobacco, and musk, along with a slight vanilla twang. Jeff was also generally positive about this wine, calling it "mellow," "smooth," and "rounded." If the previous wine was a tenor, he said, this was a baritone. Jeff also referred to the Whitehall as "self-effacing," and I think I would agree, though maybe in less positive terms--to me, the wine was a little blank. I used the word "flat" twice in my notes, and as I drank it I pictured in my mind a long plank of wood. (I gave the wine a perhaps too-low 14.) Now, maybe I pictured wooden planks because I had recently read that a cheap way to oak wines is to toss in a few oak boards to a fermenting tank--though I know from reading about this wine that they used real oak barrels. I do think, though, that the flatness and blandness of a plank board is a decent metaphor for this wine. Which is not to say it's all bad. We need sturdy, serviceable planks. This is a solid wine and would go really well with light Italian food, maybe gnocci. A good, smooth, gentle wine, and a twist on the other Sauvignon Blancs of the night.As Miles would say: interesting.

Cade
This was the most expensive bottle of the night. I raise this issue of price at the outset because, while this was a really nice wine, it wasn't noticeably better than the others. (In fact, I think that Jeff said it was his least favorite of the bunch.) I had originally written here that one reason for the high price was that Cade is affiliated with the world-famous wine producer Merry Edwards. I was incorrect about this, as Jill informed me in her comment below. The reason for my error was simple: I was told by the clerk in the wine store that Cade was an offshoot label of Merry Edwards, and I didn't independently verify the claim. I should say that I won't make this mistake again. I realize that it's essential to keep such facts straight. And thank you, Jill, for correcting me.

Still, $32 for a Sauvignon Blanc should clearly reward the buyer.

One of the most noticeable and immediate issues here was that the wine displayed a slight effervescence. The fizz seemed to lessen in intensity after a few minutes, but it never entirely disappeared. That issue aside, Tracy got it right when she said the Cade is a nice combination of the first and second wines, with lots of the flavor notes of the Marlborough alongside the more angular and restrained elements of the Whitehall. We all noticed vanilla and citrus, and I honed in hard on the presence of a pleasing, but definitely assertive, alcohol burn in the back of the throat. This wine is, at 13.8% alcohol, indeed 0.8% higher in alcohol content than the other Sauvignon Blancs--but should that make such a difference? We also noticed how fast the finish was here, especially in comparison to the Marlborough.

Sancerre
France is best known for two regions of Sauvignon Blanc vineyards. One is the Loire valley, home to the towns of Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé. The other is Bordeaux, more famous for its reds but also a producer of Sauvignon Blancs (though these are most often blends with Semillon and other grapes). The Loire wines, though, are famous for their mineral qualities and prized as some of the more complex of Sauvignon Blancs. Many consider Sauvignon Blancs from the Loire valley among the best in the world.

I was surprised by the fruit-forward nature of this bottle (I rated it a 24, Tracy a 21.5). Perhaps I was hoping for even more minerality, more limestoney bite. It was, to be sure, more restrained than the first wine we tasted, and had a muted, quiet quality. We detected a waft of cork (this was the only corked bottle; the rest were screw-tops), grass, melon, flowers, and mild citrus. In short, this was a fairly recognizable Sauvignon Blanc, enjoyable, delicious, smooth, and balanced. A really nice wine, one that would go fine with food. I should add that out of all these wines, this is the one I'd like to drink most of all. Flavorful, cool, rounded, smart. The best Sauvignon Blanc I've ever had, I think.

I also had an already opened bottle of Sauternes, a sweet Bordeaux wine blend of Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc. We were going to taste it, but it had begun to turn. So I dumped the bottle and we had coffee instead.

Zinfandel Part II

Last week, I suggested that the pejorative term "quaffable" has particular resonance to American ears, as it recalls a Puritan distrust of bodily pleasure. While I found this skepticism toward mere delight suspicious, I did say there should be thinking wines as well as drinking wines. The Zinfandels we tasted, whatever their merits, were drinking wines. 

Last night, Tracy and I sat down to a bottle of Turley Zinfandel, often considered to be, if not the best, then among the best of Zinfandels. I'm not sure the Turley qualifies as a thinking wine. I will say, however, that it fitted quaffability with tiny purple wings and sent it flying up and away from the swamp of mere delight and into the light of hyperbolic deliciousness. Wine this good doesn't need to be intellectual. It raises drinkability to its highest expression. So:

2007 Turley Napa Valley Zinfandel, Tofanelli Vineyard ($54)

This wine has impeccable balance. The classic Zinfandel sweetness is present but gentle against the tongue. Berries and sweet fruit flavors show themselves alongside a restraining dryness. It's not juicy or jammy or sugary or syrupy (potential pitfalls for Zinfandels), but it bursts with flavor. Also, while this wine contains the highest alcohol content of any we've had so far (15.7%), it's hardly detectable.

And the flavors? There are many, though they're also understated. We picked up plum and blackberry, molasses and sugarcane, dark chocolate and tobacco, "earth,"cocoa, vanilla, and "cheese rind, in a good way" (Tracy). We also detected a spiciness, though it wasn't bright and scratchy but calm and mellow: a tide of clove and pepper rises on the sides of the tongue after a moment and ebbs quickly. And the roundness and smoothness of the texture, the way it slides lightly across the tongue, reminds me of a Chardonnay. 

We did notice some questionable things. The nose is a little restrained--there's not as much happening in the bouquet as I expected there would be. Also, the finish is lightening fast. I'm not sure this is a bad thing, however. We kept remarking on how much we wanted to keep drinking this wine, how it was difficult to stop. Half the bottle was gone in a flash, though it felt that we had just begun the tasting.

Tracy and I both rated this wine a 24 on our 30-point scale. We were both surprised, in a way, that it didn't rate even higher, but perhaps it was simply because, despite all its amazingly delicious and quaffable qualities and tiny purple wings, this Turley didn't manage to lift us off of the ground.

Thoughts on Aging

It's become clear to me over the past week or so that I've put no thought into considering a wine's age. As I've read more about Cabernets and tannins and the preserving qualities of oak, I realize that the decision of when to drink a wine is, sometimes, absolutely crucial. It can make the difference between an unripe blast of green or a flavorful, delicate experience. This is especially true for wines from certain countries (France and the United States, for two) that release their wines when they're ready to be aged rather than when they are aged.

In Spain, for example, Gran Reserva wine--good wine--is often released when it's ready to drink. This means that wineries hold onto their vintages until just the right moment, and then send them off to be uncorked and consumed. They take care of the timing for you. Yet it may be necessary to stash and hide a really great Bordeaux or a brilliant Russian River Valley Cabernet so it can let those intense tannins break down and fall away. Otherwise, it's like eating a cupcake without removing the foil.

This all brings to mind that Patrice Rion that Jon brought for the first tasting. I think we may have had it too young. It was a 2002, yet it felt a little green to me. It was a little angular. It's hard to remember tastes three weeks old, but I think I'm right about this.

I'm going to let some of my great bottles lie. I've got some good ones that will take years to open up. It's nice to know they're cooking.

Zinfandel Part I

I was introduced to the Zinfandel grape during the 1990s in the form of white Zinfandel wine. I have never liked that cloying sludge--though I should admit the last time I actually tasted a white Zin was during the Clinton administration. The pre-Lewinsky scandal Clinton administration, even. So who knows. But it gets a pretty bad rap and I've got no interest in trying it now. Anybody think I should?

My first taste of actual red Zinfandel occurred just a few years ago, again out in Napa, and I realized I had been missing something really good. In fact, I really like this varietal's balance of sweet and spicy. (Also, it's a great Z word.) For these reasons, and others, Thursday Night Tasting is presenting two separate Zinfandel events. The first occurred two nights ago and the second will take place next week. We'll be tasting a pretty representative sample of the grape, all from northern California, from where most Zinfandels hail.

But first, I've decided on a little structure for this 'blog. It's a two-part plan:

First, I'm going to take a tour through some of the major varietals, tasting probably a dozen or so. I've been inspired by the book I mentioned last week, Drink This: Wine Made Simple, by Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl, which examines nine grapes and the wines they produce. Her idea for tastings is to try representative types from each varietal so you get a full sense of their expressive capacities. The grapes she takes on include Zinfandel, Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling, Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Sangiovese, Tempranillo, and Pinot Noir. I'll most likely add Merlot and a few more marginal varietals. Romorantin, perhaps? Maybe Inzolia? The possibilities boggle.

And second, I'm going to spend 52 weeks, or however long it takes, tasting my way through French wines. Region by region. Bouteille par bouteille.

Why French wine? I grew up with the idea that French wines were the world's greatest wines. I probably imbibed this notion from television programs. After all, Jack Tripper wasn't just a chef--he was a French style chef who eventually opened the first "fancy" restaurant--"Chez Jacques"--that I ever really saw, real or fake, and for years, it exemplified to me the idea of fine dining. In any case, during the 1970s the very idea of Frenchness functioned as a trope for sophistication. French food was haute cuisine. French wine was elegance. As I got older and tried more wines from around the world, it seemed this was a shopworn cliche, though when it comes to wine, it really isn't. This isn't to say that other countries don't produce amazing and comparably brilliant wines, of course they do. But France produces some of the greatest wines. France is to the wine world what the fertile crescent is to Homo Sapiens. I'm going to taste my way through it.

But for now, back to plan A: the Tour through Varietals. I think we've done a nice job on the Cabernet Sauvignon already (thanks, all), so it's on to Zinfandel. We'll be tasting four Zins altogether: a mass-market, industrial cheapie; a single-vineyard mid-range wine; a "field blend, if we can find one; and a top-shelf, stellar Turley, regarded by some as the best Zinfandel in the world. More on these types as necessary.

And so, let's begin.

The wines:

2005 Havencscourt Lodi Zinfandel ($13)
2007 Captain's Reserve Zinfandel Rutherford ($28)

The players:

Greg, Brooklyn Heights
Me, Boerum Hill

This tasting was so simple: wine one, wine two. There's something elemental about paired tasting. It makes things very simple and direct. And in fact, "simple" and "direct" might be a good beginning description of Zinfandel itself. I like the wine, and it goes with food--and spicy food, too--and is eminently "quaffable," which in wine-ese means (I've just learned) drinkable, easy rather than complex, fun rather than intellectual. Zinfandel, even the top-shelf, more layered and maculate wine, is not the most complicated stuff. It's delicious, sure, and it can pop out and surprise and offer a lot of fun. But it's not deep. It's Warhol, not Vermeer.

In fact, I want to pause for a moment over that suspicious term, "quaffable." The very idea behind the term is that some wine is not simply for drinking, it's also for thinking. So, there are thinking wines and drinking wines, and they're both fine--but the term "quaffable" suggests that you probably want to have a few thinking wines during your time here on earth because they offer more than drinking wines. Drinking wines? They're merely drinkable--quaffable. Delicious, even, but just drinkable. It's a classic left-handed compliment.

This dichotomy reminds me of something deep within our culture--namely, American Puritanism's abiding suspicion of bodily pleasure. Mere pleasure is problematic. It serves no greater purpose. More than that, it may even detract one from serving a purpose. So it's empty and distracting, not good things.

This legacy of skepticism remains deeply etched in our collective soul, of course, but it pertains to this issue of quaffibility in a specific way. Wine that is merely "quaffable" is wine serving no greater purpose than bodily joy. Quaffable wine is not mindful wine. It's wine that can lead to disgrace--literally, a loss of grace. John Calvin, the Yoda of American Puritanism, explains that "the chief duty of man is to glorify God," and so wine for mere pleasure does not fit in very well. There is Biblical precedent for Calvin's idea, of course. "Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to heaviness." James 4:9. And nowhere does the New Testament suggest quaffability is a virtue, exactly. So to say that a Zinfandel is "quaffable" is to say: go ahead and sin. Indulge your appetites. Ignore your God.

Of course, the Bible is full of wine being consumed left and right. And the Puritans--Calvin aside--agreed that wine provided an acceptable respite from the world's daily difficulties. In fact, during the seventeenth century, the Puritans even upheld the sale of alcohol to "Indians" because they felt it unfair to deprive them of this divinely given balm. 

This American context is more relevant for Zinfandel than other varietals. The grape took off here in the mid-nineteenth century, and most Zins--and most good Zins--are made in northern California, in the vineyards around San Francisco. It's a truly American wine and it's most popular in the United States. It's incredibly popular, in fact, and has a devoted following.

And guess what? These devotees sometimes call themselves Zinfandel Infidels. Infidels! See what I mean about the Puritan angle?

Anyway, this is all to say that quaffability isn't inherently bad, even though our national psyche tells us it might be. Sometimes, you want a Coke.

Not that good Zins are like Coke.

OK, I think this has gone far enough. And so, the wines.

Havenscourt
I will keep this brief: this is not a good wine. It is hardly even quaffable. When I review the notes Greg and I took on this bottle, the words that jump out at me include, from Greg, "ammonia smell," "acidic," "sour," and "putrid," and, from me, the phrase "liking it less as I drink it more."  It has a thin mouth, was a little peppery at first though it smoothed out after breathing for a bit, and had clear overtones of sherry and cheap tawny port. It was hot, though it had only 13% alcohol. One of the interesting things here was that we could hardly detect any flavors. It was just mush in the mouth.

This is wine made by combining grapes from a variety of vineyards and so this detracts from its specific character. Also, it's important to know that Zinfandel is a grape that ripens unevenly. Some grapes grow fully ripe while others are still a touch green. A quality Zin maker will be careful about which of the grapes he uses. Discarding the "raisined," or overripe grapes will brace the wine up and provide a little more structure. Throwing it all in the mix will flatten out and juicify the stuff. I don't think there was a lot of discrimination here. This is dumpy plonk.

Captain's Reserve
Now this, we liked. Greg is a composer, and he made a brilliant analogy here. In music, he explained, an "envelope" of sound is one in which a tone, or set of tones, crescendos and decrescendos. It has an opening, a development, and some closure. This wine demonstrates just that: the flavor begins by opening with bright fruit flavors, round and discernibly sweet on the tip of the tongue, and then offers up some delicate spice before fading into a quick finish. After a few more sips Greg said the wine has "rhythm" and goes through its flavors in an organized way.

Ironically, this wine is warm rather than hot, thought the alcohol level is much higher--almost 15%. This means that the wine is much more balanced, and the chocolate, mint, and cherry flavors that we detected are bracing and holding up the greater potency, holding it back a little. Whereas in the Havenscourt we couldn't really detect separate flavors, here we found tea leaves and orange rind, pepper and leather. The flavor was "focused."

Next week we're going to be trying a Turley Zinfandel ($54), considered by many to be the greatest, richest, most complex Zin on earth.

I'm hoping for a little thinkability.

Cabernet Sauvignon

Last night, Thursday Night Tasting explored four quite different expressions of the Cabernet Sauvignon grape. It was great!

The wines were, in order of appearance:

2008 Smoking Loon Cabernet Sauvignon ($12)
2006 Wine Smith Cabernet Sauvignon ($20)
2006 Chateau Moulin de Tricot Haut Médoc ($32)
2005 Rubicon Estate Captain's Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon ($48)

The players were, in order of residence, north to south:

Robin, Upper West Side in the 70s
Tracy and Raphael, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn
Kristie, Park Slope
Tina and Claude, Park Slope two blocks south of Kristie

And once again, the method:

Sequential tasting using an evaluation sheet that rates the wines by five criteria: visual appearance, aroma, texture (or body), taste, and finish. The scale used, which adds up to 30 points in total, is as follows:

25-30 Excellent, incredibly delicious, memorable
20-24 Outstanding, a really good wine
15-19 Good to Very Good
10-14 Average, drinkable
0-9 OK, who brought this?

I should add that I also supplied a list of helpful adjectives and nouns for tasting Cabernet Sauvignon, words like "brawny," "complex," "hot," "structured," "tobacco," "fig," "chocolate," and "vanilla," plus many others. Note: I did not supply the term "like a jellyfish on my tongue," which Robin used to describe the Smoking Loon.

More on that in a minute. First, however, I should explain why I followed last week's Burgundies with Cabernet Sauvignons this week. The reason is personal: these are the two wines that, for me, have flipped the switch. At the risk of indulging in yet more autobiography, I should admit that a third switch-flipper is out there too, though it was flipped first, in Tuscany when I was 23. Seated outdoors on a cool July night, I sipped what might today be called a Super Tuscan alongside Coniglio con Olivo, and widened my eyes. Anyway, I think I've mentioned already that it was in Napa, just a year or two ago, when I tasted that lush Cabernet and felt something deep inside me twist a quarter inch. So, at the beginning of this whole venture, I'd like to honor that moment with a tasting.

Also, if one is to begin tasting wines, Cabernet Sauvignon is a great place to begin. Often considered to be a "noble grape" due to its association with the ancient European viticultural history and its striking, powerful body and flavor, the Cabernet yields complex, highly structured wines. Many of the world's most coveted (and expensive) wines are Cabernets. Chateau Lafite Rothschild and Chateau Latour, for example, two of the most prized Bordeaux wines, are Cabernet Sauvignon. In fact, all red Bordeaux wines are Cabernets, though they are typically Cabernets mixed with other varietals, including Merlot, Cabernet Franc (one of the "parent" grapes of Cabernet Sauvignon), and sometimes Petit Verdot, Malbec, and even Syrah. In the United States, we use the simple term Cabernet Sauvignon, though to be called such a wine has only to include 75% Cabernet. In other words, just like reds from Bordeaux, American Cabernet Sauvignon is usually a blend (though there are exceptions and 100% Cabernets do exist, in France and the U.S.).

Why are Cabernets so often blended? Well, the Cabernet is a very "tannic" grape. What does that mean? Tannins are acidic compounds derived from grape seeds and skins. They provide the bitter and astringent dryness that registers on the back of your tongue. They are essential components in wine-making, helping to ferment and preserve wine. I'm not sure the analogy is entirely correct, but tannins are to red wine what hops are to beer. In any case, because the Cabernet Sauvignon is a small grape with numerous seeds, the ration of juice to seeds and skins creates a very tannic result. The lush Merlot and flavorful Cabernet Franc balance out this powerful blast of bitterness. That's why most Cabernets are blends, whether they're from Bordeaux or the Napa Valley.

By the way, it's not as if the only Cabernet Sauvignons in the world come from France or Calfornia. Hardly. In fact, Cabernet is planted across the globe, and with Merlot is among the most popular wine varietals.

Well, let's get to it. What did we find out about Cabernet Sauvignon last night?

Smoking Loon
Prior to the tasting, I read Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl's chapter on Cabernet Sauvignon, in her new book Drink This: Wine Made Simple (Ballantine 2009). Besides offering a great introduction to the grape itself, Grumdahl lays out a really smart gendered reading of this hypermasculine varietal. More to the point, she also suggests that a tasting of Cabernet Sauvignon might well begin with a mass-market and "affordable" bottle, something that represents the mainstream of Cabernet. That's what we got, and I should say that, in short, no one loved the 'Loon. It earned scores of 15, 15, 13, 12 11, 7. I guess that 7 (Robin) is a harsh indictment, and it is notably the first wine to fall into the "OK, who brought this?" category. Robin's pejoratives are on the money: they include "viscous," "not very fragrant," "jellyfish stingy in center of the tongue," "sharp and flat," "single note," and "alcohol smell." Ouch. Others agreed: "acidy" and "sharp" (Claude), "one-dimensional" (Kristie), and "sting tangy" (Kristie again). I'll just add to this chorus of disapproval that the wine is simply dull. It was hard to derive much from the nose, the flavors were muted and difficult to differentiate, and the finish was a little "hot"--that is, noticeably alcoholic. On the other hand, and to be fair, most of us put this wine in the "Average" category or the lowest rung of "Good." As unremarkable as it is, it would go fine with a pizza or a sandwich. I guess, though, that for $12 one can do so much better.

Wine Smith
This wine was nice. It's a straightforward California Cabernet: balanced, round, lots of berries and spice. What is unique about this wine is the way it was produced--or I should say, the philosophy of its producer, Clark Smith. Smith believes in drawing on but limiting modern technologies in winemaking. He calls it "Postmodern Winemaking," by which I take him to mean a kind of free-play with the various methods and ideologies, sidestepping the dichotomy of old-world purity and modern technology. For example, Smith believes strongly in terroir and "natural" methods though he also discusses in great detail things with names like "micro-oxygenation" and "coextension." He doubts that terms like "natural" or "organic" have the clear and stable meanings typically granted them, and seeks to deploy all the resources at his disposal to make good wine. You can read more on this at Smith's own 'blog, GrapeCrafter:

http://www.grapecrafter.com/grapecrafter/

Anyway, Clark's Cabernet Sauvignon (22, 22, 20.5, 19, 16, 16) was visually more stimulating than the muddy Smoking Loon, with streaks of violet and magenta, greater clarity, and "clear, inner brightness" as Robin put it. The body was "velvety, smooth, and sting-free" (Robin again), and the flavor was full of all sorts of complimentary notes: we detected maple sugar, vanilla, clove, "fireplace" (Robin again!), toast, and chocolate. The sweetness balanced well with the spice and tannic edge, and there were all sorts of berries here, rolling everywhere. For the finish, I wrote the phrase "singes pleasantly" in my notes, and I think that gets it right. The dissenters: Claude and Kristie were less pleased, calling the finish "too dry" and the look a little syrupy. Though somehow, Claude did end up saying it was one of his favorites of the night . . .

Chateau Moulin de Tricot
Delicious! A real Haut Médoc Bordeaux. (Grumdahl helpfully explains that Bordeaux wines fall into two very rough categories, inexpensive Médoc and upscale French Bordeaux, from places like Pauillac, Margaux, and Haut-Médoc.) This wine (24, 24, 24, 23, 21, 20--all numbers in the "Outstanding" range) was characterized most succinctly by Claude's word "mellow." It just has an easy-going balance of flavor, back and forths all over the place: a light body with lots of depth; tastes of cherry and cinnamon; sweetness and tartness; thinness and richness; maturity and a "jumpy" quality (thank you, Tina). This wine is smokey and chocolaty, spicy and berry-rich, warm but not hot. The attack was slow--the flavors come on nice and smooth. Tracy thought for a long time before figuring out that she tasted bay leaf, which is one of those flavors that seeps in and suggests, never overpowers. This Cabernet comes on slowly and backs off calmly. Robin captured it all well: begins sweet, ends salty. Mellow, not pushy. Wish I could drink this kind of wine every day.

Rubicon Estate
I get shipments from the Rubicon Estate five times a year. They specialize in rich, lush Cabernets, and often suggest in the promotional literature they send with each shipment that these wines need years to really unwind. I have a few bottles of what they call their "Cask" Cabernet which I'm cellaring for another decade or more. In any case, this wine is a treat, and scored the highest of all: 27, 26, 26, 26, 25, 23. This is "big" wine: the bouquet hits you first, bright, rich, full, dark, deep, with true lavender, leather, blueberry, plum, and tobacco. So much is simply happening here on the tongue and at the top of the mouth in this layered wine. Notable flavors include jalapeno, coffee, chocolate and vanilla, and soy sauce. I think Juice Newton helped Robin articulate her feelings when she said it "called me angel of the morning then slowly walked away." Tina recalled Bonnie Tyler's "Living on a powder keg and giving off sparks." It was getting late and we were grooving.

Tasting wine with friends is fun. We had tons of food. Claude came over early and whipped out a few pizzas, Kristie brought a ton of great cheese, and Robin made brownies that tasted like coconuts. Everyone left around midnight, I took Shaba out for a walk, we cleaned up and fell asleep. Thanks all, for a wonderful night.

Maiden Tasting! Four Burgundies

Four bottles of wine. Six curious tongues. Twenty four separate experiences . . .

The first ever Thursday Night Tasting launched last night on waves of Burgundy. It was great!

Let's begin. The Wines, in order of appearance:

Whites
2007 William Fevre Chablis "Champs Royaux" ($20)
2005 Jean-Marc Pillot Saint-Romain "La Périere" ($38)

Reds
2002 Patrice Rion Chambolle-Musigny Premiere Cru "Le Plan des Dames" ($54)
2007 Domaine de Villaine Mercurey "Les Montots" ($45)

The players, in order of residence (why not?), north to south:

Jon, Upper East Side, in the 80s
Robin, Upper West Side, in the 70s
Deb, Midtown, in the 50s
Steve, just over the Brooklyn Bridge
Tracy and Raphael, just south of Steve

The method:

Sequential tasting using an evaluation sheet that rates the wines by five criteria: visual appearance, aroma, texture (or body), taste, and finish. The scale used, which adds up to 30 points in total, is as follows:

25-30 Excellent, incredibly delicious, memorable
20-24 Outstanding, a really good wine
15-19 Good to Very Good
10-14 Average, drinkable
0-9 OK, who brought this?

(I should say, I cribbed the evaluation sheet and evaluation rubric from a few different online sources and tweaked them here and there.)

First, a little bit about Burgundy wine . . .

As Jon explained at the outset, the central Burgundy growing region in France is tiny: about 25 miles long and just over a mile wide. That's not all that much bigger than Manhattan Island. The grapes grown here are principally Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, meaning that white Burgundies are Chards and red Burgundies are Pinots.

OK wait, let me pause to explain something. The phrase "white Burgundy" gets me excited. I think it's because it sounds so impossibly exotic. How can something be white and red at the same time? I know "Burgundy" doesn't refer to color, but the association sticks in the back of my mind. White Burgundy. It's kind of like the Black Irish.

I guess I'm trying to articulate why I instinctively like Burgundy wine so much. To me, Burgundy is synonymous with delicate, complex, and mature flavors. Yet a full disclosure here: I've tasted fewer than a dozen Burgundies in my life so far, so I'm writing as an authentic ignoramus. Yet though I know so little about this wine, I've already detected in my habits of mind about Burgundies a touch of Francophilia I never knew I had. I'm drawn to these wines and to the images they evoke for me--images so redolent of cliché I won't name them here.

Of course, part of the general mystique of Burgundy may be related to its exclusively small size. In fact, there are only 100 AOC vineyards in Burgundy. "AOC" is short for "Appellation d’origine contrôlée," a designation granted by the French government to vineyards that meet fairly rigorous standards of production. It's also a way to protect and make a fetish of French terroir and viticultural history, not to mention standing in the global wine market. The Napa Valley, by contrast, has around 700 vineyards producing Napa Valley wine--and Napa wasn't designated as a unique wine growing region until 1981. Anyway, Burgundy's small size means that one can conceivably get around to tasting a representative selection of these wines--assuming, of course, certain liberties with one's time, money, and sobriety. To me, a genuine neophyte, this is magical wine.


So, let's take these color by color. First the whites.

Overall, we liked the Saint-Romain over the Chablis. (By the way, Chablis is a sub-region in Burgundy--or perhaps I should say super-region as it's to the north). The Saint-Romain scores were as follows: 23, 21.5, 20,19, 19, 18. (I was the 23. I got carried away.) This was really a solid wine. It had a golden, wheat-like, almost gingery clear color and a bouquet that many of us associated with hardwoods and oak. Interestingly, we weren't all saying just "oak," which can be an overpowering flavor in American Chardonnays; we were saying "wood" as well. Robin said "woodsy," which I liked. I think we were all enthusiastic about the body itself--buttery, round, silky, and velvety. Like a Chardonnay, but subtler. I really noticed that the flavors in this wine focused like a laser on the center of the tongue. In the front of the mouth it softened and mellowed, and grew a little "prickly," as Robin put it, near the back. We noted flavors like sweet peppers, white pepper, and grass, and the finish was long and slow to fade--the bright high notes dropped quickly away, but the more lengthy flavors lingered pleasantly in in the back of the throat.

The Chablis was quite different. It earned scores of 21, 20, 20, 19, 17, and 16.5--considerably lower than the Saint-Romain. Bright and clear, light yellow, "shiny" and with a slight aura of green, this lighter wine was dominated by the flavor of citrus. I really focused on its lemony tang, though Tracy nailed it nicely, I thought, by noticing kumquat (I don't think I'm just saying this because it's the more original observation). We also found that this wine explodes in the front of the mouth, where its bright and sunny flavors catch fire, though it dies quickly at the back. We also tasted grapefruit, pineapple and something Steve calls "small oranges" (Steve, do you care to elaborate?). Downsides here include what some saw as a high acidity and astringency and what Deb thought was a flat-out sourness. Something might be wrong with drinking a wine like this in the depths of January. This is summer wine.

I'd say that we all agreed that these were both solid wines. Nobody got hysterical here and gushed, but we liked them.

Onto the reds.

The Patrice Rion (26, 25, 23, 22, 20, 20.5) was the clear favorite of the night--though I must point to a little bit of context: I uncorked the Mercurey at least three hours prior to the tasting, giving it lots of time to unwind. The Patrice Rion had no such chance, and I think this made a big difference. In fact, by the end of the comparisons, I went back to the Patrice Rion and noticed that it really had opened up (at which point I revised my previous descriptions). Yet fully oxygenated or not, this is a really delicious wine. Ruby colored, with "a port-like fire" (thank you, Tracy) and a "Cherry Jello redness" (er, thanks Robin), we got lots of flavors just from the nose: wet leather (I think that's a good thing), oak, vanilla, pepper, berry, and what Deb associated with violin rosin. This wine is complex and virtually dialectic: the body is light on the tongue at first, yet really full and buttery, too, a contrast that creates a synthetic richness. It's smooth but gets prickly, too. The tannins are noticeable yet they are hints and grace notes that don't overpower. And the finish is polite and uniform, steadily fading down the back of the throat. Dissenting observations: Steve noticed a "new car smell" (though he didn't really say it like it was a bad thing) and Robin said that, while the finish was relatively brief, that wasn't a positive for her--she wished it were longer.

The Mercurey (26, 25, 23, 23, 22--only five totals here because Tracy didn't rate the finish) scored a shade higher, but I don't think there was agreement that it was inherently a better wine (in fact, the sense I got before I compared numbers was that people generally liked the Patrice Rion better). The color was a lighter red--dancing, brilliant, and clear. The nose was creamy and buttery, but also full of sharp berry and cedar aromas. It displayed fewer tannins, and was called "prickly," "perky," and light. I'm not sure exactly what "tight" means in terms of wine flavor, but it felt tight in the mouth--concentrated and focused, like all the nubbins of taste were corralled into a small pen. We picked up on bright fruit flavors, especially dark cherry. The finish was immediate. Someone said that the flavor just "evaporates," which was quite noticeably true.

I first tried the Mercurey a month ago, at a wine tasting in Brooklyn about a mile from our apartment. I bought this bottle there and, afterward, Tracy and I had dinner at a restaurant nearby. Then, we walked home in the first really bitterly cold winter night this year. Naomi was strapped tightly to Tracy's chest, warm and asleep in the howling wind.

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Postscript: Tracy and I just tasted the two red Burgundies from last night, and their differences are standing out very boldly to both of us. The Mercurey is simply younger, with more front-of-the-mouth flavors. There is fruit here, more noticeably than last night. It's rounder in the mouth than the Patrice Rion, with a graceful and receding finish. Tracy keeps saying that it's "graceful."

The Patrice Rion, however, strikes us now as a mature, quite dry, and with a sharp finish. There's a higher level of acidity here, and you might say it's less "gentle" than the Mercurey.

Let's leave it at that. Enjoy your Friday night!