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"What Qualifies a Wine as Great?" --Part One

In the course of leading wine tastings, I’ve been asked a lot of questions.
At one particularly memorable tasting, it was nothing short of barrage. Fielding 20-25 questions (an honest, but rough estimate) while guiding – and pouring – a flight of four wines for 18 guests was fantastically exhilarating. I’m sure that my answers were not perfect, but I was delighted to find myself keeping the juggling-balls up in the air.
There is one question that people like to ask... and who can blame them, it is a good question: “what qualifies a wine as great?”. Oi vey!... One of those juggling-balls just became a cannon-ball.
So here, with the advantage of stumbling – and the passage of time – being hidden from view... and a cup of coffee: Let me (begin to) try again.

Here is Part One: “The Benchmark Measure”

One answer -- common in wine-geek circles -- is what might be called “the benchmark measure”.

According to this system, each type of wine has a benchmark against which all other (related) wines can be judged. To be a great Pinot Noir, for example, a wine must approach the quality of a Domaine Romaine-Contri “La Tache” Grand Cru... to be a great Syrah, a wine must approach the quality of Chapoutier’s Hermitage “L’Ermite”.
Problems?

(1) The benchmark measure is hopelessly elitist.

Very few people ever have the opportunity to taste these anointed wines. L’Ermite is relatively inexpensive at about $200 per bottle; a bottle of “La Tache” 2004 (a poor vintage in Burgundy) sells for well over $1000. Further, keep in mind that both these wines will require at least a decade of careful cellaring, adding to the cost).
Any standard of what makes a wine “great” should (at least) help us to talk about what makes a wine “good”. If almost nobody has ever tasted the benchmarks, then most of us are left unable to speak the language.

(2) The benchmark system requires that the universe be divided into a list of “types of wine”. Is that really so easy... or even possible?
Is Barossa Shiraz to meet a standard set by French Hermitage. Should Sauvignon Blanc from Malborough (New Zealand) strive for a standard set in Poully-Fume (France)?
Maybe each of these are their own “types”, with their own benchmarks. In which case, can you decide where the subdivision should stop? Should Barossa Shiraz be separated from that produced a few kilometers away in the Adelaide Hills?

(3) Many proponents of a benchmark approach are also proponents of the idea of “terroir”. The problem is that they do not seem compatible.
Very briefly, terroirists – by emphasizing the unique physical aspects of each vineyard – expect wines to taste “of their origin”. A wine produced in a cool climate should be crisp; a wine from a warm climate should be plump.
If Argentine winemakers are expected to emulate a Malbec benchmark from Cahors (south-western France), they can not also be true to the terroir of Mendoza. Consider these two imaginary, neighbouring vineyards: the slope of Clos One faces south-east, Clos Two faces east. If Clos One is anointed as a benchmark, at Clos Two they will try to disguise their terroir by harvesting late or “de-acidifying” (adding potassium bicarbonate to artificially lower a wine’s acidity).

(4) Finally. Most winemakers claim that they are just “allowing” the wine, or the terroir, “to reveal itself”. This “non-interventionist” orientation is the current fashion... it is also (in my opinion) a grain of truth wrapped in a lot of hooey.
Vineyards are pruned in one style or another, fertilized or not, and so on.
Grape-must (the mixture of juice, skins, seeds, etc) “punched down” or “pumped over” (methods of stirring) with varying frequency.
Maceration and fermentation temperature is controlled and manipulated.
“Elevage” (maturing in the cellars) is done in oak or steel, large or small barrels.
...And so on, and so on...

The grain-of-truth? A craftsman (or perhaps, an artist) refuses to make wine as if it were another manufactured beverage. The problem is that benchmark systems ignore the stylistic choices of vigneron and winemaker.

In many classic areas (Bordeaux, Champagne, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, etc) wines are blended from a list of permitted varieties. That blend is (part pf) a house-style. Which "house style" is to be the benchmark in CDP?... Chateau Beaucastel (Mouvredre and Syrah heavy, with a dose of Brettomyces), or Chateau Rayas (predominately Grenache)?
In Bordeaux, elevage in a maximum of new-oak barrels is currently fashionable. The richest estates, able to afford to do so, are using 100% new-oak barrels. This means that benchmark wines – almost certainly to be found in this elite – are dramatically oaky. The result is that “lesser” producers, chasing a benchmark, do anything to make their wines taste like oak. At the absurd end of the spectrum, I’ve sampled bargain wines which taste as if someone added a dollop of vanilla extract.

...to be continued...

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Have a more money than you know what to do with... here are a few "benchmarks" currently available in Ontario:

Ch. Cheval Blanc (2000). $1800. Bordeaux Cabernet Franc - Merlot blend from the "Right Bank"

Clarendon Hills "Astralis" (2004) $390. Shiraz/Syrah from Australia's Adedaide Hills

Ch. Haut-Brion (2003) $500. Bordeaux Cabernet Sauvignon dominated from the "Left Bank"

Guigal "La Landonne" Cote Rotie (2002). $280. Classic Syrah from the Northern Rhone.

What Could Be More Fun Than Bubbles?

Of all the famous things alledgly said, I have several favourites:
Oscar Wilde on his deathbed, “Either these curtains go or I do”.
Kermit the frog, “Time’s fun when you’re having flies” (can Kermit really be held accountable for anything he seemed to say?).
Dom Perignon – often credited with the “invention” of Champagne – marveling at his first taste of sparkling wine: “I am drinking the stars”.

It is almost certain that Dom Perignon never happily compared bubbles to stars. That sparkle was actually a source of great frustration. As cellarmaster at a Benedictine abbey near Epernay (Champagne, France), he worked to improve the wines of his region. These efforts were frustrated by one particular type of “spoilage”: local wines – because their fermentation tended to restart – were plagued by bubbles.
From this ironic beginning, bubbles were gradually embraced as a stylistic flare.

Today, there are several types of sparkling wines, each produced in many regions. It is easiest to become familiar with this range by organizing them according to the three major methods (i.e.: how did they get the bubbles in the bottle?).

Carbonation.
The very cheapest of sparkling wines are made by pumping, under pressure, carbon dioxide into a still wine. Leaving aside the usually awful quality of the base wine, these wines sparkle with big (or “coarse”) bubbles. Most important of all, carbonated wines (you may see vin gazife) go flat quickly.

Tank-Fermented.
This is also called Cuvee Close and, after its inventor, Charmat Method.
A base wine, along with a new dose of yeast and sugar, is put into a tank. Because this tank is tightly sealed, carbon dioxide (a byproduct of fermentation) is unable to escape and, instead, dissolves into the wine. Once this “secondary fermentation” is finished, the wine is transferred (under pressure) into bottles.
Wines made this way are of much better quality than their carbonated cousins. The process is more expensive than carbonation, but cheaper than Bottle-Fermentation (see below). Tank-Fermentation is best suited to producing fresh, fruity styles of wine.

Bottle-Fermented.
This process is also called Cap Classique, Traditional Method, “Method Champenois”, or a label may say “Fermented in this bottle”.
A base wine is put into bottles. Each bottle has a yeast/sugar dosage added, and is then sealed. Just as in the Tank-Method, fermentation produces carbon dioxide which, unable to escape the bottle, dissolves into the wine. Afterwards, the dead yeast cells are removed, and each bottle is topped up and resealed.
This method is very expensive... requiring huge amounts of labour and/or specialized machinery. It is capable of producing the finest (small, delicate) bubbles, in wines which will continue to sparkle for hours before going flat.




Now that we have a little technical knowledge out of the way: what about sparkling wines is worth getting excited about?


Bubbles cut through fatty/oily foods like nobody’s business.
Like a pint of beer with pub grub? I’m fond of hops, but with fish and chips, its the bubbles that are especially pleasing. Try a (few) glass(es) of Cava... traditional method sparkling wine from Spain... dry, slightly yeasty.

Nothing says delightful like Asti.
Asti Spumante (not to be confused with Spumante Bambino) is medium-sweet, frothy mouthful. Think of a bowl of peaches topped with cut green grapes, set that bowl next to a vase of fresh cut flowers... A lightly sparkling version is called Moscato d’Asti. Imagine a Sunday brunch where you are actually having fun... if you prefer Sunday football, try a bottle of Asti with a bowl of potato chips (for best results, make sure your wearing pink fuzzy slippers).

Champagne is a terrific example of a wine capable of producing unexpected aromas and flavours.
The vast majority of Champagne is white. The first one I ever met tasted of many things: some expected (lemon, apple) and others surprising. Strangely comfortable in this white wine was the flavour of milk chocolate.
The taste of chocolate, present in some sparkling wines, is produced by a process called yeast autolysis (translation: the self-digestion of yeast cells). After the second (in bottle) fermentation has finished, exaughsted (dead) yeast is left in contact with the wine. Enzymes, breaking down these yeast cells, cause a number of chemical changes in the wine. The most straightforward of these produce aromas and flavours which remind us of things from rising bread, through malt (think of “malted milk” like Olvaltine), and occasionally on to chocolate.


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Want to explore?

Cava (traditional method, sparkling wine from Spain) can’t be beat for value. For an introduction, try the basic wines from Heredad Segura Viudas (“Brut”), or Freixenet (“Cordon Negro Brut”)... both are less than $15.


Asti Spumante are easily found. Most often seen is Martini&Rossi ($13).
Moscato d’Asti is less common. In this market, your most likely to find one this time of year (spring). Just released: Batasiolo Moscato d’Asti Bosc d’la Rei ($18).


Champagne (a name reserved for only wines from a specific area of northern France) is never cheap. My introduction, which I would not discourage, was Lanson “Black Label” N.V. Brut ($45)

There are some terrific sparkling wines made here in Ontario. In my opinion the best is made by Henry of Pelham: Cuvee Catharine Brut Rose ($30). Very dry and yeast-scented, with lovely subtle fruit flavours.

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What could me more fun than bubbles?

Types of Aging -- Types of Maturity

I’m an amateur du vin (fr: lover of wine) fascinated by the aromas and flavours of time.

Partly, I’m fascinated by processes – many of them still mysterious – which, take a wine’s hand and lead it from one stage towards another.
Partly, I’m beguiled by thoughts: there are different ways of aging... there are many types of maturity... time can do more than just make us older... (maybe) there are ways to spend time so that we never regret growing old.

The majority of wines are intended for relatively early consumption (between 10 and 24 months after harvest). These wines are essentially fermented grape juice which has been blended to offer a pleasing flavour profile. They are bottled soon (months) after fermentation. They may have been stabilized (flash pasteurization, for example) to increase their lifespan. In any case, the flavour profile bottled is (hopefully) the flavour profile consumed.
Some of these wines aim to capture the delight of freshness and youth, fruit and flowers. Beaujolais is the most obvious example of such a wine. Its sibling, Beaujolais Nouveau, takes the approach to a (once) fashionable extreme.
Other wines in this category are designed to include flavours borrowed from their aged cousins. Oak chips can give an illusion of time spent resting in barrels.

The majority out of the way, let’s turn to the minority: wines in which the passing of time is essential.

Some wines are intended to be aged for years (or even decades) in bottle. Such wines, when mature, are hardly the same wine that was bottled. Over time, fresh fruit (and often oppressively astringent tannins), may become a complex of dried fruits, forest floor, game meat, cigar box, wet earth, compost. That the chemistry of bottle aging is barely understood just embellishes the magic of a cellar. Its too bad – in this day of apartments, central heating, and mobile life/career styles – that the household cellar is rather rare.

Champagnes (and any sparkling wines made by the same “traditional method”) are created with a different type of bottle aging.
In Champagne, a dry wine is bottled along with a dose of yeast and sugar. These bottles are sealed, and left for the yeast to (re)start fermentation. Taking place in a sealed bottle (rather than an open vat), all the byproducts are trapped in the wine. Carbon dioxide dissolves (released later as bubbles). Dead yeast cells (more appealingly referred to as lees) slowly settle to the bottom. As time is allowed to pass, the wine takes on new flavours: biscuit, toast, malt, even milk-chocolate. Eventually, the lees are removed (“disgorged”) from the bottle. (How do they get the lees out of the bottle?... that’s a question for another day)

Some wines spend time on their lees (sur lie) before being bottled.
One (particularly lovely) variation has been learned from Burgundy. Rather being transferred from vat to barrel, a white wine can be fermented in its barrels. When fermentation finishes, the wine is left to rest on its lees which have settled to the bottom. With time – and with or without periodic stirring (fr: battonage) – the wine drifts towards new and fuller flavours, and a richer texture.

Many wines spend an extended time aging before bottling.
This time may be passed in oak barrels, stainless steel tanks or concrete vats.
Some of this time is spent before any blending. This gives the winemaker a better sense of where each component is heading.
A young wine can then be given further time before bottling. Different vessels – new or old oak barrels of various sizes, inert stainless steel – have their own influence on a developing wine. But as time itself passes, changes which will continue later in bottle begin here: tannins soften, colours fades, flavour profiles begin to shift.
The amount of time allowed to pass is a matter of taste, and controversy. Wines like Gran Reserva Rioja (Northern Spain), Brunello di Montalcino (Tuscany), and some red Bordeaux (France) are aged for years before bottling. Against “modern” tastes (and the bottom line) which are pushing wines out of the cellar sooner, old world wines are protected by legal minimums. (For example, for a wine to be sold Brunello di Montalcino, it must have spent a minimum of 3 years in barrel).

Over time, any wine in barrel will inevitably be slightly oxidized. In the wines discussed just above – barrels of which junior cellar hands kept topped up – oxidation is very slow. A few other wines locate themselves along a spectrum in which oxidation plays a greater and greater role in maturity. Tawny-aged Ports may stretch time in barrel to decades. Many VinSanto (Tuscany) are sealed in barrel for years. The wine slowly evaporates as time passes; the empty space (ullage) in each barrel – and with it the influence of oxygen – grows. Finally, Oloroso (traditionally, but not exclusively, in southern Spain) is made by deliberately leaving its base wine exposed to the air. Time turns an oloroso through deep amber to brown... until those years smell of nuts, raisins and spice.

A very few wines mature below a layer of yeast. This coat – often called flor – is fed by the wine. In return, it protects a maturing wine from oxygen while passing on its own flavours to its host. Manzanilla, made this way, is a crisp dry white wine which smells strongly of seaside-air and rising bread dough.

Finally, one last type of maturity. Normally, wines age gently in cellars where, kept cool, time seems to flow slowly. Casks of Madeira – fortified wines produced on an island of the same name – are deliberately exposed to the island’s subtropical heat. Such treatment – aging gone haywire – which would be fatal for almost any other wine, renders Madeiras almost indestructible. Strangely, as if time on Madeira stretches and contracts like a rubber band: even a relatively young Madeira tastes mature beyond its years... and yet, some of these wines are capable developing – at an inconceivably slow pace – for a century or more.

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As usual, here are some suggestions (currently available in Ontario) for those who would like to explore:

More than just bubbly wine... taste what the lees left behind:
Lanson “Black Label” non-vintage Champagne. $45
Henry of Pelham “Cuvee Catherine Brut” Ontario sparkling wine. $30


Two wines from beneath a layer of flor:
Gonzalez-Bypass “Tio Pepe” Fino Sherry. $15
Chateau Chalon “Reserve Chatherine de Rye 1986” Vin Juane. $70 (600ml)


Wines fully oxidized:
Alvear. “Asuncion Oloroso”. $21 (500ml)
Gonzalez-Bypass. “Matusalem Oloroso Dulce”. $25 (375ml)


From casks left out in the heat:
Blandy’s 5yr Bual Madeira. $22
Pfeiffer. Rutherglen Muscat. $15 (500ml)

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. . . just because it cracks me up:
“Getting old ain’t for sissies” (Betty Davis)

What is a "Grape Variety"?

Its easy to forget that fundamental questions are often not simple questions.
In hindsight, it seems like a rather sensible question: “What does the term ‘grape variety’ mean?”. At the time, I was rather startled by how difficult it was to offer a clear answer.

With a very few exceptions, all grapes used to make wine belong to a single species: vitis vinifera. Through mutation – and later, breeding – grape vines have developed various sets of physical traits (colour, skin thickness, leaf shape, etc).
Into what would otherwise be a morphing jumble of traits, steps our friend the vigneron (fr: grape grower). Wanting to plant a vineyard, he selects a vine for its particular set of traits. By cutting and grafting (asexual reproduction), a vineyard is filled with (virtual) copies of the original vine. Now we have a vineyard full of vines which share a set of physical traits. Now we have a “variety”.
Analogies can be helpful:
All dogs belong to one species (canis familiaris). However, they have been bred – with the aim of selecting particular sets of physical traits – into recognizable “breeds”. Muscat (grape variety) and Golden Retriever (dog breed) have more in common then their approximate colour.
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So, can knowing the grape variety help us know what to expect from a bottle of wine? In wine-speak: are varietally labeled wines dependable for their typicity?
Yes... and no.
This time, let’s start with an analogy:
Apples, like grapes, come in many “varieties” (in this case, the proper term is actually cultivar). Each cultivar has a distinct set of physical traits. For example: Granny Smith apples are green, very crisp, high in acid, require mild growing climate, and its slices are relatively slow to brown.
Given some practice, its not hard to imagine being able to identify various apple cultivars in a “blind tasting”.
But what about identifying the apple cultivar baked into an apple pie? Pastry recipes, amounts of cinnamon, etc. would certainly complicate matters.
Expecting all pies made from Granny Smith apples to taste alike, is rather like expecting the same from all wines made from Merlot.

Translation:
Yes, grapes of any particular variety have characteristics which will effect a final wine.
Tannat grapes – having very thick, dark skins – produce wines which are deeply coloured, strongly flavoured and tannic.
Riesling, even as it ripens, retains a high level of acidity, and – with age – its wines develop an odd aroma of kerosene.

But...
(1) Some grape varieties are very particular, but others (Chardonnay, for example) are grown successfully almost right across the world’s vineyards. Two genetically identical vines, growing in the conditions (climate, soil type) of two very different locations, will produce two equally different vats of grape juice.
One simple (and somewhat simplified) example: cool-climate Chardonnay grapes will be “crisp”, light bodied and high in acidity... warm-climate Chardonnay will be “plump”, medium bodied, low in acidity and higher in alcohol.
--Partly for this reason, many wines are labeled according to geography rather than grape variety. Most French wines are classified this way; red wines from Burgundy – despite being 100% Pinot Noir – will be labeled with a place of origin (for example, “Cote Nuits Villages”).--

(2) Like geography, winemaking technique can make a world of difference.
Was wine fermented and/or aged in oak barrels? What kind of yeast(s) were used to ferment the juice? How high were temperatures allowed to rise during fermentation take place? How long were the skins, seeds (and sometimes stems) left to soak in the vat? And so on...

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So what good is a varietal label?

Grape variety can provide one starting point for exploration.
If you find yourself enjoying a Niagara Chardonnay, move on to a Chardonnay from Chablis(France), or California, or South Africa... Learn a little about the ones you find to your liking – what do they have in common? Cool/warm-climate? Oak/unoaked?
Please be sure to branch out from your original grape variety. Extending our example: If you find you enjoy a few cool-climate, unoaked Chardonnays, try other crisp whites (Italian Pinot Grigio, Alsatian Riesling, Loire Sauvignon Blanc, etc).

And besides, everything marketed needs something on its label; In this context, I’d prefer to have no more penguins, cats, and hippopotami than absolutely necessary.

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Want to taste some contrasts a single grape variety can produce?

(1)Pinot Gris/Pinot Grigio
In northern Italy, this grape is called “Pinot Grigio”. It is harvested quite early to produce a crisp, acidic style.
(I like the one produced by Collavini... $14)
In Alsace, the same grape is called “Pinot Gris”. The style is to harvest later, producing a richly flavoured and (sometimes) almost oily textured wine.
(To be honest, I’m still looking for a Pinot Gris with which I’m really happy... aware that this will sound like faint praise, I was not unhappy with: Domaine St.Remy. Pinot Gris Reserve $18).

(2)Some Merlots call up words like “pretty” or “feminine”. Others are massive hulks of super-ripe fruit. For an idea of what I mean, compare these two wines:
“Merlot” Christian Mouieux. Bordeaux, France ($15) (any vintage except the unusually hot 2003)
“Hillcot Merlot”. Grant Burge. Australia ($20)

Wine Terms: "Old Vines"

Who isn’t seduced by the idea that things get better with age?
Contrary to the cliché, most wine is intended to be consumed in its youth – it does not get better with age.
What about the vines which produce that wine?

You’ll certainly see “old vines” (or, in French, “vieille vignes”) printed on lots of wine labels.
Do old vines really produce better wines?... and why?

The short – but unhelpful – answer: sometimes, yes.

The detailed answers are out in the vineyard.
Yields are a very important factor in producing quality wine. Its easiest to imagine that each vine has a limited amount of “essence” to distribute between all the grapes it produces. Young vines are capable of producing masses of grapes, but the resulting juice will be dilute. Old vines, fatigued or wise, naturally produce less fruit. This juice will be more concentrated.
This, however, assumes that the vigour of young vines has been left unchecked. With vineyard efforts like severe pruning and green harvesting (removing of surplus bunches of immature grapes), yields can be controlled and concentrated juice produced from the final harvest.
Alternatively technology (reverse osmosis machines, for example) can be called in to concentrate otherwise dilute juice.

Call me a fuddy-duddy but I doubt concentration could produce anything better than passable plonk. Wines for younger vines, farmed with their yield severely and skillfully restrained, are certainly capable of being at least superb.

Some argue that restrained young vines can produce a wine just as great as old vines. Maybe, but its more complicated still.
Old vines have very deep root system. This means that their fruit production will suffer less during a drought. This is also true during a heavy rain which is more likely to harm young vines with shallow roots.
All this applies to dry farmed vineyards. Irrigated vines show less contrast between young and old vines.

Old vines are almost certainly located in excellent locations (terroir). Many (very) old vines have survived epidemics like phyloxera (a louse which kills vines by nibbling on their roots). They are much more likely to have done so in sandy or very rocky soil (which are inhospitable to pests like phyloxera). Conveniently, these are terrific grape-growing soils.

Finally, the quality of “old vines” wines is often a self-fulfilling profecy. Gnarled old vines are treasured by many vineyards. Often, they are tended with great care, their fruit is gently (hand) harvested, and wines made with exceptional care. In these ways an “old vines” wine may become rather like a “reserve” wine. (It is not uncommon for an estate to make a regular and an “old vines” cuvee).
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So, how old are “old vines”?
Ah, here’s a rub...
There is no legal definition at all.

In very general terms:
At about 35-40 years old, vines – their yields declining – are no longer profitable for making less-than-premium wines. In most cases, these vines are grubbed up and replanted.
It seems sensible to me, then, that vines older than 40 years might be classified as “old vines”.
Sensible, unless my vineyard contains 150 year old vines.

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Here are two examples of “Old Vines” wines available here in Ontario:


Dead Arm Shiraz $55
If you like your Shiraz brawny, muscular or burly, this may be a wine for you. “Dead Arm” is the common name for a vine disease (Eutypa Lata) which often afflicts old vines. Old vines have, inevitably, survived a disease or two... but Eutypa Lata (which kills off sections of vine – not unlike pruning by disease, rather than shears) suits the old-vines idea. That is, of course, assuming it isn’t fatal.
A word of caution: this wine has developed something of a cult following. Undoubtedly, some of the $55 price tag is due to this status.

Bouscasse Old Vines $38
This wine might have been called “Reserve” instead (indeed, its not uncommon for these two categories to overlap).
(1)Yes, it is produced from old(er)-vine grapes.
(2)The regular Bouscasse bottling, is softened by blending Merlot and Cabernet Franc into the Tannat (the dominate local variety... typically as tannic as its name suggests). In contrast, the “Old Vines” cuvee is 100% Tannat, and certainly intended as a vin de garde (to be aged for years in bottle).

Wine Terms: "Fiasco"

Most of us will recognize Lady & the Tramp.
Many of us will recognize the wine bottle, serving as a candle-holder in the foreground, as Chianti.
For ages, these bottles – rotund, wrapped in a wicker basket – were familiar to consumers. Such a distinctive bottle can be a fabulous marketing device. Fabulous that is, until quality slips and/or the expanding diversity of the market shows your wines as dilute plonk. At this point the distinctive bottle was seen as an albatross, not an asset... and was abandoned.
Too bad.
I generally dislike non-standard bottles (to take just one reason: they are a nuisance to stack in the cellar), but this one carried such an amusing bit of wine etymology in its name... the Fiasco.
The Italian word “fiasco” has its origin in Medieval Latin. Here it meant a flask, or a small container for holding wine. Later (as Latin became Italian, and after glass bottles were invented), “fiasco” became the Italian term referring to (any) bottle.
How “fiasco” came to also mean mishap or failure is lost to history.
There are, however, some delightful theories.
The Fiasco, had a rounded base. The resulting instability was one reason for its wicker casing. A tippy bottle (of red wine no less) is a rather obvious route to mishap.
Glassblowers may have been in the habit of salvaging flubbed projects to make (everyday) bottles. Thus “failure” links itself to “bottle”.
In one way or another, by the 19th century the word “fiasco” took on a second meaning. Its seen first around the Italian theatre. “Far fiasco” (literally, make a bottle) meant to suffer to flop or make an embarrassing mistake on stage. From there, slang spread itself to wider usage... and by the mid 19th century, into English.

We may bemoan the loss of such a distinctive bottle, with an amusing name.
We may take away a lesson about the danger of standing out from the crowd.
We may decide its been too long since we saw Lady & the Tramp.