Writings from the Desk @ kwTastings

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 20:10:00 +0000

Thank you for visiting me at my "BLOGGER" address.
You are welcome to explore what is still posted here, but there is lots of new material to be found at my own website: kwtastings.com. From the main menu, click the link to "From the Desk at kwTastings".

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

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 04 Apr 2007 18:29:00 +0000

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?

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Tue, 27 Mar 2007 23:28:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 15 Mar 2007 21:24:00 +0000

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"?

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 22:04:00 +0000

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"

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 07 Mar 2007 16:48:00 +0000

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"

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 15 Feb 2007 01:27:00 +0000

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.

Chardonnay

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 23:11:00 +0000

I must admit to some former snobbery.
I used to consider white wines to be simple fare for those not ready for the seriousness of red wine. Worse: within that erroneous (but common) generalization, I considered Chardonnay to be nothing but an ocean of dull plonk chosen by simplistic palates on (varietal) name recognition alone.
I apologize – to you, and to myself – for my former attitude.

Yes, there is an ocean of Chardonnay... and lots of it is dull plonk. And while that is also true of every wine “type”, it quite certainly particularly true of Chardonnay.
Why?
First: In the spectrum of grape varieties, Chardonnay is easy to grow. It is relatively disease resistant. It will grow in the widest range of climates. Finally, (unrestrained) Chardonnay vines will give high yields. All this is no insult to the Burgundian artisan... but it is all very attractive to producers looking to churn out vast quantizes of plonk.
Second: name recognition (varietal, brand, etc) tends to be good for (mass-market) sales and bad for quality. An awful lot of Chardonnay has been purchased by customers – confronted with poorly designed wine lists and retail stores – grabbing hold of something familiar.

There’s an irony in treating Chardonnay as a sort of brand... its the chameleon of the vine. While there is a familiar California/Australian model, Chardonnay thrives in a wide range of climates, each producing different fruit character. Further, Chardonnay is sometimes called “the winemaker’s grape” for taking kindly to a wide range of manipulations in the winery.
Cool Climate – Warm Climate

As any grape ripens, it gains sugar (which will be turned into alcohol) and looses acidity. This vineyard balancing act has a range of solutions.
Grown in a cool climate (northern Burgundy, Ontario), Chardonnay tends to be high in acidity (crisp, tart) and fairly low in alcohol. A warm climate (Australia, much of California) produces Chardonnay low in acidity (soft, plump) and high in alcohol.
The flavour characteristics of a grape is effected by the amount of warmth the vine enjoys, and shifts as the fruit ripens. Cool climate Chardonnay tends towards apple, pear and lemons; warm climate Chardonnay reaches into tropical flavours like mango, banana and fig.
Body (mouth feel, or weight) is the result of a wine’s alcohol, and compounds (glycerines, for example) which develop in the later stages of ripening. It follows then: cool climate Chardonnay will tend to be lighter bodied than ones produced in a warm climate with the luxury of a prolonged ripening process (“hang time”).

Malolactic Fermentation

Things aren’t too complicated yet... but now the grapes are brought out of the vineyard and into the winery’s cellar.
Malolactic fermentation is a process by which an infant wine’s malic acid (think tart green apples) is converted into softer lactic acid (think of yogurt’s tang).
Modern winemakers are able to control this process... and muddle up our simple climatic model. In making a cool climate Chardonnay, a winemaker (let’s call him Joe) may avoid “malo”. This would emphasize the crisp, tart aspects the wine. On the other hand, Joe could put the wine through malo and produce something softer and plumper.
As a byproduct, malolactic fermentation produces diacetyl. This compound – more familiar as the key aromatic component of butter – can radically alter the character of the wine. It can slather (not surprisingly) a creamy, buttery layer onto a wine’s fruit aromas and flavour profiles.
Now Joe can choose to produce a crisp, tart Chardonnay... or one softer, with its flavours shifted towards tangy lemon cream.

Oaked – Unoaked

Wine, of course, needs a vessel.
The material in which wine is fermented, and then aged, will have a major influence on what ends up in our glass. Chardonnay is made in either stainless steel or oak.
Let’s start with an oaked version.
First, wood will impart various chemicals, many of them flavorful, to the wine. The intensity of these flavours will vary according to the age of the oak (after a few years, an oak barrel will have become inert). The flavours will also vary according to the type of oak used (American vs French, sawn vs split), and the level of “toast” left by the cooper who used heat to bend the staves into a barrel. Common aroma and flavour characteristics here: tea leaves, incense, coconut, vanilla.
Second, wooden barrels are (slightly) permeable. Moisture slowly escapes through evaporation, concentrating its contents. Not being impervious in the other direction either, the wine is very slowly oxidized. Oxygen (if you’ve ever tasted wine left open too long, you know) is the enemy of wine. A very little oxidation, however, adds appealing nutty, butterscotch flavours.

Clones

Without getting into too much biology (which will quickly confuse me, and then you)...
A grape variety (i.e. Chardonnay) is not unlike a dog breed... it is a particular version of the species (for our purposes: vitis vinifera). Each vine, propagated by taking a cutting from an existing vine, is a genetic copy. This duplication, however, is not quite perfect. A few of these imperfections (mutations) will happen to be desirable trait. If noticed by the wine grower, cuttings may be taken to propagate a new sub-variety or “clone”.
Any major international grape variety (which certainly includes Chardonnay) will have a large number of recognized clones. Clonal selection most often a matter of matching a vineyard (climate, soil), and desired yields to a clone with suitable characteristics. For all but the severely geeky wine-drinker, this is pretty obscure stuff best left to an occasional winery tour. However, some clones produce wines with a distinct flavour.
Of all this Chardonnay happens to provide an excellent example:
Keep an eye out, and you’ll likely come across wines labeled “Chardonnay Musque”.
Musque (also known as clone#809) is a distinctively aromatic clone of Chardonnay. Recalling Muscat, the (unrelated) variety from which this clone takes its name, these wines can be generously endowed with grapey and floral scents.

Some Chardonnay to try:

If you’d like to explore, here is a list of some widely ranging wines which are currently available in Ontario.

Cave Spring Chardonnay Reserve. (Ontario) Cool climate, moderately oaked but malolatic fermentation suppressed. ($20)

Lakeview Cellars. (Ontario) Chardonnay Reserve (03). Cool climate, outrageously oaky. (available at the winery $30)

Yes, white Burgundy is not cheap.
Ripe and oaky: a Cote d’Or Chardonnay... Meursault-Charmes (1er Cru) 2004 by Domaine Latour-Giraud. ($65)
--or--
Crisp and unoaked: a Chablis... Vau de Vey (1er Cru) 2004 by Chateau de Maligny. ($32)

Three examples of warm climate ripeness:
“Toasted Head” Chardonnay. R.H.Phillips, California. ($20)
Neil Ellis Chardonnay. 2004 South Africa ($19)
“Leconfield Chardonnay” 2003 Richard Hamilton. Australia ($21)

Finally two unusual diversions:
Peller Estates. Chardonnay Icewine. Very unusual... but, frankly, this was so sweet (and lacking acidity) that it made me think of letting a meringue melt on my tongue. Still, very interesting. (winery $70/375ml)

Peninsula Ridge. Ratafia. Something way off in left field... unfermented Chardonnay juice, fortified with local plum brandy. Fantastic. (winery $30/500ml)

Today... I Blog

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 21:51:00 +0000

It has been my habit to use this space to hold out pieces of wine-writing... occasionally in complete form, more often in the midst of revision, extension and rewriting. I have, perhaps, absconded the opportunity offered by blogger.com to publish something other than what has come to be defined as “a blog”.
(Honestly, this doesn’t trouble me in the least... but I have occasionally cursed the format’s penchant for publishing “posts” in reverse order – or in my case, multi-part essays are published upside down.)
Bloggers, it seems, tell you what happened during their day. They gibber about what has delighted, and jabber about what has annoyed.
Well... today I blog.

I’ve been busy promoting a guided winetasting evening which I’m hosting next month. (see kwtastings.com)
This afternoon, I ran into an irritating snag (it is, I keep telling myself also amusingly bizarre).
My aim was to have this winetasting listed in the local newspaper’s “Calendar of Events”. I learned that they sort their listings into two subgroups: Community Events (which must be non-profit, or a charity benefit), and Entertainment Events. The employee at the other end of the phone told me that a winetasting does not qualify as “entertainment” and is, therefore, not eligible to be listed at all.
What followed was not a moment of great articulate grace. Thankfully I wasn’t rude either (I don’t think)..
Off the phone, I did follow up with an email in which I was able to gather up some of the thoughts. We’ll see where it goes from there.

Today is my day off.
Over my “weekend” (I work Saturdays and Sundays, so my weekend is midweek), I’ve been enjoying a bottle of Argentine Malbec.
Yesterday’s note read:
Bodegas Cavas Weinert. Malbec (99).
Strong, oxblood ruby colour (very slightly ruddy). Big nose of tart red berries... with some earthy spice. Palate is surprisingly elegant and restrained for a Malbec. Modest fruit, medium bodied. Very dry and oaky. Long clove-spice finish. Very Nice.
Today I’d add that time has improved this wine. Plump red-plum has developed... about equal to the oak which yesterday was dominant. Very Nice+

Today I also tried to book tickets to a “tutoured” winetasting in Toronto. Despite being six weeks away, it was sold out. So were the 3-4 other tastings which I also checked on.
Other than my own bad fortune, this is terrific.
Lots and lots of people are interested in learning more about wine. Lots of those people choose to learn by attending guided/tutoured winetastings (not to mention the entertainment value of such an event... see above).
What has me irked?
(1)The LCBO recently opened a new enormous store in uptown Waterloo. It is apparently their 3rd largest (after the flagship stores in Toronto and Ottawa). They did not include a classroom for tutored tastings.
(2)Remember the guided winetasting which I am planning to host? Of course, it requires a permit from the AGCO (Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario). Since my event will not have alcohol for sale (guests can not buy a glass or bottle of wine), I applied for a “No Sale permit” ($25). But (the AGCO says), your guests are paying to attend and are, therefore, indirectly paying for the alcohol to be consumed. Now I find myself paying for a “Sale permit” $75.
That seems like an outrageous amount of money.
The tasting is taking place in a facility which already pays for a liquor licence. The special permit is only required because I want to bring in my own choice of wines.
Maybe I should run a bar instead. I would require the exact same permit.

Fergusson (woof) is happily chewing a rawhide bone.

Today’s website of the day is http://geostationarybananaovertexas.com/

Today’s brief, amusing but pointless, diversion is “My Pug Immitates the Blender” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9l19D2sIHI

And now....
I’m going to shut up.

Building an (imaginary) Art Gallery (Parts 5&6)

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 21:16:00 +0000

What more sensible place for art couldthere be than a wine's label? The most famous example is Chateau Mouton-Rothschild. For each vintage since 1945, an artist has been commissioned create a new artwork to grace the wine's label.Over those years, participating artists have included: Salvador Dali (58), Miro (69), Chagall (70), Picasso (73), Motherwell (78), Warhol (75)... and so on.Just above are two examples that I would choose to exhibit.First, the Keith Haring label (88). Typical Haring: playful and bold lines, bold colour.Second, the 1993 label as it appeared in the US market. The actual label featured a sketch by Balthus... but its subject (a nude, apparently pre-pubesent girl) offended American censors.Yes, a wine label can sport a fine painting (or the lack thereof)... but the entire label-design can be a work of art. On the right is the label for Boony Doon Vineyards' Old Vines Zinfandel - "Cardinal Zin". The label is pure Ralph Steadman: frantic, guestural and amusing.So are art-displaying wine labels a attention getting gimmick? (Would that be so wrong?)Is Mouton-Rothschild taking an opportunity to pay tribute to visual artists by granting them prestigious commissions?Does Ralph Steadman's painting contribute something to, or help us to appreciate BonnyDoon's (irreverently zany) style?Can labels be a wordless dialogue between artists (winemaker and painter)?

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And what about winery architecture?... Great efforts are put to make many winery buildings (and not just the grand "Chateaux" of Bordeaux) into stunning works of art in and of themselves.Some some perch over a dramatic view of the vineyards (FlatRock Cellars, Niagara)... some echo local tradition (Bodegas Catena Zapata's temple-like buildings in Mendoza, Argentina)... some turn the functionality of gravity-flow design (reducing or eliminating the need to pump the grape must and/or wine) into extravegantly beautiful ultra-modern complexes (Stratus, Niagara)... or this one (pictured- above right), looking like a drunken Mondrian, which catches and amuses the eye.In part, these architectural efforts are often intended to atract tourists. They can also enrich a tourist's visit by making them feel welcomed and surrounding them with beauty.Of course, they are also intended to get the winery as much exposure in the glossy wine magazines as possible.What is the happiest balance between beauty and attention-seeking?Take a careful look through your local wine-retailer's shelves. How many wines are in non-standard bottles? Can an unusual (and possibly beautiful) bottle add something to the experience of wine, or to its impact as when given as a gift? Do you feel annoyed that the price of wines is inflated by using unusual bottles?Take a look at your favourite stemware. How does a wine glass' form add to your enjoyment of a wine? Does the light pour through it in a pleasing way? Do its fine, thin lines feel pleasant against your lips and tongue? (No, I'm not suggesting that you kiss your favourite building... but rather that pouring wine into a fine glass is like welcoming visitors into a beautiful winery).

Building an (imaginary) Art Gallery --Parts 1-4

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 21:02:00 +0000

What is a wine-lover to do when hung-over? How about a visit to an art gallery?...
In my mind, I have been building a gallery displaying various pieces of wine-related art. Over the next while, my blogging self will be exploring that gallery, room by room.
The most obvious place to start in with still life painting. In fact, still life is such an obvious way for wine to make its way onto a canvas that it is rather ubiquitous. This room could easily be overwhelmed, except that -- generally bored by the genre -- I would only choose a few examples.
Just above is "Still Life with Bottle of Wine, Two Glasses, and Plate with Bread and Cheese". I find this painting interesting, not beautiful. Dated to 1886, it came from the collection of Theo Van Gogh (yes, brother of Vincent). It was attributed to Vincent Van Gogh, but has since been dismissed. It doesn't really fit stylistically with any of Van Gogh's other work. Also, x-ray testing revealed a second non-Van Gogh-like painting to be hidden underneath. Today, it is believed that "Still Life with Bottle..." was probably painted by an unknown visiting friend of Theo Van Gogh.
What does authorship mean to a painting?
If a great wine-maker made a medicocre wine, would it be more desirable than any other?

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I am, I admit, quick to be bored by classically realistic Still Life paintings. In the 20th century, however, Cubism spun the sleepy genre.Just above is Picasso's "Wine Bottle and Two Glasses on a Table" (1912)Like painters of traditions before them, the Cubists painted what they saw... but they rebelled against the conventional manners of representing the structure of what they saw.
Are modernists (aging Barolo in barriques, for example) a threat to their regional wine heritage?
Or are they keeping European winemaking alive by rebelling against convention?

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As long as we have had wine we have needed somewhere to keep it...These days, plenty of wine is sold in eye catching bottles... Curvy shapes, encrusted with faux-dust, a cat with a cork in the top of its head...I must admit that -- as someone who stacks their wines in his cellar -- I wish every wine was available in a standard, bordeaux-style (straight sided) bottles.I'm more than happy to enjoy a beautifully crafted decanter... (though I have yet to acquire one fancier than a simple carafe)..This photo is of a ceramic wine vessel from Iran. Date? circa 1000-800 B.C. In my mind, its about to come to life in an NFB claymation short film.Why do I love the whimsy of this jug?... but then turn up my nose at Merlot-in-a-Cat?

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Throughout its history, artists have paid (or often hired to pay) various forms of tribute..Many of our ancestors had a god of wine, and they left us many works paying tribute to this specialized divinity.This painting of Bacchus (the Roman god of wine) was painted by Caravaggio in about 1596.In detail this "tribute" is actually less than reverant. If you could examine it from up close, you might notice Bacchus' dirty fingernails. Caravaggio, who was generally an utterly offensive personality, was apparently not afraid of offending the vanity of this god.At first blush flattering, but soon showing flaws.... I've found a few wines (and come to think of it, alcohol itself) to be likewise.

Wine Terms: "Reserve"

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 21:21:00 +0000

“Reserve”
What does this mean?

Frequently, nothing.
Only in Spain, Italy and Portugal does the word have any legally defined meaning.
For wines from Spain, and some parts of Italy (Tuscany and Piedmont being the most important), the term Reserve/Reserva indicates that the wine was aged for a locally prescribed, and extended, length of time. These wines are not required to meet any exceptional standard, however, producers know that only their better wines will withstand this extended aging.
Reserve/Reserva is also legally defined in Portugal. In this case, it only means that a wine has a slightly higher alcohol level than regular wines of the same region. (High levels of alcohol – the result of riper grapes – were once exceptional. Contemporary winemaking, however, has made higher and higher alcohol levels routine... leaving the Portugese “Reserve/Reserva” without much genuine luster.)
By the way... in Portgual a wine which has been aged for prescribed, and prolonged, period of time is called a “Garrafeira”.

Outside of Spain, Portugal and (parts of) Italy, the term “Reserve” can be used by producers’ however they see fit. It may mean absolutely nothing. On the other hand, it is often used to designate a higher-quality wine, accompanied by a regular – slightly lower quality – bottling. (In this case, a Reserve bottling might be produced from the best of the grapes, the grapes harvested from the best parts of the vineyard, or from the barrels of wine which turned out best). It is also not uncommon for “Reserve” to indicate a wine aged longer in barrel, or a wine suitable for futher cellaring.

Why is wine so expensive?

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 11 Jan 2007 22:34:00 +0000

I seem to spend most of my disposable income on wine. Even if you're less vino-obsessed than me... you've probably suffered occasional sticker shock at the wine store, and likely cursed wine's impact on your Visa bill.

Why is wine so expensive?

Every Grape Needs a Place to Grow Up
Land is never cheap.
Some of the world’s greatest vineyards cover semi-marginal land (steep slopes, rocky soil, etc). In this case, however, land prices are driven up by competing wine estates, and pressures from developers. Wouldn’t you love a sprawling home next to the vineyard?
Most wine is produced from less marginal sites. Land prices are driven up by competing crops (especially tree fruit), development (expanding subdivisions, tourist hotels, etc).
Want your own wine estate? Wine is sold, partly, based on origin; it’ll be easier to sell your wine if it says “Napa Valley” rather than “Montana”. Land in Napa is ranging from $75,000 to $200,000 per acre.
Of course, almost no one can afford to pay cash for a vineyard... so the estate begins with debt payments to manage.

Now the Vines
Starting from scratch, it costs (very roughly) $40,000 per acre to plant. The soil must be prepared, rootstock and baby vines must be purchased and planted. Local conditions obviously add to these start-up costs. Here in Ontario, starting a vineyard can require digging and laying miles of drainage pipe. In many other regions, an irrigation system must be built. In some cases this may be crude sprinklers, but local conditions (and regulations) may require extremely sophisticated computerized drip systems... miles of tubing delivering calculated portions of water to each individual vine.
While waiting for the vines and debt to bear fruit (this takes four years), a trellising system needs to be built. In most cases, this consists of hundreds of posts, miles of wire, and many hours of work.
During its life, a vineyard is a demanding friend.
Vines are pruned – almost always by hand – at least once (more typically several times) each year. This is complex work, requiring skilled workers.
Vines and fruit must be protected from various hazards. Most operations depend on pesticides; even organic vineyards rely on sprays like copper sulphate. Deer may necessitate expensive fencing, and birds, propane air guns. And then there is hail (netting helps, some use an airplane to disrupt the storm), and frost (Niagara’s vineyards are littered with wind machines which try to stop the coldest air from pooling over the vines). Of course, you can’t always hold back Mother Nature... estates must be able to withstand the occasional disastrous vintage.
Harvesting may be done by hand, or by machine. The machinery is expensive and only of use during the harvest. The cost of labour varies, but every region has the same problem: there are only so many workers and every estate is trying to harvest their grapes at the same time.
As the grapes are harvested, they should be sorted as they come into the winery... more hand labour (by the way, sorting can’t wait; once picked, the grapes begin to rot).

In the Winery
Once the harvest is finished, there are plenty more man-hours to pay for in the winery. Any estate needs at least one winemaker (highly skilled, well educated), a gaggle of cellar-hands, and an office staff like any other business.
The cellar is fitted out with expensive equipment: crushers, presses, stainless steel tanks, pipes, pumps and hoses. Fermenting grapes give off huge amounts of heat, and heat will spoil a wine, so the entire operation must be temperature controlled.
Many wines are aged in oak barrels. These each cost between $600-1200, and a have a lifespan of about four vintages.
Next, wine is bottled... another specialized piece of equipment (plus, of course, the cost of empty bottles).
It would easier if producers could sell their wine at this point (ala Beaujolais Nouveaux), but it must be stored until its ready for sale. This time ranges from months to – for many red wines, champagne, etc – a few years. Meanwhile, the accountants are shaking their heads... the estate is sitting on more and more (indebted) capital.

Now the stuff needs to be sold
Many wineries sell at least some of their wine themselves. This probably means having a retail store... it certainly means paying staff to deal with visitors.
If anyone else is going to sell the wine, it must be loaded onto a truck (and/or ship) and transported. By the way, shipping is paid by the pound and wine in glass bottles is extremely heavy.
A large percentage of wine is sold by retail merchants. If they are willing to stock your wine (this in itself can be a expensive task within a very competitive game) they will, naturally, add a mark-up to the price. Here in Ontario, the LCBO (granted, a state-owned near monopoly) marks up the its own purchase price of wine by 43%.
Its difficult to sell any product which no one has ever seen, or heard of, before. Running a one time (full-page) advertisement in Wine Spectator Magazine costs $35,000. You might also consider paying a retail merchant to stock your product at eye rather than ankle-level (very common practice).
We almost forgot taxes. The wine itself will be taxed (in many jurisdictions, alcohol is taxed very stiffly)... and while you’re figuring that particular price increase, the property tax bill (on all that land the vineyard occupies) has come due.
Similar to taxes, many estates are required to pay a variety of levies. Most common fees paid to the local “appellation” (region) to cover the cost of regulating the industry, paying tasting panels, and other quality assurance measures.

Consumer demand
One final factor: what is the consumer willing to pay?
I happen to be of the opinion that it is disgraceful to sell a product for a price completely out of proportion to the cost of producing it... our society doesn’t agree.
Many great wines are extremely expensive to make. In my mind, the example is a great Trockenbeerenauslesen(TBA): made from grapes picked one by one with a little pair of pickle tongs, carefully fermented over a period of months (sweet wines are very difficult to ferment and do so very slowly), and aged in bottle for years. It may not be sensible to pay hundreds of dollars for a bottle of wine, but at least in this case it has gone “somewhere”.
In some cases, the price of a wine may be driven up by its rarity. A thousand people may want to own one of only a hundred bottles of Chateau X. I’m not sure I have a better solution to the norm which is to settle such squabbles with credit limits. (I would not be the first to suggest that, in some cases, wines are produced in tiny quantities in pursuit of the price escalation which cult status brings.)
In many cases, the price of a wine is inflated by prestige. Consider the result of a wonderful review from a high-powered critic. This may put a strain on supply, causing the price to rise. More often, its a matter of merchants smelling an opportunity to raise the price.
In other cases, the price of a wine just plain inflated. Standing in the aisle of a retail shop, how can you tell the difference between: (a) a $50 bottle of wine which cost about $35-40 to produce, (b) a $50 bottle of wine which cost $5 to produce? Frankly, you can’t.
Sorry.
(Its not hopeless... but that’s a topic for another day).

Why There Is a Cellar in our Basement

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 13:33:00 +0000

There is a very modest wine cellar beneath our basement stairs.
Why do I squirrel away bottles of wine?
Each time I’m asked this question, I get to thinking about my answers again. I’ve wandered through the motivations of my fellow amateurs-du-vin (fr. lovers of wine), and puzzled to make sense of my own.

Wines rest, in many cellars, to mark a birth year, a wedding, or other anniversary. In this particular sense, my parents couldn’t have done much worse: they brought me into the world during 1972, a dreadful vintage. Thankfully, I had the fortune to marry in a better (but alas, not outstanding) year.

The cellar, for many, is a vessel of exploration.
The vast majority of wines (many of them great) are created to be consumed in their youth. Others – hideously tannic, aggressively acidic, or otherwise “undrinkable” in their youth -- remain terra incognito without the gentle passage of time. The dragons here be much of Bordeaux, Nebiollos of Piedmont, and many Syrah from the northern Rhone.
A second category of cellar-worthy wines are pleasant in their youth, but also promise evolution, or even dramatic transformation. Tokaji Aszu may be fantastic relatively early; it is legendary for its ability to slowly evolve complexity over, literally, centuries. A young white Burgundy may be cherished its mineral edged, crisp apple charm, a young red Burgundy for its delicate fruity raspberry-beetroot character; they are cellared in the hope of witnessing a metamorphosis towards (respectively) butterscotch & marzipan, and game-meat & mushrooms.

Many keep a cellar to reduce the financial cost of their chosen pleasure. Wine may be purchased young (in the extreme, en primeur, or before it is even bottled). Among the reasons for doing so: price. Age-worthy wines will, usually, become much more expensive as they approach their maturities. Essentially: buy today what you will not be able to afford tommorow.

Some cellars are gathered as an investment. These cellars may be built, on visions of simple profit, as a place to capture spectular rises in value. Consider a few examples: Within the first four years after (en primeur) release, cases of Chateau Margaux (vintage 2000) gained 186% (annualized growth 41%). This is not just the vigour of youth. Over a recent six year period (1999-2004), cases of Chateau Lafleur (vintage 1961) rose by 266% (annualized growth 30%). These are the Sirens. The rocks: values -- especially dangerous are the overshadowed vintages (a good year which turns out to be followed by a great year) – not infrequently stall, and may actually fall. As one example: seven years after its release, Bordeaux from 1997 were selling at about half their en primeur price.

Others muddy the purity of an investment cellar. Here, two cases of a young wine are purchased and cellared towards maturity. Assuming the cooperation of the market, one case is sold off at a profit. The other case, thus subsidized, is kept for drinking. Seems sensible, I suppose... and simultaneously foolhardy. I hope I would not bemoan the task of drinking my way through both cases from 1997 Bordeaux, but...

Still within the realm of economics, cellars are spawned by scarity. Many of the world’s greatest wines are produced in very small quanities. An opportunity to aquire such rarities may present itself only once and, very often, long before the wine is ready to drink. In essense: buy today what will not be available tommorow. With or without any romatic notions, the wine drinker is faced with the need to care the bottles.

There are cellars are filled with wines accumulated like trophies. Grand wines may be uncorked like fireworks. Bottles can be spread like a peacock’s feathers. Ephemeral blossoms, long expired, can be sported like the Emperor’s clothes.

Some stock a cellar to be sure that any guest can be greeted with a vinous welcome. This is lovely -- but my social profile has always been more cocoon than butterfly.

Others stock a cellar to be sure that they have a selection of wines available to meet their meandering fancy – a spontaneous feast of osso bucco (which seems incomplete without a mature Barbaresco), or a sudden craving for salted almonds (which taste best against a dry Amontiallo Sherry). For better or worse, my cellar list is too short to permit such impulsive pillaging.

Many keep a cellar to be certain that their wines are being properly cared for. It is not unreasonable to worry about the conditions inflicted on wines in transit, storage, and on retail shelves. During transit (not uncommonly through the tropics), the trasportation industry are relied upon to keep the wines cool. Retail stores are almost always too warm, and wines may spend months -- standing upright, exposed to light -- on the shelves. It is, most often, practically impossible to avoid the perils of international shipping, but many minimize the later risks by storing the wine themselves.

Many cellars are an attempt to cope with what fortune has delivered. Dinner guests bring wines which may go unopened. Wine may arrive in festive wrapping paper. A few inherit entire cellars. Despite Errol Flynn (“Anyone dies with more than $10,000 in the bank or more than ten bottles left in his cellar was a fool and certainly had not lived his life correctly”), I’d consider anyone passing on well-cellared antiquities to be less a fool than a saint (ultra-generous person).

Many cellars stretch at their seams attempting to contain the purchases of impulsive, and undisiplined wine collectors. Despite the temptation to include these within the bottles which fortuna brings, I admit it a separate paragraph.

For some, keeping a cellar is way of developing, and practicing, patience.

For others, a cellar cradles a stockpile of favourite wines.
Trying to choose a wine in a retail shop reminds me of trying to understand art history by visiting an art gallery. Information in art galleries, and wine shops, is typically absent... when, occasionally, it is provided, it is most often incomprehensible (absurdly erudite/obscure curatorial material; nortoriously convoluted German wine labels). To avoid constantly returning to this crap shoot, a cellar may become a cache for stashing bottles of a previously enjoyed wine.

A wine cellar may be like an album containing collected postage stamps, or a shoebox holding accumulated baseball cards. Many of us have passed pleasant evenings rearranging our collected bottles. This is preferably done without disturbing the actual wines; we shuffle the pages of cellar books, reconfigure our collections in electronic or imaginary forms, reconsider “drinking windows” and projected maturities. Though there is probably something of a collection-as-such in every cellar, a wine collection is dynamic. Its virtually a truism that wine is created to be drunk; the accumulating memories of consumption offer the renewal of fresh perspective, and new space, to futher acts of collecting.

Wine cellaring, for many amateurs-du-vin, is about collecting more than just the bottle-contained portions of fermented grape juice. Bottles of wine are quickly appended with bits of data. Wine is rich in tradition (our habit of pouring into the host’s glass first traces back to when wine was sealed with, not cork, but a slick of oil), complex in its history (the contrast between large Bordeaux estates and the Burgundian norm of tiny domaines is the result of the land redistribution of the French Revolution), laden with facts (Zinfandel, best known in California, has turned out to be a genetic match to Southern Italy’s Primovito), and tangled up with lore (Madeira was discovered when a sailor disobeyed orders to dump wine which was presumed spoiled by (an unplanned) return trip through the tropics). The potential link between knowledge and enjoyment is marked in the etemology of “connoisseur” – from the Old French connoistre: to know.
I was drawn to wine as I was recovering from a prolonged depression... a time characterized by extremely poor concentration and memory. I found a subject commonly constructed of short, and often repetitious, articles (ie: three books will give you three half page introductions to malelactic fermentation, three definitions of terroir, three brief histories of Port). These short portions were something I could concentrate on; the repetition helped overcome my faultering memory.

Illness brings my most important reasons for cultivating a love of wine, and for keeping a cellar.
Depression notoriously destroys the ability to experience pleasure. Pleasure must be felt, recognized, appreciated and remembered. Affliction obscured each of these, and, with time, left these circuits badly atrophied. Against this, and on the slope towards recovery, pleasure seems to be wine’s purpose. Like someone trying to acquire an “acquired taste”, I am working to (re)acquire the experience to pull pleasure from flavour.
Once the mind’s ability to experience pleasure is impaired, so is anticipation. Depression hindered my ability to experience daily pleasures; it utterly obliterated my ability to anticipate, or “look forward to” tomorrows possible pleasures. Cellaring wine is a rebellious retort – each bottle placed there as a promised future pleasure. A bottle left to rest becomes, simply, something worth looking forward to.
Finally, like thousands of others, my self depressed was gripped by hopelessness and bitter pessimism. Against this, cellaring wine is a fundamentally optimistic gesture. With placing each bottle in the cellar I am learning to insist that a distant ‘drinking window’ may find me emotionally, and physically, healthy enough to find joy in its contents.

Oak, Steel and Glass (Part 1c: "Oak in Use")

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Tue, 05 Dec 2006 20:21:00 +0000

We’ve discussed “the why” of oak becoming winemakers’ wood of choice...
...today let’s consider “the how”.

Tree to timber
For a winemaker, cooperage – often thought of as the craft of barrel making – begins not in the workshop but in the forest.
Harvested trees are selected and sold, as raw logs, at auction to cooperages.
The forest of origin is very important. Some winemakers will want oak sourced from a general area, others will insist on a particular forest.
First and foremost, the wood’s tightness of grain (which effects how a barrel will interact with its contents) is a factor of climate. Oak grown in (warm) Missouri will have a looser grain (or wider growth rings), than oak from (cool) Wisconsin. (This, by the way, makes a muddle out of the term “American Oak”). Very generally: (a) tightly grained wood is more likely to be capable of being watertight, (b) the looser the grain, the more pronounced the “wood flavours” of the barrel will be.
After questions of climate-grain, there are many other concerns. Some of these are sensible and some, at very least, are debatable. Mineral and chemical aspects of a forest’s soil may effect the composition of wood grown there. Forests like Vosge, Troncais (etc) has names loaded with historical resonance, recognized by much of the premium market as being a sign of prestige. Some winemakers prefer to use oak grown close to the location of their vineyards.

Timber to stave
At the cooperage, “staves” (the boards which will eventually be assembled to form a barrel) are produced from the raw logs. This is most often done by splitting (forcing a natural cut along the grain). European oak must be split, or else it is prone to leaking. American oak – because it is richer in something called “tylose” which plugs the gain – can be sawn.
Split staves are much more expensive to produce. Splitting is more labour intensive, and many fewer staves can be split from the same timber as could be sawn.
Sawn staves, not unlike a looser grain, tend to exaggerate a barrel’s “wood flavour” influence.
Once produced, the staves must be dried.
Drying may be done (relatively) rapidly in a kiln.
Much better, staves are dried (or “seasoned”) outside... slowly, exposed to the elements. Not surprisingly, during seasoning (2-3years) oak staves change more than just their moisture content. Compounds leech out (with rainwater). Other compounds are acquired. Some are negative; pollution (acid rain) poses an obvious threat. Some are (if curiously) positive; local moulds (and other micro-flora) which colonize the staves’ surfaces leave a profound (positive) mark.

Stave to Barrel
Barrels come in various sizes. A gonc (traditional in Hungary) is 136 liters, a Fuder (traditional in the Mosel region of Germany) is about 1000 liters. Today the 225-litre “barrique” is by far the most common.
Barrels regardless of size, are essentially budging cylinders. This bulge is called the “bildge” and has two functions. First, a wine in barrel (always laying on its side) can be cleanly racked (siphoned) off its sediment which naturally settles in the bildge. Second, a full wine barrel is extremely heavy (about 650lbs). It would be possible to roll a 650lb cylinder, but only in a straight line. A barrel, on the other hand, can be steered by pivoting on its bildge.
During assembly, the staves must be bent into place. Inch-thick oak staves don’t bend easily, but heating them makes them more flexible. This heating is done with steam or, more traditionally, over a fire in the floor of a cooper’s workshop.
Naturally, no barrel bent over a fire would escape unscathed, but rather “toasted”. Toasting would have originally been a side-effect of the traditional bending. At some point, however, winemakers began to understand its own importance. Today, even steam-bent barrels are finished over a fire.
Toasting has many effects on the way a barrel will perform. For now, here are two of the simplest: (a) Any wood contains sugars, and these are caramelized during toasting. (b) Generally, the higher the level of toast, the more the original wood is obscured.

Barrels in Use
There are two basic ways in which oak barrels are used in the winery.
First, wines may be fermented in new (or almost new) barrel.
When making white wine, the maker has the option of putting the pressed grape juice (“must”) into barrels (rather than a typically large vat) for fermentation. (This is not really an option for red wine, which are left with their skins during fermentation).
Second, wines may be aged in barrel.
Since by this point red wines have been pressed off their skins, this is an option for both white and red wines.

An oak barrel effects its contents in several ways.
First, flavour and aroma bearing compounds are leeched from the wood. This includes those found in the original oak, as well as those produced by seasoning and toasting. Folks much handier with a microscope than myself have identified at least seventy relevant compounds. These are responsible for “oak flavours” like vanilla, caramel, toast, clove, coconut, etc.
Second, despite being watertight, a barrel does allow its contents to slowly evaporate. The loss of water and alcohol (called “the angel’s share”), obviously leaves an increasingly concentrated wine. (Aging wine must be regularly topped up, otherwise the vacant air pocket (“ullage”) invites spoilage.
Third, wine in barrel exposed to very small amounts of oxygen. Just as vapour escapes, oxygen seeps through in the other direction. Each time a barrel is topped up, some oxygen is introduced. Wine will be exposed to a little more oxygen each time it is “racked” (siphoned from barrel to another). As a general rule, exposure to large amounts of oxygen is very bad news – extremely minor exposure can (for some styles of wine) have several desirable effects. Just one example: oxygenation causes tannin molecules (responsible for the astringency of red wine) to link up until they sink to the bottom.

Finally, there are many complex interactions which combine the first three effects. Again, just one example: When a white wine is fermented in barrel, the yeasts – as a byproduct of their actions – seem to alter some of the harshest flavour compounds being leeched from the oak. Partly for this reason, a wine fermented (and then aged) in barrel tends to have more subtle oak character than one only aged in barrel.

Life of a Barrel
A barrel retains some of its properties (vapour out, oxygen in), although even these will diminish as a deposit builds up on the inside of the barrel. Most importantly, each year a barrel has less and less character available to be leeched into and interact with a wine.
This diminishing of character gives a wine barrel a lifespan of about 4 years. After that its off to eBay, and a second (if less dignified) life as a garden planter.
Since barrel are expensive, wineries have tried to prolong their useful lives.
Used barrels may be disassembled and a thin layer is shaved off the inside surface of each stave. The barrel is then reassembled and re-toasted. The problem is that the original stave surface had been seasoned (weathered outside for 2-3years), the new surface is dried but bare. Not unlike kiln-dried wood, the resulting flavours tend to be harsh.
Frequently, winemakers will avoid the expense of new oak by purchasing 1-2 year old barrels from high-end estates (some of whom use only 100% new oak barrels each vintage).
Still expensive.

Oak Barrel Alternatives
Plenty of methods are used to give a wine a little oak character without all the expense of barrels. These wines may be labeled as “Oaked” (as opposed to “Barrel Aged”).
The cheapest is to add some oak extract (flavoured powder or liquid) to your wine. Besides (unsurprisingly) tasting synthetic, extract flavours fade while in bottle. Thankfully, this is illegal for commercial use in most jurisdictions.
Two better options are to dangle a few loose staves, or sink a handful of oak chips, in a vat of wine. These inexpensive techniques manage to impart wood flavour, but are missing the evaporation/oxygenation properties of a barrel. Dangling staves may be good quality. The quality of oak chips, however, is limited; chips may be toasted, but are almost always kiln-dried rather than seasoned.
New techniques are being developed to address some of these shortfalls. For example, oaked wine can often be improved with “micro-oxygenation”, a machine process in which tiny bubbles of oxygen are released into the wine.

The simplest alternative, of course, is to make “unoaked” wines... That’s where we’ll turn next.
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If you’d like to explore... here are some oak-influenced examples produced, and currently available, in Ontario.

Thirty-Bench “Benchmark” Chardonnay (2004)
A fantastic barrel fermented and aged white. Available at only at the winery, but worth the drive. ($30)

Niagara College Teaching Winery, “Warren Classic”, Chardonnay (2004)
Another excellent barrel fermented and aged white... and a little easier to get hold of. Available to order from WinerytoHome.com, or at the winery’s store on campus. ($28)

Lakeview Cellars. Chardonnay Reserve (2003)
Searching Ontario’s wineries for an intensely oaky white, this is what I found. Perhaps not to everyone’s taste, nothing will illstrate “oak character” more clearly. I don’t have the winemakers notes, but I suspect that this saw more barrel aging than barrel fermenting. Available at the winery, through WinerytoHome. (The LCBO also seems to have some bottles of the previous vintage left in its system).

Finally, when it comes to understanding oak, nothing beats a comparison. The challenge is to find wines made from similar fruit (same grape variety, of the same vintage, grown in the same region... or ideally: the same vineyard), but produced by different methods.
Here’s a pair of reds:

Cave Spring Cellars Gamay -- made almost completely without oak ($13)
Henry of Pelham Gamay -- made in a fairly darkly toasted, oaky style ($14)
(both are available at the LCBO, WinerytoHome and at the wineries)

Oak, Steel and Glass (Part 1b: "Why Oak?")

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Mon, 04 Dec 2006 23:16:00 +0000

(Oak trees in Trocais, France)
With all the possible tree species to turn into barrels, why oak?

First, consider the shape of the oak tree. Oaks grow to provide a relatively long, and quite thick, straight trunk. With this shape (and being plentiful throughout much of Europe), it was an attractive raw material.

Second, is a matter of physiology. As it grows, an oak tree lines its wood-cells in a particular pattern. Because of this microscopic structure, oak wood is very strong in some ways (directions), but it is relatively easily split in planks. In barrel-making, a plank is called a stave.

Third, there is another issue of physiology. While other woods are too porous, an oak stave, about ½ an inch thick, is able to hold liquid without having it seep through its fibers.

Fourth, there are matters of taste (flavour).
On one hand, the opinion that oak has a positive influence on the flavours of a wine is about as useless as the chicken-and-the-egg question. Oak influence is an acquired taste; I’m not keen on Retsina (wine flavoured with pine resin) because it seems “odd”.
On the other hand, if new oak leeched oodles of bitterness (or some sort of toxin), the Iron Age Celts would have said “yuck” and turned to some other material in which to store their liquids.

Leaving oak aside for a moment...
Wine barrels have been made from many different woods.
Chestnut is still occasionally used around two concerns. First, a new chestnut barrel will leech too much bitterness into a wine. Second, chestnut wood seems watertight but it is actually porous enough to allow its contents to evaporate much faster than through oak. To cope, the inside of chestnut-wood barrels (or large vats) may be waxed.
Redwood has been used in California. However, it is so difficult to bend (required for barrel-making) that its use was limited to building large vats.
Pine and Eucalyptus have been tried. Not surprisingly, these woods imparted what was considered interesting, but undesirable, flavours.
Finally, an example (literally) from the history book:
Herodotus (circa 450BC) referred to “palm-wood casks”. Wine historian Hugh Johnson points out, however, that it is very unlikely that palm-wood was ever used to make barrels: being exceedingly difficult to split into planks, it is totally unsuited to barrel making. Perhaps a round of palm-wood was hollowed out to form a sort of jug, or perhaps translation has muddled a reference to casks of “palm-wine” (an alcoholic drink made by fermenting the sap of palm trees).

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Coming next... an introduction to cooperage (barrel making), and some of the other ways oak is used in modern winemaking.

Oak, Steel and Glass (Part 1a: "Some History of our Friend the Wooden Barrel")

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 23:29:00 +0000

Sometimes its best to begin with the obvious:
For as long as there has been wine, there have been vessels to contain it.

For most of wine's history, it has been transported, aged and stored in clay jugs (amphorae). Wine is still (rarely) aged in amphorae; it is occasionally made in miscellaneous vessels like concrete tanks or large glass jugs (demijohns). Overwhelmingly however, modern wine is held in oak barrels, stainless steel tanks and glass bottles.

Today, lets consider the oak barrel.
The history of the barrel is sketchy; would-be artifacts have been lost to rot.

The generally accepted story begins with northern Europeans (Celts) living around the Alps (what today is Germany and France). Their environment provided timber in terrific quality (oak is exceptionally suited to barrel-making) and quantity. The general economy provided an increasing demand for storage, and transportation, containers. From all this, and a little ingenuity, the wooden barrel emerged in around 300BC.
This technology did not stay local for long... by a coincidence of history, our clever woodworker was about to be overrun by the Roman Empire. Unfortunate for the Celts... good for the spread of barrel-making.
Oak barrels remained utilitarian for centuries... but somewhere along the way, winemakers began to notice, and then exploit, the effect of barrel aging on their wines.

This understanding really matured during the 19th century.
First, this was an era of science. Spoilage and fermentation were among the many scientific issues explored by this culture, some of this research studied wine directly. In general, the habit of scientific thinking spread beyond the scientists to everyday folk.Includinging wine makers.
Second, there was a change at sea. Ship building had long been the largest consumer of timber. During the 17th and !8th centuries, forward looking warmongers -- wanting to be sure to that their nation could maintain its naval might -- organized massive replanting projects. Then during the 19th century, navies shifted to building ships out of metal.
This change at sea lead to a glut of oak... the wood so suited to making barrels.
Finally, this glut of oak would have helped to increase the number of new oak barrels in wine cellars. (As we'll discuss shortly) new oak barrels have the most profound effect on a wine; its no stretch to imagine that this would nudge winemakers to want to understand, exploit, and restrain these effects.

________________________

Want explore some of this history?

(1) Madeira
Oak barrels were used to transport wine long before anyone understood the effect time in barrel could have on a wine.
Legend has it that Madeira was discovered after a cancelled sale resulted in an extra long journey for a shipment of wine. To the amazement of the sailors (who had been ordered to pour the wine overboard), the time in barrel (and all that sloshing as it traversed the tropics) had dramatically improved the original wine. The ocean journey was later dropped in favour of leaving the wine (in barrel) up in the wineries' lofts, or out in the sun.
Madeira has slipped, from popularity, dangerously close to obscurity... but there are always a few available in our market.
Many (but not all) Madeiras are sweet. For an introduction, Blandy's 5yr-old Bual. ($22)

(2) Retsina
I mentioned that, before oak barrels, wine was aged, transported and stored in clay amphorae. I skipped over the issue of sealing an amphorae.
Oak can make a watertight vessel, but the clay of most amphorae had to be treated with some sort of sealant. ArMediterraneanditeraean, the most common answer was to coat the inside of an amphora with tree resin. This, of course, had a rather dramatic effect on the flavour of the wine.
All this explains the origins of "Retsina" --a white wine, flavoured with pine resin.
This is popular in Greece... its a curiosity here.
Regularly available in Ontario:
Malamatinas "Retsina" ($4.50/ 500ml)
Koutakis "Retsina of Attica" ($8)

(3) "Jose de Sousa"
To make this wine, the winemakers took a big step back in time.
The grapes are hand picked (not uncommon today), foot treaded (uncommon), and fermented in clay amphorae (extremely rare). The winemakers then hurl the wine centuries forward, and age the wine -- as has become fashionable in the late 20th century -- in barriques (225-litre barrels made of French oak).
"Jose de Sousa" Jose Maria de Fonseca. Portugal
No longer in stock, but it may well reappear. ($14)

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 18:51:00 +0000

Sherry ain’t just your grandmother’s tipple.
Sherry is also the most difficult song in any karaoke catalogue... and a category of wines, neglected, but much more interesting and delicious than most of us know.

There are “sherries” produced around the world – most (but not all) of these are truly awful – but strictly speaking sherry is reserved for the wines produced around the town of Jerez de la Fontera. Here, in Spanish Andalucia, the southern-most tip of Spain reaches across the mouth of the Mediterranean towards North Africa.

Now that you’ve relocated your imagination... open your eyes: The sun is intense. Scrubby-looking vines grow in dazzling fields of chalky-white soil.

Most of those vines are Palomino. These grapes are harvested to produce a white wine – fairly neutral, always dry – which becomes the base for virtually all types of sherry.

Fino

The first type of sherry is Fino. (You may also see Manzanilla. This is basically the same style of wine, but is produced in particular sub-region). Young Palomino wine is “fortified” (brandy is added) to raise its alcoholic strength to about 15abv. As this wine rests open casks, a yeast “flor” (Sp: flower) blooms. Its hard not to refer to flor – a layer of whitish, waxy, floating yeast – as scum.
Flor protects the wine from oxygen (as anyone who has had a sip of wine open too long knows, exposure to air can destroy a wine), and also leaves traces of flavour in the wine upon which it rests.
Classically dry and best as fresh as possible, the flavour and scent of fino will remind you of rising bread dough. There is even a touch of saltiness (truly odd for any wine); some say that this is glimpse of the sea.

Oloroso

Would you prefer sherry sans scum?
Like fino, oloroso begins with young, dry palomino wine. Again, brandy is added; but in this case, the alcohol level is raised high enough to kill any off the yeasts which would bloom into flor. Oloroso then matures exposed to the air.
So much oxygen would be fatal to almost any other wine; but it is the source of an oloroso’s character. It slowly moves through amber to mahogany-brown. Around a nutty focus (chestnuts & hazelnuts), olorosos are decorated with aspects ranging through raisin, fig, orange zest, smoke, dark chocolate, leather, spice and vanilla.

Amontillado

Can’t make up your mind?
Neither could amontillado.
Occasionally, a fino’s flor will die, leaving the (now formerly) delicate fino exposed. Quite rare, this wine will be called a “palo cortado”. While keeping some of its fino (yeasty) character, it will then develop some oloroso nuttiness.
Much less rarely, a dose of brandy will be used to deliberately kill the flor. Such a wine will be called an amontillado.

Sherry dry, Sherry sweet

Sherry, at least here in North America, is better known in its sweetened guise.
In order to sweeten classic sherries, a second wine (made from either Moscatel, or Pedro Ximenez) is blended in.
Sweetened fino is called “Pale Cream Sherry”.
Exported amontillado and oloroso, if not specifically labeled as “dry”, is most often sweetened. This adjustment ranges from a slight (intended to suit a palate intolerant of a dry sherry) to severe. At the latter end of the spectrum, “Harvey’s Bristol Cream” is a (profusely) sweetened oloroso.
Pedro Ximenez (often shortened to “PX”) and Moscatel are occasionally bottled as wines in their own right. These are intensely sweet, tasting thickly of raisins, figs, molasses, smoke and spice. I’ve experienced a few fantastic examples... but never wanted more than a single ounce at a sitting.

The Solera System

Since the mid-19th century (to suit the export market’s demand for consistency) sherry has been matured in soleras.
A solera is a collection of barrels (“butts”, or “botas”), best imagined arranged in rows stacked upon each other. Each year a small amount of wine is removed, and bottled, from the bottom barrels. This row is topped up with wine from the row just above, which is topped up with wine from above, and so on. Finally, the top row of barrels is topped up with that year’s fresh (already fermented and fortified) wine.
Wines from a particular solera may be labeled with a date. This refers to the year in which the solera was begun. Use your imagination: the wine in your glass is a blend of history – a bit from each year reaching back to this date on the bottle.

Eight Sherry Tasting-Notes

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 18:48:00 +0000

As a companion to “Sherry ain’t just your grandmother’s tipple”, here is a collection of eight relevant tasting notes from my files:

Manzanilla (Burdon)
Very pale, almost clear, this smelt of white grape juice and rising bread dough. It tasted fresh and crisp, with some yeastiness and a hint of salt. Good, but to be honest, fino/manzanilla is not a style I enjoy.

Amontillado “Npu” (Sanchez Romate)
Amber-gold in colour, this offered vibrant and rich scents of custard, yellow raisins, almonds, and apricots. It tasted of yellow raisins, with a yeasty note. Hints of caramel and orange gave an illusion of sweetness, contrasting with striking acidity. The finish was long, and the alcoholic warmth longer. Very Nice+.

Palo Cortado “Almachenista Vides” (Lustau)
This was graced with an absolutely fantastical nose of caramelized orange, tea and woody incense. Up front, a zing tickled sweet fruit of a wine that was... then flavours turned to golden raisins, caramel and orange. An assertive bite retreated behind a shimmering curtain of the latter flavours. Eventually, it finished dry, but mouthwatering. Fantastic.

Oloroso “Nutty Solera” (Gonzalez-Bypass)
Orange-brown in colour, with a big nose of apricots, raisins, tasted almonds and spice. These scents carried onto the palate... added to a pronounced rustiness (dry, metallic). It was a little sweeter than off-dry, balanced with acidity and considerable alcohol. Well short of wonderful, but Good (especially considering how inexpensive it is).

“East India” (Lustau)
This wine is a beautifully sweetened oloroso sherry which, more like a Maderia, was exposed to heat during maturation. Definitely brown, it had a rich, darkening scent. It tasted of molasses and raisins. Its sweetness was refreshed, into a medium finish, by a lovely tang. Lovely.

“Emilin” Moscatel (Lustau)
This wine was a dense amber-brown. It smelted mildly of raisins, caramel, fig and orange zest. It was viscous on the palate, dominated by raisins and figs, and (not quite) balanced by some bitter/tangy flavours most like orange-zest. Overall, this was most interesting at the nose and in the finish... between it was overwhelmed by simple raisin flavour. Very nice, but a little Dull.

“PX” (Gran Barquero)
Very dark brown, almost opaque, this smelt like a barnyard full of manure. Getting past that strange nose, it was incredibly sweet... tasting like liquified raisins. Too sweet for the acidity it could offer, I enjoyed about an ounce and felt no desire for another.

“PX Solera 1927” (Alvear)
This was an amber-gold turning towards brown. Its generous nose offered golden raisins, orange, toffee and molasses. It tasted like figs and raisins – soaked in espresso – orange, caramel and earth. Liqueur-like in its sweetness, it had lots of zip (acidity, and considerable but balanced alcohol) and a very long finish which was surprisingly bright (apricot, raisin, and orange zest). Lovely and Excellent.

Memorable Bottles Sorted Into Two Boxes

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 18:34:00 +0000

Some wine-lovers keep a cellar.
Almost all wine-lovers cradle a collection of memorable bottles.
Vinous memories are our treasures. They are revelations recalled. They are the delight we hope to experience again. They are our fish-tales.

What makes a bottle of wine memorable?
It can be its link to an occasion.
It can be that it holds a place in our personal history.
It can be the setting of its opening.
These wines fit into the first of my two boxes of memorable bottles.
Wine is a frequent player at life's important moments. The sense of smell – so much apart of enjoying a wine, and so entangled with the sence of taste – is powerfully linked to memory. Sometimes remembering an event triggers a memory of its scent or flavour... and just as often, the reverse.

The second box holds bottles remembered more for the magic of the wine itself. It isn't necessary for such a wine to be grand. What it needs it to be is interesting, striking, beguiling, fascinating, exciting...I'm going to spend the next while digging in this second box. In that way, this article will grow...

I'll start with a Producttori del Barbaresco (1996).
There are certainly much grander wines produced in this sub-region of Piedmont (north-western Italy). This was "just" the basic multi-vineyard bottling of Barbaresco's largest co-operative cellar.
In my mind, Barbaresco is nestled in the foothills of the Italian Alps. (The name Piedmont comes from the Italian for "foot of the mountain"). In the autumn its vineyards are wrapped in fog over fall colours. (Nebiollo, the red grape which becomes this wine, takes its name from the Italian for fog: nebbia).
In my glass, the wine was the colour of pecan shells and developing a mature orange-brown hue. It smelled richly of red berries and a flower-strewn forest floor. Our first kiss was full of tart red berries (cranberries & raspberries), followed by aspects of minerals, spice (pepper & allspice), and some of that forest floor. Over a long finish the palate returned the pure flavour of red fruit, until time extinguished this too.
Am I exaggerating?
How do you judge truth in a description of flavour?
--My favourite bit of wine hyperbole comes from another great Italian region. Of a wine produced from an exceedingly rare cluster of Tuscan vines (survivors of a late 19th century epidemic which destroyed the roots of almost all of Europe's vines), it has been said that its drinking is: "like listening to the earth sing to the sky".
Can't that, grasping at the indescribable, claim a bit of truth? --

From Barbaresco, my mind wanders across northern Italy from east (Piedmont) to west (Veneto)...
In a precious 1oz sample of Recioto della Valpolicella (Monte Delle Fontane, 1998), I met the sweet version of the better known Amarone.
This wine was a deep, browning, purple-red. Its nose was an overflowing handful of black cherries, with a definate rancio (sherry-like) note. Each sip began similarly, tasting of plump black cherries, with subtler rancio character. Richness – mouth-coating flavours and medium sweetness – was balanced by a delightful zip of acidity. Looking for a word to describe the finish, “leisurely” seems as good as any.Recioto (and its sister Amarone) are made from partially dried grapes. In the case of Recioto, the fruit is harvested from lower parts of the valleys where the grapes are often affected by "noble rot" (botrytis). This desirable mould robs the grapes of moisture, and it adds a peticular flavour to the crush... it also takes us to a third bottle in my box: a Tokaji Aszu.

Like many of the world’s greastest dessert wines, Tokaji Aszu is produced from grapes effected by that “noble rot”. The oddity of wine from rotted grapes added curiosity to my first encounter with a Tokaji, its flavours added delighted wonder.

“Red Label” Tokaji Aszu Five-Puttonyos (1999) was a rich golden colour, drifting towards orange and amber. Its nose was subtle, but fascinating: apricots stewed in spice (cinammon and nutmeg), with an earthiness which eluded descriptors until I settled for a rather vague note of velvety moss. Upfront, each sip was sweet, creamy and tasted of spiced apricots. This was followed by dramatic waves of lemon curd. As these waves cleansed the wine’s sweetness, there was an whispered echo of that earthiness. A very long finish had me swallowing, swallowing and re-swallowing in pursuit of sips which already slipped down my gullet.

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 08 Nov 2006 16:12:00 +0000

Here in Ontario, its “Classics” time again.
A few times per year, the LCBO – our government owned wine merchant which enjoys a near-monopoly – offers up a collection of its high-end wines and spirits.
“Classics” are listed in an increasingly glossy catalogue. This obviously avoids putting such expensive products (this edition ranges to over $2000) on retail shelves. It also makes it possible to sell these products, often in very limited supply, by lottery to customers throughout the province.

Each release offers something of spectrum. Nothing is cheap, but not everything is astronomically expensive. There are always a handful of spirits (Congac, Single Malt Scotch, Eaux-de-Vie, etc), and a larger number of fortified wines (several Vintage and Tawny Ports, and a Sherry or two). The overwhelming emphasis is on high-end table wines.
Any of these releases are full of wines from first: France’s Bordeaux, Burgundy, Champagne, Rhone Valley and second: Italy’s Piedmont, Tuscany, Veneto. These regions also produce vast quanities of lesser bottles, but are particularly known for their premium-plus wines. Next come areas, like California and Australia... rather less grand (although not without pretigious bottles) these are particularly popular in our market.
Beyond these, there are smaller offerings from the top-end of wines from elsewhere (South Africa to Germany, Chile to Ontario, etc).

Bordeaux is perhaps most commonly associated with the luxury market. It’s high-end wines are rich with tradition and fine craftmanship. Many are produced in small quanities, and are eagerly sought after by collectors. Whatever their motives (there are many), these collectors have driven the price of some high-end Bordeaux to stagering heights.
The young wines on offer – as is traditional for Bordeaux – are joined by a smattering of maturing examples. The Wines span a wide range from $50 to $1000, with (apparently responding to our local market) an emphasis on wines priced $100-$200.
At the top end is a dream: the 1990 Chateau Latour, estimated to almost ready for drinking ($980 per 750ml bottle).

Obviously (if you know me at all), I can not afford anything remotely as expensive as that bottle of Chateau Latour. Still I’m fond of these releases for two reaons:

First, the “Classics” offerings is an opportunity to purchase from a selection of ultra-premimum bottles. Indeed, the fact that its not easy to even have the opportunity to purchase a particular wine can have a great deal to do with its enormous price tag. Being the world’s biggest single purchaser of fine wine, the LCBO is able to pass along its priviledged access.

Second, “Classics” offers an opportunity to purchase some wines which are ill suited to retail sales on the LCBO’s large scale. These may be (a) high-end wines from less fashionable regions, (b) wines made (for various reasons) in small quanities, or (c) obsurities – of interest to the severely curious – very seldom sold in our market.
Here are a few, corresponding, examples:
(Ai) Late Harvested (“Spatlese” and “Auslese”), Riesling from Germany. ($30-$50)
(Aii) Alsatian whites from pretigious vineyards. ($45-60)
(Bi) Hermitage and Cote Rotie (Syrah from France’s Northern Rhone Valley) ($65-$150)
(Bii) made in even smaller quanities: Hermitage Blanc. ($49)
(Ci) a Vin Jaune... a dry, sherry-like wine from Jura in the French Alps. ($59)
(Cii) a 30+ year old Verdelho (off dry) Maderia. ($199)

Wine-Words

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Mon, 02 Oct 2006 22:15:00 +0000

As befits a dabbler in wine-writing and education, I spend a great deal of time – reading, writing (and, less often, talking) – tangled up in words.
Today, feeling reflective (or possibly postmodern), I am sitting down to write an article (read: words) about (wine) words.

“Over-ripe raspberry, tar and licorice”
Why – in front of a glass of wine (fermented grape juice) – do I talk about raspberries, grapefruit, pepper, and butterscotch?
First, and most fundamentally, describing the characteristics of a wine is easier if you can reach beyond itself. There just aren’t very many strictly-grapey words. To illustrate: try to describe the taste of grapefruit juice... “grapefruity” will only get you so far.
Second, wine is composed of some variety of an estimated one thousand flavour-bearing molecules. Most of these are not unique to wine; many are featured strongly in the world around us. For example, diacetyl is noticeable in many white wines. Diacetyl also happens to be major aromatic molecule in butter (the association is so strong that diacetyl is added, in synthetic form, to margarine)*. A note could read: “diacetyl and ethyl 4-hydroxybutyrate, under isoamyl acetate and ethyl formate”... but its more likely to be understood written this way: “butter and caramel, under pear and peach”.

“Sometimes a word can be hard to resist”
Imagine the last time you watched big raindrops begin crashing into hot asphalt on a summer afternoon. Remember the smell?
Occasionally, the scent of a white wine (almost always Germanic) will trigger that memory.
I try to keep my note simple... but
I recently stumbled across a word that means, exactly, “the smell of rain”. Petrichor comes from the Greek petros (stone), and ichor (the liquid that flowed in the veins of the gods).**
Someday, I will taste a wine for which I’ll insist on using such a fantastic word in my tasting note.

Other words may not be quite so poetic, but they can delightfully fun to say.
Hagelgeschmack is the German word for the unpleasant flavour resulting from grapes being bruised by hail.

“Words can lose their precision”
What smell is “foxy”?
I’ve found glossaries which define it variously as being like bubble-gum, epitomized by Welch’s Grape Juice, and dank like a dog badly in need of a bath. Further, I’ve heard from a tasting-bar server of it being used in a radically different tone.... “foxy” like sexy. (see below)
Without an effort to clear up this mess, we’d be better off without it. We would, however, loose a bit of vocabulary worth keeping.
North American has many native grape species and varieties. What was later gathered up as varieties of one species (vitis lubrusca) settlers called “Fox Grapes”. The most familiar variety of this species is what we know as the “Concord”. With its thick, dark purple skins, green-tinged jelly like pulp, the Concord grape tastes (not to mention feels in your mouth) very different from other grape species.
Some people (myself included) like to eat these odd grapes. Many people enjoy (Welch’s) grape juice, and grape jellies and jams... these capture the flavour of vitis lubrusca. Wines have been (and, occasionally, are) made from Concord grapes, and almost everyone dislikes the way they taste.
The real debate arises when tasting wines made from “French Hybrid” grapes. These (like Baco Noir) are, through nursery tricks, half vitis vinifera (European wine grapes) and half vitis lubrusca. How much do they taste like their lubrusca parent?

“Some words are just hopelessly vague”
There are plenty of these.
Sometimes they are used with the best of intentions.
Almost always they make us deserving of mockery.

What does it mean to say that a wine to be “sexy”?
I see this descriptor often, but most frequently in the most flattering of reviewer/guru Robert Parker’s tasting notes.
Does it mean something like attractive (makes you want to take a sip), or seductive (wants you take another sip)? Is an ideal subtype of the likewise vague descriptors “feminine” and “masculine”?

“...but then again...”
All this said, I refuse to insist on (let alone live up to) absolute precision.
To me the problem using words (and phrases) with no regard to whether or not your audience is following. (ie: that “foxy” means a particularly peculiar flavour distinct to wine made from a type of grapes once known as “fox grapes”, but now known by a different name entirely).
There are plenty of wines with aspects like clouds. Capturing them in words, is no more possible than with our fingers.
This, to me, this is one of the things that makes a great wine. (Not that I haven’t met plenty of indescribable unpleasantries as well).

* Thanks to Tom Stevenson. See “Tom Stevenson’s Aromas and Flavours”, wine-pages.com
** from 30 Second Wine Advisor article titled “Finding Words for Wine”. WineLoversPage.com

Bringing a Bottle of Wine to Dinner

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Thu, 21 Sep 2006 14:04:00 +0000

Somehow, its become a cultural norm: You’re on your way to dinner at a friend’s house. In your hand is a bottle of wine.
Its a kind gesture, and I’m reluctant to critique anything that promotes the sharing of wine with friends. But it is oddly awkward:
Is this wine to be opened immediately, or is it a gift?
Assume you intend (and your host understands) that the wine be opened. How on earth did you decide what kind of wine to bring?
Besides the vagaries of class – how much is it appropriate to spend, do you appear sophisticated (or pretentious) by presenting a label which few anglophones could read, pronounce, or understand – you are unlikely to know what food your host will be serving.
Food and wine pairing is an enormous topic. Here we have a single question: what wine goes with (just about) anything and everything?

First suggestion:
Duck the question by bringing an aperitif. A before-dinner drink may entirely avoid being confronted with food. Bubbly (Champagne, Cava, etc) is festive. A Mistelle (unfermented grape juice fortified with brandy – such as Pineau des Charentes, or Ratafia) is luscious. If you host has prepared a pre-dinner snack, it is almost certainly some variety of salty & fatty. Neither bubbly nor mistelle will offend.

Second suggestion:
Ask your host what they’re planning to serve.
Maybe you’ll start a new cultural norm... we would all be grateful.
On the other hand, your host may seize the opportunity to insist that you don’t need to bring anything but yourself. Suddenly, you’ve twisted your conundrum into a further knot.

Modified second suggestion:
If your host is a couple (or better yet a family with teenage children), aim your query at the least social adept (least indoctrinated) member of the family... hopefully this will avoid the “no no just bring yourselves” tangle/tango.

Third suggestion:
The wine universe is vast; let’s begin by narrowing the field:
Wine and food pairing theory, while much more flexible than many believe, does contain some firm rules. To start narrowing our options, let’s start with the rules which come in negative form (ie: rules which tell us things to avoid):
Tannins combine with oily food, especially fish, to produce an unpleasant metallic taste. Those same tannins also clash with salty foods (which exaggerates their bitter aspect). With these principles in mind, and the chance that our host might serve fish, we can rule out the majority of red wines. (The exempted minority are reds with very little tannin: Beaujolais, and some Loire Cabernet Franc or Burgundian Pinot Noir).
Spicy foods diminish our perception of sweetness. This can be especially problematic for dry red wines which, faced with spice, can seem extremely astringent.

As a red-wine lover, it pains me to say this, but: (I'm almost ready to say this)
If you choosing a wine to go with an unknown food, go white.

Before picking up a bottle, there are two more important principles:
(1) Foods which are high in acids – tomatoes being the classic example – will cause any wine low in acid to seem unpleasantly flabby.
(2) You want to roughly match the flavour-intensity of the food with that of the wine. In our case, not knowing what we’re matching, we need something

Looking for medium-high acidity, we need something from a cool climate. Steer away from Australia, and head for Europe (Burgundy, Loire, Alsace, Germany) or North America (Ontario, Oregon/Washington State, British Columbia).

Wanting to match the intensity of a food you can’t predict is obviously impossible. So lets go middle-of-the-road:
I have two suggestions:
(i)An unoaked, cool climate, Chardonnay is likely to be too delicate. Pick something enriched by some time in oak. Try a white Burgundy from Cote d’Or (especially those marked Meursault), or Macon (especially the village of Poully-Fuisse). Alternatively, choose a fully oaked Ontario Chardonnay (expect to pay $25-30).
(ii)Rieslings from Germany’s Mosel region are my favourite, but they are often rather delicate. Bolder wines are more common in other German regions (especially Pfalz or Rheingau). Look for a wine that says “Kabinett”, or better yet “Spatlese” (these are ripeness categories)... and choose “halbtrocken” (off dry) over “trocken” (dry).

Are these always perfect choices?
No.
I wouldn’t deliberately match a German Riesling with a bbq’ed steak, or pasta with tomato sauce...
...but these choices will not be wasted up against virtually any food, and they’ll be absolutely lovely with the majority.

___________________________
So what suitable wines are currently available (here in Ontario)?

A plushly styled Riesling from Germany's Pfalz region:
Darting Riesling Kabinett 2004. ($15) (950212)

A well-off dry Riesling from a obscure German region called Mittelrhein.
Mades Riesling Spatlese 2003. ($22) (597484)

An Ontario Chardonnay.
Peninsula Ridge. "Vintners Private Reserve" Chardonnay 2003 ($42) (7344)

Two Chardonnays from the southern end of Burgundy:
Domaine Vincent Sauvestre. Santenay Blanc 2004. ($25) (005744)
Bouchard Aine & Fils. Pouilly-Fuisse 2004 ($30). (525378)

Should Negative Reviews be Published?

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Wed, 30 Aug 2006 12:28:00 +0000

Let me tell you a story:
An amateur wine writer attended a wine trade-show. He then published (in his blog) notes covering the day’s experiences. One of these notes began:
“The owners of this winery were very friendly and I hope that the wines I tried were off-bottles rather than being representative. As always though, I can only review what is in the glass.”
Following this preface, were brief reviews of three wines produced by Graeme Miller Wines (Yarra Valley, Australia).
The first was lackluster, the second tentatively negative. Lastly was a Rose which was reviewed as follows:
“I’m sorry to say this, but this was the most faulty wine I have ever tasted. Dominant onion skins, rubber, and some barnyard characters on the nose with the palate living up to the promise of the nose.”
Four months later, our wine writer received the following email:
“Cam Wheeler,
I request that all comments referring to our wines on your web site Appellations be removed or will follow up with legal action.
Graeme Miller.”

Let me ask you a question:
Should negative reviews be published?

To begin, in the vast majority of cases, negative reviews are not published. This is especially true for professional writing, but the convention is often upheld by amateur writers (like those of us who write a wine-blog).
Why?
(1) Like many other genres, wine magazines are essentially pornography. Readers visit – via crafted prose and dramatic photographs – magnificent estates and rare elixirs.
(2) Interesting subjects (winemakers, vineyards, etc) tend to be the ones producing high-end wines. Plonk is most often mass-produced, essentially manufactured, as a beverage by technicians, accountants and investors. It is made from grapes grown across non-specific areas. In contrast: philosopher winemakers, exceptional terroir, and historic estates, are more interesting subjects. They also make (often, but certainly not always) better wine.
(3) Almost any critic will admit that there are few truly awful wines. There is, however, an ocean of wine which is mediocre, dull, and/or boring. Writing (or reading) about boring wines is… well, boring.

So what’s the problem?
(1) Winemakers have been spoiled. The fact that wine writing seldom includes negative reviews should not render it outrageous to publish one.
(2) When writing a profile of a wine maker’s portfolio, it is misleading (and dishonest) to skip over wines which deserve a negative comment.
(3) Granting only “the best” wines the publicity of a review increases the pressure on wine makers to produce dramatic (campy), striking (pushy), show-stoppers in order to get noticed.

So, what’s my (partial) answer?
(1) When writing about a finite collection of wines (a wine maker’s portfolio, a merchant’s current offerings, a trade show tasting), every wine should be reviewed.
(2) Producers, like Mr.Miller, need to relax. How many consumers google their options for everyday table wine? At this level, wines are sold by product placement, catchy names, striking labels, etc. Reviews are much more important for premium wines.
(3) Producers must adapt to the internet, where anyone can be a published critic. Absolutely everyone – at a trade show or at the “cellar door” – should be treated with respect. This should not be news.
If any guest expresses a concern that your wine sample may be faulty, it must be treated seriously. The wine should be immediately checked. If it judged to be sound it should be politely explained to the guest that it may be a style of wine not to their tastes.

(4) Bullying with (empty) threats of legal action is not the appropriate response to a negative review. If a producer is really concerned, a repeat tasting can be arranged.
What is the appropriate response to a bully?
Refuse to purchase their products.
...but I digress...

noreply@blogger.com (kwtastings) — Mon, 31 Jul 2006 21:34:00 +0000

Here in Ontario, the “Vintages” division of the LCBO (the state-owned liquor merchant which enjoys a virtual monopoly) puts its wares on the shelves in bi-weekly releases.
As is typical, the release planned for August 19th contains premium versions of the usual suspects (Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc, Burgundian Pinot Noir, German Riesling, etc) and a handful of interesting diversions.

In the first category, are two Argentine reds. Those with a taste for big, ripe dark-fruit & spice, full-flavoured red wine will looking forward to the chance to acquire the newest editions of “Catena Malbec” and “Clos de los Siete”. Both have an impressive track record; both were born in excellent vintage conditions. Both are generally enjoyable upon release – some, however, may prefer the “Clos de los Siete” after some time in the cellar.

The second category (handful of interesting diversions), begins with Lustau “East India Sherry”. This unusual wine is certainly sweet – meant for slow sipping. It is a lovely brown colour, generously scented, richly textured, and (just short of) decadently flavoured... raisins, nuts, molasses, with some lovely acidity for balance. To recall history – when fortified wines suffered a journey by sea to India – this wine is exposed to heat during its creation. This unusual technique (common to Madeira, but very unusual for a Sherry) tilts the wine’s flavour towards caramel.
Next is “La Spinetta” (producer: Rivetti). Moscato d’Asti, like this one, are very fruity, medium-sweet, lightly sparkling wines from the Piedmont. These wines are made by interrupting fermentation before all the grapes’ sugar is consumed – as a result, a Moscato d’Asti is only modestly alcoholic (5-6%). Not serious, to be sure... but often delightful.
Off in left field is “Baron Noir Sparkling Sweet Cider”. This lightly alcoholic sparkling apple cider comes from Normandy, France (producer: Cidrerie du Val de Vire). Apples (and pears) are the specialty of the Bocage Normand (woods of Normandy). Ciders like this one, along with apple-based spirits like Calvados, are an important part of the orchard tradition.

Finally, between our two categories, I’d place Tedeschi’s 2004 Ripasso “Capitel San Rocco”. To understand Ripasso, we begin with Amarone: a red wine made from Coriva grapes which have spent several months in drying racks (loosing about 1/3 of their weight). These grapes are then crushed and the juice is fermented, producing a powerfully flavoured, and strongly alcoholic, tasting of black cherries and bitter (amarone is Italian for bitter) dark chocolate. To make Ripasso, regular Valpolicella (the traditional cherry fruited red wine made from freshly harvested Coriva grapes), is poured over the skins left over from making Amarone. This process passes on an echo of Amarone’s character. Tedeschi’s Ripasso has been reliable over past vintages, and 2004, excellent weather in the Veneto region, can be expected to please.