The Wine Broad's Board

Wine on a Dime: Someone Else's

A couple weeks ago, I was handed the phone-book-size wine list at Auberge du Soleil, the upscale resort in Rutherford, and asked to “pick out a few nice bottles for the table.” The generous folks who made this request were people I’d never met before this occasion—the friends/relatives of a family friend back East, who invited us to dinner on their first-ever night in the Napa Valley.

What do you do when someone hands you a wine list and asks you to choose from the likes of Screaming Eagle, Araujo, Maya and other Napa cult wines? If you’re me, you carefully return your eyeballs to their sockets on their retractable springs (think Bugs Bunny) and ask: “What’s your threshold of pain?” The prices on that list range from $100 to thousands of dollars—more than I’d ever spent on a bottle of wine. How much were these people willing to fork over? The host merely smiled and said, “It’s our first night, so it’s OK to order something a little bit special.” No help at all. Did that mean “$200 special” or “$800 special”? Just thinking about it made me sweat.

In the end, I decided to ignore the dazzle of all those famous names, and order wines that I know and love. To start, we had a bottle of Stony Hill 2004 Chardonnay— a beautiful wine that lets the fruit and mineral character shine through, thanks to neutral oak barrels. (A lot of high-end California wineries insist on using brand-new barrels every year, which give the wine a hefty dose of toasty/sweet vanilla character. Neutral barrels are nice because they don't bludgeon the fruit with oak.)

I also ordered a couple of 1999 Napa Cabernets: Corison Kronos Vineyard and Diamond Creek Gravelly Meadow. Though different in style (the Corison was a bit richer, with riper fruit), both wines are fantastic examples of balanced winemaking—fruity, but not jammy or sweet. It was fun to compare the two wines side-by-side.

These were certainly not the most expensive or the most "hip" wines on the list (the priciest bottle we had was a “mere” $280), but everyone at the table loved them. The best part (for me) is that these are wines that I could actually drink again someday--regardless of who's paying the bill.

If you could order any wine you wanted on someone else's dime, what would it be?

Yes, it IS corked!

On Friday night I paid a return visit to the Napa wine bar where I experienced an unprecidented 7-bottle run of corked wines (as in, tainted with TCA). The first wine I tasted was great, but the second one had a subtle undertone of mustiness that raised a TCA red flag.

Our server was busy with another customer, so I flagged down the passing bartender and asked him if he thought my wine might be a little bit corked. He took a sniff and declared that the wine was "right on," then patted me on the head (figuratively) and went on his way. After he left, I realized that he hadn't even asked me what I was drinking. How did he know the wine was supposed to smell like that? I tried to convince myself that he was right, but that musty undertone kept nagging at me. I passed the glass over to my husband, who immediately declared: "That's corked!"

When our server passed by, I stopped him and asked him to smell the wine. He said he detected a bit of TCA, and asked if I'd like a fresh glass. Well, yes I would! As it turned out, the bartender who had declared the wine "right on" delivered my replacement glass, and made a point of telling me that he could detect no difference whatsover between the rejected glass and the new one he'd brought me. To me they were completely different: The fresh glass had none of the musty smell and muted fruit of the first one.

I was happy to finally have ended up with a sound glass of tasty wine (a Bugay Zinfandel, the way), but at the same time I was awfully annoyed that the bartender tried to stick me with a tainted glass of wine, and then tried to make me feel like I was being unreasonable for sending it back. (Would a man have been subjected to the same treatment? I wonder...) No wonder restaurant patrons are too indimidated to send back wines they think may be faulty! Who would want to be subjected to that kind of scrutiny? If I'd taken that guy's word for it, I'd have thought Bugay Zin was supposed to smell like wet cardboard, and avoided it in the future. Which is exactly the problem with TCA--if it goes unidentified, it can do major damage to a winery's reputation.

T-SHIRT UPDATE: By the way, the RPB t-shirt contest is still open, if you'd like to submit a Parker-esque poem. Some great entries have come in so far--be sure to read them in the "comments" section the post below. I'll keep it going until SEPTEMBER 6, at which time the winners will be determined (look for a post on the 7th).

T-Shirt Contest!

Thanks to “Wine Broad” plugs last week on Tom Wark’s Fermentation blog and from Robert Whitley on his Wine Review Online blog, I’ve had a surge in visitors to my little corner of the blogosphere. (Crap, I told myself I’d never use that stupid word! Of course, I also said I'd never have a blog.) The happy result of that increased traffic is that more winemakers have stepped forward to join the “Bob Bitches club" (a charming term coined by a reader).

While I’m not reckless enough to put the shirts into commercial production, I don't mind giving a few away for entertainment purposes. “What’s the catch?” you say. “You’re not just going to give me a free t-shirt!”

OK, there are a couple of requirements, but I think you’ll agree that they will benefit us all:

1) There's a limited number of shirts available, so you’ll have to compete for them. The top 5 winemaker-written Haiku or limerick poems posted about you-know-who (no, I'm not referring to Lord Voldemort, though some may say there are similarities) will score stylish RPB t-shirts for the people who wrote them. Need help with the poem formats? That’s what Google is for.

2) Each winner must agree to send me a photo of him/herself wearing the shirt, so I can post it here for everyone’s amusement (especially mine).

Fair enough? Now get writing!

Contest deadline is September 6.

Note: I don't, in fact, believe that Mr. Parker is the spawn of Satan. He wields unholy power over the U.S. wine industry not because he has everyone hyp-mo-tized, but because so many wineries send him samples and live-and-die by the results.

Wine with Balls

MEATballs, that is! Just when I thought I had the whole making-meatballs-thing down, I learned a new trick. When I went off to college, my dad taught me to make delicious Caputo family meatballs. He learned  from my mom, who learned from my Calabrese grandma. (Mom had to learn how to make my dad's favorites, don't you know.) I've never used a recipe to make them, and have always been happy with the results. That is, until recently. A couple weeks ago, I had some damn tasty Moroccan-spiced lamb meatballs at Central Market, in Petaluma, and chef Tony told me that the secret to making tender balls is to use lots of filler (as in milk-soaked fresh breadcrumbs) and to form them as gently as possible. I'd always gone easy on the breadcrumbs--and used dried ones, at that--and rolled the suckers into tight little orbs to keep them from falling apart during the pan-browning stage. Well, tonight I decided to try it Tony's way, and man was he right! Not only were my meatballs delicious, they were melt-in-your-mouth tender. I wanted to eat 10 of them!

Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine: Bonterra 2002 "The McNab," a blend of Merlot, Petite Syrah and Cabernet. (It's a restaurant-only brand made from 100% biodynamically grown grapes from Fetzer's estate.) While the wine was lush and ripe, with sweet black cherry fruit, it was a little overwhelming with my meatball dinner. In search of the perfect meatball wine, I opened a bottle of Fortitude 2005 Frediani Field Blend Red Wine ($24), an unconventional blend of Charbono, Carignane, Petite Sirah and Valdiguie. Now that was more like it: bright blackberry fruit, soft tannins and perky acidity--a much better meatball match. Grandpa Caputo would have approved. Salute!

It's the Wine's Fault

Ever open a bottle of wine that just tastes wrong--musty and dank instead of fresh and fruity? It so, you may have fallen victim to a "corked" wine--that is, one contaminated with TCA, a chemical compound caused by a type of fungus that can develop in natural cork. TCA robs wine of its fruity character and makes it smell and taste like a mildewy basement. Lovely.

In my work, I run across my share of corked wines--maybe about a dozen per year. But during a visit to a Napa wine bar a couple months ago, I was treated to a six-bottle run of hideously corked Umbrian rosé. After I let the bartender know about the bad bottle (which was nearly empty after many by-the-glass pourings), she uncorked multiple replacement bottles, only to find the same musty result inside each one. Amazing! We finally gave up and switched to a flight of Napa red wines, and guess what we found--yep, another corked wine. "Call Guinness!", I said. "This either has to be a world record, or I really need a beer."

Finding Fault at Copia

If you're unsure of what a corked wine smells like, get your nostrils on down to Copia, in Napa. In the lobby are a bunch of nifty wine-o-matic machines that demonstate different aromas, flavors and characteristics of wine. One dispenser's theme is "Finding Faults With Wine," which includes samples of wines affected by various flaws like TCA and Brett (a yeast-gone-bad that can give wine a nasty band-aid or barnyard smell). Here's how the machine works: stick a card (like a credit card, sold in Copia's main lobby) into the slot, put your glass under the spout and press the putton to dispense a taste of wine (anywhere from an ounce to a full glass, depending on how much you want to pay for). They have similar tasting machines at VinoVenue, in San Francisco, but Copia's have a fun, educational twist.

In addition to tainted wine, other dispensers are set up to let you compare wines made with different types of oak (French, American or oak chips) or with different winemaking methods. It's one thing to read about the concepts of TCA, Brett and malolactic fermentation, but it's a lot more fun when you have examples right in front of you to smell, taste and compare.

Once you're able to identify a corky wine, you'll be able to try this Mr.-Science-like trick: Wad a sheet of plastic wrap (as in Saran) into a ball and swish it around in the glass for a minute or two. Then take it out and smell the wine again. Though the fruit will still be muted, the musty smell will be gone! (Or, nearly gone.) Apparently, the TCA adheres to the plastic, and is removed when you take it out of the glass. Cool, eh?

Robert Parker's Bitch

You’ve got to love a winemaker with a sense of humor. Here we have Pinotblogger Josh Hermsmeyer (of Russian River's Capozzi Winery) wearing the t-shirt I had made up and dared him to wear. (We were having a blog dialog about whether or not winemakers are going against their own palates to please wine critic Robert Parker, Jr. My comment was that I didn’t think all winemakers had become Parker’s bitches, whoring themselves out for high scores. I thought “Parker’s bitch” had a nice ring to it, and Josh agreed. Any other winemakers out there got the cojones?)

By the way, I recently interviewed Josh for an article about getting the most from your winery blog.

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Alcohol?

Those of you who don't have wine-related jobs are probably blissfully unaware of a battle that's raging in California's vineyards over high-alcohol wines. On one side are fans (like all-powerful wine critic Robert Parker) of concentrated, blockbuster reds that weigh in at 15%-plus alcohol; on the other are those who lament the loss of finesse and food-friendly acidity that higher alcohol levels often bring about. The debate kicked into high gear last week, when respected Napa Valley winemaker Randy Dunn fired off an e-mail to the wine media saying that this high-alc thing has gone too far, and that consumers should demand an end to the madness.

While there is something of a high-alc backlash going on within the industry, I don't think we'll see consumers dumping their Napa cult wines down the drain in protest anytime soon. The simple fact is that a hell of a lot of people really like that style of wine. I'm a little sick of it myself (it would be nice to be able to drink two glasses of California red with dinner without getting hammered), but that doesn't mean we should burn all the Zin producers alive and rid the store shelves of the over-extracted offenders.

Those who say the high-alc monsters must be stopped propose a seemingly simple solution: Pick the grapes earlier in the season, before they get a chance to develop all that sugar, which is transformed into alcohol by hungry yeast during fermentation. The problem with that, many winemakers say, is that picking the grapes too soon will result in thin, underripe wines with "veggie" flavors and too much acidity.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to put that theory to the test, thanks to an experiment conducted by Santa Barbara County Pinot producer Sea Smoke Cellars. (Cheers to friend and fellow wine writer Jordan Mackay, who prompted the experiement and let me tag along to taste the results!) To find out how the same wine would taste at different levels of ripeness, Sea Smoke chose two adjacent rows in the same vineyard block, and picked one at 23.5 Brix and the other at around 25.8 (Brix measures the sugar level in the grapes). Other than the picking dates, the grapes and wines received identical treatment. When we tasted the two Pinots side-by-side, we agreed that the "late" picked wine was rounder, and more enjoyable to drink. The "early" wine had an odd aroma, and tasted more acidic (though not unpleasant to drink). The real difference came when we tasted the wines with food (fettucini with Italian fennel sausage, in my case). The "early" wine was clearly a better match; the "late" wine tasted a little hot, and off-balance. The winery didn't test the wines for alcohol content, but it was obvious that the "late" wine had a higher AC. Neither was a bad wine, but they were definitely different.

So, to sum up my take on the high-alc issue: Each style of wine has its place--one at the table and the other at the bar.

Sea Smoke Cellars 2005 Pinot Noir Tasting

Along with the experimental wines, Sea Smoke VP and general manager Victor Gallegas brought along the winery’s latest Pinot releases: Botella, Southing and Ten. (How’s this for a trade: Victor introduced me to Sea Smoke’s lovely 2005 Pinots; I introduced him to the wonders of OxyClean spray, after some of the former wound up on his shirt.) The three Pinots represent three different price-points and styles of Pinot: Botella ($40) is the most delicate in style; Southing ($50) is more complex; Ten is the blockbuster of the trio, a rich and ripe number that sells for ($70).

Though some may call me a cheap date (like $40 is cheap), I love the more reserved style of the Botella, with its bright red-cherry fruit and seamless balance. The Southing has deeper fruit (black instead of red), and a slight leathery character, with more acidity and tannic structure. Ten is the big daddy of the bunch, with unabashedly ripe black-cherry fruit and cedar notes, thanks to aging in 100% new French oak barrels. (New oak packs more of a punch than used oak. Botella was made with about 40% used vs. 60% new, while Southing is made with 65% new and 35% used. That ‘splains the more complex character of the Southing and Ten wines, as well as the higher price-tags. New French oak barrels start at about $700 each, while used barrels go for far less.) All three are lovely wines, offering up a style for just about every palate. (By the way, all three wines are listed at below 15% AC.)