Thomas Price, MS, is the head sommelier and educator at the Metropolitan Grill, Seattle’s premier steakhouse. Price came to Seattle in 1988 from Anchorage and managed beverage programs for some of Seattle’s top restaurateurs. In 1997 Thomas and his wife Jessica opened their own restaurant, Luau Polynesian Lounge. After selling Luau in 2004 Thomas started at The Met as a banquet server by night and by day began the arduous process preparing for the Master Sommelier examinations. Price was promoted to head sommelier at The Met in June of 2008 and passed the Master’s exam on his fourth attempt in May of 2012.

I tasted with Thomas in January of 2013. We used the 2009 RDV Rendezvous Merlot blend from Virginia and Riedel Vinum Bordeaux glasses. I began the interview by asking Thomas about his strategies for the three parts of the Master’s exam. I’m always interested in what strategies different students use to prepare for the exam. Thomas’ were unique and didn’t disappoint. 

Exams

TG: Let’s talk about the exams first and what worked best for you. We were talking about theory a few minutes ago. You said that you tried maps but they didn’t do it.  

TP: No.

TG: Most students say that they work, but you said that working with sounds files was really good for you.

TP: That was a better method for me. I was probably overstating it when I said that maps didn’t work for me. But focusing solely on visual learning was not successful. Once I went to audio bombardment and very exhaustive note taking, it really began to work.

TG: Going to the service exam, what part of the practical was hardest for you?

TP: Something you said once when you came up to Seattle to work with my group finally got me in the right mode. Before I just couldn’t get into character. I really struggled. I’d think this (the exam) isn’t real, I’m so stiff and wooden. Then you said something like, “we just want to be taken care of like we’re at a restaurant.” And that made all the difference in the world. So when I drop a little bit of red on the table cloth or I’m less than perfect at the job, I rise above and embrace the fact that I made a mistake and get better and keep going. That was really useful for me.  

The whole thing for the exam is that people worry about what’s going to happen and they think about “what wines are they going to pour me” or “what questions are they going to ask me.” If you’re thinking like that you’re just not going to be successful. I found that out the hard way as it took me four times to pass the exam. Ask me anything you want and make me do anything you want and I’ll persevere. I’ll persevere with style and class and I may not answer every question but I’ll carry myself like a Master. That’s when you know the difference.

TG: Sounds like being in what I call “game mode” for the service exam was the hardest part. Was the physical service difficult for you? 

TP: Yes, because as I mentioned earlier, I get nervous. I think part of it for me too was that I never achieved any academic success. I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself. When I was successful at service my technique was extremely smooth. I think the last time I did the decant it was a magnum which I do a lot of at the restaurant. We rarely use a cradle at the Met (Metropolitan Grill in Seattle). I practiced a lot with one but it never did feel natural to me. But really it was just a combination of everything. I would get nervous to perform in that medium which I think was the most difficult and unpredictable of all for me.  

TG: What again made the difference in terms of not being so nervous that you could really function well? Was it the feeling that you had to take care of the table? 

TP: Yes, I got into character. I kind of channeled our colleague Shayn Bjornholm who was a trained actor in a previous life. I’m not an actor, but I was that day; I was so in character that this was my restaurant and these are my guests. They’re not Master Sommeliers who are judging me on my performance. I’m going to wait on them because that’s what I’m really good at. So that was really helpful.  

TG: What about tasting? Was tasting difficult? It was by far the most difficult part of the exams for me. How was it for you?

TP: It was difficult for me because again it was about nerves. But in Aspen when I passed (May 2012) I took each wine individually. I remember working with Fred Dame MS and him saying to approach a flight like it was six different examinations. So I tasted the heck out each wine and then moved on to the next one. I think that if you can go wine by wine it’s much better. I was also not thinking, “They’re going to pour Grüner or Grigio and Chablis next to each other and I’ve got to figure it out.” For the first few exams that was my mindset. But in Aspen it was more like, “pour me anything you want. I trust my process and I’m going to evaluate the wine to the best of my ability.” 

TG: That’s a big shift.

TP: (laughs) Well the other way wasn’t working! 

TG: So for students in tasting, if you had advice for them what would it be? 

TP: In my practice I actually got away from Court-like tasting and did a lot of comparative tastings. My group always talked about the “why” and not just the end result—almost like a metaphor for the whole exam. So I really worked on why I would confuse Grüner with Chablis. We (the group) would do that and sometimes we’d see the labels and discuss differences. All this helped me in the examination format to be able to speak to the characteristics of the wine in a much more informed way.

Tasting: Goals

TG: The next part has to do with your goals in tasting wine. First, let’s take you in the MS tasting context. What are your goals? What are you trying to achieve? 

TP: I’m trying to evaluate the wine as thoroughly as I possibly can all the way down the line. But also--and this is another piece that I started to incorporate into my actual tastings--I ask myself, “Do I like it personally? Do I like the texture? Do I like the flavor?” Obviously, we all have wines that we like and wines we don’t like as much as others. I changed my tasting from just wanting to get the wine right to starting to think about if the wine would work for me or the guest in my restaurant. I let a little of that creep into my method for the exam and I think that was helpful too.

TG: What are your beliefs about tasting in general? Equipment-wise, what do you need to have a successful tasting? 

TP: I think you need good light and proper glassware. For Court-specific tasting I love to keep my own time. Some people don’t like to do that. But if you get the banker Chablis of all time and blast through it in two minutes it’s good to know that have that time in case you get a wine you have no clue about. Then you have some extra time to spend on it.  Otherwise, lighting is big but then so is glassware. I love specifically the Riedel Sangiovese/Riesling glass for tasting. I think from an aromatic perspective it really concentrates the aromas. Also make sure you’re hydrated, make sure you get some rest.  

If I can give one piece of advice to Master’s candidates it would be “don’t taste ten wines before you go in for your tasting.” I made that mistake a couple of times. Also, don’t over-taste before you go to the exam. I was so geeked before I went to my first couple of tasting exams that I tasted too much. You’ve got to taper off and trust your ability especially right before the exam. I tried a lot of different strategies but the one I went back to was one I used for my Advanced exam. Before I went in for my tasting I tasted three wines: Vouray, Rioja and Zinfandel. I know those wines and rarely get them wrong so tasting them was just a positive thing. It’s a better calibration for me than trying to taste other wines that I might struggle with. 

TG: What are your beliefs about yourself as a taster?

TP: I’m think I’m very strong. I started with some ability but with a lot of practice and some shifting of my approach I’ve become really solid. I’m think I’m really good at establishing a rhythm when I’m in the practice of doing it exactly the same way every time. Now when I work with students I tell them, “Come to the church of low, medium and high.” Not sort-of or slightly or a bit or kind of. Everything is low, medium or high. If it’s minerality sure there are gray areas because wine is a constantly morphing, changing thing. The wine you start with four minutes in may be showing some different characteristics. But low, medium, high is uber important. Then doing the wines in the same order every time. That’s a discipline because every wine has a different expression. Doing it the same way every time is an enormous part of the discipline.  

TG: Finally, what do you think makes for a great wine? 

  TP: Great question. I have this discussion with my guests and also with my colleagues. There’s a few things: price to quality ratio is big in the real world. DRC is a dream for a lot of people, myself included. Also if the wine costs four dollars a bottle or four hundred dollars a bottle if it tastes real. I know that’s an ambiguous term but what I mean is that the wine tastes like it was made in the vineyard and not like it was genetically engineered or manipulated. That’s a huge factor for me. Something we don’t discuss a lot but I try to use in my notes is texture. How does the wine feel in your mouth? I think that we are so busy with the structure—the acid, alcohol and tannin—that mouthfeel gets left behind. When I’m tasting for the restaurant or for pleasure that’s a big factor for me. It doesn’t have to be dense and plush but it’s how the texture works with the fruit and the structure that’s a key component for me. 

Tasting: Sight

TG: In terms of looking at wine to evaluate it either for professional purposes for your list or the MS context what are you trying to do? What are your goals when looking at a wine? 

TP: For both it’s making sure there’s no intentional flocculation whether the wine is old or however filtration or cold stabilization fits into the picture. I think you’re looking at the wine initially to try to get your feet underneath you in terms of where the wine might be, where it might come from and how it might taste. For the CMS tasting format I don’t spend a lot of time on sight. I think there are some wines like an aged Rioja or a Barolo where it can be a huge tell. But for me it’s more important to say all the things about the sight in 20 seconds tops. It’s different for everybody but certainly I would say to Advanced or Master’s candidates, if you’re 30-45 seconds into the sight you’re already behind.  

TG: Any other thoughts about the sight, the appearance of wine?

TP: With this wine that I’m looking at right now, viscosity is your friend. With the color description-wise, my ruby might be your garnet might be somebody else’s red. I think those descriptions are useful but the viscosity and staining of the tears in a red can be really important clues right at the start.

TG: What color would you call this wine? (2009 RDV Rendezvous Merlot blend from Virginia)

TP: I would call that a dark purple going out to some ruby notes; holding its color with a little bit of change at the rim; moderate-plus staining of the tears and high viscosity.  

TG: We’re going to get into some abstract questions, but how do you know it’s that color vs. something else? How do you know it’s not the color of Pinot Noir? 

TP: That’s a great question. It goes back to thing I was talking about; having confidence anchored in because I almost see the staining of the tears and the viscosity first. In my mind, I know that this can’t be a light-skinned grape varietal. 

TG: But in terms of picking out that color and being able to identify it, how do you know? 

TP: I don’t know. A lot of people will look at ruby red in an art book. I just never did that.  

TG: But there must be some way that you know. So as you take a look at the glass, in your mind’s eye how do you know it’s that color vs. something else? 

TP: I think that is just repetition of tasting a bunch of wines.

TG: How would you represent all that experience? 

TP: That’s a great question. I’m not a very visual learner or visual person.

TG: Let me ask you this: if I say think of the difference between something like Mendoza Malbec that’s purple and Rioja Gran Reserva that’s 20 years old.  Do you get two images in your head? 

TP: Yes.

TG: So when you pick up this glass is there some way in terms of a series of images or colors that you’re able to match the wine to a color you’ve seen before? That’s the question.

TP: I’m more abstract than that. I don’t want to sound like I’m winging it but I have a really good memory and I’m drawing on tastings that I’ve done in the past. 

TG: OK but how do you represent all that? Think about other Cabernet and Merlot-based wines and how do you know? 

TP: I don’t know.  

TG: I think it’s more that you do it so fast that you’re not aware of how you do it. But let’s slow it down for a second. And if I had to be you, what would I do? What would I see? What happens? 

TP: I think that I’m so excited to get into the wine that I do it really fast. I don’t really want to get locked in on it. It (the wine) looks ruby purple enough so we’re moving on. 

TG: I have to tell you that watching in watching you, you’re looking at the glass first and then you’re looking out here at several different points (out in front and slightly to the left of center and slightly up in several places). So I’m wondering if you hold your eyes out here, what happens? Take a look at the glass first and then go there and see what happens. What feels comfortable when thinking about color?

TP: It’s almost like in this format the train is on the track.

TG: When you say the train is on the track it means …

TP: It means it’s time to start evaluating this wine and I have a visual memory of what I call purple or ruby.  

TG: What are those memories like? Images of colors or images of glasses of wine? 

TP: Glasses of wine. 100%.  

TG: Are the images in a row? 

TP: This is great. So Stevenson’s book (Sotheby’s Encyclopedia of Wine) has pictures of everything from the lightest, brightest, cleanest wine to the deepest red. That series flashes in my head. 

TG: Do you have separate white images and red images? Or is it just one color gradation?

TP: It’s one.

TG: Are they separate images like the Stevenson book? 

TP: They’re like little slide images in my head.

TG: So what happens? Do you take a look at the glass and then the image continuum and match it up? 

TP: Yes.

TG: Does anything happen when you find the right match? Does something light up? Something happen? Does the slide change somehow?

TP: It’s almost like I go straight to it. It’s like your computer when you click on something and it gets bigger. It’s like I’m scrolling through and then match it up.

TG: So the image gets bigger? 

TP: Yes, it gets bigger and I know it’s a match. 

TG: Do you say something to yourself at that point?

TP: I say, “That’s it.” I also may say to myself the four or five things it could be. But some days I’m in the zone and not aware of any of this.

TG: Just curious, when you say you’re in the zone and you look at the glass, ID the color and say here are the three or four things it could be, where do those things go? Do you say those possible things to yourself? Do you see images? How does it work? 

TP: It’s words. 

TG: At that point is it your voice saying it or someone else’s?

TP: Mine.

TG: How do you get around the pitfall of pigeonholing the wine?

TP: Because I’ve got so much left to evaluate. Those potential things are floating through my head as I taste the wine but I really try not to force the wine into something. I think that’s something I’ve become really proficient at—really focusing on what the wine actually is and not trying to force into something it isn’t. Otherwise, there’s a lot of people living in my head at the same time. 

TG: That’s right because you have to acknowledge that kind of thought but then park it to the side and get back to it at the conclusion to see if it makes sense. Otherwise, you definitely will try to make the wine into something else.

Smell

TG: Now for the nose. In terms of overall goals in smelling wine, what are you trying to do?

TP: I’m trying to get the blueprint of what the wine is which will hopefully be confirmed on the palate; what it’s going to taste like, what its age is, and if there’s minerality and the like. I’m just trying to get a snapshot of what the wine will be. We’ve all been there when you get the wine on your palate and all the things you’ve said about the nose seem really dumb. But I think for the most part, as you become a better taster, the nose is the main thing. In my experience, when I put my nose in the glass and smell it for the first time, I try to think about what it is and 95% of the time it’s right for me—I know what it is. When I was a less accomplished taster I would try to find ways to talk myself out of that. Occasionally it doesn’t work because I still need to evaluate the wine.  

TG: Now it’s time to get to work. For the record we have the 2009 Rendezvous Merlot blend from RDV in Virginia as the wine we’re using today. Go ahead and smell the wine and focus and get in your zone. What I’m curious abou,t is where you’re looking when you put your nose in the glass which is almost straight down in front. Is that where you usually look when smelling a wine? 

TP: Yes.

TG: Just curious about something. So as you smell the wine what happens if you move your eyes up to about horizon level? What happens? Anything change? Smell better? Worse? 

TP: I get more lift, more high tones.

TG: It seems like you hold the glass at a fairly steep angle straight out in front and then look straight down. What happens if you move your eyes to the left or right? Brain-wise, does that feel better or worse?

TP: It doesn’t work. I need to be right in the middle.

TG: As you smell the wine, why don’t we start with the fruit. What do you get for fruit?

TP: Blackcurrant, black plum, and black cherry.

TG: Two questions: how do you know you’re smelling those things? And if I had to be you, what would I experience? 

TP: To begin, I didn’t do a lot of “go get some gooseberries” to learn what gooseberries smell like. It’s almost a life memory. I know what blackberry and black plums smell like.

TG: Agreed. But when you put your nose in this particular glass of wine, how do you know you’re smelling those things vs. anything else? How do you know? I also notice that you’re holding the glass with both hands.

TP: Yes, that’s how I do it. A lot of times I want the temp of the wine to be warmer so it’s a way of doing that. Otherwise, it’s been my method. But that’s such a great question and it’s awesome to delve into this.

TG: Let’s go back and do it again. You put your nose in the glass and your eyes go here (middle and almost straight down). At this point do you say anything to yourself? 

TP: No. 

TG: Anything like “what’s there” or “what’s going on?”

TP: It’s like I talked about doing it the same way every time. The initial scent on this wine is new oak. I get a very plush, lush, nutmeg, vanilla sort of aroma. But of course I have to be careful to stay in my method so that’s not the first thing I would note.

TG: Having said nutmeg and vanilla, how do you know it’s those things vs. something else? 

TP: Because of all the wines I’ve evaluated over the last 9-10 years. 

TG: Not to be a pain, but if I had to be you what would nutmeg and vanilla be like? How would I experience them? 

TP: I’m going to have to somehow convey that information to you.

TG: Exactly! But again, how would you know? If I had to be you, I would hold the glass with both hands at this angle, look straight down here, and then smell a lot of new oak influence. What would I experience for new oak? How would I remember that it’s new oak? 

TP: Baking spices, apple pie, everything. I’m a cooking fanatic. It’s my favorite thing to do. Ever since I’ve been studying for the exams, every time I make something I try to identify the smells as much as possible—fruits, vegetables, or whatever. If I’m making a salad with arugula, I’ll crush some in my hands and smell it so the next time I smell Grüner Veltliner I’ll be able to recognize it. Even if I just say the word “arugula,” this memory pops into my mind. It’s mostly driven by foods I’ve worked with. I’ve never been much of an aroma wheel person either.

TG: Pick up the glass again and go to all the oak aromas. From here I’m just trying to see what your eyes do. They go down here initially but I’m looking for the other place they go when you recognize something in the glass. All of this is to say that you have to have a way of drawing on all the memories you were just talking about—memories that help you identify something. When you smell vanilla and spices in this wine, how do you represent that to yourself? That’s what we’re after.

TP: It’s all smell memories.

TG: Memories like …

TP: Like apple pie filling.

TG: So apple pie filling and you’re looking out here to the left and about chest level. What’s there at that location where you’re looking? Is that a memory of you making an apple pie as you in a movie making apple pie? 

TP: Yes!

TG: So with the nutmeg and vanilla, what do you get for those? 

TP: Like making béchamel and putting a little nutmeg in it.

TG: Like making the sauce? 

TP: Literally me making the sauce.

TG: Great. Just so you know, this is what you did just now: when you mentioned nutmeg, you put your nose in the glass and looked down to your starting point then went very strongly out and slightly to the left to your memory of making the béchamel. Just for detail, when you see making the sauce do you see the actual ingredients or the process of actually making the sauce?

TP: I see the ingredient that I’m using and also smelling in the moment.

TG: Does the ingredient sit on something? Is it by itself? Remember this is in the context of me being you and experiencing what you are in the moment.

TP: The ragu is almost cooked down, the cream is almost cooked in and I’m grabbing a pinch of nutmeg and about ready to add it to the sauce.

TG: What about the vanilla, what’s that like? 

TP: Vanilla extract. As a kid, I liked to open a bottle of vanilla extract and just smell it. To me, it’s just a beautiful smell. That’s a very powerful memory for me. But I’m not necessarily accessing this memory while I’m smelling the wine because I’m so focused on what I’m doing. But to your point, I have to get there somehow.

TG: Go ahead and smell the wine again; what about fruit? Tell me about the fruit.

TP: Black fruits: black plum, blackcurrant, and almost a kind of blue or boysenberry thing too.

TG: That’s a lot of fruit.Which one is the strongest? Let’s pick one and figure out how you got there.

TP: Black plum.

TG: So for black plum, what do you get? How is that represented to you?

TP: I’m thinking of a place where we used to toss the disc around in Seattle; on the rare occasion of warm summer day where there were plums that were so ripe they were almost rotten on the trees. You could smell them in this orchard where we played.

TG: Is this like a movie of the memory and you’re in it? Like you could reach out and grab the plums? 

TP: Absolutely, and we would never eat them because they were so ripe they were almost turned. But that’s the level of intensity of the black plum on the nose of this wine—uber ripe.

TG: What other fruits to do you smell?

TP: There some blue fruit too; boysenberry, blueberry, and straight blackberry.

TG: How do you represent all those other fruits to yourself? We’ve got the movie for the black plums and what happens for the rest?

TP: This if funny because I really don’t eat very much fruit—I don’t really like it. How I access these memories is almost going back to when I was growing up in Juneau, Alaska. There wasn’t a lot of fruit growing there but we had blueberries. I remember having to eat them but not enjoying them. Now living in Seattle blackberries grow rampantly all over the place. My wife tries to get me to eat them and I still don’t particularly like them.

TG: Anything else for fruit we should mention? 

TP: No, I think the wine is very expressive and straight forward.

TG: OK; pick up the glass again and think about all those fruits. Can you pick them up sequentially quickly or keep them in mind all at the same time? How does it work?

TP: It’s sequentially. But I’m thinking that when I get to the palate the intensity or the amount of each fruit will probably change. There may be more blueberry vs. more black plum or whatever. I kind of card catalogue it.

TG: When you say “card catalogue” what does that mean? 

TP: In my brain I remember the three primary fruits.

TG: Are there literally cards? You’re pointing to the right side of your head by your ear.

TP: Yes, it’s right back there. It’s like the purpose of my whole process is to not only get the wine right but to also evaluate it completely. So on the palate--if my nose didn’t let me down and those fruits are still in the wine--I need to let to let whoever wants to know, be that an MS panel or a distributor, about what’s going on in the wine.

TG: OK, but what I’m trying to do here is build a sequence of what you’re doing. It seems like you smell the wine, your eyes move up here, and then you get total body memories of things in the wine. That’s at least what I’m picking up so far. But then does that information become a card that you store in your head? That seems to be where the info is going.

TP: This is interesting because I’ve never thought about it analytically. At that point, what it feels like in my head is that I do make an image because I might need it later--but then put it away. I’ve pulled the memories out, I’ve got the cards, and I don’t need the childhood stuff anymore.

TG: Not to sound silly, but what do the cards look like? 

TP: Like little flashcards.

TG: Like 3 X 5 cards?

TP: No, really small. They have to fit in my head! (Laughs) It’s almost like dragging your mouse on your computer over an image and it gets bigger. I can make the images bigger if I need to. With the blue fruit thing, if I taste it then the image will get bigger automatically because it’s so intense.

TG: But these images are to the side. How can you see them?

TP: It’s inside and like a voice and an image.

TG: But you still got an image, correct? 

TP: Yes. 

TG: Is the image flat and two dimensional? Or is it three dimensional? 

TP: Flat and two dimensional. 

TG: Are the images in the order that you smelled them? Or is it whatever is the most intense? 

TP: It’s whatever is the most intense is first.

TG: Does the MS grid have any bearing in terms of how you organize all this? 

TP: Definitely. But right now with the nose I’m just compiling evidence. By the time I get this wine on the palate I’ll put all the evidence in a perfect linear order.

TG: When you do that it sounds like you pull everything outside and put it right in front of you. You’re going from up to down right out in front of you about a foot away.

TP: Yes.

TG: When the images are inside can you look at all of them or do you have to look at things one at a time?

TP: I look at categories of things in sequence.  

TG: What about minerality? Smell the wine again and see if anything pops up for minerality. I’m curious if you use the same process that you did for fruit.

TP: Yes, I actually picture rocks inside my head.

TG: You mean rocks out here (out in front) or an image of rock inside your head? 

TP: Yes, out front. 

TG: Then that goes inside and becomes one of those cards that you store? 

TP: Yes.

TG: What does the image of minerality look like? 

TP: If it’s Chablis, it’s like the white cliffs of Dover or it’s galets for Chateauneuf. I’ve never walked the vineyards in some of these places so I have to rely on images I’ve seen in books. But the images are definitely there.

TG: The last thing is non-fruit; what do you smell in this wine? 

TP: There’s a lot of purple flower-violet happening in the wine.

TG: What’s that like? 

TP: It’s an image of the flowers.

TG: Is it 2D or 3D? Movie? Still image? 

TP: It’s 3D and like a vase of violets. But it’s also like a flower that grows in Alaska called fireweed and it has a very similar aroma to this.

TG: Is the image like a vase with flowers in space out in front of you? 

TP: Yes.

TG: It seems pretty close like you could reach out and touch it. Is it life size? 

TP: Yes and yes.

TG: Once you create that image, does it get filed in your head like the rest of the images? What happens to it? 

TP: They go back into the file. 

TG: What does the file itself look like? It’s a collection of images but what does it look like? 

TP: It’s like a box with cards in it. This if funny because this is what I was finally able to do in the Aspen exam—and what I’ve been able to do since. I’m able to empty out the box once I’m done with a wine and then refill it with the next wine. 

TG: That’s brilliant. But can you get that information back if you need it? 

TP: Yes and this sounds so nuts (laughs) because there’s another box—a hedge box.  

TG: So the first box is in your head and at some point you empty it; but you also want to keep the information when you’re done with the wine. Does it go into the “hedge box?” 

TP: Yes. 

TG: Where does this hedge box live?

TP: It’s sitting right in front of me, right by the glass of wine in case I have a question about it. 

TG: So it’s there and you can pull up information/images if you need it?

TP: Yes.

TG: Finally, how do you know when you’re finished smelling the wine? 

TP: When I’ve filled in all my boxes; when I’ve talked about everything I feel there is to talk about.

TG: Do you actually see the MS grid when you’re tasting to make sure you’re not missing anything? 

TP: Yes, very much so.

TG: Where do you see it?

TP: It’s out in front. 

TG: Yes, you’re looking right out in front of you 3-5 feet away almost at eye level. So periodically, you’ll flash it up and make sure you’re getting everything? 

TP: Right. 

Recently, I was listening to Michael Krasny interview wine importer extraordinaire Kermit Lynch on a local Bay Area NPR radio affiliate. At the end of the interview Kermit took calls from listeners. One of the callers complained bitterly about wine writers and how they describe wines in florid detail using terms that, according the caller, were complete nonsense. Kermit soft-pedaled his answer saying that yes, writers can sometimes go off the rails when describing wine, and that yes, everyone’s palate is different so you can’t expect to agree on everything you read in a wine review. Lynch’s response made me pause because I’ve heard this complaint all too often; that wine descriptions and reviews are in some form or other nonsense and that wine writers frankly make things up. So I’d like to address this personally, even ecumenically, if you will.  

As much as you may want to believe it, wine writers are not making things up. Sure there may be the odd hallucination now and again, but usually they’re simply trying to tell you what wine X, Y, or Z smells and tastes like to them. Emphasis on THEM. Beyond that, we often hear the phrase “everybody’s different” when it comes to wine and that is correct across the board. Here’s how we’re different. In short, here’s the deal:

We all have the same hardware in the form of our brain and neurology. After that, all bets are off. What’s different? Simple answer: everyone’s memories. Your take on Meyer Lemon is going to be different than mine because my memory in the form of internal pictures, movies, sounds, and feelings associated with Meyer Lemon throughout my lifetime is unique--and it’s definitely not yours. While we may agree that there’s something sour and citrus-like in the wine we’re sharing, we’re never going to have an identical experience known as Meyer Lemon. You may think it smells more like pink grape fruit or a catcher’s mitt or a freshly painted garage door for that matter. Further, the wonderful bouquet of flowers I adore in a glass of glorious Grand Cru Alsace Gewurztraminer may utterly repel you because it’s entirely too close to your memory of a tragic drive-by at a Macy’s perfume counter at some point in the distant past. Personal likes and dislikes are important and those are based on memory too.  

Context is also important. The how’s, who’s, why’s, and when’s you taste/drink a wine collectively form the trump card in any wine experience. That magic bottle of whatever you enjoyed when your boyfriend proposed will forever be your favorite wine in the entire universe. The mere thought of it will send you around the moon and back to that magic moment--until the break up.  Then it becomes the most cursed s#@*&% bottle of wine in the history of mankind. Yes, friends, context is important. Remember that.

Remember also that wine tasting is marginally about actually tasting. It’s primarily about SMELLING as smell accounts for over 85% of the sense of taste. So if you’re passing by the nose on your evening glass of Cabernet going right in for the big slurp, the proverbial cow is already out of the barn. In fact, the cow is so far out of the barn that it took your car to SFO and is now headed to Fiji. On your credit card. Moo. 

Olfactory memory is the most powerful form of memory we have because aromas from the glass or any other source go right up our nasal passages to be transferred directly into the cerebral cortex. That means when such-and-such wine writer rambles on about how the pepper and herbal notes in a Chateauneuf-du-Pape remind him of the cassoulet his grandmother used to make when he was a kid during the holidays, guess what; it probably does and that means you shouldn’t wig out over said writer’s musings but should instead try to get to your own memories of pepper and savory herbs to better understand what the writer is trying to express about the wine. Hopefully the next time you taste the same wine or a similar wine you might experience them too. Unless, of course, you find something completely different. Because after all, it’s what the wine smells and tastes like to you that actually counts.

As for the sense of smell, we as a culture generally suck at olfactory memory. It’s not important to us so we don’t practice it and we’re not very good at it. Other than a smack-me-on-the-side-of-the-head tsunami of cow pasture, raw garlic, or did somebody left the burner on the gas stove on, we’re generally not tuned into the olfactory world. There are definitely exceptions and those individuals tend to be in the perfume, wine, and spirits worlds or other professions where one’s expertise is largely determined by smell memory. Thus it’s not surprising when someone with a highly developed olfactory memory writing about their subject is viewed with great suspicion by the public at large.

On the other hand, it's easily understandable that the poetic meanderings and or descriptions of wine writing can sometimes leave one puzzled, forlorn, and even verklempt. Wine has no inherent vocabulary leaving us as wine professionals to borrow, often tragically, nomenclature from completely unrelated fields. Adjectives such as “murky,” “bold,” “dense,” and even something comical like “explosive” find their way into wine descriptions, not to mention any number of fruits, herbs, and spices (road tar is among my favorites). But when you read that tasting a rare old vintage made some famous wine writer start weeping you should definitely have serious misgivings. I would.

Know that wine professionals taste a lot of wine, some of them thousands of bottles a year. If someone is tasting that much odds are they’re pretty good at it and they should also be proficient at communicating about it in a meaningful way even if they are limited to nomenclature that may seem like Martian to the novice. Keep in mind that this is tasting and not drinking. A professional tasting may sound like fun to you but it’s hard work requiring a hell of a lot of focus, concentration, and inevitable palate fatigue. Still think it sounds fun?  Imagine tasting 45 different coffees in 90 minutes, taking notes and then writing about the qualities of each one. I rest my case.

Finally, if the florid wine descriptions still give you agita, consider giving wine writers a break. Even with the zillions of wine blogs and everyone pretending to be a wine expert these days, there are more good writers than ever. Find one whose prose you can live with—even like—and follow them. Chances are their likes and dislikes in wine are similar to yours. But remember that your palate—and what you like to drink—is the bottom line.
 
Because after all, I made all this up.  

Just kidding.

I’m just back from ten days on the road; a trip split between three Alto Adige wine seminars in Denver, D.C., and New York, and a trip to Germany for the Weinbörse, the big annual spring wine fair. While the likes of such a sojourn may sound glamorous, anyone who travels for a living will tell you that most of it is spent looking at the inside of hotels, cabs, and planes, not to mention the long periods of time in various inert, semi-functioning states. But there was plenty of upside to this trip with the buzz generated by Alto Adige wines (see earlier post) and tasting the outstanding 2012 vintage for German Riesling. More on the latter will follow in my next post. Until then, here are bits of wisdom gained from the road.

Bee Death Smells Like Bananas

This gem offered by Haley Dale from Omaha who was on the Germany segment of the trip. Haley’s restaurant, the Grey Plume, is a farm-to-table concept and her commitment—no, make that obsession--to deliver the freshest local ingredients to her guests includes the likes of keeping bees in her back yard for their prized honey. However, she warns that the worst thing one can do before working with bees is to eat bananas. That’s because the hormone given off by a bee that’s just stung you, as in a bee that has just given up its life by stinging you to protect the rest of the hive, smells like bananas. So those ripe banana slices on the breakfast cereal you’re enjoying as you read the celebrity column right before you amble out to check out the hive will instantly signify serial death to the inhabitants and give the signal to attack. Bee forewarned.

They Have Wine Queens in Germany

On the first morning of our German itinerary we were graced by the presence of one Sabine Wagner who, as it turns out, is the 2013 Rheingau Wine Queen. I’m not sure about the selection process or the requirements for being a wine queen, but I will tell you that Sabine was lovely, charming, and wore a very cute tiara that would surely be the envy of most any nine-year-old girl. She was also accompanied by another woman who was the wine queen from a smaller region. Together, they provided color commentary in English about the drizzly landscape as we sped past in our uber-designed German bus. They also excelled at photo ops which I gather is part of the job description. For the record, I also have to mention that there was a grape queen at the spring wine ball that night pictured below. Her costume was pretty amazing. It probably weighed a ton as well.

It’s Spargel Season 

It’s spring in Germany and that means it’s time for spargel or white asparagus. Spargel is truly a delicacy, far more subtle than its aggressive green cousin. The Germans obsess about spring and Spargel. How do they enjoy it? Simply steamed and served with Hollandaise sauce accompanied by Speck (thinly sliced cured ham) and roasted potatoes. Wine pairing? Silvaner from Franconia is ausgezeichnet (excellent)!  Han Wirsching’s Spätlese Trocken would be a perfect match. Does eating spargel make your pee stink? Yes it does, but not nearly as much as green asparagus. However, eat enough spargel over a period of several days and everything about you, from your clothes to various aspects of your fabulous physique, will indeed have a delightfully pungent vegetal air. That’s not a bad thing. I think it’s called personal terroir.

The Shower Challenge

What’s the greatest road challenge when it comes a hotel room? Remembering your room number? Not quite, although that certainly makes life a bit easier. It’s not figuring out the thermostat either. That’s a close second because some of them are either so arcane or so complicated as to be unworkable. When it doubt, turn it off unless it’s either freezing or boiling in the room. In which case, call the front desk and make them fix it.  


The greatest hotel room challenge of all is the shower, specifically figuring out how the shower works. I’m firmly convinced that there are completely evil and/or monumentally stupid individuals who design hotel bathroom showers; hotel showers so utterly lacking in functionality that it’s almost as if the job of designing them was handed to a herd of goats. Allow me get beyond my rant for just a moment by providing the following bit of sage advice: make sure you know how the shower works before you actually have to use it—as in the following morning. I say that from more than one tragic experience.
 
Unless you’re one of the compulsive types who gets up two hours before they actually have to be anywhere, the last 20 minutes of your morning routine—as in when you shower and actually get ready—are crunch time. There’s absolutely no room for error and that’s exactly when the unsuspecting bather is waylaid by the dark gods of poor hotel bathroom design. That’s when the panic-stricken bather, not unlike the newsprint besmeared victim of Psycho, realizes that it takes ten minutes for tepid—not hot—water to appear from the faucet; that the drain doesn’t work and one is quickly up to their knees with water that looks like toxic waste; that the towels are not in the bathroom as they should be but are, in fact, in another room as in Fiji;  that there are multiple lethal shower heads that will attack with shocking force from all angles with ice cold water if the precise combination of several dials is not applied. Showers, my friends, can be dangerous. Test-drive them the night before needed use. You will be glad you did.

For a country about half the size of Texas, Italy is a land of extremes. In the south, Sicily is closer to Tunisia than Rome with Mediterranean and African influences visible across the cultural spectrum. In the far north, Alto Adige is almost as equally removed from the universally held stereotype of a Tuscan landscape of misty hills lined with Cyprus trees dotted by the occasional terracotta topped villa. The region was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until the end of WWI. Bolzano, its major city of some 100,000-plus, is just a leisurely 90 minute drive from Innsbruck Austria, site of the 1976 winter Olympics. It’s no surprise that over 70% of the people in Alto Adige primarily speak German and rarely Italian. 
 
Several times during my recent stay I overheard one of the local winery contacts say that they had gone to school in “Italy” or were about to head south to vacation in “Italy.” I would remind said person that we actually were in Italy only to be met with a shrug and the briefest hint of a smile. Regionality, as it does elsewhere in Italy, runs deep. I can’t blame any of them. One look at Bolzano and its surroundings and you’re definitely not in mainstream Italy, much less Kansas. Take, for instance, the remarkably steep hills encompassing the Santa Magdalena DOC that jut up dramatically from the northwest section of the city you’ll know why. With its black diamond slope terraced vineyard, one could easily be in the Wachau of Austria or the Mittel Rhein of Germany.  
 
In terms of wine production, Alto Adige is one of the Italy’s smallest regions with just over 5,000 growers farming some 13,000 acres. Napa Valley, by comparison, has over 39,000 acres under vine while the Chianti DOCG has over 41,000 acres planted. But quality here is king with over 98% of the wines produced of DOC level. The region’s climate combines alpine influence with warm temperatures during the growing season. That’s because the Dolomites and the Swiss and Austrian Alps in the north act as an enormous rain shadow protecting the area from temperature extremes during the winter. Mediterranean influence from the south makes for some of the hottest temps in Italy during the summer. Together both create wide diurnal shifts with a marked separation between high daytime and low night temperatures. For viticulture, that means the fruit—both apples and grapes--achieves good ripeness levels and yet retains high natural acidity, a magic combination that makes the wines versatile and in some cases lends considerable potential to age. 
 
The Alto Adige region is patchwork of valleys and mountains with vineyards planted between 600 and 3,300 feet. The soils range from calcareous and limestone near the ever-present Dolomites, to volcanic porphyry and moraines, the remains of glaciers that retreated from the region some five to six million years ago. The region is home for over 20 grape varieties with the soil largely determining the variety planted; whites on the chalk and limestone closest to the Dolomites and red grapes thriving in the Moraines and porphyry-based soils.

Geography: the Flux Capacitor

Think Back to the Future movies and the Y-shaped circuit that enabled the stainless steel DeLorean to journey through time (http://backtothefuture.wikia.com/wiki/Flux_capacitor). The comparison works. Alto Adige’s three major valleys form a letter “Y” with Bolzano as its hub. 

To the northeast is Valle d’Issarco, just minutes away from the Austrian border. Chiusa and Bressanone are the most important towns and the historical abbey, Abbazia di Novicella, is one of the leading coops - producers. The abbey dates from the 12th century and the Santa Maria Assunta is one of the most beautiful small basilicas I’ve ever seen—it’s a must see. Here in the Valley d’Issarco the soils are mainly granitic and white grapes predominate with some excellent Schiava produced as well.

The Val Venosta lies to the northwest with Merano the major city. The Venosta is the driest region in Alto Adige and also one of the centers for apple production. It’s the most scarcely planted valley of the three with poryphry and volcanic soils; whites predominate plantings. The region is also known for its mild climate and Merano has long been regarded as an excellent spa town. 
 
The Oltradige valley in the south is the largest of the three valleys and the heart of Alto Adige wine production. Appiano and Caldaro are the most important villages. Limestone and porphyry soils are found as well as moraines. White wines account for 56% of the production with vineyards planted between 1,000 and 2,300 feet. The village of Tramin, a spiritual home to the Gewürztraminer grape, is also located here.

At the center of the flux capacitor is the city of Bolzano, one of the warmest parts of the entire region. Here the vineyards of the Santa Maddalena DOC rise steeply out of the northwest part of the city. The soils are poryphry-based and perfectly suited to Schiava-based reds as well as Lagrein.  
 
Coops: a Reality Check

One belief I had to quickly shed while in Alto Adige was a long-held notion that coops are mere factories cranking out oceans of wine mediocre in quality at best. Over 70% of the wine in Alto Adige is coop-produced and a lot of it is very good to outstanding. In talking to winemakers, I learned that the region’s vineyards are severely fragmented in terms of ownership just like Burgundy. Thus, like Burgundy commercial winemaking on any scale can only exist in a cooperative context. Vineyard owners are generally non-wine professionals and have had the vineyards passed down to them by older generations. The relationships between coop winemakers and vineyard owners were closer to a négociant/owner in terms of the emphasis on quality fruit and lower yields. Terlano is a perfect example of one of the several Alto Adige coops making exceptional wine.  

The Grapes

Here’s a quick survey of the major varieties from the region.

Whites

Pinot Bianco: grown throughout the region. Pinot Bianco isn’t usually a grape that gets everyone dangerously excited but I was surprised, no make that shocked, at how well it can age give the right conditions. To point, Klaus Gasser of Terlano opened bottles of the winery’s Pinot Bianco from 1982 and 1955. The ’55 was deep golden in hue and still very fresh and alive. So much for the belief that whites don’t age well. Old wine aside, Alto Adige Pinot Bianco shows bright citrus fruit with white blossom notes on the nose and steely minerality on the palate. It’s a delicious shellfish wine.

Pinot Grigio: there’s an ocean of Pinot Grigio made all over northern Italy, much of it unremarkable. The best wines from the variety are definitely from Alto Adige and combine bright green pear/pear skin, and juicy citrus fruit with wet stone minerality.  

Gewürztraminer: it’s interesting to note that in Jancis Robinson’s just published and completely brilliant tome “Wine Grapes” (over 1,200 pages and weighing in at 6.7 pounds) a listing for Gewürztraminer is missing in action. Searching the index one is pointed to the Savignin entry with the explanation that what we call Gewürztraminer is actually a genetic mutation of the other Alsace grape. Not sure what that does to the village of Tramin’s claims to be the ancestral if not spiritual home for Gewürztraminer but there you are. In terms of style, Alto Adige Gewürztraminers have all the pungent floral and spicy fruit qualities one expects from the grape without the blowsy quality. At best, the wines are luscious, spicy, and
perfumed. They’re also delectable with soft-ripened cheeses.

Riesling: the few Rieslings I tasted during the week reminded me of scaled down versions of Austrian bottlings with tart citrus fruit and stoney minerality.  

Grüner Veltliner: one comes across Grüner in the north near the Austrian border. Here the style resembles the lighter versions from the Austrian Kamptal region versus the richer Federspiel and Smaragd wines of the Wachau. Still there’s plenty of the peppery and slight vegetal notes that make Grüner so delicious.

Kerner: another grape that usually goes under the radar and for good reason—it’s not exactly riveting. But I did find several wines, most notably the Praepositus from Abbazia di Novacella, to be delicious, with ripe Fuji apple and quince notes and a wonderful floral quality.

Sylvaner: I’ve long thought the Silvaners from Franconia (especially those from Hans Wirsching) to be the best on the planet. Now I’m more than willing to concede that there are several producers making outstanding Sylvaner in Alto Adige with all the smoky succulent apple/pear and tart citrus fruits one could hope for.

Sauvignon Blanc: here is really the only instance I found a bit of identity crisis among all the Alto Adige wines. Not really a surprise given that Sauvignon Blanc suffers the same wicked fate in California as well--not knowing whether to emulate New Zealand or Sancerre, and sometimes heading directly in between with unique, sometimes bizarre results. The best Alto Adige Sauvignons were sharply etched and citrus-dominated while others suffered from either too much sulfur or too much oak. However, there is great promise for the grape here.

Moscato Giallo: thought to have been brought to the region by the ancient Romans. Dry and succulent, fully dessert sweet versions are
made.

White Blends: blends based on Chardonnay, Pinot Bianco, Sauvignon Blanc, and Pinot Grigio are a long-held tradition in Alto Adige, and they can be quite good as well as age worthy. In particular, Manicor’s Reserve della Contessa and Terlano’s Nova Domus Riserva are outstanding. 

Reds

Schiava: I’ll go out on a limb here by saying the next uber geek hipster red wine will be Schiava. It’s a wonderful combination of Pinot-elegance and tart Barbera acidity with unique savory qualities. Light in color, fairly concentrated, and Beaujolais-like, it can be served chilled and goes with any and everything. You might see it also labeled as Vernatsch or Edel Vernatsch (remember the German influence!). The best Schiava-based wines are from the Santa Maddalena DOC where they are blended with a maximum 10% Lagrein. Try one—it’s delicious!

Lagrein: other than ease of pronunciation (it rhymes with wine), Lagrein could also be the next total geek wine. Malbec-purple in color but with Merlot-soft tannins and a tart, savory, and floral character all its own. Another must try.  

Pinot Noir: the Pinots I tasted during the week reminded me of Spätburgunders from Germany with tart cranberry/rhubarb fruit, and beet, tea/herb, and earth notes. Elegance and finesse are common hallmarks.

Merlot: primarily grown in the warmer south closer to Trento; bottled both as a single varietal and blended with Cabernet Sauvignon. The best examples have lush black fruits, herbal notes and minerality.

Cabernet Sauvignon: ditto above, with the best examples showing vibrant blackcurrant and herb notes with clay earth.

Moscato Rosa: my new favorite sticky. Moscato Rosas are luscious, just-right sweet, and spicy. Chocolate wine!

Random Thoughts

Apples! Alto Adige is the center of apple production in Italy and one of the major suppliers to the European continent. The valley floors are filled with apple orchards with vines on hillsides and terraces. However, a high bounty is placed on top orchards grown on steep hillsides.

Foods: when in Bolzano, makes sure to try the local dumplings called knödels, made from cheese, beets, speck (local ham like prosciutto), or spinach. The crunchy unleavened bread called schüttelbrot is also delicious.  

Restaurants: Patscheiderhof is an old farmhouse restaurant outside Bolzano built in 1776 that serves traditional local fare including delicious knödels.

Favorite Wines of the Trip

1. 2012 K. Martini & Sohn Pinot Bianco, “Palladium”
Lots of intensity and ripe fruit for Pinot Bianco with vibrant acidity and a touch of chalky minerality.

2. 2012 Castelfeder Pinot Grigio
Racy citrus and Pippin Apple fruit with notes of bitter almond and mineral.

3. 2012 Erste Neue Pinot Grigio
Sleek, supple texture with tart acidity; flavors suggest green pear, citrus blossom, and chalk.  

4. 2011 Abbazia di Novacella Sylvaner “Praepositus”
Ripe pear, green melon, key lime, and citrus blossoms with mineral underlay; focused, concentrated, and racy with an intense mineral mid-palate. Outstanding.

5. 2006 Cantina Terlano Sauvignon Blanc “Quarz” (from magnum)
Tart citrus, restrained grass/herb notes, and pronounced salty mineral; the palate is racy and seamless; wonderful balance and length.

6. 2010 Cantina Terlano Nova Domus Riserva
A blend of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, and Pinot Bianco. Vibrant Fuji apple/green pear and white flowers with bright lemon citrus notes.

7. 2011 Cantina Val Isarco Gewürztraminer “Aristos”
Ripe peach, tangerine, and ginger spice flavors with pronounced floral notes.

 8. 2012 Elena Walch Schiava
Tart cherry and cranberry notes with savory herb and a touch of earth.

9. 2011 A. Egger-Ramer Santa Maddalena “Reisegger Classico”
Richer than regular Schiavas with more depth of fruit and earth/mineral notes. Juicy, ripe, and forward with tart finishing acidity.

10. 2011 St. Michele Appiano Pinot Nero
Smoky cranberry and sour cherry fruit with beet root, tea, leather, and spice; lots of mineral on the mid-palate with older wood and tart
acid on the finish

11. 2011 Castel Sallegg Lagrein
Ripe black fruits with violet, anise/herb, green leaf, and earth/mineral notes; more restrained on the palate than expected, but still very juicy and fruity with tart acidity and minerality on the finish.

12. 2009 Kellerei Kaltern Passito Moscato Giallo “Serenade”
Fruit dried for 4-5 months and then aged in wood for two years; 210 grams residual with nine grams total acidity; crystallized pineapple and preserved lemon with honey; luscious fully sweet with honey, dried flower and anise notes; utterly delicious.

The Wente Clone Turns 100

This week saw two important celebrations for 100th birthdays in the wine world. First, an outstanding symposium at Wente Vineyards in Livermore on Monday celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Wente clone of Chardonnay. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to chair a panel of industry experts that included Phil Wente from the winery; Greg LaFollette, winemaker and owner of LaFollette wines; Stephane Vivier, winemaker for Hyde de Villaine wines; Nancy Sweet of the Foundation Plant Services at U.C. Davis; and long-time colleague Chuck Hayward of J.J. Buckley Fine Wines in Oakland. Our mission was to map the birth and evolution of the Wente clone of Chardonnay in California over the last century.

 Before you leave this page to go microwave something or turn on the Weather Channel, allow me to explain as it’s become all too easy to bash anything remotely related to the Chardonnay grape. In fact, we’ve gotten just as good at berating Chardonnay as taxes, the dismal weather in the Sunset District of San Francisco during the summer, or how remarkably annoying Katie Perry’s voice is after a very short period of time. But all this fuss over the popularity of Chardonnay is a very recent thing. Consider for a moment that in 1960 there were only 260 acres of Chardonnay planted in the entire state of California. That’s right, 260 acres, or less than half a square mile for anyone doing the math. Further, the state agricultural census listed Chardonnay as a “miscellaneous” white grape until 1968. Mind you, a varietal bottled Chardonnay wasn’t even commercially sold until 1936. It was made by, you guessed, Ernest Wente. 

It was the famous “Judgment of Paris” tasting in 1976 and the success of the 1973 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay that initially spurred the tremendous growth of Chardonnay plantings, much of which was comprised of the Wente clone or variations thereof. One could even argue that the most site specific grape in California from the 1970’s through the late 1980’s was Chardonnay because of the consistency of the plant material (as in the Wente clone).  Today the Chardonnay world is very different indeed. As of 2010, there are over 95,000 acres planted in California, an increase of over 400 percent from those long ago days of the early 1960’s. Combine that with the factoid just recently released that the white wine market in the U.S. is now the largest wine market on the planet, and Chardonnay becomes even more important to our wine gestalt. In the end, we may complain about Chardonnay all day--but we simply cannot ignore it.

As for the symposium, it was a wonderful blend of Wente family history (truly one of the great families of California wine) with a lot of technical data including spider graphs (which always make me squint) about the morphology and evolution of the Wente clone through the years. The big surprise of the event was Chuck Hayward’s “CSI” work on uncovering how the Wente clone got to Western Australia from California in 1955. The answer is via Dr. Harold Olmo of U.C. Davis clonal research fame, who OK’d the initial shipment of vine cuttings and who also went on to help establish several of the best cool climate growing regions in that state. 

Also notable were comments made by fellow Masters and good friends Peter Granoff and Sally Mohr. When asked about sommeliers and why they need to consider Chardonnay for their programs, Peter responded by saying that sommeliers need to “put their egos aside” and just do their jobs. Sally Mohr responded by pointing out that while everyone makes such a fuss over white Burgundy, we’re at the point now that where the best Chardonnay vineyards in California should be considered the equal of their Burgundian counterparts in terms of wine quality. I completely agree with both. 

The entire symposium can be viewed in three parts via U-Stream:

http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/23405528

d’Arenberg Turns 100

The second big birthday bash happened this past Tuesday night at the Old Mint building in San Francisco. A group of more than a hundred gathered to celebrate the 100th anniversary of d’Arenberg, one of Australia’s most unique and iconic wineries. If not familiar, the winery was founded in 1912 by Joseph Osborn, a teetotaler and then director of Thomas Hardy and Sons winery. Osborn purchased the 60 acre Milton Vineyards in the hills just north of the townships of Gloucester and Bellevue, now known as McLaren Vale. Fruit was sold to local wineries until the construction of a cellar in 1928. In 1943 Frank’s son, Francis d’Arenberg Osborn (known as “d’Arry”), returned from school at age 16 to help his father run the business. d’Arry eventually assumed management in 1957, and in 1959 launched his own label called d’Arenberg, named after his mother Frances Helena d’Arenberg. The d’Arenberg wines quickly started winning medals in major competitions and within 20 years the winery gained both national and international recognition. The rest, as they say, is history.

Today Chester Osborn, the fourth generation, oversees winemaking duties. The vineyards are still located in McLaren Vale about an hour’s drive from Adelaide. The climate, while definitely hot during summer months, is all about diurnal shift as the nights are much cooler due to the proximity to the ocean. That makes for wines with high natural acidity regardless of the ripeness level--and high acidity means good balance and longevity, both hallmarks of the d’Arenberg wines. 

Chester makes as many as 16 different wines in any one vintage, from a Pinot Meunier-based sparkler all the way to a tawny port-styled fortified sticky. My favorites over the years have been the Riesling called the “Dry Dam,” the old vines Grenache called the “Custodian,” and the reserve Cabernet called “Dead Arm.”  It goes without saying that all the d’Arenberg wines have quirky names with a story behind each. Beyond that, Chester is all about sustainable practices in the vineyard, and minimal--and I do mean minimal--intervention in the winery. In terms of the latter, only traditional basket presses are used and the wines are rarely, if ever, racked during barrel aging.  That’s because Chester believes a certain amount of reduction is needed to offset the natural oxidation that a barrel environment provides. 

The event started off with a tasting of over 40 wines including older vintages as well as newly released Shiraz and Grenache vineyard designates from the 2010 vintage. Here are notes on my favorites:
 
Older Vintages

2004 “Dry Dam” Riesling: quintessential Aussie light saber Riesling with intense lime and mineral flavors and atom-smashing acidity.

2002 "Thieving Magpie" Shiraz-Viognier: projectile blueberry and violet plasma. Amazing aromatics with a seamless, spicy, and delicious palate. Hedonistic.

2001 "Galvo Garage": a Cabernet blend with Merlot and Cabernet Franc. There’s a common notion that Aussie wines don’t age well and that the Cabernets are second rate. I think we can toss both ideas out in the backyard next to the square wheel and the eight track player. At 11 years young the Galvo is vibrant, harmonious, and just starting to show its stuff. 

New Releases

2010 “The Beautiful View" Grenache: wild strawberry jam meets a pepper grinder beneath a grove of eucalyptus trees. Rich, juicy, spicy, and savory. 

2010 “The Vociferate Dipsomaniac” Shiraz: an immensely concentrated red with dark fruit compote, exotic Asian spices, and savory herb notes. Think Humvee in ballet slippers. Shameless. Take cover.

http://www.darenberg.com.au/


Cheers! Happy 100th to both the Wente clone and d’Arenberg. Here’s to 100 more!

“It’s Not an Adventure until Something Goes Wrong.” 

                                                                              Yvon Chouinard

              Legendary climber, environmentalist and founder of Patagonia

Prelude

Last week I was in Pomona to judge the LA International Wine Competition, a great event that allows me to see a lot of friends in the business and to meet and network with new contacts. I was also able to judge with good friend Paul Wagner of Balzac Communications in Napa, Laely Heron of Heron Wines in San Francisco, and Chris Braun of Moselland. Day two’s program started with 20 New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs (several gold medals and very high overall quality) and a dozen imminently forgettable Chardonnays over $15. From there the program continued with 60 Pinots under $30 from the molto variable 2010 vintage. Many of the wines tasted like Zinfandel or Syrah blends. I really can’t imagine why. The day ended on a strange note (B#) with a Venusian vinous program consisting of wines from Greece, Turkey, Georgia (the other Georgia), and Japan. Needless to say, it was a veritable smorgasbord, sort of like an endless hallway where every opened doorway revealed an evil clown, mutant creature, or strange random event.

The best part was that we finished before lunch and even managed to knock out the 18 wines scheduled for the next morning by early afternoon. That meant, meine freunden, that I could change my flight and get home early, leaving me with the entire next day at home before heading out again to Aspen for the upcoming Master’s Exam. And that’s a wonderful thing. A quick call to United and $75 later (bless them for their change fees), I was all set to go on a 6:52 PM flight back home that evening. Life was good indeed. 

Paul and I got to the fabulous Ontario airport in loads of time only to have my iPhone call me twice in short order to let me know that my flight was delayed and finally a third time to inform me that my flight was cancelled. That was the bad news. The good news was that I had already been rebooked on a morning flight back to SFO--on Saturday morning as in two days later. Ahem. 

What follows was, as Inigo Montoya in the Princess Bride once said, “It’s too long. Let me sum up.”

· We stood in line at the United Counter. 

· Mother Teresa, disguised as a United employee, plucked Paul and me out of line.

· We were whisked to a distant kiosk formerly operated by Continental before the “merger.” 

· No real options to get home that night existed as far as Ontario was concerned. 

· Mother Teresa instead booked us on a 9:15 flight out of LAX. 

· We were quickly hustled outside to the shuttle area where Paul, two other vagabonds from the same flight, and I caught a cab to LAX.

· A scenic journey through the “Inland Empire” and greater LA area followed.

· I’m really glad I don’t live there.

· We arrived at LAX an hour later just before 7:45, in plenty of time to get a bite to eat before boarding our flight.

· The cab fare was over $140 and generously subsidized by United.

· We got into the security line for the second time that day.

Largo Dementia

Now the fun begins. I put everything in the bins and prepared to get irradiated for the second time in less than four hours. Funny, all the pilots refuse to do this. Do they know something we don’t? Should we be doing this? Are we safer now for it? Does that mean that previous security measures were inadequate? Forgive my going off on a tangent here. Onward.

My backpack and personal items make the perilous trek through the x-ray machine but my small suitcase does not. There is a hold up. A large TSA man with a larger head and no neck is glued to the monitor. He’s apparently spotted something suspicious. At this point, I’m standing on the other end of the x-ray conveyor belt with a woman whose belongings are either in front of or behind my suitcase. We’re not sure if it’s her suitcase or mine that’s the problem. What we do know is that this is taking a long time and my new friend really has to pee. Bad. But she can’t go without her suitcase which is still in the dark and cozy confines of the x-ray machine. 

Now more TSA specialists are gathering to scrutinize the monitor. At any one time there are an average of five of them peering at the screen with intense focus and concentration. Soon there are actually nine TSA people in the immediate vicinity, all looking at the monitor at what turns out to be MY suitcase. 

Goodness, I’m thinking, I really don’t believe there’s anything remotely dangerous in there. Maybe it’s the copy of the October 1977 Playboy with the interview with Barbara Streisand I took along to read on the trip. At that time she was almost sexy and this might pose some kind of threat. Who knew? She’s got a great voice, though.

Twenty or so minutes go by. The TSA people have long since shut down our line. The only other open line is backing up big time with dozens of people looking at my new friend and me like we’re going to be cuffed and taken away at any moment. She is, not surprisingly, about to wet herself. Several times we ask one of the TSA people to just remove the object of concern and go through its contents. “No can do, sir/mam,” we’re told in response. “We can’t touch the bags. We’re waiting for the “inspectors.” Cue Beevis and Butthead chuckling sounds internally. No, make that externally. 

After another 10 to 15 minutes passes, the two inspectors amble up totally clueless to the fact that there are now upwards of a hundred people in the other line backed up trying to make their flights. You know, there really is nothing like bringing a sense of urgency and focus to one’s job. One of the inspectors replaces the large TSA man at the head honcho control chair to get a better look at the contents of my suitcase. The other uses a PDA-like device to scan and magnify the image of the article of concern. Other TSA people gather around the pair and gaze at the images as if in a trance, murmuring in hushed voices.

Finally, it is agreed that’s the best course of action is to remove my suitcase from the x-ray machine and to examine its contents; this after over 25 minutes of intense scrutiny by multiple highly trained TSA personnel. I really hope no one in the crew suffered a migraine over such an extremely challenging and stressful decision. Fortunately, at this point my new friend is allowed to retrieve her suitcase and races off pell-mell to the nearest women’s room. 

I’m then asked to accompany the two inspectors to a side station. My suitcase is first swabbed for toxic substances. Then after plastic gloves are donned for personal protection, my suitcase is unceremoniously opened and Inspector A removes the contents including the copy of the October ’77 Playboy complete with the interview with Barbara Streisand. I’m disappointed to learn that she is not the object of interest. Still has a great voice, though. 

Inspector A eventually isolates my toiletry kit and two packets of Starbucks coffee. He runs these through the x-ray machine again along with my suitcase. Both inspectors return with all the goods in hand still puzzled by something in my toiletry kit. They are clearly flummoxed. Finally, Inspector B pulls my toothbrush out of the toiletry kit. “This must be it,” he says ominously to inspector A. Inspector A then turns to me and asks with the utmost gravity,

“Is this your toothbrush?”

Dear reader I must tell you that at this point that single question almost made my brain fuse. Several things went very quickly through my mind:

a. My catholic upbringing as in always use good manners, especially in public.

b. The knowledge that these two morons could make damned sure I wouldn’t be getting home tonight if I uttered the wrong response.

c. The utter comic ineptness and pure spectacle of it all.

Rest assured that I did NOT say the following:

“Nope, it’s not mine.  I’m not really sure how it got there.  It must be someone else’s.”

--Or--

“Yes, you moron, it’s my toiletry kit from my suitcase that you’ve been mucking about with for the past half hour.” 

Instead, I smiled politely and said, “Yes, it is.”

He responded by asking if I minded if he took it apart. I acquiesced eagerly saying:

“You can have it.  I’ll get another toothbrush. It’s from Walgreens. Really. I just need to get going.”

Having gotten the green light he gingerly, with plastic gloves doubtless adding needed traction, removed the bottom of the toothbrush with the battery immediately popping into his waiting fingers. He turned to Inspector B, held the battery aloft, and announced to everyone within at least 100 feet, “This is IT. This has got to be it.” 

All the episodes of Monty Python flashed before my eyes simultaneously (throw in some episodes of Mr. Bean while you’re at it). Mystery having been solved he jammed the battery back into the toothbrush and asked if I wouldn’t mind repacking my suitcase. I was more than happy to accommodate his request and did just that before bolting from the security area lest he change his mind.

Coda

Paul patiently waited for me and watched the entire drama unfold with more than a smidgen of quiet amusement. We eventually did reach our gate but not before he steadied my nerves by generously treating me to dinner in the form of a 20 ounce Stella Artois and a pre-packed Cesar salad with chicken. When it was time to board, I saw my new friend from the security line and told her about the source of our delay. “Your f***ing toothbrush? You’re kidding me, right?” Needless to say, she was not amused. I think her bladder was still miffed.

What to make of all this? Don’t assume I’m bashing the TSA or their efforts to keep us safe in the air. I’m all for it. However, a little common sense and less blind protocol might be in order. After all, what were all those highly trained professionals doing staring at the image of my suitcase for such a long time? Is it really the rule that they can’t take something out of the machine and look at it without first calling headquarters? I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t fill me with confidence if anything actually goes south. Regardless, I do want to note that for every incident like this, which I now find highly amusing after the fact, there are dozens of times where I go through airport security without a hitch and with just the usual amount of inconvenience. But it does make me wonder. And I’m getting rid of that toothbrush. Right NOW. 

Whenever I tell someone I’m traveling to judge a wine competition, their response is inevitably, “Oh how lucky you are to get to taste all those wines. And I think, “Yeah right.” Funny how the very thought of tasting over a hundred wines in a day sounds like big fun to most people. In reality, it’s about as much fun as chasing parked cars. There are certainly good times to be had if you get assigned to the right panel with people who are colleagues and/or friends and the group works well together. Mind you, judging on the wrong panel with stubborn or dysfunctional people can be like being banned to an outpost at the edge of the universe. Regardless, the task at hand involves working through dozens of flights of wines, many of which are not only far from medal-worthy, but either flawed or imminently regrettable. 

Such was the case last weekend in Dallas where I helped judge the Dallas Morning News Competition at the Four Seasons Las Colinas Resort, a gorgeous property. Fortunately, the wine competition gods smiled on me this time and I was able to chair a great panel consisting of friends and fellow MS’ Wayne Belding and Laura Williamson. My former editor at Fine Cooking Magazine, and dear friend, Amy Albert rounded out the team. 

Our mission on day one was to work through 115 wines from Sonoma County. We started with a flight of Pinots (several very good ones) and then Merlots (also several good wines) before moving on to smaller flights of Cabernet, Zinfandel, Syrah, and finally Cab blends. It was somewhere between Barstow and the end of the Cabernets that our team became concerned for our combined olfactory health. Many of the wines seemed to have the vinous hygiene of a high school 4-H Club. We dubbed one remarkably bretty and tannic Cabernet the “angry cow.” And it more than delivered. After lunch, day one concluded with two flights of Chardonnays, all pretty good, none stellar, and most almost exactly alike. Visions of Hello Kitty, Britney Spears, and an endless landscape of microwave popcorn danced in my head.

What makes a good wine, a medal wine, you might ask? Easy answer: it should be clean and well-made; it should smell and taste like the grape variety it’s made from; and above all, it should be balanced, appealing, and drinkable. Score one in each of those columns and your wine gets a medal. Really do a good job and the wine will get a gold medal, or at least a silver.  Trust me, when we came across one of these top wines, the quality is so obvious to everyone on the team it’s like a blinding light being shined in a dark space. 

Day two dawned bright and sunny despite the copious amount of Negronis and Fernet Branca consumed by some of the judges the night before. It was Riesling day, something our team had talked about all along. After tasting through an initial flight of Greek wines (some excellent reds), our task of the day was to work through the better part of 90 Rieslings from Europe, Australia, and the U.S. We were, needless to say, dangerously excited. The first flight of German wines yielded two outstanding entries that garnered top honors. From there, a very good flight of Alsace Rieslings followed by two flights of Australian Rieslings from Clare and Eden Valley. The latter turned out to be the best grouping of the two days. Several gold medals were awarded along with more than a few silver medals. Although Aussie Riesling is well known among the sommelier community, it’s not exactly a household name. It’s one of the most concentrated, intense, and mineral-driven white wines made anywhere and definitely one of the paradigms for the Riesling grape. Monikers such as “liquid light saber” or “liquid piano wire” come to mind. Needless to say, the wines are also remarkably age worthy. 

We took a break after the Aussie wines and then dug into multiple flights of California, Washington, and American appellation Rieslings. It was here that everything pretty much went south. Although there were a few good wines here and there, what followed was a primer in the misuse of SO2 and acidulation. Many of the wines showed copious quantities of sulfur and tartaric, others were oxidized, and still others were simply flawed with sulfide or mercaptan issues. It was here, faithful reader, where we earned our keep--where the rubber met the road. Oddly enough, some of the wines actually did smell like rubber--but that’s another story. In the end, we handed in our paperwork, took a team photo, and finished up with lunch. It was a great two days; I thought our team did an excellent job of working together to find the best wines presented. And it was almost too much fun. Cheers!