Comparative tasting: Wines from Clos d'Argentine

Yesterday I compared three inexpensive wines from Clos d'Argentine purchased at Grocery Outlet. I had had all three before and liked them but thought one better than the other two. I was going to stock up but, by the time I thought about it again, I'd forgotten which of the three I had preferred. So, I bought one of each and determined to compare them. I tasted them not quite blind. I knew what the wines were, but I covered the labels and tasted them in random order. Tasting notes and some conclusions follow.

Wine 1: 

Color: Medium ruby, tending toward magenta. Looks young. Color quite thin at the edges. Nose: Hints of raspberries but also something darker. Not smoky. A suggestion of cocoa perhaps. Later leather. Palate: Fruity. Light tannins. Distinct vanilla flavor, but not oaky. Moderate length. Seems fairly high in alcohol, but not excessive. Easy, appealing, everyday wine. Not especially complex, but seems well made and, although I would rank this third among these three wines, this is nevertheless tasty.  

Wine 2:

Color: Medium ruby, but deeper in color than Wine 1 and without the magenta tint. Nose: Immediately fruitier than Wine 1. Appealing red fruit scents, but also something suggestive of peaches, which is a bit of a surprise in a red wine. Vaguely floral as well. Nose most open and appealing of the three wines, at least at first. With a little time, began to suggest dark cherries.  Palate: Less overtly fruity than Wine 1. Seems light at first, but has more tannin than Wine 1. Seems younger. Has good body, and the finish is considerably longer than that of Wine 1. Surprisingly closed on the palate at first considering how expressive it is on the nose. Suggests it will develop nicely with time, and, during the tasting the wine opened up to reveal riper, slightly jammy fruit flavors, again with hints of vanilla and leather. It reminded me (in a good way) of those old-fashioned cookies with a disc of jam in the middle. Later began to vaguely suggest cassis and cocoa. My favorite of the three wines. 

Wine 3:

Color: Deep ruby. Almost opaque. Nose: Seems fairly closed at first. Less fruity on the nose than the first two wines. Attractive but hard to pin down. As it opens up, hints of dark cherries. Later vanilla, but not oaky. Palate: Rich and round. More concentrated fruit than either of the other two wines. Seems more mature, but also has good (soft, milky) acidity, suggesting it will continue to improve with time. Nicely fruity, ripe, round, and immediately appealing with delicate tannins coming to the forefront on the mid-palate before fading on a long finish. My second-favorite of the three wines.

Wine 1: 2020 Clos D’Argentine "Winemaker's Selection" Malbec Gran Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13.5% alcohol, $9.99)

Wine 2: 2021 Clos D’Argentine “Winemaker’s Selection” Malbec Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13% alcohol, $6.99)

Wine 3: 2017 Clos D’Argentine “Winemaker’s Selection” Cabernet Sauvignon Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13% alcohol, $6.99)

Some thoughts after the reveal: I thought it interesting that Wine 3, a Cabernet Sauvignon, didn’t seem typical of that variety. The three wines gave the impression of all being made from the same grape. In this case, the producer and the land seem to have had a greater impact on the result than the grape variety, which is unusual; grape variety usually is the single most important factor determining the general taste of a wine. The Cabernet is seven years old. That's not especially old, but, as wines age, their flavor profiles tend to converge to some extent – perhaps a minor factor here as well? 

The terms “reserva” and “gran reserva” are most familiar from Spanish wines. In Spain, a wine designated “reserva” has spent at least three years aging with a minimum of one year in barrel. A “gran reserva” has been aged at least five years with at least two years in oak. The rules are less restrictive in Argentina where a red “reserva” need spend only 12 months or more in barrel and a red “gran reserva” need spend only 24 months or more in barrel (six months and 12 months for white wines). In theory, a gran reserva should be superior to a reserva, but, in this case, the reverse was true (at least in my opinion). That said, all three wines are tasty and a good value at my local (Santa Rosa, California) Grocery Outlet, ranging in price from $6.99 to $9.99. I can recommend all three.

Wines I'm Making: Bottling 2023 rosé and 2022 Cabernet

I spent some of the weekend of February 10 and 11 attending to winemaking chores I had been putting off. I bottled our 2023 rosé of Sangiovese, made labels, and got the labels on and did the same for our 2022 Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc. We ended up with 15 bottles of the rosé and 62 bottles of the Cabernet, which is pretty typical. This past weekend I also racked and sulfited our 2023 Cabernet and added oak on the assumption that the malolactic fermentation has probably gone as far as it was going to go, although I did not go to the trouble of doing a paper chromatography test to see. It is what it is.... I treated the wine for a slight hydrogen sulfide smell, which is a reminder that next year I'll need to go more to provide yeast nutrients during fermentation.

 

Wines I'm Making: 2023 Grape Pressing

Yesterday, November 11, the fermentation of this year's wines largely over, I racked the Sangiovese rosé into the container it will rest in until it clears. I added the yeast on October 23, so it was a long, slow fermentation of 19 days (8-12 days is typical for the rosé). Because of the late harvest this year, we had much cooler weather during fermentation than usual. We'll get 15 bottles of 2023 rosé. The wine should be ready to drink before Christmas.

I also pressed the 2023 Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc. We ended up with 12 gallons of pressed wine, which will yield 60 bottles of wine. I added the yeast to the Cabernet on October 26 after a four-day cold soak. Fermentation took 16 days, which is slightly longer than usual (typically 12-14 days). The next step will be to inoculate the new wine to start malolactic fermentation. In addition, it will soon be time to bottle our 2022 Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc wine, which has been resting since this time last year. Thanks to my friends David and Kimiko for their help with the pressing yesterday. 

Miscellaneous: Bad writing

Would you buy this wine? 

I generally don't buy wine based on what's on the label, but I do read labels of unfamiliar wines. I came across this one yesterday and I was surprised at how badly written the back label was. Call me a pedant, but I have to speak up.

It says: "Eden Pinot Noir is described as a dry, light, medium bodied varietal with bright acidity with silky tannins. The wine varietal is grown in the foothills of the Santa Lucia Highlands in Monterey County on the central coast of California. Earthy aromas dominate this varietal including smells that bring a faint flora of Roses, Violets, and a slight smell of fruit. This Pinot Noir can be consumed on any occasion due to the wine making process of this varietal." 

Where to begin? First, "is described as" makes it sound like some unnamed third party has described the wine and the writer is letting us know that instead of, well, describing the wine. 

"Medium bodied" should be hyphenated. 

"Varietal" is a word I hate. It is so often misused. "Varietal" is an adjective. Pinot Noir is a variety. You might call this a "varietal wine" to suggest that it is made primarily from a single grape variety, but, please, don't call the wine or the grape variety itself a "varietal". 

"With bright acidity with silky tannins". I don't like the repeated use of "with." "With bright acidity and silky tannins" would read better. 

"The wine varietal" is awkward and vague. Are we talking about this particular wine or about the grape variety used? "Earthy aromas dominate this varietal" is vague again and the phrase suffers from the incorrect use of "varietal." Are we still talking about this wine or are we talking about the particular grapes used to make it or about the variety Pinot Noir in general?

"Including smells that bring a faint flora of Roses, Violets, and a slight smell of fruit." Well, I'm glad that the wine at least smells a little bit like fruit. That's welcome in a wine, but "smell" doesn't work very well here. Using "scent" would be better. 

"Flora" is the local plant life in a specific place. In medicine, "flora" refers to the bacterial population of the gut. I don't believe this wine will deliver to me a sampling of local roses and violets, faint or otherwise, and I hope the wine has nothing to do with intestinal bacterial growth. I think the writer means "faint scents of roses and violets". 

No need to capitalize "roses" or "violets." 

At the end, we are told  the wine "can be consumed on any occasion." Thanks for the permission. But I wonder if the writer has any opinion about recommended occasions? 

The very last bit leaves me wondering what wine-making process is being referred to and how it affects when and where it might be nice to consume this wine. 

Finally, "wine making" should be hyphenated, or even one word.  

Was this written by a chatbot?

Wines I'm Making: Bottling the 2021 Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc

I spent part of the weekend bottling our 2021 backyard Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc. Tasting the finished wine for the first time, I'm very pleased. This may be the best wine we've ever made. Other particularly good years so far have been 2008, 2012, 2019, and 2020.

I've designed new labels every year since we started making wine in 2004, but have run out of ideas, so I've decided to start rotating the labels every ten years. I've bottled the 2021 wines basically using the label I designed for the 2011 wines. Next year, I'll use the 2012 design for the 2022 wines, and so on....

We had 14 gallons to bottle from 2021. These were in a 3-gallon container, a five-gallon container, and a six-gallon container. Stupidly, I forgot the modest sulfite addition I normally make altogether when doing the largest of the three containers, so I've ended up with 30 bottles that will have to be emptied back into a large container and bottled again.... A pain, but we like to let the wine mature for a good long time, so it will have to be done—a job for next weekend.

Wines I'm Drinking: Ranting about Decanting

Of all things related to the enjoyment of fine wine, I’d say that decanting is the most misunderstood. I find myself thinking about decanting wine today because of a recent disappointment at a local Italian restaurant with a server that ought to have known what to do when presented with a 25-year-old wine – a 1997 Chianti Classico I brought to a family meal celebrating my mother’s 92nd  birthday – but didn’t. 

There are three reasons to decant wine. First, I sometimes decant simply because wine – whether red, white, or pink – looks pretty in a piece of quality glassware. The motivation here is purely aesthetic, having nothing to do with the age or condition of the wine. 

Second, a very young wine that has the potential to age will often show better if given some air before it’s consumed. This is the situation most people think of when the subject of decanting comes up. “Let the wine breathe,” we say. Decanters are mostly designed so that a full 750ml bottle of wine will fill the container to its widest point, the object being to greatly expand the surface area of the wine, optimizing exposure of the liquid to oxygen. The act of pouring the wine into the decanter also exposes the wine to air. The result of decanting is thus to expose the wine to considerably more air than it would receive if served from its own bottle.

In this second case, the idea is to artificially age the wine a little bit – although decanting a young wine, while it often makes some difference, can only do so much; an age-worthy wine will benefit most from time in bottle before it’s consumed. The process really can’t be accelerated very much.  

It’s important to note here that a young wine generally has not thrown a deposit of any kind (see below). Therefore, how it’s handled before and during decanting is often not critical. Note also that “letting a wine breath” is entirely pointless if the wine in question isn’t the sort that benefits from ageing. There’s no need to decant a light rosé, for example (but see the first reason above). 

The third and most important reason to decant a wine is to separate an old wine from any deposit that may have formed in the bottle during ageing. Natural wine is a living thing. As fine wine ages, various chemical reactions occur in the bottle that are responsible for the remarkable evolution that can occur that turns a tight, astringent, woody youngster into a soft, silky, delicately fruity wonder. 

I don’t understand the chemistry entirely, but, if my understanding is correct, as a young wine develops, suspended short-chain tannins and acids start to combine, forming longer chains, reducing the surface area of the tannins, making them taste less astringent; as a result, the wine becomes rounder and softer.  These reactions are slow oxidation reactions. At a certain point, the heavier long-chain tannins start to drop out of the wine in the form of sediment that accumulates at the bottom of the bottle. Depending on the wine and how long it’s been ageing, the deposit may stick to the glass, but often it is fine, silty, and easily disturbed – clouding the wine and making it bitter if stirred up. It may take anywhere from half an hour to a day or so for this sediment to resettle once disturbed. Wines are always properly stored on their side, label up, so that, when decanting, you know exactly where the deposit is if a deposit has formed. 

For that reason, if you’re taking an aged wine to a restaurant, it’s important to handle it as gingerly as possible on the way (ideally you’d take it the day before you plan to dine to let any sediment settle again before it’s decanted) and likewise to see that it’s handled very gingerly during the decanting process. 

At any serious restaurant, it should be possible to walk in with an old bottle (held sideways, label up – a wine that’s been coddled on the way over in the car, agitated as little as possible) and ask for it to be decanted. That request, as a matter of course, should produce a decanter (naturally – although I’ve been surprised by restaurants with pretensions to fine dining that don’t own a decanter), a decanting basket (which holds the wine still on its side but with the neck slightly elevated to facilitate removal of the cork), and a light source. 

Traditionally, the light source is a candle, but I have to admit that a small flashlight makes the job much easier. The light – whatever used – placed below the neck of the bottle allows you to see the sediment through the wine as it‘s poured from the bottle into the decanter, the bottle having been picked up carefully from the decanting basket and held sideways as the wine is poured out. The trick is to look through the wine as you pour, keeping an eye on the sediment as the wine passes over it into the decanter. Done properly, nearly all of the clear wine makes it into the decanter, most of the sediment remains in the original bottle. 

Once transferred, the decanter can be handled with no further fuss.  You can turn the decanter on its side as you fill glasses, set it upright again, and then pour more wine – each glass as clear and free of sediment as the next. The goal here has been to separate clear wine from the sediment in an old wine. 

If you’re still with me, there’s one further, very important point to make: old wine does not need to breathe. Very old wine can lose its vibrancy remarkably quickly after it’s been opened and decanted. Further exposure to air starts to risk rapid oxidation of a wine that’s already had the benefit of many years of slow, controlled, in-bottle oxidation. Old wine that’s just been decanted should be enjoyed immediately. 

So, imagine my disappointment at our recent family celebration, when our waitress – having been informed that we brought an old bottle that would need to be decanted – fetched a decanter, said something about letting the wine breathe (!) grasped the bottle by the neck, turned it sharply upright, whipped out her wine opener, and proceeded as if opening a cheap Chardonnay bottled last year, twisting the bottle rather than the corkscrew, and then pouring the wine unceremoniously into the decanter – along with all the sediment it contained. 

Despite my disappointment, I said nothing. The damage was done. The wine wasn’t completely ruined, but, needless to say, it would have been better if it had been decanted properly. 

The food was good. We will eat at this restaurant again. It’s a restaurant I enjoy, and because I like it, I won’t name it. That said, the next time we go, if a mature wine is involved, I’ll decant it at home, rinse out the bottle, return the wine to its original container, pop the cork back in and take it, ready to go, with no on-site decantation required. And maybe I’ll send a copy of this little essay to the management and suggest their servers could use a little training in why we decant wine (young and old) and how to go about it. I’m acutely aware that many people in the world have far more urgent and critical things to worry about. I feel deeply privileged just to live in a place where no one is lobbing artillery shells at me, but, if I’m going to drink old wine, I’d like to do it right. 

Wines I'm Making: 2021 Sangiovese Rosé Bottled

Finally got around to bottling our 2021 backyard rosé today. I bottled three gallons, or 15 bottles, from the nine Sangiovese vines behind the house. Normally I do this before Christmas, but it's been a busy year. Now it's time to design a label.

[Edit: Label done—see below.]

Wines I'm Making: Shoot Thinning 2021

Working on shoot thinning in the vineyard this week. It's a bit overdue. It's easier to do when the shoots are shorter than they already are, but it's not too late. Next chore will be to dust the shoots with sulfur, which prevents mildew later in the season. I'm hoping that this year smoke from wildfires won't taint the wine, making all the work a waste. I've had to pour out the entirety of the Cabernet from 2020. Only the 2020 rosé (which we make from our Sangiovese grapes) proved drinkable. In the photo, the row of vines in the foreground has been thinned, the row behind will get thinned tomorrow. 

Wines I'm Drinking: 1992 Caparone Santa Maria Valley Bien Nacido Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon

I've read that telling people about wines you've enjoyed is virtually always boring to them because you're describing an experience they can't participate in, so, I'll keep it short, but recently I opened a bottle of 1992 Caparone Santa Maria Valley Bien Nacido Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon that I bought at the winery in the early 2000s. The cork crumbled away when I tried to insert the corkscrew. I had to push most of it into the bottle and then decant the wine through a sieve. I would have decanted it anyway, as there was an unusually thick layer of sludge in the bottom of the bottle.

Despite being 28 years old it was still vibrant, with scents of blood orange, brandy, and something that put me in mind of a fresh cigar--even a hint of wintergreen. It was richly fruity on the palate, with hints of cloves and herbs. It was almost like vermouth. I take the trouble to mention this wine because it was tasty, but also because it was a good example of a wine that really benefited from bottle age. Far too much good wine is drunk far too early.

Shortly after this, I opened a bottle of 1983 Château D'Issan that was even better—and another nine years older. I was too lazy to write down any impressions, but it was delicious. Having been in lockdown now for six weeks, we're beginning to make a dent in all the wine that's in the house. Haven't bought a new bottle for quite a long time. Among those we've been drinking down have been our own wines. The 2015 Clos du Tal Stone's Throw Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc (to give it its full name) from our backyard was especially good—really top notch. Last night I opened a bottle of our 2009. It was not as nuanced and had a distinctly milky quality, which suggests I got the malolactic fermentation to go well in 2009. The grapes were, of course, much younger (the vines were planted in 2001; we made our first wine in 2004). Nevertheless, the 2009 is quite pleasant.

Books I'm Reading: Godforsaken Grapes

The grapes author Jason Wilson discusses in his Godforsaken Grapes (Abrams Press, 2018) have not been forsaken by god, but by people. Wilson attempts to introduce the reader to some of the more interesting obscure varieties from around the world, but he has room to discuss only a small number. There are said to be as many as 10,000 known grape varieties in the world (although that may actually mean 10,000 known grape names, as many of the common, long-cultivated and widely distributed varieties have numerous synonyms: Pinot Noir apparently has more than 300 used around the world). In contrast, the back-cover blurb of the book suggests there are 1,400 grape varieties in the world, but that number seems far too low. Precisely how many there are probably is impossible to know and any number offered up will depend on choices about what constitutes a distinct variety; the wine grape vine (mostly Vitis vinifera) is notoriously prone to mutation, and where you draw boundaries will necessarily affect the number you end up with.

However many varieties there are, about two dozen of them account for nearly all of the wine made in the world. I would guess that Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Syrah, Gamay, Grenache, Carignan, Nebbiolo, Barbera, Sangiovese, Tempranillo, and Zinfandel, among red grapes, and Airén, Trebbiano, Riesling, Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Chenin Blanc, Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc, Gewürtraminer, Müller-Thurgau, Silvaner, Viognier, and the Muscat family among whites would account for most of it.

These grapes have dominated the world of wine for different reasons. Some have been cultivated for many centuries and have persisted because of their inherent quality—grapes like Cabernet Sauvignon and Riesling, for example. Others have been widely planted and persisted more because of habit or convenience (they happen to do well in a particular set of difficult conditions) or because they can be consumed in vast quantities in making base wines for distillation—Airén and Trebbiano come to mind. According to online sources, there are about 840,000 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon in the world (the world's most commonly planted wine grape), accounting for about 5% of all grapes planted for wine production. The grape varieties Wilson discusses sometimes exist in a single vineyard of no more than a few acres and nowhere else on Earth. Increasingly, rare varieties and the wine they make, are gaining attention among younger, less tradition-bound sommeliers, Wilson tells us, which has encouraged at least some growers to identify, preserve, and expand plantings of obscure varieties, some on the verge of extinction.

To chronicle all known grape varieties would require a project of encyclopedic proportions.* Wilson is necessarily selective even among the narrowed-down choice presented by grapes that might be considered obscure and forgotten. Any reasonably serious wine drinker will immediately be able to draw up a quick mental list of obscure varieties that don't even get a mention—and not all the grapes he discusses will be unfamiliar to readers with even a casual interest in wine. For example, there is a chapter on Grüner Veltliner, which has become quite trendy in the US of late and is not especially obscure in the areas where it is widely grown, most importantly in Austria and Hungary;  but choices had to be made. Here and in several other places in the book Wilson takes the opportunity to point out how confusing and insane grape naming can be by noting that there is also a Roter Veltliner, a Frühroter Veltliner, and a Brauner Veltliner—none of which are related to Grüner Veltliner at all. And remember those 300-plus synonyms for Pinot Noir.

That said, each of the sections introduces grape varieties that mostly are obscure—Altesse, Diolinoire, Hondarrabi Zuri, Juhfark, Ramisco, Timorasso, and the like—in a kind of travelogue style through accounts of visits to some of the growers and winemakers that nurture such rarities. Along the way, there is a fair amount of discussion about the economics of producing these varieties, particularly about how a comparatively recent obsession with the rare among well-heeled wine drinkers and sommeliers has supported the revival of more than a few. More often than not, however, a respect for place and tradition and a sense of duty to future generations seems to motivate the growers who work to keep little-known wine grape varieties from slipping into oblivion. Reading this book left me grateful, as many of them sound well worth exploring. Recommended.

*One of the most comprehensive attempts, the 1,242-page Wine Grapes: A Complete Guide to 1,368 Vine Varieties, Including their Origins and Flavours, by Jose Vouillamoz, Jancis Robinson, and Julia Harding, as the title suggests, covers less than 1,400.

Wines I'm Making: 2019 Spring Shoot Thinning and First Sulfur Spraying Done (May 4, 2019)

A Cabernet vine before thinning

Yesterday I finished the biggest spring chore in our little vineyard of 34 vines. I thinned the excess growth from the vines, which will put out dozens of unnecessary shoots if left unchecked. I then sprayed with sulfur, which is a mildew preventative. The rows look neat and ready for the upcoming growing season—although the longest shoots are already 18 inches or longer. This is the second season since the neighbor behind us thinned out the trees that were shading the vines. They look stronger again and I think they will yield more fruit than they have in many years. I look forward to a nice crop this year if the mildew and the critters can be held at bay.

A Cabernet vine after shoot thinning

After sulfur spraying

Wines I'm Making: 2018 Harvest

Cabernet grapes, just harvested

Harvest 2018: As rain was forecast for this week (and it's raining right now--first rain of the 2017-2019 rain year), I picked our backyard grapes on September 28, both the Sangiovese and the Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc section of our little vineyard of 34 vines.

Grapes in the crusher

We got 84.5lbs of Cabernet grapes, about 30% more than last year. The must tested at 24.0º Brix, which is just about perfect, although I could have let them hang another week or so. I decided to pick because of the rain and the fact that critters were beginning to discover them (despite being netted and protected by an electric fence). Today, October 2, I pitched the yeast, so they've had a three-day pre-soak, which is in line with my usual practice. The only deviation this year has been that I did not sulfite either the Cabernet or the Sangiovese must, as having more grapes this year allowed me to choose only the best, healthiest grapes.

Crushed grapes--on their way to becoming red wine

We got just over 70lbs of Sangiovese. Normally, I make rosé from the Sangiovese, but circumstances conspired against that. I've been so busy with work and other obligations in the last week that they'd already been on the skins for about 30 hours by the time I got back to them. I could have pressed them and made a deep rosé, but I didn't have the energy, so I left them; this year we will make a red wine from the Sangiovese for the first time in many years. The must tested at 20.5º Brix, which is on the low side. I added 2.5 ounces of corn sugar to the must (all I had on hand), which will raise the alcohol level slightly. This wine probably will be best pressed early to make a lighter wine. We'll see how things turn out....

Miscellaneous: Things We Need Words For

Things we need words for: The little raft of dead fruit flies that floats on top of the wine you've just poured from yesterday's bottle left uncorked overnight.

Wines I'm Drinking: Opening Old Bottles

Clearly, wines meant to age get much better when allowed to. I learned that lesson years ago the first time I bought a decent Bordeaux by the case and opened the bottles over a period of seven or eight years.

When I left Tokyo for the United States, in the year 2000, I shipped back with me more than 30 cases of wine accumulated during my 19 years in Japan, wine meant to age. The oldest bottles I still have are now about 35 years old. I've been reluctant to open these wines, because they deserve a special occasion, special guests, special food. Despite repeated invitations, opportunities to share with friends who appreciate fine wine have not often materialized. So, my stash of old wine has dwindled only slowly.

But there's no point in waiting so long that the wine has died by the time it's consumed. A few of these bottles will still improve. Some are already too old. Many are at the end of their optimal drinking window. So, in the past year I've taken to opening a few--if only to go with an everyday family meal. I've been happily surprised. They have been stored reasonably well, and most have remained vibrant. Recently I've had a 1998 Guigal Chateauneuf-du-Pape, a 1990 Chateau Pez, a 1986 Chateau L'Angelus, a 1983 Chateau Lynch Bages, a 1986 Chateau Pontet-Canet, a 1995 Chateau Lafleur St. Georges, and a 1990 Penfolds Bin 407, among others. The Guigal  Chateauneuf-du-Pape, the '83 Lynch Bages, and the '86 L'Angelus were standouts. There's plenty more....

Wines I'm Making: Bottling 2016 Zinfandel and 2017 Rosé

I finally got around to bottling our 2017 rosé last week and it was time to get the 2016 Zinfandel I made from our neighbor's grapes into bottle as well, so I spent a day at it. I designed labels for the two wines as well as for a few older bottles of rosé that hadn't been labeled. Everything looks pretty good.

Books I'm Reading: The Billionaire's Vinegar

I recently finished a book about forged art (specifically, about fake Vermeers). Mentioning that book to a friend prompted her to lend me The Billionaire's Vinegar, by Benjamin Wallace (Three Rivers Press, 2008), another book about forgery--in this case, forged wine. The emergence in 1985 of bottles of wine from the 1784, 1787, and other vintages purportedly owned by Thomas Jefferson, supposedly purchased by him during stays in Paris at around that time, was big news taken up by newspapers and news magazines around the world. I remember the stories. Skepticism wasn't far behind. The Billionaire's Vinegar is a nice piece of investigative journalism that goes a long way toward unraveling the mystery behind the discovery of the wine, its sensational sale for hundreds of thousands of dollars, the doubts about its authenticity and the authenticity of other antique bottles, and the investigations that ultimately exposed the Thomas Jefferson wines as having been faked by one Hardy Rodenstock, whose real name was Meinhard Görke.

Rodenstock was a genuine connoisseur, it seems, and, at least at first, had a talent for discovering genuine old bottles, usually buying them from forgotten cellars at old estates in Britain and Europe. He was something of a showman, too, and became known for staging incredible vertical tastings of some of the world's most sought-after wine. Inevitably, the supply of genuine bottles (small to begin with) began to dwindle following a boom in the world of fine wine actions that fueled demand, prompted collectors to sell old wine, and spurred old wine sleuths to find it. Rodenstock turned to forgery. As is so often the case with good forgers that eventually get caught, he began to get a little reckless--coming up with finds that began to seem too good to be credible. However, in a familiar pattern, some who initially judged some of his questionable wines to be genuine stubbornly stuck with him even as suspicion grew, because their reputations had become entangled with his. Michael Broadbent was the main casualty. Jancis Robinson was peripherally tainted, although less so.

Among those who bought fake wine from Rodenstock were the Forbes family and billionaire Bill Koch who brought his wealth to bear once his suspicions were aroused, funding an extensive (one might say obsessive) forensic investigation into the Jefferson bottle and others he had bought. Koch ended up spending several times the $150,000 or so the Jefferson bottle cost to ultimately determine that not only was it a fake but that Rodenstock had sold a string of highly questionable bottles over the years, notably old vintages of Chateau d'Yquem and other old Bordeaux in great years and in large-formats (imperials of 1921 Chateu Pétrus, for example, although the chateau had no record of any such bottling)--precisely the sort of rarity that collectors lust after. As in the case of Han van Meegeren's forged Vermeers, Rodenstock's forged wines cannily exploited the desires and assumptions of their victims, along with sometimes sketchy record keeping and simply the passage of time.

Koch ultimately filed a civil suit against Rodenstock in 2006 and won a judgment against him by default in 2010. Broadbent, meanwhile, unhappy about how he was portrayed in The Billionaire's Vinegar, sued Random House (which initially published the book) for libel. The dispute was settled out of court but the agreement stopped publication of the book in the UK and, according to the Wikipedia article on Hardy Rodenstock, the settlement forced Random House to state in court that allegations in the book were untrue, yet the company made no changes to the text and it appeared in all other markets. Given that and the ease with which books can be acquired from anywhere through the Internet, the stay of publication in the UK seems to have been a fairly hollow victory for Broadbent. The Billionaire's Vinegar is a mystery solved, a tale of greed and big money, and a cautionary tale all in one. Well researched, briskly written. Recommended.
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Books I'm Reading: To Cork or Not to Cork

When I open a bottle of wine, I usually look at the cork, if the wine has a cork. I look at it mostly to see what might be printed on the cork, what condition the cork is in, and, secondarily, to see what kind of cork it is. I've noticed over the years that there are many types--natural cork, composite corks of various description, composite corks with natural cork disks on the ends, and a number of styles of plastic corks. Then there are screw caps. What's the ideal closure for a bottle of wine?

Everyone seems to hate plastic corks. My own experience with them has been negative--particular the kind that is a single block of molded or extruded plastic. They can be exceedingly difficult to extract and they are so stiff that it's virtually impossible to re-close a bottle with a plastic cork. Plastic lacks cork's resilience, and, according to Taber, plastic corks don't seal very well. They tend to allow air to leak into the wine.

The main problem with corks has been taint with 2,4,6-trichloroanisole, or TCA, and a few related chemicals, which, even in the tiniest quantities (as little as two to three parts per trillion is detectable by some people; virtually anyone smells the tell-tale mousy, cardboard scent of a tainted cork at about 12 parts per trillion), can ruin a bottle of wine--often many years after purchase, by which time the buyer has no recourse.

In his book To Cork or Not to Cork (Scribner, 2007), author George M. Taber looks at the causes of TCA taint and modern responses to problems with natural cork, weighing the pros and cons of each approach.

According to Taber, a consensus seems to have emerged that screwcaps in many instances make much more sense than corks, especially in wines intended for early consumption and as long as winemaking techniques take into account the way different types of closures affect aging; under a screwcap, wine gets very little oxygen, making it vulnerable to reduction effects over long periods of time, whereas plastic corks (and bad natural corks) don't seal well, causing the opposite problem, oxidation. The advantage is that screwcaps can't be tainted with TCA. That said, cork continues to be favored for it's aesthetic qualities, especially for more expensive wines, and in certain markets. France, for instance, steadfastly rejects screwcaps, while New Zealand has wholeheartedly adopted metal closures, even for fine wines.

The proliferation of composite corks made from scrap cork (the bottle-closure equivalent of particle board), plastic corks, and screwcaps has made natural corks better. A complacent cork industry (with a centuries-long monopoly on wine closures) was finally forced to modernize around the end of the last century when it started losing significant market share to alternatives. Cork oak growers have consolidated, cork manufacturers have upgraded equipment to eliminate contact with the ground and other wood products during curing (that can harbor TCA), and, most importantly, eliminated the use of chlorine to bleach cork, as the presence of chlorine has been found to promote formation of TCA. Non-chlorine cleaning and bleaching have also allowed the manufacture of better composite corks, which allow use of waste from production of natural cork stoppers.

So, what's the best way to close a bottle of wine? As is so often the case, the answer is complex. Taber does a good job of presenting the arguments for and against putting corks in wine bottles in prose that never seems heavy, despite the somewhat dry subject matter. To Cork or Not to Cork is perhaps not for everyone, but it's likely to entertain and inform anyone with a serious interest in wine or anyone afflicted by the sort of intellectual curiosity that makes just about any subject worth reading about.

Wines I'm Making: 2017 Sangiovese Harvest (September 25, 2017)

I picked our Sangiovese grapes on September 25, 2017. The juice from the just-crushed grapes was at 21 degrees Brix and a pH of 3.57 (although the pressed grapes tested much higher--at 26 degrees Brix). I got only 44lbs of grapes, which is a very low yield. I did not sulfite at all, but pitched the yeast (Epernay II) immediately. While the loss to animals this year was zero--proving my belated understanding that the key to preventing animal damage is getting the nets and the electric fence on early, while the fruit is still green and of no interest to four-legged intruders--there was a much more mildew damage than usual. I had to throw away probably a third of the grapes and even in the grapes I used there was more mildew damage than I'd have liked. I'm hoping the wine will not show evidence of unhealthy grapes. Time will tell. Because of the mildew, I pressed the grapes right after crushing them, so there was only about an hour of skin contact. In the past, I've let the grapes sit about 18 hours before pressing, which results in a deep rosé. This year the wine is likely to be a much paler pink. Our Cabernet grapes are still on the vines.

Wines I'm Making: 2015 Cabernet Bottled

Bottling by hand siphoning

Yesterday I finally got around to bottling our 2015 Cabernet Sauvignon/Cabernet Franc. It was a short job as our 25 vines (21 Cab Sauvignon, four Cab Franc) produced a tiny harvest that yielded only three gallons of finished wine, or 15 bottles. The low yield was in part because of a row of overgrown trees in my neighbor's yard that have increasingly shaded the vines over the years. This spring, I persuaded him to remove them, as he had wanted to anyway. I'm hoping the greatly increased sunshine now will result in both better yields and fewer problems with mildew.

Siphon and bottles ready

I tasted the wine as I was bottling it. It promises to be very good—perhaps as good or better than the 2014, which has been the best wine from our little vineyard to date.  2016 was a disaster—so little fruit that we made no red wine at all, only 15 bottles of rosé from the combined fruit of the 25 Cab vines and our nine Sangiovese vines. I'm hoping 2017 we'll be the turnaround year.  Below is a finished case of corked wine. Now it's time to design the label for the 2015 wine.

Wines I'm Drinking: Three Rosés from Grocery Outlet

Two of three rosés I picked up recently at Grocery Outlet were worth going back for more. I tasted the 2015 Head High North Coast California Rosé, the 2015 La Domitienne Sur le Sud Vin de Pays d'Oc, and the 2016 Comtesse Florence Côtes de Provence Rosé, all picked up at the Santa Rosa Grocery Outlet store. Brief tasting notes follow.

2015 Head High North Coast California Rosé: A very pretty, medium-deep amber-rose—by far the deepest in color of the three wines. Although it seemed a little distant at first on the nose, it offered hints of strawberries and caramel—or, more precisely, something that put me in mind of creme brulée. Rich and fruity on the palate, with toasty notes. Bold, highly extracted berry flavors, again with a toasty component. The fruity sweetness was nicely complemented by brisk acidity on the mid-palate, and there was a tart brightness that extended onto a longish finish. Ripe, rich, fruity, but dry and well balanced with acidity. A very bold, California-style rosé. Not subtle, but, in the right setting, the sort of wine that's far too easy to drink too much of. Still available as of May 23, 2017 at $4.99 a bottle.

2015 La Domitienne Sur le Sud Vin de Pays d'Oc: This is a 50/50 Grenache/Cinsault blend from the Vin de Pays d'Oc appellation—one of those exceedingly pale, light, southern French rosés that can be either quite bland or surprisingly flavorful. The La Domitienne was on the bland side, although even this one wasn't entirely uninteresting. Very pale pink. Not much on the nose. Slightly fishy at first, as these wines often are, but that dissipated. Light and not unpleasant on the palate and with a somewhat interesting savory flavor on the finish—a finish marked by light, grainy tannins and a delicate tartness. Acceptable, but not interesting enough that I felt compelled to go back for more. Probably better with food. Apparently sold out as of May 23, 2017

2016 Comtesse Florence Côtes de Provence Rosé: A rather amateurish-looking label, but I liked the wine enough to return to the store for a few bottles more. Another 50/50 Grenache/Cinsault blend. Again, a very pale, watery pink, but this wine had much more on the nose than the La Domitienne. There were floral scents and a citrus component. If pressed, I would have said gardenias and lime, but the floral scent was not quite as sweet and strong as a gardenia. Brighter on the palate than the La Domitienne. With decent acidity, but still a little soft. Quite dry. There's a very attractive delicate strawberry hint on the finish. In general, the palate is reminiscent of the nose—suggestive of perfume, limes, and flowers, and then strawberries. A much lighter, more delicate wine than the California-style Head High wine, but a solid rosé from the south of France suitable for everyday drinking. Apparently sold out as of May 23, 2017

I have no financial or other connections with any producer or retailer of wine. For more wine reviews, use the "Wines I'm Drinking" label at top right