On Taste

A good storyteller is hard to come by, but impossible to ignore. You recognize one by that undeniable, gravitational pull on your attention, someone who somehow piques every sense with a rich voice that attracts your ears and reverberates through your sternum, a deeply charismatic gaze that holds your eyes, and that fluttering feeling of your imagination grinding into motion. Sitting over dinner, I found myself inexcusably distracted by just such a rare character, something about a friend who married a Hollywood entertainer who died early, at which point the widower moved to San Francisco and they became friends with many adventures. I tore myself away at that point, but it struck me that a great wine is almost as rare a find as this charming storyteller, and similarly enchanting - truly requiring that you exercise every sense in appreciating its character.

Friends frequently ask, what's the right way to go about tasting a wine? Proceeding first with the disclaimer that I am certainly no authority, there is not a "right" or wrong way to taste, because the best you can do is have a guideline by which you approach your glass. This metaphorical storyteller is about as perfect a launching point as I could ask for, because any new wine should instill some curiosity and fascination, engaging your senses in evaluating its color, nose, finish, and of course the responses it elicits from your palate.

If you've walked into a tasting room, you've seen how this strange ritual goes down: Tasting room attendant / wine educator / purveyor of liquid poetry administers a splash of the good stuff into a glass that is preferably clear and free of any lipstick marks from the previous user. What you're looking for at this point is, first, the color - is it golden? straw? brownish? ruby? a deep rich red? inky-purple? Then give it a swirl, and don't be shy; maybe you vigorously swirl it around several times, particularly in the case of reds that need some oxygen to open up the flavors. Checking out the glass again, see what kind of legs your lady is showing off - the more alcoholic a wine, the more pronounced the legs (streaks of wine down the side of the glass) will be. Now tip your nose into the glass and take a good whiff or two; don't cram your face into the bowl, but also don't be afraid to get close enough to get a full idea of the nose, or bouquet. Finally, raise the glass to your lips and take a taste or two.

And here is where things get complicated. The ways in which a wine activates your sense of taste are varied and many, primarily based on its components (alcohol, acid, sugar, tannins). It's the winemaker's job to put these pieces in place, though the approach differs based on each varietal's character. Depending on the structure or body of a wine, the texture will be different - from crisp and clean to velvety and buttery to a drying tannic finish. The individual flavors within a wine will also hit your tongue at different places; research differs as to how we perceive taste, but it's generally accepted that different taste buds taste different types of flavors (e.g. bitter, sweet). Rather than gulping a quick sip and nodding as others ramble about intense flavors of cracked leather, take your time and note how the wine changes as it moves from the front of your mouth to the back of your throat, what different flavors gradually come out even after you have swallowed that first sip, and how it feels on your tongue. In fact, take a second or third sip; better yet, give the wine 5 or 10 minutes and take another taste - you'll often find the flavor has evolved, and that's definitely not just your imagination.

The hardest apart about wine tasting, at least for me, was learning to verbalize the experience, which is simply a vocabulary exercise. A basic aroma wheel is a good starting place, providing the common flavors you may find in a wine; as for that taste of "cat's piss on an oak fence post" that you might find in someone's creative tasting notes - well, I can't really identify that, either. Once you have a basic proficiency in wine vocabulary, it becomes much easier to describe what you taste. There are also descriptors that are pretty common to general types of wine. Sauvignon blanc, for example, frequently tastes of pineapple and citrus / tropical fruits, while oaked chardonnays have a vanilla-laced finish and many heavier reds taste like dark berries, coffee, currants or cassis.

As for what to do about that person with the bottle standing across from you? Well, common etiquette would call for simply being friendly and polite. It's the tasting room representative's job to be both a host and salesperson and, as such, there really isn't a stupid question. Better to show your ignorance and learn the answers to your questions than to feign superior knowledge and reveal how little you know. It's safe to assume you know less about the wine than they do, because it's their job to know about the vineyard, production, label, and to share that knowledge with you. Plus, it's more fun for both sides to have a friendly back and forth, and the person pouring for you should be able to gauge your level of knowledge and tailor their approach to make sure that you get the most out of the experience. Common questions may be centered about the winemaking process (oak or steel fermented, months in barrel-aging, recommended bottle aging, production size, etc.), but it's also fair game to ask more general questions (why the turbines in the vineyards, where are the vines grown, how are they harvested, etc.).

To put it all together, the best way to get the most out of a tasting experience is to put aside any self-consciousness and take the time to study a wine, ask questions, and generally learn as much as you can. There's no substitute for drinking a broad variety of wines, attentively noting the differences to build a foundation of knowledge to reference in future tastings. Put all these components together, and hopefully you get a fairly compelling story out of that glass sitting in front of you on the tasting bar.

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Useful references:
http://www.winepros.org/wine101/sensory_guide.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wine_tasting_descriptors

addendum

almost forgot two other great tidbits, the first being you never know who will come through! My first day on the tasting floor, one of the sisters from my favorite sister-sister chocolate operation chanced by on her way to the napa chocolate salon and left a delicious box of socola chocolate for the staff to share. tidbit number two - bottling of the 2009 chardonnay starts on monday! the tanks have been coming out of cold stabilization over the weekend and making lots of interesting noises, plus chilling down the barrel rooms quite a bit. Like Christmas morning - I can't wait to see the bottling line in action!

Off the Vine: Lessons by the 1oz

The winery intern is a crucial part of the winemaking process. During the weeks-long harvest period in the fall, winery staff can increase temporarily by several times, with bodies brought in to complete in a matter of weeks the crucial task of picking and crushing acres of grapes. The internship I’m setting off on is somewhat atypical in timing and function as harvest is still a few months off (the grapes are hardly buds on the vine at this point) and I’ll be splitting time between the winery offices and the visitor center, but it has already proved to be incredibly educational.

It’s been strange weather in Napa, with unseasonably late spots of rain and un-California-like humidity, but the sunny days are also unusually beautiful, as are the late sunsets with final rays of light lingering long past dinner time. As developed an area as the Napa Valley has become, it is still a region driven by agriculture – viticulture, specifically – and as such, the feeling in my temporary home at the winery house is quietly remote, with nights that are peacefully dark amongst the vineyards. Though it is in many ways romantic as it sounds, and I can’t complain about driving down my little gravel path to the temporary digs, let me just restate that the nights are quiet. And dark. Two initial thoughts on life in the vines:

1. I’m quite glad for the amount of reading that I brought with me. Without internet or television at the house, it’s both wonderfully secluded and somewhat handicapping given how non-functional I am without the ability to google every arbitrary thought (e.g. How does one tell the difference between an awkward-looking spider and a baby scorpion, and can either kill me?). Also, note to self to stock up on DVDs for the house. Trips to or through town are now, in my head, “stocking up on provisions.” 
2. On a related note, life in the vineyards is fulfilling my fantasy of living in the country, but one major handicap is a fear and inability to deal with rodents and insects. Fortunately, no debilitating incidents yet on this front, and most field mice / birds of prey / creepy-crawlies have only been sighted outside the house, except the aforementioned awkward spider / baby scorpion (do both have 8 legs?). I’ll choose instead to focus on creating delicious meals out of the plentifully available farm-fresh produce.

Aside from settling into the pace of life here, the work itself has been interesting, exhausting, and an immense change from my previous job. Most of my first few days have been spent in the visitor center, where guests arrive for tastings and tours, and also complete purchases of wine and merchandise. I won’t bore you with the details, but I would generally compare the operation to a restaurant, with parties checking in for their reservations, and tastings or tours leaving at appointed times, with a limited number of spots in each.

In addition to learning about the winery, wines and winemaking process, most of my time has been spent in getting comfortable chatting with visitors, learning the logistics of setup and cleanup, practicing how to pour - truly not as easy as one might expect. I pride myself on a fairly even pour at the dinner table, but learned today about the one ounce pour. Call me simple-minded, but I was surprised by how much one ounce actually is, visually, and by how difficult it is to quickly pour a consistent series of ounces. Apparently this is a repetitive motion that will soon be mastered, but ironic if this gives me carpal tunnel where typing on a keyboard never did.

What is most rewarding so far is just being able to engage people in a good conversation. Most people don’t come to Napa to have a bad time, so they are happy to talk about where they’re from, where they are tasting, and the wines that they enjoyed. Knowing that, the winery also wants to make everyone feel welcome, so I’ve certainly come to appreciate why this is also considered part of the “hospitality” industry. It’s funny how rewarding it is to know that someone truly enjoyed chatting with you before their tour, but also humbling in recognizing how to deal with and avoid simple mistakes, like not realizing someone is trying to just bum a free tasting, or incorrectly hearing whether a visitor wanted to purchase or re-taste a wine.

Two final tidbits worth sharing, that have surprised me: Firstly, no one warned me how physically intensive this job would be! Standing on your feet for almost 8 hours a day will give you pains in completely new and unexpected places, and also a new appreciation for comfortable footwear. I’m ready to trade in my chic ballet flats for some orthopedic nurse’s shoes. Secondly, the end of my first day was both a source of joy and heart-wrenching pain as I discovered what happens to the leftover wine: Much of the opened wine can not be kept overnight and is poured out (pain and tears), but some bottles are left and...it has to go somewhere, right?

More notes and insights to come over the next few weeks. I have a few final tasting notes to post on trips through Santa Barbara, but soon there will hopefully be many good reviews of Napa and Sonoma wineries as I start visiting the other local operations on my days off. If you have suggestions, please send them my way! I’ll be sure to add them to my growing list. For now, it’s almost bedtime on the farm, so I’m off to dream about perfect one-ounce pours.

*note: plenty of beautiful images to come, as well, once I sort out the internet situation

Head over Healdsburg

Wine country is, as a rule, unselfconsciously beautiful - catering to pastoral dreams with verdant, rolling hills covered by precisely planted vines, and filled with friendly residents who truly would not rather be anywhere else. I don't know what made me fall so hard for Healdsburg, but I'm certainly smitten and not afraid to say so. There's very little intimidation or pretense and, at least on the Saturday I visited, just enough of a crowd to give downtown Healdsburg a bit of a buzz - nowhere near the throngs choking the tasting rooms along St. Helena Highway just a little further east.
It was a quick tasting day, but J and L were good sports about waking up bright and early to make the drive from San Francisco. The first stop was Hop Kiln, where I was surprised to learn their winemaker, whose first bottles are just starting to be poured, was only 26. The distinctive building made it a great setting, and we also enjoyed seeing the various mustards, vinegars, and other gourmet delights they were selling inside.

After this, we spent most of our time in the tasting rooms around downtown Healdsburg, but only stopped in after spending some time exploring around the town square. The highlights were Thumbprint and La Crema, where we ended up spending more of the afternoon than intended because everyone was more than willing to chat for awhile, even as the crowds were noticeably increasing. Especially delightful was a dessert gewurztraminer from La Crema, paired with a deliciously fresh panna cotta. I could have eaten that combination for days.

My only regret was that the day was gone far too quickly. Maybe it was the town that charmed me, or the grounded friendliness of everyone we met, or maybe just the deliciously-made wines, but I have a long list of wineries for the next trip, and can hardly wait.

where you from, where you goin??

I began with the goal of exploring terroir, and its importance in winemaking, but what follows is more of a random musing on (dis)location.

Having spent the better part of the last several months away from from, en route to, or departing any of several places that were, are, or could be "home," I'm amazed at how quickly the mind adjusts to the permanent impermanence of rootlessness, modern nomadism in the cult of Ryan Bingham, if you will. But despite the comfort of coming home to the same spot on the couch and curling up, that same safety exists in the routine of constant movement: Pack that favorite sweater; ID and laptop ready to go through security; Sunny the flight attendant happily taking drink orders again. And, of course, traipsing through time zones as if keeping a regular schedule has gone the way of parachute pants has led to a newfound need for regular caffeination (oh, wait)...

Between browsing numerous coffee shop menus, hoarding fragrant teas from various locales and checking my watch to make sure it is, actually, the time and day I'm assuming it is, I've been giving some thought to what it means to be from someplace. No matter how much you're on the go, a feeling of regularity is crucial to maintaining one's sanity, and you can't help but start to pick up bits and pieces that give a hint of where you've been - no amount of world-weary savoir faire can completely erase your origins, regardless of how bountiful those frequent flier miles may be.

And it is not only us, as people, that are shaped by our environment. For wines, in particular, the anchor of origin is not only character-shaping but a key identifying factor. In some cases, there is no more important characteristic than where you're from, and hence the premium placed on certain AOC versus a vin de pays. Most obvious is the example of Champagne, where the elements of terroir, winemaking tradition and marketing have so fortuitously collided that the region is synonymous with high-grade sparkling wines. Much as different regions are known for different styles, however, terroir is truly the foundation of a distinctive wine. Determined by the interaction of climate, soil and topography, terroir determines what grapes will flourish where, and lends distinguishing traits to its harvest, which are then manipulated by winemakers to form what we finally drink. And eventually, over decades of production, those wines develop a unifying set of characteristics that identify them in style as a Bordeaux or a Burgundy; a New World or an Old World wine.

Wines in this way carry an enviable sense of place, but that strict definition by point of origin is simultaneously suffocating in its inescapability: What if that New Zealand shiraz wants nothing more than to be like its brother Rhone? While we may from time to time benefit from the anonymity of blending into a completely foreign environment, no such fluidity of being exists for poor shiraz. So while at times I want only for a clear idea of where "home" may be found, I'll raise my glass to being able to decide that for myself, wherever it may be.

Tasting Notes: 2005 Peju Estate Cab

For those of you who are Wall Street Journal readers, you may be familiar with the idea of "Open That Bottle Night" (OTBN), when the editors encourage you to finally drink that bottle you've been hanging onto. This Peju has been sitting on my wine rack for almost a year, with special occasions having come and gone. I've meant to open it so many times, and wondered on numerous occasions whether it would have the same balance of power and delicacy that made me fall in love with it when I first tasted it. As always happens, however, the bottle has sat lonely and neglected until tonight. It's oft-given advice - that you've just got to open that bottle sometime; that you should make the wine the occasion rather than perpetually postpone its opening in favor of a worthy event - but this advice is often ignored by wine lovers who would rather let that prized label and vintage sit aside collecting dust than open an unforgettable bottle for a more-than-forgettable evening.

Well, after surviving traffic and hurrying back to pick up my prize, I cradled the Peju under my arm as I rushed down the street (half an hour late) to my favorite restaurant Piccolo, more than excited about finally opening it up in the company of great friends. Nevermind the fact that we were belatedly celebrating cheerful news received in the dead of winter, just as the first hints of spring are revealing themselves; it was the perfect night to enjoy this wine with good company and good food.

As noted in the winery's tasting notes, it's an alcoholic and slightly tannic cab, delicious and enjoyable even for its youth. We let it open up for almost 45 minutes, after which the darkly floral notes became apparent not just in the scent overflowing the wine glasses but very clearly across the palate when enjoyed in slowly savored sips.

We weren't quite finished after wrapping up this bottle, so also tasted a 2005 Paitin Barbaresco from Sori' Paitin that was a ligher, brighter counterbalance to the deep Peju. Also a bit young, we found this one to be almost Burgundian in style with the floral notes providing a softer way to end the evening.

Despite having no better occasion at this point than creating the opportunity to gather close company for a good bottle of wine, none of the food, the friends nor the wine were forgettable. There truly is no better way to pass off the stress of every other part of your day. It's hard to make the time and effort, but if I could, I'd make OTBN a monthly event; at the very least, every couple of months. Pick that bottle up, grab a few friends and open it. After all, it does no one any good, least of all the wine, if it is only passing away the time in a dark corner, stuck alone with a little stub of cork.

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Piccolo
5 Dudley Ave
Venice
310-314-3222

Tasted:
2005 Peju Estate Cabernet Sauvignon, Rutherford
2005 Paitin Barbaresco Sori' Paitin

Hungary for Something New

In the most recent installment of his column The Pour, Eric Asimov explains and explores the possibilities of Hungarian wine, expounding on the benefits of continued exploration for all wine drinkers, be you an intrepid novice or a ratable connoisseur:

"Yet no matter how alluring the desire to fixate on a particular set of wines, experimentation has great virtues. Practically speaking, wines from lesser-known regions are often cheaper. But more to the point, drinking wine with blinders on can deprive you of unexpected, deeply satisfying, even thrilling bottles."

While I thoroughly enjoyed this entree to Hungarian wines outside of the standard tokaji aszu, and noted to add these to my "must try" list, what I most enjoyed about this column was Asimov's appeal to his readers, to be more open-minded and try something new.

I first learned about and to love wine from my father, who is responsible for the foundation of my wine knowledge. He approached the assemblage of his wine cellar with the academic diligence that he applies to all problems, learning about each grape's character and acquiring not only a significant amount of wine to taste, but the corresponding literature to supplement his experiential learnings. Before I could drink wine, he gave me strict instruction in wine etiquette, broke down the elements of particular importance when tasting a wine, and drilled into my memory the particularly exceptional vintage years for his favored wine regions. And of course, when I began to drink more wine, I started out with what I knew, falling into the tendency we all have of choosing the familiar. In this case, it was shaped by my father's favorites - subtle, complex Bordeaux and high-impact California Cabernets.

Given my curious nature, however, I wanted to show off what new things I had learned on my own, and what I could teach my father in return. And so my favorite question when consulting on a wine selection is, "What is your most interesting or surprising wine?" In this manner, I have learned about new varietals and tasted from regions I never would have chosen. Yes, it's easier to describe what I know, but so much more rewarding to come away with a more enlightened or broadened view of the wine landscape. Whether it is a novel and unexpected food-wine pairing, or a taste of something from an entirely unfamiliar region, the sense of fun and adventure in trying the unexpected is what makes tasting so interesting. It is easy to choose the "best" Napa Valley Cab or Grand Chateau Bordeaux when you have enough of a baseline knowledge of that region - but it is so much more exciting to open yourself to something new. Do me a favor, and next time you order a glass of wine, don't stick to what you know - put yourself out there, ask a couple of questions, and see where you end up.