The glories of Piemonte

"Oh wow...you've got to see this!"

My wife had risen early and stood looking out of the window, but I was still under the covers struggling up from the depths of unconsciousness, with tasting notes, labels and producers I had met the previous day fluttering through my still waking mind. I threw off the duvet, shuffled sleepily to the window and there against the pale, rain-washed china blue Italian sky floated the Alps, so clearly defined that they seemed within our reach. It was our third day in northwest Italy's Piemonte, the name of which means "at the feet of the mountains", and no clearer illustration of the name's origins could be imagined.

I was here in the birthplace of the Slow Food movement to attend "Grandi Langhe", a marathon three day tasting of the region's wines staged for members of the wine trade. Of course in Italy where there's wine there's always food, so we anticipated a week of exceptional dining as well as extraordinary wine tasting. We weren't disappointed.

Located at an historic crossroads between France and Italy, Piemonte has retained the best of both cultures. But the Langhe penchant for simplicity, a trait imposed by centuries of agrarian poverty in these isolated hill towns is the defining characteristic of the region's food and wine. The emphasis on fresh (or home cured as the case may be) and local is no fad here. Historically, if you didn't grow it, kill it or make it you probably didn't eat it.

Previously the domain of wine geeks and collectors, the wines of the Langhe rose to prominence in the1980's when Angelo Gaja's Barbarescos took the international wine press by storm. Since then the wine industry has brought new wealth to these rolling hills but still relatively few tourists, other than the ever present Germans who drive over the Alps to pack the trunks of their Audis and BMWs with top scoring Barolo. But although Piemonte is well known among serious wine lovers you can still experience the quiet charm of small village life in Monforte d' Alba, Barolo or Barbaresco and enjoy incredibly good local food and some of the world's greatest wines for surprisingly little.

For example, just off the main square in the tiny, immensely charming village of Monforte d' Alba you'll find the Bar Barolo, a raucous and friendly enoteca full of garrulous locals and a few tourists. The astounding wine list offers Barolo from the great producers whose sloping vineyards surround this beautiful medieval city - by the glass and for a pittance compared to what you'd pay in Oregon. As we eyed a beautiful antipasti platter at a neighboring table, one suddenly appeared unbidden in front of us. Bites of local salumi and fluffy pink prosciutto adorned the plate along with crostini topped with tuna, carne cruda and a bit of lardo, the ever present, thinly sliced smoked bacon fat that tastes far better than it sounds. Just about every bar and trattoria brings little complimentary treats like these as a matter of course with your drinks, which simultaneously illustrates two truths about Piemonte: it’s easy on hospitality but hard on vegetarians.

After day two of the trade tasting in the Castello di Barolo, an impressive, restored medieval castle in the center of the village of Barolo, we reserved a table at Trattoria de la Posta, a highly regarded restaurant located in an old country house amid the vineyards a few kilometers outside of Monforte d' Alba. The menu here is traditional and features such classic Piedmontese dishes as Tajarin Ragout di Carne, the thin and light home made tagliatelli found in every trattoria throughout Piemonte napped in meat sauce made from wild boar; and Cipolla ripiena di salsiccia, a baked onion decadently stuffed with local Murrazano cheese and house made sausage. A complimentary aperitif of a local sparkling wine began the meal and we then segued into a half bottle of mature Barolo selected from the extraordinary wine list which reads like a who's who of great producers and famous vineyards. An ancient wooden cheese cart groaning under entire wheels of Grana Padana, Gorgonzola and other local cheeses can be beckoned to end the meal, but our three courses were more than enough so we settled for an espresso.

A great dining experience is expected at a classic Ristorante like La Posta, but what is more remarkable about Piemonte - and much of Italy - is that even the humblest venues offer high quality food. On the drive to Alba and famished after landing in Milan without lunch we stopped at one of the ubiquitous Auto Grills, the gas and grill joints that are common on every freeway throughout Italy. The fresh panini selection, home made desserts and individually prepared pasta came as a shock to Americans accustomed to the sugar, salt and preservative laden packaged options at our gas stations / convenience stores. After a panini and the inevitable (and excellent) dolce that follows even the simplest meal we passed through the grocery section on the way out and were surprised by the superb artisan meats, cheeses and wines offered amidst burlap bags of the local arborio rice that grows in the many rice paddies along the freeway in these parts. A far cry indeed from the rotisserie wienies, chicken nuggets and jo-jos found at our gas and go joints along I-5!

Of course the wines here are among the best in the world. Unfortunately very little is made - most of the producers whose Barolo I tasted make 200 to 700 cases and very little gets to Oregon. The numbers for the lesser wines like dolcetto and barbera go up a little but they are still an artisan product so a visit to the Langhe by an oenophile takes on the classic kid in a candy store vibe. Prying myself out of places like the Bar Barolo was not easy, even with dinner reservations waiting.

Remarkably, once you get your feet on the ground after a few days and look past the contrasts, you start to notice similarities between Italy's northwest and our own. Rainfall and temperatures are similar in Piedmont and the Willamette Valley and both wine regions are geologically similar, with obtrusions of ancient igneous mother rock covered by more recent sedimentary soils. What's more, we are both located at roughly 45 degrees latitude, filberts are a major crop, truffles grow naturally in both places and our signature red wine grapes are both aromatic, cool climate varietals that rely on finesse and complexity for their charm.

Although 5,000 miles and 2,000 years of history and culture divide us, Oregon is making up ground quickly with our own vibrant and dynamic local wine and food culture. But we still have a ways to go before we catch up with the Piedmontese. In the meantime,

consider a visit to this green and gorgeous Alpine corner of Italy for a vision of what original slow food culture looks - and tastes like.

The story of an Oregon "Grand Cru" (First published in the Register-Guard in 2013)

From the crowded, traffic choked two lane running through Dundee it seems unlikely that one of the greatest viticultural areas in the New World lies just 5 minutes away. But after a turn up 9th street between Riteway Meats and the B and S Market, a short drive uphill takes you past new, sterile subdivisions and into another world. Flanked by rolling vineyards on all sides Worden Hill Road leads gently uphill through an undulating sea of fiery sienna, russet and gold as it meanders to the summit, where an old Red Barn flanked by 100 foot firs and a couple of ancient chestnut trees crowns an impossibly idyllic fall panorama. From this lofty vantage point Mt. Hood and the more distant Mt. Jefferson form bookends that frame the flat, misty valley to the east, and serve as a subtle reminder of the violent geologic forces that formed the basalt hearted Red Hills, the epicenter of Oregon's wine industry.

"I don't know what it is and I don't need to analyze it. I just know that fruit grown here is amazing. My grandfather had a peach orchard and those were the most incredible peaches I've ever tasted." enthused Jimmy Arteberry-Maresh when asked about the "terroir" here, the French concept of the importance of place in wine grape growing.

"And the walnuts, cherries or anything grown here" added the warm and energetic Martha Maresh, Jimmy's mom, the spark plug of the Maresh farm and the middle child of Jim Maresh Sr., the bright eyed 87 year old patriarch of Oregon's only three generation wine growing family. 

"We moved here in 1959 and I learned how to farm from my neighbors, the old farmers that settled here" explained Jim Sr. "Back then it was all cherries, walnuts and prunes. If you had 80 acres, an orchard and a prune dryer you could make a living". 

"You could say that the Columbus Day storm was the best thing that ever happened for Oregon wine" continued Jim. "Blew a lot of orchards down. And then in 1969 Dick Erath came walking up the drive, knocked on my door and said "I've looked all up and down the West Coast for a great viticultural area and I think you're sitting on it."

"Well, at the time the only thing I knew I was sitting on was 2 tons of unsold prunes." laughed Jim.

Thus was born Maresh Vineyard, one of the seminal vineyards in the Willamette Valley and what today has to be considered a true Oregon grand cru, if we had such a designation. In France only 1% of all vineyards attain such lofty status; a status bequeathed by the state based on the performance of a particular vineyard over centuries. Although planted in 1970 and still in its infancy compared to European vineyards, the fruit for a surprising number of Oregon's best pinot noir has been grown in Maresh Vineyard.

One wine in particular, the 1985 Arteberry Reserve made from Maresh fruit by Jimmy's dad Fred, was one of the Wine Spectator's highest scoring Oregon pinots ever made, and the first full case of Oregon Pinot Noir this writer purchased. A protege of Eyrie founder David Lett, whom he followed north from U.C. Davis, Fred was a brilliant and immensely talented winemaker who today would undoubtedly be mentioned alongside the Letts, Eraths, Ponzis and Adelsheims if he hadn't died tragically by his own hand in 1990. 

Gone seemingly forever, it was a shock for many who knew it well in the old days to see the Arteberry label resurrected when Martha and Fred's son Jimmy picked up the mantle of winemaker with the 2005 vintage. But instead of simply Arteberry the label is now Arteberry-Maresh. "It was an acknowledgment and appreciation for the history. Besides, I like the label. Its a little retro and very simple" replied Jim guardedly when asked about it. But after 7 vintages its clear that Jimmy inherited more than just a label. His wines show the clarity, balance and nuance of a far more experienced winemaker. But most significantly, he seems to have an intuitive understanding of winemaking that can't be taught in viticultural school or quantified by any metric. 

"What I do is what I don't do" stated Jimmy more than a little enigmatically. "I don''t measure brix (grape sugar), I don't look at numbers and I don't panic over weather. We've got deeply rooted, organically farmed old vine fruit and a great organic spray program if we need it. I also know we usually get a couple of weeks of sun in October so I'm still waiting to pick after all my neighbors have finished."

There was no arguing with that strategy as we sat in t-shirts on October 14th surrounded by beautiful, plump clusters of dark purple pinot noir towards the end of a harvest that was a struggle for most winemakers in the Willamette Valley. When asked what he makes of the lavish investment that has taken place all around the family farm over the last twenty years Jimmy answers with a shrug "I actually love it when people around here invest all this money in wineries and equipment. All of these sorting tables and fancy presses…" Jimmy trails off dismissively with a wave of his hand. "Our winery is low tech…all I do is turn great grapes into really good wine." 

But if not for Jimmy's grandfather and a group of winemakers and neighbors, Oregon's wine industry might have been crippled in its infancy and today the Red Hills would be known for paving instead of pinot. In 1982 the Yamhill County commissioners were ready to allow asphalt batch plants in the Red Hills, including one in the rock quarry visible from the deck of the Red Barn tasting room right next to Block One. Of course the manufacture of asphalt generates intense odors and particulate matter that would contaminate any fruit within miles. It took months of effort, a lot of money from 1,000 Friends of Oregon and a rousing, impromptu speech by Jim Sr. at a final meeting in front of LCDC in Salem to finally turn the tide. "I just told 'em that this kind of industry and agriculture don't go together and they could have one or the other." said Jim in his humble, matter-of-fact manner. The final vote was 6 to 1 against the plant. 

What followed were the now famous 1983 and 1985 vintages that took the wine world by storm and announced the arrival of a new source for world class pinot noir. Today the Dundee Hills is a popular destination for wealthy wine enthusiasts and is recognized by the wine industry establishment as one of the great American viticultural regions. Corporate investment has poured in and millions of dollars have been spent on state of the art wineries and equipment. The kind of tasting rooms once found only in the Napa Valley dot the hillsides and the occasional 200k sports car driven by the tanned and bejeweled is not uncommon on these back roads, jockeying with a tractor or farm truck driven by a grizzled local. 

But none of this can eclipse the importance of vineyard location and old vines, like the thigh thick trunks of the Pommard and Wadenswil pinot noir in Block One whose roots sink over 18 feet into the basalt mother rock of these ancient, volcanic hills. And no amount of money can purchase the experience, character and family history of the Mareshs. As one very experienced and talented Oregon winemaker once said to me "never underestimate the importance of genetic material." Indeed.

Asked what he thinks today as he looks around at what he began with his late, beloved wife Loie over 50 years ago, Jim Sr. says with a smile and a glint in his lively blue eyes "I can't believe it sometimes when I think about how it’s turned out. But we want to keep it going. It will never change here" he emphasizes as he waves his arm out over the eastern slope towards Mt. Hood to the eager assents of Jimmy and Martha. "All the younger people around here are committed to keeping this thing going. We'll never log those woods…that's habitat for the birds, the deer…everything here works together and is in a trust for future generations." 

On the way back down to Dundee under a brilliant blue October sky a proudly defiant Redtail hawk stood stoutly over its kill in the middle of Worden Hill Road, reluctant to give way even to a speeding Landcruiser. Like all that have staked their claim to these stunningly beautiful hills, tenacity, purpose and and a watchful strength just seem to come naturally to all who live here. 

The gift of Athena: artisan olive oil

"Ackk, that's got quite a bite" squeaked the red faced taster between tear filled coughing fits. Fortunately, there was no need for the Heimlich Maneuver, it was just her first experience with fresh, top quality, estate produced extra virgin olive oil (EVOO) from Italy. And if all you've had is the mass produced (and frequently adulterated) olive oil sold in grocery chains you may not be prepared for the blast of peppery polyphenols and fresh acidity on the finish of a fresh, premium, estate produced olio.

Polyphenols are a generic catch-all term for a group of anti-oxidant micro-nutrients that have been linked to an array of impressive health benefits, and they are found in abundance in fresh extra virgin olive oil. They are also found in wine, that other pillar of the Mediterranean diet that has lately received so much positive attention from the wellness community. And as it turns out, there are parallels between wine and olive oil when it comes to determining authenticity and provenance of both of these powerful health foods.

But there's more to just the health benefits for consumers and cooks who have come to a new appreciation of this ancient staple. Fresh, high quality olive oil is unsurpassed in the kitchen where it replaces the heavy richness of animal fats with a vibrancy and liveliness not found in other cooking mediums. And as a fresh condiment it enlivens and enhances the flavors of everything from greens to roasted meats and soups.

The olive is actually a fruit, one of the drupe family in the same category of other flesh- covered, pit clinging fruits such as apricots, peaches and plums. It is also known as the "gift of Athena" to the ancient Greeks and a mainstay of the Mediterranean diet, held in high esteem by contemporary medical researchers and wellness experts the world over. And it's rich, unctuous oil is the only comestible oil that is derived mechanically from a fruit instead of a seed, the oils of which require the use of heat and solvents (usually hexane) for extraction. (Yeah, think about that one for just a minute.)

As the story goes Athena and Poseidon sought the favor of the first residents of what would become the city of Athens. Poseidon - macho show-off that he was - struck a rocky outcrop with his massive trident, unleashing an impressive torrent of water; this newborn spring his gift to the city. Unfortunately, it turned out to be salt water and useless to the community. Athena on the other hand, quietly parted the soil with her spear and gently planted an olive branch, the fruit of which provided food, heat and light, displaying her far superior wisdom and easily winning this early example of divine pork barrel politics. Today Athens bears her name and the olive is ensconced in history as a pillar of western culture.

Today as in antiquity, Mediterranean economies can rise and fall on the production and sale of olive oil and vast fortunes can be made and lost by speculators, middlemen and importers. Of course with stakes like these, fraud, graft and outright thievery can't be too far behind. And as recent news reports have pointed out, much that is labeled as EVOO is an out and out fake.

So what's the consumer to do if they want to take advantage of the remarkable health benefits and culinary delights of this "Gift of Athena" without getting ripped off?

Tom Mueller's book "Extra Virginity" published in 2012 is a critical place to start. An American writer living in Liguria with his Milanese wife and two sons, Mueller explores the history, economy and agronomy of the olive and gives a clear appraisal of the problems and challenges facing traditional, family producers struggling with a world economy that opens borders, weakens regulations and rewards industrial scale producers at the expense of the small artisan. Mueller also maintains an excellent website at truthinoliveoil.com for anyone who wants to further their knowledge of EVOO or vet their latest purchase from the supermarket. But beware, you might be disappointed to find out that the olive oil in your cabinet could contain everything from Swedish turnip oil enhanced by chlorophyll to rancid seed oils from Tunisia that have been industrially refined and "purified".

Closer to home, importer of artisan produced Italian food specialties Ilyse Rathet advises customers to "read the labels and seek out only estate produced oils from reliable, trustworthy importers". Co-founder with her husband of Ritrovo Imports based in Seattle, Rathet goes on to say that customers also have to expect to pay for the real thing. "Production costs for authentic, fresh EVOO are high. There's no way around it. If you're paying $6.00 or $8.00 for a liter bottle of what is purported to be extra virgin olive soil from a large supermarket chain or grocer, its probably not the real deal."

(This reality is echoed in Extra Virginity when Mueller estimates that it runs anywhere from 6 to 8 euros per liter just in production costs for one small olio producer in Campania that he profiles. )

"it's also a matter of educating the consumer" Rathet goes on to say. "Just as it was with Italian wine 30 years ago, people need to be exposed to quality and introduced to trustworthy producers so they can make the determination for themselves. "

And just as with wine 30 years ago, a fledgling regulatory system rolled out by the Italian government in 2012 is intended to insure that you get what you pay for. The new D.O.P. certification loosely translated stands for Designation of Origin, under which oils from particular regions made from specific varietals are legally authenticated. This mirrors the D.O.C. system introduced in the 1980s for wine, which while not perfect, has gone a long way towards reducing consumer confusion and producer shenanigans. But this new regulatory structure only covers part of Italy and none of the rest of the oil producing world.

However, just as with wine in the early days, there is a new appreciation and enthusiasm for authentic artisan products that speak of their origins and show fidelity to their culture. And, there are plenty of New World producers who are entering the fray and pushing quality in the Old World. In fact, California and Australia are now producing some of the best EVOO in the market and even Oregon has a toe in the water.

But just as with wine, consumers need to steer clear of large scale, industrialized production oils and concentrate on small, easy to verify producers found through the diligence and efforts of knowledgable importers and trusted wine merchants who know their oil. After all, artisan olive oil and artisan wines go hand in hand and are a great complement at the table. And many wine importers also bring in the oils from trusted artisan wine producers.

And there's no substitute for tasting for yourself. There are many food specialty shops and wine merchants who offer educational tasting experiences. Avail yourself of these opportunities to experience for yourself the marvels and benefits of the "Gift of Athena". You're sure to become wise and beautiful - and a lot more healthy while experiencing one of the great culinary delights of western civilization.

Some things to keep in mind:

1. Be very cautious with mass produced and mass marketed brands found in grocery stores and other large chains. With a little research you'll discover that some of the biggest brands in the business have recently been in court to defend themselves against accusations of fraud and deceptive labeling. Just as it it is with wine, industrial scaled production and a long and complicated supply chain are not conducive to authenticity. But that's not to say the genuine article can't be found at this level, just make sure you do your homework on Mueller's website (truthinoliveoil.com) before you buy.

2. Surprisingly, just because the label says Product of Italy it doesn't mean that's where the oil originated. Anything trans-shipped and packaged in Italy can carry this misleading citation. And don't let the color influence you. Bright green oils can be enhanced by the addition of chlorophyll - and often are.

3. Find a retailer you can trust. With the burgeoning Slow Food movement and a heightened interest for artisan food products, many wine shops and specialty food boutiques are enthusiastic advocates for EVOO. Many even hold
periodic olive oil tastings which are invaluable when it comes to determining your preferences and expanding your knowledge of great olio.

4. Do your homework. Mueller's book Extra Virginity is a fun and informative read and his website truthinoliveoil.com is an informative and up-to-date reference source. He even reviews bulk olive oil you might find in large grocery chains so you can make certain that your general purpose olive oil is genuine. Olive Oil Times can also be found online and offers a range of olive oil news and research.

Binary thinking limits our wine experience.

This week we offer two exceptional white wines that are considered benchmarks for their respective appellations. We’ll continue to feature noteworthy white wines like these throughout the fall.

There are stages to every enthusiasm. New wine drinkers often seek the "two by four upside the head”  experience. A fascination with ever increasing intensity and concentration can often define quality for the novice. It's an honest reaction, given our culture's addiction to "super sizing" and the constant pounding from myriad external sources that scream for our attention.

It's no wonder that subtlety takes a back seat to excess and that balance is drowned out by impact - and that white wine is relegated to "oh that stuff" status while reds with huge palate presence are venerated and revered. 

Not long ago I was alternately amused and annoyed to read an email from a Portland distributor that highlighted an Australian winery's so-called “fruit impact scale” in which a certain wine's "fruit weight" was assigned a percentage as an indicator of value - as in (and please note the trademark):

 "Marquis Fruit Weight™ is the percentage of your palate (from the tip of your tongue going all the way back) that's covered by the velvety sensation of fruit, before you experience any of the structural components of the wine. A wine must have at least 65% Fruit Weight™ in order to be considered for bottling as a…”

It's hard to know whether to laugh or cry in the face of such nonsense, and it begs the question of where might an austere yet detailed Nebbiolo from the Valtellina, or a great Cru Beaujolais fare under such a scale? 

How about the 1990 Giacosa Barolo Riserva I shared with friends some time ago or the superb 2005 Volnay “Champans” 1er Cru enjoyed recently at a birthday dinner? Would these outstanding wines even rate as highly on this thoroughly silly scale as a $10 shiraz fruit bomb?

And while fruit is a very important element, far more critical to the overall success of any wine in my mind at least, are balance, eloquence, identity, harmony and fidelity to place and variety. But only rarely do we hear these mentioned - even by people who supposedly know better. 

But restraint is an under-appreciated virtue in these days of hedonistic over consumption. The idea that something has been held back, that proportion and contour are valued more than impact and bombast is not fashionable. To borrow from the great movie parody Spinal Tap, we want to turn everything up to 11. 

When someone informs me that they never drink white wine - and this happens often in my business - I am tempted to ask if they ever eat a salad? How about fish, vegetables or white meats? 

But because I have a sincere and high regard for the autonomy of my customers palates and preferences, I do my darnedest to refrain from evangelizing. 

However,  I don't mind grabbing the bridle and gently leading the way to a refreshing, hopefully eye opening and thirst quenching stream. I consider it an important function in my profession. Whether the horse chooses to drink is up to them. 

The outstanding Burgundy of Francois Gay

The tiny and unassuming village of Chorey-les-Beaune lies just a few minutes northeast of Beaune. Bordered by the main highway, it has no Premier Cru or Grand Cru vineyards but is known for producing a rarity in this region of nosebleed pricing - bargain priced Burgundy. 

For eight generations the family of Francois Gay have grown grapes and made wine in this foursquare little village. The grand hill of Corton looms over this part of the Cote d’Or like an ancient and watchful fortress, and the mouth of the combe where Savigny-les-Beaune lies surrounded by vineyards and evergreens spills out just across the highway. 

Although located in Chorey, Francois Gay produces top level Savigny-les-Beaune, Beaune Premier Cru and Corton Grand Cru wines. In fact Gay‘s wines are some of the finest values in all of Burgundy. That’s why we have just one chance at the tiny allocation that comes into Portland each year. In fact, only a handful of the upper tier wines from this great vintage remain from this year’s offering. 

This small family winery produces just just 3,400 cases of wine in a good year and most of it is consumed in fine French restaurants. So it’s really quite remarkable that any wine at all finds its way to Authentica Wines in little old Eugene, Oregon. Especially a wine as popular as their Chorey-les-Beaune, a rich, fat and forward pinot noir sourced from their own small old vine holdings that surround their plain yet functional winery and residence. 

Young red Burgundy is often hard for many wine drinkers to sidle up to. As I tell many visitors to Authentica, old world wines (especially Burgundy) are all about expressing place of origin. Their flavor profile runs more towards the savory side of the spectrum, while new world wines rely on rather obvious and somewhat simple  primary fruit flavors for their charm. 

And of course old world wines are made with food in mind, which can sometimes be a challenge for new wine drinkers who often first experience these wines in a tasting setting, rather than with a meal.

But the village wines of Chorey-Les-Beaune (especially Gay’s 2016 vintage) are generally accessible, easy to understand and easy to like. And best of all, they are very affordable - especially when pricing for most top quality domestic pinot noir is taken into consideration. 

Dark cherry and similar ripe red fruits accented by a trace of cola and exotic spice define the flavor profile of these charming village wines. And unlike wines from Beaune just down the road, Chorey is not generally a very tannic wine - instead gushing red fruits take the starring role.

I ran across a wine blog recently in which the aspiring wine writer suggested you can’t find good Burgundy at the village level. Francois Gay’s 2016 Chorey-les-Beaune singlehandedly and soundly demolishes that silly argument.

I would strongly urge anyone interested in quality red Burgundy to seek out these wines. Gay’s Savigny-les Beaune Serpentieres and the Corton Rennardes are especially noteworthy. But for casual, everyday enjoyment of classic red Burgundy, the Chorey-les-Beaune has few equals. 

Please retire these two wine descriptors - now.

A large internet hawker of wine recently sent a mass marketing email that offered “rock star wines”. What could that possibly mean? Why would I want to drink a “rock star” wine?

For that matter, why would anyone want to eat the food of a “rock star” chef? Yet we hear this description constantly in reference to the latest “wunderkind’ of the kitchen, vineyard or cellar.

When I think of a “rock star” winemaker or chef, I envision some dude with holes in his jeans carrying more ink than the New York Times; who looks like he fell face first into someone’s tackle box. 

But I assume what the writer really means is the wines she is pushing are the “the latest hits” - surrounded by adoring critics and fawning fans who are willing to spend lots of money just to see an over-the-top performance. Not what I’m looking for in a wine, but thanks anyway. 

And I’m not looking for a “rock star” chef or a “rock star” winemaker either. 

And who hasn’t known the middle aged knucklehead in a mid-life crisis, who suddenly decides to live what he calls a “rock star” lifestyle. In my circle this usually involves a portly fellow in hipster garb showing up anywhere there are women under 35 with lots of expensive Champagne and other cult wines to be drunk far before they’re ready - with maybe a little Bolivian Marching Powder thrown in for good measure. In other words the quickest transformation to “jackass” that one can conceive. 

No, I’m sorry. Rock star in relationship to wine will never do. It means nothing and describes nothing. It’s almost as inane (but not quite as creepy) as the use of the word “sexy” to describe wine. 

Thanks to Robert Parker this unfortunate term slipped into the wine lexicon in the early days of wine’s modern resurgence, when wine criticism became main stream and wine writers were popping up like Matsutakes after a northwest rain shower.

Whenever someone describes a wine as sexy - and believe it or not it still happens frequently today -  it summons images of creepy, lonely old men sitting around the table caressing a bottle of First Growth and staring lasciviously into their half-filled Zaltos. 

Or maybe a hotel room dimly lit by afternoon sunlight where some rich guy sits in a velvet robe with a Cuban cigar, lustily gazing at a Methuselah of Screaming Eagle adorned with a garter belt and French stockings. 

Wine is not sexy and although your relationship may be bitter and gritty, your girlfriend is not tannic. Can we please keep that straight?

When I read such nonsense I long for the great wine writing of the past. Gerald Asher, Clive Coates or Hugh Johnson all come to mind.

Mr. Asher and others like him managed to convey the beauty, grace and subtlety of wine and the faraway vineyards in which it is grown without bombast, sensationalism or nonsense. When you read their gentle, understated prose, you somehow came away feeling just a bit wiser and with a thirst to taste and learn more. Not like you’d just stood in front of the speakers at a punk rock concert.

Everything is already turned up to 11 today as it is. In such an environment it’s refreshing to go back and read the writing of someone such as long-time Burgundy critic Clive Coates. When he  likes a wine he describes it as “good”.  When he really likes it he describes it as “very good indeed”. 

Ah, now that’s music to my ears.

Welcome to May.

Just south of Lodi the freeway passes by what could be mistaken for a petroleum tank farm surrounded by miles of old vine wine grapes planted in the endless, flat and khaki-colored, sandy soils. A series of 40 foot high metal tanks connected by gangplanks and guard rails stands gleaming dully in the central valley heat, and one would be forgiven if they expected to see the name of a large oil company on the sign out front, instead of the cheerful logo of a well known wine brand.

Not far down the road, on the secondary highway leading to Yosemite, quaint fruit stands fronted by colorful boxes of fruit and veggies beckon from the roadside. The impulse to stop and load up is blunted as you recall the many fields surrounded by sickly orange patches of vegetation you passed on the way down, a by-product of large scale Round-Up weed control.

One is reminded of how fortunate we are to live here, in the Willamette Valley where organics is widely practiced and industrialized food systems are shunned. The Lane County Farmer’s Market never looked so good.

Same for a bottle of honest, small production artisan wine made from organically grown fruit and with little intervention and no manipulation from the winemaker. Unfortunately, the vast majority of wine sold in the world today is industrially produced, and without genuine provenance. It is ginned-up from focus groups, board rooms and marketing teams. It is simply another “drinks product” loaded with industrialized yeasts, artificial coloring agents, enzymes, and God knows what else. 

On the other hand, authentic wine is a product of the long culture of a place and the people who live there. It is part and parcel of the local agricultural milieu, and it speaks of where it comes from with subtle voices of sun and rain, and soils and the hands that raised it. Authentic wine always pairs beautifully with the local cuisine and it often has a long and storied history and reputation. Sometimes it’s quite obscure and not widely known.

Authentic wine is not always a “natural” wine as strictly defined by the fundamentalists that always seem to coalesce around the latest wine and food fad. That’s the beauty of authentic wine - it never goes out of style for those who value fidelity to a place and a way of life, and who like the idea that their hard-earned wine-buying dollar contributes to the continuation of that tradition and to that community. 

In short, it’s great to be back home, in a community that values authenticity and quality - and at such a great time of the year. This Saturday I will look out my door at all the happy people at the Lane County Farmer’s Market with even more appreciation than usual, and toast them with an authentic, artisan wine. 

The magic of Rayas

The late Jacques Reynaud of Chateau Rayas in Chateauneuf du Pape was one of the wine world’s more reclusive, enigmatic and fabled producers. The wines he made before his untimely death in 1997 - while buying a pair of shoes no less - are legendary, and among the rarest of the rare. If you can find them, it’s unlikely that you can afford them. But once you’ve tasted these wines - especially Rayas; but also his other bottlings Fonsalette or even Pignan, you come to understand why Reynaud’s wines engender such adulation and critical acclaim.

A friend and I recently shared a bottle of the Chateau de Fonsalette Syrah 1994, one of the last wines made in the “Jacques era”…and it was nothing short of remarkable. Perfectly stored, the cork was pristine and so was the wine. The color was still somewhat fresh, with some carmine/purple at the rim and a deep crimson/black core. The aromatics showed much of what one would expect from southern Rhone syrah - dark reddish/black cane fruits, some garrigue mixed with that gamey, wild bird savoriness and a very slight bacon edge. But somehow, all of this was delivered up in a completely uncommon manner, with an impact that went far beyond what one would expect from those separate elements. 

There existed a measured and seamless elegance not usually associated with burly, ripe southern Rhone Syrah. The textures were dense without being heavy, and the intricate and mysterious aromatics gave the impression that the wine’s core was still waiting to be found somewhere in the dark crimson heart of the wine; a heart that invited you to delve deeper and deeper with each taste. As the intense and layered flavors of the mid-palate receded, fine tannins rose to the fore to further define the wine’s form and provided a lingering, gentle persistence that brought a gentle end to the reverie this wine magically wove.

Because it was lunchtime and we had other wines to taste, half the bottle was corked and left over until the next day. And remarkably, that last half of the bottle was even better than the first - not what you’d expect from a 35 year-old wine.

But that stunning syrah left more than a lovely, lingering and almost mystical finish. It left hanging the question of what makes a wine like this so exceptional and separates it from its peers - even those who share the same general real estate? If terroir is simply a French invention - as some New World winemakers have suggested - then how does one account for such singularity and distinctive vinous personality? Is it the winemaker, the vineyard, the age and particular genetics of the vines, the unique biological colony in the cuverie and surroundings or the inherited wisdom of generations who have labored over these same vines and in these same dusty cellars? 

Of course it’s probably all of the above along with something even more intangible. The secret must lie in how Jacques Reynaud brought all these things together in his own particular manner, and how his personality and character animated the raw materials to achieve his unique vision. Reynaud was among that rare handful of winemakers whose vocation and person is so closely intertwined that the wine becomes an extension of the winemaker, in much the same way that a good painting or piece of music is an interpretation of individual materials and influences brought together by with great skill to serve a particular vision of the creator - a numinous and even spiritual process not quantifiable or subject to any ”metric”. Immune to imitation, this is certainly a very high level of intuitive creativity in its purest form.

It took son Emmanuel a few years to feel his way forward after his father’s death before the wines again took on that Rayas glow. But for those of us lucky enough to have tasted the old man’s wines the “post Jaques” wines were never quite the same. 

Whenever one has a wine tasting experience like this, it strongly suggests that there’s something far more at work in great wine than the obvious raw materials and site. It also explains why this kind of authenticity can’t be reproduced, bought or captured by opportunists, copycats and corporate beverage entities who assume they can create greatness out of whole cloth and without any sort of cultural or historical context. Not to mention without the soul of a unique and gifted winemaker.

Wines like Rayas are a powerful reminder that truly great wine isn’t made in boardrooms or focus groups, but in moldy cellars and in tiny villages in rolling hills down crooked roads, often by the unlikeliest of people; who still buy their shoes in the local village - and sometimes die while doing so.

Tasting Notes: 1978 Chateauneuf du Pape

The 1978 vintage in Chateauneuf du Pape is considered epic - the first of the “modern” great vintages that brought this old southern French appellation to the attention of a new generation of wine lovers.

I recently had the good fortune to taste a couple of the more noteworthy bottles from this great vintage; an experience that filled in some holes in my tasting experience and lent some perspective to the just released 2016s. Given their similarities, comparisons between these two vintages are inevitable, so tasting the ‘78s may offer insights into the future of the 2016s for those of you in the market. I won’t get into vintage details here - you can do that yourself easily enough. Suffice to say that a long and relatively cool, but even-tempered growing season was the common thread in both vintages.

Of course with just 3 wines it’s difficult to make any sweeping generalizations. But I’m sure that for many, the idea that these wines can not only live for 40 years, but evolve beautifully over so many decades is a wonder in itself. 

The 1978 Domaine de Pegau Cuvee Reservee was the first wine up and it proved to be the most intriguing and revelatory. Many old school writers and wine critics have written of the similarity between well-aged Chateauneuf and Burgundy, but I had never seen this tendency so perfectly illustrated as it was with this wine. 

And although it had been standing up for weeks it was still quite cloudy. In spite of this it remained a healthy - if faded - deep rose madder hue, with very little brickish/amber at the rim. Medium in weight, the ethereal aromatics of old black tea leaves, dried rose petal, faded sandalwood, and subtle raspberry flower suggested the inside of a potpourri-scented hankie drawer in your grandmother’s dresser.  

The textures were creamy and fine with no hint of grit from the still in solution, unfiltered sediments. As sometimes happens with older wines that have spent years cooped-up in a bottle, the nose only grew in intensity as the wine breathed. In fact it held together so well that it made a profound impression on tasters who purchased a taste as a SuperPour many hours later. They couldn’t put it down - their noses returning again and again to their glasses as it continued to offer new surprises. 

A couple of weeks later, my friend who had provided the wines and I returned to our favorite spot for our monthly tasting lunch and opened the Chateau Fortia 1978. At first the wine seemed sound but as it aired in the glass a tell-tale vein of tca could be discerned - if ever so slightly - buried underneath some pretty charming dark berry fruit and spice aromatics. Too bad - but maybe the waiters to whom we gave it were able to enjoy it in spite of the flaw. I certainly hope so.

The back-up bottle that day was the Vieux Telegraphe 1978, a legendary wine that certainly lived up to it’s lofty reputation. The cork was nearly perfect and the wine was more than sound - it was full-throttle with all the dark intensity that VT is known for. Still dark ruby / garnet with an almost blackish/purple center, experienced tasters would be hard-put to accurately date this wine if tasted blind. It seemed far younger than it’s 40 years and it held up remarkably well into the next day, showering the palate with copious dark blue and black cane fruits, hints of mocha and savory / meaty notes - all richly textured and with fine length. 

A limited tasting yes, but one that served to highlight the differences between three venerable properties that should be enough to encourage anyone to lay some 2016s down for even a few years if they are going to turn out as lovely as these bottles. 

And while I appreciated greatly the power and depth of the Vieux Telegraphe and realize why it has so many fans, my admiration and intrigue was captured by the exquisite Pegau. But then anything that reminds me of Burgundy already has a head start in my tasting book.