Back Home in California. Also Home to Many an AVA.

So, I left my home in Portland (soggy from tears and my last tastes of Pinot Noir) to return to my parents' home in California for a few days before I leave for six months in Spain. It was a very bittersweet departure, because no matter how exciting it is to move to Spain, it's always hard to leave behind a life, a lover and a wine scene that one loves.

But, that is all behind me for the moment and I decided that instead of whining/pining, I would go out with my mom and do something that makes both of us happy: picnic and wine taste.

So, I got to work doing a bit of research, because I'm not going to take a total shot in the dark in the state with the most AVAs in the country. I want to know where to find the best places and if, perhaps, they can offer me some 'natural' wine. So, I used a wine website (far more advanced that my own) called Discover California Wines, particularly because they have this whole, fancy section on Sustainable Wine Growing. Check out their link. So, using this tool, I was able to find the names of 31 wineries near my parents' house in both Amador and El Dorado County. From there, a whole slew of them boasted being Sustainable/Organic/Biodynamic (not that these are synonyms, but it was starting to look like what I was in the market for).

So, picnic basket in hand, full of salty cheeses, fruits, salads and water, we set off for two nearby, natural (?) wineries. Our first stop was Fenton Herriot. We were greeted by a fabulously cheery tasting room manager who guided us through the complimentary flight as well as the reserve flight at no extra charge. We're talking about 14 wines here people. We're not in the Willamette Valley here, people. While the tasting was generous, I, cannot be so generous with my compliments to the wine itself. With 3 exceptions. They had what the tasting room manager described as a bone-dry 2011 Gewürztraminer, which, while not being bone-dry, was delicious. It was one of the few wines I tried there that had a fresh acidity. The rest, sadly, were jammy, vanilla-y and seemed to share basically the same, syrupy aroma. The Jakeway Lot 4, however, had a new character entirely and some very welcomed tannins. It is a blend of Sangiovese and Syrah and it is also blended across vintages. While the drinker won't get any information about subtle influential factors between vintages across these two varietals when drinking this wine, they will certainly enjoy it for it's exceptionally good mouth-feel and flavor (when compared to its sugary compatriots). Finally, the 2011 Ruby Syrah "Port" really impressed me and I am by no means an appreciator of ports. This one had a lot of work to do to win me over as well because I was instantly repelled by its description of "liquid candy. Eyyyeeuu, isn't liquid candy what they put inside of Gushers? So, I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't so sweet, in fact, it was actually quite fruity, thin and almost elegant. We left with a bottle of Chardonnay, a favorite of my dear mum's, and the Port, or should I say "Port". Not to mention a wine case worth of fancy mustards and dressings that will get to hang out and make friends with the colony of condiments living in my mom's pantry.

When I asked the tasting room manager what practices they had adopted to make their winery "sustainable" she said that she'd never been asked that before and went to the computer to look and see if their website explained something about it. When she found nothing, she said that it's probably maybe because they grow 65% of their grapes on-site. No need to ask more questions.

The second winery we went to, Lava Cap, was the third winery established in the area and has been around since the early 1980s. Aha! I must say that I found their wines exceptionally good. All showed great balance and a great reflection of the characteristics of their respective varietal. Again, we received a complimentary tasting of their reserve flight and were soon on our 30th taste. While I had more Zinfandel than I'm able to discern, I had a few other favorites. I really liked their 2010 Barbera, which is apparently, the favorite of many a wine club member. The first man who ever poured me a glass of wine poured me a fancy Barbera and in the months we continued to date, we drank only that. I have a very nostalgic, romantic appreciation of this varietal, particularly from this AVA because the aforementioned lover worked at the neighboring winery and always had bottles on hand. I love the richness, the mouth-feel and yes, the fruitiness. However, just like I've moved on from the lover, I've moved on from Barbera and found that it wasn't my favorite wine of the flight. I enjoyed their 2010 Chardonnay which we bought and opened on the spot to enjoy with our picnic. While it was a bit oak-y, it was nicely offset by sour apple and citrus flavors. I made one final purchase, a bottle of wine for my Spanish host-family who I will meet in about 9 days from now ¡Dios mio!  While I was tempted to buy them the 2010 Grenache I thought better of it, considering that Garnacha is already such a popular varietal in Spain. Instead, I went with the 2010 Sangiovese, which, now that I think about it, wasn't the most though-out choice either. This Italian varietal is only a Mediterranean Sea away and it pairs better with heavy, richer foods. Since I'm living with them in the sultry, southern coast where paella prevails, Sangiovese might not have been the best accompaniment. Well, I hardly think they'll through me out on the streets. Pobre gringa en la calle.

When I asked the woman in the tasting room about their sustainable practices, she informed me that they strive to maintain as close to organic standards as possible, however, they don't have the certification because they occasionally use Round Up when necessary if they anticipate a problem with a certain varietal in a certain year. They do, however, believe in as little intervention as possible during the wine-making process, which could explain why their wines possess a much cleaner, truer taste than the wines I described earlier, not even 3 miles apart. Yes, this could be a difference in micro-climates, yes, this could be a differences in slope, soil content, etc...these are all true, but more than anything, they just had the taste of authenticity which really set their wines apart.

It was a great afternoon with my mom- where we talked a little about wine, about love, about daughters leaving for Spain, about mothers becoming friends and about missing things: each other, other loved ones, and, in my case- Pinot Noir.

Musings on Leopold, Trubek & Terroir

Where does our food come from? Hundreds of popular books, documentaries, television series and magazines seek the answer to this question. Consumers reflect on this question and make their purchases accordingly. The only way for this question to receive so much exploration and hype is if the answer is not as straightforward as the simple question implies. To discover where our food comes from often requires tracking an intricate web of unexpected actors and origins. These origins can be shocking, unsettling, even repulsive. Surprise and disgust are the costs that we pay for seeking the truths about industrial agriculture.

Naturally, when a system is not performing the way certain groups or individuals want it to, they will build their own measures of resistance. Therefore, while the products of industrial agriculture dominate the economic market as well as our pantries, we also observe a growing prevalence of what has come to be known as alternative agriculture. Alternative agriculture is the arena where other, smaller movements come to play. Here we watch as organic products, local products, artisanal products, biodynamic, non-interventionist etc. make their debut or, arguably, their revival.

The human actors who participate in these movements engage themselves in the battle against conventional agriculture for varying reasons. Some are concerned with the preservation of local communities and traditions. Others feel gratification for their more intimate connection with their food systems. Better tastes, flavors and aromas motivate others to choose alternative agriculture practices. Some echo Aldo Leopold’s, author of the Sand County Almanac, land ethic and seek to do improve relations between themselves and “the land and the animals and plants which grow upon it” (Leopold). These individuals live by Leopold’s argument that our ethics must evolve to include “nonhuman members of the biotic community, collectively referred to as the land.” Leopold writes, “A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise…. The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, waters, plants and animals, or collectively: the land.”

Leopold’s land ethic offers another pillar to the monument that is terroir. Terroir is a term that so often demands veneration and Leopold gives another explanation as to why. To understand why Leopold’s land ethic relates to all the buzz about terroir, one needs to first know what all is meant by this rather illusive word.

Terroir often is used as a synonymous term to “soil and climate” and it is the vague ingredient that imparts a geographical identity to a product. It is also the reason that many fine products are praised. If a product reflects its terroir, then one could argue, that there is a certain authenticity to it. Naturally, something as intangible as le goût de terroir or the absence thereof is highly contestable. Amy Trubek offers a definition that does the quickest and best job of situating terroir. She simply explains it as “the taste of place”.

If the taste of a place is what Trubek and consumers like her seek, then, naturally, the land, the organic counterpart to a geographic concept, is the origin of terroir. The biotic community described by Leopold is the vary thing that imparts the taste of a place. Through the valorization of terroir, a consumer can begin to understand the value of the land as well. And visa versa.

Let us consider a commodity like wine: a product made both industrially and alternatively. In both agricultural models, vines first begin in the land. Whether or not that land, or place, if you will, is reflected in the final product depends on several factors. First of which is the treatment of the land. I know too little about conventional viticulture to explain in detail the processes that happen in the vines, but often, there are few reservations about the use of synthetic pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers, etc. While the grapes are spared, other local flora, fauna, microorganisms and micronutrients are not. These all contribute to the land, the place and the subsequent tastes. Consequentially, alternative vintners abstain from these treatments, choosing instead natural substitutes. In the case of biodynamic producers, these vintners use specific preparations and follow a calendar, which permit them to better nourish their land. Other natural, or alternative, vintners borrow inspiration from their biodynamic colleagues and adopt certain practices to their own vines, while adhering to their respective ideologies when it comes to the stewardship of their land. Leopold’s land ethic may not be as popular or recognized of a term as terroir, but the two are inexorably linked in discourses about alternative viticulture.

While a land ethic paramount in the production of alternative wines, there is also something equally necessary that has yet to be coined. Therefore, I will call it a product ethic. In the case of wine, and perhaps all unprocessed foods, a product ethic is as important as a land ethic when seeking the truest reflection of terroir. In viticulture, there is an obvious part of production that happens in the vines, where the land interacts with the fruit. The next part of production happens after harvest in the cellar, where the winemaker interacts with the fruit. These two moments of production have been distilled into a rhyming binary: “the land and the hand”.

Just as the land gives un goût de terroir, the hand of the winemaker is equally responsible for imparting the same ‘taste of place’. A product ethic would describe winemaking practices that pay equal respect to the products of the land as it does the land itself. In the case of wine, the product is grapes and grapes can be manipulated, either a lot or a little. Without a product ethic, grapes become just one of many ingredients necessary to make wine, along with a slew of others that muffle, mutate or eradicate terroir. A product ethic would seek to honor the land that produced the grapes and therefore, would intervene as minimally as possible, instead preserving the truest sense of terroir.

Food and wine can be enjoyed for a number of reasons, not just for a true reflection of terroir. Consumers also consume for pleasure and for energy. Both are fine reasons to eat, but lack the opportunity to contextualize the experience, something that terroir offers. If one seeks to know the ‘taste of a place’, then that is to better know the place, to appreciate the place. In the pursuit of terroir, production methods must consider more than individual pleasures or calories consumed. Furthermore, one must consider more than economic yields, something beyond which industrial agriculture too often cannot look. If we focus on terroir, we in turn, are forced to consider more than the final product, we must turn our attention to the steps in between, the measure taken to foster le goût de terroir.

Terroir helps us understand our links to a place; a way to taste different lands’ respective legacies. Trubek synthesizes this better than I when she writes, “Terroir and goût de terroir are categories for framing and explaining people’s relationship to the land, be it sensual, practical, or habitual. This connection is considered essential, as timeless as earth itself.” I believe that Leopold would raise his glass to that. 

The 'Natural' Tastes of Sicily

Somehow I have the good fortune of knowing Deborah Heath, a professor of Anthropology (among other things) who knows a great deal about 'authentic' wines. In fact, I know of no other person who doesn't work primarily in the wine business who could challenge her in a battle of wits or knowledge when it comes to the domain. She invited me (and two friends) to join her at her delightful cabin near the Sandy River near the base of Mount Hood in Oregon.

My friends and I kickstarted the day by doing some market shopping. Knowing that we'd be tasting Sicilian wines, we decided to seek Italian libations. We left with proscuitto, parmegiano regiano, mozerella, tomatoes and anjou pears (our deviation from the Italian fares). Deborah welcomed us with some olives, crackers and two more italian cheeses that lacked neither cream nor truffles. Qu'est-ce que c'est divin! 

The wines we tried were also, in a word, incantevole, (the Italian word for delightful...I had to look that one up). We started with Ariana Occhipinti's Tami, the wine she describes as being the one that all of her friends can afford. Deborah had recently spent time in Sicily, however, this bottle was one that she had found in the US, which is really neat, because not only is it 'natural', it is also less that 20$. It's an incredibly well-balanced wine with a fresh acidity with a very pleasant fruitiness, which paired well with all of the food that I just described. Take a look at the shot of the bottle and buy some for yourself. It's worth it!

Next, we tasted some of Alberto Graci's Nerello, a grape varietal that I'd never tried, but that is indigenous to this part of Italy and is a staple to the viticultural identity of Etna. Again, the wine was quite good. It had a stronger, more astringent pepper flavor that worked well with the cheeses, but was altogether stronger and more assertive. I was more inclined to reach a second time for Occhipinti's Tami.

 I soon will be in Sicily and hope to meet the iconic dog that graces Graci's wines with it's lovable canine presence (you can see him featured on the bottle below).

Tasting 58 Year Old Wine (Or "Sipping a Grandfather")

I spent yesterday evening out in Hillsboro at a family member's home built in a plum orchard that overlooks the Willamette Valley. Yes, indeed, it was exquisite. This same family member has a dear friend who is a wine collector. I have known this for a while and have often drank fine wines in his company, however, not since I 'took the plunge', so to speak, into the world of wine. Therefore, I eagerly rushed over to the table where he was unloading his wines (he has over 2,300 in his cellar). This particular night, however, he had brought around 20. Oh la la!

He had whites, he had rosés, he had reds, he had champagne, he had obscure varietals, he had Willamette Valley classics, including: Beaux Frères from 2005, several vintages of Ken Wright, a few J.K. Carrières and a few from Elk Cove. I am sure I am missing a few, but, with 20 wines at hand, even I cannot try, nor remember them all. 

It was great to hear this man, Ralph, share his thoughts on authentic wines. His approach was very moderate and he explained that he thinks that while many other more conventional wines are becoming a bit homogenized (while nonetheless quite good), authentic wine offers an alternative. While there is less guarantee, less standardization and more risk, there is also the opportunity for the occasional wine that is utterly fantastic. These 'wonder wines' make the drinking experience more interesting, however, they come at the cost of some very, very poor authentic wines. They are certainly not all good, but, there is variety, for better or for worse. Naturally, I tend to think, for far better.

While we spoke, he shared a bit about what was in his collection. He mentioned that he had acquired  about a decade ago a bottle from 1955. 'What luck', I thought to myself, 'how wildly interesting it would be to taste wine from 1955! Gah!' My grandfather, sitting nearby chuckled and shared that he and my grandmother were married that same year. Ralph retorted that that was the year he was born. 1955 was a good year for love, child birth and le Jura, apparently. 

Ralph left to take his daughter home and when he returned, he had a bottle under his arm. It was, indeed, the bottle from 1955. He said that he'd been looking for an occasion to drink it and this seemed as good as any other. He decanted the wine, which was a deep reddish brown color and the rest of us at the table held our breath in mouth-watering anticipation. I looked at the bottle, which was a different shape than any bottle I'd seen before; in some way, it was more angular. The labels were quite new, certainly not from '55. Ralph explained that it had been in the vintner's cellar the whole time, they just put a new label on it when they exported it to the US. Here's an image:

Finally, it was time to taste. I must say that neither the odor nor the flavor made me fall out of my chair. It was very tannic and acidic and I'm sure that with more time in the decanter, the fruits would have been more apparent. Ralph shared, however, that with a wine that old, it would be extremely challenging for it to have retained in initial fruitiness. What did make me swoon, par contre, was the idea that I was drinking something that was 58 years old. Isn't that amazing? That wine is older than my parents, in fact, it's almost three times older than me. I find that unbelievable. For someone who is such a fanatic francophile, I was mystified by the idea that here I am in 2013, drinking something made by a frenchman over 50 years ago. This man may no longer even be alive, yet here I am, 6,000 miles away from what was once his treasured vines, drinking the fruits of his labor. (Mind the wine pun that's surely been made a thousand times before this.)

Summing up, I found the whole idea, and the experience, exceptionally neat. Nothing more or less. I know the little tween next to me wanted to 'gross us out' when he said that it was like 'sipping a grandfather', but, au contraire, I don't find it gross at all. The word I would use instead was, again, enchanting.