(yours truly on the Rheingau slope, with the Nahe valley behind me)

Founded in 1872 in the Rheingau, between Rüdesheim and Wiesbaden, the Geisenheim Research Center is one of the most renowned in Europe; it hosts over a 1,000 students a year from all over the globe, many of whom have gone on to storied careers in winemaking.

(sign for ‘Institute of Winegrowing and Vinebreeding’, Geisenheim)

Students here are encouraged to experiment with wines grown on site; they explore the effects of oak, sulfur, yeast, and more, while studying the life-cycle of the vine itself.

We were met by Geisenheim’s director, Prof. Hans Schultz, who presented an overview of Rheingau’s wine/historical landmarks: Schloss Johannisberg, which in 1720 became the first vineyard in the world planted entirely to Riesling, and today stores wines from as far back as the 1748 vintage; the Eberbach monastery, founded by monks from Clairvaux in 1116; and Schloss Vollrads, one of the world’s oldest cellars, home to deep archives untouched by war, including the oldest known wine bill in the world, dating to 1211. He also discussed the notion of cru as a quality designation based on belief (‘croire’), not growth (‘croitre’), casting the singularity of Rheingau’s uniquely scientific designation of individual crus or lage (based on soil and exposition) in greater relief.   He then led a wide-ranging tasting of Germany’s varied terroirs with 9 wines, from Riesling to Lemberger:

Geisenheimer 2010 Riesling Trocken, Rheingau
Von Volxem 2009 Riesling Trocken, Saar
Diel 2008 Riesling Trocken, Nahe
JJ Prum 2007 Riesling Kabinett, Wehlener Sonnenuhr, Mosel
Weegmuller 2011 Scheurebe Trocken, Pfalz
Burgerspital 2010 Silvaner Trocken, Wurzberger Stein GG, Franken
Bercher 2010 Grauer Burgunder Trocken, Burkheimer Feuerberg GG, Baden
Nelles 2009 Spatburgunder Trocken, Heimersheimer Burggarten GG, Ahr
Brackenheim 2009 Lemberger Trocken, Wurttemberg

The mini-vertical of Rieslings back to ’07 was well-chosen; they reflected their different terroirs and vintages with as much precision as one could wish, despite the fact that each wine bore a striking imprint of its estate (the Geisenheim wine was lean and smoky, slightly reduced; the Von Volxem didn’t taste all that Trocken to me – I loved it, partially because of its spontaneous yeast fermentation, which gave a heathery/chamomile/brioche-esque richness of texture and aroma that countered the relative opulence of ’09′s fruit; the Diel was very clean and graceful, already giving off secondary aromas; the Prum was marked by a sulfur-ey impression on the nose, quite common to Prum’s wines, which Prof. Schultz explained as the combination of spontaneous ferment and very low pH). I was deeply impressed with Steffi Weegmuller’s Scheurebe – it was extremely complex and interesting, yet for my palate, could have used a few grams of residual sugar for perfect balance. The Silvaner, steely and arresting, inspired a desire to visit the remarkable cellars of the Schloss Wurzburg, and the Bercher Grauer Burgunder, planted only 1 kilometer from Alsace, remains the FINEST Pinot Gris from Germany I’ve ever tasted, even despite its elaboration in barrique, which usually turns me off; it was lean, elegant, and intriguingly perfumed. The reds were impressive as well, especially the Spatburgunder from Nelles, which had a finer texture on the whole than I usually perceive in the Ahr.  (The group then divided for the mid-morning; I chose to tour Geisenheim’s cellar and experimental facilities with Prof. Monika Christmann…)

From next week through early May, we’ll feature 4 exemplary Corsican wines by the glass: a white from Domaine Gioielli, a rosé from Antoine Arena (both Webster’s exclusives), and reds from Yves Leccia and Domaine Maestracci.  We’ll also seek to pair them with classic Corsican cheeses such as fleur de maquis and a brocciu-style sheep’s milk whey cheese.

(above, vineyards in southern Corsica)

Perfect patio drinking, these wines were made in a similar sunny, temperate heat that we’re expecting this spring and summer… try them (especially the white) with our new grilled, Corsican-style pork loin with rosemary…

- jq, april 2012

[Reviewed here, pictured above: Reading between the Wines, Terry Theise, © 2010 Terry Theise, University of California Press.  Naked Wine, Alice Feiring, © 2011 Alice Feiring, DaCapo Press.  To Burgundy and Back Again, Roy Cloud, © 2011 Roy Cloud, Lyons Press.  Reflections of a Wine Merchant, Neal Rosenthal, © 2008 Neal Rosenthal, North Point Press. Le Goût et le Pouvoir, Jonathan Nossiter, © 2007 Grasset & Fasquelle.]

Reading between the Wines, Terry Theise, 2010.

In the world of wine, absolute truths are terribly appealing: “Zero-dosage Champagne is TRUE, dosaged Champagne is FALSE; indigenous yeast fermentation is TRUE, cultivated yeast fermentation is FALSE; all biodynamic wine is TRUE, all ‘conventional’ wines are FALSE; dry Mosel Riesling is TRUE, residual-sugar Mosel Riesling is FALSE…”.   They make the intimidating diversity of wine (‘so many variables!,  so much to know!’) easy to navigate.  Perhaps too easy.  In his first two chapters, Terry argues with eloquence and humor that ‘us vs. them’ moralistic thinking is false and infantilizing.   “Absolute judgements on our part are liable to be fatuous” (43), he claims, and “you can try to impose yourself on nature, but it leads into a blind alley and you do collateral damage to your soul” (55).  He asserts that attention and patience are the keys to real understanding, not mere control: “Wine is like a shy dog.  Lunge for it and it backs away.  Just sit still and it draws nearer.  Wine is less about what you can grasp than about how you can receive… It will resist you if you insist on subduing it” (19).  Terry’s approach to wine is deeply humanistic; respect for oneself and an openness to the violence of beauty are intimately involved with learning how to taste.

Terry is an pioneering importer of wines from Germany, Austria, and Champagne; in 2008, after 20+ years in the business, he won the James Beard award for Outstanding Wine and Spirits Professional, and tries to use that moment as a frame for Reading between the Wines: “As I accepted the award I flashed back on those first formative years, overwhelmed with all I’d been given.  This book will tell you how I got from those early, quiet walks through remote, hilly vineyards to the longer-seeming walk onto the stage at Avery Fisher Hall after my name was called.  It’s time to give back” (7).  As the book unfolds, however, this device, delightfully, doesn’t quite work; yes, we do read mention of a beginner’s wine class he taught, estates he ‘discovered’, some brief family history… but this is NOT a linear story of ‘one man and his adventure’ – it seems as though Terry perceives the shape of collective history too clearly to overstate his own place within it.  In his 1907 work Creative Evolution, Henri Bergson famously stated, “Philosophy can only be an effort to dissolve again into the Whole” (210, Random House 1944):  with each of his anecdotes, Terry seeks to show how wine is an invitation to do just that, ‘dissolve again into the Whole’, as he recalls certain enduring, transient moments at estates he represents – Jean-Baptiste Geoffroy (Champagne), the Selbachs (Germany), and Erich Salomon (Austria), among others – and shows how particular vintages shared at singular times crystallize the otherwise invisible passage of Time.  “Wine is one of the ways a place conveys its spirit to us” (71), he claims; it can open one to the hum of the land, which “connects you to vast currents of generations and time” (73).

Terry treats perfection, and the point-based rating systems which imply its possibility, as a silly and sometimes damaging ideal; he finds that wine’s ability to illuminate concepts is far more interesting.  ‘Clarity’, ‘Distinctiveness’, ‘Grace’, ‘Balance’ – these are qualities far more helpful to understanding a wine than flavor adjectives or a number from a scale.  Needless to say, against all the voices shouting for a ‘level playing field’ and ‘democratic wines’, Terry defends refinement of taste; “I feel it is indeed unkind to flatten all taste to a specious equality” (101), he states; his third chapter is entitled “Remystifying Wine”.

There are teacherly asides here, into ‘Aspects of Taste’, ‘What to Look For’ and ‘My Favorite Grapes’ (Riesling, Nebbiolo, Chenin Blanc, and more) – and some contentious assertions (listed under “What Is NOT Important”: Yields, Yeasts, and Winemaking Methods; them’s fightin’ words!) – but essentially, this is best read as book about values; not moral values (like/don’t like, good/bad), but ETHICAL ones.  How-to-live values.  This terrific book reminded me of a quote from Freeman House, in his 1999 masterpiece Totem Salmon – that it is within “the power of places to teach us how to act” (142).  Terry shows how a singular wine can reveal a continuum of time, and thereby a place, and how wine appreciation can help make one more attentive and nuanced, full of candor and more vulnerable to beauty.

Naked Wine, Alice Feiring, 2011.

There are two interlocking stories in Naked Wine; Alice’s earnest, and often amusing, attempt to make her own ‘natural’, or ‘naked’ wine, without additives, from California grapes (with the assistance of Kevin Hamel, head winemaker for Pellegrini, and Ridgely Evers of Da Vero), and her travels in France and Spain as she tracks down the Old World’s leading producers of ‘natural’ wine, which eventually leads her to the home of Jacques Néauport, the surrogate ‘father’ of the natural wine movement (so-called due to his close study with Jules Chauvet).  In a short 205 pages, we are treated to up-close encounters with dozens of wine personalities, often in captivating circumstances, and, especially in the second chapter, ‘The Principle of Nature’, a satisfying and fair-minded assessment of what ‘natural’ wine is, and is not.

(Jules Chauvet, 1907-1989.)

Currently, a strong and growing community of ‘natural’ winemakers are bottling amazing wines, without added sulfur, yeast, or chemicals; some have claimed that their efforts are best understood as a Natural Wine Movement.  Alice smartly describes the controversy surrounding the ‘movement’ and the very term ‘natural’: “‘Natural’ wine has been going on strong in France since the late 1970′s, but from the way journalists, bloggers, and winemakers are carrying on, you would think that at best, natural wine was a brand new concept, and, at worst, a new link to Al Qaeda.  The word natural itself is under fire” (28).   An acclaimed journalist (formerly of Time), columnist (Wall Street Journal, San Francisco Chronicle, Los Angeles Times Magazine), and blogger (The Feiring Line), Alice has a natural disposition to seek the Truth of this ‘movement’, and her book is most instructive and entertaining when we see this search frustrated.  Anxiety and trepidation at the possibility of discovering the Grail of ‘natural’ wine leads up to her interview, late in the book, with Néauport.  When she finally asks, “But why were you interested in making wine without sulfur in the first place?”, he laughs, hesitates, and blurts, “Because we were drunkards!”  “I’d come to the oracle for the answer”, she ruefully concludes, “and all he had for me was a punch line” (161).  As their conversation continues, and more wines are opened, she begins to see that, “These wines were not about points or perfection or about color and body or structure.  They were the kinds of wine that can bring charm and joy.  Jacques did have the answer, after all” (173).

In these pages, we learn of the influence of François Morel, editor of France’s finest independent wine journal, Le Rouge et le Blanc, author of Le Vin au Naturel, and former proprietor of Paris’ leading ‘natural’ wine bar in the 1980′s; we meet Marcel Lapierre, of Morgon (Beaujolais), whose conversion to ‘natural’ wine in the late 1970′s and early 80′s played a critical role in the spread of more organic wine methods (in some circles in France, it’s quite true that ‘all roads lead to Marcel’); we spend time with the natural wine mavericks of Spain, winemaker Laureano Serres and importer José Pastor; and we are introduced to New World natural wine producers such as Tony Coturri, Nathan Roberts, and Duncan Meyers; very helpfully, in the appendix, we can read through the 60+ list of “U.S. Approved Additives and Processes for Wine”, which range from copper sulfate to nitrogen gas, and are given a series of “Wines You Might Like” from California, Oregon, France, Italy, and beyond.  There are a few snags and errors in the book, yes; a slightly off-putting sense of narcissism (registering from the very first sentence: “When it comes to wine, I can be polarizing”; very few paragraphs lack the word ‘I’ in multiple iterations), and an odd habit of associating the current ‘non-sulfur’ wine crowd with American phenomena of the 1960′s and 70′s (the Weather Underground [46], Woodstock and the Chicago Seven trial [114]), but on the whole, this is a welcome addition to the growing literature on natural wines, and a very fun read.  In the end, Alice tastes her ‘natural-as-possible’ Sagrantino, “a heavy bottle with a flashy price, [and] water addition and all, its vibrancy prevailed.  The wine was good, and I was proud” (204).  The U.S. wine industry, she concludes, is still figuring things out, but has finally reached liftoff.

To Burgundy and Back Again, Roy Cloud, 2011.

In 1997, when he was in his late 30′s and working as a manager at MacArthur Beverages in Washington DC, Roy Cloud was asked to be the French buyer for California winery Michel-Schlumberger’s new import project; he was given 12 days in the autumn of that year to travel to France, without knowing the language, and assemble a portfolio; “Those twelve days”, he states, “turned into a journey that changed my life” (3).  Subtitled ‘A Tale of Wine, France, and Brotherhood’, his new book, To Burgundy and Back Again, is the story of that journey.

This is a largely anecdotal work, gently written and deeply couched in family values; while occupying the majority of the book, the topics ‘Wine’ and ‘France’ are backdrop to the story of ‘Brotherhood’.  On this trip, Roy takes along his older brother Joe, who speaks French, serves as Roy’s translator, and is considered here as the ‘brains’ of the family.  Joe has recently gone through a divorce, however, and, “behind this adventure”, Roy speculates, “I imagine that he [Joe] also wanted to pay homage to Dad, and going to France to help his kid brother would do that and at the same time give a measure of hope to Mom.  Moreover, I think he had to do something, anything.  The same forces that compelled me worked their discord on him.  My job had lost its meaning during the same time that his marriage had crumbled, and now our father’s life lay in limbo” (10).  Earlier that summer, their father (also a wine aficionado) had suffered a bicycle accident in Burgundy which left him in a coma.  As the brothers taste wine, Dad is lying in a hospital bed, undergoing further operations with an uncertain outcome, and Mom is (we can suppose) concerned and anxious.  Over classic meals of jambon persillé and escargots, Joe will blurt, “‘Dad frustrated the hell out of me… he’d call every so often and I would try to get him to talk to me, but he never would open up’” (94); Roy replies, “He was stubborn”, and then reflects, “Dad was one of the few people I could readily talk to because he understood me” (95).  Roy represents France – its stable traditions, food, and wine – as an opportunity for the brothers to reconnect and come to terms with their lives.

Roy relates their reconnection not via minutia of factual information but in broad – even blunt – emotional strokes.  Driving to Burgundy on a damp, cold day, the brothers recall a description of food in MFK Fisher’s Long Ago in France which whets their appetites.  They pull over for a picnic: “‘Ah, Royboy!’ Joe declared, ‘Sharp Dijon mustard, crisp little pickles, earthy, rib-sticking pâté, all sandwiched within a fine, crusty baguette… mon frère, that’s good eating!’” (42).  In this pause, Roy reflects on how difficult his brother’s life must be (“the pain was self-evident”); the brothers silently take in the new landscape (“immediate, vivid, unique”), and share an anecdote about Dad, “Mr. Iron Palate, drinking Beaujolais!” and then mutually conclude that, “on vacation in France, everything tastes good”.  In the next sentence, on the verge of what we’ve been led to think will be an emotional breakthrough, the scene abruptly ends: “Fortified by pâté sandwiches, we continued on” (43).  If there is a reconciliation here, it’s implied.

For all of Roy’s good intentions, this is one of my chief problems with his book; too often, he stops short at the crucial moment.  Tasting with a producer in the Rhône, Roy finds, “a talented man who could coax a great vineyard into singing its song, and that was a neat thing” (210; italics mine); considering the exuberant, uncomplicated fruit of Beaujolais wine, he ruminates, “When simplicity does the trick, that’s a neat thing” (171, italics mine); at another picnic, while swigging Beaujolais from the bottle (“just as Fitzgerald and Hemingway”), Roy compares himself with Joe: “We grew up thinking we each knew best and that our ways were the only ways to do things, but I realized I couldn’t very well assert that now.  Given that I didn’t much feel like asserting it, this settled in as a nice thought.  As it is wont to do, however, time pushed us along” (177, italics mine).  There are odd lacunae as well; recalling a tasting of older vintages in a Burgundian cellar with a producer who’s observing his reactions, Roy writes, “I don’t remember what the wine was.  It’s not important” (114) – at a hard-won dinner on a cold and windy night in Gigondas, “The starters came.  I can’t remember what they were, but no matter” (199).  This is not the book to read if you hope to learn about the secrets of terroir… nor, to be fair, was it intended as such.

Roy draws an engaging and truthful picture of what it takes to meet a winegrower for the first time, on a cold-call, and present oneself as a ‘worthy’ taster; it can be very challenging, even embarrassing, and he shows a winning sense of humor about himself and the steep learning curve he faced.  He’s most convincing and entertaining when describing estates whose wines he loves – Marc Tempé in Alsace, Vincent Dancer in Burgundy, Louis Barruol in the Rhône – and his descriptions of their wines are enthusiastic and honest.  One gets a strong sense of his commitment to authenticity in wine, and how he came by that commitment through trial and error.  In the Epilogue, set in 2010, we learn that Joe has remarried, has a new career, and that Dad has not only survived his coma but is eager to taste a glass from Roy’s Sancerre producer.

In 2003, Roy bought out the import project of Michel-Schlumberger, and operates it today as his own company, Vintage ’59, representing 40+ producers across France.  His back labels – which he writes himself – are among the most passionate and detailed in the industry.

Reflections of a Wine Merchant, Neal Rosenthal, 2008.

Given his resilient optimism and spry demeanor, it’s hard to believe that this year is Neal Rosenthal’s 35th in the wine trade; here, in elegant, engaging prose, he describes how wine can sustain one’s youthful curiosity over a lifetime.

In this ‘memoir’, Neal relates his own history – the steps that led him to open a wine retail store in 1977, form an importing company in the early 1980′s, and define his taste in the course of many adventures – while speaking to the importance of history itself.   He valorizes typical wines from “areas that cling to their traditions like an alpinist grasps his ropes; the wine reeks of stubbornness and flaunts its rudeness, laughing at modernity” (202).  When he first began to ‘ply his trade’, in the mid- to late ’70s, “‘tricks’ were used to ‘improve’ the quality of the wine that may have been compromised by inclement weather or by mistakes in the vineyard” (214); “Ultimately,” he observes, “my portfolio of growers and their wines reflects my search for wines that are part of classical tradition” (213).  According to him, true wines of terroir express not only the “trinity of soil, climate, and grape”, but also a crucial 4th element, time itself; for Neal, a measure of wine’s greatness is its ability to transmit the accumulated knowledge of the past (7).

Neal is at pains to point out that in our current wine scene, which seeks perfection and cultivates homogeneity, to valorize tradition is at the same time to champion “the quirky, the extreme, the uninhibited” (111).  Selecting such wines demands humility* from the importer – “each time I pushed to carve out a unique wine for myself, there was an alter ego chirping away in the recesses of my mind, hectoring me to subsume my ego… The producer should and usually does know best, and it is hubris to assert one’s prerogatives in the cellar” (80) – along with loyalty*, a lesson poignantly illustrated toward the end of the book, as Neal relates a moving story about the succession from father to son at Domaine Jean Forey.  He considers the wines of the father, Jean, “classic versions of red Burgundy.  They rarely carried much color; they were intensely aromatic, filling the air with aromas of flowers whose bloom might be described as beginning to fade… They lacked the brashness to pass muster in today’s world” (230).  Soon after beginning to work together, Jean’s son Régis took on more responsibility, imposing his personality on the estate by experimenting with new oak, dividing parcels, and working the vineyard by tractor.  Jean relates to Neal that, while grateful for the ease technology provides, he also recalls the days of working the vines by horse, when “he and his fellow vignerons would be obliged to stop in the midmorning and feed the horses… munching on some bread and sausage with a touch of water or wine”; “‘The old days were more human”, he concludes (231).  Neal highlights this contrast to ask whether “technically excellent wines” are “as rewarding, ultimately, as the old-style wines, those that lacked a bit of color, had a blemish or two, but spoke to us in a more subtle voice and asked us to converse rather than confronting us?” (232).  (The fact that he poses the question instead of making a statement is a graceful touch, as his own answer has been made more than clear – “I admit to a firmly held prejudice”, he states in the book’s first sentence, “I have a distinct preference for the traditional wines of western Europe…”)  In the end, Neal continues to work with Régis, and is rewarded by seeing him relax his style, use a gentler hand, and thereby express more of the wine’s old nuance.   (*The values he considers crucial in the wine trade are discussed very directly: ‘Endurance’, ‘Character’, ‘Loyalty’, ‘Perspective’, ‘Succession’ are just a few titles of the book’s 15 chapters.)

Neal has earned his opinions, which can be controversial, many times over; encountering them frequently throughout his book constitutes one of its greatest pleasures, and helps us to understand the logic of his selections.  He believes, for example, that seeing a wine primarily by varietal is a “simplified approach”, and argues for a greater “understanding that geography, not grape type, is the key factor that determines the essence of a wine” (64).  Accordingly, the brettanomyces yeast holds no inherent fears for him – “Currently, there is a silly obsession with the presence of Brettanomyces… Some argue that this yeast should be totally eliminated because it interferes with the projection of the fruit of the grape and makes for a ‘dirty’ wine” – he avers, instead, “to cleanse wine of its impurities lacks merit as a goal”, while affirming “I am not arguing for flawed wines.  I am saying no to a form of eugenics in wine that creates high yields and brilliant colors but fails to capture the essence of place”, enjoying some wines, like Bea’s Montefalco reds, for their evocation of “the scent of the creatures of the night, the rabbit and the fox” (111).  We hear stories, never gossipy, about his early colleagues in the trade: Kermit Lynch, Robert Chadderdon, Becky Wasserman (all of whom are still with us), of the techniques Neal’s acquired to become a conscientious and talented taster, and learn that, in his range of values, talent is important, while discipline is essential.  “I have been a dedicated long-distance runner for almost half a century”, he states (233) – it’s easy to see how the character created by such pursuit has informed his approach to wine, and a great joy to follow along for a short time in the form of this very fine, eloquent work.

Le Goût et le Pouvoir (‘Taste and Power’), Jonathan Nossiter, 2007.

‘Le Gout et le Pouvoir’ was published in English (author’s translation) by Farrar, Straus and Giroux as ‘Liquid Memory: Why Wine Matters’ in 2009.  I haven’t read the English version yet – it may differ slightly from the original French, whose title, ‘Taste and Power’, I have to admit I prefer – but certainly read it if you care about wine.

Jonathan’s worn many hats – filmmaker, painter, ancient Greek scholar, former NY sommelier – and, in this passionate, personal, and ambitious work, it’s refreshing to read so many diverse influences brought to bear on the subject of wine.  After his first 3 narrative fiction films (Resident Alien, 1991; Sunday, 1997; Signs and Wonders, 2000), he made the acclaimed and controversial documentary Mondovino (2004), which was nominated for the Palme d’Or @ Cannes, one of only four ever considered for the award.  It’s often been portrayed as a too-stark black & white picture of the wine world – Evil Corporate Moguls & Flying Winemakers vs. Good Family Artisans – yet I found it (especially the 10-part series) to be a compelling, often hilarious, portrait.  The interviews reveal surprisingly candid, precious, ‘giveaway’ moments, and the film as a whole displays a super-wide range of geographic and historical nuance… So, is his book from three years later related?  No.  “This book is not a continuation of Mondovino“, Jonathan states in the first sentence.  Instead, he claims in the third paragraph, it’s an “anthropology of the world of wine”….

… which unfolds as a fascinating three-part experiment, which seeks to: 1) define the evolution of taste, and how it changes over time in relation to historical memory and current power-structures in the market, 2) discover a ‘new way’ to discuss wine, outside of those power-structures, conveyed in intimate tasting notes with colleagues and winemakers, 3) survey of the current wine ‘scene’ – in France, and laterally, Europe & America – in an attempt to discover the frontiers of personal liberty, expressed as the freedom to choose: I.E., wine’s political ramifications.

… the cannoli was great in Palermo, but couldn’t compare with those of Maria Grammatico’s in Erice (we made a special trip to the town to sample them), or those of Caffe Sicilia in Noto (founded 1892), where the ‘crust’ is fried in lard and then filled with a ricotta from local ewe’s milk.  Sicilia’s gelatos are equally famous as being the best in Sicily, perhaps Italy as a whole (I’ve never tasted better).  We tasted 3 gelatos (chocolate, basil, and almond), along with a cannolo, a coffee, and a DeBartoli Marsala:

At the Cave Ox in Solicchiata, on the slopes of Mount Etna, before visiting with Frank Cornelissen, a Belgian-born Etna transplant/winemaker and all-around passionate guy, we not only discovered a killer wine list (one of the best on the island), but also one of the few non-fish meals we’d eat; lamb chops and then a bucatini pasta with speck, pictured below with a selection of Frank’s wines and olive oils for lunch:

I first made Frank’s acquaintance just over a year ago, when he visited us at Webster’s and we shared some of his Etna wines along with a New York Rkatsiteli from Dr. Konstantin Frank… A staunch non-interventionist (his front labels read: ‘This wine has not been modified, neither chemically, nor mechanically and does not contain preservatives or stabilizers’) who rejects the term ‘natural wine’, Frank works with a wide selection of grapes, including Nerello Mascalese, and produces a variety of bottlings, red and white: ‘Contadino’, ‘Munjebel’, and ‘Magma’, and elaborates in (mostly) amphora.  Before I had his wine, I thought I knew what Etna wine was – dark, tannic, savory – HIS, however, were sapid and lean, almost like a gueuze, and had an amazing acidity and vividness.  We enjoyed a few hours of his company, tasted his wines, and visited his new cellar before departing with much more to say – Thanks, Frank – (that’s him on the left, I’m on the right; his wines can be enjoyed both at Webster’s and our new location in Logan, Telegraph.)

From Etna, we drove south to Vittoria by way of Syracuse/Ortygia, and stayed a few days with Arianna Occhipinti in her guest house.  She finished picking the grapes for 2011 harvest on the day we arrived; we spent our time helping her in the cellar and with her olive harvest, hosting & cooking for new friends like Faith Willinger and Mauro Lorenzon (of Costadila), meeting new friends like David from Boston, and visiting with Arianna’s uncle, winemaker Giusto Occhipinti of Az.Ag. COS.  He showed us his 2011 ‘Pithos’ Grecanico fermenting in amphora during part of our tour (the 2010 is available at Telegraph):

We were totally captivated with some previous vintages of this wine – absolutely extraordinary – keen & unctuous & utterly pure.

A few more days with Arianna, and then on to the western coast…

- jq, november 2011

Sicily may be the most dynamic region in Italy right now: winemakers and chefs are rediscovering ways to present the island’s rich heritage with traditionally made wines and seasonal cuisine like never before. To explore the changes, I took a trip there during harvest time with my partner, from 20 September – 5 October: this is the first installment of our multi-volume voyage.

Soon after arriving in Palermo, we visited with Renato DeBartoli (above), Marco DeBartoli’s son and current winemaker (Marco sadly passed earlier this year).  He produces the ONLY traditional Marsala available, and he shared with us our first sparkling Marsala (above, in his kitchen), a Grillo Spumante he calls ‘Terza Via’, or, ‘The Third Way’, believing that Grillo (the noble varietal of Marsala) has three great expressions: oxidized Marsala, still white, and this, the sparkling third way.  Many people ascribe the invention of Marsala to John Woodhouse, an English merchant who, in the mid 1770s, arrived in the region and fortified the existing basic wines to sell to the English Navy, but Renato asserts, quite convincingly, that Marsala, as a style, is as ancient as the Phoenicians in 1000 BC, who had a large ‘colony’ near here on the island of Mozia, and that Woodhouse just capitalized on an existing style.

The DeBartoli Marsala room can be viewed above – it works like a sherry solera, with new wine entering the top stack of barrels, and added downward to the multi-vintage, oxidized wine bottled for sale.  Notice the open window at the end of the room; it remains open year-round:  Renato thinks, quite rightly, it turns out, that the shifting winds and temperatures (10 times per day, the atmosphere changes) helps the wine to mature and gain complexity.  Here, the wines are not fortified, and they see none of the Jereziano flor; they’re made from pure Grillo, and all of the above factors make DeBartoli’s wine the finest Marsalas currently available.

One of our next great visits was not for wine, but food; the extraordinarily busy and exciting traditional street-food location in Palermo, Antica Focacceria S. Francesco, on Via Alessandro Paternostro just outside of the famous ’4 corners’:(The above image is the outside of the restaurant, just after closing.)  Here, on a Sunday, we tasted Palermitani street food the way it was meant to be enjoyed: in a crowd, shouting over shoulders of strangers, with greasy fingers and carafes of unidentified red wines.  Our first selection was the classic calf-spleen sandwich (‘meuza’, or ‘milza’), made to order, with a heaping pile of fresh ricotta tucked into the bun, topped with grated caciocavallo:

Next, something that we’d see all over the Tyrrhenian coast, sardine rolls surrounding bread crumbs, pine nuts, and currant:

Followed by arancini (fried rice balls with ragu and pork) and cow’s milk ricotta cannolo with orange zest:

All of these delicious foods put us in gear for what was to come next…

(A host of terrific Sicilian wines are currently available at Webster’s; many more are on the way.)

- jq, october 2011

In his recent book American Terroir (2010), Rowan Jacobsen acknowledges that the tannic and aromatic complexity of his homegrown Vermont ciders owe most, if not all, to the 20+ different types of apples from which it’s made; and in interviews subsequent to his book The Botany of Desire (2002), Michael Pollan makes the same statement that I’ve heard from many winegrowers, that homogeneity of clonal/type plantings within an orchard (or vineyard) creates a weak gene pool especially vulnerable to disease – essentially, that diversity is equal to strength and health.

In both Europe and America, certain regions are famous for the quality of their apples and ciders: Asturias (Spain), Normandy (France), New York State, Vermont, and many others. They’ve become known by their styles: German Apfelwein, Norman Cider, Asturian Cidre, English Farmhouse, and more.

In Chicago, it’s easy to miss the excellent quality of artisanal ciders. This fall (and winter), following the spirit of Benjamin Franklin, who famously declared, “He that drinks his Cyder alone, let him catch his Horse alone”, I’ve decided to put together a few tasting panels to review the finest ciders available today, along with a few more local and easy-to-find examples. This is the first installment of tasting notes – I’ve decided to avoid abstract ratings; but generally speaking, the Basque and French styles fared the best.

(The following ciders were tasted, in this order, 5-6 September 2011)

• Isastegi 2010, Tolosa, Basque Country (6% alc.)
This is from a family-owned former cattle farm which had always made cider for their own consumption; in 1983, they decided to switch from livestock to full-time cider production, and today supplement their own orchard’s yields with apples purchased from their local town of Tolosa. “EXTREMELY tart and dry, with flavors of ginger and lime; crisp, mouthpuckering finish, and a medium-to-high sense of sparkle.”

• Trabanco 2010, Gijón, Asturias, Spain (6% alc.)
This family estate began to bottle their ciders for sale in 1925, and is now known as the home of the finest ciders in the region. They only use indigenous yeasts, and ferment the majority of their ciders in large chestnut barrels, with the recent addition of stainless steel. “This ‘entry-level’ Trabanco bottling is musky on the nose and very calm on the palate, with very little petillance; more of an ‘apply’ flavor, less tart, much more ‘winey’; fruity, round, and slightly barnyardy.”

• Trabanco 2010 ‘Poma Aurea’, Gijón, Asturias, Spain (6.5% alc.)
This is a special cider, pressed in ancient wooden presses, then transferred to old barrels for the initial fermentation – after which, it’s dosed with apple must to initiate a second fermentation, which it performs in bottle for 6 months before disgorgement. A ‘Champagne-style’ cider. “Far more ‘appley’ on the nose, with a very assertive, almost nose-stinging petillance… Aromas of vanilla also strike the nose, while on the palate, the cider surprisingly shows LESS apple, and more chewy, richer qualities – less ‘drinkable/quaffable’ than the above, with similarities to an 8-10 year-old Vouvray Petillant.”

• Bordatto 2010 ‘Basa Jaun’, Jaxu, Basque Country (6.5% alc.)
Bordatto is a Basque estate on the French side of the border, in a town named Jaxu (a short drive from Pamplona), owned by Pascale and Bixintxo Aphaule. They’ve been making cider, apple juice, and Irouleguy AOC Tannat wine for 15 years. Their ‘Basa Jaun’ is a vintage-dated blend of 15 varieties of apples; each variety is pressed separately, fermented in stainless steel for 4 months with native yeast, and finished in bottle for 2 months. “My FAVORITE thus far; fairly soft on the palate, without a terrific acidic drive, yet the tannins from skin contact are very present; it almost tastes like a Radikon-style ‘orange wine’… very complex and elaborate and drinkable!”

• Bordatto 2008 ‘Txala Parta’, Jaxu, Basque Country (7% alc.)
This is Bordatto’s ‘oak fermented’ cider; it spends 5 months in French barrique fermenting with indigenous yeast before being finished for 2-3 months in bottle. A vintage-dated ‘cidre de garde’ made from 2 types of local apples, one chosen for its tannic structure and vivacity, the other for its roundness of fruit. “Herbal! Tons of petillance and a very assertive character… This smells and tastes like bruised apples and smoke, ash and salty caramel cubes – lots of tropical fruit, tapioca, papaya, and cashews…”

• Julien Frémont 2008, Pays d’Auge, Calvados, Normandy, France (5.5% alc.)
The cows on the labels of Frémont’s ciders reflect the symbiotic relationship between his trees and the animals, who ‘mow’ the grass, prune the trees, and eat the pre-harvest fallen apples. Julien’s ancestors built the wooden press which he still uses in 1765, and he makes his ciders ‘brut par nature’; that is, a slow fermentation up to 4.5% alc. throughout the fall and into the winter, and then a bottling of the juice to let it finish in bottle with a light sparkle and 5.5% finished alcohol.
“Red-apple flavors here; quite the ‘appliest’ cider yet. Very generous on the palate, incredibly quaffable, with assertive sparkle at first that quickly calms down in the glass; the yeasty muskiness hanging around the fringe of this wine gives it the charm of an Alpine cheese of sorts. Outstanding!”

• Julien Frémont 2009 ‘Greniers’, Pays d’Auge, Calvados, Normandy, France (5.5% alc.)
Julien makes this ‘Greniers’ (‘attics’) from a parcel of his older trees; he dries the harvested apples for several months in second-story attics to dry them out and concentrate the sugars. “Very flattering to the palate; somehow finessed and raw at the same time, with a hazy color, and exotic flavors of cumin and vetiver…”

• Eric Bordelet 2009 ‘Poiré Authentique’, Normandy, France (4% alc.)
Eric ran the wine program at Paris’ storied Arpege restaurant for years before returning to his native Normandy to make cider in 1992; he farms his apple and pear trees (some 300+ years old!) biodynamically, and believes in cultivating a host of different varieties. This pear cider “is tight and crisp on the palate – it has a higher sweetness without coming across syrupy or saccharine; the acid is strong, the mid-body and the finish is supremely complex… Quite clean and arresting.”

• Original Sin, Pear Cider, bottled in California under NY authority (4.5% alc.)
Gidon Coll started ‘Original Sin’ in upstate NY in 1997, after sourcing what he considered were the best apples and yeast strains; today, the Apple Cider is fermented with 2 types of Champagne yeast, and the Pear Cider is “Made with US Pears”.. Upon tasting, I believe this ‘Pear’ is made with a base of apple cider along with an addition of pear juice for flavor. The total fruit sourcing, I assume, is still New York, but I can’t be sure, as the bottling takes place as far afield as Florida and California. “Too juicy! All jolly-rancher and plastic on the palate…”

• Original Sin, Apple Cider, bottled in Florida under NY authority (6% alc.)
“I sometimes enjoy this cider over ice with a straw in the middle of a steamy-hot afternoon, but in the context of this tasting, my reaction was ‘ugh’; again, tastes plastic-ey and factory made. Must be using some funky strains of Champagne yeast… really fake taste compared to the rest…”

• Aspall, Dry ‘Draft’ Apple Cider, Suffolk, England (6.8% alc.)
The Chevallier family has run this cider house continuously since 1728, from a parish in Suffolk with a population of 30 (!) famed for centuries for its aspen trees (ergo, ‘Aspall’). They use a blend of apples, led by Russett for its florals, Cox for sweetness, and Bramley for acidity. The ‘Dry Draught’ has a quality peculiar to Russett. Controlled yeasts in temperature-controlled vats for consistent fermentations of 3-4 weeks. “Light floral nose, delicate palate… Yes, dry, but not as ‘screamingly so’ as, say, the Isastegi… No ‘skin/tannic’ flavor, very light petillance; the finish doesn’t linger very long, but while it lasts, the total feel is very clean and satisfying.”

• California Cider Company ‘Ace’ Perry Cider, Sonoma, California (5% alc.)
This Cider company has been in existence since 1996, as far as I can see; they were the first commercially produced and distributed ‘Pear Cider’ in California. This ‘Perry’ is made from an apple cider base, with the addition of pear ‘essence’ for flavor. “Tastes like lavender soap and saccharine, wet leaves & ginger soda… At once, too much and too little…”

• Almar Orchards ‘J.K.’s Scrumpy, Orchard Gate Gold’ Farmhouse Organic Hard Cider, Flushing, Michigan (6% alc.)
‘Scrumping’ is a verb in British English which means to collect windfall apples; ‘scrumpy’ became known as a ‘young, rough, and straight from the keg’ cider. Jim Koan, of Almar Orchards, likes to think of his J.K’s Scrumpy as tasting “somewhere between English Scrumpy and a Normandy Cider”. Only two ingredients here: fresh apple juice and yeast. “Unbelievably drinkable cider, with a noticeable sweetness that never becomes cloying. Notes of clove, cinnamon stick, mint, and fresh pumpkin seed mix it up with a hazy set of musty bruised apple and jasmine flavors. One of the best I’ve had from the States!”

… ciders reviewed in the weeks to come will include Seedling Farms (MI), Bordelet Doux (FR), and more …

-jq, september 2011

2008 also kicked off a three-year Riesling travel odyssey for myself and the Webster’s staff, as we visited, in succession, the greatest Riesling vineyards on the planet: Germany (2008), Austria (2009), and Alsace (2010). We’d always known Riesling was the world’s finest white varietal, but these travels drove the point home.

This year, along with 5 other restaurants and wine bars in Chicago (visit http://summerofriesling.com/ for the full list), we’re happy to participate in the nationwide ‘Summer of Riesling 2011′, spearheaded by Paul & his team at TerroirNYC/E.Village. From now to September 22, we’re offering a rotating list of 3 Rieslings by the glass, and will also host a series of Riesling-oriented events, which include our not-to-be-missed German Wine & Food pairing on July 17. Starting July 9, we continue with 3 great DRY Rieslings: Hermann J. Wiemer 2009 (Finger Lakes, New York), Johannes Hirsch 2009 ‘Zöbing’ (Kamptal, Austria), and Zind-Humbrecht 2007 (Alsace, France). Stop in and use these Rieslings as a magic acid carpet ride to travel through their great terroirs (via your palate), and confirm for yourself the greatness of this varietal. Prost!

-jq, June 2011-

Neal was in town showing some of his Italian selections (above, our table at Coco Pazzo), beginning with a 2009 Vermentino from the Golfo del Tigullio in Liguria, followed by the 2009 single-vineyard ‘Intrigoso’ Vermentino and a 2010 Ciliegiolo rosé-colored red wine, all from the same producer, Bisson’s Pierluigi Lugano.  The Cinqueterre leg of Webster’s Italian wine tour (2007) left me with a love of Ligurian wines (especially Sciaccetrà!) – these wines from Pierluigi, thanks to their lemoney/sea-spray character, instantly transported me back to the area’s dusty, well-trodden goat paths… especially the ‘Intrigoso’, whose strong salt-taffee and citrus complexity brought Jerez’ yodo to mind.  (It was also a great pair with Coco’s first course, cured affettati misti.)   The Ciliegiolo bears special mention here – 2010 is the best vintage of this wine I’ve ever had – just impeccable balance and acidity, and an electric magenta color – we’ll be offering it this summer by the glass as a rosé!

A set of Tuscan reds followed, which confirmed my impressions on 2 points: 1) 2006 was indeed a fantastic year for Tuscany, tasting great right now.  It was a bit cooler than 2007, a climate difference well-recorded by the sensitive Sangiovese – both the 06 and 07 Podere Le Boncie Chianti Classicos were great, but the 06 (for me) showed a palpable lift and athleticism on the palate which the 07 lacked.  2) Neal doesn’t always use the word ‘elegant’ as a compliment.  Sitting beside him (see below; Neal’s on the right, I’m the guy smiling) while tasting the 07 La Torre Rosso di Toscana (all Sangiovese) and the 08 La Torre ‘Ampelio’ (Sangiovese/Ciliegiolo/Alicante), I heard him describe the former as ‘extremely elegant’, and the latter as ‘more raw and savage’… and I could clearly see that he personally preferred the latter wine.  (Another super pair with Coco’s ‘Gnocchi d’Ortica’: potato & spring nettle gnocchi, w/lamb ragù & Parmesan.) To refer to a previous post, the kind of beauty that makes one stand back in admiration isn’t always the kind one desires.

We discussed the curious, current turn of events whereby ‘classic’, traditional, terroir-driven wines such as those of Jaugaret (Bordeaux) and Bea (Umbria) have become increasingly marginalized and/or rejected outright by regional appellation authorities, in favor of an abstract, dangerously homogenized, and frequently mediocre regional definition of quality… As a case in point, we tasted a 2006 ‘San Valentino’ bottling from Bea which was rejected by the Umbrian DOC committee for being ‘uncharacteristic and too light in color’; Giampiero Bea had to bottle it as an IGT.  In the glass, it showed spectacularly, with a deep garnet hue, lovely aromatics, and a deeply persistent finish.

We also spoke of how terroir is more than “climate+soil+producer” – there’s also a 4th element to be respected, culture: namely, the notion that the result of centuries of winemaking practice, however initially strange to a ‘modern’ palate (think Vin Jaune, sherry, Tuscan ‘field blends’ that include Alicante, etc.), demand appreciation and even defense.  Wine stimulates not only the present senses, but memory as well.  Perceiving the cultural roots of terroir widens the scope of that recall, thereby enhancing our pleasure… which barely needed enhancing after the trio of traditional Barolos from Brovia with which we ended lunch:  the 06 village, and the 05 and 04 Villero, all with a simple Bistecca alla Griglia of ribeye, rapini, and stewed white beans.  (The 05 was showing particularly well, with fragrant aromatics and integrated tannin; the 04, while perhaps a ‘superior’ wine overall, needed a bit more time:  the tannin was a bit assertive on the end, and the acid was not as bright.)   Thanks for the visit, Neal!  (And also to David Larsen and the FineVines crew.)

‘When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.’ – John Muir.

With this very apt inscription, Rowan Jacobsen begins his new book ‘Shadows on the Gulf’ (see above) which he was in town to discuss.  For the event, North Pond’s Bruce Sherman crafted a 5-course meal based on Gulf shellfish and seafood, with Rowan in attendance to introduce the cultural history and current events in the Gulf.  He introduced himself to the 20ish guests in the dining room, stating, “I’d like to thank BP for bringing us together tonight”, before swiftly recounting his aims for the book, which is not a eulogy for what the Gulf has lost (although he does detail the horrors of the Deepwater Horizon blowout), but instead, an even-handed and often celebratory view of the vibrant culture that remains.  (He and Neal should get together someday, they have a lot in common!)

If you haven’t encountered Rowan’s food writing yet, don’t wait.  (Above, the dining room at North Pond: Rowan’s on the right in a blue shirt, Chef Bruce is on the left.)  In eloquent prose, from the books ‘A Geography of Oysters’ to ‘American Terroir’, along with countless articles (see especially ‘Umami’ in Art of Eating #72) and interviews in between, he’s been a tireless champion of what makes places special, and the people who live and work in those places.

On Wednesday, we settled in with a bottle of Hermann Wiemer Semi-Dry Riesling from the Finger Lakes and a Charles Hours Dry Jurançon from France, which we paired with Bruce’s bay-specific Gulf oysters: a mild Elm Grove Reef from due SE of New Orleans, a slick Ladies Pass from south of Galveston, and an earthy, salty, saffroney West Karako Bay, again from SE of New Orleans.  In course after course, we were able to taste the truth of Rowan’s point, that the Gulf is NOT dead:  Blue Lump Crab from Lake Pontchartrain with candied lemon jam (excellent with the Riesling), Blackened Gulf Shrimp from SW of New Orleans with coarse grits and ramp coulis (great with the Jurançon) and Grilled Red Snapper with spring asparagus (stunning with a 1999 Heredia ‘Gravonia’ Rioja Blanco we ordered later).

Along with others, Rowan has written of the spiritual vertigo of placelessness which is so dangerously common in American (and global) culture.  When one can experience, if only fleetingly, a clear sense of place so vivid that one feels participatory, even through something as ‘simple’ as its cuisine, there is also a satisfactory relief that runs through the body and goes by the name of ‘meaning’… I hope to post soon from the Gulf!

- May 2011, jq

]]> http://websterwinebar.com/wine-blog/bridging-the-gulf-from-liguria-to-loosiana/feed/ 0 http://websterwinebar.com/wine-blog/meroir-an-oyster-trip-to-the-hood/ http://websterwinebar.com/wine-blog/meroir-an-oyster-trip-to-the-hood/#comments Fri, 15 Apr 2011 23:17:33 +0000 Jeremy Quinn http://websterwinebar.com/?p=1599 Read More

Touring Spain’s Ribera del Duero in 2005 on a hot sunny day, I looked out over a vineyard of Alejandro Fernández’, and was suddenly struck with a clear unified vision, whereby the vine ceased to be a single living thing, surviving for its own sake, and became apparent as one facet of a universal whole, its fruit reciprocally reflecting the truths of the sun and winds above, and the minerals and microorganisms below, bringing William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence to mind. It was a magical moment that I could only hang on to for a few minutes, but I’m acquainted with people who live with that vision every day. I’ve had it many times since, each in short duration, most recently in early March 2011, when I found myself again whispering Blake under my breath while hiking on the Lena Lake trail, just north of the Hamma Hamma campground, on the Hood Canal in Washington State.

We use the word terroir to describe how a set of uniquely complementary forces define a sense of place on land – we use the word meroir to describe that sense of place in water… Yet, to paraphrase Willie Nelson, here I was, very much on land, in the Olympic National Park, with ‘Meroir on my Mind.’  Why?

… because we were above the Hamma Hamma river, which runs cold and fast for 18 miles into the Hood Canal from its headwaters on Mildred Lake; and beneath our feet, under the moss-covered firs and tangled ferns, snowmelt and rainwash and spring water runoffs dripped and gurgled and flowed down together to add to their sweet freshness to the river – which, as it encounters the saltier waters of the Hood at the wide beach (imaged below), creates the specific meroir which, since 1922, the Hama Hama Oyster Company benefits from so greatly.  Healthy vegetation, the moon, temperature and wind, animal habitats, all of these contribute.

Here, harvested by hand at low tide (whose difference here from high tide can be as much as 12 feet), grows one of the largest beds of natural-set oysters in North America.   Thick-shelled, full-fleshed Hama Hama oysters convey their singular crispy, snappy, celeriac/citrus/dill-pickle intensity thanks both to the position of the beach AND what lies above.  This was made even more clear when Hama Hama’s 4th generation oysterfarmer Lissa James let us taste the ‘regular’ Hama Hamas next to the smaller, smoother oysters from their new project, which they call Blue Pools.  (See Lissa pictured below, with the larger Hama Hama in her right hand, and the smaller Blue Pools in her left.)

Blue Pools are raised with a simple, innovative ‘tidal-bag’ technology, whereby oyster seed from the Hamma Hamma estuary is nursed in Puget Sound and then finished in a ‘tumble farm’, in bags which rise and fall with each tidal cycle – this motion ‘rolls’ the oysters to create a fairly uniform, small, cute & deep-cupped shell… The location of the ‘tumble farm’ is just beyond the mouth of the river (we could almost see it from the beach), on deep tideland with a higher salinity.  Before even knowing all of that, one could clearly taste the difference – the Blue Pools are saltier, ‘crunchier’ in texture, yet also buttery, smooth, and soft on the finish (and a great pair with Jacquères, by the way).  Among many other things, Lissa explained that it only takes about 2 weeks for an oyster to begin to reflect the conditions of its new location, its specific meroir, making it one of the rarest living things to precisely convey a sense of place through the palate… If you haven’t already, taste a Hama Hama or Blue Pool soon at your local Chicago shellfish haunt…

… or even better, on May 21, 2011, from noon-6pm, the James family is hosting their 1st ever HamaHamaOysterRama on their beach, which will include oyster foraging, shellfish eating, tideflat tours, beer drinking, live music, and a Shuckathon oyster sport competition.  If it sounds like fun, they’re located just off Highway 101 in the town of Lilliwaup, a short drive north from Olympia – & say hi! from Webster’s!!

- jq, april 2011

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