The New York Times ran a disturbing article on Buckfast Tonic Wine, an appalling-sounding brew of fermented grapes, sugar, and caffeine that’s being blamed for a national crisis of highly-wired inebriation in Scotland. The government is considering controlling the vile substance, but local fans are responding with protests to the theme of “Don’t Ban Buckie!”
 
If you’ve tasted “Loopy Juice” (as they say in Glasgow) let me know if you were seized by intent to vandalize. And click here for the thoughts about my alcoholic WASP heritage that this story inspired:
 
I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of alcohol in my cultural heritage, in part because I had to do a “cultural sharing” for a class I’m taking, and when I sat down to think of things that symbolized my WASP (with the Anglo-Saxon part being mainly Scottish) background, the first thing that came to mind was a martini glass, since everyone in both my father’s and mother’s extended families broke every day at 5:00 pm, and occasionally at lunch, for gin cocktails. My mother’s family called it Happy Hour, but I’ve heard other WASPs call it Arsenic Hour. The happy part of this tradition is the laughter, the group solidarity, and the end-of-the-good-protestant-workday it brought about. The poisonous part is the alcoholism it fostered in many of my father’s family, especially. (My great uncle Fred, for example, drank himself to death in his early thirties.)
 
I also brought a bottle of wine to my cultural sharing, because I think in many ways my love of wine has been (among other things of course) a way for me to “manage” my alcoholic inheritance. I come from a long line of big Presbyterian drinkers, and I will indulge in the occasional cocktail. But I prefer wine. That’s because with wine, drinking isn’t (for me at least) about getting drunk; it’s about having something delicious to imbibe with food. It’s about gathering friends around the table. It’s an intellectual exercise for me, because I like to learn, think, and write about wine.
 
The exception to this rule about wine may be Buckie. I can’t see any reason anyone would drink this foul potion except to get potted. Your thoughts, whether you’re WASP or not?

Although it’s the most widely-planted red wine grape in Italy and serves as the main ingredient in Chianti, sangiovese is a really misunderstood piece of fruit. Part of it is the fault of Chianti, actually, since many people think it’s a varietal made of the chianti grapes. Actually, there’s no such thing: Chianti is not a grape but a region in Tuscany, and like many European wines, Chianti takes its name from the place it comes from. And although Chianti does consist mostly of sangiovese, a vast majority of Chiantis are blends, with all sorts of other varieties allowed, some of them (like canaiolo) fairly obscure.

For my tasting group’s complete evaluations, including a winning wine with a Kelly Moore bouquet, click here:

Add to this that sangiovese is notoriously difficult to grow, nearly impossible to cultivate outside Tuscany, and totally tricky to pronounce (try “san-gee-oh-VAY-zee”), and you have a serious underdog situation. Even the Italians seem to be having trouble throwing their complete support behind their traditional, flagship grape. First you had the rise of the Super Tuscan, where winemakers in Tuscany began widely blending French grapes like cabernet and merlot into their wines. Then last summer we saw “Brunellogate,” where winemakers in Montalcino were accused of sneaking illicit varieties into Brunello di Montalcino, which is supposed to be 100 percent sangiovese.

The Ladies Tasting Society decided to narrow our focus straight on to pure sangiovese, and to compare a handful of Italian selections to a couple of Californian versions. Finding the wines wasn’t easy: most sangioveses coming out of Italy are (like Chianti) blends, though there are a few delicious exceptions, including the aforementioned Brunello; Brunello’s little brother, Rosso di Montalcino; Rosso di Montepulciano; and the rare but worth-it Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. In California, the problem lies in both quantity and quality. Not much sangiovese is planted in Napa and Sonoma — in fact, many of the old Italian houses (the most tragic example being Charles Krug/Peter Mondavi Family) are pulling up acres of ancient sangiovese vines and replacing them with cab and merlot. The few brave souls who are still trying to cultivate and make wine out of sangiovese in California find themselves struggling with a climate that that’s too perfect, soil too rich, and rain too predictable for this crabby, contrary fruit.

But we managed to find seven bottles and overall, it was an interesting blind tasting, in the best sense of the word. Although we weren’t always charmed by them, the classic characteristics of sangiovese shined through: violet-scented aromas, medium-bodied weight, fresh acidity, softly bitter cherry flavors, and tell-tale notes of leather, herbs, and even tomatoes.

After the labels were revealed, we found our favorites tended to be from Italy, confirming the rumors that this grape is hard to have success with in the New World — until we pulled the brown bag off a wine we were thinking of as the “sangiovesiest” of all, which we were sure was from Tuscany because of its classic profile, only to discover it was actually the Frey Vineyards’ “Masut Vineyard” from Mendocino County (also our Best Value at $16). “House paint, celery salt, and V-8 juice,” my notes start out. “Tomato juice. Great mouthfeel, light, fresh, and with a long finish. ‘I taste flowers,’ says one Lady. ‘Spaghetti sauce and oregano,’ says another. Later, raisin flavors emerged.” Hard to believe that a wine that smelled like Kelly-Moore would top on my list, but the Frey was so interesting, and so sangiovese-esque, I couldn’t resist falling for it.

The clear group favorite, though, was a Brunello di Montalcino from Sesta di Sopra ($45), a tiny winery on the south below Montalcino that produces only about 350 cases a year. The wine is made very traditionally with pure sangiovese and no new oak in the ageing process. “Very complex nose,” read my notes. “Lots of fruits, smoke, and earth. Then, mmmmm. Dried cherry, cedary flavors, good fruit, supple mouthfeel with a little tomato.” Other Ladies commented on the wine’s depth and appealing licorice notes.

In the end, we agreed that more sangiovese, especially in the form of Brunello, was worth drinking in the future. And we definitely felt the love for this cranky underdog.

Sangiovese: Italian meets Californian

Best of Tasting
Sesta di Sopra Brunello di Montalicino 2003 (Italy) $45 ****
This wine won over the group with its supple mouthfeel, depth of flavors, and complexity. Even though it’s not made with small, new-oak barrels, it had plenty of smoky, cedary characteristics. Great red and cherry flavors, licorice, and earth. Long finish.

Best Value
Frey Vineyards Sangiovese “Masut Vineyard” Mendocino County 2006 (California) $16 ***
House paint, V-8 juice, and celery salt were some of the comments that flew out of our mouths as we smelled this wine. Herbal and tomato noes announced that we were in the land of sangiovese. A couple of tasters were put off by “wierd” tastes, others loved its typicity.

Sesti Rosso di Montalcino 2006 (Italy) $27 ***
Ruby-red and rusty colored, this wine just shouted “sangiovese.” Cherry and blood orange on the nose, some pepper and plum. Tart, perrpery, brambly, dusty, loads of dried cherry and white pepper, with a long finish. One Lady said, “I smell puppy’s breath,” which we decided was better described as “meaty.”

Petroni “Rosso di Sonoma” Sonoma County 2006 (California) $24 ***
Cigar box, smoky tobacco, pepper, and dark fruit aromas introduce this agreeable wine. Although I felt it was well-made and I liked its ripe, black cherry flavors, it wasn’t my favorite because it didn’t taste like sangiovese — indeed, some cabernet and syrah help flesh things out here.

Podere Brizio Brunello di Montalcino 2000 (Italy) $49 **1/2
Ruby-colored, this fragrant wine smells like a field of violets. More fruit on the nose than the Sesti, but not as complex on the palate. Softer mouthfeel, but some ladies detected chemical and “synthetic” flavors.

Capezzana “Conti Contini” Sangiovese Toscana (Italy) $12 **
This wine has some body, and some interest on the nose, with a bit of barnyard and dark fruits. But overall it’s a disappointment: acidic, tannic, and with a clipped finish that made us think it was ill-made.

Altamura Sangiovese Napa Valley 2005 (California) $36 **
A darling of the wine press (Robert Parker gave it a 91, Wine Spectator a 92), this wine disappointed us. It had a nice, bright color, but then a sweet nose and sweet flavors on the palate were just too much — some Ladies were even reminded of Port. “Sweet and simple,” I wrote. Some cinnamon and clove on the finish. But this did just not taste like a sangiovese.

Why, oh, why didn’t I buy two bottles? I took a 2003 Sesti Brunello di Montalcino for a test run (in preparation for our all-sangiovese tasting tonight at the Ladies Tasting Society), loved every drop, and then didn’t have enough time to zip back to Berkeley to get another. If I had one to bring tonight to the LTS, I think my bottle would have come out on top — or maybe not, since the 2003 Sesti is not a bruiser of a Brunello, and more delicate vintages tend to get muscled out of blind tastings by the big guys.

Too bad, because the Sesti is a beautiful example of a Brunello. For my complete reaction, click here for .

Brunello, which is made painstakingly in relatively small quantities (hence the high prices) from a sangiovese clone called brunello, the best of it grown on the hillsides around a small hilltop village in southern Tuscany named Montalcino. After I poured my first sample, my glass was filled with a wondrous bouquet of violets, dried cherries, and new leather. It was so distinct, and the flower aromas so prominent, I said to myself, “I know I’ll be able to pick this baby out of a line-up!” (That is, if I had any left.) I noticed that the wine was not darkly colored, so what a surprise when I tasted it: the Sesti is an undeniably light-bodied red, with a fresh mouthfeel, but the flavors are so vivid and intense it tastes like a wine with twice the weight and concentration. Red and black cherries, lots of leather notes, savory herbs, plus wild berry compote on the edges. This is one of the most complex wines, with one of the longest, cleanest finishes, I’ve tasted in a long time. Worth every penny of the $58 I paid for it.

One last note on the Sesti and its place in “Brunellogate“: recently the guys (I’m sure it’s guys) who are in charge of enforcing Italy’s wine laws impounded hundreds of thousands of bottles of the 2003 vintage of Brunello di Montalcino, claiming that the wineries had blended in illicit grapes like cabernet and merlot. (By appellation rules, Brunello must be 100 percent sangiovese.) The wine police went after big names including Frescobaldi, Antinori, and Argiano. But not Castello di Argiano, which is the name of Giuseppi Sesti’s estate. (The name appears on the bottle just to confuse us.) No, no, no adulteration for Giuseppi. He farms his grapes using strict biodynamic principles and aims to use 100 percent sangiovese like a clear lens through which his vineyard can express its beauty and individuality. He is, in short, a purist.

Everyone, not just wine lovers, should see Bottle Shock for the same reason that everyone, not just Republicans, should have listened to John McCain’s acceptance speech last night. That’s because the film lit a similarly patriotic flame in my heart (me, a shameless liberal elite whose New Year’s resolution was to buy more French wine and who has never voted GOP). But after Bottle Shock, the new feature film based on the infamous 1976 blind tasting in Paris when a handful of upstart California reds and whites bested their French counterparts, I walked out of the theater with a big heart of love for the Napa vintners who believed, against all ideological odds, that they could make fine wine to rival the greats of Bordeaux and Burgundy. (I also left with a burning thirst for a decent glass of homegrown Amurican cabernet sauvignon.)

Similarly, McCain’s speech — especially the parts where he recounted his experience as a P.O.W. in Vietnam, and especially the story of how he declined to be released early because of the armed forces code of “first in, first out” — made me proud of my native country’s characteristic bravery, heroism, and mule-headed optimism.

Don’t worry. I’m not going over to the red side come November. And as for the rest of Bottle Shock, well, let’s just say Sideways has nothing to fear. For more on the movie, including the truly shocking historical inaccuracies, click here:

First a disclaimer: I was offended at the film’s additions and omissions not because I’m some kind of purist. I have no problem with Hollywood embellishments, of which Rachel (Transformers) Taylor, who plays love interest to Chateau Montelena’s Bo Barrett (Chris Pine of Smokin’ Aces), is the main one here. As long as they’re good. But Bottle Shock’s romantic subplot causes aesthetic indigestion, and I’m not talking just about the wet T-shirt sequence where Taylor has to wash out the oak barrels with a garden hose.

Worse are the omissions: gone from the narrative is Mike Grgich, who as Montelena’s winemaker concocted the 1973 chardonnay that won the whites category in Paris. In real life, the recent Yugoslav immigrant never got along with the Barretts and left his post to start his own winery. So I’m figuring that Montelena’s owners, who are the exclusive protagonists of Bottle Shock, sold their story to the filmmakers with the stipulation that poor Grgich be siphoned off. It was hard to hear all the film’s team-spirit rah-rah about how “if oe of our wines wins, we all do!” without reflecting on the irony.

And where is Patricia Gallagher? In 1976 she was right-hand to Steven Spurriur, the British wineseller in Paris who organized the blind tasting and the antagonist of Bottle Shock. She was the only non-Gaul among the judges and went on to have a glorious oenological career in France. It’s an insult to women in wine that she’s replaced by a male character in the movie — or perhaps we’re to be distracted by Taylor’s cinematic liebfraumilch.

Finally, speaking of Mr. Spurrier, he is horribly reduced to a caricature of European priggishness by the film and I was glad to find out that he’s suing the filmmakers over it. Truth is, Spurrier had faith in the colonials’ wine, and although he never guessed that they would perform so well against the French benchmarks — and in fact became a near-total persona non grata in his adopted country because they did — he did not put together the tasting as a publicity stunt to promote his failing wine store. Unlike the version of him in the movie, he was a young, successful retailer with a sincere love of good wine — and of a good fight.

In any case, for the sheer pro-American tale of heroism it is (“Not bad for a bunch of guys from the sticks!” says Jim Barrett, played by Bill Pullman, when he finds his chardonnay topped the field), I recommend this movie. Just don’t forget your spittoon for the nasty parts.

Oops, I meant The Wine Spectator, the magazine that one of my favorite retailers likes to make fun of by mocking its cultural imperialism over the wine world. In any case, some of you may have heard of the war of words between the folks at the venerable Napa winery Beaulieu Vineyard and The Wine Spectator senior editor James Laube. The conflict broke out in 2002 after Laube accused BV’s wines of showing “high levels” of TCA (the chemical behind cork taint) and suggested that the whole winery might be infested. Beaulieu shot back that Laube was complaining about amounts of the compound that are undetectable to the average palate, and unfairly singling them out for a problem widespread in wine production.

I was prompted to revisit the hostilities by a bottle of 1997 Beaulieu Vineyard Tapestry Reserve. To find out where, after tasting it, Wine Girl stands on the battle lines, click here:

According to Laube, 1997 saw the first signs of the TCA problem at Beaulieu. He’s rated every subsequent vintage of this Bordeaux-style blend in the low seventies — shameful (and some may say provocative) scores, considering Beaulieu’s noble stature in the history of viticulture in Napa Valley.

Me, I loved the Tapestry. My notes: “For an 11-year-old wine, its color is amazingly dark and its fruit surprisingly bold. Loads of blackberry, kirsch, and plum flavors coat the tongue. Deft touches of cedar and velvety tannins round out what, to me, is a balanced, complete package. Time in the bottle has done lots of good, and no bad, to this delicious liquid. Integrated, relaxed, vivid, with no signs of oxydation.”

I checked fellow tasters of various vintages of Tapestry online and they agree. “Laube must be on crack,” writes John on CellarTracker, “as this [2001] had no hint of TCA. A great bargain for the price.” (I paid $37 for my Tapestry back in 2000.) Hundreds more tasted good fruit, balanced oak, and admirable complexity — and none of the “chalk,” “clay,” and “cement” notes that the WS critic came away with.

What I did notice, though, were a bunch of complaints about bottle variation. (“Isn’t that what BV stands for?” joked one commentator.) Bottle variation is a sign of sloppy winemaking — specifically, a failure on the part of the winemaker to check batches of a single wine for consistency over the course of barrel ageing, blending, and bottling it. (Beaulieu produces about 400,000 cases of wine overall, per year.)

Perhaps WS should STFU about TCA and go after BV for BV!

For a while now, it’s not been safe to dip your toes in the lake of wine coming from Robert Mondavi Inc., as any of you who’ve had the disappointment of tasting its declining quality during the late nineties and early 2000s can attest. I’ll never forget Robert Parker’s review of Mondavi’s 1997 line-up, from the basic Napa Valley reds to the regal Opus One: you could feel the pain Parker was experiencing as he went through sample after sample, looking for but never finding, a glimmer of the world-class vintages Mondavi promised and delivered during the peak of his success as a vintner in the seventies and eighties. And any of y’all who have read The House of Mondavi: The Rise and Fall of an American Wine Dynasty, the very interesting book published last year about the up and down of Robert’s wine business, including a scandalously detailed section on his successful lawsuit against his own family at Charles Krug, are aware that the tables recently turned when Mondavi was forced to give up control of his own winery and sell to Constellation, a mega-conglomerate based in New York.

For the surprise happy ending to this tragedy, click here:

From the perspective of business and paterfamilias, it’s a sad story. But I’m experiencing a happy ending from my place at the tasting bar. I bought a bottle of 2004 Oakville Cabernet at Costco for about $35 last month, drank it with a plateful of lasagna, and let me tell you, I was ecstatic. I don’t know what Mondavi’s new owners have done, but it’s working. Actually, this delicious bottle is probably the result of what Constellation hasn’t done — that is, whoever they put in charge of winemaking must simply be allowing Mondavi’s prime vineyards make the fruit they’re famous for and then restraining from F-ing it up in the winery. Back are the flavors that great Napa cabernet is known for: ripe red and black fruit, coffee, pepper, and just the right dose of oak.

So suit up, take my word for it, and dive in.

A reader alerted me to the recent triumph at the California State Fair Commercial Wine Competition of the $1.99 per bottle 2005 Chardonnay made by Charles Shaw, affectionately known as Two Buck Chuck. The wine has already made a name for itself and Fred Franzia (head of Bronco Wines, which owns the label) by proving to be an entirely drinkable, even agreeable byproduct of the California wine grape glut — as well as a nose-thumb to an industry Franzia calls egotistical, greedy, and bloated. (The colorful CEO insists, for example, that no bottle of wine can cost more than $15 to make; the rest, he says, is hype.) Now Two Buck Chuck can claim bragging rights to quality, too, after it bested 350 other wines in a blind tasting of California chardonnays from a range of prices, a couple of them costing more than $100.

How could this happen, one might ask – especially one who has tasted the Shaw line and found it, as I have, to be inoffensive indeed, but also forgettable? Click here for my two cents:

Many observers will see the triumph of Two Buck Chuck as a vindication of Franzia’s arguments about California’s wine trade, i.e., that those of us who are willing to fork out $35 for a special bottle of chardonnay are blinded by the light of a flashy name on the label, or worse, that we’re guilty of flattery at the court of enological pomp and circumstance.

But before Two Buck Chuck declares the emperor (two) buck naked, let’s consider another reason this little wine may have carried the day. It could have little to do with Two Buck’s quality, admittedly remarkable for its price point. It may have more to do with its style.

You see, in good part because it saves money, Two Buck Chuck has always been made in a clean, crisp style, with a focus on fruit flavors. (To get a rich, round mouthfeel and toasty vanilla notes in a chardonnay, a winemaker needs to fork out a lot of money for new oak barrels. Plus the wine needs to undergo an extra “malolactic” fermentation to get softer and boozier.) But Franzia’s strategy with 2BC was to do a well-made chard at a good price, without any tricks or bells and whistles.

In the meantime, a trend arose with chardonnay that had really nothing to do with 2BC, Franzia, or his economic philosophy. That trend is away from the big, buttery chards of yesteryear. Just last month, for example, I journeyed to the top of Spring Mountain to pick up my annual allotment of Pride Mountain merlot. While I was there, I tasted its just-released 2005 chardonnay (which, by the way, costs $37, or $15 for the wine plus $22 for the hype, according to Fred Franzia’s theory). “Not in our usual style,” said the woman behind the tasting bar. No kidding: I got apples, pears, lots of vibrant acidity, and a clean, refreshing finish. “Our winemaker preferred the big, buttery style,” she said. “Then he realized he couldn’t enjoy the wine with food. So he pulled back on the oak and focused more on the fruit.”

Kudos. I’ve always loved Pride’s chardonnay, but I looked back on my notes and sure enough, I haven’t bought a lot of it and don’t typically serve it with dinner. This, though, this I could see being delicious with sole, any kind of chicken, even Greek-style pizza.

Pride’s new regime of restraint got me thinking about the context that may have lead Two Buck Chuck to win a blind tasting featuring the best of Cali chards, some of them fifty times its price. Could the judges’ favor be a sign not just that we want good wine for less money, but that we want chardonnay with less oak? Even the Wine Spectator, although its editors are known for near-addiction to toasty-oak notes, acknowledged the less-oak-is-more trend by accompanying its recent review of 2005 California chardonnay with a story about “unoaked” versions. And, significantly, one of the State Fair judges commented that his panel tapped 2BC because it was “a fresh, fruity, well-balanced chardonnay that people and judges will like, though maybe not the wine critics.”

The judge doesn’t seem particularly wowed by Charles Shaw’s quality; it’s the wine’s style, which corresponds to a popular trend, that got his vote. Two Buck Chuck, he infers, has been promoted to King Charles II on the wave of a popular dissent against the evils of oak and malolactic. Your thoughts? Write your Wine Girl.

From the spit-not-swallow department: Some of you may have read the hilarious report in the New York Times yesterday about “wine tasters gone wild” in the Long Island wine region of New York state — complete with stories of limo-loads of bachelorettes dancing on table tops, inebriated haywagon riders running naked through the vines, and garden variety drunks demanding that tasting room pourers “fill ‘er up!” Apparently some Long Island wineries are disallowing party vans and limousines in an effort to cut down on this alarming trend. The Times reminds its readers that wine touring is about the wine, not the buzz, using the same tone as winery hosts who are having more and more to snort the self-righteous shibboleth at would-be guzzlers: “this is a tasting room, not a bar!”

But why doesn’t anyone point out that there’s one simple way to avoid being an Ugly American wine tourist:

Spitting. Using a spittoon may not seem civilized at first. Indeed, my wife is always telling me in tasting rooms that I’m gross when I spit, and (worse?) “wasting the wine.” But which is less polite? Spitting discreetly in a visitors’ center, or standing up through the sun roof on the drive home, trying to rap to “The Chronic”? I didn’t object to this stunt when it seemed like a good idea to a fellow taster a few years ago, since it was amusing. But my point stands. Plus, I just don’t understand how wineries, most of which are located in rural areas and accessible only by car, don’t for safety’s sake encourage more spitting. Again, it’s a hundred times less shameful to duck briefly over a spittoon than to squat publicly on a jail toilet, “DUI” forever on your record. Now there’s a waste of wine.

Saying that some participants in their “Romantic Winery Tour” program have been gays and lesbians p.o.’d about California’s unequal marriage laws, Bart and Barb O’Brien decided to see if they help turn things around by raising money for Equality California, the state’s leading advocate for gay marriage. So their eponymous O’Brien Family Vineyards set up an “Equality Wine Store” and promised to donate 20 percent of its sales of chardonnay, merlot, and cabernet to EQCA. My first reaction to the news was to go shopping, and I’m satisfied so far with how my purchase made my heart feel; I’ll report soon on how it treats my palate.

Second response: who are the O’Briens, and why this bandwagon?

Clearly they don’t have a problem with making love: there’s the perfect-date tours, the giant “O” on the labels, the Bordeaux-style blend called Seduction. But for most straight people, no matter how open and empathetic, there’s some significant, usually very personal step between hopeless romantic and homophile activist. (It’s a step even the Cheneys aren’t able to make.) Or perhaps the O’Briens just really love their gay customers.

Since reports last month that a substance in red wine was found to prolong life in obese mice, sales of dietary supplements containing the stuff have spiked. Seems that people seeking immortality may find their fountain of life in the form of a bottle of cabernet — or rather, 700 bottles, since that’s how much you’d have to drink a day to get the amount of resveratrol, as the substance is called, that the researchers fed those mice.

Anyway, now it seems that unlike a good Bordeaux, these supplements don’t age well. Today the Wall Street Journal reported that one of the few things we know about this magic potion is that “resveratrol is prone to oxidation, or breaking down when exposed to air … [therefor] a capsule form may be preferable.”

That makes the pill bottle a great candidate for a screwcap closure, too, I guess.