Brooklynguy's Wine and Food Blog

Thinking About how to Rate Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 04:55:00 +0000

Much has been written and many debates take place about how to rate wine. It seems now that the 100 point scale is seen as "old guard," that it has not been effective at communicating a wine's quality. There are of course other rating systems, and their effectiveness is also debatable. I don't want to spend time here summarizing the various arguments, and I don't have a definitive opinion on the best rating system for wine. But I do have some thoughts that I want to share.

I think that some wines are better than others. That might sound silly to say, but there are folks who think that endeavors in the world of art and craft cannot and should not be measured in an absolute sense. They point out that one person's Mozart is another's Black Sabbath, and that both are equally excellent to the individual beholder. And it is true that we each have our own preferences regarding things like paintings, film, music, wine, roast chicken, and so on. It's romantic to say that "the perfect wine is the one you drink with your lover at sunset in a cafe overlooking the ocean." But there is a difference between personal preference and objective quality, and this is the whole point of professional criticism. The critic is supposed to be able to put their personal preferences and experiences aside and evaluate based on a set of established criteria, and then tell the rest of us something definitive about objective quality. What I'm saying here is that DRC is better than Yellowtail. It is higher quality wine. There may be people who prefer the smell and taste of Yellowtail, or who cannot distinguish between then two, and those people are welcome to their preferences and should go forth in peace and be happy. But one is a better wine than the other, regardless of personal opinion or the cafe at sunset context.

If you agree that there is objective quality to wine, then you probably agree that there must be some way for a critic to measure a wine's quality and communicate this to the rest of us. This is the hard part.

Some things are easy to rate - things that can be expressed finitely in purely mathematical terms. If I wanted to know which brand is the best AA battery available on the market, I could find out the average number of minutes each one lasts, determine the average price of each brand, and create a statistic that tells me how many minutes-per-dollar-spent I can expect from each battery.

Rarely is it this simple, however, even when things can be expressed purely in mathematical terms. Think about rating cars or schools or baseball hitters. How do we know which hitter is the best? Batting average is a start - some are higher than others, and there is a highest each year. But is the person with the highest batting average the best hitter? Is someone who hits 10 singles in 20 trips to the plate a better hitter than someone who hits 8 doubles in 20 trips to the plate? What about someone who hit only 5 singles in 20 trips to the plate, but those singles came at crucial points in the game and scored runs for the team. It is possible to determine which hitter has the highest batting average or hit for the most total bases in a season, but determining which is the best hitter requires more than statistics.

Painting, film, cooking, making music, wine...those things don't easily lend themselves to measurement in mathematical terms. But we have inherited a system of wine criticism that attempts to impose a mathematical framework on wine evaluation. The 100 point scale requires us to accept the idea that it is possible to measure something about wine, to assign a numeric value to one or more of its traits and arrive at a finite conclusion. That there is an objective qualitative difference between a 93 and a 92 point wine. Perhaps there is, but I'd like to see the rubric used to arrive at such a conclusion - how are those points generated?

To me, it makes sense not to try to impose finite mathematical rating systems when the subject matter does not itself generate outputs that can be measured using numbers. Why not relieve ourselves of the burden of ordering wines in such tiny groups (87 points, 88 points, 89 points, etc.) and instead work within larger groups, accepting that there are no exact measurements for wine quality. I would prefer a system in which the professional wine critic tells me which wines are of the highest quality, which are of high quality, which are above average, and so on, without attempting to distinguish between wines within each group.

Which are the highest quality wines of Meursault? For me, it would be enough to read a critic who tells me (and I'm making this up) that Coche-Dury, Comte Lafon, Pierre Morey, and Roulot make the highest quality wines of Meursault; François Jobard, Pierre Matrot, Pierre Yves Colin-Morey make high quality wines, and so on. I also would like to read about which wines by Comte Lafon, for example, are the best. And I'm frustrated with the fact that Perrières gets 94 points, Charmes and Genevrières get 91-93 points, Gouttes d'Or gets 90-92 points, and Clos de la Barre gets 89-91 points. From that I understand that the critic rates the wines generally in that order (and every year, they all do), but I still don't understand the value of one point. Perrières is 94 points and Charmes is 93 points, so Perrières is one point better. But what generated that extra point? I accept the idea that Perrières might objectively be a better wine, but not the idea that the critic who awards the additional point experienced something in drinking the wine that can be measured and expressed by a 94 as opposed to a 93.

My guess is that Perrières, Charmes, and Genevrières are all highest quality wines. Perhaps we don't need to take it any further than that - they are all highest quality. There may in fact be some objective truth - one of them might be better than the others in a certain vintage, but it seems to me that the sensations the drinker experiences in coming to this conclusion are not quantifiable.

How, then, should the professional critic explain the criteria for "highest quality," "high quality," and so forth? Sorry, but I'm asking questions and don't have answers. Here, though, is one that makes a lot of sense to me (from Peter Liem's ChampagneGuide.net):

* One star denotes a wine of particular quality and distinctiveness of character, one that stands out among its peers in some significant way.

** Two stars means that this wine is outstanding in its class, showing a marked quality, expression and refinement of character.

*** Three stars indicates a champagne of the highest class, demonstrating a completeness and expression of character that places it among the very finest wines within its context. Needless to say, these wines are uncommon.

This sort of system puts wines in large groups and requires me to do some thinking on my own, and I like that. Really he's just telling me the groups of wines that he thinks are best - which are very good, which are good, and which are not as good - the rest is up to me. There are over 1,000 wines reviewed on Peter's site, and 61 of them are awarded three stars. I'm sure Peter could tell me his favorites among those 61, but would laugh at the idea that there is one "best" wine within this three star group, that it is possible to construct a strict ordering of those 61 wines. That said, he could explain what it is about each of those 61 wines that merits it being in the three star group, and why each of the 251 two star wines is not in the three star group.

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I understand that my analysis here is incomplete, and I'm not trying to start an argument. I guess I'm just saying that in trying to impose a strict mathematical ordering on wine evaluation, we are barking up the wrong tree. If you have something thoughtful to say about this, I'd love to hear it. But spare us from rants about points and the evil culture of selling wine, and also from salt of the earth declarations about how beautiful the simplest country wine can be with fish just-plucked-from-the-sea. I'm starting with the notion that some wines are objectively better than others, and that there must be some way of measuring this. Just not the 100 point scale we've been using. How can this objective quality best be measured? And how should this measurement be communicated?

Brown Sherries Improve After Opening !

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 00:10:00 +0000

On new year's eve a good friend took pity on me, alone in the house with my very young and very wonderful daughters, and he decided to come over to hang out and have dinner. We of course opened some special wines on that night, one of which was a bottle I brought back from Jerez in October, Emilio Hidalgo Especial Amontillado Viejo El Tresillo 1874. I was very excited to drink and share this wine. The solera began in 1874 when the Hidalgo family purchased the bodega and the wines in the bottle are an average of about 50 years old. This is special wine - very little is bottled every year and it is not imported to the US. When I visited the bodega in October they were generous enough to open a bottle for us to try, and the wine was amazing. I bought one to carry home in my suitcase.

So, on new year's eve at some point, I went to the back room where my wine fridge sits and retrieved this bottle and proudly strutted into the kitchen where my friend stood and showed it to him. "We're going to drink this now," I said. And I told him about the wine and how good it would be and he was impressed, or at least acted like he was impressed.

It is clear from the photo that the wine is in a vise-like grip, and would be mute for days.

The problem is, the wine was absolutely and completely mute. It smelled and tasted like almost nothing. Nothing.

Sure, it didn't matter because we had a great time together and it was new year's and it's just a bottle of wine, and so on. But of course it matters. It matters to me. I drank this wine and I know how good it is. Why not on this night? It wasn't flawed in any way, just very, very quiet. We both drank a glass, I re-corked it, stuck it back in the wine fridge, and we moved on to other things.

Peter Liem has told me on many occasions that brown Sherries - Amontillados, Palo Cortados, and Olorosos, when well made, tend to show better at least a day or so after being opened. Why, it's hard to say. It's not like a young red wine, where exposure to oxygen approximates the aging process and the wine shows a more complete version of itself. The wines in this Amontillado are already quite old. Perhaps we can think of it the way we think of other very old wines - they sometimes do better when we open them hours in advance of drinking and let them air out a bit. Whatever the reason, well made old brown Sherries do not degenerate over several days after opening, quite the opposite - they improve.

Remembering this, I decided to experiment with this bottle of El Tresillo, to drink one glass every day until the wine is finished, to measure it's development. It was quite interesting, I must say, and the wine did indeed improve tremendously over a few days. It was best on days 4 and 5, but my last glass on day 6 was not quite as good as the ones on days 4 and 5. I will share some notes with you, starting with day 2:

Clearly the wine is improving here, but as evidenced by the photo, it is still constricted.

Day 2 - Now there is flor character on the nose - caramel and butter. The aromas are brighter and the flavors more vibrant in the mouth, but the wine is still not terribly compelling right now, somewhat uni-dimensional and not showing much complexity, or much of anything.

Day 3 - Did not taste. Whaddaya want from me? I had other things going on.

One can see here, by day 4, how the wine has reached its apex of aroma and flavor.

Day 4 - Whoa, what a difference. The nose is walnut skins - yes, the skins - there is that level of detail all of the sudden. There is still a creamy flor-influenced base note. The nose is still a bit constricted maybe, but the palate has expanded and improved dramatically. There are bright and vibrant flavors of lemon peel, caramel, and hazelnut, very complex , and the wine changes through the midpalate and is very energetic, the finish is orange and coffee and goes on and on. This is the great wine that I remember.

Day 5 - The best of the lot. The nose is regal in its complexity and subtlety, with coffee grounds and nuts, definite flor character, and it is moving in its penetrating focus and its elegance and finesse. The palate achieves complete harmony of flavor, striking complexity, and a mouth watering and long finish whose perfume I could access two hours later as I was getting ready for bed. Truly a beautiful wine.

Day 6 - The nose is still lovely, but there are some oxidative notes that appear too, and here and there I am aware of the alcohol. The palate is just as great as it was in the past two days, even longer maybe, but again with the slightly oxidative note of dried prune. If I had tasted this win only on this day I would think it great, but the memory of days 4 and 5 are even better.

So what does this prove? Absolutely nothing. But it's interesting I think, and probably representative of what you will get when you open a bottle of very fine brown Sherry. it might be worth opening it and pouring a small glass, and then leaving it for a few days until you are ready to share it with friends. The wine will improve. Even if it starts out well, it will get better.

Burgundy Wine Club 2012 - Pommard

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 20:35:00 +0000

Seven friends and I pool our money every year to buy about 8 bottles of Burgundy wine, wine that we wouldn't buy individually because of the high cost and the risk of bad bottles. Every year at around this time we get together over dinner and share the wines. This year the theme of our dinner was the great vineyards and producers of Pommard.

Pommard is not the most glorious of Burgundy appellations, not by a long shot. In my somewhat limited experience, the wines can be rustic and are not as pretty as the wines from neighboring Volnay, for example, or even compared with wines from "lesser" appellations such as Savigny-Lès Beaune. To continue with Pommard generalizations, the wines do not offer much value or particularly high quality at the villages level, unless the wine comes from a specific vineyard. For example, although I would not buy a straight villages Pommard, I might buy a bottle of Pommard La Chanière by Maréchale or Pommard Chanlins by Lafouge (although I don't buy those wine anymore either, but that's more about my own buying strategy than about the quality of those wines).

People sometimes compare Pommard with Volnay, its neighbor to the south, and they say things like "Pommard is muscular and brawny, and Volnay is elegant and pretty." This is probably true as a generalization, although there are of course exceptions. People also say, when they talk about 1er Cru vineyards in Burgundy that should be elevated to Grand Cru status, that both Clos des Epenots and Rugiens in Pommard are deserving. For me, this is part of the point of selecting Pommard as the theme for our dinner. I wanted to drink wines that are considered to be among the very finest of the appellation, to experience Pommard at its best, to build the foundation of my own understanding of the character and potential of Pommard.

Any list of the finest wines of Pommard would include Comte Armand's Clos des Epeneaux. Epeneaux is a monopole of the Domaine, a walled vineyard of over 5 hectares within the larger 1er Cru vineyard called Epenots. There are two climats that make up Epenots - Grands Epenots and Petits Epenots, and Clos des Epeneaux is almost all within Les Grands Epenots. It's interesting to think about the fact that the previous owner of Clos des Epeneaux, the Marey-Monge family, actually owned all 30 plus hectares of Epenots in the early 1700's, and sold all of it off except for the Clos des Epeneaux, around which they built an 8 foot high wall and kept. Obviously they must have thought that it gave the best wines within the larger vineyard. Clos des Epeneaux wines comes mostly from old vines and, according to what I've read, need more time than most 1er Crus to arrive at maturity. We were all excited to have three examples of this wine to drink at our dinner, wines that could not be considered old, but would hopefully be mature.

I also wanted to drink wines from the Rugiens vineyard at this dinner, and there are several producers who make good examples - Domaine de Courcel, Domaine de Montille, Aleth Girardin, Joseph Voillot, François Gaunoux, and Michel Gaunoux all come to mind. I chose two bottles from the late 1990's by de Montille. I've read that Rugiens is the richest, the most muscular of the Pommard wines, and that Clos des Epeneaux would be more mineral driven and elegant (although one experienced drinker at our dinner raised an eyebrow suspiciously when I mentioned this, saying that he would hardly call Clos des Epeneaux a wine of elegance, that is is still brawny Pommard).

We rounded out our lineup by including bottles by two other producers whose wines I wanted to drink, as I read that they are made in a style that I would appreciate - Clos des Epenots by Domaine de Courcel and 1er Cru Pezerolles by Domaine Billard-Gonnet.

First, the good news: we had a great night and I love Burgundy Wine Club. Such a great group of people, a pleasure to be with them and to look forward to this experience each year. We had a wonderful long dinner at the very lovely Rosewater in Brooklyn, where owner John Tucker serves thoughtfully sourced and prepared food, and has a very well selected wine list.

Now, the bad news: the theme of this dinner was Pommard, and everyone agreed that the wine of the night was the 1989 François Jobard Meursault 1er Cru Charmes. The reds were absolutely underwhelming as a group - I was very much uninspired. That said, the one that perhaps on paper should have been the best, was corked. Another that should have been great was probably flawed. Still, this dinner was not a great advertisement for Pommard. Some notes and thoughts (I'll share the prices I paid when I bought the wines last year - none were purchased upon release):

1989 François Jobard Meursault 1er Cru Charmes, $100. We drank this with a salad of grilled calamari with frisée, clementine, and bacon. The wine of the night without any question whatsoever. A fabulous showing for a wine that is drinking perfectly right now. Pungent and fresh at the peak of maturity. The nose at first has a roasted sense to the pear fruit, but the roastiness vanishes after a half hour and the wine becomes linear and focused with a perfect melange of fruit and mineral. Elegant, plush while remaining entirely in control, and great acidity - just a mouthwatering wine that reminded everyone at the table to drink more old white Burgundy.

With sautéed wild mushrooms and a fried quail egg on toast we drank 1996 Domaine de Courcel Pommard Grand Clos des Epenots, $54 and 1999 Domaine Billard-Gonnet Pommard 1er Cru Les Pezerolles, $48. The Courcel was very tight still, constricted, the acidity almost too much, but still pretty, with dark fruit and floral aromas. In the mouth the stony mineral streak prominent. The wine is very good, but probably needs another five years or so to unwind. The Billard-Gonnet wine was just not good. Rich and ripe to the point of being syrupy, maple on the nose. The acidity is raspy, the wine is rustic and just doesn't seem very well made. Not harmonious, not complex, straight forward fruit that is borders on syrup. Not a good advertizement for this producer...

With grilled pork belly, apple, and pickled cabbage we drank a magnum of 1993 Comte Armand Pommard Clos des Epeneaux, $325. Oh, how I wanted this wine to be great. I knew that it would probably need a couple hours to open up, and we opened it at least 90 minutes before we began to drink it. It was dense and impenetrable for most of four hours, and never really opened up. There are hints of something lovely, but the wine is simply not ready, in the magnum format anyway. Some perfume emerges after while, but the wine is tight, inward. Time brings some animale undertones, but this bottle was in a disjointed state, with acid and alcohol not well integrated. There were questions from some drinkers about whether or not the wine was too cloudy. Some one poured a glass through a filter and the wine brightened some, but to me the smell and taste was unchanged. If I had another magnum I would leave it alone, honestly for another 10 years.

With smoked quail, grilled radicchio, pinenuts, and currants we drank 1989 and 1991 Comte Armand Clos des Epeneaux, $200 and $168 respectively. The 1989 was corked, and this was crushing - on paper this wine should have been great. The 1991 could also have been flawed. There were clear signs of rot or mildew on the nose, which was musty and inexpressive. The wine was better with food, but the finish was cropped, stifled. Unsatisfying, not delicious, a big disappointment.

With braised shortribs, parsnips, shitakes, and mustard greens we drank 1998 and 1999 de Montille Pommard 1er Cru Rugiens, $133 and $185 respectively. The 1999 was delicious, but a bit too simple to be intriguing. It showed the ripe character of the vintage (one that I am learning to be skeptical of) with plush sweet fruit, not entirely enough structure, and very little complexity. Not compelling, I'm sorry to say, and a very poor value at that price. The 1998, however, was a very lovely wine. There were complex aromas of dark fruit, brown sugar, musk, and flowers. Lovely on the palate with pretty fruit and complex secondary flavors, and a long finish that pauses and then sneaks back up. In this wine I could feel the muscularity that people speak of regarding Pommard. To me, this wine was exactly what it should be - complex, muscular, mineral driven, and it was delicious.

Okay, not every bottle and not every wine dinner will live up to expectations. Still, it was a great night with friends. And there's always next year. I have some ideas for an interesting lineup of wines...

Here is an article about Pommard from Burgundy Report.
And here is the report from last year's BWC dinner, if you're interested.

How to Open and Enjoy an Old Bottle of Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 04:40:00 +0000

I was given an amazing birthday gift in November, an old bottle of wine by Produttori del Barbaresco, the 1959 Riserva. This is very exciting - how often does one get to drink a bottle that old? In my case, not very often. I've had a few old wines, but with the exception of a few cases, I haven't opened them myself. A more experienced friend or a sommelier typically has handled that part.

How do you open an old bottle of wine?

I knew that I wanted to drink the '59 Barbaresco over the holidays with friends. I asked Jamie Wolff, partner at Chambers Street Wines, what to do with the bottle (which was purchased at his shoppe). He told me to stand it up a week in advance, not to move it at all during that time if I could help it, as it would probably have a lot of sediment.

"But my wine fridge won't accommodate a standing bottle," I said. "How do I keep it at the proper temperature?" Jamie suggested finding the coolest spot in the house and standing it there. "And when you serve it," he said, "open it up four or five hours in advance and decant it carefully off the sediment."

As the Barbaresco evening approached, I began to wonder if an old wine like this would die with four or five hours in the decanter, so I asked another friend about how to deal with it, and his answer was entirely different.

That's when I realized that there are a lot of way to do this: to handle, open, and drink an old bottle of wine. And I don't know what I'm doing in this area at all. So I thought I would ask a few friends who are wine professionals what they do with old bottles. I wanted opinions from a variety of viewpoints, so I asked a great sommelier, a great wine buyer, and a great wine thinker and writer with a load of personal experience opening old wine. I'm talking about Levi Dalton the great sommelier, Joe Salamone the great wine buyer at Crush, and Peter Liem of broad and varied greatness. I wrote to them with the following questions:

1. How do you prepare an old bottle for drinking?
2. How far in advance of serving do you open the bottle?
3. Do you decant or not, and why?
4. How do you open an old bottle when the cork might be likely to crumble or break?
5. What should we look for when the bottle is first open - how can we tell if the wine is good or not?
6. Any general thoughts on evaluating an old wine - for those of us who don't often drink old wine, it can be confusing.
7. Do your ideas about pairing wine with food change if the wine is old?
8. Any other advice most appreciated.

And now, patient reader, I will share their thoughts with you (and I hope you're sitting comfortably, because this is a long post):

1. How do you prepare an old bottle for drinking?

Levi - Bottles should be left alone for as long as possible before opening. If you know in advance that you will be opening a bottle of wine a few days from now, I suggest standing it up vertically in the cellar to let the sediment fall to the bottom of the bottle. If you are storing the wine horizontally, I recommend not moving the bottle much while it is in storage. This usually becomes more of a problem with double deep bottle racking, where you have to move one bottle to get to another. Bottles can get moved a lot. I recommend putting the older wines in the back, so that they bottles that are getting jostled in the front are the younger wines.

If you are removing a bottle from horizontal racking, I recommend either using a bottle cradle or I recommend holding the bottle near horizontal, keeping the bottle in the same way as it was in the rack. In other words, don't spin the bottle around as you move it. The aim is to keep the sediment in the same place without moving it around into the liquid. I also recommend taking an elevator, if available, rather then walking with a bottle up stairs.

Joe - Stand it up in the morning if you’re drinking it at night. Let the sediment sink to the bottom.

Peter - It depends on what it is. If it's an old red wine with sediment, you ideally want to stand it up for several days, sometimes even a week, before opening it, to allow the sediment to settle. It's not just an aesthetic issue—the sediment can be bitter, and its presence definitely changes the flavors of the wine. You can decant a wine that's stored on its side if you need to (in a restaurant setting, for example), but you have to be careful. (I'll always remember drinking a 1964 Bartolo Mascarello at Valentino in Santa Monica that was virtually opaque with sediment due to utterly incompetent wine service.) If it's an old white wine or champagne, you need to chill it, of course. I have no scientific basis for it, but for whatever reason, I don't like shocking an old wine in an ice bath or the freezer or whatnot. I prefer to bring it down to temperature slowly in the fridge, which takes time. Maybe it's just a question of respect.

2. How far in advance of serving do you open the bottle?

Levi - Some cowboys, especially in the Nebbiolo set, open bottles way far ahead. I generally don't. I like to see how the wine changes in the glass.

Joe - It really depends on the bottle. A few years ago I had a 71 DRC Grands Echezeaux with questionable storage. It was popped and poured and it was glorious for fifteen minutes. After that, it faded hard. Someone at the table was smart enough to say that we should pop and pour. Otherwise, we would have missed out on it totally.

Peter - This is a tricky question, and one with no right answers. I've seen old wines continue to develop for three days, and others that have crashed within 15 minutes. It's true that old wines need time to emerge (you'd be out of sorts too if you'd been trapped in a bottle for 50 years), but personally, I tend to err on the side of caution, not because I'm afraid that the wine will die, but because I like to experience the evolution of the wine from start to finish. For a grand old bottle, I prefer to open it, take a small glass, and decide from there what to do with it. Having said that, I tend to do this in the afternoon, if I'm serving old red wines at dinner. But then afterwards, I'm always the guy who has like 12 glasses in front of him at the end of a dinner party, because I've been saving all these wines to watch how they grow over the course of several hours.

3. Do you decant or not, and why?

Levi - Old wines are candidates for decanting when they have thrown a good deal of sediment. But if you are dealing with a low tannin grape, I usually don't decant, even if they are throwing sediment. That is to say, I generally don't decant old Red Burgundy, I pour carefully from the bottle instead. Pouring into a decanter should be low, slow, and steady. This is not the "splash decant" that you might use for a younger wine. Do the decanting all in one go, with no fits, starts, or interruptions. Hopefully you won't sneeze during the operation. If you do stop and start the liquid will become muddy with sediment before it leaves the bottle. That being said, it is a great idea to "season" the decanter you intend to use with some of the wine in advance of pouring the rest in. Do this by pouring in a bit of the wine, swirling it around in the decanter, and then discarding. You can taste the discarded wine and test for TCA before pouring out the bottle as well. When you do decant the bottle, keep your light source behind the bottle neck, not behind the decanter lip. You want to stop pouring before the sediment leaves the bottle. Keep in mind that with sediment, there are many variations of the beast. Some are sludge like, some are flaky, some are like fine pebbles at the seashore. Each will move differently as you pour the bottle out.

In practice, I usually do not double decant old bottles of wine. Some people do this however, especially if they are attending a BYOB dinner. They double decant the bottle in their home beforehand and then bring the decanted wine in the original bottle to the dinner. If you do want to double decant a bottle, I recommend using hot water to clean out the sediment in the bottle. This is because hot water, unlike cold water, evaporates. Thus you will have less water to drain out of the bottle later, before you add the original wine back into the bottle. It is worth keeping in mind that hot water will make the bottle's glass warm, and that you should wait until it cools down before adding the wine back in. Also, very old bottles of wine may have thinner glass than is common today. In which case you might be careful about extremely hot water and the possibility of cracking glass as well as fragile bottle lips.

Say you don't decant the bottle of wine, but it has sediment on the bottle, what then? Well I recommend either pouring from a cradle, or holding the bottle by the bottom, with your fingers underneath. When you go around to the different glasses to pour, don't move the bottle up and down a lot. Try to keep the bottle neck at the same level. This is counter to what usually happens when pouring at a table, where the bottle gets raised back vertically a lot, and generally requires going slow and being careful. Sometimes it is easiest to pour all of the glasses away from the seated table, and then to hand the glasses out once poured. This eliminates moving the bottle between people at the table. If you are pouring from a cradle, which can be helpful, just remember that it is easy to bump someone with the cradle when you are pouring. Which defeats the purpose, really. Keep in mind that "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle" was a scary movie.

Joe - There are no hard and fast rules, but typically I would only decant to avoid sentiment. Otherwise, I have a sense that decanting is too aggressive for many old wines and would prefer to just pull the cork and let them aerate slowly. If I tasted an old wine that felt particularly tight, I would decant.

Peter - I decant less and less now. I almost think I decant more young wine than old wine nowadays, which is sort of ironic. But it depends. You decant for two reasons, right? It's to give the wine air and to take it off of its sediment. In the first case, as I said before, I prefer to watch the wine evolve slowly, so I don't really care. I'm patient. With regards to the second, it depends on the situation. If we're serving an old bottle in a restaurant to eight people, then yeah, it needs to be decanted. If it's just two of us drinking it at home, maybe, or maybe not. A friend and I have been thinking over the last few years that we like opening old bottles, say a 50-year-old Barolo, hours ahead of time but not decanting, just pouring a small glass at first to taste it, then letting it hang out all day until it's time to drink it. I feel that it preserves a silkier texture and better clarity of flavor than if you subject it to the oxidative shock of decanting. But that could just be my imagination.

Corkscrew worms vary in length (photo courtesy of Levi).

4. How do you open an old bottle when the cork might be likely to crumble or break?

Levi - When you decide that you want to open up the bottle, you should do it on a flat, sturdy surface. Don't be a clown and try to open an old bottle of wine in the air. Not a good idea. You want to move the bottle as little as possible while opening it. One problem with this is that people in the room might want to see the label of the fantastically old wine and pick up the bottle from where you have it. That is a bad move. The less bottle movement the better, until the bottle is empty.

Sunken corks, that is, corks that are not flush with the bottle lip, present a problem. It is hard to get the right leverage with your corkscrew on sunken corks. This is especially a problem for single pull corkscrews. It is very easy to chip the glass around the lip in this instance, and that can lead to safety concerns. It is best to use a double pull corkscrew, and start with lifting when the worm is halfway in, and then drive the worm in further when you have lifted the cork a bit.

Another possibility is that a sunken cork might also slide right down the bottle neck when you start to press it with the corkscrew worm, which is usually a phenomenon that can accompany heat damage or oxidation. If the cork slides into the liquid, you can find yourself with a problem, because your first instinct may be to decant the wine, but the cork inside the liquid still covers the bottle neck at the bottom, and doesn't allow the liquid out steadily or at all. If this happens I recommend taking something long like a plastic straw and pushing the cork down with the straw while you decant. This will allow the wine out of the bottle.

Try not to pierce the bottom of the cork as you are getting it out of the bottle. If you go through a cork all the way with your worm, your will have better leverage for removal, but piercing an old cork will throw a lot of cork dust into the liquid.

Extracting cork fragments that are stuck flat on the bottleneck works better if you put tension on the corkscrew worm by holding it with two fingers against the bottle top as you turn the worm in. This also keeps the worm straight. If instead you are dealing with a cork that has hollowed out in the middle, but stuck to the walls of the bottle neck as you tried to remove it, then you are going to have to angle your corkscrew and pin the cork that is against with glass with the corkscrew worm, then pull up. You might have to do this a couple of times to get all the cork fragments out. You might think that something else besides a corkscrew will help you get those last bits of cork out of the bottle neck. I don't recommend experimenting with anything, like an oyster fork, unless it has an extremely long handle.

The Durand opener (photo courtesy of Levi).

Bottle openers vary a lot. For very old bottles, the best thing you can do is purchase a combination Ah-So and corkscrew worm, such as The Durand, which is available for sale at www.thedurand.com. These things really are genius, and will save you all kinds of problems.

Pieces of the Durand (photo courtesy of Levi).

It is also possible to make your own such combination, using a standard Ah-so and a separate T-Bar corkscrew worm. As far as stand alone corkscrews, I personally find that opening an older bottle is easier with a double pull corkscrew than a single pull. I usually use the Pulltaps corkscrew brand for double pulls. The problem with that is that the Pulltaps worm is not particularly long, and some old corks are. Also, the knife on a Pulltaps is pretty basic. You will often find a longer worm and a better knife, on a Laguiole or Chateau Laguiole. For this reason I try to keep a few different types of opener around, to help in different situations. Whatever you purchase it is very important to get a corkscrew without any kind of coating (besides paint) on the worm. You want a metal worm. The other types destroy old corks in a fashion that is fantastically disheartening.

Joe - Personally, I’ve had so many disasters with using a cork screw that I go straight for the Ah-So.

An Ah-So opener.

Peter - High dexterity score is key. And an Ah-So. Last year, one of my friends bought this thing, which is awesome.

5. What should we look for when the bottle is first open - how can we tell if the wine is good or not?

Levi - How you handle the bottle can have a lot to do this. Murky, dull, and light colored red wine is a bad sign. But ultimately the test is the taste.

Joe - Check out the color and smell, especially to see if it’s maderized. Also, a lot of turbidity is usually a bad sign. Often wines will seem older when first poured and then will liven up. Wines, especially red Burgundy, can change color in the glass. Sometimes they can look more faded, but an old wine can actually becoming more youthful in appearance in the glass. They brighten up and darken.

Peter - Old wines are funny things—they don't necessarily reveal themselves right away. Sometimes with a very old wine it's even difficult to tell whether or not the wine is corked, as it can be musty and weird at first but then develop into something amazing later. You're looking first for flaws (i.e. TCA) and then for oxidation, but on the subject of the latter, it often pays to be patient. Many old wines actually feel fresher and more primary in flavor after 15 or 30 minutes than they do when they're first opened.

6. Any general thoughts on evaluating an old wine - for those of us who don't often drink old wine, it can be confusing.

Levi - The condition of a cork can tell you a lot about storage. First of all, once you get a cork out, it is worth checking to make sure what it says matches what the label of the bottle says. If not, that can mean that you a forgery on your hands. More generally, if the cork has a muffin top and flares out above the bottle lip, that can indicate that this wine has seen poor storage. Similarly if there is a visible line of dried wine stain down the cork length. Often enough, an very old cork will be completely soaked with wine stains, so this isn't a terrible, terrible thing, but neither is it desirable. On the other hand, a too perfect, pristine cork in a very old bottle often raises about possible recorking that might have taken place with this bottle. It is worth considering if the bottle is a recent release (however old the wine's vintage may be) from the winery, as the corks should then look pretty great.

Joe - Basics like looking at the fill and looking for seepage and things like the cork pushing up or receding are usually very helpful. Clumps of caked on sentiment in one area of the bottle can be a bad sign (but this isn’t always the case.) Also, look at the color in the light to see if whites look oxidized or reds look turbid and brownish. It really depends on the wine: Auslesen and old sweet Chenin Blanc can appear really dark and be perfectly fine, for instance.

Peter - There should have been a reason for aging it. Is it better in some way than a young version of that wine would be? Ideally, an old wine would have developed an inimitable complexity and character while fusing its components together into a more seamless harmony—the disparate parts of a young wine are now integrated into a complete whole. But just because it's old doesn't necessarily mean that it's better. Old wines can be mediocre too. And everybody has a different sort of threshold as far as maturity goes. I like mature flavors, and I tend to prefer my wines a little older than most people do. A wine should definitely retain vibrancy and energy—it shouldn't be dead or overly oxidized. But I don't always care about things like primary fruit. You drink old wine because you can't get the same experiences that you do in young wine, and drinking a grand wine in maturity is one of life's greatest pleasures.

7. Do your ideas about pairing wine with food change if the wine is old?

Levi - The adage is true: simple food is better with old wines. Steak. Squab. Mushrooms. Risotto. They are all on my old wine team.

Joe - The hope is that aging wines results in them stretching out, having integrated flavors and becoming more nuanced and complex. I want the wine to shine and take center stage without much interference. I like to keep things simple with straight forward, uncomplicated dishes. There’s nothing wrong with a perfectly roasted chicken (or guinea hen), leg of lamb, or fish. I try to avoid overly pungent and bright flavors that have the potential to cripple to the mature fruit on an old wine.

Peter - I generally think that the older the wine is, the simpler your food ought to be. I don't necessarily believe that the best setting for a great mature wine is a Michelin three-star restaurant. My favorite way to experience an old bottle is to drink it at home, making some food that complements it but that doesn't compete with its complexity.

8. Any other advice most appreciated.

Levi - Keep in mind that the kind of capsules you find on older bottles, say of Bordeaux before 1990, had lead in them. They are firm, often stick closely to the bottle neck, and tend to come off in long strips if you unwind them from a cut in the side of one. These kinds of capsules tend to leave a nasty cut on the finger if you aren't careful with their removal. You can always tell a sommelier who deals with a lot of older Bordeaux: they will have a bunch of small cuts on their index finger. It can be helpful to angle your corkscrew knife about 45 degrees into the groove underneath the top part of the capsule, cutting upwards. This will result in a clean line cut into the capsule, and also encourage the top part of the capsule to flair out at the cut edge, allowing for easier removal. When lead capsules are involved, I think that it becomes especially important to wipe with a wet, clean cloth the bottle top after the capsule has been removed (and before the cork is extracted). This prevents small particles of lead from getting into the liquid later as you pour. Older bottles may often have a bit of fungal growth under the capsule anyway, which should be removed in the same way, with a wet cloth.

If instead of a lead capsule you encounter a wax capsule, I recommend placing a napkin underneath the bottle before you open it. That way, the small bits of wax will fall onto the napkin instead of your table surface, and you can collect them all easily at the end of the process by gathering the napkin up. Some people scrap or bang away wax from the top of a bottle before opening. I think that in the case of older bottles, this only encourages the kind of vibration that moves the sediment around, so I don't encourage it. Rather, I drive my corkscrew worm directly into the bottle's cork, through the wax, and the wax comes away from the top as the cork is extracted. The only time you don't want to do this is when you might be dealing with a half-cork stopper, like in the case of certain Cognacs, for instance. In those instances there is no driven cork, for the corkscrew worm to meet when it goes in the bottle top.

(Photo courtesy of Levi).

There are broadly speaking, two kinds of wax that you will encounter, the hard flaky kind and the soft, pliable kind. If you want to remove the soft kind from the bottle neck side (to prevent pouring liquid over it), you can run your corkscrew lever up and down the side of the bottle, creating two long groves in the wax. You will find it easier to remove the soft kind of wax from the bottle if you then start pulling from where the grooves are.

Joe - Aged wine often seems like a fetish for people. People associate quality with ageability. They immediately want to know how long a wine can age, and the longer the better. Not all wines benefit from aging; and not all people enjoy mature flavors in wine. There’s something to be said for drinking wine in its sprightly youth. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy old wine, but I often worry that people are lead astray by thinking that older is better. Like people, there’s more that can go wrong with wine as it ages.

Peter - Always have a good alterations tailor. Don't use Microsoft products. Never trust a guy who doesn't look you in the eye when he's shaking your hand.

-----

By the way, I should have asked these guys before drinking my 1959 Barbaresco. I did not decant, but opened the wine at noon on the day I would serve it at about 9 in the evening. I used a double pull corkscrew, but the cork broke in half. When I tried to get in there again with the corkscrew, I just pushed what remained of the cork into the bottle, and there it sat, broken and dusty, in my lovely old wine. I tasted it about every two hours until we drank it. It was great to drink such an old wine, and it was very delicious, but not mind-blowing. In fact, one experienced taster suggested that it might have been better about 10 years ago.

Memorable Pairings of 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 23:27:00 +0000

Well, of the last few months anyway. There have been a few truly memorable drinks and eats in the past months that I never found a way to write about here. So I'll compile them in a best-of-the-unposted list from the last part of 2011.

I was in Jerez in October, and one night I had dinner at La Carbona with Peter Liem and Eduardo Ojeda, the cellar master at La Guita and Valdespino. Eduardo brought several ridiculous bottles to this dinner, one of which was a bottle of La Guita Manzanilla Pasada...but from the mid 1970's! That's right, a Manzanilla Pasada that had spent the past 40 years in bottle. I'm telling you, the idea that Fino wines cannot age is simply wrong. When they are well made and stored properly they can be wonderful. This wine was stunning in its complexity, and also in its freshness.

We drank it with a perfectly grilled bone-in strip steak (I think that's the cut, anyway - you butchers out there can correct me based on the photo if need be). This steak would fare well against anything served at steak temples in NYC - seriously. And La Carbona is by not even a steakhouse. The pairing was fantastic - the umami depth of the wine complimented the meat and the freshness of the wine enlivened and cleansed the palate. An experience I must repeat at some point.

And more Sherry...Joe Salamone was also in Jerez in October, and he returned with a very fine bottle that as of now is unavailable in the States, a special Palo Cortado from Gutierrez Colosía, the very fine producer in El Puerto de Santa María. The average age of these wines is at least 40 years and the wine is a complexly concentrated elegant thing of finesse and beauty.

We drank this wine with home-cooking style Japanese food. It was great with everything, but drinking it with these fried oysters with miso and seaweed was among the most thrilling and delicious pairings I experienced all year. Savory briny sweet complex harmony.

I ate dinner with a few friends at Prune in the fall, and one of them drove in from Rhode Island with several absurd bottles in tow, one of which was the 1972 Leroy Gevrey-Chambertin 1er Cru Lavaut St Jacques. The wine was closed down hard at first, not so unusual for a wine that's been under cork for the past 40 years. But it opened up and showed beautifully, with savory earthy tones and even a bit of very gently stewed fruit. Such a great treat, to be able to drink a majestic old wine like this. We ate all sorts of good things at Prune, and I am not sure, but I think we drank this wine with lamb sausages and all of us were swooning.

Peter generously brought a bottle of Selosse Champagne from France for my birthday in the fall. It is a new release called La Bout du Clos, a wine made entirely from that same vineyard in Ambonnay, from the 2004 vintage. This wine was a bit more quiet than other bottles of Selosse that I've experienced, the oxidative streak not as strong, the supple fruit and saline minerality of the wine doing the talking. It was a special treat.

Peter made a lovely dish of Champignon mushrooms and daikon radish simmered in dashi to go with it - a perfect harmony of savory flavors and aromas. And a concrete reminder, if we needed one, that Champagne is a great table wine.

Why, on Christmas eve my friend Dan Melia opened an absolutely gorgeous bottle of 2006 Marie-Noëlle Ledru Saignée Rosé, and we drank it with excellent grilled cheese sandwiches and various pickles. An unusual pairing, maybe, but Champagne is great with fried food, and the pickles didn't intrude at all. Ledru's Saignée is so very vinous, it's like drinking red wine that happens to have a few bubbles. The wine unfolded slowly and gracefully and was best right as it vanished, a compelling merging of fruit and mineral concentration with textural finesse and grace. Note to self: buy everything Marie-Noëlle Ledru makes before she stops making Champagne.

I've never had Violane before, the sans-soufre cuvée by Benoît Lahaye. This bottle comes entirely from 2008 and is a blend of equal parts Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. I love Lahaye's wines, I love their clarity and focus, their delicate yet powerful expression of Pinot Noir from Bouzy. I loved this wine too, although it is definitely different from the other Lahaye wines I've had. First of all, there is no sulfur, and the wine shows an oxidative undertone that frankly reminded me of some of the Selosse wines I've had (yes, the wine is that good). There is an intense concentration of fruit aroma and flavor and the finish never really ends. We drank this wine on its own, and it was a wonderful pairing. I am drinking the dregs on day two as I write this, and gnawing on a piece of country wheat bread, and it is good.

I haven't had a wine from Santorini in over a year now, as after an initial love affair, I had a group of wines that showed too much sulfur and not enough deliciousness, and I kind of retreated. Not sure what I will do now, after this wine. Peter and I were trying to decide what to drink the other night with a dinner of breaded and fried veal cutlets, cauliflower with cumin, king oyster mushrooms, and garlicky greens. He saw a bottle of 2007 Sigalas Barrel Fermented Assyrtiko in my wine fridge and asked that we open it. I would never have picked that wine, and wow, was it a great pairing.

We decanted the wine about two hours before drinking it, and it was fantastic. The aromas were clear and fresh, vibrant. The wine has a unique aromatic profile, and now that it is maturing, it is articulate and detailed. For me the primary aroma is pumice - the volcanic rock. There is citrus fruit too, something floral, a Burgundian barrel-influenced sweetness, and all infused with this lovely slightly smoky savory-ness. Great freshness and acidity on the palate, balanced, and expressive. Simply delicious wine, and seems like its only beginning to grow into itself. The wine went so well with the veal cutlets, which I topped with a little deglaze of butter, lemon and chopped salted capers. It worked with the earthy cumin notes of the cauliflower and the savour of the mushrooms too. It was surprising to me how this wine offered enough richness to pair with everything on the plate, but also the brightness and refreshment to balance the meal.

This last one reminds me, as a new year approaches, of the value of being open minded, of welcoming new experiences, of being informed by and considerate of what I've learned to be true, but also of wanting to be wrong about things - of learning continuously. I hope that your 2011 ends in a lovely way, and that our 2012 is filled with happiness and learning and many exciting new pairings.

Babyback Ribs - Made Easy

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 23:52:00 +0000

Some recipes and techniques I like to keep to myself. I have to have something to impress you with if you come over for dinner, right? But some are so simple and so great that it becomes my civic duty to share. Here is one, a new one for me - a technique for cooking babyback ribs without a smoker or a grill. Honestly, it's as simple as it gets and total time is under two hours. Please address appreciative correspondence to: Brooklynguy@thankyouribsBrooklynguy.gov.

The technique is this: because you are not going to cook the ribs in a smoker, or otherwise low and slow to tenderize the meat, you need an alternative for tenderizing. Boiling. Yes, boiling the ribs first. I was quite skeptical at first too. When I think of boiled meat I think of my great-uncle's holiday dinner in the Gulag. But boiling is merely to tenderize here, the ribs are finished in the oven, preferably with a glaze of some sort. Here's how:

Start with good quality ribs. I've tried both spare ribs and babyback and both come out great, but my kids can handle the smaller babybacks more easily, so that's what I go with.

Put the ribs in a pot and just cover with water. You are going to bring the water to a boil and then cover and reduce to a simmer for at least 45 minutes. This will tenderize the meat, and I like to think that some of the fat is removed too. I find that the smell is not appealing, so I add a little soy sauce to the water, and some aromatics like garlic, star anise, and black peppercorns. Honestly, I don't think this makes a bit of difference as far as the flavor of the meat, but it does make the house smell savory and spicy, instead of porky.

You can put the boiled ribs in the fridge until you're ready to use them, or glaze them and put them in the oven immediately. Glaze...whatever you like works. I've been enjoying a Chinese-style glaze of Chinkiang vinegar, soy sauce, honey, and a bit of chili paste. You can do anything you like here for a glaze, though. I want to try a ponzu glaze, and some sort of BBQ sauce. I imagine that in a pinch, you could use BBQ sauce from a jar, although you would first have to shave your beard and take off your worn-looking wool cap.

If you glaze and put in the oven right after simmering, as little as 20 minutes in a 325 oven is fine. But I've found that I get the texture I'm looking for after about an hour. I take the ribs out of the oven and apply more glaze every 20 minutes or so.

Ribs are rich and fatty. I like to serve mine with lots of greens, hopefully involving vinegar. This is not a new idea - this is the same idea behind cole slaw. Tatsoi is a healthy and very delicious green vegetable that does well cooked quickly in a wok. I did mine this time with a little Sherry vinegar and garlic.

On this night, my kids and I rolled some vinegared sushi rice in nori and that completed our plates. These ribs are delicious, and anyone who eats meat will love them. It's hard to describe the delight a parent feels when their young kids go to town on some protein, and that's exactly what happens every time I make this dish.

Beer would be good, Riesling, Sherry, there are many nice options. As crazy as it sounds, on this night I drank red wine with these ribs. Michel Lafarge makes one of my favorite Bourgognes. It is a regional wine, but it is very serious stuff. It comes from vines that were formerly classified as Volnay villages, and the wine typically needs a few years to fully express itself. The 2008 is in a place now where the meatiness and richness of the fruit is strong, but so is the sense of stoney minerality. The structure is firm but the texture is velvet - this is such a lovely vintage for this wine. And it was great with the Chinkiang-glazed ribs.

You be the Sommelier

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 01:15:00 +0000

I thought it would be fun to do one more of these before the year ends. The other night, after picking up my kids and bringing them home to begin their week with me, I made a simple and quick dinner that we could eat together before bed time. Hamburgers, mashed potatoes, a few vegetables.

I like to use ground turkey when I make hamburgers, but ground turkey that has plenty of dark meat in it, meat that stays juicy and rich. The daughters' burgers were topped with cheddar, mine with Jasper Hills Bayley Hazen blue cheese, my favorite blue cheese. Mashed potatoes were made with russets, butter, cream, and salt - that's it. Orange bell peppers and Persian cucumbers marinated in a bit of Sherry vinegar finished everyone's plate. This is one of those dinners that makes everyone happy - kids and grownups alike.

What would you open with this meal? Leave your thoughts in the comments, and I'll leave a comment in a few days telling what I drank (and my younger daughter took a tiny sip of) with our dinner.

In Defense of Red Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 19:20:00 +0000

I've been having a hard time with red wine lately. Okay, I never have a problem with mature Burgundy, or mature red wine in general. But when I'm alone and I feel like opening something to drink with dinner, or to just have a glass, I almost always reach for white wine these days. White wine is so much more versatile with food, so much easier to drink on its own. I'm speaking in broad terms, obviously, but I looked through what I've been drinking for the past few months and it's almost always white wine, unless some sort of special mature red is involved.

There could be many reasons for my bias. I did just go to Jerez, and I have been drinking a lot of Sherry. But I think it's more than that. I think that it's about easy drinking - I want to drink wines that clearly say what they are about, where they are from, that do not distract me with excess fruit or tannin, or any kind of excess. Lately, white wine just makes this happen for me far more often than red.

But of course there are red wines that continue to fit the bill. I've noticed that there are a few things that unite the everyday red wines that I reach for lately. They are lighter wines, wines that achieve balance above all else, and also express themselves with finesse and grace. Here are a few current favorites:

2007 Muhr-van de Niepoort Carnuntum Blaufrankisch, $20, Imported by Martine's Wines. This is definitely a wine that showcases ripe dark fruit, but that's only a part of the package. There is an unmistakable white pepper scent (I guess white pepper is more about Austrian soils than it is about Gruner Veltliner), and the nose is entirely graceful and expressive. The wine is perfectly balanced and feels great in the mouth. It satisfies on many levels - there is fruit, soil and mineral, and a pleasant leafy undertone. I must say, I've not been as impressed with a red wine in a while, as far as quality-to-price ratio goes. This is absolutely top notch wine, I bet it would improve with time in the cellar, and it sells for $20 before a mixed case discount. It isn't too hard to find in NYC (Blanc y Rouge in Brooklyn, Chambers Street Wines in Manhattan, among others), but if you're having trouble, try a wine by Moric - more expensive, but also great.

2008 Julien Labet Côtes du Jura, $36, Imported by Fruit of the Vines. Joe Salamone at Crush brings this wine to NYC and it's worth asking about. Objectively speaking, I think that Overnoy/Houillon's is the finest Poulsard out there, but that wine is basically impossible to find and it's gotten quite expensive. Labet's is excellent too. So light and graceful that it seems strange how well structured it is. This wine smacks of dried leaves and blood oranges and herbs and it's completely delicious. But what moves me about it now is how impossibly weightless and light it is, and still how clearly and pungently it expresses itself. If Labet's Poulsard proves to be too hard to find, there are several others out there. They should all be similar in their graceful delivery of Jura-ness.

2010 Clos de Tue-Boeuf Cheverny, $19, Louis/Dressner Selections. Red wines from Cheverny in the Loire Valley can include a variety of grapes. This one is made of Gamay and Pinot Noir. It is a lovely wine - high toned and bright red in fruit, a bit of forest underneath and a genuine crackle of energy that can be mistaken for effervescence - decant or otherwise aerate the wine and the energy is still there. This wine isn't for everyone - it's light and bright and flirts with volatility, and it doesn't offer anything in the way of power. It's not really about fruit either, although there most certainly is fruit. It's a refreshing and light wine that really is an expression of this place and this winemaker. If you try it, aerate the wine before you drink it.

2010 Domaine Guion Bourgueil Cuvée Domaine, $12, Imported by Fruit of the Vines. David Lillie at Chambers Street Wines is responsible for bringing this wine to NYC. This is the lighter of the two Guion Bourgueils, and I prefer it to the Prestige Cuvée, in general. The 2010 is a wine that I really like, although again, it's not for everyone. It is not a fruity wine, except for the first 10 minutes or so after opening. It's only $12 but it is a complete wine - a perfect balance of iron minerals, bloody dark fruit, and acidity, and the structure is firm but doesn't intrude in any way. This is an easy drinking wine that I think faithfully expresses terroir.

Matt Kramer's Making Sense of Burgundy - Some Quotes

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 23:05:00 +0000

I had a birthday in November and a friend gave me a fantastic gift - Matt Kramer's "Making Sense of Burgundy." This book was published in 1990 and it continues to be on most shortlists of great wine books. I actually have read almost no wine books, so my entire list is a short list. But I must say, this book is wonderful. It offers plenty of fun for the obsessive among us, listing every owner of every Grand and 1er Cru vineyard in the Côte d'Or, as of the late '80s, anyway. There is apparently no other published source of this information. Kramer also describes in matter-of-fact prose the characteristics of these vineyards and the wines they are capable of producing. There are discussions of value in Burgundy and the relative achievements of individual producers (and it's fascinating to compare his predictions about rising stars with the producers today who are making waves).

The section of the book that I find myself thinking abut the most, so far, is the chapter called "The Notion of Terroir." Kramer talks about all sorts of things here - you'll read about acupuncture, abstract expressionist painting, and the feudal ages in Europe, among other things. In this chapter are several passages that have really captured my attention and I find myself reading them over and over. Kramer shares his thoughts on terroir, and it's as compelling as anything I've read on that rather wide subject.

From page 39-40:

"Although it is derived from soil or land (terre), terroir is not just an investigation of soil and subsoil. It is everything that contributes to the distinction of a vineyard plot. As such, it also embraces 'microclimate': precipitation, air and water drainage, elevation, sunlight, and temperature. But terroir holds yet another dimension: It sanctions what cannot be measured, yet still located and savored. Terroir prospects for differences. In this it is at odds with science, which demand proof by replication rather than in shining uniqueness."

Hard to imagine a simpler and more effective notion of terroir, no?

And how about this, from page 42-43:

"The supreme concern of Burgundy is - or should be - making terroir manifest. In outline, this is easily accomplished: small berried clones; low yields, selective sorting of the grapes; and, trickiest of all, fermenting and cellaring the wine in such a way as to allow the terroir to come through with no distracting stylistic flourishes. This is where terroir comes smack up against ego, the modern demand for self-expression at any cost, which, too often, has come at the expense of terroir."

And this too, from page 45:

"The ideal is to amplify terroir without distorting it. Terroir should be transmitted as free as possible of extraneous elements of style or taste. Ideally, one should not be able to find the hand of the wine-maker. That said, it must be acknowledged that some signature always can be detected, although it can be very faint indeed when you reach the level of Robert Chevillon in Nuits-Saint-Georges; Bernard Serveau in Morey-Saint-Denis; or the marquis d'Angerville or Gérard Potel, both in Volnay, to name a few. The self-effacement of these producers in their wines is very nearly Zen-like: their signature is an absence of signature."

Fascinating ideas, I would say. So many things to think about in there. I wonder about some of the ideas in the final quote. Is it physically possible for there to be no signature? Wine is made, after all, and this handling of grapes leaves some trace behind. Or does it? And who is this Bernard Serveau, and I feel like a schmuck for never having tasted one of his wines. What do you think about when you read the above quotes? Were you as blown away as I am when you first read Making Sense of Burgundy?

I think I should read some more about wine. So, what are some of your favorite wine books? Not novels, I mean. Reference books, books that offer this sort of illumination about a place or certain wines.

A Noël Verset Wine Dinner

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 04:55:00 +0000

Not too long ago I was fortunate enough to attend a dinner featuring the wines of Noël Verset. The company was great, and so were the food and the wines. But this was truly a special experience because Noël Verset's wines are no longer being made - they are quite rare, and are increasingly expensive when they can be found. To enjoy a dinner at which 10 different vintages are served...this is not something that can easily be repeated. Jaime Wolff of Chambers Street Wines hosted, and he and David Bowler organized the wines, mostly. The rest of us brought along a bottle and we cobbled together a vertical that spanned 10 vintages between 1988 - 2004.

Noël Verset made wines in Cornas that for many people define the potential greatness of the Northern Rhône and of Syrah. I cannot give you a scientific treatise on why Noël Verset's wines are so great, but I can share a bit with you of what I've learned from reading the interwebs and listening to educated people. Verset owned several choice plots of very old vines (some approaching 100 years old) in the best vineyards of Cornas, the tiny appellation in the southern-most edge of the Northern Rhône. He grew an old Syrah clone called La Petite Syrah, a clone known for aromatic complexity. He worked the vines himself until he was over 80 years old, and these are steep terraces, not easy. He began working in the vineyards of Cornas when he was 12 years old in the 1930's, so he knew a little something about growing grapes in this place. Verset did not de-stem the grapes and supposedly crushed them by foot. He was exacting in the vineyards and intelligent in the winery.

Verset made one wine and one wine only, combining the grapes from all of his parcels into one Cornas. I think it's interesting to think about that. We tend to value the idea of vinifying individual plots separately, as in Burgundy, and increasingly now in Champagne. Thierry Allemand makes vineyard specific Cornas, Auguste Clape made several wines from vines of different ages. Not Verset - everything that he selected in a given year went into his one wine.

Jamie was a truly gracious host, and made an excellent dinner, as usual. Stirring risotto makes him happy.

Could it really be that simple - great terroir, old vines, great plant material, good vineyard work, intelligent wine making? Maybe, maybe not, but Verset's wines stand apart from the black sea of ultra-concentrated, false Northern Rhône wines that make up the majority of what's available today. Verset's wines smell and taste right, like the essence of Syrah from that part of the world - Meaty, savory, funky, darkly fruited, olive-y, and vibrant with minerality and acidity. I love how the best bottles show an incredible intensity and focus while retaining every aspect of definition and clarity - these are big wines, and they are graceful and articulate too.

Jamie made, um, white truffle risotto. We drank the older vintages with it. It might seem strange, but I really enjoyed this.

Jamie made some delicious things to eat with these wines, and he and David did something that surprised me, but in retrospect it makes perfect sense. They served the oldest wines first. In my (limited) experience, people tend to begin with the young wines and serve the oldest wines last. Young, tannic, acidic Northern Rhône Syrah might be best served after the more delicate and gentle mature wines.

With Verset, you get what the vintage gives - the wines are all quite different from one another. Some of these are wines that I've had before, others not. Some seemed to be in a prime drinking window, others were very young. I thought that the 1999 was the most perfect of the wines, objectively speaking, although it was clearly not mature enough to be at its peak. But it was a complete wine, with powerful fruit, minerals, great structure, intensity, and balance. It should be a thing of incredible joy and beauty in 10 years.

The 1988 and the 1993 were both compelling and wonderful wines, and both were ready for drinking in that the harder edges of structure had melted into the wine, and both wines showed a delicate side that accentuated the clarity of mature fruit and stony base. The 1988 in particular was a terrific wine, so classy and graceful, so expressive, perfectly seamless.

My favorite wine for drinking on this night was the 1998. To me, it showed a bit of the power and intensity of the 1999 and also the grace and harmony of the more mature wines, and it was utterly delicious in a riveting way.

The 1995 was a controversial wine, at least for me. I was perhaps the only person at the dinner who did not think it as one of the top wines of the night. For me it was too powerful in its fruit and didn't have the grace and elegance that my favorite wines showed. You understand, of course, that I think the wine was great! It just wasn't stylistically the thing that I love about Verset. The 1990 also - everyone loved it and I appreciated it very much also, it's incredibly savory and autumnal tones were lovely. But I guess what turns me on most about Verset is when the wine has nothing sticking out, when everything harmonizes and it's about the sum, not the parts.

I enjoyed the 1997 and the 2000, but I have had both of these wines before and enjoyed both vintages more on those other occasions. Who knows, perhaps they just didn't shine in this illustrious company.

Jamie served roast lamb, polenta, cauliflower and kale with the young wines. Delicious.

I read that Verset sold his vines to Allemand, Clape, and a few others after the 2000 vintage, yet there is Verset wine in each of 2001-2006. Are the wines up to the usual Verset standard? Seems like it, yes. I didn't care for the 2003, although I recognize that it is well made wine. The vintage was hot and ripe, and so is this wine - hot, opulently fruited, exotic, completely different from all of the other wines. The 2004 was completely lovely, however, with clarity of fruit and mineral, and hinting at the same quiet intensity and harmony that makes some of the older wines so attractive to me.

Thank you Jaime and David, and the other Verset comrades. This was a remarkable experience, and I'm glad I was a part of it. And I'm not just talking about the risotto, I really enjoyed the wines too.

Here are my actual tasting notes, for the masochistic among you.

Sherry Bodega Visits - Some Highlights

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 18:40:00 +0000

Instead of trying to write about individual visits, I thought it would be fun to summarize a bit and share some highlights.

Emilio Hidalgo was my first visit to a Sherry Bodega. I find it hard to remember the details of a first visit - my senses are always so overwhelmed by the newness of it all. A few things stick out in my mind, however, when I remember the Hidalgo visit. Fernando Hidalgo was our guide, and he and Peter caught up a bit as we walked though the courtyard and into the Bodega - Peter had last been in Jerez in May. The first wine that Fernando poured for us was the very special old Fino called La Panesa, and as he was about to draw wine from a barrel he said "Wait, this is the barrel you tasted last time, Peter. We should taste another barrel."

This is impressive. There are obviously many barrels of La Panesa and to remember from which one a rather quiet journalist tasted many months prior...well, it shows an attention to detail and an immersion in one's work that I think is reflected in the wines in general. We tasted several barrels and then walked out of one Bodega and into another.

We passed these tools hanging on the wall. In order to respect Fernando's privacy, I'm not supposed to discuss here what these are actually used for, but I can tell you that it has nothing to do with making wine.*

These old barrel parts lay in a courtyard outside of another Hidalgo Bodega. Between this and the tools above, I began to feel as though I better behave myself at Bodegas Emilio Hidalgo.

In the tasting room we sampled several wines from bottle, including the miraculous old Amontillado called El Tresillo. How cool is that old label? This is one of many great wines I drank that is not available in the US, to my knowledge, a real shame.

Bodegas Tradición is barely over 10 years old, very new for a Sherry producer. The wines, however, are much older. An old Bodega along with wines of very high quality was purchased by a group including billionaire Joaquin Rivero Valcare. H ere is a blog post that describes this story in more detail.

We walked through the facilities and I was fascinated by the guy wax-sealing the bottles.

I suppose this is something that happens at wineries all over the world, but it was nice to realize that every bottle of wine that leaves Tradición is sealed in exactly this way.

This is a paper filter. They are stacked together, separated by porous plastic, and this is what some producers use to filter their wines.

I was surprised to learn that this is among the most gentle of filtering techniques. How could that be gentle, wine having to work its way through many layers of plastic and something that feels sort of like paper mâché? Everything is relative, I guess.

Before going to the tasting room to sample the wines, we visited the museum. Yes, that's right, there is a museum in the Bodega, filled with master works owned by Mr. Rivero Valcare. The above tile painting is by Picasso at age 8.

We tasted Tradición's four Sherries, a 1975 vintage Oloroso, and their brandies too. I like these wines very much, particularly the Amontillado and the Palo Cortado - another wine that is not available in the US.

Peter already described the incredible tasting of the Palmas at González Byass. Another highlight for me at Byass was tasting a barrel of Amontillado wine of indeterminate age, but at least 100 years old. The wine was undrinkable, and Antonio Flores said as much before we tasted it. After enough time in barrel, a wine takes on so much tannin from the wood that it becomes difficult to drink. That said, this wine could be bottled and sold as perfume.

I also learned here to rid myself of preconceived notions about the value of mass produced Sherries like Tio Pepe. I'm not saying that I'm stocking up on Tio Pepe, but it is wrong to think that this is bad wine - it is not. González Byass is a grand old Bodega and they have the resources to make very high quantities of Tio Pepe, and quality is consistent. There are other basic Finos that I much prefer, but I would gladly drink Tio Pepe if those are not available, and I think it stacks up pretty well against most of the world's $12 wine.

Fernando de Castilla is a small Bodega making high end Sherries. Jan Petterson is a Norwegian who worked for decades at Osborne, and left to take over this gem of a place. I was struck by the fact that he would not pour us samples of his Antique Fino. "I am completely obsessed with flor," he said. "We are very small, and I will not disturb the flor like this. We are entering the season where flor is very delicate and I don't want it to experience any more stress than is necessary." I must say, I admire his dedication to his wines.

The wine in bottle was lovely, but a bit confusing to me. It is an old Fino, like Inocente or Panesa, and it is higher in alcohol (18%?) than any other Fino I can think of, and I felt it just a little bit on the palate. Or was it the power of suggestion? I wish I could drink it again, but none of Fernando de Castilla's wines are imported in the US. I brought home a bottle of the very special Antique Palo Cortado and I would invite you to taste it with me but alas, I already drank it.

Perhaps the highlight of this visit, for me, was tasting Fernando de Castilla's brandies from barrel. We tasted Brandy in its youngest incarnation, throughout the next decade of its life, and then the final product before it is bottled. I actually loved the youngest wine - it reminded me of eau-de-vie in its powerful and delicious fresh fruitiness - it smelled and tasted of ripe pears.

Our Barbadillo visit was also fascinating. First of all, the wine maker is a woman, which is highly unusual in this part of the wine making world.

Her name is Montse Molina and she is originally from Madrid, I believe. So in addition to being a woman, she is also an outsider in Sanlucar, which I imagine must have made it difficult for her in the beginning with the group of men she supervised and collaborated with in making Barbadillo's wines.

We tasted three barrels of Barbadillo's Manzanilla Pasada, each from a different room within one of the Bodegas. These three rooms differed in size, ventilation, and humidity - they produce entirely different wines, in other words. They are eventually blended in order to produce the Manzanilla Pasada that goes into bottle. It was fascinating to taste these three wines in succession, to get a concrete view of the impact of the environment of a Bodega on the barrels of wine it produces. Peter and I took our glasses and blended the three wines in what we thought would be an advantageous way, and it was good. Montse tasted our blend and smiled the way I sometimes smile at my two year old when she is able to get her coat off by herself.

We tasted an old Amontillado and it became instantly clear to me that Amontillado made from Manzanilla is different from Amontillado made from Fino. One is not better than the other, but Manzanilla Amontillado, or at least the few that I've tasted, can have a certain saline and lemon peel brightness that I think is tremendously delicious. These are not easy to find, but worth a special search, if you're into Amontillado. I would suggest that you try Barbadillo's version, which I loved, but it is not imported in the US.

And we tasted the Reliquias. These are very old wines, relics, if you will. They are some of the most expensive and rare Sherries, and Barbadillo literally keeps the room where the Reliquias are served under lock and key. And there was some confusion about the location of the key - several workers were sent scurrying about to search for it. Finally it was located, no one was hurt, and in we went. It would be pointless to try to describe the smell and taste of wines as complex as these, but I can tell you that I have never ever tasted an Amontillado as impossibly light and pungent and balanced and beautiful as this one.

What can I say about visiting La Guita and Valdespino with Eduardo Ojeda? Anything I say will trivialize the actual experience of being there with him, listening to him discuss the wines, the Bodegas, the region. He is a passionate, intelligent, an absolutely gentlemanly and lovely person, a living treasure of the wine making tradition in Jerez and Sanlucar. If you go and visit the region, find him and visit La Guita and Valdespino.

At both La Guita and Valdespino, Eduardo wanted to show us the progression of the wines from their youth to the Solera, ready to be bottled. This was an incredible experience for me, seeing the wine in various stages of its life. At La Guita we tasted a special barrel, barrel No 3 from the 4th criadera that was just lovely - bright, saline, refreshing, intense.

We tasted the barrel that gave us La Bota No 20, and our reaction inspired Cabo, the guy in charge of the Bodega when Eduardo isn't there, to draw off a bottle for us to leave with.

We tasted a hidden barrel of Amontillado, that little one above barrel 17, something that is not bottled. This is one of the great things about visiting a Sherry Bodega - if you are lucky you will get to taste special things, wines that the cellar master cares about but that will never see the inside of a bottle. Again, Amontillado made of Manzanilla wine can be very special, and this was absolutely one of the most memorable wines of the trip for me.

At Valdespino we tasted through many of the 10 criaderas of Inocente, several criaderas of Tio Diego, and and a few other great wines. Inocente is a Fino that comes exclusively from grapes from the Marchenudo Alto vineyard, one of the "Grand Cru" sites of Jerez. Tio Diego is what happens when Inocente becomes an Amontillado - not 30 years later, but very soon after it becomes Amontillado.

What happens after Tio Diego? We walked to the section of the Bodega where a few very special wines age in barrel. There is Viejo CP, a lovely Palo Cortado that originates as Inocente, a wine that is not imported in the US. And finally, there is Cardenal, one of the great wines of Jerez, a very old Palo Cortado of which perhaps 400 half bottles are released each year. The Cardenal solera is fed by Viejo CP. As it was first described to me by Peter, "Even seasoned Sherry buffs in Spain widen their eyes if a bottle of Cardenal is served." We tasted this wine next to Coliseo, a very old Amontillado that originates as a Manzanilla, actually. Both are superb wines of astounding depth and intensity, and also great clarity and articulation, and of seemingly unending length. I calculated 47 minutes on Coliseo, but honestly I just stopped counting at that point. These glorious wines are something like the Richebourg and La Tâche of Sherry, but they can be had for a fraction of the price. I should say they could be, if they were imported to the US. I'm starting to sense a pattern here regarding importation, or lack thereof, of fine Sherry. Are you?

* Patently false. These are wine making tools. And Fernando Hidlago is an upstanding citizen who is well regarded in his community.

Tiled Entryways in Jerez

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 01:43:00 +0000

Southern Spain was ruled by the Moors for over 700 years until the end of the 15th century. There are several cities in Andalusia where one can see magnificent works of Moorish architecture. Jerez is not among them, to my knowledge. But there are traces of the Moorish past in Jerez. I noticed immediately, for example, that the entryways to many residences are beautifully tiled in the Moorish style.

I cannot explain why these captured my attention so vividly, but they did. Maybe it's because they are beautiful. Maybe it's because I am an obsessive person. Whatever the case may be, I want to share some photos of these tiled entryways, because I like them. So yes, there is nothing about food or wine in this post. If that bothers you, have a snack or a small glass of Fino while looking at the photos.

This entryway was tiled.

This one also was tiled.

This one too.

This one is not unusual, in that it was tiled.

At this point, you cannot be surprised about the tiles in this entryway.

What, you thought there'd be no tiles?

Tiled fireplace of old? A baker sells bread through that window.

Here, a tiled entryway.

Tiled entryway with rug.

The designer here chose tiles for the entryway.

This concludes this series. Notice that all of the entryways are tiled.

Visiting a Sherry Bodega

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 01:30:00 +0000

In Burgundy and the Loire Valley, it can be difficult to find the producers you are trying to visit. The houses look like any other houses and often the placards at the entrance are quite small. When you eventually find your way, you visit dark and cold underground caves with beautiful mold covered walls. There is enough room for wine barrels and not much else - visiting is an intimate experience. You taste through the lineup of new wines in barrel, and then perhaps a few bottles from recent vintages, maybe an older bottle if you are lucky and the wine maker feels like sharing a special experience.

Entrance to Bodegas Emilio Hidalgo.

Visiting a Sherry Bodega is quite different. Sherry Bodegas, small and large, tend to be a bit easier to identify from the street.

Spiral staircase, Gonzales Byass.

Bodegas are compounds - there are barrels rooms of course, but also courtyards with lovely plants and trees, and offices and all sorts of other buildings.

Inside Bodegas Fernando de Castilla.

Honestly, the larger Bodegas seemed like walled cities with their own private streets, and what I think may have been medical clinics, schools, and libraries. Okay, maybe not, but it seemed that way to me.

Oloroso barrels at Bodegas Emilio Hidalgo.

Most of the Bodegas we visited keep some barrels in the outside air. There are wines in these barrels - Olorosos, usually, wines that never see flor. They are able to withstand greater variation in temperature than biologically aged wines.

Inside the Valdespino Bodega. It felt as though I had been swallowed by a whale.

Walking into an actual Bodega, a barrel room, can be startling. You step through a door (they are not underground) and into a vast dark room filled with barrels. Light pokes past the edges of frayed wooden screens that don't really cover the windows. The ceilings are very high. The air smells delicious, kind of like yeasty bread dough and toffee. These are old, quiet, beautiful places that inspire great reverence.

Inside the "Cathedral" at Barbadillo where Solear is matured.

You do not taste finished wines in Sherry Bodegas. In Burgundy, for example, when you taste from a barrel you get a pretty good sense of what the wine will be. Sure, the wine you taste will be blended with other barrels of the same wine and it is unfinished in barrel, so you must interpolate a bit to understand what you are tasting. But in a Sherry Bodega you are tasting merely one ingredient of a wine, and at one moment in that ingredient's never-ending life.

"1/70" indicates that this is barrel #1 of 70, in the 10th and youngest criadera.

You begin by tasting from a barrel in a younger criadera, and get a sense of the wine as it begins. Tasting older criaderas, you get a sense of the wine as it matures, and so on. Even when you taste from the solera barrels you are experiencing but one version of the wine, the version that the cellar master wants you to see on that day, not the finished wine. None of these wines that you taste will ever be experienced in a bottle. They are, as Peter says, "photographs of a moment in time." When you emerge from visiting a Bodega, you leave with an understanding (hopefully) of the Bodega and what the wines can be, not so much of the wines as you might purchase them in bottle.

There are amazing, these old Bodegas, and they are an endangered species. I'm grateful that I had the opportunity to see them and to be with them for those few days.

The Changing Sherry Market - Fine Sherry is more than Equipo Navazos

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 04:22:00 +0000

Not really so long ago in Burgundy, négociants dominated the wine market. Growers sold even their finest wines to the négoce who bottled them and that's what was largely available for retail purchase. But as a new generation of growers took over their parents' estates, and as the market expanded for wines made by a specific grower, drinking Burgundy wine is now about finding bottles by the producers and the vineyards that we like. And I doubt that anyone would say that this is a bad thing.

In a way, the opposite is true regarding Sherry. A long time ago, even smaller producers bottled and sold their Sherries and they were available in various markets. Not now. The market for Sherry has been bad enough for long enough that there simply aren't many Bodegas left - maybe 40 in total, and that's including all three cities in the triangle. And of these 40 or so Bodegas, only some bottle wines that are exported and sold in the US market. And of those, many are not distributed all that well, and only some of the wines are available for purchase, never the Bodega's entire lineup.

Eduardo Ojeda pouring Valdespino Cardenal and Coliseo from barrel. These are among the very best of Palo Cortado and Amontillado, respectively, and we cannot buy them in the US.

It is a Spanish version of the négoce that allows us to drink some of the wines made by smaller Sherry Bodegas. Here in the US, if you want to taste the Sherries of Jose Luis Gonzales Obregon, you must buy them in a Lustau bottle. If you want to taste the Sherries of Sánchez Ayala or Fernando de Castilla, you must do so in an Equipo Navazos bottle. This sort of négociant activity is a good thing in the Sherry triangle - there are many great wines made in Jerez, Sanlucar, and Puerto Santa Maria that we would not be able to drink if not for bottlers and shippers such as these.

Jan Petterson of Fernando de Castilla.

For me, it's been a bit strange to wrap my head around. When I first drank an Equipo Navazos wine I had no idea what it actually represented. Eduardo Ojeda and Jesus Barquin of Equipo Navazos have developed relationships with people in Bodegas all over the triangle, and they select special barrels from specific soleras to bottle and sell all over the world (more often than not in Singapore, but that's another story). Many of the people I spoke to in Jerez and Sanlucar are happy that Equipo Navazos is doing what they're doing because Equipo Navazos is generating renewed interest in Sherry as a fine wine.

Equipo Navazos wines are expensive by Sherry standards (and well worth the money), and people snap them up so fast now that it's virtually impossible for retailers to keep them in stock. Would you pay $45 for a bottle of Sánchez Ayala Manzanilla? This is a rhetorical question because we didn't when we could have, and now we can't. But we all eagerly shelled out $45 for Equipo Navazos La Bota de Manzanilla No 22, a Manzanilla from the soleras of Sánchez Ayala.

Jesus Barquin of Equipo Navazos.

This is not a criticism of us, of Sánchez Ayala, of Equipo Navazos, or of anything. I'm just trying to suggest that we should remember, as we (re)discover fine Sherry wines, that there are great producers of fine Sherry, outside of Equipo Navazos.

Fernando Hidalgo, brother of Emilio Hidalgo, pouring Fino Especial La Panesa.

I will keep buying Equipo Navazos wines (when I can find them) and you should buy whatever makes you happy. But in addition, I will also buy Sherries made by producers such as Emilio Hidalgo, El Maestro Sierra, and other Bodegas who bottle their own wine. If you like Sherry but you drink mostly Equipo Navazos wines, you might also consider trying some other wines. It's not all about Equipo Navazos, as great as the wines are. There are other great Sherry wines out there and they are becoming easier to find in the US, probably due in large part to the success of the Equipo Navazos project.

Some of my favorite Finos that are available in the US, for example:

--Valdespino Inocente (and Equipo Navazos bottles wines from this solera too)

--Emilio Hidalgo Fino Especial La Panesa (Crush sent an email about this wine today - definitely something to buy if you haven't already)

--Emilio Hidalgo Fino (delicious, inexpensive, and absurdly hard to find, still)

--El Maestro Sierra Jerez Fino

--Pedro Romero Manzanilla Aurora

--Gutierrez Colosia El Puerto de Santa Maria Juan Sebastian Elcano

--Argüeso Manzanilla de Sanlúcar de Barrameda Manzanilla San León Clásica

Jerez and Sanlucar Tapas

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 04:15:00 +0000

The eating in Jerez and Sanlucar was pretty great. It's all about tapas, small dishes that you order too many of and share with friends. Generally, you go to lunch at about 3:30 and eat a lot of tapas. You finish at something like 5:30. You take break, and then go to dinner at something like 9.

Olives are amazing. Often so lackluster here in the states, olives were truly delicious in Jerez. Stuffed with anchovies and garlic, marinated in a brine that includes the juice of the bitter Seville orange, they are really memorable, and I crave them now.

Then there are the deceptively simple potato tapas. I liked them best with olive oil, Sherry vinegar, and topped with cured fish. Perhaps this dish is the roast chicken of Jerez - easy to make and ubiquitous, but actually very difficult to make perfectly. Judge a chef by the simplest of dishes...

And there is Jamon. No self-respecting establishment would use a slicer to serve Jamon. You can see the striations from the knife on each slice. The fat glistens and is clean and richly flavorful, each bite fragrant and nutty. This is difficult to replicate here in NYC. Many tapas bars display their Jamon right over the bar for all to drool over.

Seafood is fresh and delicious, and typically quite simply (and expertly) fried. Anchovies, sardines, red mullet, tuna. This stuff is actually good for you. Mojama is cured tuna, a special cut. It is creamy in texture and rich in tuna flavor. The Jamon of the sea, if you will. Langoustines and gambas (shrimp) are everywhere. The freshest ones are dropped in salted boiling water for a few moments, just until they are barely cooked, and then put on a plate. That's it.

Here are some pics, and I hope they inspire you to eat something great for lunch or dinner today:
La Moderna, Jerez:

Potatoes in olive oil and Sherry vinegar with fish.

Chicharrones, in this case fried pig belly. By the way, the richest person in southern Spain is the one who makes those cracker tubes. They are EVERYWHERE.

Toro, stewed bull.

Bustling behind the bar.

Taberna der Guerito, Sanlucar:

Excellent olives. My favorites of the trip.

La Bota No 30 is not a bad wine.

Cuttle fish stewed with chick peas and tripe.

Beef stew with french fries.

Casa de Balbino, Sanlucar:

Tortilla de Camarones (fried tiny shrimp tortilla, amazing with cold beer).

Mojama.

Langoustines.

Octopus in olive oil with crisp vegetables - shaved celery?

Bar Juanito, Jerez:

Artichoke hearts in olive oil and herbs, and garlic.

Anchovies with sea salt. Absurd.

Jamon Ibérico, wild mushrooms with langoustines, Inocente. Hard to argue with that.

Bar Navarro, Sanlucar:

Olives.

Tomato salad with onion and tuna.

Scorched Padron peppers with sea salt.

Anchovies. Eat them whole.

A fish they called "little sole."

Red Mullet.

Las Terraces, in Seville:

Jamon. Is there a more appealing way to display a pig's leg? I don't think so.

Jamon and Chorizo Ibérico.

Roast peppers in olive oil, potatoes with cured fish, tuna en adobo, and seafood salad.

Okay, now go meet a friend for lunch.

Fino Sherry is not an Oxidized Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 01:50:00 +0000

When I started drinking Sherry I thought that Fino wines were oxidized. Whereas oxidized is a bad thing for most wines, such as white Burgundy, I figured that oxidized was just part of Sherry, one of the things that defined the wine, and that appreciating Sherry meant getting past this oxidization. This is entirely untrue - Fino is not oxidized at all, quite the opposite actually. Fino wines are oxidative - they are aged in very old barrels for at least 3 years and often longer, and old barrels breathe. Oxidative is different from oxidized. Amontillado and Oloroso - these wines are allowed to age in full contact with oxygen, and they are oxidized, to an extent. This is not a flaw, it is simply a part of their character.

Fino wines age in barrels under a layer of flor. The flor protects the surface of the wine from oxygen - it prevents oxygen from touching the wine. And because flor is delicate, alive, a thin veil that is highly susceptible to changes in temperature and humidity, wine makers tend not to disturb it. They certainly do not stir the wine in barrel, that would break apart the flor. Stirring the lees is one of the ways that wine makers can introduce oxygen into wines in barrel, and it's not part of Sherry wine making. So no contact with oxygen, no stirring, only the breathing of the barrels. Fino wines are, and get ready for this...reductive! That's right, Fino wines in barrel are reductive, and require aeration when removed from the barrel for tasting.

Cellar masters in Jerez and Sanlucar have a special technique for drawing wine from barrels, and in my understanding, it is primarily about aerating the wine. They use a tool called a Venencia (pronounced BenENthia), a thin rod perhaps three feet long with a small cylinder at one end. The cylinder is gently but authoritatively poked through the layer of flor and then removed containing wine, bits of flor, and who knows what else. The wine is then poured from an ascending height in a narrow stream into the tasting glass, allowing for lots of contact with oxygen. Watch below for a demonstration - it is a video I took of Eduardo Ojeda, Cellar Master at Valdespino and La Guita, and elder statesman of Sherry:

And here is Antonio Flores of González Byass:

The point here in the end is that although the taste of Fino Sherry can seem oxidized, it is not actually an oxidized wine. It is a wine made in an oxidative style, whose flor-influenced aroma and flavor profile are so unusual to the uninitiated that we might experience it as oxidized. If you drink enough Sherry, you will begin to see Fino differently, to experience and enjoy the flor character, the buttery and lactic, sometimes lemony, slightly almondine tones that it imparts to wine.

The Palmas of González Byass - A Guest Post by Peter Liem

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:18:00 +0000

Peter Liem is an expert on Champagne and Sherry, and probably several other wine regions too, although he would never say that himself. In fact, perhaps the thing that he is worst at in the world is self-promotion. One of the results of his humble quiet attitude about his expertise is the fact that many of us wine lovers don't realize that he is behind many of the interesting ideas and trends in wine appreciation, and even now in the crafting of wine. This last assertion will become quite clear in the coming years, as the changes in Sherry wine making and importing take full effect in this country - Peter's thoughts on the wines are carefully listened to in the Sherry Triangle.

Peter is writing a book on Sherry with Jesus Barquin of Equipo Navazos, and there is no question in my mind that this will be one of the most enjoyable and important wine books in recent history. He just knows that much, and his sensibilities are that nuanced. The book will be out in the spring, and remember over the next few months, as you read and hear more about Sherry, that Peter is as much as anyone or anything, the genesis of the Sherry resurgence in NYC and the US.

The following is Peter's text and photos about a set of wines that we tasted in Jerez last week. I think it's fitting that his writing appears before I (bumblingly) attempt to write anything further about the trip. So without further ado...

The Palmas of González Byass

In the modern day, fino sherry is typically thought of as a light, pale wine, one that is best drunk when it is relatively young. This, of course, ignores the fact that fino is by definition an aged wine, being anywhere from three to ten years old when it is bottled.

As with other fine wines, fino develops more complexity and depth as it ages, acquiring flavors and aromas that cannot be derived in any other way. Unlike other wines, however, fino doesn't necessarily have clearly defined beginnings and endings to its élevage. When a red wine is put into barrel, for example, there is a point at which it finishes that phase of its aging: it no longer benefits from being in barrel (and indeed, may decline if left there), and so the winemaker bottles it. In the case of fino, which is aged in a solera, it essentially lives a perpetual existence — guided by a skilled capataz, or cellarmaster, through its various criaderas, it continues to gain in complexity and character as it progresses down a path that ultimately leads to amontillado. Thus, a bottling taken from a solera represents a sort of photograph of a particular moment in time, capturing the character of the wine in that instant. In bottle, we see a fino as the capataz, the photographer, chooses to present it to us, yet just as the subject of a photograph continues to live and grow and evolve after the picture is taken, so does a fino.

In October, González Byass released a collection of wines that offers a fascinating, behind-the-scenes glimpse of the way that fino evolves in barrel. The house's fino, Tio Pepe, is the best-selling sherry in the world, and its soleras are enormous, encompassing over 22,000 barrels. Last year, the firm released a small quantity of Tio Pepe En Rama, a special selection of barrels that were bottled with a minimum amount of filtration. This was supposed to be a one-off release, in celebration of the house's 175th anniversary, yet it was received with so much enthusiasm in the marketplace that González Byass opted to do a second version earlier this year. Encouraged by the success of that project, the house decided to push the concept a little further, and the result is the new collection of Palmas: four rare and scrupulously selected wines that brilliantly illustrate the aging curve of fino. Unfortunately for most of the world's wine-drinking population, the Palmas are being released exclusively in the UK and Spain, but hopefully González Byass will elect to continue bottling these wines and make them available elsewhere in the future.

The term palma is used by cellarmasters in their classification of the various casks in the cellar. In his book Sherry, The Noble Wine, Manuel González Gordon writes: "Palmas (one, two, three or four) refer to certain Fino Sherries notable for the cleanness and delicacy of their aroma; the number of Palmas denotes their age." Julian Jeffs, in his book Sherry, reminds us that this is an internal classification rather than an official one: "The term palma is reserved for fino of the highest quality, with a particularly clean and delicate aroma. As the wine ages it may become dos palmas, tres palmas or cuatro palmas, but this classification is purely arbitrary; a shipper may put the dividing line where he likes, so that one shipper's palma could be similar to another's tres palmas." Barrels designated as palmas are marked by a diagonal line with one to four branches, as seen in the above photo of a barrel of cuatro palmas.

On a visit to González Byass last week, Brooklynguy and I met with master blender Antonio Flores to talk about the new Palmas and to taste the wines. We began, logically, with a tasting of Tio Pepe from barrel, as it's necessarily the starting point of any discussion of the Palmas. When Tio Pepe is bottled, the wine averages about four and a half years of age, and the idea of the Palmas is that they depict stages of fino beyond that. "Las Palmas are the evolution of Tio Pepe," says Flores. "They portray life after Tio Pepe."

A fino that ages oxidatively after losing its flor becomes an amontillado. You can make an amontillado, generally speaking, in one of two ways: either you fortify an existing fino to 17 percent of alcohol to kill the flor, or you allow the flor to die off naturally, losing its stability over a period of many years as it's slowly starved of nutrients. González Byass is an advocate of the latter method, which is both more time-consuming and more labor-intensive, as it requires the maintenance of more intermediate soleras. The firm makes two amontillados: Viña AB, which averages about nine years of age, and Del Duque, a VORS averaging 30 years of age. The soleras of Tio Pepe feed the criaderas of Viña AB, and Viña AB, in turn, eventually feeds Del Duque.

Prior to turning into amontillado, however, a selected portion of the house's top finos are used to refresh an extraordinary collection of 600 barrels of what is essentially fino-amontillado, tucked away in a corner of the firm's imposing, three-story Gran Bodega. These barrels, arranged into several criaderas, demonstrate how blurred the lines between all these categories really are. At what point does fino stop and amontillado begin? When does an aged fino become a fino-amontillado? Regardless of how you choose to categorize them, these wines represent something special, and it is from these barrels that the Palmas were selected.

The first, Una Palma, is a wine of about six years of age, and is still very much a fino, even if its savory, burnished flavors are moving towards another stage of maturity. "We're still looking for flor character here," says Flores (pictured above). To make this, Flores and his team began with 150 barrels that showed the character that they were looking for; from these, they narrowed the selection to 20, then to ten, finally ending up with just five of the finest barrels, from which they produced 2,400 500-milliliter bottles. The wine is noticeably deeper and richer than even the En Rama version of Tio Pepe, showing its greater age in its nutty, umami-driven aromas and buttery texture. It's extremely salty and minerally in its undertones, finishing with an almondy bitterness and long, fragrant length.

This umami savoriness becomes even more pronounced in the Dos Palmas, which comes from an even smaller selection of wines that average about eight years of age. Here the flor is growing thinner in the barrel, and the wine is beginning to offer hints of what lies beyond the world of biological aging, showing brief glimpses of marzipan and toffee. It's still strongly marked by flor, with aromas of roasted almonds, iodine and brown butter, and while it retains a saline backbone of minerality on the finish, it's fuller and more expansive than the Una Palma, developing more body and weight.

As this continues into the next criadera, its average age increases to ten years, and here the flor is so old and feeble that it no longer forms a coherent layer, instead being broken up into patches that lie on top of the wine. The color of this wine, the Tres Palmas, is a little deeper and more amber than that of the previous two, and its nose is moving slowly into the realm of oxidative aging, with aromas of caramel and dried apples alongside old flor notes of almond butter and vegemite. It explodes in fragrance on the palate, feeling heady in richness yet seamlessly harmonious and elegantly refined, and its finish is marked by an intense concentration of aroma and long, saline length. "In the old days, at the end of the 19th century or the beginning of the 20th, people would say that this was just an old fino," says Flores. "For me, it's definitely a fino-amontillado now. But it's a very personal decision, and it depends upon the nose of the individual taster."

Like Tio Pepe En Rama, these were bottled with a minimal amount of filtration, using a relatively porous filter simply to remove any flies or large pieces of sediment. In bottle, there are still some particles of flor, and because of this, Flores says that these wines should be drunk sooner rather than later. "The Una Palma, Dos Palmas and Tres Palmas should be drunk within six months," he says, "when they are the same as they are in barrel. After that, they will change in character. Also, the yeasts may cause the wine to be a little unstable over time."

The final wine in the collection is no longer a fino, but it clearly demonstrates that it originated as one, many years ago. "We wanted to show the other end of the spectrum," says Flores. The Cuatro Palmas, pictured above, comes from a solera of just six barrels, called the Solera Museo, which contains the house's oldest "drinkable" amontillados, according to Flores: "Forty to fifty years is the limit of drinkability," he says. "We have older wines, but they're so concentrated and woody that they are no longer drinkable." These barrels, in fact, represent the continuation of the fino and amontillado spectrum even beyond Del Duque — when Del Duque is bottled it averages 30 years of age, but the Cuatro Palmas averages 45 years, meaning that even though Del Duque is already a VORS, it effectively acts as a criadera for the Solera Museo.

The Cuatro Palmas is not a blend of the six barrels, but rather a selection of a single barrel in the solera, yielding a mere 150 bottles of wine. "All six barrels are magnificent," says Flores, "but we chose the barrel with the most finesse, to remind you that it was once a fino." The wine smells amazing, its exotic aromas of dried fruit, brown spices, nuts and fresh caramel seamlessly wound into a pungently fragrant whole. Even with its powerful concentration on the palate, it still thrives on its impeccable elegance and harmony, persisting with lacy, filigreed detail and seemingly unending length. In this regard, it's easy to relate it back to its beginnings as a fino, despite its great age: while the influence of flor is now a memory rather than an overt presence, it forms the foundation of the wine's character, giving it a racy, elongated shape and an inimitably silky texture. As we spent time tasting the Cuatro Palmas, Antonio Flores kept referring to it as a fino rather than as an amontillado, and that in itself reveals a lot about the way that he views this extraordinary wine.

Sherry Wine - Some First Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 21:00:00 +0000

I knew a very small bit about Sherry wines before I came to Jerez. Now I know a little bit more. Before I get into a series of posts about specific Bodegas and other experiences, I figure that I'll share the things that I know, and also some of the outstanding questions that I still have.

When I think of most of the wines that I love, be it Burgundy, Loire Valley wines, Beaujolais, and even Champagne, I think of those wines as representing a specific place. And I don't mean Burgundy as a place, for example. I mean a specific village and vineyard. For me, there is a difference between the wines of Chinon and Saumur-Champigny, for example. and more specifically, a difference between the wines of Les Picasses and Clos Guillot in Chinon. There is also a difference between Olga Raffault's Chinon Picasses and Pierre Breton's Chinon Picasses. And there is a difference between Olga Raffault's 1989 Chinon Picasses and 1990 Chinon Picasses. I can talk about those two wines in a finite way - they each have a certain character that is based on the place, the vintage, and the producer. There are better and worse bottles of 1989 Olga Raffault Chinon Picasses, and it tasted one way when it was young, and another now, but I can talk about the wine as a concrete thing.

That is the way I understand wine - it is made in a specific place, from a certain grape(s), in a specific vintage, by a specific producer. It has a life in the bottle, and I can enjoy it at various points in that life. You can too, and we can talk about the wine. I might say "I prefer a good bottle of the 1989 Raffault Picasses to a good bottle of the 1990, I think it is more expressive and harmonious." You might say "Well I prefer the 1990, the fruit is still present today and I think that makes the wine more complete."

What I'm just beginning to understand is that all of this kind of thinking should be thrown out of the window when trying to understand Sherry wines. Right now, I am trying to understand Sherry by thinking about primarily the Bodega - the place where the wine ages in barrel, and the cellar master - the person in charge of selecting individual barrels for blending, bottling or continued aging. This feels quite foreign to me, and it is a whole new set of challenges.

Did you know that Manzanilla and Fino wines are not defined by the location of the vineyards that produced the grapes? Grapes grown in a Jerez vineyard can be made into base wines, and if those wines are aged in a Bodega in the town of Sanlucar de Barremada, the resulting wine is Manzanilla. And wine made from the Miraflores vineyard in Sanlucar, if aged in a Bodega in Jerez, will create a Fino. It is the place that the wine ages that determines the primary classification of the resulting wine.

Courtyard in Bodegas Tradicion, Jerez.

When you visit a Bodega, this begins to make a lot of sense. First of all, there are no underground cellars, no steps to walk down, no moldy walls and frigid caves. You walk into a Bodega and the barrels are there at ground level, stacked, quiet. Wind, humidity, temperature, and ventilation are major variables and their interaction with the barrels is what largely determines, over time, the character of the resulting wine.

The wind is very fierce, and there are two winds, actually. The wind off the ocean, called Poniente, is cool and salty, and is allowed to permeate the Bodegas. The other wind, called Levante, comes from the south, across the Sahara. It is slow and very hot, and Bodega windows are closed in that direction. Sanlucar winds are stronger, as it is closer to the sea. The character of the flor (the veil of living yeast on top of the wine in barrel) in Sanlucar is different from Jerez flor. The flor in the barrels in one corner of the Valdespino Bodega is different from the flor in the middle of the Bodega. The ceilings are much lower in one small Barbadillo Bodega, and the Manzanilla Pasada barrels there are not as well ventilated as the barrels in the larger Bodega next door. The wines from these barrels are immediately and obviously different in taste, and the cellar master blends them carefully when creating the final Manzanilla Pasada that will be bottled in 2011. The recipe for the bottling will change in 2012, as the details of humidity, temperature, flor character, wind, and ventilation will change over the next 12 months. Not to mention the fact that when wine is bottled, the Solera is refreshed with wines from the 1st Criadera, and the resulting Solera barrels will have new details of character.

Barrels at Bodega Misericordia, La Guita, Sanlucar.

I'm not saying that grape material doesn't matter, it does. Excellent raw material is a big part of the recipe for making excellent Sherry. But in Chambolle-Musigny, for example, an undistinguished wine maker could most likely make very good wine if given great raw materials - a rot-free and ripe set of grapes from Les Amoureuses. In Jerez or Sanlucar, great raw materials are important, but it seems to me that 95% of the quality of Sherry is determined by things that happen long after the grapes are grown and the base wines made.

This is as good a time as any to describe the basic system of Sherry wine making:

Bodegas Tradicion Solera barrels, Jerez.

Sherry is made in Soleras. A Solera is a series of barrels of wine called Criaderas. Young wine is put into the last Criadera of the Solera to begin its journey towards the bottle. Imagine the last Criadera is the 6th, for example. The 6th Criadera contains the youngest wines. The oldest wines are in the row of barrels called the Solera, and it is from these barrels that wine is bottled. Solera barrels are not emptied - they are usually left at least a quarter full, and after bottling, wines from the 1st Criadera are added to the Solera barrels, wines from the 2nd Criadera are added to the barrels in the 1st Criadera, and so on. And not every barrel is used - certain barrels are special in their excellent (or poor) quality, and the cellar master determines the barrels that will be used in each case.

Barrels at Bodegas Emilio Hidalgo, Jerez.

After 7-9 years, flor cannot survive in Fino or Manzanilla barrels. If the cellar master saves the wines from some such barrels without immediately bottling them, the wine will continue to age, but without flor - the wine will no longer be protected from oxygen. These wines are on their way to becoming Amontillados. They can be bottled as young Amontillado, and have a certain character that is highly influenced by flor, or can be aged for many many years, and these older Amontillados show more oxidative character. There are some Sherry wines that are never aged under flor, and these wines are called Olorosos - they are aged in contact with oxygen from the beginning. Young Olorosos smell and taste different from old Olorosos. Amontillados made from Manzanilla wines smell and taste different from Amontillados made from Fino. At every step, the decisions of the cellar master define the wine - which barrels are best for Fino, which are best for Amontillado? Then there is Palo Cortado, a kind of Sherry that no one seems to be able to concretely define - more on that later.

This is a bit jumbled, I know, but I am o'erbrimming with information right now and I want to share with you while the "iron is hot," if you will.

Jerez - Getting Started

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 17:45:00 +0000

Maybe this is silly, but I didn't look closely at a map before I got here. This map is courtesy of The Lonely Planet. I didn't realize that Jerez is so far south. It cannot be more than 70 or 80 miles from Morocco. The climate is more Mediterranean or even North African than, say Parisian, or most any city in Europe.It is sub-tropical here. There are palm trees everywhere.

In the plazas and lining the streets.

On top of small buildings.

There are also orange trees lining many streets and plazas.

They are the small and bitter Seville Oranges, prized for use in marmalade.

In some ways Jerez looks like some other small cities I've been to in Europe, but overall it reminds me much more of cities in Latin America, like San Jose in Costa Rica, or Grenada in Nicaragua. Makes sense, as this part of Spain was the port to the new world, and its architecture was exported along with other cultural elements.

The streets tend to be narrow, lined with one or two story buildings. Not much sidewalk to speak of. Driving is challenging, to say the least.

The buildings have interior courtyards with gardens or patios. The one above is in our little guest house.

There is no grid, and the streets wind in what to me seems like a maze. They turn corners and open up to lovely little cafes with people of all ages sitting and drinking coffee or beer at all hours. Sometimes you can even hear Flamenco music drifting from an open window, and this is when it gets to be comically perfect.

The narrow streets can eventually run into larger boulevards lined with beautiful old trees. Walking on one of these boulevards in the late afternoon sun, it just feels good.

It's not all storybook and romance though. Jerez is a real working city with some grit to it, and the normal sad things you'll find in most any city. Stray dogs, beggars, garbage on the street.

But it is beautiful, and hospitable, and to this visitor, fascinating. And it is Jerez, after all, so signs of Sherry are everywhere.

In the smallest grocery stores (what we in NYC would call bodegas) you will see bottles of Sherry in the cooler next to soft drinks.

I think this sign would be a welcome addition in Times Square.

More to come...

I'm in Jerez

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 07:23:00 +0000

On vacation, and visiting several Sherry bodegas with my friend Peter.

So far the food and wine seem alright.

More to come...

Gran Classico - Where Have You Been All of My Life?

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 18:40:00 +0000

Have you heard of Gran Classico? If you are a cocktail devotee you probably have. I hadn't heard of until recently, and it is a new love. Gran Classico is a bitter liqueur in the same family as Campari and it can be used exactly as Campari is used, for example the Negroni cocktail, the spritz, or simply mixed with soda water on ice. Gran Classico is actually made in Switzerland, as the formula was purchased in 1925 by a Swiss family of distillers.

Although both are bitter (and also quite sweet) liqueurs, there are a few things that differentiate Gran Classico from Campari, and make it highly worth your effort to find and taste. For one, Gran Classico is a more complex drink, both on the nose and on the palate. It is made in smaller batches using at least 25 herbs, barks, and roots (including wormwood!), and no red coloring is added. Gran Classico is a bit higher in alcohol at 28% to Campari's 24%. All in all, it's just better as an ingredient or drink than Campari.

Just look at that natural amber color. Enticing, no?

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that a Negroni made with Campari is no good, because that would be absurd. But a Negroni made with Gran Classico is better, in my opinion. And this when I make the drink, not some bearded professional wearing the vest from a 3-piece suit. Imagine how good it would be if such a professional made it. The way in which the marginal benefit of Gran Classico can most clearly be seen, from my few explorations so far, is in the simplest drink, just mixing Gran Classico with soda water on ice. The complexity of Gran Classico really shines through. I won't be buying Campari again.

My Negroni: equal parts Plymouth gin, Dolin sweet Vermouth, and Gran Classico, but a little extra gin should be thrown in. And Peter Liem suggests adding a few dashes of Regan's Orange bitters too, which I must say is delicious.

Gran Classico is imported by the California company Tempus Fugit, and is well worth a special search.

Peter Liem's Sherry Dinner at the Spotted Pig

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 19:15:00 +0000

Although I am no longer the least bit surprised, I continue to take great pleasure in expanding my experiences with the versatility of Sherry at the table. Fino style wines obviously pair beautifully with seafood, but this is only the tip of the iceberg. There are many styles of Sherry wine, and some can handle spicy food (Amontillado with Szechuan food is unknown as the best wine and food pairing in the world, I think), they all tend to work beautifully with savory food, they can pair well with "difficult" vegetables such as asparagus and artichokes, and some sherries work beautifully with richer meats such as beef or lamb.

Recently I attended a very special dinner that offered new opportunities to experience Sherry at the dinner table. Celebrated wine critic Peter Liem selected a group of Sherries and April Bloomfield, celebrated chef at The Spotte d Pig (among other places), created a menu to pair with the wines. The event was organized by those two folks and also by Rosemary Gray and Clara Rzeszewski, the Wine Director at Bloomfield's restaurants, and there should be more of these. Put top wine people and top chefs at top restaurants together and magical things can happen.

Wine Director Clara Rzeszewski and Chef April Bloomfield. Bloomfield herself actually cooked our food.

I was pretty busy drinking and eating and enjoying the company of my neighbors, so I don't have notes to share with you, but I can share some things that were meaningful to me. Peter selected two interesting Fino wines to begin the dinner, Valdespino Inocente and La Bota de Manzanilla Nº 22. Inocente is unusual in that the wines in the blend are much older than is typically found in Fino, averaging something like 8 years. The wine is intense and rich and has a substantial feeling in the mouth, while retaining the brisk salty freshness that I think of as the hallmark of a good Fino. La Bota de Manzanilla Nº 22 comes from a great solera at Bodega Sánchez Ayala in Sanlúcar de Barrameda, and is unusual in that it is barely filtered. The wine is deeply golden and bursts with aromas and flavors that reflect the fact that the wine is essentially whole - most Sherry is rather viciously filtered.

Bloomfield chose to pair these wines with two seafood dishes, a smoked oyster topped with some sort of cream sauce and a perfect piece of Tasmanian Trout, adorned only with it's own crisp skin. Seafood and Fino Sherry is not a new idea, but these are richer styles of Fino wine and they played very well with the dishes. I thought the savory depth of the Valdespino melded with the Trout in a particularly delightful way.

Peter Liem discussing the wines he selected. Bloomfield cooks, behind him.

Peter selected two Oloroso Sherries for our second flight. In case you, like me, haven't memorized the rules of Sherry classification, Oloroso wines are distinguished from other Sherries in that they are never aged under flor, the layer of yeast under which Finos spend their lives, and Amontillados and Palo Cortados begin their lives. We drank Gutiérrez Colosía Oloroso "Sangre y Trabajadero" and Lustau Almacenista Oloroso "Pata de Gallina." These wines contrast interestingly in that Sangre y Trabajadero is an Oloroso made from rather young wines, averaging perhaps 10 years old. That's young for an Oloroso, and its youth was accented when drinking it next to the very old wines in the Lustau Sherry (which comes, I think, from a solera at Bodegas Juan Garcia Jarana). We drank these wines with perhaps the single most savory dish I have eaten all year, Scottish Hare with Wild Mushrooms on Bone Marrow Toast. Both wines were great with the dish, the youthful freshness and lovely finesse of the Colosía wine was a nice compliment to the dish. And the intensity and complexity of the Jarana Oloroso amplified the savory experience.

Peter chose two contrasting Palo Cortados for our third flight, Emilio Hidalgo Palo Cortado "Marqués de Rodil" and Barbadillo Palo Cortado "Obispo Gascon." Emilio Hidalgo's wines are quite difficult to find in retail shoppes, and this is a shame because everything I've had is absolutely excellent. Bloomfield paired these wines with Pigeon Agnolotti with Chard & Walnuts, a bowl of pigeon ravioli (not really ravioli, but think ravioli) in broth with shredded Swiss chard and bits of walnuts. The dish and the pairings were very good, but this was a bit overshadowed for me by the fact that I fell in love with Hidalgo's Marqués de Rodil, and found it hard to focus on anything else. The wine is barely a Palo Cortado, you can still smell, taste, and feel the flor. It is fresh and vibrant and gentle, its aromas and flavors intense and complex the way you would expect from a Palo Cortado, but still shot through with a brisk energy. As a public service to you, I will tell you that this awesome wine is currently sitting on the shelf at Chambers Street Wines, and if you like Sherry, or even think you might like Sherry, you should buy some.

Peter selected two absurd Amontillados for our final flight, both made of very old wines, Hidalgo-La Gitana Amontillado "Napoleon" VORS and Bodegas Tradición Amontillado VORS. Bloomfield paired these in a classic style, with a crumbly Cheddar and another cheese called Podda Classico. The wines were both wonderful, richly complex and pungent, and each would be worthy of an entire dinner's worth of enjoyment and contemplation. It goes without saying that they were great with the cheeses.

Every one of those glasses was mine. I treated them as such, anyway.

Thinking about this dinner afterwards, I realize that we are very lucky to be discovering the beauty and versatility of Sherry at this time. The wines are inexpensive! We can drink the DRC of Sherry for as little as $20 for a 375 ml bottle. $80 buys several different wines that are among the finest versions of Sherry wine. $40 will buy a bottle of that beautiful Hidalgo Marqués de Rodil. There was a time when Burgundy was moderately priced in the US. Now is that time for Sherry. And with all the respect in the world for the beloved and great wines of Burgundy, Sherry is far more versatile at the dinner table. Not just tapas either, as this dinner emphasized. Well selected Sherry can make fine dining even finer.

My Dinner with Comtes Lafon

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I drank a white wine by Domaine des Comtes Lafon the other night the first time I have ever done so. Comtes Lafon is one of the iconic domaines in Burgundy. Maybe you don't know this about me, but I really like Burgundy wine. Why have I never tried a Comtes Lafon white, until now?

For one, the wines command very high prices, particularly wines from the top vineyards in Meursault and of course, the Montrachet (one of those wines you'll never see on a shelf - perhaps in a restaurant or at auction, and I imagine we are into 4-digit price territory). If I really wanted to drink a Lafon Meursault nowadays, I'd have to buy a bottle at auction because I've been told that, like many of Burgundy's great wines, these require many years of cellaring before they reveal all that they have to offer. But buying an old vintage of Lafon at auction is a very expensive risk. You never know whether or not the bottle was handled properly, and for something from the '90s you will pay hundreds of dollars. If I were to buy a bottle from roughly 1996 - 2002 there is the pre-mox risk too, although supposedly Lafon did a better job of avoiding pre-mox problems that did most other white Burgundy producers.

So, in other words, it's not an easy thing, to drink a mature bottle of Comtes Lafon Meursault. The other night, however, one of my Burgundy Wine Club friends was in town from Rhode Island and we had dinner with Peter Liem, also in the BWC. We drank several old Burgundy wines that night, and one of them came from Peter's cellar, a 1997 Comtes Lafon Meursault Charmes. This is a wine that I bet would not generate high expectations from many experienced wine people. 1997 was not a great year in Burgundy, many of the wines are quite ripe and without the structure and acidity necessary for balance. There are producers who made great wines in 1997, though, and Peter says that Lafon's whites are among the very best Burgundy wines from 1997, and that in fact 1997 is his favorite vintage of the '90s for Lafon.

I've heard talk about how Lafon's wines are very oaky. I've heard that they aren't worth the money. You hear all sorts of things about wine and this is another example of why we really have to learn by drinking ourselves. This 1997 Lafon was finer than any white Burgundy I have ever drunk, and it is one of the very best bottles of wine that I've ever had. It produced an emotional response in me, it was startling and mesmerizing and absolutely beautiful. I didn't know that wine can do what this wine did.

We drank this wine at Prune with, among other delicious things, the marrow bones. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

I think of hazelnut flavors and an oily texture when I think of Meursault. This wine was different. The nose was limestone and chalk and minty ripe Chardonnay fruit, and that's simplifying it for the purpose of using words. It was the definition of refinement and grace, so focused, it had such amazing complexity and depth, such resonance, such clear articulation of its aromas and flavors, such a delicate but firm texture. It grew over 90 minutes or so and in the end the finish was this tactile thing of mineral glory that lingered on and on. Completely absurd wine, profound. Peter said that this particular bottle was as good as white Burgundy gets. That's saying something.

You drink a wine like this and understand why people chase expensive Burgundy, looking to relive this sort of experience. I feel the pull today, too. But it is mitigated somewhat by the fact that my Burgundy Wine Club purchased a bottle of 2007 Lafon Meursault Charmes last year. It cost us $170. Yup, $170. But there are 8 of us, and wines like this are precisely the reason that we started this club. With any luck, in 10 years I will have dinner with Comtes Lafon again and have an equally inspiring experience.

Here is Bill Nanson's profile of Comtes Lafon in Burgundy Report, if you want details about the estate and wines.

2010 Mosel Acidity

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 00:10:00 +0000

Just had to quickly tell you this:

What they're saying about high acidity in the 2010 Mosel Rieslings...I think they're not exaggerating. Last night I had dinner with a few friends, including Dan Melia of Mosel Wine Merchant. Dan is my very good friend, and even though there is a potential conflict of interest here, as I want him to do well in his business, I think you know by now that I would never write about something and say that I love for any reason other than that I really love it.

We drank many interesting wines, among them three wines from the 2010 vintage by Immich-Batterieberg. We drank CAI, the "entry level" wine in the portfolio, although it is patently absurd to think of this wine in those terms. It is a Kabinett, it is very serious wine, and it is completely delicious and compelling. I loved it in 2009 and to me it seems as though the 2010 will be even better - more focused and precise, more mineral, more of everything, including balance and harmony. At about $23, this is something to buy a lot of. We also drank the single vineyard wines Batterieberg and Ellergrub. I still do not have the Riesling context to say anything intelligent about them, other than that they were also very delicious. For what it's worth, I heard people at the table crowing about Batterieberg and how perfect a wine it is, how it is so pure that it "tastes like nothing." Trust me, this was said with the greatest of admiration. These wines will cost more than CAI, but I'm not sure how much more - perhaps $50 a bottle.

We opened many wines, more than might be wise on a school night, and I'm pretty sure that everyone went home with something to taste in the following days. Just now I was just making a quick dinner after a long work day, and I poured myself a small glass of both CAI and Ellergrub to taste them after 24 hours open. Still delicious, profoundly so. The point of this post, however, is to tell you that my teeth, after just those two small glasses before dinner, feel exactly as they did after a day of tasting vin-clair in Champagne with Peter Liem! Sensitive, painful to chew even a small bite of red pepper, as though they had been stripped of their enamel. These 2010's...no shortage of acidity here. I see this as a very good thing.

Learning Enough to Know That I Don't Know Anything.

noreply@blogger.com (Brooklynguy) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 03:40:00 +0000

"I've learned enough to know how much there is that I don't know." This is an idea that I firmly believe in. When delving deeply into a complex topic one can reach this point that is both exciting and frustrating where one gains new appreciation for the body of experience and knowledge that exists. Regarding wine, I hit this point some time ago. The thing is, years later, many experiences later, I'm still here.

I am reminded of this by several recent experiences where my judgements about wine were entirely different from what I expected based on past experiences. Starkly different. This is what I'm talking about:

The other night after putting kids to bed I made a simple dinner of a pork chop and some vegetables. Burgundy...I hadn't drunk one in a while and I wanted it. But I don't have many bottles that are mature, and I didn't feel like opening a young bottle, or one of the few special older bottles that I own. I decided to open a bottle that isn't important to me, something that I would cull from my cellar. What would that be? I looked at what I have and decided on the 2005 Domaine des Croix Bourgogne, $25, Becky Wasserman Selections. I bought several bottles in early 2008 and loved when it was released, but found subsequent bottles to be too oaky. Look at my notes from Cellar Tracker and you'll see what I mean:

2/9/2008: up there with the very finest Bourgogne i've ever had. wide aromas of red and dark fruits, lots of earth, dark flowers and a mineral core. lovely medium bodied palate echoing the aromas with really persistent flavors on the finish, and a cool minty sensation. just great wine and a Bourgogne, no less. I am seriously tempted to explore the 1er Cru wines by this producer in this vintage.

4/24/2008: on this one, the oak was very powerful from the outset. after 45 minutes or so it calmed down a bit, but hard to evaluate. will check back tonight

2/11/2009: Not ready yet, and probably needs another 3-5 to integrate, if it's going to. The wood is pretty overpowering now. good underlying materials, but hard to discern the nuances of the wine right now. I wonder...will it be able to integrate all of the new oak?

11/2/2010: Oak oak oak oak. and i'm not at all anti-oak. this is not a judicious use, however. perhaps he got excited about the 2005 fruit and threw everything he had at it. in any case, even late on day 2, it's difficult to separate the wine from the vanilla influence of oak, and to see what its personality is. frustrating.

Seems like a solid candidate for cellar-culling, no? At least in the sense that it's not a wine that I believe in, as evidenced by my notes. The thing is, the bottle I opened, my last bottle, was really good. Here's my note on that one:

9/17/2011: a very good bottle, showing the power and depth of the vintage, and also detail of fruit and mineral. there is some oak but it is not intrusive here. There is also a definite sense of place - the wine is made from plots formerly classified as Pommard and Volnay villages, and the wine reminds me of those places. oddly, it doesn't hold up so well on day 2, very curious.

I had several experiences with the wine, and formed several opinions. Which of them is true? You know what - I think they are all true. I was a different taster in early 2008, and the wine changed too. All of these notes reflect one thinking person's real experience with this wine. If someone asked me today to write a review of 2005 Domaine des Croix Bourgogne I would say that it has good qualities, and it has qualities that had concerned me, but a recent bottle was very good. I would say that in the context of regionally classified Burgundy, I was disappointed with this wine for a few years, but a recent bottle was very encouraging.

Would that kind of review satisfy you?

Imagine having to review this wine for a magazine or some sort of publication, having to score it based on one experience in 2008. Or 2009. How can one bottle of a wine, never mind one sip and spit at a tasting, provide sufficient information to assign the wine an absolute rating, a set of tasting notes that readers should accept as truth? If I am the reviewer, it is clear that one bottle is not close to being enough.

A few more recent experiences, just to illustrate how often this sort of thing happens to me:

--I drank a bottle of 2009 Huet Vouvray Sec Clos du Bourg the other night, a bottle that a friend brought to a restaurant. It was great, everything you could want from a young Huet. The only other bottle I drank came from my own cellar a few months ago and was not good. Dan Melia drank it with me and we both thought it was overripe, not focused, and unsatisfying.

--I drank a bottle of 2008 Alzinger Riesling Federspiel Dürnsteiner the other night. It was fantastic. I decanted it, as I've learned is very important with basically any Austrian white wine, and left most of it alone for about two hours. Delicate fruit, very mineral, perfect balance, absolutely delicious. The bottle I drank three weeks ago, though, was nowhere near as good. I didn't decant it, and it showed big and ripe and without much detail. Disappointing enough so that only three weeks later I was ready to cull this bottle from my cellar. Turns out that I wasted the first bottle - the wine is excellent if you handle it correctly, which I didn't do the first time.

--I drank a bottle of 2006 Michel Gahier Savagnin the other night. A friend brought it to my house for dinner. We liked it, but didn't love it. It was tasty but not complex, constricted, without energy. We re-corked it and moved on to other wines, I stuck it in the door of the fridge and forgot about it. A week later I found it, poured a glass, and it was great! Detailed, expressive, vibrant, completely delicious and intriguing.

So what is there to take from all of this?

Wine changes from bottle to bottle, and within the experience of drinking each bottle. We as tasters change and grow too. It is foolish to assume that one experience with a wine is the defining experience.
Wine ratings that arise from one tasting probably should not be relied upon, unless the critic is one of the incredibly rare people who actually has the depth and breadth of experience to understand the wine in its current state, and extrapolate from that state something meaningful about the wine as a whole. Those people are out there, but they are few.
Furthermore, reviews of wine that are based on tasting notes that describe specific flavors such as blackberry, smoke, peach, and things like that, those reviews are completely useless if you care about truly understanding a wine.
We are going to like some of the wines we drink. And then we will not like those same wines as much when we drink them again, or vice-versa. This will be disappointing and thrilling, and frustrating.

Probably the best thing to do is to have an open mind, to expect your opinions to change, to experiment a bit, to invest in yourself as a learner. I'm still trying to find my way in all of this, and I'm fine with that.