And don’t forget the accent circumflex….

If you’ve ever been to Bern’s Steak House in Tampa, you’ve probably seen the huge backlit photo mural that takes up the whole wall of the first dining room on your right.  It’s the Rhône River, with the legendary hill of Hermitage tucked right into the bend.  I’ve never seen that hill up close and personal, but it’s definitely on my bucket list.  Meanwhile, I’ll just keep drinking the wine.  It makes me feel close to the actual place.

Vineyard in Chateau-Grillet

Of course, there are two Rhônes, one in the north, the other in the south, and it’s tempting to talk about them as if they were two parts of the same place, like north and south Fort Myers.  Apt comparison, that, because the two halves couldn’t be more different.

Separated by about 30 miles, the northern and southern winegrowing regions of the Rhône have separate traditions, and make their wines in divergent ways.  In the north, it’s all about Syrah (with Roussanne, Marsanne, and Chardonnay for the whites) while in the south Grenache is king, supported by Syrah, Mourvedre, and about a dozen other varietals, a surprising number of which can find their way into the final blend. 

And, while white Hermitage (a blend of the two or three whites mentioned above) is one of my favorite treats, the Rhône is really all about the reds.  Smoky black fruit, sweet earth, and spice.  Yum.

Start with Côte Rôtie in the very north – the “roasted slope” if you’re speaking French.  Here, the wines made from Syrah can absolutely sing.  The area, divided into it sub-appellations, like Cornas and St. Joseph, also includes some idiosyncratic areas such as Condrieu, which makes only white wine from Viognier, and Château-Grillet, just about the smallest wine appellation in France, and maybe in the world.  Ten acres.  One owner.  Nobody knows what he does.

Chateauneuf du Pape, or what's left of it

(By the way, the French, like the Australians, like to throw a little Viognier into their Syrahs for softness and aroma, but unlike the Australians, they don’t tell you that they’re doing it.)

In the north, the name to know is Guigal.  The family has been making wines from their own vineyards as well as purchased grapes for practically ever.  Ironically, though, they received Wine of the Year honors in 2002 for a Châteauneuf du Pape, which comes from the south.  Go figure.

Moving right along, as the hill of Hermitage looms above us, the big dogs are Paul Jaboulet Aine and Michel Chapoutier, whose wines occupy many slots in my cellar.  (Sidebar: Michel conducted a tasting of his red and white Hermitages a few years ago at the New York Wine Experience, and it was the most boring session I ever sat through.  I am told that I slumbered.)

The Southern Rhône is a little harder to get your arms around.  While the North sticks to growing basically one red and three or four whites, they really get nuts in the South.  They grow Carignan, Cinsault, Counoise, Muscardin, Vaccarese, a grape called Bourboulenc that I could never figure out…well, you get the idea.

Hermitage and the Rhone River

But…the law and long tradition allow winemakers to blend them all together into wines that offer a truly multidimensional oenological experience.  If you’re a winemaker in Gigondas or Vacqueyras, for example, you can put up to 12 different grapes in your reds and 11in your whites.  Talk about variety.

What Hermitage is to the North, Châteauneuf du Pape is to the South – the premier wine region.  The “new chateau of the Pope” was originally constructed in the early 1300s, just after Pope Clement V, who had previously held the enviable position of Archbishop of Bordeaux, got homesick and decided to relocate the Papacy from Rome to southern France.  One can easily understand the impulse.  Over the next 70 years, viticulture in the area was enthusiastically promoted by a succession of parched pontiffs, and the rest, as they say, is history.

So, Grand Tastingwise, you should look for examples of the Rhône varietals from France, as well as from California.  See, there’s this group of winemakers out west who call themselves the Rhône Rangers, and they dedicate their waking hours to making wines with those blends, in that tradition.  We’re fortunate to have sourced several bottles that typify the historic (and delicious) styles of this important region.

You really, really do not want to miss it. 

G’Day, Mate…and good wine, too.

We’re at a wine tasting in Aspen, sitting across the table from Stephen and Prue Henschke, with several glasses of their legendary Hill of Grace Shiraz in front of us.  As I sip through the vintages, I’m blown away for several reasons.  First, the Henschkes on the other side of the table are practically legends or Australian national treasures or something.  Second, their Hill of Grace is one of the most famous wines to come out of Australia (along with the fabled Penfold’s Grange and Clarendon Astralis).  We’re drinking eight different vintages, and since the stuff costs about $350 a bottle, there’s not much chance I’ll ever have any in my cellar.  Third, the wine is arguably one of the purest expressions of what Australian winemaking is all about.

Wine is a cultural artifact, and reflects the general personality of the country and the people who produce it.  I think this is particularly true for the Aussies.  If you’ve ever hung out with any, you know them to be hale and hearty, outrageously sociable, and your best friend right from the first handshake.  Accompanied by a ringing “G’day, Mate,” they’ll give you a slap on the back so hard it knocks you down.  The wines do the same thing.  They’re often characterized as the “in your face” variety.  Sorry for the mixed metaphor, but truer words were never spoken. 

In fact, Americans like the Aussie approach to wine so much that the country will soon be the second largest importer to the US.  Back in 2004, over 20,000,000 cases of Australian wine reached our shores.  In 2006, over 7 million cases of Yellow Tail Chardonnay alone made it to our supermarkets.  The numbers tell the…tale.  (I just had to do that).  For a country that spent much of its winegrowing history making sweet wines, that’s quite an achievement.

Surprisingly, about 60% of the grapes grown in Australia are white:  Chardonnay, Riesling, Semillon and the like.  Around 30% are red, and the rest go in to the “stickies,” or sweet wines.  It is, of course, the big heavy, extracted, fruity reds that capture our attention and interest most vividly.  In fact, the big Shirazes and blends can be so powerful they need to age for eons before you’d dare open the bottle.  (I attended a vertical tasting of Penfold’s Grange a few years ago, and we drank the 1971.  It could have used another 10 years in the cellar).

One of the world's most famous wine labels

It’s also interesting that, considering their winemaking success, the Australians have no native grapes.  Everything grown in the country originated at one time or another from cuttings brought from Europe and South Africa in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries.  The country also leads the world in the mechanization of wine production, especially the grape-picking part.  They never had an abundance of cheap labor, as the Californians did, so necessity was the mother of grape-harvesting invention.

Unlike the French, Italians, and even the Californians, most Aussie wines, even the greatest ones, are blended from fruit that’s sourced from very extensive areas.  Not much single-vineyard designation here, not much talk of “terroir” or the importance of some sacred little piece of land that grows heavenly grapes.  The designated winegrowing regions are enormous, and the grapes that wind up in the bottle come from far and wide.  It would be like Napa winemakers blending in grapes from as far away as Washington state.  They’d sooner slit their wrists.

With Aussie winemakers Sara and Sparky Marquis

About 99% of the winegrowing regions are clustered in the southeast corner of the country, with Margaret River the lone exception, being located all the way over there in the far southwest.  And most of the famous valleys, like Barossa and Coonawarra, are relatively close to cities, making wine tourism a very easy thing to do, as long as you don’t mind driving on the wrong side of the road after a few tasting room visits.  (Of course, you could do that here….)

Another thing that makes Australian wines so much fun is that they like to put puckish and whimsical names on their bottles.  The Monkey Spider.  The Dead Arm.  The Carnival of Love.  Mollydooker.  Two Left Feet.  The Stump Jump (don’t ask….).

Vineyards in the Hunter Valley

But what, you ask, has all this to do with us?  Simply put, we plan to have our Aussie cousins well represented at the Grand Tasting on Saturday, February 28.  Shiraz, of course, even one of the upper-end products from Penfold’s.  Their famous blends will also be on the table, like the characteristic concoction of Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvedre, commonly known as GSM.  We’re still searching out some whites, but we’ll let you know when we find them.

Until then….g’day, mate!  (They really do say that.)

When I lived in Madrid in the early 70s, I’d buy my wine at the little wine shop on the corner.  Since they dispensed wine from big barrels along the wall, I had to bring my own container, and found out that large Nescafe instant coffee jars were the best.  The bodega clerk would fill it up, then calculate the price according to some arcane formula that’s comprehensible only to Druids and Basque separatists.  Was the wine any good?  I have no idea.

Madrid--The Plaza de Cibeles with the central post office.

One step up from the fill-it place was the wine sold in supermarkets, which came in real bottles.  One I particularly enjoyed was called CASA (the initials stood for something) which cost about 25 cents a liter and was sealed with a little plastic button.  Then someone told me that the stuff in the bottle had never seen a grape.  It was water and alcohol with some sugar and flavoring. 

I went back to the Nescafe jar.

My, how things have changed. 

Viura vines in the north

One, the fathers and grandfathers learned winemaking from their forebears, who learned it from theirs, so what was good enough for grandpa was good enough for them.  The barrels were supposed to smell like the floor of a chicken coop.  When fermentation started, it started.  When it stopped, it stopped.  But the sons and daughters learned their winemaking techniques from the University of Bordeaux or Bologna, or UC Davis or Fresno State.  Big difference.

Very old Graciano vines

Two, every aspect of winemaking technology has come a long way in the last 25-30 years.  The kids understand it.  The dads don’t.

Three, like many other countries, the Spanish are starting to cultivate little areas well outside the traditional winegrowing regions.  These are places with
 weird names, regions I’d never heard of, and I used to live there.So, what’s on the table at the Grand Tasting, Spanish-wise?  I’ve become a big fan of the whites, such as white Rioja, made from a blend of traditional Viura and Malvasia grapes.  And some of the Albariños have recently gathered 90 points or so from some critics.  Not surprisingly, the country is also flirting with (and in some cases getting married to) the great international varietals like Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah.  Sure, the time-honored Tempranillos and Garnachas are still the favorites, and are now being made in a much more pleasant and accessible international style, but don’t be surprised if the equivalent of Italy’s Super-Tuscan blends start to find their way to the market.

Wine cellar in Ribera del Duero

For the reds, then, we’ll be looking at some of the newer-style wines (many made from Garnacha) that are crafted in a more fruit-forward style, unlike the earthy, rustic flavors of the past.  Some will be from regions that have been making wine for millennia, such as Rioja, Ribera del Duero, Priorat, and Penedes.  But we’ll also be searching out some that have emerged from those tiny new non-traditional places, like Yecla and Monsant, a relatively recent appellation just 30 minutes outside of Barcelona. 

Madrid -- The Royal Palace

Pretty smart, those Spanish.

IT’S WILL-AM-ETTE, OKAY?

Drives the Oregonians nuts, when they hear people say “Or-uh-gone” instead of “Or-uh-gun.”  And “WILL-a met” instead of…what it’s supposed to be.  Maybe it’s their fault for giving such difficult names to their geography. 

They can be forgiven, though, because, aside from the priceless French region of Burgundy, the folks up around the Umpqua and Rogue Valleys – and especially Willamette, have been turning out Pinot Noirs that may just bring tears to your eyes.

Vineyards on the rolling terrain of Willamette Valley.

You have to be a little crazy to grow Pinot Noir in the first place.  There are a ton of reasons it’s called the “heartbreak grape,” but we won’t punish you with them right now.  So, as the Oregonian wine industry grew, it attracted (indeed, was started by) a group of dropouts, burnouts, and highly successful people who just wanted to Get Away From It All.  In the early 1970s, if you got tired of making millions as a corporate lawyer in San Francisco, or a statistician who just couldn’t possibly crunch one more number, you went to Yamhill County and tried your hand at Pinot Noir.

Just as Robert Mondavi put California wines on the world stage, David Lett did the same for the wines of Oregon.  In 1979, at an international wine tasting competition, his Eyrie Vineyard Pinot Noir came in third among 600 wines, beating out many legendary and obscenely expensive Burgundies.  It was like the American Olympic hockey team defeating the Russians in 1980.

The French went, bananas, or bananes, the way they say it.  They exclaimed, “Sacre bleu!  C’est imposible!” or words to that effect.  Then they did what anyone would do:  they demanded a recount.  A second blind tasting competition was held the next year, staged by Robert Drouhin, one of the most legendary figures in Burgundian winemaking.  At that contest, the Eyrie Vineyard Pinot Noir did not come in third.  It came in second. 

Domaine Drouhin in the fall

Joseph Drouhin immediately went to Oregon and bought as many vineyards as he could get his hands on.

Today, the Drouhin family, along with other legendary names such as Grace and Ken Evenstad, create silky, sensuous, Pinot Noirs in several Oregonian valleys, and do so with style and elegance.  Of course, where you grow Pinot Noir you grow Chardonnay, and the cool climate in this region produces a lean, minerally version that’s very different from the buttery, oaky, California style.  Other cool-weather grapes, such as Pinot Gris, also do well here.  Grapes such as Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, which like somewhat warmer climes, are generally not well suited to this region.

More rolling hills--more vines

We will be featuring Oregon Pinot Noirs and Chardonnays, along with a few carefully-selected Burgundian versions, at the February 28 Grand Tasting. 

You should come.

Those Wacky Romans….

 They have a word or phrase for everything.  Like de gustibus non est disputandum.  And it’s true that each of us has his own taste, and individual preferences cannot be disputed because they’re, well…individual.

 I think that’s why there are so many wines…because there are so many people.  I have wine buddies whose tastes are deeply in accord with mine, and I’ll drink whatever they give me.  Other wine buddies, not so much.  They recommend a wine that they’re crazy about and when I taste it I think they’re just crazy.

 Which brings me to the Italians.  Not because they’re crazy, but because I’m such a nut about their wines.  If I had my druthers, every wine at the Grand Tasting would come from that wonderful country.  In fact, about a third of my cellar is devoted to those lovely Brunellos, Barolos, Chiantis, and the rest.

Debi with legendary Italian winemaker Piero Antinori.

 So once again, we run up against the issue of personal taste vs. the Greater Grand Tasting Good.  And once again, I’m tempted to throw in some weird stuff that I really like and want to share.  But…

The balsamic vinegar cellar at Castello Banfi in Tuscany. Smells terrific!

Count on some excellent examples from Chianti, the Italian wine heartland, including Brunello di Montalcino, Chianti Classico, and maybe a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano.  Italian wines are notoriously great with food, and these will drink really well with all the food you’ll enjoy through the generosity of our fabulous local chefs. 

 Naturally, no tasting would be complete without a spate of Super Tuscans.  I can’t promise any Sassacaia or Masseto, but you can bring your own if you promise to share.  I can, however, assure you that this important category of contemporary Italian winemaking will be well represented.

 You’ll also discover some of the rich reds from the North, including the Nebbiolo that makes Barolo such a fun (and expensive) quaff, Barbera, and some of the rich reds from the Veneto.

 We won’t neglect the characteristic whites, either.  Pinot Grigio is a new hot craze in white wines, and I’m going to find some Vernaccia di San Gimignano for two reasons.  First of all it’s a sensational, palate-cleansing, refreshing white, and second, San Gimignano is one of my favorite places in all of Italy.  First time I saw it, I couldn’t believe that such a place actually existed.

I could go on and on, but I simply can’t punish you to that extent.  Come to the Grand Tasting.  You’re sure to discover some fabulous new flavors, and they’ll really sing with the food.

These bottles have been in the cellar a LONG time.