Godforsaken Grapes: Jason Wilson's Book is a Romp through the World's Obscure Wines

Many wine nerds have likely heard a similar statistic: about 80% of the world’s wine comes from about 20 grapes. Meanwhile, planet Earth boasts some 1,400 grape varieties used in winemaking, which means there is a whole lot of “obscure” wine out there. Since I’ve been paying close attention to wine, for about a dozen years now, I’ve seen a huge uptick in excitement about wines like Mtsvane from Georgia, Trousseau from Jura, orange wines from Slovenia, etc. Even though I’m still totally happy sipping California Chardonnay, I think this increased attention on lesser known wines has been extremely positive in many ways.

In his new book, “Godforsaken Grapes: A Slightly Tipsy Journey through the World of Strange, Obscure, and Underappreciated Wine,” Philly’s Jason Wilson digs deep into the other 20% of the world’s wine. After focusing on spirits and cocktails for much of his life, Wilson caught a bad case of the wine geek bug, and soon began traveling to Austria, Switzerland, Northeast Italy, and other regions, searching for obscure wines and the interesting people who keep them alive.  

In an interview with Wine Enthusiast, Wilson said this about his motivations behind writing the book: “This book is very personal, dealing with my own growing obsession with wine during my late 30s and 40s. I wanted to write about what happens when one goes down the rabbit hole into serious geekdom. I also saw a bigger story. The wine industry is undergoing a massive sea change and the influence of a certain type of ‘serious wine critic’ is on the wane. I wanted to capture this moment.”

The title of the book was taken from a now infamous screed posted by Robert Parker in 2014, in which he complained that a younger generation of wine-lovers (which he called a “group of absolutists”) was engaging in, “near-complete rejection of some of the finest grapes and the wines they produce. Instead they espouse, with enormous gusto and noise, grapes and wines that are virtually unknown.” These “godforsaken grapes” (like Trousseau, Savagnin, Blaufränkisch and others), Parker decreed, made wines that were “rarely palatable.”

A lot of people were ruffled by Parker’s post, but I remember feeling a bit sad. It reminded me of an old metalhead ranting about how bands these days don’t make music like they used to. Blah, blah, blah. This thinking also sets up a false dichotomy, pitting what Wilson calls “serious wines” against the “obscure” or “natural” or “geeky” wines. I’ve never felt the need to pick a side in this fight — Napa Cabs are great, so is Schiava from Alto Adige. The world is big enough for everything. Isn’t there enough tribalism in the world already? It’s just wine — right?  

The most refreshing aspect about Wilson’s voice is his sense of self-doubt, the way he questions his own assumptions and applies skepticism to his own views when he feels he might be getting ahead of himself. Since wine, as the cliché goes, is a journey, I appreciate how Wilson always checks his tracks to see where he’s been and where he’s going.

“Was all of this just a privileged exercise in geekiness and arcane trivia?” Wilson asks himself. “I’d started to worry I was falling down the same rabbit hole as those hipper-than-thou wine snobs who sneer at people who order chardonnay.”

Several times in the book, Wilson compares extreme wine geekism to bizarre, obscure performance art, and wonders if some of us are seeking out oddity for oddity’s sake: “I occasionally worry that the pursuit of even more obscure and lesser-known wines is sort of like Dada. What’s cool and enigmatic one day — trollinger from Germany or encruzado from Portugal or malagousia from Greece — could very well become boring tomorrow.”

And sometimes we can get so caught up in wine geek navel gazing, perhaps sometimes we miss the entire point. I mean, isn’t this all about happiness and pleasure anyway? Again, Wilson asks: “But has this quest into pleasure led toward some enlightenment or happiness, or has it simply succeeded in making me a miserable person? I occasionally worry about these sorts of things. I am well aware how ridiculous or pathetic that may sound, the ultimate First World Problem.”

Wilson’s book is divvied up into self-enclosed chapters focusing on a certain region or a certain type of wine. I will say, some of the chapters (like the one on Port) seem tacked on, and sometimes Wilson rambles on for far too long about his travel logistics. That said, I genuinely enjoyed this book, learned more than a few things, and finished it feeling invigorated about where we are in this moment of wine’s history.

If you’re still looking for a wine-related summer beach read, this is a great one. I confess that reading this book on a beach in Portugal (while sipping a chilled local white made from Antão Vaz) was a delightful experience.

$26, hardcover

Abrams Press

This post first appeared on the daily wine blog Terroirist.

Wine Book Review: "Wine, the Romans and Me" by Nina Caplan

It’s hard to imagine what the “Old World” wine maps would look like today had the Roman Empire never existed. So many lives, cultures, religions, and independent groups of people were crushed under the heel of Rome — but vineyards and wine spread out to almost all corners of Rome’s reach.  

To cover the entire history of vineyard expansion under Roman rule would be a daunting task, and likely result in a heavy read. Luckily, Nina Caplan’s travel and wine memoir , “The Wandering Vine: Wine, the Romans and Me,” is a joy to read.  

In the introduction, Caplan says her goal is to trace the path of the Romans, “back from England to France, Spain and Italy… an attempt to understand how they conquered the world through wine, and to look at some of the more unlikely consequences of that conquest.” She manages to weave together historical and modern wine stories expertly. Caplan travels from her home of England to Champagne, to Burgundy, to the Rhone, to Provence. She covers lots of Spanish and Italian regions (Barcelona, Tarragona, Seville, Palermo, Naples), and finishes up in Rome.  

The story of wine, like the story of people, Caplan writes, is a story of displacement, of constant movement and adaptation. “How much duller our dinner tables would be if people and vines had ever learned to stay still!” she proclaims. “If we are lucky enough to happen on the right soil and left to inhabit it peacefully, we can root ourselves and flourish, to the benefit of all.”  

Everywhere Caplan goes, she looks for historical traces of the Jewish people who once inhabited the specific area she is exploring. She incorporates Jewish history, and their connection to the particular area’s wine and vines, searching for remnants and finding common themes of oppression, expulsion, and forced conversion by Christians. I found these aspects of the book the most fascinating, as I feel many of these important stories are overlooked in the history of the Roman Empire.  

Her writing style is playful yet precise, poetic with dashes of an academic historian. And her book is littered with little nuggets of wisdom and joyful proclamations: “We must live our lives, and honour with wine and with every sense at our disposal the roots and stems from which we sprang, taking our encounters, with the living and the dead, as we find them. Nothing – not grapes nor shades nor stories – is entirely irrecoverable…”  

I think this book could appeal to serious wine geeks by adding a bit of historical context to regions we’re all quite familiar with. For casual wine fans and lovers of travel, this is an accessible and pleasant read that would pair perfectly with a sunny beach and, preferably, a chilled glass of wine.  

Available now
$25, hardback Bloomsbury Publishing


This post first appeared on the daily wine blog Terroirist.

Slow Wine Guide - An Insider's View of Italian & California Wineries

Now in its eighth year, the Slow Wine Guide is back — and for the first time they’re tackling California.

Spurred from the Slow Food movement, the Slow Wine Guide began in 2008, with the goal of highlighting Italian wine producers using organic, environmentally-conscious methods to produce wines that speak clearly of their place. They sum up their approach to wine criticism by, “taking into consideration the wine quality, adherence to terroir, value for money and environmental sensitivity.”

The lion’s share of this book focuses, as always, on Italy — the book includes more than 370 profiles of Italian wineries. “When Slow Wine made its debut it was hard, especially in Italy’s northern regions, to find wines that farmed their vineyards organically or at least avoided weeding with chemicals. Today it’s the exact opposite,” Giancarlo Gariglio and Fabio Giavedoni say in their Introduction to the 2018 edition.

In 2017, Slow Wine started covering California, and this new edition features 72 California producers. Readers of this blog and lovers of California wine will likely recognize many of the wineries, which were selected by U.S. editors Elaine Brown, David Lynch, and Jeremy Parzen. I know a bunch of my favorite California producers made the cut: Radio-Couteau, Rhys, Matthiasson, Littorai, Hirsch, Grgich Hills, Corison, Bedrock, Wind Gap, Ceritas, Arnot-Roberts, and more.

Each producer profile (from Italy and California) is brief and to the point, providing basic contact information and quick descriptions in three small sub-sections: People, Vineyards, and Wines. The editors also include information on each producer’s methods for fertilizing, protecting vines, controlling weeds, as well as yeasts, vineyard sources, and certifications.

I recognize some of the Italian wineries profiled, but most of them I’m unfamiliar with. Still, I’m impressed by the depth and scope of the region-by-region approach. If you’re planning a trip to Italy, this guide will give you more than enough options for wineries to visit. And if you’re looking to dig in to some of the most dynamic winemakers in California, these recommendations are a great place to start.

Wine Book Review: Tangled Vines - Greed, Murder, Obsession and an Arsonist in the Vineyards of California

If the title doesn’t make it clear, this is a great beach read. Author Frances Dinkelspiel digs deep into California wine history, her own past, and a series of wine-related misdoings to tell a tale that is fascinating, educational, and a whole lot of fun. Wine neophytes and oenophiles alike should find something interesting in “Tangled Vines: Greed, Murder, Obsession and an Arsonist in the Vineyards of California.”
                              
Dinkespiel uses the infamous 2005 arson fire at Wines Central warehouse in Vallejo, California, as a launching bad to explore other (somewhat connected) nefarious, wine-related events. That fire, deliberately set by wine collector and swindler Mark Anderson, destroyed some 4 million bottles of wine worth more than a quarter of a billion dollars. Almost 100 wine producers had stored their wines there, and some lost entire vintages.

Destroyed in that fire were some of the only remaining bottles (175 of them) of fortified wine from an historic Rancho Cucamonga estate that dates back to 1875. This Southern California vineyard is connected to the author (and the 2005 arson) because the wines were made by Isaias Hellman, the author’s great-great grandfather. 

At first, I thought the connection between the fire and the Rancho Cucamonga estate was tenuous, and I was skeptical of the author’s ability to tie these two elements together in a convincing way. Well, Dinkelspiel pieces together history and recent events expertly, and her knack for recreating historical occurrences is impressive.

The estate at the focus of the book, located 40 miles east of Los Angeles, was one of the most storied vineyards in California in the mid-1800s. And the fortified wine made here, and passed down through the generations, connects the author to her family past and the roots of the California wine industry. When many bottle’s her family’s Rancho Cucamonga wine was destroyed in the arson fire Dinkelspiel decided to explore what the ranch was like back in her great-great grandfather’s time. “To me, the loss of the wine felt like the severing of my past, something I had been trying to grab onto for as long as I could remember,” she writes.

Wine and history nerds will find all sorts of interesting information in Dinkelspiel’s book. For example, I had no idea that Los Angeles was the center of the wine trade in the 1840s. The Gold Rush brought a massive boom to the state’s vineyard acreage, which jumped from about 300,000 grapevines in 1855 to some 6 million in 1859, according to Dinkelspiel’s research. This also brought a shift in regional focus, as more and more vines were planted in Northern California.

I was also not fully aware of the history of brutality against Native Americans that is intertwined with the California wine industry. For example: “When California became a state in 1850, it immediately legalized a practice of short-term indentured servitude for Native Americans, a practice of which winemakers took advantage. One of the first acts passed by the California Legislature was a law nicknamed the Indian Indenture Act. It stripped Native Americans of most of their rights, including the right to vote or testify against whites in court.”

I won’t go into the full details of Mark Anderson’s arson fire at the wine warehouse in Vallejo, because the author does such a great job delving into the intricacies of this bizarre event. But she tells the story well, after interviewing him in prison and corresponding with him extensively.

Sure this is a “wine book,” but I think it would appeal to a far wider audience — those interested in history, true crime, California in general. I devoured the book in a day and a half and highly recommend it.

“Italian Wine Unplugged: Grape by Grape” - An Essential Reference Book for the Serious Italian Wine Student

When I began studying wine as an overzealous 22-year-old, I bought a copy of “Italian Wine for Dummies.” It’s actually a good overview of Italian wines, and I sometimes reference it when I forget grape names or legal blending requirements.

But for serious students of wine, and those in the trade who work closely with Italian wines, “Italian Wine Unplugged: Grape by Grape” has everything you could possibly need.

Italian wines, grapes and laws are a labyrinth for wine-loving mortals (like myself), and this book is a master key. It’s written by Stevie Kim, director of the massive trade event Vinitaly, and a lineup of other Italian wine pros. It’s now available in e-book and a print version should be out later this year.

Basically, this is an encyclopedia of Italian wine grapes (more than 430 of them), which is broken into three sections. The “Must-Know Grapes” section will challenge most serious Italian wine fans. Sure Nebbiolo and Sangiovese are in there, but don’t forget Ciliegiolo and Schioppettino. “Lesser-Known Grapes” gets even more in-depth, with grape names that could cause any Italian wine student to scratch their head — Susumaniello, Tazzelenghe, Uva Rara.

If you still have room in your brain for more, there’s the “Rare Grapes” section, which could give an MW candidate a migraine — Bubbierasco, Notardomenico, Paradisa. Don’t worry, if you’re cramming for a wine exam, the book comes with nifty flash cards that you can print out.

The grapes are described in much detail — the authors include information on what makes each grape unique in the vineyard and in the cellar. In each grape bio, the authors provide details about where the grape is grown, what makes it thrive in specific areas, and the Italian wine regulations that pertain to its production and classification.

Lastly, there’s a “Wine Visions” section, which is jam-packed with grape photographs, memorization tools, and other images that may help you understand and remember Italian grapes and regions.

This book is heavy on the detail, but it’s also accessible in the sense that you can choose how deeply you engage with the information. Each small piece of the giant puzzle is digestible, so you can dig as deep as you’d like, and you can gloss over the inevitable grape or appellation you’ve never heard of and will surely never remember.

The grape-by-grape breakdown makes this is an incomparable reference tool for Italian wine grapes. I’m holding onto my “Italian Wine for Dummies” book for nostalgia purposes, but this is now my go-to guide for all things vino Italiano. 

This post first appeared on the daily wine blog Terroirist.

Wine Book Reviews: Jancis Robinson's "Tasting Pleasure"

The combination of deep intellect, poetic sensitivity and a profound palate makes Jancis Robinson perhaps the greatest human to ever write sentences about wine. Thomas Jefferson and Ernest Hemingway have some great quotes, but their wine knowledge doesn’t even come. Hugh Johnson (friend and mentor to Robinson), has the knowledge and palate but he can’t compete with Robinson’s linguistic artistry.

The long-time British wine writer, and first woman to earn the prestigious Master of Wine title, has been churning out essays and wine books for decades, and she’s still going strong. Her BBC series about wine and her cadre of wine books were the basis for my early wine studies, and I continue to learn from her about far more than just vintage variation or fermentation techniques. She’s a skilled orator, a beautiful writer, and a passionate defender of maximizing pleasure through wine appreciation.

Recently, I went back and read one of her books called “Tasting Pleasure: Confessions of a Wine Lover.” Composed of musings, travelogues, wine tasting notes, and random wine-related thoughts, this book was first published in 1997. Some parts do come across as dated, but reading it 20 years later, I found it fascinating how much her thoughts on wine were still very relevant today. Even though the global wine industry has shifted dramatically in the past two decades, many of her thoughts about appreciating wine seem timeless.

Some of the book reads a little too much like an overly-detailed diary, and some parts are skippable, but there are little nuggets of wine appreciation wisdom I thought I’d share.

Why “taste” wine as opposed to just drinking it?

“The most common sort of conscious wine tasting (as opposed to just drinking, which anyone can do) is the most admirable one, tasting for the purposes of pure pleasure… It also makes perfect sense because just throwing something as heavily taxed as wind down the gullet — as a surprising number of people do — is a waste of someone’s money.”

On blind tasting:

“There is no doubt that guessing a wine’s identity on the basis of taste alone is one of the most impressive tricks a human can perform.”

The greatness of almighty Riesling

“Riesling is the greatest white wine grape in the world, a proposition I continue to disseminate to this day.”

On wine connoisseurship and the preeminence of pleasure

“I am very aware that these strange connoisseur creatures, who clearly allow their conduct to be swayed by previous experience, may sound a bit precious, perhaps suspiciously snobbish. But the difference between them and, say, a stickler for protocol or etiquette, is that they do what they do for the entirely sensible, selfish and laudable reason of maximizing pleasure. There is nothing whatever wrong with wine lovers who simple pour wine with careless gusto down their throats. There are times when that and only that will do. But those who will not meet a wine halfway, and who consistently ignore the story each wine has to tell, depirve themselves of a large part of the potential associated with each bottle. As I was to learn, a wine is more than just a liquid.”

On visiting South Africa during apartheid

“South Africa was fascinating – such a vivid clash of natural beauty and human brutality.”

On hoarding, re-selling wine for profit, turning wine into a speculative enterprise

Robinson tells a story about how she purchased a case of Pomerol Le Pin 1982 for $240, tens of times less than what those cult wines demand on the market today: “ I know I should feel triumphant about this but in fact I feel almost physically sick. I hate the way that something I bought to give myself and my friends innocent, escapist pleasure has been transformed into a financial asset that is crying out for management.”

“I have a horrible feeling that talk about those who take fine wine seriously is going to become increasingly dominated by money. I have already come across too many bores who confuse wine appreciation with financial appreciation.”

And to finish it all off her thoughts on wine speculation: “[I] thoroughly disapprove of anyone who deliberately uses wine for speculation.”

Wine Book Review: Cork Dork by Bianca Bosker

Penguin Original - $17 - On Sale 3/28/17

Calling all gonzo wine geeks, aspiring somms, restaurant lifers, science nerds and culture critics! There is something in Bianca Bosker’s book Cork Dork for all of you.

The run-on title (“A Wine-Fueled Adventure Among the Obsessive Sommeliers, Big Bottle Hunters, and Rogue Scientists Who Taught Me to Live for Taste”) aside, this book is as fresh and fun as a Wachau Riesling. Bosker’s book is packed with helpful information, wrapped in honest inquiry, and slathered with humor and wit. “Less a journey from grape to glass… this is an adventure from glass to gullet,” she writes. And, sure enough, there is a whole lot of cork-popping, glass-draining hedonism recollected in 300-something pages. But there’s also plenty of information that should be useful for both wine novices and other “cork dorks.”

Many readers may have seen the movie Somm, and its sequel, which chronicle several sommeliers studying for the Master Sommelier exam. While I liked Somm, I feel Bosker’s book may be an easier hook for casual wine fans who want to know about the fast-paced, bottle-clinking life of America’s wine stewards. Bosker’s book jumps into some of the same waters (the pre- blind taste test jitters, cramming for the written test, stressing out of the service exam), but she tells the story from the perspective of an outsider, a neophyte, a “civilian.” Combined with her punchy, intelligent prose, this outsider perspective on the hardcore New York wine subculture makes it accessible.

Having spent much of her journalism career focused on technology, Bosker strives to break complex subjects down into digestible parts. Where there is myth, she wants to find demonstration. Where there are powerful personalities making wide-sweeping claims (there might be a few of those in the wine world), she wants to find out if those claims hold up to scrutiny.

But Bosker does more than rehash stories about the intensity of wine study programs and the difficulty of big blind tastings. She spends time with flavor scientists and neuroscientists to try to figure out whether wine expertise is a definitive, demonstrable thing.

“Somewhere along the skeptic spectrum between atheists and flat-Earth truthers, there is a sizeable contingent of people who believe wine expertise plain just doesn’t exist,” Bosker writes. But then, instead of throwing her hands up, she goes out and investigates. She even goes under an fMRI after her year-long wine studies to see how they have altered the way her brain works.

Using language to describe wine is, it turns out, is important to how our senses perceive and how our memory registers wine. Especially in the context of sommelier study programs and blind tasting — it is absolutely necessary to assign specific wines labels and descriptors using language. Bosker talks to researchers about this topic, and there are some fascinating results: Language helps us understand wine.

Summarizing one researcher’s findings: “If we don’t have the vocabulary to describe an experience, our struggle to convey that encounter in words — and it will be a struggle — corrupts our impression of it, a phenomenon known as ‘verbal overshadowing.’ Asked to talk about something like a glass of wine, people who lack the terminology to do so later become far worse at recognizing the same wine again than individuals who weren’t pressed for words. People who have jargon to rely on aren’t as affected by verbal overshadowing.”

The science Bosker digs into is too in-depth to cover here, but I’ve included two quotes from Bosker below, in which she is summarizing scientific studies. 

“Professional tasters really have taught themselves to experience wine differently from amateurs. And the smells in a glass of Cabernet Franc are not… tickling the leftover, primitive side of our gray matter. To the contrary, wine demonstrably activates more advanced, higher-level parts of the brain.”

“Similarly, wine expertise comes by paying attention, sensing clearly, and then imposing meaning onto those physical sensations. Language, for instance, is thought to play a key role in boosting odor discrimination. The pros improve their olfactory skills as they learn to assign names and meanings to smell.”

No dead horse wine topic has been beaten more than the wine tasting note. I’ve written thousands of them and read dozens of screeds about their frivolous nature. But Bosker, while acknowledging the absurdity of some extremely purple prose, approaches this subject with an open mind, and achieves the near impossible: she writes about how we describe wine in a way that is fun to read.

I also appreciate her perspective as a woman in the wine world, as those voices are not always amplified as much as they should be. Bosker talks openly about being hit on by obnoxious drunk men at La Paulée, being groped at wine tasting events, and otherwise being objectified and harassed by pompous jerks. As a man, I’ve felt awkward and out of place in many wine crowds, but never have I feared for my safety or personal privacy, so I appreciate Bosker bringing those issues to light in the way she does.

This book is a fascinating read for wine-lovers all over the nerd spectrum, and I highly recommend it.

I’ll finish off with two memorable quotes from Bosker’s friend Morgan the Somm, who takes Bosker under his wing and has a way with wine words.

“Bottles of wine are ways that my humanity will be changed.”

“Wine for me is just a touch point to a wider world view: That I am not important. That I am a sack of water and organs that’s going to be here on Earth for eighty years if I’m lucky. And so I should figure out some way to make that count.”

This post first appeared on the daily wine blog Terroirist.

Book Review: In Sideways Sequel, Miles Heads to Willamette Valley

Much like his first, Sideways, Rex Pickett’s follow-up novel, Vertical: Passion and Pinot on the Oregon Wine Trail, isn’t a wine book, per se, it’s a humorous effort loaded with winery visits, empty Pinot Noir bottles, self-loathing and sloppy sex.

Pickett plays an interesting game with real-life and fiction in this book. In this novel, Miles (the perpetually drunk, Pinot-loving protagonist) is a big celebrity in the wine world based on the publication of his novel, Shameless, (a stand-in for the real-life novel Sideways). He’s spent the past few years soaking in the fame, getting wined and dined by Pinot producers and, as he’s always more than willing to tell, getting laid.

The relationship with Maya (the Hitching Post waitress and love interest from Sideways) fizzled after Miles went back to his L.A. home to relish in newfound fame. His mother has had a stroke and his good buddy Jack is reeling from a broken marriage. The stage is set for a new adventure when Miles agrees to bring his mother to live with her sister in Wisconsin. He decides to rent a handicap-accessible van and take his mother, her dog and Jack to Wisconsin, with a little stop-over in Willamette Valley for the International Pinot Noir Celebration (IPNC), for which Miles is the master of ceremonies.

If you’re looking for a primer on Willamette Valley Pinot, this is not it. Miles and his crew don’t get to Willamette Valley until page 223. And when they arrive for IPNC, there’s no master class in Oregon Pinot. Instead, there’s a hilarious scene where Miles is forced to sit in a dunk booth filled with Two Buck Chuck Merlot.

The dialogue is consistently punchy, funny, and witty. But the stage-setting and basic narration go through dips of boredom and laziness. (“The parking lot was so full it was difficult to find a place to park.” Hmm…You don’t say.)

However, Pickett does have the ability to get this particular reader a bit emotional during the scenes between Miles and his mother. The passages of dialogue between Miles and his mother are like flashes of brilliant sobriety and deep emotion in a novel filled with drunken excess and surface level human interactions.

For me, Sideways was the exception that proved the rule that books are better than movies. I absolutely loved the movie, and when I see it while scrolling channels, I almost always check it out to see which hilarious spat of dialogue is coming up next. But I found the book frustrating. Pickett’s writing struck me as overcompensating, overindulgent and tiring. In Vertical, there is still plenty of bro-down, dick-swinging, “Chicks, man!” kind of stuff, but I feel like Pickett has grown a bit less sophomoric with this sophomore effort.

The book does contain a series of brutal yet hilarious scenes about Jack’s penis, and more than a few of Miles’ kiss-and-tell confessions. There’s pants-pooping, impromptu dental surgery, (a lot of) drunken sex, spit bucket baths, and the like. While crass at times, Pickett’s protagonist maintains an interesting mix of humor, levity, and pathos, which hold the story together and make it a worthwhile read.

While the wine lover will have fun with the shout-outs to certain wines and wineries, this book is aimed at a far wider audience. But I think the wine world is frequently in need of a humor injection, and Picket provides that in this novel.

Now let’s see if Hollywood buys the screenplay, and Maybe Paul Giamatti will be back to play Miles again. I know I’d pay to see it.

Available now from Loose Gravel Press
E-Book: $9.95
Softcover: $12.95
Hardcover: $24.95

Book Review: A Perfect Score: The Art, Soul, and Business of a 21st-Century Winery

Does this plot sound familiar?

Wealthy couple who made a fortune in [insert Wall St., real estate, etc.] decides to chase their dreams: buying their own vineyard and winery in Napa. Once there, they bankroll an eponymous Cabernet of the dense and oaky variety, which garners high praise from Robert Parker. This couple revels in the realization of their dream, purchases art, clinks glasses with other wealthy folks and politicians at galas, fundraisers, etc.

Tell that same story again and again and you have a pretty good idea of what's gone on in Napa Valley over the past few decades. Sure there are outliers, upstarts, scrappy winemakers with a pick-up truck and a dream, but the highest pedestals are reserved for the wealthy who swoop in and buy a Napa Cab into existence.

Craig and Kathryn Hall tell their iteration of this story in a new book, "A Perfect Score: The Art, Soul, and Business of a 21st-CenturyWinery." The book, slated for September release, reads like an extended press release.

Kathryn, former U.S. ambassador to Austria, has some family roots in the wine business — her family has a vineyard in Mendocino's Redwood Valley. Craig was a big real estate guru and co-owner of Dallas Cowboys. They seem like perfectly nice people. They seem to love what they do and respect their winemaking team and employees. They are clearly successful businesspeople and have done quite well for their wine brand. Hall wines have received plenty of 95+ point scores from major publications. But these ingredients do not an interesting story make.

The narrative point of view is impossible to nail down because it shifts back and forth with sporadic intensity. The reader get's Craig's first person POV, then Kathryn's, then a kind of omniscient third-person combo-POV which speaks for both of them. These can all be present in a single chapter.

The prose is bland and packed with clichés about shared passions, making wine from the ground up, insisting on quality over quantity, you get the idea.

This isn’t a book for wine nerds. Despite its prominence on the front cover, wine is a secondary character. The protagonist is the business venture, the brand, the “perfect score.” It just so happens that Napa Valley Cabernet acts as the stool on which the protagonist proudly stands.

The book does contain some discussion of the ins and outs of purchasing and running a winery. But if you know anything at all about wine, the tone sounds almost condescending when the authors explain basic aspects of growing grapes and making wine.

A good portion of the book is spent recounting which parties, auctions and charitable events the Halls attend — it’s “as if the Great Gatsby has returned life.” These chapters read more like “Tales of a Rich Napa Socialite,” with far too much focus on name-dropping and glamour.

The story of the titular 100-point wine is somewhat interesting. The team held off picking, making quite a risk to wait through a big storm, then meticulously pocked and sorted the grapes before moving the fruit to the winery. They do deserve congratulations for their hard work and realizing their dream of producing a 2010 vintage Cabernet (not an easy vintage at all). 

But I’m not sure this book has much to offer readers. Too much incoherence, too little grit. Too much navel-gazing, too little wine. Too much focus on scores, not enough focus on... well... everything else.  I was left desiring the art and soul promised in the title.

Autobiography of a California Wine Icon - Mike Grgich's "A Glass Full of Miracles"

This post first appeared on the daily wine blog Terroirist.

Today is the 40^th anniversary of the world’s most famous wine tasting. The Judgment of Paris pitted the best wines of Bordeaux and Burgundy against some underdog Cabernets and Chardonnays from California.

This momentous blind tasting was chronicled in the 2008 Hollywood film “Bottle Shock”, and the far more historically accurate book, “The Judgment of Paris” by George Taber, the only reporter present at the event. This tasting brought together wine experts from France and the United States to blind taste a wide range of wines. White Burgundies competed against California Chardonnays, while Bordeaux reds were pitted against some of California’s best Cabernet Sauvignons. In 1976, when the tasting took place, California wines were already rocking, but they were relatively unknown to the wine cognoscenti.

That all changed when the wines were unveiled. The French loved the Stag’s Leap Napa Cabernet more than First Growth Bordeaux, and they chose the 1973 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay over Grand Cru white Burgundies. The floodgates burst. The world wanted California wine.

That 1973 Chardonnay was crafted by none other than Miljenko (a.k.a. “Mike”) Grgich, a Croatian immigrant who had worked his way up in the Napa winemaking ranks. From refugee to respected winemaker.

Perhaps more than any other individual, Mike Grgich was on the front lines of the Napa Valley wine revolution. When he first game to California in 1958, Mike was hired by Brother Timothy Diener of Christian Brothers Winery, which was the largest winery in Napa Valley at the time. He then took a position with legendary winemaker Andre Tchelistcheff at Beaulieu Vineyards. From there, he bounced over to Robert Mondavi at the point when his winery was really taking off. Then, with Jim Barrett, Mike became a partner and integral part of the newly revitalized Chateau Montelena in 1972. It’s incredible to think that, in just a year’s time, Mike would craft a Chardonnay that blind tasters deemed higher quality than the best white Burgundies.

However, Mike didn’t even know the tasting was taking place. He figured something was up when Chateau Montelena received a telegram saying: “We won in Paris,” followed by a call from a New York Times reporter.

It was a miracle, Mike said. He recounts this event in his new autobiography “A Glass Full of Miracles,” which the 93-year-old published last month. It’s a beautiful and awe-filled foray into the life of a true California wine icon.

“The Judgment of Paris energized the wine world. Not only in California but around the globe, winemakers realized that they too might have the terroir to produce premium wines,” Mike writes. The 1973 Montelena Chardonnay was honored in a Smithsonian book titled History of American in 101 Objects. “It is amazing to me that as an immigrant to this country, I would live to see my Chardonnay considered an ‘American object.’”

This success gave him the last jolt he needed to kick off his own winery, Grgich Hills, which broke ground in 1977. It remains an exceptional source of Napa Chardonnay, Cabernet, Zinfandel, Merlot and Sauvignon Blanc. 

Grgich’s prose, like his wines, is delightful and lively. Unlike his wines, the prose is simple and uncomplicated, but I mean those words as praise, not criticism. Reading this book, I felt like I was sitting on a couch listening to Mike spin tales of the old days.

Grgich was born in Croatia and raised by a winemaking family. His memories of his pastoral upbringing are wonderful to read. From a very young age, he was drawn to wine’s ability to bring people together. “People like to celebrate with wine in good times, but it also helps them forget in bad times,” he writes. “In fact, it adds pleasure to any day.”

But World War II ushered in a brutal fascist occupation, which also disrupted and destroyed the winemaking cultures of coastal Croatian communities. When the partisans drove out the fascists, Croatia quickly transitioned to a Communist dictatorship. After years of such chaos and destabilization, Grgich had to leave. With no freedom to move about or move ahead with his aspirations, Grgich fled the country. He had heard that California was paradise, and he knew he had to get there. Somehow.

I’ll leave the story of his escape and travels to Mike, who tells it beautifully, but suffice it to say: his is an exceptional and inspiring story of a poor immigrant who refuses to let his dreams go unfulfilled.

If you’re at all interested in those thrilling years of Napa Valley’s evolution, this book is full of great stories and history. Also, for the Zinfandel lovers out there, Mike tells of his role in tracking down the mysterious origins of Zinfandel to its birthplace in Croatia, which is my vote for the coolest and most fascinating stories of a researching a grape’s heritage.

The book is essentially self-published by Grgich’s daughter, Violet, but it’s put together very well and includes a host of great color pictures. The hardcover sells for $40 from Violetta Press, the Grgich Cellars’ website (with a discount for club members), and Amazon.

American Wino: Dan Dunn's Wine-Soaked Road Trip

You really don’t want to trade tales with Dan Dunn. His stories will kick your stories’ asses, no problem.

I hung around with Dan for a few days in Napa and Sonoma last year. After sharing some wine and some stories I realized Dan is fucking cool guy, and he can rattle off a hilarious story with ease.

You know Dos Equis’ Most Interesting Man in the World? Well, Dan is buddies with the real-life dude. Seriously. I didn’t believe the guy when he told me this, but Dan pulled out his phone and showed me pictures. Oh yeah, then we talked boxing a bit (I’m a huge fan). What picture does Dan show me next? No big deal, just him and Sugar Ray Leonard chilling. And I didn’t even get to ask Dan about his stories from the Playboy mansion.

Dan’s a booze and “nightlife” writer and former columnist for Playboy. If the publication has a distilled spirit in its title, Dan’s probably written for it. The titles of his previously published books should give you some idea of his approach to writing: Living Loaded: Tales of Sex, Salvation, and the Pursuit of the Never-Ending Happy Hour and Nobody Likes a Quitter (and Other Reasons to Avoid Rehab: The Loaded Life of an Outlaw Booze Writer.

A lot of wine writing can be either stuffy to the point of suffocation or uninspired to the point of meaninglessness. Dan’s writing avoids both of these pitfalls. He pretty much gets loaded, waits for hilarious shit to happen, and then writes it down.

I just finished reading his new book American Wino: A Tale of Reds, Whites and One Man’s Blues, which is quite a romp. If you’re going to pick up a copy when it comes out in April, I have one suggestion: Don’t read this book sober. It was likely written under the influence of one or more substances and should be read under similar influences. “But I can’t read buzzed,” you say? Yes you can. With this book, you most certainly can.

After a series of unfortunate events including the death of his brother and his girlfriend bailing, Dan sets his sights on a trans-American road trip. The goal? Well, to see new places, get drunk, meet some chicks on Tinder, and, along the way, check out some wineries from lesser-known states. (They make vino in all 50, after all.) Dan is no Master of Wine candidate. Spirits and beer are his main focus. So he decides to become a “wine expert” by meeting up with as many winemakers, and drinking as much wine, as he possibly can.

This book is not a reference guide to American wine. It is not an analysis of current winemaking trends in smaller wine-growing states. It’s a personal travel narrative littered with bottles from Nebraska, New Mexico, New Jersey, Georgia, and many places in between.

Dan keeps an open mind about wineries from all over the country, which is refreshing. As a huge fan of Virginia wine (and wines from places like Arizona, Maryland, Pennsylvania and others), I have no patience for dismissals of entire wine regions from self-absorbed oenophiles.

But Dan doesn’t blow smoke up a state’s ass either. Climate, soil, aspect, winemaking equipment and know-how, there are damn good reasons the best wines in the world come from places that have these elements all lined up. But that’s not to say darn good wine can’t come from unexpected places. The story of most famous wine regions started with someone planting vines in a spot other people thought was crummy.

Dan writes: “most of the learned folks I’ve come across are of the opinion that almost all the great domestic stuff comes from one of three places — California, Oregon, and Washington — with New York and Virginia occasionally fielding a winner now and again. As for the rest of the wine, well, they mostly think it’s shit.”

The critics come at these winemakers like rabid badgers, intent on clawing out their eyes and chomping off their privates. And while these plucky pups harbor no illusions of supplanting Napa, Tuscany, or the Rhone any time soon, they’re every bit as serious, hardworking, and innovative as the industry’s heavy hitters. And after decades of relentless abuse (or utter disregard) they just don’t give a shit what you think about them anymore.”

Like me, Dan has a blue-collar appreciation for the farmer-winemaker-underdog. Even if the wine doesn’t taste great, Dan appreciates the gumption: “That takes grit, a large helping of blind faith, and an unshakable belief in one’s ability to endure in the face of near impossible odds.”

But the book, like wine from Florida, has some serious flaws.

I’m not some pearl-clutcher who gets offended easily. (The last time I felt offended was when another metalhead criticized my love of the Polish black/death metal band Behemoth.) But Dan’s writing is often crass for crassness’ sake. Like an adolescent throwing around the c-word every time he gets a chance, Dan gets mired in his own excess. 

The guy actually writes a multi-page dialogue scene between him and his penis. No kidding. And I was in junior high the last time I heard so many references to ballsacks, nutsacks, dickwads, taints and buttholes. He frequently overplays his hand by using too much hyperbole. He compares himself to Bukowski and Dylan Thomas. Luckily for Dan, a good dose of self-deprecation saves him from coming off as a total prick.

Although this could be called a “wine book,” the wineries Dan visits get little more than a brief overview, and the actual wines get a cursory mention. Much of the time, Dan’s fantasizing about hot waitresses or reliving past jaunts. It’s fun to read, but disappointing if you’re expecting to come away with a lot of knowledge about American wine culture.

The road trip structure of the book is jumbled up by flashbacks to childhood in Philly and internal dialogue about his ex-girlfriend. Jumping back in time can be quite jarring for a reader expecting the story to move forward. For example, the chapter on Texas starts off with four pages set in Texas before shifting to 12 pages of back-story in Philly. By the time we jump back, I forgot we were in the Lone Star State. The flashbacks generally take a similar structure. Dan is driving around somewhere and, all of the sudden, we transition to the past via the “Oh, that reminds of this one time when...” method. The flashbacks are frequently funny and often vulgar, but there are way too many to keep the story moving forward.

Some of the most memorable and endearing back-story deals with Dunn’s family. Like the story about his cousin who steps on a Christmas ornament ball, ignores the wound, gets gangrene, and has to have his leg amputated below the knee. I swear, it’s funny the way Dan tells it. His overdue reunion with his mother in Philly is hilarious, touching and sad, and when Dunn deals honestly with his emotions it comes across as authentic.

The book is also packed with side bars, little diversions about particular grape varieties (not “varietals”) and wine terms. Sometimes he goes off on a completely unrelated topic, like the time he channels his inner Key & Peele and embarks on an epic rant about the awesomeness of Liam Neeson.

I obviously enjoyed the book enough to write 1,400 words about it. Even though I only hung out with Dan for a few days, I would vouch for the guy. If we were drinking and fight broke out, I’d have his back. And Dan doesn’t need anything from this lowly wordslinger, anyway. The book jacket is plastered with praise from people who actually make money from their artistic endeavors. (Ever heard of Maynard James Keenan?)

Dan is pretty damned successful as far as alcoholic beverage writers go. He ends his trip as a keynote speaker at the posh Pebble Beach Food & Wine Festival. He’s slated to speak there again this year, celebrating the launch of his book. So he clearly knows what the fuck he’s doing.

The flaws in this book? They’re like moderate doses of volatile acidity and brettanomyces, off-putting to some, but one could argue they add character. The book surely isn’t corked. As I said earlier, you should read it while consuming large quantities of wine. If you take my advice, you’ll enjoy yourself regardless.

Cheers!

Wine Book Review: The Far Side of Eden

In the late 80s, James Conaway chronicled the rise of America’s most famous wine region in his book “Napa: The Story of an American Eden.” A decade later, he came back to find a Napa Valley with more traffic, more mansions and more glamour. This was in the middle of the “roaring 1990s,” Conaway writes, “with everybody getting rich and a few people willing to consider the consequences.” Vineyards were expanding into the hillsides and Cabernet money was rolling in, but behind the modern winemaking facilities and glitzy wine labels, trouble was brewing.

“I also heard on all sides contending views and strongly expressed expectations that each view must prevail,” Conaway wrote in the introduction to his 2002 book “The Far Side of Eden: New Money, Old Land and the Battle for Napa Valley.” “I believe that what happened in Napa Valley is relevant to the rest of the country, however altered now are our interior landscapes.”

This book is centrally focused on the political and legal wrangling surround the Sierra Club’s lawsuit against Napa County for failing to enforce the California Environmental Quality Act. In the suit, which challenged hillside vineyard expansion, the group also named some individual defendants, including Jayson Pahlmeyer. Conaway tells the tale by constructing two opposing camps: wealthy vintners (led by high rollers like Pahlmeyer and Cakebread) vs. agitating environmentalists (led by the feisty Chris Malan, Peter Mennen and the Sierra Club).

I’ve read lots of responses to this book (considering more than a decade has passed since it was published), and a common complaint is the author’s bias in favor of environmental regulation. The author is sympathetic to environmental protection — shouldn’t we all be? — but Conaway seems concerned more with the health of the land and native species than any of the individual actors in the fight.

I haven’t interviewed the Napa vintners profiled in Conaway’s book, but I’m guessing they may have some problems with the way Conaway portrayed them. “These men were accustomed to getting what they wanted, that was clear,” Conaway writes. “They were determined to find a way around environmental regulation, but there was more: they hated all restrictions placed upon them by county, state, and nation, apparently on philosophical grounds and also because these laws gave people without their means some influence.” When describing Dennis Groth, Conaway writes: “Underlying it all was an ideological resistance to all regulation and a belief in the hallowed right of free enterprise and capital accumulation that benefitted a successful CPA.”

Still, I’m partial to accept Conaway’s premise that when one possesses massive wealth, large amounts of highly-prized vineyard land and unbridled praise from wine media and consumers, one could easily become removed from reality, especially from a healthy relationship with the environment. “Unaccustomed to criticism,” Conaway writes, “suddenly they were being condemned by the spiritual heirs of John Muir, and the legitimacy of their way of life was being questioned, and some of them were too angry to discuss this rationally.”

“Winegrowers of Napa Valley, Jack Cakebread’s conservative, deep-pocketed Breakfast Club,” features prominently in the book, which Conaway describes as a “haven for men who did not want to compromise and who believed that their financial gain was synonymous with the general good.” 

“The tendency among its members,” Conaway writes of the group’s reaction to the lawsuit, “was to lump all environmentalists together as part of a conspiracy against wine, when in fact there were myriad differences among environmentalists that became more pronounced each day.”

Exploring Languedoc Wine Country in "Virgile's Vineyard"

I picked up “Virgile’s Vineyard” during a January trip to the Languedoc-Roussillon region of southern France. Virgile Joly, the subject of this wine narrative, was eager to give me a signed copy. We’d dined together in Montpellier and I tasted through his wines at Millesime BioFair, a trade show focused on promoting organic and biodynamic wines.

Virgile struck me as a genuine man, devoid of all pretension. He listens closely before speaking, and when he does speak his words are rich with meaning. I liked his wines, too, especially his Saturne, a red blend from the Saint-Saturnin area of the Languedoc.   

I let my thoughts about the Languedoc simmer for a few months before I picked up this book and relived my experiences through Patrick Moon’s language. This book was originally published in 2003, but a new edition came out last year, which includes an 10-year retrospective epilogue.

Moon hails from England, but he spent a year-long sabbatical in an old Languedoc home that he inherited. The premise of his book is quite simple: Moon roams the Languedoc from January to December, and each month is shaped into a chapter. As the title suggests, Moon follows Joly around his vineyard and tries to learn as much as he can about vinegrowing, winemaking and the local oenological peculiarities. He prunes vines, picks grapes and, of course, drinks a lot of Languedoc vino.

Moon’s vocabulary is undeniably British. His diction is highly elevated and his language is flowery and effusive. When surrounded by bottles of wine and awe-inspiring vineyards, writers (myself included) are prone to getting carried away, and Moon gets carried away quite often.

But there’s something very pleasant about getting lost in Moon’s overflowing banter: “The vines were, of course, completely bare at this time of year — some neatly pruned, others still a ragged tangle — but the delicate, silvery grey foliage of the olive trees gently counterpointed the starkness of the rugged, fir-clad hills immediately behind me to the north.”

The book is quite informative for those interested in learning more about the entire vineyard-to-glass process. Moon shares what he learns as he learns it, which is helpful when talking about vineyard management methods, sugar and acid levels and fermentation chemisty.

Moon spends many pages reflecting on the farm-to-table way of life in the Languedoc: “Where vegetables in England might advertise their country of origin, here I find baskets that cite specific villages, even farms, in their pedigrees. Only the oranges come from as far afield as Spain. My naïve request for basil is simply laughed at. If it isn’t seasonal, it isn’t here.”

January clouds roll over a vineyard near the Languedoc town of Calce, France.

I really appreciate reading the historical and cultural tidbits that the Languedoc locals share with Moon. For example, I connected with Joly’s comments about the sometimes rough relationship between estate winegrowers and large cooperatives: “We’re not in competition; we’re complementary… Different products, different roles. You see, for me, a healthy market means a lot of people drinking wine on a regular basis. And that means a lot of decent quality, affordable wine for everyday consumption, rubbing shoulders with the best. Which is not to say that the co-op doesn’t make some very good wines…”

One of his guides, Krystina, is full of information about the Languedoc’s important role in the world’s history of wine. Here’s Krystina on the Greek connection with the Languedoc: “Wine proved a great success with the locals, you see. And very soon the Greeks were planting the Languedoc’s first cultivated vines and making the first local wines. Same with the olive trees, because olive oil wasn’t just the cornerstone of their cuisine, they also needed it for lighting, medicine, important religious observances, you name it. Absolutely vital.”

For millennia, hardworking men and women have cultivated vines and crushed berries in this rocky, sun-drenched terrain. But, unfortunately, the region’s reputation suffered as many producers churned out lots of bland juice for the bulk market. “The region was making forty-four percent of the country’s wine from only twenty-three percent of its vineyard area,” Krystina tells Moon. “It was selling on price not quality.”

Luckily for winemakers and consumers, the idea that the Languedoc is home only to mass-produced plonk doesn’t hold up anymore. Sure you can still find insipid wines, but more and more producers — like Virgile Joly — are producing exciting, terroir-driven wines that deserve your attention.

If you’re a lover of wine, travel, food and Southern France, this book also deserves attention.

Click here for a GoPro video edit from my Languedoc travels. 

Vineyard Tales: Notes on a Well-Aged Wine Book

Don't worry, a lot of '90s wine labels are just as bad.

Good wine books, like good wine, should hold up over time. I’m happy to report that this 1996 vintage from Gerald Asher called Vineyard Tales: Reflections on Wine has held up quite well.

I think I found this book at a library sale earlier this year. It’s old and the cover is horribly 90s. But in an era where immediacy is often valued more than quality, Asher’s writing has a sense of wisdom and endurance.

Much of this book is drawn on Asher’s work for Gourmet Magazine, where he worked as wine editor for some 30 years. Born in the UK, Asher spent his wine editing years split between Paris and San Francisco, and he has respect for Old World and New World wines alike. He also has an insatiable desire for adventure, a quality that is critical in the interesting wine writer. Asher has a keen eye for history, and you can tell from his fact-intensive writing that he gets a kick out of researching the history of particular vineyards, wine regions, winegrowing families and grape varieties.

Asher loves stories as much as he loves wine, and it’s this passion for both wine and storytelling that make this book such a rewarding read: “In every glass of wine, I have found, there is such a story; and in every story worth hearing, there is wine,” he writes in the introduction. “In these pages I will tell you some of my favorites.”

Some parts of the book are obviously outdated. For example, Quilceda Creek is no longer “one of America’s best but perhaps least-known Cabernet Sauvignons.” The 65,000 acres of Chardonnay vines in California that Asher writes about has grown to 95,000 in 2012, according to the Wine Institute. And Randall Grahm of Bonny Doon Vineyards has gone from musing about wine in his old-timey newsletter to tweeting like a madman.

But wine is thousands of years old, and we can learn a lot by looking into the recent past. Some of the historical sources cited in this book are so relevant to our current era that it’s kind of weird. For example, Asher quotes from an 1859 book by Jean-Jacques Lausseure, who writes: “The majority of consumers has been persuaded that these wines should be strong and alcoholic; that’s why, under the name of Burgundy, one can get only some dense, heavy liquid. Most of the English, without bothering to find out how any particular French wine should be, insist that it have body, lots of taste, and be thick.”

Vineyard Tales comprises a bunch of individual essays, each focused on a specific region, grape or theme. I can’t summarize them all, but here are some excerpts that resonated with me…

“We get from a glass of wine what we ourselves put into it.” Is this a lame quote or a truism? Perhaps both? “But the pleasure in any wine is subjective: we each bring something to what is there in the glass and interpret the result differently.”

 

Asher on wine and food pairing: “I have endured my share of awful food and miserable wines, but I have yet to be confronted with truly well prepared food and delicious wine in a combination so bizarre that either or both were actually ruined. Wine and food can be mutually enhancing but they have a natural affinity in any case and are tolerant of each other to a broad degree.”

“Yet seeking a perfect fit of wine and food risks becoming one more complication thrown in the path of those who simply want to enjoy a bottle of wine.”

On conscientious winemaking: “From the start they understood that making wine was the last stage of growing it, one in which every effort had to be made, every care had to be taken, not to undo in a day what nature had achieved in a season.”

On the ability of Champagne to increase the net happiness of all involved: “With a flute of Champagne in hand, the young feel wisely witty and the old feel young; everyone is better looking.”

“… one glass of Champagne will raise the morale and two will fuse the most ill-assorted group into a dinner party.”

Asher discusses how each individual interprets a wine’s aromas in a different way, based upon their own perception and experience. He calls this phenomenon “a uniquely personal mnemonic echo.” What an awesome phrase. Riffing on this theme, he writes about smelling an aged Ribera del Duero: “Smell bypasses the rational intellectual processes and goes straight to our core of emotion, memory and nervous reflex. That’s why the pleasure we get from a mature fine wine can be quite intense yet conceptually vague at the same time.”

Asher’s a Brit with a high level of respect for Bordeaux, Burgundy and Italian wines, but I appreciate the level of attention he gives to California wine history and culture. This book includes some stories of the early days of Ridge, the Zinfandel exploits of Joseph Swan in the late 60s and 70s, how Joel Peterson of Ravenswood made his first Zinfandel with Swan’s equipment. He even refers to Ravenswood’s Dickerson and Old Hill Vineyard Zinfandels as “among the finest wines — regardless of varietal — produced in California.”

On praise for Burgundy: “A great bottle of Burgundy is one of the strongest arguments we have in favor of wine.”

On “difficult” young wines: “Difficult wines improve with the years about as often as difficult people do. It’s a drum I bang frequently, but I must say again that only a wine balanced and agreeable when young is likely to be balanced and agreeable as it ages.”

On organizing a wine tasting with multiple bottles, trying to plan how one bottle could affect perception of the other: “our perception of any wine is always affected by others. If one is very tannic, another will seem less so, allowing us to notice in the latter a quality we might otherwise have missed… With this in mind, we begin to understand how we can use one wine to enhance another by emphasizing its advantages. The key to a full appreciation of any wine is to choose a suitable foil.”

Asher, like any wine evangelist, is prone to overexcitement at times. Everyone who writes about wine, myself included, gets caught up in the magic of a region or a producer or a vintage, and Asher’s no exception. Here he is swooning over the wine lands of northern Portugal: “There are vines everywhere in northern Portugal. From a few miles south of the Douro north to the valley of the Minho — the river that forms the northern frontier with Spain — every hill and valley, town and village, Baroque church, Rococo palace, cottage, wood, garden, plot of maize, and potato field is draped with, enclosed by, wrapped in or smothered beneath vines that hang, festoon, and overflow in a way that would make Virgil, Martial, Catullus, yes, even Pliny and the rest of the gang — were they ever to return — feel absolutely at home.” I’ve never been to northern Portugal, but when I finally visit I’m sure I’ll get equally gushy and long-winded.

We kick off 2014 in the midst of the golden age of wine writing. There are thousands of wine blogs and websites and apps and podcasts and videos that provide the nerd with information on just about anything related to wine. I’m proud to be a part, however small, of an exciting and dynamic online wine community. But, just like pulling the cork from a well-aged Chateauneuf, sometimes the old helps us gain perspective on the new. In that sense, Vineyard Tales was a delightful and invigorating read. I’d recommend it to nerds and novices alike.

Cheers!

 

Next on the reading list: the much more recent A Vineyard in My Glass.