Thoughts on an Earthquake

My first thought after awakening to the news that the 6.0 earthquake in wine country was centered in Napa? Sounds like all those falling bricks will delay harvest…
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Earthquakes are a reminder, if we really need one, that we’re rather insignificant beings on this colossal planet. If we see Earth as a berry, humans are a kind of botrytis, an Ignoble Mold. We’ve spent a couple of hundred years of our Industrial Revolution trying to destroy Earth. It only makes sense that Earth is going to fight back once in a while. It’s the movements of its tectonic plates, like the minor movement that dismantled downtown Napa early Sunday, that created the beauty and diverse soils of Napa and Sonoma, the soils that make them such wondrous winegrowing regions. An earthquake is like your father saying to you when you misbehaved as a child, “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”
***
As a lifelong resident of earthquake country, I recognized the rolling movements of my bedroom in Healdsburg as a sign that I wasn’t near the epicenter of the quake. Near the epicenter, an earthquake is sudden and explosive, only, unlike an explosion, you don’t know which direction it’s coming from. When the Whittier Narrows earthquake struck Los Angeles in 1987, I was in the shower. I have never been more grateful for shatterproof glass. I had shampoo lathered in my hair and suddenly my apartment was trying to move in next door. I grabbed a towel, even in a crisis we cover our dicks, and ran down the stairs. In the distance I could see sparks from a transformer of some kind shorting out, and I remember the cacophony of the ubiquitous car alarms of the times was very annoying. My girlfriend was screaming. She knew what was behind the towel. And then, in the way of quakes, it just stopped. There is an amazing silence after an earthquake. Even the birds are holding their breath. Dogs are woofless. Had it not been for the fucking car alarms, it would have been like standing at the dawn of time.

I had just started as a sommelier. I was about a month into the job. I drove to work that night and found a dozen large trash cans filled with broken wine bottles. The busboys had piled the shards with labels still intact in a separate place, trying to create an inventory of what had been lost. Cristal, Yquem, Lafite, Gaja, Rayas, Jayer… They were just names then, the carcasses of dead wines, stacked up as if in a graveyard. And you know what? They didn’t matter. Wineries have stories, marketing folks spend hours and hours crafting those Authentic stories, but when real life happens, when we’re taken away from our silly eno-illogical passions by genuine tragedy and heartbreak, it’s not the spilled wines’ stories we care about, it’s the human stories. Wine is only wine.
***
I couldn’t help but reflect on how Natural Wine might be affected by a Natural Disaster. Or is an earthquake an Authentic Disaster? A Real Disaster? The terminology is so confusing. Someone call Alice Feiring. She'll know. When I think wine and disaster, I think of her.
***
When I was a freshman at Occidental College, the Sylmar quake struck. Funny how we feel the need to name Natural Disasters. We name hurricanes, we name earthquakes, we name big fires, we name wines from Cornellisen… The Sylmar quake was around six in the morning, and I was unceremoniously thrown from my cheap dormitory bed. I did the exact wrong thing—I ran to the window. Across the street from my dorm was a large grassy area. In the dawn’s early light, I could see the grass moving in two foot swells, a small ocean disturbance. Grass isn’t supposed to be doing the Wave.
***
An anchor on CNN was speaking to David Duncan, whose family owns Silver Oak, and she was calling the loss of so many bottles of his wine in the earthquake a “tragedy.” Moron. The poor woman who lost everything when her trailer park home burned to the ground? What about her? Who cares? What’s she ever done for every restaurant chain in the country?
***
I was wondering if earthquakes have anything to do with balance, or terroir. Wouldn’t an earthquake right before harvest change the terroir? Will you be able to taste the difference in Trefethen Cabernet’s terroir beginning with the 2014 vintage? I would think so. Some of the vines are several feet east of where they used to be. And wouldn’t a 6.0 earthquake change a wine’s balance? It changed mine. Though I’ve always been unbalanced. I wonder about these things. This is the minutiae that makes wine interesting.  The shit we dwell on while the ground beneath our feet disappears. We are trivial beings so much of the time.
***
We live in constant denial of our insignificance and mortality. For a few minutes, earthquakes change that. In those remarkable and unforgettable handful of seconds that an earthquake lasts, we simply don’t know what to do. We run in circles, we scream, we pray for it to end. It’s like reading Palate Press. And when it does finally end, for a few days, at least, we’re a little less certain of our place in the world. The ground beneath our feet is no longer trustworthy. Our priorities are highlighted for their emptiness. I didn’t even check my wine cellar after the earthquake. I didn’t care a whit about the progress of the 2014 vintage. I wanted to hold my wife. I wanted to laugh with my friends. I wanted to remember what mattered in those frightening seconds the quake shook my little world.

The HoseMaster's Guide to Wine Marketing

The longer I’m in the wine business, the more fascinated I become with the marketing of wine. Not that it’s any different than, say, the marketing of movies. In fact, it seems like all marketing makes me think the same thing over and over, “Who the hell falls for that?” Now your question to me might be, “Who falls for what?” And you’ve answered my question.

Let’s first define wine marketing. It’s prevaricating. If you can’t put your hand on a Bible, swear in open court that what you’ve said is true, and not go to jail for perjury, it’s lying. Oh, it’s sophisticated lying, it’s lying by implication and dishonest associations, but it’s still lying. For example, “Our vineyard is right next to Harlan Estate,” which may, in fact, be true, but is meant to imply that therefore the wine is of the same quality. Which is like saying, “That’s my husband, the guy standing next to Brad Pitt,” as proof that Angelina Jolie wants to fuck him and bear his adopted children. (I think Edgar Allan Poe wrote a story about that very situation--“The Pitt and the Pudendum.”) Only, unlike wine, anyone can tell he’s not Brad Pitt without having to put him in her mouth and taste him. Wine marketing relies on the consumer’s ultimate ignorance about wine, and their insecurity about their wine knowledge. Which is why it’s so much fun to be a wine marketer! Playing folks for fools is endlessly entertaining.

I’ve assembled a few rules to remember when reading winery marketing material. This is not a complete list, but it should help you navigate some of the garbage that surrounds the marketing of wine.

It’s Important to Tell a Wine’s Story
Every damned winery has a story. Let’s not forget that a story only has to be good, only has to be interesting, it certainly doesn’t have to be true. I love a good story as much as the next guy, the one standing next to Brad Pitt, but every time I read a puff piece in Wine Spectator (about a winery that, only coincidentally, is owned by one of their major advertisers), or yet another asinine winery review on a wine blog (Alderpated on Vornography passing off winery marketing propraganda as journalism), I cringe. Wine marketing sells you romance when it wants to screw you, just like your ex-boyfriend. Winery stories are the business’ Lifetime movies—they’re “based on a true story.” You see, you always have to qualify “story” with “true,” otherwise it’s not. You don’t have to qualify “true.”

Please, God, can we put an end to telling every winery’s story? The stuff that was made up in marketing meetings? Meetings where they discuss whether to use the word “natural,” or whether it should be “authentic.” I know, I know, let’s use “sustainable.” That doesn’t mean anything legally, and it sounds like we care. Splooge Estate is sustainable! The only question is, is my straight face sustainable?

In Wine Marketing, Two Half-Truths Equal a Truth
“Our winemaker worked in Burgundy. Our vineyards are on the exact same latitude as the Côtes d’Or. So our wine is very Burgundian.” Beware of the word “Burgundian.” It is a word that is only used for the worst Pinot Noirs and the dreariest Chardonnays. It’s marketing shorthand for, “I don’t know shit about Burgundy, but I’m also sure you don’t know shit about Burgundy.” It’s also lazy wine marketing. It takes no imagination or thought, but it flatters the client no end. “Oh, honey, tonight’s dinner was absolutely French Laundrian.” As it turns out, what may sound like praise is basically sarcasm. Remember that the next time a winery claims its wine is Burgundian. They’re probably just being sarcastic. Laugh like you're in on it.

I’m the Expert on Expert Opinions
There’s a reason wine marketing folks praise wine bloggers. They desperately need their opinions to have meaning. There’s no difference between wine writing and wine blogging, they’ll have you know. Just like there’s no difference between your high school production of “Death of a Salesman” and one on Broadway. Teenagers can be actors, too, and they understand the context just as well as the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Only an idiot would think otherwise. You just have to memorize some lines, after all, and you, too, can be Willy Loman. Hey, what’s an MS made of but memorization? See? There you go. (See section above.)

Points, medals, blurbs from bloggers, it’s all the same. Make them all seem meaningful. But it’s something of a descending order of preference for wine marketing. No Parker score worth touting? Talk about the one Gold Medal you received out of the ten competitions you entered. No Gold Medals? Well, you got a nice little mention on the blog that won “Best Reviews on a Wine Blog,” an award given by marketing folks. In fact, any blogger that mentions your wine is an expert! He’s a wine writer. Which implies he’s a wine expert (see paragraph two). Hell, we’re all wine writers! I know, let’s put on “Death of a Salesman” and we can all be actors, too! I got dibs on Biff.

Words Have No Meaning
Marketing people love language the way troubled teenagers love razor blades. It’s a sick and destructive relationship. There are countless words that have been deprived of all meaning in wine marketing. Words that are tossed around like so many dwarves in a bowling alley. Here are just a few.

Terroir—Once a word that was used by winemakers of an appellation to say that a particular wine possessed telling characteristics of its origins, much as a person might reflect his culture. “Terroir” has now come to mean whatever the person uses it thinks it means—sort of like the word “truth” on the Internet.

Old Vines—How many 35-year-olds think they’re old? Humans and grapevines have similar lifespans, if anything, grapevines can outlive us. So how is 35 old? Or 50? What are we, still in the fucking Middle Ages? Are the best wines in the world made from old vines? I always thought the best wines came from the best vineyards. Old vines are just a novelty in the United States, I guess. Like watching Harrison Ford or Woody Allen get the young girl in a movie. I guess it’s because their balls have had longer hang times that the girls want them.

Balance—We pursue it. Every other winemaker ignores it. We now own it. Want to have balance? Submit a sample. We’ll tell you if you do. Otherwise, fuck off.

The Confession of Dr. Conti

OK, I made a deal with Mr. Koch to tell everything I know about wine fraud. You know, I think it’s going to feel good to get all this off my chest, to finally tell the truth. I’ve been thinking about it a lot in my prison cell, and I’m actually excited. I think it will be cathartic. OK, so here it goes, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Finally, in his words, Rudy tells all, or does he? Continue reading at Tim Atkin MW! And don't forget to leave authentic comments there, and save the fakes for here.

Tim Atkin MW

"Natural Wine"--A Blind Book Review

The endless and tiresome debates about natural wine that are raging around the wine world finally convinced me that I should make it a point to not read Isabelle Legeron’s “Natural Wine,” and to review it blind. Reviewing a book without having read it is the only way to objectively analyze its content. It is no different than reviewing a wine blind. Actually reading “Natural Wine” would only bring my knowledge and experience into play, qualities that have no place at the reviewing stand. As in wine reviews, ignorance is surely the reviewer’s most specialized and valuable tool. One has only to scan Wine Spectator scores for this to be self-evident.

First, allow me to note that I have a fondness for natural wine. I also like Renaissance Faires, and think Amish people are just so damned cute. Critics who don’t like proponents of Natural Wine, like Isabelle Legeron, MW, need to remember just how adorable they are, all anti-progress and anti-science. So sweet!  Come on, who needs sulfites when you have Luddites? Come to think of it, I also like cookie dough, or as I like to call it, Natural Cookies. Cookies baked in newfangled ovens are just so fake. Some flour, some raw eggs, some yeast--cookies make themselves! And here’s a tip: Nothing goes with Natural Wine Pinot Noir better than some juicy Salmonella you contracted from Natural Cookies.

Isabelle Legeron is one of only 312 Masters of Wine in the world. She achieved this distinction by learning about, writing about, and learning to identify blind all those second-rate, obviously poorly-made wines not produced in the natural way. Crap like d'Yquem, Vega Sicilia, and all of those stupid First Growths. This must have been murder on such a delicate, sophisticated, discriminating palate. Her accomplishment of earning an MW is, for her, akin to going undercover and passing as a sex trafficker. As a society, we owe her an enormous debt of gratitude for uncovering firsthand the nightmare that is modern wine, and can only imagine the suffering and indignities she witnessed and endured. I mean, come on, Clive Coates was always hanging around. What must that have done to her?

For those of you who have been living in a cave, and are, therefore, the target audience for Natural Wines, it would probably be useful to define “natural wine.” Yup, sure would be. The book is filled with hints, but an actual definition is elusive. It seems to start in the vineyard. Natural wines can only come from vineyards that are farmed organically or biodynamically. OK, this is starting to make sense. I like that Natural Wines give diseases a fighting chance. I think we all agree that vaccines are bad things, too, causing problems like autism, overpopulation, and unattractive scabs. Diseases are natural, and deserve a chance to impact the wine. So I’m in complete agreement on this count.

Also, according to “Natural Wine,” which I have not had the pleasure of reading (amazingly, English is Legeron’s third language, after French and Elvish), natural wines are made with as little intervention as humanly possible, sort of like Mexican cures for cancer. Frankly, I agree with Legeron on this point as well. I’ve long said that the best way to improve wines is to reduce the number of winemakers, though I advocated automatic weapons and anthrax. Grapes evolved for tens of thousands of years without human interference, and, honestly, made the finest wines in history. Bill Koch has some in his cellar he bought from a very reputable auction house. Amazing the vines were able to bottle.

If the ordinary wine buyer of today actually knew how wineries manipulate wine, knew all the tricks and additives they employ, they would be outraged. And for what? To make them taste good? That’s hardly justification. As Legeron points out, we constantly worry about where our food comes from and how it’s handled, why shouldn’t we apply the same criteria to wine? (Legeron is our Michael Pollan of wine. Yet the laugh is on her—grapes are self-Pollanating.) I think she’s right. When I dine at a fine restaurant that uses only sustainably grown produce and responsibly raised meats, I sure as hell don’t want a chef screwing it up. And wine is exactly the same as food, when you think about it—a luxury item. Not everyone in the world needs it. Oh, sure, people will complain, but someone has to draw the line and tell them, No, natural is the only way and if there isn’t enough, if it’s unavailable, you’ll just have to do without.  The best food available, just like the best wine, is all that matters. Well, when you’re at the top of the food and wine chain anyway.

As I neared the end of the book, having not turned a single page, I found myself in agreement with almost everything Legeron writes about Natural Wine. Of course, this isn’t surprising given that she is a Master of Wine, and their opinions are oenological Apostolic Exhortations, no matter how oeno-illogical they might seem. Legeron also declaims the overuse of sulfur (a certain sign of the presence of Satan) in winemaking, as well as sulfites at bottling. I think she’s right. Nearsighted critics of her work complain that the natural winemaking methods she outlines will almost always lead to faulty wines. As though this were a bad thing.

First of all, faults are in the eye of the beholder. It’s no different than falling in love. Are we going to let chemistry get in the way of recreational sex? Hell, no. Chemistry is just as detrimental in wine evaluation. It robs you in its relentlessly logical and unforgiving way of the pleasure of just holding your nose and getting drunk. And getting drunk on a beverage that was made the right way, has all its wet spots in the right place, to further my analogy. Chemistry has no place in winemaking.

Secondly, with time, those “faults” go away. How do we know this? Legeron tells us so, and if there is one thing you learn from reading “Natural Wine” it’s that what separates Natural Wine from all other lesser wine is Faith. And, truly, the wine business needs Faith. Faith is what separates man from lowly, filthy beasts. Faith is what separates Natural Wine from Stupid Wine. Faith that manure from a lactating cow buried for six months, blended with fermented flowers and specific herbs, mixed with untold gallons of water will restore micro-organisms to the soil. Faith that a winery is so clean you can ferment wine in it without fear of contamination. Faith that your senses are lying to you when you stick your nose in and then taste a “faulty” wine, not the salesman serving it. Faith that your purity of intention and love for the Earth will guide you to select the bottle of Natural Wine from the displayed case of Natural Wine that is the bottle variation that is drinkable and delicious.  Faith that wine is meant to be sackcloth, a lesson in humility, and not hedonistic pleasure.

I very much enjoyed Isabelle Legeron’s “Natural Wine.” I just wish they’d printed it with natural ink.

Is That MegaPurple, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

There is one important way that wine is like food—the cheaper it is, the more manipulated it is. But that’s the way we like it. Americans don’t like surprises. This explains 9-11. And condoms. When we buy a bottle of cheap wine, we don’t care about the vintage or the appellation, we just care that it tastes like it did the last time we bought it, five years ago. Just like we want McDonald’s french fries to always taste like salty cardboard regardless of where in the world we’re eating them. If they taste like potatoes, they’re disgusting. If cheap wine tasted like quality wine, that would be a horrible mistake. All that character getting in the way of the alcohol? That seems pointless. Winemakers understand this, and go to great lengths to manipulate those inexpensive wines into tasting as unobtrusive and bland as possible. How do they do this? They add stuff. Same as they do to cheap food.

There are many wine blogs devoted to “Great Wines Under $20.” Let’s get something straight. There are no great wines under $20. There are fools who think there are, but, for God’s sake, don’t believe them. The wines they recommend are not, never have been, and never will be, Great Wines any more than the new James Patterson piece of shit is a Great Book. So shut the hell up about “Great Wines Under $20.” Cheap and easy to understand doesn’t equate to great. If it did, my idiot cousin would be on Mount Rushmore. It demeans the hard work of the great vintners of the world to refer to cheapass, manipulated wines as “Great.” Even if you need to feel good about drinking Great Wines Under $20 all the time, and not knowing the difference, you don’t need to insult the truly great wines of the world, or the intelligence of your readers. What’s wrong with “Wines I Like Under $20?” We know you’re an idiot, and can take that into account. “Great Wines Under $20,” for fuck’s sake. That’s like shopping on Craig’s List for Bargain Plastic Surgery. It’s cheap dick enhancement.

I know, most of you believe in the “romance” of wine, the compost heap that marketing departments sell under the guise of “telling the winery’s story.”

We lovingly tend our beautiful and historic vineyards, coaxing the best out of them. We hire happy little brown people who sing and prance as they harvest the precious grapes. We don’t know where these little brown people come from, they just magically appear each year, despite the gunfire. Each cluster is praised and admired as we prepare it to meet its maker. Gently crushed, like your teenage daughter’s heart, it transforms itself, under our ever-watchful eyes, into Great Wine, which we bottle and reluctantly sell to our friends. We are mere stewards of the land, and too humble to intervene in this mystical process of transformation. We don’t make our wines, our wines make us.

Yup, and California cheese comes from contented cows. Why are they content? Their farts are causing climate change and killing humans, that’s why. Damned bovines.

Let’s take a brief look at some of the more popular wine additives, and what they add to wine.

Gum Arabic
Gum Arabic, which is made from the sap of two species of Acacia tree, so it’s tree bodily fluid, is added to wines to enhance texture. As an alternative, many wineries in Lodi add Maple syrup to their Zinfandels in order to receive high scores from Mrs. Butterworth, who writes under the name Natalie MacLean.

WD-40
Most wines that are referred to as being “silky” can attribute that quality to just a splash of WD-40 added right before bottling. Many inexpensive Priorats can repair rusty locks. Pouring Apothic down your pants can unstick your zipper. This is a little celebrated quality of manipulated silky wines, but one you should explore.  No tool kit is complete without a bottle of Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc.

Techron
Often added to German Riesling, it helps with mileage. As they say in Germany, there’s no fuel like and old fuel. Or sometimes, petrol for one, and one for all. Germans are hilarious.

Copper Sulfate
Small amounts of copper sulfate may be added to a wine in order to remove hydrogen sulfides, which cause wine to smell like rotten eggs. Copper sulfate in sufficient quantity is poisonous to humans, but no more so than Sarah Palin, who, unsurprisingly, is also redolent of very old eggs. But don’t worry about copper sulfate specifically, wine is filled with poison. It’s called alcohol. Luckily, the antidote is readily available, and involves driving home.

Powdered Tannin
Powdered tannin is sometimes added to red wine to help fix color and add grip. Sadly, Michael Jackson tried this and, well, you know the result. He obviously lost his grip. The same additive is occasionally used on donuts, which then go great with Barolo.

James Earl Jones Voiceover
Often added to make an expensive wine seem classier. Cheaper wines use a high dosage of Morgan Freeman. Adding voiceovers is technically illegal in Europe, though they do allow the use of ventriloquists.

MegaPurple
MegaPurple is a grape concentrate made from the hybrid grape Rubired. Manufactured by the wine conglomerate Constellation, it’s often added to red wine in order to ruin it. A single drop, however, is said to make any orange wine significantly better—bang, it’s even more orange! MegaPurple is also a common substitute for Viagra. If after consuming a glass of The Prisoner your erection lasts for more than four hours, consult a sommelier. That’ll make anyone go flaccid.