Not Quite Right

You open a bottle.

You pour it into the glass.

You look at it.  You swirl and sniff it.  You taste it.

Repeat.  And again.  And again.

Something is not quite right.  But what, then?  It doesn’t look right, or it doesn’t smell right, or it doesn’t taste right, or it doesn’t feel right?  Why?

Perhaps the bottle is corked or the wine is flat out defective - it wasn’t made correctly - something was wrong with it right from the beginning, or it wasn’t sealed properly, or for a long time it wasn’t stored correctly.  Or maybe it’s in its awkward stage.  Or maybe it’s past its peak time and is on a serious decline and can no longer show as well as it once had.

Have we tasted this wine/grape/region/producer/vineyard/vintage before?  Did we know what to expect and did the wine fail to meet our expectations, or was it just a defective bottle?

What about this - let’s say you open a bottle, and you’ve had this wine over and over and over again.  You’ve always enjoyed it, which is why you continue to open more bottles of it.  But not this time.  But it’s not because the wine is corked.  And maybe it’s not a bad vintage at all.  But something isn’t quite right.  You’re no longer connecting with this wine anymore.  What do you do?  Do you continue to open more bottles of it, hoping that you’ll go back to enjoying and loving it again, as you once had?  Do you begin to question yourself and your taste regularly now, wondering why this wine no longer inspires you?  Or do you cut off your supply of that wine, once and for all, never to return to it again?

Perhaps you’ve lost your faith in that wine.  But why?  Is it just this one isolated instance where a problem has come up?  Or has the wine been leaving you feeling less than satisfied the past several times you’ve opened a bottle?  And why?  What is it that’s wrong?  Does it no longer sparkle and shine in the glass, giving off a radiant color, or perhaps the aromas and flavors no longer appeal to you or interest you or keep you coming back for more?  Or maybe the structure no longer seems right - it’s lacking something or maybe the length and finish aren’t what you had hoped for?

Did you have unreasonable expectations?  Or did it just flat out come up short?  Or, worse, did it come up short AGAIN, disappointing you and leaving you wondering if maybe that wine just isn’t for you anymore - now what?

I love wines that inspire me.  What I love even more is a wine that I’ve tasted over and over again and each time I learn something new about it or connect even better with it.  On the other hand, I tire of the wines that no longer inspire me.  I resent the bottles that come up short and fail to meet my expectations.  What if my expectations were perfectly reasonable - I understand the grape and the region and style and vintage - so what excuse does that bottle have for coming up short?

Maybe the Champagne had lost its bubbles.  Maybe the Chablis lacked the proper acidity.  Maybe the Margaux had an uncharacteristically short finish.  Maybe the Nebbiolo was past its peak now.  But something is not quite right.  Now what?

When I open a bottle, I want to love it.  What makes me love it and keep on loving it is how it makes me feel.  If it inspires me, makes me think, and appeals to my senses, keeps me guessing, and makes the experience exciting, then I’m all in.  Anything else, and for me it’s just pointless.

Ugly Realities

We have all kinds of friends, but, at least for me, the most trusted and often the most treasured are the ones who not only share in our joys and sorrows and build us up, but also they know how to be [brutally] honest with us, sometimes pointing out the cold, hard truths that we might not necessarily want to hear, but we have to.

For me, wine plays a special part in my life, as I’m sure it does for a lot of people.  There are the celebratory wines, my go-to Pinot Noir when I’m having a sad day (I have no explanation for this, but on those days, I just want Pinot), my thought provoking and inspiring, almost “cerebral” wines, and there are my learning experience wines too.  If we let them, they really can tell us so much and we can learn a lot from them.

I had a thought yesterday after a conversation with my wine-industry-veteran boyfriend regarding great vintages of Bordeaux, and discussing the differences and virtues of the 2009 and 2010 vintages.  I started musing about when the 2010s might peak, and we decided that some of the great wines really do have a lifespan nearly as long as that of a human being in reasonably good health.

That’s when I had a borderline bone-chilling though that stayed with me the remainder of the day - when some of the great wines peak, many of the people who were present at their release will not be there for their peak.  Why?  Because sometimes the distance in years between release and peak time exceeds that of the years remaining on a person’s life, depending on how old the person is at the time of release.

It was particularly disturbing to me, and you may wonder why, as I’m only 30 years old and was in my 20s when the 2009s and 2010s were released - but most of my family, friends, and boyfriend, clearly were not in their 20s when those wines were released, and I began to wonder who will be here to experience some peak times for the more recent great wines.  For me, that’s an ugly reality and a cold, hard fact, taught to me by the wines I love so much.  I realize nothing in life is certain, but considering I’m still pretty young, I began to wonder what life will be like for me when, say, a 2010 Bordeaux is at its peak, and I’m ready to open it.  Who will be here with me to enjoy it?

I have a friend in the industry who has been like a mentor to me over the past few years.  He’s said some things, often about wine, that have made me think twice (or more).  Something he asks me often is, “When are you going to open it?  What are you waiting for?  Are you waiting until you die?”  We all know and understand that some wines have to wait a while before we can really enjoy them at their best, but sometimes I stop and think, and have a desire to open a bottle even if it’s a little young, just to make sure that the experience did happen.

The discussion yesterday about the great vintages, and which ones might peak at what time, and my thoughts of what it’ll be like and who will still be here, was a harsh, unpleasant reality.  Yes, we want ageworthy wines that literally keep time in a bottle, almost like a time capsule of what that year was like and who was involved with the making of the wine, but at what cost do we have to wait?

I, for one, am beginning to realize that, if I had to choose, I’d rather experience a wine a bit earlier than to wait so long that I’m forced to open it alone.

My friend has also noted that he believes wines often appear to taste and smell and feel better to the drinker if we are in a happy place, surrounded by those we love.  He’s right.  So in case a wine isn’t showing its absolute best, because I opened it slightly too soon, I’ll probably still enjoy it as if it were perfect, because I’m in that happy place, experiencing the wine with those people that I love.  And for me, that’s no real concession anyway.  Think of the end of Sideways, when Miles eventually opens his 1961 Cheval Blanc - alone.  Yes, he waited for peak time, but what of it?

2009 Bordeaux is special to me.  For my preferences, considering I generally prefer wines to be older, I still love what seems like an approachable nature of the 2009 vintage, as opposed to the 2010s that I feel will make me wait, perhaps too long.  Thank goodness for 2009 - I’ll be sharing those before long.

Krug Grande Cuvee

I will shamefully admit that the bottle of Krug we opened over the weekend was my first bottle of Krug, ever.  Considering how long I’ve loved wine and the fact that Krug is such an important Champagne house, one would think I’d have tasted it long ago, but no - I’ve spent time on small production grower Champagnes, and I’ve fallen in love with Salon.  I’ve tasted other “big” Champagnes too, so it’s not like I’ve been too cheap to enjoy the prominent examples of the region - it’s just that for one reason or another, I’ve been tasting through others aside from Krug - maybe I was just hung up on saving Krug for a special occasion.

But a wise person (that same wise person I refer to regularly in the blog and other places as well) has said time and again that instead of waiting for special occasion to open certain bottles, it actually makes more sense to open the bottles and make that the special occasion.

Peter had a glorious idea of picking up a bottle of Krug Grande Cuvee last weekend.  For days, I thought about it, dreamed about it, craved it.  And while I should not have waited this long to experience Krug, I can assure you that, in case you have not yet tasted it, it’s worth the wait.  It’s fabulous, it’s extraordinary, it’s everything I had hoped it would be.

Aside from a beautiful bottle to grace an otherwise casual evening of very good sushi and watching Casablanca (my favorite movie to watch with Champagne actually), the wine is a beautiful, elegant, majestic thing itself.  A gorgeous golden color with so much bubble in the glass, it’s great just to look at it for a moment, observing the bronze tint to the liquid gold, and then the characteristics - plenty of fruit, mostly white, yellow, and some red berry, but an emphasis on cooked orange, followed by white blossom and baking spices, mostly cinnamon and something more exotic - saffron perhaps, and a burst of freshly baked pastry, toasted bread, and roasted nuts.  And the textures?  Oh my - bubble perfection, clean and round and satisfying, and luxurious.  It was one of those wine moments where I wondered if I even deserved that bottle.  But Peter assured me that I did.  He picked out brie and a gouda with truffles - perfect pairing indeed, the earthiness and smooth textures of the cheeses with that glorious Champagne left me absolutely delighted.

So, we decided on another bottle of that for New Year’s Eve this year (with other grower Champagne too) - and Peter wasted no time - there’s a lovely box with an even lovelier bottle of Krug Grande Cuvee sitting next to my wine racks at home.  It’s certainly something to look forward to!

Bonny Doon + Brewology

Menu/Wine Pairings

Usually, when I have some kind of extraordinary wine experience, it’s a fabulous bottle from France or Italy or Austria - at least, those generally are the kind of experiences that I can’t stop thinking about by the next day.

A few nights ago, I had the best California wine experience - we attended the Bonny Doon dinner at Brewology and got to meet Randall Grahm himself, and enjoy several Bonny Doon wines paired with Chef Lia Fallon’s creations.

Wow.

We got there a little early so we took a seat at the bar, and after a round of Gruet, we looked over the evening’s menu, and upon seeing that Bonny Doon Clos de Gilroy was on the glass list but not on the evening’s featured menu, we ordered a glass, and it was a nice prelude to an evening of Bonny Doon wines.  2013 Clos de Gilroy is a blend of Grenache and Mourvedre, smooth and delicious with lots of plum, berry, and soft hints of spice.  For me, it’s a spring/summer/autumn red, and at cellar temperature, it could pair with just about anything, I remarked to Peter.

Vin Gris 2013

And then Randall Grahm arrived.  I was so enthusiastic to meet him as I’ve heard only awesome things, and honestly I was suspicious this was going to be a really fun night.  He’s so cool.  And he’s brilliant.  Over a glass of 2013 Querry Cider (Pear/Apple/Quince) and a glass of 2013 Vin Gris of I believe mostly Grenache but it was a traditional blend (which was probably the best dry rose I’ve had from a place other than Provence - just my style!), Peter and I got to talk with Randall at length.  We got to discuss everything from Tannat to bass guitar and all the while I was in my glory.

Here’s why.

As a very young child, sometimes I had a difficult time communicating certain thoughts and feelings.  My parents would put on Mister Rogers for me, and in his words and songs, it was as if he was speaking directly to me, like he knew what I was thinking and it was something I could connect with at last.

See how much fun we had?

I had a similar feeling, only the grown up version, that night.  Usually, when I hear about terroir and personalities of the wines and noninterventionist ways of making wine, it’s in a conversation with someone French, or Italian.  Here was someone saying what I think and feel about wine, in great detail, but with an American accent.  And what’s more...well, I keep a quote that I read by Randall Grahm some time ago, about Madiran, and terroir, and the quote is hanging on a mirror in my bedroom.  The other night, it was fascinating to hear a man committed to terroir and expressiveness in a wine, telling his audience about “wines of terroir” versus “wines of effort,” and that generally the former is in Europe, and the latter is in California, and about the desire to move in a direction of terroir rather than just effort from the winemaker instead of allowing the wine to do the speaking.  He even went so far as to personify some wines, by making a parallel - imagine being in a room with an individual with lots of personality - after a while you like them, but you tire of their presence a bit.  And then there’s a subtle person who is a pleasure, and everything in moderation, and that’s a person whose presence you can appreciate for a long time.  It’s what he wants in his wines now - they are not explosive.  To me, they are more suggestive and hint in different directions - and it’s how I felt when tasting the Vin Gris - so subtle and lovely and unobtrusive.  The more he spoke, the better connection I had with his wines and his style as a winemaker.  He even mentioned something about wines that have no makeup on - which is exactly how I described good Burgundies in a conversation with Philippe Pascal on the day we worked together last spring.  Good, I thought.  I get it.

Randall Grahm speaking on the personalities of the wines

Dinner opened with a delicious ceviche (which was actually my favorite dish of the evening) in an avocado boat, and 2013 Albarino.  I loved the weight of the Albarino, so fresh and yet so satisfying, a perfect summer white with seafood, a burst of flavor without excess, lots of fruit and an excellent match of textures.

Next was a pasta with truffle cheese, mushrooms, and spinach and veal meatballs - and the pairing was a side by side of 2011 Le Cigare Blanc and 2010 Le Cigare Volant (read up on the law in Chateauneuf du Pape from I believe 1954 regarding outlawing flying saucers from taking off or landing in the wine region).  Le Cigare Blanc (Roussanne/Grenache Blanc) is unique, textured, quite dry but still fairly round, showing plenty of fruit but lots of spice as well and mineral.  I liked the red better for the dish, the Cigare Volant (Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre/Cinsault/Carignane) - this was a deep, mature, stylish wine yet unpretentious, lots of red and dark fruit and plenty of baking spices with a warm earthiness and for me, it was a near perfect pairing with that dish, although I do believe I could enjoy Le Cigare Volant anytime, anywhere.

[At this time, I realized I was already getting tipsy and promptly handed over the keys to my SUV to Peter, and a selfie ensued - we were having a blast!]

Next course was skirt steak with a rather summery medley of chopped vegetables and corn (to me, it was so seasonal Long Island, delicious) - paired with 2012 Syrah Le Pousseur.  For me, this wine was a perfect example of what Randall was discussing earlier in the evening, about subtlety and that difference between Europe and California.  When I think of Syrah, the first thing that comes to my mind generally is Saint-Joseph - raspberry and dark fruit with a wildness and lots of black pepper.  Here’s a Syrah, I thought while tasting Le Pousseur, with plenty of personality but nothing too wild, and not much black pepper, at least not what we tend to perceive in its Northern Rhone counterpart.  Lovely, I thought.  Wonderful fruit and Peter and I decided it was distinctly California, quite separate from Rhone Syrah, but still very much a Syrah, just extremely approachable and probably the easiest wine to enjoy that evening, at least for me it was, because it wasn’t overpowering anything, the way some young examples of Syrah might.  It was just being itself, and that’s more than good enough for me.  Another successful pairing.

Finally, we ended with a dessert dish of grilled peaches, meringue, almond brittle, and bleu cheese.  The wine was the 2013 Vinferno (Grenache Blanc/Roussanne), a decadent, delicious, rich wine with concentrated orchard and tropical fruit notes, bold spice, and huge aroma and flavor, and a particularly satisfying texture.  The wine refused to allow the bold ginger and funky cheese flavors from the dish to outdo it, ultimately leaving my nose and palate in a sort of wine ecstasy - just the way I like it, to end an evening of excellent wines and good pairings.

And we had so much fun.  I look forward to tasting more Bonny Doon wines and meeting Randall Grahm again.

Alto Adige GuildSomm Master Class

I attended the Guild of Sommeliers master class on Alto Adige at the end of June - I was so hoping to get into that class as it was small and limited in seating, and when I first tried to get in, it was closed, but when a space opened up, I was on that!  And I got in and was thrilled!  It was completely worth attending.  I love eye-opening wine experiences.  Sometimes our eyes are opened when we don’t expect it.  And sometimes we expect the unexpected and we’re still astounded.  This was an example of the latter; I was astounded by the wines and I can assure Madiran’s customers that several of the wines tasted at that master class will make the list.

It’s no secret that I’m into giving proper attention to wine regions that often go overlooked on account of...well, I’m not sure what it’s on account of, since oftentimes, the quality to price ratio in these growing regions is far better than that of many other more popular regions.  Perhaps it’s media coverage, Wine Spectator, etc., that fails to cover these spectacular regions and neglects to expose wine drinkers to them.  Those who frequent Madiran after opening will notice that the wine list gives special attention to places like South West France, Sicily, Alto Adige, Styria, Hungary, Croatia, and Washington State.  We’re used to hearing about regions other than those, but I assure you, you’ll find plenty of otherwise underrepresented regions present at Madiran.

I suppose I haven’t had time to blog about the Alto Adige class as it was only a week before I went public about Madiran and a lot has changed since then, but I’ve got a little time this morning and I can’t hold back any longer about the fabulous wines I had the opportunity to taste that day.

When we think of wines from Northern Italy, we probably think of places like Piemonte, Veneto, Friuli, and if you’re “certifiably insane” like I am, you might even have fallen in love with Vallee d’Aosta by now (I certainly have!), but Alto Adige needs to be in the mix as well.  I’m not just talking about Trentino - I mean Sud Tirol, home of a more Germanic/Austrian type of people with names and accents that show almost no trace of anything Italian.  Cool, I thought.  I knew this was the situation up there, vaguely though.  And MS Geoff Kruth did a fantastic job covering the lay of the land, the terroir, the people, the food, and of course the wine, as well as history, culture, identity, and...speck.

“I hope this isn’t just going to be a study in Pinot Grigio,” I told Peter the night prior to the tasting.  And it certainly wasn’t!  Not that there’s anything wrong with Pinot Grigio, it’s just that the mass production and lack of inspiration when crafting many examples of Pinot Grigio has led many of us wine geeks to cringe a little when thrown into a lineup of Pinot Grigio.  I usually go for the kind from Friuli, with the true grey color I like to see in a properly executed Pinot Grigio.  But...

We opened with the Muri-Gries 2013 Pinot Grigio.  Bingo.  Only one Pinot Grigio in the lineup and it was awesome - everything I’d look for as a wine buyer - good value, plenty of character and still quite light and easy drinking, and user-friendly for the everyday American wine drinker who asks for a Pinot Grigio and the person pouring cannot and will not serve Santa Margherita.  What a happy wine with notes of bitter almond, orchard and citrus fruit, and white mineral, and just a touch of the telltale grey color, I’d wear that “I just made a wine discovery” smile the rest of the class.

Next up was the Colterenzio Weisshaus 2012 Pinot Bianco.  Now, I’m not usually a lover of Pinot Blanc.  But this one was different, lovely, and quite delicious.  Pale and subtle with suggestions of citrus, orchard fruit, white blossoms, and mineral, the wine has an air of mystery about it, and femininity, if that makes any sense.

I actually preferred the following Pinot Bianco, which was even lovelier and more graceful than the first, with notes of pear, melon, a hint of spice and some texture, and a soft yet bright character.  This was the Cantina Terlano Vorberg Riserva 2011 Pinot Bianco.

Next was the Erste + Neue Salt 2012 Chardonnay, which I found a bit “odd” and strange as I noted on my tasting sheets.  Its name, Salt, was no joke - laced into the lemon curd and green apple notes was a salty characteristic, and oddly enough, I found the wine a little bit hot, although I could have been mistaking some other trait for what I perceived as a balance issue.

The next wine I also didn’t connect well with, as it seemed too strange, even for a geek like me.  It was the Manicor Reserve Della Contessa 2012 Terlaner, a blend of Pinot Bianco, Chardonnay, and Sauvignon Blanc.  (I’m not a huge fan of white blends actually, especially when the blend appears to muddle the identity of the wine, at least on my nose and palate and therefore in my perception of the wine.  There are many exceptions for me, however this was not one of them.)  The wine showed notes of what appeared to me as green apple, sour peach, lemon, grapefruit, funky herbs, and...drumroll please...a less than sanitary urinal.  Obviously this wasn’t on my favorites list.  To put it mildly, I hated it.  But that’s going to happen sometimes - if there are things we like, surely there will be things we don’t like.  It was one of two wines at the tasting that flat out offended my nose and palate.

I went straight into recovery mode with the gem that came next, and I’m still thinking about this wine a couple of months later.  The Peter Zemmer Rohracker 2013 Riesling was gorgeous and I wrote the happiest thoughts in the margin next to the wine’s name and tasting notes.  Clearly less expensive than many of its counterparts around the world, it’s very much a Riesling with lovely aromas and flavors including green and white grapes, orchard and tropical fruits, bold white blossoms, and white stony mineral with a waxiness and plenty of acidity and a perfectly clean feel.  I was back on track in no time and completely in love with this wine.

Another gem (which I’ve tasted previously but never tire of it) was the Abbazia di Novacella Val Isarco 2012 Kerner (MS Kruth tells us that Kerner is the product of Riesling crossed with Schiava) - Kerner is something worth experiencing, because there’s nothing quite like it, in those funky tall skinny bottles.  It’s got a pale yellow gold color, it’s clean and wonderful with lively acidity, a fun, happy, aromatic wine with more citrus peel and spice and fennel than Riesling but otherwise fairly similar with orchard fruit and floral perfume.

The other wine that didn’t sit well with me was a disappointment as I love Gewurztraminer, but this was just too much.  The Cantina Bolzano Kleinstein 2012 Gewurztraminer has the tropical and lychee and spicy notes we expect from Gewurztraminer and that weight we like to see with a wine like this, but the alcohol was intense and for me, it overtook what could have (should have?) been an otherwise good wine.  And then MS Kruth read the alcohol content to us - 15.5% ABV - for me, that’s just too much.  The balance seems quite off and the wine left me with a hot, sweet, strange sensation - and for the first time in recent or long term memory, I did not go back for any more Gewurztraminer.

Then the reds came out.  There were three of them.  And they were just an expression of love and passion that we find in many Italian wines, and precision and exactness that often we experience with German/Austrian wines.

First was the Kellerei Kaltern Caldaro Pfarrhof Lago di Caldaro Classico Superiore Schiava 2013 (it took much longer to type it than to enjoy it).  It was served chilled, as a wine of such lightness and mirth should be.  Pale, a pinkish red with clear reflectiveness, berry, herb, stone - it’s a perfect summer red with cheeses, meats, antipasti - just perfect.

Next up was an excellent example of good quality to price ratio - as I believe it’s somewhat challenging to find good Pinot Noir at an affordable price.  The Castelfeder Glener 2011 Pinot Nero is delicious, bright red, smokey, fruity, elegant, clean, and has a fun hint in it.  It’s an easy drinking wine and easy to pair with food, and I really enjoyed this one.

The final wine was one of the true winners in the lineup - the Tiefenbrunner Linticlarus Riserva 2011 Lagrein.  Wow, just wow.  Americans, on average, seem to like bigger styled reds.  It’s very dark in color, almost purple and inky with a black core.  It shows dark fruit, plum, blackberry, blueberry, some oak, and purple blossoms/lilac, with bright acidity and very present tannins.  For the red drinker who’s looking to change it up from Cabernet and Merlot and wants an excellent quality-to-price wine, here’s your wine.

So there it is, the Alto Adige GuildSomm master class and my observations and notes - look for some of these wines next year at Madiran!

Pinot Noir: Revisited

“These California wines are all so good...”

“What did you expect?  Thunderbird?”

I still chuckle at this quote every time I watch Bottle Shock, which is very often - probably much more often than I’d care to admit.

Old World Pinot Noir

I haven’t had very much time for blogging with all that’s been going on lately, and what I really wanted to tell you about was the outrageously good GuildSomm Alto Adige master class I attended recently, because I really have lots to say about it - but today I need to focus on something else, because it seems I just learned a bit of a hard lesson over the past couple of days.

It has to do with Pinot Noir.

You’re probably wondering, then, why I led off with a quote from Bottle Shock which revolves around Chardonnay, whereas Sideways is the movie that revolves around Pinot Noir.

About the Pinot Noir...I like telling people that I believe that due to the thin skin of the Pinot grapes, the grape has both the duty and the privilege to express terroir, the climate, soil, etc., of where the particular Pinot Noir grapes grow.  I think Burgundy has been a prime example of that concept, as we can detect subtle differences (and sometimes not so subtle) among examples of Pinot Noir from vineyard to vineyard in Burgundy, the home of the Pinot.

New World Pinot Noir

I’ve been working among French people in the wine industry for some time.  I’ve come to embrace the concept of terroir the way I embrace my beliefs about just about anything else.  In a way, it’s made me feel like Pinot Noir is only Pinot Noir if it comes from Burgundy.  I know that probably sounds strange, but the Pinots I’ve been accustomed to for some time have had the telltale color of Burgundy, with the characteristics we’d generally expect of them.  And I felt like, anything other than that from a Pinot made it into something other than a real Pinot.

A couple of days ago, I attended a portfolio tasting in preparation of Madiran’s opening.  One of the areas where I wanted to focus was West Coast wines, as I’ve got rather a large hole in my proposed wine list where West Coast wines ought to be - in fact, I’ve got so few - just a few from Washington State, and a very good quality Zinfandel from California, and that’s it.  So at least I knew there was a bit of a problem there that needed to be addressed, even if I’ve still got plenty of time before opening.

Peter suggested that we taste through whites first, then Pinot Noirs, then other reds, and then dessert wines.  That proved to be a very good idea.

I got to taste through a bunch of Pinot, mostly from California.  Several of them I really liked.  Aside from liking them as much as I did, what I was realizing is that some of the winemakers were showing several Pinots on a table, all from the same winery and same winemaker, but different vineyards.  Cool, I thought.

After wrapping up the tasting, hitting a wine bar, eating plenty of oysters, and having lots of fun in the city with the rest of the night, coming back to Long Island, and waking up yesterday morning still thinking about Pinot Noir from California, it dawned on me.

Pinot Noir is still doing its job the same way it does in Burgundy, only in California.  Plenty of my former coworkers would have anyone believing that Pinot Noir is not free to express itself if it’s growing in a warmer climate, with what many perceive to be overzealous American winemakers.  Well, if the wines on the West Coast are just about the work of the winemaker and not the location, then why were wines from the same grape made by the same person showing such variation?  Because they’re from slightly different sites.

Sure, the Pinots from California have not much in common with their Burgundian counterparts - but isn’t that the point?  Shouldn’t Pinot tell us it’s from California or from Burgundy, and not that it’s an impostor if it’s West Coast?  Then I thought some more - I’ve had plenty of other Pinots from France outside of Burgundy, and I reflected on examples I’ve tasted from Sancerre and Menetou Salon.  And they’re quite different from Burgundy Pinot.  So why, then, shouldn’t a California Pinot speak to us in, for lack of a better term, a different accent than a Burgundian Pinot?  Pinot is the best example for that, in that it takes on its terroir and expresses itself to the wine drinker and tells us where it’s from.  Whether it’s Burgundy, Languedoc, Loire, Champagne, Northern Italy, Germany, New Zealand, Tasmania, Oregon, California, etc., it’s still Pinot.

This may come as a dumb and obvious observation to many, but for me, as open minded as I’ve been about wine, I’ve been very aloof when it comes to West Coast Pinot Noir.  Now I just want to find the best possible examples of California Pinots to bring to Madiran’s customers.  I want them to feel the terroir of different parts of California.  Sure, perhaps the intense sun of the West Coast makes it more challenging for Pinot to tell us exactly where in California it’s from, as opposed to Burgundy Pinot that plainly states it’s from Marsannay or Santenay or Mercurey, but at least it’s not trying to be French Pinot.  It seems rather proud to be California Pinot.  At least that’s how I perceived them at this week’s tasting.

MADIRAN | The Wine Bar

So, in case you missed the big news a couple of days ago - I announced that in 2015, I will be opening my very own wine bar!  Plans have been underway for quite some time, but due to somewhat recent developments, it’s on the fast track now, and I am hoping to open MADIRAN in the earlier half of 2015.  I’m so incredibly excited, it’s been hard to try to keep it to myself - and after so much enthusiasm on the part of many family and friends, I’m glad I decided to make the announcement when I did.

The wine bar is going to be located in East Setauket, Long Island - very close to home.  There aren’t really any wine bars in the area - sure, Long Island has a few, but not that many, and none of its kind near my community.  So I think it’s a great fit, and I look forward to serving our locals and enjoying their company.

What I’d like to mention is that Madiran, while named after a wine region in South West France, will be a sort of celebration of culture.  Wines from all over the world, including Long Island, will be represented on the wine list.  The focus is primarily on Old World (European) wines, but New World growing regions will be very well represented.  My intention is to bring the very best quality and representation of grapes and different terroirs to Madiran’s customers, while still providing the products at very reasonable prices, making the wines approachable and accessible.  Madiran’s customers deserve only the very best of what the wine world has to offer.  In addition, I want to make sure as many cultures are represented on the wine list, so that customers can find products from places where they and their ancestors came from.  I think it’s important to celebrate all of our backgrounds, and I’ve found that food and wine are a sort of universal language, much like a smile, or, dare I say it - soccer.

And yes, I do intend to serve food - small plates and boards are all part of the plan currently.  I always want to be able to provide customers with new and exciting choices on the menu and wine list.  Wine, to me, is art and culture and an industry, but most importantly, it’s also about having fun and bringing people together.  There will be all kinds of surprises, all the time.

So - why Madiran, you ask?  Well, I’ve mentioned a great many times that the wines of South West France have a special place in my heart and on my palate.  I love the expression of fruit and soil and climate - the wines tell such an honest story, and the prices are still so reasonable for the products.  And they’re different from wines I’ve tasted from anywhere else.  There’s a sort of humble nature about them - a diamond in the rough, I suppose.  The Tannat grape left a tremendous impression on me when I attended my first Guild of Sommeliers master class a few years ago, taught by the always entertaining and awesome master sommelier and wine educator MS Fred Dexheimer, and the brilliant and methodical master sommelier and wine educator MS Scott Carney.  It was then that I realized I connected with these wines in a different way, and I’ve never looked back.

The other reason why I chose the name Madiran came on an evening a couple of years ago when I was pouring a tasting at the local wine boutique where I poured many tastings.  One of the wines in the lineup was Domaine le Serp Madiran, which is mostly Tannat with some Cabernet Franc.  Rustic, satisfying, and so dark in the tasting glasses, the customers were fascinated as I explained the wine to them.  Not only was it the favorite of the evening, but the following week, even though the Madiran was not on the tasting table, people came back looking for that wine again.  It was then that I realized that the local tasters had an open mind about wine, and I decided I wanted to give them a place to enjoy food and wine and try new things together.

The decision to open the wine bar was an easy one; the decision as to timing was not so easy at first, as it’s a tremendous undertaking, but it just seems right.  I’ve been spending a lot of time tasting and looking for the best wines to fit my needs and what I believe to be the needs of Madiran’s future patrons.  I’ve been attending tastings and master classes, seeking out some really fun wines, and I’ll keep on searching for more wines to enjoy at Madiran.  And I’ll be sure to keep you all posted as to my progress along the process of opening the wine bar.

And in the meantime, I ask you - Have you ever tried a wine from Madiran?  Sud-Tirol?  Styria?  Franken?  Priorat?  Istria?  Well, in case you haven’t, you will have that opportunity before long.