This Wine Reminds Me of a Cat O' Nine Tails

Sophisticated and balanced with a hint of pretension.
Elegant and silky with a feminine nuance reminiscent of the old west.
Forward and brazen with a left hook that will leave you speechless.
Seriously? What does this mean?
As an avid "reviewer" of wines, which, let's be honest, means I get to drink for a living, I am continually perplexed by this verbiage. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but it confuses the hell out me. I look at it this way: wine is a lot like art and music. It is plagued by critics trying to one up each other in a verbal assault of describing tangible items in a way that sound human and mysterious.
I'm guilty of this too. I've been known to describe certain Napa Cabernets as "teenagers at prom ready to give it up on the first date". Not the most tactful way to describe a wine, I know. But you get the point.
Words like fleshy, sexy, demure, and overt are a wine writers way of reinventing the wheel and keeping it interesting.  Who wants to read the same old descriptors of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc over and over? Gooseberry, cat pee, fresh grass, blah, blah, blah. How many times can one read (or write) about caramel, butterscotch, and toasted oak? The flavor profiles haven't changed - the times have.
But back to the question - what does a "sexy wine" mean? How does wine "dance across your palate?" It's so hard to interpret descriptions that have nothing to do with fruit. How would you describe an apple? Would you say it was crisp and tart with a little sweetness on the finish. Or would you say it was sassy and flirty with a voluptuous side. Are they one in the same? I am told more often than not by people clearly frustrated with a nouveau wine culture, that they don't know how to "talk wine". They can't relate.
In this profession, I made it my mission to make wine less confusing, more approachable, easier to understand. Does that mean what I say then has to be boring or predictable? I think we can have it both ways (pardon the pun). Nothing says we can't get frisky with our descriptors as long as we can back it up with something quantifiable. As long as we're not turning wine writing into the equivalent of  Fredericks of Hollywood without real knowledge to back it up. A bra stuffed with toilet paper will be discovered eventually.
At my tastings, as much as I put on a show, most of my entertainment value comes from true historical facts that I couldn't possibly make up. I told a story the other night about "Sarah's Vineyard" and Marilyn Olsen. Before this woman could sell her winery in 2001, she had to embark on an emotional three day vision quest, in a teepee, to grant permission from spirits, to sell the joint. Honestly, with a story like that, who needs to use naughty words to captivate?

While I'm on the subject, it should be said that, while writing this I'm drinking an Argentine Malbec that's one part Dolly Parton, one part J. LO. Figure it out.
Cheers!

Calling All Cork Dorks

I'm back from what was, quite possibly, the greatest week ever. I attended the annual Society of Wine Educators Conference in Washington D.C. and ever since I returned home, I've been trying to organize my thoughts to share this experience with everybody. This has proven not to be the easiest task for a couple of reasons. First and foremost it's very difficult to recall the details of a conference dedicated to drinking. When your Wednesday morning looks a lot like most people's Friday night, things can get a little fuzzy.
Believe it or not I can be a relatively shy person, and it's never easy to walk into a room full of people, not knowing a soul, and strike up some sort of meaningful conversation. At least conversation that's interesting enough to keep someone standing next to you so you don't look like that person that no one wants to talk to. Much to my surprise, I had no trouble at all meeting people and making instant friends. I will admit, I had some help in this department. I'd like to take a moment and personally thank Mr. Tony Bourdain. No, he wasn't there, not physically anyway. I discovered early in the trip that all I had to do was pull out "Medium Raw", Anthony Bourdain's latest memoir/culinary rant,  and I no sooner got through one paragraph without someone wanting to talk to me about the book. Voila! Instant connection.
Over the course of 3 days, I met some of the most influential, successful, icons of the wine world. Doug Frost, my mentor and personal hero, Paul Wagner, Michael Weiss, Miss Jane Nickles, Laura Catena, Jay Youmans, Terry Theise. Now I know these names mean nothing to the average joe, but to me, this was like being a Trekkie and meeting Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner. This was a BIG deal.
Once I got my exam over with and feeling pretty good about it (when it was over I wanted to run into the lobby and scream out "YEESSS!!!) it was time to relax and drink some of the best wine in the world. Only to be made better by listening to the foremost authorities on the subjects at hand.
Everyday from 8 am to 6 pm I was a student again - one of my favorite things to be - immersed in my all time favorite subject. I learned new teaching techniques, heard funny anecdotal stories I will "retell", and was joyously proven wrong on previous food and wine pairing methods. I was forced to rethink my stand on wines from Lodi (thank you Mark Chandler), and was reassured in my stand on the fact that price does NOT reflect quality (thank you Paul Wagner).
When the school day was done, the culinary extravaganza was just beginning. Armed with a laundry list of restaurants and wine bars, I set out to eat my way through D.C.  My "no wine list left unturned" mission had another willing participant... the added bonus of being accompanied by a friend who loves to eat and drink as much as I do (thank you Mindy Reed). After days and nights of extensive "research", I can say with confidence that there is no greater authority on the D.C. restaurant scene than Mindy or myself. 15 restaurants in 6 days people. I rest my case.
The weekend was spent exploring what I think might be the greatest city in America. Arlington Cemetery made me cry. The Lincoln Memorial restored my hope. The Hope Diamond made me realize I live in a ridiculously affluent area ( I've seen so many huge diamonds that the most famous diamond in the world left me unimpressed?! Sheesh).

I saw Abe Lincolns top hat, Dorothy's ruby slippers, Julia Child's kitchen, and the original Star Spangled Banner. I made my way to We the Pizza, Spike Mendelsohn's new diggs, and can say that the hour long wait for a slice of pizza was the most ridiculous waste of time ever. I can also say that Bill Cosby is right on the money about Ben's Chili Bowl. That was a damn good chili dog.

I met Jeremy Lippman. Who in the hell is Jeremy Lippman you ask? Well, if you ever saw a little movie called Wedding Crashers, he's the character played by Vince Vaughn. I know, I know, you shouldn't believe everything your cute bartender tells you. As much as I thought he was pulling my leg, it turns out to be true. Go figure.
I now have an unyielding passion for a little grape called Touriga Nacional. If you've never had red wine from Portugal, not Port mind you but red table wine, do yourself a favor and get some.
Encruzado and Periquita may be may favorite new summer whites.
I tasted 12 Chateauneuf-du-Papes in a row, only to confirm what I already knew... you never get over your first love.

Now home, a few pounds heavier and whole lot smarter, it feels like a dream. A wonderful, exhausting, drunken, food induced coma.
Can't wait till next year.
Cheers.

There's Already Enough Water in Wine

At every wine tasting there are a few obligatory props that are always present. Cocktail napkins for the messy folks. Paper and pencils for those who keep meticulous wine records, or at least want to look like they do. Dump buckets, and water pitchers. The dump buckets, I find, are either the one thing at the end of a successful tasting that need not be washed or they need to be emptied every 10 minutes and are accompanied by an overall aire of discontent.
The water pitchers are the real bone of contention here. They are a necessary evil at a grand tasting (Grand tasting meaning that multiple vendors are peddling their hooch). At these events the probability that you will switch from white wine to red wine and back to white wine are more than likely. It is always encouraged to go back and "revisit" a wine you liked. There is a chance of intoxication, where you may in all likelihood, forget that you hate port, only to consume 3 different samples of it before wanting to go back and taste that New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. All of these reasons make water pitchers a viable tool.
However, in reality, the water pitcher is the most over used (read: abused) item at a tasting. Every time you "rinse" your glass, you are diluting your next taste of wine. Every time you leave water in your glass you are changing the dynamics and texture of that wine.
I previously posted that wine pourers, for the most part, know what their doing. We won't serve you an Australian Shiraz followed by an Italian Pinot Grigio. We wouldn't think of pouring that Napa Valley Merlot before you've tasted the French Pinot Noir. That would be cruel. Believe it or not, we want you to like the wine. All of it. As a matter of fact, we're hoping you like it so much that you can't bear the thought of leaving without 4 or 5 cases of the stuff. It is in our best interest to line up the wines in a way that you needn't do any work. Your job is to taste and evaluate the wines, not to clean the glassware.
I recognize that wine tasting, in a room full of your peers, can come with a certain level of anxiety. Nobody wants to look like they don't know what they're doing. I am a firm believer that that's how many of these "traditions and rituals" are perpetuated (like the old smelling the cork routine). Remember this... there is no instruction book on how to taste wine ( okay, so there is, but who cares ) and wine is, last time I checked, still just a beverage that is meant to be consumed and enjoyed.
So relax, sip your wine, and put the water pitcher down.

10 Degrees of Seperation

Sorry movie buffs, this is not a post regarding Kevin Bacon (although he is fabulous). Rather, this is a post about the number one reason Americans are made fun of. Okay, so besides fanny packs, tube socks, the mullet, Cheesecake Factory sized eating habits and Vanilla Ice. As if all of that wasn't bad enough, we are also notorious for drinking our white wines too cold and our red wines too warm. Living in the desert where average temperatures hover between 100 degrees and the blazing inferno that is hell, the too cold part is almost forgivable. I've long said that I'd rather have my wines too cold than too warm as it's much easier, certainly round these parts, to go up in temperature than down. That being said, there really should only be a 10 degree difference between white wine and red wine. To put a finer point on it, your whites should be about 52 to 55 degrees. Logic would then dictate that the reds should be around 65 degrees.
Usually this concept will evade at least one or two people per tasting I host. Inevitably, I'll hear "This red wine is a little chilled. You're not supposed to chill red wine... are you?" Or my personal favorite - "My wife and I prefer our reds at room temperature. Can you heat these up for us?" No sir, I cannot.
There is method to the madness people. We don't drink anything at the ambient 80 degree temperature at which most red wine is served. Nothing. Hot beverages are meant to be hot... 120 degrees hot. How many cups of coffee have been frustratingly returned to a waitress because they weren't hot enough? Having been a waitress for too many years to remember, I can tell you - it's a nauseating amount. We have this thing called "room temperature" stuck in our brains and we hold tight to it like the gospel. I honestly think that we are so afraid of looking like wine novices, knowing how déclassé it is to put ice in our glass of Cab, that we've convinced ourselves that warm wine is the way to go. I feel obligated to remind folks that "room temperature" was, once upon a time, called "cellar temperature".
In the words of Sophia Petrillo - "Picture it... France, 1725. An old chateau that has already been producing wines for one hundred years. A fair maiden ventures into the depths of the chateau cellar to retrieve a bottle of wine for her master’s dinner. She gets to the bottom of the spiral staircase when, alas, she realizes she has forgotten her fur coat and freezes to death." What's the point you ask? The point is that cellar temperature is not room temperature, and room temperature was never meant to be a wine's ideal setting in Palm Springs in August.

The too cold part of this equation means you are muting the delicate aromas that can only be perceived when a wine warms a bit. When a white is served ice cold, sure, it's refreshing, but it just tastes cold. Forget about smelling the nuances of honeydew melon, jasmine, or lychee nut. With red wines this is where things get a bit trickier. Too warm creates far more problems for a wine than just squashing its aromas. Every flaw is exacerbated. The wine begins to live under a microscope, each taste being a painful reminder of a bad vintage, an unskilled winemaker, or worse... both. All you begin to taste is the heat of rubbing alcohol and the sour bitterness of unripe fruit. Chilling a wine makes an inexpensive bottle far more forgiving and a pricy bottle far more enjoyable.

If you get one thing form this post I hope it's this... do not, under any circumstances, feel embarrassed to ask for an ice bucket to chill down a warm bottle of red wine. I do it all the time. A bottle of wine sitting on a back bar, next to the steam inducing espresso machine and whirling glass washer, is not going to taste the way it should (unless they are keeping that restaurant at sixty degrees, in which case you can't afford to eat there anyway). Now, you may be wondering “So, is it bad to put ice in the glass?” In a word, yes. If you’re serious about the wine you’re drinking, and have paid more than $1.99 for the bottle, you will want to refrain from watering it down. Trace elements in the water supply can also change the dynamics of the wine.
Which leads me into my next topic…

Meritaahhj is not a word

Whenever I give wine lectures or, whenever I can casually throw it into a conversation without looking like a total geek or snob, I love to talk about the word Meritaahhhj. The way it rolls off the tongue. The way it sounds so Parisian, so elegant. The fact that it's an American word and isn't pronounced Meritaahhj at all.
 This is the point in my education series where I usually make everyone raise their right hand and promise, no swear, to me that they will never say Meritaahhhj again. The word actually rhymes with Heritage. Meritage. See?
Now,this is where the story gets funny. You see, back in the day when Napa was just getting started, our founding fathers were hard at work creating red wines blended from grapes that hailed originally from Bordeaux. Grapes that made up the big five were Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Petit Verdot, and Malbec. These were, and are, the grapes that go into some of the most prestigious and expensive bottles of wine in the world. These are the grapes of Bordeaux, thus we, here in Napa, were obviously making "Bordeaux blends". The strange thing is Bordeaux (which, just for the record is a place in France) was a little upset that we were using the name of their town to market our wines. After all, they weren't making Napa Cabs so how could we be making Bordeaux blends??
So the task was upon us to create a word that would symbolize what these wines were. Wines that were inspired by French heritage yet, had merit in their own right. Wines that were every bit as good as their French counterpart and utilized the same grapes, yet couldn't be associated with France. Hmmmm. Wines that have merit and reflect their heritage. Hmmmm.
Now what's really funny about this is the whole reason we had to come up with this new verbiage was because we were no longer allowed to make it sound "French" yet the first thing we want to do is make the word Meritage, Meritaahhhj. Oui n'est-ce pas?
From this moment on you will promise me that you will never utter the word Meritaahhj again... Je comprends?
Bon.