France: Wine, Dreams and History in the Loire Valley

Jul 28, 2009

Go and chill my wine so well…
Can’t you see that time is passing?
I refuse to live in the tomorrow
– Pierre de Ronsard, To His Page

In northern France, a ghostly rain called grisaille or gray drizzle falls on the moody Loire River. It is a solemn, pensive rain, wistful, nostalgic. As it falls on the surrounding vineyards, on gardens filled with roses and lilac, on the Chateaux with their stone emboldened facades, on the medieval bridges spanning the river, one might think of the rain that fell in centuries past.

Both Henry II and Richard Lionheart died at Chinon and the seminal battle of The Hundred Years War was fought here: the Siege of Orléans. Leondardo da Vinci traveled here in his last years to be of assistance to François although perhaps it was the beauty of the land that drew his spirit.

In the nineteenth century, artists, writers, poets and composers flocked to French authoress George Sand’s château in Nohant. Every day the piano rang with the melancholic preludes of Frederic Chopin or the bursting bravado of Franz Liszt while nearby Eugene Delacroix painted and Honore de Balzac sat restlessly dreaming up a new novel to add to his many dozens.

In modern times, the chateaux have become homes to such celebrities as Mick Jagger and Gerard Depardieu.

Through the centuries, the rain and the river Loire move on together. The drizzle is still light and when it passes along with the brief dream of long ago eras, the sunset breaks out and suddenly there is a peace not unlike the bliss of sipping a fresh white wine.

LOIRE VALLEY: INTRODUCTION
Long and winding (1,012 km or 627 miles) the Loire is France’s Nile or India’s Ganges. From its beginnings in the south, within the volcanic peaks of the Massif Central, it rises in Ardeche department (department) and carves through steep gorges until it reaches the pastoral, garden-like valley itself.

At one time, Viking ships stormed in from the Atlantic to raid Loire Valley villages. In later centuries, Dutch merchant ships traveled its waters. Today, wind surfers whip along on the waves while in the summer, the river is more sandbank than water.

The Loire is one of the largest wine regions in France with 185,000 acres planted under vine. Evidence suggests viticulture was introduced in the late 6th century A.D. Some argue it was St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, who first brought vines from his native Roman Pannonia (modern Hungary) in the 4th century A.D.

In the 7th Century, a party of monks brought the body of St. Benedict from Monte Cassino in Southern Italy to the Loire. Founding an Abbey in Fleury, they named their order after the reverent man. The Benedictines were known for their learning, for their illuminated manuscripts and for their wine.

During the Middle Ages, it was the Benedictines and Cistercians (named after the first abbey of Cîteaux south of Dijon in Burgundy) who cultivated the grape in the Loire (as they did throughout France). Monks (from monos - Greek for solitary man) throughout Europe had the time, talent and wherewithal to study and learn which sites were suitable for the growing of particular varieties. Unlike Burgundy, which became synonymous with Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, the Loire is difficult to categorize. There are fifty appellations in the Loire and each produces wine both enchanting and stimulating, leaving both novice and seasoned wine drinkers with a longing to explore and re-explore the various sub-regions.

These four sub-regions, loosely grouped, moving from east to west are: the Central Vineyards, Touraine, Anjou-Saumur and the Nantais.

CENTRAL VINEYARDS or LE CENTRE
Imagine we are gently sailing down the Loire on a small sailboat. First, we’ll begin in the east between the two towns of Sancerre and Pouilly-Sur-Loire which face each other like Gemini twins. Surrounding these towns are the appellations (or AOC) of Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé.
The climate here is closely linked to nearby Burgundy which would best be described as continental – severe winters and hot summer with spring frosts and summer hail, a continuous, devastating problem for the vine growers.

The main variety, Sauvignon Blanc is a grape now synonymous with the best of New Zealand whites. But here, in this pastoral cradle of villages and chalky limestone, with slopes facing south-east and south-west, these small parcels of land produce a white of incredible finesse, subtlety and character. Sancerre’s Sauvignon Blanc is herbaceous with notes of gooseberry and what has been humorously termed as ‘cat’s pee’ (despite how it sounds, it isn’t that bad). Across the river, where there is more flint present in the soil, the Sauvignons are described as being herbaceous but with an additional note of ‘gunpowder’, a minerality evoking smoke and lime. 
In Memoriam: Didier Dagueneau (1956-2008)


Most of these modern wines are fermented in stainless steel. But back in the 1980’s, a new wave of vignernons decided to age their whites in oak barrels. Didier Dagueneau of Pouilly-Fumé was the most famousvof these innovators. A bit of a cross between a wild man (he used to dog sled in the Arctic) and a Revolutionary artist, Dagueneau produced (until his death in the Dordogne region of France when his utltralight plane stalled after takeoff) wines that offered consumers a lush, full-bodied and intense Sauvignon Blanc, nothing they’d ever experienced before. This enfant terrible became a legend overnight, a man equally hated and loved by his neighbours, by fellow wine producers and critics. He rattled cages, stayed away from the mainstream, pushed his small vineyards to produce the best, creating a diverse dimension to what some might be considered a fun, summer white. We may never see his like again.

Sancerre, like its neighbour Menetou-Salon, also produces reds and roses made from Pinot Noir and Gamay. It is interesting to note that Sancerre actually started out as a red wine, a wine revered by Henri IV who believed its very power and beauty could stop all wars. In the early twentieth century, Algeria had created a bulk red wine market and in order for the appellation to stay afloat and compete, growers started switching to Sauvignon blanc. (If you have a chance, the local goat cheese of Sancerre, crottin de Chavignol
is a superb match with Sauvignon Blanc - or any goat cheese.)

TOURAINE
As we make our way north and then east along the river, we pass historic Orléans, a witness to the final years of the Hundred Years War. It was Jeanne d’Arc who hailed from Lorraine in the east. It was she who inspired hope and rallied the wearied French soldiers to victory against the English. A visionary, her military experience and knowledge were at best rudimentary but her courageous ability to spiritually uplift her people was said to be divine. Captured by the Burgundians after a series of failed attacks, she was handed over to the English and put to trial as a witch. Charged with heresy, she was sentenced to death and burned at the stake on May 30 1431. Her statue can be found in both Chinon and Orléans and her image imprinted in stained glass in Orléans Cathedral (not to mention in the hearts and imaginations of countless French artists and writers from Ingres to Peguy to the present day).

Touraine. along with neighbouring sub-region, Anjou-Saumur could best be described as the historic heart of the Loire Valley. Here the wine diversity is as beguiling and beautiful as the numerous chateaux and cathedrals that line the river.
Balzac, a gourmand and lover of Loire Valley wines

Touraine is also the home of many famous French writers and poets including François Rabelais, Pierre de Ronsard, Honore de Balzac and Alain-Fournier. It was Balzac who wrote “without Touraine, perhaps I could no longer live”. He based one of his most famous novels, Eugenie Grandet in his native land, a story set amongst the vineyards and political world of the early 19th century.

Touraine is also the home of the most famous castles, including those at Chambord, Langeais, Richelieu, Amboise (said to be the setting for Charles Perrault’s Sleeping Beauty) and Chenonceaux (once home of Catherine d’Medici and Henry II’s mistress, the seductive Diane de Poitiers). This is the France of the Renaissance with its bold turrets, grandiose facades of white stone, gables, high ceilings, tapestries and gardens laid out in geometric forms.

But of course, let’s not forget the wine.

The Touraine appellation, a general one, covers the entire sub-region and one can find wines largely made from Cabernet Franc, Gamay, Chenin and Sauvignon Blanc. The labels are easy to read as they list the variety used to make the wine.

Vouvray is always white, always Chenin Blanc (called Pineau de la Loire in the region and sometimes Steen in South Africa). There are a number of styles depending on the vintage and you can find a sparkling, still or sweet Chenin. Again, it all depends on the year. If a Noble Rot happens, vignernons will decide to make a sweet wine. (Botrytis Cinerea, is a beneficial fungus – thus a ‘noble rot’ - that attacks the grapes, covering them with a gray mold. The mold penetrates the grape’s skin using the berry’s water thus concentrating the sugar, flavour and acid to contribute to a sweeter style of wine). If the harvest is poor, you might find more sparkling wines available. (Many labels will indicate the level of sweetness of the still wines of Vouvray – Sec or Dry, Demi-Sec or Medium Dry, Moelleux or Medium Sweet and Doux or Sweet).

But Chenin, barring the climate or weather, can also be a testy grape. One bunch doesn’t determine the same level of ripeness. Sometimes you can find yourself tasting a few leafy, vegetal elements in the wine. But beyond that, Chenin is ideal for the soft tuffeau (a chalky limestone soil high in calcium) which produces an exquisite wine capable of aging many years. One can expect notes of apple-honey, lush lemon and drops of apricot.

While Vouvray (and Montlouis across the river) focus on Chenin, Chinon and Bourgueil, including Saint-Nicholas de Bourgeuil are solely red wines (the suffix ‘euil’ comes from the Gallic ialos, meaning ‘a clearing in a primeval forest’). Here Cabernet Franc is king (with a little Cabernet Sauvignon thrown in with the Chinon). Chinon is considered the softest, the most elegant but, to be honest, all wines are perfect if you find yourself in a Paris bistro in the summer. When served lightly chilled, this delicious blanket of red raspberry fruit, violets and herbs becomes a delectable cool river of pleasure on your palate. (Although some wine aficionados swear Bourgeuil is more strawberry and Chinon more raspberry…nonetheless…).

ANJOU-SAUMUR
The Loire is not only famous for wines but for the production of primeurs, early veggies that appear two to three weeks before those cultivated near Paris. Leaving Touraine, the land of asperges et haricots (asparagus and beans), we enter the realm of Anjou where les oignons et les echalots (onions and shallots) grow, not to mention artichouts (artichokes) in nearby Angers.

The climate also changes the further west we sail. As Bourgueil and Chinon AOC disappear behind us in the sun, we encounter a milder, more maritime climate. Here the temperatures are less extreme in winter and summer, more humid to some degree (but not nearly as damp as Nantais).

Saumur is our first stop. Here the wines are either white (Chenin Blanc), red (Cabernet Franc as in the case of Saumur-Champigny) or rosé.

Saumur is also famous for the Loire’s top sparkling wines. They are made in the traditional method of Champagne and can be a blend of Chenin Blanc with Chardonnay and Cabernet Franc (by law seven varieties can be used in total including Cabernet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc, Gamay, Pinot Noir, Côt [another name for Malbec], Pineau d’aunis and Grolleau – but such a blend is rare).

The vines grow on the famous tuffeau. In the time of François I, the limestone was easily quarried and used to make decoration for the Renaissance châteaux by skilled masons. Saumur is also known for its mushrooms – 75% of them are grown here (about three tonnes are picked daily around Saumur, many grown in the very damp caves that provided quarry to those very châteaux of the Loire).

Surrounding Saumur to the north, south and east, is Anjou. Here we find the fertile plains of the Loire and its tributaries which enjoys the title of ‘le jardin du France’.

In the Middle Ages, the town of Angers in Black Anjou (named for the black schist of the region) was one of the capitals of the Plantagenet empire, linking England and France. In those days, what we know of as ‘France’ consisted of land surrounding Paris. The French at that time were engaged in conflicts with the English and the Burgundians. Only until the reign of Louis XI in the 15th century did the country take the familiar shape we know today. (Louix XI once quipped he drove the English “out by force of venison pies and good wines” when really he wined, dined and paid off Edward IV - considered a feeble king - with 50,000 crowns).

The appellation of Anjou is quite broad and like Saumur, also includes red, white and rosé wines. Chenin Blanc is the predominant white and Cabernet Franc the red. Grolleau, (said to be named after a black bird), is the ‘workhorse’ grape producing thin, acidic wines of red fruit.

The roses are perhaps the most well-known. You can find a simple, medium sweet as in the case of Rosé d’Anjou, a blend of Grolleau with five other varieties, including Cabernet Franc and Cabernet Sauvignon; a Rosé cabernet D’Anjou, a blend of Cabernet Franc and Cabernet Sauvignon; and a Rosé de Loire, a blended, light fruity wine of pronounced cherry flavours.

Before we sail on, let us not forget Coteaux du Layon and Savennières. The most seductive, delightful and affordable of sweet wines outside of Sauternes and Bordeaux are those from the former while the most exquisite, exceptional and age-worthy whites outside of Vouvray are found in the latter. Both utilize the greatness of the Chenin Blanc grape.

THE NANTAIS
As we near the Atlantic, we find the climate cools, the scenery changes, the houses have a quaint maritime feel, its stone facades gently scathed by decades of salted, ocean winds and rainstorms. Here the river deepens and the sky spreads out, vast and solemn. There are fishing boats along the coast, quiet lanes in the towns.

This is the land of Brittany and Muscadet is its vineyard.

Made from the Melon de Bourgogne variety, Muscadet de Sèvre-et-Maine (named for the small Sèvre and Maine Rivers that run through the district), ‘casts its pale golden glow over the purple of lobster and the pearl of oysters’ as one French critic put it. It is a wine ideal with seafood, perfectly matched. Hugh Johnson, British wine writer notes there is even a suggestion of seaweed in the wine but this shouldn’t deter you. The wines are tangy lemon with a yeasty background. Muscadet is made on its lees (sur lie). Before bottling, these wondrous whites stayed in contact with the yeast lees for several months before being bottled.

Muscadet is the wine to end our journey, a wine mirroring the sea itself.

Bibliography
Asimov, Eric, “The Pour” Didier Dagueneau Killed in Plane Crash, September 18, 2008 – New York Times
Bailey, Rosemary, Insight Guides: Loire Valley, APA Publications, Singapore, 1991.
Lynch, Kermit, Adventures on the Wine Route. Farrar Straus Geroux, New York, 1988.
Johnson, Hugh, A Life Uncorked. Weidenfeld & Niolson, London, 2005.
Johnson, Hugh and Jancis Robinson, World Atlas of Wine. Mitchell Beazley, London, 2001.
MacNeil, Karen, The Wine Bible. Workman Publishing Company Inc. New York, 2001
Myhill, Henry, The Loire Valley. Faber and Faber, London, 1978.
Palmer, Hugh (with James Bentley), The Most Beautiful Villages of the Loire. Thames and Hudson, London, 2001.
Robinson, Jancis, The Oxford Companion to Wine. Oxford Univ. Press, Oxford, 2003.
Seward, Desmond, Monks and Wine. Mitchell Beazley, London, 1979.
Styles, Oliver, Didier Daueneau – Decanter Interview, January 21, 2008 – Decanter Archive
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Vega Sicilia

Jul 20, 2009

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Wine BLAHging with Carlito Caz'zate - Wine Personalities

I’ve been reading Roberto’s entries and he’s not half bad. I gotta admit, he knows his stuff. But what is all this poetry and waxing pretty about grapes? Come on, wine is wine, right? I like a beautiful bottle like the next guy. Barolo or Barbaresco, yeah, I’ll buy them and drink them but you won’t hear me talking silly. They pass through me, they come out the other end, it was beautiful for what its worth so what’s the big deal?

And don’t get me wrong, I love my opera and poetry (that’s one thing Roberto and I have in common besides wine) but there is no ‘svelte echo of licorice’ here or ‘gamey chocolate heaven’ going on when I take a whiff or sip. No way. Screw that.

Wine tastes good; I love a good bouquet. So here’s what I have to say about some wines. (I am going to borrow a page from Roberto though - check out his June entry on The Cinderella Story of Carmenere - and I hope he’s honored - if not, his loss.)

My pal believes wines have personalities. Sometimes you like a wine because, hey, you’re in the mood. But personality? For me, Carlito, it’s more like characters in my life and some I’ve just read about. (Yeah, dufus, I’ve picked up a book now and again…) Here’s how I see the famous wines of the world.

Barolo - is the wine version of your drunken uncle at the family reunion. He’s a miserable bastard, smells like tar and roses because of some cologne he’s been wearing for years and smokes like a chimney. Once he’s stewed, don’t even bother. He ferments, then bitches about his ex-wife. But give him a couple hours away from the bottle, then you can hack him. Before that, he’ll rip your teeth out. Still, a beautiful guy and God love him.

Barbaresco - is the aunt version of your drunken uncle but tends to take a nap after she’s had a bit too much to drink. Less miserable, too. She’s good for a couple of hours, likes to show you embarrassing pictures of your cousins. She’s a lot of fun and still pretty in an older-aunt kind of way, sophisticated but sometimes ornery.

Bordeaux - is the guy you knew in high school who was the class president. A jock, too and tends to be an ass to be around. And the sad thing is, you know, he got successful after school so you kind of hate him even more because if he’d screwed up you‘d feel for him but feel better about yourself. He’s the lawyer at your high school reunion. The women love him but the ironic thing is – sorry ladies - he’s gay and only goes home with rich British and American guys, usually from London and New York. (Hey, I feel better about that…)

Burgundy (red) - is a cranky old man who likes to cook. (He is a good cook but not better than ma’s). He’ll recite lines of Baudelaire, Rimbaud and Verlaine, whoever the hell they are, and he’ll talk about beautiful memories of some girl he loved – and lost - in Lyon. Like the way her blonde hair fell on her shoulders, her sun-burned cheeks, and the wild lavender smell of her skin. Watch out, he might start crying so get this poor old fart a tissue. You’ll spend hours with Burgundy and you won’t forget him.

Burgundy (white) - is a cougar. She’s on the prowl, wants only young men and likes to climb trees. Loves to watch Sean Connery in the old James Bond films. Give her a martini and she wants to go dancing. She can smell like peaches and honey or she can be steely. When she goes swimming, this crazy bitch doesn’t wear a bathing suit.

Napa Valley Cabernet - is the famous actress that won’t come out of her trailer. Throw money at her and give her time, she might get going. She likes to think she’s European because she uses a cigarette holder, but she’s not. She’s usually from Iowa or Michigan and only has status because of the company she keeps. Someday, she might have the class of a European but for now, she’s good at being beautiful and nice to look at in a bikini, but that’s as deep as she goes. Throw more money at her and she can act her way out of a paper bag.

California Chardonnay – You ever see a fancy car or a big SUV with a blonde chick in the passenger seat? That’s California Chardonnay. Every rich guy has to have the pretty token girl on his arm (lots of silly-cone here, if you know what I mean). She’s over-tanned, she’s got lips like a trout and she shouldn’t talk much because she’ll embarrass herself and the company she keeps. Not much upstairs but you still gotta have her.

German Riesling – (I know this is Roberto’s favourite wine so I’ll go easy.) Yeah… Actually, I’m not going to say a thing. I’m already on thin ice. Maybe next time when’s he not looking.

Barossa Shiraz - Imagine what would happen if a Frenchman from the Rhone Valley went to Australia and learned to surf. He’s the body builder/carpenter, the easy-going guy with the tan. He’s smart, sophisticated but rustic, too. He’s alright. The women love him and he’s not gay. Trouble is, he doesn’t know how to use spices so he just dashes black pepper over everything (and I mean, everything) he bar-b-ques and cooks. He also likes to eat blackberries picked from the bushes (all part of his ploy to get women thinking he’s sensitive).

New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc – is the girl you knew in college who spent a year abroad in France but when she came back, pretended to be more French than the French. She’s really pretty, a little over-the-top, talks louder than your friends, likes salads and when she pronounces words like resume or déjà vu, she squeezes the heck out of her vowels. And oh yeah, she really, really likes green peppers. (I mean what is that all about?)

What am I forgetting… oh yeah…

Port – is the rich uncle you never see, except at Christmas. He always brings everyone too much chocolate but can be cheap, too. He’ll buy you a nice sweater but won’t give you money. He’s been everywhere and loves Britain, even pretends to be British and speaks with a weird accent you can’t figure out. You can only take so much of him before you get a headache.

Sherry – is the rich aunt who pretends to be poor. When you go to her house she offers you almonds and sometimes she smells like nail-polisher remover. You see old pictures of her around her house. Also pictures of Spain, Italy, England, the places she’s traveled. God, she looked like Sophia Loren and you think in some sick twisted way, if I was twenty when she was twenty, yeah… no… I won’t say it. But yeah, I’d get with her.

And oh, I can’t forget…

Chianti – Do you remember the girl in high school that slept with everyone (there are more of these at a Catholic high school)? But you know what, she’s still hot, she’s divorced, pulled herself together and living the good life, here, there, everywhere. She’s my kind of girl. She’s got standards now, so watch it. She’ll still take you for a ride if you’re not looking. A lot of fire under that hood. You can take her to Paris or the pizzeria; she’ll wear sneakers to the beach or stilettos to the opera. She’s a wine for all seasons and all loves.

See you next time. Maybe.

Bibliography
Me.

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Wine Politics - "What's the score?" Rating Wines

Jul 15, 2009


A few lines long, you might read, “soft, blackberry fruit, hints of smoke and earth” or “crisp, green lime flavours matched with charming nuances of apple” or something to that affect.

And there, right below the ‘purple prose’ (wine writing) you’ll see a few scores usually written in bold:

89 Points Wine Spectator
90 Points Robert Parker, The Wine Advocate
95 Points Steven Tanzer, International Wine Cellar
89 Points Wine Access

When it comes to a bottle of wine, it’s the price, those very numbers that are extracted from our wallets as bills and cents or digits in our bank account that matter (sometimes the alcohol content as well – Australian and California wines can get as high 16% abv). But for many wine aficionados, merchants, buyers and collectors, the points are everything and this can also affect the price.

ROBERT PARKER
We could blame it on Robert Parker. Back in the last century, about 1983, he predicted that the Bordeaux vintage of ’82 was a must-have for wine merchants and buyers. When his prediction paid off, everyone turned to The Wine Advocate. Inside the pages of this humble but confident magazine, wine buyers found only tasting notes and scores. There wasn’t a hint of advertising. Still is. The periodical is as bare as a philosophical quarterly or a university medical journal.

When Parker started out, he wanted to be the consumer’s guide to wine; no frills, no fuss. Reading through American and British magazines and newspapers, he grew sick and tired of wine journalists who had been wined and dined by agencies and wineries. (Apparently there was one critic who every time he visited a winery, left the trunk of his car open in the event that when he came back, there would be cases waiting for him.) Their reviews were a matter of ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’.

Parker believed in a democratic approach. (The 1970s was the time of Ralph Nader and consumer advocacy.) Parker was passionate and knew enough about his own tastes to recommend a wine and be honest. Having been to France, he was, perhaps, no different than other wine critics. (In the 1960s and 1970s, wine journalism was in its infancy. Many writers had little or no training. When Jancis Robinson started out, she had been working in the travel business and like many, took courses here and there while writing wine articles over the years.)

THE SCORING
Featured on page 2 of the first issue, one could find Parker’s rating system. A wine rated below 64 was “to be avoided”; a 60-64 rating had “noticeable flaws”; 65-74 meant the wines was “average”; 75-79 you could expect “above average”; 80-89 meant you had a “very good wine”; 90-95 was “outstanding” and 96-100, “extraordinary” (The Emperor of Wine)

Rating a wine was not new. In 1855 the French classified their Médoc (an important sub-region of Bordeaux) in response to a request from Napoleon III’s Paris Expo of the same year. Organized into five tiers or growths, these 61 chateaux have remained lodged into the upper class minds of wine drinkers for over 125 years. They have also remained unchanged. (There was an adjustment in the twentieth century. Baron Philippe de Rothschild had simply refused to be a second growth in this glamorized popularity contest and demanded to be first. After petitioning for most of his life, his wish was granted in 1973 and he died happily in 1988 – who says nothing changes after high school?) Graves established a ranking system in 1953 followed by St.-Emilion in 1955 but they have nowhere near the cache that the 1855 system has.

Like the Médoc classification system (or ‘caste’ system notes Edward Hyam in the dated but still quite useful book on French wine country, Vin – “for in a class system it is possible for the lower classes to work their way into the higher”), Robert Parker’s scoring was the first and has continued to be the most important. Just as we think Coke before Pepsi, Parker’s ratings are foremost in the minds of wine buyers. After Parker, came Wine Spectator. Marvin Shanken paid $40,000 for the failing San Diego-based tabloid and turned it into the consumer giant it is today, adopting the 100-point rating system in 1985. (A famous exchange between Parker and Shanken. “What do you think of me stealing your 100-point system?” Parker: “What difference does it make? You give everything 90 points anyway.” Shanken: “We’re going to put you out of business” and of course that never happened. [The Emperor of Taste])

The trouble with Parker is that he became the very thing he fought against. He didn’t believe in the Classification of 1855. If he felt a wine was poor, he said so. He called the 1973 Bordeaux vintage ‘terrible’.

Following his major prediction of ’83, Parker became the critic that made a fledgling winery overnight. If Parker scored your wine 90+, expect hundreds of phone calls and faxes the next morning.

Slowly, over the years, cult wineries, such as Screaming Eagle ‘blossomed’ out of Parker’s modern day rating system. In 1997 the said winery of Napa Valley received a 100-points for their Cabernet Sauvignon. The wine was initially priced at $125.00. At an auction that same year following the rating, the wine sold for $2500. So, in a sense, like the Classification system of 1855, Parker has become an icon of the wealthy wine drinking crowd, many of whom are slavish followers of his.

WINE SCORING TODAY
Robert Parker is more of a legend than a man. But he is also very American with very-American taste. Following the wines he rates, you can see a preference for bold, meaty, full-bodied wine. Just as the majority of the American viewing public wants sex and violence, dumbed-down television like American Idol and blockbuster movies following the Jerry Bruckheimer-Michael Bay formula (which is just blow everything up – really…), Parker’s wine are for those who could care less about subtlety.

This is the great tragedy of the wine world. The intentions were good, no one ever plans to change the world (although Gary Vaynerchuk of winelibrary.com claims he is and I admire his fascination for variety and hesitation on scoring) and no one plans to become a satire of their own success. Over the years, the wines that received the highest points received the biggest returns. Scores are everything. Wineries took notice and the result has been a great gluttonous surge of mainstream wine, all of them sharing the same tendency to be robust and full-bodied.

THE FLAWS OF SCORING WINE
Have you ever considered walking into an art gallery and scoring a painting or a sculpture? No, not really, right?

But we do rate movies, we give them a thumbs up or down, four stars, three stars, we award them Oscars and Golden Globes. The same with CDs. They have a rating system that isn’t perfect, but usually the reviewer has had some experience with the genre of music they are rating. The same with the movie critic. Many have gone to school, watched countless films, know the clichés, understand the symbolism.

We can sit down with friends and watch a film. We will see the same images on the screen but our perceptions might vary, some of us focusing on different characters and recalling different scenes. We can go back to that film time and time again, just as we can listen and re-listen to a CD, judging the merits of a particular artist’s use of words and overall musical talents.

Wine is different and so is the wine world. Existing somewhere between categories of art and the film industry, relying half on the elements and half on human beings, it is a matter of what I would like to call ‘calculated guess-work’ based on experience. There is a science to it, of course, but we cannot control the winds, the sun and the rain, can we?

From wine makers to critics, every wine is unique just as every palate is subjective and personal. Whereas what we see and hear can often be agreed upon, what we taste and smell is another matter. We can pick up a novel and re-read a passage that has layers of symbols yet how do we know while drinking a certain wine we are picking up the same flavours, the same nuances as our neighbor? We can direct others to certain aromas but how certain are we? It is a mystery at times.

The rating system is flawed because few critics can agree on wine. While Parker might rate a Rioja 90 points, Stephen Tanzer might give 87. In Australia, James Halliday might give an Eden Valley Riesling 90 points whereas a fellow wine critic might shake his head and go 85 points. Shots in the dark. There is no consistency. (With something as simple as a table, I’m sure we can all agree on the measurements plus or minus a fraction of an inch or metre…)

Points are often the substitute for description but shouldn’t be. Kermit Lynch, a famous California wine importer in his book, Adventures on the Wine Route balks at the idea of judging and scoring a wine. “Those big rock-‘em-sock-‘em blockbusters perform one function admirably – they win tastings…. Usually such wines give their all in the first whiff and sip…”

Lynch compares two wines, a Château Margaux (considered the finest of Médoc wines in Bordeaux) and a moderately-priced rosé wine from Bandol in the South of France. Which is better? Lynch urges the reader to compare them side by side and award points. The Margaux would most likely win. Now take those two wines to dinner and serve them both with boiled artichoke and rate them once more. “The Margaux is bitter and metallic-tasting, whereas the Bandol rosé stands up and dances like Baryshnikov.”

Lynch’s argument is comically apt when he writes that when “a woman chooses a hat, she does not put it on a goat’s head to judge it”. It’s our palates, he basically says and even if we are beginners, we should be able to rely on our own tastes. Why should we value the ratings of critics who can’t agree on a bunch of numbers they have arbitrarily awarded a wine – a scoring system, I forgot to mention, based on the American high school grade system.

I agree with Lynch that a wine should be judged in the environment in which it is tasted and that environment includes the company you keep, the food you eat and quite simply on one’s mood.

The other flaw of rating a wine is that many times a wine will be tasted and scored in sequence of other wines. Have you ever tried to watch two movies in a row? Did you find you paid more attention to the first as opposed to the second?

There is also bottle variation (see Vino Variations June 2009) as much as the temperature of wine served, the time of day, the time when the bottle was opened. Who is to say that a certain wine should be opened this year as opposed to next? Or that one? Can one bottle represent the entire vintage? Should the wine be decanted? How do you score a wine when you’re only guessing when is the right time to taste it?

RATINGS: HERE TO STAY?
The scoring system is little more than an over-inflated tool. Some might call it a necessary evil. I find it foolish. There are many flaws and many egos. As much as it forewarns consumers and gives them some idea of quality, it keeps us from branching out and exploring the un-scored wines or the less than 90 pointers. By creating a comfort zone and drinking the high scoring wine, we force the market to appease us and therefore mainstream becomes our only means of drinking wine (just as we keep coming back to boring Bruckheimer-Bay-like films). We’re not going to eat steak everyday so why do we need beefy big wines with higher alcohol (and a lot of wineries, especially in France have made their wines with higher alcohol content, often as a result of adding sugar to increase the percentage)?

I have to admit, I admire the Canadian magazine Vines for using the star system which is much closer to what I learned through Wine Studies Education Trust. Through my course work, we learned to judge wines based on appearance, nose and palate, all contributing to a final assessment. Was the wine Poor? Acceptable? Good? Outstanding or Extraordinary?

But again, we tasted the wine for the sake of tasting it, not truly enjoying it with a meal. If everyone is unique, if all wines are unique, then why do we need high scoring wines to appear at our table in a world of diversity? The mainstream is an excuse not to think and explore – we undermine our own preferences. Popularity contests have nothing to do with taste and individuality.

I don’t think I’d trust a goat to wear my hat.


Bibliography
Hyams, Edward, Vin: The Wine Country of France, Newnes, London, 1959.
Lynch, Kermit, Adventures on the Wine Route. Farrar Straus Geroux, New York, 1988.
McCoy, Elin, The Emperor of Wine: The Rise of Robert M.Parker, Jr., and the Reign of American Taste, Harper Perennial, New York, 2005.
Robinson, Jancis, Tasting Pleasure. Penguin Press, New York, 1999.
Robinson, Jancis, The Oxford Companion to Wine. Oxford, London, 2003.

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About This Blog

My focus is mainly on wine culture, history and education. I love the stories behind wine - the people, places and the regional personalities of the wine-countries around the world.

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