| Synopsis Chapter 1: Christian meets the new next-door neighbour, William, who happens to be a renowned wine writer and educator. Chapter 2: Christian and his wife, Aimee, arrive at William’s home for their first wine lesson. They learn how to taste, and examine the four basic wine styles: Sparkling, White, Red, and Dessert. Chapter 3: William lays out his master plan: a simple system that groups all wine into six basic styles --three for whites and three for red wines -- and explains how this knowledge takes much of the mystery out of table wine. Chapter 4: As guests at a winery opening, the three friends go on a winery tour, learn how wine is grown and made, and enjoy a luncheon prepared by a gourmet chef with wines selected by the winemaker. Chapter 5: To strengthen their sense memory and ability to recognize aromas, William leads the couple through a series of “nose training” exercises. Chapter 6: Wine shows are a great place to sample and learn about many different wines, as Christian and Aimee discover. They finish their “lesson” with a bit of food and wine matching. |
William and Michel have been friends for many years. They met at university when Michel – born and raised in France – attended as an exchange student. Although they both were studying journalism at the time, it was their interest in wine that cemented their relationship. Once back in France, Michel’s interest in wine grew and he switched from journalism to oenology. Over the years he worked his way up from cellar hand to master winemaker, but eventually became frustrated with the regulations and traditions that had shaped French wines for hundreds of years. During a visit to California wine country, he fell in love with the terroir and knew that this was where he should create his own winery.
William and Michel were sitting at the dining room table enjoying a glass of Michel’s wine and getting caught up.
“I’m glad we’ve had this chance to get together, Michel. Life is just getting too complicated,” William mused, “and I live in constant fear of losing touch with old friends.”
“It’s good to see you too, and I tell you I don’t mind saving a few dollars on hotel fees,” Michel replied.
“How did your business call go today? Were they interested in carrying your wines?”
“It went well,” Michel answered. “California ‘cult’ wines are big business these days. These agents want to put my Reserve wines with some of their most exclusive customers. We shall see.”
“That’s terrific,” William replied, just as the doorbell rang. “Ah, that must be my other guests.”
William went to the door and Michel followed. “Christian, Aimee, I’d like you to meet a dear old friend – well perhaps not so old. This is Michel. He and I have opened many a bottle together over the years. He owns a winery in California and he’s up here doing some business negotiation. Of course I couldn’t let him spend money on a hotel.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Michel began. “William has told me much about you both.”
“Well he’s told us almost nothing about you,” Aimee kidded as she shook Michel’s hand.
“He likes to keep us in suspense,” Christian added. “And I’d say for a Californian you have a rather continental accent!”
“Yes, you can take the Frenchman out of France, but you can’t take France out of the Frenchman,” Michel quipped. “We were about to examine my new Chardonnay. I hear you have excellent palates and I’d very much like to hear your opinion.” With that they went into the dining room and made themselves comfortable.
There were just two wineglasses on the dining room table along with a bottle of wine. And what glasses they were! Rather than the usual small tasting glasses Christian and Aimee were accustomed to, the glasses this time were quite large – the type of glasses you see in gourmet wine shops. Michel took two more glasses out of a box beside the table, gave each a quick sniff to check for off odours, poured generous samples for the two guests, and topped up his own and William’s glasses.
“These are pretty fancy glasses,” Aimee commented.
“My little fetish, I’m afraid,” Michel replied. “For many years I’ve believed that you should select the wine glass as carefully as you select the wine. These were made to enhance the big Chardonnay wines.”
“Michel is in town seeing agents who want to represent his wines,” William commented. “Quite a coup for them I’d say.”
“Does that mean we’ll be able to buy your wines here?” Christian asked.
“Perhaps,” Michel answered, “but more likely you’ll find them on the lists at a few posh restaurants. I don’t make very much of these wines, and the cost is rather high.”
“So it looks like we’ve come to the right place,” Aimee kidded. “They serve rare and expensive wines! What sort of price are we talking about?”
“The Chardonnay sells for $40 at the winery,” Michel answered. “And we make only about 800 cases of it.”
“Is that all you do?” Christian asked. “Make premium wines?”
“We make just over 100,000 cases,” Michel answered, “most of it very presentable table wine. But my real goal is to produce a small amount of the best wine I possibly can, and that’s what you see in front of you: the finest Chardonnay I’ve managed to achieve so far. But please, try the wine; it should speak for itself.”
Michel swirled the enormous glass and raised it to his nose. Christian, Aimee and William did the same.
“Wow,” Christian exclaimed. “This is immense. And not a lot of oak.”
“It smells scrumptious,” Aimee added. “I hope that’s not just because of the glass!”
“Not at all,” Michel answered. “The glass merely helps the wine to express itself. Let me tell you what I was striving for and perhaps you can tell me if I’ve succeeded. I wanted to preserve the subtlety and finesse of the classic French Chardonnays – Meursault, Montrachet, et cetera – but I also wanted to capture some of the New World nuances, which I think I’ve managed to do here. The extract is not so huge, and it’s balanced by a little bit of malo and some time in barrels.”
“It’s fantastic,” Christian said as he sipped the wine. “It really does seem to express both traditions. Is this something that you couldn’t have done in France?”
“This wine in particular I could have made in my home country, but there’s more to life than Chardonnay,” Michel answered. “Aimee, what is your impression?”
“Mmm… how about apple pie fresh from a wood stove?” she replied. “And what I like about it is that it isn’t overbearing. User-friendly, I’d say.”
“Well that’s quite a compliment,” William noted. “I can think of no greater achievement than to create a friendly wine!”
“You flatter this humble winemaker,” Michel objected. “But to return to your question about what can and cannot be done in France – or in many parts of Europe – let me show you another wine.”
Michel fetched four equally large glasses from the box beside the table and placed one in front of each of them. He then took another bottle of wine from a cooler, pulled the cork and poured samples.
“These glasses are different,” Christian said.
“Yes, this wine is Viognier and it demands a different sort of glass,” Michel explained. “These will help release all that glorious floral character. Now this is something that you cannot do in France – grow Chardonnay and Viognier side by side, unless you are content to produce a Vin de Pays.”
“A van de what?” Aimee blurted out.
“William, have you been neglecting the history lessons?” Michel asked his host.
“You know me,” William replied. “It’s all about the wine. Maybe you could explain Vin de Pays for them.”
“So my host expects me to work for my keep,” Michel protested. “Very well, but first, you must know that I would never complain about France or her wines. We French have been making wine since before the Romans. And we’ve always sought to produce good wine, even great wine. And there are in place systems that help achieve that quality. You’re probably familiar with ‘Grand Cru’ wines.”
“Great growth wines,” Christian offered. “We’ve had a few, but not that many. Doesn’t Cru just mean vineyard?”
“Not precisely, but it’s a satisfactory way to think of it,” Michel explained. “Growth applies to the land and to the region, and the purpose is to tell you that this area – this bit of terroir – produces the best grapes or the second best grapes or even the fifth best grapes.”
“Fifth best?” Aimee protested. “That doesn’t sound all that reassuring.”
“Yes, but you must understand that the ‘classed’ vineyards, the Cru vineyards, produce only a small percentage of the wine in the region,” Michel continued. “So the Cru wines would be your ‘blue chip’ wines, even down to Cinquieme Cru. Then below that we find simple Appellation Controllée wines – Bordeaux, Burgundy, Chablis, Côtes du Rhône, and the like. These wines adhere to all of the rules of the Cru wines, but have the poor luck of being from the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. Of course this is a very simplified explanation.
“Now, Vin de Pays means ‘wine of the country’, but you should interpret it as wine of this country. Vins de Pays must be grown and produced in the specified region. So while they are typically not on a level with Cru or AC wines, they are authentically French and true to their roots, if you’ll pardon my pun.”
“But if you can make Cru wine or AC or Vin de Pays,” Christian asked, “what’s the problem? Why not just make the class of wine you want?”
“Because, you see, you can easily go down in ranking, but hardly ever up,” Michel explained. “If you are so lucky as to own a classified property, then you can make Cru wine. But consider this: often those vineyards and chateaux were hobby farms for wealthy bankers. And alas, I have none of those in my family from whom to inherit!
“But the real problem is that, if you do something incorrect, you can be reduced from Cru to simple AOC, and if you really bend the rules, you could end up with Vin de Pays or even Vin de Table. Italy’s so-called ‘Super Tuscans’ are a good illustration. If you add Cabernet to Chianti, it no longer can be called Chianti, and the wine will be classified as mere table wine – Vino da Tavola – even though the wine can be better for having the Cabernet in it.
“Now, I have no problem with the regulators, but I do think the standards are due for some modernization. Again, Chianti is a splendid example. The traditional formula calls for a small percentage of white grapes. Why? Because white grapes are necessary for character? No! White grapes were added because they had too many white grapes. Many makers these days would rather not use them, but regulations change slowly.”
“When are we getting to the juicy stuff,” Aimee asked, “the part where you were run out of Europe for your winemaking heresy.”
“Well that would never happen,” Michel objected. “We French are far too polite. No, the problem arises when you want to do something not allowed by the regulations. I grow Chardonnay, which comes from Burgundy. The Viognier comes from the Rhône. And like all Californians, I grow Cabernet – originally from Bordeaux. This simply is not possible in the classified regions. The best I could hope for is Vin de Table, which to many suggests a mere jug wine. Even in more liberal regions like the Midi, the most I could aspire to is Vin de Pays. And for the quality of wine I want to produce, not having AC designation would be almost suicidal. In California, I can plant what I want and the wines stand or fall on their own merit.”
“So the classifications are a good thing,” Christian summarized, “but not very flexible.”
“That’s it exactly,” Michel affirmed.
“Do all European regions have systems like this?” Christian went on.
“Not all,” Michel replied. “France, Italy, Spain, Portugal and Germany and a few others have rigorous systems for controlling place names. And the concept is a good one. If you pay the going price for Burgundy, you want to know you are getting Burgundy, just as you would expect Serrano ham if you paid for Serrano ham. It’s a system of guarantees, of consumer protection.”
“So you relocated to California because of creative freedom,” Aimee observed.
“After 20 years of making wines to someone else’s standard, I needed that creative freedom, and the result is in front of you. But let me stop talking and give you a chance to enjoy it.”
William, who had stepped out to the kitchen for a few minutes, returned with a basket of bread and a plate of cheese.
“I thought having cheese at a wine tasting was against the rules,” Christian protested.
“Who said this was a wine tasting,” William joked. “Besides, there are no rules, only good habits. I think you’ll find this 5-year-old white cheddar will be a suitable foil for Michel’s wines. Please help yourself. Aimee, are you finding anything interesting in that glass?”
All this time Aimee had been communing with the Viognier. “This is the most remarkable wine I think I’ve ever encountered,” she said. “I can’t begin to describe the aromas, like perfume or a bouquet of flowers.”
“Ah, that’s the beauty of Viognier,” Michel agreed. “Too bad it’s a problem child in the vineyard.”
“Is it hard to grow?” Christian asked.
“Hard to grow, low yielding, and prone to disease,” Michel lamented. “But in the end well worth the effort, I think.”
“And it goes very well with a bit of old cheddar!” William noted. “Lovely!”
Michel smiled a broad smile and went over to another box on the floor where he pulled out four more glasses. These were more balloon-shaped, and even larger than the others.
“I’d like to pour for you my Reserve Pinot Noir,” he said, fetching another bottle from a second cooler.
“How did you decide what grapes to plant?” Christian asked.
“That is a very large question,” Michel replied philosophically as he poured the Pinot Noir. “You can’t simply plant any grape you like and expect to make great wine. Even though I complain about the French dedication to a few select grape varieties, those grapes have proved their worth over many generations. Pinot Noir is the best red grape for Burgundy, and Burgundy is the best place in France to grow Pinot Noir. The key is to discover which grape will not only grow well, but that will best express the terroir.”
“An ideal marriage of grape and land,” Aimee volunteered.
“Precisely. And you can’t afford many mistakes. Grapevines take four or more years to reach producing age, and if you’ve selected the wrong grape, well that’s perhaps 10 years down the drain.”
“Then how do you choose what to grow?” Christian reiterated.
“A good vigneron can read the soil and the climate and come up with a short list of what to plant,” Michel continued. “After that, it’s trial and error. In my case, I knew that the land I purchased was in many ways similar to all of the regions I loved. Plus I’d seen my neighbours succeed with those grapes.”
“So you planted only French grapes?” Aimee asked.
“All but one are of French origin,” Michel answered. “Some of the land was already planted and I was able to keep about a third of the vines. The rest I planted with my favourite grapes, plus a few ‘meat and potatoes’ varieties: Merlot, for example. But the one I find most intriguing is the Petite Sirah, which is neither petite nor Syrah, and may or may not be French. It was one of the grapes planted there, and the vines are quite old – at least 25 years. I’d had some good examples of Petite Sirah so I decided to try a vintage or two rather than simply grub it up. And it’s been very rewarding. I have some to show you, but first let’s dispatch this Pinot Noir.”
“Michel, what I always admire about your Pinot is its robustness,” William commented. “You always coax a good amount of substance out of the grapes without it ever becoming over-extracted. I see too many insipid examples these days, or wines that are so dense they no longer resemble Pinot. This is beautifully done, and served at just the right temperature, I might add.”
“I’ve been lucky,” Michel replied. “The grapes ripen very nicely in our plot. I do a cold soak on the skins for quite a long time before fermentation – up to three weeks some years. Any more and it becomes too hard and astringent; any less and it lacks depth. We punch down by hand and I taste and measure the wine every day. This is one of those situations where you really need to ‘listen’ to the grapes.”
“I’ve read that Pinot Noir should be made with wild yeast,” Christian said. “Is there any truth to that?”
“This seems to work for some people or in certain regions,” Michel began, “but I have to wonder how one intends to make great wine if you don’t know what raw materials you’re starting with. I’ve experimented a lot with yeasts – both cultured and ambient – and having control over the yeast is, I think, every bit as important as having control over the grapes. Of course, others have their own methods and preferences.”
“I think I’m becoming a big Pinot Noir fan,” Aimee ventured. “Expensive?”
“Don’t ask,” Michel joked. “Now, shall we move on to the Petite Sirah?” Michel fetched the next bottle and set it on the table. He then went over to another box and brought out four of the largest wineglasses Christian and Aimee had ever seen.
“Are your wineglasses going to be getting any bigger,” Aimee asked, a bit anxious.
“I think we’ve reached the upper limit,” Michel said, with a laugh. “Big wines need big glasses.”
“Now, why is that?” Christian asked. “And how much does a glass like this actually hold anyway?”
“About a bottle and a half,” Michel answered, “but of course you know it’s not about capacity. You should never pour any more than a standard glassful – five or six ounces only. And you’ll see that we have created a very large surface area for the wine because the glass is so wide. The wine can then deliver more of its aromas. The aromas collect in the ‘chimney’ and are then channelled toward the nose. And they do look very impressive on the table, don’t you think?”
“I’ve heard of glasses that are designed to go with a specific wine,” Aimee interjected. “Is that what we have here? Petite Sirah glasses?”
“I think the concept is basically sound,” Michel countered, “but I also think you need to be careful and to sort out fact from marketing embellishments. I came by this habit by questioning everything. That’s something our friend William and I have in common – we’re hardened sceptics. So I have tried many glasses and narrowed my choices to those that work. These are Bordeaux glasses, and I find them ideal for almost any big, tannic red. But I’m also prepared to try a different glass if the one I’ve chosen doesn’t seem to work.”
“Then do you use these glasses for tasting at the winery?” Christian asked.
“Of course not,” Michel retorted. “These glasses flatter the wine. Have you heard the expression ‘Buy on apples; sell on cheese’?”
“Actually, no,” Christian replied.
“It means that if you’re buying wine, pair it with apples,” Michel explained. “It’s like shining a very bright light on the wine: all its shortcomings will be obvious. But if you are selling wine, pair it with cheese, because cheese will flatter the wine and perhaps cover up some of its inadequacies. For critical tastings I always use a standard ISO glass because it neither flatters nor penalizes a wine.”
Michel poured a few ounces of the inky black wine into each of the glasses.
“My, this is really dark,” Aimee remarked.
“What we call a tooth-stainer, I imagine,” William ventured.
“It is a very dark grape,” Michel affirmed, “made even more so by long maceration. What I like about this grape is that it rivals Zinfandel and Shiraz for fruit, spice and intensity without becoming jammy or cloying. It’s often been mistaken for Zinfandel at tastings.”
“The aromas are tremendous,” Christian commented. “Huge spice and all those dark fruits...I absolutely love Shiraz and this seems to have a lot of those same qualities.”
“It does,” Michel agreed, “again, without that jamminess. I much prefer the elegance that it shows here.”
“I think if you could make this in quantity, you’d corner the market,” William said.
“I have enough vines to produce about 400 cases, so I won’t be cornering any markets. Besides, it’s very hard to generate interest in wines outside of the top eight or ten varietal wines. We have to sell this one almost one bottle at a time.”
“By ‘top ten’ you mean Chardonnay and Cabernet and the like,” Christian noted.
“It’s a sad situation where people will buy a mediocre example of a common wine and shun a superior one because they don’t know it or are afraid to try it,” Michel lamented. “I’m often saddened by how much characterless Cabernet there is on the market these days. In my view, low-end Cabernet and Chardonnay are a complete waste of money.”
“Then what would you recommend as a bargain wine instead?” Aimee asked.
“If you’re prepared to spend perhaps 12 to 15 dollars, for example, you could get a very good Beaujolais, a California Sangiovese, Portuguese Dao or Douro, or Cannonau de Sardegna. There are many others: indigenous grapes from eastern Europe, hybrids from Canada ... in fact, it would be a challenge to name all of the good fringe wines, any of which can be better than these factory Cabs, and at about the same price and often much less!”
“I’m curious,” Christian said. “I know that petite means little, but you said it wasn’t petite or Syrah or even French. Can you fill us in on that?”
“Well you’re correct,” Michel began. “Petite is French for small, but these are not little grapes. And at one time they were thought to be French Durif, but this turns out not to be the case. I’m afraid we have to wait for the DNA analysis. So the name is, for now, a mystery.”
“And what about something like ‘Petite Chablis’?” Christian continued. “Would that be from a smaller grape?”
“Now that would be the other use of the word,” Michel answered. “In this case petite means lesser, as in a less prodigious section of Chablis. But often petite will refer to a physically smaller grape. Now if you’ll dump and rinse those glasses, I have one more wine to show you, and then I think I’d better retire.”
Aimee, Christian and William dutifully dumped their glasses in the bucket William had provided, and rinsed them with water. William was pleased to see that his students had picked up this important bit of protocol: be prepared to spit or dump – except for the last wine offered, as a sign of respect for the winemaker.
“Having maligned Cabernet for the last few minutes, I think it’s only fitting that I pour some of my Cabernet.” Michel pulled the last bottle out of the cooler, extracted the cork and poured samples into the waiting glasses.
“I have a feeling I’m not going to get a straight answer to this,” Christian said, “but which is better, Bordeaux or California Cabernet? I’ve heard so much about this that I think the question just has to be asked.”
Michel thought for a moment before tackling Christian’s question. “Let’s go back to when the controversy began. In 1976 a wine merchant named Steven Spurrier put on a comparative tasting. It’s now known famously as the ‘Paris Tasting’. Spurrier invited some of the best palates in France to taste Bordeaux alongside California Cabernet. He also placed white Burgundy against California Chardonnay. He believed that the Californian wines had improved so dramatically that they could compare favourably with the world’s best wines.
“Well he was more than correct – the California wines scored highest in both categories. Now this tasting was important for a number of reasons. First, it showed that French wines were not unassailable. Secondly, it solidified California’s position as a maker of great wines. And it also encouraged other countries to try their hands at fine wines.”
“How badly were the French wines beaten?” Aimee asked. “They seem to have recovered quite nicely.”
“Yes, and there’s the part people don’t remember,” Michel explained. “Only one of the top four Cabernets was American, even though it placed first.”
“But isn’t Bordeaux a blended wine?” Christian noted. “How can you properly compare the two?”
“That is a very important point too,” Michel enthused, “ but I must tell you, all wines are blended.”
“How can it be blended if it’s a varietal like Cabernet?” Christian objected. “And isn’t wine ‘made in the vineyard’ anyway?”
“It’s all very romantic to say that wine is made in the vineyard,” Michel replied, “but every day we make decisions that affect the way the wine will develop. At the very least, every wine is a blend of all the different grapes and vines in the vineyard, or perhaps from several vineyards. We also blend from different barrels, and then we’re allowed to add a small percentage of other grapes. So if I want to add a bit of Merlot to my Cabernet, I can do so without having to mention it on the label.”
“Isn’t that a bit deceptive?” Aimee asked.
“It can be interpreted that way,” Michel agreed, “and that can be found in low-end wines. But for the maker of premium wines, blending is very important. Bordeaux has achieved its greatness because it is blended, although it is many times dominated by either Cabernet or Merlot. My Reserve wines are blended from the best vines and the best barrels. The goal is to produce the best wine possible, while dealing with the realities of operating a winery and of satisfying the buyer. Adding a small amount of an ‘improving’ grape to make a better wine is a good thing, but I think that to always put that information on the label wouldn’t necessarily help the buyer; it would just add confusion.”
“All very fascinating,” William broke in, “but we’ve neglected this Cabernet.”
“… or Cabernet blend,” Aimee quipped.
“Well only the winemaker knows for sure,” William continued. “I for one would say that this wine has tremendous structure, the way the tannins, alcohol and soupçon of acidity support the whole thing – marvellous.”
“I’m just going to call it yummy,” Aimee added.
“And I’m going to call it a night,” Michel announced. “I have meetings early in the morning and I have to be on my toes or these agents will rob me blind. You will find a very nice paté in the kitchen, made by one of my neighbours. Aimee, Christian, so nice to meet the both of you.”
“And it was delightful meeting you too,” said Aimee.
“And your wines,” Christian added, raising his glass toward Michel.
Michel shook their hands and headed off upstairs.
“Well, I think we’ve had quite a successful evening here,” William concluded as he came back from the kitchen carrying a plate of paté and crackers.
“It’ll take us weeks to digest all of this information,” Christian groaned.
“Well please don’t take more than two,” William warned them. “I’m arranging for a chance to explore a rather unique wine cellar, and the opportunity is two weeks from tomorrow.”
“That sounds like something we shouldn’t pass up,” Christian said.
“Good. An evening in my friend’s cellar is both a treat and a challenge. Ernst has been collecting wine for years and we all look forward to his periodic ‘housecleanings’. So it’s a date then, and I’ll firm up the details with Ernst. Now, Michel will be disappointed if we don’t try this paté along with his wines.”
