Wine

Imagining Better Wine Communications in Logrono, Spain

Winery in Spain

At the Digital Wine Communications Conference in Spain, a keynote talk was given by one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met, Clark Smith, a winemaker and winemaking gadfly. It would also be true that he is amongst the most vexing. To some degree, that’s by design. He wants to challenge our notions about wine and wine “purity” whatever that is.

Clark’s biggest complaint is wine writers; fair enough. He correctly denigrates many of the prejudices today’s wine press and bloggers bring to wine: the use of sulfites (must be bad, right?), additives (sounds terrible) and most annoying to him: manipulation. Writers will tell you: wine manipulation is bad. But as Clark points out, “wine does not make itself. Benign neglect is not high moral ground”, he says. “Wine writing is done today by people who don’t understand winemaking.”

Clark begins his argument by noting that the word “manipulation” has dual meaning: it might describe “shrewd or devious management by artful, unfair or insidious means.” Or it might mean “treatment or operation in a skillful manner.” When it comes to wine, the term manipulation is itself not so subtle manipulation of the reader’s prejudices. But wine is food (grape juice). Food is supposed to be natural, so isn’t manipulation in itself bad? Winemaking, as Clark likes to say, is just cooking. Would these writers insist that a chef is a devious manipulator of foodstuffs when they transform wheat into pasta and tomatoes into marinara? Beef into meatballs?

Winemakers, like chefs, ought to use all the healthful and beneficial tools in their toolkits to make the most delicious wines. Some of those tools include the addition of water, sugar, powdered tannins or tartaric acid (basically ground up parts of wine grapes), sulfur (used for centuries and in far greater proportions in bagged and dried fruits), and micro-oxygenation (just getting some air to wines), among other tactics.

There are some techniques that may be particularly confusing or unsettling, such as the addition or removal of alcohol or other compounds by fairly complicated processes. But I’m not sure I understand precisely what is happening when a chef magically creates that marvelous transformation from egg yolks and butter into hollandaise. That doesn’t mean something evil is happening.

Now, I am decidedly not arguing for wine to be something other than the fermented grape juice that it has been for millennia. Ideally, I’d like it to be affordable; and I’d like it to speak of the place in which it’s grown. I want it to remind me of human culture too. And winemakers are always coming up with some ideas for improving their own particular wines. We can argue plenty about whether or not the wines are in fact better as a result. But today, there are words and practices that frighten consumers. As Clark says, “You [in the wine press] have made honesty too expensive.” So instead we pretend nothing has happened at all. And that’s a bad strategy for wine improvement and consumer understanding.

Wine

People Drink What They Like

With the U.S. the largest single wine market, there are outsized trends for which we must bear responsibility. First up: Moscato, a gentle, (usually) sweet, (often) low alcohol white wine that has rather surprisingly been adopted by the hiphop community. Drake likes it and so do lots of other people, some of whom make records and hold microphones very close to their mouths.

But should this really surprise us? Wines with distinctive sweetness have historically been consumed in greater number than dry wines unless, of course, you are a wine snob, er, expert. Those who embrace wine with fervent passion are often dismissive of people who want their wines to have some sweetness. The people who consider themselves wine-knowledgeable can be downright rude about wines like Moscato. Too sweet, they sniff. Too simple, they snort. Apparently, at least in my telling of it, they make lots of noises with their noses.

The people who like sweetness in their wines are understandably put off by all this sniffing and snorting. Neither group has the faintest idea why the other group can’t see reason. But there’s the problem: each is having a different experience with these wines. Those whose palates prefer sweet wines are often reacting against the bitterness, astringency and tartness of dry wines. Their bodies, in effect, are telling them not to like these wines.

The people who drink these “bone-dry”, “earthy”, “powerhouse” wines (and all the other odd descriptions we wine people generate) are just as perplexed because our bodies are telling us these wines taste good. Most of us wine people aren’t very sensitive to tartness, so we often seek out things that are tart: “dry” wines are just our thing. People who lack sensitivity to bitterness like the aforementioned big, astringent wines; they figure those who don’t haven’t yet learned how great these wines are. The sweet wine drinkers have, they will say, “uneducated palates”.

What a crock.

It’s personal, as taste should be. We are not supposed to agree on what tastes good and what doesn’t. But I’ll tell you this much, more people like the sweet, mild character of Moscato than the wine snobs will admit. You go, Drake.

 

Wine

Loire Valley Love

Angers, FranceAngers, France – It’s quite a contrast; the university town of Angers and the countryside around it. From a tidy, nearly shiny, university town exuding white washed, business-like utility to rolling vineyards along wide and lazy rivers overseen by magnificent chateaux depicting a gilded age. These remarkable edifices, confidently bold, were once the seasonal homes for royalty and their treasurers. Today they might be held and maintained by the state; some still remain the possession of the uber-wealthy. A few centuries ago, Ben Franklin famously wiled away his ambassadorship chasing skirts in one of these castles, to the enduring distaste of John Adams. Today, these monuments still rule over the vineyards and grain fields stretching in every direction.

But the contrasts don’t end there. The Loire Valley’s agricultural lands are marked only by tawny roads, often straight, often following the contours of the gentle slopes, adding to the measured look of vast order. There is a distinct lack of visible buildings. Here in the midway point of the river’s languid flow to the Atlantic, many of the wineries utilize caves for their wine storage – ancient, humble caves carved from the soft tufa. A friable, sandy soil bound together by sticky limestone, tufa provides a distinct soil underpinning the Loire’s venerable vineyards. These caves have held not only wine, but people too. For millennia, these inhabitants of these porous dwellings have been called troglodytes. It’s not a loaded term here; it’s merely a description of a way of existing, and some caves still provide shelter for the downtrodden or even a few seeking a simpler way.

Instead I’m touring caves where wine is made and stored for sale in international markets. In these parts, Chenin Blanc is the white grape of choice for most.  For enthusiasts like me, it’s a grape capable of greatness primarily (if not solely) in this part of France.

In the central part of the Loire Valley, Chenin rises to remarkable excellence; often on the tufa soils, but other times with slate underpinning the best vineyards, especially with wines such as Savennieres, dry, earthy and powerful. But ubiquitous in American stores are Chenin Blancs labeled as Vouvray. Some are dry, most are slightly sweet and some are even produced as sparkling wines, sappy and refreshing, without all the bombast and richness of classic Champagne. That gentle character may explain why Sparkling Saumur and Cremant de Loire, as these bubblies are labeled, have never been a big factor in the U.S. market. It can’t be the prices; they’re quite reasonable.

That’s true of all Loire Valley wines: from the tart, bracing Muscadets made at and near the Atlantic coast to the fragrant, nearly lusty Sauvignon Blancs produced near the other of the river in Sancerre and Pouilly Fume (the 2012 vintage is particularly fat and lush). Aside from a few cultish brands, none of these wines will set you back much (see prices below).

It’s part of the reason I was keen to visit. But as usual, I learned far more than I expected: I thought Muscadet a pleasant wine, even interesting at times. It’s usual devoid of personality, or so I have foolishly thought over the years. It’s subtle stuff, yes, but I found here great Muscadet, even though I would have scoffed at those words before my visit. Made from a grape that announces its ├⌐migr├⌐ status in its name, Melon de Bourgogne (of Burgundy, that is), it’s more at home along France’s sea-sprayed northwest coast. Notes of salt, lemon, lime skin and tart, green apple prevail. With the region’s oysters, mussels and other shellfish, it’s as if a simple lemon squeeze has been transformed into a sauce, a garnish and a counterweight.

Even this breadth of grapes and places doesn’t begin to describe the variety of wines the long Loire Valley produces: spicy, tart red wines, tangy roses, and the most lush and unctuous of dessert wines. Despite stark contrasts between wines and styles, the wines all represent excellent value and if you thirst for some crisper and lighter styles in wine, you need to slake that thirst with some of these.

Wine

Another Great American Riesling (meaning what?)

Red Newt Lahoma Vineyard Riesling 2009 is a surprising drink, not merely because this is a great American Riesling. “Great American Riesling” has, for much of our vinous history, been damnably faint praise. Moreover “surprising” isn’t a term I would likely apply to American Riesling. Satisfied (often)? Sated (frequently)? Surprised. Hmm.

There are lots of beachheads for the grape here. While the Left Coast may have a significant head start, it’s back east that the many of the best are found. You have to like some delicacy in your Riesling, but if you do, you will find stunners in Michigan and particularly in New York. I know that there will be some fat but nonetheless fine examples from California, north to south. But nearly none have that rasp of acidity that gives Riesling its distinctive shape.  Oregon and Washington can do that. Sometimes they can get some soil notes in their Rieslings, but more often not, the wines don’t repay aging the way I wish they would.

Cross the border into BC, the odds might be even better and often are. Along the East Coast, things get uneven until you get to Long Island, head up the Hudson and drive over to the Finger Lakes.

Here, you are more likely to find excellent Riesling than not. In fact, you’ll have to work at it if you want to find something boring or bad (your time could be spent in more productive pursuits). The Rieslings that have some sugar to them are more piercing than lush, and that’s exciting. The drier wines are sometimes easy to overlook, like the quiet girl at a party. I pity the fool who doesn’t see her, but then I always figured my job was to look at them all. That’s how I approach my wines.

So each place has its style and for the most part that’s what you get. Or so I can convince myself for short stretches, and then something like this comes along. Yes, it has some sugar, and it has some bite. But it’s not only that it has considerable teeth to that bite, it that it’s unruly. That’s not the way of Finger Lakes Riesling. Indeed, that’s not what I expect of American Riesling. With a sort of peachy, even apricot, basso profundo, there is more fat than I get from any Riesling this tangy. It’s IRF rated as somewhere between Medium Sweet and Sweet, but that will not help you know how this wine tastes.

How does it taste? Like grapefruit pie. Yep, grapefruit pie (whatever that is, but go with me on this), especially if you threw white peach and mangos slices on top of it. The “bite” explains this wine, just as the best of all Rieslings are defined. But what makes the best Riesling so damned exciting is when, in spite of fulfilling these demanding but often achieved standards, it surprises. That this wine can be so robust and so delicate is a patent surprise. Thank you, Red Newt.

Wine

I Love Alcohol, Despite Reports to the Contrary

Okay, I get the diatribe against high alcohol wines, and I often agree. Alcohol is nonetheless an integral part of wine's character: its weight, body, presence, mouth feel, part of what lifts its aromas, generates its flavors and keeps them all stable, at least for a time. And I like the buzz; I have no problem admitting that. On the other hand, I like wine too much to be satisfied with high alcohol wines; too much alcohol in a wine, and I won't be able to drink as much. And that's not good, dammit.

I will defend Darrell Corti's right (or anyone else) to refuse to purchase wines above a certain alcohol limit, say, 14.5% alcohol. I will assert his intelligence in all things wine, but I don’t have to agree with him. I don't think an arbitrary number (such as 14.5%) is particularly illuminating or insightful; it's more or less random. Some 14.2% alcohol wines taste warm, or even hot. Some 15% alcohol wines taste just fine. I'll offer as evidence last night's delightful drop: Patz & Hall Pinot Noir Jenkins Ranch 2009. It's listed as 15.9%; I'm not even sure that's an honest number. But here's the thing: it was great.

Let me set the scene: I've been working from 6 am to 4 pm in New York City, running tastings and lecturing. I head to the airport in hopes of getting an early flight home (yeah, right, the day before 9/11, when some people are still scared to fly), since my ticket isn't getting me out till 9:45 pm. Eight hours later, I'm still waiting to get on my plane. I finally arrive at my house at 3:55 am; my wife is awake. Bizarre; she can't sleep. She wondered why I was many hours late; she wants a drink. I want a drink. We share that bottle of Patz & Hall and, like I say, it was delicious. It didn't taste like 16% or so alcohol; it didn't even occur to me to think about the alcohol level, other than to be thankful that alcohol was serving its calming purpose.

I'm still surprised about that alcohol level; I may be critical of high alcohol table wines, but I'm usually downright hateful about high alcohol Pinot Noir. Was it poor judgment at 4 am? Gratitude for a tasty sedative? Well, you can think as you like. I thought it just tasted great, I found the fruit to be exuberant but not obnoxious, the oak to be intriguing but not intense, and the alcohol level simply amped up the fruit, the weight and, for me, the pleasure.

 

Disclaimer: I was sent this bottle as a press sample. So on some level you can question my impartiality. But if you read me regularly, you know I have no trouble ignoring the mountains of dull samples that I receive and taste, and I only write about a wine I believe in.

Music, Wine

Face the Music…

In a recent article, I was asked to answer a few questions about how music and wine might interact. And I found myself unable to limit my words on the issue, even if I was primarily focused upon answering the questions. Here’s what I wrote to the author:

Question 1 – Do you think that there exists a direct relation between music and the simultaneously consumption of wine?

I am obsessed with music, such that I have music playing in my head, playing in the car or at my computer almost continuously. It sounds a bit crazy but it’s my world. I don’t generally try to match music and wine together but they seem to be able to generate similar rhythms and similar moods even if music itself seems to me to be devoid of smell and taste. Wait, that’s not true.

But music is more universal an experience than smell and taste is to me; because smell and taste are very, very specific to some particular place and time. Some music will bring me back to a certain spot at a certain date, but the stuff that I love is far more transformative.

Wine is more temporal than music, but wine has rhythm; I honestly think it does or at least it can if you have music in your head nonstop as I do.

Question 2 – Did you make correspondent experiences [by that, I think the author wanted to know if I match them up] by yourself?

In general, no, but that’s because I appreciate counterpoint more than synchronicity. So I don’t want music and wine to match up; I want them to talk to each other. They may agree; they may argue. Sometimes they don’t speak at all; they just yell past each other. That’s cool too. I like the complexity. But I listen to a fair amount of pop music (in between the Japanese noise bands, the early country, the bebop, the garage bands, the postpunk, whatever), and there is no music that corresponds to pop for me. Everything else seems to have a correlation but not pop music.

Question 3 – Would you say (or would you say not) that specific grape varieties do accord with specific styles of music?

No, it’s more a matter of style of wine. What grape you use to make it is immaterial. Of course, styles are based upon certain grapes and certain regions, but the region and style play a lot more into what describes any particular kind of music than what grape you might have used to make that style of wine. California Merlot is very, very different than Merlot in Bordeaux. White Burgundy is a different sort of animal to California Chardonnay. One is incredibly complex and even wild (think Ornette Coleman); but big, buttery California Chardonnay is more like John Philips Sousa.

Question 4 – Which style of music (or exactly: which song) harmonize best to:

Riesling – think string quartets, Baroque to 20th century. Okay, sure, there’s more to consider but I think that string quartets are a remarkable art form.

Silvaner – – I have no idea. Okay, maybe, the Velvet Underground. Attitude, attitude, rhythm and more attitude. Great lyrics too. Oops. I’m off subject.

Chardonnay – as above; it depends upon where you grow it and hence what style it is

Rosé – again, which rose? But this is as close to a boy band as any wine I can imagine.

Pinot Noir – again, which Pinot Noir? Oregon is almost muscular; sure it’s fruity, but there is a certain muscle behind it so I think Texas blues or Southern rock (maybe there’s a Kings of Leon connection I’ve never considered before). New Zealand is so delicate that it can be like a bird song; like a happy Meredith Monk tune, although I’m more in love with Meredith Monk’s wounded, unhappy songs, but that’s off subject. As with white Burgundy, red Burgundy is a wine that makes me think of orchestral music. This time, it’s not a quartet but a chamber orchestra. Sometimes it’s Vivaldi; sometimes it’s a lot more aggressive.

Syrah or Shiraz – at my own peril, I’ll ignore California Syrah (can be lovely; can be boring), Washington Syrah (which is often damned special but it’s too soon to characterize it in the way the editors are requesting) and even those marvelous examples from New Zealand, South Africa, Spain or Italy. So let’s talk that herbal, peppery fruit leathery thing that is the northern Rhone. If Parker or Dizzy had played French bistro music (dream on, Jacques Brel), they might have made these wines.

Merlot – Sure I said that wine isn’t pop music. But Merlot, like Champagne or sparkling wine, can come damned close. Merlot can produce wine that is somewhat silly, maybe even vapid, but sure of itself nonetheless, sexy, or at least about sex, youthful, and if over-confident, demanding that you take it seriously too. Like pop music. But I can also imagine Merlot as soul music; which I think of as pop with blues shined up by funk.

Cabernet Sauvignon – this is a formal music though it can be any kind of formal. Of course, you think of Bach but you also think of Astor Piazolla, another formal music straining at its limitations. Without those limitations, it would be seem untethered, ill-defined.

Grenache – nothing but folk music, though folk music from anywhere, so it could be salsa, it could be Blind Willie McTell, it could be Iraqi love songs, hell, it could be Ladysmith Black Mambazo. It could be from Cuba, from Appalachia, from South Africa, from Latvia, from Nigeria, well, you get the idea.

Sweet wine – girl bands for some of them, Christmas carols, songs of simple joy.

But maybe it was just the Riesling talking…

Wine

Steve Pitcher RIP

I don't want to mislead anyone: Steve Pitcher and I were not famous friends, but I think we had a friendly and respectful relationship. We were wine judges who talked about the business of wine, of wine tasting, of wine judging, and of everything else that people talk about when sitting at a table with hundreds of glasses of wine and lots of time on our hands. Other than wine, I doubt that Steve and I had much in common though he would always surprise me with his breadth of knowledge about all things cultural, historical and, well, let's just say it right: Steve was very, very smart. There is no death that should pass without regret, and even if Steve was not necessarily a young man, he deserved a longer life. His behavior has been described in the many public remembrances as sober, and there's no question of that, but what I remember was his steadfast integrity, a nearly forgotten attribute in business today. I think his death should not go unspoken by anyone in the wine industry. His honesty, intelligence and integrity touched many of us in the business; I’m sure he had an impact in many other communities as well. Rest in Peace, Steve.

Wine

How well does Greek wine age?

There is undoubtedly irony in Greece being known for wines for current drinking, and for being a country that rarely produces wines that will age. After all, this is the country that invented wine, and in ancient Homeric texts, aged wine is celebrated and seems almost commonplace. The rest of the world would take millennia to catch up.

But from the days of the Roman conquest until just the last ten years, Greece has not been able to break into the international marketplace; ageworthy Greek wines had no international customers. Without a marketplace, where is the incentive to make these sorts of cellar ready wines? Even Vinsanto, the brilliant, traditional and nearly eternal sweet wine of Santorini, was quickly supplanted by Vino Santo, Italy’s pale imitator. Vinsanto remains less known than it should be, and even less known than Italian Vino Santo.

So with only a few years in which Greece’s winemakers have had any motivation to make ageworthy wines, which wines are in fact ageworthy? Amongst the white wines, the dessert wines stand out, and Vin Santo is one of the most stable wines that a cellar master will ever purchase; some people believe the wines last a century. But Santorini’s Assyrtiko based dry white wines are surprisingly long-lasting as well. These wines have already proven that they can last a decade or even more.

With red wines, the two best known indigenous grapes, Xynomavro and Agiorgitiko, have already shown their abilities, albeit from only a handful of producers. Agiorgitiko has been combined with other grapes such as Syrah to offer some newer blends that many of us believe are eminently ageable. Xynomavro seems not to need helpmates; it has already shown its cellaring abilities all by itself. Are there other grapes that can do as well? That remains to be seen, and we should hope to see soon, now that Greece’s great winemakers believe that there are international buyers who will reward them for making those sorts of wines.

Wine

Change at the Missouri Wine Competition

Plenty of wine competitions get ignored. Once I might have gotten my nose out of joint about the manner in which competitions such as Missouri’s annual Wine Competition are completely invisible throughout the established media. Of course they ignore such competitions. For one, most of these wines aren’t available nationally, and many of those in the Missouri Competition aren’t found outside the state of Missouri. And the traditional wine media have always ignored the rest of winedom, the parts of it not found in the traditional areas. Why not? They’re in the business of promoting their own view about wine. A wine competition is, in effect, providing competition to these magazines and websites. Except here’s the thing, they don’t EVER review these wines, so refusing to report on the results of a competition covers wines they’ve never tasted is, if not willful laziness, just plain ignorance about what’s happening in America today.

Wines are being made everywhere, and some of those wines are excellent. Moreover, some of those wines are IMPORTANT. But these media outlets ignore them because they’re not actually in the business of reporting about wine. They’re in the business of staying alive a few more months, desperately hanging on to their potentially obsolete business models. They’ve decided to report on things about which they’re already reporting. Missouri? Hell, they’re not even talking about New York’s state competition results and New York wine has become mainstream subject matter. And of course, few of the articles they publish provide any historical context. That would be like admitting that they’ve been asleep while all this stuff was happening, and they did promise to report about wine, I think.

So here I am bitching about the lack of attention towards regional wines. Big deal. Nothing new about it, but I regard it as a continued failure of the decimated journalism industry: no one can afford to report anymore. They can’t hire new people to report on new areas, so they don’t. And we’re to blame, those of us who don’t pay for magazines or newspapers. We say that we receive all the information we need from websites and bloggers. Really? Few of them ever speak about regional wines, and those that do, cover only a small subsection of those regions, usually the one in which they’re based.

It’s a crime with faceless victims. Regional wineries, while numerous, remain nameless; vague notes about Finger Lakes, or Virginia, or Texas, or Missouri only highlight the institutional ignorance. But in each individual region, things are changing regardless of media ignorance. How it’s happening is mysterious; even local media offer only superficial coverage. But something gets through, because success slowly presses upon the regional mindset, even success in competitions in those states with decades of experimentation. The local culture begins to notice that certain wineries, grapes and styles receive acclaim and maybe it’s not simply regional pride.

Indeed, with hundreds of wines in the running, the Missouri Governor’s Cup Wine Competition isn’t a pushover anymore, if it ever was. Judges no longer hail exclusively from Missouri (though sometimes we locals are the toughest among the judges); the competition now includes a slate of industry veterans from around the country. But here’s the thing: the wines are deserving of this kind of scrutiny. Vintners have clearly upped their game of late; growers are far more skilled at grapes like Norton or Chambourcin and some of the most exciting grapes, such as Traminette and Valvin Muscat, weren’t part of the mix even a few years ago.

Not long ago, there were heated arguments as to which wines would be awarded the coveted status as Best in Class (as in Best Dry White Wine, Best Dry Red Wine and so forth) and though it may sound odd, the arguments are a bit less personal now, because the wines are better across the board. In the past, some of the wines under consideration might have tasted good to some judges but to others they were unbalanced or even flawed. Faced with the prospect of handing a top award to a flawed wine, conversations in the judging room got pretty testy, if not downright insulting. Aside from questioning the morals of someone’s sister, it can be tough to get through to a recalcitrant fellow judge.

But times have changed: there are lots of good wines in play. So the disagreements about the wines are based upon style not quality, and that leads to fewer bruised feelings. Norton is a particularly good example: Stone Hill’s Estate Bottled Norton 2009 beat out all other Nortons for the C.V. Riley Award as the best in the state (and by extension, the best in the world?), though I thought that others such as Augusta’s 2008, Les Bourgeois’ Reserve 2008, Mt. Pleasant’s Estate 2008 and Stonehaus Strother Ridge’s 2009 Cynthiana had plenty of offer as well. But they were differently styled (more robust, toastier, or riper; each was its own man) and the outcome became a matter not of quality, but of preference.

So change happens, as the phrase goes, and it’s all to the good. And of all of the changes, the Governor’s Cup is the biggest of them: this year, instead of a super sweet dessert wine, instead of Port or Sherry styled wine, instead of one of the rich and powerful dry Nortons of years past, the winner was a Valvin Muscat. Don’t be alarmed if you haven’t heard of it; it’s new. But if things continue in this manner, you will hear a great deal more about it, not only from Missouri, but from the rest of the country as well. Blumenhof’s Valvin Muscat remains the best I have tasted from anywhere, and it was nothing short of delicious. It has the floral intensity of its parent Muscat, as well as citrus and tree fruit notes that give it a dry and tangy finish, despite the sweet nose.

There are other stars amongst the 38 Gold Medal winners at this year’s competition: particularly Stonehaus Strother Ridge Vignoles, but also 2010 Stone Hill Dry Vignoles, St James 2010 Vignoles, Pirtle’s Premium Port, Mt Pleasant’s Villagio, Montelle’s Seyval Blanc 2010, Chambourin 2009 or their Chardonel 2010, Les Bourgeois’s LaBelle, Cave Vineyard’s White Chambourcin, Blumenhof’s Traminette, Baltimore Bend’s Arrowhead Red, Augusta’s 2010 Vignoles or 2010 Chardonel and Adam Puchta’s Misty Valley Vignoles. But I’m collecting bottles of Blumenhof’s lovely Valvin Muscat just to show my friends from elsewhere that Missouri has it going on.

I don’t expect the mainstream wine media to notice. They’re just trying to stay alive. It’s up to all of us who read about wine to talk about it, write about it and read some more about it.

#Drink Local Wine, at least sometimes.

Wine consultant & writer, one of only four people in the world to hold both Master Sommelier and Master of Wine titles