Wine

To Maurice and to Allen Ginsberg

Tasting through six bottles of aMaurice (Walla Walla, don’t ya know, oh, you don’t know? Well, you should know) and having an evening of DJ Spooky for some reason. No, no, I like DJ Spooky, it’s just that I haven’t put on one of his CD’s in like, five years, and so here’s a stack of DJ Spooky records on the player, courtesy of one of my kids. You see, I took the girls to see Spooky do this interesting thing about Antarctica, lots of very cool video unsurprisingly, and hence my youngest had all my DJ Spooky records. They’ve been sequestered but I guess that they’re now mine again. Amongst other treasures, Rhythm Science remains such a wonder: how is it likely to work when your vocalists include E.E. Cummings, Gertrude Stein, Duchamp, Burroughs, James Joyce, Brion Gysin, Tristan Tzara, and Kurt Schwitters at his high fallutin’ best with further silly scats from Apollinaire and did I mention Tristan Tzara?

Anyway, aMaurice. Charming people; charming notion: “to” Maurice, the grandfather who pioneered the family’s piece of Washington. First up: 2008 Viognier Walla Walla Valley. It’s understated, nice, even intriguing, but it’s laidback in every way except alcohol. The single vineyard Sparrow Viognier bottling is better; the lees note is stronger and the alcohol has greater purpose. The Chardonnay 2008 Columbia Valley is similarly understated; again, the alcohol disrupts the intended delicacy. On the other hand, I’ve been drinking hybrids and cool-climate whites for the last two months in heavy rotation. West Coast alcohols frighten me a wee bit. These are not hot; don’t misunderestimate me. I wouldn’t bother to write about them if they were hot. It’s just that they seem to be trying to cut new territory and it would be easier if they had a bit less alcohol. Instead of fourteen to fifteen.

Meanwhile, my eldest daughter calls and before long is musing how she might smuggle her hermit crab onto a plane to get it to her Nuevo Yorko apartment. It starts out sounding preposterous and ends with a well-considered plan. Don’t share this with the TSA. They told her no. I told her yes. I’m still drinking the Chardonnay and it’s better now. Or is it that we are just so damned malleable when it comes to alcohol?

aMaurice Malbec 2007 Columbia Valley has Mendoza color and richness but alas the nose is warmer than those lovely Malbecs along the Andes. But as with the other reds (read, and drink, on), there is lovely lift to the fruit (way under the usual VA’s of so many small and foolish WA wineries). The Red Wine Blend 2006 is more charm: cherry, plum, and more heat, and very subtle barrel and spice, or it might be better to say that it is more fruit with spice notes, than the reverse. The Syrah smells too warm as well; pretty red cherry but some raisin as well. But in the mouth, the raisin is overwhelmed by bright, pure red fruit (red raspberry, strawberry) and even some blueberry notes. I could get used to this stuff. It remains silky, with very light barrel touches, and, oh, what’s that, a bit of warmth. But the Syrah is juicy; it’s a term that we use to mean good.

I’ll stop. It’s just that these wines are so pretty, and so clearly intended to be pretty, and I mean that in the most respectful way. Pretty is good. This is good. Just a bit warm.

Later my daughter has me booking her flights and I’m back for more of the Sparrow. I need more of this stuff. And then DJ Spooky is gone and Patti Smith is chanting her Ginsberg Spell “Holy! Holy!” and I’m done taking notes.

Wine

Points are Pointless

The 2009 Bordeaux futures campaign has just ended: the longest and most drawn-out in history. Prices, to put it mildly, have never been higher. Last Monday, the last estate released its prices for its 2009 wines: Ausone is available for more than a thousand dollars a bottle. But act now! This is only the first tranche (or release); subsequent tranches may be higher still.

Oh, and one other note, that Ausone price applies only to importers. You’ll have to pay the markup from the importer, as well as another tariff for the wholesaler. The retailer needs a cut too. In all, you’ll be lucky to pay less than seventeen hundred dollars for that twenty-five-ounce bottle.

The 2008 Ausone cost considerably less upon release: $850 or so. The 2007 was even more reasonable: $650. Why all this irrational exuberance? I’m not suggesting that this market will collapse like certain other irrationally exuberant markets in the recent past. But some wine reviewers, American writer Robert Parker amongst them, have decreed that 2009 is the vintage of a lifetime, or in Parker’s words, “2009 may turn out to be the finest vintage I have tasted in 32 years of covering Bordeaux.”

Others have been less sanguine, calling it the “vintage of the century”. A couple of weeks ago, Emil Casteja, long-time owner of Chateau Batailley, was asked which vintage was the vintage of the last century. He smiled and said, “Oh, but there are soooo many.” It seems rather early for the rest of this new century to be so quickly dismissed, but who knows?

Robert Parker does. His prognostications have helped set prices for decades. At least within the Bordeaux community I visited last week, there was little doubt that this is indeed a great vintage but that Parker’s enthusiasm has generated unheard of prices, and that these prices are based upon the perceived interest of millionaires (and billionaires) everywhere, not least in Hong Kong.

His reviews of the 2009 wines have included far more wines exceeding 90 points than those under that high water mark, as well as nineteen potential 100-point wines. Sure his reviews gave a range of these wines from, say, 97-100 points, but once you start throwing around the 100-point score, well, let’s get all irrational and exuberant, eh, chappie?

To put this in perspective, that’s more than all the 100-point scores Parker handed out to all American wines between the years of 1985 and 2005. Even the much-heralded (at the time) 2003 vintage saw only four wines, Pavie, Montrose, Latour and Ausone, touch the perfect score. And it might be instructive to know that many of the 2003 wines haven’t turned out so well, at least not to this writer and others of similar mindset.

But the 2009’s are not likely to suffer the same fate as so many of the 2003’s, some of which are already tasting hard and even dried out. The 2009’s, by contrast, are generous and fruit-laden. Where the 2003’s were the product of one of the hottest years on record, with their fresh fruit and refreshing tartness baked right out of them, the 2009’s retain both fruit and acidity.

Some, like Rauzan Segla, carry a remarkable amount of crispness, perhaps too much for those who prefer their Bordeaux rich and brooding. The heralded champion for some I spoke with is Lafite Rothschild (Parker: 96-100); it’s exciting, dense and represents one of the top wines of any recent Bordeaux vintage, without a doubt.

But is it worth the price? And what separates it from Parker’s 18 other potential 100-point wines? Indeed, there’s nothing in those numbers to provide any answer. For Parker and others of his palate, 100-point wines are “perfect”, which for his palate means incredibly powerful and intense. But what if “perfect” for someone else is delicate and elegant?

When confronted with the criticism that the 100-point system is inherently flawed and subjective, Parker has repeatedly stated that the numbers are merely shorthand. “Read my reviews,” he has always said.

Doing so is informative but perhaps not in the manner intended. The Beausejour-Duffau has “massive concentration, power and intensity”; the Bellevue Mondotte has “massive concentration and huge tannins”, Branon is “hugely concentrated, intense, dense”; Cheval Blanc is “staggeringly concentrated, very full-bodied and powerful”

Throughout the notes, mocha and chocolate abound: mocha describes heavily toasted barrels and chocolate is more typical in overripe Barossa Shiraz than in young Bordeaux. He regards wines with 14% alcohol as balanced, but betrays his tendencies towards opulence when he enthuses over wines nearly approaching 15% alcohol. Perhaps those sorts of numbers don’t alarm some people, but I was weaned on Bordeaux in an era when even 13-percent levels were rarely breached.

Readers should reasonably conclude that Parker prefers wines that are concentrated, dark, rich and intense. Indeed, it seems that the dominant critics value wine only for its intensity, and have little interest in a wine’s balance or ability to age, or at least in its ability to have flavors other than intense ones.

That remains Parker’s right, just as it is for any other critic whose mouth, nose and body incline them to love intensity. But not everybody likes caviar, not everyone thinks foie gras is good and some people think Brussel sprouts are disgusting, unless they’re drenched in butter and smothered in bacon. People’s food preferences shouldn’t be deemed right, or wrong.

And so it is with wine. Some like it sweet, some like it cold, some like it young and some like it old. The great flaw of the 100-point system is that it fails to reflect that reasonable people differ about the foods they like and don’t like and they will certainly do the same with wine. The 100-point system tells you what the critic likes and dislikes but offers scant guidance as to whether a given consumer will like it, unless that consumer eats the same foods and drinks the same wines as that critic. Even that might be a stretch.

Some 25 years ago, I was standing next to Parker after a long day of tasting and one of the members of the party (who apparently possessed fewer spitting skills than the rest of us) was ranting at Parker that the 100-point system was a fraud. Parker was patient and respectful and said, “well, the 100-point system helps me sell magazines, and I’m in the business of selling magazines.” At the time I thought, fair enough.

But are people really intending to buy a magazine, or do they simply need guidance? They need to know what a particular wine tastes and smells like, how it will age, when and how to drink it, and that information doesn’t need to lay hidden in the pages of a journal beneath myriad numbers and ciphers.

Moreover, wine information shouldn’t come from only one source. Wine as the province of one solitary palate is a sham, no matter how skilled and experienced that palate. Why? Because palates are different. Some like salt and some like sugar. If it’s a light and soft white wine I seek, I should read a review from someone who loves those sorts of wines. If it’s a tangy, earthy red wine that excites me, then I need a reviewer that understands those. And if I’m searching for a rich and powerful youthful Bordeaux (oh, I meant concentrated and intense), I will seek out someone who likes that kind of wine. Lest anyone think that I’m Parker-bashing, I think Parker is a very reliable source of information regarding such wines.

Even more importantly, wines change. Good wine is a living thing; it tastes differently today than it will next month, and those differences will be more obvious a year or a decade from now. Even in the short term, that wine might shift its shape when it’s cold and wintry outside, or when you’re sunburnt and sweaty. The simplest of wines can be stirring at a romantic dinner or at a heartwarming gathering. The best part of wine cannot be accurately deduced from a two or three digit number.

There are many trustworthy palates; you should seek out as many as you can. You should find out their favorites and if you can afford them, you should try them to see if your palate roughly aligns. If they offer no great reviews of affordable wines, you should look elsewhere; great wine is all around, just like good reviewers. But I will offer this warning: if the reviewers insist upon a numerical score, your business and your palate are being taken for a ride.

Wine

Alex Chilton RIP

There are a lot of us for whom Alex Chilton was about as heroic a figure as any Memphis cab driver could be. Well, I guess he wasn’t just ANY Memphis cab driver; he was Alex Chilton; once upon a time half of Big Star (the band named for a Memphis grocery chain), one of the seminal groups for those who believed that rock’s best side was on the downlow, on the cheap, slightly cracked and half crazed. Chilton seemed to be all that. His brief time as a teen pop singer, with the BoxTops (yeah, I bet his baby done wrote him a letter and I’m guessing it was more like a restraining order) was always irrelevant to his career as a songwriter and producer of his own work, his work with Big Star, his production work for the Cramps and such.

I guess it was a career; it was more like a careening. Big Star lurched into view and slipped over the precipice almost before we noticed. Or perhaps, like Chilton’s songwriting ex-partner, Chris Bell, it went straight into a lamppost and that was the end of that.

I was lucky enough to see Chilton when he resurrected his band in the early 90’s. He told a few great stories and one of them was this: “It was the early 60’s, kids,” he told a not nearly packed enough Grand Emporium in Kansas City, “and the Byrds were on Ed Sullivan. They were just starting to play when Roger McGuinn said something and they all stopped playing and started turning their guitars. This was live TV, kids, and they tuned their guitars for forty-five seconds. Forty-five seconds of dead air. And then Roger McGuinn turned to the camera and he said, ‘We tune, because we care.'”

We all broke up, laughing. And then Chilton said, “We don’t tune, because we don’t care” and cranked it up.

Jefferson Cup, Wine

The 2009 Jefferson Cup results

The Jefferson Cup Invitational has celebrated its tenth year as the only competition that honors the best of the best among wineries from all of America’s wine regions. Each year we select great wines from across America; the 2009 competition included wines from twenty-three states. At the end of the second day of this year’s tasting, November 20th, wines from SIX different states had captured top honors. Just as the event’s namesake would have it, democracy reigned at this year’s Jefferson Cup Wine Competition.

The two-day competition culminated with the awarding of FIFTEEN Jefferson Cup Awards. Jefferson Cups were awarded to wines made from both vinifera vines (a European species responsible for most famous wines such as Chardonnay and Cabernet) and non-vinifera vines, which flourish in the more extreme climates in the center portion of the U.S.

These fifteen prestigious Jefferson Cups were awarded this year to six white wines, eight red wines and one dessert wine. While many competitions insist upon selecting a pre-ordained number of sweepstakes winners, our judges are allowed to find the top wines, whether there are only one, two or three, or even NO winners in some categories, as happened this year. Indeed this year, there was no rosé or sparkling wine winner, though a number of those wines won awards. Best of all, there were once again great examples of wine, both from vinifera and non-vinifera grapes. Together with sixty-three other wines nominated for (but not awarded) the Jefferson Cup, these fifteen wines represent some of the most compelling wines made in America.

This year’s Jefferson Cup competition saw some very notable developments and successes. Two wineries, St. James Winery (Missouri) and Imagine Moore (New York) won TWO Jefferson Cups each, the first time this has happened in a single year. And although many expect California to dominate the awards, multiple Jefferson Cups were won by four states: Washington, Missouri, New York and California each won multiple Jefferson Cups for their wineries. And Nebraska and Colorado each have their first Jefferson Cup. Nebraska’s James Arthur Vineyards won the state’s first Jefferson Cup for its Edelweiss, and Boulder Creek won Colorado’s first Jefferson Cup for its Bordeaux-styled blend, VIP Reserve 2006.

As in years past, the West Coast was well represented. Four reds from California won; two Washington State wineries won a cup as well. In another remarkable victory, Mitch Cosentino won a Jefferson Cup again this year; last year he won an astounding three Jefferson Cups. And Missouri had a very successful year: Stone Hill and Augusta Winery each won a Jefferson Cup while St. James Winery won two Cups. Other notable winners included Cakebread Cellars’ beautiful Dancing Bear Ranch Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 and Amavi Cellars Syrah from the famous les Collines Vineyard in Walla Walla Valley.

In the past years, the Jefferson Cup seems to have focused upon Syrah or Cabernet, but this year, there was greater diversity of wines, though vinifera grapes dominated among the red wines. I am very pleased with the way the Jefferson Cup Invitational competition has developed. We had a representation of the best of what every quality wine producing region in the country is offering right now, including improved representation from Washington, Michigan, Virginia and Texas as well as some standout wines from California, New York and Oregon. Michigan and Colorado wines rose to the top of the pack this year and New York State wineries leaped ahead too.

In most other competitions there is ‘open’ seating and California represents 90% of the entries. As a result it usually captures 90% of the honors. I can now foresee a time when that will not happen. What we are doing is following Mr. Jefferson’s example and allowing every quality wine-producing region in America a place at our table. While many may know him from his well-chronicled statesman role, most Americans have no idea just how influential Jefferson was in the way we eat and drink and live today. To call Jefferson ahead of his time where food and wine are concerned is the ultimate understatement. Jefferson was growing grapes that did not really come into vogue in this country until 20 years ago.

Best of all, this year’s Jefferson Cup coincided with our fifth annual fundraiser for Angel Flight, a great charity that gives support for private pilots offering travel to indigent and needy medical emergencies. The Jefferson Cup fundraisers raised more than $90,000 for Angel Flight this year.

The 2009 JEFFERSON CUP winners are:

For White Vinifera Wine:

  • Chateau Ste Michelle Riesling Eroica 2008 Columbia Valley
  • Sheldrake Point Vineyards Gewurztraminer 2008 Finger Lakes

For White Non-Vinifera Wine:

  • Imagine Moore Harmony 2008 Finger Lakes
  • James Arthur Vineyards Edelweiss 2008 Nebraska
  • St. James Winery Friendship School White nv
  • Stone Hill Winery Vignoles 2008 Missouri

For Red Vinifera Wine:

  • Amavi Cellars Syrah 2007 Les Collines Vineyard
  • Boulder Creek VIP Reserve 2006 Colorado
  • Cakebread Cellars Dancing Bear Ranch 2006 Howell Mountain
  • Couples & Co. Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 Napa Valley
  • Michael – David Winery Earthquake Zin 2007 Lodi
  • Rodney Strong Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon Estate 2006 Alexander Valley

For Red Non-Vinifera Wine:

  • Augusta Winery Norton Estate Bottled 2007 Augusta
  • St. James Winery Velvet Red nv American

For Dessert Wine:

  • Imagine Moore Framboise 2009 New York

For more information, go to The Jeffersion Cup Invitational web site.

Kansas City Star, Wine

In a word, how do you describe a wine?

Reprinted from The Kansas City Star, July 21, 2009

Does a rose by any other name smell just as sweet? I recently sat down with some coffee experts to talk about aromas and the words wine and coffee experts use to describe them.

Why do we need words to describe flavors? Most people don’t need to “describe” the flavor of an apple. The experience of eating an apple is so universal that most would describe an apple simply by stating the color: if the apple is green, we expect it to taste tart. If it’s red, we expect it to be a bit sweet.

But when it comes to wine, few people have enough experience to have such ironclad expectations. So the wine industry employs its own nomenclature to describe wines, and sometimes those words seem downright secretive.

The coffee industry has a similar challenge; few coffee drinkers contemplate the flavors of their coffee. Often enough, they’re not awake enough to appreciate anything other than the caffeine content. But the coffee business, like the wine industry, has developed terms to differentiate one coffee from another.

Danny O’Neill, proprietor of the Roasterie, a local coffee producer, keeps a series of charts on the wall of his tasting room. Aromas are separated into categories of spicy, resinous and pyrolytic, among other groupings. Pyrolytic characteristics, in case you were wondering, include malt, roasted and burnt coffee, and pipe tobacco.

But the words of wine can be even more perplexing, if not ridiculous: tannic, barnyard, angular, feminine. Some of these words are mysterious, bizarre or possibly sexist. What does the word “tannic” mean? It means bitter and astringent. Barnyard? Why would I want a wine that smells like a cow patty? Well, some people like a little bit of that, particularly in their French wines. For some people, it makes the wine more complex. For others, it just smells bad.

And words like “feminine” or “masculine” (lots of writers employ those terms) suggest that wines carry gender traits of softness, muscle, aggression, seductiveness, curves and, well, you can see why people find the words of wine to be so vexing.

The wine and coffee industries utilize these words because they are confronted with a difficult challenge: how do you describe flavor? For many industry professionals, it’s a simple matter: the industry can describe wines by describing the flavors and aromas of common foods, plants, flowers, spices and the like.

Sauvignon Blanc, for instance, is a grape that makes a wine with the flavor of melons, lemons and grapefruits and an herbal, even vegetal character, reminiscent of lemongrass, peas and even asparagus. Cabernet Sauvignon has plums and cherries, along with black pepper, cedar box and baking spices. Sure, some of those characteristics come from the barrels in which the wine is aged, but a wine labeled as Cabernet Sauvignon is best described by using those terms.

For many of the younger members of the wine industry, speaking of wine as being “aristocratic” or “seductive” or “withdrawn” or “showing malolactic notes” (as traditional wine writers have done), seems a bit exclusionary, at least insomuch as those terms are far harder to understand than saying that a wine has spice or pepper or, to describe “malolactic” aromas, that a wine smells a bit like melted butter.

But even these words might be debatable. “Buttery” may describe a typical California Chardonnay, but is that a term that many wine drinkers would use? As a teacher in the Master Sommelier and Master of Wine programs, I believe that wine drinkers use such words only because they are prompted to do so, not because such descriptions come naturally.

Still, anyone trying to assess the flavors of a beverage will use terms that reflect the flavors of that beverage, as well as the flavors that are most important to an expert. Danny O’Neill and the other professionals at the Roasterie are most focused on what differentiates one coffee from another: Is it fruity? Nutty? Floral?

So the descriptors that professionals use to describe flavors, whether in coffee or wine (or beer or whatever), are likely to seem odd to most casual tasters. Professionals are not interested in the flavors that are typical in a coffee or wine. Rather the best way we can differentiate one coffee or wine from another is to describe what is unique to each individual blend, and that unique character is usually something odd, like pipe tobacco or malt in coffee, or barnyard or earthy aromas in wine.

Since tasters are looking for the weird stuff in wine and coffee, we tend to find flavors that most people wouldn’t find, unless they, too, were trying to find them. But most people aren’t looking for weird stuff; they just want their beverage to taste good. That’s the problem with professional tasters: they forget that the most important attribute of any drink is to be tasty.

The coffee industry may have its own private nomenclature, but coffee is accepted as a common man’s drink, despite the arcane terminology coffee roasters might utilize. Wine, on the other hand, intimidates any normal person, with a plethora of terms such as acidity (think lemon, lime or green apple), diacetyl (popcorn butter), Kimmeridgian soils (oyster shells) and all the other myriad notes employed to explain how wines that taste very similar to one another can be different — if you look really closely.

Looking closely is not something most people need to do. For most, if it tastes good, it’s good. There ought to be no other justification required for someone to recommend a wine; but professionals find that further, perhaps confusing, detail is required.

Maybe wine writers should learn from the coffee industry. The coffee business hasn’t addled its consumers with vocabulary, even if the words are odd.

So why does O’Neill keep a chart with descriptors like pyrolytic, floral, musty?

“We stole the idea of these kinds of descriptors from wine people; these are basically the kinds of words wine people use,” he said.

Wine

and we’re supposed to feel good about fewer corked wines?

Once each year, I join a group of friends for a tasting called Best of Cellar: sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. This year, it had all the hallmarks. Let me start by noting that one of the nine bottles that I brought was 1982 Chateau Margaux. Yeah, it’s called Best of Cellar, right?

Except that we had a few corked wines. How many? Uhm, maybe more than a few. We opened about thirty-six wines (the numbers always get fuzzy at some point) and six of them were corked. And it wasn’t just any six bottles. They were:

1994 Caymus Special Selection Cabernet Sauvignon – corked!
1988 Jaboulet Hermitage La Chapelle – corked!
1988 J.J. Prum Wehlener Sonnenuhr Gold Kapsule Auslese – corked!
1990 Karthausershofberg Eitelsbacher Auslese – corked!
1993 J.J. Prum Wehlener Sonnenuhr Auslese – corked!

and most ignominiously…

1985 double magnum Chateau Lynch Bages – corked!

Six out of thirty-six is something like seventeen percent. Bear in mind that the cork industry is boasting that the incidence of corked wines is down to one or two percent. Lately, I have seen that number, though that may be due to the higher incidence of synthetic corks and screwcaps.

My recent experience not withstanding, the frequency of corked wines is down, I’ll allow that. At my recent United Airlines tastings, I saw only a handful of corked bottles, out of about one thousand bottles that were tasted over the eight days of the taste-off. Indeed, I was more frequently aroused to ire by the glue-like smells of some of the wines that were closed with so-called twintop closures. It turned into a game after a while: I would taste through thirty or forty wines and then call out the bottles that smelled like a twintop closure, without of course looking at the cork. The telltale smell of glue is annoying; I have no idea why vintners still use those corks.

With standard corks, things are better; I believe that. But that’s of little solace to my friends and I who endured hundreds of dollars of spoilage and wasted time and cellar space. Trust me, we ain’t rich, we just drink like we are. The ugly truth is that fifteen and twenty years ago, things were very, very bad. And we are unlucky to have been collecting wine at that time, when cork taint was seemingly everywhere.

I’m not saying you should go out and trash all your 1980’s and early 1990’s wines. There’s a far better than even chance the wines are perfectly sound. But I’m not going to forgive the cork industry anytime soon (sorry, Prince Charles). And every time I have this many corked wines, my anger burns anew.

Spirits

can a cocktail get some respect?

My daughters have the Food Network on as TV wallpaper. In candor, it pains me to admit this. I’ve got a really bad attitude about the Food Network; I mean, what do these people have against alcohol beverage??? Sure they mention wine and cocktails, but the info about alcohol is misguided or plain wrong. Case in point: one not-to-be-named TV host is making “cocktails” on her show. The quotations are no accident, cause those aren’t cocktails she’s making. Oh, goody, cocktails! But it’s the Food Network. It giveth and it taketh away. They get your hopes up and then crush them like the insignificant little bug that you represent. She makes a “martini”; again, the quotations are purposeful. This one is half gin and half vermouth. Hmm. Okay, I know some people like that but not very many. And she doesn’t measure; she just pours it into a pitcher. Why? Because she’s a mad skilled bartender who never needs to measure! Only thing is: the world’s greatest bartenders (Dale DeGroff, anyone?) measure, but I guess she’s a lot better than they are.

Then she pours in juice out of a Kalamata olive jar. Oils and all. Cloudy drink and all. She stirs (not showing any of the stirring skills of a real bartender, but I niggle on this) for maybe two seconds and dumps it in a cocktail glass with three warm olives. Bad bartending. The other complaint I have? She isn’t forced to drink this lukewarm, bitter concoction on air, live and trying not to gag.

Then here’s what made me start clicking the keyboard on my computer. She makes another cocktail, same setup, quick stir, no skills and then pours it into a cocktail glass, STRAINING WITH HER FINGERS!! That’s disgusting. Somebody get this woman a bartending consultant.

A few minutes later another host makes a big show of washing her hands after kneading raw lamb, but not until after she’s touched the serving dish she’s going to use for the finished dish and a few spare utensils. Aargh.

Wine

Does your mama know your Roodeberg?

If you live in South Africa, both you and your mama know all about Roodeberg, a cheerily commercial red blend. Nothing against that wine: it’s pleasant and distinctive, purposefully pitched between stylish Bordeaux claret and earthy South African red. The white has been pleasant in the past, but I have never been as pleased by a Roodeberg as I am by the 2008 white Roodeberg.

In classic KWV fashion, we’re not allowed to know precisely what’s in the wine. The label says nothing; the website talks about 45% Chardonnay (coulda fooled me), 40% Chenin Blanc (that’s easier to believe) and 15% “secret”. But WAIT, there’s more, like they say on the commercials. The website says the wine has aromas of litchi (sic) and rose petals. Hmm, would you suggesting Gewurztraminer, by chance? Moreover, the back label says the wine has “gooseberry”. That would suggest that the culprit is not Gewurztraminer but Sauvignon Blanc. Whodunit? What is this, a Murder She Wrote episode?

Lest I encourage the marketing people to continue such inanity, let me say that I would have spent the last one hundred words praising the wine if I didn’t feel the need to bitch about this typically KWV-ish secrecy. But I guess the folks that brought you green pepper extract in Sauvignon Blanc feel like being a bit coy…Bitchslap!

Okay, that was unfair. I just don’t understand why wine marketers think we’re stupid consumers or treat us as children who don’t deserve to know the details. But again, I’ve lost the thread of why I wanted to write this review. I didn’t intend to complain; I wanted to praise the wine.

And so I will. Sweet citrus, some fresh herbs and lemony warmth make for a pretty, textured and barely smoky wine. The barrel presence is very minimal, indeed, it may be more lees stirring then barrels. It tastes like fun and friendly South African Chenin Blanc with a whisper of Chardonnay and a touch of Gewurztraminer, Viognier, Sauvignon Blanc and Roussanne (well, I told you it was a bit warm). Of course, it’s not comprised of all of those grapes but the wine has complexity, as you might guess from these notes. It has something that is pleasing like fatness so maybe it’s not much of a keeper but who cares? Drink tonight with citrus marinated grilled shrimp. Smile and stop complaining.

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