The Alcohol Challenge: Me vs. Adam Lee

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post in which I said I don’t like Pinot Noir with more than 14.5% alcohol.

Siduri owner/winemaker Adam Lee challenged me to a blind tasting, claiming I wouldn’t be able to tell which wines were over my arbitrary limit and which weren’t.

On a sunny Sunday morning, we met in an empty restaurant in San Francisco’s Marina district for the challenge (he's the one with good posture). Would my palate back up my words, or am I just another bloviating pundit?

Here’s the setup. Lee took 10 of his own wines from the 2008 vintage and placed them in brown paper bags, numbered 1-10, two weeks before our meeting.

Then, his mother had a heart attack. So he flew to Texas to attend her. Consequently, he forgot which bottle was in which bag.

“Sorry to tell you this, but this tasting wasn’t the main thing on my mind,” Lee said. His mother recovered, and the now double-blind tasting went on as scheduled.

Lee brought the technical data on the wines, including the real alcohol percentages, as opposed to those listed on the bottle.

US law allows some difference between reality and the label. If a wine is less than 14% alcohol, there’s 1.5% leeway. If it’s over 14% alcohol, there’s 1% leeway. However, the label must accurately reflect which side of 14% alcohol the wine lands on.

In other words, if the label reads 13% alcohol, in reality the wine can be anywhere from 11.5 to 14%. If the label reads 14.5% alcohol, the wine can be anywhere from 14 to 15.5%. This is why so many French wines list “12.5% alcohol” on the label (actual alcohol: 11 to 14%), and why Shafer Vineyards lists all its alcohol percentages at 14.9.

I imply no cynicism here. Changing the label even in this tiny way requires lots of paperwork at both state and federal levels and costs money as well. Lee said it costs him $1,300 in licensing fees to change the alcohol level on a label from one year to the next, even if nothing else changes. So why change the label if he doesn't have to?

On to the wines. For ease of reading the play-by-play, I’ll tell you what the wines were right away. But Lee didn’t reveal any of them until we were all done. Remember that all are 2008 Siduri Pinot Noirs.

Wine 1: Rosella’s Vineyard, Santa Lucia Highlands. A rich wine with good body. Lee thinks it’s over 14.5%. I say it’s not; I say out loud, “I think it’s about 14.3.” This is my finest moment of the day; the label reads 14.1 but it’s actually 14.29. I should have stopped there.

Wine 2: Ewald Vineyard, Russian River Valley. Tart and persistent with good acidity. We both think it’s under 14.5. The label says 14.3; it’s actually 14.88.
“This is a vineyard that got frosted very badly” in the spring of ‘08, Lee says, explaining that the first grape buds died, and the secondary buds took longer to develop. “That’s why it doesn’t taste so ripe.”

Wine 3: Keefer Ranch Vineyard, Russian River Valley. Probably my favorite overall wine in the first run through (and one of 3 bottles I took home), it’s smooth and well-integrated, with some earthiness. We both think it’s under 14. Oops. Label says 14.1, actual alcohol 14.88. More on this later.

Wine 4: Sonoma Coast. This one tastes a little hot but doesn’t have a big body, so I guess that it’s about 14.0. Lee also thinks it’s under 14.5. Another good moment: Label 14.1, actual 14.11. Right now I’m 2 for 4, and Lee is 1 for 4 on his own wines.

Wine 5: Beran Vineyards, Willamette Valley. It doesn’t have much color and I take that and its light body as tips that it’s the lowest in the flight. Another success: Label 13.0, actual 12.77. Who said American Pinot was too big? I’m 3 for 5 and still one up on Lee.

Wine 6: Santa Rita Hills. It’s big and rich and I think it’s not only over 14.5, but has residual sugar. Wrong on all counts: Label 14.1, actual 14.24, and it’s completely dry. Oops. But Lee missed it too; I’m 3 for 6 and still up by one.

Wine 7: Abre Vert Vineyard, Willamette Valley. It’s ripe, bright and on the big side. We both think it’s in the high 14s. Oops. Label 13.0, actual 13.63. I’m 3 for 7 but still ahead by one.

Wine 8: Cargasacchi Vineyard, Santa Rita Hills. It has bright fruit, but also a minty note and some funk. To quote Adam exactly, “It’s got some earthy, stinky character. But not in a … There’s James Brown funk, and there’s … funk.” I say it’s over 14.5; Lee disagrees. Label 13.8, actual 13.86. Good God! There goes my lead; we’re both 3 for 8.

Wine 9: Sonatera Vineyard, Sonoma Coast. I drink this wine more often than anything else of Lee‘s, both because I like it and because it’s on several San Francisco restaurant wine lists. I recognized its nice cranberry fruit and its, er, James Brown, and I say it’s under 14. Lee thinks it’s over 14.5. Label 13.1, actual 13.96! I’m 4 for 9 and back in the lead.

Wine 10: Eddie’s Lot, Pisoni Vineyard, Santa Lucia Highlands. This was a one-off Lee did to honor Eddie Pisoni after his death. He farmed a section of the vineyard differently, taking several steps that ended up leading to extra ripeness. I liked this wine a lot for its bright cherry fruit and great acidity. I think it‘s under 14.5; Lee says it‘s over.

At the reveal, he opens this bag last and says, “You ready for the painful one?” Label 15.1, actual 16.01. Ouch. He proved his point -- I liked a Pinot at over 16% alcohol, and missed the alcohol percentage by more than 1.5%.

And we ended up tied. I was right only 4 times out of 10 -- but so was Lee, and these are his wines. So I’m calling it like the US-England soccer match: Gray beats Lee 4-4.

As my prize, I took home three of the wines: the Keefer Ranch, the Beran Vineyards and the Abre Vert. I loved the Keefer Ranch, and I confess that part of the reason I took home the two Oregon wines was that they actually are lower in alcohol, so I could drink more of them and reflect on my bloviating punditry.

The story doesn't end there. I invited my wife to take the same test. She is my co-author of a wine book in Japanese, but she doesn't taste wine every day like I do, and she rarely drinks more than a glass. I thought I'd show her how hard the test was.

Hard for me and Adam -- but not for her. For the Abre Vert, she guessed 13.8; actual was 13.63. For the Beran, she guessed 13.5; actual was 12.77. And for the Keefer Ranch, she guessed 14.9; actual was 14.88. Wow.

After jumping up and down to celebrate (Nippon scores!), she explained that she's very sensitive to alcohol because it affects her so much. Because I can drink more than her, she says it's not as important to me.

There's one more postscript. At the showdown tasting, the Keefer Ranch was probably my overall favorite. It also showed well when I was retasting it with my wife.

But by the end of the night, the bottle with the least in it was the Beran Vineyards -- the one with the lowest alcohol level. I refilled my glass with it after I stopped drinking the Keefer Ranch.

Was this because a low-alcohol wine is naturally easier and more pleasurable to drink, or was it because I knew very well that this was the lower-alcohol wine? I'm not sure, though honestly I lean toward the latter.

But as a bloviator, I know what I should say: American Pinot Noir alcohol threat level orange!

And it sure goes well with humble pie, especially the fine version my wife makes.

Expensive Cabernets fail to impress

Expensive Cabernets aren’t all that.

This was my takeaway from judging at the Sunset Magazine Wine Awards last week.

Sunset divides wine into four price categories: below $15, $15-$30, $30-$50 and over $50. Usually I volunteer to judge one of the moderate categories.

But this year, they made me wear pancake makeup and a metrosexual sweater for an hour-long photo shoot in the sun (Blake, can you cross your legs? At the ankles? The other way? And lean your hand on the box? And look casual?). I decided to go greedy and parked my too-black-for-Sunset jacket at the pricey table.

Sara Schneider, Sunset’s wine editor, warned me that I might not like it as well as my regular perch in the under-$50s, because the wines tend to be overblown. She was so right. I breezed through 21 whites from $35 to $50 before moving up in price, and I did not move up one iota in deliciousness.

Sunset’s awards are limited to wines from California, Oregon and Washington that have been nominated by writers and sommeliers. They don’t accept unvetted entries, so it’s generally a good group, which is why I like judging it.

The tasting is blind, as all good ones are, and it’s a verbal irony that blind tastings are always eye-opening.

In this case, what was most shocking was just how ordinary so many of the over-$50 wines are. Few were poor, but as a group, they simply were not as good as the $35 to $50 wines.

I’ll make two sweeping generalizations.

1) Pricey American Pinot Noirs tend to taste like Syrah -- big bodies, no elegance or complexity. I didn’t hate any of the 13 Pinots, but I only really liked four.

2) About half of the pricey Cabernets -- including blends, they averaged $113, significantly more than the Pinots (average $71) -- taste like blueberry bubble gum, which is great if you like that, although Hubba Bubba is, what, 99 cents?

I was not a lone wolf with this opinion. Groans came from around the table, and not just because Sunset didn’t let us wear our own clothes. (The memo I ignored instructed me to wear “sea foam blue.” Isn’t sea foam white?)

The key in a setting like this is to concentrate. You can be in the middle of a rant about grapes getting too ripe, and if you’re not careful you’ll miss a balanced, elegant wine. I did find some of those, which I’ll list below.

Yet more than half of the Cabs were simple fruit-punchy wines; cherry juice with a kick.

I’ll always defend the right of people to drink whatever they want, and wineries to make money by serving that market.

This explains the rising popularity of Argentine Malbec, one of the more characterless red wines in the world. If all you want is cherry juice, why pay $113 for it?

Here are the exceptions to that rule: pricey wines that were well worth the money.

Gamble Family Heart Block Yountville Sauvignon Blanc 2007 ($50): Often I turn my nose up at oaked Sauv Blanc, but this wine has great balance and elegant fruit and the subdued oak notes accent rather than cover.

St. Supery Dollarhide Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc/Semillon 2008 ($34): Bright citrus and melon with good length and gravitas.

Domaine Serene Clos du Soleil Dundee Hills Chardonnay ($45): Bright lime and melon fruit mingle with some toast throughout the long finish.

Lynmar Quail Hill Vineyard Russian River Valley Chardonnay ($40): A toasty and warm Chardonnay with nice citrus fruit that takes it time unfolding.

Adelsheim Winderlea Vineyard Dundee Hills Pinot Noir ($90): Raspberry fruit with a soft mouthfeel; a treat to taste a pricey Pinot that tastes like Pinot.

Duckhorn Napa Valley Merlot ($52): I loved this wine so much, argued for it, and was a little shocked when it was revealed to be a 27,000-case product that I tend to take for granted. But it’s exactly what you want in a Merlot: voluptuous body, rich cherry fruit. I must add that I preferred it without food, but I’m sure that’s how many of its fans most enjoy it. Still, a standout against wines with snootier reputations that cost 3 times as much.

Saxum Broken Stones Paso Robles Syrah/Grenache/Mourvedre ($130): I started lunch (post-reveal) with the Gamble Family Sauv Blanc, tasted through all my favorite whites and reds again, and at the end of the meal, this was in my glass. It’s complex and savory, with notes of pastrami, pomegranate, cherry and soy. The price is stunning for a Paso wine, which is probably why the ‘06 is still current release. The wine is stunning as well.

Dominus Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2007 ($130): I must really like Dominus, because I often prefer it in blind tastings, and it was my favorite Cab again. It’s a Cab with balance and integrity: dark cherry fruit, notes of black olive and coffee. Delightful and not given to excess. If only I could afford to taste it non-blind.

Jordan Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 ($52): Here’s a wine that pulls off the all-fruit style with panache. Berries and cherries keep emerging from the glass with enough acidity to appreciate them. Like the Duckhorn Merlot, it stood out in a group where most of the wines cost considerably more.

Teenagers drink responsibly when taught to

One of our problems with alcohol in the USA is immature behavior regarding it -- from adults.

More than a third of Americans don't drink any alcohol at all. Despite wine being all over the Bible, elements of the religious right are always trying to bring back Prohibition in baby steps. What sense does it make to prevent people from buying beer during church on Sunday, as many cities' laws forbid?

One of the most effective ways to exploit America's post-Prohibition prudishness is to bring children into the argument. That's how direct shipping is always challenged by wholesalers seeking to maintain their power: the idea that teenagers will order a case of wine and drain it between the UPS guy's arrival and their parents' return home from work.

I was delighted Saturday to read online at the New York Times a batch of letters from young adults regarding their early drinking experiences. I won't say much more on the topic today, because I strongly urge you to read what these people have to say.

One parting shot, though: Did you know George Washington was a distiller? And that a replica of his still will be cranking out rye whiskey at Mount Vernon starting July 1?

America: Drinking responsibly for more than 230 years, and it all starts with parents sharing a glass with their kids, rather than refusing to admit alcohol is a part of life.

Pinot Gris: Dissing Oregon's cash cow

It takes some guts -- and a belly full of wine -- to slag your cash cow in front of a group of reporters. But that's exactly what Chehalem founder/winemaker Harry Peterson-Nedry did recently, speaking about Oregon Pinot Gris.

"Pinot Gris is a good cashflow wine, but its days in Oregon are limited," said Peterson-Nedry, right. "As a variety it's just not as great as Riesling or Chardonnay."

I agree. But some consumers love Pinot Gris precisely because it's less flavorful than Riesling or Chard. There are some times when people simply want a neutral wine; this is why Italian Pinot Grigio (same grape, different accent) is one of the most popular imported wines in America, particularly on the East Coast.

Pinot Gris is hugely important in Oregon. It's easily the second-most produced variety, behind Pinot Noir.

2009 Oregon wine grape production

Pinot Noir 53.1%
Pinot Gris 16.7%
Riesling 5.7%
Chardonnay 5.6%
Cabernet Sauvignon 3.1%
Syrah 2.9%
Merlot 2.8%
Pinot Blanc 1.4%
Gewurztraminer 1.2%
Everything else 7.5%

Pinot Gris also continues to be planted; production in 2009 was up 45% over 2003, though that's a bit less than the average variety, which was up 67.5%.

One damning thing about Pinot Gris, though, is that serious tastings exclude it. At the Culinary Institute of America in St. Helena, Peterson-Nedry and Rollin Soles of Argyle led several of us through a 30-wine tasting of older Oregon wines in an attempt to prove the state's gravitas. We tasted Rieslings as far back as 1988 and Chardonnays as far back as 1998, but not one Pinot Gris.

Again, this is not necessarily a bad thing. I think most consumers cellar wines too long, not too little. If you have a nice tannic Fronsac, you want to put it away for a decade or more. But most American wines these days are made to drink now, and you're doing yourself and the wine a disservice by waiting five years.

What we tasted were the exceptions. These were the highlights (my tasting notes in italics):

* 1979 Ponzi Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, smokey catsup with raspberries and peppered pastrami
* 1985 Amity Winemaker's Reserve Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, bright and juicy cherry with charred steak notes
* 1988 Amity Oregon Dry Riesling, apricot and green apple with a hint of anise
* 1991 Argyle Reserve Oregon Dry Riesling, lime, peach and clay
* 1991 Ponzi Reserve Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, tart pomegranate with cherry tobacco
* 1997 Domaine Serene Evenstad Reserve Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, raspberries and cherries with a floral note
* 1998 Bethel Heights Southeast Block Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, juicy cherry with black pepper
* 1998 Seven Hills Winery Walla Walla Valley Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, juicy black cherry with black olives
* 1998 Hamacher Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, raspberry and cola and spice
* 2000 Sinnean Columbia Valley Merlot, black cherry and violet with a savory finish

You'll note that there's not one Chardonnay on my list of favorites. I walked away from this tasting a believer in the aging potential of Oregon Pinot Noir, but despite the constantly drawn parallels to Burgundy, I don't think the older Chards are in the same league.

Oregon is a bit like New Zealand in that it doesn't get the attention of its larger neighbor, and its advocates are always worried about the wines' international reputations. Argyle's Soles believes this kind of tasting in California is necessary.

"Great wines age," Soles says. "We want to show the world that we are a serious wine region. We're trying to invest in future generations."

Which brings me back to Pinot Gris. Does it bring down the reputation of Oregon as a wine region when 16.7% of its wine tastes, essentially, like "white wine"?

I think not. If Oregon Pinot Gris tasted bad, maybe it would. I think New York state wineries' insistence on making Bordeaux varietals holds back their reputation for this reason. But there's nothing wrong with a wine that tastes like nothing, especially when you realize you're never robbing the cradle to drink it.

What happens to Napa if Cabernet falls?

Is Napa Valley really the best terroir in California?

That idea is the foundation of its success, and every year it gets reinforced by Robert Parker and Wine Spectator, which both coo over its Cabernets, doling out 98 point scores while other varietals from other regions rarely top 93.

That's why wineries making mediocre Cab from Napa feel like they can get away with charging over $50 when it's hard to get that much money for, say, the best Grenache in the country. And it's not just Cab -- everything from Napa Valley costs more. Pinot Grigio, Sangiovese, Petite Sirah -- it all demands premium retail price if it's from Napa.

I believe Napa Valley is the best terroir for Merlot in the United States. It's also the best terroir for Cabernet in California (though parts of Washington state might be just as good.)

But -- and this is a huge BUT -- Napa's not the best at anything else.

Chardonnay? Napa Valley Chardonnay is often an overpriced joke. There are still some good ones from Carneros; Mike Grgich knows what he's doing, and there are other exceptions. But the majority of Napa Valley Chardonnays are cynical cocktails of butter and oak. If you like Chardonnay, you should be buying it from Russian River Valley or the Sonoma Coast or other cooler places.

Zinfandel? This might be the third-best wine produced in Napa, but you can get better ones from Sonoma or Contra Costa County, and even Paso Robles.

Syrah? Cooler regions are better. And cheaper.

Every other variety? Please see Syrah.

All of Napa Valley's reputation rides on Cab and Merlot. To be fair, this is the same as Burgundy, where all the reputation rides on Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, or Rioja, where it's all on Tempranillo, or many other great regions.

What this means is that Napa Valley has a huge interest in making sure Cab and Merlot remain America's favorite red wines.

But will they? As we get more sophisticated as a wine-drinking nation, some people are beginning to ask for more food-friendly, balanced wines. Right now it's a tiny movement of sommeliers and aficionados.

Yet I cannot remember the last time I met a wine professional who said, "I really like Cabernet." Usually it's the exact opposite. Sommeliers, wine buyers, wine writers, wine bar owners: they're just not drinking Cabernet anymore.

Eric Asimov recently wrote in the New York Times that millenials aren't ordering Bordeaux anymore. What happens when they realize that Napa Cabs, while giving more forward fruit, are generally even less food-friendly?

Meanwhile, I was perusing a list of tasting-room fees in Napa and was shocked: $25 is the new $10. And for that, you don't even get to taste the reserve wines.

Napa still gets plenty of wine tourism because it has average Americans convinced that it's worth it. Why waste $5 in a tasting room in Santa Barbara County on its non-Cabernet wines when they only get 90 points, when you can pay $30 to taste wines from the neighbor of the place that scored 99! And you might even be able to see the bottle (though no touching, please.)

Maybe this will go on indefinitely. Maybe Americans can only remember wine facts in shorthand: "Cab good. Napa good. Worth more."

I do know this: I would not like to have my own money invested in the continuation of that belief.

The smell of Mega Purple

Is Mega Purple "wine"? You can add it to wine without listing it on the label, and it's not a filtering agent that's later removed. So technically, I suppose it could be.

I can say with confidence that you have drunk Mega Purple. You can't be a regular US wine drinker without having had some. This is the stuff that has eliminated forever the idea that a $9 wine will be light in color.

Mega Purple is a grape-based compound that is supposed to darken the color of a wine without adding any flavors or aromas. I found out that's not true.

While it is almost flavorless, it definitely has an aroma. I compared it yesterday* to a gymnasium floor -- something I have smelled in many cheap wines over the last few years.

(BTW, congratulations to Guren and Meg for correctly guessing it. You win a No Prize!)

Wineries adore Mega Purple because American consumers are caught up in the idea that for wine, darker is better. Black fruit is better than red fruit. Roses should be red, not light pink. And heaven forbid if a bottle of Zinfandel doesn't look inky.

When your cheap wine does look inky, there's your reason.

But is it only cheap wine? Not likely -- but not easy to prove.

I want to thank Charlie Kidd, winemaker at Flat Creek Estate in Texas, for mixing me up the pictured sample of Mega Purple in water. Texas wineries have an annual problem with grapes not getting enough color because of their short growing season; Mega Purple is a good solution for them. But it wasn't developed in Texas -- it's a California innovation.

However, I have never been offered the chance to taste it here. Whenever I ask, the winery representative responds with something like, "Let me show you our new $6.3 million tasting room."

Mega Purple is like steroids in baseball in the '90s: plenty of people are doing it, and it might be increasing their average, but overall it's bad for everyone because it changes the expectations of what's possible.

If a vineyard manager can't get enough color in California, he's doing something wrong. But wineries aren't satisfied with enough color -- they want The Dark Knight. And they want it every year in every wine. Nobody wants to have the one maroon-colored Cabernet on the shelf.

I wish I could say categorically in every review, "Includes Mega Purple." I'll never be able to do so with authority. You can't say for sure when you see dark purple if you're seeing this additive.

But now I know what it smells like. Many winemakers have better noses than me, so you know what I'm saying -- this stuff is not odorless. And its odor isn't great.

Is there any chance we can ever bring the "red" back to red wine?

Name this wine!

Today I'm going to channel my inner Vaynerchuk with a little visual quiz.

Name this wine! We've all had it.

I guarantee that if you drink at least 25 bottles of wine per year, unless you drink from an extremely limited portfolio, you have had this. (And if you DO only drink first growths or whatever, please spare us.)

Here are my tasting notes:

Very attractive dark purple color. Smells a bit like a freshly washed gym floor: concrete, dust, some hard rubber. Nearly flavorless; I believe I picked up the faintest hint of Welch's grape juice. Abrupt finish. Smooth on the palate with no tannic grip whatsoever.

Can you Name That Wine?