My favorite expensive American white wines last week

Yesterday I wrote about judging expensive white wines at Sunset magazine's Western Wine Awards, but I may have buried the lead: I didn't mention actual wines.

I don't know which wines won, even in our categories. Sunset asks each judge to rate each wine on a 20-point scale and tabulates the results later. But I can tell you which wines I liked best, and why. All of these I scored either 18 or 19.

Schramsberg "Mirabelle" North Coast Brut Rosé NV ($27) Order here
There's no pink category in the Sunset awards, so pink bubblies have to sit with the whites. I liked this one for its red fruit, smoke and citrus notes. This is actually Schramsberg's cheaper rosé, and I was surprised to learn that because I found it quite elegant. I don't think Schramsberg will do well in these awards because one of our tasters, who recognized the bottle said, "I'm not a Schramsberg fan." Well, I am, and have been for years. I guess it's a question of style: their bubblies are often richer and more complex than some others in California, although it's fair to say they don't sell them at bargain prices. But I wouldn't say that about this.

Corison Winery "Corazón" Anderson Valley Gewurztraminer 2007 ($30) Order here
One of California wine's defenders, Steve Heimoff, recently launched a rant against wine writers complaining about oversized California Cabernet in which he wrote, "stop, puh-leeze, trotting out Cathy Corison every time as your poster child for what you think Cabernet should be." True enough, but I think Corison earns this modest recognition on merit, not solely through writers' laziness, and the fact that I loved this wine when tasted blind -- and had forgotten she makes a Gewurztraminer -- validates that theory. What I liked about it is exactly what I like about her Cabs: it's elegant and not overdone. It's mineral-driven, with citrus fruits and ginger on a long finish. Hard to believe two things: 1) an '07 is the current release, and 2) it doesn't taste of age at all.

Robert Sinskey "Abraxas" Los Carneros 2010 ($34) Order here
We weren't given the fanciful name "Abraxas" for this, which would have revealed the winery. But we also weren't given the full blend, perhaps for space reasons: it's 43% Pinot Gris, 32% Pinot Blanc, 15% Gewurztraminer and 10% Riesling. Instead, all we knew was that we were tasting a 2010 "Vin de Terroir." We mocked the name, which seems both pretentious and a way of getting a high price for mixed grapes. But this was one of my three favorite wines of the day: dried apricot with mineral, ginger and floral notes. Great complexity, and it doesn't taste like anything else. There's some claptrap on the winery website about how the name comes from a Greek god I've never heard of: "Abraxas, with the head of a cock, the body of a man and legs of the serpent, was the overlord of the 365 spheres and (just in case you did not make the connection that Abraxas was responsible for the year) the Greek letters of Abraxas add up to 365." Yeah, yeah. I'm glad I didn't read that before tasting it. Nice wine.

Expensive white wines: made to be conservative

Perhaps the best wine I've tasted this year was a white that costs $2225, which I rated 99 points. So I can't be said to have a grudge against pricey white wines.

But realistically, I'm not going to spend my own money on that wine (Domaine de la Romanée Conti Montrachet 2008). Or even 4% of it. However, I will spend over $100 on a red wine in restaurants -- most recently for a 1991 Lopez de Heredia Bosconia at Heirloom Cafe. That wine is a steal at $80 retail. I'm not sure I've ever spent $80 retail for a white wine.

But some people do, which is why Sunset magazine has a very small group of white wines over $60 at its Western Wine Awards, and I ended up judging them.

It has become standard knowledge among Sunset's recurring group of sommeliers, wine buyers and writers that judging the "deep pocket" red wine category is a painful slog. This year, two busy, influential sommeliers showed up late, and judging the $100 Cabernets was their punishment. Spare the oak rod, spoil the sommelier. I laughed at them from my perch at the pricey white wine table. I knew I wouldn't be reaching for roast beef to scrape the tannins off my palate and complaining loudly about the incredible heaviness of being (body, oak, bottles). Not this year anyway.

Pricey whites weren't painful at all. Three of us -- me, a wine buyer and CIA sommelier Traci Dutton, who says our palates are completely different because she likes good wines -- started at $26 to $40, where we tasted (blind, of course) a number of wines I have actually paid my own money for. Then we moved up to $41 to $60, where we encountered a few wines I've paid for by the glass.

We were a little chatty by the time we got to the over $60 whites; wine does that. So we got to talking about the concept. We know what people look for in an $80 red. If they're a Pinot drinker, they want some tiny production wine from a great vineyard. If they're a Cab drinker in 2011, apparently they want their tongue bashed repeatedly by a fist in a velvet glove. You might think I'm being sarcastic, but I've seen the "fist in velvet glove" cliche on several expensive Cabs' marketing materials. (Expensive Cab drinkers, bondage submission fetishists -- same crowd?)

But what exactly do people want in a $75 white?

My argument for biodynamic and organic viticulture

Viticulturist Richard Smart made conventional winemakers around the world feel good earlier this month with a speech in Barcelona in which he appeared to attack organic and biodynamic viticulture.

I wish I had been in Barcelona for the speech and the tapas. All I have to rely on is Lucy Shaw's report for Drinks Business, which makes Smart sound like he's grinding a different axe entirely. The provocative headline reads "Dr. Richard Smart Slams Organics," but his point seems to be that climate change should be our main worry.

His main point against organic viticulture appears to be this quote: "When people buy food they don’t mind choosing products that have been grown on land treated with chemicals, so why should they care about how a wine has been treated?” He also said, "Many of the concepts behind organics and biodynamics are nonsense. They’re not good for the environment." He may have gotten more specific than that, but if so it was not reported.

It's easy to dispute his first quote, and if accurately reported, it makes him look ignorant. Yes, most people don't care about organic produce, but plenty of people DO care, and that's why organics are the fastest-growing product segment in the grocery industry.

I would dispute only one word in his second quote, but it's a crucial one. It's true that SOME of the concepts behind organics and particularly biodynamics are nonsense: the unlimited use of copper springs to mind. Stu Smith would like to add that just because a chemical preparation is organic doesn't mean it's not harsh and dangerous. Stipulated.

Here, in four words that wine businesses won't like, is the entirety of my argument for certified biodynamic and organic viticulture:

I don't trust you.

I'm sorry. I don't mean you Larry, or you Nicholas, or any of you other guys I know personally, whose vineyards I've visited, who I've broken bread with. There are dozens of conventional wineries I trust to not overload their vineyards with toxic chemicals that might be absorbed into the wine grapes because I have had personal contact with them.

Two Smiths, no Madrones at Smith-Madrone

Charlie and Stuart Smith

Visiting with brothers Stuart and Charlie Smith, owners of Smith-Madrone Winery, is like being on stage with a veteran comedy team. They don't tell jokes -- they bicker and prod each other -- but they're hilarious. The act is even better if you're opinionated about wine, because they sure are.

Stu, 63, and Charlie, 67, have been in the Napa Valley wine business since 1971 when Stu, then working as a lifeguard in Santa Monica, got the crazy notion to buy property on Spring Mountain with money raised from family and friends. Land was cheaper then, but Stu and Charlie put in a lot of sweat equity clearing forest that had retaken vineyard land abandoned during Prohibition.

They planted Riesling because they liked it and Cabernet Sauvignon because everyone recommended it for Napa Valley, and from their first vintage in 1977, they have done most of the work themselves, with a staff of only 4 full-time workers, tiny for a 3500 case/year winery.

Their efficiency has made their wines, year after year, one of the best bargains from Napa Valley. Their Cabernet Sauvignon is $45, and until now it has been their top-of-the-line, competing with Cabs from their neighbors priced more than three times as high. For years Stu mocked the idea of creating a higher-priced reserve wine, taking a vineyard's best grapes out of the main Cabernet.

However, they've finally made a reserve, which gave me the opportunity to give them the kind of hard time they give everybody else. (I mentioned the word "biodynamic" and got a 15-minute joust, after which Stu said, "I'm glad to hear your points so I can be better prepared for future arguments," and, "There are occasions when I'm wrong. But it's been a while.")

I'm going to try to capture the comedic flavor of a conversation with Stu and Charlie Smith, but to hear them yourself, check out the video (at the bottom of the post).

Me: I'm surprised and disappointed to see you're doing a reserve wine. Why do it after all these years?

A conversation with Albiera Antinori

Albiera Antinori enjoys biscotti and Vin Santo (who doesn't?)

As international companies go, Antinori is quite unusual. It's family run, and has been since the 1200s. It invests all over the world, but doesn't seem to do so with an eye toward the largest profits.

And it's mostly run by women: the three daughters of family patriarch Piero Antinori.

I had lunch with Albiera Antinori at the company's restaurant in Firenze, and over superb plates of roasted octopus and potatoes, followed by shrimp and squid with Tuscan white beans, we talked about her company's unusual choices of investment.

Beyond their 1800 hectares in Italy, they also have ventures in Napa Valley (Antica, as well as a partnership with Chateau Ste Michelle in running Stag's Leap Wine Cellars), Washington (Col Solare, also a joint venture with Chateau Ste Michelle) and Chile (Albis, a joint venture with local entrerpreneur Eduardo Matte). But that's not all.

"We have 80 hectares in Hungary, but it's not in the Tokaji area," she says. "We have 20 hectares in Romania. Romania has a long history of wine. But these wines are just for the local markets."

Me: But why do it? There aren't many family members to go around. Wouldn't you be better off concentrating where you know the area?

Bordeaux is all about anticipation

Ripe grapes from a great vintage

Bordeaux is all about anticipation. A little while after writing this post, I will open a wine to have with dinner. I don't know what it will be, but it won't be a Bordeaux: I haven't anticipated it enough.

When you have a great bottle of Bordeaux from a great vintage -- or better yet, a case of such bottles -- you put them in a special spot in your cellar. You don't want to move them too much, but you find yourself running your fingers along the box when you're nearby. Once in a while you lift a bottle, cradling it like a baby.

Unlike most wines, you're not thinking about what it might taste like now. You're thinking about the event that might spur you to open it -- a special birthday, a wedding anniversary. And you might even salivate thinking about how delicious it will be.

This post is an advertorial

In this way, it's possible to enjoy a bottle of great Bordeaux many, many times before you ever even open it, but of course your Bordeaux daydreams are never as rich and rewarding as the actual evening that you choose to experience it.

People buy Bordeaux futures for several reasons. There's tradition, because Bordeaux has been sold this way for generations. There are practical considerations, because if you don't buy Bordeaux pre-release, you'll pay a lot more when the bottle finally appears in stores -- if it appears at all. That's the primary reason to buy Bordeaux futures, especially from a highly touted vintage like 2010: To ensure that you can have your share. There's no other way.

But there's something more to buying Bordeaux futures than just commerce, security and tradition. There is … anticipation.

You don't know the exact day, a year or two from now, when the bottles will arrive. But you know that they will. You will have many knocks on the door between now and then, but in the back of your mind, every time the UPS man pulls up at the door, you will picture your bottles of 2010 Bordeaux. Of course they're not here yet; it's crazy. It's too soon. You haven't gotten the email, and of course you would have known, because the company you ordered them from has been very good about keeping you posted on all developments . In fact, you've even ordered some wine from them since. That delivery driver coming up the street, he can't possibly be carrying my 2010 Bordeaux.

Can he?

No, he's not. Maybe you got another wine shipment, from a different part of the world. Those wines, delicious as they might be, will all be drunk and forgotten before your Bordeaux arrives. They may have slots in your wine refrigerator, but they will never have the space in your mind.

It's true that ordering Bordeaux pre-arrival is the way to get the best prices. But it's an even better bargain when you consider the great bonus: You get as much as two solid years of anticipation.

PLCB price resistance proves government shouldn't retail

The Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board is the largest of this country's state-run monopolies. It buys all the wine and liquor for the state, sets prices, and has enormous control on what Pennsylvanians can buy without driving to New Jersey.

On Wednesday, the PLCB proved it really doesn't understand wine.

The PLCB paid some money to PR Newswire to trumpet a press release in which it rejected more than 400 price increases from vendors. PLCB chairman PJ Stapleton called it a move to protect consumers.

Stapleton's press-release quote reads: "Too many Pennsylvanians are still living with significant financial strains, given the continued challenging economic environment. Maintaining current shelf prices ensures people can enjoy their favorite wine or spirit without sacrificing their family budget."

This is the problem: What if the producer of my favorite wine decides they'll just sell it to retailers in New York and California who accept their intended price increase?