On the battle over "USDA Organic" wine

Rarely as a wine journalist have I been as happy to write a story as I was this one on the future of "organic wines" in the Los Angeles Times.

It's a story that almost every other media outlet has been getting wrong. The argument against adding sulfites is very convincing, if you don't know wine, and most environmental journalists don't.

Maybe -- just maybe -- my story can lead to a healthier environment, better wines, and more informed consumers. Wow, what a dream.

This blog post isn't intended to retell the story, so please go here and read it. What I want to do is add some perspective and answer some questions that I couldn't address with a print newspaper word count.

I interviewed a lot more winemakers than I quoted. In particular, I interviewed zealots from the "natural wine" crowd -- people who risk using only native yeasts and believe in minimal intervention. These folks sneer at mass-market winemaking, yet all of them said they add sulfites to their wines when necessary.

The reusable NPA bottle

The one that most surprised me was the Natural Process Alliance. This is the one winery in America that really doesn't need to add sulfites. Their wines are sold in reusable stainless steel bottles, only within 100 miles of the winery, and are intended to be consumed within a week. I don't know of a more environmentally concerned, idealistic winery.

And yet, it's even on their website: "Sulfur is used only when absolutely necessary and in very small quantities." Hardy Wallace, better known as a wine blogger than the NPA's sales and marketing rep, explained that for some batches of wine, it's a choice between adding sulfites or pouring them down the drain.

Matt Lickliter of Lioco Winery says the issue should not be whether sulfites are allowed in "USDA Organic wine," but how much should be allowed. He suggested a 50 ppm (parts per million) limit, which would probably be fought by most big companies, but would allow dedicated vintners to make their organically farmed, lovingly processed wines "organic." He wasn't the only winery guy to tell me that some of his wines exceed 10 ppm without any sulfur additions, because sulfites are naturally occurring.

What green-minded consumers might do is look at the substitutes people are buying for "organic wine" because that category is so small. "Certified sustainable," in California, allows you literally to throw all of your plastic trash in the Napa River. One year ago, "natural wine" was almost always made by idealists, but once the category got some traction, wineries without the same environmental commitment began to realize that "natural wine" has no standards whatsoever.

Currently the best type of wine for Earth lovers is "biodynamic" by default. It's a religion that's more than a little nutty, but it does force grape growers to lavish care on their vines and their soil. But its science is indefensible.

"USDA Organic wine" could be more widely produced, available and consumed than it is now. And it's important, because it's the easiest green-friendly category to understand. But it will require people who are passionate about the issue to study it more deeply. Ask some winemakers, ask some farmers, educate yourself.

Why all wine lovers just don't get along

Most of us who love wine operate under a basic misconception.

We think that when we love a wine, other aficionados will too.

We also think there are other people buying wine who are complete idiots because they disagree with us.

The problem is this: It's not just that individual tastes differ. It's that among wine lovers, there are two incompatible worldviews.

This is a subset of Constellation Brands' groundbreaking work from several years ago on the 6 types of wine consumers. They are:

Overwhelmed, 23%, buy wine but don't know anything about it
Satisfied sippers, 14%, buy the same brand
Savvy shoppers, 15%, look for discounts
Traditionalists, 16%, like old wineries and are brand-loyal

That leaves two categories: Image seekers (20%), and Enthusiasts (12%). The former spend the most money on wine; the latter expend the most verbiage on it. These are the only two who care enough about wine to read articles or blog posts about it.

And like a marriage entered into after one date, they are stuck together even though they're incompatible, with verbal sparks flying all the time.

I find the term "image seekers" pejorative, so I'm going to change it to "Quality Seekers" for the rest of this essay, because I think it better illustrates the psychological divide.

"Quality Seekers" want the best wines available. They might drink across several categories, but they're swayed by high ratings so they tend to drink mostly varieties that receive them; i.e., Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay. If they saw a print article about, say, Lake County wines with five wine reviews, they would seek out the highest-rated one.

It's a reasonable position; why not try the best wine? Yet it is constantly attacked by the other category, "Enthusiasts." These are the idealists who demand natural yeasts, unusual varietals and interesting experiments.

Because Enthusiasts don't like numerical ratings, many have developed a better vocabulary to describe wines than Quality Seekers. In fact, many are beautifully literate, and their attacks on the 100-point scale, corporate wines, Chardonnay grown in non-traditional areas, and various other perceived offenses should be convincing.

What they won't accept is that Quality Seekers don't care about any of that. You can lecture a Quality Seeker about unique Jura wines until you're blue in the face, but when the wine list comes, the Quality Seeker is going to spend his money on a wine that some known critic has tested and approved. It might be a Chardonnay, it might be a Rhone blend Robert Parker likes, but it's not going to be some weird wine recommended by some weirdo who thinks it's interesting to make wine under a cover of fungus.

Both sides have advocates. The leading Quality Seeker is, of course, Robert Parker. Wine Spectator is in this category, as is Wine Enthusiast and every other US wine magazine with the possible exception of Wine & Spirits. This crowd is as professional, talented and knowledgeable as anyone in the business, and loves wine as much as anyone. If you want somebody to taste 50 Merlots and find the best 5, they're your men (and they are, without exception, men.)

The leading Enthusiast is Jancis Robinson, the best writer in the world at explaining the lure of unknown wines without sounding condescending. Eric Asimov of the New York Times is probably the leading US Enthusiast, though he is hampered by a Quality Seeker tasting format.

The great majority of well-known wine bloggers are Enthusiasts. There are exceptions: Alder Yarrow of Vinography is more of a Quality Seeker. Steve Heimoff recently wrote "Snore" on his blog in response to the idea of natural wines; he's a Quality Seeker. But I'm hard-pressed to name another major wine blogger who isn't more of an Enthusiast.

Yet if you look at social media like Cellar Tracker and Wine Berzerkers, those attract more Quality Seekers than Enthusiasts. Both get mixed crowds, but if Constellation's numbers were right, there are 5 Quality Seekers for every 3 Enthusiasts, and the ratio seems higher on those bulletin boards, perhaps because the Enthusiasts are busy writing their own blogs.

The classic Enthusiast arguments are: Native grapes, minimal intervention, let the wine reflect its terroir. The classic Quality Seeker argument is: I don't care what you did to make it as long as it tastes great. Enthusiasts scream their arguments at Quality Seekers, who simply don't care.

Here it is in a single word.
Quality Seekers want "great."
Enthusiasts want "interesting."

Now, why is Napa Valley still the center of the American wine world? (I can hear the sharp intake of breath from the Enthusiasts as I type that.)

It's simple: Quality Seekers spend more. Napa wineries understand that. And since they're running businesses, why shouldn't they pursue the greatest profits?

Enthusiasts know how many interesting wines are available for $25, so they're reluctant to spend much more than that. Why should they? You can always tell an Enthusiast from this kind of comment: "Sure, that Napa Cab might be good, but why spend $100 on it when there are so many great wines from the Languedoc for so much less?"

Quality Seekers would spend four times as much to get a wine that's 10% better. Maybe not every day, but that's the way they look at life. They want the best and they're willing to pay for it.

Both sides like new discoveries, but the type of discovery is different. Enthusiasts want new frontiers: wine from Moldova or Uruguay. Quality Seekers never tire of finding a new producer making an established wine: a great new Napa Cab, a mailing-list-only Russian River Chardonnay.

I have the opportunity, or curse, to write for multiple outlets. It's not always as good as a weekly paycheck with benefits, but it gives me the chance to try to see the wine world from both sides of this divide. Some publications want articles for Quality Seekers; others are strictly for Enthusiasts, and with others it might depend on the individual editor.

What strikes me is how deaf both sides are to the other. The 100-point scale debate, for example: I'm always astounded that Enthusiasts want to take information away from Quality Seekers, and don't even try to understand why they would want it.

Meanwhile, on the Quality Seekers side, they look at Enthusiasts the way people with jobs looked at tie-dyed student protesters. Yeah, yeah, you love the sound of your own voices. The louder you yell, the less I'm going to listen.

It really is an incompatible marriage.

But for 2011, here's a suggestion. You want to get people on the other side to pay attention to you? You have to speak their language.

If you're an Enthusiast and you really want Quality Seekers to drink more California Barbera, you need to couch it in their terms. It's the red variety best suited to California. It's really the best wine with dinner. The top winemakers are making it. Here are the top-rated ones.

Quality Seekers don't generally seem to care much what Enthusiasts think. But if you're a Quality Seeker and you find yourself in a restaurant with a sommelier who won't shut up about terroir, just explain "I care mostly about quality. I love wine as much as you do, but I'd rather drink a great wine I know."

Next up: I try to get Nancy Pelosi and Haley Barbour to hold hands.

Simple sparkling wine advice: drink more, worry less

It's never too early for bubbly

This week every wine writer in the world is advising you on sparkling wines -- top Champagnes, best values, offbeat oddities, safe choices.

I'm going to take a different, more straightforward approach.

Good sparkling wine costs more than good still wine because it requires more effort. The wine is fermented twice; once in a tank or barrel, and again in the bottle to produce the bubbles.

So unlike still wine, which Fred Franzia proved can sometimes be produced drinkably for as little as $2 a bottle, there's a lower limit to how much you can pay for bubbly and not expect to get swill.

What is that lower limit? About $10 for Prosecco, which is made more cheaply -- essentially carbonated like soda pop -- and about $15 for everything else.

So that's my simple advice: Spend at least that much.

If you think you don't like sparkling wine -- or you think it gives you a headache -- you almost certainly have only been drinking the cheap stuff. I can't count the number of people for whom I've had the pleasure to pour their first glass of good sparkling wine. It's a mind-opening experience; bubbly really does make life better.

But you don't have to spend $200 on a bottle of Cristal to experience this (although Cristal really is delicious).

However, you do have to resign yourself to spending $15 a bottle (nothing against Prosecco, which is a fun wine, but it is to good sparkling wine what Velveeta is to cheddar.)

I have in the past recommended specific bottles -- I had an article on this topic in Decanter this year* -- and every other wine writer in the world is doing just that. But having recently seen grocery stores full of Cook's and Andre and Asti Spumante, I think it's less important to send people on a single-bottle hunt, and more important to stress the basics.

(*Decanter keeps ratings behind a pay wall, but I will reveal that I recommended 2 Schramsbergs, 2 Gloria Ferrers, a J and a Roederer Estate.)

So spend at least $15; $20-$25 is better still.

I would buy, literally, any Champagne and not worry about it. Seriously. If it's actually from France's Champagne region, give it a shot. I'm saying this because I asked myself this question: Would I rather order a glass of my least-favorite Champagne brand, or a glass of a recommended Cava or Prosecco? For me, it's the former.

Or I would buy any of these fine American brands:

Argyle
Domaine Carneros
Gloria Ferrer
Gruet
J
Roederer
Scharffenberger
Schramsberg

And just don't worry about it. Drink more bubbly. There's a joke about oral sex that really should apply to Champagne or top-level American sparkling wine: Last night I had the worst glass of bubbly I had all year. It was terrific.

A World Without Sparkling Wine

I tossed and turned. I passed a bar where people gathered to drink sullenly.

I passed a wedding, a solemn affair where the betrothed promised to do what was necessary to maintain the species. The bride grimaced.

I arrived at a dinner party. The host greeted me at the door with a firm handshake and a shot of Bourbon. I downed it.

Inside, the guests were staring down at the table. "What's going on here?" I asked.

"It's Greg's birthday. We're waiting for the serving of the birthday cocktails."

Oh. I turned to look at the television. Another ship had not survived the christening ritual of being shot at with a 21-gun salute. No wonder our export economy is suffering.

Feeling stuffy, I went into the kitchen where the hostess was busy muddling.

"I'm sorry I'm a little late with these," she said.

It's OK, I told her, and grabbed a pestle to help. Had she been to our neighbor's baby shower?

She had. Another sad affair, with all the women crying at the end, she said. Although the Cosmos had been perfectly fine.

I might have something to celebrate soon, I said. My book proposal looked like it had found a home.

"Do you want a chocolate fountain, or should we rent the bouncy house?" she replied.

"No, this is really special for me," I said. "I want to open a really expensive Cabernet and drink it until I pass out on the couch. No wait … maybe I'll open several and a group of us can gather and compare tasting notes."

She clapped me on the back. "There's the spirit," she said. We carried the cocktails in to the crowd.

I suggested a toast. "To what," my friend asked, puzzled. "Let us take a sip of this cocktail in memory of the people we once loved who are no longer with us," I said. We drank solemnly.

Chopin was playing softly in the background. The hostess tried to get some conversation going. "So what do you think of this latest embargo imposed by the European Fascists' Union?"

"It's all Hitler's fault. If only Germany had had some motivation to use its army to invade France back when the world was strong enough to resist them. Instead, the Nazi party was smart, they husbanded their resources and eventually they were able to buy what they couldn't have conquered."

"Oh, let's talk more about politics," one of my friends said. "It's the most fun thing you can do at a dinner party, except perhaps talking about religion."

I sipped my cocktail. It was strong, but it had a slight fizz from the club soda. Or … could it be …

I woke up sweating. A world without sparkling wine! What a nightmare.

I ran into my fridge to the bottle of Domaine Carneros Brut Rose I hadn't finished last night … but it was EMPTY. AIIIIIIEEEEEEE!

THE END

Drinking wine in the real word: a visit to Florida

Most of my friends in the San Francisco area are involved in food and wine in some way. Even those who aren't are passionate about it.

So it's an interesting wakeup call to leave this gourmet-obsessed bubble and visit other parts of America. In this case, I went to a heavy wine-consuming state, Florida. In 2007, Floridians drank 4.09 gallons per person, compared to 4.53 gallons in California. Florida is not Kansas (1.34 gallons per capita); wine is sold in grocery stores and available at most restaurants, even cheap ones.

It's fair to say that the average Floridian is more comfortable with wine, and more knowledgeable, than the average American. Which made my experiences there all the more illuminating.

Stone crab season had just started, so we went to Crabby Bill's, a chain restaurant, to enjoy some claws. Crabby Bill's has an extensive cocktail list and a fair amount of beer. I asked the waitress for a wine list, and she pointed to a two-sided cardboard advertisement on our table for a Merlot I've forgotten. I said I wanted a white wine, and she grabbed a similar advertisement from a nearby table. Apparently these were the only wines in the restaurant. The white was St. Francis Sonoma County Chardonnay; I ordered it for $26 (it's about $12 in stores) and was glad to have it. While it was probably chosen randomly by the restaurant's wine distributor, it was a good pairing with crab.

My friend told the waitress, "he works in wine." She asked, "Is Blackstone a good wine?" How do you answer that? I said, "It's OK, but I think Ravenswood is a better brand for the same price." She nodded and thanked me for the information. (And Joel Peterson, you can thank me later.)

Now, before you start commenting, "You can't judge Florida by Crabby Bill's, you cultural imperialist," let me add that I went to Bern's Steakhouse, which still has probably America's finest wine list, and sommelier Brad Dixon went 1-for-2 in finding me some great, reasonably priced older wines to go with our ribeye (loved an '88 Beaune; not so high on an '82 Haut Medoc). I was impressed by the wine list at Datz, a Tampa deli where my favorite dish was the chili-cheese dog. And I visited a few wine shops, both small and large.

There are good wines to be had in Florida, and people who know about them. But the culture of wine overall is much closer to the Crabby Bill's experience than the Bern's experience.

In fact, my best wine shop experience was not at Bern's neglected-looking wine shop, but at the massive Total Wine chain on Dale Mabry Highway in Tampa. Store employees were constantly at hand, constantly cheerful and helpful, and I didn't hear one wrong or misleading thing about wine, whether we asked about the 2005 Meursault or the strawberry-flavored White Zinfandel. I even got to sample some decent Champagne and Sauternes, which took the edge off of pre-Christmas traffic.

I can see why Total has been successful there; they weren't standoffish at all, and some smaller shops were intimidating; they reminded me of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons. And I got that intimidated feel from a number of my Florida friends. The overall wine culture in Florida doesn't seem to be one of open invitation and experimentation, but rather of a cloistered club that requires study. Is that wine for most of America?

It's also not a culture of splurging. Most restaurant wines sell for under $30 a bottle, and retail for under $15. People I told that I spent $63 for a 1988 Burgundy at Bern's thought I was crazy to spend that much money on a bottle of wine. Some asked me what a $100 bottle of wine tastes like. How do you answer that?

Restaurant staffs also don't have the level of training you'd hope for. I was in a small seafood restaurant near the beach, which had a reasonable wine list (we got Chateau Ste Michelle Riesling for $26), when a new shipment came in. The bartenders trying to put away the wine were talking out loud about a kind of wine they'd never heard of before. I offered my assistance. Turns out it was a Lodi Viognier, de-alced down to 13.5%; a very nice pairing for grilled white-flesh fish, which was exactly what I was eating. I told them, "Viognier is a grape, like Chardonnay. It tends to taste like apples. You should tell people this wine tastes a little like apples, is maybe a little floral, and will be great with fish." They, and the servers, were grateful. Then I realized I hadn't been asking for wine advice when I ordered, and maybe I should try it.

You can probably guess what every server from then on said: "This wine is very popular." Nobody (Bern's excluded) told me what a wine might taste like, or whether it was good with the dish, or anything about the region. That was a huuuge difference from San Francisco, where the busboy will tell you about his favorite Muscadet to have with oysters.

Yet there were so many positives. Most mid-range places had several wines by the glass. Generally the whites were stronger than the reds, which makes sense considering Florida's climate.

That said, I don't know if the average person cares at all about even the basic whites-with-fish theory (yeah, I know, Pinot Noir with salmon, reds with a fish if the sauce is hearty enough, spare me).

One of my friends has given up meat, so she ordered seafood in parchment at Bern's, and we had a dozen oysters. I insisted that we not drink the Bordeaux they had just opened with the oysters, and she rebelled, pointing to other tables that were drinking red with fish. She said, "They're enjoying it." And I'm sure they were. I wasn't going to go over to their table and say "stop having that Joseph Phelps Insignia with oysters." I did order a glass of Kabinett Riesling and had her try them side by side with the seafood, and I made a convert to basic food-and-wine pairing right there.

But it did remind me of how most Americans relate to wine. Neighboring tables full of people were enjoying a special splurge at a temple to wine. So they ordered expensive, new vintage (nobody near us had anything older than 2006), highly rated red wines, regardless of the food they were having. It was James Suckling's dream: "I'm 93 points on that." Forget context, forget pairing.

And yet -- my friend was right, they WERE having a good time. Or at least they seemed to be. Although I noticed that the table right next to us only drank half of their Insignia.

When I was introduced to people as some sort of wine expert, inevitably I was asked, "What's your favorite wine?" How do you answer that? Eventually I figured I would give them some knowledge they could use soon -- Dec. 31 is right around the corner -- and started saying, "I really like American sparkling wines, like Gruet and Schramsberg and Gloria Ferrer and Scharffenberger. I think they're much better value than Champagne, and taste better than Prosecco or Cava." Which I believe.

I hope they listened, because every grocery store has cases of the worst sparkling wines lined up at the entrance and by the cash registers: Asti Spumante, Andre, Cook's, all that crap. No wonder Americans don't like sparkling wine! They're told they must drink it once a year and when they do, it's lousy. I ordered a glass of bubbly several times (I do that everywhere anyway) and occasionally was asked what I was celebrating. Life! Tuesday!

Anyway, this isn't a serious survey, just a list of anecdotes, but I feel re-energized to re-enter some of the online arguments I get into about wine. The online wine community can get preachy about native yeast and unfiltered wines and alcohol content, etc. None of that stuff came up when I was in Florida. I cannot imagine asking the waitress at Crabby Bill's if she knew if the Chardonnay on the advertising flier was made using native yeast.

So it was great to visit, and drink and enjoy some of the mass-market wines we never see on wine lists here. But it's also great to be back in our little gourmet bubble, although I'm already missing black beans and yellow rice. If anybody knows a good source for that out here, please let me know.

Oh, and I would like to apologize to the farmers in Madeira 100 years ago who made the 1910 Barbeito Madeira Sercial that I ordered by the glass ($50) in Bern's dessert room. I knocked it over and spilled half of it onto the menu, and when I tried to lick it off, my wife took the menu away from me. The tragedy!

Fortunately, my glass was half full.

Rosenblum tasting notes: a tease

Buy a half-case or more of wine on line and get 1/2 off shipping with code "blake43"

Rosenblum Cellars winemaker John Kane

I'm not sure how many of my readers know I write a monthly column for Wine Review Online, an online-only wine magazine published by Robert Whitley.

WRO's business model is to let you read columns for free, while the wine reviews sit behind a pay wall. A big part of its appeal is that the columnists are all well-established wine writers, including a former editor of mine, Linda Murphy. The idea is that you (or somebody) will pay to read a database of reviews after you read the interesting writing we produce.

WRO isn't the only site to charge for wine reviews: Wine Spectator and the Wine Advocate, the big names, charge for access to their databases. A big difference is that WRO has no print component at all. We also have no Robert Parker and no James Laube, for better and worse. There would be no point in competing with them to find the biggest Cabernets in the world (good luck with that, Mr. Suckling); perhaps we are a worthwhile alternative for people who want something more and/or different. If you try to use those guys to find a good Riesling or Burgundy or Tokaji Aszu, you're going to overpay for inferior products because it's just not what they're good at. The idea is that somewhere on the strong WRO roster will be somebody who knows what they're talking about on many types and styles of wine.

My own style of reviewing there usually involves writing about wineries and regions whose people and story I find compelling, much as I do here, except with a greater focus on the wines themselves. I like to think I can objectively evaluate any wine -- hence the fact that I had Big House White from a 3-liter box with Thanksgiving dinner because I thought it was perfect for it. But I enjoy a bottle a lot more when there's a tale behind it.

So I thought I would give you a little taste of what's behind the pay wall at Wine Review Online, with a couple of reviews that accompanied my column last week on Rosenblum Cellars. You can read that column here.

That column came about because I like to think I'm open-minded. I had been picking on Rosenblum Cellars in tiny ways on this blog for a while after they were bought by Diageo, using them as an example of a winery that had turned into a brand. Their winemaker, John Kane, one of the few holdovers from the days of Kent Rosenblum, wanted a chance to respond, so I gave it to him. We tasted wines together and talked about the changes. And I ultimately decided to give the column to WRO, rather than run it here, because I wanted to add my reviews to its database.

But that also meant that my blog readers who have seen me sniping at Rosenblum Cellars can't see what I think of Kane's wines. So I'm going to run a couple of my reviews here, two good and one less so, to show you the kind of stuff behind the pay wall at Wine Review Online. Perhaps a subscription is a great Christmas gift?

Note: Below is my original copy. If they read better on Wine Review Online, it is because they have been edited by the estimable Michael Franz.

Rosenblum Carla's Reserve Contra Costa County Zinfandel 2007 ($35)
This used to be a vineyard designate; now it's a "reserve." Why? K-Mart bought half the vineyard to build a parking lot, and Rosenblum, which has access to the neighboring vineyard, is hedging its future by changing the name now. Try this now; the blackberry fruit is so juicy that I felt like I could taste the blackberry seeds. Great acidity and nice savory notes of toasted almond and sea salt, with a hint of slate in the aroma. 15.6% alcohol. Screw K-Mart. Shop smart; shop S-Mart. 92

Rosenblum "Heritage Clones" California Petite Sirah 2007 ($18)
Blackberry fruit that barely outweighs a meaty, gamy character with notes of black pepper, graphite and black licorice. A wild child. 14.8% alcohol. 92 (Buy it here)

Rosenblum Maggie's Reserve Sonoma Valley Zinfandel 2007 ($45)
Cofermented with 2.5% whole cluster Semillon, an interesting technique that leads to a layered wine -- black currant, toast, alcohol -- that comes across as disjointed. 15.8% alcohol. 87

Port tastes better when stomped by feet

Alistair and Gillyanne Robertson at Quinta de Vargellas

When Port magnate Alistair Robertson got his hands on an additional brand, Croft, in 2001, he knew immediately the first technical improvement to make.

He brought back foot-treading.

Crushing Port grapes the traditional way, by foot, is the key to quality, says Robertson, chairman of Taylor Fladgate.

"Feet are better than machines because they're soft," Robertson says. "You don't want any of the seeds crushed. The padding of the feet is the perfect size. It's the best possible way."

The Croft workers weren't used to treading, so at first they resisted. They have since given in, swayed by being paid several hours of overtime, but they do the job without music, which makes it a lot different from the nightly bacchanal at Robertson's best winery, Quinta de Vargellas.

The Douro Valley is appealing for hikers

Robertson invited me to Portugal's Douro Valley during harvest season to get my legs -- and everything else -- dirty by pitching in to foot-tread some grapes. How could I resist?

As a guest, I spent my day lazing on the slow train from Oporto, while my soon-to-be coworkers were busy harvesting the grapes we would crush. They put in a long day -- 8 hours picking, 4 hours treading.

I was having a cocktail when they started the most important part of treading: the first two hours, called "the cut," when most of the skins are broken and the juice released. During this time, the treaders march methodically back and forth across the granite "lagar" that holds the grapes like a search team looking for a needle in a grape stack.

Then the keyboard player arrives, everybody takes a slug of brandy, and the mood lightens as everyone's clothing darkens.

"There's a song they sing: 'Liberty, liberty, now my feet are my own'," Robertson says.

By the time they let guests like me in the lagar, it's a rollicking, messy party. The keyboardist is pumping the rhythm, folks are dancing, everyone's purple and there aren't many inhibitions. One local woman followed me around and pulled my shorts down at every opportunity. Perhaps it's a local custom.

I'm 6-feet tall, and the juice did not quite reach up to my knees. The grape soup wasn't as warm as I expected because wineries add sulphur to the mix to prevent fermentation for the first two days.

Fortunately, harvest nights in Douro Valley are still quite warm, because one would get plenty wet even if one's fellow treaders weren't splashing and smearing grape must on each other.

While dancing around in grape juice, it's hard to believe there's any real scientific basis to believe it makes better Port. But apparently even the unpredictability of amorous drunks' movements helps the process, says winemaker David Guimaraens.

This machine can't  replace feet

Port is made from several different varieties of indigenous grapes. In the past, they were all planted helter-skelter in the vineyards. In the last 15 years, science has come to the Douro Valley in a big way, and new plantings tend to be in blocks which are best for each particular variety. This means that they come to the lagar in batches that the foot-treaders must blend together.

"Nowadays it's possible to have a whole lagar full of (grape variety) Touriga Nacional," Guimaraens says. "But it's actually better to crush them together. They marry sooner."

Rapid blending is important because Port is made differently from table wine. The grapes are only allowed to ferment for three days, and then alcohol is added to kill the yeast and stop the fermentation. The unfermented grape sugar is the reason Port wines are sweet.

"It's very important to move the juice," Guimaraens says.

I'm glad to have played my part, and to have kept my shorts on -- most of the time.

Tasting notes for some of the best wines I didn't tread on:


Taylor Fladgate Late Bottled Vintage 2004
Excellent complexity, with notes of cherries and dried plums and raisin flavors that intensify on the finish. 93 points.

Taylor Fladgate 20 Year Old Tawny
A great balance between fruit flavors and the caramel/nut flavors of oxidation. Think dried cherries, prunes and raisin cookies. Good acidity keeps it rolling. One of my favorites for holiday drinking. 94 points

Taylor Fladgate 40 Year Old Tawny
A great contemplative wine, with all the primary fruit gone and delicious secondary flavors: hazelnut, cocoa, Nutella and creme brulee crust. The extremely long finish would be wonderful while watching a fire crackle. 95 points

Quinta de Vargellas 2008
It must be the foot-treading: Layers of flavor, mostly fruits like fresh and dried plums and cherries, that reveal themselves over an extremely long finish. Outstanding now, so it's very tempting to rob the cradle. 98 points

Fonseca 10 Year Old Tawny
The best 10-year-old in Taylor's portfolio, this wine has nice raisin and dried plum flavors  and some hazelnut on the long finish. 92 points.


Fonseca 2007 Vintage Port
Well-balanced favors of dried red plum and sugar beets. Seamless, with a finish that's not overly sweet. 93 points


Fonseca 20 Year Old Tawny
More potent than the Taylor Fladgate, with strong golden raisin and raisin cookie flavors. Rich texture and oomph for those seeking it. 91 points

The Douro Valley