Immigration story has a happy ending.

Johannes Reinhardt

Ready for a happy ending?

Three years ago I wrote about Johannes Reinhardt, a winemaker in New York who was denied a green card by the US government and might have been forced to go back to Germany. The post title was "USA to foreign winemaker: We don't need you."

But the US government changed its mind. Reinhardt got the green card.

"My wife and myself, we did two things: We prayed and we cried," Reinhardt said. "Our faith carried us through. Without it we would have given up."

Reinhardt is the winemaker, for now, at Anthony Road Wine Company in the Finger Lakes. In the next month, he expects to open his own winery, Kemmeter, about 500 meters down the road. Proving the value to our economy of legal immigration, he expects to hire two or three employees.

In 2010 Reinhardt was denied a green card by an unknown bureaucrat from the US Citizenship and Immigration Services in Nebraska. The USCIS didn't see "winemaking" as a unique skill needed by US industry.

Thieves walk out of Texas store with cases of Duckhorn -- and come back for more

The PR department at Duckhorn Vineyards sent me the news video below, and why not? What better praise for your product than two men risking jail time to heist it?

It's a really brazen crime -- they walk into the store, load up a cart with cases of Duckhorn Merlot, and walk out. Then, a couple days later, they come back for the Duckhorn Cabernet. Really guys, you ought to try the Sauvignon Blanc; that's my favorite Duckhorn wine lately. Perhaps there's not as much resale value, though. Hey, does anyone know how much Duckhorn Cab sells for on the street?

I guess Duckhorn is now the Ford F-250 of wines: Most Stolen in the United States. Congratulations!

Here's the official statement from Duckhorn:

Though we appreciate the brand loyalty, clearly good taste doesn’t mean good judgment (or morals). We hope you enjoy this short news clip, which has inspired our new company motto: Duckhorn Vineyards, “Not Just Any Type of Hooch!”

Our cellar recommendation--10 to 20 years!

View more videos at: http://nbcdfw.com.

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What is Fine Champagne Cognac? The mystery explored

Maybe you knew this already, but I didn't. Every time I saw a bottle of booze labeled as "Fine Champagne Cognac," I wondered, what does that mean?

Also, why doesn't the Champagne Bureau complain about an infringement on their turf?

Here's the basic answer. There are six grape-growing regions in Cognac, and the two considered the best are called Grande Champagne and Petit Champagne. A Cognac called "Fine Champagne" is made from grapes from both regions, at least 50% from Grande Champagne.

Now, how did these regions come to be named that? Well, the answer people in Cognac give you is that "Champagne" comes from a French word for chalky soil, which makes sense.

However, there's a link missing in this history of the word. The Champagne region where the bubbly comes from was named by the Romans after Campania, south of Rome, because they thought the rolling hills looked similar. How the word got south to the Cognac region, I don't know.

It's worth noting that for most of their history, the Charente region that includes Cognac has been wealthier and better known worldwide than the original Champagne.

Unexpected find: A great Semillon from Amador County

Mark McKenna

Sometimes you taste a great wine and you need to know more about it. I had a delicious Semillon -- fresh, with green fruit and plenty of character -- from the place in California I least expected that grape: Amador County. Then I had it again at a group dinner full of wine experts and I found myself overfilling my glass until ... hey, where'd that wine go?

So I had to talk to Andis Wines winemaker Mark McKenna.

The Sierra Foothills are known for ripe Zinfandel, and that has plenty of fans. But McKenna, the winemaker at Andis Wines, says that Amador County is so much more than people realize.

What do you like best about Amador County terroir? 
We have the most diverse series of microclimates of anywhere in California. We have a lot of different soils. There isn't a flat plot of land in the entire area. Zinfandel is a large part of what we do, but it may not be the best thing here. That might be Barbera.

Would people plant Zin there now, if they were starting from scratch?
I don't think so. My take on Zinfandel is this. You can take a map of California and throw darts at it, and wherever that dart lands, you can grow Zinfandel.
Foothills Zinfandel is unique, but it's just different, it's not necessarily better.

Partida is where Tequila meets Jack Daniel's

José Valdez

Partida is popular Tequila for several reasons: It's well-marketed, production standards are impeccable -- and it tastes a bit like Jack Daniel's.

Partida master distiller José Valdez was in San Francisco recently, and he talked about the Jack Daniel's effect.

Partida's Reposado and Anejo versions are matured in once-used Jack Daniel's barrels. And to ensure the JD flavor, those barrels are used only once by Partida before they're sold to other Tequila distilleries.

"We did some tasting with Cognac barrels and other types of barrels," Valdez says. "We found that with the flavor of our product, Jack Daniel's is perfect."

Valdez, 32, is the youngest master distiller in Mexico, with clean-cut movie-star looks. He got into the profession in what seems like a very Mexican way: his brother knew a guy.

"I was an industrial engineer," says Valdez, who graduated from Pan American University. "I used to work in electronic engineering: cellphones, computers, servers. I didn't feel identified with any brand."

Partida founder Gary Shansby and his partner went to visit Guadalajara, where Valdez' brother works as a lawyer.

"They said, 'I'm looking for an engineer.' He said, 'My brother is an engineer'," Valdez said.

How I use Twitter: A 6-point manifesto

I love Twitter, but I'm not going to tell you how to use it. However, I do have a personal Twitter manifesto.

A lengthy war of words on Twitter last week between UK and US wine writers prompted me to write this. I don't want to recap it; suffice to say the crux of the argument was the nature of Twitter and of writing itself. Are Tweets unedited snapshots? Should writers strive to be interesting even at 140 characters?

Should anyone be able to define what Twitter is for everyone else?

I tried to mediate the fight because I really don't care how you or anyone else uses Twitter. I can only control what I do. About that, I care a great deal.

My Twitter manifesto:

1. Every tweet, even in the middle of a conversation, should be intelligible if it stands alone. I never send a tweet that says "@randomguy @smithandwesson @cylon6 Yeah, me too."

2. I try to be interesting, informative or funny. Every tweet. I may not succeed, but to me, tweeting is writing. It's a different medium from a blog or a novel or a screenplay, but it is writing, and the limitations are part of what I love about it.

3. You don't have to follow me, and I don't have to follow you. Moreover, the two are not connected.

"Somm" review: The best wine documentary yet?

Thinking about "Somm," which is probably the best wine documentary yet, I tried to get outside myself. Would I like this movie if I knew nothing about wine?

The question might be moot. "Somm" is a documentary, not a dramedy like "Sideways," and in the US documentaries rarely cross over into the general market.

If you do love wine, "Somm" has all the elements of a terrific movie -- drama, humor, tension, great characters. And director Jason Wise introduces visual excitement into one of the most boring things in the world, watching other people taste, with gimmicks like wine glasses being smashed or shot to mark scene transitions.

"Somm" feels like a sports documentary; it follows the structure of a team working together to overcome an impossible opponent.

The film follows four students as they prepare to take the Master Sommelier exam, arguably the hardest exam in the world. Three of them -- Ian, Brian and Dustin -- study together, with a locker-room mentality. They're teammates, not opponents, but they're also frequently teasing, and guessing wines blind with on-the-fly tasting notes is a daring area where you leave yourself open to feeling foolish. This isn't reality TV; it's surprising that they don't bicker more often.

The first time I hear one of them describe a flavor, not an aroma, as "a freshly opened can of tennis balls," I'm reminded of the supportive environment you need to state such an impression. If I wrote that on this blog, I'd be ruthlessly mocked. MS candidates need friends, not just to show them flash cards with the names of sub-regions or approved grape varieties on the back, but to indulge them in the immersive culture of wine obsession.