Rebel Rose

Interesting topic. I have difficulty imagining that anyone would object to a winery sending samples to critics. Wineries are expected to present their product for free all day long, to anyone from your Uncle Charlie who 'only likes beer' to discerning visitors who may be excited by your region or specialty. I have even more difficulty envisioning a restaurant doing that all day, every day. Free samples are part of the wine business, and they are expected more routinely by the public than by reviewers. The well known critics have tasting schedules which they release to their mailing list or to tasting event coordinators. Basically, there is a cattle call for various regional specialties at certain dates. Most wineries send two bottles in case the first one opened is corked or in any way questionable. Unlike restaurants, who can hardly refuse to seat and serve a food critic, wineries may select the critics and publications they would like to submit to, and submit only the wines they feel will show well at that time. The major food publications . . . Food & Wine, Gourmet, etc. . . . also accept both food and wine samples. Basically, it's just an entirely different business model. In wine, each bottle represents thousands of dollars of vineyard maintenance and harvesting costs, months of winemaking effort, years of aging, and very expensive packaging. A wine critic often covers diverse regions, and vineyards which are geographically distant, entailing considerable travel costs. A wine critic must taste thousands of wines across regions and vintages and compare or contrast them. Wineries may choose the critics to whom they would like to submit samples. A restaurant, on the other hand, has no choice--critics drop in unannounced. Food must be prepared on the fly and its quality and presentation will rely on the staff's level of training, skill, creativity and stamina at that moment. Vintage variation does not come into play. A food critic generally covers a relatively small metropolitan area and does not need to fly, drive and risk rattlesnake bites to review the product. The differences between critiquing food and wine are numerous. But as Daniel points out, some things are just 'not done.' The life of a true critic must be so much harder than those of us who are in production. We are free to form friendships with our peers, whereas I imagine a critic must always be weighing the force of his/her career against forming close relationships with other people in the industry.

The Geoffrey Roberts Award is an international travel bursary worth £3,000 (about $6,000) given each year to someone who can demonstrate to the judges that their travels are likely to make a positive difference to the worlds of food, drink and/or travel. Possible winners might include a young sommelier or wine merchant exploring an unfamiliar wine region; perhaps a chef de partie researching restaurants and cuisine on the other side of the world; or a trainee hotelier gaining first-hand experience of professional life elsewhere. The trustees and judges would like, however, to encourage applicants to broaden their experience not just geographically but into a related field. The Award could be used by a young chef to learn about wine, for example, or by someone in the hospitality industry to learn more about food. Florida geography teacher Richard Villadoniga used the 2007 award to finance a road trip across the United States with the aim of highlighting some of the country's endangered foodstuffs and promoting greater awareness of them via local media opportunities. He has now incorporated what he learnt into a teaching module to make American children more aware of their food heritage. See Richard's journey at www.eat-american.com 2007 joint winner was Jock Brandis on behalf of www.fullbellyproject.org which designs and supplies very simple, highly relevant machinery such as mechanical peanut shellers to impoverished communities in Africa, thereby helping them to increase their income substantially. The list of judges is impressive. Although I am not sure who the current judges are, the list of past judges includes: Anthony Barton, Chateau Leoville Barton, Bordeaux David Brown, La Potiniere , Scotland Sally Clarke, Clarke's restaurant and bakery, London Brian Croser, Petaluma , Australia Paul Draper, Ridge Vineyards, California Jill Dupleix, The Times cook, London Dick Graff, found Chalone Vineyards, California Tim Hart, Hambleton Hall, Rutland Paul Henderson, Gidleigh Park , Devon Ken Hom, food writer and broadcaster Hugh Johnson, wine writer, Essex and London David Michaels, Hilton Group, London Hazel Murphy, Australian Wine Board, London Ramon Pajares, hotelier, London Jancis Robinson, wine writer, London

Absolutely! Of course, I hope to see you chez moi at Dover Canyon on Sunday! We do several vineyard designated wines, and I think you and your wife will be intrigued by the selection. Other stops I recommend: L'Aventure - Excellent cabernets in a forward style. Ask for assistant winemaker Jacob Toft--he often works tasting room on weekends. Tell them I referred you. Booker - Rhone varieties produced from an exceptional estate vineyard. Jack Creek - syrah and pinot noir from the cool Willow Creek area of Paso Robles. On weekends only, they pour their wines at Pasolivo. (Recent photos and report here.) Tablas Creek - the Paso Robles Rhone winery owned by importer Robert Haas and the Perrin family of Chateau de Beaucastel in Chateaunneuf du Pape. Very friendly; excellent wines and history. Links to the specific wineries for hours and directions are here.

Matt, what types and styles of wine do you like?

I bought a bottle of Bartlett pear wine made in Washington State as a novelty--I thought it would be awful, but it was actually very, very nice. I also had a completely dry strawberry wine that was a lovely rose red and had a surprisingly floral aroma and flavor without tasting "sweet." A lot of the "home winemaking" recipes I have seen require a disgusting amount of sugar. I don't believe it's necessary if you ferment the fruit in the right conditions.

I understand several of you enjoyed some extended hospitality at L'Aventure on Sunday, as well as the heirloom tomato festival at Windrose. I am sorry I didn't catch up to you on Sunday--we had a wine writer from South Carolina stop by around noon and I spent part of the afternoon chatting with her and tasting wine in the shade of our crabapple tree. Erik and Michelle, you came by the winery early in the day on Sunday, and I'm sorry I missed you!! I hope you enjoyed Megan's hospitality. Thank you for stopping by and purchasing some wine.

Dinner at Villa Creek Our final adventure on Saturday was to gather at Villa Creek for a dinner prepared by chef Tom Fundaro. The menu: Amuse: Abalone Ceviche 1st course: Gambas with Ciro Bread 2nd course: Heirloom Tomato and Cucumber Salad 3rd course: Braised Local Grass Fed Short Ribs with Oaxacan Mole, Creamy Polenta, and Sauteed Broccolini Final: Fruit Gratinado and Hungarian Shortbread (prepared with preserved citrus from Windrose Farms) We had the entire back patio and fountain to ourselves, and twinkling lights overhead under a canvas canopy, on a warm yet gentle night. I was disappointed in the abalone course; there did not seem to be more than a teaspoon of abalone in each serving. Certainly not the equivalent of a 3-4" medallion or steak. But all in all, the dinner, wine and conversation were great. Our table was consuming mostly fresh, tannic young reds. But Jason ordered an 1998 Alban Reva Syrah and graciously shared with all. I thought it was an amazing wine, very closely echoing Robert Parker's initial review: "classic nose of bacon fat, smoke, blackberries, and licorice. Full-bodied and rich, with a vanillin note added to the black fruit and smoke characteristics, this lush, full throttle Syrah is accessible, but should age nicely for a decade." I thought the wine was soft and earthy with definite notes of bacon, anise and char. A lovely example from a cold El Nino vintage, and frankly I think it will continue to age gracefully for a few more years. Thank you for sharing that, Jason. I tried to ply Erik with enough wine to get him to stand up and say a few words about the Society, but in the end I lost at roshambo, and the group of us raised a toast to making new friends and finding new interests. We passed around a basket for donations, and raised $190 for culinary scholarships. Dover Canyon Winery matched that with $205, for a total donation of $400.

Knowing your experience in the kitchen, Raoul, it would be my honor to have my picture taken with you. After I lose 20 pounds . . .

All points well taken. And yes, Daniel you got me! I didn't mean to give the impression that we clasp each customer by the ear and make them listen to a prepared speech before tasting each wine! These kinds of comments invariably come from label hunters, score bores. They laud the virtues of certain wines and vineyards, but when confronted with the possibility that their beloved wines are over the legal limit for VA or contain significant residual sugar, or were made with oak powder or Velcorin, then suddenly it's just "what's in the glass that counts." Frankly, as others here have pointed out, it should always start with what's in the glass.

Prospecting for Oil After lunch at Tablas Creek, Jason, Holly, Kathy, Justin and Melissa headed over to Saxum. Eric, Michelle and I stopped at Willow Creek Olive Ranch, home of Pasolivo olive oil. I am seriously addicted to their orange and tangerine oils, made with oils pressed from citrus rinds and blended with olive oil. They also offer their estate oil, a California blend, a low production kalamata oil, and lemon and lime olive oils. Pasolivo was featured in Gourmet magazine, and sells almost all their oils via their private club and tasting room. We met with owner Josh Yaguda, who gave us a very entertaining tour and private tasting. The olives are picked by hand, and given that they ripen late (generally late October or early November) as winter storms approach, the picking is done quickly. So rocks, leaves and other matter come in with the olives. The olives are poured into this chute and passed under the blue vacuum hood, which sucks up any light debris like drying leaves, twigs and fine dirt. Rocks and other matter are removed by hand or shaken out as the olives pass through the chute. The olives are then placed in the “press,” which isn’t really a press but a complicated centrifuge. First, the olives and the pits are macerated into a chunky must. If I remember correctly, a little super-heated water is added to loosen the must. The centrifugal action of the press slowly (very, verrry slowly) pulls the oil from the must and deposits it in a long, low covered pan. Josh lifted the lid of the pan and showed us where this first pressing is deposited. The oil is still murky and unfiltered, almost like mud. At this point, it is called dirty oil. From there, the oil is moved to a vertical centrifuge where it is processed again to remove gross impurities. Josh is standing next to a dismantled centrifuge. From there, the oil goes into a tank, and then, over the next few months, is is patiently racked and returned, just like wine. In January or early February, the virgin oils are bottled in small batches, and every bottle is hand labeled and marked with the variety and vintage. During the harvest season, Pasolivo also hosts a “community press” day. Everyone in Paso Robles who owns a few olive trees is invited to bring their buckets or bins of olives, which are all poured into the press to create a community blend. (A certain amount of mass is required for the press to operate, so it is not possible to do tiny lots.) Everyone brings food and wine to while away the extremely slow process, and all leave with a few bottles of extra, extra, extra virgin oil. The press is a monster of tubes, valves, baffles, grates, baskets and small tanks, and it is cleaned only with super-heated water. It takes two people two days to clean the press. Therefore, if it looks like there might be a pause in the picking schedule, Josh will break harvest lots up and do a small lot each day in order to keep the oils in the press absolutely fresh. From the press room, we returned to the sunny tasting room to taste some oils. Josh broke out the professional tasting glasses, used by judges in competitions. The glasses are blue, to hide the color of the oil and prevent color-based judgment. We cupped the glass in one hand to warm the oil, and covered the glass with our other hand to trap the aromas. When I sneaked a sniff, Josh shook his head. “It’s not ready yet!” Duly chastened, I went back to swirling and warming. Finally, we lift the glasses to our nose, lift our hands slightly and draw in a deep breath. Michelle demonstrates the proper technique. Wow. The aroma is so much more explosive when done this way. An amazing experience. Then we were expected to taste the oil, drawing it deeply back into our palate and aerating it (sort of a gargle) to coat the palate. Have you ever tried to aerate olive oil? My spastic efforts were a cross between choking and dribbling. I felt like a moron. Nevertheless, the experience was incredible. Sweetness coated the front of my tongue, earth and vegetable down the middle, a slightly bitter twinge on the edges, and a blast of citrus at the very back of my throat that made me cough. Twice. “A two-cough oil,” Josh nodded. “That’s considered a good one.”

Because you know if you laugh, the wine comes out your nose. Seriously, don't you think ostentatious swishing and gargling is just too gross when performed in a restaurant? Come on, why order the wine in the first place unless you have some idea of its merit?

Fair enough. And a good point, as well. I guess I just get the impression, perhaps erroneously, that some people never care and never will, beyond having the labels in their cellar and having their photograph taken with the winemaker.

As many of us know from perusing other wine forums and from conversations with friends, some people just don't want to know how the wine in their bottle got there. All they care about is it's perceived "quality." As a producer, I think that's sad. It's like going to farmers' market and telling the vendor, "I don't care how you grow your **&^ strawberries," or "I don't care about where the )(*^^ mushrooms are foraged!" "Just give me what I want!" I get this weird, emotionally knee-jerk response, like a shudder of revulsion. After all, we baby our vines and wines into adulthood throughout the seasons. To us, each and every vintage is different, each vineyard is unique, and each wine has a back story. For that very reason, perhaps I am out of touch with market sensibilities. Why do I bother to tell the story of Dusi Vineyard on our blog and on our website? Why do I bother to tell customers funny or enlightening stories about winemaking and grape growing? Maybe, the next time a customer comes in and wants to chat about the vineyards, I'll just step back and say, "You tell me. It's what's in the glass that counts."

The story is very UK-centric, and most of us here are American, so we have to keep in mind that the UK headline in London's Telegraph does not apply to dot.com yuppies trading Kosta Brownes.

700 photos? Down to 300? Holy cow. We'll be looking forward to that.

What do think of this statement? If indeed, anyone thinks of zinfandel at all anymore . . .

I saw a comment recently that pinot noir is California's 'flagship' wine. I have always thought of pinot noir as a relative newcomer. Certainly a phenomenon, but most of the people and media I talk to in Paso Robles are coming here for the zinfandels and Rhones. What does the future hold?

A Touch of Terroir We arrived at Tablas Creek at noon sharp. Tablas Creek Vineyard is a cooperative venture between the Robert Haas family and the Perrin family of Chateauneuf du Pape. The tasting rooms were packed as Saturday was also the date of their wine club blending party and barbecue. Nevertheless, we were warmly greeted by general manager Jason Haas, who guided us outside into the quiet of the herb gardens surrounding the crush pad and spent the next two hours entertaining us with stories of the winery and vineyard venture. Jason related the history of the winery and his parents’ search for the perfect site for Rhone varietals. After decades of visiting potential sites, they decided the Meditteranean climate and calcareous soils of west Paso Robles were the most likely place for the Rhone varietals they wanted to plant. Before we headed out to the vineyard, we squeezed behind a wall of stacked half-ton picking bins to look ‘inside’ a retaining wall made of limestone rocks cleared from the vineyard. Tablas built a ‘window’ into the wall that allows us to look past the wall into the bedrock that exists about 10’ below the vineyard surface. Looking in, we see the white-grey surface of calcareous hardpan. Jason passed around flakes of calcareous mudstone/sandstone rock so we could feel how light and porous the rocks are. He then explained how the calcareous soils of the central coast (which do not exist in Napa) act as a water sponge, draining moisture away during spring rains, but wicking it back up from aquifers during dry spells. Pre-limestone soils are also easily fractured by searching roots, which encourages deep penetration by the vines and therefore a more complex source of nutrients and minerals. We strolled out to the very center of the vineyard, where we could view the entire compass of the property, which is planted to syrah, grenache, mourvedre, counoise, viognier, roussanne, grenache blanc, and picpoul blanc. Jason explained how the vines were planted according to their ripening needs, with heat-loving varieties planted on the south and west slopes, and early ripening varieties planted on the cooler east and north slopes. Then we wandered over to some grenache vines and Jason invited us to pick some grapes and taste them. Here Jason Haas, left, is showing guest Jason Coulston how to open a grape to look at the color of the seeds, which should be a toasty brown when the grapes are phenologically ripe. Then we strolled back to the main complex and the nursery. I hope someone has some shots of this, because it was pretty darn cool. Jason demonstrated how a vine clip is grafted to a rootstock. Instead of the usual field V-cuts, Tablas has this little machine operated by a foot pedal that creates an omega-shaped cut and it connects the vine and rootstock, all in one slick move. Several of us left with little vine sticks as a souvenir. Then it was off to the crush pad for a quick look at the winery equipment and then into the cool cellar where we got to stick our fingers into freshly crushed fruit to taste the sweet must. Jason toured us past the huge oak foudres used for barrel aging, and we found ourselves behind the tasting room. And there, in the cellar, was a table laden with about 9 unopened bottles of wine and a large number of wineglasses. Knowing that Tablas had private events scheduled for both morning and afternoon, I had no idea that this table was . . . for us! Jason personally opened and tasted us on seven current releases, a 2003 library wine, and two dessert wines, one of which was a production of only 1 barrel. I know several of us left with a selection of wines, and I hope you’ll share your wine tasting notes in the Society wine forum. Tonight, actually, I am enjoying a chilled 2006 Tablas Creek Rose (60%mourvedre, 28% grenache, 12% counoise) as I type. From there, we were shown the patio where the picnic tables were covered in linens and a “Reserved” sign awaited us. Unfortunately, we had to gulp our lunches from Out of the Box and run. It was a great visit, and I hope that our guests enjoyed this behind-the-scenes, upfront and personal look at an amazing winery and vineyard operation.

Abalone's Revenge We started the day at the Cayucos Abalone Farm with a personally guided tour conducted by Brad Buckley. Perched on small bluff overlooking the ocean, the farm produces almost 500,000 abalone a year. They culture only red abalone, under the brand name Ocean Rose. Our first abalone epiphany was that abalone are not bi-valves like clams or oysters. They are snails. Gross, yet cool. Various strains of abalone also have their own particular flavor. Conception begins in low-tech white tubs. Two tubs are filled with females, and one with males. Michelle saw the gonads up close and can describe the difference. Ab prefer to spawn during a full moon, and the staff plans accordingly. Justin inquired about ambience but was assured they didn’t need candlelight or music. The water is changed daily, dumped out through fine membranes to catch the microscopic babies which are then laid back in clean water. When they are the size of a fingernail, they are placed in the nursery—four foot wide tubs with small hoses oxygenating the water. The hoses are also used to inoculate the tubs with algae—plugs of green stuff are allowed to form in the hoses and then blown into the tub to make ‘seaweed slushies.’ When the abs are large enough to survive in the outdoor tanks, they are gently moved into baskets and placed in stair-stepped concrete basins. They are fed both ‘soft food’ seaweed slushies and kelp until they are old enough to eat solid food. Abalone grip surfaces so hard that moving them by hand is not only labor intensive but many abs would be injured as well, and skin tears or crushed shells invite infection. So the farm places the plastic nursery tubes in a tank and they bubble CO2 through the water, anesthetizing the abs. They conk out and drop to the bottom of the tank where they are gently collected and moved to their new basins. Actually Brad was pretty hilarious about their learning curve at the farm and had many stories to tell about figuring the whole thing out. He’s worked there for 20 years. (“What, did he start when he was 10?” asked Kathy under her breath.) The farm has an ocean going vessel with a harvesting boom, and they lease rights to the offshore kelp beds from the State of California. Kelp grows at a rate of several inches per day, but the captain is careful to harvest no more than 4” a day. He thins beds to allow more flow through the kelp forest, and will also thin heavy beds because if they are too massive, winter storms will rip them out by the roots, destroying the bed. So kelp harvesting is an agri-ocean art in itself. We were there on feeding day and saw huge 1-ton bales of wet kelp in rope bags being loaded onto an old flatbed truck. Workers chop the kelp with a shovel and place handfuls in each basin. The basins are small, maybe 4’ square, but the abs are voracious feeders. In extreme weather conditions in late fall or winter when the kelp beds are torn up or the boats can’t get out, the farm has a fall-back recipe for abalone nutrition they invented during the El Nino years. They mix a slurry of bran, seaweed and other nutrients into a dough, extrude it through a handcranked pasta machine and bake it in the oven. Snail spaghetti. How cool is that. I asked Brad if it was edible and he laughed and said that while bland, it was definitely edible and nutritious. On our way to the nursery we walked by a trough filled with dulse, a frilly purplish seaweed used to feed the juveniles, and Brad offered us each a taste. It was salty of course, but also meaty. He said that when fried crispy it tastes like bacon. In addition to feeding abalone, they also sell it to restaurants for garnish and seaweed salad. We paused here to discuss various ways to prepare abalone, but Brad’s favorite is a simple tenderizing protocol of 25 whacks, then a quick sizzle on a high quality griddle, and served with butter and herbs. It takes four years to grow an abalone to hors d’oeuvre size, and seven years to grow a medallion-sized steak. Abalone will grow almost an inch per year for 5-7 years, but only one quarter of an inch per year after that. God only knows how old the huge abs which used to be casually harvested by locals in the central coast really were. Abalone farming is low-impact, especially as abalone have almost no excretions. They are also extremely sensitive and the farm sells young abalone to various firms and government agencies for use in water testing as “indicator” species. We visited the freezing and packaging rooms, and Brad invited us to help ourselves to shells . . . buckets of gorgeous, cleaned and polished abalone shells with reddish exteriors. The shells are sold to local jewelry artisans who produce amulets and earrings from them. Several members scored a stack of shells for table servings. Most of the abalone production is delivered fresh; about 30% is trimmed and frozen. Live abalone can survive in good health for 30 hours. The farm also exports to China and Japan. Couriers race to LAX with live abalone carefully packaged in seawater baggies and styrofoam, and they time their trips to arrive just in time to place the abs on an outgoing plane. We finished our visit at the basins holding mature abalone. Melissa is holding a mature ab. They sink down onto your hand and grip hard. It’s kind of creepy. In the close up, you can see the foot and head curling around Mel’s fingers. Almost all of us held a pet abalone for a few minutes or fished in the basins for a loose ab. Abalone grip so hard that unless you catch one by surprise, you are unable to pry it off the basin. Divers used to drown while collecting abalone . . . a diver would pry an abalone loose, stick his fingers under the shell to lift it and then in surprise and pain when the ab clamps down would drop his ab bar. At that point, there would be no way to get his hand loose and he would drown. (Tank diving is illegal when gathering abalone.) I thought these stories were urban legend, but Brad assured us the stories are true. It’s called “abalone’s revenge.”

I'm glad everyone had a great time! I'll be posting photos and notes soon, in somewhat chronological order, and I certainly hope that others will as well. (I was not able to make the Windrose Farm tour as we had an unannounced visit from a South Carolina wine writer.)

Sounds like you're getting a bit frisky yourself, Casey! Our headtrained, dryfarmed zin vineyard is actually up about 30% this year, but as it's still young and many wee vines which were gopher decimation replants are just coming on, it's not all that remarkable. Just exciting for us as this is only our third zin harvest. We haven't even bothered with refrac yet, just tasted the berries and they still have a ways to go. The syrah will come in first. Yes, weather reports indicated T-storms in Paso on Friday. But the last time we had T-storms we only had squiffs of rain, just enough to wash the greenery. The cooler day and nighttime temperatures are holding the Brix at other vineyards which is a darn good thing as we have a bottling to get through, too!

Just waiting for Kathy to get here with some coffee! We're ready to go!

Is anyone here subscribed to WineryChannel.tv yet? Here is are some bleeps from this month's newsletter: I love the idea of wine video you can watch when you want to, and you can choose from a 'menu' of stories.

Sorry, I can't answer that, feedbag. But over at the Fermentation blog, Tom Wark recommends Tim's Blog:

Volatile acidity is a component that one finds mainly in the aroma, and it ranges from a faintly molasses-like character to acetone. Definition from Wikipedia: However, that's the short version. I like this explanation . . . Volatile Acidity in Wine I hope all of our members will have questions about VA perception, but I have a few for our resident winemakers . . . Wouldn't today's high Brix/high alcohol styles be setting themselves up for high VA levels? And in addition, wouldn't aging your wines for up to three years with little or no racking increase the potential for unpleasantly high VA? Another issue is that people have varying levels of tolerance for VA. When I first started drinking wine, I found it hard to detect--even in Italian varietals which are known to carry pleasantly balsamic levels of VA. In the last few years, however, I have discovered it frequently, and I have tasted some very high end, touted wines that I did not enjoy because of evident VA. One zin in particular, which I purchased to go with our ribeye steaks on Father's Day, was so heavily balsamic it no longer had varietal character. We didn't finish the bottle; on the second day the acetone (fingernail polish remover) smell was so strong I couldn't drink it. My SO, however, rated it "pleasant." Is this a function of my (ahem) age and changing palate? Or a proliferation of higher Brix picks? So many questions, so little wine.