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August 2009

Drunk in translation

[hansa ad]Jumping into the deep end of an orange-colored pool, it turns out, draws notice and comment, some of it even from non-wine geek circles. Which means that an audience not already familiar with the text is asked to take a similar leap, nose first, into the self-referential and semi-lunatic world of wine description.

It’s a scary universe, and understandably some are disapproving (.pdf). Others, though, are merely perplexed. As one correspondent asked over email:

Do you have a page someplace on the blog that gives you the “code” for certain words – like, when you say that something tastes of “metal and charred orange, maybe even a bit of ash.” I know some of this is evocative, but is there a “dictionary” of understood wine/descriptive terms?

There are several answers to this. One is that there are, indeed, attempts to formalize wine verbiage: the U.C. Davis tasting wheel, for example, or this chemistry-laden approach. Neither has met with much success or enthusiasm among the note-taking (and note-reading) community. Why not? Not having done a survey, my suspicion is that people find it both restrictive and a little boring. Detailing the wonders of a wine is an act of personal expression; using details supplied and constrained by others is not. And anyway, those who prefer cognitive shorthand likely prefer the shortest hand of all: points and other ratings.

Another answer is that most of what one sees in a tasting note is pure subjectivity. There are objective things to be said, but they’re limited in what they can describe to some very basic chemistry, structural outlines, and the identification of actual flaws. Without chemical analysis, we’re left with the world where one taster’s “black raspberry jam” is another’s “smoked strawberry seed with black truffle,” and who’s to say which is right? Both and neither, probably.

But I think the best answer is that it doesn’t matter. Most tasting notes are written as much for the person writing them as they are for anyone else. And even those produced for an audience contain a lot of information that’s of very marginal value. For example, how often do you go to your local wine purveyor and ask, “might you have a wine that tastes of pineapple and indelicate slashes of papaya skin, with a suave finish?”

I can hear the crickets already.

Aside from a few basic assessments – the wine’s overall size; the relative levels of things like oak, acidity, and tannin; placement on an aging curve – most of what comprises a tasting note is, from a strictly utilitarian standpoint, fluff. Those who view a note as a list of descriptors with which one should attempt to find agreement have the wrong idea. It’s not about everyone finding blackcurrants or Earl Grey tea, it’s about communicating the experience of drinking the wine.

That’s a distinction not everyone grasps, so let me expand upon that at a little more length. When I tell you, via a tasting note, that a wine tastes like X, Y, and Z, your natural reaction will be to look for X, Y, and Z in the wine. In other words, you have read me as suggesting what you should think about the wine. From your ability, or inability, to find these specific characteristics, you will likely then draw a conclusion about your own tasting abilities (if you’re a novice), my tasting abilities (if you’re more experienced), or the compatibility of our palates (if you’re a reader looking for utility). This is no longer a dialogue about the wine, but rather a dialogue about you, me, and our proficiency at tasting and communication. And what does that have to do with wine?

Ideally, a note does not merely provide a grocery list of ingredients which the reader may then check off in their comparative sample. I find it much more interesting for a note to communicate not just the wine’s qualities and components, but how the note-writer responded to the wine (and not just a qualitative judgment, either). For example, consider this note:

Josmeyer 2001 Pinot Gris “Le Fromenteau” (Alsace) – Pristine and mineral-driven, fruited with crisp pear and ripe apple, and seasoned with just a bit of salt. (No, really…there’s a hint of salinity that I’ve never found in an Alsatian pinot gris, though it’s fairly common in certain coastal whites.) Neither fat nor aggressive. The finish is long, suggesting hints of the spice that will emerge with more age. While this is drinking well now, were I to own any I’d wait a while, because it’s still holding back, and because the crystalline minerality that’s slowly being revealed is a little more zirconium than diamond at the moment.

Objective traits of the wine, if any, are absent from this note. The length of the finish could be considered a semi-objective assessment, perhaps, but it’s not like I’ve provided a specific duration. There’s also a contextualizing phrase (the bit about salinity not being typical for Alsatian pinot gris), which is as much about bringing external knowledge to the note as it is about the wine in question. The rest of the note can be divided into two parts: descriptors, and comments on the experience. The former are easily identified. The latter are little more difficult to sift from the text.

Easiest to understand are the last two sentences, which could be summarized thusly: the wine’s too young, and aging will reveal a more interesting minerality and spice (that, one may read between the lines to learn, is something to be expected from this wine). The rest is simply a matter of repositioning perspective. “Neither fat nor aggressive” means essentially the same thing as “possessing balancing acidity and moderate intensity,” which is a form one would much more often find in tasting notes, but recasts that communication as being about the experience of the wine rather than an essential property of the wine. Similarly, “pristine” could be reworded as “clean” (or “fault-free”), but also suggests something unsullied that’s beyond the mere absence of chemical or biological faults. These thoughts are, for me, more important to communicate than a list of fruits, minerals, and structural elements.

Thus, and to (at long last) answer my correspondent, I’m fairly indifferent to whether or not “metal,” “charred orange,” or “ash” have specific and one-to-one translatable meaning for the reader. I certainly don’t think I or anyone else would suggest to people that beverages that taste of actual metal, charred orange, and ash would be popular, or even palatable; wine descriptors such as these are meant to be read as “the suggestion of…” rather than real ingredients. I’m much more interested in saying: this wine is not a fruity, friendly, familiar beverage like many you (and I) have had. It is not easily approachable…in fact, it’s rather difficult. It’s probably not a wine for the timid or novice drinker, as the aromas and textures are decidedly out of the ordinary. If that has been communicated – and I think those particular terms pretty much have to communicate something along those lines – then the note has achieved its purpose, whether or not a future taster finds all, or even any, of those elements in their own glass.

Faithfully

[vineyard]Ridge 1999 Geyserville (Sonoma County) – 14.8%. Folks on ye olde internete keep insisting this is at peak, or even on the decline. They’re out of their minds. No, it’s not fully primary anymore, dominated by coconutty oak and jellied fruit. A lot of the former has integrated, exchanging coconut for vanilla, and the latter has definitely deepened to meld more closely with the wine’s darker, black-berried muscularity, but almost all of the aromatic and textural development that makes aging Geyserville so worthwhile has yet to arrive, and there’s rather a surplus of structure at the moment as well. That said, the time at which it would be worth checking in – given sufficient quantities – isn’t far off. Maybe another four or five years? And then holding for…well, I’d guess a long time, at various points along which curve it will be among the great successes of latter-period Ridge Geyserville. (7/09)

Off Brand

Boxler 2001 Pinot Blanc “L20B” (Alsace) – Pinot blanc (and auxerrois) from the Brand, unable to be labeled as such because of Alsace’s often-ridiculous wine law. This wine shows the ridiculousness rather clearly, as it’s both terroir-revelatory and frankly extraordinary. In fact, it’s probably the best pinot blanc I’ve ever tasted…and of the contenders, a rather large number are from this house. Brand dominates, deep and moody with its glowering rocks, while the once-sunnier fruit has turned luscious and creamy. This is not a high-acid wine, by any means, but there’s certainly enough for the stage the wine’s in. What’s most fun is the combination of the intellectual pleasure of a terroir-revelatory wine in its mature glory and the massively appealing drinkability of the wine, which causes it to disappear all too quickly. I could probably drink a magnum of this all by myself, and still wish there was more. (7/09)

Brand identity

Boxler 2005 Muscat Brand (Alsace) – Floral, yes…and as much so as any lover of the grape could want…but the flowers are white, rather than multi-hued, and have shifted from lurid showmanship to stream-side mountain delicacy. The breathtaking Brand minerality, powerful dark crystals laced with coal dust and giving the impression (but not the actuality) of fat, is on display, and succeeds as much as any terroir can in standing up to the grape’s varietal signature. The structure’s good enough (a measure of acidity was no doubt sacrificed in search of the wine’s ideal site/grape balance point). I’m sure this would age, letting the flowers wither away and revealing more and more of the underlying minerality, but I’d actually advise against it; if you want the full expression of site with little standing in the way other than structure, choose a riesling instead. (7/09)

Terri Ciampolo

[vineyard]Montevertine 2005 “Pian del Ciampolo” (Tuscany) – Wow, is this pretty. I thought I’d lost my enthusiasm for sangiovese, but wines like this could re-energize it. Dusty strawberries, flecked with earth and structured by their seeds, with tiny-leafed herbality and a long, faintly buzzing finish full of rocks and light foam. Really, really approachable, but there’s enough structure to eliminate near-term worries. So, hold it for a while? I answer: why? (7/09)

Braised tardives with morels

Trimbach 2000 Gewurztraminer “Vendanges Tardives” (Alsace) – Trimbach’s late-harvest wines, especially their gewürztraminers, are packed to the gills with sugar. Their nearly singular achievement, however, is making it seem like they’re not. 2000 wasn’t a firm, crisp, high-acid year, and yet this wine seems only marginally sweeter than many a “regular” gewürztraminer from some of their hangtime-obsessed neighbors, and pairs that sweetness with a surprising wallop of firm acidity. The fruit’s peach and cashew with only hints of lychee, and the minerality’s copper and salt. Bacon, smoke…only suggestions at the moment, and their full expression is far, far in the future. A lovely wine, deft and delineated…and when’s the last time you read that about a late-harvest gewürztraminer? (7/09)

Words, words, words

[vineyard]Overgaauw 1997 Cape Vintage South African Liqueur Wine (Stellenbosch) – I admire the attempt to avoid using the word “port,” but this seems a little convoluted. The wine, however, is anything but difficult. A burst – nay, a fireworks display – of berries, still structured but with nicely-maturing spices (clove, nutmeg), forward and fruity. “Port” is a category in which South Africans appear to take much pride, but I have to say that after tasted around a dozen on a recent trip, I found the category – and many of the big names – pretty mediocre. Not so this, a library release to contrast with the winery’s more current vintage, and already showing a sophistication and worldliness that many of its brethren lack. No, it’s not up to the full range of complexities in a true Port, but it’s also not done maturing. (7/09)

In a cup

Foillard 2001 Morgon Côte du Py (Beaujolais) – A little delicate and even quiet at first, showing a lot of dust and a fading black raspberry palate. A day of minor exposure to air, at room temp, clarifies and amplifies the wine. The dust is still there, but now it’s texture, and the fruit – nicely expanded, though this is still medium-bodied at best – fills the mouth like a thick haze of mature fruit and foggy, sodden earth. There’s a heart of mystery within, as well, that doesn’t want to be quantified. Lovely. (7/09)

The needs of the Mesnil outweigh than the needs of the few, or the Oger

[tasting room]Pierre Peters 1998 Champagne Le Mesnil-sur-Oger “Grand Cru” Brut Blanc de Blancs (Champagne) – Vibrant, in the prime of its young adulthood, with a throbbing core of life and energy. Ultra-ripe (but not sweet) heirloom apple, lemony yeast, and the last lingering crusts of a flaky pain levain – there’s something more fundamental here than the standard brioche – with firm acidity, fine-grained electric bubbles, and a long, precise finish. Yowzers. (7/09)

Held back

[press]Pierre Peters Champagne Le Mesnil-sur-Oger “Grand Cru” Brut Blanc de Blancs “Cuvée de Réserve” (Champagne) – This is the NV bottling that would have been in stores in 1998, so it’s getting long in the tooth for an NV, even one that was as good as this has long been. Alas, it appears to have reached the end of its useful life, and is now on the downslope…though it should be said that this bottle tastes considerably older than one tasted last year, more than would be accounted for by the time that’s passed. There’s that antiqued bread character, bronze-ish and autumnal, common to older Champagnes, and the way this facet it tiring – paired with a new, elbowy sharpness to the acidity – is the clearest sign of the fade. Still plenty characterful,, but drink up. (7/09)