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Vine trails

On the road à vin

from Grapes, by Thor Iverson

Last issue I told a story involving serial killers’ caves, ten centuries of cobwebs, spitting, and mistresses. And yet, when I sat down in front of the computer I had intended to write a column about wine travel. Apparently, I’m not the master of narrative focus.

Let’s try again.

“I’m going to wine country,” people say to me, just before they ask me to do a whole bunch of work gratis. They’re about to ask which wineries they should visit, and recommending interesting wines…hey, isn’t that what I get paid for? “That’s great,” I’m tempted to reply, “and when you come back, I’d like you do a few dozen hours of free legal work.”

Actually, though, the burden has decreased. Because when Americans say “wine country,” all too often they mean the Napa Valley, and I send them the thing I wrote up for the last hundred people who asked. (It probably needs some editing by now.)

Hey, did I just take a swipe at Napa? Yeah, sorta. There’s plenty of great wine in Napa (most of which is over $50 a bottle), lovely places to stay (if you book eight months in advance with an AMEX Centurion), legendary restaurants (if you’re willing to mortgage your firstborn), walkable villages (if you consider Manhattan a ghost town), and…well, you see? I’m doing it again.

Sure, I’m exaggerating, but the reason Napa’s so damned expensive and crowded is because everybody goes there. The wineries have adapted. Some, along the major tourist routes (the ones where traffic moves at a stately five miles per hour on busy weekends), have giant parking lots that can handle a few dozen buses and still look empty, incredibly lavish tasting rooms with all manner of logo-laden doodads, and proportionally lavish upfront fees to taste a few basic wines. Others tier their pricing, so the supermarket stuff can be had for a ten-spot, while the wines people actually want to taste might cost $20 for each tiny pour. Still others’ doors are nailed shut to all but the incredibly well-connected. It’s not hard to see why: faced with the prospect of serving thousands of dollars of free wine each day to increasingly tipsy customers who might get them sued, what other choices do they have?

Seriously, don’t let me talk you out of going to Napa. With the right preparation and a fat enough bankroll, it’s an enjoyable place. Instead, let me try to talk you into going…well, anywhere else.

First, ask yourself why you want to go where the wine is. Is it just something to do on a trip otherwise occupied with beaches, museums, or parachute bungee jumping? Then choose carefully, because many wine regions are rather short on non-agricultural activities. Pick this kind of destination based on everything but the wine, because even in the most mediocre regions there’s usually a standout winery or two, while it’s hard to make rows of pesticide-spraying tractors look like a room full of Picassos. Or is wine your – pardon the pun – raisin d’être? Then you’ve got some work to do.

What sort of wine do you like? If it’s crisp, minerally riesling, don’t go to Paso Robles. And if it’s big, rich shiraz, don’t haul your glass to the Wachau. You can throw caution to the wind and send yourself on a voyage of discovery – sometimes, they’re the most memorable – but if you hate everything you taste, you’re not going to have much fun

In the event that you don’t have a wine-writing acquaintance who can be cajoled into working for free (oddly, beer is a popular bribe), you’ll now have to figure out what’s possible. A cluster of wineries, a nearby place to stay, maybe some worthwhile eateries; those are the essential ingredients. And New World wine regions have this tourism thing under control. Most wineries have web sites, and most wine regions have some sort of group marketing effort that produces helpful guides, lists of restaurants and accommodations…and most importantly, maps. Do not underestimate their value. Some wine regions are well-signed, but many aren’t, and most are a twisty maze of often-unpaved country lanes that can get you lost in Jethro’s (or Pierre’s) back forty pretty quickly. Online, search for “Sonoma wine,” “Central Otago wine,” and so forth.

Packaged tours – the kind where someone else drives you around (welcome if you don’t intend to expectorate) – are much more common in the New World, and the regional guides will help you find them. In the Old World, it’s a very rare wine region where you won’t have to rent a car and do your own driving, in which case spitting is absolutely essential.

Old World regions are rarely that organized. If you’re searching, try the word for “wine” in the target region’s language, or translations of “producer” and “wine route.” Usually, the most you’ll find is a list of producers…though if this list includes addresses and phone numbers, it’s worth its weight in euros. You’ll have to consult reference books (better wine shops will have them) and beg advice from retailers, restaurateurs, and…gulpwine writers. Also, there’s a terrific series called Touring in Wine Country that’s essential if you’re planning a trip to any of the dozen or so regions the books cover, though some of them are getting a little dated.

Whether New World or Old, you’ll soon find some barriers to your visitation rights. Some wineries have open tasting rooms with set hours (though of course “set” means one thing in California, and a very different thing in, say, Italy), some are only open by appointment, and some don’t want to see anyone at all. How you react to this depends on what sort of wine touring you wish to do. If you’re just into sniffing and sipping as many wines as possible, stick to wineries with staffed tasting facilities. But if you’re interested in learning something, or you have your heart set on specific wineries that aren’t open to the public, you’ll need to make some appointments.

If you feel up to it – and in the Old World, this also means linguistically – just give the winery a call. Express your enthusiasm for their wine, but be flexible; most producers are pleased to welcome the interested, but have incredibly busy schedules around which to work. Don’t take it personally if they won’t see you, as sometimes it’s just not possible.

Or, you can escalate the request. Retailers can sometimes help in this regard, as can distributors, or importers. With each step, you get closer to a position of personal trust with the winemaker, and you increase your chances of a positive reception. The best of all sources of introduction is another winemaker, and if you ask at the end of a tasting, you’ll frequently witness a quick phone call on your behalf, or at least an enthusiastic recommendation.

When you’re finally on the road, be polite. If you’re going to be late for an appointment, call; this might be met with laughter in Sicily, but a German will not be amused if she doesn’t hear from you. Ask where to spit before you take your first sip. Don’t harangue them about what a great tasting you had last year at Château Famous; they might hate the winemaker there. But don’t be afraid to converse, either. Your reactions will likely determine how the tasting progresses; enthusiasm often leads to uncorkings of the rare stuff, or trips into the cellar for older vintages. If the appointment was especially difficult to get, consider bringing a gift; a good wine that’s unavailable to them is usually welcome. And unless you really hate the wines or paid a fee to taste, it’s polite to buy something at the end. (If they’ll let you. Many small wineries won’t.)

Finally, a word on what to expect. The more famed and modern a winery, the more likely you’ll be tasting in a special-purpose room, with sparkly glasses and a random employee pouring the wine. The more traditional or less-known a winery, the more likely you’ll be tasting in a shed or a rough-hewn barn, from dubiously-cleaned glasses, spitting into a floor drain, but receiving your pours and your information directly from the winemaker. Some people greatly prefer one experience or the other, and it’s best to know beforehand.

Oh, one more thing. Even if a wine writer helped you out, it’s usually best not to mention their name. The guy over at Château Famous may be dislikable, but winemakers have set their dogs after wine writers they don’t like. No amount of free beer is worth that.

(First published in stuff@night, 2008.)

   

Copyright © Thor Iverson.