Deconstructing the Mystique of Champagne

Champagne has always been a drink for celebratory toasts or extravagant lifestyles. We aren’t inclined to pop some bubbly with our Monday night meatloaf, and enjoying champagne so regularly seems like it would be either really expensive (Veuve Clicquot) or gross (Cooks).

However, my recent day trip to the Champagne region of France dispelled all of these notions and taught me that champagne is really a drink for every day life, and—best of all—even people who earn less than P. Diddy can afford great champagne.

Driving through Champagne, I noticed two things: 1) Champagne is a great place to be from (rather than move to), and it’s not a place where I would like to have a party. Although the temperature had been 60 degrees when I left Paris, I hit a wall of fog driving east across the Marne River that chilled things down to a balmy 39 degrees. My guide explained that Champagne is on the same latitude with Quebec City and its cold, wet, and windy weather is the hallmark of its terroire. The Sleepy Hollow-esque climate creates very acidic grapes that are best for making—ironically—very light, dry and effervescent champagne.

While I thought I’d see grand chateaus littering the countryside, I was wrong. Most champagne in Champagne is actually produced by small houses in single-industry working class towns. Regulations forbid any sparkling wine from being labeled “champagne” unless it is actually produced in Champagne itself. Thus, making bubbly is the highest use of any property in the region, and no one stays there to do anything else. (As my guide put it: “If you live in Champagne and don’t make champagne, you slit your wrists.”) Houses are small and close together. Indeed, each one that I passed had a sign out front advertising champagne production.

I visited a village that boasted a population of 200 and toured a ‘typical’ small house, R.C. Lemaire. The tour guide was the winemaker himself, a very smiley, white-skinned young man, dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and Adidas. His fermenting tanks were in his garage, his storage cellar in his basement, and his tasting room was in the living room (complete with family photos). He served 3 different champagnes with pink tea biscuits (!). Champagne for this man was every day life, and the same had been true for his father and grandfathers—all the way back “to Napoleon.” He was proud and exuberant about his craft and his family's tradition in the industry. The passion shone through: his champagne was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. It was light, sparkly and had a level of freshness that I thought could only be experienced by biting into chilled fruit. The best part was that after buying 2 bottles, my pocket was only $48USD lighter. (American import rules aside, here is Lemaire's website!)

I did visit a ‘chateau,’ but the experience and the champagne was underwhelming at best. Moet & Chandon’s ‘chateau’ was noticeably its a corporate office. I had to buy a ticket to take a tour, wait 20 minutes for it to start, and then sit through a promotional video once it began. Every person I saw was in a suit and most of Moet’s 14-mile cellar was closed to visitors. The tasting room had one long minimalist bar and beautiful photographs of celebrities drinking Moet & Chandon. However, my Imperial Gold tasted stale, and 3 oz of anything better was much more expensive. The tour exited into a gift shop, which resembled a duty free store without any deals. Considering the atmosphere and my other experiences in Champagne, the image of luxury that Moet was going for just seemed lame. (However--they did have an amazing chandelier made of champagne glasses that I covet to this day.)

All of this culminated in a mental breakthrough for me regarding champagne and some important lessons:

1. First, I need to stop being a snob. Little guys make some of the best champagne out there, and labels/prices don’t fully convey the quality of the product. To get a sense of whether or not a champagne is good quality look for words like “grand cru” or “premier cru” (indicating the wine was made from the best grapes in the lot) and “prestige cuvee,” or “tete de cuvee” (these terms signify that the champagne was made from the first press of the grapes, which is the most flavorful).
2. Second, when considering wine and food pairings, I should not exclude champagne. During lunch, my guide explained that 3 different grapes grow in champagne (Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier). Champagne made from Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier or a blend (look for labels saying “Blanc de Noirs”) pairs well with food. Pinot Meunier particularly is the most flavorful, so can be paired with heavier, richer or more flavorful foods. Chardonnay champagne (labeled: “Blanc de Blanc”) is best for pre-dinner drinking and toasting. The high acidity wets the appetite, but it does not have much body to stand up to food.

Admittedly, it's still my dream to ring in the New Year some day with a Nebuchanezzer bottle of Veuve Cliquot. But until that day, I'll be on the lookout for bottles of bubbly from labels I've never heard of and enjoying them with my Rubio's Two-Dollar Tacos.

Say Cheese!

I've been told in France that wine and cheese are like PB&J, cupcakes & frosting, glitter & the color pink--without one, the other would not exist. Thus, my trip toward Vinetality would never be fulfilled if I were to neglect learning how to put together a proper cheese plate.

After concluding an extensive study here in Paris, involving a sample set of likely 100+ cheese plates, I have come to the following conclusions:

A well done cheese plate reflects balance and variety. At least 3 cheese are included, each from different types of milk (cow, goat, sheep). Options are:

1. A hard cheese such as Emmantaler or Swiss cheese
2. A flowery mild cheese, such as brie or camembert
3. A blue or roquefort cheese
4. A goat cheese

The cheese should be center stage. Whereas Americans include nuts, dried fruit and a huge bunches of grapes, the cheese plates I've encountered in France are largely unadorned. (One post-dinner plate was served with a little jar of honey.) As far as a palette for the cheese, there is not a cracker to be found in France. Rather, Parisians keept it simple by spreading their cheese on crusty slices of baguette.

Presentation is paramount. Each cheese should be placed around the platter in the best order to taste it. Usually, the cheese which is the strongest in flavor is last. Regardless of which cheese, garnishments or bread is served, in France everything must look--in the words of Borat--very nice. While I'm sad that I must throw out my Wal-mart 'dinner party' plastic ware when I get home, I am confident that the quality of my entertaining will improve.

Any wine will do. Each cheese should taste different enough to call for its own wine. However, that takes the pressure off because the cheese plate could be enjoyed with a variety of different wines (or beers, or ciders). Here in Ile-de-France, I have tasted two knockout pairings:

1. A savory appetizer cheese plate, paired with a chardonnay champagne (or sparkling wine)
2. A post-dinner plate, paired an egregiously sweet wine

Of course this post will be updated with any conclusions I am able to draw from my continuing research. But, in the meantime, Bon Appetite!

Lessons from the Wine Capitol of the World

This post comes by way of Paris, where I am enjoying a vacation. There is truly more wine here than water and coca cola company soft drinks combined. In this magical place, I have learned a few lessons worth sharing:

1. Never Bring a Bottle of Wine to Dinner. Bringing wine to dinner in the U.S., is a common and polite contribution to a shared meal experience. However, experts here have told me that this same gesture in France is a slap in the face to any host. The host selects his/her wine specifically selected to accompany the meal served. Thus, a guest’s bottle exhibits how he/she has zero confidence in the host’s wine selection. Tip: Bring macarons instead.
2. Understanding French Wine Requires More Knowledge of France than Grapes. Just when I got used to thinking of wines in terms of different grapes or as blends of different grapes, Paris struck. Here, wines are referenced not by their grape ingredients, but by the region (or “appellation”) whence they came. When confronted with a “vins” menu, I’m not much helped by my knowledge that merlot is mild and fruity while cabernet franc is like liquid black pepper. I need to know what is made in Rhone, Burgundy, Languedoc, and other regions that are embarrassing to pronounce. Actually, I need to know were these places are.
3. This is a Land of Welcoming Experts. Everybody in Paris has internalized the steps of wine tasting: evaluate the wine with your eyes, nose, then mouth (always take 2 sips before judging your observations). They have internalized all of the lessons I have to consciously recall from wine tasting class—probably because they have been drinking wine since elementary school. This nonchalant expertise scared me at first. The server who poured wine I'd ordered at a restaurant seemed to scrutinize me as he watched me taste it—was this a test? Would he correct me? But then, I realized that this scrutiny was actually eagerness. French people were interested to see my American reaction to their wines. (They probably knew I would be impressed and say something dumb.)
4. There is Such a Thing as Bad French Wine. After tasting genuinely admirable and inexpensive wines, I assumed that no French wine could be bad. In the small ‘super’-market, I marveled at the selection of wines, which took up about 40% of the store real estate. Amidst the bottles for 8, 10, and 20+ Euros, I saw a bottle for 1.69 Euros. A “deux buck Charles”! Could this even be? Turns out that the saying ‘you get what you pay for’ holds true overseas. My cheap little French wine was so acidic it tasted like alcoholic Vinegar. Letting it breath didn't help. Oxygen only seemed to give it the kind of strength you wish your food would not have. The lesson? “Stick to wines at least 6 Euros or more.” said my Parisian friend.

I'm sure there are more lessons yet to come. But for now, at least I know to never bring cheap French wine to a Parisian dinner party, question why the grapes aren't written on the bottles or ask for privacy when tasting wine at a restaurant.

If You Build [a Brand], They Will Come!

I recently went on a HalloWINE tour for my friend Melissa’s birthday. We rented a limousine (i.e. the only way to travel) and headed over the Golden Gate Bridge into Sonoma for some tasting. This was far from my first wine trip. I’ve been to Napa and Sonoma a few times (via limo, van and Prius), and also sampled wines around most places in Virginia. A vocal proponent of Virginia wine, I’ve always told people that wine tasting in the Commonwealth is an experience that can’t be beat. The wineries are more relaxing and welcoming than those in either of California’s notorious wine countries, and many of the wines are great.

Still, on this Sonoma trip, I noticed something that most Virginia wineries are currently lacking: a brand. Our limo-riding group tasted at 3 Sonoma wineries (Benzinger, Imagery, and Robledo). At each one, we tasted more than just wine—we guzzled Kool-aid, effectively spoon-fed to us by tasting room reps.

Benzinger presented itself as the ‘biodynamic’ winery—the winery with the ultimate respect for the earth and the grapes. They said they religiously followed a unique method of winemaking that freed their wine from any unnatural substances and drew out its flavor from the terroire. By the end of the tour I was so captivated by all of the steps involved with biodynamic farming and the reasoning behind each one that I was convinced Benzinger’s wine had to be objectively better than every other wine in the world. How could I miss out on a bottle?

At Imagery, the methods of farming were hardly discussed. Instead, I immediately noticed that every bottle of wine was essentially a work of art. For each bottle of wine, someone at Imagery designed a new label, which was really an original painting. The paintings/labels always incorporated a house with columns that sits on Imagery’s property, but in very different ways. In Imagery’s tasting room, huge canvasses of these past labels hung on every wall. It took me an extra 10 minutes to decide which bottle of Imagery wine to buy: the one with the pink floral Imagery label or the darker more Halloween like Imagery label. (I had forgotten what the wines tasted like, but…these were collector’s items.)

Finally, the Robledo Family Winery won my heart. As he poured our wine, a young gentleman described how his father had started his career as a migrant worker in the fields of Napa Valley. He worked and worked and dreamed that one day he would own a vineyard and a winery of his own. With this persistence, he made his American dream come true and it’s now a part of every bottle he sells. Robledo had a mini version of this story printed on its tasting menus and on plaques around their property. Everyone in the winemaker's family participated in growing business (like winemaking meets Everybody Loves Raymond). I left that tasting room feeling like Robledo wine was more American than the Fourth of July—how could I not take home a bottle?

Looking back on my Hallowine purchases, I couldn’t remember at all how each wine tasted. In contrast, just the thought of my favorite Virgnia wines makes my mouth water (shout out to Breaux Vineyards ‘Jennifer’s Jambalaya,’ Cardinal Point’s ‘Quattro,’ and Vertias’ Viognier.) My Hallowine purchases were all motivated by one thing: brand. Each winery had convinced me that it had a unique story, and that by buying its wine I would be part of it too. The messages were infused through multiple sensory experiences: the tasting room rep's storytelling, the winery's decore, and they way each bottle looked and felt in my hand. Consequently, to me, each bottle came to represent something important: respect for the earth, art, the American dream (respectively). I know that when I crack each bottle in the future, I’ll think back to the day I bought it and remember what it stands for.

The lesson here is clear: I am a gullible consumer. AND wineries need to capitalize on that by selling more than just good wine. They need to sell me their stories through multi-sensory messaging and tell me what makes them unique.

Aging Gracefully...or Not

Like Leonardo DiCaprio, some wines only get better with time. However, I recently learned that there are others, which do NOT age so gracefully.

Cleaning out my storage closet--a task long overdue--I came upon 4 cases of Chardonnay from a winery that shall remain nameless.

The Nameless wine had been donated to a fundraising event I organized 3 years ago. But donors apparently don't booze at mid-day lectures on micro-finance, so only 6 bottles were consumed that day, and I got to keep the leftovers. Fast forwarding to the present day, I unearthed a bottle of this Nameless wine from under my pink golf clubs and decided to see how it had aged.

After a sip, a gasp, and a shiver, "Ew" is the most technical description I could muster. I couldn't remember how this wine had tasted 3 years ago, so I turned to trusty Snooth.com. The description read: floating aromas of caramelized apple, citrus and Asian pear, a bright palate with flavors of Granny Smith apple, soft citrus zest, and a touch of vanilla. Rather than these delightful flavors, I was now smelling dead grass and stale green pepper, and tasting a correspondingly offensive palate that included straight-up lemon juice. Much like Matthew Perry--this wine had not aged well.

What happened?

According to Wikipedia, aging happens as wine is exposed to oxygen through its cork. While red wines have tannins that act as a preservative and mellow out with this oxygenagtion, most white wines don't. Instead, aging and exposure to oxygen have 2 other effects on white wines:

1. Altered acidity levels: Over time, the acids in wine combine with alcohol molecules to form complex chemical combos. These changes can make the wine taste more acidic and astringent, giving off a sharp piercing effect. Or the wine can lose acidity, leaving it flat. (Technical term for this process: Esterification)


2. Displaced flavors: Oxygen that seeps into wine can also alter the organic compounds in a wine, highlighting flavors that were only mildly discernible when the wine was young. If a wine used to give off aromas of pineapple with a hint of grass, aging can make the pineapple disappear and the grass stand too tall. (Technical term: Hydrolysis of flavor precursors)

In light of this information, Father Time's work became obvious. The piercing taste of the Nameless wine evidenced that Esterification had struck--the wine was now severely acidic. Also, the fact that any notes of apple and Asian pear had fled the scene, suggested that some serious hydrolysis had occurred, making way for flavor precursors of decaying plants.

However, with my lesson in wine aging, I also got a crash course on wine storage techniques. Wikipedia went on that wine is affected by light, humidity and temperature. Direct light can damage the tannins in wine and create other faults. If a storage space isn't humid enough, then corks can dry out and let in too much oxygen, which makes wine age faster. Finally, wines aren't supposed to be kept in temperatures about 77 degrees Fahrenheit or else they can develop cloying or cooked flavors.

On this scoreboard, my storage closet was a wine disaster. The humidity in my apartment is so low that I keep chapsticks in every drawer. Also, since I'm a person who is persistently cold, I generally habitate in temperatures of 80+ degrees. Even though my pink golf clubs have served to shelter the cases of Nameless wine from any light, if these bottles ever stood a chance at graceful aging, the low humidity and high temperatures of Chez Moi cooked those odds right away.

When I began writing this entry, I was wracked with guilt. I had decimated 4 cases of a once perfectly good Chardonnay. That's like turning Britney Spears of 'Toxic' into the train wreck that she is today. And, like Kevin Federline should be, I ashamed of myself. But last night, I saw Britney in a dream and she showed me 3 steps to atonement:

1. I must put a a 'wine storage cooler' on my list for Santa.
2. I must promise to name my first homemade Chardonnay Anonymous; and finally
3. I must donate these 4 cases of Namless wine to my friend's Halloween party, where everyone will be too drunk to notice that they taste disgusting.

The Bubble Spectrum

Choosing a bottle of champagne for dinner reminds me of my dart game: I know generally what I’m aiming for, and I give it my best shot. Assuming sweet sparkling wines like Asti are meant for dessert, I always thought that dry sparkling would be best for dinner. When I heard the terms “Brut,” “Extra Brut” and “Extra Dry,” I just ignored them, hoping they didn’t mean anything. Then I went to wine class and found out that this is not optimal practice.

Part of a spectrum of terminology indicating the level of sweetness a sparkling wine, these terms are actually very helpful in distinguishing sparkling wines! However, you might want to make some flashcards to carry around because these terms are not wholly intuitive.

Starting at the driest end of the spectrum:

1) Brut Nature or Brut Natural – These terms denote the most dry of dry sparkling wines, and are reserved for varieties with less than 3 grams of residual sugar per liter.

2) Extra Brut or Brut Extra – Denote a sparkling wine that has between 3 and 6 grams of sugar per liter.

3) Brut – This term is for a wine that’s dryer than “dry,” having between 6 and 12 grams of residual sugar per liter.

4) Extra Dry, Extra Sec, or Extra Seco – Making a bit of sense, “extra” dry means ‘more dry than regular dry.’ These wines have between 12 and 17 grams of residual sugar per liter.

5) Dry, Sec or Seco – Far from the driest designation, ‘dry’ wines have between 18 and 32 grams of sugar per liter.

6) Demi-Sec or Semi-Seco – Referring to wine that is very sweet, these terms denote wine that has between 32 and 50 grams of residual sugar per liter.

7) Dolce, Doux or Sweet (very, very sweet) – The sweetest of sweet wines have over 50 grams of residual sugar per liter! (And can be poured over ice cream or with served with a gummy bear kabob.)

Fortified by this knowledge, my method of selecting a champagne will forever be transformed. No longer be driven by randomness, it will instead resemble my legal practice: reading the fine print, analyzing the facts and reaching an informed conclusion about the best sparkling wine for the contextual situation.

I Need Some Air!

Ever wonder why red wine can taste completely different only a few minutes after it’s been poured? I didn’t—but that’s because I only just starting drinking reds.

Last night, my parents poured me a glass of red wine (Meritage, a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot, from Paso Robles) at dinner and asked what I thought. I had 2 different answers.

At t+1: POW! The first sip made a huge impact. The wine's flavor was nice (plum and cherry, with saddle leather and some licorice), and it was very full bodied (I could feel alcohol in my nose). But, the physical punch of the wine was much more prominent. Each sip seemed to stab my tongue and leave my mouth and throat feeling as dry as the Mojave—wine class told me there must be super high tannins in effect. After 3 sips, I decided I needed an intermission and took some time to recover.

At t+21: After losing myself in conversation for about 20 minutes, I remembered the wine and reached for my glass. Woah--was this the same wine? The flavor was still there, but much more noticeable. The alcohol was still apparent, leaving the palate strong. BUT—there was a huge difference. The wine tasted soft and mild, rather than piercing my tongue and drying out my mouth. Where did the tannins go?

A quick, but insightful Google search taught me that exposing a wine to oxygen has a profound chemical effect on the tannins in red wine. When oxygen is present, small tannin molecules in the wine join together and form long tannin chains. Whereas small tannin molecules come across as bitter and sharp, longer chain tannins taste soft and delicate. This tannin combination thus transforms the wine’s taste. Winemakers call this process “polymerization,” but we Normies can use the term “breathing.” It can be accomplished by simply leaving wine in your glass for a few minutes or using a decanter. Who knew?

I consider this knowledge an exceptional ally on my journey toward wine appreciation. The next time I sip a red wine that leaves me panting, I'll just get some air.

Heyyy Breaux!

This past weekend was one of my favorite events of the year: the Virginia Wine & Balloon Festival. Blue ridge mountains…20 wine tasting booths…a country band singing C Lo Green…and an 80-foot balloon in the shape of an owl looming in the distance. What could be better?

Answer: finding 1) a new awesome winery, previously undiscovered (by me), and 2) a new fantastic Virginia wine.

Truthfully, most of the wines represented at the festival rose to the level of a low hum. But, transcending its surroundings like foot-tapping melodies of the C Lo country band: Breaux Vineyards (pronounced ‘Bro,’ as in “Don’t tase me, Bro!”). Located in Purcellville, VA, Breaux is a 404-acre family owned estate. They grow over 100 acres of 18 different kinds of grapes and apparently have very enthusiastic wine club members, including an exuberant lady who poured at their festival booth. Despite my initial aversion to the creepy crustacean on Breaux's label, after tasting their 6 wines on display, I was also tempted to join the Breaux fan club.

Breaux’s Equation Red Wine was a head turner—a blend of Merlot, Cab Franc and Petit Verdot. It had a pleasing aroma and a mildly fruity taste (plum, deep red fruits). Sips felt soft on the tongue, but also gave the warming effect of alcohol, and ended with a crisp finish. It made me want BBQ (or maybe that was the wafting scent of the pulled pork sandwich stand nearby).

My favorite wine, however was Breaux’s Jennifer’s Jambalaya (“JJ”) white—a blend of 7 different grapes (Viognier, Sauvignon Blanc, Viognier, Semillon, Muscat Giallo, Muscat Orange and Muscat Canelli). Described as a “Back Porch” wine, the JJ was slightly sweet and had a beautiful floral scent. It tasted slightly sweet (pear, pineapple, honey), but also had a subtle sour patch tang and a pleasant fade-away finish that didn’t feel sugary. I could have drunk a whole bottle (like my cousin Joey did).

In sum, Breaux Vineyards is one to put on the itinerary and its Jennifer’s Jambalaya on the list of ‘must trys.’ Also, if you’re in the DC area keep an eye out for a huge owl balloon and a C Lo country band.

No Red Herring

Friends, Romans and my 2 Blog Followers! Today is a momentous day. I tasted the first red wine that I actually enjoyed! Let me share how this came about.

In a few days, my Dude will be moving out of his apartment into my 600 square foot studio in San Francisco. Fearing the consolidation of our belongings, I decided to ferret out any items in his apartment that would be unworthy of space in our new home. Rolling around in an old cabinet that my parents gave us from a failing Bombay Company store, I found a bottle of red wine: Ravenswood Cabernet Sauvignon 2008 (Vintners Blend). Whence it came remains a mystery. I don’t like red wine and this bottle had no sentimental value. Why would I bother shipping it 5,000 miles?

Tonight, my uncle invited Dude and I out for a last supper in Arlington—to one of the greatest restaurants of all time, Rays the Steaks. On my way out the door, I saw the reject bottle of Ravenswood. It occurred to me that I should be polite and bring my uncle a bottle of wine.

When our server opened and poured the wine into my glass, my uncle offered me up as the first taster. Ugh. I have not historically enjoyed red wine. At wine tastings, I’d usually shoot back each of the red selections. Here, our steaks hadn’t even been brought out yet, so I would have to take my sip sans chaser. After swirling my glass more times than necessary, I finally picked it up and practiced my objective tasting skills: medium nose with hints of plum and cherry; the wine was medium bodied with a palate of dark red fruits and deep earth. It was soft feeling and easy on the tongue, meaning that the acidity was on the lower side—I liked that. I took another sip. It was lower on the tannins too, so my mouth didn’t feel too dry after I swallowed. The tastes of fruit (and alcohol) lingered. For once, I actually appreciated the clean taste of having no residual sugar!

Wow! Who am I?! I can actually say that after that whole meal (steak + dessert), I am thoroughly happy that my red wine was present. (The server probably noticed my happiness when he poured my third glass.) Could my palate growing up? I won’t give myself that much credit. One can only hope!

Thank you, Ravenswood Cabernet Sauvignon 2008 (Vintners Blend)! You are my red wine training wheels. Vinetality ho!

Trumped.

This week was the grand reopening of Kluge—now named “Trump”—Winery. As I read articles about this event in great newspapers of the world (such as Washington Post and C-Ville Weekly), I find myself of truly mixed sentiment.

On one hand, I dislike Donald Trump. Maybe it’s because he reminds me of my high school water polo coach (i.e. Satan), or maybe it’s because he embodies the type of American self-promotion that’s cartooned worldwide. Trump Casinos, Trump Golf Course, Trump Towers, Trump Toolbags (isn't that what's written on his mailbox?)...

On the other hand, maybe if I had that much money, I’d put my name on everything too. And along these lines, maybe the brand hype and over-marketing will be good for Virginia wine. After all, to my mind as a novice wine appreciator, there is nowhere in the world with a more charming wine country than Virginia. The gentle rolling hills and the sheer expansiveness of the countryside instill calm and create a setting where wine sipping wine feels as natural as breathing. Unlike more famous wine countries, Southern hospitality is the rule in Virginia tasting rooms, making it easy to ask questions about the wine, the winery, or just request additional pours ("Can I try the Viognier and Gewurztraminer again? I'm having a hard time deciding"). Why is Virginia not a wine-tourist destination like Napa or Sonoma (places far less beautiful and more commercialized for your buck)? Perhaps the reason is that no one has yet drawn attention to it or (ugh) trumpeted the state’s wine tourism. I hate to say it, but the big Trump might just attract the attention that Virginia needs.

I’ll come clean and admit that I’m just insanely jealous of Trump Winery—and even more jealous of his douchy looking son, “Eric” Trump.

Donald (who could afford hundreds of millions) snagged the Kluge estate and winery for a piddly $6.2 million. Now, the 27 year-old ET is in charge. (Where were you on all those seasons of Apprentice, Eric? I have no proof that you know what you're doing!) I wish I were the one who had bought Kluge winery and I wish I were the one running it. I’m sure it would have been hard to raise the cash--and even harder to keep it afloat at first. But that job would be awesome. All I have to say is that Eric Trump better be up to the task. And if they get foreclosed again, I will be prepared.