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.

Sparkling, Sweet & Dry

You know it will be a great night when you hear: “Tonight, we’ll be covering sparkling and sweet wines.” Sweeeeeet! (Pun intended—sorry.)

Instructor Molly opened my second wine tasting class by setting forth a simple formula: Grapes (i.e. sugar) + Yeast = Alcohol + CO2 + Heat. This made sense to me after my day of winemaking at Boxwood, as I recalled how warm I was climbing atop the massive open fermenting tanks.

All sparkling wines begin as some kind of base wine that undergoes a second round of fermentation. Sugar and yeast are added to the base wine, which is then sealed in a container, creating bubbles. Instructor Molly discussed how this carbonating fermentation can take place either in a big tank (the modern way) or in a bottle (the classic way). The tank process is pretty straightforward (wine + sugar + yeast are added to a big tank, which is then sealed). But the in-bottle process was a little wacky: after adding sugar and yeast to thousands of individual bottles of wine, the winemaker seals them, places them all in racks and repeatedly rotate each one clockwise in small increments. This rotation process is called “riddling”—making me wonder if the some lucky individuals in the world of wine have “Riddler” listed as a profession on their business cards.

For the sparkling section of the class, we tasted 6 different wines. Champagne, of course, was first. As it happens, in order to be labeled as “Champagne,” French wine laws require that a sparkling wine meet 2 criteria: 1) the wine must be produced in the Champagne region of France, and 2) the base wine (usually a Chardonnay or Pinot Noir) has to be carbonated in the bottle-fermented way, or “Method Tradicionale.” We next tasted Cremant—this is French sparkling wine, made in the traditional way (but using Chenin Blanc grapes), which is produced anywhere else besides the Champagne region. Everyone has heard of Champagne—who’s heard of “Cremant?” Life must be tough for winemakers living just outside the Champagne border. We also tried non-French sparkling wines: Cava from Spain, Prosecco from Italy, Sekt from Germany, and NV Gruet (a sparkling wine, made in the exact Champagne style that is from New Mexico!).

I learned two main lessons during this sparkling module: First, I’m more of a fan of tank-fermented rather than bottle-fermented wines. The champagne we tasted seemed like a liquid version of the smell I encounter every time I run past the Boudin Sourdough Bread factory in Fisherman’s wharf. I wanted to describe the palate as “sourdoughy, with notes of marmalade and dungenous crab.” The second thing I learned was that wine industry insiders pull out all the stops when it comes to bubbles. Looking around the room, I noticed that my classmates, for once, were NOT spitting out their sips of wine. Interesting. I got excited for how this might play out.

“Now, it’s time for the sweet wines—or actually, the SUPER sweet wines. These wines are made with extra sugar and the fermentation process is cut short to leave a good amount of sugar in the wine.” My sweet tooth was getting jittery at Instructor Molly’s words. We tasted sweet wines that were made in different ways. First, there was Muscat, which was pressed from dried grapes (e.g. raisins) and then fortified with outside alcohol. We also tasted Icewine, in which grapes had been frozen before they were crushed, so that the juice was super concentrated. Finally, we tasted Sauternes, a type of wine made with grapes that have actually been infected with Botrytis—the same allergy-inducing fungal rot that stunned my sinuses during my day of Virginia winemaking (!).

As expected, tasting these super sweet wines was my favorite part of wine class. The reason for this fact was not, however, because I love wine that pairs best with ice cream. Rather, I think my classmates were borderline tipsy from the sparkling wine module, which led to some also-sparkling commentary.

• Jules the chef, on Muscat: “It smells like mulberry jam, with notes of petrol—scratch that, I can’t smell anything!”

• Lauren, the future winery executive, on Sauternes: “Is this wine good? It tastes really…funky.”

More importantly, however, this module had a profound developmental effect on my wine skills. It finally taught me the difference between a sweet and dry wine. During my last class, I’d had such problems distinguishing levels of dryness and sweetness in wines. But now my tongue had been overloaded with residual sugar, and I could feel its sticky effects. It became obvious to me how all of the wines that I had tasted in my last class were “dry,” without a hint of sweetness.

So, friends, the real lessons here are as follows: 1) sugar can be educational (so, parents should let their kids have it at any time and make them present on what they learned), and 2) if you ever want to get a chef drunk, wine with bubbles is the best way to go.

The Day I Made Wine

5AM came fast, but I was faster—up at 4:52. Google Maps said Middleburg, Virginia was about an hour away, but I didn’t want to be late so I left at 5:22. The drive was easy, and dawn broke just as I pulled off the main road into Boxwood Winery.

Ted, a nice guy with the biggest dog I’ve ever seen, greeted me and offered coffee. He gave me a quick tour. Boxwood makes only red wines and roses, and uses the French Bordeaux style of winemaking. They grow all of their own grapes—Malbec, Merlot, Cabernet Franc and maybe others—and are known for 2 different blends of red wine (“Boxwood” and “Topiary”) which they make every year as well as 2 rose blends. This year, their winemaker, Adam, was working on a new wine, a 100% Malbec Rose, which was just about done fermenting.

The winemaking room was a huge rectangular space with lofty ceilings. Massive stainless steal fermenting tanks stood on the longest sides of the room, leaving an empty corridor-like space in the middle. Just above the tanks, a thin catwalk lined three of the four walls, allowing winemaking individuals to stand over the tanks, peer in and throw stuff inside. The floor of the room was cement and easily cleanable. A drain with a grate over it ran down the middle of the room and more than a few power hoses hanging coiled around hooks on the walls. Two tall barn-like doors at the end of the winemaking hall opened up to a cemented outdoor area underneath a roof overhang. A huge white 18-wheeler truck was parked a few feet away, and behind that vineyards stretched into forest.

Two golf carts drove up and unloaded about 10 people, workers enlisted to help with the harvest. Their alpha guy—i.e. the dude who spoke English—was named Maximo, and he seemed to know what he was doing. Today, he told me, we would be sorting Cab Franc grapes, which had been picked from the vines 2 days earlier. Crates of these grapes were currently chilling (literally) in the white huge truck, which was somehow refrigerated, in order to kill off any bacteria, insects or other stuff that (ew) shouldn’t be in the wine.

The magic began when Adam arrived. He’d been the winemaker at Boxwood for almost 6 years. I thought I would feel intimidated by The Winemaker, but thankfully he was Canadian—and experience has taught me all Canadians are nice. Adam introduced me to his trusty intern, Ellen, who was also Canadian. I knew I was in good hands.

We were off! The workers started setting up a lot of equipment—a stair-master looking thing, a machine that resembled a bathtub sized cheese grater, and a conveyer belt. Our instructions were to pick out and discard grapes that 1) had a creepy gray fungus called Botrytis, 2) were not yet ripe or 3) had um, vinegarized. The good grapes should be placed on the carrier machine (i.e. the stairmaster), which fed them into the de-stemming machine (a.k.a. the cheese grater), and finally spit them out onto the conveyor belt. The de-stemmed grapes would be collected in a crate. Piece of cake.

Then came the grapes. Over 100 crates of Cab Franc (a small-medium sized black grape) came off the truck and were stacked by the machines. I was salivating. I love grapes.—I often buy 4 bunches at a time (red, green, black and assorted) and eat them all within a day and a half. This was going to be the best job ever!

Not. Within 5 minutes and at least 20 attempts, I had accepted that these grapes were not for me to eat. If they weren’t covered in fungus, mud or inexplicable sliminess, spiders or stink bugs were hiding behind the little berries. (Oddly enough, one semi-portly worker lady standing across from me did not seem phased by any of this and appeared to be eating more grapes than she was tossing on to the stairmaster machine). It was also frustratingly cold out. My fingers had frozen, and I figured out quickly that I was allergic to Botrytis. After 50 minutes, my sinuses were on strike and I feared I might contaminate the whole operation.

Adam took pity on me and moved me inside, offering to show me how to “punch out” a tank of wine. Grateful that I was starting to breathe again, I watched as he climbed up the catwalk above one of the big tanks. “We have Merlot in here. We picked it last week, got it in the tank 3 days ago and bled it yesterday. Today we need to add yeast and really start the fermentation.” I understood about 30% of what he said but smiled and hoped I’d catch on. Adam stirred a large beaker of cloudy water and poured it into the tank. “I just added the yeast. Now I’m going to punch out.” He climbed over the railing of the catwalk and start to walk along the thin ledge of the tank—at least 10 feet above the unforgiving floor. He reached for an 8-foot steel pole that had flat metal disk at one end. Disk-side down, he dipped the pole into the tank and leaned on it. Then he stood back and churned it a few times. “This is punching out. I’m crushing the grapes in the tank.” OH! Like instead of stepping on them! “Right.” He seemed to appreciate my effort. He continued on for 10 minutes, making sure he had churned and crushed every part of the cap (the grape skins at the top of the tank).

I had to ditch any fear of heights before I punched out the next tank, but it was awesome—every time I pushed down the pole, I could see little foamy pink bubbles rise to the top, showing off the fermentation process! But, after two tanks, I needed a rest. Punching out was a workout. I could already feel my upper body getting sore.

Next came “Pour Overs,” a task which Ellen commanded like the pro that she was. Like Adam, she fearlessly climbed all over the tanks, but she was holding a heavy hose that was connected to the bottom of the tank. “All of the juice that comes out of the grapes when they’re punched out is at the bottom, so we need to circulate it over the grapes and skins floating at the top of the tank.” Kneeling on the ledge of the tank, Ellen powered up the hose. She sprayed for about 12 minutes, until all of the juice at the bottom of the tank was trickling down through the top layers of grapes. She kneeled because she had to stay low—if the hose were to be sprayed above the mouth of the tank, the juice would be exposed to too much oxygen.

I did the pour over on the next tank, but after 5 minutes of kneeling on the hard steel, I worried I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. I switched positions from kneeling to squatting and thus discovered my lower body workout of the day.

After 2 punch outs and 3 pour overs, I stood in Adam’s laboratory, panting and fanning myself. He worked like a geeky scientist or wizard, constantly tasting wine samples or grapes, measuring things or jotting notes. He took measurements of juice samples from each tank, monitoring the “BRIX” or sugar level. “The fermenting stops when there’s no more residual sugar. So, I need to see what the BRIX is to figure out how far along the fermenting is.”

At one point, Adam decided that he wanted to increase the alcohol volume of a whole tank. Alcohol is the product of sugar fermenting from yeast, so he explained that he needed to add sugar to raise the ultimate alcohol level. Ellen gathered a large tub, a hose and many bags of sugar. After connecting a hose to the tank, she poured all of the juice from that tank into the tub. Then Adam started dumping in the sugar. “I measured how out much I need for the whole tank. We’ll put it all in this tub then circulate the juice with the sugar around.” After he’d poured about 10 pounds of sugar into the tub of almost-wine, Adam rolled up his sleeves. “Time to mix!” He knelt down and stuck his arms into the tank up to his biceps. It looked like he mixed the sugar into the wine by doing breaststroke pull for about 5 minutes. Then Ellen pumped the sugary juice over the top of the tank and over the cap.

We all had lunch (Boxwood ordered us Thai food!), and then the morning’s activities repeated themselves. I got to do more punch outs and pour overs (i.e. upper and lower body workouts). By 7PM, I was exhausted and bid the crew farewell. Adam and Ellen were going to be there until 10PM. Rachel (Exec. VP of the Winery) took the ‘graveyard shift’—doing the punch outs that needed to be done at midnight. As I drove home, my head was pounding from my allergies and my fingers were stained purple and black. Everyone I’d met that day was going to reconvene again tomorrow morning at 7AM. The day would repeat until all Boxwood’s grapes had been harvested. Thinking of the endless work, I felt really glad that I was not a winemaker.

Despite the challenge to my stamina, I loved my day at Boxwood and couldn’t imagine a better way to learn about the winemaking process. At the end of the day, I definitely had a clear vision of how wine is made:

1. First, grapes are picked off their vines. This appears to happen in one swoop—i.e. ripe and unripe grapes are both harvested (there’s no second harvest for late bloomers).
2. Then, the harvested grapes are chilled for 48 hours to kill off bugs and bacteria.
3. Once chilled, grapes are sorted and rotted, unripe and vinegarized specimens are thrown away.
4. The remaining grapes go through a de-stemmer machine and are then thrown in a huge fermenting tank. (NOTE: I was disturbed to see that the grapes are never washed before they begin fermenting into wine, leaving potential additives including mud, spider webs, spiders and stink bugs to infuse into the wine. Adam tried to reassure me by telling me that the yeast, heat and fermenting process kills everything inside the tank and then everything is strained from the juice. I can’t lie that I’m still slightly troubled.)
5. For 2 days, the grapes are sealed in the tank undergoing ‘whole berry fermentation.” In this process, the grapes on the bottom of the massive tank are crushed under the weight of the grapes on top.
6. On day 2, the tank is “bled,” meaning that the juice, which was naturally crushed out of the bottom layer of grapes, is drained from the tank. Adam uses this juice to make rose wine blends because it’s a nice light pink color. He also measures the juice to gauge the levels of various nutrients (including nitrogen) and sugar. At this point, he can decide whether he’ll need to add nutrients or additional sugar to the juice.
7. On day 3, yeast is added, and the crushing process begins with “punch outs” 3-4 times per day. Each punch out gets more juice out of the bottom layer of grapes and churns the whole tank to move more grapes from the middle layer down to the bottom. Interspersed with punch outs are “pour overs,” in which the juice that has been crushed out of the grapes gets poured over the layer of grapes at the top of the tank. This process keeps the whole tank fermenting evenly.
8. After the yeast is added, Adam and Ellen measure the BRIX (or sugar) level of the wine (and some other things like density) every hour or half hour to see how fast the juice is fermenting. If fermentation stops for some reason, it’s very hard to get it going again. Adam started to describe various tactics, but they were honestly over my head.
9. The punch outs and pour overs continue for 3-4 days, until the last of the residual sugar has been turned into alcohol.
10. When no residual sugar remains, the wine is transferred into wood barrels to begin malolactic fermentation (acid in the wine is somehow turned into lactic acid, which is softer on the tongue). This process continues 1-2 years, and the wine will stay in the barrels until it’s ready to be bottled.

Obviously, there are holes in this picture, but I was appreciative to have gotten this far in comprehending the process. Hopefully, I can come back and volunteer in the springtime: “Hi, um, this is Liz—do you take volunteers to help you blend wine?”

The Day Before the Day I Made Wine

As the phone was ringing, I had no idea what to say. ‘Hello, my name is Liz and I want to help you crush grapes.” That didn’t sound right. (I’d wait to see if I was rejected before I’d give my name.)

At the end of my last wine tasting class, I asked Instructor Molly how she started learning about wine. She said that she started working at Jefferson Vineyards in Charlottesville, VA (yeeeah, Cville!) and then moved out to Napa Valley, worked at Stag’s Leap and received formal instruction. The conversation culminated in this advice: “You should volunteer for a crush! You’ll learn a lot that way.”

A “crush” is the period of the winemaking process right after harvest. Grapes are sorted and smashed before they’re left to ferment. By my rudimentary calculations, crush time was going on right now, but would probably be done after another month. I had to act fast.

I pulled up www.virginiawine.org and started looking through the list of wineries in the Northern Virginia Wine Region. I’d only visited one on the list, Boxwood Winery, owned by former Redskins owner Jack Kent Cooke. I tried them first. Unfortunately I hadn’t really thought about my ‘speal’ until right before someone picked up. It wasn’t pretty…

“Hi! Um, do you take volunteers for your harvest and crush? ”

“Who is this?” Shoot.

“My name is Liz…My wine tasting instructor said volunteering at a winery is a great way to learn about wine.” <>

“Oh, can you come tomorrow?”

“YES.”

I almost hung up in victory but am very glad I got more details.

“What do I wear?” Answer: Clothes you can stain.

“What time should I get there?” Answer: 7AM (staying until 7PM at least).

I thought I’d quit while I was still welcome. “OK! See you tomorrow!” Awesome! I spent the next 3 hours at TJ Maxx buying clothes I could swim in wine vats with.

A Hedonistic Viewpoint

He-don-is-tic /ˈhēdn,iz,tik/: adjective. 1) Relating to the pursuit of pleasure. 2) Description derived from the ethical theory that pleasure is the highest good and proper aim of human life.

"Liz, would you say this is a 'good' wine?"

"Um...I like the smell of grass, but it's a bit too dry for me. My mouth is watering. (Can I have some water?)"

"Actually, it doesn't matter whether or not you like the wine."

Ouch. That seemed hurtful, but Molly the instructor continued on. "A description discussing whether or not you like a wine is a 'hedonistic' description. I'm asking for an objective description of the wine and an objective answer as to whether or not it's good."

It was 8:30PM on a Thursday evening. I was about 8 wines (or a glass and a half) deep, not realizing that the expectation in wine tasting class is that students will sip, swish and spit out wine after tasting it. I had signed up for the Wine & Spirit Education Trust ("WSET") intermediate wine education class at the Capitol Wine School in Washington DC. My Google search led me to conclude that this was the best class for me since I aimed to generally expand my wine appreciation. The course surveyed wines from around the world, covered the most notable wine growing regions--and it included actual tasting of wines (the lynchpin of the course structure as far as I was concerned). This was my first class, and though I already felt behind, the tipsiness from the tastings and the quiet dehydration from the classroom's recycled air kept me excited and in the game.

My wine classmates were an interesting lot. If they weren't in the 'industry,' they were certainly closer than I was. Laurel's family is starting a winery, which she plans to manage. Andrea is an assistant pastry chef at a bakery that I've actually heard of. Jules is a sous chef--and she came to class wearing her white chef's coat. Wow.

Molly, the instructor, handed out sheets of paper that listed several parameters of description in big bold letters, next to wide blank spaces. Wine Mad Libs? I was hopeful.

• COLOR/APPEARANCE: [huge space]
• NOSE: [huge space]
• PALATE: [huge space]
• QUALITY: [huge space]

Instructor Molly discussed these and the possible descriptors that we should use as she poured our first wine (WOOHOO! finally--the tasting portion), a Syrah (a.k.a. Shiraz). She explained that Syrah is a dark-skinned grape grown throughout the world (France, Australia and other places) and used primarily to produce powerful red wines. It can be blended with other wines or used 'straight-up' to make Syrah "varietal" wine (i.e. a wine made with only one type of grape. NOTE: I used to think that people who said the word "varietals" were individuals whom I would just never befriend. However, I humbly have learned that there is a difference in meaning between the word "varieties" and the more pretentious sounding "varietals"--so people who use the latter aren't just trying too hard to jump a few class levels. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule.).

As we sipped (and some others of us spit), she told us to fill out our Mad Libs--I mean tasting "notes." Had she looked over my shoulder while circulating the room, she would have seen the following:

• COLOR: beet color (purple/red)
• NOSE: intense; flavors of sour blueberry pie, dried plums, steer manure,forest fire and wood chips or beaver
• PALATE: sour/vinegary; some acidity; some tannins; round body; same flavors as nose plus worcestershire sauce and steak
• QUALITY: Not a fan
  

As Jules the real chef read aloud her description of the wine, I internally applauded myself for how much more interesting mine was. (Compare the above to: "Medium Nose; Flavors of red fruits, plum and leather; medium acidity; low to medium tannins; medium body...") I mean--wasn't that the point? (To get as creative and flamboyant with adjectives as possible?) I felt awesome.

However, no, I was wrong. Ca-razy descriptors is actually the opposite of the point of the "systematic approach" to wine tasting, which Molly was trying to teach. When tasting wine, Molly explained, it's proper to choose descriptors from a list of about 200-300 key terms that are considered standard. Describing a level of degree, use "low," "medium" or "high/full." When describing flavors, stick with the suggestions written in the textbooks ("red fruits," "cherries," "plum," "smoke," "leather," "yeast"...). I looked over the seemingly short words and phases. While I was happy to see that there were a laudable amount of adjectives provided, "forest fire" and "worcestershire sauce" did not appear to be listed. Sigh.

"These adjectives may seem dull to some of you, I know. But the point of this approach is to have a universally used set of terms in describing wine. That way, the same description of a wine can be understood by a lot of people." (Instructor Molly, you are a mind reader.) I was determined to adapt.

We went through 6 more tastings (Reisling, Gewurztrainer, Pinot Grigio, Nebbbiolo...). Finally, it was my turn to read my tasting notes. It seemed ironic that my turn coincided with the most douchey of douchey-sounding wines: "Chateauneuf-de-Pape" (hahahahah--it's hard to not laugh when I think of people saying the name out loud). But, I kept a straight face, tried my hardest to imagine Helen Mirren rather than John Stuart, and read aloud: "The color is deep purple; the nose is...medium intense (is that right phrasing?); I smell fennel, vegetables, grass, animal and rubber..and tar..." After a few minor corrections, I felt pretty OK. Then: "Liz, what about the quality?" From here, the conversation about hedonism ensued. Instructor Molly explained: "the Quality of a wine describes whether or not it's a good example of a typical wine of its kind. In this case, is this good Chateauneuf-de-Pape?" (hahahah-EEK) I ventured "yes" (assuming they wouldn't serve us a crappy--or "low quality"--wine sample in wine school. Molly: "Correct." YAY!

The rest of the class went smoothly. I went into the session thinking that there isn't a wrong way to describe wine, but I found out there actually is. I also learned that my nose and palate are not calibrated the way of the the WSET Level 2 test and my levels of sensitivity are totally off. I thought most of the 10 wines we tasted had high acidity--only 1 did, the rest were low and medium. I also had difficulty matching the color of most of the wines to the proper color on the WSET approved color chart, but I started getting better with that.

There was one thing with which I need serious help: my sensitivity for sweetness. On my Mad Libs, I characterized most of the class wines as "dry" and would have chosen "super dry" if that had been an option (it's not currently approved). As it turns out, the sugar receptors on the tip of my tongue can't pick up sweetness unless sugar level of a wine is at or above that of a Swedish Fish. Instructor Molly asked if I eat a lot of candy. "Well, not really, I mean maybe. [Then I thought of the pack of Percy Pigs I inhaled before walking down the aisle a few weeks ago at my wedding] Actually, yeah I do." She suggested try the following: sip a cup of plain black tea...then add a teaspoon of sugar and try to sense any difference...then 2 teaspoons and so on. I am dubious as to wether I'll be able to taste any difference before 0.2 cups of sugar, but am slightly hopeful. I'll definitely let you know how this goes.

First tasting class is a wrap. Vinetality or bust!

PS: I'm putting together a wine 'cheat sheet' for my WSET Level 2 test using my class notes and the much wiser words of Wikipedia.