August
Many more Spanish wines to rave…
Olivares Altos de la Hoya 2003 Jumilla is a bright and juicy Monastrell (the French like to call it Mourvedre but it’s not their
grape so it’s not their choice) with 10% Garnacha. It’s
rather New World-ish but that doesn’t have to be a dismissive
descriptor, instead it’s friendly and fruit-laden, dusted
up with spicy clove at the end.
Olivares Dulce Monastrell is old school, more like a Fondillon
(see below) than a modern wine. And Olivares
Panarroz 2003 is nearly
as rustic, though that rusticity is exaggerated by the backward
nature of the nose at present. It has a toasty note that is almost
roasted.
Carchelo Monastrell 2004 is also from Jumilla and this time the ¾’s
of Monastrell is ameliorated with Merlot and Syrah. It’s
in the style of Beaujolais, but far more interesting than that
left-handed descriptor.
And another solid performer in Jumilla, Casa
de La Ermita, has
a couple of wines to show. The Crianza 2002 blends Monastrell,
Cabernet Sauvignon and Tempranillo to create aromas of black raspberry,
strawberry, with lots of black cherry creating an almost sweet
nose, including baking spices and clove. The mouth is juicy and
tangy and a little tannic. If the finish is somewhat short, this
is pretty throughout, with a hint of raisins.
The tannins step forward expectedly in Casa
de la Ermita’s
Petit Verdot 2002. But despite the leanness of the 2002 vintage,
this is impressive wine with bright red raspberries and cherries.
It’s surprisingly fruity for the grape with some barrel derived
hints of caramel and baking spices. The wine is juicy, tangy, with
blackberry, lots of red cherry and plum and a roasted, toasty oak
note. If only because it’s such an unusual success (who does
Petit Verdot well?), it deserves attention.
And one of the all-star labels of Jumilla is Finca
Luzon. Their
2004, 2/3 Monastrell and 1/3 Syrah, is laden with chocolate and
boysenberry and is drinking absolutely the best it could ever drink,
I believe.
A Jorge Ordonez label that’s new to me is the Wrongo
Dongo,
also from Jumilla. This Monastrell is a bit short but very stylish,
juicy and jammy throughout.
La Mancha is very much the origin of many of the newest (or at
least new to the market) bargain wines arriving from Spain. Campos
Reales has a Vino Joven Tempranillo from 2004 that is as easy as
pie. Condesa de Leganza 1999 has some plump character to it as
well. Finca Antiigua’s Tempranillo 2002 shows a surprising
note of overripeness (well, it’s warm there in La Mancha,
even in a less than ideal vintage like ’02. More like spiced
red currant jelly than wine.
And speaking of crazy bargains, the Eguren
family’s Codice is commonplace on every critic’s list of great values. The
2003 is not only tasty, it shows some ability to age. I hope to
pop a few of these in a couple of years, because I wonder if there
isn’t more to come from this particular bottle. On the other
hand, people age perfectly nice wines beyond their best moments.
Still, the amount of oak showing on the wine seems to be increasing
with this release, and I don’t believe this wine is over-oaked,
but I hope that it might show a bit more in a couple of years.
The new Protocolo (also from Eguren) is, of course, just plain
drinkable, but not at all plain.
Navarra may be known for Rosado but far more important wines are
happening here. Vega Sindoa (Bodegas Nekeas) is a well-known producer
of pretty wines, mostly varietal bottlings. Castillo
de Monjardin Deyo Merlot 2002 is aromatic and intriguingly well balanced. Palacio
de la Vega has a pugnacious Cabernet
Reserve 2000, and a still
youthful if Brett-laden Tempranillo Reserve
1999.
Senorio de Sarria no. 9 2002 has a very intensely spiced nose
from the rather aggressive American oak usage but the fruit itself
is rich and plumy, with a finish of cinnamon and sawdust (American
oak comes from sawed staves and you can smell that).
Penedes might be famous for cava, but many more styles of wines
are emerging from the region. Jean Leon was certainly the first
to convince Americans that wines from classic varieties could be
made here. Leon first brought Cabernet and Chardonnay to everyone’s
attention back in the 1970’s and the Jean Leon name has been
continued by the Torres family, but the quality hasn’t suffered.
However, in truth, I would have to argue that Jean Leon wines
are not so much better than they were twenty years ago. They are
better, but other labels have improved to a greater degree. And
the Jean Leon Cabernet Reserva 1998, as well as the super label,
Zemis 2000, are just plain brutal. Time will heal things, I’m
sure, but I tend to fuss about wines that are willing to demand
that much time from its consumers.
The Torres family made the most famous red wine of the region,
Torres Gran Coronas, and then in the early 70’s, the Torres
Gran Reserva Black Label, set new standards for greatness in Spain.
That wine continues to be delicious, but the Torres stable has
evolved and brought new wines forward in the last decade.
Montsant truly is baby Priorat, a wine with Priorat intensity,
Priorat structure and balance (a remarkable achievement for such
a powerful style of wine), and Priorat soil-derived aromas and
flavors. Fra Guerau’s 2002 is muscular and well-made. Cellar
Capcanes Cabrida is lighter on its feet and just as chockfull.
Casta Diva has a Fondillon, which is an ancient style of wine
and an anachronistic manner of winemaking, something that is as
much a product of Roman ideas as it is Spanish. Take an overripe
and raisinated red and place it in amphorae, called tinajas in
Spain, and let it age far more quickly than it would in barrel
or bottle. It creates something that is more like Port than table – something
nutty and filled with dried fruits like raisins, figs and dates.
A wine from the modern era, Casta Diva’s 1995 Fondillon is absolutely delicious. It loses nothing in its modernity and
gains everything from its illustrious background.
Spain’s most famous desserts are Sherries. But a huge chunk
of Sherry is made in a dry style. The aperitifs are Finos and Manzanillas;
the Manzanillas achieve a bizarre lightness of being, despite alcohol
levels over 15%. The secret is a particular sacchromyces, a sugar
eating yeast that provides the wines with a barrier against oxygen
as they age in barrels. Most Finos rest under a thin layer of the
foam, or flor, produced by the yeast.
Manzanilla is different. It’s aged in the coastal town of
Sanlucar de Barrameda, and the flor may be six or more inches,
not only protecting the wine from oxygen, but adding more flavor
and character: nuts, salt, and earth.
Any Manzanilla you buy will be a fascinating experience, as long
as you buy it fresh. Drink it with a chill and consume it with
grilled and oily foods, if you like. The tartness and salt note
lance through the food.
But perhaps you had a Manzanilla and didn’t like it. Perhaps
you’ve tried the big names in Fino, say, Tio
Pepe or La Ina,
and didn’t get what the fuss was about. One word of caution;
if the Fino you tried came from a bottle that was room temperature
and open on someone’s back bar for the last two months, forget
about it. I’m not sure what you tasted, but it wasn’t
a real Fino.
Perhaps Fino, and Sherry, are non pareil; the big brands (such
as La Ina and Tio Pepe) are not the least interesting bottles available.
If we didn’t know the brands so well, it would proper to
describe those two as shockingly good wines. Certainly they are
absurd bargains.
For Manzanilla, another enormous house, Domecq, produces a lovely
Manzanilla. My personal favorite is La Guitana, but that’s
just me. I buy it in half bottles and finish it on the spot. Even
the next day, the wine has less of the delicacy that gives it such
grace.
Once Fino loses its flor and is aged further in barrel, as in
versions called Amontillado, the wine can handle weeks or even
months open on a back bar. But not Fino.
Fino’s older iteration is Amontillado. Here too the big
names have a lot to offer: Domecq has cheap stuff like the Medium
Dry; it’s a good drink. They also have an outrageously extravagant
Amontilado called 51-1. It’s labeled as a VORS, which means
that the wine is at least (!) thirty years old.
Sandeman’s friendly Character Amontillado is every bit as
tasty, if less complex.
Williams & Humbert also makes the ubiquitous Dry
Sack. I’ll
admit that it’s not particularly compelling. But in comparison
to all the other cheap labels of yesteryear, it acquits itself
very well.
And there’s a lovely bottle of Dry Sack labeled as a 15
year old; it’s very nice dessert wine.
Harvey’s has that other well-known label: Harvey’s
Bristol Cream. It too is better than people assume. Sure, there
are far better examples, but you can’t beat the price. I’m
serious, taste it blind and you’ll see it’s not a bad
wine.
The landmark old wines of Sherry are unrivaled wines. These intense
desserts can be made by concentrating the wine through long barrel
aging or by other extreme steps. Say, for instance, with Lustau’s
East India. It’s aged in hothouse conditions, just as with
Madeira, all to mimic the effects of a long ocean voyage to India.
Gonzales Byass’ NOE taps the former route to richness, and
as a VORS, the youngest wine in the blend is thirty years old.
Considering that a barrel would theoretically evaporate all its
contents every twenty-five years or so, that should be a very expensive
wine. It’s not. It should be.
Romate Cream Sherry is disgustingly rich, more fig juice than
wine. The many and grand wines made from Pedro
Ximinez or Moscatel that are flying through the marketplace at present are of another
world, albeit one in which dessert wine is generally enjoyed as
a fruit or pastry condiment rather than something drunk by itself.
Lest it seem like all dessert sherries are sweet, they’re
not. Romate also makes an Amontillado, called NPU
Amontillado Special Reserve, that is a true classic. Though it too is at least thirty
years old, you can still smell the flor that grew upon the wine
decades ago.
Finally, a few German wines to report on, starting
with a 1990
J. J. Prum Graacher Himmelreich Auslese, which was showing
more age than I would have expected. Indeed, I’m guessing
there was something wrong with the bottle. J.
J. Prum wines are
meant to age, and I’ve had thirty-year-old versions that
tasted younger.
On the other hand, it was delicious. The nose was mushroomy and
truffle-laden, lots of honey and apricot; the mouth was sugary
and powerful.
The Graacher Himmelreich 1976 Auslese was up next; it had huge
earth aromas. Some call it petrol; in the words of Manfred
Prum,
the owner, it’s a far too complicated aroma to call it something
so simplistic. Firne, the Germans call it. Slate, honey, beeswax,
candied lemon zest, baked apples, cinnamon hints, candied orange
segments at the end. This was an amazing wine. Most 1976’s
are long dead. It might have been the “miracle year” (because
it started out so badly and ended so gloriously) but it was always
a low acid, short term vintage.
But those who complain about Prum’s insistence upon high
sulfur levels and some CO2 in the bottle should drink wines like
this. Remarkable.
So, we tried the superior vineyard, Wehlener
Sonnenuhr Auslese,
also from 1976. The sugar is higher, this ‘76 is far more
complex, and just as youthful. Yes, the sugar is higher here, but
it sticks out less. Integration is a good thing. The citrus is
more interesting, more lacey, like orange foam, instead of orange
candies in the Graacher.
Multiple citrus fruits and long earth. Even more amazing than
the Graacher ‘76.
Gunter Kunstler’s ’98 Hochheimer Hoelle Auslese is
sweeter than the ’76 but hides it beneath acidic armor – oranges,
apricots, tangerines, with earth of a smokier variety. The sugar
on this was ridiculous, so was the balance.
A lot of people love these wines, but the wines aren’t as
slavishly lusted upon, like a cultish Napa Cab. A lot of wines
have sugar, but the deft acidic lift of this wine, even in an area
that makes big wines and in a vintage called super-rich, is unlike
all but the greatest sweet wines in the world.
Schloss Saarstein Serriger Schloss Saarstein
Auslese 2001 – more
sugary stuff, and even more acidity. The orange and apricot of
the previous wine are built of sterner stuff, hints of unopened
flower and drippings of caramel – the flower is from great
Riesling, and the caramel comes from botrytis.
September
In September, I was back in Rochester, New
York to shoot another
version of CORK, an on-premise training DVD from Constellation.
A truly humble name, eh, Constellation? Oh, well, if you’re
that big…
Working on this project made me consider the meaning of the word
Constellation. So I did a wall sculpture called Constellation that
some of you might someday see…
But I really enjoy the people I work with on the CORK project.
And I like being in Rochester and visiting Wegman’s, one
of the best grocery groups there is. It must be living proof
that I am a hopeless geek that I’m actually excited to
visit a Wegman’s and see what they’re up to.
But once again I’m in Rochester and I want to go to Tastings,
Wegman’s on-premise venue, and they’re closed both
nights I’m in town. One of these days…
I visit another local restaurant instead. Nice place, I’ve
had a good meal there before. I show up at 8:40 pm though they
close at 9 pm. On a Sunday night, that’s not such a good
idea in most restaurants. Here too the service issue becomes amusing,
if nothing else.
I seat myself at the bar and shout a hearty “hi there” to
the bartender. She grunts something like hi. “May I see a
menu and order some dinner?” I ask. “Oh. Yeah.” Menu
comes out, I peruse quickly, order quickly, I mean I know the kitchen
wants to close soon, though there must still be about thirty customers
dining.
I order a beer, and order a glass of red wine to go with my entrée.
I figure, let’s be nice, let her get things arranged in advance,
and it lets her know that I’m cognizant that she may want
to clear out fairly quickly after close. The appetizer arrives;
it’s good. About one minute later, my entrée arrives. “I
don’t know why he did that,” she mumbles, “I
told him you were having your appetizer first.” Suuuuure,
you don’t know, I’m suuuure.
Oh, well, it’s good too. I eat them both, finish my wine,
and wonder why I haven’t seen the bartender in a while. It’s
8:55pm. Twenty minutes later, I finally found a manager. He was
helping someone with a ringout at the host stand, of course. I
always find it gratifying to watch people count money at the front
door, don’t you?
He disappears for a few minutes, then the bartender is back. She
drops the check down. No comment, turns on her heels and walks
back to the kitchen. There was a table behind me, laughing about
their own situation. They were seated by the kitchen which was
OBVIOUSLY closing down for the day, I mean, it was OBVIOUS. Crash!
Bang! A few pans are dropped. The table started yelling at the
kitchen, “Hey, you guys aren’t loud enough!” I’m
serious, that’s what they were saying.
I sign my check and wait a few more minutes. Nobody in sight.
I wonder to the front door and stand for a few minutes, hoping
at least somebody could manage a “Goodbye”; I’ll
live without a “Thank you.” Nothing.
I’m beginning to think that restaurants should be evaluated
only on Sunday nights. That’s when you find out what they’re
really up to. Everything else is just for show…
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