Wednesday 25 May 2016

Old Vine (not just) Zinfandel

There are a few select areas around the world graced with gnarly old vines, planted in the nineteenth century and still producing wine. These vines are special because they produce exceptionally concentrated wine (albeit in small quantities) and because they are a direct, physical connection with the distant past. Ironically, it's the so-called New World that has rich plantings of old vines, particularly in phylloxera-free parts of Australia and also here in California, where nineteenth-century vines have survived the twin ravages of phylloxera and Prohibition.

I visited Ridge's property in northern Sonoma County, on the border between Dry Creek Valley and Alexander Valley, where there are vines planted in the early 1900s after phylloxera struck California in the 1890s. There are even some vines from the 1880s planted to the St. George rootstock by canny growers who were learning from France, where the devastating effects of phylloxera were countered by grafting vines to American rootstock. Walking through the vineyards made me realise how connected we are to the past, as some of the practices of the nineteenth century still hold true today, and how winemakers and growers from around the world have always learnt from one other.

the passing of time

 

 
1990s Carignan vine, with a higher-trained canopy
old vine, with a lower-trained canopy














The Ridge vineyards have many old vines with thick, wrinkled trunks, growing in different, maverick directions, determined to do their own thing after many years growing, yet disciplined in the quality of grapes they produce. These are interspersed with thin, seemingly weedy vines that are easy to train but produce fruity, upfront, almost undisciplined wines. These young vines have been planted to replace the old vines that one by one die. The contrast between the young and old vines was stark, but with time one will grow into the other. Ridge are intensely interested in preserving California's wine culture, but also in building on it. The younger vines are trained higher than the older ones, so that the canopy can be better controlled, but still without trellises which are almost uniform now across California (with the exception of Syrah, which has wildly productive canopies).

zinfandel, and other varieties

Old Vine Zinfandel is the most famous style of wine in California which connects the state's rich winemaking culture with today's drinkers. Rightly so, because old Zinfandel vines produce wines with much more concentration of flavours than young vines which result in fruity, somewhat simple wines. But on Ridge's property, there are over 20 other grape varieties planted, some of the vines dating back to the nineteenth century. Zinfandel is at its best as the main part of a blend, and those other grape varieties add what Zinfandel can sometimes lack according to the site: colour, acidity, or tannins.

These other varieties include Petite Sirah, which was planted far more than I was expecting in Ridge's vineyards, providing colour and tannin, as well as two other much-maligned grape varieties. Carignan is often dismissed as a high-yielding, low-quality grape, but old Carignan (spelt Carignane by Ridge as it was in California in the nineteenth century) can produce intense, concentrated wines, and it can also add acidity to a blend. Alicante Bouschet is dismissed even more often, planted during Prohibition to give colour to home winemakers' amateur efforts. Not only do Ridge have old Alicante Bouschet, they're still planting it now - for its historic importance in California as well as the colour it adds to a wine.


blending and field blends

Mataro, or Mourvèdre as it's known in France
In the nineteenth century, all those grape varieties were often planted together in the same vineyard without any particular rhyme or reason. Or at least, so it can seem. I walked through the vineyards with Ridge's viticulturist Will Thomas, who explained that the winery had conducted experiments to see if co-fermenting the field blends was better than fermenting the different varieties separately. The field blends won. Turns out those nineteenth-century European immigrants knew what they were doing, and now Ridge are deliberately planting some of their vineyards as field blends.

old-vine Pinot Noir
Having said which, there was one old vine, planted in 1901, in the middle of all those warm climate varieties. Its canopy was far more developed, aggressively so, and the grapes ripen more quickly than the vines around it. Will had conducted quite a bit of research to learn which variety it was: unexpected answer, Pinot Noir. There must be few older Pinot Noir vines in the world, and here it was planted entirely in the wrong place.

This on-going learning experience is now focused on two newly-planted rows with over twenty varieties, arranged in alphabetical order from Alicante Bouschet to Zinfandel. These vines have been planted to see how the different varieties perform in the same conditions. It was incredible to walk down the rows and see how the canopies are larger with some varieties (Syrah); others have noticeably waxy leaves (Grenache Gris); while others grow firmly upright (Mataro, or Mourvèdre).

old-vine Syrah
The most intriguing of all these field blend vineyards was one planted to Syrah, Petite Sirah, and Peloursin. Petite Sirah, also called Durif after its creator, is a crossing of Syrah and Peloursin, an extremely tannic grape. Here was a vineyard that had the mother, father, and child all growing together: in California, where vines were only first planted two hundred years ago.



Monday 16 May 2016

A Champagne Dinner

Oakland's waterfront
I have lived in Napa for nearly two years now, and, despite having visited San Francisco on a regular basis, on Wednesday I ventured with my wife for the first time to Oakland, San Francisco's neighbouring, down-to-earth city where boats come in from around the world to supply the Bay Area and beyond with food and wine. We did so to attend a champagne tasting on the waterfront, staying in a rather sketchy airbnb. Oakland's diverse range of residents were more occupied with the local basketball team's record-breaking progress than a champagne tasting, but I was able to discover a city that's edgy, awkward, and proudly different. And, just as exciting, I got to taste some great champagne in the company of very good food.

the restaurant

The tasting was held at Lungomare, a seafood restaurant located near Oakland's docks, surrounded by passing honking trains, angry trucks, and sleeping yachts. There were quite a few food and drink places in this industrial location, huddled together on Jack London Square. The restaurant was large, spacious, and airy, our tasting taking place in a small, enclosed, bright room. I have to confess to some snobbery: one guest was wearing a large Golden State Warriors cap (of the newly dominant basketball team) slightly askew, with a Stephen Curry shirt (the Lionel Messi of the Warriors), and a heavily tattoed arm. I wondered how she had got into an $85 tasting. I later learnt that she owned the restaurant. This is Oakland, and she turned out to be an awesome sabrer. 


the champagne

Gosset are the oldest existing house of the Champagne region, from long before champagne was sparkling, and the meal centred around their wines. One of the most notable features of the wines is that most of them do not undergo malolactic fermentation - of the major houses, only Krug and Louis Roederer equally refuse to soften the acidity of the wines from this cool, extreme climate. The acidity of the Chardonnay-only Blanc de Blancs NV ($90; ✪✪✪✪✪✪) was especially sharp, a wine for those who have acidity fetishses - one in which all should indulge from time to time. The 2006 Millésime ($100; ✪✪✪✪✪) had a softer acidity, tamed with some age, and rounded out with bready, nutty aromas. In contrast, the Brut Excellence NV ($45; ✪✪✪✪) is the one wine that does go through MLF, and felt much fruitier and forwarder as a result.

the pairings

The Brut Excellence was served with charcuterie and cheese, and had enough bold aromas to stand up to the meat and strong cheeses. The Blanc de Blancs was paired with an interesting avocado, crab, and peach dish, described by Gosset's assistant winemaker Hermine de Clermont Tonnerre (can there be a more French name?) as a battle between salty and sweet aromas. I found the sweetness and richness of the avocado and peach too much, but the piercing acidity of the Blanc de Blancs was well matched by the salty crab. That was followed by the perfect, if somewhat unethical pairing of foie gras (recovering from a two-year period of illegality in California) and quail with the rich, mature 2006 vintage wine. The final pairing matched Gosset's biggest seller, Grand Réserve Brut NV ($60; ✪✪✪✪✪), with a sweet berry-based dish. Despite the often overlooked sweetness of champagne, this was a bit of a mismatch between the sweet berries and the acidic wine.  

the sabring


Sabring a bottle of champagne - that is opening a bottle with a sword - is something I had not seen in person until this evening. Our Stephen Curry-loving owner gave a masterclass in how to sabre a bottle: using the blunt side of the sword, strike clean through the lip.

the bar

After all that champagne, one needed a beer. The nearby Merchant's Saloon was dirty, dingy, exciting, and everything I miss about living in a city. There was a giant screen showing the Golden State Warriors while the local fans cheered the team on. Even if a sport is a little tedious to watch, there's nothing like being in the presence of local fans who truly care. 

the market 

Our car was parked by the local market, which was active and awake before midnight. Having had some champagne and beer, we sensibly left the car to return via uber to our airbnb (we are so modern and immersed in Bay Area habits), where we found an Indian gentleman conversing in the hallway on his Mac, a one-sided conversation he was still engaged in when we awoke the next morning. We returned to our car to find it surrounded by palettes of fruit. We were let out by the morning market folk, with the kindly proviso that we shouldn't have parked there overnight. Seeing the city alive and slightly perilous in the morning was a reminder of how it lives and breathes twenty-four hours a day - helped, at some point of that day, by some champagne.