Slim, bespectacled Jean Jacques Brun was pouring a modernly designed 2009 Brun Avril magnum that was cork tainted — i.e. smelled of bleach. I was his first taster of the afternoon and he eyeballed my reaction to the wine, which began as one of intrigue and concluded in chalky dismay. To aid in the calm before a storm of a thousand about to thunder their way in the door at 4, I said “Sir, this wine is a little corked. You may want to taste it and open another one.” Still smiling his two rows of grey textured chompers at me, he said “Try zee two-thouzand ten. You may like it bettah.”
“No itʼs not that, itʼs just…” I surrendered. His 2010 was good and I told him so, moving on down the line toward the famous and seriously flawed four magnum lineup of Reserve Domaine Pegau, spanning 2005, 2006, 2008 (which was a microbial melting pot) and 2009. The woman pouring was being seriously hit on by an American wine trade type who was pressing his package up into the table, palms flat on the top by the bottles, and palate-blocking the path of myself and others that wanted to try the Grenache based blends that Robert Parkerʼs been preaching about for decades. The horndog was asking the Frenchwoman what American wines she liked in the room and had her inefficiently flipping through the booklet, going through each winery one by one, while a thick line was clustering behind me. The guy even looked at me waiting there, sized me up, and kept on with his pervy pursuit. I canʼt tolerate that. Donʼt get me wrong: Iʼm all about Americans sinking their purple fangs into a set of white, funky, foreign flanks after a wine event, but in the heart of the time frame and my hundred bucks disintegrating by the second, I had to bark up for each vintage, to which the guy gave me a look of annoyance. His empty glass was on the table — he wasnʼt even tasting the wines, maybe he was her importer, who cares? The 2008 Pegau was effervescent with brettanomyces — the spoliage yeast brewers use for Belgian ales and sour beers. If these are the wines true Rhone lovers flock to then somethingʼs awry here with Pegau.
I saw Mr. Brun discreetly opening up that backup magnum that was hopefully free of cork taint down the way. Maybe somebody went off on him less gentlemanly than I did.
Domaine La Barroche had two magnums out and the 2009 Signature was off the charts, as was the more new age-conceptualized, almost clubby ecstasy vodka bottle-looking 100% Grenache called “Pure.” This was a growing trend here in a land where the traditional wines were Grenache-based blends: going pure Grenache. Maybe single varietal Grenache is on the rise, even in the old country. In Australia they call Grenache the hot climate Pinot. These wines were more complex than Pinot. Domaine Durieu, poured by Francois Durieu, had two outstanding 2009s out, including a 100% Grenache. I was floored by the layers of these wines, and their strength and tannin in spite of their non-black appearance.
Tempted by Tavel and the friendly, pretty French maid representing the regionʼs roseʼ wines, I jammed back to the Northern Rhone nook and got in on Domaine Yves Cuilleronʼs wines. Plump, jovial and donning a logoʼd black apron, he started me off with his 2009 Vertige Condrieu: an off the chain, ripe marmalade, citrusy, dense, minerally waltz down rue refrescado. Iʼd heard he was the master of Viognier and it was easily the best example of the grape Iʼd ever encountered. The 2009 Terre Sombres Cote Rotie followed with impenetrable dark color, unreal pepper blasts, iron structure, and hard packed black fruit flavors that went the distance. The 2009 Rouge Serines Saint-Joseph was last and it was a juicy beast, with trim scene cooking spices holding court with a meaty, plum smell that was a prime example of when brettanomyces can be much more than a huff off a sick horseʼs anus.
“So Rich,
I bought a ticket to dis bitch.
So Rich,
I bought a ticket to dis bitch.”
Did American Syrah and Grenache even stand a chance in this succession? It was time to see what the USA had to offer. The crowds were, as expected, packed around Alban, Saxum, Booker, Cayuse and LʼAventure, but aside from these rarities at tasting events, a lot of tables of domestic producers were ghost town status. Itʼs sad to see these people, dressed up, all their marketing materials out, all their best wines brought, in a bought and paid for Econolodge and Enterprise Rental, and theyʼre simply not cool in the eyes of the crowd. Itʼs like grade school all over again at these events sometimes. At best they get a drunken stopby near closing time, and these are the wineries who, unlike their French counterparts, have paid to be here. One such booth was occupied by a friend of mine named “JK.” He caught me tasting Domaine de la Mordoreeʼ CdP at a table across from his empty one. “Thatʼs the thing with this tasting,” he told me, “Itʼs dead in here for me. Everyone wants to try the high end French stuff, not California.” I nodded sympathetically as if that was what I wasnʼt doing. I didnʼt even try his wines now that I think about it!
Trying Saxumʼs three 2010 duct taped barrel samples was a shock after trying the best of France. Loads of color, loads of oak, and loads of residual sugar. No wonder people freak out over these wines. 16 percent alcohol, no volatile acidity, no brett, and sweet and luscious the whole way down. Winemaker Justin Smith is my age, scruffy, folk hipster looking, and all bones. I donʼt think he drinks his own wines because if he did heʼd be pushing 250 with all that fructose. He had a haggard, long haired assistant that couldʼve been a dobro player from the Yonder Mountain String Band and was a down to earth breath of fresh air, taking care of the non-Mercedesʼd like me. It took serious navigating to get through the three wine flight, and by 5 pm they had poured through what they brought with two hours left at the tasting and bailed.
* * *
Quick highlights: I liked Santa Maria Valleyʼs Foxen Vineyard with their three 2010 pre-release bombs. Screaming Eagleʼs Jonata project from Santa Ynez Valley had a really solid 2009 Syrah out called La Sangre de Jonata. On a red faced ramble I discovered Relic wines out of Napa who were making solid non-Cabernet reds from Calistoga and beyond, with a killer 2009 Old Vines Petite Sirah. Paso Roblesʼ own Booker Vineyard, once made by Justin Smith, was packing a show stopping lineup of big ripe reds. Tablas Creek from Paso has God on their side with their 2011 Roseʼ and the 2009 Esprit du Beaucastel Rouge which is usually the most French styled California red wine, year in and year out, with a proven track record for aging accordingly. Quick disappointments: Martinelli unfortunately had three smoke tainted 08 Syrahs on the table from Russian River Valley. Wind Gap, who I loved at “In Pursuit of Balance” a couple months ago, had a collection of expensive Syrahs that were too overdone in the green stem inclusion department. Asparagus flavored Syrah isnʼt even a French thing, is it? And Reynvaan Vineyards: a Walla Walla Syrah label my haunted friend Peter in San Diego claimed had sent him on a lifelong path of boycotting all California syrah after sampling.
Thankfully I had a ride out of this raging joint, and after going through the grapefruit scented, refreshing array of pink 2011 Tavels, I made my way into the cooling, merciful breeze coming down the Salinas River and the arms of my love.
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