Those of us who love balanced, complex, traditionally-proportioned, terroir-focused, affordable wines tend to flock to the Old World. This makes sense to a large degree. The history of wine production "over there" spans centuries and more, whereas winemaking in the New World goes back but a single century, and then usually not even that. So many of the most conscientious of winemakers here are still figuring out what works where.
Then there are the factors such as warmer climates, UC Davis's heat summation scale, critics' 100 point scales, a culture that frequently equates wine with wealth, and the influence of corporate agribusiness which set up a dynamic in the New World that favored — and usually still favors — the production of simple, manipulated, and/or ridiculously opulent and alcoholic wines. Heck, Randall Grahm goes so far as to say that "the manifest non-expression of terroir in our wines is the greatest source of anguish in my winemaking life."
On top of that, importers of European wine such as Dressner, Rosenthal, Theise, Chadderdon, De Maison, Headrick, et al offer us reliable portals to some of the most interesting wines on the planet, but to my knowledge, domestic producers have no such portals. So those who do make reasonably-scaled, subtle, complex, specific wines are at a disadvantage, as they are less likely to find their natural audience. This sets up a vicious circle: people like me reflexively seek out Old World traditionalists because — excepting producers such as Edmunds St. John, Renaissance, and The Eyrie Vineyards, to name a fistful — I find it difficult to find worthy New World traditionalists and I'm well skeptical of those who market their wines as balanced and terroir-specific. (Your "cool climate" pinot flirts with 15% alcohol? No thanks! Not even if your wine were $40 less than it is...)
All this was made more apparent to me over the holiday period, as I drank two New World wines that if not as specific and terroir-driven as I'd like still delivered far more than I expected.
Of course, I doubt that few of you would blame me for assuming that a 1996 sangiovese from Napa Valley — particularly one that my parents stored for years in a closet at room temperature — would be DOA in 2009, a swampy hot mess. Yet the 1996 Villa Helena Sangiovese Napa Valley was as fresh as a daisy, very well proportioned, and most remarkably, varietally correct. That is, it was quite light-colored, showed aromas of violets, and the cherry flavors had really nice lift. I'm not sure where its peppery spice came from, but in any case it went very well with a sausage and tomato-festooned pasta. What it lacked in complexity it made up for in elegance. Unfortunately, this winery is no longer, so I guess that's that.
The 2006 Yalumba Barossa Bush Vine Grenache was perhaps an even bigger surprise. It was fine and decent on the first night, obviously nicely made but not terribly interesting, yet it really improved on the second night, showing bright and dense cherry flavors, unconfected acidity, and long undercurrents of thyme, black pepper, fennel, and umami. I never thought I'd tell anyone that they could hold a four year old, $15 Barossa grenache — not even one made from 30 to 70 year old vines — for another five years so it shows even greater interest and complexity, but that's exactly what I'm telling you now.
One of my new year's resolutions is to more proactively research, track down, and drink well-proportioned New World wines. I want to break the vicious circle. Sure, it won't always be easy to find the good stuff at prices I can afford, but isn't that part of the fun?
I was lucky enough to taste the 2005 Fattoria di Fèlsina Berardenga Chianti Classico Riserva Rancia at the same Italian wine event where I tasted the De Forville Loreto. Fèlsina is often considered one of the top estates in Chianti, but they stand apart from the crowd particularly as they grow sangiovese — and nothing else. No cabernet, no merlot, no nothin' but sangiovese. And they grow it organically.
Fèlsina bottles a standard Chianti Classico, a Riserva, and this top-of-the-line Rancia, a word that corresponds to "estate" or "ranch" and not "rancid" (whew!). The Polaner web site explains that the grapes for this wine come from vines at least 50 years old and that Fèlsina protects their vineyard's integrity when replanting by using only old “massale” selections from their top old vineyards. So the estate's future would seem to be sound.
It's the present that has my attention right now, though, and so to the wine.
Two false alarms sound first, for the Rancia is rather darker than I'd expect from a traditionally-made Chianti Classico Riserva and the vanillin on the nose says "barrique." Yet the wine is neither adulterated nor overoaked, and with significant air, I find it transparent and gorgeous. First, I get a snootful of violets. Perfect. Moving to the palate, the sweet cherry fruit on the attack demonstrates beautiful lift; the flavors then resolve into really nice citric bitterness, with dusty red earth, serious tannins, and a silky mouthfeel. The depth here is very impressive and the minerality comes through. Although it's already complex, I'd recommend waiting a good five years on the next bottle for additional complexity and tannin resolution.
But could I blame you for wanting to drink this now? Hardly! Just be sure to give it a healthy decant before you dive into it and a wild boar ragu.
Sorry for the spotty posting. As always, though, I have some things to say about wines that are anything but spotty; in this case, two 2006 Italian reds. I didn't deliberately hunt down either the vintage or the country. Instead, it was like they came to me.
Carpineto Chianti Classico 2006
Carpineto may have a modernist reputation, but that doesn't mean they produce New World lookalikes. Rather, this is fresh, balanced, and honest Chianti Classico that flashes its charm subtly. The spicy, earthy aromas hit me first; it's a moment later that I notice the layered sangiovese aromas of fresh and dried cherry, lavender, and thyme. On the palate the energy is simultaneously vigorous and relaxed, with lovely acidity and velvety tannins, and over the next few years I'd drink this with anything this side of shellfish.
Canaiolo makes up 10% of the blend and all the grapes are dry farmed. The fermented wine is aged in cask for six months.
Giuseppe Nada Dolcetto d'Alba Casot 2006
I am not a label whore, but the drab rose printed on the Nada labels suggested a drab wine. Now I feel dumb, because this is the finest dolcetto I've ever had (not that I've had tons, but still...)
This traditionally-styled, single-vineyard dolcetto has all the bright red fruit you'd expect, yet its depth and complexity is top of the pops. With each sip its many layers of fruit, earth, and savoriness are driven by refreshing acidity and supported with substantial, well-structured, fine-grained tannins. It was almost a shame that my friends and I drank this with a mundane pizza — even if it was a good pairing.
This wine was $18 and so good for its price that I rushed out to buy Nada's 2001 Barbaresco Riserva (also from the Casot vineyard) for $32. I've no doubt it was money well spent.
I'm a person who dreams about wine even when my palate has been sated. Last night, I lugged home some lamb kofta and poured a few glasses of 2005 Fèlsina Berardenga Chianti Classico, which was on its second night. I rarely buy Chianti — the variability there frightens me, and I'm more of a Piedmont boy in any case — but this is a good one. And though it's scary dark for a Chianti, whatever Fèlsina is using to augment the Sangiovese does not eclipse it, either. It's redolent with black pepper, mint, green pepper, brown earth, and cherry aromas. On the palate, it serves up well-structured sour cherries and mint by the bushel. The acidity is aggressive but it's better integrated with the smooth texture than it was on day one. This has years to go and will probably be best around 2010 to 2012.
Even as the Fèlsina lingered, my thoughts turned to my recently-arrived mixed case of J.K. Carriere Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. Some of these wines, such as the enrapturing "Glass" rosé, I'll be able to enjoy in the coming weeks; and I certainly plan to dive into the 2001 and 2003 Pinots soonish, as these are earlier-drinking, low-acid vintages from Oregon, soft and hot respectively. The rest need time. In some cases, a lot of time.
At bedtime, I pulled out the marketing cards that accompanied the shipment. I couldn't help it. I lulled myself to sleep trying to memorize pH levels, vineyard compositions (all dry-farmed and/or organically grown), and barrel contributions (very little new oak used, if at all). I was, in short, preparing myself for the years ahead when I'm able to actually experience the wines, and I drifted to sleep dreaming of the people I'd be with, the food we would eat, and the wine, J.K. Carriere's wine.
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