New York Cork Report

Cheap vs. Quality: Is Wine Different?

By Evan Dawson, Managing Editor

Last week I read the San Francisco Chronicle's Jon Bonne's outstanding takedown of cheap, bulk wine. I sent it to a few friends who are marginally interested in wine, but occasionally gripe that wine is too elitist. I thought Bonne's piece was direct and, if you pardon the pun, on the money.

But a friend sent a reply that had me thinking. Here's the full email:

Evan

Nice piece by Bonne, but there's one thing he leaves out. He writes about wine as if it's the same as burgers or cars. Basically, he makes it seem like you can easily distinguish between a cheapo and a high-end product in each category. Now, that's certainly true with cars. And that's true with a lot of food. I used to love me some McDonald's, but now it makes me sick. On the other hand, a high-quality burger from choice meat is a thing of beauty!

So it's easy for even a novice to see the difference. I just think wine is different. Not too long ago I bougtht a 97 pointer for a price that I didnt want to tell my wife. And I bought a $9 87 pointer. I won't lie - they were both good. But I can't tell you that I found an obvious difference. And that $9 wine is made in huge quantities!

So is there something wrong with me? I'm not sending this email to bring wine down. I'm just raising the possibility that this writer (and a lot of writers) fail to realize that for most people, a lot of wines taste basically the same. Especially red wine.

Now, what to make of this?

First of all, I'm struck by his comparison of the mass-produced 87-point wine (disclaimer: I'm not a fan of point scores and wish he would have left that out of the discussion) and the expensive wine that he bought. My first guess is that each wine had a heavy dose of oak. Which is fine; people tend to like oak.

This isn't meant to become just another diatribe against oak. But that email led me to think of the most important advantage that the artisans have over the bulk producers: the source material. When a high-end restaurant makes a great burger, they tend to use excellent quality meat. McDonald's, on the other hand, uses CAFO-sourced meat, or aging dairy cows. So what does the fast food chain do? They load up the meat with salt, which is a flavor most people like and allows them to cover up the fact that their source material isn't very good.

And what does a bulk wine producer do with overcropped, mediocre-at-best fruit? He buries it in oak. Oak is the salt of the wine world. 

Now, can you imagine going to a high-end restaurant, ordering an expensive burger, and finding it buried in salt? What would be the point of all that salt? Why mask the flavor of the beef? Yes, there are other ingredients on that burger. But they're not simple seasonings. 

So why, then, are the high-end wine producers slapping the equivalent of a pound of salt on their wines? They already have the greatest advantage possible: They have great fruit! Their choice of oak is making their wine taste more like the bulk stuff. I'm not saying it makes their wine taste like bulk wine; I am saying, however, that it moves the needle more in that direction, even if faintly.

Do I think that most red wines taste roughly the same for novice drinkers? Assuming they're not flawed, I can see why my friend would say so. But no, I don't. I think most oak tastes the same, and too often these days, the fruit is not allowed the spotlight. If the fruit were championed and protected, casual consumers like my friend would have no doubt about the difference between plonk bulk wine and the wines produced from the world's top vineyards. 

To some degree, this is oversimplifying things. Great fruit can stand up to new oak, and integrate the flavors and aromas. But if you read James Suckling's tasting notes on some of the top 2009 Bordeaux, you'll find that those wines - which are supposed to be from one of the great vintages ever - come off sounding like hot fudge sundaes. Dark chocolate! Milk chocolate! Cocoa powder! A cherry on top! So even when we want to believe the best wines have seamlessly folded the oak in, we're often distracted by what that wood is doing.

This is not a perfect argument. There are flaws, and sure, I'm being provocative. I wouldn't take all wine out of oak. Absolutely not. I recognize the value in texture and structure that comes from time in wood. But do I think it's being overdone? Yes.

Part of the reason my friend had to hide his purchase from his wife was because elements like 100% new oak make wine more costly to produce, and that cost is passed on to consumers. A wine aged in more neutral oak could see the price come down for consumers, all while allowing the greatest attribute in the producer's arsenal - the fruit - to shine with less obstruction.

Regardless, I recommend that anyone who hasn't read Jon Bonne's piece to check it out. Keep it handy for friends who say there is no different between cheap and expensive wines. And maybe, if we're lucky, that difference won't be so subtle in the future.

Has Craft Beer Become Inaccessible?

By Julia Burke, Beer Editor

I spent last weekend at my best friend’s wedding in Los Angeles. We danced, we laughed and we drank good West Coast beer from top producers including Sierra Nevada and Deschutes.

What wasn’t on the list? The couple’s favorite local beer. Why not? I’ll back up.

When my friend called me to announce that she was engaged, I was thrilled to help her plan the wine and beer list for her wedding. Staunch locavores, the couple wanted to showcase great California wines and beers without breaking the bank, and I came up with a list of specific recommendations based on my favorite Cali producers.

But since I don’t live in LA, I encouraged the couple to try some of their smaller local breweries and explore more close-to-home options which may not be available to me in New York. I did some research and gave them the names of a couple of small breweries right in LA with good reputations.

Based on my experience in the beer community, I was confident that they’d have a great time taste-testing possibilities despite their relative “newbie” status in the craft beer world.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t quite the case.

While I was out of the country and thus unable to make calls to breweries on their behalf (to check on prices, ordering options and procedure, etc.), my friends checked out one of the local breweries, and were really impressed with the delicious, well-priced beers. The groom-to-be emailed the brewery to rave about the beer and inquire as to whether they might be able to order a keg or two for the wedding.

The owner, who answered the email, said to give him a call. "He seemed somewhat interested in working with me," said my friend.

On the phone, my friend began asking a few basic questions about the process for ordering beer for the wedding. The owner then said, “Look, I don't want to offend you or anything; I've been doing this for 17 years, and you don't really sound like a craftsman beer freak. I just don't want to waste an hour of my time to work with someone who isn't really into craftsman beers."

Apparently, they could've provided beer for my friend's wedding—if he had been less of a newbie.

I don’t know about you, but I’m a little horrified. The groom-to-be, whom I've known for five years, is not a jerk. He is not rude, pushy or ignorant. He is actually a really nice guy, with a passion for all things local and a genuine interest in craft beer (he nominated Deschutes Black Butte Porter for one of the wedding beers, which is hardly what I'd call an "entry-level" choice). No, he’s not a connoisseur—but if the time has come for craft beer to be about snobbery and exclusivity, to the point that well-meaning folks looking to broaden their beer horizons are treated like a Coors van at San Francisco Beer Week, well, hand me a Bud Lite Lime, ’cause I’m going on strike.

How much of a craft beer enthusiast do you need to be to get good service? Is this a California thing? A Los Angeles thing? Is it specific to this brewery, which is remaining nameless at the request of the groom (who didn’t want to “cause trouble”)? As he put it, "I'm not a craftsman connoisseur or anything, but I was a little surprised he didn't just lie and say he didn't have the time to do transactions with non-commercial clients. I mean, I can understand not wanting to deal with individuals/one-off transactions, but you don't need to put me down."

When I think of the breweries I’ve worked with in New York, I can’t imagine a single one showing a bad attitude to a new customer. The staff of every brewery I’ve visited in this state has been friendly, open, down-to-earth, and welcoming to newbies as far as I can tell. But would I have the same experience if I wasn’t in the industry?

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been called a snob once or twice (albeit only in jest, by bar patrons who are forced to at least sample the craft pilsner on tap before they go macro). I judge lite beer drinkers, always choose restaurants and bars based on tap list, and insist on proper glassware (I’ve got two cabinets’ worth in my tiny kitchen). But I’ve also been known to enjoy a Molson with wings, a Blue at a baseball game, and a Guinness when I’m hungry and low on cash (you can take the girl out of Ireland, but…). And for me, nothing compares to the joy of introducing a new friend or bar patron to craft beer.

We all got into beer because it’s fun and relaxing, and as soon as respect for beer gets in the way of enjoyment, we’ve missed the point entirely. Insulting new customers because they’re not already certified geeks is ludicrous. We all started somewhere.

Is the concern that there are already too many people in the craft beer fold? Are we worried about losing our “tribe” vibe? If so, is this purely ego, or are we afraid that too large a craft scene will compromise quality?

I’d like readers to weigh in: how are New York breweries treating newbies?

Has craft beer become too snobby?

Wine In Grocery Stores? The Problem Is the Bureaucratic Mess of a Process

By Jason Feulner, Finger Lakes Correspondent

New York's agricultural commissioner can learn something from Danny Wegman when it comes to being direct about an issue.

At a news conference on Tuesday, Wegman was willing to be honest about what will happen if New York grocery stores are permitted to sell wine: He'll make more money and some liquor stores will close.

"Some liquor store operators say they will lose their jobs. I'm sure that's true, if they don't do a good job,” Wegman said as reported by 13 WHAM-TV in Rochester. He said that hundreds of the state’s liquor stores have already gone out of business. “I think they'll go out anyway. That's what I'm saying, because it's a competitive business even with the laws the way they are.”

And then he said this about his desire to make more money: "New York State is not growing, so any opportunity for growth helps Wegmans as a business.”

His honesty was refreshing, especially when compared to New York's ag commissioner who was in Syracuse on Monday touting a new government campaign to bring wine into grocery stores. The official name of the campaign is "Convenience is Choice: Bring Home the Wine." The official line is that New York produces nearly 200 million bottles of wine but that it can only be sold in roughly 2,500 retail outlets. By selling wine in grocery stores, the government claims, the local wine industry will grow by 20 percent.

As someone who has analyzed policy and proposals, I keep waiting for more data to support that 20 percent claim.

We all know what the government is after: more tax revenue. And to their credit, government leaders have acknowledged that this plan would attract millions of dollars. But every time they seem to gravitate toward an honest explanation -- short-term tax revenues -- they fall back to a position of support for the New York wine industry that rings a bit hollow.

Why is that? Well, the superficial market analysis put forth by the state is so blissfully ignorant of anything approaching price points, consumer choice and distribution realities that it's not even worth de-constructing. Every conversation about the impact on New York state wine ought to include these points, but instead we get platitudes that come off as half-hearted.

Needless to say, we all know that the issue is extremely complex because wine marketing and consumption is a complex business.

Albany's appeal to support New York wines plays as a PR move because we continue to wait for the substance to back up their claims. And if the prime motive is taxation, is it possible that industry growth is also a motivation?

The track record is not good.

New York state justifies tax increases by claiming an expertise in industrial development when there is overwhelming evidence that the state is extremely destructive of native industries. No one wants to see deleterious effects on the New York wine industry, but it's hard to evaluate the potential future results when the state is focused so strongly on a short-term budget solution.

The executive branch spends our tax dollars to promote these proposals. We don't have current figures for how much they've spent on the PR push for this issue, but it's not free.

And yet despite all this banter there could very well be a long-term benefit to New York wineries by allowing grocery store sales. We simply can't accurately assess that claim because the state has offered nothing more than the same spin that follows many other short-term revenue boosting proposals.

If there is an answer to that question, it probably lies in a real survey among wineries and distributors, a task that the state has not bothered to approach.

Wine may or may not belong in New York grocery stores. Thanks to Albany, analysis of real outcomes has taken a back seat to politics as usual.

Editor's Note: In addition to being a wine lover, Jason earned a Master's Degree in Public Administration from the Maxwell School at Syracuse University and has worked in economic development and in policy analysis for political campaigns.

Dedicated to Local or Taking Advantage of Locavores?

By Lenn Thompson, Editor-in-Chief
Photo of Church & Main's dining room from Yelp.com

A few weeks ago, I did something at a restaurant that I almost never do -- at least not at a fine dining restaurant.

I drank beer before and during my meal.

On the surface, that's not that big a deal. I drink beer all the time. Heck, I was a beer geek long before I became obsessed with wine. Besides, sometimes beer is a better pairing that wine. Yes. It's true.

So why was I drinking beer at Church & Main restaurant in Canajoharie, NY -- and why is it worth reporting?

I've been thinking about this post from the second I looked at Church & Main's wine list. I wasn't sure how I'd frame this post, but I've decided that I'm not going to sugarcoat it...

Their wine list infuriated me.

It infuriated me enough that refused to drink anything from it. I can be stubborn like that.

So, I drank beer. Some good beer by the way, but we'll get to that later. Let me take a couple steps back and provide some context before I continue.

I was excited to eat at Church & Main -- a restaurant purportedly dedicated to sustainability and supporting local farms and agriculture. My in-laws have eaten there several times and always rave about it. I've also read quite a bit about it online and I even saw it listed in a Whole Foods-produced calendar. It sounded like the kind of restaurant Nena and I would love. When we had the chance to go, we jumped on it.

On the surface at least -- and when it comes to the food -- the locavore-friendly reputation is well deserved. The menu is seasonal and locally driven, to the point that there is a separate sheet in the menu listing the local farms that have grown and raised the food on your plate. I dig that. I wish more restaurants did that.

The food was terrific too. From the perfectly cooked veal sweetbreads with charred onions and veal jus to pan-seared diver scallops over (no doubt local) spaghetti squash with arugula and pistachios to slow-roasted local pork with white beans, leeks, celery root and beets, to monkfish with pumpkin-potato hash with hen of the wood mushrooms, it was all delicious. Best of all maybe was the semolina pudding cake with local apple compote and fresh whipped cream.

Well-prepared, locally sourced and delicious. This should have been a meal to remember, and I it was -- just not for the right reasons.

The wine list was short, maybe 6-8 wines, which is often a good sign. Usually that means thoughtful selections that are hand-picked and tuned to the chef's style of cooking. But as I read the list, beyond being infuriated -- we've covered that part already -- I was flat out disappointed to see how uninspired it was. Yes, there was one local wine, a riesling from Dr. Konstantin Frank, so there is that. And that's what Nena drank, not being as stubborn as I am.

The rest of the list? Cheap, mass-produced plonk. And not suited to the fresh, local food either. I didn't grab a copy of the list or take any notes, but I remember a cheap, over-oaked chardonnay that I've had before , a cheap (like $10 retail) malbec from Argentina, a decent-but-boring California pinot noir and a ubiquitous Italian pinot grigio.

In short, it was the kind of list that we've all seen a million times, at a million restaurants, probably chosen by whatever distributor rep happened to be in the right place at the right time. A boring, throw-away sort of list.

I don't know how you handle these sorts of list, but I usually ignore them and don't give them much thought, largely because they are most common in middling restaurants that I often find myself in only because they are family friendly (I have a toddler after all) or because I've been invited to dinner by someone far less interested in food and wine than me. It's okay. I know how the system works. I can accept it at restaurants of that ilk. Really, I can.

But at any restaurant that portrays itself as "sustainable" and "supporting local agriculture" it is absolutely unacceptable. 

Now I know that there are "local" restaurants that don't focus on local wines. Eric Asimov, chief critic for the New York Times, recently wrote a piece about restaurants in the San Francisco Bay area sourcing their food locally but looking mostly to Europe for their wines lists.

The main (and best) argument those restaurants make is that many California wines aren't as food friendly as those from Italy, France and other European countries. I tend to agree with that generalization, but the same isn't true of New York wines. All of New York's wine regions are cool-climate, meaning that natural acidity and balance is preserved throughout the growing season. New York wines are among the food-friendliest made in the U.S.

Maybe Church & Main is just looking for cheap wines (the markups weren't bad, by the way) that they don't have to think much about. But, for a couple bucks more per bottle (if that), there are similar-style local wines that would not only support local wineries, but pair better with the food.

Instead of that plonky California chardonnay, serve the barrel-tinged but balanced chardonnay from Lamoreaux Landing on Seneca Lake. Lose that boring pinot noir and serve the non-reserve bottling from Heart & Hands Wine Company on Cayuga Lake. Put away that insipid pinot grigio and pour Ravines Wine Cellar's dry, clean Keuka Village White.

It's not hard to find affordable local wines for your wine list. Really it's not. Plus, if you really care about sustainability, getting wines from a couple hours away is a lot better than stuff trucked in from California.

Before I forget, let's talk about that beer list too. Even with local breweries like Brewery Ommegang and Saranac less than an hour away from the restaurant's front door, the beer list didn't offer a single local brew. Not one. But, at least the Samuel Smith Ale and Wolaver Brown I drank were organic, which can't be said about the non-local wines on the list.

So the question I'm left asking is: Do you think restaurants like this are truly dedicated to "local" or are they just using it as a marketing hook -- a way to get locavores into their restaurant because eating local is so hot and trendy right now?

In my opinion, either you're dedicated to it or you're not. And if you are, it goes well beyond the produce and meat you buy.

What are some of the other "local" restaurants that you'd like to see carry more or better local wines?

Wine Dinners: Showcases or Money-Makers?

By Lenn Thompson, Editor and Publisher

A couple of weeks ago, Nena and I had the pleasure of attending a wine dinner at Mirabelle Tavern, featuring the wines of Lenz Winery. It's always a pleasure to see Lenz's winemaker, Eric Fry and he was hustling his way around the dining room, talking with attendees about each of the wines as they were poured.

And, it's always great to sit down to a meal prepared by chef Guy Reuge, one of my favorite Long Island chefs.

For me, the pairing of the night (and this was a night filled with well-considered pairings) was Lenz Winery's 2005 Old Vines Chardonnay with Guy's cream of roasted free-range chicken and almond soup with honey (pictured at right). It was a masterful pairing that brought two things that are rarely my first choice -- cream soup and barrel-fermented chardonnay -- together beautifully.

The other star of the night was the 2001 Estate Merlot, which is tasting great right now. Eric is lucky to be able to get some bottle age on his wines before release. He told me that he doesn't have much of this left, but he's very happy with the 2002 bottling as well.

I get invited to a lot of wine dinners -- a lot of them. Without family nearby and only a couple reliable babysitters, actually being able to attend the dinners is rare. But, that doesn't keep me from reading over the menus and seeing what wines the wineries will be pouring.

A couple of the menus I've seen lately got me to wondering -- how do the wineries see these events? Are they money makers or are they about showcasing your best for the public? I won't pretend to know the mechanics behind the dinners (how much money the winery gets, if any, for them etc.) but it seems that wineries are all over the place when it comes to what wines they choose. Some seem to really want to put their best foot forward, while others almost seem to be pouring off lesser wines that aren't selling elsewhere.

Take the Lenz dinner. No, Eric didn't pour his 2001 Old Vines Merlot ($55), but he was pouring his sparkling wine ($30) and was not pouring his 2004 cabernet sauvignon (which is underwhelming).

On the other hand, I recently saw a menu for a wine dinner that included a non-vintage red blend, an over-oaked chardonnay and totally ignored the winery's best wines.

Perhaps it's just the local wine lover in me, but I want wineries to pour their best (or at least their near-best if finances dictate) at these dinners. Sending out second-rate and second-label wines seems like a waste of time, unless your only goal is to make a little money and clean out some inventory.

I know that several winemakers and winery owners read this blog, so tell me, how do you approach wine dinners? What are your goals? How do you measure the success (or failure) of these events?

Putting It All On the Table: The Future of American Wine

By Evan Dawson, Finger Lakes Correspondent

Alder Yarrow of the Vinography blog wrote a great post about wine in America last week and I wanted to build on what he very effectively wrote.

First, while it might take years of effort, the most effective way to erode the stigma of pretension that wine endures is to get it on the dinner table in more families, more often.

One big step would be to lower the legal drinking age to 18. How is this related? This country has strange obsessions with morality, even though most efforts tend to have the opposite of the desired effect (for example, reference the recent news that kids who make abstinence pledges have just as much pre-marital sex, only with less protection than their peers). The idea that alcohol is taboo leads to silly efforts to keep drinks out of the hands of young adults completely, and they tend to respond by seeking out the cheap, easy-to-chug options. Lowering the drinking age is the first step in encouraging responsible consumption and taking the forbidden fruit aspect away from alcohol.

When getting drunk on Natty Ice goes from an alluring weekend idea for some teenagers to just plain stupidity, we'll be moving in the right direction. But there's still this steep hurdle to climb when it comes to wine's perception.

My friends in Europe grew up with plenty of wine in the house, and they tell me that's largely because wine regions are so close. Maybe their family is in the industry, or they know someone who is, or they've simply traveled to their local wine country to check it out. And what they find is that pretension is not found in the dirt under the fingernails of winemakers. It's not found in the vineyard staff, pouring their souls into their beloved varietals. Pretension most often comes from the collectors who want you to know that they have a case of '82 Latour, and if you don't know what that is, well, that's because you're an unsophisticated idiot.

Of course, those people are the idiots, and the good news is that the vast majority of wine drinkers are nothing like that. The problem in the United States is that most people don't live within driving distance of a wine producing region (though that's certainly changing). But for those of us in NY state, we have the advantage of being able to meet the men and women making these lovely wines. Sure, the limo bus is a fun way to check out the scene -- I've certainly done it -- but wouldn't it be nice if more families took the tours that wineries offer in the Finger Lakes, in the Hudson Valley, on the Niagara Escarpment and on Long Island? And wouldn't it be helpful if the wineries that don't offer tours opened their production facility doors and let families in?

My kids are going to grow up knowing the smell of a fermenting batch of wine. They're going to know that wine is not for the high-society types alone, And they're going to know that their mom and dad treasure their '06 Ravines, or their Roman Roth merlots, or their '05 Loire Valley reds -- even though they bought the bottles for less than $15.

Why the Pessimism, Howard?

In last weekend's New York Times, columnist Howard Goldberg penned a piece "More Trouble for Vintners" that paints an uneccessarily bleak picture for New York wineries in 2009. In the story, he points to Governor Paterson's proposed budget, the possible elimination of the New York Wine & Grape Foundation (NYWGF), and the closing of both Vintage NY wine shops (which only sold NY wines) as the reasons for "more trouble."

All three could potentially be detrimental to Long Island and other New York wineries, but they are only a part of the story. A small sliver in fact.

The closing of both Vintage NY locations is sad. Despite some inconsistency in wine service, the stores were great ways for Manhattanites to learn about local wines. And, they were relatively easy ways for New York wineries to get their wines into NYC. They will be missed. But will the closing of two wine shops have a significant impact in the grand scheme of Manhattan wine sales or New York wine sales in Manhattan? Some impact, yes. Significant? I think that's open to debate.

It's important to realize that even with the loss of Vintage NY, New York City is far from a lost cause for New York wineries. The wineries that have put the hard work in have gotten themselves on lists at top restaurants and in top shops. And they are doing it on their own -- a model that will likely become more necessary and over the next couple of years. Is self-sufficiency ever a bad thing?

Everyone has an opinion about the NYWGF, but one thing in Howard's column struck me as odd to mention:

"Eliminating the foundation’s financing would darken its Web site, newyorkwines.org..."

I honestly don't know a single person who thinks that site is useful. It's rarely updated, is a design and usability nightmare and isn't nearly as useful as some of the other trail and tourism sites. I know that I personally get frustrated when I try to use the site. To single the loss of that website out as important in the grand scheme of what is going on in the wine industry and the economy strikes me as odd.

We all know that 2009 is going to be tough financially... for almost everyone. But there is reason to be optimistic.

I've heard from several Long Island winery owners that sales have been strong, even from Labor Day (the end of the summer season) through the end of the year. Some are even seeing near-record sales figures. Why? "Staycationers" on Long Island and in the tri-state area are flocking to the East End, a fact that has been supported by conversations I've had with local B&B and hotel owners.

Even those who once complained that Long Island wines are over-priced are coming to realize just how many great wine values there are. Theya re coming to wine country, enjoying the wines and buying the wines like never before.

It is also a mistake to forget about the "drink local" movement and it's strength and importance going forward. Regular people who enjoy wine are really starting to see value in supporting their local wineries. This is a growing group and one that is becoming much more important.

There are, of course, people in the industry who stand to gain by convincing people that the New York wine industry is in serious trouble. I expect a bit more balance from Howard Goldberg and the New York Times, however.

Talking to even a few winery owners reveals a very different story, despite their cautious nature of their optimism.

I guess pessimism sells more papers though, right?

"Mommy, where do 89 wines go when they die?"

By Jason Feulner, Finger Lakes Correspondent

The question in the title is not flippant: the ever-frustrating 89-point score is a non-starter in terms of soliciting national interest in a given wine. If Wine Spectator graciously grants a 90-point rating, the wine flies off the shelf. An 89, despite its proximity to 90, results in mediocre interest at best.

The problem is even more vexing for wines from lesser-known regions. An 89 for a well-known California producer will not deter loyal consumers en masse, but the same score for a New York, Michigan or Virginia winery means that the millions of wine drinkers who have yet to even try a wine from one of these regions will, yet again, pass on the opportunity.

But what is an 89-point wine? Can it be that much worse than a 90-point one? Since wine tasting and scoring is an art, not a science, is it possible that an 89-point wine is no less worthy of attention than a wine that scores one measly point higher?

What if, as has been pointed out by me, Lenn, and others, there exists the possibility that editorial bias restricts some major publications from giving 90+ scores to certain regions without the cache of Napa, Bordeaux or Rioja? The number of Finger Lakes rieslings, for instance, that pile up against the 89-point ceiling in a single tasting round is noteworthy.

To explore these general concerns about the 89 phenomenon, the 89 Project blog takes a look at various 89-point wines from around the world, trying to etch away at our psychological predisposition to embrace 90 but reject 89 as something altogether inferior. David Honig, the 89 Project's founder, puts the emphasis in sports terms: "They are a receiver's foot near the sideline in the last minute of a championship game. They deserve instant replay if, for no other reason, just coming close."

Any 89 score is of course just one opinion. Project 89's site is filled with wines that may have been under-evaluated because, as Honig puts it, they are from "Loire, instead of Burgundy, or Santa Rita instead of Napa." The possibility also exists that some wines are given a charity 89 simply due to reputation, and perhaps deserve far lower scores.

As those of us observing the New York wine industry both celebrate and shake our heads at the multitude of 89s coming our way, it is important to consider that we should do our best to promote our 89 wines (and maybe those 88s as well). These just might be our gems, victims of a 100-point scale that is more of an editorial hatchet than a real judgment tool.

In honor of the 89 Project, Lenn and I are working on developing a growing list of 88-89 New York wines that takes into account both the perspective that no consumer should be a slave to the 100-point scale and that the market reality dictates that we continue to pay attention to these scores anyway.

Many wine enthusiasts, including myself, believe that the 100-point scale takes some of the fun out of evaluating and judging wine. We may be right, but at the end of the day wineries need to sell their stuff, and for millions of American wine drinkers a 90 or a 91 is what is needed to inspire experimentation. If framed positively an 89 score is better than no score at all, and there must be a market for those who see value in being just a little bit cynical toward the whole system.

Finger Lakes Riesling. Long Island Chaos.

This morning, a quick observation that I'll likely explore further in the future:

As I mentioned yesterday, Melissa Dobson and I are gathering wines from Long Island and Finger Lakes wineries to pour at next week's Wine Bloggers Conference our in Sonoma County. The samples are still flowing in, but one thing has caught my attention, and I'm wondering what it means.

Of the 20 or so Finger Lakes wineries that are taking part, I'd estimate (because I don't have the list in front of me) that 15 are sending riesling, the grape the region is best known for. The remaining wines are mostly Gewürztraminer with a dessert wine or two, and one red thrown in there for good measure. This makes sense -- riesling rules the region. It's what they do best, across the board, and it makes sense that they'd want to put their best feet forward at the conference.

A quick glance at the Long Island wines included reveals something quite different. Many in the local wine community maintain that merlot is the variety that matters most here on Long Island, but that isn't what I'm seeing when it comes to the wines they want me to take west with me. So far I have a couple bottles of merlot, but also chardonnay, riesling, cabernet franc, Meritage-style blends and sparkling wine. In fact, I didn't even get those bottles of merlot until yesterday.

What does this mean? It could be any number of things.

To be fair, the sparkling wine comes from a bubbly-only producer, so that's an anomaly. But, maybe Long Island's best trait is it's diversity and ability to make fine wine from a variety of grapes. There are a few people who have felt this way all along, including Lenz Winery's Eric Fry and Charles Massoud from Paumanok Vineyards.

Or maybe it's that Long Island wineries want to send wines that will stand out with a mostly California audience. Maybe some feel that sending merlot to Sonoma is like sending ice to the North Pole? I don't agree, given the strong stylistic differences.

I'm going to be pulling some of what I consider to be Long Island's best wines from my own cellar to take with me as well, and many of them are merlot or merlot-heavy blends, so Long Island merlot will be heavily represented, even if many wineries are sending anything but.

International Riesling Foundation: What's the Point?

When I first got the press release announcing the International Riesling Foundation's (IRF) newly proposed Riesling Taste Profile, I didn't give it much thought. It seemed a bit frivolous to me. Just another act of oenological masturbation -- only satisfying or useful for one or a small group of people. I dismissed it really.

But then I started seeing more and more coverage of it. Sure, the stories read an awful lot like the press release I got, but I'm still left asking "What is the point?"

The concept is simple enough and on the surface it makes some sense. The IRF has identified four 'styles' of riesling: dry, medium dry, medium sweet and sweet, and to help wine makers consider which terms to use for various wines, the committee developed a technical chart of parameters involving the interplay of sugar, acid, and pH which "helps determine the probable taste profile of a particular wine."

They have also designed labels (examples here on the right) that producers can put on bottles of their riesling to help consumers, I assume, predict how a wine will taste... at least in terms of sweetness vs. acidity.

Several Finger Lakes producers already use graphics like these on their back labels for all of their wines, so this really isn't anything new. It's just a bit more formalized. The technical definitions are:

Dry. Here the ratio between acid and sugar would not exceed 1.0 acid to sugar. For example, a wine with 7.5 grams of acidity and 6.8 grams of sugar would be in the same category as a wine with 9.0 grams of acid and 8.1 grams of sugar. Similarly, a wine with 12 grams of sugar and 12 grams of acid would be dry. Notice also that wines that are totally or “near-totally” dry (such as 4 grams per liter) will have a much lower ratio. For instance, a wine with only 3 grams of sugar and a total acidity of 6 grams per liter will have a ratio of .5, and clearly the wine is dry.)

As to pH: we assume that the range of pH for most rieslings is between 2.9 and 3.4. So 3.1 is the “base” pH with which most wine makers will be working. So if the pH of wine is 3.1 or 3.2, it remains in this dry category. But if the pH is 3.3 or 3.4, it moves up to Medium Dry. (And if the pH is 3.5 or higher, the wine maker may wish to move the wine to Medium Sweet.)

Medium Dry. Here the ratio is 1.0 to 2.0 acid to sugar. Example: a wine with 7.5 grams of acid could have a maximum sugar level of 15.0 grams. And if the pH is above 3.3, it moves to Medium Sweet, and if the pH is as low as 2.9 or lower, the wine moves to Dry.

Medium Sweet. The ratio here is 2.1 to 4.0 acid to sugar. Example: a wine with 7.5 grams of acid could have a maximum sugar level of 30 grams. And again, the same pH factor applies as a level two wine: if the pH rises to 3.3, you move up to Dessert, and if the pH drops to 2.9 you move to Medium Dry. And if the pH is 2.8 or below (highly unlikely), the wine could be called Dry.

Sweet. Ratio above 4.1, but using the pH adjustment, a sweeter wine with a ratio of, say, 4.4 might actually be moved to Medium Sweet if the pH is significantly lower.

I'll admit that I'm not as technically savvy as I'd like to be when it comes to wine, but I'm not sure that pH should have so much weight here. Maybe a winemaker or someone else in the industry can help clarify for me.

So those are the basics. Why does this seem so useless to me? There are a few reasons:

"Green" is Not a Logical Prerequisite for Good Wine

By Jason Feulner, Finger Lakes Correspondent

Sometimes, seems like we are in the midst of a green invasion, rather than a green revolution.

The term is used all over the place nowadays and has cropped up in several Finger Lakes stories lately:

• Democrat and Chronicle staff writer Karen Miltner discusses green grape growing here
• In a special report to the Democrat and Chronicle, freelance wine writer Thomas Pellachia outlines the effect of global warming on Finger Lakes vintages (Pellachia is also the author and publisher of the Vinofictions blog). 
• The Finger Lakes Weekend Wino has also unearthed this report on Finger Lakes green space from MPNnow's Bryan Roth.

My first attempt to gather some thoughts on this topic came off like an expository essay, which I quickly abandoned with the assumption that there is enough preaching going on in the green movement already. The crux of it, from my perspective, is that like many trends "green" is largely a good thing. But within the discourse there is plenty of bad as well.

The good is easily recognized, of course.

In terms of agriculture, the advent of the motor took farms that were previously run like artificial but efficient ecosystems and allowed for faster, less-expensive work, thereby producing more waste. Better transportation spurred the development and distribution of chemical treatments that could be delivered cheaply, creating a dependency on these methods.

Green, on some level, is the acknowledgment that efficiency has been lost from the system, and that farms of any kind can benefit from careful planning and a dedication to allowing the natural systems and by-products to work with one another to keep the farm clean, sound, efficient and sustainable. It just makes sense, doesn't it?

The bad part of green is a little more complex, but is also obvious to many observers. Those who espouse "green" the loudest run the risk of hypocrisy since the reality of what is possible with current technologies and market demands is never quite up to speed with the rhetoric.

In the wine industry, the wineries that have embraced "green" and market it like crazy sometimes seem to lose sight of their main purpose--creating the best wine possible. What if the best wine from a given year requires both conventional and green techniques? Those who want to buy wine based solely on whether it is green or not are not buying wine, but a concept that is emotionally satisfying. That is their right, but they are in the minority.

I am far more impressed with winery operations that go green because it makes sense but promote it as a secondary consideration. Green is not a logical prerequisite for good wine.  A sense of modesty about green indicates an acknowledgment of the challenges inherent in such a venture. Over-marketing of the term is simply tiring and serves to dilute the meaning of such a commitment.

To Drink or To Blog?

By Jason Feulner, Finger Lakes Correspondent

Jamie's recent post about being a little "sick" of wine grabbed my attention, not only due to the fact that she chose to reveal the private nature of her own wine-related thoughts, but also because she hit upon a chord that I see reverberating throughout the wine blogosphere.

I'm nowhere near the wine blog reader that is the guru Lenn, but I've noticed in my own limited searches that many blogs seem a bit, well, down recently, and some writers are making sentiments known that mirror Jay's.  One blogger who I have come to respect for his level of knowledge recently offered the dour query as to whether there is anything new or exciting about wine being talked about on the internet.

I've kept these observations in the back of my mind, only to have them resurface when I came across a notice on a Rochester newspaper website announcing the creation of a new blog and interactive user's forum dedicated to Finger Lakes wine. To herald this new online forum, the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle has begun feauturing the "Riesling Rebels," two experienced wine women who are now in the employ of the paper's online site.

A wine blog run by a newspaper? Rebellious indeed.

I have absolutely no reason to suspect that the aforementioned bloggers will be anything but entertaining and enlightening, but I have to admit that the whole idea of a multitude of virtual wine communities is beginning to wear on me a bit. Lenn and I recently came across a Finger Lakes tourism site that was running a so-called blog that was nothing more than a cut-and-paste job featuring some of my LENNDEVOURS work without permission.

Wine Chick Wednesday: I'm in a New York State of Disconnect

We New Yorkers are a weird bunch.

To start, we can’t even agree on what being a New Yorker means. A former NYC resident myself, I always found it beyond comical that NY1 would devote an entire 60 seconds to the “World Beyond New York” – be it Long Island, Louisiana or Lithuania, it was all the same upon exit from the five boroughs. Is that, then, the true New York?

Not likely. Despite the heavy tax-base and votership in that small speck of real estate, the rest of the state ends up feeling neglected and overlooked. For example, when I first moved to New YorkCity, I was astounded to see how few wine shops and restaurants carried Long Island wines.

Not much had changed when I found myself working in such a shop five years later; the owners swore the wines would never sell because no one knew them or trusted them. Sadly, such proclamations were more often true than not and it was only the daring customer who would take my Long Island recommendations. I found it surreal that consumers would trust wines hailing from entirely different hemispheres over those from their geographical backyard.

This question of New York viniferal loyalty was further compounded by my move to Buffalo.

Sure, I’m from Long Island, but I’ve lived in both NYC and the Hudson Valley (I skipped the Finger Lakes, but give me time...). I almost innately found myself turning my nose up at local wines without ever having tried them. “They’re from Lockport..." I'd sigh. "How good can they be?"

While I’m certainly not writing this to boast one area over another, I’ve come to find it quite curious that we don’t band together more as an entire state. We’ve got an uphill battle here, folks. California is out-fruit-bombing us, France is out-prestiging us, South American is under-pricing us, and Italy is out-experimenting us.

New York, my fellow/femellow (which, by the way, is the new moniker attached to cool chicks like myself) bloggers can testify, produces fantastic wines when the winemakers do not attempt to coerce them into being something they’re not. It damn near breaks my heart every time I taste an overly oaked NY Chardonnay. Why is this happening?!

Wine Chick Wednesday: Sour Grapes

By Jamie Gabrini, Special Columnist

I’m sick of wine.

I don’t quite know how this happened, but it’s true. At some point during the past year, I lost interest in wine and – quite frankly – don’t give a fig anymore. Or at least at the moment.

I certainly have not been in wine all that long. I think it’s been five years now since I decided that Chateauneuf-du-Pape was heaven in a glass and that I simply could not live another day unless I worked in wine.

In hindsight, I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe my ego would not permit me to linger in the ‘wine lover’ margins; I’d grown to lament feeling like an ignorant git when I’d go into a local wine shop and not know what 80% of the wines were. French wines – despite my linguistic background – remained a complete mystery beyond knowing what ‘rouge’ and ‘blanc’ meant. Germans were thankfully not a concern as I never was a fan of riesling, even though I didn’t even know what that meant at the time. Chiantis were easy enough to know, as were Riojas, but beyond that, I didn’t even attempt to remember all of the intricacies of European wines. Like many before and since, I determined that the best and most serious wines were BIG REDS and wanted to learn more from there.

Enter my tenure at Chambers Street. I distinctly remember nearly spitting out my five-dollar-Tribeca-bought chai tea in horror when a colleague professed her love of Beaujolais. This moment should’ve been immediately followed by a healthy serving of humble pie (which, if bought in the neighborhood, would have no doubt been handcrafted with artisanal humility and set me back a ten spot) as it dawned on me that she was not alone. At Chambers Street, I was able to enter the hallowed halls of wine knowledge, and now, I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing.

Picture, if you will, a wine store. Most people have an idea of what they like in general – merlot or pinot grigio, for example – and they’re content to buy within their comfort zone, or to work with a wine-savvy worker to discover something new. I go in and I’ll know just about every wine on the racks or – in better shops – I’ll at least have a good handle on the region/grape and can take a stab at how the vintage was and how it’s holding up. I’ve even gotten to the point where I’ve tasted at a vertical at an unknown Canadian winery and plucked out the rainy vintages without hesitation. Sure, it’s a cool parlor trick, but does anyone really need to be able to do this?

I suppose the major reason I’m feeling so jaded is that the mystery has gone out of wine for me. I miss sipping one of those big reds and enjoying the rich sensuality filling my mouth and the tinges of heady intoxication setting in. Instead, I’ll scan a wine list, knowing damn well that I’ll be underwhelmed by just about anything on there, but I’ll order a glass anyway and search like hell to find anything other than toasty vanilla/cherry cola/smoky chocolate notes in there. And those notes won’t be there. And it’ll be too warm anyway. But I’ll drink it anyway since I’m paying far more than it cost and call it a night. It’s worse when I’m out with non-wine people because it’ll be assumed that I can get the best wine in the world for them. Not having created the wine list, I don’t want the responsibility of having to find that unicorn, nor do I want to pretend to really like something that is crap just so that I don’t appear to be the jaded snob that I am.

Give me a bourbon. And let’s hope this bitchy bout of bitter passes before I find myself unemployed. (But make it a Hudson Baby Bourbon… because apparently, this snobbishness is deeply engrained…)

A Sad Tale of the Drunk and Idiotic in Wine Country

When it comes to Long Island, or any other wine country, it's important to remember that there will always be times when—no matter steps a winery takes to avert unfortunate, drunken incidents—a pathetic subset of losers will still act like jerks and ruin the fun for everybody else.

With that in mind, I wanted to share a story I heard via email over the weekend from a tasting room manager who will remain nameless for obvious reasons. Out of respect for this individual and other parties involved, I’ll keep my version of the story appropriately anonymous—except for an interesting piece of information at the end.

The tasting room manager and his staff did all of the right things here, but drunk imbeciles caused a problem anyway.