Paloma, SAMsARA, What a Pair-A!

So often restaurant wine dinners are extravagant and obvious: why, yes, that tannic Cab is no mistake aside the steak. And how the Chablis-like Chard sings with the whitefish sautéed in the very same wine!  

So that’s why the recent SAMsARA dinner at Paloma on March 31 subtly surprised. The first of five delicious courses kicked off with—horrors!—a red wine. A chilled red wine. That was a 2022 Grenache from Spear Vineyard, a lighter, livelier version of the grape. SAMsARA winemaker Matt Brady--an efficient, ebullient host for the evening--called it "crunchy," which pleased me to no end as in my notes just prior I used the same term, meaning either I have a perceptive palate or we both love peculiar if precise adjectives. Its mineral, playful notes perked up with the Miliken Farms Japanese sweet potato, "brûléed" with a brown sugar BBQ sauce, hit with a bit of aioli, then strewn with sesame, scallion, and a vivid pickled ginger. Between the off-beat wine opening and the grounded yet vibrant first dish, everyone around the boisterous long table had to readjust their expectations for the evening. Very good was a bar at mere ankle-height for this crew.

The second course was spring itself on a plate, Tutti Frutti sugar snap peas, artfully sliced to expose their pretty innards, tossed with a rose dressing just faintly floral, crispy guanciale, and pickled red onion (a nice nod back to the pickled ginger in the previous course--it was that kind of sly segueing that made the evening even more memorable). The peas were buried in an avalanche of grated Pecorino, rich and salty. A steely 2022 Zotovich Chardonnay provided a laser focus to keep cutting the dish into sharper diamonds of delight. 

It turns out the process for the pairings began when Brady showed up with 18 wines for the Paloma staff, led by the unassumingly talented Paloma chef John Parker, to consider. Those flavor profiles got the kitchen's team mind spinning, and coming up with delights like the third course: a grilled oyster mushroom skewer--with all of that good red oak smoke inside--hiding a line of luscious Drake farms chèvre and also atop a shallow pool of green goddess, the two different creaminesses combining as a perfect complement to the mushroom umami. It needed a bit of textural balance that it got in two clever ways, one more typical--pepitas--and another spot-on, if oddball--toasted quinoa. The wine pairing for this course might have been the most by-the-book, but as Brady pointed out, "Pinot Noir is what we're best known for," so how could we complain? Especially when it wasn't just Pinot, it was 2022 Bentrock Vineyard PN, which Brady rightfully called "a rock star, an A+ vineyard." The wine's lean but far from mean raciness, that hint of wildness, unlocked even more flavor from the terrific dish it accompanied.

 

To be honest, they could have sent me home at that point a sated, elated man. I actually made sure to share a revised version of that old Borscht Belt saw to my nearby table mates, “Such good food—and such enormous portions!” And that was even prior to the fine servers dropping Snake River Farms wagyu tri-tip in front of me: not one, not two, but three hearty slices of precisely medium rare steak. A classic peppercorn au poivre sauce and scatter of chopped chive made the dish from Santa Maria but also from Ste. Marie, if you know what I mean, a culinary mash-up that completely worked. Plus, the humble inclusion of charred cabbage carried along the good time from the grill theme in the least pretentious, yet oddly scrumptious way. 

Brady poured one of his favorites of his own wines for this course, a 2021 Zotovich Syrah (the current release is the 2022). The 100% stem inclusion gave the wine a serious backbone, but only a hint of the green that stems can offer a wine. No, this was all about black pepper, as if it had its own au poivre sauce. Who needs a Cab when a Syrah can be this wonderful?

You know, when I started this I thought I might skip a typical course by course discourse, but I couldn't help myself. Writing this is such a lovely way to re-experience the delight of a night. And sure there was dessert, fortunately piquant and bright and light as these things tend to go--doesn't graham cracker crust seem somehow less dense? And toasted meringue, well, that's just air that's somehow spun from egg white and sugar--you could eat a bucket of that and it would barely register, no? Grapefruit curd is a fruit, so pretty much salad. White chocolate pearls are precious textural crunch and more eye candy than candy-candy, right? What's more, we washed it all down with a 2023 Blanc de Blanc that had the good breadiness you want from a sparkling wine but also a snappy depth and its own citrus bite. Another brilliant pairing that made the food better as the food made the wine better.

Kicking things off Brady made clear the SAMsARA mantra, "Let the site shine, don't put our fingers on the scales." That's a way to think of the entire evening, an unfussy yet artfully skilled celebration of gorgeous fruit and produce and proteins that would make any Santa Barbaran proud.

World of Pinot Noir 2024: New Finds

Welcome back to hearing about me ramble around a giant Bacara ballroom in search of vinous pleasure at 2024's World of Pinot Noir Friday Grand Tasting. I will suffer the red-stained maw for you all. I've already posted about Old Friends, so this post we turn to New Finds...even if I cheat a bit with the first two.

Old friend Phil was kind enough to pour me the 2021 LaBarge Pinot at the Santa Barbara Vintners table. LaBarge produces up to 2K cases a year from the farthest western edge of the Sta. Rita Hills, where everything is under the direction of Pierre LaBarge IV (a name made for wine, no?). The Pinot, which I called "chewy, in a good way," loves the number 32, as that's both the percentage of new oak and percentage of whole cluster. Definitely a wine now on my radar, and I'm eager to taste their Albariño, Grenache, and Syrah soon.

I'm always eager to taste what Greg Brewer is doing, and even if he was traveling and not at his WOPN table, I had to drop in anyway, especially for a taste of his Machado Vineyard Pinot--there's no greater, strange uncle Old Friend than that multi-dimensional wine. Brewer-Clifton gets a spot on New Finds thanks to the latest edition to his line-up, the 2021 Perilune Vineyard Pinot, and it's fortunate I had a sip at WOPN as it's already sold out--and not yet released! The 120 acre Sta. Rita Hills site is above Melville at a slightly higher elevation, and lends itself to a bit crunchier, wilder, more herbal expression of Pinot. Brewer just never stops wowing.

I feel a tad funny including a winery that's been around since the year Bill Clinton appointed Ruth Bader Ginsburg* to the Supreme Court as a New Find, but I will anyway. (Here's hoping admitting to your own ignorance is a winning personality trait, Dunning-Kruger be damned.) Talisman is all about Pinot, although it may be a rosé or a Pinot Blanc. Although they started teensy, they've only grown to still pretty tiny--3600 cases a year. But that's characterized by a passion-driven, an outsider might suggest whimsical, approach--they now typically craft 16-18 wines annually from 12 diverse and unique vineyard sites, from Carneros to Anderson Valley. Marta Rich, "proprietress," as her card puts it, was pouring herself, and happy to yank special bottles from under the table. A sure way to win a wine-lover's heart.

That bottle above is a 2017 Adara Vineyard Méthode Ancienne - RC Selection. So while Adara is a vineyard they often source in the Napa side of Carneros, this was a 1.5 barrel production, 100% whole cluster, foot stomped. Truly a creamy, spicy, exotic delight. How rewarding to see folks not just make wine that seems focus-grouped into existence.

A very different kind of passion project is Sonoma's Wren Hop. This is a winery for people who like big, BIG Pinot but still spit out Meiomi. We're talking 100% New French Oak. And lines from their website--and indeed, one of the principals has a marketing career (but can we imprecate a soul for that?)--like, "Structured wines showcasing muscle and grace with a touch of egomania." Or this description of the buxom pleasures of the 2021 Night Bulletin, and I quote en toto as I love it so much: "News that arrives in the middle of the night is never good. Godzilla was known for nuclear fueled, fire breathing midnight attacks on Yokohama. How unsportsmanlike. Our announcement is on the quieter side. This wine was havested in the calm of night when only the sound of pillow punching is audible. Night harvest leads to cold clusters with arrested sugar development and big flavor. That's bulletin worthy. This is a brooding strawberry rhubarb monster. Look for aromas of hibiscus tea and cinnamon stick, followed by ripe red berries, vanilla bean and toasted cedar. You are free to shriek now."

What's cooler is each blend of well-chosen Sonoma fruit gets is vintage-specific name, never to be used again. Shoulder Devil and Double Clutch will not return. To stress the narrative they hope each bottling suggests, the evocative labels are meant to mimic book covers--there are even "spines" as part off the art work. What's wrong with wine that's fun, and perhaps a tad slutty?

A different kind of novelty caught my attention at Norris--the location on their sign read "Ribbon Ridge." I had to ask. Turns out it's the smallest AVA in Oregon, 3.5 by 1.75 miles, in the Willamette Valley. (My ignorance this time doesn't feel too mighty.) In addition to Pinot, they specialize in Riesling, so you have to respect that. The Pinots are the complete flip side from Wren Hop, all about the diaphanous veils of cherry and currant and earth and mushroom doing a delicate dance. What's more, they were pouring a 2022 White Pinot Noir, too. While not unusual for Oregon producers, it's still rarely seen in CA, so its elegant grippiness always entrances me.

So it seems we've moved to the white wine section our program. Not that Madson doesn't make Pinot Noir, but the pourer at their table claimed "I think this is the best wine we've ever made," so who am I to disagree? Plus I found much to love in that 2022 Ascona Vineyard Chardonnay (with 5% Aligote). The 2,500 foot elevation Santa Cruz Mountains site provides minerality and tension and saline, but the lemon drop and quince fruit shines, too. Plus, they suggest it "pairs well with roasted poultry and New Yorker cartoons." I'm all for Roz Chast-onnay. Madson makes a great argument that natural wines can be clean and brilliant. And their website devotes an entire page to Carbon Offset, so let's toast to not roasting the planet along the way.

And my last winery to highlight, Oceano, even offers a non-alcoholic wine, but we'll leave ∅ for another time (although I did hunt down the HTML code for that, so please, some props). Oceano, in SLO, farms Spanish Springs Vineyard--the closest vineyard to the Pacific in all of California. Yep, there's some marine influence. Co-founder and co-winemaker Rachel Martin leans into all the cool climate attributes of the fruit, so the 2021 Chardonnay is lithe and lovely (no malo, of course), picking up all sorts more tropical notes, from kiwi to lemongrass, along with a more typical lemon-lime chardonnay profile, not that it goes Viognier on you or anything. It does goes to show the range of what we know can grow with every sip.

*And Mitch McConnell, just for Amy Coney Barrett, can rot in hell. Nothing to do with wine, but can't help myself.

World of Pinot Noir 2024: Old Friends

I'm a horrible hypocrite, dear reader. While I suggested in my preview post that you MUST HAVE A PLAN to attack World of Pinot Noir grand tastings or you might get lost in crazy clonal seas, what I did on March 1st was anything but. I started just on walkabout. I stopped at tables with people I liked, as interested in chatting as tasting. I drank at tables without "customers," both feeling sorry for the pourer gazing out hoping to lure someone in with eye contact and simply to have plenty of room to stand. The wineries were arranged in alpha order, so I couldn't focus on regions too easily, and didn't bother. And then I was sure to hit someone every so often with some sparkling, just to Scrubbing Bubbles my palate a bit. (Much fancy water in retro-futuristic aluminum cans was consumed, too.)

I did do some math--well after I got done tasting, as wine breaks brain computational function--to discover I averaged a new taste of wine every 3 minutes and 15 seconds. So no matter how any particular pour invited me to linger, I moved on faster than a cad in a romance novel. Just so you know. 

I'm also going to lean on my favorite organizational method for tackling a Grand Tasting, breaking things down into Old Friends and New Finds (that is, new to me, far from a cutting edge sharpener). 

Phil Carpenter is far from old, but he's a dear friend, and no one has a job better suited for him. The man loves wine and adores the ones from SB in particular, and then got hired as the Director of Operations for Santa Barbara Vintners. Score! He got to pour SB wines from folks who didn't pony up for their own tables this year, and that meant stunning wines like a Barden 2020 Radian Vineyard. Of course Doug Margerum knows the region's wine as well as anyone after his years at Wine Cask and running futures, but he seems get just better and better making wine, too. This Radian sang with the forlorn vineyard's wildness. His Barden 2020 Sanford & Benedict was equally the epitome of its vineyard. There are far worse old friends than Phil and Doug, indeed. 

If you've read my wine scribbles you know I have an affinity for Anderson Valley wines, that sweet spot of coastal influence in Mendocino County. (It's also a great off-the-beaten track place to visit, free from crowds and national brands.) As I haven't had a chance to get up that way in a while, it's convenient when they come to me at WOPN. I was sure to taste at the Maggy Hawk table, and was rewarded by a 2018 Afleet they led me to write the note, "Jay-sus!" So if you care for a holy experience, look no further than this winery that likes naming things after racehorses. I can't do better than their own notes (even if this verbiage is for the 2020 vintage): "Wonderful breadth, depth, and personality in spades. Afleet incorporates four distinct blocks from the vineyard and incorporates 60% whole cluster fermentation to craft a wine with a variety of aromatics. Mandarin, stargazer lily, guava and saffron aromas mingle and develop over time. Stem tannin circles the outer edges on the texture and leaves the mid-palate fresh and juicy." OK, I probably couldn't tell apart the scent of a stargazer lily from Lily Gladstone, but I'll take their word for it.

I get a transition handed to me because Maggy Hawk's winemaker Sarah Wuethrich previous worked at Copain, the next winery I want to mention. Although physically situated in Sonoma, Copain has long worked with Anderson Valley grapes, and they nailed it with a 2022 Les Voisins Rosé. My notes say the grapes are from Yorkville Highlands, a slightly warmer AV spot, and while the wine is a pale pink, it's far from bashful on the palate, not anemic in any way. I also adored the 2020 Sealift Pinot from Sonoma County just below the Mendo County line. But at 1200 feet. Pomegranate and raspberry bursts out of the glass, so much fruit, but then the acid hits you like a velvet hammer--I mean that in the best of ways. Somehow all that flavor sits in a 12.5% ABV package. 

Speaking of places I don't get to nearly enough, France. So this WOPN I had to make my annual pilgrimage to the thoughtful men of Louis Latour. You own the most extensive Grand Cru acreage in Burgundy, you just might know what you're doing, especially when you've been working that land since four years after the guillotine came down on Marie Antoinette. It's a vivid education in Old World vs. New Pinot styles, tasting their three wines. They make you think about flowers and stones as much as cherry or plum. Each also got a bit more complex and fuller, ending with a 2020 Corton Grand Cru "Clos de la Vigne au Saint" that you would want to spend a week or two studying. It's wine for contemplation, and thoughtfulness does not throw shade on delight. At a suggested retail price of $190, I am happy for my sips.

Circling back to the almost local, one of last year's New Finds gets to be an old friend, now--I even was sure to taste it in the media room. A mere 1.5 miles from the Pacific near Avila Beach, the family-owned, organically farmed Topotero Vineyard is where Haliotide grows Pinot for their 2020 Extra Brut Rosé. Sparkling wine is their passion--it's all they do--and that focus shines in every bottle. If you could turn shortbread, strawberries, white peaches, and cream into a wine, it would be this--salt and yeastiness, fruit and richness.

California Crows a Cru

Look out Chambertin, Corton, Échezeaux, Montrachet, and Romanée-Conti, for Sanford & Benedict, Bien Nacido, Pisoni, Gap's Crown, and Savoy are coming for you. That was the mild boast in Friday morning's World of Pinot Noir seminar "The New 'Grand Cru' of California," even if chipper moderator David Glancy admitted right off, "There's no such thing, we're making it up." That didn't stop Glancy, however, from saying, as the fun and fact filled two hours came to a conclusion, "If there can be thirty-three Grand Cru in Burgundy, which is much smaller, why not two hundred Grand Cru along the much larger California coast?" Certainly the evidence in the 10 glasses the audience got to taste would suggest he could be right.

Obviously anyone attending an event like WOPN in a place like the coast-hugging splendor of the Bacara might be a tad prejudicial about the value of California grape juice. (Writer meekly raises his hand.) But the very nature of even suggesting a Grand Cru designation means you'll encounter a veritable greatest hits--this session wasn't as much about surprise as affirmation. (The market also implies worthiness--almost all the wines retail for a hefty $90.) The ten wines/sites were split evenly mid-state:

Central Coast

Sanford 2019 Block 6, Sanford & Benedict Vineyard, Sta. Rita Hills

Bien Nacido 2021 Estate, Santa Maria Valley

Talley 2021 Rosemary's Vineyard, Arroyo Grande Valley

Pisoni 2021 Pisoni Vineyard, Santa Lucia Highlands

Mount Eden 2019 Estate, Santa Cruz Mountains 

North Coast

Hyde 2019 Estate, Carneros, Napa

Three Sticks 2021 Gap's Crown, Sonoma Coast

Merry Edwards 2021 Meredith Estate Vineyard, Russian River Valley

Red Car 2021 Estate, Fort Ross-Seaview

Walt 2017 Savoy Vineyard, Anderson Valley

This write-up would be nearly as long as the seminar itself if I took you through the tasting and comments about each of the wines, which feature a talented and well-spoken panel of winemakers, GMs, and farm managers. But here are some the highlights:

*Yep, whenever anyone talks about why Santa Barbara County is a great place for grapes, the free space on the SB Bingo Card has to be "transverse mountain range." Not only did Laura Hughes from Sanford mention it right off, Anthony Avila from Bien Nacido also refered to this key topography. And then other locations tried to explain that, while they lacked the atypical east-west ranges that allow for cooling ocean air to help lengthen SB grape hang times, they had something else that was analogous: Santa Lucia Hills has a north-south wind route off Monterey Bay, according to Mark Pisoni; Ryan Prichard of Three Sticks noted Gap's Crown had the Petaluma Gap working as "Sonoma County's air conditioner."

*As with the French Grand Cru, almost of all the suggested California Grand Cru sites sell grapes to various winemakers, so it's fascinating to see how prized grapes can have different expressions through different techniques. Alison Frichtl of Walt Wines was perhaps luckiest of all--while for the panel she discussed Anderson Valley's Savoy Vineyard, she also has the opportunity to work with fruit from several of the other sites, too, including Gap's Crown and the Sta. Rita Hills. (Note: It's good to have a billionaire couple own your wine company.)

*Wine folks love to talk dirty. By that I mean soil is super important to them, which is no surprise. Terroir might refer to all the environmental factors one grows grapes in, but the root of the French word refers to lands. Pinot Noir evidently likes less hospitable dirt, and the new word of the day for me was chert, an oxidized silica that you can torture vines in, just enough, in the Sanford & Benedict Vineyard. 

*If vineyards aren't organic already, everyone seems to be headed that way. Win, planet Earth!

*Disasters are the mother of invention. (Therefore Frank Zappa = Disaster) Sonoma's devastating fires of 2020 led to many wineries dumping their smoke-infused grapes. At Merry Edwards winemaker Heidi von der Meyden opted to pick early instead, a full 2 Brix lower than she usually would at the Meredith Estate Vineyard. Turned out it was a beautiful wine. So that's when she picks that vineyard ever since.

* Whether we care to bandy about the term Grand Cru or not, Pinot is here to stay. In 1960, California had 531 acres of the grape. In 2022, that number was over 47,000 acres. 

*You can have pretty much any background to end up sitting on a panel at WOPN as a vinous expert. Some folks got into the business the old fashioned way--family. (Thanks, dad!) Some entered through the world of hospitality, getting the bug while serving and drinking wine. Some were scientists wanting to do something non-theoretical. Often travel was involved. Sure, many of them wound up at Cal Poly or UC Davis to study wine, but a degree wasn't a be all, end all.

*The range of deliciousness is great for Grand Cru Pinot. Sometimes there's more saline, sometimes more earth. Sometimes more cranberry, sometimes sarsaparilla. Sometimes a nervous energy, sometimes a plush elegance. Sometimes a hint of mint, sometimes a pop of black pepper. 

All of the time, though, these California Pinots delighted. So call them whatever you want, just be sure to have me over if you pop any of their corks.

WOPN 2024's Seriously Sapient, Sanguine Seminars

So this is my 40th post over the years about World of Pinot Noir, which means two things. 1) It's an incredible weekend of wine and food and fun and excess and Bacara and friends both old and new, and I'd hate to miss it. 2) It's getting harder and harder to come up with a new way to craft a story. Heck, I did one post as a fake Larry King column back in 2020 even before I had any excuse that two turns through the Covid dumbening had softened my cerebral cortex.

Still, more than 200 producers of Pinot Noir. It's a lesson in range of expression, in expression of terroir, in oak's mighty force in aging. It's terms de- and re-associating: for just one example take Old World versus New World, which now means style and not geography (and time in the sense everything old becomes new again). 

It's easy to (try to) focus on just the Grand Tastings, a massive ballroom floor a-crawl with almost too many folks thirsty for Burgundy (and hoping for some surprises under the table, or even up top--sparkling and Chardonnay, and sometimes a smuggled in Grenache or Syrah, yes, a lone Rhone). You sort of can't go wrong beyond trying to do everything. So pick whatever organizational plan you like, whether by location or clone (you will hear so much talk of clones you'll worry you're in a sci-fi movie), or only taste from wineries that start with S and T--that would be 27 stops, and most places at least pour 2 wines. That's an afternoon, easy.

But since you've still got some time to book as the event is February 29-March 2, I'm here to suggest you might want to attend one of the four seminars that happen Friday and Saturday mornings, too. Alas, the "Bubbles and Bites" session is already sold out, as how could you not want to start off your Saturday sparkling, but there are still three other options well worth considering. You sit, you listen, you laugh, you sip. You often get to take part in room polls or get to lob questions at the knowledgeable. So, yes, you will learn and be entertained. How noble.

Friday morning offers the provocatively titled seminar "The New 'Grand Cru' of California." Just think about the inescapable meme, "If your ___ is not from the ___ region of France, it's just sparkling ____" to consider how dogmatic the French are about what kind of wine earns what label. Grand Cru signifies the very very very best growing (cru) sites, i.e. where the best wine should come from. So taking that term and slapping it on California could be fighting words, or at the least, fighting over words. You have to attend to see. As WOPN's site puts it: "Led by David Glancy, Master Sommelier and Founder of the San Francisco Wine School, the seminar will showcase Pinot Noir vineyards from the Santa Maria Valley to Russian River Valley to Anderson Valley, and more. Guests will walk away with a deep understanding of the rich history of farming philosophies, winemaking approaches, and how California vineyards became known for Pinot Noir." 

For a more global perspective, the other Friday morning seminar is "The Legacy Generational Library Tasting--Know Your Winemaker." Moderator Ray Isle, author of the forthcoming book The World in a Wineglass: The Insider's Guide to Artisanal, Sustainable, Extraordinary Wines to Drink Now and the Executive Wine Editor of Food & Wine Magazine, will celebrate the world’s top family-run wineries whose legacy of sustainability and innovation has helped produce some of the most exceptional Pinot Noirs in recent history. And hope to sell some of his books, no doubt. (We can't pretend there isn't a commercial function at these events, can we?) 

Then the still available Saturday event is an opportunity to hone your blind-tasting skills. (I hope yours are stronger than mine from 9:30-11:30 am.) At "Global Wine Conversations: A World of Pinot Noir," (see what they did there?) guests will blind taste 10 wines that epitomize the marquee AVAs from Burgundy, Australia, Oregon, and California. Wine Expert Julia Coney and Master Sommelier Evan Goldstein will let people just like you and me, folks without the slightest of somm degrees, discover what it's like to puzzle through questions of typicity. How does one mentally map the growing regions of the world on one's tongue? Here's your chance to find out.

World of Pinot Noir 2023: New Finds

 

Let's make this very clear to start--by "new finds" I mean to me, probably not to the rest of a wine savvy world. I realize that you don't have to be Oregonian to know about Ken Wright, for example, but you could also be me and not know his lovely wines well at all. And if you want to read the first part of my 2023 World of Pinot Noir coverage, that's over at my Old Friends post.

All that throat clearing aside, let's begin with Chardonnay to really shake stuff up. And a relatively new project, too, Walson Holland, doing boutique-y things based in Ojai, but with grapes from all sorts of fine sites. Take the 2020 Chardonnay from Duvarita, which is so west in Santa Barbara it lies outside the Sta. Rita Hills AVA. Deliciously mineral, magnificently saline, this is a fascinating wine. Plus the marketing is topnotch--check out the release box in that first photo. (It's not a surprise winemaker Benjamin Holland did some time with Sine Qua Non.)

And while we're enjoying whites, I'd be remiss not to single out 2021 Sojourn Cellars Sangiacomo Vineyard Sonoma Coast Chardonnay. Elegant layers of apple and lemon-lime cascade over a steely structure. Given 70% of what Sojourn does is Pinot Noir (which was also scrumptious), it was fun to find this singing Sonoma white.

Then again, Sangiacomo Wines itself, which for 80 years sold their grapes, have only been making their names wines since 2016. (Heck, they have two different websites for the two different operations.) North Coast legend James McPhail makes their wines, 5 Chardonnays, 8 Pinots, 1 Vin Gris of Pinot, or as the person at the table put it, "you only do this when you own the vineyard," since they grow grapes specifically for that punchy product, no saignée for them. Their 2021 Five Clone Pinot Noir Roberts Road Vineyard was ridiculously seductive, with a velvet mouthfeel and their website description nails it: "Bursting with fresh red fruit flavors including raspberry coulis, sun-sweetened Bing cherry, and freshly picked wild strawberries with notes of five-spice rounding the palate."

Sangiacomo Fedrick grapes are just one of the sources for the 2019 MacRostie The Loch, which also features Pinot from Olivet Lane, Rodgers Creek, Gap’s Crown, Wildcat Mountain, and the Dutton Manzana Vineyard. While many wineries tout a single vineyard designate as the peak of their programs, at MacRostie the goal is to blend the best of the best barrels, hence this wine that, in the spirit of the upcoming Oscars I noted "was everything everywhere all at once," and therefore as wildly enjoyable as that film. Winemaker Heidi Bridenhagen has crafted a powerhouse gem.

An equally impressive Sonoma showing was the Pinot from Red Car, whose name makes it clear they started in Los Angeles. (They've been completely Sonoma-based since 2010.) Their 2020 Estate had some charming blood orange notes to its fruit, but the standout for me was their 2020 Heaven & Earth, an organic vineyard at 500 feet elevation eight miles from the Pacific. The pourer said, "When you get up there, you don't see any other vineyards around." Based on the multi-faceted wine, that's going to change, with its brambly blackberry and marine influence.

Let's keep going north, to the Willamette Valley and Ken Wright Cellars. I have to be honest and admit I don't know Oregon wines anywhere near as much as I should, especially once I learned that Wright was the first Oregon winemaker on the cover of the Wine Spectator way back in 2015. (Of course, I don't read Wine Spectator anymore, either, but oh well.) I particularly enjoyed his 2021 Shea Vineyard Pinot, a mere 12.8% ABV but still enticingly floral with a kind of chalkiness that worked, attesting to the marine sediment soil of the site.

That's too neat a segue not to take to get to the wonderful work that Jessica Gasca is doing at Story of Soil. She was pouring back in the hard-to-leave corner where the Santa Barbara Vintners Association ruled the roost, and CEO Alison Laslett and Director of Operations Phil Carpenter hosted wineries that didn't want to pony up the hefty cost for their own table. Gasca was kind of enough to share her sold out 2021 Gold Coast Pinot, and it showed her appreciation for that Santa Maria vineyard where she first got the wine bug as an intern. Profound and round, it kept going and going and was never gone. 

And let's end on what was truly a new experience for me, Haliotide. A tiny, family-run producer in SLO County, they make single vintage, single vineyard sparkling that's some of the best I've had from these parts. What's more, winemaker Nicole Bertotti-Pope and viticulturalist Lucas Pope are hoping to make wine for the future, and sure enough, the 2017 Blanc de Blanc that popped out from under the table was their best, for as my note put it, "They've got ambition." The 2018 Extra Brut Rosé was a delight of grapefruit and bread notes. I would never have guessed something this good would come from a vineyard a mere 1.5 miles from the Pacific in Avila Beach.  

But that's why you go to World of Pinot Noir--your world always gets deliciously expanded every year.

World of Pinot Noir 2023: Old Friends

Excessive and obsessive at once, World of Pinot Noir features over 175 wineries all focused (in theory, as there is always a stray chardonnay or pet nat or cab franc under some kind winemaker's table) on one stinking grape. Sure, pinot noir goes by other names, and let's not even get into clonal variations, of which there are over 40, many of which pourers will proudly enumerate for you as they splash your glass. But, c'mon, it's much ado about one varietal. I know more than one winemaker who shakes their heads sadly about the event, even if they make a pinot themselves.

So why does this annual spectacular, for many years running (when Covid allows) held at the ocean-side wonder that is the Bacara, continually enchant? Sure, it's true of other varietals, but pinot comes in many styles, seductive, elegant, brooding, so it's a wine for your many moods. Pinot is finicky and hard-to-grow, and we all love our problem children. Pinot is one of the most versatile food wines, profligate in its qualities that lead to perfect parings (salmon? Santa Maria tri-tip? sure!). Pinot is perfume, pinot is place. 

WOPN underlines all of that, especially in the Friday and Saturday Grand Tastings. This year, instead of emphasizing terroir by grouping wineries by region, each day was an alphabetical zag and zig of tables. Where you wind up, no one knows, as going in you realize you can't drink it all. So you visit familiar folks, especially when winemakers themselves are pouring. And you visit wineries you never heard of as it's good to expand your vinous horizons. And sometimes you just go to way more Oregon wineries than usual, as your +1 for the day has a daughter in college there. Reasons don't always rhyme.

With all that out of the way, let's get tasting. Last year I hit on the division of Old Friends/New Finds as an organization principle and I liked it so much, it's back this year. Consider it a tradition. I mean, it that's better than the weird post when I did parody of a Larry King column, no?

Speaking of king Larrys, of course I visited tercero's table to see where Larry Schaffer's pinot project was at two years in. Schaffer never lets his winemaking muse get bored--he's got 34 different wines for sale on his website right now, from Clairette Blanche to a carbonic Mourvèdre--and the new 2021 Pinot goes into bottle this week, so we were getting a barrel tasting. He insisted it was "just an inkling of what it was going to be," but a fine inkling it was, all fruit from Kessler-Haak. He only makes fascinating wine, and this Sta. Rita Hills gem is rich and promising.

Rich and delivering was the word across the board with tiny Montemar's production. This one-time garagiste operation currently produces upwards of 1,200 cases a year, still relatively small potatoes, but they get grapes from some of Santa Barbara's best sites. Take their standout 2016 Barrel Select--note they let wines sit a bit--made from 50% Radian and 50% Bentrock grapes. Such wildness and power from the far western end of SRH.

Another bottle singing at its slightly-aged peak was Seagrape's 2015 Mermaid's Pearl. It's no surprise Karen Steinwachs makes terrific wine, but this barrel select, made only in the years she thinks the vintage is worthy of the project, had a perfume and a depth they could lead one to drown. Oh, yeah, mermaid!

Age might be one of the keys when it comes to old friends, after all, as was very clear with the 3L format 2013 Pisoni Paul Lato was pouring at his table. Lato loves going big and old at WOPN, and it's a clever way to show off the structure of his wines. Refined but still with plenty of zingy black cherry fruit, this pinot offers a complexity, minerality, and floral lift that is lovely. 

I was going to try to leave out too much bragging about the glories of the media room, where about 100+ wines await journalistic contemplation, but did have to mention the Fiddlehead 2011 Fiddelstix in magnum that waited for us there. Press isn't really worthy of such goodness, the age giving the wine more earthiness and a soupçon of mushroom. Time is very good to some of us, as long as some of us are wine.

As classic pinot old-timers go, it's hard to beat Willams Selyem, and I've been a proud and glad member of their mailing list since the 1990s at this point. (I am old, too, you see.) They were pouring two of their still young but far from shy 2021s--their Russian River Valley blend from 10 vineyards and their Westside Neighbors. The first offered brightness, freshness, and some whole cluster punch, singing a song from basso to tenor. The Westside Neighbors got by on its aromatics, a big bunch of blueberry, and a stony long finish. Sometimes the classics are hard to deny.

Not that you shouldn't mess around with things, as Aaron Walker can attest to at Pali. Over Pali's brands they now make 50 different wines, and one that stood out was the 2021 Wild Series Sta. Rita Hills Pinot. Created primarily for restaurant lists and wine shops, the Wild Series wines (there's a Chardonnay, an orange and a rosé) are meant to move thanks to their pricing and accessibility and natural fermentation, neutral oak, hands-off approach. Turns out if you start with great grapes, everything will be fine.

And to segue towards the New Finds post, it seems fitting to stop at the Bonaccorsi table. Wine, of course, is memory, and in many ways each sip is its own elegy--singing its last praises as you down it. The tragic loss of Mike Bonaccorsi in 2004 could have been the end of the winery too, but first his wife Jenne Lee did more than carry on, and now Mike's brothers Rich and Joe are in charge. So when you're told the 2019 Fiddlestix is Joe's first wine "tip to tail," you know it's a moment of continuation, transition, and most importantly, beauty. To quote Jeb Dunnuck: "Smells and tastes complex, every sniff and sip revealing something else: intense raspberry, white pepper, watermelon, green tea, red licorice, kumquat, button mushrooms. An almost ethereal weight in the mouth; very lively and bright and beautifully textured, with a hard candy essence to some of the fruit, and a saline minerality toward the firm, tight finish."

House of the Rising Hilt

 

It's only fitting that famed architect Howard Backen gives off a beneficent golden glow, as he's designed so many beloved spaces, from Robert Redford’s Sundance Institute to George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch, from MGM Studios Theme Park to Meadowood Napa Valley. He's also become a go-to for wineries who want comfort and style shy of outright ostentation, from Cliff Lede to Harlan Estate to, now right here in Santa Barbara, The Hilt Estate. That's not too surprising, as The Hilt's owner, Stan Kroenke, already had Backen design Screaming Eagle for him (even if it's closed to the public), so bringing a favorite architect south made all the sense in the world (especially when money is no object). 

The property recently celebrated its first year open to the public with a to-do featuring Bracken himself, folks from his team, and also many craftsmen and builders from Grassi & Associates, including founder Mark Grassi and partner Paul Niles. The evening was a well-earned love fest for everyone involved, as it's a gorgeous project, managing to provide plenty of space for high-end tasting while still remaining appropriately sized for the property. It doesn't hurt it's one big property, as Rancho Salsipuedes is 3,600 acres nestled into the elbow where Santa Rosa Road meets Highway 1 at the far western end of the Sta. Rita Hills. Only about 200 of those acres are vineyards.

The Barn took the place of old historic barns and mimics them a bit, with wall lumber set about a half inch apart to let the air in. But then you look closely and realize that now everything is screened off, so that flow happens without any buggy accompaniment. Such details abound. Take the two over-sized metal stoves in the two side tasting rooms (which, of course, open to the main room but can be shuttered off if the space needs that)--they provide a kind of hearth that's unique, homey, almost big enough to climb in. You don't just warm a backside in front of one, you get a full-body heat hug.

And, of course, it's an indoor-outdoor space, as this is Santa Barbara, even if one of its more chilly locales, just 13 miles from the Pacific. The wide open side of The Barn frames the low-lying Puerta Del Mar Vineyard and in the distance the Imerys diatomaceous earth mine glitters like a snowy mountain (and hints at the property's own diatomaceous earth that makes the Radian Vineyard such a horrible and therefore wonderful spot to plant grapes). You feel placed here.

Then there's the wine facility itself, which winemaker Matt Dees and his team thought through function first. All the dirty stuff--you know, this is a farming operation--happens outside the building, so it's spectacularly clean inside, even on what turned out to be the last day of 2022 harvest arrivals. There was some water here and there and some activity, but the most unkempt thing in the winery was Dees sporting a true mountain man beard thanks to the demands of the season. The basement barrel room is a football-field long (hey, what is that other thing Kroenke owns?), and you instantly get hit with oak and fruit as you descend the stairs. Dees points out the huge concrete space is sparse enough that if different people figure out a better way to make wine two decades from now, they'll have a blank canvas to begin with. 

Of course the evening also featured a tasting. The wine included The Hilt sparkling, a true beauty of fizz, tension, brioche, pear, and a lean, clean finish, The Hilt Estate Chardonnay (talk to Dees for a bit and he'll passionately convince you Chardonnay is the grape of SRH), almost lets you taste the ocean breeze that whips these vineyards. The Hilt Estate Pinot Noir is a bit more reserved than many SRH Pinot, but that just means it draws you in slowly and seductively to its cherry, spice, and cola. Finishing up was Jonata's Todos (Jonata is the sister property in Ballard Canyon, featuring Rhone and Bordeaux varietals, and now even some Greek grapes--Matt's always experimenting). Todos, as in "all the grapes," is a deep wonder that leads a drinker to much reflection about how full a red blend can be. Only another sip can get you anywhere near an answer.

Of course there was food, too, passed appetizers that never stopped coming, from delicate cheese-bomb gougères to seemingly just-fired arancini to the most adorable and delicious fish tacos that I was tempted to stuff my pockets with, they were so good, but luckily trays of them kept floating about the room so I didn't have to hoard. Thanks, Poe & Co., for the terrific stuff. Of course The Hilt isn't in the business of doing anything halfway, so the food had to be terrific. After all, they flew in a photographer from Sun Valley, Idaho for the gig just because he was their favorite.

A Dees-licious Wine Dinner at The Lark

 

So I could simply say just read that menu and that would save both of us a whole lot of work--you can probably taste the yumminess just from that.

But I still want to write about how well a wine dinner can synch, for the one last night at The Lark (ok, actually held at sister property the SB Wine Collective, but created by The Lark team) featuring wines from the wondrous Matt Dees--namely Mail Road and Kimsey--danced like Rogers and Astaire, harmonized like the Temptations, even comically contrasted like Laurel and Hardy.

Let's start with dessert, shall we? See what wine paired with it? Now, when does a wine dinner end with rosé? But it totally worked, here, its copper color fitting in with the playful mix of balled melons, and the wine's acid cutting the sweet of the granita. Even the kick of the Aleppo pepper--and it was pretty kicky--turned the dish into something more (the borage flowers, so pretty and a bit tart, didn't hurt). Such a clever, refreshing course.

And refreshing might be the key word for Dees' approach to whites, too. That Mail Road Chardonnay illuminated the brilliance of the unique Mt. Carmel Vineyard, a site Dees clearly loves. (He likes his vineyards a bit harsh and unforgiving--remember he gets to work with Radian and Bentrock, too.) If you're looking for oak, this is the wrong wine for you--it's a pure expression of its fruit, with lime zest zing and then enough acid you could almost cut with it. 

Or cut a surprisingly rich dish like the opening halibut crudo, that I joked was halibut potato salad because of the grilled corn aioli that leaned a tad into its mayonnaise-ness, especially with the addition of some pickled green tomato. (I mean this is the most loving way.)  Still, that fish was rich and nearly unctuous. And then the perfectly fried avocado nuggets.... Chef Jason Paluska put together a dish cohesive and unusual all at once, and it set the tone for the rest of the delicious evening.

That's Dees explaining that when the block of marble comes in from the amazing vineyard sites he gets to play with, in this case Mt. Carmel in the Sta. Rita Hills and Kimsey in Ballard Canyon, you can either take a chisel to it and make it something else or take some sandpaper to it, and make it shine. One guess what he does.

Which he does no better than the Mail Road Pinot they poured last night. Here's how Antonio Galloni aptly put it: "A wine of structure and power…dark, sumptuous and enveloping on the palate…the 2015 possesses remarkable fruit intensity…Black cherry, plum, spice, leather and menthol…Don’t miss it." We didn't--and thanks to the staff for keeping refilling the glasses, too--very generous.

That powerful pinot was an on-the-nose match for the richness of the duck liver mousse, not quite as gamey as foie, but lavish and creamy, sort of like if meat and gelato had a baby that could live at room temp. This dish's accoutrements were equally brilliant bites, cashews roasted in duck fat so extra umami-ed, and Rainier cherries poached and plump. I might have said I would have spent the rest of my life at the Wine Collective if someone would keep bringing me boards of mousse and glasses of pinot. 

Yes, it's almost hard to see the lamb ribs in there, but that just attests to this dish being all about its strewn-composition, the smoke on the meat, the char on the eggplant and peppers, the juice of the pluot, the bite of the watercress. So much to take in, you just keep savoring bite after bite. And then there's the Kimsey Syrah, a bold wine, as it needed to be to stand up the fat and sweet lamb, but then it just cascaded with flavor, blackberry, a hint of anise, sage, black pepper, and more. 

Here are Chryss's two subs for the meaty things she doesn't eat. She says they were as good as they looked. And the couple of bites I snuck said the same.

The Lark is going to keep doing these winemaker dinners, and now that all of us vaccinated folks can sit inside next to each other and not die, they're going to be a lot of fun. The next one will be with Graham Tatomer.

And one tiny issue--why is "served to share" still a thing? I imagined COVID would have knocked that one out of the kitchen playbook, but even without the fear of cooties, it's often just awkward, especially with something like the mousse board. And our end of the table sat three people with dietary restrictions, all different (one gluten free, one pescatarian, one lactose intolerant), so they had to bring up a bunch of different dishes too. I get the largesse of it, and the sense we all dip into the communal plate and all that. But that's also not quite reason enough. 

Ain't Europe Grand (Tour) with Chryss and George (Day 3)

Jonesing for Bones

How's that for a map to put you in your place? We get to bus out with Viking to Kutna Hora, once (think 1300s) a center of silver mining and a challenger to Prague for most important Czech city, and our first stop is the infamous Sedlec Ossuary just outside town. It's a humble church but when you look inside, you discover why it's a tourist destination--it's decorated with approximately 40,000 human bones. Here's a chandelier you probably don't have in your house

and if you do have a family crest, you probably don't display it like this one

and then you might have some extra bones just lying around (Chryss poses for bones-covered-with-flesh scale).

There's supposed to be some soil at Sedlec from Golgotha, brought back during the Crusades. So people wanted to be buried there, too, at the local Skull Place, so to speak. Black Death = Lots o' Bones. Then in 1870, a guy decided to get artistic with them. It's kind of a small space for all the bones in it, so you don't stay long, and even with a ten minute visit, by the end you're kind of numb(skull?). Your mind sort of insists they have to be fake. How else to deal with so much memento mori? [Cool sidelight I just discovered, the wonderful surrealist Czech stop-motion animator Jan Švankmajer, made a non-animated short film in 1970 called "L'Ossuaire."]

Canola All Ovah

OK, so this picture comes from before arriving at Sedlec, but I had to lead with the bone show, didn't I? As we noticed on our flight from Frankfurt to Prague, most of the Czech countryside is blanketed yellow. We find out on the bus thanks to our fine tour guide that one of the country's major crops is canola, but they aren't growing it for cooking, it's a fuel additive. And they call it rapeseed. Well, they call it řepka olejka, but I don't think I can say that (properly). It is pretty stunning to drive by, though, even on a crummy weather day.

Sharing St. Barbara

Obviously we were tickled that the major cathedral in Kutna Hora is named in honor of St. Barbara. Turns out she's the patron saint not only of lightning and gunpowder, but also of miners, too (you can sort of see how that works, no?). It's a another Gothic gem that took 500 years to finish, what with wars and silver running out and humans being poopyheads and all. You know, history.

Doesn't make it any less gorgeous. Not quite as big as St. Vitus, but they stuck with the Gothic style better through the centuries, so there's that. And it has been very well restored, as you can tell espying al the family crests painted onto the crenelated ceiling, not to mention the glimpse of some grand organ pipes.

And the great stained glass, of which this is just one example.

There's also a striking statue, as it's not religious at all, but it certainly reinforces who ran the town.

As for their St. Barbara, she sort of looks like a man in drag, but perhaps that's just because she's a saint most associated with a tower (symbol?). Note third windows (or nine, which is a bit confusing, but ok).

There's a statue of St. Barbara on the outside, too (Chryss poses stopping only briefly so not to freeze in place and become a statue herself).

Dining at Dačický

Part of the Viking tour was lunch at Dačický, the kind of place that is both quaint--it's got 400 year-old roots--and a bit of a tourist spot--busloads like us end up eating in one of its long back halls. As if knowing everyone there has been or is on the way to the Ossuary (well, I guess, aren't we all, bwahaha), the walls feature creepy art that is right up our Halloween-loving alley.

We get to warm up with bowls of Mushroom Potato Soup of the Lords of Rožmberk, so thanks all you Rožmberkians. It's very tasty--the mushrooms are definitely different here--if not so visually attractive to be worthy of a photo. But there is local lager, in both light (not lite) and dark versions, so I'm sure to try both. For reporting purposes, of course.

Every town has its own beer. That's charming isn't it? And we thought we invented something with microbreweries. For my main course I get the chicken in plum sauce, with enough potatoes for the table to share, except, of course, they've all got that many spuds too. It's a wonder anyone in the Czech Republic is less than 50 pounds over-weight.

Because there's apple strudel, too, the apple sliced very very fine, mimicking the layers of the dough. So good.

After lunch we get a whopping 15 minutes on our own to wander the cobble-stone streets of Kutna Hora. We don't wander far, as there's a wine bar just next door to our restaurant, and I power through--with some help from Chryss--a degustation of Moravian wines.

These didn't really stand out, although of all things the orange one (a pinot gris) might have been the best--certainly the most unusual.

Notable Nota Bene

We rest a bit once getting back to Prague and I start trying to scoop out where to have dinner, settling on Nota Bene. We get to take the Metro there--the stop is right at our hotel--so we feel extra proud figuring out some public transportation. Plus, you see a city's real peoples when you do that--here's all the young and gorgeous folks Prague is supposed to be famous for. Oddly enough, they don't hang out at the tourist spots.

The restaurant is smallish, clean and inviting, its walls covered in charming murals that almost seem like a child drew, but they're too clever for that.

They do set up what Nota Bene does very well--pleasing simplicity that's got more going on than at first appearance. For instance we all got an amuse that was big enough to be an appetizer, a whipped white cheese adorned with pickled rhubarb, a surprising touch.

The very helpful waiter led us to a great wine selection, too, a pinot from Moravia. I had never had any pinot form Moravian but this Springer certainly got me interested in more--lovely strawberry, cherry fruit but then some more ineffable mineral-stone notes. Delicious. Even better, just about $35 a bottle. On a restaurant wine list. In the States something this good would easily be $90 a bottle.

We share a smoked fish dish--carp, of all things--that comes with squash and apple, which work in ways I wouldn't have guessed. So much subtler to use apple than citrus for the fruit in a dish like this. And then a lovely green sauce not just for plating contrast but for herbal depth. Lots of layers in this plate.

I have what is one of the best duck dishes of my life, starting with perfect execution, the skin crispy, the flesh cooked rare but definitely cooked but tender in a way duck almost never is. With it is a light potato dauphinoise, very crunchy wild broccoli and beetroot, the beet's red adding to the duck's jus for a earthy sauce.

Everybody else was crazy for their dishes, too--Chryss's fish, Judy's curried veggie, Roger's big bowl featuring beef ravioli and making it clear how much Nota Bene likes to take Czech staples and elevate them (this ravioli is no mere dumpling). I like to think of it as Prague's answer to Santa Barbara's Barbareño, lovingly happy in a terrific town, but wanting to do traditions in the best, most modern, most well-sourced way.

Totally full, we still couldn't pass up sharing the sticky toffee pudding with its sour cream ice cream just the edge you need to cut the caramel and date sweetness. If Nota Bene were nearer, we'd be there a heck of a lot.

Go ahead to Day 4 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)

Go back to Day 2 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)