LENNDEVOURS

Diploma Dispatches: Loire

By Sasha Smith, New York City Correspondent

I used to get annoyed at wine writers who seemed to have a knee-jerk reaction against big, high-alcohol, ripe wines. I saw it as nothing more than a kind of elitist (to invoke the word of the week) pose against wines that were simply made to appeal to a broader audience.

And then I started taking this course. It’s not so much that my wine evaluation skills have improved (although I like to think that they have) as a question of volume. The more wine I taste/drink, the more I crave refreshment – or, at the very least, wine that doesn’t stain my lips and teeth dark purple after one sip.

This week’s class, then, was just what the doctor ordered. There are few regions that offer as much food-friendly refreshment as the Loire, and it’s always been one of my favorites. To my mind, acidity is the most underappreciated component of wine, especially for the casual drinker, and no place does acidity quite like the Loire. Sancerre, Savennières, Saumur-Champigny…the names alone are mouth-watering. Granted, in some vintages the acidity can be a little overbearing, and I have yet to fall in love with Pinot Noir-based wines from here, but overall, I’m a pretty big fan.

Tuesday’s tasting was one of the best we’ve had. The Domaine de la Pepière ‘Granite de Clisson’ Muscadet Sèvre-et-Maine Sur Lie had some of that pretty creaminess that comes from lees contact but without any of the aggressive yeastiness. The Domaine François Chidaine ‘Les Argiles’ Vouvray was a great Chenin Blanc combo of apricot, honey, and wet wool. (Or, as our instructor Mollie Battenhouse – my favorite so far – charmingly put it, “did you notice any sheep leaping out at you?”) The Domaine du Closel ‘Clos du Papillon’ Savennières was young, but with a very promising future. My favorite though was the Charles Joguet ‘Cuvée de la Cure’ Chinon, which hit all the right Chinon notes: firm tannins, good acidity, wild strawberries, pencil lead, ash, earth, dried herbs, great balance…all for a whopping $22.

In fact, all of the wines we tasted were under $30, definitely a first. For all of my talk about acidity and refreshment, I am not ruling out the possibility that I love the Loire simply because I’m cheap.

Diploma Dispatches: European Grab Bag

By Sasha Smith, New York City Correspondent

You know how it is when you go to the wedding of a not-very-close friend and you’re seated at the table with all the other not-very-close friends, like the guy who worked at the groom’s ill-fated online start up for 6 months circa 1999, and the bride’s friend from her semester abroad in Buenos Aires?

 

Well, that was kind of like this week’s class, a motley crew of wines from a random assortment of countries that most US wine drinkers know little about. Technically it was “wines of Central and Southern Europe,” basically Switzerland, Cyprus, and everything in between. My hopes were not high. But just like diminished expectations make sitting at the marginal table so much fun (no one is asking you to make a toast, and the consequences for getting hammered are pretty mild when no one knows who you are), these wines offered some great, unanticipated surprises.

 

First was a 2006 Craftsman Hárslevelu from Hungary. Hárslevelu is one of the grapes that goes into Tokaji Aszú, Hungary’s noted dessert wine. Somewhere between off-dry and medium-dry, this has all kinds of soft, ripe fruit nicely balanced by fresh acidity and a pleasantly bitter note on the finish. For nine bucks, you could do a lot worse.

A 100% Robola (yeah, I’ve never heard of that grape either) from Cepholonia tasted like alcoholic iced chamomile tea, but in a good way. I could have done without the overly tannic Croatian Plavac Mali, but the Berger Blauer Zweigelt, at $12 for a liter, would be lovely fruity/peppery accompaniment to barbecue. (Unfortunately, you get no points for suggesting food pairings on the exam.)

The show stopper though was a Dobogó Tokaji Aszú 6 Pottonyos. I’m a huge fan of botrytized sweet wines in general, and Tokaji is one of my faves. I tried to run through the whole WSET systematic approach on this one but quickly gave up and switched from spitting to drinking. This stuff is like nectar – can you blame me?

 

On a more serious note, I can feel the pressure starting to mount. I came across this paragraph on Cyprus in the Oxford Companion to Wine (aka our textbook) the other day:

 

“Commercial wine-growing is confined to the southern foothills and slopes of the Troodos mountain range at altitudes varying from 250 m to 1,500 m (800–4,900 ft) above sea level. The vineyard area is divided into six regions: Pitsilia (the highest), Marathasa, Commandaria, Troodhos South, Troodhos East, and Troodhos North. Three of the regions contain designated subregions: Madhari in the region of Pitsilia; Afames and Laona in Troodhos South; and Ambelitis, Vouni tis Panayias, and Laona Kathikas all within Troodhos East. Pitsilia and the northern (higher altitude) half of Commanderia have igneous soil and subsoil. Elsewhere soils are of sedimentary limestone with a particularly high free lime content.”

 

No offense to Lenn’s Cypriot fans, but these are some crazy names. There’s no way in hell I’m going to remember them. If there’s a diploma candidate in Cyprus right now who’s reading the Oxford New York entry and wondering how she’s going to memorize Cutchogue and Canandaigua, I feel your pain.

Diploma Dispatches: USA...But Where is New York?

By Sasha Smith, NYC Correspondent

So my plan was to use this week’s class—North America, minus California—as a jumping off point to talk about my visit to the North Fork over the weekend. Because surely we were going to taste a NY wine in class, right? Right?

There was an Oregon Pinot Noir that I liked quite a bit, intrigued by the potpourri-meets-wet-leaves nose. A spicy, cheap Petite Sirah from Baja was more than drinkable. A luscious Inniskillin ice wine was much, much more than that. Andrew Will’s 2004 Champoux, a well-structured Bordeaux blend, made me wish I had been more aggressive about selling their wines when I worked retail. (Although expensive Washington State wine is not easy to move.)

I was mystified by the Gruet in the line up. First and foremost, sparkling wine won’t be on the exam. And second, it was presented as an oddity, as if this good value, dependent sparkler weren’t served at every other holiday/birthday/office party. (Clearly my instructor and I run in different social circles.)

The most baffling wine of all was a Chardonnay from, of all places, Connecticut. It was not good. Disjointed, with oak that was out of proportion to the rest of the wine, it was one bizarre bottle. Still, I have to give it to the producers. It takes some kind of intestinal fortitude to make wine in Connecticut.

And…that was it. No New York wine. The instructor said she didn’t have time to find a something in time for our class. I sympathize, to a degree — finding a NY wine at a NYC wine store can be regrettably difficult — but seriously. Even if I weren’t so rah-rah about the New York wine industry, I’d still think diploma students should be required to taste at least one wine from their closest wine-producing region. The fine folks at the WSET, the UK-based organization that administers the exam, must agree with me, considering that British wine is on our syllabus, for God’s sake. Looking on the bright side, our instructor was very upbeat about the New York wine industry, Long Island in particular, but it would have been much better to have something in the glass to give credence to her optimism.

So, long story short, I have no way to seamlessly segue into my weekend on the North Fork. Not sure what I can’t say that Lenn hasn’t already covered, although I did get a sneak peek at some of The Old Field’s 2005 Pinot Noir, which I’m pretty sure Mr. Thompson has not tasted. I liked the bright, clear fruit and look forward to picking up a bottle when it becomes available. We took a tour of Shinn and got to check out the five acres of vines they recently planted, including some Pinot Blanc, a new variety for them. At Lenn’s insistence (and he was right to insist), I bought a bottle of Roanoke Vineyards’ 2004 Merlot, which I’m going to open for my some of my classmates—I just refuse to accept that we will not taste New York wines.

Diploma Dispatches: Southern Italy

By Sasha Smith, NYC Correspondent

This week we headed to Southern Italy, much firmer ground for me. I drink these wines more than their northern counterparts because, one, I love all those gutsy red varietals (Aglianico, Nero d’Avola, etc.) and pretty, summery white ones (Fiano, Greco, etc.) and two, they’re cheaper. It’s still a bit of alphabet soup with all the grape names, but this week I decided to relax a bit and just go with the flow, Italian style.

Robert Scibelli taught this week’s class. A 2005 diploma recipient and International Wine Center staffer who’s now gunning for an MW, God help him, this is a guy who clearly knows his Southern Italian wine. He led us through a helpful exercise where together we answered the type of question that might show up on an exam: The Southern Italian wine industry is currently enjoying a Renaissance. What developments in the vineyard, winery, and market have brought this about? Some of the reasons are pretty standard – lower yields, temperature controlled fermentation – but others are more specific to the region. For example, Sicily has been very smart about exploiting its island-wide IGT designation, which gives them lots of flexibility and the ability to label their wines by varietal, which plays well in international markets.

As for the wines, we started with a Fiano di Avellino that was, as we might write in our exam tasting notes, “good quality for a commercial wine,” but again I ran into my whole subjectivity problem. I was working at a wine store in Michigan the first time I tasted a Fiano. It was this time of year, and drinking that fresh, minerally wine from Campania was like the first day of spring training – proof that winter was not going to last forever, even though it felt that way. Point is, this is a wine that always makes me happy, even when it’s not top-quality.

The 2003 Ceuso was a great example of a Sicilian IGT wine that’s built for the export market. Half Nero d’Avola and half Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot, this wine is a great bridge between the indigenous and the international. For sure there’s some oak going on, but it’s well-integrated. The wine has layers of earth and fruit that seem to linger on the palate for days.

More traditional was an Aglianico del Vulture 2003 D’Angelo ‘Valle del Noce.’ According to at least one of the six sources I’ve been using to write my study outline for Italy, Aglianico is considered by some to be the third-best varietal in Italy, after Nebbiolo and Sangiovese. Personally, I’d place it second (sorry, Sangiovese). This wasn’t the best Aglianico I’ve ever had – top honors go to a Le Querce Aglianico Del Vulture I had at Lupa once – but it had all the characteristics that I love. Robust tannins and acidity, cherries and dark, ripe fruit (someone in class said blueberry, which I thought was dead-on), earth, even some chocolate and a little leather.

Our final wine was a 2004 Cantina Colosi Malvasia from Lipari. It was a relief to taste something sweet after all that rustic power. Right now I have my fingers crossed that some sweet wines show up on the exam, simply because they’re easier to figure out. The nose and palate are often pronounced and specific – honey, peach, apricot, toasted nuts – so there’s not a lot of fumbling around for the right descriptors (“am I smelling pencil lead – or pencil shavings?”). Also it’s pretty clear when the sugar/acid balance is right and when it’s not working. If you feel like you’re drinking a liquid lollipop, you’re in trouble.

Speaking of trouble, next week we start in on North America. I’m really worried that we’re going to get caught up in all sorts of nonsense about the evils of over-oaked, over-extracted California Chardonnay and Cabernet. Seriously? Most boring wine rant. EVER.

Diploma Dispatches: Central Italy

By Sasha Smith, NYC Correspondent

So it came to me on Tuesday night as I was chewing on a mouthful of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and trying to decide if I could call the tannins both “firm” and “drying”: the Diploma is to wine what dressage is to horseback riding – arcane, academic and interesting to an extremely small, and extremely passionate, group of people.

This point is not lost on Mary Ewing Mulligan, (from now on, MEM for short) who reminded us that we are “operating in some never-never land” at arm’s length from the average drinker’s experience. I appreciate the discipline and critical distance, of course – otherwise I wouldn’t be in the class – but it borders on the obsessive. At some point, can’t we just drink the wine and shut up about it?

That being said, this week was one of our best lectures yet. Central Italy, particularly Tuscany, is clearly near and dear to MEM’s heart. This is a woman who has spent a lot of time in Chianti, and has a lot to say about it. I particularly liked the observation she shared about Brunello di Montalcino, which she picked up from a Tuscan wine merchant: with the best ones, you can feel the tannins consistently from start to finish as you taste the wine – not just at the back of the mouth. (I’m not sure how this works, physiologically, as I think the sensors for tannins are near the middle/back of your mouth, but I’ll take her word on it). Chianti and Sangiovese-based wines in general don’t rank among my top ten, or even top twenty, reds, but Mary’s enthusiasm and knowledge made me wonder if I need to re-evaluate my rankings.

Unfortunately, the wines we tasted kinda sucked. The Verdicchio was either oxidized and/or over the hill. The Vino Nobile of the firm and drying tannins was a 2003 and had some unappealing overcooked fruit aromas going on. Ditto for the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo of the same year. We had a Brunello that Mary liked quite a bit – a 2001 La Fornace – and that I recognized as a good wine, but didn’t fall in love with. (Although I
did get the tannin from start-to-finish thing.) Which brings me to another tricky part of the class: leaving your subjectivity at home. If a Pinotage shows up in the tasting exam, I’ll have to put aside my intense dislike of the grape and assess it on its own terms. And vice-versa for Rioja, a wine that I might evaluate too generously because I like it so much.

My final discovery of the week is that my current study method, filling out mega Excel spreadsheets on every region, is worthless. I tried to use some of them to study for our first practice exam question, “Explain the diversity in Burgundy’s white wines, when there is only one key grape variety” and they’ve been incredibly unhelpful. Instead I’ve had to reread everything on white Burgundy in Jancis (we’re now on a
first name basis.)

I have to email my essay off by tomorrow to an anonymous grader in the UK who will then rip it apart and send it back with all kinds of merciless comments, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. If they’re anything like the exam graders, I’m in for a treat. As I wrote in my first post, WSET makes old exams available, along with comments from the examiners. Here’s one of my favorites:

“This [tasting note] is a classic example of someone who is seriously underperforming in this examination. Whilst this candidate is clearly not English speaking, it was not their lack of fluency that was the problem (in tasting questions we are looking for accuracy rather than literary skills), it is their failure to use the Systematic Approach to Tasting. This has resulted in vague, imprecise tasting notes with limited potential for awarding marks.”

Or how about this classic:

“Questions on Eastern Europe are seldom popular, but quite often those who do attempt them do well because it is their area of expertise. Sadly this was not the case here with no candidates achieving distinction and only two with merit. This question clearly divided those who knew about these regions and those who knew a few basic facts about a couple of wines. In the case of the latter, many scripts covered barely half a
side of A4 paper. This is seriously inadequate for this level of qualification.”

I’m picturing the examiners as a combination between John Houseman in The Paper Chase and the panel of judges at the end of Flashdance.

What a feeling, indeed.

Diploma Dispatches: Northern Italy

By Sasha Smith, NYC Correspondent

OK, I admit it. I’ve been feeling a little smug lately. Maybe it was the fact that I did pretty well on my study group’s blind tasting exercise. Or that I devoted a good part of my President’s Day to researching the slopes and soils of Burgundy. Or perhaps it’s just that many of the wines we’ve looked at to date, from Alsatian Rieslings to Southern Rhône reds, happen to be wines I drink frequently. Whatever the reason, up until yesterday I thought I would have no serious problem passing this test.

But yesterday’s class on Northern Italy left me wondering if I am not totally and completely screwed.

Italy has 1,000 different varietals, and I felt like we talked about at least half of them last night. Verduzzo, Croatina, Ribolla Gialla, Pignolo… at a certain point I just gave up, and my notes trailed off in a series of question marks. The tasting was even worse. I thought that a Gewurztraminer from Alto Adige was intense on the nose and palate, while our instructor Mary Ewing Mulligan, who quite literally wrote the book on Italian wine, said it was delicate. The Barbera that to me tasted mostly of tar and herbs, she praised for its juicy, fresh fruit
characteristics. At certain points, I was wondering if we were tasting the same wines. Not a good sign. 

I am definitely going to have to step it up, particularly as several of my classmates seem to know a lot about some very obscure Italian wines. (Granted, some of them are in the trade, including one who is a
sommelier at an Italian restaurant, but still.)

There were a few positives: first, I found out how delicious Soave can be. We tried a 2005 Soave Classico from Monte Carbonare and it was complex and surprisingly full-bodied. At $26, a much better value, and much more interesting, than I would have thought.

The other exciting discovery is that I’m not a fan of Amarone, or at least the 2000 Bertani we tasted. I love finding out that there’s an expensive wine I don’t like. More money to spend on aged Barolos, or even some Brunellos to get a jump on next week’s class on Central Italy.

Diploma Dispatches: Rhône Wines

By New York City Correspondent Sasha Smith

Writing about this week’s class is hard, simply because I have no critical distance. I really, really love Rhône wines. If I were the kind of person who went in for florid wine clichés, I would deploy many of them here. My affection for them borders on the irrational, to the point where I have been known to station myself in front of the (always too small) Northern Rhône section in wine stores and stare longingly at the bottles of Guigal La Landonne, La Turque and La Mouline (inevitably protected behind glass, as they should be at $250 and up — way up — a pop.)

Our instructor this week was Mollie Battenhouse DWS, a former chef who is currently a sommelier at Tribeca Grill. Enthusiastic and high-energy, she zipped through each of the appellations, her talk enhanced by pictures from a recent trip to the region. My favorite was a photo of vines from adjoining vineyards owned by Chapoutier and Jaboulet, two big names in the region. The Jaboulet vines were neat and tidy as could be, while the Chapoutier ones were positively shaggy — a result of their biodynamic approach to viticulture.

It’s easy to forget how small some of these appellations are, particularly those in the Northern Rhône. Hermitage, for example, is roughly 130 hectares, the equivalent of 320 acres, or three times the size of the Central Park reservoir. Our excellent recommended reading for this session, The Wines of the Northern Rhône, by Jonathan Livingstone-Learmonth, lists 32 producers who are working this steep, granite-laden and terraced hillside — and turning out some of the finest, most age-worthy red wines in the world. As a native New Yorker, I have a real appreciation for so much ambition crammed into such a tiny space.

And, of course, I really appreciate what’s in the bottle. My favorite red varietal is Syrah, and no one does it better. We tasted two iconic wines, Guigal’s Côte Rôtie “Brune et Blonde” 2003 and Jaboulet Hermitage “La Chapelle” 1996, both of which I had a very hard time spitting out.  Drinking the first was akin to eating the best berry pie I’ve ever had between sips of coffee and a few quick drags of a cigarette. The second was basically grilled lamb and tapenade in a glass. (Trust me when I tell you that it’s much, much better than it sounds.) 

At its best, Syrah doesn’t just go well with my favorite foods — it actually tastes like them.

Now if only I could use phrases like “roadside diner jumbleberry pie and coffee” and “leg of lamb with olives and rosemary” on the exam…

Diploma Dispatches: Bordeaux

By New York City Correspondent Sasha Smith

I'd been waiting for last Tuesday’s class for a long, long time.

Finally, I was going to learn to love Bordeaux.

Of course I’ve always appreciated it and held it in high regard, and its primacy is self-evident; it’s tough to argue against the greatness of Bordeaux, the same way you can’t refute the fact that Citizen Kane is a cinematic masterpiece or Crime and Punishment is a darn good book. But just as Orson Welles and Dostoyevsky leave me cold, Bordeaux has never been a personal favorite. I was sure I was missing something — and I was hopeful that our first class on Bordeaux would show me what it was.

The class started off promisingly enough, with our instructor Mary Ewing Mulligan MW telling us how much she loved Bordeaux — drinking it, talking about it, reading about it, etc., etc.  She shared her frustration at the difficulty of preparing for the class, given the sheer size of the topic, and I truly felt for her. Prepping to give us a 90-minute talk on the red wines of Bordeaux must be like a history professor putting together lectures for a freshman survey class: The History of Ancient Greece in 75 minutes — and next week, the Rise and Fall of Rome.

Her talk meandered for a bit, but we finally hit upon the primary theme, namely that the finest chateaux are doing just fine, but the rest of Bordeaux is up shit’s creek. I knew the basics already — the top 5% sit atop a vast sea of basically anonymous wine that has, in the past, been consumed locally. But the diminished consumption of wine in France, plus changing tastes that favor fuller-bodied, fruitier wines, and vine-pulling programs that didn’t take all add up to a lot of supply, not so much demand. (For my instructor's thoughts on what might help turn the tide for Bordeaux, check out her review of these wines from Christian Moueix  http://www.winereviewonline.com/MEM_on_Moueix_Pomerlo.cfm/.)

As Mary ran through the specifics — the rigid classification system, the harebrained agricultural schemes, the pretensions of the chateaux proprietors (my interpretations, not her words) — I realized how closely I had been associating Bordeaux with my least favorite things about France: bureaucracy, elitism and the rigid adherence to rules in place of common sense.* 

Diploma Dispatches: My first WSET Diploma Unit 3 Class

By New York City Correspondent Sasha Smith

And so it begins. I had my first Diploma Unit 3 wine class last week, and I’m already feeling overwhelmed.

The Good News: I’m not the only person who isn’t in the wine business. I was a little worried that the class would be wall-to-wall sommeliers and importers, but there’s a small contingent of civilians like me. From a purely selfish perspective that’s good news as it makes me feel less self-conscious, but I think it will be good
for the class, too.

In my experience from previous courses, WSET students tend to overlook the more commercial end of the market, and those of us who have to actually pay retail for what we drink help keep things real.

I found my way into a great tasting group. I can’t emphasize enough how important this is. In my other WSET courses I’ve found that much of the real work happens in these groups — classes go by very quickly (see The Bad News, below), with usually no more than half a dozen wines to taste. Tasting with a good group of inquisitive, perceptive students is one of the best ways to learn and sharpen your skills. Tasting with a bad group can easily devolve into 20-minute arguments about whether that petite sirah has notes of clove,
allspice, both or neither.

We started off with Alsace and Beaujolais, a great place to begin. Bordeaux might have been a more logical place to start, but I’m glad we kicked things off with these regions instead. (And not just because they’re two of Lenn’s favorites.)

Labeling, varietal selection and classification for both regions are fairly straightforward, and aromatic whites and low-tannin, fruity reds are relatively easy to taste.

The Bad News: Our instructor, Linda Lawry, dropped some pretty scary numbers on us. The pass rate for the exam last year hovered around 60%. The exam is divided into two parts, each of which is graded separately — a tasting section and a “theory” section with essay questions.

Pass rates for the theory section are usually a bit lower, but I’m more worried about the tasting part, where you have to write detailed tasting notes about 12 wines, some of which you’re given completely blind. And these aren’t just any tasting notes — you have to follow very specific guidelines, which brings me to…

Diploma Dispatches: Sasha's Going for the WSET Diploma

By New York City Correspondent Sasha Smith

I am about to start the most demanding — and exciting — phase of attaining the Wine & Spirit Education Trust (WSET) diploma, a hardcore wine qualification that’s held by about 100 people in the U.S. and is the stepping stone to the hardest-core wine qualification of them all, the Master of Wine.

On January, 15 I start Unit 3, Light Wines of the World. (There are 6 units in all, with the others covering the wine business, viticulture, vinification, sparkling and fortified wine, and spirits.) As the extremely vague title would indicate, this 5-month session is going to cover a lot of ground. Basically, if it’s made from grapes and isn’t fortified, distilled or sparkling, it’s on the syllabus. By June 10, the day of the exam, I’ll be expected to write an intelligent paragraph on the Xynomavro grape and craft an essay comparing and contrasting the production and style of Barossa old vine Grenache, Châteauneuf du Pape and a Navarra Rosado. (And yes, these are actual questions. Unlike your 10th grade American History teacher, the WSET examiners publish old tests to help you study, although in my case all they’ve helped me do so far is identify and lament the Mack truck-sized holes in my wine knowledge.) I’ll also have to taste and assess 12 wines either completely blind or with very limited information.

To get ready, I’ll be spending at least 15 hours a week in class, studying, reading, and, best of all, tasting. I’ll also be writing about my experiences weekly here so you can benefit from my studies without having to do any of the heavy lifting yourselves. (Or without having to pay the $2800. Don’t even get me started.) I’m really looking forward to the class and sharing what I learn with all of you. Plus blogging here should keep me motivated, because if I were to fail exam, all of you would find out and I'd be completely mortified. So wish me luck — and watch this space for my Diploma Dispatches.