Nearly every single time I tell anyone that I work in wine
they in veritably ask "what's a good wine?" Which to me is like
asking "what's a good song?" There is no perfect answer because
it just depends on so many variables. Time, place, what's for dinner and
the like.
I've also been asked "what is the best wine you ever had?" This one is harder for different reasons. For starters, what does "best" really mean?
It certainly wasn't the caterer supplied mags of Chilean plonk we served at our wedding, or the perfectly acceptable cava we toasted with that was rendered almost undrinkable by serving it in early 1960's vintage Italian silver coupes. The toast looked great for the photos, but the wine tasted of metal and acid. Though my wife's grandmother really liked it and got fairly well lit on the stuff.
Then I think of memorable opportunities to taste rare bottles. That 1969 Terlaner Classico, a Pinot blanc, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc blend that when I tasted it at the ripe age of 30 was still alive and vibrant, and is the only wine from my birth year I've ever had. The 1937 Kopke Colheita that was shared by a restaurant buyer with every sales rep who came in that fine Thursday afternoon. The 1976 Clos des Mouches that had sadly lost all its fruit to time or poor storage, yet we drank every drop that tasted like walking through a forest on a rainy afternoon. The 1995 Gundlach Bundschu Vintage Reserve Cabernet that I drank entirely by myself one night while my wife was gone on a trip and which I liked so much I sent a long complimentary email to Jeff Bundschu to say how good it was.
But then what about wines of great pedigree? The few vintages of a couple of the first growth Bordeaux that I had been lucky to taste. The Chateau de Sales, a Pomerol wine from a small vineyard that is right across the street from Chateau Petrus. The 100-point Chateau Rieussec Sauternes or the 100-year-old Pedro Ximenez Sherry. The champagne we drank on New Year's Eve 1999 or that bottle of 1996 Bruno Rocca Rabajá Barbaresco that is hiding in my basement, though I tasted it with Bruno in his cellar. Or any of the super Tuscan wines that were open at the party to celebrate the 10th year of Poggio al Tesoro.
For so long I tell people that one of the things that keeps you in the wine business for so many years, in addition to the people and the places and food, is that you get to taste and try so many things. It's not a stretch to say that I've tasted tens of thousands of wines. So, what was the "best"?
The more I think about it the more I realize there is not an answer, any more that you can say there is a "best" song. You'll always get a disagreement. ("Free bird is the best song ever, man!" "Overplayed junk!")
Here's my top three. I eliminated the white from Cinque Terre, though it was a beautiful evening overlooking the Ligurian Sea with my wife, on a rocky terrace eating the fresh fish from the waters below. The thing is, the wines of Cinque Terre aren't really that interesting no matter how much you remember they are, or think they were. It was really all about the place.
Number three was a bottle of the Rosso from Pietratorcia on the Island of Ischia, off the coast of Napoli. I couldn't tell you what is was made of, and I'm not going to bother to look it up. And I don't remember the vintage. I remember sitting on a patio that was made from the volcanic "Tufo" stones, eating bruschetta made with the most insanely ripe and delicious tomatoes in the history of the earth, with unbelievably fresh mozzarella di buffalo. I remember the wine tasted like the island felt. I remember I actually asked the owner of the winery how long his family had lived on Ischia and he looked at me like I was insane. They had "always" been there. What an American question. It was the first time that the idea of wine reflecting the place finally made sense to me. Wine is how you capture somewhere and transport it to another place.
Number two was the copious glasses of Manzanilla from Antonio Barbadillo that we drank in a seaside cantina. We ate mounds of enormous shrimp and a monkfish dish with saffron that was ethereal. The wine, the place, the food all came together as one. You could almost taste the sea in the wine, like standing on a windy beach on a sunny day. It was the end of trip through Portugal and Spain, and was the beginning of my love of both countries' wine, food and people.
Before my wife and I started a family, she asked that we do a trip to Italy since she wouldn't be traveling much in the likely future. I had just been on a trip that included the Ischia stop, and sadly she has not been back since we did go. We took three weeks and saw Verona, Venice, Sienna, Florence, the aforementioned Cinque Terre, then off to Nice, St. Remy-de-Provence, trips to Avignon and Aix, before ending in Paris during the unbelievable heat wave of 2001. We ate a lot of great food, and drank a lot of nice wines. We visited a couple of wineries, had dinner in Montalcino, and ate way too much cheese. We took turns writing in a journal at the end of each day, to keep track of what we did and saw. To remind ourselves of what we liked (lemon Gelato!) and didn't (our hotel in Venice). I guess it was a blog but those were still new. Fun fact, in 1999 there were 23 blogs. In 2006 there were 50 million.
So naturally you'd think my all-time wine would be an Amarone, Brunello, Super Tuscan, or even a Chateauneuf from that trip. But the wine that pops into my mind every time I'm asked was not any of those. We had finished up a tasting of wines at San Felice, as we were staying in their guest house in the Poggio Rosso vineyard. We asked the young woman who showed us around where we should go for dinner. She said we should go into the nearby village and get some groceries and make a simple pasta in the kitchen of our villa. Then she gave us the opened bottles that we had just tasted to carry back down the long dirt drive to the house. I made some simple pasta with fresh veg and some pecorino, and added in a splash of their Chianti Classico Riserva. Cooking with nice wine has its advantages.
The wine that I consider the best was the simple Tuscan Chardonnay that we drank out on the patio as the sun was setting over the hills of Tuscany. I don't remember the vintage and I don't even really remember if it had oak or not. I remember sharing that bottle with my wife and that warm May evening, the cicadas were so loud it was almost deafening, the air was thick with the smells of the vineyards and the warm red soils. The wine was cold, and perfect for a perfect moment. And it was all ours. Just like the song we danced to for our first dance at our wedding.
(“Somebody” by Depeche Mode, if you must know.)
I've also been asked "what is the best wine you ever had?" This one is harder for different reasons. For starters, what does "best" really mean?
It certainly wasn't the caterer supplied mags of Chilean plonk we served at our wedding, or the perfectly acceptable cava we toasted with that was rendered almost undrinkable by serving it in early 1960's vintage Italian silver coupes. The toast looked great for the photos, but the wine tasted of metal and acid. Though my wife's grandmother really liked it and got fairly well lit on the stuff.
Then I think of memorable opportunities to taste rare bottles. That 1969 Terlaner Classico, a Pinot blanc, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc blend that when I tasted it at the ripe age of 30 was still alive and vibrant, and is the only wine from my birth year I've ever had. The 1937 Kopke Colheita that was shared by a restaurant buyer with every sales rep who came in that fine Thursday afternoon. The 1976 Clos des Mouches that had sadly lost all its fruit to time or poor storage, yet we drank every drop that tasted like walking through a forest on a rainy afternoon. The 1995 Gundlach Bundschu Vintage Reserve Cabernet that I drank entirely by myself one night while my wife was gone on a trip and which I liked so much I sent a long complimentary email to Jeff Bundschu to say how good it was.
But then what about wines of great pedigree? The few vintages of a couple of the first growth Bordeaux that I had been lucky to taste. The Chateau de Sales, a Pomerol wine from a small vineyard that is right across the street from Chateau Petrus. The 100-point Chateau Rieussec Sauternes or the 100-year-old Pedro Ximenez Sherry. The champagne we drank on New Year's Eve 1999 or that bottle of 1996 Bruno Rocca Rabajá Barbaresco that is hiding in my basement, though I tasted it with Bruno in his cellar. Or any of the super Tuscan wines that were open at the party to celebrate the 10th year of Poggio al Tesoro.
For so long I tell people that one of the things that keeps you in the wine business for so many years, in addition to the people and the places and food, is that you get to taste and try so many things. It's not a stretch to say that I've tasted tens of thousands of wines. So, what was the "best"?
The more I think about it the more I realize there is not an answer, any more that you can say there is a "best" song. You'll always get a disagreement. ("Free bird is the best song ever, man!" "Overplayed junk!")
Here's my top three. I eliminated the white from Cinque Terre, though it was a beautiful evening overlooking the Ligurian Sea with my wife, on a rocky terrace eating the fresh fish from the waters below. The thing is, the wines of Cinque Terre aren't really that interesting no matter how much you remember they are, or think they were. It was really all about the place.
Number three was a bottle of the Rosso from Pietratorcia on the Island of Ischia, off the coast of Napoli. I couldn't tell you what is was made of, and I'm not going to bother to look it up. And I don't remember the vintage. I remember sitting on a patio that was made from the volcanic "Tufo" stones, eating bruschetta made with the most insanely ripe and delicious tomatoes in the history of the earth, with unbelievably fresh mozzarella di buffalo. I remember the wine tasted like the island felt. I remember I actually asked the owner of the winery how long his family had lived on Ischia and he looked at me like I was insane. They had "always" been there. What an American question. It was the first time that the idea of wine reflecting the place finally made sense to me. Wine is how you capture somewhere and transport it to another place.
Number two was the copious glasses of Manzanilla from Antonio Barbadillo that we drank in a seaside cantina. We ate mounds of enormous shrimp and a monkfish dish with saffron that was ethereal. The wine, the place, the food all came together as one. You could almost taste the sea in the wine, like standing on a windy beach on a sunny day. It was the end of trip through Portugal and Spain, and was the beginning of my love of both countries' wine, food and people.
Before my wife and I started a family, she asked that we do a trip to Italy since she wouldn't be traveling much in the likely future. I had just been on a trip that included the Ischia stop, and sadly she has not been back since we did go. We took three weeks and saw Verona, Venice, Sienna, Florence, the aforementioned Cinque Terre, then off to Nice, St. Remy-de-Provence, trips to Avignon and Aix, before ending in Paris during the unbelievable heat wave of 2001. We ate a lot of great food, and drank a lot of nice wines. We visited a couple of wineries, had dinner in Montalcino, and ate way too much cheese. We took turns writing in a journal at the end of each day, to keep track of what we did and saw. To remind ourselves of what we liked (lemon Gelato!) and didn't (our hotel in Venice). I guess it was a blog but those were still new. Fun fact, in 1999 there were 23 blogs. In 2006 there were 50 million.
So naturally you'd think my all-time wine would be an Amarone, Brunello, Super Tuscan, or even a Chateauneuf from that trip. But the wine that pops into my mind every time I'm asked was not any of those. We had finished up a tasting of wines at San Felice, as we were staying in their guest house in the Poggio Rosso vineyard. We asked the young woman who showed us around where we should go for dinner. She said we should go into the nearby village and get some groceries and make a simple pasta in the kitchen of our villa. Then she gave us the opened bottles that we had just tasted to carry back down the long dirt drive to the house. I made some simple pasta with fresh veg and some pecorino, and added in a splash of their Chianti Classico Riserva. Cooking with nice wine has its advantages.
The wine that I consider the best was the simple Tuscan Chardonnay that we drank out on the patio as the sun was setting over the hills of Tuscany. I don't remember the vintage and I don't even really remember if it had oak or not. I remember sharing that bottle with my wife and that warm May evening, the cicadas were so loud it was almost deafening, the air was thick with the smells of the vineyards and the warm red soils. The wine was cold, and perfect for a perfect moment. And it was all ours. Just like the song we danced to for our first dance at our wedding.
(“Somebody” by Depeche Mode, if you must know.)
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