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by Putnam Weekley What is the first thing you look for when shopping for wine? Grape variety? Producer? Vintage? Region? Of all things printed on a wine label and of all systems used to organize wine lists and retail shelves most – by themselves – are practically useless to the open-minded, value-oriented consumer.The most common belief is that grape varieties determine style and therefore how one will enjoy a wine. It is said that Cabernet is full bodied, is dry and tastes good with steak. Similarly Syrah is peppery. Chardonnay is buttery. Merlot is soft. Nonsense. Anybody who has tasted Cabernets Sauvignon from Australia, Washington, Tuscany and Bordeaux, for example, can affirm that there is a baffling range of styles possible from a single grape variety. So much that it is pointless to say "I like Cabernet Sauvignon" without being specific about geographical origin. A typical Cabernet from Barossa tastes more like a Barossa Shiraz than it does a Cabernet from Moulis. Not only that, but we don't always even know what “variety” a given vine is (see Thackrey). These allegedly neat varietal categories are based on botanical conventions – and important variables within a variety, such as mutations, are commonly ignored. And then there are cases where ampelographers simply fail. The variety called Carmenere was thought to be extinct until thousands of productive acres were discovered in Chile. They had been identified as Merlot. So what do we do with our index cards about "typical" Merlot traits that are based on data from these vines which were never Merlot in the first place? Of course so-called "varietal" wine must consist only of 75% of the stated variety; most of the best wines are complicated blends of “varieties;” and there are some 3000 different varieties used to make wine. No, varietalism is an unwieldy approach to the appreciation of wine. To the extent a varietal label predicts anything about wine style, it surely owes more to design than nature. In an age of technological enhancements, grape varieties have become more like brands in their own right. Engineered yeasts, centrifuges, reverse osmosis and freeze-dried tannins – among other things – are used to bring fruit of potentially ambiguous lineage into compliance with conventional, market-defined standards. These standards just happen to use varietal nomenclature. Varieties are shorthand for style – not determinant. So it's about the producer, you say. Winemakers are the chefs. They either guard tradition or they succumb to technology. Their greed or generosity determines whether their vineyards are over-cropped or strictly limited to prudent yields. The winemaker's taste, sensitivity and competence determine whether a wine is good or not. This is true, but this knowledge is almost impossible for the consumer to use. For starters how do you know "who" made the wine you are considering for purchase? William Hill, for example is owned by the conglomerate Allied Domeq. William Hill – the person – hasn't seen the inside of the William Hill winery in over 20 years. The rate of turnover among winemaking talent in California approaches that of the NBA. It is a system which rather conceives of producer-brands as stable, chemically defined profiles rather than an object of authorship or even vineyard content. The key is to separate the idea of “brand” from “producer.” Does that sentimental favorite “brand” from your honeymoon tour through wine country suddenly suck? It may be because Mom and Pop the “producers” sold their fruit farm – and its name – which is now being run by remote control from corporate headquarters a hundred miles away. Wine making is a pastoral art that has been heavily invested in by brand portfolio managers. The goal, of course, is to extract as much profit from brand assets – these assets being collective emotional attachments arising from our experiences of "producers" and "estates." How unlucky for you if you purchased a bottle of Vichon Mediterranean in the nineties based on your experience with Karen Culler's Vichon Napa wines of the eighties. The label hardly changed but there was a big difference in the wine. Your best bet is to approach any “producer” with a degree of skepticism. Vintage shoppers are cute. They memorize a few digits and hope they will be protected against shoddy wine. And without anything else to go on, this may be a logical way to narrow the field. Only some really great wines emerge from "bad" vintages – and vice versa. Plus, the market often reacts to the psychology of vintage shopping by showing disproportionate price changes. Any producer with a reputation to protect will declassify inferior juice, that is, if she somehow managed to tank it after prophylactic efforts such as hand harvesting and triage. Sometimes the market's allergy to certain vintages provides twice the value for the wise consumer. Paulo Scavino's 1994 Barolo Bric del Fiasc, for example, was held onto by the Midwest importer until it began to peak in quality – seven years after harvest. Rather than continue to hold onto it while it now slowly depreciated he sold it for half price. That's a double win for the consumer: great wine at its peak and discounted! And for those who paid full price for this wine on release I assure you, you have a beautiful wine that is still better than many selling for an equivalent price today. Here's where the terroirists feel at home. It is argued that regional classifications neatly incorporate some of the most important determinants of wine quality: geology, climate and culture (both microbial and human). Even grape varieties are largely consistent across at least the European regions. The only problem with shopping based on region alone is that every one of them has a few great performers and a whole lot more who trade on the reputation of the stars. Vouvray, for example, can be a miraculously delicious white wine - as transparent and durable as a great Riesling, as fleshy as an elite white Burgundy, and as aromatic as an ambitious Condrieu. Just don't expect these qualities from 99% of wine labeled "Vouvray" most which is an industrial, insipid product. On almost every interesting, fairly priced bottle of wine there is one piece of printed information that you can take to the bank: the name of the importer. I am talking specifically about those wine-loving loners who comb the countryside of the old world plucking gems of obscure winegrowers from degrading cooperative systems. These visionaries enforce market discipline on producers, who they usually represent exclusively, and make the kind of highly selective choices that small businesses must make to survive. They are often involved in the cellar, selecting better barrels, backed up with American cash, and insisting on production standards such as minimal filtration. But perhaps the greatest value added by an importer is his sense of taste. In the same way that the grower and cellar master are gatekeepers – handlers of fruit, vigilant about quality – importers too are at their best when making authoritative decisions on merit. Great importers operate as interpreters of the foreign countryside through its wines. They are the Oprahs and Martha Stewarts of the grape. All are looking for that helping of insider information that assists us in designing our individual buying strategies. Numerical ratings are a tempting way to narrow the field of contenders. Unfortunately ratings are like crack to many consumers and trades people. It is laughable to hear someone say they won't bother with wines that aren't rated at least 90 points, for example. Depending on which publication you use, that means you would miss out on a lot of truly great wines – both unrated and underrated – and potentially gotten stuck with some real clunkers. Any rewarding experience with a wine occurs over time and with repetition. These numerical "snapshots" are among the crudest, bluntest instruments of them all. Scarcely anything could be less suited to aid the thoughtful wine drinker in finding those experiences that have long-term meaning to them. Please use ratings with extreme caution. Seen in the Midwest and Elsewhere
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