Les Blog

Part Two of your 2010 update…

Cabernet Sauvignon
The Cab in particular betrayed a self-destructive love of the EA (ethyl acetate) this year, so we’ve had to carpet bomb it with sulfite to jerk it back onto the straight and narrow. The good news is that it now appears to be EA-free, and as it emerges from beneath its heavy blanket of sulfite, it seems pretty nice, though still hard to get a clear sense of.

The EA problem also had at least one downstream consequence: some of the Cab is pretty dang oaky. That’s because the EA was particularly bad in our half barrel, so we (I think wisely) quarantined it until it was cured. But as a result, because that half barrel was new, the Cab therefore soaked up more new oak than we’d normally have liked.

I don’t think it’s a disaster by any means, but as a general rule, our philosophy is that oak should be like salt in food — if you notice it, you’ve put in too much. This year, whether we like it or not, we’ll see what happens when we’re forced to ignore that rule. The downside is oaky, woody vanillin potentially dominating; the upside, though, is more tannic backbone than we’re used to, so it’ll be very instructive to see how that unfolds over time. (How’s that for “[wine] glass half-full” take on things!?)

Merlot
I know: to sum up this wine’s life story as “it is what it is”, as I did earlier, is unfair and probably a little lazy, too — fashion has made looking down on Merlot way too easy. Nevertheless, this year’s Merlot is exactly that — Merlot — an amiable, good-natured wine that offers great companionship with little complication. We’ve lowered our harvest of this grape over the years, mostly because its part in the Peugeot blend has dropped over time, but I for one still enjoy it. There’s something comforting about a wine waiting for you when you get home on a weekday, wagging its tail with unconditional love. Who else is so glad to see you every time? Not that Cabernet, anyway — at least for now…

Next, the problem children…

As promised in a few days ago, here’s the next installment of how our 2010 wines are faring. We begin with dessert: the wines that really seem like they’ll be excellent — assuming we let them make it to bottle and don’t gleefully guzzle them right now.

Cabernet Franc
We like to rack the Franc only two or three times over the year, supposing that minimal handling will help preserve its bewitching aroma. One of those rackings was a few weeks ago, and like a saucy mermaid, it beckoned us with a irresistible floral nose, and then lured us ever-further into the depths with succulent, floral fruit. Wow. Once again, this will be both hard to blend away and deservedly form the backbone of the Peugeot.

Syrah
I’ve opened two 2009 Syrahs in the last couple of weeks, and holy crap, this is the most adult wine I think we’ve ever made: deep and powerful but unmistakably syrah (vs. liquid oak with varietal flavoring, as many are). The 2010 looks to be a good follow-up, but with better acidity and rich, crisply-articulated fruit resonating through great depth. Awesome.

Grenache
This is the first year we’ve tried Grenache, and typical of our sober, judicious approach to winemaking, we blindly hurled ourselves over the edge, investing heavily. Luckily, it paid off: when we racked it about a month ago, its aroma was as bewitching as the Franc’s, but more luscious and Provençal-herby. Thankfully, we’ll have enough to bottle separately and cast in our first Côtes-du-Rhône blend this year. It’ll be one stunning leading lady in that road show.

Mourvedre
We pressed this varietal into service for the first time this year as the third leg of a Côtes-du-Rhône stool, but to our suprise, it stands on its own just fine, thank you. Inky dark, and redolent of pepper and roses. Holy moley.

Pinot Noir
After three vintages working with fruit from a highly reputed Dundee Hills vineyard, our Pinot this year is finally beautiful — if willowy. Since this varietal totally ate our lunch in the 90s, we’ve been pretty gun-shy about it: as with white wines, its essential delicacy means there are fewer places to hide crappy fruit or bad winemaking, both of which we had in ample supply back in the day. As a result, for the last few years we’ve only produced small batches as “side-bets” for the braver Garagistes.

This year, I’m proud to report, it looks like that bet will pay off, in part because we’re better winemakers, but more importantly, because we’re working with better fruit. Of course, 2010 was a lighter vintage in Oregon — no Parker wines this year without heavy manipulation — and our Pinot is no anomaly. But it’s not watery or bland. It’s just… elegant, with beautiful, focused fruit. We put a little oak on it a month ago (just a little), so by the time we bottle it in September, it ought to be really lovely.

Harvest 2011 is just now visible on the horizon, and the prospect of a fresh river of juice has similarly quickened this blog out of its traditional winter/spring slumber. [yawn] Good morning! What did we miss?

Quite a bit, as it turns out. Despite the radio silence here at Les Blog, we’ve actually been busy little microbes downstairs, racking wines, adjusting this and that, and rigorously sampling our wares to ensure top quality (oh, was that what we were doing?). As a result, I have a few reports to share with you over the next few days on how all the varietals in our stable downstairs are faring:

• Cabernet Sauvignon
• Merlot
• Cabernet Franc
• Syrah
• Mourvedre
• Grenache
• Pinot Noir
• Viognier
• Rosé (of Grenache)

Overall, I think this vintage has produced truly excellent wines, primarily because the late, cool harvest meant higher acidity in just about everything. So the wines have structure and liveliness straight off the vine, and that I think will make this year’s crop arguably one of the best we’ve ever overseen.

But for scientific reasons I only dimly understand, the vintage also presented its share of problems, in particular a low-level epidemic of EA (ethyl acetate – think nail polish remover) through a number of the wines. Thanks to great advice from friends who are real winemakers, and some timely intervention on our part, all of our wines muscled through the EA and are now perfectly sound, but WTF? You’d think those higher acidities would afford some protection, but that EA must have tunneled in through the basement of the flower shop next door or something…

Anyway, based on where things taste now, I can say this: the 2010 Cabernet Franc, Grenache, Mourvedre, and Syrah will be utterly stunning. The Pinot Noir will also be lovely and elegant, though reflective of the lighter vintage. The Cabernet Sauvignon is a bucking, unruly stallion I don’t think we’ve quite tamed yet, but we will. The Merlot is… Merlot. The Viognier will also be lovely, but very… crisp, as the wine industry likes to spin high-acid wines. And the Rosé — man, it may yet excel, but it’s one sullen teenager.

So on the eve of blending trials, our wines fall into three categories: great, good, and problematic. Next up in a day or so, more on the great, followed in due course by reports on the other two.

Incredibly, the rosé still hasn’t finished fermenting — nearly 5 months after it started. The hint of CO₂ in the head space does give the game away, but I’d assumed that was simply residual. So I checked the sugar: 1.75%, oceans away from dry. And it tastes it, too. Lovely nose, but too sweet in the mouth, like strawberry jam.

A long, cool fermentation is apparently just the thing for whites (and semi-whites like rosés), so I haven’t been too concerned. And the CO₂ tells me the yeasts are still alive in there — it’s just been too cold to do much of anything, something with which I think we can all sympathize. But it’s time for these guys to get off the couch, shed the Snuggies, and finish the job. Unlike last year, I’d like to get this rosé sealed up early enough that it’s over bottle shock by the time the first warm Saturday afternoon rolls around.

So we’ll wrap the carboys in our electric mattress pad and apply just a hint of heat. I’m a little worried that malolactic fermentation will also jump-start (while malo’s just the thing for reds, it can muddy and over-soften whites), but que sera, sera. Malo seems to proceed much more slowly than primary fermentation, so with luck, the yeasts will race far ahead of the malo bugs and we can seal up a lovely rosé before things get too mellow.

I don’t have any skin but grape skins in the game, so it’s been interesting to watch the pitched battle unfolding to define this vintage — before its wines have even finished fermenting, much less transmogrified into something someone could actually taste and evaluate.

On the one hand, there’s everything you’ve been reading in the media, or heard whispered by wine-wags in restaurants, wine shops and tasting rooms: the vintage is a complete wash. Low crop yields, waves of botrytis and powdery mildew, grapes wheezing toward ripeness (if at all), and the coup de grâce, ravenous birds. All have pounded the industry with the most challenging and grim harvest in decades.

On the other hand, you’ve got winemakers who’ve actually been out there, working the vines and the fruit. The ones I’ve talked to are stoic, but guardedly optimistic, arguing that the cooler weather has produced beautiful, elegant wines that truly express the uniqueness of Oregon – for the first time in years.

Keep in mind, of course, that their livelihood is utterly dependent on consumers’ preconceptions about a vintage. If a consensus develops that a vintage is great, it’ll fly off the shelves; but if the buzz is otherwise — or worse, that it’s a disaster — they’ll have trouble even moving it out of the bottling room. Would you fan the flames of the latter if your income depended on it? I didn’t think so.

So who’s right?

I think one answer may lie in the bucket you see above. That’s the sum total of the Giraud “estate” harvest from my back yard, about 25 pounds. Before the rains bore down a week or so ago, I frantically clipped what fruit I could salvage: probably half unripe and mildewed, half passable, and all told, 20 brix. Without some sugar, that would produce wine a shade above 11% alcohol, fine for Riesling but anemic for Pinot Noir.

So there you go: proof. The buzz is right, the vintage sucks.

But not so fast. I’m a rank, drooling amateur when it comes to farming grapes. Most years I’m lucky even to get a good crop of mildew, much less viable, fermentable fruit. That I got vaguely healthy grapes as high as 20 brix this year is nothing short of a miracle, in fact.

So if a yahoo with a hoe can do that, what do you think someone with years of training and experience can do? Take, for example, the fruit we brought in from Oracle Vineyard in the Dundee Hills, farmed by people who actually know what they’re doing. Totally clean, exceptional flavor, vivid acidity. Its numbers look great, and well within the ballpark of ideal for Pinot Noir.

I’ve heard a lot of that around the Valley. Sure, some horror stories, and certainly low yields, a tsunami that will roll dire economic consequences toward the shores of those without deep enough pockets. But at the same time, tales of great flavors and a chance to make a truly Oregon Pinot Noir, one balanced on the razor’s edge of ripeness where the varietal truly comes alive.

So that’s my read. In the hands of people who know what they’re doing — and didn’t panic — this vintage is going to produce some disarmingly elegant wines. Will Robert Parker anoint them with high scores? Unlikely. It’ll be nowhere near the syrah-like California style he favors. But will it earn high marks from those smart enough to snap up the tragically few that make it to market? Oh, yeah.

In the end, maybe what’s scariest about this vintage is that it’s kind of a ticking time bomb for less talented winemakers and growers. Everyone’s reputation will probably survive the year, but when 2010 wines hit the shelves, there will be nowhere to hide: the true measure of talent will be unflatteringly revealed in the glass.

Ka Upane! Upane Kaupane! Whiti te rā! Hī!
[Up the ladder! Up to the top! The sun shines! Rise!]

5am Wednesday morning, we rise for one last trip up to the altar of sun, praying for Cabernet, Mourvedre and Viognier imbued with the power of Gods!

Yep, that’s a hangover in the making, for sure. Anyway, we may need more than the ritual sacrifice at Stonehenge for this final road trip of vintage 2010: the grower says it’s raining lightly out there tonight, and while I’m sure the fruit can stand a little water, it’d be nice to have a say in how much.

See you on the other side, fellow mortals!

Okay, it’s probably bad luck, but I have to say it: as the rain came sweeping into SE Portland yesterday afternoon, I felt the roguish elation that only comes when you feel you’ve gotten away with something. That’s because, as storm clouds gathered, I’d spent yesterday dismantling the rain cover we rigged to shelter the Cab Franc crush (above), wiping down the side of the house, hauling to compost all the grape detritus we’ve produced so far, and returning the truck and cycling home. Only then did it start to rain.

Ha, ha, ye Gods! I laugh at you! Les Garagistes has thwarted you aga {ker-POWWWW n-ZZATZ!! bliNDING FLAsh!!!}

…

{a whiff of barbecue; breeze wafting through a smoldering crater … }