On the House

Wine Greatness

While glancing through wine magazines recently, I came across an article that interested me, written by a guy I respect. It dealt with wines of greatness, and what these great wines meant to the author. As I had been meaning to put together something of a similar, yet different nature, this article has prodded me along. Any writer that says he’s never been inspired to better things by the works of his peers is not truly in touch with his feelings.

The first thing I want to do here is to try to explain my perception of greatness. Webster’s definition uses words like admirable; eminent; mighty; uncommonly gifted. There’s also a slang connotation, which is characterized as “splendid.” It’s this slang that we tend to use the most: “Doesn’t Lucy look great?” or “What a great way to top off an excellent meal!” In reality, Lucy looks pretty much the same as she always has, and that brilliant end to the meal was just another cup of hot java.

It amounts to the misuse of a word that should really be employed when discussing something special, something out of the ordinary.

I don’t know how other folks react when closely confronted with greatness. With me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my skin tingles. This doesn’t happen very often. Usually it occurs when I hear certain pieces of music, like Paul Tortellier’s version of Bach’s Cello Suites; or Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans and Cannonball Adderley on Davis’ “Kind of Blue,” or Jimi Hendrix ripping it up on “Are You Experienced?”

Works of art can provide a comparable feeling. I remember spending nearly two hours at the Prado Museum in Madrid standing in front of Hieronymous Bosch’s triptych, “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” and I would have stayed longer, but the museum was closing. And my neck hairs always start shuffling around each time I watch “On the Waterfront.”

Another occasion also comes to mind: Standing at the rail at Belmont Park and gawking as the magnificent thoroughbred Seattle Slew came on to the track. He was tiptoeing on all fours like a ballet dancer. Every muscle in his flank was rippling, and his color shimmered as if made of satin. Then he ran so fluidly, with such effortless supremacy. Sheer visual brillance.

Wines that provide this kind of excitement are few and far between. I’ve probably only tasted a dozen or so in my life that qualify. A wine of true greatness combines two distinctive traits, power and elegance. Think about it. Often we taste wines that are rich and forceful, but rarely display elegance as well. Conversely, there many finesse-driven wines that lack stuffing.

When you come across a great wine, you’ll know it. All cylinders will hit simultaneously. Flavors will literally explode in the mouth, then cascade into a finish that you’ll taste from ear to ear. Minutes will pass, and the finish will linger. Thoughts about this wine will linger as well, years after it’s gone.

A few that come to mind are the Bonnes Mares 1985 from Georges Roumier in Burgundy; the 1986 Hill of Grace Shiraz from Henschke in South Australia; Vega Sicilia 1962 from the Ribera del Duero in Spain and, ultimately, a tasting at Etienne Guigal’s winery in the Rhone Valley. That day I tasted through his three single-vineyard Cote-Roties: La Landonne, La Mouline and La Turque. The 1991 and 1990 from barrel then the 1989 and 1988 from bottle. At the completion of this endeavor, I sat on a bench in the street outside for at least a half-hour trying to gather my thoughts, as I had never tasted wines such as these.

The next time you hear someone raving about how great something they experienced was, put the comment into context because greatness is truly rare.

Good Service

What are the things that matter most to you when you dine out? It’s likely they include ambiance, location, pricing, quality of food and service. The best restaurants provide all of these elements, although sometimes there are certain places which we frequent, but aren’t exactly sure why. The French would call this the je ne sais quoi factor.

When polls are taken in the major food and wine publications, service is often at the top of the list of important issues noted by diners. By the time folks arrive at a restaurant for dinner, they’ve usually had a long day pursuing their endeavors and are ready to be pampered. The best service staffs recognize these needs and always remember the little things, such as recalling the customer’s name, where they like to sit, what they ate (or drank) on their prior visits, etc. This attention provides a comfort zone, and some customers may return several times a week, even though they’ve eaten every item on the menu numerous times.

At the same time, there are certain people who come into a restaurant poised for trouble. They bark orders and scowl, finding fault in everything and refusing to be pleased. Most abusive diners, however, are really nothing more than common bullies, and as such are generally quieted when met with polite, emotionless passivity.

Levels of service can be taken to the extreme. I’ve visited two- and three-star Michelin restaurants in Europe, not always just to dine, but often to talk about Wine Guy things with my fellow sommeliers. There was one establishment in particular in London that stood out. They sat about forty covers per night yet they had three, count ‘em, three sommeliers and what seemed to be a veritable gaggle of waiters for each table. This rigid phalanx hovered in close proximity, responding to each twitch or gesture instantaneously.

I’m uncomfortable in such settings. Although these restaurants are often beautiful and offer incredible fare, I respond poorly to over-attentive servers and stiff surroundings. When I go out, I expect to have fun; I like to eat, drink and be merry. I guess I have trouble being merry when I know the bill for two will top $400. It’s something I hope to conquer.

The type of service that impresses me, the type I look for, is what I call “apparitional” or invisible service. These ghosts float effortlessly around a table, picking up plates, replacing flatware and pouring wine in a quiet and elegant manner, and then disappear. It’s an art form to be admired, and for those of us in the business, aspired to.

And now here’s the kicker. Despite all that’s been said heretofore, the bottom line is this: As much as good service counts towards the overall enjoyment of a night out, it’s the quality of food that matters most. I like to believe I’m a pretty decent sommelier who can always bring out a good bottle at a fair price, but without a strong kitchen behind me, my efforts are negated.

I’ve driven an hour to eat in places where the plate was tossed like an Olympic discus onto my table by some three-toed sloth with his cap on sideways. And it didn’t matter one iota, because the food was exceptional and the price was right. Conversely, great service, impeccable decor, convenient location and reasonable pricing all go out the window when the food is lousy. It’s truly that simple.

Cult wines

I’d like to relate a story about a phone call I received at work a while back. The call came on a Saturday night around 8:30pm, right in the heart of the evening when I’m busiest.

 
The restaurant where I used to work generally serves between 700-1000 covers a night. Diners are permitted to take guided tours of the kitchen and wine cellar after their meals, therefore this space is often teeming. The counterpoint between heavily-laden, zigzagging servers mingling with hundreds of half-drunk, wide-eyed customers is fascinating to behold. I once thought of filming this lava-flow of humanity, then playing it back at varying speeds and putting it to music. Perhaps the prelude from Verdi’s “Rigoletto” would have been appropriate.

 
So some guy is calling me in the midst of this cacophony, whilst the flames from dozens of thirsty clients are licking at my very heels. It’s difficult to hear someone standing in front of me, let alone a distant voice on the phone, and I have to cup my hand over my free ear in order to ascertain what’s being said. It went something like this:

  “Are you the sommelier?”

 
“Yes,” I bellow.

 
“We’re coming to dine in a few weeks. How much is your Screaming Eagle cabernet?”

 
(Right from the start, I have a pretty good idea where the conversation is heading).

 
“I’m sorry, but we don’t carry Screaming Eagle, although we have many other high-end American cabernets.” 

“Geez, I thought you had the world’s largest wine list! (Obvious angst combines with a muffled anguished sigh). We’re coming all the way from Barrow, Alaska?! Maybe he’s saying Fargo or Vero?) and we really wanted to try that wine. I guess you’re not all you’re cracked up to be.”

 
(This is just what I need. Telephone abuse from a Cult Wine Trophy Hunter in the middle of Saturday night service. I remain unflappable). 

“Well, I think you’ll find we have a few bottles that might suffice as replacements. I don’t have much time to chat at the moment, but just ask for me when you come in.” 

“We’ll do that. In the meantime, think of something we’d like, and try to keep us around $150, OK?” 

(The comedic side of our repartee has now hit its crescendo. Doesn’t this sharpster know that Screaming Eagle costs over $1,000 a bottle?) 

“Will do, sir. Bah-bye.”

 
The crazed pursuit of cult wines isn’t really a new concept. Collectors have always sought after rare Bordeaux and Burgundies. But it’s only been in the last 15 years or so that the prices of certain American cabernet-based wines have left gravitational pull and forced Lafite and Latour to eat dust. Whether this remains the case in the future is open to conjecture.

There’s an A-list and a B-list of cult cabs and meritage. The top names include (alphabetically) Araujo, Bond, Bryant Family, Colgin, Dalla Valle, Grace Family, Harlan Estate, Leonetti, Lokoya, Screaming Eagle and Shafer Hillside Select. Others such as Constant, Jarvis and Pahlmeyer make up a second tier. Marcassin, Peter Michael and Williams Selyem produce chardonnay and pinot noir that fit that bill as well.

I’ve tasted the majority of the offerings from these wineries and have found them to be generally excellent, made and then marketed with loving care. My displeasure has never been with the wines themselves, but with the hype that accompanies them. Too much emphasis is placed on these wines, both by the media and the consumers they influence. The wines are highly allocated are offered at such elevated prices that they’ve become apparitions, ghosts to chase after or tell stories about. Lauded and revered, but rarely consumed. To me, that’s not what wine is about.  

I’ve reached a point in my professional career where famous labels seldom faze me. I find myself leaning in the opposite direction, stalking small wines with little or no notoriety. I love being thrilled by a $10-20 bottle from Nowheresville. I’ll devote a post soon to these jewels. We’ll call it Cult Wines for the Common Man.

 

Tasting with your eyes

I’ve always gone under the assumption that it’s probably wise to examine something closely before starting to consume it. This is just a good, everyday practice. Most of the time, the situation turns out the way you had expected, but there have been a number of times I was happy I’d taken a few seconds to assess what I was about to wolf down.

Therefore, I’m bewildered when people don’t take an extra couple of moments to gauge the wines they are about to drink. As an example, let me relate something that occurred a while back.

A customer had ordered a $100 bottle. He was embroiled in a discussion with his friends about a ski trip he was planning to make to  Colorado next winter. The conversation was getting heated, as one of the guests thought Slope A was going to be the most challenging and the host thought it was definitely Slope B. This struck me as a bizarre thing to get all bothered about while your appetizer got cold, but I usually assume a “whatever rows your boat” philosophy in these instances.

I poured the customer a taste of the wine, so that he might judge the health of the bottle for which he was about to fork out a handsome rendition of Benjamin Franklin. And what did he do? With nary a glance at the glass, he knocks it back in a fashion not dissimilar to W.C. Fields belting back two fingers of rotgut at the New Old Lompoc House. Tasting in this manner made it nearly impossible for him to know what liquid was in the glass, let alone assess any subtle nuances the wine may have had. There is a better way. 

I firmly believe that the quality of most wines can be judged without ever having tasted them. That’s right, if you spend an additional moment or two to really look at each wine and take in its aromas, you should be able to calculate most everything you need to know. Each wine has a specific appearance, its own presence, so to speak. Focusing on young, new releases, here’s what the most popular varieties should look like:

Whites that have been fermented in stainless steel tanks are rather pale and have a gray-green hue, which assumes a bit of yellow as they age. Oak-fermented whites tend to show this yellow at a younger age, and move on to a more buttercup color with some time in bottle. Those that should appear lighter and less viscous in the glass include albarino, pinot grigio, riesling and sauvignon blanc. Chardonnay, gewürztraminer and Rhone varietals (marsanne, muscat, roussane, viognier) appear more golden and thicker, and generally have less acidity and more alcohol.

Lighter reds, such as gamay, pinot noir, sangiovese and tempranillo are transparent and often have a garnet edge, even at two or three years of age. These traits are inherent, and should not be considered as flaws. Then there are the varietals that appear light in color, but bring a punch with them. Two that come to mind are grenache and nebbiolo. Don’t be fooled by their brick-like tinge. These are fuller-bodied wines that can age beautifully for decades. 

There are certain darkly colored wines that are actually less heavy than they appear. These include the three M’s: malbec, merlot and mourvedre. All three are nearly black in the glass, but in fact are only medium-bodied wines, quite capable of dexterity on the table.

The Big Boys are cabernet sauvignon, petite sirah, syrah  (shiraz) and zinfandel. These wines are often opaque, and coat the stemware with legs that a body builder would be proud of. Even with age, they retain the type of appearance that insinuates richness.

These descriptions are certainly generalities. Not all tempranillo is light in color, nor is pinot gris from Alsace or Oregon as pale as pinot grigio from Italy. But, basically, it’s case of what you see is what you get. The aromas one may expect from the above wines are another matter entirely, and worthy of an article on their own. We’ll address that subject down the road. 

Grand tasting

In an effort to keep abreast of the latest news, I read wine publications of all ilks, pretty much all the time. It seems as if I always have something wine-related in front of me. Believe me, there’s plenty to read about. I liken the wine business to computer software, i.e., yesterday’s information is always being superseded by something new and exciting (or at least that’s what the wineries like to tell us).

I remember reading about a grand tasting that featured Classed-Growth Bordeaux vs. American cabernet sauvignon. Many of the wines from the top Chateaux and famous Napa wineries were included, and wines from the 1985 vintage were the focus. The event was held in the home of a famous collector, in the presence of a small gathering of the well connected and affluent. In a moment, I’ll explain to you why the results of this elite tasting were worthless.

Comparisons are often made between the wines of France and those of California. The French wines generally prove inferior in these get-togethers, owing to a number of factors, not the least of which is where these two areas are located on Planet Earth. Get a map of the world and check it out for yourself. If you draw a line from Bordeaux across the Atlantic Ocean, you’ll arrive somewhere around Quebec. Taking weather patterns and latitudes into consideration, it stands to reason that grapes grown in Napa Valley will be riper than those grown in Bordeaux. Ripe wines from warm climates often show better in structured, foodless tastings than those from cooler climates.

Now, let’s return to that 1985 tasting. Why was this vintage chosen? Without doubt, it’s a year of quality in both locations, but this season is known for wines that exhibited atypical characteristics in both Bordeaux and California. The wines from Napa in 1985 were abnormally slender and showed rough tannins in their youth, while those from Bordeaux were surprisingly soft, lush and fruity upon release. Another factor to consider is that back in ’85 many of cabs made in California were 90-100% varietal.

Bordeaux always blends it cabernets with merlot and cabernet franc. Consequently, I view this as an apple vs. orange type of situation. If the participants were truly attempting to point out the differences between Bordeaux and Napa, I would have thought 1986 a more suitable vintage. In this year, Bordeaux offered gruff wines with hard and unyielding tannins (some are still mean today) while the Napa wines featured bright fruit with great balance.

But the ultimate question in my mind is why put together this type of comparative tasting at all? What will have been gained? Fluff knowledge. Everyone seated at the table that evening knew beforehand that those wines would be outstanding, and I’m sure they were. When you drink Chateau Margaux or BV Georges de Latour Reserve, it’s virtually a sure thing they’ll taste pretty good.
 
This gathering was just a chance for some wine honchos to get together and taste another group of great wines. Happens all the time. Fun? Yes. Pertinent and newsworthy? Hardly.

What would really ring my bell is reading about (or better yet, participating in) a tasting emphasizing the differences and/or similarities between the major rieslings from Alsace, Austria, Australia and Germany. Or tempranillo grown in the Spanish regions of Rioja, Ribera del Duero, Priorato and Toro. Or a mixed bag of zinfandels from Paso Robles, Mendocino, Amador, Napa and Sonoma. Maybe syrah from France and the United States vs. shiraz from Australia and South Africa. Wouldn’t these seem more like apples getting together with apples? And how about keeping the prices of these wines $35 and under, so average consumers could reap the benefits of the results? At least it’s a nice dream.

 

 

The demise of subtlety

I’ve recently noticed a disturbing trend. I suppose it’s been prevalent for a while, and I may be overreacting, but I perceive the oncoming demise of subtlety.

Motion pictures are usually a good barometer of our times. Remember the great Hitchcock thrillers, such as “Shadow of a Doubt,” “Notorious” or, towards the end of his career, “Frenzy”? Violence was rarely portrayed on the screen (other than those few wild seconds in the shower in “Psycho.”) Evil was always hinted at, alluded to, veiled just thinly enough as to allow the viewer some time to think.

Many of today’s films feature one violent scene after another, numbing the audience with a brutal redundancy. This anvil-like approach appears to have permeated our very lives. Private telephone calls that used to be held in private are now brazenly aired in public for all to hear, and the well-to-do move about town in expensive small trucks, instead of the classy, low-slung sports cars of years gone by. I realize it’s a matter of taste, but I can’t help feeling that elegance has been replaced by sheer bulk.

The world of wine, where I ply my trade, seems particularly hard hit by this phenomenon. Sleek, medium-bodied, food-friendly reds are being passed over for those that are (not listed in order of importance): Big, Fat, Heavy, Huge, Oaky, Massive, Full-Bodied, Thick, Tannic, Rich, and Downright Mean. I call these “wines with bolts in their necks,” and these monsters are stomping unchecked over the dinner tables of America.

Before we go any further, let me state that I have nothing against Big Wines, per se. Given the right partner, these beasts will calm down and behave. My quarrel is not so much with the heft of these reds as it is with their youth.

Here is a typical scenario:
Wine “A” gets a rave review in a prominent publication. Let’s say it’s a famous Napa Cabernet or Classed-Growth Bordeaux from the latest “great vintage.” Folks that have read the review zoom forthwith into wine shops and restaurants clamoring for this Wine “A.” The fact that the wine is highly allocated, and there is very little of it to go around, only serves to incite people, and traces of froth start to appear in the corners of their mouths. When Wine “A” is finally procured, usually at great expense, it is opened with pomp and ceremony in the company of the envious and admiring. This is what comes out of the bottle: full, but surprisingly one-dimensional fruit, often accompanied by harsh tannins and an alcoholic, astringent finish, provided by the wine’s ample new oak. The wine is simply too young. Statutory Grape has been committed.

You don’t have to take my word on this. Contact the winemaker. Most American wineries have either a phone number listed on the label or a web site. Ask him if his pricey Cabernet from that great vintage will drink best at 2-to-3 years old or somewhere between 7-to-12 years of age.

So while you’re waiting for your Big Wines to smooth out a touch, why not search out a few more subtle wines that will drink well young. Try a Rioja or Ribera del Duero from Spain or maybe a Malbec from Argentina or Carmenere from Chile. Perhaps a Pinot Noir from Oregon. The only thing that might have been sacrificed in the switch from power to subtlety is ego.

Wine mythology debunked

I remember being fascinated by mythology as a kid, especially "The Iliad and the Odyssey." I would dream I was Odysseus, tied to the mast of his ship, his ears left uncovered to hear the dreaded Siren’s song. Then, after felling the giant one-eyed Cyclops, I returned home to reclaim my wife and lands from usurping rivals. Arriving in their midst disguised, I revealed my identity by pulling back the string on the giant bow, firing the arrow that only Odysseus could fire. But eventually I woke up and realized it was only a myth, a dream, and I reluctantly snapped back to reality.

If left unchallenged, myths can become very powerful legends. The world of wine is filled with such tales, their roots firmly planted. As a wine educator, I constantly strive to debunk these ideas that have become so set in the minds of consumers. Let's go about clarifying a few myths today:

1) Serving wine at room temperature. What is room temperature? Can't one room have a different temperature than another? I would think that the temperature of a room in Helsinki, for example, would be different than one in Puerto Vallarta. The point is that red wines taste better when served at the correct temperature. The optimum would be about 60-65 degrees, give or take a few. I always place a warm bottle of red in the fridge for a half-hour prior to my meal. When served cool, reds become more focused and showcase their fruit, which tends to be muted and flat when warm. The room in which the wine is poured is immaterial.

2) Cork sniffing. When one picks up a cork and smells it, what odors are prevalent? Generally, the predominant aroma from a cork is, well, cork. Take it from someone who has seen a few, the way a cork looks or smells sheds very little light on how the ensuing wine will taste. I've had corks crumble to dust around the corkscrew, yet the wine was spectacular. Conversely, absolutely pristine corks have been followed by liquid that would have been better poured from an Amdro bottle. Eventually most corks will be replaced with plastic enclosures or screwcaps anyway. Guess what they smell like?

3) Price dictates quality. Many years ago, some revered sage pointed a soiled index finger to the sky and said, "The best wines will be the most expensive wines." And the prophetic utterance was hammered into stone. Well, let me tell you how it is today: Never before has this statement been less valid. Prices of new releases from wineries with little or no track records have seen astromical rises over the last 15 years, driven by comments from the adoring wine media. The high prices of these cult favorites have caused an imbalance, forging a "false market." Some competing wineries have felt compelled to raise their prices also, lest they be considered inferior. Truth be told, there are more delicious bottles priced $12-25 being made today than at any other point in vinous history. The people reaping the benefits of these fine values are those who are adventurous, and willing to try wines beyond their present scope.

4) Vintage dates are very important. There is a simple adage I have always followed when addressing this: In off vintages, good winemakers made good wine; in top vintages, good winemakers make exceptional wine. Bad winemakers made bad wine, pretty much all the time. The next time you are out wine shopping, try to put less emphasis on which vintage it was made in and more on who made it. The most important piece of information on a label is the name of the producer.

Don't believe everything you read or are told about wine. Take the time to do some homework, then you can replace mythology with informed lucidity. And you can take the comments of wines geeks like me with a grain of salt.

Wine Regression

I’ve always thought of life as being an ever-evolving endeavor. Sometimes we advance using small steps, and other times we surge in quantum leaps. But always moving ahead, gaining knowledge as we go and applying it towards a fuller and more enriching existence.

I like to think of myself as a progressive kind of guy, so I’m constantly seeking ways to be better today than I was yesterday. I’ll take on new challenges, pushing myself to the limit of my abilities. This can be a struggle, but the feeling of accomplishment at the end of a successfully completed task is something I never tire of.

I used to open the cellar door at the restaurant where I worked, and located within was 36 vintages of Lafite-Rothschild, 34 of Haut-Brion, 33 Mouton-Rothschilds, 29 Latours, 21 Cheval Blancs, 20 of La Tache and 18 of Romanee-Conti. This imposing arsenal, along with many more bottles of brilliance from the world over, was (and still is) a sommelier’s dream and a collector’s nirvana.

At this juncture I’m going to make an amazing confession: these wines rarely excite me anymore. Don’t misunderstand me here. I’m not belittling their quality or the effort that goes into making them. It’s just that they’re not really what I personally want to drink at this point.

Say what? Take that man’s temperature! Is it time for the paddy wagon and the boys with the white coats? If it’s not illness or madness, then what’s the deal?

I believe I’m in the throes of a Wine Regression. In assessing how this came about, I’ve come up with a few possible theories:

1) I’ve gone face-first up against the Wine Wall. Maybe it’s something like that guy in the computer commercial on TV. He’s surfing the Net, then his eyes get wide and a robotic voice says, “You have finished the Internet. There is no more. Go back.” Could I have reached the end of the Wine Universe, and now must return?

2) I’m rebelling (yet again). All my friends liked the Beatles, but I said they were a bunch of wusses and pretended to listen only to the Animals, the Stones and Van Morrison’s group, Them. (In reality, I loved the Beatles, and listened to them all the time, albeit vicariously).

The gut feeling is that my palate is just tired. I’m weary of big, huge, powerful, lush, allocated, tannic and mind-blowing wines. I’m trying to keep whatever’s left of my mind encased in it’s cranium, therefore I regress to easier-drinking, food-friendly (and wallet-friendly) bottles. Here’s what I’ve been consuming at home, and not a single one cost over $25:

For whites, this includes New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and riesling; Spanish Albarino and Txokolina; Austrian Gruner Veltliner and Riesling and Pinot Blanc and Pinot Gris from both Alsace and Oregon.

For reds, Cru Beaujolais (made from the Gamay grape), such as Morgon, Chenas and Moulin-a-Vent; Pinot Noir from tiny Burgundian villages like St.-Romain, Santenay and Savigny-les-Beaune and also from small properties in Oregon; Dolcetto and Barbera from Piedmont and Rosso di Montalcino from Tuscany in Italy.

Also lots of Spanish reds: from Navarra, Priorato, Ribera del Duero and Rioja; Malbec from Argentina and Carmenere from Chile; Rhone Valley blends based on Grenache from villages like Rasteau and Cairanne; a couple of Zins and Petite Sirahs from California and some Shiraz from Australia, mainly those that offer balance over the teeth-jarring jammy fruit and high alcohol favored in the press.

So there you have it. H.G. Wells has firmed strapped me in to the Time Machine, and I’ve regressed to the wines I drank years ago, when my aspirations were all about Lafite, Latour and La Tache. Funny how things go.

To put things in a nutshell, here’s a conversation I had with a customer not too long ago. He was talking about his collection, around 5,000 bottles strong. He named them all, too, and they included every buzzword winery from every hot vintage you could think of. I asked him when he found the time to drink all these important wines. And this is what he said: “Oh, not very often. We can’t seem to find the right occasion. We just usually drink this $15 Zin I like.”

I rest my case.

I'm rated out!

As a professional wine buyer and an active consumer, I’m constantly inundated with ratings. The major wine publications have hundreds of them each month. If that wasn’t enough, they’re encountered in big, bold numerals everywhere wines are sold. You’ll see them in newspaper ads, on shelf-talkers, and neck-hangers on the bottles themselves.

I admit I’m rated-out. The fact is that too many folks, both at the consumer and professional level, are relying on the perceived ability of others to help them make their wine buying decisions. And there’s no doubt that the prices some wineries feel compelled to charge are directly affected by the points their wines garnish.

A typical wine listed for sale will probably look something like this:

2004 Robertiello Cellars Stylish Goombah Shiraz. $24.95. (92) WB, (90) VZO, (89) WH.

These symbols state that on a scale of 50-to-100, the shiraz was rated 92 points in the newsletter published by the Wine Buddah, 90 points in VinoZen Online, and 89 points in Wine Honcho Magazine. The ratings are employed as tools, or lures, to convince prospective buyers of the wine’s quality.

Certain glossy publications have even taken using ratings for things beyond their immediate spheres.  I get a big kick from this. They grade things like, say, hotels in Rome. I can just envision an issue in the near future:

“Hotel Pastafazool, Roma: The room was small (82), but attractively furnished (88). The bed itself had an older mattress that was too soft (79) and the miniscule TV was attached high up on the wall across from the bed (80). The bathroom, however, graded an overall 90. The ornate doorknob (87) was difficult to grip, but the mirror (92) was large and three-sided, allowing you to see the back of your head.  The shower curtain (82) was an unappealing mustard-color, but the showerhead itself was powerful and had three speeds (96+), although the water tended to run down the side of tub and pool on the floor (84). The patio was tiny (81), but had a fabulous view of the Aventine Hill (95), although the mopeds zooming in the street below were deafening (77).”

How can anyone give numerical scores to arbitrary things such as locations or views from a balcony, and who made these magazine editors the arbiters of taste? I say let’s start blowing off the ratings offered by the press and strive to gain the confidence needed to make judgments without outside influence.

Although the following is pretty rudimentary, it is succinct in its simplicity. Regardless of price or country of origin, there are three basic things to look for when attempting gauge the quality of a wine:

How does it appear?
Is it bright and vivid as it moves around in the glass, or does it look flat? Does it have “legs” (glycerin streams that move down the sides of the glass after swirling)? Is the color right? Pinot noir should never look like petite sirah, or vice versa.

How does it smell?
Does the fruit leap out of the glass, or is it reserved? Aggressive fruit in a new release usually indicates that it will drink well young, while a reserved nose may signify that the wine needs more time in the cellar to show its stuff.

What does it taste like?
Is the wine balanced? In other words, are the fruits, acids and tannins in unison? Does the wine taste like the grape (or region) listed on the label? Try to avoid those that are aberrational or “international” in their flavors. When I buy a sangiovese, I want it taste like sangiovese, not a cabernet or a zinfandel.

Once you’ve developed self-assurance and an understanding of what you like and what you don’t, the ratings will begin to lose their relevance.

So you’re a sommelier?

Customers often say to me, “You must really love your job. Can you describe to us what you do?” I hear this comment every week, so with that in mind I’ve decided to outline my perception of what a true sommelier/wine director does.

Basically, I stock, then dispense hedonism for a living. I bring wines, both great and small, to thirsty, hungry folks. I also believe wine to be one of the magnificent gifts given us here on Earth.

One rarely plans to become a sommelier. I can just hear it now: “So son, what is that that you want to be when you grow up?” “Well, daddy, I want to be a sommelier, so I can dispense hedonism.” No, that’s not the way it went down. This is not a career you prepare for in advance. Life experiences lead you to this path, and if you answer the calling, it’s a response of passion.

Here are some of the things I do on a daily basis. In no particular order, a sommelier has to have a strong working knowledge of:

1) Grape Varieties: Grapes like chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon and pinot noir produce distinctly unique wines. All wine-producing countries offer versions of these varieties that differ markedly from the others. There are dozens of types, each with its own traits. Their plusses and minuses must be assessed individually.

2) Wine Valuations: Cognizance of the buying, pricing and selling of wine, both on a wholesale and retail level. Sommeliers must be aware of distribution markets as well, taking advantage of the opportunity to purchase certain wines when the availability is at hand.

3) Vintage Variances: Every vintage produces a new set of wines that must be judged and compared against those that have come before. Constant monitoring of these is necessary to ensure a learned opinion.

4) Vineyard Practices: How did these grapes get to be wine? Knowledge of vineyard practices employed by wineries worldwide, like pruning, picking, pressing of the grapes, maceration, fermentation, bottling, and aging is essential.

5) Food Pairings: Wine and food are buddies. When chosen well, they complement each other’s best features. An astute sommelier should have a diverse food background, and must be attuned to the tastes of dishes from many countries. He/she can then blend the flavors of the food with the wines that suit these tastes.

6) Customer Relations: Keeping the customer informed and happy is a prerequisite. Taking the time to find out each client’s preferences, along with their willingness (or lack thereof) to learn about new wines, is also important.

7) Tableside Demeanor: True pros display a graceful and flexible demeanor tableside. They keep an even keel and are well spoken, but never haughty. FYI: the old school is out. Any sommelier showing up at your table clanking of chains and cups like the Ghost of Christmas Past should be avoided.

8) Service Techniques: Wine service is simple, but must be structured. These are some of the essential techniques: providing the initial taste of a chosen wine to the host for approval; serving women before men (for smaller parties); serving the host last, and pouring a moderate amount in each glass to allow for swirling (which provides a better assessment of the aromas).

9) Teaching: Having the ability to teach novices, intermediates and those advanced is the sign of a quality sommelier. Those that can pass their knowledge on in a genuine and easy-going manner, choosing their wording carefully and keeping all levels of students on the same page, will make the most impact.

These are just a few of the main thrusts of my job. Wine rocks, and I hope to rock right along with it until the day I’m dust. In fact, when the Grim Reaper comes to the door, I think I’ll offer him a glass of Chambolle-Musigny.