My oldest friend in the world is getting married outside of Yosemite this weekend and I’m a Bridesman, or whatever you might want to call it. I have three jobs over the next few days: get stuff done for the wedding, stand up there at the altar without looking like a slob, and try to get people drunk.

I suppose it says something about my life these days that this is the first time (of perhaps two dozen) that I will be entering Yosemite National Park without a full rack of climbing gear, several ropes, a tent, and a five day supply of Clif bars. Instead I’ve got 90 diapers, two packs of wipes, a stroller, a bassinet, a car seat, twelve onesies, a breast pump, and three kinds of sunscreen and mosquito repellent.

Oh yeah. And a cooler full of wine and a corkscrew.

So you won’t see much blogging going on ’round here over the Independence Day Weekend. I guess I’m celebrating by reasserting my independence from this laptop.

I hope you enjoy your weekend if you are in the United States, and for those of you from elsewhere in the world, see if you have some independence of your own to celebrate. Just make sure you do it with a nice bottle of wine.

Cheers,

Alder

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

The Vineyard Fence
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Original post by Alfonso Cevola

Where is this island? (otherwise referred to as “Isola da Cevola”)

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

How much does the type of rice matter in sake? “Not much,” most experts say. But I disagree, and one of my favorite breweries, Dewazakura from Yamagata prefecture, has made it possible to taste for yourself.

Wine lovers may take it as a given that rice “varietals” matter. We all believe we can tell a Pinot Noir from a Cabernet Sauvignon without difficulty. So why wouldn’t we be able to taste the difference between Yamada Nishiki and Gohyakumangoku?

With sake, though, the brewing process has always been considered more important than the type of rice. The best example is the most expensive category. Daiginjos — for which at least 50 percent of the outer portion of the rice has been polished away — generally taste like other daiginjos, no matter where they’re from or what rice is used.

Polish a little less, though, and you start noticing regional variation. At the non-ginjo junmai level — for which at least 30 percent of the rice has been polished away — sakes start to exhibit regional characteristics. Niigata sakes tend to taste crisp and clean, for example, while Hiroshima sakes are soft and on the sweet side.

However, sake experts generally attribute regional differences to water. This makes sense. Few breweries own their own rice paddies, and many buy rice from distant prefectures. Water, however, is always local, and is the largest component of sake. (Incidentally, I have had Japanese brewing experts tell me the best sake water in the United States is in Arkansas, in case anybody there wants to start a brewery.)

Yet even while denying that rice matters much, breweries implicitly show that it matters a great deal. Yamada nishiki rice, originally from the Kobe area, is generally considered the best for sake. It has been planted in many other areas of Japan and is also purchased by breweries in many prefectures.

Personally I think everything matters in making premium sake, just as it does with wine. I can’t claim to be enough of an expert to detect the difference made by different strains of yeast, but winemakers and sake brewers can, and I believe them. So why do so many sake experts spend so much time claiming rice is immaterial?

At this point I should acknowledge that the owner of this blog, proud new poppa Alder Yarrow, is in the rice-doesn’t-matter camp. I told him I think I have an affinity for sakes made from gohyakumangoku rice, and he told me I couldn’t possibly know that for sure. So I have hijacked his blog for 24 hours to deliver this dissenting opinion. Alder, I think your daughter needs you …

Anyway, back to Dewazakura. These guys are technological innovators who also happen to make some great sake. Their “Dewasansan” brew, named after the strain of rice specifically developed for their prefectural climate conditions, is one of my go-to choices in restaurants around town because it’s both delicious and widely available.

However, the Dewasansan brew is not a pure test of the taste qualities of the rice itself. One important factor is that Dewasansan uses a different yeast than the company’s other main premium brew, nicknamed “Oka.” Its alcohol percentage is a little higher than Oka’s, and it’s not quite as dry.

Enter the beverage geek’s sake: Dewazakura Oka Yamadanishiki. This small-production version of the Oka sake has the same yeast and fermentation regimen as the everyday Oka; the only major difference is the rice.

I opened them side-by-side to see if I could taste the difference. They have similarities, the result of a master brewer’s attempt to create a consistent style from year to year. Both are creamy with notes of peach.

But to me they are more different than alike. The Yamadanishiki version is stronger on the nose, with more pronounced peach notes and a funky clay-earth like note that I like. The regular version, made from Miyamanishiki rice, smells more straightforwardly creamy, with a chalky note.

On the palate, it’s the same: the Yamadanishiki version is fruitier, fuller and has a longer finish. But that’s not to say some people won’t prefer the regular version, which has a smoother mouthfeel and an appealing white chocolate note.

The great thing about Dewazakura’s two versions of “Oka” is that you don’t have to listen to some wine writer talk about how he tasted tank samples and he really grasped the difference the rice strain makes. These are commercial products available for sale, and neither is particularly expensive. You can just go out and buy a bottle of each and prove to yourself that the strain of rice matters.

Dewazakura “Oka,” Yamagata Prefecture. $25 Where to buy?
Dewazakura “Oka Yamadanishiki,” Yamagata Prefecture. $25 Where to buy?

I now return you to this blog’s regular programming.

After drinking sake made from it, W. Blake Gray enjoys trying to say “gohyakumangoku” 10 times fast. He lives in San Francisco.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

You know the saying? Well, in these parts it’s pretty much “Adios MoFo” when it comes down to this.

I’m looking at decisions made in the name of “industry consolidation” and I just gotta think about the poor salesperson on the front line who is just getting ready to lose 30% of his or her income because some suit in some suite in some city made an executive decision. OK, fine, this kind of stuff happens everyday.

But now they are messing with the Italians. There and here.

I just got back from an extended leave at work, traveling and working for a group of wineries. And then I come back to crazy heat, gas guzzling cars, snipers on the tollway and general mayhem in urban America, complete with Darth Vader syndrome.

When you go to Vinitaly and talk to a winemaker about their vineyards and their wine and their philosophy, and if you happen to break bread with them or close down Bottega del Vino with them, you form a bond with them. In America it’s a bond that is often breached. But in the world of Italian wine, there are relationships and the code of hospitality. And when someone, high in a building overlooking a world far removed from their reality, pushes a button, somewhere it affects those relationships and those bonds. And in the Italian sense, it is something so foreign to the way they do business that I am unable to find the words. But I will press on.

Let’s just say, in a calm voice, I am pissed. I am seeing everything in front of all of us shift dramatically, changes, like we have no idea, are coming. But when someone fulfils their obligations and then gets their feet cut from underneath them, in these times, them there are fighting words.

When are the little guys going to ever be able to get out from under the shadow of the elephants, whose dance of death above us is blocking the sun and causing many of the normal joe’s to suffer? These same joe’s who toil, day in and day out, who sacrifice time with their kids because they need to deliver some cooking (box) wine to their account on the way home on a Friday night. And what do they get in return for this vigilance? They get spat upon by the titans of the industry who go to bed at night between their 600 count Egyptian cotton, in their overpriced condo’s overlooking a bay somewhere out west.

Italy has fallen under the spell of the industrial marketers. So now it isn’t just the Micro-Oxygenators we have to concern ourselves with. Now we have to be on the lookout for the Macro-Expectators, these gurus of the new age with their million dollar salaries and their flatulent bonus programs, which they get when they serve up the shaft to the ground troops. Hey, who needs Iraq, when we have Baghdad by the Bay?

They say small is beautiful and IWG sez he is going to be on the lookout to find ‘em small, grow ‘em small and keep ‘em small. Safety in numbers? Why not? You lose one, no big deal, they’re like a bus, hang on and another one will be right by. You can catch the next one.

Hey, Italian wines are complicated creatures, what with all the different things to remember and to know. Today I was trying to figure out one little hill in the Barolo district and it nearly drove me nuts. But I did find out, and now I know. And you know what? Knowledge is power. And when it comes to Italian wines, the suits in the suites could give a rat’s keister about this kind of low-level stuff. Doesn’t interest them, doesn’t keep their 80 foot power boats filled with gas. Doesn’t let them live in the lifestyle in which they have become accustomed to. Entitled, they are? Nah. They earned it, fare and square. Don’t believe me? Just ask ‘em. Or ask their PR wonk or their lawyer or their botoxed trophy wives.

I think about any of those little winemakers on a bricco or a poggio who have spent lifetimes developing their soil and their wine and their craft and then these huge marketing companies come by, spout out some crap about the US market, give ‘em a big order, pay up front and bingo! They just sold their souls to the devils in Baghdad by the Bay.

Yeah I know this is obtuse and blurry and I am not going to explain any deeper. And they said, back in the day, suffice it to say, the little guy better look out, because the behemoths are prowling and devouring. Italy, wake up, they are in your vineyards and your boardrooms. They will steal you blinder than Garibaldi plundered the South.

pix by Leonardo, the old dead Italian guy
who outshines these new geniuses by a millennium)

Comments to me here:Beatrice

Original post by beatrice.russo

And she’s got her rant on. Next in the queue.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

There was a time in Japan’s history when sake was more easily referred to as Oyamazake, for exactly the same reasons. In 1882, the Shogun commanded that a sake brewing operation be established to feed the growing thirst for rice wine at the court, and like most of the time when the Shogun asked for something, he got what he wanted.

At it’s height, the brewing operation that sprang in the town of Oyama occupied almost fifty separate breweries arranged side-by-side on the Shonai plain in northwestern Japan. The amount of sake produced at the height of production is unknown, but it must have been truly staggering.

Today, several sake breweries call he town of Oyama home, but only one brewery can trace its history back to that massive brewing operation begun more than a century ago. Named Ohyama, or “big mountain,” this modest brewery continues to carry on the traditions of sake brewing much as they were established before the turn of the century.

Ohyama makes several sakes, but perhaps one of their best is this very special nigori, or “unfiltered,” sake. Unfiltered in the world of sake means much the same as it does in the world of wine. The process of making sake eventually yields a big soup of mushy fermented rice and alcohol in the same way that the end of fermentation for grapes results in a big tank of grape skins, wine, seeds, etc.

In order to get sake out of the mash, the sake must be pressed off of its lees (the solid bits of rice and yeast that are left). This usually involves putting sake into canvas bags and then squeezing those bags in a pneumatic press so that the sake squirts out and the rice and such is left behind. The resulting sake is a milky, cloudy color as it still contains a lot of rice starch and yeast in suspension.

At this point the sake is usually cold filtered through charcoal or other mediums to clarify the sake, but occasionally, brewers will simply stop here, and this cloudy, sediment filled sake is known as nigori. The rice starch gives the sake a milkier, slightly sweeter flavor which makes nigori a nice aperitif, as well as a good match for stronger flavored foods.

Interestingly, if you were to travel back in time, say, to 1882, when Ohyama was busy making sake for the Shogun, all the sake would have been unfiltered because they hadn’t invented the filters yet. Clear sake is quite a modern phenomenon.

Unfortunately while nigori sake is also an increasingly popular phenomenon, much of it is extremely low in quality. In some sake drinking circles, nigori sake is the equivalent of white zinfandel, an entry level brew that is easy to drink and doesn’t take much to appreciate. As a result most nigori sakes are made from relatively low quality rice, are often fortified with alcohol, and in some cases, are just downright nasty tasting.

Increasingly however, there are some breweries that are making extremely high quality nigori sake, and Ohyama happens to be one of them. This sake is a “tokubetsu” junmai nigori, which means “very special” junmai nigori. The Haenuki rice has been milled to less than 60% of its former mass (enough to qualify for ginjo status), and no additional alcohol has been added in the brewing process. These two facts, coupled with the extra care taken in its production have made for one of the finest, most delicate nigori sakes available on the market today.

Tasting Notes:
This sake looks like watery, fat free milk in the glass, and it smells very pretty, with aromas of rainwater, flowers, and faint hints of bubble gum. In the mouth it is smooth and creamy, with flavors of…well…cream, wet cedar wood, apple, floral notes, and a beautiful stony quality that lasts through a surprisingly long finish. This is one of the most refined, elegant nigori sakes I have ever had.

Food Pairing:
Even though it is refined in quality, this sake has the robustness of the nigori style, which means it is not so easily overwhelmed by stronger flavors (like many delicate sakes are). I’d happily serve this sake with any non-spicy south or east Asian food. It would go beautifully with a mild Vietnamese curry, for instance.

Overall Score: 9/9.5

How Much?: $15

This sake is available for purchase on the Internet.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

Blanco Texas is somewhere between Austin and San Antonio and in the summer, there’s always a little river rolling and a hillside to set upon and let the breeze cool one off. A little wine, and a little more wine and it isn’t too bad. Sure it isn’t Ischia or Lago di Como, but it is the life we have chosen.

After a Friday night marathon of restaurant visitations with “those who review”, whereupon we had sashimi for apps, pizza and mussels for secondi and gelato for dolce, I got up at 4:30 AM to make the trek to the Texas Hill Country. Around 9 AM I rolled into Austin to pick up the IWD, where she had a perfect espresso waiting for me. A block away we stopped at the Taco Shack for a Jeremy Parzen primo colazione. One Espresso and two breakfast tacos later we headed for Blanco. It was shaping up to be one of those perfectly beautiful sky-full-of-Texas days. Hours later I’d be walking the vineyards with Giulio and we both remarked on the unbelievable quality of the Texas sky. Something about there’s always a cloud or two in the sky but the sun was always shining.

As we rolled into Stout Vineyards, there was a whole bunch of folks getting after the nets which were being put over the Syrah vineyard to protect the fruit from the birds. We had to do it this weekend, ‘cause Guy is heading to Washington D.C. for an Under the Texas Winemaking Tent event, on the National Mall during the July 4 week. He’s giving a talk about Texas terroir. Like Guy says, “We don’t call it terroir in Texas, we call it dirt.”

The birds were angry and I caught a couple of the crazy ones dive bombing the vines, even though the grapes were a ways off from good eating. Actually, in this vineyard, harvest is looking to be around August 10-10 at this point. A good five weeks. Eight year old vines on caliche and all kinds of tough soil, good ventilation, great sun, but on those 4 acres maybe 2-3 tons a fruit will be delivered to the winery. A lot of work, but a lot more love. This is the love child of Mast Somm, Guy Stout, who is Texan through and through. He was busy that day unrolling bird netting and cleaning out irrigation lines, handing out clothes pins and watermelon.

Our goal that day was to secure all the vineyards with the netting to protect the fruit from the birds. It was hot work with a lot of crouching and bending over. I am not a farmer and whenever I go into the vineyards I gain a lot of respect for those who toil in the fields. It’s punishing work. I am sore in places I forgot existed in my body.

Yeah, this is kind of a momma-mia blog today, but hey, sometimes the wine god takes us into their hands and we are merely their slaves, building their pyramids and in return be rewarded with friendship, good wine, conversation, more wine, food and more food, a soft place to sit and with a little luck a cool breeze when it is all said and done.

Two thirds-way through the work a kind gent brought us some Chicken and Brisket from Riley’s Bar-B-Q in Blanco. Giulio and his wife Stacie brought an amazing Macedonia (fruit salad) and a brand spanking new rose from the Maremma from the Tenuta la Badiola estate. This was a wine that Alain Ducasse, chef at accompanying restaurant and spa L’Andana, asked the winery to make to go with his food served at the restaurant. This rosato called Acquagiusto. Italian rose from the Maremma, it doesn’t get any better.

Back to the vines, nothing like a little wine, some Bar-B-Q and watermelon to get one ready to go back to work. Wrong. I was wrangling for a nap, but no slacker am I, or my colleagues. So a few more hours and the job was done. The vineyard was wrapped up like a Christmas present.

Now we could unwind and have fun.

Guy has a funky barn and extended patio, more like a shed, but it works just fine. Devon Broglie from Whole Foods brought some vino and Giulio brought some Dolcetto and Barbera. Guy had a ton of NZ wines and other assorted outcroppings from some discarded warehouse. Tracie brought a Verduzzo tradizionale from Friuli and I gathered a few specimens. We were rolling into the comfy padded chairs under the shed in the breeze. Life is good.

Baby Gia entertained us with her little girl antics. Everyone’s child should be a Gia, a happy to be there soul. Love that little one, thanks momma and poppa for bringing her with ya.

What else is there to say? A long night that ended with Canadian ice wine somewhere just shy of 2 AM. Almost 24 hours nonstop.

Driving home today from Austin, I was fueld on espresso ( the Taco Shack was closed on Sunday) but it was alright ma. I just set my sights on Big D and the pool in the backyard. Somewhere along the late afternoon I made it into the cool waters, where my little piece of Texas sky was waiting for me.

Sitting here now back home listening to John Fahey strum his guitar, all of Texas is ripe with tomatoes , melons and soon figs and grapes. This ain’t such a bad place. It beats sitting on a slow train.

Isn’t that just the prettiest little baby girl you ever did see?

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

I have long maintained that this “sky is falling” point of view (perhaps best typified by the irresponsible polemic, Mondovino) and in particular the demonization of Robert Parker’s palate as monolithic represents a sort of irrational fanaticism with little basis in reality.

My observations, for as long as I have been following the world of wine criticism, have led me to believe that, contrary to the whining and accusations of many, most of the world’s top wine critics tend to completely agree with Parker when it comes to most of the top wines of the world.

And now there’s actually been a study that seems to bolster my anecdotal convictions. Conducted by the Center for Hospitality Research at Cornell University, this recently released study was commissioned to examine the hypothesis that the ordered ranking of Bordeaux Chateaux into First Growths, Second Growths, etc. that has been in place since 1855 may no longer be truly accurate. In the process of testing this hypothesis, the researchers have produced the only statistical analysis I have ever seen that compares the rankings of major wine critics across similar wines. And while it was not the purpose of their research, their findings on the correlation of scores between The Wine Spectator, Robert Parker, and Stephen Tanzer are quite remarkable.

In short: these three sources are in near complete agreement on which wines are the best, and they have been for three decades. This result utterly refutes the idea that somehow Parker’s “skewed” palate has driven the wine market to a place that it would not have otherwise gone on its own.

Here’s one of the charts from the report that pretty much says it all (click to enlarge):

This graphic shows the ratings for nearly 50 of the top wines of the Medoc region of Bordeaux by these three critical sources. The researchers’ primary findings about these ratings are nicely visualized here, namely that there are incredibly strong correlations between all three raters as to which are the better wines, as well as which wines are relatively better than others, as well as the fact that the differences between these raters are consistent. Parker gives higher ratings (by about one third of a point) than the Spectator, which in turn is about a point higher than Stephen Tanzer. Over 30 years of data, even in the cases where there is significant disagreement between these raters, that disagreement is rarely more than two or three points, maximum.

The only way this study could have proved my suspicions any better is if it had included scores from European critics like Jancis Robinson, Stephen Spurrier, Michael Bettane, and Michael Broadbent.

But luckily enough, there’s a fairly easy way to answer that “what if?”, thanks to a phenomenally useful site called Bordoverview.Com, which lists the scores for several hundred top Bordeaux wines across the past 4 vintages and across a huge range of critics, including Parker, Robinson, Bettane, and the Spectator. A quick pass through the data on that site should be enough to put a nail in the coffin of the myth of the monolithic palate once and for all.

A comparison of the top 20 wines from each of the critics from every vintage since 2004 yields an overlap of more than 60%. I didn’t have the time (or the skill) to grab all the scores and run a regression analysis on them, but I’d bet good money that they’d show the same level of correlation, as well as internal consistency that was found by the Cornell study.

Of course, there will be people who will say, “well, that’s just the top Chateaux of Bordeaux, what about California, or Burgundy, or Italy, or Australia?” It certainly would be great to do this sort of analysis on scores from the critics for all those regions. But the reality is that the majority of wine critics don’t cover all those regions equally. Bordeaux, and the Left Bank in particular, is the ultimate benchmark for wine critics — every major critic covers nearly every one of these wines every year, and these are ostensibly the best wines on the planet if only judged by broad historical market prices and demand.

So let’s just put this one to rest, shall we? If anyone wants to persist in the argument that Robert Parker is ruining wine for the world then they need to answer the following question: how can that possibly be, when the rest of the major wine critics in the world seem to agree with him (nearly wine for wine) and when it appears that some have done so for decades?

I highly recommend you check out the report from Cornell, and that you spend some time playing with Bordoverview.Com.

Oh, and about that 1855 Classification? Looks like it needs a significant overhaul.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola