I’ve been moving around a lot recently, and while I haven’t been writing much my shutter finger has gotten more exercise than it had in a while.

To keep you entertained as I pack my bag and prepare to head to Brazil this week, for a much-needed break that will hopefully get my creative juices flowing again, I wanted to share some recent photos with you. Clicking on any of the images will take you to a larger version on Flickr.

Wednesday morning I got up in the dark to head with the lovely Jimena to The Vines of Mendoza’s Private Vineyard Estates property in the Uco Valley. Our goal was to photograph each planted vineyard as an update for the owner; we were still 20 minutes out when the sun rose, but pulled over to get some shots of the pink mountains (above). Although it was already light when we arrived, the land was greatly changed since my last visit and quite a sight to behold. It also helped that it’s been snowing in the Andes - it may make it harder to get to Chile but it certainly makes for good pictures!

For a different view altogether, a couple of weeks ago we journeyed southward to San Rafael and it’s famous dique (dam). All that water was a site for my sore inland eyes, and a reminder that Argentina’s geography is as extensive and breathtaking as that in The United States. I hope to do the full circuit eventually, down to Patagonia to Salta in the north… not to even mention Iguazu falls!

In the meantime, as you can see, there is certainly plenty to gaze at within Mendoza Province. (Click here to go to my Picasa album and see more.)

Now I’ve got to make some room on my memory card for Sugarloaf and all the sites of Rio!

I’m sure this applies to many aspects of life. What I’m talking about now, of course, is a bottle of wine.

I’ve spent a great deal of time mulling this over - as both a wine consumer and a wine professional it’s a subject that’s close to my heart (and my wallet). As I’m learning about wine and its place in our modern lives I’ve also been observing marketing tendencies, buying patterns, and a growing interest in wine among those of my generation.  Thanks in large part to my childhood friend Noah Brier my thoughts have consistently been given new fodder - the blog he’s written since 2004 not only tracks marketing and design trends, but also launches them. His most recent online endeavor, brand tags, gives consumers a forum to share their associations with the logos we’re all familiar with, as well as offering marketers (at least those savvy enough to look) a chance to see how their brand is perceived. It’s gotten me thinking a lot about branding in the scope of my own professional world.

The marketing of wine is no simple matter - taste is a subjective experience, and nobody wants to be told what to like. Moreover, you’re selling the image of something that won’t be truly revealed until it’s been brought home and opened. You can’t try it on, and even when you think you know a wine, it is constantly evolving in the bottle and may never taste quite the same again.

So I ask you, brand managers and graphic designers, for two things - one to please the profiteer in me and the other to sooth my inner geek.

First of all, just make it look good.

This is fundamental; while nobody wants to admit to shopping by label, with all that’s out there something has to grab your attention. Even though an educated wine consumer may have a good idea of what grapes and styles are coming from where, it’s impossible to know every producer. It’s always fun to try something new, and I for one am not ashamed to say that when I’m sitting on the fence a fetching presentation will certainly push me one way or the other. As will an ugly one.

I’m sorry, but this whole “it’s what’s on the inside that counts” doesn’t quite cut it. Before deciding whether you like a wine enough to buy more,  you have to have a reason to want to open the damn thing the first time around.

There are lots of theories on how to get the bottle off the shelf and into somebody’s hand; recent marketing surveys say that animals and celebrities help. (Interestingly, it’s been documented that animal labels appeal especially to women. I’ve always wondered about the psychological explanation for that one.) But does that mean you should turn your wine store into a menagerie? Or a wax museum for dead movie stars? Some Marilyn Merlot, anybody?

In all honesty, though, it does work up to a point, and all’s well and good as long as you don’t completely lose sight of grace and simplicity.  An even more important question to ask is, in the midst of all that cacophony, isn’t subtlety refreshing?

To present some contrast by using an example that is close to home, here is a shot of the label for some of the wines made by Pulenta Estate, one of my favorite wineries here in Mendoza.

Now, to me, this label truly stands out. It is simultaneously elegant and eye-catching; although it won’t drown out the personalities of its neighboring bottles you can’t help but notice it. I find the lack of pretension alluring, and consistent - this is the label that accompanies the middle of three “tiers” of wine produced by Pulenta Estate. It is true to the aesthetic feel of their other wines, as well as to the style of the wine in the bottle.

Which leads right to my second “request”: give me a label that tells me something. Provide me with a hint about what to expect from the vino, something to help me climb down off the fence.

Let the label match the wine, and the graphic designer take some cues from the winemaker.

To use the same example: this Pulenta Estate Merlot is a modern wine, ripe and extracted. It is also elegant and balanced, and well structured. Like the label, it is restrained; it is pleasant, and memorable, yet doesn’t hit you over the head with weight and color.

You may wonder what the hell I’m talking about, or assume that it takes a palate with a certain level of sophistication to interpret the “style” of the wine. But for both connoisseurs and those who only beginning to explore the world of wine,  it is important that the bottle give some indication of what you’ll find inside the glass. Not all wines are the same, nor are all wine drinkers; in any case a label can help you figure out just what it is that you’re looking for. The “style” is the overall sensory impression that a wine gives, and it should be consistent from your first glimpse to that last sip.

To many who have come to appreciate wine with big presentation, the labels from historic wine producing regions with traditional packaging, such as Burgundy, Bordeaux, Chianti, and Barolo, seem staid, boring, too simple. In reality, though, even the understated labels tell you something; most places using these old-school labels are also producing traditional wine. They’ve been around long enough that they’ve got nothing to prove - not to mention the strict labeling laws in many parts of the old world.

Even if you have no idea what either of these wines are “supposed to” taste like, you may assume looking at the bottle that whatever it is that you’re going to find inside has a long history behind it. With wines like these it’s entirely possible that the label has looked the same for decades or more - the wine inside may still be made with the same philosophy and grapes from the same vineyards. As it just so happens, stylistically the wine behind each of these potentially bland labels is relatively light in color, impressive on the palate but full of infinite nuance. In a quiet voice, the label is telling us this.

Marilyn, above, exemplifies the other end of the spectrum. Vigorous wines from fresh soils that have the liberty (and necessity) of creating an identity for themselves,  they can choose how they want to call your attention. To judge by that label, you might assume this to be a flashy, colorful wine, impressively full bodied, possibly very well made, but a wine where concentration and depth of color are probably more important to the winemaker than elegance.

Clearly I have my own preferences, and my own associations, but in this case the impression I got from the label wouldn’t be so far off. The packaging did its job well; a good design should both play on our existing associations and help us create new ones.

To the consumer, I hope this is some food for thought. When you’re browsing the shelves, let the labels help guide you towards what you like - if nothing else they may help you narrow down your options. Maybe that dull label has an ancient story, and the one with the cute koala on it is pleasant in your mouth but too fleeting. Then again, it could be that the one is too dry for you and the other just what you’re looking for.

In any case, don’t ever be embarrassed to buy something just because you like the way it looks. You may end up liking the way it tastes, too - there’s only one way to find out.

This September the earliest vines planted at The Vines’ of Mendoza’s Private Vineyard Estate project will celebrate their first birthday; in their honor I offer the following tale here on Vino e Vita. This is the story of ‘Everyvine’ - an international varietal born in the old world only to start life again in the new.

I begin my new life in the southern hemisphere in darkness.

It is humid in my incubator, and cold – unlike mammals, my kind thrives in low temperatures. If I get too dry, I’ll die.

Immediately after my birth in Italy I was grafted to a distant American relative who will help me resist disease and adapt to a long and healthy life in his native soil. Although I was almost a foot and a half long and my partner only 1 inch, we were joined by “Omega Graft” – a cut was made in my base to allow for the insertion of my new roots. Now one, we commence our journey to the new world.

The trip over the ocean takes more than a month. Upon arrival I rest for over 3 months in cold storage, then I am taken to my new home at the foot of the Andes.

What a view there is here! These mountains put even the Alps to shame.

Immediately before planting I am submerged in water where I sit for 24 hours and rehydrate while my new accommodations are prepared.

Buried at a depth of a foot and a half, covered with earth and compacted, the training stake is driven into the land beside me to ensure that I grow straight and true. A grow tube surrounds me to protect me from heat and the herbicides that will be sprayed to prevent weeds from encroaching on my turf. I don’t like competition – but I don’t much like chemicals, either!

My first major test comes in the first 20 days – and I pass. If I don’t adapt to my new home during this time I will surely die; instead I grow up and my leaves peak through the top of my grow tube after only a month in the ground. If I’m lucky I will reach the first of my 4 training wires – the fruit wire. I am constantly fertilized, irrigated, and treated with fungicide. My shoots are thinned so that I get as many nutrients as possible in my trunk.

In order to survive the first winter my roots must be deep and strong. Despite the cold and snow, I will persevere! While the land is frozen I am cut right above the fruit wire. When spring begins I have 4 or 5 new shoots; all but 2 are cut. They will become my arms and will soon be producing fruit to make the wine that you have come to know and love.

This was written with the help of Francisco Evangelista, Senior Agronomist and Vineyard Manager for The Vines of Mendoza.

So, ladies and gentleman, welcome to “Vino e Vita!”

While I work hard to tackle the complex topic of my next article, I’ve elected to do something else new: I hereby present you with the first ever guest posting on my site.

I heard the following tale several weeks ago when I stopped to talk to a couple of friendly British visitors to The Vines of Mendoza’s tasting room. My brief conversation with Tim and Richard resulted in quite a few laughs, as well as my begging them for a written version of this story so that I could share it. Whether or not you are familiar with the specific parties involved, I hope you find it as amusing I did. It also provides some real insight into the Mendoza wine scene - it’s not for nothing that they’re calling this “The New Napa Valley…”

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One day, while I sat in the local pub with some friends, we were discussing what we might do with our four weeks annual leave, which was fast approaching. I aired the idea that Argentina might be an interesting adventure. Why, you ask? Was it the culture, the Tango, the nightlife? A little of all of these perhaps, but also the opportunity to sample wines from one of the worlds most innovative and exciting wine regions. After I arrived in Buenos Aires I booked the bus trip traversing the country to Mendoza – synonymous with Argentina’s national grape: Malbec. The journey was not an easy one due to Argentina’s current economic unease, and the farmers had set up a number of roadblocks along the way. After a bus ride that should have lasted 13 hours swiftly turned into 22, I reached Mendoza.

During the course of my first evening, while inquiring as to the best way to taste the local wine, I was introduced to Richard. A British expat who had been living in Mendoza for the past 18 months, he had recently started running tastings in local hostels, showcasing wines to travellers passing through the city.  Infected with my enthusiasm he offered to accompany me on a journey through some of the local wineries. With somewhat fuzzy memories of the previous evening and almost impossible-to-remove purple stains on our lips we hopped into his car and headed out along the long signpost-less roads to the Valley de Uco, in the shadow of the magnificent snow-covered Andes rising imposingly from Mendoza’s otherwise flat landscape. Our first stop was the Tapiz winery, where we sampled their wines straight out of their stainless steel tanks, guided by one of their very knowledgeable and passionate members of staff. Having shaken off our hangovers and now armed with a number of bottles of their reserve reds we headed towards our next appointment, at the Pulenta estate.

On the way we decided to stop for some lunch at La Barrica, a curious restaurant situated in an unassuming service station by the side of the road, but one with a reputation for good quality food for hungry wine travellers. As it was off-season the restaurant was virtually abandoned and the waiter seemed to have decided that we were both going to have the lunchtime special, refusing to allow us to order anything else. All for an easy life, we went along with him and ordered a bottle of Familia Gascon Reserva Cabernet 2004 to accompany our meal. When the wine arrived Richard tasted it, and a look of both confusion and disappointment came over his face. One of those awfully awkward restaurant moments ensued; something about the wine wasn’t right. The waiter, eager to get on with his job, plonked the bottle down and left us to decide what. We both have some wine experience in the wine industry, but when we smelled this bottle we couldn’t put our finger on what was wrong with it. It wasn’t obviously corked or oxidized; there was some fruit there, but it wasn’t as it should be.

Hearing American accents drift over from the table behind us, Richard concluded that two Americans in an empty restaurant in the middle of June, miles from everywhere except Argentine wine country, must be in the business. He walked up to their table, armed with our suspicious wine, apologized for disturbing them, and asked politely if they were in the wine trade. Unsurprisingly the answer was affirmative. Richard asked if they would mind just smelling our wine and seeing if they could determine what was wrong with it.

“You haven’t even introduced yourselves yet”, said one coolly. By this point I was standing next to Richard and we introduced ourselves, slightly sheepishly.

“Hi, I’m Paul Hobbs” he said as he shook our hands. There was a brief pause in our conversation as somewhere in the depths of both of our brains we felt something click into place. “I consult for various wineries, including this one.” Taking our dodgy wine he said, “It’s just old, passed its best.” Armed with this knowledge, we thanked them and returned to our table. We looked at each other with identical, vaguely confused expressions.

“Did he say Paul Hobbs? I’ve heard of him…” mused Richard, and I agreed that I had too. We realized that our somewhat cool reception may have resulted from the fact that as a very recognizable member of the wine industry he probably gets asked quite regularly for his opinion on wines, although our encounter was purely accidental! As we were talking an almost full bottle of wine landed on our table. “Here, try this”, he said, “It’s one of mine”.  Thanking him profusely, we enjoyed the rest of our meal accompanied by a 2005 La Garto Merlot, donated by Paul Hobbs himself.

Contributed by Tim Crocker-Buque and Richard Graham

Note: For those of you who are curious about LaGarto, as of the recent 2007 release it is called Felino and  is currently available in the United States with this new label. 

I’m here today to put this to rights.

Now, food and wine pairing is rather a touchy subject, and one that I find somewhat intimidating to write about. Despite the traditional ‘marriages’ of oysters and Chablis, steak and Cabernet (or Malbec, in my neck of the woods), the exercise of matching food and wine is fundamentally subjective. As people discover wine for the first time, especially young people,  they care far less for convention than for what they’ve been turned on to, and what they love to eat. When I was working in retail and people asked what wine to pair with X dish, more often than not my response was “well, what wine do you like?”

In that spirit, this will be relatively brief, and more about my own tastes than studied pairings.

As far as what to drink with spicy food, (for the purposes of this analysis, let’s imagine a plate of Thai Curry in front of us) I believe that there are basically two ways one can go. In simple terms - either something sweet to balance the burn, or bone-dry to cut right through it. In either case, I prefer COLD wine - sparkling, white, or rosé.

(Of course, while this may not be the proper forum to mention it, there is always beer. The most classic of alcoholic thirst quenchers and fire extinguishers, the most reliable, and certainly the most accessible, you will never go wrong with a beer or 3 to calm the fire. I’d say a nice light lager, but it’s up to you.)

If you noticed the photo at the bottom of my last post (I got some amusing mixed feedback about the pic) you may have noticed the champagne flutes in the foreground. This exemplifies my current favorite - a dry sparkler cleanses the palate under any circumstances, so even better when your mouth is on fire! Ideally Extra Brut or Brut Nature (meaning little or no residual sugar in the wine) the dryness will cool the embers on your tongue and the bubbles will help clean it off nicely.

On the opposite end of the spectrum you have off-dry white wines such as Riesling or Gewurztraminer, typically from Germany or Alsace (in the northeast of France). Off-dry means not completely dry, but not sweet enough to be a proper desert wine, and from my experience this is the category that is most commonly recommended as an accompaniment for spicy fare. A good sweet wine is balanced by a zesty acidity, and some of the best ones out there are also blessed with unique minerality. The sugar and acidity may not decrease the burn much, but they will provide equilibrium and allow you to treasure the heat if you’re feeling masochistic.

The same spirit can be applied to any pairing. It is fascinating to explore which wine goes best with which dish, to discover the manifold flavors that can be drawn out of one glass - and there is surely no better way to expand your palate and deepen your understanding of flavor. A fun and relatively inexpensive way to do this at home is simple: pick up a bottle of wine that you’ve been curious about, as well as your favorite meats and cheeses. Sample them together - alternate a taste of wine with a nibble of each edible. Observe how the flavors evolve, and how your perception changes with each morsel.

For me, much of the joy of dining creatively is the pleasure of coming up with an imaginative and appropriate union of food and wine. For a chef, sommelier, or daring diner, there’s nothing quite like taking a bite, then a sip, and experiencing perfect harmony on the palate.

I’m not talking about dunes and sandworms here, it’s a scorched palate and breath of fire that I crave. And it’s in shockingly low supply here in Mendoza, Argentina.

Most North Americans, when they think of South American food, associate it with lots of spice. The truth of the matter (sad, for us food obsessed expats) is that THIS far south…. not so much.

I have a theory that it’s latitudinal, with heat decreasing in reverse correlation with distance from the equator;  there is as little heat in typical Argentine cuisine as there is in… German schnitzel. (Which there also happens to be a hell of a lot of here, under the pseudonym ‘milanesa.’)

(Brief geeky tangent: Mendoza’s latitude is 33S. For comparison: New York City is 40N, Paris - 48N. At 40S, you’re almost in Patagonia. Major points go to whoever can tell me which major North American city is at 33N… just don’t publicly disprove my theory. And it doesn’t count if you use Google Earth.)

Now, food wise, what the Argentines do well, they do VERY well. The meat here is incomparable, as are the empanadas (especially when you find really good ones). There is yummy fresh pasta, and I’ve never known anybody to put as much love into a sandwhich as Mendocinos (except for possibly Uruguayans). Furthermore, as a life-long salt fiend I love to watch the asador (grill master) coat each cut of beef with salt before throwing it on the parilla (grill). My friends (and my doctor) can all vouch for this.

However, the seasoning options just about end there. Call me what you will - ‘food snob’ is one I’ve heard more than a couple of times, as is ’spoiled brat’ - but I’ve been overindulged by culinary variety for far too long. I grew up in one of the most diverse parts of the American “melting pot”, spent a year living in Northern Italy’s culinary capital, and then to top it all off spent years working in the New York City restaurant scene.

What can I say - I’m a product of my experience. For better or worse, my experience contains a lot of ‘ese’ - Chinese, Japanese… also Mexican, Thai, and Indian. I never knew how much I loved all of these things until I was faced with their absence. Now that there’s no Thai delivery and take-out sushi in my life, I cook with chili peppers every chance I get. When I go to Buenos Aires for the weekend, I take the opportunity to torture my taste buds as much as possible.

Not really the best policy for somebody who makes a living from tasting wine, but I already admitted to having a problem. In this case, rather than recovery, acceptance is the first step towards gratification.

To best profit from the more varied culinary scene in Argentina’s capital, I stuff as much ethnic food into my mouth as possible. (I even made my parents meet me for Moroccan food on their very first night in Buenos Aires!) Recently my top choice has been Vietnamese - not actually something I had much exposure to before coming here. Thank you to Sudestada, a spectacular southeast Asian fusion restaurant in Palermo (blending primarily Vietnamese and Thai) I learned what I’ve been missing. I will honestly say that Sudestada is currently my favorite restaurant in the world.

Here on the home front I stick with the aforementioned Argentine classics: more meat than is good for me, and empanadas from the one place in town with ‘carne picante’ that actually burns. I’ve started frequenting Mendoza’s central market which has not only an impressive selection of meats and cheeses, but also vegetable stands that carry technicolored chili peppers. Despite the limited resources I have at my disposal, I manage to stoke the flames of my addiction.

Screw caps, or ‘Stelvin enclosures’ to us industry folk (and the Alcan Packaging Company responsible for their creation) have recently been revolutionizing the wine business. Consumer, vendor, critic - everybody has something to say about them. Now, thanks to a question from my sister Gillian, so do I.

Over the past five years or so we’ve been seeing more and more screw caps on wine bottles. Starting with whites on the low end and slowly working their way up the pricing ladder and across the color divide as they break through their stigma, now they are found on wines from many parts of the world, at many different price points. Some people love them, others are filled with loathing. Many wonder what the hell the controversy is all about.

While there are many ways of addressing the issue, in terms of cost, marketing, and micro-oxygenation, for me it’s mostly about tradition. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m somewhat of a wine purist; I was attracted to to the world of wine because of its long history and rich traditions. It’s often easy to mistake custom for necessity, and sometimes difficult to draw a line between the two - cork has so long been the closure of choice for winemakers the world over that many don’t realize there are alternatives. And, due to the screw cap’s long association with cheap wine, there are more who would never consider changing.

Cork is a natural material, easy to produce and completely biodegradable. It allows for minuscule amounts of oxygen to pass through, permitting a wine to breathe and settle over time, which screw caps do not. However, cork is also susceptible to what’s now generally referred to as ‘corking,’ or ‘cork taint,’ which has become so common that the terms are now used to describe any defect in wine. Flawed cork can allow too much oxygen through, leading to oxidized wine, but in reality ‘corked’ refers specifically to the the presence of trichloroanisole (TCA), which is naturally occurring in many cork trees. When TCA is released into the wine, it imparts the smell (and sometimes the flavor) of, well, wet cardboard. While sometimes subtle, other times it’s not - putting your nose in a glass of seriously corked wine smells like walking into a basement shortly after a flood. It’s not exactly bad for you, but can definitely detract from wine’s hedonistic pleasure .

Obviously, lower quality cork carries with it a the higher risk of defects, and as the wine market has grown exponentially the supply of quality cork has diminished correspondingly. As well as justifying alternate enclosures for wine bottles, this snowball effect is also creating a greater need for them, and we will only see more and more cork alternatives in the coming years.

Now let’s be honest here - I’m a romantic. Aesthetically, I will always prefer the presentation of cork in a bottle of wine, especially expensive wine with a history behind it. For me the inherent risk of corking is one of the things that makes wine special; it’s alive inside the bottle, and things can go wrong. Financial matters aside I think there is something beautiful about buying wine while knowing that there is always a chance of defect… loving it enough that one is willing to keep making sacrifices in the effort to enjoy that which is truly extraordinary.

However, I don’t expect everybody to share this belief, and frankly, I wouldn’t really want them to. I was attracted to wine not only because of it’s history but also because of its future - as the world changes, so does the world of wine. It can be appreciated on many different levels, consumed in innumerable situations, and purchased at wildly variant prices. I’ve become completely used to screw caps on fresh white wines and inexpensive reds; they make a great deal of sense from the perspective of both consumer and producer. Why take a risk with a wine that will be sold for $10 and consumed immediately? The winery would rather not lose any of their production, and the buyer wants to get their money’s worth.

So, don’t criticize the screw cap. Just don’t put one on my Châteauneuf.

Here is an adaptation of the brief post I wrote today for The Vines’ Blog.

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Every Wednesday night at The Vines we host ‘la noche de enologo,’ or ‘winemaker night.’ This past week it was my great honor and pleasure to moderate the event myself.

While I regret the illness that laid low our lovely Mariana, Tasting Room Manager extraordinaire and the usual MC at our Wednesday night event, I’d like to share with you all my excitement at having been able to translate for the group and share the story of one of my favorite Mendocino wineries. While I am confident speaking Spanish, and (0bviously) have no hesitations babbling about wine, doing both simultaneously in front of a group of 40 represents a whole new challenge.

Luckily, by a twist of fate, the guest of honor at my first noche de enologo was none other than Fabricio Orlando, winemaker at my beloved Pulenta Estate.

Not to be confused with Carlos Pulenta’s Vistalba Winery, Pulenta Estate was started in 2001 by brothers Hugo and Eduardo (Carlos’ cousins). After selling Bodega Trapiche in 1997 each branch of the storied Pulenta family went off to start their own boutique winery in Agrelo (Lujan de Cuyo), dedicated to low production and high quality.

Fabricio and the team at Pulenta Estate strive above all else to create wines with elegance, balance and purity of fruit. Their wines have wonderful body and concentration, but more importantly they have a unique expression of varietal character in each wine that they make, in each product line. They have three (lines) - La Flor de Pulenta, Pulenta Estate, and Gran Pulenta. On Wednesday we tasted the Sauvignon Blanc Pulenta Estate, La Flor Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec Pulenta Estate, and Gran Cabernet Franc.

I certainly found each wine to be a paradigm of the elegance that Fabricio reaches for, and the audience seemed to be in agreement. The feedback was all positive, and for me the experience was marvelous - so much so that I am pushing for the chance to lead an event every month or so.

(Now, the inevitable plug: If you want to try these fantastic wines for yourself be sure to visit our online wine shop. We currently have available La Flor Malbec, Pulenta Estate Merlot, and the Gran Cabernet Franc - one of my favorites and a standout selection in our current Acequia Reserva Wine Club.)

Perhaps I’ve been distracted, perhaps I’ve been working too hard (seems unlikely, somehow) … in any case it’s time to stop with the excuses.

Rather than letting this go to waste after all my hard work, I’ve decided to address my problem, and to seek help. Isn’t that what friends are for?

So, I ask for your input.

Inspired by my dear sister Gillian who suggested an (upcoming) blog topic, I am beginning a ‘topic drive.’ You have questions about the world of wine? Ask them. A tangent to send me on? By all means. Post a comment, send me an email… help me get this going again.

In the meantime, for some levity, check out my niece’s new blog. Not quite 6 months old, and already a talented writer… plus she’s absolutely adorable.

I guess some things run in the family.

In the 2 weeks between my travels to Chile and here to Buenos Aires I haven’t written much myself, but I have encountered several wine writers, most notably the great Steven Spurrier. Currently he writes for Decanter, the UK’s premier wine publication (and in my opinion the world’s best wine mag); in 1976 it was Mr. Spurrier who put CA on the international wine map when he organized the now famous “Judgment of Paris” tasting. This event is not only the subject of George Taber’s book by the same name but also of the upcoming feature film Bottle Shock - It pitted California wines against those from Bordeaux, and when the Californians won it was a great upset that took the entire wine world by surprise. Except for certain people in northern California.

(Incidentally, George Taber was also recently in Mendoza, and at The Vines.)

While I didn’t really get to spend time with Mr. Spurrier, I did help organize the special tasting that we held to provide fodder for an article he plans to write about the future of Argentine wine. During the exercise of choosing wines for him to sample, I began to ponder as I have many times in the past the art of writing about wine, and the effect that it can have on the consumer market. I’m not talking about my tangential wine-writing here, I’m referring to those who actually rate and review vino. And maybe even get published occasionally.

I’ve always compared rating wine to reviewing art - it involves objectifying what is fundamentally a subjective experience, and can therefore lead to many conflicts. Wine developed all over the world in different styles, just as people’s individual tastes do; yet when critics gain a wide enough audience they can have a broad effect on patterns of consumption, and consequently even on production. There are those like Robert Parker who have such success that they (intentionally or not) create an international wine market based on their personal tastes. It’s not really important to me what people drink (unless they’re sharing a bottle with me), but the diversity of the overall market does matter to me. As we move towards a point of homogeneity so extreme that many producers no longer strive to create something unique, it makes me wonder where we are headed.

As a writer, Steven Spurrier is doing his best to avoid this. He instructed us clearly not to cater to his palate, but to pick wines that we truly believe represent the direction that Argentine winemaking is going. Of course selecting wines in this way is almost as difficult as writing about them objectively - not only did each of us involved in the process have our own personal preferences, but being familiar with Mr. Spurrier’s words and vinous ideals our natural instinct was to try to please him. We kept having to remind ourselves and each other that he didn’t want to be pleased - he wanted to be challenged. Our task was simply to represent the different styles and try to introduce him to wines he may not know, so that he could reach his own conclusions (and hopefully say nice things about us).

As I’ve said so many times before that is also one of my main goals with this blog - not to tell you what’s “good”, but to help you create a frame of reference and learn how to decide for yourself. (My other intention obviously being to babble about what I myself am learning from all of the new oenological experiences I’m having.)

In any case, it sounds like we gave our illustrious guest a great deal to think about, and that the tasting was therefore a success. I can’t wait to read the article and see what he has to say.

(UPDATE: Recently posted on The Vines’ blog - the results of this tasting. Check them out)