The Feiring Line

The WSJ's take on 2003 Burgs & Funk

Friday October 27th. Los Angeles. Sunny. Warm. Morning. Breakfast. There it was. The Wall Street Journal. So, I did what anyone would do, I took it. That morning, the WSJ dynamic duo of Dottie & John advised readers to avoid dropping the big ones on the Burgundy 2003 vintage. I don't love vintage either. In fact, I mostly avoid it but I have had enough terrific exceptions that I would be very careful about executing the entirety of the region's output. They selected research specimens from both village and premier cru levels of Volnay and Gevrey-Chambertin. They called these "different regions of Burgundy." Different? I should say so. These areas, respectively Cote de Beaune and Cote de Nuits are perhaps 15 miles apart with different soils and different expressions. The little known Volnay, they wrote, is known for charm. Wow. I thought Volnay is pretty well known by anyone who knows Burgundy, it's not like Ladoix for God's sake. Speaking of which, 2003 was a year for Burgundy's outer boroughs like Fixin, Ladoix, Maranges, Marsannay, Givry, Bouzeron, you know, the Red Hook-ish section of the appellation. If a grower worked well, the wines often were beautiful. Best of all, these wines are relative bargains because few consider Maranges or Givry sexy. The same article repeated something I found depressingly irresponsible. "...after all, wines are made to be drunk soon after their release." They didn't write; if you WSJ reader, were smart cookies, which of course you are, you devils, you would find and buy exquisite age-worthy wines, leaving the ready-to-drink commercial swill for the other chumps. They have a large and devoted readership. Doesn't power come with responsibility as someone I adore, who lives in Burgundy for that matter, once mused about Mr. Parker? Though other glitches in the article made me itch, the one that drove me to blog was their comment about Burgundy wines being loved for their funk. Years ago I too thought that barnyard funk was real Burgundy. At a tasting early in my wine path, I met an elderly André Mussy. As he poured his wine into my glass I couldn't help but noticed his hard-worked hands. His were the first vigneron hands I saw. There was a definite barnyard quality to his wine, and I thought, yes this is the real shit. This is Burgundy. While I don't mind a touch of that funk, (otherwise known as brettanomyces) that element hasn't been around in Burgundy for at least a decade. Anyway, it came from the barrels, not from the soil. This kind of funk stuff reminds me of those wine writers (many) who wrote Beaujolais smelled like bananas, not knowing that this was due to industrial yeast and not to the grape's character. My Burgundy has varied nuances which can include cinnamon, a touch of ink, ground ivy and underneath (or above) it all, pure lovely rose petals. Funk? Don't think so. The needle on truth keeps on spazzing but these days, when I look to Burgundy I sniff around Philippe Pacalet's wines. His Pommard has that floral Chanel #5 stuff that I love in my wine but not in the perfume. His Ruchottes-Chambertin was a staggeringly beautiful vehicle for minerality and structure. I can afford neither but that's fine. Tonight, at my wrist is the 2002 Domaine Bart Marsannay, Les Finottes. I'm crazy about this wine and hopefully there will be more of it ($18) when I go to Chambers Street Wine to buy it. It has a little earth and twig underneath a gorgeous pressed rose petal all in an elegant weight. It's attention getting. (SEE DOMAINE BART UPDATE BELOW) But then, the point of their article was to avoid spending mega bucks on 2003 Burgundy. Any real collector would spend money on some of them to see how they perform down the road. But anyway, put the whole year in perspective: California would genuflect to the Gods if they could perform the way Burgundy did in 2003. Have you looked at the prices of domestic pinot? No contest. Burgundy wins. (DOMAINE BART UPDATE: This is October 2008. I've gone through my Bart 2005 and the 2006, and the oak and toast and wood bitterness on the wine is very disturbing. I cannot drink these anymore and I hope Martin comes to his senses)

The WSJ's take on 2003 Burgs & Funk

Friday October 27th. Los Angeles. Sunny. Warm. Morning. Breakfast. There it was. The Wall Street Journal. So, I did what anyone would do, I took it. That morning, the WSJ dynamic duo of Dottie & John advised readers to avoid dropping the big ones on the Burgundy 2003 vintage. I don't love vintage either. In fact, I mostly avoid it but I have had enough terrific exceptions that I would be very careful about executing the entirety of the region's output. They selected research specimens from both village and premier cru levels of Volnay and Gevrey-Chambertin. They called these "different regions of Burgundy." Different? I should say so. These areas, respectively Cote de Beaune and Cote de Nuits are perhaps 15 miles apart with different soils and different expressions. The little known Volnay, they wrote, is known for charm. Wow. I thought Volnay is pretty well known by anyone who knows Burgundy, it's not like Ladoix for God's sake. Speaking of which, 2003 was a year for Burgundy's outer boroughs like Fixin, Ladoix, Maranges, Marsannay, Givry, Bouzeron, you know, the Red Hook-ish section of the appellation. If a grower worked well, the wines often were beautiful. Best of all, these wines are relative bargains because few consider Maranges or Givry sexy. The same article repeated something I found depressingly irresponsible. "...after all, wines are made to be drunk soon after their release." They didn't write; if you WSJ reader, were smart cookies, which of course you are, you devils, you would find and buy exquisite age-worthy wines, leaving the ready-to-drink commercial swill for the other chumps. They have a large and devoted readership. Doesn't power come with responsibility as someone I adore, who lives in Burgundy for that matter, once mused about Mr. Parker? Though other glitches in the article made me itch, the one that drove me to blog was their comment about Burgundy wines being loved for their funk. Years ago I too thought that barnyard funk was real Burgundy. At a tasting early in my wine path, I met an elderly André Mussy. As he poured his wine into my glass I couldn't help but noticed his hard-worked hands. His were the first vigneron hands I saw. There was a definite barnyard quality to his wine, and I thought, yes this is the real shit. This is Burgundy. While I don't mind a touch of that funk, (otherwise known as brettanomyces) that element hasn't been around in Burgundy for at least a decade. Anyway, it came from the barrels, not from the soil. This kind of funk stuff reminds me of those wine writers (many) who wrote Beaujolais smelled like bananas, not knowing that this was due to industrial yeast and not to the grape's character. My Burgundy has varied nuances which can include cinnamon, a touch of ink, ground ivy and underneath (or above) it all, pure lovely rose petals. Funk? Don't think so. The needle on truth keeps on spazzing but these days, when I look to Burgundy I sniff around Philippe Pacalet's wines. His Pommard has that floral Chanel #5 stuff that I love in my wine but not in the perfume. His Ruchottes-Chambertin was a staggeringly beautiful vehicle for minerality and structure. I can afford neither but that's fine. Tonight, at my wrist is the 2002 Domaine Bart Marsannay, Les Finottes. I'm crazy about this wine and hopefully there will be more of it ($18) when I go to Chambers Street Wine to buy it. It has a little earth and twig underneath a gorgeous pressed rose petal all in an elegant weight. It's attention getting. (SEE DOMAINE BART UPDATE BELOW) But then, the point of their article was to avoid spending mega bucks on 2003 Burgundy. Any real collector would spend money on some of them to see how they perform down the road. But anyway, put the whole year in perspective: California would genuflect to the Gods if they could perform the way Burgundy did in 2003. Have you looked at the prices of domestic pinot? No contest. Burgundy wins. (DOMAINE BART UPDATE: This is October 2008. I've gone through my Bart 2005 and the 2006, and the oak and toast and wood bitterness on the wine is very disturbing. I cannot drink these anymore and I hope Martin comes to his senses)

The Story of the Two Dog in a Room Barolo

When I visited Maria Teresa Mascarello in Barolo last spring one of the questions I asked her was, �Who has been the most detrimental to the state of barolo, the Wine Spectator, Parker, Marco DeGrazia or wine consultants?

Maria Theresa getting me some tastes of the 2003

She laughed. She found this all amusing. �All of them go in the same direction of modern barolo. But all of them needed to learn from Luigi Veronelli," she said referring to the late, most prominent Italian wine critic.

�I do not like this American way of judging wine," she continued. "Veronelli connected the culture to the wine, he judged wine in its context.� Then she said, with a scorn-edge in her voice, �Do you know, Wine Spectator�s James Suckling said my 2001 wine smelled like a room with two dogs in it!�

What she didn�t know was that Suckling gave it an 84. Here's the review.

Very funky. Smells like a warm room with two wet dogs in it. Yet some of the funk blows off, giving it lovely plum and berry character. Medium-bodied, with a sweet fruit finish. Drink now. 1,570 cases made. �JS

That review is one of the more squirrelly I've ever seen. If I were Marvin I�d think about sending Suckling to the mailroom. Even if it did smell like two dogs at the beginning, he was sharp enough to note that it blew off and what remained didn't seem so 84-ish. What was it he didn't like, the wine's elegance? The wine changed. It was alive. How did he miss the wine's soul?

I don't like scores for wine. I find them meaningless, however when the rest of the world sees an 84 as negative, I usually think (especially from Parker or the WS) it might be an interesting wine. And so I needed to taste the wine for myself. Anyway, if there was a dog or two in that wine, in a young barolo I wouldn't find that a negative. After all, a Mascarello barolo is not a Super Tuscan, a wine Suckling, I believe, is more familiar with.

I mentioned my desire to friend Jeremy, who when he is not gigging with his faux French band (or helping out his wife with her Klezmerish band's gigs) works at Vino, the most excellent New York City Italian wine store. Some new world-ish wines squeak through on their shelves, mostly it's a non-spoofulated Italian wine shop.

Jeremy got right to it, set up a blind tasting and invited me to join them. In attendance were some of his co-workers and the erudite Charles Scicolone.

Four wines had been decanted for three hours. Out of the four, the Mascarello was the most pure. It was young and it was beautiful.

No hint of any dogs in a room. The wine was almost intensely perfumed, shockingly so for a barolo so young. I must admit the appearance of wood through me for a loop. I'm not used to it on the Mascarello wine. I wonder if this is the first year she bought replacement barrels?

There was a little pickle under the flowery, cherry aroma. Palate was bright cherry, rosy and chestnut honey. Missing for me as far as classic notes was some licorice. And, I was confused by the tannins. There were wood tannins mixed in with the mostly rustic barolo tannins of old and I love so well.

Bottom line, this wine is in the market for under $90. Would I buy it if I could? Absolutely. I think that wine is going to be fascinatingly lovely in ten years, maybe even in seven. The wine is extremely powerful, complex, young and growing.

The other wines blind tasted:

2001 Clerico Ginestra. Weird and grossly unpleasant. Where's the grape? Very dark and brooding and showed lanolin of all things and lots of cookie dough.

2001 Paolo Scavino Carobric: There's a caramel coated something going on here with caraway seed and brussels sprout underneath some brown shoe polish. Tannins had been erased. I have no idea how someone made this out of nebbiolo.

2001 Fennocchio Villero
Hey, I liked it. Not 'important' but at $40 it was a cheerful barolo that definitely tasted and smelled like the grape (at this point, I'm easy. If it smells like barolo. I'm sold). Some tea, some grass, some luden cherry but nice barolo-ish suede tannin and a nice bitter finish.

The Story of the Two Dog in a Room Barolo

When I visited Maria Teresa Mascarello in Barolo last spring one of the questions I asked her was, �Who has been the most detrimental to the state of barolo, the Wine Spectator, Parker, Marco DeGrazia or wine consultants?

Maria Theresa getting me some tastes of the 2003

She laughed. She found this all amusing. �All of them go in the same direction of modern barolo. But all of them needed to learn from Luigi Veronelli," she said referring to the late, most prominent Italian wine critic.

�I do not like this American way of judging wine," she continued. "Veronelli connected the culture to the wine, he judged wine in its context.� Then she said, with a scorn-edge in her voice, �Do you know, Wine Spectator�s James Suckling said my 2001 wine smelled like a room with two dogs in it!�

What she didn�t know was that Suckling gave it an 84. Here's the review.

Very funky. Smells like a warm room with two wet dogs in it. Yet some of the funk blows off, giving it lovely plum and berry character. Medium-bodied, with a sweet fruit finish. Drink now. 1,570 cases made. �JS

That review is one of the more squirrelly I've ever seen. If I were Marvin I�d think about sending Suckling to the mailroom. Even if it did smell like two dogs at the beginning, he was sharp enough to note that it blew off and what remained didn't seem so 84-ish. What was it he didn't like, the wine's elegance? The wine changed. It was alive. How did he miss the wine's soul?

I don't like scores for wine. I find them meaningless, however when the rest of the world sees an 84 as negative, I usually think (especially from Parker or the WS) it might be an interesting wine. And so I needed to taste the wine for myself. Anyway, if there was a dog or two in that wine, in a young barolo I wouldn't find that a negative. After all, a Mascarello barolo is not a Super Tuscan, a wine Suckling, I believe, is more familiar with.

I mentioned my desire to friend Jeremy, who when he is not gigging with his faux French band (or helping out his wife with her Klezmerish band's gigs) works at Vino, the most excellent New York City Italian wine store. Some new world-ish wines squeak through on their shelves, mostly it's a non-spoofulated Italian wine shop.

Jeremy got right to it, set up a blind tasting and invited me to join them. In attendance were some of his co-workers and the erudite Charles Scicolone.

Four wines had been decanted for three hours. Out of the four, the Mascarello was the most pure. It was young and it was beautiful.

No hint of any dogs in a room. The wine was almost intensely perfumed, shockingly so for a barolo so young. I must admit the appearance of wood through me for a loop. I'm not used to it on the Mascarello wine. I wonder if this is the first year she bought replacement barrels?

There was a little pickle under the flowery, cherry aroma. Palate was bright cherry, rosy and chestnut honey. Missing for me as far as classic notes was some licorice. And, I was confused by the tannins. There were wood tannins mixed in with the mostly rustic barolo tannins of old and I love so well.

Bottom line, this wine is in the market for under $90. Would I buy it if I could? Absolutely. I think that wine is going to be fascinatingly lovely in ten years, maybe even in seven. The wine is extremely powerful, complex, young and growing.

The other wines blind tasted:

2001 Clerico Ginestra. Weird and grossly unpleasant. Where's the grape? Very dark and brooding and showed lanolin of all things and lots of cookie dough.

2001 Paolo Scavino Carobric: There's a caramel coated something going on here with caraway seed and brussels sprout underneath some brown shoe polish. Tannins had been erased. I have no idea how someone made this out of nebbiolo.

2001 Fennocchio Villero
Hey, I liked it. Not 'important' but at $40 it was a cheerful barolo that definitely tasted and smelled like the grape (at this point, I'm easy. If it smells like barolo. I'm sold). Some tea, some grass, some luden cherry but nice barolo-ish suede tannin and a nice bitter finish.

Eating Paris: The New Le Chateaubriand

Word of Chef Inaki Aizpitarte's new spot has reached all of Paris. I tried to get my editor at Conde Nast Traveler to assign me a review for the Hot Tables issue but she said it wasn't 'new' as they didn't change the name.

Well, she is so wrong because it is new.
Very new.

This Basque chef and his food is one of the target reservations in Paris these days. Old name. Old decor. New restaurant. So, it was shocking that on Thursday we were able to get a reservation for Saturday night.

My first view of the place was a promisingly huge, rustic wooden bowl of red and yellow striped tomatoes. The sight made me happy. What made me pissed was that when we (party of five) walked in, they feigned ignorance. But we persevered and we were seated instead of being given the boot.

We were shoehorned into a table and presented with the 39 euro, three-course menu (three choices exist in each category). In the middle of deciding, Jane Sigal of Food & Wine magazine breezed in to eat. After the shock and the hellos, we settled into our respective seats and menu deliberation.

The look inside of Le Chateaubriand

Most dishes were opulently seasoned and spiced with country fresh ingredients. Best of show was a Moroccan paddled and stuffed lamb...would love to take that recipe and apply it to an eggplant. The smoky, bacony, spaghetti carbonara was made with celeriac instead of pasta rates pluses on tastes (in my case, smell) and imagination. Pissaladiere (wow, something I could actually put into my mouth) was deconstructed, crunchy, spot on anchovy --whole instead of crunched up. The cod came riddled with baby grey insect-looking shrimp. The fromage was one perfect slice of morbier fermier. Wine list? Well, its is still natural but goes even more orthodox, mostly no sulphur stuff and no older vintages.

There was little I could eat, but a lot I could smell. I don't think I�ve been in a restaurant so unaccommodating to a non-meat, shellfish eater. Our waiter gave me a look of, oh-you-poor-thing, maybe you should go elsewhere. But never-the-less, had a great time, enjoyed the people watching, I think this is some of the more exciting food I�ve seen in Paris of late...but I miss the old place.

129, Avenue Parmentier. 01 43 57 45 95

Intense chocolate dessert with a red pepper puree

Eating Paris: The New Le Chateaubriand

Word of Chef Inaki Aizpitarte's new spot has reached all of Paris. I tried to get my editor at Conde Nast Traveler to assign me a review for the Hot Tables issue but she said it wasn't 'new' as they didn't change the name.

Well, she is so wrong because it is new.
Very new.

This Basque chef and his food is one of the target reservations in Paris these days. Old name. Old decor. New restaurant. So, it was shocking that on Thursday we were able to get a reservation for Saturday night.

My first view of the place was a promisingly huge, rustic wooden bowl of red and yellow striped tomatoes. The sight made me happy. What made me pissed was that when we (party of five) walked in, they feigned ignorance. But we persevered and we were seated instead of being given the boot.

We were shoehorned into a table and presented with the 39 euro, three-course menu (three choices exist in each category). In the middle of deciding, Jane Sigal of Food & Wine magazine breezed in to eat. After the shock and the hellos, we settled into our respective seats and menu deliberation.

The look inside of Le Chateaubriand

Most dishes were opulently seasoned and spiced with country fresh ingredients. Best of show was a Moroccan paddled and stuffed lamb...would love to take that recipe and apply it to an eggplant. The smoky, bacony, spaghetti carbonara was made with celeriac instead of pasta rates pluses on tastes (in my case, smell) and imagination. Pissaladiere (wow, something I could actually put into my mouth) was deconstructed, crunchy, spot on anchovy --whole instead of crunched up. The cod came riddled with baby grey insect-looking shrimp. The fromage was one perfect slice of morbier fermier. Wine list? Well, its is still natural but goes even more orthodox, mostly no sulphur stuff and no older vintages.

There was little I could eat, but a lot I could smell. I don't think I�ve been in a restaurant so unaccommodating to a non-meat, shellfish eater. Our waiter gave me a look of, oh-you-poor-thing, maybe you should go elsewhere. But never-the-less, had a great time, enjoyed the people watching, I think this is some of the more exciting food I�ve seen in Paris of late...but I miss the old place.

129, Avenue Parmentier. 01 43 57 45 95

Intense chocolate dessert with a red pepper puree

Is it Time for a Wine Skin?

These new security measures are devastating. There is no way to use my trusty trick of smuggling wine onto a plane in my water bottle. The alternative, drinking their wine (American Airlines selections are scary. I mean, I should spend $5 for a split of crap? I would spend triple that for something good) is enough to turn me to spirit---which I really don't warm to at high altitudes. But, at least industrial Johnny Walker is safe, so that's what I ended up with.

The night before my flight a friend told me that if I carried something on my person, in my pocket or strapped to my body, I could get away with sneaking some wine onto the flight.

I scanned my apartment. I had no appropriate vessel. What I needed was one of those wine skins the Spanish use to drink from at bullfights. I could have slung one (filled with gamay, what joy that would have been) inside of my blouse, as if I were packing a gun. I should have bought one in Rioja. But when I had the chance back in April--back in the good old days of the water bottle trick--the thought of drinking wine out of a tarred and tanned cow or sheepskin nauseated me.

Big mistake.

If you try it, and it works, get back to me?

(Dr.Vino did indeed write to me with an excellent suggestion. To check it out go to http://drvino.blogspot.com/2006/08/americas-greatest-security-threat.html)

Is it Time for a Wine Skin?

These new security measures are devastating. There is no way to use my trusty trick of smuggling wine onto a plane in my water bottle. The alternative, drinking their wine (American Airlines selections are scary. I mean, I should spend $5 for a split of crap? I would spend triple that for something good) is enough to turn me to spirit---which I really don't warm to at high altitudes. But, at least industrial Johnny Walker is safe, so that's what I ended up with.

The night before my flight a friend told me that if I carried something on my person, in my pocket or strapped to my body, I could get away with sneaking some wine onto the flight.

I scanned my apartment. I had no appropriate vessel. What I needed was one of those wine skins the Spanish use to drink from at bullfights. I could have slung one (filled with gamay, what joy that would have been) inside of my blouse, as if I were packing a gun. I should have bought one in Rioja. But when I had the chance back in April--back in the good old days of the water bottle trick--the thought of drinking wine out of a tarred and tanned cow or sheepskin nauseated me.

Big mistake.

If you try it, and it works, get back to me?

(Dr.Vino did indeed write to me with an excellent suggestion. To check it out go to http://drvino.blogspot.com/2006/08/americas-greatest-security-threat.html)