Lately the debate about natural has become contentious. Bashing vin nature has become something of a sport. You'd think that natural was the Morris (dance) of the wine world.
Take a recent article penned for an Australian magazine, written by a UK writer, named Stuart George. His framework was born in my kitchen. His wit turns on a dime, filled with piss and vinegar. After all, a palate assault can be incredible fodder for a good spin around the keyboard.
But like any good lampoon, (wait, is it?) this article would have been more powerful if it had reliable reportage instead of being eligible for the James Frey award. All joking aside, there were a few holes in the reality and authority. Okay, some facts were more important than others.
Such as, I never saw Goodfellas, I have no idea what he was talking about. (not important)
This was not a tasting but a dinner I cooked. (not important). On impulse I invited Stuart, who had been a complete stranger to me. But he was in town, was alone and free and three friends were coming over.
I greeted my guests with Cedric Bouchard Inflorescence Blanc de Noirs "La Parcelle" 
After that Stuart reports I served up about a dozen wines. He hated four of them so much it might have been a dozen, but in reality there were five (5). (Actually, quasi-important.) And they were........
+Mendall YES (Macabeu. Our guest hated this, poison, we loved it. Hard core natural. Skin contact. Freshness with nut and peach. Flor)
The priestess’s and the congregation’s wines were invariably oxidised and had acidity like a banshee’s wail, more suggestive of unripe grapes than cool climate viticulture. Natural as they were, I took no pleasure in drinking them. I like freshness and balance, not decay and a kick in the face. I think of these wines as I do of Vegemite and Aussie Rules – I like the idea more than the reality.