New Iberian Invasion

Two weeks back, the San Francisco Chronicle Wine section had a cover piece on the rise and fall and rise again of the Cal-Ital segment of the wine market, the problematic attempt over the past two decades to establish California wines made from Italian grape varieties as a measurable, stable wine category. Some tasty wines have been made along the way, but the category, as a category, has floundered. Cal-Ital-ism was launched with much fanfare, many big international names (starting alphabetically with Antinori), and lots of Napa vineyard pedigrees. But the resulting wines were uneven in quality, often grown in the wrong places, weighted toward the thin and over-oaked, and way, way over-priced for a segment of wines with no track record or brand identity.

So let’s hope the growing numbers of folks across the country working with Iberian-native grapes don’t go down the same path.

This work-in-progress was on display at Copia in Napa this past Friday and Saturday, a sot of coming out party for TAPAS—the Tempranillo Advocates, Producers, and Amigos Society, devoted to the promotion of Iberian wine grapes (not just Tempranillo) in North America. The organization is three years old, but their public debut—wisely—was held off until they had a critical mass of producers who had figured these grapes out.

The Friday afternoon program started with a press/trade seminar that featured a fascinating stab at the history of Iberian grapes in the US by Earl Jones, owner of Abacela Vineyards in southern Oregon’s Umpqua Valley, one of the flagship TAPAS producers. Between the various dates and milestones, Jones speculated a bit about why in the world the Spanish, who already had several world-class grapes in their vineyards, only exported the miserable Mission / criollo variety to the New World—like MIT only sending their basketball team out into the world, not their scientists. (Theory: Spain wanted the New Worlders to buy homeland wine, not grow their own.)

The tasting that followed the seminar was a great cross-section of current domestic producers from several states, nearly 40 wineries and vineyards, each with two or three wines. There were plenty of Tempranillo to be sure, but also lots of Touriga Nacional, Albariño, Garnacha, Verdelho, and some “Port” made from the real deal Portuguese varieties.

I find big warehouse tasting like this mostly useful for gauging categories of wine and not so hot for evaluating individual bottles—it’s hard to pay attention with all the chatter and flying elbows and such. I did have a chance to re-visit some old favorites, Abacela and Bokisch Vineyards from Lodi and Verdad Wine Cellars from Santa Barbara among them, and they confirmed my impression that they’re ahead of the curve. Lodi Grower Ron Silva’s Alta Mesa Verdelho was my favorite white, and Rick Longoria’s Tempranillo from Santa Barbara was probably the best surprise. But my main conclusions from the day were generalizations:

1) y and large, all these wines, whites and reds, were quite drinkable, no off flavors. nothing too eccentric;

2) even better, nothing on the floor was marked by nouveau California excesses—monster alcohol, cloying oak, inkiness tot he max;

3) and on the other hand, nothing I tasted was mind-altering, req1uiting an immediate case purchase.

None of this was surprising. The winemakers are still learning these grapes; most of the vines are young enough to violate child labor laws; some of them, at least, are planted in the wrong places. It took Spain and Portugal a couple millennia to get it right; why would we expect the US to get it right in a decade? Making cult-level Cabernet only requires following a well-worn recipe; these grapes take some work.

This overall assessment of “pretty good wines” leads to one more generalization. Roughly half the reds were priced in the $20 range, roughly half in the $40 range. For Blind Muscat’s palate, the quality differences weren’t obvious. Small producers can afford to charge ultra-premium prices for wines they sell through their tasting rooms and wine club. But—back to the tortuous history of Cal-Ital wines—introducing this category to the public at $20 seems to make a lot more sense than trying to position it at $40—in a recession. Especially when there are some tremendous wines from actual Iberia, Spain and Portugal both, on shelves in the $15-$20 range.

Careful, amigos.

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[Lynn~in-Sac]

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