With Christmas gift certificates in hand we decided to drink like the other half (or at least the one-percenters) for, you know, as long as the gift certificates held out.
They held out for two bottles.
Thank you Government of BC.
For starters we drank what Decanter called the Canadian red wine of the year and adorned it 95 points; Gismondi, 93, similarly lauded it, among the other usual suspects. If you want to read about the hoopla surf over to the PR site here.
Here’s our review (or lack thereof): Is spending double on a bottle of wine a better experience, by half, than drinking two (decent) bottles at half the price? If you are one of the seven people who regularly surf to this site (our stats show us firmly in the single digits, but loyally so, and I would like to thank the steady seven), then you know what I’m going to say next: No. Wine reviewing is something of a racket. To borrow from Fran Lebowitz, they show a Picasso in an auction house to silence, sell it for 160 million, the gavel comes down and they applaud, they applaud the price. Does anyone care about the art?
The Painted Rock is widely available, in BC Liquor, private stores, the vineyard. At the price point in the middle of a global pandemic what can you expect?
For even more coin you can choose from the organically farmed and never disappointing Rhone. Here’s the funny thing about the Donjon: It’s the right year. Gismondi wrote recently about his quirk towards the vintage, not just the wine. This might be the most engaging aspect of drinking wine, long term, how much a single vineyard can vary year to year and the nuance and delectability of monitoring the change. So I would say we are more or less on the same page as AG. Here’s the catch, and I wonder how frustrating it is for AG: In BC, the government liquor stores are usually a year behind. A top review comes out at the Advocate or Spectator and next you know that vintage sells out. BC Liquor skips a year. It may be the single most frustrating aspect of buying wine in BC. Let’s say the 2017 gets a top review, 2016 can be found in stores, we don’t get 2017 and go straight to 2018. But, as I say, the Donjon is the right year—or, to put it more simply, the 2017 is the bottle Jeb Dunnick gave 95 points to.
Both wines are good to glorious. Both wines are hugely satisfying (in our minds, the Châteauneuf-du-Pape slightly ahead). Both wines are outside our budget.
Price: The Painted Rock with tax comes in around $60 while the Donjon with tax just under $70 but since both were covered (mostly) as a gift, so it’s mostly a gratis posh nosh.
Market Liquidity: Silver Charm over Captain Bodgit, by a head. (Translation: Two thoroughbreds.)
From the cellar: You can’t easily find Au Bon Climat in Vancouver anymore. There is an occasional bottle down at Marquis (they have an alternative Pinot in stock right now retailing for nearly $80). We scored this duty free Pinot Noir in Hong Kong a few years back, before Covid-19, before the democracy protests. And then I guess we forgot about it. Did someone say Pinot WOW? Seventh heaven: I felt like those swimming, floating, bobbing Bond dancers in the title sequence of Thunderball: This wine defies gravity.
Just goddamn deliciousness in a bottle. The gobs of fruit, some pungent woodsy spice, and balanced to within a tenth of a mm. We had nothing but Jack Handy Deep Thoughts; sipped like satin, paired with food like Astaire and Rogers, disappeared in a flash.
Price: $25 USD three years ago.
Market Liquidity: Is it sacrilegious to call it sacramental?
From the cellar: Hands down the best wine we drank in 2020. Wow. Words simply aren’t necessary.
As a tradition, we open a bottle of Vouvray sometime in December, celebratory style. Usually it’s a demi-sec, and more often than not it’s Huet. The Wine Advocate gave this 2015 a comfortable 93 points, and in some semi-effectual way tried to describe its fruit aromas and subtle herbal aromas. Unfortunately, their prose couldn’t match the majesty. This was eloquence, diplomacy, mysterious, a John Le Carre, may he rest in peace. The WA did write “”a very long and grippy, tension-filled finish” to which I would echo and say it’s Escher-esque.
Chenin Blanc is perhaps the most mysterious (or unpredictable?) of white grapes; it can be coarse and edgy, it can be cloyingly sweet, but it can also age into a deliriously good state. Witness this spectacular vintage. I wish we had more. I wish we had more laying down. But be grateful for small mercies I suppose.
Price: In October 2017, $48 from Marquis, and so less than a bottle of Culmina’s Hypothesis. Cin cin.
Market Liquidity: The weft and warp of the finest silk in a bottled beverage.
Last weekend of October we went to the Okanagan for a wine weekend. It was archetypally fall; cool, crisp, sunny, quiet. Trees had turned, apples were being harvested in the orchards, and the BC Lieutenant Governor’s wine awards had just been released—the vineyards were well stocked with award winners. We ate good food, we drank good wine, there should have been a million November wine posts. There was one, unrelated post. So, here’s a short, er, wordy summary from October.
Above clockwise: Lunch at Poplar Grove, two views from the Naramata Inn, the view from Poplar Grove, Blue Moon on Halloween, 2020, and dinner at the Naramata Inn.
In this post:
Hillside Cabernet Franc, 2017, LG Bronze winner!
Van Westen Viscous, 2019, LG Bronze winner!
Hillside Syrah, 2017, LG Bronze winner!
Therapy Chardonnay, 2018, LG Platinum winner!
Ruby Blues Peace Love & Bubbles, not an LG winner!
Hillside Estate Old Vines Gamay Noir, 2008 (2008! look at us!)
Where to start? Something real, like the size of the Okanagan. It’s a small area (relative to, say, Italy or Spain or the colossus of the US, when it comes to vineyards in production). That means that there will be less good wine than a bigger region, it’s just math, and that good wine will command a premium, and it does, and that good wine will be in short supply, and it is.
When you hit upon some wine you like, on your tasting tours, you are likely to be reminded that the bottle you’re tasting is a “wine club member” bottling only. OK, fair enough. But how many wine clubs can a person join? BC Okanagan wine clubs demand a kind of brand loyalty. What happens if you end up with Sunderland or Watford or Ipswich? I’ll take my chances with Australia and Chile and France.
Let’s go on to something less real, like the BC Lieutenant Governor awards, or LGs. The judges, heaps and heaps of judges, pile into a hotel, then drink hundred of wines in a sitting. Sip after sip after sip after sip. A gazillion Pinot Noirs and Chardonnays and maybe some Cabernet Franc and whatnot. Word was that the hotel staff couldn’t keep up with clean glasses. And then after all that intensive volume sipping they select winners, but not first, second and third, oh no, there is platinum, gold, silver and bronze. Do four wines win? Shurely you jest?
Now, wait for it, there are a lot of winners to take home a prize; it could be junior soccer bootcamp the number of winners. 236 bronze winners alone. Jeepers, what didn’t make the cut? 119 silver. You get the picture. The LG wine awards are a way to highlight the industry and get people to buy more wine; they are like when real estate agents host a banquet and realtors get awarded medallions and then advertise as medallion winners. The intent might be sincere (or in fact pure commerce) but the outcome is somewhere between exaggeration and Alec Baldwin’s Donald Trump.
So there we were, able to taste a number of these winners. But back to back, repeatedly, award winners at a vineyard were not always as good as an alternative, at the same vineyard. Which is another weird thing about the LG awards, the vineyards don’t list what they submit, what they don’t.
We stayed at arguably the nicest accommodation in in the south Okanagan, the Naramata Inn (pictured above), which is rustic, and a tad simple, and could use a once over in the bathrooms, and doesn’t have any pool or gym or spa, and even a large room doesn’t have a chair, but it’s beautifully situated and has a sensational restaurant. Just as a comparison, there is nowhere to stay like we stayed in Western Australia or the South African garden route or ate and drank in Burgundy. There is nowhere comparable to Healdsburg in California or the Loire. The Okanagan is lovely, Naramata is quaint and sleepily picturesque, but loathe as I am to say it, a touch of gentrification for visitors would go a long, long ways.
Here’s an unexpected surprise: Ruby Blues sparkling. It’s nowhere near the better bubbles available across the Okanagan, but it’s lively and fun, it’s not too dear. Plus it comes in brunch-ready half bottles. When we were tasting a woman walked in and bought a case. I can think of no better way to Zoom socialize Covid-style and share the love around. It’s Goldie Hawn on Laugh-in, half naked and adorable and with zero pretense.
Start to finish Hillside wowed (which was a little weird given that what’s available “OTC” if you will, in Vancouver, is rarely their best). First, their restaurant was just plain satisfying, deeply satisfying, from the bread to the olives to the archived treasures you can purchase on the way out (but be cautious: wines you buy after dinner end up on the restaurant tab and will incur your tip). We drank an absolutely drop dead 12 year old Gamay Noir at dinner and went home with two very appealing, food friendly reds, a Syrah and a Cab Franc, the former spicy with an acidic nip, the latter, with air, a decent mellow barnyard funk. The tasting room is a tad robotic, but very well set up and decently diverse.
Over at Van Westen, at 11 a.m. in the morning, their tasting room gave us pours of such generous proportion I was an inch away from a siesta. I liked, but didn’t love their reds, but the whites were lively, nuanced and felt lovingly crafted. There are silly names (the V for viscous is a Riesling), and the rustic-ness of it all might not be every wino’s cup of tea (witness the moose head above the bar; remember when Moe opened up a family restaurant and Marg walks in and sees a moose head with sunglasses and proclaims “A moose wearing sunglasses. Now I’ve seen everything.” Well, it’s a bit like that), but there was nothing shabby chic about the wines.
The outrageously spectacular Poplar Grove restaurant, cliffside, it’s like climbing Mt. Rushmore in North by Northwest. Zsa Zsa would have adored the view. The food was good, the tasting corporate, and the wine a tad ho-hum, comparatively. It was the only vineyard we passed on a take away purchase.
Therapy stunned us with their Chardonnay, but even here I’m not going to say it was an award winner better than so many other wonderful Okanagan Chardonnays. Even the base model Meyer is good, the Blue Mountain lovely, the Burrowing Owl reliable, and of course Ridge Vineyards Santa Cruz Chardonnay, now we’re talking platinum.
So there you have it. A lot of good wine, some very good food, great weather, friendly people. Then we came back to Vancouver and spent less money on older Rioja and more refined whites.
15.6 percent alcohol. I repeat, 15.6%. That is, quite frankly, an assault. I lay harassment charges.
Decanter called this “intensely concentrated” and impressive for a Villages. So, yes, it is that and then some. It is deeply, deeply concentrated. It looks twice as dark as Ribena and has the weight of, I don’t know, somewhere between platinum and plutonium. Organic, so there’s that.
Is it good? Deliriously good. Sip after sip after sip. But so is a decent Macallan, if it’s a matter of sipping, of nursing. Not particularly food friendly; a gulp or two and you’ll need a lie down. Smokers beware: Light a match and it could combust.
While I’m being lighthearted I’m also half serious: There has to be a civilized ceiling to alcohol content. There’s a standard for everything else in France…
Price: $33 at Marquis but for a half case lot with a discount an extremely reasonable $29.
Market Liquidity: “…happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now…”
So here’s an upbeat Coonawarra Cab Sauv. All that slang for stimulants — black mollies, black beauty, bling bling, blue devil — that’s going to hit you first.
And, first sip this is a wow, wow, wow. A high point pointster wowza. But you know what? On the last sip, it’s good, not wow, just good. And I wonder if the pointsters drank a comparative sip or nursed a bottle over the course of an evening? Because there’s a significant difference between professional tasters and people who drink wine: People who drink wine don’t buy wine to have a taste. They buy wine to drink it.
All right, so there you go, this is a huge points winner, many plaudits, it’s got balance and then some, it could be Simone Bile’s Olympic Beam master class. And it oozes plum, red, juicy, sloppy, overripe plum. It’s a delicacy on the approach but something about it ends up too much, too rich, and like a slice of layer cake that’s got the proportion of icing to cake in excess, this wine ultimately satisfies but misses; it’s a bronze, not a gold.
Price: $40 something, but rare in Vancouver; the base model “Musician” however, a much less interesting red, is on the corner at every liquor outlet.
Market Liquidity: It will impress, but even Pacino in Scarface was, you know, over the top.
From the cellar: A perpetual critic’s pick, Gismondi basically gives it a pass, year after year. It is a typical Okanagan potent potable, with heft and then some. And although I’ve only drunk less than five bottles, since discovering Culmina, it’s never left a huge impression.
It certainly lacks the wow factor of, say, Ridge or Caymus. It doesn’t have the huge appeal you’d expect at the price point and being a BC flagship red blend, being the Culmina flagship red blend. But it’s good. $50 good? You tell me.
How we came across this 2012 I don’t know; perhaps a gift, maybe a purchase at the vineyard. We do have another lying down, part of their mixed six pack reds they offered this summer. But the 2012, at eight years, did not leave anyone at table champing at the bit for more. Which is a shame, this should be a celebratory bottle.
Price: Lost our record, but close to $50 I would imagine.
Market Liquidity: Not every Mercedes is a gullwing 300 SL; in other words, buyer beware the lure of luxury.
From our most recent mixed case, we busted out a bottle of the PN as a tester. OOF, what a punchy pop; no pointster is going to review this as “tight”. Super pronounced, sharp and peppery on the first sip, gobs of nuanced berry, cedar shavings and a soft, long, long finish. It was satisfaction at first sip.
Of note, though, is we decanted, and with air some of that punch was diminished, not in a good way. Which, I should point out, did not take away from our overall enjoyment, it was just surprising how some of the bulk and body of the bottle seemed to evaporate in pretty quick order.
A whack of stone fruit, notably apple and pear, with an apple cider acidity that rounds out the syrupy weight. Delightfully light and weighty all at once; heaps more likable than the Salish Sea, which we dissed a few weeks back…
Sea Star generally grows the right grapes in the right region and makes wines that are complementary to so much west coast cuisine, most commonly low in alcohol, and inherently social. But they can miss, as well. For a light lunch, an afternoon aperitif, or just to pair with a nibble of cheese, the Ortega fits the bill.
Price: $24.27 at the Saturna General Store.
Market Liquidity: Easy on the palate and the pocketbook.
There is something breezy and uplifting about cru Beaujolais; it’s like a day drinking red with heaps more character than a stale rosé. It can be romantic, perky, festive and just plain appealing. But as much as that fresh and forward fruit shines in most CB, the Moulin-à-Vent has a leg up. Perched in the north, its bottlings often fit for the cellar, you almost always pay more. But, what really makes MàV special is that it does age. Sometimes magnificently.
I’m not adept enough to discern the pronounced differences in the 12 cru, but even a novice can intuit the subtle variations due to geography and the reactions they elicit. If, say, Morgon is Beethoven and, I don’t know, Fleurie is Mozart, then MàV is Bach.
The nose on this is electric, holy even, like when on a hot summer day in Florence you wander into the cool of a cathedral, the frankincense, the wooden pews, the cool stone. And yes, the organ plays a structured fugue. The actual wine is more reserved than fragrant; gobs of raspberry, refined and structured, but weirdly not joyful, like what cru B should be, what you expect. Dirge-y in fact. And with a long, flat finish on the palate as if the organ pedal led to a long low pitch, unappealing to the ear. Still, we finished off the bottle in no time.
Price: Well it’s too dear for our pockets, but it was reduced from $57 to $50 at BC Liquor and we ended up with a bottle fortuitously.
Market Liquidity: Glenn Gould called Bach’s Italian Concerto “Bach for people who don’t like Bach.” That was sort of our reaction here; cru Beaujolais for those who don’t like CB.
