Part 1 - Homegrown: towards a new definition

Recently, I began to ask myself on what grounds I tended to extol the merits of California wines that bear the statement “grown, produced, and bottled by” over those that are labeled “produced and bottled,” or simply “vinted by”? Nowadays there are so few wines made from estate-grown fruit that it’s a bit like finding a four-leaf clover—but is my admiration for grapes grown, juiced, and fermented by the same individuals justified? With the number of small West Coast estates dwindling and yet no shortage of good wine, has my notion of the winemaker who sees the process through from vine to bottle been a bit clouded by a wine education steeped in an antiquated European tradition?

These questions have consumed me of late and the reflections that have resulted from this conundrum will be delivered as a soliloquy in two parts.

Admittedly, as an American, I am so awed by the lengthy histories of, well, most anything, that I find myself perhaps overly impressed by the age-old practices of the venerable wine estates of Europe. There is something noble about the winemaking families who have dedicated not one lifespan but those of many generations to the science and art of producing wine.

Wine lovers have garnered the image of the passionate vigneron into an almost spiritual figure, one who translates the mysteries of the soil into wine. In point of fact, the French word vigneron means vine grower, not winemaker, although the word is applied to those who make wine. This illustrates the extreme importance that the land, or terroir, has long been thought to have on the final outcome of a wine.

Vineyards vary considerably, depending on soil type, sun exposure, altitude, and whether the vines are planted on hillside plots or valley flats. This variation is thought to be largely responsible for the difference between Grand Crus or mere Vin de Pays—everyday table wines. In the European tradition, dedication to the vineyard is of the utmost importance and directs all human endeavors in the wine cellar. Seeing the process through from vineyard to barrel allows the winemaker to assert his influence even on the smallest detail. The vigneron is a neutral yet sympathetic agent whose job it is to express the individuality of the vineyard.

The winemaker places the nature of the wine above his own ego, coaxing forth a wine that is true to its origin—in every sense a product of place and culture. Indeed, even in more recently established wine regions, it is universally accepted that “the wine is made in the vineyard.” An exceptional wine bares the unique handprint of the vineyard.

So important is the character of the vineyard to Riesling producer Nik Weis, a third-generation winemaker at his family’s winery, St Urbans-Hof, in the Mosel region of Germany, that he dedicates a segment on his Web site (urbans-hof.de) to “winemaking philosophy”:

The highest quality wines are a result of hard work over the entire year. Intensive soil cultivation, precise shoot positioning, leaf thinning, crop reduction, selective hand-picking and late harvesting are all fundamental steps which must be taken in order to ensure that the wine reflects the character of the land on which it is grown.

On the other hand, considering the technological improvements that have largely standardized both the handling of vines and winemaking, the relevancy of estate-grown fruit seems to have grown inconsequential to the quality of the final product. Perhaps the individualistic wine producer, bundled up for a day of pruning back winter vines, is a quaint notion that is no longer relevant to the marketplace. After all, how many of us think deeply about who grew the grapes as long as the wine is pleasing to our palate? (Okay, I do.)

Several years ago, Nik Weiss came to Buffalo to talk about and offer a taste of his mouthwatering line of Riesling. While enjoying the scintillating purity of his wines, we discussed some of the strict regulations governing quality wine in Germany.

If a producer is a member of the grower’s association Verband Deutscher Prädikatsweingüter (quality wine estates) or VDP, then they must use approved grape varieties 100 percent harvested from their own vineyards. In addition, the vineyard sites themselves must be approved as top growing areas by the VDP. When shopping for German Riesling, you will find the VDP symbol, an eagle with a breast of grapes, on the cap of the bottle.

The VDP member must practice environmentally sound viticultural methods, harvest grapes at maximum ripeness levels, and keep the crop level at low yields to insure the highest quality of fruit. Although membership in the prestigious VDP is voluntary, the regulations it enforces closely resemble non-voluntary governing bodies in France, Italy, and Spain (respectively, AC, DOC, and DC).

Sadly, the historically revered task of the vigneron of shepherding the grape from vine to bottle is either already considered passé or at the very least in crisis in many parts of the world. Economic difficulties confronting small wine producers threaten to extinguish the centuries-old tie between winemaker and vineyard. Even in France, where wine continues to symbolize much more than an alcoholic beverage, intricately entwined as it is with the whole of French cultural identity, the wine industry is on wobbly legs.

Wine consumption per capita is steadily declining in France, with supply far exceeding demand. Compounding the weak market are France’s younger drinkers, who prefer pale ale to Pouilly-Fumé. The government’s solution to the wine glut attacks the problem at its root by subsidizing producers to raze their vineyards. Even with such drastic measures, the EU distills millions of hectoliters of wine into ethanol each year. With the exception of collectables, such as the top Bordeaux and Burgundies, French wine sales are in a serious slump, forcing many small family vintners out of business.

Viewed in the formidable, if slightly yellowed, light of European history, California’s 230-some-years-old wine industry would appear to be a relative infant. Compare with the statistics that can be boasted of by St. Urbans-Hof:

St. Urbans-Hof employs traditional methods of wine growing and winemaking which have been used in the Mosel and Saar Valleys for centuries, some of which date back to the Romans. For example, the vines are grown on the traditional single-post “heart-binding” trellis system, whereby the canes are tied in the shape of a heart.

While the VDP aims to promote certain wine regions via the quality wines of its members, the American Viticultural Area (AVA), set up in 1983 by the federal government, sets the bar at a more rudimentary level, primarily seeking to define geographical boundaries of wine regions across the United States. The only requirement for the use of an AVA is that 85 percent of the grapes must come from the area specified on the wine label or 75 percent if the wine is a varietal (a wine made from a specific grape variety).

This does not say much for the importance of place when 25 percent of the grapes in a Napa Valley Cabernet could come from Monterey or some other county. This practice would never fly in an Italian DOC, where 100 percent of the grapes must come from the area stated on the label. (Unless, of course, you are a certain Tuscan producer, i.e. Frescobaldi, who is fighting fraud charges for using grapes from Puglia in their estate wines.)

In Homegrown Part II, I will continue my musings on the relationship between the winemaker and the fruit of his trade. The challenges confronting California’s wine industry have produced a new wave of nomadic winemakers that are attempting to beat the corporate system while making some of the most sought-after wines in the market. Perhaps the globalization of wine necessitates that we shift our perceptions on the relevance of place, but then are we in danger of losing the individual character and variety of taste?