A few dozen words about cork taint. The nemesis of wine lovers everywhere. A ubiquitous yet sometimes hard-to-identify flaw that occurs all to often in our most beloved bottles and that is usually -- but not always -- caused by that infernal stopper that we've invested so much (time, money, effort and muscle) in getting out: to wit, the cork.

Most wine geeks now know all too well that cork taint, a/k/a corkedness, a/k/a TCA, a/k/a 2-4-6 trichloranisole, a chemical compound that originates in materials used to clean and sterilize corks and other wood products commonly found in wineries, ruins far too many of our favorite wines. Most of us also know that it manifests as a smell and/or taste of damp cardboard or paper or wet cement, a moldy basement sort of aroma, completely unappetizing, that generally strips the wine of its flavor components and renders it vitually tasteless or worse. And many of us also know that sensitive tasters can detect the taint's presence in as few as three or four parts per trillion, sometimes less, which goes to show how powerful this compound is. As I'm overly sensitive to chlorine in all of its manifestations, I appear to be one of the 'lucky' few who can detect TCA in ultra-minute quantities, which translates as many ruined bottles.

And as tonight was one of those 'lucky' nights when we opened an old, special bottle that was just tainted enough to allow of some doubt, I thought I'd share a few things that aren't always mentioned in discussions of TCA. One of those things is that it's exaccerbated by exposure to air. So even a bottle that seems almost ok when you take your first sip will become less and less attractive with each pour and, with any time at all in the glass, will deteriorate as it sits. A strange phenomenon I've experienced with many corked wines is that upon removal of the cork, there's an immediate impression of a fabulously concentrated nose, often redolent of chocolate and lush fruit, that lasts about ten seconds and then disappears. It's almost as if the flavors that the taint has extracted from the wine are hovering under the cork and flee as it's removed. At any rate, this only adds to the frustration to come.

All too often, we're tempted to resist the notion that a precious bottle is tainted, so in spite of the warning signs, we pour it and start to drink it anyway. And sometimes, the alarm was false and everything turns out fine. When it doesn't, there are other signs to watch for. For me and several other people I know, TCA manifests itself as a tingling sensation on the tongue. And this is an element of cork taint that I don't think is given enough exposure. The tingling sensation is evidence of a very real effect that TCA has on the taste buds. Because not only does it strip the wine itself of its flavor and complexity, it also tends to temporarily deaden the palate when consumed, which means that anything you eat after sipping the wine is likely to appear relatively tasteless as well. We had a delicious ostrich tenderloin for dinner tonight, but it tasted bland and dull. It wasn't until we had dumped the bad wine, thoroughly washed our glasses, poured something else and consumed a bit of the clean wine that we were able to appreciate the dinner. And that's another important thing to remember. TCA contaminates at such minute levels that it will taint any wine that you subsequently pour into the same glass unless you wash it very well after the dump. A quick rinse won't do the trick, and if you use a towel to dry a glass that's still contaminated, you may well transfer a bit of the taint to the towel and thus back to other glasses that you dry with it. Sounds crazy, I know. But it's not.

So pay attention to those warning signs, and remember that they may not always be apparent at the first pour. Subjectively, I find that drinking corked wine (out of sheer denial, usually, until I can't deny it any more) tends to give me a headache, but that could be purely the power of suggestion. The good news is that many (although not all) wine merchants will take back corked bottles, especially if they know you and have faith that you're not just bringing it back because you didn't like it. So as soon as you suspect a problem, it's a good idea to stopper the bottle and open something else. Try a little sip again the next day. If it's ok, it was likely just some stuff that needed to blow off. If it's even worse, stopper it back up and take it back.

Finally, while I've become a big fan of screw caps due to being, er, screwed by far too many corked wines, I realize that it's not a perfect solution. Stelvin closures appear to be pretty good, but they have yet to be tested over the really long term. More important, there are sources of cork taint in wineries that are unrelated to the cork. Several wineries in recent years have had to virtually recall entire vintages due to the discovery of TCA in their bottling facilities, usually generated through chlorine cleaning compounds interacting with wooden structures at the winery. The good news there is that (if you follow wine news) you're more likely to hear about it before you go to drink the bottle (if the bottle even makes it to market), and in those instances there should be no problem with returns. The bad news is that, even with a screw cap, the threat isn't totally eliminated.

Yeah, that was more than a few dozen words. So sue me.

Oh, my! Now I'm ordinarily an instant gratification sort of person. But the thing is, I don't much care for headaches or hangovers and young tannic red wines tend to give me both. Which is why I generally just stick (red) stuff in the cellar for a decade or so before even trying it. And so it was when I came across a few bottles of 1994 La Jota Howell Mountain Cabernet Franc several years ago. I stuck it in a rack and forgot about it. Until tonight.

Tonight we were having a grilled eland chop for dinner (eland is an African antilope and if you want to know more about it, just plug it into your search engine or, ok, here's a link). Anyway, I was looking for something that was dramatic but soft enough to go with this very elegant meat. And for some reason I thought of a Chinon or a Bourgeuil from the Loire Valley. Unfortunately, I'm fresh out of those (big mistake) but there was the La Jota sitting quietly in its rack, waiting. Why not?

I don't pretend to know a lot about Cab Franc. I just don't get many opportunities to drink it in its pure state. I understand it's supposed to have violets on the nose. Well, violets on the nose is one of my favorite things and this didn't have it, at least not at first, but what it did have was a wonderful seductive nose and palate that suggested exotic forests and nuts and berries and earth. And in the background, yes, forest flowers. It was a great match for the eland, bringing out the most primitive yet positive of its gamey notes and hinting at highlights of the diet the animal might have consumed. For a vegetarian, that probably sounds pretty gross. For a game meat lover, it's kind of the essence of what we seek in a meal.

This wine was just delightful if you like them a bit earthy. It had a huge, rich but subtle mouthfeel and, surprisingly, it threw almost no sediment and was delicious down to the last drop. And, yes, toward the bottom I did start to think of violets. I don't have a lot of these and I frankly don't know which direction they're headed in right now, but I doubt I've got the willpower to resist my last few bottles very long.

So this blog has a new look. Hey, there are still some kinks to get out, but it's way overdue.

As long as I'm here, I might as well mention that we popped a 1995 Sauselito Canyon Zinfandel with a few braised beef short ribs tonight. This is a wine that I went nuts over when I tasted it on release at the Talley Vineyards tasting room, but the case I ordered when I got home never quite hit the mark. I've got one left. Not bad but nothing special. And I doubt that there's anyone else on the planet that still has any sitting around.

So get this. Last night I find a bottle of 1990 Chateau Souverain Zinfandel in the rack. That's got to be bad, I think. Why ever did I hang on to it so long? No way will it be drinkable. Right?

Wrong. While I won't say it was the best bottle of zin I've ever had, it had an amazing amount of fairly fresh fruit and was still an incredibly vibrant shade of red for a sixteen year old $5.99 wine that's, you know, not supposed to age. Pretty darn good.

Worth coming out of retirement to mention. Oh, and there's still a 1990 Ridge Howell Mountain sitting in the same bin. I'll get back to you on that one.

So much for promises...

Anyway, to pick up where I left off, who was it again that said Zins don't age? We were back to 1991 Lytton Springs last night, this time the Ridge label. I didn't take notes. I was just too busy enjoying. This one was still big and ripe with plenty of that deliciously mellow dark fruit that really good old Zins get, but plenty of backbone that just begged to accompany something hot off the grill. Not a bitter note in the bottle.

Will the wines they're making these days will get this way. Will I live long enough to find out? Stay tuned (if you still are).

1991 Lytton Lytton (Lytton Spings black label) Zinfandel. Wow! This wine hasn't exactly been stored in pristine conditions, but I'm not sure it was ready yet. Oh well. It's gone now. Packed full of black raspberry fruit and spice, still plenty of tannins left, not to mention lovely racy acidity. It was a powerful match for a grilled wagyu skirt steak dusted with pimentón dulce.

(Yes, I know I've neglected this blog badly. I'll try to do better.)

I have nightmares like this.

Expensive Wine Sold for Cheap

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

In a tale sure to break the hearts of oenophiles everywhere, thieves stole an expensive wine collection and sold some bottles to a convenience store for $300 and cigarettes, the San Francisco Examiner reports.

San Francisco police say convicted drug dealer Sterling Gerard, 36, and one or more accomplices broke into attorney Adam Belsky's house while it was being renovated this past August.

Cops say Gerard happened upon the basement wine cellar, propped open its door with a bottle and walked out with 250 other bottles -- mostly top Italian and French vintages -- worth a total of $20,000.

Police found Gerard's fingerprint on the bottle left behind and charged him with burglary late last month.

At a nearby deli, cops discovered 52 of Belsky's bottles nestled among the chocolate bars.

The store owner said he'd given $300 in cash and a few cartons of cigarettes for the bottles to a man other than Gerard, who told him it was his recently deceased mother's collection.

Unfortunately, several of the recovered bottles may have been ruined by improper storage in the deli. Still missing are the other 198 bottles.

"These guys were idiots," Belsky told the newspaper. "It's devastating and frustrating because they didn't know what they were taking, but it meant a lot to me."

Belsky's insurance will cover the monetary damages. He's trying to come to grips with the sentimental loss.

Gone for good may be the $500 bottle of 2000 Chateau Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux that he'd bought at his son's birth. He'd planned to open it on the boy's 21st birthday.

Also probably lost is a $100 bottle of 1997 Altesino Brunello Montalcino Di Montosoli that Belsky and his wife bought in Italy.

The SFPD couldn't prove the store owner knew he was buying stolen property, but the state Department of Alcohol Beverage Control may slap him with buying wine from an unlicensed seller.

Oy! It's changed again. I actually do have a whole bunch of new stuff to post on, but I'm just dropping in right now to say that I'm still tasting, please stay tuned, and also to see if I still know how to work this thing 'cause I heard that they screwed with it yet again. Okay, I'll be back shortly....

Have I mentioned that Ruffino has released a Grappa of its Chianti Classico Riserva Ducale Oro? No? Ooops. Well, finding decent Grappa in my neck of the woods is pretty tough. I was never a Grappa fan, in fact I was quite the opposite until I tried a few of them over in Italy and realized that the tough, astringent, cleaning fluid taste-a-likes I'd had here weren't even poor excuses for the real thing. Since then, I've made it a point to search out anything approximating that thing. The Ruffino, which I found, amazingly enough, in the Pennsylvania State Store, is definitely in the right ballpark. Of course, it's no longer available on the shelves and the special order stock will probably be gone soon. Thankfully, no one reads this blog, so we may have one more shot. We're plowing through our last 6 (375 ml) bottles pretty fast.

Oh, and, in the revised assessment category, BTW, back in February, it seems I said of the 1998 Calera Chardonnay that it was "way short of showing its best stuff yet." That comment was based in large part upon my past experience with other vintages of this wine but was, unfortunately, wrong. The '98 is already showing serious signs of decay. That's a huge bummer, although the good news is that the wine was so good young that I have very little left. I hope this is a foible of the vintage and doesn't reflect a change in Calera's winemaking style, which has always, in the past, produced delicious, long-lived Chardonnays that far outstripped anything else at their price point. Stay tuned.

Once again, Blogger has changed formats. If I could get my act together to post here more often, I'd go elsewhere. But until then, ah well. Here I am.

So while I'm here, singing the blues about Blogger (but hmmm, this new format actually seems pretty ok), I'll mention, again, the amazing consistency and quality of one of my very favorite California Cabernets. Philip Togni 1991 Cabernet with buffalo tenderloin tonight, partly because I've been noticing some fatigue on a number of '91s I've been opening lately. No danger of that here. In fact, I suspect it's not quite come into its own yet. Yummy.

(Since I'm in gripe mode, though, a word on the insidious influence of restaurant hegemony in today's world of food and wine. First it was true prime beef. No longer available to you and me, it's been reclassified to hide the dirty deed and what you now see on supermarket shelves labeled "prime" is what our mothers bought under the label "choice." The good stuff goes to the restaurants. Same with the better wines, as you probably already know if you're interested enough in wine to be reading this blog. So now the plague has spread to fish (the incredibly delicious pacific black cod a/k/a sable, which I used to enjoy weekly, is now reserved for restaurants, so sorry) and game (the better cuts of eland, buffalo and venison are becoming increasingly hard to come by). Next to go: fresh vegetables, such as they are. Yeah, well. . . )

And while I'm on the subject of surprises, Michele Chiarlo is a producer that gets little glory, but I stumbled upon the Barbera d'Asti La Court last year, and have been picking up what I can of it because, frankly, I love Piedmont wines but don't love paying the rapidly escalating prices for them. Right now, I'm finding the 1998 more available and very ready to drink, so if the '99 had a bit more nuance, I don't really miss it. For some reason, I seem to be finding the Barberas from Asti more interesting than those from Alba recently. And I've been finding them at better prices, generally, so there you go.

Everything from Europe is going up dramatically, so if you're looking to stock up, try to find stuff that was imported last year. The dollar/euro thing is just putting too many affordable wines out of reasonable reach. So, in the meantime, if the folks out in California don't get too greedy and figure they can get a free price hike out of the situation, westward ho, I say.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find much time for wine blogging lately, though, fortunately, the same can't be said of wine drinking. Unfortunately, there haven't been a whole lot of memorable bottles to post about. Fortunately, there have been one or two.

Once upon a time I bought at least a few bottles of Silver Oak Alexander Valley Cabernet every year and, when I could find it, a bottle or two of the Napa, as well. On trips out to the winery, I even managed to score a few of the now-defunct Bonny's Vineyards. Then they started getting snooty with their pricing and there were just too many better bottles out there for less money, so there went another vertical. I can't say that I'm too sorry, either, because as luscious as these wines have always been on release, too many of them haven't aged as well as I would have expected. Once the primary fruit subsides, it seems there's not a whole lot there other than that dill-scented American oak which, while it's a great accompaniment to fruit, just doesn't play well as a solo. My last purchase of the Napa, though, was the '92, which also happened to be first year that the Bonny's was added to the Napa blend. So far from a disappointment, this wine just blew me away. The fruit was still there, still ripe but developed and well balanced with the oak and what remains of the tannins. Unfortunately (back to that again), I took no notes and now can't even remember what we had to eat with it. It's been sitting on the buffet as a reminder to blog it for several weeks now while its memory has faded to little more than a determination to open another one soon while I know the getting's good.

My other pleasant surprise (and now for something completely different) was a 1980 Robert Ampeau Meursault Perrieres. As much as I've heard about the legendary longevity of Ampeau's whites, I really expected this bottle to be little more than drain-o by now, especially as it had spent some years in less than ideal cellar conditions. Not only wasn't it shot, it was truly lovely, with elegant fruit and a sort of grace about it that commanded . . . respect. Again, I have no notes to jog my memory as to the particulars but suffice it to say that I was reminded, again, of why great Burgundies are held in such high esteem. I'm certain that this bottle was not treated with the care it deserved and yet, more than 23 years past its vintage date was showing beautifully.

Have I raved here about the Arrowood Malbec before? Yes, I see that I have. Well, it was time to try one of the '94s, and I don't know about being less massive than the '93s but, again, it's still a baby. A delicious baby, but a baby. I just love this wine and haven't been able to find it for years, so maybe it's a good thing that they're taking forever to come around. This time we tried it with a grilled flank steak marinated in chimichurri. Yeah, it was sort of an Argentinian theme. Worked, though.

Ok, one last quickie. 1995 Contino Rioja Crianza. This wine has just been consistently fabulous ever since I first bought it, so I kept going back and buying as much as I could find. Last year, I came across a batch of the '96 Reserva. The one I tried needed time to integrate. But the '95 Crianza was wonderful right out of the gate and it's never closed up or shut down since. Large, dark, smooth and supple with beautiful balance and dark, earthy fruit, it's really sort of out of its own league. This is by no means a classic Rioja. It's dressed up for the international stage. But like the '95 Artadi Vinas de Gain (which hasn't held up nearly as well, IMO), it delivers a boatload of flavor and drinking pleasure with a definite Tempranillo twist. Highly recommended.

Frescobaldi Pomino Rosso 1997. This wine has really come into its own. I started buying this stuff back in the '86 vintage and I've remained a fan ever since. It's always been a good deal, but just as I'm running out of the '97s, I'm finding a lusciousness I never noticed before. I'll be on the prowl for some '99s if they're still around. And I'll keep them a little longer.

There's not a lot of information out there on this wine, but it appears that it's mostly Sangiovese with a little Pinot Nero and a smidge of Merlot thrown in. At least that's what more recent vintages (starting with 1998) are composed of. The '97 is deep and earthy and rich, if not particularly complex. Fabulous with pasta with tomatoes and onions and kalamata olives.

Excuse me. My glass appears to be empty.

Happiness is having your very favorite California Chardonnay cost $15. Or less. I kid you not. There are many, many California Chards I haven't tried yet, and there are many others that have impressed me extremely favorably until I saw the price tag, but nobody makes a long-lived, full-bodied, well-rounded, delicious and affordable Cal Chard like Josh Jensen. And, no, I'm not talking about the often over-oaked, flamboyant and sometimes quirky, sometimes awesome Mt. Harlan bottling.

I opened my last bottle of 1996 Calera Central Coast Chardonnay Friday night with a scrumpious grilled Steelhead salmon. While my $35 Wine Spectator-touted 96 Beringers have long since given up the ghost, this wine was still youthful, rambunctious and thoroughly tasty, with notes of pineapple and honeysuckle and a gorgeous mouthfeel that almost made me reluctant to swallow it. (Er ... anyway ... ) The 1998 is drinking beautifully, but is way short of showing its best stuff yet and I'm not opening my 2000s for a while yet. As you can see, I've somehow managed to miss the "best" vintages in these case purchases lately, but it really doesn't seem to matter. I had a few 94s and 95s and I have a few half bottles of the 97, and the wine is consistently great and greatly consistent, vintage to vintage. If I had to choose one California Chardonnay to stock my cellar with, this would be it. (Fortunately, though, I don't. Variety is indeed the spice of life.)

The battle is pitched. And it looks like the next stop may very well be the Supreme Court. Earlier this month, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit joined one other federal appeals court (the Seventh Circuit) in upholding state laws that effectively ban the direct interstate shipment of wine (Swedenburg v. Kelly). The Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Eleventh Circuits have already gone the other way.

It's going to be interesting to see where this ends up. The Second Circuit is bucking the tide here, and the Supreme Court has already handed down at least one anti-protectionist ruling on interstate wine shipment. But that was twenty years ago, a different Court and a different issue (tariffs), and the decision is in any case (somewhat unconvincingly, IMO) distinguished by the Second Circuit.

There is a twist to Swedenburg that may make a difference, but it shouldn't. Rather than banning direct sales of wine from out-of-state, the New York law in question simply requires any out-of-state winery that wants to engage in direct shipment to "establish a presence" in New York. An office or warehouse is sufficient, along with production of the necessary paperwork and filing fees. And there's the rub -- and the error in the court's reasoning, as I see it. The Virginia winery that brought the suit apparently presented evidence that the costs of complying with the "presence" regulations were so burdensome as to negate the benefits of direct access to the market. To which the court's (wholly inadequate) response, in a footnote, was basically "too bad." In the absence of a serious analysis of whether the "presence" option is rendered nugatory by virtue of its economic impact, the court's reliance on this distinction is misplaced.

Moreover, the Second Circuit panel refused to see the New York regulations as economic protectionism but instead viewed them as a legitimate means of accountability. Perhaps their myopia on this score is is partly due to the fact that the real protagonist in the protectionist wine wars isn't really the "state," but rather the league of dishonorable wholesalers and retailers hiding behind its skirts. But reading the Swedenburg opinion, you'd get the impression that New York is the only state in the Union that has a substantial interest in regulating the conduct of the producers and purveyors of alcoholic beverages within its borders. The "presence" requirement, says the court, is reasonable because New York regulators can't be expected to travel to Virginia (or California, or Oregon or Washington) to make sure that wineries are adhering to New York's high standards of cleanliness, record-keeping and social responsibility. That argument is absurd on its face, unless it can be demonstrated that there is something lacking in Virginia's (or any other wine exporting state's) own regulatory aparatus. A law restricting the import of wine from any state that didn't satisfy certain basic regulatory standards would be a horse of a different color. But that's not what this case was about.

Again, it's an interesting battle that's far from over. Stay tuned.

(For the full text of Swedenburg v. Kelly, click here, then on the "Current Month" link under "Decisions" (left hand column) and then on 02-9511 under "Docket" -- it's about halfway down.)

One has to wonder what James Laube is using for taste buds these days.

After reading last November's Wine Spectator ten-years-after ("TYA") review of the 1993 California Cabs, I sort of got a little worried. I didn't buy a lot of '93s, but the ones I did buy, I bought by the case, and I'd tasted them and thought they were pretty darn good. One or two of them got "respectable" (i.e., 90+) scores in this review. But a lot of them didn't.

This isn't the first time I've noticed that wines heavily hyped by WS when they came out got less than spectacular reviews once they'd had a chance to develop some. You'd think they'd try to cover up this kind of discrepancy, but my suspicion is they just don't credit their readers with long-term memory. Or they rely heavily on turnover.

Anyway, curiosity getting the better of me, I decided to crack a '93 Philip Togni Cab tonight. Laube thought this was a "beef stew" of a cabernet. Well, whatever floats his boat. I love the way Philip Togni makes wine. I'd still be buying by the caseload if he still shipped to Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, wine shipping (in case you hadn't noticed) is going through a little prohibitionary period right now and Pennsylvania (despite its attempts to prove otherwise) is still the Neanderthal of wine markets in this part of the country, so . . .

Anyway, if you have a few of these beauties stashed, sleep well tonight. They might not have totally burst out of their cocoon yet, but they're already providing lots of pleasure. The bottle tonight paired perfectly with a delicious less-than-medium rare grilled buffalo tenderloin. Every sip was a delight, with the exception of the last half ounce, which contained the only evidence of sedimentary pucker. Some unexpected tartaric crystals on the bottom of the cork were a bit puzzling, but without noticable effect. It happens. The wine was about as far from "beef stew" as I can imagine a wine being, with wave after wave of subtle fruit and mineral nuances and a rich, full mouthfeel. California but with a Bordeaux veneer. Classic Togni.

Laube gave this an 88 in his TYA. I'd give it a 94 minimum. But who's counting?

Don't mind me. I just can't seem to keep up. But despair over the Philadelphia Eagles' failure, yet again, to get to the Superbowl, has driven me to the blog. We made up a huge pot of chili to enjoy with the game tonight, and it (the chili) was pretty good, though a little heavy on the hot smoked Spanish paprika (pimentón) (it's marvelous stuff, but it packs a wallop and a little goes a really long way.)

Also poured in a healthy splash of 1994 Cline Zinfandel Reserve, which still packs quite a punch of its own. The rest of the bottle went really well with the chili. Right now I'm a little descriptor-challenged, and the ones that come to mind are football-related and quite impolite. I'll try to make a point of getting back here more often, but I've also resolved to get to the gym more often and so far I'm not doing too well on that score, either. Blaming it on the weather, you see.

Hmmm. Rip Van Wineblogger awakens. But only for a quick blink. A lovely last bottle of the 1983 Pichon Lalande tonight was surprisingly tasty, still fairly supple, though it tired quickly in the glass, with lovely pure fruit, very little sediment and close to a perfect match with a grilled venison tenderloin. This has been one of those hate-to-part-with-the-last-of-a-great-one deals, where the perfect occasion never seemed to present itself. At some point you have to give it up and just drink the thing. This wine had more punch and pizazz a few years ago, but it was still a delight. Maybe it will inspire us to open a few more of the fading stars in the near future. Maybe I'll even remember to post about 'em.

Oh, yikes! I've been away so long they've gone and changed the whole set-up on me. What a slacker!

Well, I'm still a little under the weather from an overindulgence last night, so no flowery prose here. I'll just mention a few of the things that we opened and you'll understand why (there were only four people here).

Dinner at our place in summer usually starts out with a bottle of Prosecco, in this case a NV Loredan Gasparini Venegazzu. The first bottle was incredibly difficult to open and totally flat. It'll be fine for cooking with. The second was yummy.

This was our first experiment at home with alligator loin, so we didn't know quite what to expect. The meat was delicious, grilled with just a little olive oil and Joe's Stuff. The 1989 Prince Poniatowski Vouvray L'Aigle Blanc turned out to be a pretty good match.

And, for the main course, a lovely ostrich fillet. Now we almost always have a Central Coast Pinot Noir with ostrich, but we wanted to try something different. Our guests were wondering how their last bottle of 1986 Pesquera Ribero del Duero (Crianza) was doing, and since we still had two and knew they were probably fading, we opened one. It was fading fast, a shadow of its former self. Don't you just hate that?

Next up, a 1993 Anderson's Conn Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. I last posted on that one here, so I thought I knew what we were in for, but this bottle bore no resemblance. It was tight as a drum and it never opened up. Don't you just hate that, too?

Anyway, both of these bottles were put aside, and we went for the Pinot. There was something horribly wrong with the 1997 Hartley-Ostini (Hitching Post) Bien Nacido. A raging VA (volatile acidity) problem, not typical in my experience with this wine, that was impossible to get around. It was refreshing after the Cab, but only for a sip or two. That bottle also got put aside, and it's still there.

Maybe my taste buds were just numbed out at that point, but the usually excellent 1997 Foxen Bien Nacido didn't thrill me, either. It was, however, an improvement over the Hitching Post by a mile. Everyone agreed that it's hard to beat the ostrich/Pinot match. Although California Syrah, which we didn't try last night, can work pretty well, too.

Well, at this point, having had too much wine to know better, no one wanted to stop. So the Pesquera and the Conn Valley ended up getting drunk as well. I don't believe I participated in that part much, but I confess that it gets a little fuzzy.

So that's the story. Hey, I know one or two of you are reading this blog, or at least linking on it momentarily. Drop me a line sometime and remind me to post something. I'm getting forgetful in my old age.

How often do you taste a Zinfandel that you'd describe as "silky?" Not often enough, I'll bet. For one thing, common wisdom says they don't age, and, well, young and silky don't usually go together. The 1991 Lytton Springs Winery Lytton Springs Zin (a/k/a "black label") is no longer young, but its texture alone is reason enough to try to hunt one down. There's a touch of old-style about this one, with its age bringing out more raisin and fewer berry flavors, but for me it was a delight, and it's still packed with plenty of fruit. I've always loved this wine, no matter the vintage -- including the '89, which was probably my favorite Zin from that lackluster year. Ridge bought the winery (which used to make a nice Cab, as well) in 1991, but kept the old "black" Lytton Springs label through 1994, after which they renamed the wine Ridge Sonoma Station. I could swear they messed with the formula, as well. It's never been the same since.

One nice Cab. And not enough of it. Lady and/or gentleman, I present to you Girard Reserve Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 1990. Still going places, by the way. I confess I do appreciate a little eucalyptus in my red wines from time to time. I'm not quite sure how it found its way into this one, but it did. I've often been amused to find, on visits to California, a big old eucalyptus tree growing right next to a vineyard I've always associated with that flavor. Whether that's the case here, I couldn't say, but this wine went beautifully with a very nice porterhouse steak and, although it got a bit dense and inky toward the bottom of the bottle, there was an abundance of rich, dark fruit, with that minty, sassy euc thing providing a refreshing zing throughout. If you have two, try one soon. If not . . . oh, well.