I’ve been thinking about this character flaw a lot lately. In the past few weeks, I’ve had two great dinners with people who know a hell of a lot about Italian wine. First, an epic tasting of some thought-provoking older wines at ‘Cesca. (Tasting notes to come, I promise.) Gregory del Piaz of Snooth supplied the bottles, PR guru/Italian wine blogger Susannah Gold hooked us up with the great table, and fellow bloggers Diane Letulle (Wine Lover’s Journal) and Eric Guido (The VIP Table) provided the excellent company. And last week, I met up with Susannah and Diane to fête Susannah’s birthday and score some heavily discounted Barbaresco at Accademia di Vino, where (awesome bargain alert!) white wines over $60 and red wines over $80 are 50% off on Monday nights.

These events have inspired me to remedy my shortcomings, at least temporarily. This week is STBNY’s First Annual Italian Week^TM wherein I will drink nothing but Italian wine. I’ve already selected an eclectic line-up of Italian whites, pinks, and reds, all priced under $20, to enjoy over the next seven days. I’ll be sharing my notes with you in the most timely fashion I can muster. I’m on vacation this week down the shore, and while I can think of no better place to drink Italian wine than New Jersey, beach time will take precedence over blogging time.

On that note, I leave you with a snapshot I took last night of Asbury Park–if you squint, the top of the carousel looks a little like the Duomo, no?

Chances are, the next word that comes to mind is Bolla–as in, Bolla Soave, the cheap, neutral, and very successful Italian white that flooded our shores (and TV sets) in the 1970s. This wine’s commercial success and ubiquity have long associated Soave with mediocrity in the mind of many wine drinkers. That’s too bad. Some of these wines can be good, and many of them offer really nice value.

I recently had the chance to taste through 9 Soaves, largely from the 2008 vintage, thanks to a promotional event sponsored by the Soave consortium. You’ll see my tasting notes below–but first, a little context.

Soave comes from the Veneto region, in northeastern Italy. The main quality grape at play here is Garganega, although Trebbiano di Soave, Chardonnay, and Pinot Bianco are also allowed. The best Soaves, including those from the hilly, and higher quality, Soave Classico zone, will be primarily Garganega (and won’t include the bland Trebbiano Toscano variety).

Soave is difficult to pin down. It doesn’t have the aromatic over-the-topness of, say, a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc or a Riesling. Nor does it have the rich, mouthfilling quality of an oak-inflected Chardonnay. At their best, these are subtle, elegant wines, with hints of citrus, minerality, and almonds. They’re rarely high in alcohol and match well with lighter fare, making them a good summer standby. At their worst, these wines are wallflowers. There’s just no there there — pale aromas and flavors and insufficient acidity — and tasting them can be as frustrating as trying to converse with a sullen teenager.

While Soave is never going to set my world on fire, there are some good wines here–the Inama and Gini in particular are worth seeking out.

Coffele Soave Spumante Brut 2000 ($22)

That’s the wine pictured above. (Positioned right in front of a spittoon–tasting wine is glamorous, no?) Sparkling Soave is a bit of a rarity, and rarely imported into the U.S. This one is mostly Garganega, with a small percentage of Chardonnay. It’s not going to make anyone forget champagne, but this is a pretty enjoyable tank-method sparkling wine, with a surprisingly fine mousse and some delicate citrus and toast aromas and flavors.

Rocca Sveva Soave Classico 2008 ($15)

Medium intensity, floral and citrus aromas. Some nice mineral notes on the palate — but I want it to have more acidity. Still, would be a nice match for simple grilled fish.

Coffele Soave Classico 2008 ($16)

95% Garganega, 5% Chardonnay. Light on aromatics, with some melon/apple/almond stuff going on. Falls on the wrong side of the fine line between “subtle” and “boring.”

La Cappuccina Soave Classico 2008 ($12)

100% Garganega. Bright citrus aromas and flavors (lemon peel, grapefruit, tangerine). Very short finish, very simple wine — but a decent value for this price.

Gini Soave Classico 2008 ($20)

Honeysuckle, candied citrus peel, and peaches, with a bitter almond finish. Well-balanced, more complex than a lot of other wines in this line up. If I ate fish in cream sauce, this is what I would pair it with.

Inama Soave Classico 2008 ($15)

My favorite of the bunch. 100% Garganega. Honey, dried apricot, roasted almonds, white flowers on the nose and palate. Fuller bodied than most Soaves in the line up. A really nice substitute for an unoaked Chardonnay.

Suavia Monte Carbonare Soave Classico 2008 ($26)

Just me, or is “Soave Suavia” not the smartest branding move? Some volatile acidity here that obscured whatever else was going on in the wine. Tried to go back to it a few times during the tasting, but still wasn’t getting much.

Cantina del Castello Pressoni Soave Classico 2008 ($20)

80% Garganega, 20% Trebbiano di Soave. Full-bodied, with floral aromas. Acidity on the low side for me. Several folks described this as “sexy” because of the fuller, richer mouthfeel, but I wasn’t feeling it.

Coffele “Le Sponde” Recioto di Soave 1999 ($40)

Recioto wines are made from grapes that have been dried for several months following harvest. Raisining the fruit concentrates the sugar, so the end result is a sweet, unctuous wine. That this is, although it lacks the aromatic punch that define the finest dried grape wines — and a little more acidity would have helped balance out the sweetness.

Biodynamics is based on the writings of Austrian philosopher Rudolf Steiner. Biodynamics posits that each farm is a self-contained unit, with complex relationships between plants, soil, animals, and even the cosmos. Biodynamics incorporates organic farming (that is, working the land without the use of of synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides and the like), as well as some more fanciful techniques. This includes the use of biodynamic preparations in the soil, like composted chamomile flowers that have been stuffed in a cow’s intestine and buried underground for the winter. According to Steiner, these preparations bring “forces” to the vineyard, the soil, and the vines so that the soil is ready to “receive energies streaming down from the cosmos and upward from within the earth itself.” (I’m quoting from Monty Waldin’s Biodynamic Wines. Waldin is a well-known and vocal proponent — and producer — of biodynamic wines, and this book provides a handy summary of Steiner’s very, very extensive writings.) Steiner also thought farmers should work the land  in accordance with the phases of the moon.

As you could probably tell from the name of his blog, Smith thinks biodynamics is complete hogwash. Here’s a sample from his introductory post:

“I submit that if you believe in science you cannot believe in Biodynamics, and the corollary is just as true, if you believe in Biodynamics you cannot believe in science.  As you can tell by the title I believe that Biodynamics is a hoax and deserves the same level of respect the scientific community has for witchcraft, voodoo and astrology.”

Stu had long looked askance at the biodynamic movement, but recently felt it was time to go public about his opinions. Fundamentally, he sees biodynamics as an example of Americans turning away from science. Or, as he puts it, “we’re moving into the 21st century by going back to the Dark Ages.”  A graduate of UC-Davis with 40 years of winemaking under his belt, Smith approaches the whole biodynamic endeavor with a healthy dose of Voltairean skepticism. He sees outing biodynamics as his civic duty — and some of his fellow citizens agree. After he wrote a letter to the Santa Rosa Press Democrat last year debunking biodynamics, he says his many of his neighbors and peers thanked him — but when he asked them to chime in publicly, they refused, citing their business interests with biodynamic producers. (And no, he’s not naming names.)

Of course, as the proprietor of a non-biodynamic vineyard, Smith has a vested interest in this debate. For biodynamic adherents to say that their soil, vines, and wines are superior to non-biodynamic ones without research to back these claims is a shot across the bow. Nonetheless, he comes across as exasperated and incredulous, rather than angry or threatened. He couldn’t help but laugh when he recounted some of Steiner’s zanier theories. One of Smith’s favorites: Steiner believed that our predecessors on earth were Atlanteans (yes, as in habitants of Atlantis) who could fly around in air ships powered by germinating seeds. (Check out Atlantis: The Fate of a Lost Land and Its Secret Language on Google Books if you want more.) Of course, you can believe in biodynamism without believing in the rest of Steiner’s wackiness–but the whole germinating-seeds-powering-air-ships thing should at least give one pause.

For Smith, the lack of scientific proof is a major sticking point. Where’s the evidence showing that biodynamic wines are better than non-biodynamic ones? There are many excellent producers around the world that have gone biodynamic, with great results. But are these wines measurably better than they were prior to biodynamics? (As Smith pointed out during our dinner, Domaine de la Romanée Conti made pretty decent wine even before they started experimenting with biodynamic techniques.) And if they are, how do they know what caused the difference? Biodynamic viticulture requires that producers go organic and wean themselves off of chemical fertilizers, pesticides and the like. There’s an abundance of research out there showing that organic agriculture is beneficial to the health of the soil. (See here or here, just for starters.) So is it the organic piece of biodynamism that makes the wines better? Or is it the biodynamic piece — for example, the fact that your compost has been sprinkled with yarrow flowers that spent a year decomposing in the bladder of a red deer stag? (This article from The World of Fine Wine lays out a similar argument.)

I’d add that biodynamics is possibly closely correlated with some other factor that explains high quality. It’s expensive and time-consuming to farm biodynamically, and all that extra time and attention (and money) spent on the vineyard might account for the improvement, rather than the biodynamic practices themselves.

Of course, while it’s undeniable that there are excellent biodynamic wines out there, it’s equally true that there are terrific non-biodynamic wines in the world. To insist that biodynamics somehow has the monopoly on excellence makes no sense.

I admit, there’s something about biodynamic agriculture that’s incredibly appealing–hell, I’ve written here about a lot of biodynamic and organic wines that I really like. See for example, another passage from Waldin:

“Whereas the conventional chemical, and even the organic, approach allow the substances [in the soil] that are missing to determine the substances that need to be applied, the biodynamic approach thinks in terms of living forces in addition to substances. Scientific knowledge of soil chemistry is not completely discarded by biodynamic growers, but they are also looking to go beyond it, using biodynamic compost to release these forces into the soil, the crop, and the farm as a whole.”

Living forces! Who wouldn’t want to drink a bottle of wine that was imbued with living forces? I’m not sure what that means, but it sure sounds good — magical, even. And couldn’t we all use a little magic these days? Especially those of us who devote a lot of time thinking tasting, drinking, and writing about wine (and zero time producing it). Because in general, we’re a pretty jaded lot, and fairly homogenous at that — myself included. Urban, left-leaning, secular. We roll our eyes at people who talk about the power of prayer, but then we speak of making “pilgrimages” to Michelin-starred restaurants and embrace the kind of mysticism that calls for burying a horn full of cow shit in a vineyard because “Steiner saw the cow horn as a powerful captor of astral energy.” (Waldin, again.)

Are many of these wines wonderful to drink? Of course. History is littered with examples of humankind turning away from modernity  in the hopes of returning to a simpler time — to beautiful effect. Think of the Arts and Crafts movement, with its emphasis on the handmade, craftsmanship, and designs and motifs drawn from nature. At the end of the 19th century, it provided a respite from the dreariness of urbanization and industrialization. In many ways, we find ourselves at similar moment, when our yearning for the sublime has us looking for religion in a glass of cloudy, oxidized white wine or loaf of artisanal bread. Biodynamics is a great and quirky story, and one that satisfies our longing for a sense of mystery. Just don’t confuse it with science.

I picked up this wine a few weeks ago at a hit-or-miss liquor store in my neighborhood. I’ve bought some real gems, as well as a few losers, at this shop. Fortunately, the Evodia falls into the former category. The wine hails from the Calatayud region in northeasternish Spain. Summers here are hot and dry–no fun for people, but potentially very good for grapes, especially Garnacha. (Which you may know by its French name, Grenache.) Garnacha, as they call it en España, loves the heat. So do I, which is one of the many reasons I feel a special affinity for this variety. I also have a soft spot for Garnacha/Grenache because it plays a central role in some of my favorite wines: Châteauneuf-du-Pape, the  intense, concentrated wines of Priorat, in Catalonia, and the rich sweet reds of Banyuls, in France’s Roussillon region, which marry perfectly with chocolate. This grape is not a wallflower. If you want the delicacy of a cool climate Pinot Noir, look elsewhere. Wines made from Garnacha/Grenache tend to be high in alcohol, full-bodied, and full of ripe fruit.

Evodia is no exception. Made from 100% old vines Garnacha, and without any oak aging, this guy is all about the fruit. Blackberries, raspberries, cherries (even a hint of cherry cola) — they’re all in here. An undercurrent of earthiness happily keeps things from going off the fruity deep end. This is a terrific buy for $10.99 — probably the best wine bargain I’ve picked up in the past 6 months. The wine is imported by Eric Solomon, who specializes in Spain, and for the life of me I have no idea how he’s able to price it so reasonably.

It would go wonderfully with barbecued chicken or spicy grilled sausages — a great excuse to bust out the merguez. One word of advice: this bottle, and a lot of Garnacha-based wines, taste best when they’re a little bit cool. The lower temperature keeps the alcohol and fruitiness in check. If, like me, you live in an apartment that lacks central AC, ten minutes or so in the fridge should be just fine.

Until last night. It was a warm and humid, Paul was firing up the grill, and rosé seemed like the perfect choice. It was just what I was in the mood for, something clean, crisp, fruity, and not too complicated. I opened the bottle, poured out a heathy dose of the salmony-pink wine, and stuck my nose in the glass. What I smelled was anything but clean and crisp. There was a little vanilla, a hint of brown sugar, something vegetal, and, if I really searched for it, a layer of ripe red fruit underneath. What, exactly, was going on here?

In a word: oak. Turns out this wine is barrel-fermented and aged for five months in French oak. This adds some heft and richness to the wine, not characteristics normally associated with rosé. It’s a pretty unusual approach, although not entirely unheard of. (López de Heredia, an ultra-traditional producer in Rioja, ages its Viña Tondonia rosado in barrels for four and a half years, for example.)

Located in Southold, on the North Fork of Long Island, Croteaux Vineyards specializes in rosés, offering a number of still and sparkling variations on the theme of pink. In yet another unusual move, they name several of their wines after the variety of clone they’re made from–hence “Merlot 3.” (Clones are basically different “types” of the same grape. Producers choose what kind of clone, or clones, to use depending on a number of factors, including growing conditions and the characteristics they’re looking for in the wine.)

In my heart of hearts, I prefer the crisp, dry and fruity style to this oak-inflected one, but there’s lots to admire here. The toasty notes would make it a happy partner for smoked chicken or pork chops, and $18 is a decent price for a wine with this much personality. I’d be curious to see what happens to this wine with a little age on it. Rosés are usually meant to be drunk young, but the oak treatment here could provide some staying power. Mostly, I like this wine for what it represents: namely, that rosés aren’t monolithic, and there’s tremendous versatility and variety in this category.

I don’t get it. First of all, it’s rude. Second of all, it’s bad business. An unsophisticated wine consumer isn’t an insult — it’s an opportunity. People are much, much more willing to try new things than we give them credit for, and if you take the time to educate them about what they’re drinking, they’ll respond.* I did a class for a friend once where I poured a Torrontés from Argentina. She fell in love with it, abandoned her insipid and overpriced Pinot Grigio of choice, and spread the gospel to her friends and family. She hadn’t been drinking Pinot Grigio to that point because she had “bad taste” or no imagination — she had been drinking it because she didn’t know what her options were. No wine seller or waiter or sommelier had ever said to her “you know, here’s another wine in a similar style you might like instead. Taste it and tell me what you think.”

She’s now incredibly loyal to Torrontés (you’re welcome, Wines of Argentina) and at this point probably knows more about it than I do. She discovered something new and was delighted to share it. This is a common theme I’ve seen time and again, and every single time it thrills me to help someone make this discovery. I’d rather share a well-made $15 red from the Languedoc with a new and curious wine drinker and help her learn something than drink a First-Growth Bordeaux with a few of the wine bloggers I’ve been reading lately.  (Of course, best case scenario is to drink the First-Growth Bordeaux with the new and curious wine drinker.)

All of this to say, there’s a lively community of  kind, curious, generous and knowledgeable bloggers out there, too. I want to continue to be a member in good standing of this happy crew, so please, I want to hear from you if I’m being intolerant, confusing, or unhelpful.

And in the name of being generous, I’d like to share some blogs I do enjoy. There are many, but here’s a recent sample. I really like 1WineDude and SilenesCellar, both written by new acquaintances from last weekend’s TasteCamp. (Where anti-consumer sentiment was thin on the ground, thankfully.) I also came across this awesome entry from French wine blogger Miss Glou Glou (translated: Miss Glug Glug) on how to spit wine with elegance. Yes, it’s in French, but you can get a lot of it from context. It’s genius.

*Of course, there are exceptions. When I worked in wine retail I got a few mind-boggling questions. My favorite: a customer I had never met before held up two bottles in front of my face and asked: “which of these will I like better?” These folks always seemed a bit unhinged overall, so I’m guessing their eccentricities applied to all areas of their lives, not just wine.

Most of us are probably familiar with Chapoutier from his great value Belleruche Côtes-du-Rhône, both red and white. Usually available for around $10-$12, these are some of the best bang-for-your-buck wines available on the market. You could do worse than to stock up on a few bottles of these for your summer BBQ needs. Chapoutier makes a staggeringly wide variety of wines from the Rhône, Provence, and Languedoc-Roussillon — with some side projects in Australia and Portugal for good measure — and somehow manages to keep the overall quality level high. (Chapoutier might attribute this success, at least in part, to his commitment to biodynamic winemaking.) Chapoutier seems like a bit of a live wire, and I love reading interviews with him.

I’ve had many of Chapoutier’s wines over the years, and tonight Paul and I cracked open this Les Vignes de Bila-Haut. This wine hails from the Roussillon, the hot, sun-drenched region along France’s eastern border with Spain that produces big, ripe wines. This wine is a blend of Syrah, Grenache, and Carignan, all grapes that flourish in the heat. The wine is inky, lip-staining purple, and the aromas are deep, dark, and earthy: blackberries,cocoa, smoke, and dried thyme. On the palate, the Carignan is a little too front-and-center for me: traditionally a low-quality variety used for bulk wines, Carignan can produce good wines when it comes from old vines, as it does here. But even when Carignan rises to the occasion, it still has this rough, rustic edge to it that reminds me of the mediocre, cheap Côtes-du-Rhône that I used to drink way too much of in my misspent youth, to hangover-inducing effect.

Nonetheless, this is really enjoyable wine for a mere $14. On his site, Chapoutier recommends drinking the wine with a “nice piece of beef” or grilled meat, which we interpreted to mean bacon cheeseburgers from the grill. It was a pretty fortuitous match. I think Michel would approve.

Not since my brother Lee gave me a ticket to the Beastie Boys Hello Nasty show at MSG (3 rows in front of Mike D’s parents, FYI) has so much awesomeness fallen in my lap. This is a 1997 La Landonne Côte Rôtie from Etienne Guigal, one of the greatest wines of the northern Rhône, my hands-down favorite wine region. It’s 100% Syrah and can stand up to many, many years in the cellar. It’s also far north of my usual price range, even when I’m feeling spendy: the going rate for this guy is about $400.

These wines are terrific with deep, earthy, gamey flavors, and in a perfect world I would have whipped up a salmis of squab or venison sausage, but this is not a perfect world and instead we threw some delicious rib eyes on the grill. We decanted the wine 90 minutes before drinking to separate it from its sediment and to open it up a bit. (Again, in a perfect world, this probably should have been closer to 2-3 hours, but the wine, and my guests, were forgiving.)

The wine. Well, it started off on a distinctly musty, grandmother’s basement/Miss Havisham note that was actually much more pleasant than it sounds. Slowly, more conventionally attractive aromas and flavors came to the fore: black cherry, coffee, mocha. The texture was seductive and velvety, the finish was almost sweet. Then, something funny happened. All of the wine’s distinct elements – tannins, alcohol, fruit, acidity — somehow became one, like old friends who have known each other so long they finish each other’s sentences. Without getting too Zen about it, the wine didn’t taste or smell like anything except…itself. It had its own unique scent, like the smell of your 6th grade homeroom or your first bad boyfriend.

Thankfully, the wine was much, much better than 6th grade or bad boyfriends. Unlike both of those destabilizing experiences, the La Landonne is deeply reassuring. Somewhere in the world, this wine will have you know, people still care about quality, longevity, and doing things correctly — without sacrificing excitement. Perfectly balanced and harmonious, the La Landonne still offered an intensity and richness that showier wines aspire to, but rarely attain.

At the end of the meal, Gary stuck his nose into the empty decanter. “I’m so sorry it’s gone!” Me too, Gary. Me too.

Q. How would you compare your 2008 Riesling to your other Rieslings?

A. That’s like asking me which kid I like the best! It’s hard for me to say at  this early age, it really takes three to four years before we get a real sense of the vintage. Our Rieslings will age 15 to 20 years – that’s assuming a good vintage and good storage of course. They improve and pay back your patience.

Q. How would you define the style of your Rieslings in general?

A. Well, I like to say that nobody makes a better Smith-Madrone Riesling than we do! I think of our wines as a 60-40 split between Alsatian and German.  I think the Germans finish a little too sweet, and the Alsatians finish a little too dry and specific. We like a softer finish – that’s kind of the way I’ve backed into our style. Our Riesling is fermented and aged in stainless steel, never in wood. There’s no malolactic fermentation, no aging sur lees, which means you’re getting the pure essence of the grape itself.

Q. How have you seen consumers’ attitude toward Riesling change over the years?

A. Frankly, I think my entire adult life I’ve felt like Sisyphus pushing that rock up the hill [trying to get people interested in Riesling.]What changed was young people! They’ve come to Riesling with fresh eyes and without prejudice. In the past there were so many nasty Rieslings made in America, it has taken a long time to get rid of the generation who only knew those wines. Now the younger generation has come along and they’re not prejudiced at all about Riesling.

Q. What other Rieslings do you like – and what do you like to pair with Riesling?

A. Trefethen makes a nice one. Eroica, that’s a pretty doggone good one, too. There are a couple of good wines that come out of the Finger Lakes. I think Riesling goes well with almost everything, although I do draw the line at beef. I have too many reds to drink with cow. Any fish, especially real saltwater fish and true stream fish. Asian fusion food and Indian food too.

Q. What are some of the biggest winemaking challenges you face at Smith-Madrone and on Spring Mountain in general?

A. Farming on the mountain, that’s just hard. We have 38 acres. Down on the valley floor, you could harvest that in a day. Up in the mountains, that takes 2-3 days, then another day or two fixing the equipment because of the rocks. [The rocks and rocky soil are tough on farm equipment.] When you’re in the mountains, you are your own suppliers of everything that people take for granted, like water. We have our own pumps and pipes. It’s a great deal of work.

Q. What do you think makes Spring Mountain wines so special?

It’s really hard to say what makes the difference. [Here we break so that he can lovingly chastise his Springer spaniel Curly for stealing something from his daughter’s room.] Upland soil is very different from soil on the valley floor. It’s less fertile, it’s better drained, and it’s rockier. The weather is different, it’s cooler. The berries are smaller, there are fewer grapes, there’s a greater leaf to cluster ratio, and the vines do struggle just to grow.

Q. I really loved the 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon. How would you define the style of your Cabernet Sauvignon? It seems like you have a more restrained style than a lot of other California Cabernet Sauvignons.

I like the 2004. It’s unfined, unfiltered and done with American oak.  I believe there are four hallmarks of wine quality. The first obligation of wine is to give pleasure. After that, wine should have varietal character. [Meaning it should represent the typical qualities of the variety or varieties it’s made from.] Third, a wine should have balance. The fourth one, which is so hard to get hold of, that’s what Charlie [brother and winemaking partner Charlie Smith] and I call “sense of place.” There should be something that’s interesting and different about the wine. That’s what we call a sense of place. It’s also our goal get the vintage into the glass. Whatever that vintage is imparting, we want that in the glass.

There are two styles of California Cabernet Sauvignon I don’t like: first is the low acid style. They’re impossible to drink. I simply can’t drink them. The second is what I call the high maturity, Parker wine. Those wines can be very seductive. But once you hone in on the singularity of the wine, you realize there’s no complexity, there’s just a prune or raisin flavor. Once you home in on that, that’s all you can taste.

I think there’s more bad wine being made today that ever before in California. There’s a lack of education for some of these winemakers who are self-taught. They don’t understand the basics of winemaking, the importance of clarity and consistency.

But I do think what goes on here on Spring Mountain is a wonderful thing. Many, if not most, of us are small and family-operated. People are very passionate about what they do. It takes a certain kind of person who would want to go into the mountains and put up with the heartache and the hard work that we do. But there’s nothing that’s quite as much fun.