Vintage of the Century: Act 2

Cedar Box Nose:

‘The Great White Burgundy Tasting’ inspired more such events and we were soon hosting and attending tastings with new groups, expanding our presence as wine aficionados, and meeting new people, fellow wine lovers, and even people in the business of wine. We had on occasion even tasted at the warehouse tasting rooms of some local wine importers, thirty bottles on a folding table, with a 5-gallon bucket provided for spitting, after swirling and slurping. And one day, during a post-tasting walking tour of their stocks, we noticed successive vintages from some wineries, each vintage a unique proposition. From this you could arrange a ‘vertical,’ a tasting of successive vintages from the same winery. That of course, in a metaphorical stretch, might be perceived to be akin to a multi-peak mountain traverse, and as such, it was rarely done, at least by amateurs.

For some reason, the French wine experts in Bordeaux had already declared 1961 as ‘The Vintage of the Century.’ We knew from our tastings that the ’66 was a solid vintage, the ’67 a lighter vintage, but nothing to scoff at, and the ’70, which had recently arrived in America, was a strong robust vintage. The notion that the ’61 could receive such an honorific seemed presumptuous, given that we had another 30 years before the end of the current century. Did the French know something that we did not? Or did the French simply evaluate on a rolling century basis, the 1961 vintage being the best vintage since 1861? Who could say? And if so, could there easily be another ‘Vintage of the Century’ before the current century was over?

I would learn that in the world of wine, there is a boatload of romance and euphemism. ‘Cedar box nose’ comes to mind. It sounds intriguing, distinctive, and desirable, but what does it really mean, if anything, beyond a simple descriptive, an approximation of an olfactory perception? Well…could it be marketing?

Before Robert Parker came on the scene, we held our tastings accompanied by paper sheets that had gridded categories, accompanying descriptions, and point scores for each. We used the ‘Davis 20 Point Scale,’ fairly recently developed by Dr. Maynard A. Amerine, a Professor of Oenology at California’s UC Davis. The categories included: Clarity, Color, Bouquet, Acidity, Sweetness, Body, Flavor, Bitterness, Astringency, and Overall Quality. As newly minted wine enthusiasts, we found it the perfect tool to help us develop our palates, discern components and complexities, distinguish characteristics of various varietals, and compare and rank wines relative to each other. But most of all it aided in developing the senses that we used to truly taste wine. And that was valuable as it helped us more deeply understand and appreciate their distinct characteristics.

From a public perspective, the ‘Davis 20 Point Scale’ soon fell out of use, probably because it demanded significant effort. It required the taster to be a discerning explorer and that, for most people, was probably just too much work. So, when something simpler came along, that was more easily digested, that path would logically and quickly be adopted. Robert Parker, a well-known wine writer came up with a ‘100 Point Score,’ where he, and other wine critics, simply applied a numeric value to a wine in a review, say a score of 92, or 95, whatever that meant. It really was only a relative rank applied at the discretion of the ‘expert,’ reflecting the tasting sensibilities and preferences of the reviewer, which might not be your own. If you liked big, bold, robust fruit bombs, Parker was your guy. If you liked the more delicate nuances of, say, the Oregon Pinot Noirs of David Lett’s Eyrie Vineyards, he was not. If you wanted to have the reviewer’s thoughts and scores on New Zealand Sauvignons or rare varietal garagiste wines, well forget it.

Parker’s scoring system actually focused mostly on the best-known varietals and told you very little, but it served a purpose for marketing wines. Soon people would queue up for anything in the high 90s and the wineries could raise their prices accordingly. If Parker’s scoring could guarantee you one thing, it would be that you’d certainly be paying more for your wines. That is if you used his point system as your yardstick for purchasing decisions. We on the other hand were more interested in conducting our own wine hunts and exploring through our own developing palates. Au revoir Parker.

It really was like rock climbing and mixed alpine. To learn anything, to attain any competence or skill, you had to really work at it, pay attention, and put in the time. You had to do the fieldwork for yourself, and, in the world of wine, that meant comparative tasting. As we developed confidence in our own ability to notice and discriminate, we left the ‘Davis 20 Point Scale’ behind and carried forth unaided by that structure. And once we became relatively skilled, everything about the game of wine became even more fun.

When not working in the outdoor business, we’d be indulging in our new passion, hitting all the known wine shops in the Seattle area to evaluate their selections and expertise. And during that quest somehow stumbled onto Jerry Banchero’s ‘Mondo and Sons,’ a boutique butcher shop that had a deep wine closet next to the meat displays. Jerry, the butcher, had a passion for wine and had stocked his closet with a tightly edited selection that focused on fine French Bordeaux. Oliver Beck, Jerry’s resident wine expert, was an eminently personable young guy who would enthusiastically talk to customers about all things wine and often sell them more than a few bottles. When we met those two, we felt like we’d stuck gold. The shop was off the beaten path, the selection was excellent and the prices were really good. So good in fact that we bought and split a whole case of ’67 La Mission Haut-Brion for only $12 a bottle. Even though a lighter vintage than the ’61 or ’66, the wine was fabulous.

These days a bottle of a more recent vintage of La Mission Haut-Brion will set you back a couple of C-notes and so, I no longer drink it. But back then it was really affordable, Z-man and I would on occasion break out a bottle to share while eating ‘Jack Steaks,’ the ground steak sandwiches from Jack in the Box. That pairing amused us greatly. Whenever we did something like that, the ‘occasion’ would really be that we were drinking La Mission Haut-Brion. The sandwiches were merely okay, and a convenient foil, but the wine was truly amazing.