Wine & Advertising: Turning a Principle on Its Head

I would like to open this article with a disclaimer: My conclusions will not apply to every wine maker in the world. No strategy or concept could apply universally to all companies in a given field. As will be obvious, Lafite Rothschild will have no use for this; and, equally obvious but for different reasons, a brand new winery that can only fulfill orders for a handful of cases per year may also wish to demur. But I am confident that to the vast majority of wine makers, as well as wine importers, distributors, and retailers, the conclusions that I reach are very apt and important to consider.

Riding on the Long Island Railroad last summer, I saw a poster advertisement for Vitiano wine. I soon noticed a few such posters around various stations and train cars. And being both the oenophile and the astute marketing student that I am, I came to thinking: "Why is this the only advertisement for a wine that I have seen in as long as I can remember?"

In many cases the answer borders on the anthropological. The Spanish wine business expert Juan Luis Barrera Portillo was kind enough to grant me an interview a while back. When I asked him why so few Spanish wine labels engage in marketing or advertising, his answer was clear: Spanish wineries are generally hereditary proprietorships owned by major families, which have entire portfolios of business interests of which a winery is but one item, and which tend to assign management positions based on familial, social, or political considerations, resulting in leadership that may not either know much or care much about wine – or about business, for that matter. There are upstart exceptions, but they remain mere exceptions.

No doubt that is the predominant situation in Spain, and probably elsewhere, too. But there must be other reasons. There are too many wine labels, including young ones, in too many locations around the world for that to be the only explanation. Many wine labels are only a few decades old at most, and come from places with major traditions of marketing, such as the western USA. And what about importers, distributors, retail chains, trade associations, and other organizations that one would expect to boost marketing efforts? Some importers are small, local sales- and operations-based outfits, but others, such as Pernod Ricard, Diageo, and Kobrand ought to be churning out more brand images and concurrent communications than students like myself would know what to do with.

Am I being unfair? Am I noticing a lack of TV commercials and train billboards, and blowing it way out of proportion? Let's consider how I may be off base. I believe that wine companies would generally defend themselves with two key points.

Firstly, they would say that they do engage in plenty of promotions, such as point-of-sale material and/or wine store tastings, PR work with relevant magazines and other media, cooperation with restaurants, hosted events at the winery, participation in group tours (and of course availability for individual visits), perhaps some social media, and the occasional brand ambassador. Many wineries regularly feature restaurants at their facilities, or at least a kitchen capable of servicing the needs of concerts, workshops, and other such on-site events. Baiting Hollow vineyard on Long Island even has horse stables.

All of this is great stuff. Wine drinking is, by and large, a personal and intimate experience. Engaging the customers, well, personally and intimately is not only a good idea but an essential one. Reach out to them at the stores by having a real, live person offer a glass and a conversation. Pop up with some news as they browse the latest stories and information in their magazines and Twitter feeds. Meet them at a tavern for a sip with like-minded aficionados. Invite them into your home, show them around, offer them a glass of something that they can watch being made, and show them a good time. It all makes perfect sense.

But that cannot be the end of it. Intimate promotions, social media, and PR are all key tactics, but another layer of marketing and advertising must take place, too. For every person who buys wine because he/she loves knowing everything about it, there is a person is buying wine despite not knowing anything about it. For every person buying wine for him/herself, there is a person buying wine for someone else. And for every wine drinker who is social about wine, there are wine drinkers who do not actually care too much. It is the same as with other products: some people go to car shows, others say they like cars but would never bother; some people read tech reviews for fun, others claim to be interested but do not even know what model computer they have; and so on. Wines, I assert, have to brand themselves and engage in broad advertising if they want to succeed in capturing the attention and patronage of this second half of the market.

And to that assertion, as well as to my earlier ones, I believe wine companies would respond with a second point that is, ironically, a major marketing trend – in fact, marketing principle – championed by industry moguls and industry gurus alike, and which a peon such as myself must surely have some gall to address so directly. Basically the concept is to market not less but less broadly; to find a niche and cater to it in a personal and direct manner. For those familiar with the diffusion of innovation model, the principle points to the innovators at the beginning of the bell curve and identifies them as they key targets of marketing efforts; by capturing them, the brand establishes itself as analogous with the product category, generates the best buzz, and sets itself up for eventual popularity among the majority.

As the famous marketing expert Seth Godin has put it, promoting "average products for average people" is something to avoid. The same old things for the same boring people – the market is saturated with such products, and nobody is inspired by a message that reflects such things. "Be remarkable," Godin sums up.

I do not know if Godin, and the other marketing experts who adhere to this principle, had the wine industry in mind when they came up with it, but it is surely a case study in avoiding average products for average people. In most product categories, at least mature ones, expensive premium brands are a small percentage of production, and most money is made by selling to the majority – not necessarily by selling "average products" with average features or average brand images, mind you, but by acquiring a majority of people to the feasible pool of consumers by rejecting the aura of expense and exclusivity. Wine is a rare category of product (diamonds are another) in which both appearing as expensive and hoity-toity, and backing it up with as premium of a product as possible, is seen as the natural way to sell to most people.

And yet, so many wineries and vineyards continue with so many of the same methods of demonstrating superiority, that an ironic paradox has arisen in which they all blend in with each other again. It is as if there were a crowd of people, and, hoping to escape the crowded conditions, the people decided to move away – but each and every one of them ended up moving to the exact same place. The tactic failed to serve the principle.

Consider just one aspect of an average wine's image: the label, which I bring up advisedly for a reason soon to follow. What can be less remarkable than a wine with a fancy label on the bottle; with a story about some old aristocrat, lucky wayward adventurer, or bored millionaire; with a picture of an estate worth more than my entire ZIP code; with tasting notes that illuminate little in return for reading so dense it feels like homework; and with excess script lettering and a fine line between legitimate information and faux verbiage? Sure, such a bottle looks extraordinary sitting in the average wine drinker's kitchen, but on the shelf at the liquor store it is quite conspicuously unremarkable.

Some wine labels try certain tricks, but seeing modern art on the label, or the words "Fat Bastard" next to a hippopotamus, may make me notice the bottle, but does little to illuminate its contents, and rather misses the point about why wines appear unremarkable. They appear unremarkable because, for the average person, all that there is to know about them short of having drunk them already is to stare at the sea of bottles flooding the aisle in the store. And that is the fault of the wine makers, importers, distributors, and retailers. It is also an opportunity for some to jump ahead of the rest by making the masses think of their wines before even entering the store.

Godin and his intellectual ilk were almost certainly not talking about advertising when they developed their ideas; in fact, Godin explicitly condemns old-fashioned, basic advertising. But if we distill their work into a principle and apply it to wine, then what we have is the need to push remarkable products to average people through mass media. In order for the principle to be served, it needs to be turned onto its head.

Now, a caveat here, to address what I think many readers may be shaking their heads about: For people who are into wine – sommeliers, connoisseurs, aficionados, and adventurers – the label means little, and advertising would not mean much more. They already know what to look for with a wine. If anything, mass advertising would appear crass. It would make the wine seem like it aims for the lowest common denominator, like it were some modern manufactured product instead of an authentic historical tradition. Those predisposed to extreme sentiments may even feel that no self-respecting wine maker would engage in advertising, and no self-respecting wine lover would appreciate it. Forget for a moment that advertising has not detracted from the grandeur of diamonds, whisky, and other fine products. Wine is different, is it not?

To say that advertising would ruin it, of course, would be to diminish the importance of what is ultimately inside the bottle. If the advertising would mean nothing to many people one way or another, that is fine – it is true for most product categories, in fact. I see advertisements for dish detergent all the time, and I do not care because I intend to stick with the brand I already use. That hardly means that dish detergents should not advertise. Similarly, people who are really into wine already know what to expect from different regions and varietals, maybe even from different years. Advertising is not for them. But what about everyone else? Remember, for every wine drinker who already knows what he/she likes, there is someone buying a bottle for a friend, or looking to experiment, or simply not sure what to get.

A wine brand (maker/importer/distributor) should want the customer to walk into the wine store already confident about wanting to buy that brand, about what will be found in the bottle, about what it will mean to him/her when drinking it or what it will say about him/her when gifting it, and about how he/she will feel afterwards. Needless to say, the quality of the wine itself is what is paramount, but aside from that, as with any other product, the brand image already planted in the consumer’s mind has its own huge role to play in the experience. Intimate promotions, PR, and social media all are important. But frankly, the best way for a wine maker to have its brand image and product stand out and be remarkable in a segment nearly devoid of advertising is to engage in advertising.

How would this work? Well, I, no average dope myself, saw that Vitiano poster ad, and… bought some. I probably would not have otherwise, having been at the time in the midst of surveying various French wines. But I saw the ad, and I thought, "A wine I haven’t heard of? It might be nice for a casual evening? Sure, I'm game." It may sound trite to talk about "raising awareness," "educating the consumer," and all that. But when the customer goes into the wine shop and looks for a certain wine already in mind, then it will definitely stand out from the rest just by virtue of that fact. The sale is mostly made.

Alright, you get it. Enough. About the Vitiano, by the way: Both red and white are Umbria IGT, and made by Falesco. The 2010 red was a little disappointing. It shows its youth still, and while the aroma is pleasantly sophisticated and in fact quite promising, the palate comes off a little harsh, abrasive, overly-acidic. Breathing helped, which means that there is potential. But the wine needs another 18 months in bottle to mellow out before it can be given a fair assessment; for now, it is not great.

But the 2012 white – that one I like. The aroma offers a crisp bouquet of florals and fruits. Specific notes include apple, lychee, snapdragon, and an umbrella of citrus under which the other notes frolic. I say frolic, because the personality that comes about is the best feature. It is vivacious, while still balanced, and enticing. It knows what it is doing, it knows what it wants, and it is going to have a good time going to get it. Kind of like a lovely cougar getting up to dance.

The palate is, in a keen twist, much more mellow than the aroma, but still quite delightful. There are notes of honey, apple, and florals, and the wine is a bit buttery. The citrus has all but disappeared, and the lychee remains around the edges. All in all, it is a cornucopia stretching from spring until autumn. The body is even and balanced. The wine is ever so slightly acidic.

Falesco is typical of wineries today: a decent spot of land, fair business, a variety of wines to offer. Many would say that the principle business of such a winery – or any winery, for that matter – is to continue to strive to improve their wines and produce the very best libation possible. That "R&D", let’s call it, and production, are certainly crucial focuses for a winery. But as with any business, it is also important to be proactive in bringing in customers. It is the right thing to do for the employees, for the vendors, for the viticulturists and viniculturists and their work, even for the industry as a whole – for all stakeholders. The work has to mean something, it has to have a chance at success, and it has to be underwritten. Advertising is the best way, in the context of the wine world today, to set a wine apart from the rest and get the customer’s attention. Look again at the poster from the train. There is nothing about it to detract from an image of authentic bucolic tradition; on the contrary, it is a lovely depiction of a pleasantly romantic scene, perfect for wine. Falesco and Winebow, the importer, did well to take the simple step of putting up some nice posters. Other wines should follow suit.

Suavia 2009 Soave Classico

Producer: Suavia Azienda Agricola
Name: Soave Classico

Varietals: (unknown)

Region: Soave Classico D.O.C., Italy

Vintage: 2009

Tasted: July 11, 2013

ABV: 12.5%

I thoroughly hate to give a negative review, I really do. It is not a nice thing, and for all I know it may make me an enemy or two. In fact, even if I personally dislike a beverage, as long as objective criteria show it to be of good quality, and a fair amount of people like it for what it is, then I will put my own taste buds aside and write about what the beverage has to offer in its own right.

In the case of the Soave I had the other evening, I really wanted to like it. I was in the mood for a nice white, Soave Classico is a great region and 2009 was a good year there, and this was set to hit the spot. A nice wine, a nice review, badda-bing, badda-boom. Unfortunately, there was not very much to like about this wine once it hit the palate, and I simply refuse to say otherwise here. Sometimes a positive review is just a flat out lie, and in those cases I will not pull a verbal two-step and make the beverage sound good. I cannot, in good conscience, cross that line, however much I may find it convenient to do so.

When reviewing a drink, I like not only to discuss aromas and flavors, but also to study history and tradition, production and industry, and other things that make the world of beverages, and the world as a whole, exciting. For the 2009 Soave Classico by Suavia, what we have to learn ties in directly with its flaws, which are both blatant and unforgivable.

Which is not to say that they are all-encompassing. The first thing that one notices is quite nice: an aroma of tropical citrus, mainly orange and kumquat, and maybe a touch of lychee. It is crisp like a Sauvignon Blanc, fruity like a Chardonnay, and piquant like a Pinot Grigio. The intensity is moderate, respectable. It was all so promising.

The palate is different. The fruits are the same, but now joined by notes of toffee and nuts, especially almonds. There is also a note of apricot and a hint of a whiff of a mist of vanilla. The texture is even, but not smooth - let's say consistent ridges.

But those ridges are nothing more than the alcohol hitting the tongue. It is not verve, spunk, movement, or any other aspect of personality. It is neither give nor take. In fact, the wine is very conspicuously flat in such respects. It lacks that certain something, an aliveness. Perhaps this Soave Classico is not completely a corpse, but it is quite listless. It is almost as though it were not really into being a wine; it just goes through the motions, and quite unconvincingly at that. I found myself not so much enjoying a glass of wine as drinking an alcoholic beverage flavored like one. Even the color, though tinted nicely straw, lacks any and all distinguishing characteristics. It is not so much limpid as boring.

The finish gets even worse, by the way: the wine loses even its taste. Other than a basic, perfunctory note of white grape, there is barely anything there to report.

I dared not hope that a short while of breathing would jolt this sleeping drink awake, but I stuck around to see what would happen, out of curiosity if nothing else. I probably should not have bothered. After twenty minutes of aeration, the wine is pretty much the same as before except without the ridges. The aroma is still pretty nice: smoother, more mellow, full of tropical notes minus the citrus. It is more mellifluous, easygoing, a fun bouquet - the olfactory equivalent of a varied palette of bright, vivid pastels. But then when sipped, the wine has the same issues as before. It offers a pleasant combination of tropical fruits, and the offering stops dead right there. This wine completely lacks presence. I cannot talk to it, much less hear anything from it. The finish does attempt an improvement, offering notes of grapes and nectarines, with a tad of lychee to round it out. But this is way too little, way too late.

They say that one does not appreciate what one has until it is gone. I like to think that I have been attentive to, and appreciative of, the personalities offered up by the wines and other beverages that I have been fortunate enough to taste over the past year and more. But tasting a wine like this, so completely devoid of personality, definitely does help me to understand just how important personality is, and in what ways it is so. A wine is more than just fermented grapes, in the same way that a person is more than just carbon and water. People are awake, alive, active, conscious, and endowed with unique characters and qualities pertaining precisely to that consciousness. In the same way, the flavors and features in any wine worth the name ought primarily to serve as highlights alongside the qualities associated with being alive and having a personality all its own. This 2009 Soave Classico certainly has all of the ingredients, but nothing to let us know that there is anything behind them. And what a shame that is.

Aiace Riserva 2007

Producer: Castello Monaci

Name: Aiace Riserva

Varietals: Malvasia Nera 20%; Negroamaro 80%

Region: Salice Salentino D.O.C., Italy

Vintage: 2007 Riserva

Tasted: April 1, 2013

ABV: 14%

It really is interesting how much history of culture and civilization there is to be divined from a single word. For example, a principle grape of Salice Salentino D.O.C. is negroamaro. On the face of it, the word breaks down simply enough: negro derives from "black," amaro means "bitter," ergo "negroamaro" refers to a dark, bitter grape. And indeed the wine is often so; maybe that is all there is to say about the etymology here after all. A little snooping around outside the box, however, turns up the interesting fact that the suffix -maro is rooted in the Ancient Greek, and modern Salentine, word for "black." "Black-black," perhaps the grape is really called. Heck if the color does not approach such dark depths, and besides, while negroamaro does ferment into wine that includes notes of earth and herbs that may be considered on the bitter side (among many other notes), that would be an odd way to name a beverage that is, in totality, one of the sweet and pleasant drinks in life. The Ancient Greeks, furthermore, planted grapes in most of the motable wine regions around the Mediterranean before the Romans took over such tasks, including in Salento, the peninsula forming the heel of Italy's boot, towards the bottom of which Salice Salentino D.O.C. is located. Snooping around yet further, we find that before even the Greeks arrived in Salento, the Illyrians got there and made a wine called "merum." Mention of this merum is found here and there among Mediterranean literatures for the better part of a millenium, up through the days of the Romans. Technical records, to the poor extent that they exist, are sketchy, but it is plausible that negroamaro was used to make merum. In that case, then, we may have nothing less than "black merum" comprising eighty percent of this beverage here before us today. And who knows what the philologists, anthropologists, and ampelographists will discover next? Absent proof one way or another, we may consider it plausible that any number of civilizations brought negroamaro to Salento at almost any point over the last seven or eight millenia.

Fascinating, really. It is truly remarkable how a single word often contains more history and wonder just waiting to be discovered than an entire sentence that spells something out.

Castello Monaci named this estate bottling after Telemonian Ajax, Ajax the Great, cousin to Achilles and hero of the Greeks in the Trojan War. A blurb in Italian on the back of the bottle discusses how Ajax "distinguished himself time and again" with his "inherent strength and great valor. Powerful, imposing, and quite handsome, he remained calm and collected." (Translation mine.) Ajax was, generally, an intense person, as his falling out with Odysseus and mortal derangement illustrate. But Castello Monaci does well to remind its patrons of the hero's almost superhuman ability, on the battlefield, to keep his abundant energy away from his nerves, housing it instead within his massive limbs. He was thus a paragon of both strength and poise where it counted most. In that respect, it was very keen indeed to name this wine after Ajax.

The Aiace Riserva is a deep red wine, more garnet than ruby. The 2007 has just the absolute slightest hint of orange around the edges. We can certainly get the maximum out of it by drinking it now, without worry that it is not quite ready - but, were we to leave it until 2014 to open, we would be forgiven for looking at it then and thinking that we just hit the beginning of peak drinking age.

The aroma is full of sweet reds, primarily cherry and strawberry, and some purples, principally dried plum. There is even a fig come over to play. Not as heavy as most aromas with so many components, this aroma does lack any sign of the oak casks in which the wine has aged.

The first thing one notices when tasting the wine is how smooth it is. There are some initial notes of vanilla - there are those casks - and some redcurrants and plums. After a couple of sips, the vanilla fades away, and the fruits take over. The Aiace Riserva is medium bodied. It thereby is strong enough to have bold flavors, but it does not allow those flavors to run rampant about the mouth; rather, it keeps them to a gentle, easy glide as they flow smoothly down. The finish is cherry and plum, and I wish it lasted longer.

After breathing for twenty minutes, the wine drinks optimally. In the nose there are some purples and darker reds: plum, cranberry, pomegranite, fig. Still, though, the aroma does an impressive job of staying light. A couple of vanilla and toffee notes are to be found, but the fruits dominate. The palate is slightly richer than it had been earlier, though the tasting notes have not shifted too much at all. The redcurrants have morphed to slightly lighter reds, but they carry the depth of darker reds. The finish has not changed, nor, sadly, learned to endure longer.

Does this wine have an undercurrent of explosive emotions just waiting for a good reason to pop to the forefront of tales and adventures recounted and examined by laypeople and scholars all over the world for millenia to come? Probably not. After even a couple of hours, the wine remained cool and composed. But on the other hand, any time that I am drinking it is a time that counts - precisely the type of situation in which the warrior Ajax would have been the last to even flinch. Beautiful, powerful, poised - and with ends that come way too soon - Ajax the wine and Ajax the hero have an extraordinary amount in common. Open a gripping narrative of his exploits, pour a glass of the good stuff, sit back with both, and enjoy.

Cesari 2009 Valpolicella Classico

Producer: Gerardo Cesari

Name: Cesari Valpolicella Classico

Region: Valpolicella Classico D.O.C., Italy

Vintage: 2009

Tasted: January 20, 2013

ABV: 12.5%

Valpolicella is located in the Verona region, which in turn is nestled in the Veneto, historically the mainland province associated with the Most Serene Republic, Venice. But when asked what means more to their sense of place - a wealthy, dynamic city-state maintaining its own independent role in the center of European culture and history uninterruptedly from the time of the barbarian invasions until finally Napoleon Bonaparte successfully took over, or wine-making - most folks of the Veneto would say the latter. Because the latter not only has outlived the former, but predates it as well; ancient Romans and even ancient Greeks were making wine in the Veneto long before there ever was a city-state - or even a city - to lend its name to the province. Some experts even contend that the name "Valpolicella" was pieced together from Latin and Greek to signify "valley of many cellars". That would be apt; even today, Valpolicella is second only to Chianti in total Italian wine production among DOC regions.

Back in the twelfth century, a couple of bordering winemaking zones were unified to form the Valpolicella that we know today. Well, sort of what we know today: when Valpolicella was awarded Denominazione di origine controllata status in 1968, the Italian authorities included a large swath of previously unaffiliated surrounding territories in that charter. Wineries within the original Valpolicella borders naturally protested that their good name was being bastardized and their potential profits shrunk, but perhaps more importantly, many wine drinkers voiced concerns that the non-original territories had been excluded from the original for a reason. The wines grown in the surrounding territories are well and good, but wine from the original Valpolicella has a special quality and character all its own, and it does not always take an expert to discern the difference. So, the solution was that the expanded borders stand, but wines grown within the original borders get to denote themselves "Valpolicella Classico". Wine from the Classico area constitute about 40% of all Valpolicella wine today.

Valpolicella wines, including famous varieties of the region such as Amarone della Valpolicella and recioto dessert wine, are typically composed of three varietals: Corvina Veronese, Rondinella, and Molinara. The 2009 Classico from Cesari is a very deep red, much darker than most. One cannot see too far into the brick hue. Evidently, this Valpolicella Classico is not meant to be explored by the eyes; it insists that those who would know it have a sip and learn of it that way.

The aroma, upon opening the bottle, is strong and smooth, and rather lacking tannins. There are notes of cherry, strawberry, pomegranate, and other reds, but the undertones of vanilla, florals, tapioca, leather, and toffee are not very "under" at all. They make it exceptionally smooth and vibrant at quite the same time. Not that the reds are taking a back seat to anything. What a medley! Will the palate be so varied and powerful? Yes, actually. There are tasting notes of reds - cherry, redcurrant, strawberry - and the same vanillas, florals, and toffees as in the aroma, although those latter notes are now more subdued. In fact, now there is a bit of spice, but not too much, just barely enough to add a little dimension. The tannins have arrived, though not in force. The wine is medium bodied, and rather lax on the structure. The finish is of the familiar reds and vanilla.

The comment about lax structure begs some exploration here. Not qualification: what little structure there is to be found is not exactly the most sturdy example. But still, that may well be the whole point, a part of this wine rather than something that detracts from it. This Valpolicella Classico does not define itself by its flavors alone so much as by the method by which those notes interact. They flow seamlessly into and out of each other, and around each other as well, quite similar to the interaction of fluids in a lava lamp. They are dynamic not in that they morph into something else, but rather in that they shift in relative shape and size to one another - indeed, part of the miracle here is that they stay quite intact during this constant flux, which, though seemingly random, ends up painting a beautiful and intuitively keen picture of tasting notes about the tongue and palate.

After breathing for twenty minutes, though, there has been very observable change with the wine. The aroma is still comprised of reds such as pomegranate and strawberry, and now there is even an appropriate dab of spice - but where has everything else gone? Compared to most other wines the aroma would still seem exceptionally smooth, but compared to the aroma of twenty minutes beforehand it seems very spicy. The palate is of rich, dark red fruits, a conglomerate of notes quite befitting its color: blackberry, plum, cherry, and so on. The flavor is quite bold, though the texture has not changed from its medium body (which is something to be appreciated; had the wine thickened or coarsened any, it could only have ruined what thus far has been a wonderful thing). There is spice in the palate, manifesting not as a tweak of the other notes' dimensions, but rather as a separate layer, rather pine-like. The sweetness and spice are evened out by tannins, which have continued to grow, and by an underlayer of vanilla (which is, by now, plenty "under", though far from disappeared). The finish is of strawberry and cherry.

Perhaps the biggest change over twenty minutes was in the structure, namely that it exists now. And quite as its absence gave us a glimpse into the inner personality behind this Valpolicella Classico's character, its presence now gives us some keen food for thought not only as applies to the wine, but also as applies to ourselves. For much as the children who enjoyed lava lamps (and other, less savory iconic diversions) many decades ago have since grown up to enjoy maturity and the fulfillments of families and careers that come with it, so too this wine matured after breathing into a hearty, meaningful spirit, not at all devoid of flavor or character compared to earlier, but now with direction, purpose, a confident sense of self. There are two lessons to be derived from this. One is that no matter how far we stray from childhood, there is nothing wrong with enjoying the aesthetic effects of a lava lamp. Lava lamps look pretty neat; dynamic wines taste pretty good. And that is quite alright. But the other lesson, equally important, is that a time to grow up will come, and that is to be taken as an opportunity, not as a setback or frustration. This Valpolicella Classico could have tried to stick with dynamic fluctuation in spite of its continued exposure to air, but that would have been disastrous. Instead, it gathered its assets and focused them in a new, appropriate direction. Now, more than a wine that just tastes good and is spunky (the "before"), we have a wine that tastes good, that commands respect, that can easily hold its own against strong dishes and yet be well tolerated by more mild ones, and that the people of historic Valpolicella, and really of the entire Veneto, can hold up with pride (the "after").

Now, the label recommends letting the wine air for an hour before serving. First of all, having tasted it after twenty minutes and again after an hour, I can claim with confidence that twenty minutes will suffice just fine to achieve the recommended effect. But second of all, surely those of us who are looking for more in a wine than just an inebriating concoction to put in a fancy glass on the dinner table should be sure not to pay heed to that suggestion. Is not the appreciation of a wine based on the personality it assumes? Is not the magic of the spirit, more than just what tasting notes it has, how they interact and give us so many more dimensions than just simple flavor? To truly appreciate all that Cesari's 2009 Valpolicella Classico has to offer, please, do not aerate, and let settle, and let transform, and then sip. There will be plenty of time to taste the mature spirit post-aeration in just a little while. For now, partake of the newly opened, the young, the spunky, the dynamic, the idealistic, the unfettered, the wild and crazy. It is well, well worth it.

Salute!

Sella & Mosca 2007 Cannonau di Sardegna Riserva

Producer: Sella & Mosca

Name: Cannonau di Sardegna

Varietal: Cannonau

Region: Sardegna D.O.C., Italy

Vintage: 2007 Riserva

Tasted: October 17, 2012

ABV: 14%

In a recent newsletter, Kermit Lynch asks his esteemed readership to consider whether Corsica is really French. Yes, of course it is administered by the French government, Lynch explains, but that is a happenstance of history and politics, and a relatively recent one at that. Corsica has been subjected to many conquering nations, and their influences, over the centuries, and really it has more to do with Italy geographically, linguistically, culturally, and, of course, viticulturally, than with France.

Lynch's point, which is well-taken, is that one ought not to confuse political association with gastronomic association. Corsica's grapes, the wineries that grow and ferment them, and the wines that arise from them, are all quite patently Italian in nature, if not in bureaucracy.

What is one to make, though, of Sardinia? Sardinians speak an Italian language, are citizens of the Italian nation, and are proud to call themselves Italian. Yet their wines, or at least the grapes used to make them, can be traced back quite directly to Spanish grapes that Spaniards planted there a few short centuries ago. The Spaniards were at liberty to import these vines, furthermore, because for nearly four hundred years they owned the island, and we can be sure that they left behind plenty of Iberian customs and folklore to go along with all of that oenology that they had established. Cannonau, Sardinia's most important red, can be traced straight back to a strain of Garnacha. The wine made from it – the principle product of a proud Italian province's viticultural tradition – tastes rather Spanish. Again, what ought one make of this?

Let's leave that question for now, and turn to the wine itself. Sella & Mosca's 2007 Cannonau di Sardegna Riserva is of a true garnet color. They say that red tones induce energy and agitation, but not this red. It is deep, smooth, relaxing. The aroma is pungent, mostly from the numerous tannins. The main notes are of red berries and plums; some cherries and cranberries make appearances here and there. The wine includes a healthy helping of plum in the palate. There are other miscellaneous reds as well, and plenty of tannins to go around. The level of oakiness is perfect for a wine like this: present, and seamlessly melded into the flavor profile, but so subtle that someone not looking for it will not likely stumble into it, while someone who is looking for it will find that it disappears as soon as a glimpse is caught. One does not need the label to tell that this wine is fourteen percent alcohol, but there is no specific bite to it; it is just a little sharp, is all. Medium bodied, the wine has good structure, quite ideally suited to the flavor profile. The finish is of strawberries, and reds generally.

After aerating for twenty minutes, the Cannonau is not much changed except that it is a little sweeter. The aroma is of plums. The palate, too, includes plums, as well as cherries and even some mild florals. The wine is smoother and boasts a body that, while pleasantly rounder, has no trouble keeping its structure. The finish remains strawberry.

Sometimes wine is a welcome accessory to a relaxing evening. Depending on the food with which it would be paired, this Cannonau may or may not be the right wine for such a context. But quite often, an evening over wine is part of a vivacious and exciting time, and that is really where this would be in its element. This is not to bring up loud or noisy demonstrations of modern collective hedonism, but rather a lively table and a festive event, the kind of atmosphere to set people right among each other. Christmas dinner, or a wedding celebration lasting into the wee hours, are examples that come readily to mind. The Cannonau is bold, fruity, spicy, and delicious, perfect for red meats and a variety of poultry and pasta preparations, and an excellent complement to a bustling congregation of close friends and good company.

Ah, what a beautiful side of life. Quite typical, really, of both Spanish and Italian ways. So, which of those is the most relevant here? We might step back a little, and find accuracy in the broad: the Cannonau is Mediterranean. Indeed, it is so. And yet, that does not really do the trick after all; our finger is not quite on it. The Mediterranean itself, being a bit more obvious of an example, acts as metaphor for why: It is neither European nor Levantine, Anatolian nor African; it is its own entity, greater than the sum of its parts. It would not, could not, be the same without any of them, and yet we do not merely play hopscotch among them in defining it. So, too, ought we take care not to catch ourselves in that paradigm with our Tyrrhenian province here. The Cannonau comes from a small island that entire nations waged war to own; an outpost where classical civilizations sought to build; a little place where emperors schemed big. There is no adjective to do the Cannonau justice, except to read the label right in front of us. It is Sardinian.

La Kiuva 2009 Arnad Montjovet

Producer: La Kiuva

Region: Arnad Montjovet, Vallée d'Aosta D.O.C., Italy

Vintage: 2009

Tasted: August 26, 2012

ABV: 12.5%

The 2009 Arnad Montjovet from La Kiuva is an excellent embodiment of the Vallée d'Aosta. Just as the picturesque valley is caught between cultures, this Arnad Montjovet cannot quite decide between personalities.

Though the Vallée d'Aosta is Italian by political tradition, the culture is particularly Alpine, more comparable to Switzerland than to anywhere else. And for good reason: the region, nestled as it is between France, Switzerland, and the rest of Italy, includes slopes of such icons as the Matterhorn, Mont Blanc (the highest peak in the Alps), and many others. About seventy percent of the people speak French, some speak Valdôtain (a distinct Romance language native to the area), and there is even a minority of Walser German speakers. These people really pay taxes to Rome and not to Bern? On the other hand, everyone speaks Italian and the region is no further from the Ligurian Coast than Manhattan is from Montauk. Alright then.

In accordance with Italian DOC regulations, Arnad Montjovet is about seventy percent Nebbiolo with a great miscellany of grapes comprising the rest. The 2009 from La Kiuva errs on the transparent side of red – limpid, almost – and with a slight but unmistakable purple tinge when viewed from the right angle. Let's call it carmine. It opens with a nice, deep berry scent. One can just smell the tannins, and some spice. When sipped, the wine proceeds to offer two versions of itself at once. It is light, fluffy, and mellow on the tongue, the way that a wine from a Mediterranean country should be. And it is spicy, very biting, on the palate, the way that a wine from a harsh, mountainous region should be. Well, which type of wine is it? Whence does it wish to come? Silly questions. It does not have to make any kind of definitive choice any more than the Vallée d'Aosta herself does, and one can be sure that neither is in any hurry to settle the question one way or the other.

The flavor notes are of fresh fruit, particularly citrus. There is a little tang to the wine, and a little sweetness as well. For the finish, the red fruits appear, as do tannins. Some bite appears on the way down; clearly, the wine does not wish to go quietly into the night, and its Alpine side is putting up a valiant struggle, but to us higher mortals it manifests as a mere amusing hint of spice.

After aerating for twenty minutes, the Arnad Montjovet has mellowed out. The easygoing side wins; evidently, even hardy mountain folk need a Mediterranean vacation after a while. The nose remains unchanged but the palate has lost its bite. The flavors and tannins float around smoothly. The finish, too, has turned pacific.

One of the benefits of a wine that cannot make up its mind is a great versatility in pairing. (One might fear that the inverse can lead to a downside, but it works out the good way with the La Kiuva.) The three dishes with which I came up are chicken parmigiana, rack of lamb, and tortellini bolognese. But truly, this Arnad Montjovet can work great with most any meat, poultry, or red sauce dish. I encourage my dear readers to discover as much for themselves.

Carpineto 2010 Dogajolo

Producer: Carpineto

Name: Dogajolo

Varietals: Chardonnay 40%; Grechetto 30%; Sauvignon Blanc 30%

Region: Greve in Chianti, I.G.T., Italy

Vintage: 2010

Tasted: August 01, 2012

ABV: 12.5%

Carpineto dubs its 2010 Dogajolo "dry white table wine." On its website, it decorates the wine with the title "Super Tuscan." At least one of those makes sense.

Back in the mid-1900s, Italian wine was suffering a PR problem of global proportions. And for good reason: the entire country was one big table-wine factory. From Bangkok to Brooklyn, for example, Chianti was better known as "spaghetti wine." Eventually, movements arose to remedy the situation, as winemakers began to grow proper grapes and craft proper wines. For its part, the Italian government established a commission to set designated wine regions with relevant standards – its own version of the French appellation system. Hence the DOC and DOCG designations we have come to know and love.

It was not, however, so simple. (Nothing worthwhile ever is.) Many winemakers in the forefront of Italy's wine industry found the new standards to be too strict. Their ability to be creative and innovative, and to keep up with technology, in growing and blending the grapes was stifled. They argued, reasonably, that such strict regulations would do more to hinder the Italian wine industry than to promote and nourish it. But the authorities did not budge much. So, many wine makers bucked the rules and did their own thing anyway, forfeiting the DOC/DOCG designations in the hopes that their stuff was good enough to pass muster on its own legs. (No pun intended.)  To judge by any criterion – wine quality, market success, what have you – the winemakers were spot-on. Well-deserved success came on like a tsunami. Properly denominated Italian labels were lucky if they could charge half of what the alternatives were ringing up for their wines. In commenting on all of this, some journalist referred to such wines from Chianti as "Super Tuscans," and the term caught on as quickly as the wine itself did.

Fast-forward forty years. Are things taken too far? Well. The idea of a new Italian label seeking designation is almost silly. Every other wine nowadays is a "Super Tuscan." Producers, distributors, consumers, and, of course, reviewers and critics throw the term about with reckless abandon. Seeing "Super Tuscan" describe a wine lets the consumer know right away that it has as much a chance of being yet another standard, normal, unremarkable wine from that storied province as anything else. Surprised? Nobody should be. Such is the caprice of humankind. But it does make it frustrating when the term is used on a label or website. Will the wine be as good as it is supposed to be? Quite possibly, but the let-downs can be rough.

The Dogajolo has perhaps the prettiest label I have ever seen on a bottle of wine, and a tint to match. The wine is clear, glimmering in all the right ways, rather like a pale goldenrod. The 2010 opens with a light nose of citrus – kumquat and grapefruit, mostly – and a bit of green pepper. On being sipped, it both tastes and feels like a refreshing wave of apple. There is a citrus trim to the palate – is that quince? While the nose is mild, the best word to describe the level of taste is "pungent." Dry, the Dogajolo has a medium body and good structure, although it can be a bit rough around the edges. The finish is mild, mostly an encore of the apple notes.

One other item is that it really seems as though there is a hint of oak to the palate. Is that your humble servant's imagination run amok, a hallucination born of a need to have good material for a certain weblog? Carpineto's website does not say whether or not the wine spent time in oak. But the hint, though recessed back into the farthest corner of the tongue, was quite firmly planted there.

There was quite a bit of difference after twenty minutes of breathing, more than with most whites. The nose was much mellowed, and acquired notes of pears, table grapes, maybe even a berry or two. The palate really came into its own, with a kinder texture and a much more mellow, enjoyable tone. My note from the time says, "now tastes like it was made from grapes" – an exaggeration, of course, but the point remains. There are also notes of citrus. The finish is the same mild apple.

As I sip the wine, especially after aeration, I see myself sitting outside with a lovely companion at a bistro set, stylish, on a patio, poolside, trees, blues skies, warm weather. Maybe there is a plate of soft cheese, olives, and fruit; or maybe it is just veggies and dip. What is definitely there, popping up with agreeable frequency between sensuous smiles and leisurely laughs? The 2010 white Dogajolo.