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.

Down Among the Long Island Vines

In my family, family comes first, just as it ought to. Blood is thicker than water, and even than wine. Yet I cannot help but notice: friends tend to give much better gifts than family. Gifts from both are thoughtful and loving, but they are still wholly distinct. There is what one wants to have, and then there is what other people want for one to have. Family and friends each are aware of both; yet they have different priorities. Family will get you what it thinks you need; friends do not waste birthdays on such things.

Having the blessed life that I do, I can count more than a few people as both family and friends. Most began as the former and soon became the latter; one family, in particular, began as the latter. I can still remember the first day I hung out with my best friend, Mike, back in the Little League days. "Hi, Camille!" I greeted his mother as I entered his home.

"Uh, excuse me, there, bud, you can call me Mrs. Kennedy," came the reply in a tone that was simultaneously stern enough to scare me and sweet enough to spoil me, a perfect combination that comes as naturally to this particular matriarch as cooking and hosting, and that I have yet to hear successfully replicated by anyone else on the planet. So "Mrs. Kennedy" it was, until one day about seven years later, when I walked in and greeted her, "Heya, Mrs. Kennedy."

She looked at me. "You know, I hate that you call me that."

"Uh, I, oh, but, I think, wasn't it your idea?"

"Yeah, I remember," she replied matter-of-factly. "I just hate that you call me that, that's all."

There are three centers of human knowledge: the mind, the heart, and the gut. The latter two did not need to be told twice that we were well past strangerhood and formalities; indeed, we had barely ever been there in the first place. But the mind, well, as usual it proved itself a little slow on the uptake. "Oh, well, okay, so what should I call you?"

"Uh, gee, I dunno," came the sarcasm, which, when rooted in southern Italy by way of Brooklyn, is affectionate by more than mere implication. "Mom." Her look had two layers. One was was saying, "Duh," the other, "I love you."

From then on, Mike's parents have been Mom and Dad, which he calls my parents as well. But of course, Mike and I had adopted each other as brothers long before then. Thankfully, he did not, during that whole process of becoming family, lose the friend's intuition for gift giving.

This past week was my birthday. Never mind how old I am; it is old enough for me to groan about it, but young enough that nobody else wants to hear about it. I have not only survived the past year, but also gained, during that time, the best companionship a man can have, that of a consummately lovable woman who loves me back. So I count it as a win, ignore the number, and carry on. But first, I have had to indulge those around me who have wished to mark the occasion with various fripperies. That has meant packing my wine rack, depleting spare space on my bookshelves, schlepping out to restaurants, grinding craft roasted coffee, consuming enough calories to fill a freshly baked pie, transacting input with the bank, expanding my wardrobe, snuffling scented candles, and sitting through an entire gosh darn day of luxury bus rides and free wine tastings at vineyards on Long Island's North Fork. Sheesh, the things I do to humor my loved ones.

Hampton Luxury Liner runs a wonderful service. I have no idea how Mike found it, but I am glad that he did. The tour covers three vineyards: Pindar and Duck Walk for an hour each, and then Baiting Hollow for a little over three hours. At each vineyard, each person is allotted between three and five complementary half-glass tastes of (almost) any wines. After that, time can be spent buying more to drink, lounging around a patio, shopping for things to bring home, and strolling among the vines - people took advantage primarily of the first two. The bus picked up my lovely lady and me (Mike and his fiance did not attend) in Nassau County at 9 in the morning and got us back by around 7 in the evening, making for a long day. Most people had gotten on the bus in the Boroughs. These were no idle afternoon time-killers; they were in it to hit the wines good and hard. Nobody became so inebriated as to fall ill or cause trouble, but short of that people tossed off limitations for the day.

The average age was around thirty, and everyone came as either a couple or a group of women, which is hardly a surprise given trends in the market lately. Those with a mind for marketing will not marvel at the fact that neither the tour nor the vineyards bother much about how lovely the rows of vines are, or how interesting the winemaking process is. In fact, quite as most of the clientele would have it, the tour does not bother about much of anything other than efficiently shuttling people in luxury from one tasting room to the next, where the vineyards concentrate on serving their selections of tasty spirits.

Pindar was first. We began with a couple of whites. The 2012 Riesling has a citric nose with tones of apple, while the palate is sort of the inverse: a sweet, crisp yellow apple with hints of citrus. The 2012 Chardonnay is curious on the nose, with notes of crisp pear, quince, and lychee. The palate is lighter, of pear. Both are alright. Next came the reds, beginning with the delightful Isabella NV. It has a rich, luscious nose of blackberry and redcurrant, and tasting notes of cherry and strawberry, shockingly lighter than the nose, though not in a bad way. In fact, from the whole trip, we brought back with us only four bottles: three whites for Mike (one from each vineyard) and an Isabella for me. We also had the 2009 Cabernet Franc, which, I am disappointed to report, is decent on the nose with dry notes of cherry and rhubarb (almost Tempranillo-like), but ranges somewhere between bitter and nondescript on the palate. Finally I tasted the Sweet Scarlett blend, which is alright: strawberry nose and light rhubarb on the palate. I almost opted instead for the Pythagoras blend (a review of which is The Nice Drinks In Life's first post), as it is a favorite Long Island red of mine, but I drink that often enough, and preferred to try new things. I will say this about Pindar: of all the wines we tasted that day, Pindar has the single worst, the Cabernet Franc; but is otherwise positively ahead of the rest.

After sipping wine, my majestic mate and I bought a couple of bottles and then took a stroll around the building. The place is just lovely, and the vines looked great. Unfortunately, the day was more hot than warm, and instead of subjecting the bottles to the heat, we chided ourselves for not waiting a little while longer to buy them, and then sat under the shade on the patio, enjoying all that there was to see. What a beautiful day it was!

It took a little while to coax a certain group of ladies into putting their glasses down and getting back onto the bus, but soon enough we got them settled, and off we went. Next came Duck Walk, which is owned by the same family as Pindar, and located right down the road. The tasting room, as you can see on the left, was absolutely packed. Well, actually, that is not quite right: the tasting room, which is open and spacious (and which, I noticed, has lovely art on the walls), was mostly free of crowds. But the bar in particular, well, that spot did not allow for any degree of easy access for a little while.

But we did get up to it soon enough, and began again with the whites. The 2012 Sauvignon Blanc has a grassy nose with crisp citrus; the palate is more mellow, almost tropical, with notes of citrus and white table grapes. It is a pleasant wine, and I note that it is not at all a carbon copy of the 2011 Sauvignon Blanc Cuvée Select by Duck Walk that I reviewed here back in May; it is independent, its own find. We also sipped the Southampton White blend, which is absolutely perfect for the Pinot Grigio lover: dry and light on the nose, with tones of grape, citrus, and perhaps a hint of sea air; and crisp on the palate with citrus and pear tastes, and plenty of terroir to go around. Having a sweet tooth, I personally find Pindar's 2011 Riesling to be the yummiest white of the afternoon; but by any objective merits, Duck Walk far and away has the best whites of the three places.

At this point my comely companion, being in infinitely numerous ways an infinitely better soul than the average person on this trip (and anywhere else), put down her glass, having found both her limit and the wherewithal to respect it. My soul, on the other hand, leaves a great deal to be desired, and in any event I am blessed with a hepatic tolerance that will not come back to bite me for at least another twenty or thirty birthday celebrations to come. So I proceeded with some reds. First was the Gatsby Red blend, whose aroma of cherries and pomegranate is somewhat sour - not in an obviously delicious way, but subtly quite attractive and beckoning. The taste is sweeter, and of red apple, and was served chilled. I immediately pictured myself and some companions lounging around outside on a hot day, in the mood for some wine, nothing serious, with taste buds preferring red but the rest of the mouth and body preferring white, and this Gatsby Red humoring all. (It is not a rosé, but it does drink like one.) I also went for the Windmill Red blend, which is alright: a Tempranillo-like nose of cherry, plum, and cedar, and a spicy plum palate. I noted that it comes off a bit young, though not terribly.

At this point began the only true downside of the trip: we got hungry. The bus had food in the back; I have no idea what it was, because we did not think to eat at first, and it was just about gone by end of the second stop. Each gift shop has chips and crackers, but they are expensive, and not good to eat without other types of food, as it will just increase hunger in short order. Better to let the metabolism stay at rest for a little while longer. But Duck Walk did have a food truck out back, just next to the vines. So, after taking some goofy pictures among the foliage (did you notice in the picture above that there are not actually any grapes in my hand to be pondering?) we split a small, mediocre, greasy grilled cheese sandwich. It turned out to be all that we would eat all trip.

After going back inside to purchase some Southampton White for Mike (we learned our lesson!), we were right on time to get back on the bus. It was a longer ride to Baiting Hollow, perhaps about a half hour or so. The driver said twenty minutes; maybe, because we were a little weary from the alcohol, heat, and growing hunger, it only seemed longer. But in any event, we arrived soon enough. Baiting Hollow is a little different than the other two. Whereas Pindar and Duck Walk have bona fide tasting rooms, with the merchandise and other things to buy off to one side, Baiting Hollow has a regular gift shop with a small tasting bar in the corner. However, aside from all that, it boasts the most outdoor space, and the most complete outdoor experience to go with it: patios, lawns, tents, a couple of tables whence more wine samples are served, scores of tables at which to sit, a couple of live bands, and horse stables. Yes, horse stables: Baiting Hollow is very active in horse rescuing, and they keep some of the lovely creatures at the winery. The horses are quite personable; one can, and may, go up to the fence, talk to them, pet them, and so on. It is a fantastic experience.

Except, of course, that in short order we were starving. At least I was. In fairness, there was the opportunity here to buy a real lunch. But, well... perhaps I am too persnickety for my own good, but I really think that a lobster roll with the size and apparent quality of a street vendor's hot dog, yet the price of an actual lobster, deserves to be turned down. You know what I mean? I probably should have sucked it up and picked one of the half-dozen similar items on the menu. But I simply could not justify it, and my divine date was content with a bottle of fruit juice. So I told myself that after eating, the previous evening, fully half of the pumpkin-pecan pie that she had baked for me (in my defense, it was not a full-sized pie, even before I got my hands on it), I deserved to go a little hungry, and forewent the food.

What I most certainly did not forego was the wine. I stopped to consider if I was feeling alright, and indeed I was. Besides, there was no driving to be done any time soon. So I had another four tastes, beginning as usual with whites. The 2011 Riesling is quite good, having a complex nose of pear, quince, and citrus; it is at once sharp and sweet. The palate is apple and tropical melon. Next, I asked which wine would be good for Pinot Grigio lovers, and was directed to the 2011 White Satin blend. I suppose it is as close to a Pinot Grigio as anything in their selection comes, but in truth it is more like a Sauvignon Blanc than any other varietal. It has an aroma of pear and kumquat, and a mellow, grassy tasting note of pears. As for the reds, maybe I should have tried a simple varietal, but I was intrigued by their two main blends, Mirage and Red Velvet. The 2010 Mirage has a nose of strawberry, redcurrant, the Portuguese ginja berry (Espinheira makes such a wonderful cordial out of that stuff!), and soy sauce; the palate tastes of creme de cassis and plum. The 2010 Red Velvet is sweeter and a bit more put together, but the notes on the nose and palate are exactly - I mean, one hundred percent - the same as those of the Mirage. I saw the staff get the bottles correct when I asked for each, so there was no mix up to explain things, and the overall quality is markedly better in the Red Velvet, which is the more expensive of the two. But the complete and utter similarity is astounding.

Afterwards, my pulchritudinous partner and I split the remaining time between the porch (the building is a converted house), the horses, and the grounds. At one point a staff member got onto one of the horses, rode it to where the tables and band were situated, and had it trot about in such a way as to make it appear to dance along with the music. It was all very well done, very clever. Less clever was the young lady who, wanting to pet the horse's nose, made a wrong turn somewhere and walked smack into the (unmoving) horse's rear, bouncing right off and finding herself entangled with some hedges. I am not sure if anybody then cut off her supply of wine; security did, though, respond by cutting off access to the animal.

We also took a stroll through the vines. They were absolutely beautiful. I thought perhaps that we were sneaking around, but no: an employee saw us walking through the vines in a spot nowhere near the shop or patio, simply advised that we be careful, and left us alone. It was basically the same way in all three vineyards we visited, and probably countless others. Should I be worried that they were so completely open? The question struck me at first, but after considering the matter, I doubt that there is any cause for concern. It is not only that my seraphic sidekick and I ourselves resisted the temptation to pluck some grapes and munch on them (which, given our hunger, was not easy). It is also that nobody else was causing any trouble. In no place did we see guests messing with anything at all. Consider: at Baiting Hollow alone there were two full coach buses' worth of drunken, hedonistic yuppies hell-bent on throwing caution to the wind (our tour), four or five private limos, an equal number of larger luxury limo buses (one of which chauffeured a bachelorette party, an institution hardly renowned for its promotion of prudent forbearance), and a couple score individual cars carrying young couples, old couples, young children (I do not know why), and mingling singles. Even the six or seven perpetually unattended toddlers failed to lay a finger on so much as a single grape. Besides, the vineyards have all been doing this for decades at this point; if people needed to be kept out, they would be.

What a wonderful day it was! The weather was stunning, the bus ride was luxurious, the vineyards were gorgeous, the wines were delicious, my companion was an angel sent from heaven, and the whole thing took on an extra special air because it was a gift from a friend and a brother. Thank you Mike, and everyone else who has been so kind and generous this past week.

I recommend any of those wineries to people looking for a nice trip out East on the North Fork; or, even better, go get some tickets for the Hampton Luxury Liner and make a whole driving-less day of it. If only you remember to pack a sandwich and some snacks, you are practically guaranteed to enjoy. Cheers!

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.

Duck Walk 2011 Sauvignon Blanc Cuvée Select

Producer: Duck Walk Vineyards

Name: Sauvignon Blanc Cuvée Select

Varietal: Sauvignon Blanc

Region: Long Island, USA

Vintage: 2011

Tasted: May 13, 2013

ABV: 12.5%

How often have we heard Sauvignon Blanc described as "crisp"? Other adjectives are negotiable: Sauvignon Blanc may be sweet or dry; grassy or tropical; spunky or reserved; light or rich; mild or profound. To be sure, those dichotomies are legitimate, having to do with where the grapes are grown, how the wine is made, and no small dose of chance. But "crisp" - well, one who spends enough time in the wide world of wine will be excused if he comes to think that a picture of Sauvignon Blanc appears next to "crisp" in Merriam-Webster's. There is no escaping the phrase. Wine reviews, wine surveys, wine labels, wine advertisements - they all, without fail, are sure to explain just how crisp this or that Sauvignon Blanc really is. It is no less fundamental a description of the wine than "white".

But what do we mean by "crisp"? It is not easy to describe. As with any other adjective whose implication people take for granted from a very young age, to define it without resorting to mere lists of examples and roundabout categorizations is a most mischievously exacting task indeed. (If unsure what I mean here, try to define "red".) To simplify for the sake of convenience and brevity, I find that "crisp" generally refers to a distinct, even sharpness, or else the palpable potential thereof. This phenomenon is most commonly associated with the senses of sound and touch, such as with apples, paper, and autumnal air, but may certainly apply to any of the other senses as well, in this case taste via the olfactory nerves. (Most of what people taste in wine, coffee, and a hefty menu of other foods and drinks, are in fact sensed through the olfactory nerves, not the taste buds.)

The next question is, if a wine is to be called "crisp", what does that mean about the wine? Is it the flavors that are crisp? The texture? Does the liquid itself slice about the mouth? A Sauvignon Blanc may have any or all such aspects of crispness. The 2011 Cuvée Select by Duck Walk Vineyards on Long Island, New York, displays a smooth body, but a distinct sharpness of flavor that exemplifies what a Sauvignon Blanc is known to be.

Before it ever occurred to me to dissect the word "crisp" as above, I made the following note on this wine's color: "Clear, crisp, medium goldenrod. A bubble or two, but otherwise smooth." The first aromas are of melon: sweet, smooth, and deep. After a few seconds, it opens up a little, and citrus appears, but in an easygoing sort of way. It is not acidic. The entire aroma, even the citrus, is rather tropical.

In the mouth it is quite different. Riding on a full body, the citrus is much more dominant here, with notes of lemon zest and quince. An emergent acidity gives the wine a spark on the tongue. The remaining melon flavor, and a new note of nectarine, are very subtle. The texture here is smooth, but the flavor - fruity, but not tart so much as tangy - is not. By no means spicy, it is just as strong as though it were. It is pungent, in a sharp sort of way. It is - crisp. The finish is of lemon zest and pears, and it, too, is strong and pungent.

After aerating for twenty minutes, the wine is mellowed out some. The aroma is still of tropical fruitiness. Disappeared from the nose, the citrus is still dominant in the mouth, though the melon and nectarine have grown in prominence. The flavor as a whole has smoothed out to match the texture. It is still strong, but not pungent; maybe "full". My notes say "swirls of fruit". The finish now has added to it some melon.

As anyone familiar with Sauvignon Blanc has likely discerned by now, this wine can pair with a wide variety of foods. Like many whites it is also good, if chilled a bit, for simply sipping in the sun now that the warm weather is upon us. You will probably sip it among friends or family, in a backyard or similarly intimate venue to relax as a group, all convened after an busy Sunday of brunch, errands, baseball, and crossword puzzles. As you start to realize that it is almost dinner time, someone will right away reach for the wine, and someone else will get the glasses as the bottle is opened. The first glass will be about halfway finished before somebody serves snacks, then barbecue. Then the sun will signal that it will be setting any hour now, and some dessert will be served, maybe a strawberry shortcake, or a melon carved into a funny shape. Be sure, as you sip the wine, enjoying its rich texture and complexity of fruits, to take a brief moment - a pause in the conversation, a shifting of seats as someone gets up, or, best yet, a momentary retreat from the gossip for just long enough to glance over to where the lower ridge of the big, red sun is shimmering and shaking and digging the hole in the horizon into which the entire orb is about to descend - to truly enjoy it.

2009 Veuve Aubert Ainé Chablis

Producer: Veuve Aubert Ainé 

Varietal: Chardonnay 

Region: Chablis A.O.C., Burgundy, France 

Vintage: 2009 

Tasted: February 8, 2013 

ABV: 12.5%

The name "Burgundy" literally implies red wine, in that a shade of the color red is named after it.

There are many people who would argue against that little statement there. (Alright, the gig is up, I am one such person myself.) Some might argue that it is pointless to pursue such a linkage outside of any context. Others might point out that the color is only eponymous in the English language. (Interestingly, in Italian, the same hue is called bordeaux.) Still others might remind us that the region of Burgundy produces an extraordinary amount of white wine to similar standards and renown as its red wines.

Notice that the only rebuttal to refer to the facts of the region, the latter, is the most concrete and substantial of the three. The truth is, not only is the Burgundian white wine sector producing quality spirits at bountiful levels, but it has been doing so for many centuries to great acclaim, and is just as integral a part of Burgundian wine history as red wine production.

Chablis is farther north than any other French wine region except Alsace and Champagne - in fact, it is closer to Champagne than to its nearest sister region within larger Burgundy. Nevertheless, it is a part of the Burgundian tradition. Like the larger region, Chablis makes both red and white wines; and like the larger region, it almost exclusively uses Pinot Noir for the former and Chardonnay for the latter.

Burgundy, including Chablis, has been home to wine production since the time of the Romans. As in much of France, and indeed Europe, Burgundy saw her vineyards tended primarily by monasteries during the Middle Ages. The Cistercians first brought Chardonnay to Burgundy in the 1100s, when they planted it in the vineyards surrounding Pontigny Abbey in the Chablis area. By the mid-1400s, Chablis was being imported as far away as England, Flanders, and Picardy - no mean benchmark in a time when transporting wine was cumbersome, risky, and expensive - but the most important patronage came from Paris. Chablis's proximity to the capital gave it a vital advantage over other wine regions in the bid to slake the wealthy and noble - and royal - thirsts.

For the next five hundred years, though, the fortunes of history were reversed. In 1568 the Huguenots destroyed the area, so thoroughly decimating both the land and the winemaking houses that Chablis never really resumed its oenological traditions until the mid-1700s. Then, just as production seemed to approach pre-Huguenot levels, the region (indeed, France generally) was struck successively by the Little Ice Age, the French Revolution, the Jacobin Terrors, the revolutions of 1830 and 1848, foreign invasion (most notably by the Prussians), the twin natural disasters of oidium and phylloxera, and finally World War One. Against all odds, the region emerged from all of that miserable misfortune producing such high-quality wine that, when the authorities granted Chablis appellation d'origine contrôlée status for its Chardonnays in 1938, one of the main reasons given was that too many other white wines from all over the world (including many non-Chardonnays) were fraudulently labeling themselves "Chablis" so as to command a high market value.

Then, the very next year, World War Two began.

Thankfully, that was the last catastrophe to befall the region, ending half a millennium of trial and tribulation. Chablis emerged as strong as ever, and a global Chardonnay fad in the 1960s helped to give the region a chance to grow. Wineries were founded, land was planted (or re-planted), innovations in grape growing and winemaking were tested, and, even after the wine craze moved on to another grape, Chablis had successfully shown the world the persistence of the quality and distinction that stand behind her AOC designation. And she continues to thrive.

So, what is all of this hoopla about, anyway? The 2009 Chablis by the négociant Veuve Aubert Ainé offers some pretty good clues. The wine is a crisp, pale straw color. The aroma is also crisp, and comprised of a veritable bouquet of autumnal produce: golden apple, citrus around the edges, honey, white table grapes, even marzipan. An absolute medley of fresh sweetness. The palate is no less a cornucopia of delights: honeycrisp apple, tropical citrus, nectarine, and quince. Mild florals balance things out, and there is a finish of nectarine and citrus. The wine is smooth, even. The bite - there is alcohol in this beverage - appears in both the front and back of the mouth, but is mild, and appropriate. The wine as a whole, though clearly strong, is rather mellow in personality. The strength is almost latent. Imagine a classic beach bum: muscular, maybe even chiseled as though out of stone, but someone who would never even think about beating people up; just hanging out, relaxing, looking good. That is how this Chablis comes off: it is muscular, and powerful, and yet it would never imagine smacking around anyone's palate. It just wants to chill out with us and have some fun.

After twenty minutes, the wine has a new aroma, equally well endowed but slightly adjusted in character. The particulars have more to do with summer than with fall now. A whiff of white peach comes first, then citrus - smooth citrus - and then apples and pears. It is as pungent as ever. The palate, however, is no different in detail than before, nor in nature. Even smoother than before, the Chablis offers the same tasting notes of honeycrisp, tropical citrus, nectarine, quince, and mild florals. Even the finish is the same. The body has filled out, though, and is even more muscular, though equally relaxed and mellow in personality. Imagine that our beach bum has spent those twenty minutes tossing around some iron, and now he has returned to the beach, barely even aware of his bulging biceps, ready to chill.

This is a wine that has flavors to meld perfectly into any summer setting; body to hold its own against any autumnal evening; and a flowing, easy-going nature that is quite ideal to pair with just about any preparation of seafood at any time of the year. Is it any wonder, then, that come hell or high-water - or a combination of perpetual civil war, foreign invasion, global climate change, fungus, and pestilence, all within a century - the tide has hardly receded before all of planet earth is clamoring for some more Chablis? We can be grateful that no matter what the millennia may bring, there is always a monk or oenologist around to help fill the demand. Go get some today, and enjoy.

2008 Recorba White Wine

Producer: Bodegas PradoRey

Name: Recorba White Wine

Varietals: Verdejo 60%; Viura 40%

Region: Rueda D.O., Spain

Vintage: 2008

Tasted: December 1, 2012

ABV: 13%

Rueda - nestled into the southwest corner of Valladolid, along the borders with Segovia and Ávila - has been producing wine since the eleventh century. Originally the Verdejo grape, which practically defines the region, was used to make an oxidized wine reminiscent of a fortified wine. In the late twentieth century, however, collaboration between interested parties from the Rioja region (notably Marqués de Riscal) and foreign oenological expertise (notably Émile Peynaud) resulted in a more approachable wine. Not oxidized, not fortified, just elegant and delectable. In recognition of its newly realized potential, Rueda wines made with at least 50% Verdejo were awarded Denominación de Origen status in 1980.

The Recorba white has paired Verdejo with the Viura grape, often known as Macabeo. Viura is used in whites all over Spain and southern France, and in fact tends to be the main grape in white Riojas. Here, the two blend together to form a vibrant, luscious specimen.

The wine is an even, limpid goldenrod color. Though a tad on the pale side, it is still deeper in hue than most whites. The aroma, at first, is an interesting combination of sweetness, tartness, and introversion. One can get a whiff of honeycrisp apples and canned peaches, but the notes are not bursting forth quite yet. The wine still needs some time to warm up and get ready for its big performance on the palate, which works out just fine because the tasting notes are indeed dynamic. The initial note is of sweet florals. The Rueda is strong now, confident, out of its shell. It offers the flavor of lychee with the crispness of apple. There is citrus around the edges, but where one would expect zest one gets instead a mystifying combination of florals and sweet fruit which glide about each other as they dance around the mouth. Obviously those two notes have some common denominator, but at least one taster is still left pondering just what it is. The wine is now strong and confident, but that is not to say talkative. Expressive, certainly, but in a poetic riddle sort of way. Normally such wines would be a bit on the thick side, but this white is medium-bodied, getting the job done without hammering anything home gratuitously. Thickness, really, would be out of character. Finally, the wine finishes with a note of white table grapes. It is confident as it goes down, but calm, almost mild. But only almost; perhaps the best way to describe it is pungent without even a hint of drama.

After breathing for twenty minutes, the Rueda has not changed altogether too much, just enough to befit a white. The nose has become much sweeter and more vibrant, emitting a delicious scent of apples dipped in honey; florals (mostly honeysuckle) and apples dominate the palate, whose personality has not changed at all; and golden apples have usurped the finish.

To the Moors, who brought Verdejo grapes to Spain from North Africa; to the monks and farmers of Rueda, who have upheld the local viticultural tradition for a millennium (and counting); to the oenologists, Spanish and foreign alike, who revolutionized the region some decades ago; and to Bodegas PradoRey, which has brilliantly blended the Verdejo and Viura grapes just so; to all, a great deal of gratitude is due, for each group was instrumental in bringing it about that today we may at our own leisure sit and enjoy a glass of this delightful white wine. ¡Salud!

Onabay Striper White

Producer: Onabay Vineyards

Name: Striper White

Varietals: Unknown

Region: Long Island, USA

Vintage: Unknown

Tasted: September 27, 2012

ABV: 12.5%

For just about my entire life people have said that I am what in Yiddish is called a kvetch, which is to say not just a complainer but a professional complainer, a complainer par excellence, a complainer's complainer. So maybe it is just that side of me coming out, but no matter how delicious Onabay's Striper White is (which is a lot), and no matter how versatile it can be (which is also a lot), I simply cannot get past the fact that they put neither a vintage year nor a varietal list on the label. Not even a year! This is wine, not fruit punch. Some things are just not acceptable.

What we do have, though, is a wonderful white wine to sip. The color is somewhere between pale gold and full straw. The nose is of white table grapes, citrus, and melon, more crisp than acidic. Actually, it almost approaches the nose of a red wine. The palate has a delightful fruitiness to it, like a fusion of tropical berry and tropical citrus. There is the very slightest bit of oakiness around the edges. The acid is there, but it feels very smooth, not acidic at all. One feels a slight bite right on the tip of the tongue - this is alcohol, after all - but mostly it is nice, relaxed, and sweet, reminiscent of lazy tropical days. The finish is of melon and apples. After breathing for twenty minutes, it does not change very much at all.

While Striper White's flavor implies balmy beach bumming, it would actually pair well with a variety not only of foods (chicken or seafood grilled with citrus, or with a tropical marinade like mango or papaya), but of scenes as well. I would be equally comfortable sipping this wine at a hot poolside barbecue or on a boat out on the sound on a cool, breezy day. In fact, this white can easily carry from the summer right through the fall.

But for goodness's sake, put a year on the label!

The White Knight 2010 California Moscato

Producer: The Other Guys

Name: The White Knight California Moscato

Varietals: Muscat of Alexandria 50%; Muscat Canelli 27%; Orange Muscat 3%; Pinot Grigio 20%

Region: Napa, California, USA

Vintage: 2010

Tasted: August 23, 2012

ABV: 11.5%

It is not every day that a proud New Yorker waxes poetic about the West Coast, but as my beloved readers have surely figured out by now, I will take any excuse. Of course, after tasting this wine by The Other Guys, the words flow much more easily.

Ah, California. It sort of has everything, doesn't it? Major metropolises, sprawling suburbs, gigantic farms, and acre after acre of pristine nature. Mountains, valleys, and flatlands; oceans, lakes, and desert. Naturally, this diversity extends to the lifestyles as well, and to dine in California can involve just about any dish, of any food, prepared any style, from any origin, traditional or cutting-edge, served in any setting.

But it will definitely include wine.

California has been making wine ever since the friars first ventured north from Mexico so many centuries ago. Wine is in the land there, in the air, the culture, the people's blood. The one state produces about ninety percent of the wine in the entire United States. If California were its own country, it would be the fourth-largest wine-producing nation in the world. It is emblematic of New World viticulture, and rightly so. And what could be more symbolic of the entire enterprise of California wine-making today than a nice bottle of something from Napa Valley?

Well, actually, Napa accounts for only four percent of wine made in California. But - bother the details! - it is still the most famous region in the state. And, sipping the White Knight California Moscato goes a long way to explaining why. The wine is a very pale, straw yellow, almost clear at certain angles. Its nose quite exemplifies that sweet scent for which we love Muscat. It is citric but not acidic, namely orange in this case. The palate, too, is mostly orange, but also includes some passionfruit and other tropical fruits. The wine is full-bodied; there is a small bite right as it first hits the tip of the tongue, which is the Pinot Grigio saying hello, and then it is all smooth from there. During the finish the wine starts to approach other fruit flavors. It is almost like swallowing one of those pink Starburst candies.

After breathing for twenty minutes, the wine becomes slightly altered, but is still mostly orange and very smooth. The nose acquires a hint of watermelon scent. The sipping notes are still very sweet, but the tropical flavors have left, leaving the taste more citric and a little more tart. The finish is diminished, but there are still some notes of fresh citrus, apple, and pear lurking about.

So maybe next time The Other Guys can use fifteen percent Pinot Grigio instead of twenty. Anyone not looking for such trivia will not even notice, and it is all a matter of taste anyway. The bottom line is, this sweet Muscat is absolutely delicious. Sip it lakeside in the sun; sip it where the rivers run. Sip it on a farm with hay; sip it brunching by the Bay. Sip it on a mountain summit; sip it on the beach and bum it. Sip it over in the Valley; heck, sip it anywhere in Cali. Or anywhere else, for that matter. One can hardly go wrong.

A Visit to La Chiripada Winery

The Spanish word chiripa means "stroke of luck." In the traditional dialect of northern New Mexico, the word is rendered chiripada. Some folks came to possess a patch of land in Dixon, NM, in the late 1970s, and decided to plant grape vines. Then they made wine one year. Not up to snuff. They tried again the following year. ¡Chiripada!

The vineyards and winery have been owned and operated by that same family ever since.

I visited La Chiripada in Dixon to remind myself what it is about New Mexican wine that is uniquely intriguing. The answer lies in the land: simultaneously sweet and spicy, rugged at first but friendly before very long, proudly standing up on its own but rich in rewards for those who taste of it. This holds true whether in reference to harvesting any of the scores of fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices that grow in great abundance all over the region, or trekking among the most scenic hills and valleys that the country has to offer. This terroir does indeed make its wine, and we can be very grateful for it.

Producer: La Chiripada

Name: Special Reserve Riesling

Varietal: Riesling

Region: New Mexico, USA

Vintage: 2011

Tasted: August 17, 2012

ABV: 11.5%

The staff is very welcoming and the tasting room is a lovely atmosphere to both sip and chat about wine. The first wine that I tried was the 2011 Special Reserve Riesling, an estate wine. The aroma is sweet, fruity. It is acidic without being citric; when sniffing it, I imagined biting into a green fruit such as an apple. The palate does include citrus, though, and a few floral notes as well. It is sweet, and just a tad on the thick side. The finish is a delightful surprise, with notes of nectarine, papaya, and mango. All-in-all, it is quite as a Riesling should be.

Producer: La Chiripada

Name: Primavera

Varietals: Muscat 50%; Seyval Blanc 50%

Region: New Mexico, USA

Vintage: 2010

Tasted: August 17, 2012

ABV: 12%

Next up was the 2010 Primavera. I am told that the Seyval Blanc is a hybrid of Sauvignon Blanc and a strain of Vitis labrusca. The inclusion of a New World variety was intriguing and, it turns out, a keen idea. The Primavera offers a jumpy, lively nose with a full bouquet of flowers and some slight citrus notes around the edges. When sipping it, the mouth finds itself awash in nice, smooth orange blossom, with everything going down easy. The finish is its own elaborate production: the tasting notes take a step back, and then another, and then another, and soon, conspicuously but quite suavely, they have disappeared completely, leaving the taster quite ready to replenish his taste buds’ supply of the good stuff.

Producer: La Chiripada

Name: Río Embudo Red

Varietals: Cabernet Sauvignon 10%; Leon Millot 80%; Pinot Noir 10%

Region: New Mexico, USA

Vintage: 2010

Tasted: August 17, 2012

ABV: 13%

With two whites down, I was ready for some red. The 2010 Río Embudo Red, an estate wine, appropriately named for the river running through La Chiripada’s backyard, is billed as a perfect complement to Moroccan-spiced lamb. And is it ever! One can forgive the nose for thinking that a thousand tiny arrows of spice have been launched right at it from the glass. This can be a shock, but never mind, the glass's quiver empties out soon enough, and the nose finishes off with floral tones and a touch of fruit.

It is in this Río Embudo Red that the terroir resonates most. Notes of pine surround flush hints of the local flora: combinations of leaves and flowers, fruit and bark, herbs and spices, all fresh and sweet and harmoniously arranged together in an amazing expression of just how pure and beautiful and rich in earthly delights Dixon really is. The spice and sweetness coexist in a friendly balance, and though a tad dry, the wine is plenty smooth. It tries to specify a couple of particular flavors, rhubarb and hibiscus, for itself in the finish, but not before one has romped about in the hills and valleys of the Río Embudo and tasted of all that they have to offer.

Producer: La Chiripada

Name: Vintners' Reserve Red

Varietals: Ruby Cabernet 37%; Tempranillo 63%

Region: New Mexico, USA

Vintage: 2009

Tasted: August 17, 2012

ABV: 13%

After my mouth had a chance to descend back to ground level, it was recommended that I try the Vinters' Reserve Red. My kind readers may be wondering how I could fairly assess the merits of another red after being blown away by a different wine shortly prior. I myself was wondering just how the Reserve would perform. Excellently, it turns out. The Ruby Cabernet, a hybrid of Cabernet Sauvignon and Carignan, provides some clutch structure and depth, but the Tempranillo really shines through in the best way. The aroma is a refreshing blend of various red fruits and berries with blackberry in the forefront. The sweetness hits at the perfect angle. When sipped, the wine goes to work on the palate in the same way, full of delicious red everything. Strawberry has center stage now, and the wine is just an iota drier than when it was sniffed. Quite wonderful. Then, for the finish, the same notes briefly feint a linger before suddenly disappearing without a trace. Confound it, where did that flavor go? I want it back! Better have another sip… Ahh.

These La Chiripada wines certainly do have a way of including a dramatic flair on their way out.

At this point I took a tour of the winery. Josh Johnson, a second generation member of the La Chiripada family, was kind enough to show me around and answer some questions. They were only about a week into the harvest and had just begun the winemaking process that day. As a bladder press crushed some Chenin Blanc, it occurred to me that winemaking has none of the romance and double the coolness that everyone thinks. "See, most of these grapes won't be ready for harvest for another month or so," said Josh as he took a breather from washing tubs and pushing them onto a platform. "Actually, well, we've had a sort of drier season this year." He motioned toward the field of vines, which stretched from five yards in front of us to a point where, to the eye at least, they meld with the Río Embudo. "Maybe they'll be ready a little sooner."

Producer: La Chiripada

Name: Cañoncito Red

Varietals: Leon Millot 90%; Nebbiolo 10%

Region: New Mexico, USA

Vintage: 2011

Tasted: August 17, 2012

ABV: 13%

I returned inside to taste one more red before departing. This was unplanned, but I saw that the Cañoncito Red, an estate wine, includes Nebbiolo, and there was no resisting the urge to see how that grape fares on this side of the Pond. The 2011 opens with an enticing aroma of tart fruit. It was served chilled, and the nose combined with the refreshing coolness made me think right away of lounging outdoors on a hot day, eating a bowl of chilled apple and citrus slices, and sipping this wine. The palate is sweeter, and the texture smooth and thick. It has a long finish, which is also appropriate for lounging on a lazy summer day. The Leon Millot, another hybrid of European and American species, is a bit dominant due to the percentages. But the Nebbiolo really rounds it out great, and I was very glad to have tasted it.

The foothills of northern New Mexico have a great deal to offer. What with all of the museums, historical sites, shopping, culture, dining, music, dancing, walking, hiking, skiing, swimming, rowing, fishing, cycling, etc. to be done in the legendary expanse from Albuquerque to Santa Fe to Taos and beyond, not everyone will find it important to stroll into a small town with barely a handful of paved roads and a couple of thousand locals, just to see if those particular hills happen to have anything special to offer that cannot be found elsewhere. That is a shame, because they do. The land of Dixon, though close kin to the larger Río Grande valley, is a splendor all its own. Fortunately, even those who do bypass the Turnoff on their way between Santa Fe and Taos can sip wine from La Chiripada. It will bring them to the real thing in spirit, if not eventually in person.