Blame it on Rioja

Photo credit: Gretchen Thomas

Friday, September 12, 2008

Absolutely gorgeous morning in Rioja today, a little cold even, as we arrive to our first destination, Bodegas Fernando Remírez de Ganuza in Sanmaniego, a town in the Rioja Alavesa nestled right up under the Sierra de Cantabria mountains . The winery is just off the town’s main square, an impeccably clean and eminently modern facility cloaked in traditional garb, the kind of place that I imagine a lot of people conjure up when they imagine owning a bodega in Rioja. Most but not all of the winery’s vineyards are on a southward-facing slope just below the town, a stone’s throw from the bodega. The soil here is limestone and clay; elevation between 550 and 600 meters above sea level.

Export manager Luis Alberto greets us and is quite amenable to our suggestion that we begin with a tasting of the wines before continuing with the tour. Too often we’ve found ourselves hurrying through tastings after being led a lengthy tour, and knowing that our day booked solid, I’m determined to keep us on schedule.

Wine writer Gerry Dawes introduced me to the notion of certain modern Rioja winemakers’ having classic palates, and I think Fernando Remírez de Ganuza is one of them. I also think that these are the kind of wines that show better with some bottle age. The bodega’s now scarce 2001 Reserva, a wine we used to carry at Chanterellle and which I sampled again recently at a Tempranillo, Inc. tasting in New York, is a superlative Rioja, balanced, elegant, possessing heft for sure but so delicately structured, so remarkably alive with acidity, so aromatically dazzling, that I was half-tempted to buy a magnum of it for lunch.

The 2004 Reserva (90% Tempranillo, 10% Graciano; with 2 years in all new oak, 80% French and 20% American) on the other hand, while aromatically enticing (red fruit, violets, baking spices, and tar), struck me as a little young, a bit muted. I don’t expect that to be the case in a couple of years’ time. The bodega’s 2005 Trasnocho was a real eye-opener. Press wine is what you could call “squeeze wine,” the dense and extremely tannic result taking what’s left in the fermentation tank after the free-run juice is siphoned off and squeezing the hell out of it. Winemakers then typically add small amounts of this to their barrels, using it almost like a seasoning.

Not here. Using a method of his own design, Sr. Remírez de Ganuza drops a plastic membrane into his tanks and fills it slowly with warm water, gently pressing the contents for 24 hours (it used to be done in half the time, overnight, hence the name), so as not to extract the harsh and bitter tannins from the pips.

With 20 months in new French oak barrels and 12 in bottle before release, the Trasnocho is still quite tannic and certainly not your typical Rioja. It’s a beautiful wine nevertheless-very dense, very pretty, herbaceous, mouth-watering. It’s also unavailable in the U.S. market and, unsurprisingly, made in very small quantities.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

In the midst of pretty intense renovations, Bodegas Olarra, a big operation located not from Logroño, nevertheless still exudes a particular brand of 1970s lounge ennui/cool (for me, a feel most perfectly captured by Manfred Mann Earth Band’s 1976 cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Blinded by the Light”), especially true for the interior design the tasting room. Which makes sense, since the bodega was founded in 1972.

The wines here really took the group by surprise. It’s our first tasting today; we’re swirling glasses by 10:00 am. We’ve just toured this sprawling estate, and we’re sampling wines in a room that could pass for a Kubrick set, and…most of the line up we taste today is delicious and full of personality.

Since the bodega was founded in the 1970s, it’s unsurprising that American oak predominates here. Olarra’s Cerro Anon 2004 Crianza (82% Temranillo, the with the remainder made up of Viura, Grenache, Mazuelo, and Graciano) has an exceptional balance of fruit, acidity, and tannins. It’s juicy and thirst-quenching. On the modern end, I found the Summa 2001 Reserva a little too cherry bright for my taste, but a modern wine from Olarra’s sister bodega, Ondarre (which sources fruit exclusively from the nearby Rioja Baja village of Viana, in Navarra), the 2001 Mayor de Ondarre Reserva takes a subtler approach. The tannins are firm but the aromas–red fruit, baking spices, an earthy component–make you want to linger a bit longer.

On the way out, David Rosengarten, who, I am beginning to learn, is especially skilled as using his charm to get a little something extra out each situation without seeming overbearing, asks if by any chance there might be an older bottle of wine we could all taste. A few minutes later, our host Cándido Latorre shows up with a 1973 Olarra Gran Reserva. As expected, the wine offers all those tertiary aromas that makes fans of classic Rioja swoon (leather, faded roses, a faint toasty character). We leave quite pleased.

Next up is Sierra Cantabria, operated by the fifth generation of the Eguren family. After touring the family’s stunning Viñedos de Páganos property in the town of Páganos, where the Egurens are also planning to build a hotel and restaurant overlooking the La Nieta vineyard, we head to San Vicente de la Sonsierra to see the group’s Señorío de San Vicente bodgea and taste a selection of all of the family’s properties.

I’ve always liked the Sierra Cantabria line, the group’s classic brand, and I happen to love their most recent Gran Reserva release, from the 2001 vintage. I am not thinking that our group will unanimously swoon over their modern lineup, since I know that there are more than a few in our group who might find the style of these wines a little jacked up for Rioja.

But as we taste, eyebrows raise, including mine. A barrel sample of the 2005 Sierra Cantabria Cuveé Especial (6 months in combination of French and American oak, followed by 4 months in new French oak barrels), which our host José Manuel Azofra calls a transition our traditional wines to our terroir wines, has coffee, smoked meaty, licorice, minerally character with lots of perfume–all of which might sound a little an odd combo or how a nightmare date would smell–but I really liked this wine. A lot.

The 2005 San Vicente, 100% Tempranillo Peludo from a single 26 hectare plot in the Sonsierra zone of Rioja Alavesa, has just an incredible nose. Wow. Herbal notes, again licorice. Some might find the pronounced ripeness, even sweetness, of this wine a little much, but this is by far the best San Vicente I have tasted to date.

And then there’s the 2005 El Puntido from the aforementioned Viñedos de Páganos, a wine with a little less sweetness on the palate than the San Vicente, spicy, tannic, with high fruit notes (like an underripe black plum?); the 2006 Finca El Bosque, super-floral and perfumed; and the 2005 Amancio, with aromas of black fruit, violets and super, super-ripe fruit and ripe tannins on the palate.

It’s a sign of the style that predominates here that the bathrooms off the tasting room at Señorío de San Vicente have available little plastic packets with single-use toothbrushes and toothpaste inside them, so that tasters can brush off all that extracted pigment before moving on to their next appointment.

These wines are not for everyone (it’s not just style we’re talking here; the wines at the higher end are very expensive). But they are stunning: expressive, complex, and, yes, site-specific. It may be a little unwise to drink one of these wines before sitting for a color portrait, but man, they’ve got some life in them.

. . .Without the Slaughter

by Taylor Cocalis

The long awaited third and final installment of Taylor’s dispatch of a piglet’s dispatch in the mountains of Ecuador, in which our porcine hero transforms into a transformative meal.

Part one

Part two

Fast forward to the following afternoon: a festive celebration in the form of a shared meal.

At promptly 1PM, two little Ecuadorian girls, Margery & Sophia, knocked on the door to alert us that the feast was almost ready. Margery led me by hand to the preparation station, where the women were putting the finishing touches on everything. Nineteen of us gathered around to watch as they put the first plate together. On the plate they plopped a mound of boiled corn –more starchy than the sweet Jersey corn that I am used to . . . it tasted more like a fresh potato than anything else. Next were the potato cakes, cooked in a large frying pan so that the edges turned deep golden and crispy.

To accompany the starch, the ladies ladled a scoop of aji, an Ecuadorian salsa of sorts that had graced every table that week. Each aji I found was slightly different: some mild and cool, highlighting the fresh cilantro, others tending toward the spicy side; from a runny syrup to a thick paste.

And finally came the pork. They simply cut right into the pig, placing an enormous chunk of moist, juicy meat onto each plate. On top, they placed a decadent square of crispy skin, a gift from the gods. As I stood and watched, one of the ladies would turn around and gave me a small shard to taste, as if I was the well-mannered dog patiently sitting by the table during a holiday meal.

Imagine, for a second, the best potato chip you have ever had, or the crispiest french fry, or the best potato roasted in goose fat. Think about the crackling skin on the Thanksgiving turkey or the golden goodness from your mother’s roast chicken. Now imagine that times one hundred, and you will begin to understand the glory of this pig skin. The fat underneath the skin provided the perfect vehicle to disperse the flavor of the dozen or so indigenous herbs that they rubbed on the pig. When I bit into it, I registered the crisp crunch, and then a gush of flavor flooded over my tongue, almost as if there were little pockets of fat, the consistency of tiny caviar, that exploded as I bit into them. I assure you, this was a pleasure so simple that it could not be replicated with all of the fanciest food technology in the world.

The ladies set the table for us to eat first. Normally, it is against my food religion to eat before everyone is served, but they cared for us with such pride that I could not insult their generosity, and I began to eat. The plate was so large that I thought I could not possibly finish, but somehow, I managed, in a blissful trance from the crackling pork. I would take frequent breaks, walking around to see how the other kids were doing. Surprisingly, even the four-year-olds had plates piled as high as mine, and they managed to soak up every last bit of the celebratory meal, just like I did.

Afterward I snuck back to see the chef, and thank her for the unforgettable meal. She spoke even less English than I do Spanish (which I assure you is not even enough to find the bathroom), but somehow I think the elated smile on my face was able to express my sincere gratitude for not only the food, but the overwhelming hospitality that afternoon. The meal was nothing short of magical.

So when I see the pig slaughter pictures, I cannot see guts and gore. Rather, I remember the satiating feeling I got from sharing a meal with new friends.

Taylor Cocalis manages Murray’s Cheese Course at Murray’s Cheese Shop in New York City and has written here the finest description of eating crispy pork skin I have ever encountered.

Jesus Madrazo (far right), winemaker at Contino, conducting a tasting of his single estate’s wines with group of sommeliers from the U.S. (left to right), Jason Smith MS, Juan Gómez MS, Theresa Paopao (back to camera) and Skye Latorre. Madrazo is one of Rioja’s most eloquent advocates of Graciano. Photo: Kelly Bucher.

The pun most often heard in Rioja concerns the Graciano grape variety.

Rioja reds are allowed to have Tempranillo, Garnacha, Mazuelo, and Graciano in their blend. Tempranillo, of course, rules the region’s roost. There is also a considerable amount of Garnacha planted, especially in Rioja Baja. Mazuelo and Graciano combined make up less than 5% of all plantings, with Graciano making up a little over 1% of Rioja’s total vineyard.

Notoriously hard to grow, highly susceptible to diseases, and largely low yielding, Graciano has reputation problem. So much so that wine growers will tell you,

“Graciano? Gracias, no.”

But based on recent travels and conversations with winemakers who looking closely at their vines and their wines, Graciano, even in its tiny representation, is a critical part of the equation.

(more…)

It’s one of those questions that has troubled me for as long as I can remember: when describing a single grape type–Chardonnay or Cabernet Sauvignon, for example–is “grape varietal” synonymous with “grape variety”?

In other words, is it correct for me to say or write, “Tempranillo is the dominant black grape varietal in Rioja”?

No, says Jancis Robinson MW, in a recent post on Catavino.

“They are used interchangeably - but wrongly!” Ms. Robinson says in a follow-up comment to a Catavino interview conducted two weeks ago in Barcelona.

“Variety is the noun and applies to plants and vines,” she explains in a clarification sent to Catavino’s Gabriella Opaz via Blackberry. “Varietal is an adjective that can be applied to wines named after the variety from which it was made! Sorry to fuss but it would be useful to keep these two terms distinct.”

Usage distinctions like these, which help writers and public speakers think more carefully about language (and potentially steer clear of public embarrassment), might be very English, but they ain’t fussy.

So here’s to you, Ms. Robinson: rock on varietally.

RIOJA MASTER CLASS: Chad Wilmouth of the Culinary Institute of America Greystone, left, records Jorge Muga’s introduction to the topography, soils, and microclimates of Rioja, on a roadside overlooking the Ebro valley near the town of Villalba de Rioja, Spain, September 10, 2007. The narrow gorges that demarcate the northwestern limit of Rioja viticulture, Las Conchas de Haro, are visible in the background. Photo: Jon Stamell.

It’s been really thrilling going through all of the footage John Barkley and Chad Wilmouth recorded while we were in Rioja last September; since I was always busy interviewing, I rarely took notes and felt afterwards somewhat detached from the material, that is, until I got a hold of all the interviews, in their entirety, in a series of DVDs John handed me in mid-December.

One of the most impressive and certainly the most comprehensive of those interviews was the interview, or rather series of interviews, I had with Bodegas Muga winemaker Jorge Muga. As I was taking notes watching the footage, I ended up transcribing maybe 75% to 80% of his comments, so wide in scope were the topics he covered, so detailed and easy to comprehend were the things he said. And while his focus was primarily on his family’s vineyards and his bodega’s wines, Mr. Muga had also a lot to say about the region as a single entity, as well as the soil and microclimatic variations of its constituent parts. I can’t wait to see it all integrated into the final DVD.

In the meantime, I finally got around to editing some of the audio that Chris Fleming made available to me over the summer, including over two hours of his own interview with Jorge Muga, discovering in the process that many of the topics covered in the DVD interviews are also dealt with in depth in the audio Chris captured at Bodegas Muga last spring. I remember Chris telling me how impressed he was with Sr Muga’s presentation, calling it “a master class in the viticulture of Rioja,” so it seems appropriate that we should begin with him.

Jorge Muga’s edited comments, tied together with some of my own brief commentary, comprise the first edition of the Rioja Podcast, linked below. I hope you find it worthwhile.

A reader named Abel Iturriaga recently wrote in about a very pleasant experience he had visiting Bodegas Santiago Ijalba in Gimileo, a village in Rioja Alta situated about half-way between Haro and Briones on the old Logroño highway.

Ijalba tends towards the modern style, making two types of blancos, Ermita San Felices (stainless steel fermented in the Marques de Cáceres style) and Abando Blanco, late-harvest Viura fermented in American oak barricas (most barrel fermented whites use French oak) and kept on its lees for five months. Although the Abando Blanco is clearly produced in the modern way, my notes from a 2006 T. Edward tasting say that it still “retains the best traits of the traditional style–nutty and complex.” I quite liked the Ogga 2000 Reserva, a 100% Tempranillo-based wine made from 60 year old vines and aged for 17 months in French oak and 3 months in American oak. I found the wine to have “good acidity, a dose of pepper, and a lengthy finish. Nice balance of modern and traditional aromas.”

Oddly enough, the Ogga 2001 Reserva, which I ordered in January of this year at Casa Mono with my friend Colum Sheehan, the GM at Babbo, disappointed me, as it lacked the balance I really liked in the 2000; I found it a little too extracted and somewhat over the top. A quick glance at the bodega’s website today, and I discovered that the winemaker has done away with the 3 months of American oak aging for the Ogga Reserva, opting instead for a full 20 months in French oak, which I suspect is all or mostly new oak. I also learned that the 2001 underwent three days of pre-fermentation maceration, although I don’t recall if the same was done for the 2000. In my view, the 2001 still needs time to mellow. Not surprisingly, Jay Miller of the Wine Advocate quite liked the 2001 Reserva, giving it 91 points in his most recent review of Spanish wine.

And here we enter again into a debate playing out all over the world: does the movement away from established methods of vinification, even if we’re talking about a mere 3 months in a different oak type, make a wine any less regionally specific?

I think more important, and I suspect most of my sommelier colleagues would agree, is how does the food compatibility of a new version of the same wine compare with that of its predecessor? In this case, I have to say that I think the 2000 might be a better choice to enjoy with a meal, even as I fully understand the rationale behind the winemaker’s decision in this case to tweak his wine in a different direction.

Ogga 2001 Reserva is imported by T. Edward Wines.