From where I sit the wine world, especially in California, went totally crazy in the 1990s, to the point where it became rather bizarre to me. In retrospect it seems like that might have been part of a general insanity that led inexorably to where we are today. Now, as we seem to be regaining our collective senses, I’m wondering where wine sensibility might be headed. That’s not so much a question as a group of related inquiries. They say the economy is turning around, and every little thing’s going to be alright. Sitting here in limbo with a wine glass in my hand, I’m wondering whether the wine world will simply take up where it left off, or change course. Is it possible that the interim has fostered changes in attitude, if not latitude? When erstwhile wine buyers again have a pair of dimes to rub together, what kind of wines will they buy—and how will that affect a) the way wines are produced, and/or b) the standards by which wines are judged? We all know two general types of people in the wine world: those who go for the oppulent, high-alcohol wines that have proliferated over the last decade or so, particularly in New World wine regions such as South Australia and California, and those who prefer the classical European model of expressive regional wines with moderate alcohol. Oddly (or perhaps not, considering that we’re dealing with taste), the two preferences don’t often coexist on the same palate. To the former group, the classical model is simply feeble and insubstantial, while the classicists consider high-octane fruit bombs vulgur and grotesque. The comparison often draws gender-based analogies, but I’m not sure “masculine” vs. “feminine” really encompasses the divide. We’ve all had balls-out, bare-knuckled northern Rhones that would make a Ramey Syrah look like a little old lady despite less alcohol and density. It might be better to characterize the two styles as different types of the same thing. Rather than apples and oranges, Fujis and Gravensteins, Valencias and Navels. Or athletes, say a weightlifter vs. a triathalete, or motorcycles, say a bored-out Harley vs. a BMW touring bike. Or even two takes on the same song—Willie singing “Moonlight in Vermont” vs. Ella & Louis. In any case, the two types tend not to coexist so much in the Old World, except as manifestations of regional climate (Burgundies tend to be lighter than Alentejo wines, ne c’est pas?). But they definitely co-haibt the New, especially in California. Look, for example, at highly-acclaimed pinots from Kosta-Browne and Brewer-Clifton (hmm, do hyphens tell us anything about style?) next to equally praised pinots from Copain and Littorai. Are we looking at two different styles of wine—or two different concepts of wine? I’ve come to think it’s the latter: two different paradigms. Parallel universes. And more and more, I’m thinking that in the last decade or so there may have been a permanent, or at least long-term schism between two primary wine sensibilities in California. I might say the same about Oregon and Washington, although each would require a specific discussion, since I believe we’re past the point where every West Coast wine region could be seen as an extension of California. To me, the primary point of departure is regionality, the complex identity and image of a place expressed in the way grapes are grown and wine made (manipulation, anyone?). That reflects an essential cultural value that pervades the highly-evolved European wine culture but is merely a subset of the Wine World’s still-rudimentary wine industry. It’s interesting in this context to note that through this recession the steadiest-selling wines (at retail, anyway) are reportedly the moderately-priced table wines with sensory profiles more akin to traditional table wine (dry, fruity but not ballistically so, ca. 12.5 alcohol) than the ultra-ripe blockbusters populating the higher price points. Might this reset the mass taste so that the high-octane wines begin to seem extreme? As more discretionary income comes into play, might those who return to upscale buying look for more nuanced, expressive high-end table wines rather than syrupy booze? Will fine wine in the New World, particularly California and Australia, continue to trend toward the current second-party-validation cycle (popular taste influences scores, while scores influence taste)? Will the fruitbomb paradigm continue to co-exist with the classical model, or even gradually oust it? Or will bigger-is-better gradually fade away as the new American wino becomes more sophisticated? It’s fun to speculate, although it doesn’t matter a whole lot—when the future finally gets here, all will be revealed.
From where I sit the wine world, especially in California, went totally crazy in the 1990s, to the point where it became rather bizarre to me. In retrospect it seems like that might have been part of a general insanity that led inexorably to where we are today. Now, as we seem to be regaining our collective senses, I’m wondering where wine sensibility might be headed.
That’s not so much a question as a group of related inquiries.
They say the economy is turning around, and every little thing’s going to be alright. Sitting here in limbo with a wine glass in my hand, I’m wondering whether the wine world will simply take up where it left off, or change course. Is it possible that the interim has fostered changes in attitude, if not latitude?
When erstwhile wine buyers again have a pair of dimes to rub together, what kind of wines will they buy—and how will that affect a) the way wines are produced, and/or b) the standards by which wines are judged?
We all know two general types of people in the wine world: those who go for the oppulent, high-alcohol wines that have proliferated over the last decade or so, particularly in New World wine regions such as South Australia and California, and those who prefer the classical European model of expressive regional wines with moderate alcohol. Oddly (or perhaps not, considering that we’re dealing with taste), the two preferences don’t often coexist on the same palate.
To the former group, the classical model is simply feeble and insubstantial, while the classicists consider high-octane fruit bombs vulgur and grotesque. The comparison often draws gender-based analogies, but I’m not sure “masculine” vs. “feminine” really encompasses the divide. We’ve all had balls-out, bare-knuckled northern Rhones that would make a Ramey Syrah look like a little old lady despite less alcohol and density. It might be better to characterize the two styles as different types of the same thing. Rather than apples and oranges, Fujis and Gravensteins, Valencias and Navels. Or athletes, say a weightlifter vs. a triathalete, or motorcycles, say a bored-out Harley vs. a BMW touring bike. Or even two takes on the same song—Willie singing “Moonlight in Vermont” vs. Ella & Louis.
In any case, the two types tend not to coexist so much in the Old World, except as manifestations of regional climate (Burgundies tend to be lighter than Alentejo wines, ne c’est pas?). But they definitely co-haibt the New, especially in California. Look, for example, at highly-acclaimed pinots from Kosta-Browne and Brewer-Clifton (hmm, do hyphens tell us anything about style?) next to equally praised pinots from Copain and Littorai.
Are we looking at two different styles of wine—or two different concepts of wine? I’ve come to think it’s the latter: two different paradigms. Parallel universes.
And more and more, I’m thinking that in the last decade or so there may have been a permanent, or at least long-term schism between two primary wine sensibilities in California. I might say the same about Oregon and Washington, although each would require a specific discussion, since I believe we’re past the point where every West Coast wine region could be seen as an extension of California.
To me, the primary point of departure is regionality, the complex identity and image of a place expressed in the way grapes are grown and wine made (manipulation, anyone?). That reflects an essential cultural value that pervades the highly-evolved European wine culture but is merely a subset of the Wine World’s still-rudimentary wine industry.
It’s interesting in this context to note that through this recession the steadiest-selling wines (at retail, anyway) are reportedly the moderately-priced table wines with sensory profiles more akin to traditional table wine (dry, fruity but not ballistically so, ca. 12.5 alcohol) than the ultra-ripe blockbusters populating the higher price points. Might this reset the mass taste so that the high-octane wines begin to seem extreme? As more discretionary income comes into play, might those who return to upscale buying look for more nuanced, expressive high-end table wines rather than syrupy booze?
Will fine wine in the New World, particularly California and Australia, continue to trend toward the current second-party-validation cycle (popular taste influences scores, while scores influence taste)? Will the fruitbomb paradigm continue to co-exist with the classical model, or even gradually oust it? Or will bigger-is-better gradually fade away as the new American wino becomes more sophisticated?
It’s fun to speculate, although it doesn’t matter a whole lot—when the future finally gets here, all will be revealed.
In my recent rounds, I have noticed several wineries now have a Burgundian style pinto noir and chardonnay. I don't miss the oak and I am enjoying the more restrained use. I just figured part of this is the cost of new oak and there is more reuse going on.