Many of my friends and acquaintances, just getting into wine, almost immediately come down with a serious case of sticker shock. Many came to wine by way of restaurant wine, or the wine press. Most live in California. There are two kinds of wine lover: the first is essentially an adventurer, who seeks an understanding of wine that is both broad and deep; his is a world of infinite wine-drinking possibilities, entailing a search for the unique character of various regions and grapes and winemakers. He is likely to have rudimentary knowledge of various winemaking processes, how they differ region-by-region, and is quite likely to be interested in the culture that produced the wine he's tasting. He may show some rudimentary academic interest in these subjects, and is probably also something of a student of regional culture and food - especially as they will enhance his enjoyment of particular wines. Just as he respects the subjective character of all matters to do with taste, such as art and food, his exploration of wine must necessarily include those not beloved by the press. He'll be the judge.
The second sort of wine enthusiast/consumer/collector is far more interested in following current trends in US wine, normally as laid out in the wine press. He eats out a lot, and experiences most of his wine for the first time in that context. He may collect bottles, but not based particularly on his own tastes, which tend not to be terribly developed. He hasn't tasted widely, and normally sticks to a category of wine he enjoys, without experiementation. He is indeed unexperimental by nature: a wine's route into his shopping basket must pass clear a first, critical hurdle: 90 points in his favorite wine publication. He vets his wines in this way, through the press; an "expert" must like the wine first.
This latter group is the one most likely to experience the sort of sticker shock I've been hearing about. Indeed, price follows demand, so as demand for wines from certain regions, made from certain grapes (Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon comes quickly to mind) climbs ever higher, driven by the fire of demand stoked (maybe even created) by the wine press, prices naturally rise. Behold, the sticker shock of the wine newby, who's heard all the hubub about cultish Napa Cab!
I do not experience first hand the sticker shock associated with wine. I like Chateauneuf, but the prices are beginning to defy sanity. This is not entireloy demand-driven. A stronger dollar would help a lot. But I long ago stopped buying these wines in any quantity. When a region or category of wine gets pricey, it is possible to view it as an opportunity: repalce that particular profile (hearty, rich, meaty in the cas eof Chateauneuf) with wines from elsewhere - and there is always an elsewhere!
By the way, which group do you belong?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Now, I live in Fresno, and Fresno has never been, to my knowledge, mistaken for a culinary hotspot. It is a terrific town in many ways, a place I have always called home and whose restaurants I have enjoyed a great deal over the years. Many old-time places especially, with their long-standing clienteles and established (if sometimes odd) ways of doing business, are to me especially fun. But considering that we live in a town just a couple of hours from San Francisco, I think most honest folk would agree that our local restaurant scene has some real quirks.
Cue several new restaurants that have recently opened, or are in the process of opening,
always cause for anticipation, and sadly, dread.
Local wine lovers ask: "How spectacularly will this new restaurant overprice its list (a virtual given in my neck of the woods), and what flashy new marketing tools will it employ to pass off those same tired, mostly-corporate brands as $15 glasses of wine?" "How inept and silly will the wine service be?" How poorly will the list be constructed, and managed?"
What's the problem? The most noticable is the dominance of big restaurant chains (not talking about locally-based restaurant groups here), and the food they serve, which is occasionally copied by local entrepreneurs trying to hit on a winning formula for expansion and franchising. Fresnans love fried things, and they love big orders of fried things. There it is. Chains dominate the market here in a way which chokes local establishments, and makes the development of the culture of the 'neighborhood restaurant' extremely difficult to embed. Even the basics suffer, which is why a really good, local pizza place doesn't exist here.
A second problem is that every proprietor seems to want Reidel-and-white-tablecloth money from their customers - though without the provision of any actual Reidel stems or white tablecloths, or the other trappings that justify such pices: good, professional service; consistency from the kitchen; and front-of-house professionalism. I have long thought this drive upmarket was a mistake, with what would otherwise be good neighborhood restaurants promising more than they could deliver.
Nowhere is this clearer than in many restaurants' wine programs. Here, with a little thought and some expertise, restaurants could elevate te diner's experience, by giving some thought to the composition and pricing of their offerings, including those they choose to pour by the glass. This might begin to justify the astonishing prices (often 3 or 4 times wholesale, sometimes even more) eing charged by the restaurant. I hope to be wrong about the newest of these establishments; if Iam, I'll say so here.
Cue several new restaurants that have recently opened, or are in the process of opening,
always cause for anticipation, and sadly, dread.
Local wine lovers ask: "How spectacularly will this new restaurant overprice its list (a virtual given in my neck of the woods), and what flashy new marketing tools will it employ to pass off those same tired, mostly-corporate brands as $15 glasses of wine?" "How inept and silly will the wine service be?" How poorly will the list be constructed, and managed?"
What's the problem? The most noticable is the dominance of big restaurant chains (not talking about locally-based restaurant groups here), and the food they serve, which is occasionally copied by local entrepreneurs trying to hit on a winning formula for expansion and franchising. Fresnans love fried things, and they love big orders of fried things. There it is. Chains dominate the market here in a way which chokes local establishments, and makes the development of the culture of the 'neighborhood restaurant' extremely difficult to embed. Even the basics suffer, which is why a really good, local pizza place doesn't exist here.
A second problem is that every proprietor seems to want Reidel-and-white-tablecloth money from their customers - though without the provision of any actual Reidel stems or white tablecloths, or the other trappings that justify such pices: good, professional service; consistency from the kitchen; and front-of-house professionalism. I have long thought this drive upmarket was a mistake, with what would otherwise be good neighborhood restaurants promising more than they could deliver.
Nowhere is this clearer than in many restaurants' wine programs. Here, with a little thought and some expertise, restaurants could elevate te diner's experience, by giving some thought to the composition and pricing of their offerings, including those they choose to pour by the glass. This might begin to justify the astonishing prices (often 3 or 4 times wholesale, sometimes even more) eing charged by the restaurant. I hope to be wrong about the newest of these establishments; if Iam, I'll say so here.
Friday, October 5, 2007
What am I Paying For?
As wine prices continue to rise, particulalry at the upper end of the scale, the above question looms ever larger. Just exactly what is it that we're meant to be buying when we shell out a lot of dough for a bottle or case of wine?
In one sense, this is an easy question, with an easy answer: you're buying a scarce commodity. Price is not, of course, determined by any inherent quality in a wine, but by a number of factors which allow for its price to be determined. Only one of those is quality. In today's spot-fee world, it is no longer diffcult for large wineries to produce sound, pleasant and drinkable wine. Many do so every vintage, without a miss (see Columbia Crest or Meridian, for example), even managing to hit some real high notes every now and again. And they generally do this at very friendly price points. So why not simply stick to these?
Well, a lot of people should. These wines provide a lot of bang for the buck, are varietally correct, versatile with food, and consistent, ear after year. And these folks, and I generally count myself amongst them in this respect, tend to balk at the outrageous prices now being charged for their favorite varietals (oten cabernet) by well-known, so called boutique producers. Napa Valley is the most famous winegrowing region in America, and a bottle of cabernet from there may now cost many times what they are used to spending. Worse thean that, they may be in a restaurant whose markups can make the whole thing look like nothing so much as a ponzi scheme.
Now all this would be okay if, as once was the case, our consumer were getting something really special. If he were getting, say, an aged red wine of real distinction, one tannic and powerful, now with its edges softened and the full effect of its complexity and balance on display. Most poeple here think in terms of French wine, but for those of us who've had a '74 Mondavi Reserve or a '68 BV Reserve, we know that California can compete, and then some, in this area.
But that's not what our consumer is getting. He's getting a very ripe, "powerful" (I don't think we really understand that word any more), oaky fruit bomb that may be as high as 17 per cent alcohol, and which has almost certainly been released too soon from the winery and therefore tastes like nothing so much as a barrel sample-in-a-bottle. These wines generally have some flavors of dried fruit in them, too, the result of the grapes hanging for too long on the vines, and may well give the impression of sickly sweetness - even when they're fermented to dry - as a result. If this description sounds less than appealing, you might well ask yourself when you open your next bottle of the pricey stuff: just what IS it that I'm supposed to be paying for here?
In one sense, this is an easy question, with an easy answer: you're buying a scarce commodity. Price is not, of course, determined by any inherent quality in a wine, but by a number of factors which allow for its price to be determined. Only one of those is quality. In today's spot-fee world, it is no longer diffcult for large wineries to produce sound, pleasant and drinkable wine. Many do so every vintage, without a miss (see Columbia Crest or Meridian, for example), even managing to hit some real high notes every now and again. And they generally do this at very friendly price points. So why not simply stick to these?
Well, a lot of people should. These wines provide a lot of bang for the buck, are varietally correct, versatile with food, and consistent, ear after year. And these folks, and I generally count myself amongst them in this respect, tend to balk at the outrageous prices now being charged for their favorite varietals (oten cabernet) by well-known, so called boutique producers. Napa Valley is the most famous winegrowing region in America, and a bottle of cabernet from there may now cost many times what they are used to spending. Worse thean that, they may be in a restaurant whose markups can make the whole thing look like nothing so much as a ponzi scheme.
Now all this would be okay if, as once was the case, our consumer were getting something really special. If he were getting, say, an aged red wine of real distinction, one tannic and powerful, now with its edges softened and the full effect of its complexity and balance on display. Most poeple here think in terms of French wine, but for those of us who've had a '74 Mondavi Reserve or a '68 BV Reserve, we know that California can compete, and then some, in this area.
But that's not what our consumer is getting. He's getting a very ripe, "powerful" (I don't think we really understand that word any more), oaky fruit bomb that may be as high as 17 per cent alcohol, and which has almost certainly been released too soon from the winery and therefore tastes like nothing so much as a barrel sample-in-a-bottle. These wines generally have some flavors of dried fruit in them, too, the result of the grapes hanging for too long on the vines, and may well give the impression of sickly sweetness - even when they're fermented to dry - as a result. If this description sounds less than appealing, you might well ask yourself when you open your next bottle of the pricey stuff: just what IS it that I'm supposed to be paying for here?
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