WINE: WINE FOR THE CONTROL BOARD By Mark Criden Great savings from big-name producers It was Halloween, not usually much of a wine-related holiday, though Howard Riedel and I were trying to buck tradition by comparing Australian Merlot (“This one is the worst yet!” “You’re crazy, I can barely swallow this one!”) as we sat in my foyer, passing out my dwindling supply of candy. The doorbell rang, and there stood the normal creepy collection: Charlie Brown, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, and a thirty-year-old puffing hard on a Winston. They seemed disdainful of the mini candy bars I’d chosen with such care, and stomped off into the darkness, after some barely audible thank-yous. It was late, and I was about to turn off the porch lights, when I saw a final motley group stumbling up my driveway. I opened the door and there stood Tom Baker and the rest of the Buffalo Control Board. Trick or treat indeed. I offered the basket and its motley assortment of sugary detritus, but although Joel Giambra reached for a Peanut Butter Cup, Baker brushed it aside. “Do I look like the candyman?” he asked, as he and his eight cohorts pushed past me into my foyer and staked out seats in the living room. Riedel almost spit up his Merlot, which, incidentally, is often his idea of wine commentary. Bob Wilmers, chief cook and bottle washer at M&T, got right to the point. “Wine,” he said. “This process we’re knee deep in is going to take lots of it.” “Lots of it,” repeated Tony Masiello, sprawled in a corner and looking positively miserable. “But none of that obscure, hard-to-find stuff you’re always prattling on about,” John Faso said. “And nothing that breaks the bank,” added Rich Tobe, tossing his jacket over a chair. “And it better be good,” Wilmers added. “Really good. None of that Aussie mouthwash you and Riedel here were sloshing around in.” Now if Wilmers knows anything, he knows his wine. As far as I can tell, he seems to be the only local banker with his own Bordeaux vineyard. This was no pushover assignment. Riedel was inching towards the door. I grabbed him by the sleeve. “Second wines,” I whispered. Carl McCall switched on the CD player and began to dance with Alair Townsend, and Riedel and I slipped out to the kitchen to make our plan. We bumped into Giambra fishing around in the refrigerator. “You have cheese on the top shelf, cheese in the vegetable bin, and cheese in the deli drawer,” he complained. “You have to consolidate.” Riedel and I returned an hour later with several bottles. It was hard to unhook Ron Pirtle from the PS2, and we never thought we could pry Faso away from Green Acres reruns, but finally, all the member of the Buffalo Fiscal Stability Authority were hunched around my coffee table. “The surest way to do more for less...” I began. “Ah, he’s talking my language,” Baker butted in. “ ...that is, to find great value in wine, is to look for the less expensive offerings of the world’s greatest producers. The finest winemakers routinely apply the same demanding standards of care and attention on their minor wines as they do on their more expensive products.” “There are obviously differences between the top and bottom of a winemaker’s portfolio,” Riedel added. “The more expensive offerings normally come from older vines, more hallowed vineyard sites, or spend more slumber time in expensive oak barrels than the little brother. But whether it’s high or low on the list, if it’s from a top-flight producer, you know you’re getting excellent juice.” “More than our kindergartners are going to get,” Masiello grumbled. Baker smacked him with his shoe. “The marketplace, for any number of reasons, may assign a lower price to the wine,” I continued. “The factors we just discussed—aging, vine quality—are obviously important. But much of the upper reaches of the wine biz is driven by hype...” “Like Masiello’s four-year-plan,” snickered Faso. “...which explains a large part of the pricing differential. A producer’s top bottle may be up to ten times the price of its more lowly offering, but it’s unlikely to be ten times better.” “Examples,” Townsend barked. “We need particulars. None of this speculative stuff.” “Like sharing the sales tax,” Pirtle noted, getting an ugly sidelong glance from the mayor. Riedel pulled out the first pair. “This is Leoville Las Cases, a red Bordeaux from St. Julien, made primarily of cabernet sauvignon, with dollops of Merlot and cabernet franc. St. Julien has no first growths—no wines that were recognized as numero uno when the chateaux were classified back in the mid nineteenth century—but Las Cases is widely recognized as being in the same quality league as big boys like Lafite, Mouton, Latour. This in itself is pretty important because instead of the $350 the first growths sell for in a ballyhooed vintage like 2000...” “Ouch,” said Pirtle. “...this normally sells for less, maybe $160 a bottle...” “A hundred sixty bucks! “ cried Tobe. “We might as well have three officer police cars if we’re going to spend that much.” “You’re not going to spend $160,” Riedel patiently continued. “Las Cases also makes a second label called Clos du Marquis, made from a separate part of the vineyard, with younger vines, but with the same fanatical attention to detail that the estate’s owners, the Delon family, lavish on their flagship bottling. The Clos du Marquis, better than most other St. Juliens, and usually exhibiting much of the appeal of its bigger brother, is rarely north of $35, even in wonderful vintages like 2000 and 1996, and very good ones like 1998 and 1999.” Faso looked up from his doodle of Arnold the Pig. “Interesting. With more of this kind of thinking, we might be able to afford fire protection for the whole city.” “There’s lots more of this stuff,” I explained. “The winemakers of Bordeaux, especially, have specialized in this kind of second label thing, taking vats of wine they consider just not quite up to snuff and bottling under a second name, all of which usually do a fine job of representing the estate’s style without needing a bond issue. Latour has Les Forts due Latour; Lafite has Carruades; Margaux has...” “Yeah, OK, we get it. But I’m more of a pinot noir gal myself,” interrupted Townsend. “That’s where this really gets interesting.” I looked around for Riedel who was just returning with a corkscrew. We yanked a few corks, poured some glasses and passed them around. McCall sniffed a glass, blinked several times, and wiped his brow. “Whew, what’s this?” “Lalou Bize-Leroy is one of Burgundy’s most hallowed winemakers,” I answered. “This hugely concentrated and powerful wine is her 1999 Chambertin, a spectacularly great red wine. Each bottle will set you back about $650.” I noticed Wilmers had pulled out his wallet. “But Madame Bize-Leroy also makes wines for the rest of us. Her Bourgogne Rouge, a humble blend of various vineyards, is one delicious $20 bottle of pinot noir and shows her meticulous attention and great care almost as well as her supersized offerings. Other wonderful burgundy growers—like Robert Chevillon and Michel Lafarge—also make fabulous Bourgogne Rouge, and there are also some terrific Chardonnay-based Bourgogne Blancs produced by great white winemakers like Sauzet and Lefalaive, whose Montrachets normally sell in nosebleed territory.” As Riedel poured the last of the Leroy, the ambience of the room mellowed noticeably. Even Baker had finally gotten off the mayor’s foot. “France’s third major red wine region—the Rhone—also provides the opportunity to sample great winemaking skills at relatively modest tabs. The Northern Rhone is syrah country, and its most famous appellation, Hermitage, is powered by the estate of J. L. Chave, whose family has been cranking out one great wine after another since 1481. With five hundred years under their belt, it’s safe to say that the Chave family has passed the audition. They’ve extended their genius to the nearby less-famous village of St. Joseph, where, under their Offerus label, they produce an astonishingly delicious syrah. It may not be as complex as their Hermitage, or be destined to be cellared as long, but, hey, it’ll set you back about $20 while new vintages of their Hermitage top $150.” “A hundred thirty buck savings on every bottle,” Faso mused. “Think of the unfunded mandates that could support.” Giambra perked up when I moved on to Italy: “Maybe the country’s most famous pricey wine is Brunello di Montalcino, produced in Tuscany by some of the most exacting winemakers in Europe. To some, it’s the apotheosis of the Sangiovese grape; to others, its Chianti on steroids. To all, though, it’s expensive, with better bottles from recent great vintages like 1997 and 1999 easily pushing into three-digit territory.” Riedel pulled a few more corks and sent glasses around the room. “You don’t have to strip the city to the bone to taste what these guys can do though,” he said. “Brunello, by law, must be aged for some time before being released. All of the great Brunello producers also make a cash-flow wine called Rosso di Montalcino, which is essentially Brunello that hasn’t been kept in wood barrels for years before release. Sometimes they use wine from younger vines, or that just doesn’t fit into their Brunello, but you’ll find that Rosso provides most of the thrill of Brunello at $20 or less a bottle. Look for Rossos from Pertimali, Ciacci, Lisini and Costanti.” My guests were starting to nod off, and I knew we had to talk fast to drive our point home. “Many other countries have fabulous winemakers that produce not only stratospherically priced wines, but modest ones as well. Spanish cult favorite Alvaro Palacios not only churns out a number called ‘L’Ermita’ which tips the scales at $200, but also a substantial, delicious one called ‘Terraces’ at a fraction of this price. German estates like J. J. Prum produce mind-blowing gold-capsule auslese for $75 and humble ‘Estate Riesling’ for about $13. And Californians have taken up the value banner as well. Laurel Glen, one of Sonoma’s top Cabernet Sauvignon producers in the $50 per bottle range, turns out a delicious kitchen-sink blend called “Reds” for under $10. Ravenswood, whose single vineyard zinfandels can be seen at eye-popping levels north of $40, cranks out millions of cases of its satisfying and well-made Vintner’s Blend Zinfandel for under $12. And even American Chardonnay drinkers who dote on such brands as Mount Eden, whose flagship chard goes for close to $40, can get relief when the company’s MacGregor bottling comes in under $20.” As they drained their glasses and pulled on their coats, Riedel and I could see we had given our Control Board much to consider over the next thirty-four years: that it was possible to reach for greatness while keeping your feet planted in economic reality. They said goodnight, leaving us to clean up the mess. But right after the door closed, the doorbell rang again. It was Giambra. He held out his trick or treat bag “I forgot the Peanut Butter Cup,” he said. “I’m sorry,” I said, waving him off. “No bailout, no handout.” Mark Criden is the former chair of the Buffalo Branch of the International Wine & Food Society. Howard Riedel is an advertising consultant and writes a monthly column on wines for the Buffalo News. Back to the Table of Contents Back to Top