We pour a different flight of wine each week, starting on Tuesday. On Monday nights we serve a wine tasting supper, three courses and five wines for $55.
Drink more cider! That, in addition to drinking more Madeira, is my resolution for 2010. I mention these very different drinks in the same breath because successive generations of Americans drank a good deal of both, yet today both have sunk into obscurity. Thomas Jefferson enjoyed apple cider, and drank his fair share of Madeira (in the mid-19th century when someone offered you a glass of wine, it was probably Madeira). I consider it a patriotic duty to turn people on to these wonderfully archaic, very adult drinks.
I am afraid that there are good reasons why folks, if they have even tried a cider, are turned off by it. The hard cider that we drink here in the States is mostly one-dimensional commercial dreck made from juice concentrate. However, we enjoyed loads of good strong cider in the colonial era—long before domestic wheat and barely were readily available, apple orchards flourished throughout New England and good deal of this fruit ended up in cider and applejack. Jacking refers to the process of freeze distillation, and New Englanders made crude applejack by leaving a barrel of strong cider to freeze on the porch, and then used an auger to liberate the alcoholic portion, which did not freeze. (By the way, if you attempt to do this on your own, be aware that you are breaking the law!)
Our own cider culture has tragically dwindled since the end of the 19th century. This is in part due to the seasonal nature of apple cider (when you are out, you are out until next apple season), and the arrival of successive waves of German immigrants who brought to our shores their taste for and knowledge of quick-to-ferment lager which could be produced year around. There has been something of a revival of artisanal ciders here in the States, but until we rediscover how good this old-timey drink can be, they will remain regional specialties.
Thankfully, the French have not lost their taste for this beverage, and grow more than 200 varieties of apples employed mostly for cider production and its big brother, Calvados.
Cider is a flexible food pairing beverage, and I find that it works well with simple, rustic food—steamed mussels, of course, but also herb-crusted roast chicken and cheese (Hook’s 10 year cheddar + Dupont Cidre de Normandie Brut).
Last year, we had a power failure at Lou, just before service. I was afraid we would need to close for the evening, and as my staff sat in the fading afternoon light, we lit candles, and I brought out a couple of bottles of cider as a balm for our despair. It worked—the DWP magically restored our power, and we were a much happier team after polishing off the second bottle.
This week, I am pouring a flight of French cider that illustrates just how good cider can be. Perhaps soon I will compliment this flight with an all-domestic cider flight.
Julien Frémont Cidre Brut par Nature “Les Greniers” 2008
A cider made by a family that has been in the apple business for several centuries– they still use an apple press built at the end of the 18th century. Frémont make the “Greniers” cider from organically grown apples that sweat for a month in a grenier, or attic, before pressing, so they go through a light passerillage. This is a light-bodied cider, quite dry, with a touch of bitterness on the finish.
Etienne Dupont Cidre Brut Organic
Dupont makes five different ciders, but I have only tried two of them. Of the two, the one I like the most is the organic cider, which Dupont claims can age up to five years. The ciders are vintage-dated, and the one I am pouring at my shop is from the 2007 vintage. This is a complex, aromatic, and tannic cider, and is a bit murky because it is unpasteurized and unfiltered.
Eric Bordelet
Bordelet comes from an apple-growing family, but had pursued a career as a sommelier (he was the sommelier at L’Arpège) before having his life changed by Didier Dageneau. Bordelet fell hard for Dageneau’s wine, and Dageneau convinced Bordelet that he could return to the Loire and make cider. Bordelet makes four different ciders, two are from apples, and two are from pears. I am pouring my favorite Bordelet cider, which is his Poiré “Granit,” made from a pear orchard with 300-year-old pear trees. This delicate cider captures the energy and freshness of pears long after pear season is over.
The first wine on the flight is a Fronton from vineyards just north of Toulouse. Fronton revolves around the long-planted local variety called négrette, a grape that yields a wine that is darkly pigmented but surprisingly juicy and not a big bruising brute. The second wine on the flight is an oddball wine from Marcillac, a small AOC that is again not far from Toulouse. Marcillac is made from yet another local grape variety called mansois, a grape that is grown elsewhere in the south of France (in nearby Gaillac, for example, it is known as braucol) but in the iron-rich Marcillac terroir the wine exhibits a unique, weird-ass, yet delicious green-peppery tang. The final wine on the flight is a Corbières from Domaine des 2 Ânes, a short drive south of Toulouse. 2 Ânes is a small domaine focused on making natural wines from organically grown grapes.
Domaine Le Roc Fronton “Folle Noir Amblat” ‘07
Domaine Matha Marcillac “Cuvée Lairis” ‘07
Domaine des 2 Ânes Corbières “Premier Pas” ‘07
For the next few weeks I will be pouring festive flights of sparkling wine. Sure, most folks know that sparkling wine is delicious, but too many people reserve it for a special occasion. The situation is different in Italy, where a welcoming glass of Prosecco is a common way to greet arriving guests, but here in the States we seem to only enjoy sparkling wine on special occasions or a holiday.
Here’s to everyday sparkling wine, I want you should drink more of it: that’s one of my missions in life.
To start our mini-festival of sparkling wine, we will have a flight of four wines from across the color spectrum. These are unique wines, each with a short story (or more) to tell.
What are you lookin’ at?
The first wine on the flight is Calek’s Blonde. It’s a blend of chardonnay and viognier, but the mix is the least interesting thing about this wine. It pours like an cloudy unfiltered apple cider, and tastes apple-y, too. It’s a hybrid hefeweizen x cider. It’s yesterday once more. 10 Bells started it, and thanks to Amy, this wacky and delicious wine is available in LA now, too.
White
The second wine on the flight is Tissot’s Crémant du Jura “Indigène.” This is a special cuvée that Tissot produces using native yeasts from the traditional vin de paille he also makes. The special yeast treatment gives this wine an added layer of complexity and richness, and to these lips, at least, Tissot’s wine can give entry level really good grower Champagne a run for its money. Of course if I were a rich man, I wouldn’t biddy biddy bum, but would drink Camille Saves rosé whenever I damn felt like it. Alas, I am not, and will drink this wine whenever I damn feel like it.
Rosé
The third wine on the flight is a Cava rosé, made by Pere Ventura. It’s made from the trepat grape, an indigenous Catalan grape variety that I’ve only seen used in rosé wines, a use to which it seems very well suited (like cinsault). This wine has a beautiful and deep reddish tint, is dry, and is also surprisingly full bodied, with a dusty strawberry character. If you sometimes find Cava to be a bit too austere for your tastes, this wine may change your mind.
Red
The fourth wine on the flight is labeled simply Bourgogne, but in reality is a much rarer AOC Bourgogne Mousseux Rouge from Parigot. Even though this AOC for red sparkling Burgundy was established in the 40s, you won’t often see this wine in the US much less France. I don’t know why, as I think it is Parigot’s most successful sparkling wine so far (to be fair, I haven’t tried their fancier cuvées)
On the other hand, this Parigot wine, which you will never see at Lou, is not.
When my pal Sandy (who distributes the wine in Los Angeles) first told me about it, I was skeptical as I imagined that Parigot probably used a namby-pamby, reedy, insipid, and thin AOC level wine as the base, but this is not the case. The wine has loads of true pinot character. Why would anyone drink sparkling Shiraz when you could drink an elegant and delicious wine such as this for the same $?
 Jack Sprat could eat no fat... This week our flight is a study in pinot noir texture. The first and lightest-bodied pinot on the flight is from Germany’s Pfalz region. Some say that properly ripened pinot noir is a gift brought to us by global warming. Historically, Germany has not had sufficient degree days to ripen pinot noir (or, perhaps the Germans have just recently discovered the secret of growing this fickle grape). Whatever the reason, these are exiting times for German pinot as this wine, grown by Rebholz, attests.
The second pinot is from Oregon and it is organically grown, dry farmed, and wild yeast fermented.
The third and fullest bodied pinot is from Carneros, and it too is organically grown, dry farmed, and native yeast fermented.
Rebholz pinot noir Pfalz ‘04
Evesham Wood Puit Sec vineyard Oregon ‘06
Talisman Adastra vineyard Carneros ‘06
Pinot noir is a notoriously difficult grape to grow and to vinify. The French have had several centuries to puzzle through it, and there are good reasons that the Côte d’Or is such a great place for growing the grape. In cooler years pinot from less-favored Burgundian vineyards will not fully ripen, at least to our contemporary standards of phenolic (over)ripeness. But even in a classic vintage, traditionally made Burgundy is rarely a deeply pigmented wine, which to some eyeballs makes a glass of good Burgundy seem crappy. I’ve given up on serving red Burgundy at Lou for this reason–I’ve had to remove the red Burgundy part of my heart, wrap it in tissue paper, and place it up on the shelf. To eyeballs and palates raised on dense, syrupy wines, a pinot that does not resemble shiraz will appear substandard.
My friend Dan Fredman summarized the situation perfectly: Burgundy loving customers do not come to Lou to drink Burgundy. They have plenty in their cellar. And customers who want pinot noir do not want to drink Burgundy at Lou–they want extracted, dense wines. With that in mind I’ve had good luck pouring Austrian and German pinot noir, which by my lights manage to nicely straddle the old world and new.
 Hex #800000 looks more like nebbiolo than Burgundy, but whatever... A light-to-medium colored wine, let’s say an AOC Bourgogne, flawless and delicious to me, will not correspond to dark=good expectations of the color Burgundy as enshrined in hex code #800000. And, with that in mind, some California pinot producers resort to adding dark pigmented wine like syrah to their pinot (up to 25 percent may be added by California state regulations). There are other tricks that winemakers may use to confect a pinot that appeals to the broadest demographic, but this is a PG-13 audience and I’ll spare you the details.
Well, here’s a flight of three North American pinot noir wines that contain no syrah. They’re all traditionally made wines, by which I mean the following: organically grown grapes, minimal intervention winemaking, and natural (wild) yeast fermentation. Two hail from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, one hails from Anderson Valley. They’re all made more or less in the Burgundian fashion, and true to form, they look and taste like pinot noir should. These wines have something to say about their terrior: the soil and vines that gave them birth. Could this be the future of pinot noir in North America? Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to dream. Thanks to John Haeger for the tasting notes.
Copain Hacienda Secoya Vineyard Anderson Valley pinot noir ‘07
Wells Guthrie, a one-time tasting coordinator for Wine Spectator who lived almost two years in the Rhône valley working for Jean-Louis Chave, has been making elegant pinots since 1999. Beginning in 2006, Copain’s pinot program was “redefined” to feature early picking, bright flavors, virtually zero additions, and modest alcohol. The wines are intensely aromatic and transparent to site.
Brick House “Cuvée du Tonnelier” Willamette Valley pinot noir ‘07
The original cuvée from Brick House’s 1990 plantings on Ribbon Ridge: entirely Pommard selection of pinot noir, organically and dry farmed. The winemaking is done almost single-handedly. It involves minimal handling and the wines ferment almost entirely with natural yeast.
Evesham Wood Le Puits Sec Vineyard Eola-Amity Hills Pinot noir ‘07
Evesham Wood’s nine-acre estate vineyard is on a gentle east-facing slope on the Willamette River side of the Eola Hills, and is dry and organically farmed. Russ and Mary Raney, who live at the vineyard and make the wines in a cellar underneath their house, pick their fruit relatively early. They craft elegant wines with pretty color, fine structure, and floral aromas.
It’s cool out but here’s a flight of hearty red wines to warm the cockles of yer heart, me mateys. The first wine is the simplest of the three; it hails from the south of France and is a blend of grenache mixed a splash of meaty mourvèdre and syrah. The second is a concentrated, cherry-tasting wine from Italy’s Veneto, made from grapes dried on straw mats for 40 days. The final wine on the flight is a robust, nay, burly wine from Roussillon made by the great organic grower, Jean Gardies from old vine grenache, syrah, and mourvèdre.
Côtes du Rhône Côte de l’Ange ‘07
Valpolicella superiore Ferragu’ ‘05
Côtes du Roussillon Villages Gardies “Tautavel” ‘06
This week Lou’s pouring a tasting flight of red wines that are from very, very old vines indeed: all of them miraculously survived the phylloxera plague that nearly destroyed the vineyards in Europe by the end of the 19th century. The oldest vines on the flight are from a vineyard that’s at least 150 years old (stay tuned for a flight of white wines that will include a wine from vines that are over 200 years old).
Jumilla Bodegas Olivares ‘08
Ribera del Duero Dominio de Autata ‘04
Roussillon Ferrer-Ribière ‘07
This week we’re kicking off a multi-week exploration of the outer limits of viticulture: wines made from old, sometimes verrrry old vines, some of which survived the ravages of the phylloxera plague that nearly destroyed winegrowing in Europe by the end of the 19th century. Our flight tonight consists of three red wines from vines of no less than 80 years of age. These are all robust, somewhat funky wines, and I’m pairing them with Hook’s 10 year cheddar, a robust, somewhat funky cheese.
Here’s more information on why you should care about old vines and a little bit more about phylloxera, that damned louse!
Tonight’s flight
Domaine Romaneaux-Destezet Vin de Pays de l’Ardeche La Souteronne Gamay (up to 100 year old vines)
Ferrer-Ribière Vin de Pays des Côtes Catalanes Carignan (pre-phylloxera, 130 year old vines)
Montirius Gigondas Terre des Aînés (80+ year old vines)
Paired with Hook’s 10 year cheddar
$14
 Phylloxera, I hate you!
This Tuesday we are offering a flight of three white wines that are French and grown from varied terroirs with one commonality: the soil they spring forth from is predominately chalky. The cost for the wine and cheese flight is $14.
Professor Whoopee, tell me why should I care about chalk?
 Professor Whoopee, why chalk? Well, Tennessee, there is one thing to know about chalky soil and wine: grapes grown on chalk can produce wines with fresh acidity, and fresh acidity is what connects the three chalk-grown wines on our flight. I am pairing these wines with sheep cheeses made by Christine and Jim Maguire of Rinconada Dairy. Rinconada’s sheep are pastured on land on which the Maguires apply no synthetics, indeed no nothin’. Sheep milk cheeses can appear dry and somewhat crumbly but they bloom when paired with wines that have fresh acidity.
 Christine Maguire with some of her flock The first two wines on our flight are chenin blanc-based wines from France’s Loire Valley. Folks shy away from chenin blanc because they associate it with crappy box wines bought at a Sav-On Pharmacy. Sure, the chenin blanc grape is mostly over cropped in California and made into dull and anonymous Frankenstein wine. The voice of terroir is mute in these wines. But it’s not by accident that the French have long planted chenin in the chalky terroir of the Loire valley, mostly in the area near the town of Tours. The Touraine terroir produces wines in which racy acidity serves as a balancing vehicle for a core of fruit, and there’s a long alchemical tradition there that knows that if you grow chenin blanc in these soils and don’t over crop it, you can grow mouth-watering, long-lived, and occasionally profound wines.
The first chenin blanc on the flight is François Pinon’s Vouvray sec ’07. Vouvray sec, especially if it’s very sec, can be austere and unforgiving, and you understand why vignerons in the Touraine region traditionally savor a bit and sometimes more of counter-balancing residual sugar in their wines. Pinon’s Vouvray sec is beautifully balanced, an onrush of white grapefruit and hay tied in a slightly salty wrapper of just slightly off-dry minerality and fresh pine needle. The voice of terroir speaks clearly through this natural wine, which is farmed organically and is fermented using wild yeasts.
 Chenin on Janviere's estate The contrast between Pinon’s wine and the second wine on the flight, Pascal Janvier’s Coteaux du Loir ‘08, demonstrates neatly how terroir speaks through the sensitive instrument of the chenin blanc grape. Pinon’s wine is more focused and intense; Janvier’s wine is more ethereal and elegant. The Coteaux du Loir is a tiny AOC based around a small tributary of the Loire. To me, there is something about the Loir’s terroir, probably a combination of soil structure (it’s flint on top of the ubiquitous chalk), aspect (suntrap hillsides), and the effect of the Loir itself that lends these wines a very special tanginess I don’t find elsewhere in the Loire. Janvier is a quality minded grower there who, like Pinon, farms organically. We poured Janvier’s ’07 pineapple-y Jasnières until Kermit Lynch ran out. The ’08 vintage is also very good, a bit fleshier and with a tad more residual sugar than the ‘07.
The third wine on the flight is Francois Mikulski’s very fine aligoté, a wine I like so much that we might just have to have a flight of aligoté in sometime this summer—that’s how crazy I am. Aligoté, like chenin blanc, can be over cropped and made into a zingy, if boring wine. These are simple wines, best used as the Burgundians do, to make a kir. But again, when grown on stony limestone and not overcropped, I say, let’s hear it for the underdog! Mikulski’s aligoté is snappy with a surprising amount of citrus fruit. Per the importer, I understand that he’s getting some concentration by partially drying the grapes. This aligoté is delicious all by itself and requires no supplement, though it also makes a great kir, especially with Chermette’s crème de cassis.
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