Author Archives: Alex

The Trouble With Terroir

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When I pour wine for people, or when I’m out tasting, often I hear people remark that they can “really taste the terroir” in whatever is in their glass. And they would be right … if terroir meant “dirt.”

Steep hillsides and topsoil-less slate vineyards in the Mosel region of Germany

Steep hillsides and slate define the terroir of Germany’s Mosel region.

The trouble with terroir is that it’s a loanword from French that really doesn’t translate precisely into English. It’s absolutely derived from the word “terre,” which is from the Latin and means “earth.” But dirt is only one of several qualities that make up the concept of terroir. Soil types are important, but so are the weather and topography of a vineyard. Borrowing from Wikipedia, as they really do articulate it nicely:

Terroir can be very loosely translated as “a sense of place,” which is embodied in certain characteristic qualities, the sum of the effects that the local environment has had on the production of the product.

Basically, where something is growing and what it’s like there are just as important as what is growing. Anything that comes out of the ground expresses terroir, though certain crops are better known for it (coffee and chocolate are some of the most popular, but tomatoes are often cited. And I stand by my belief that the best peach I’ve ever had in my entire life was the size of a soccer ball and came from Stephen and Paula’s orchard, which is home to my favorite Hawkes Cabernet).

Terroir is at the heart of European wines. France in particular has adopted terroir as the primary principle in its Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC) system, which is the model on which all other appellation systems are based. Terroir is the reason pinot noir-based wines from Burgundy that are classified as grand cru are labeled with the name of the vineyard; the varietal isn’t immaterial, but it comes second to the place where the grapes are growing.

Walking with Jake on the back block of the Pyramid Vineyard

Walking with Jake in the back block of the Pyramid Vineyard

Terroir is also the heart of our Cabernet program. We farm three vineyards all located in southern Alexander Valley, and which are at most seven miles apart. And yet, if you’ve had the chance to try our single-vineyard Cabs side by side, either out of the barrel as Futures, or back when we first started making them (it’s been nearly three years since I’ve had all three from one vintage open at the same time), you’ll know from experience that they taste nothing alike.

I went for a walk with Jake on the Pyramid Vineyard a couple years back, right before harvest. He and Stephen were trying to decide what they wanted to pick for themselves. And it shouldn’t have surprised me but it did: as we walked, the grapes we sampled from one side of the hill tasted different from other parts of the vineyard.

Good winemaking starts in the vineyard. For us, that means picking by hand and keeping individual blocks of the vineyard separate throughout the barreling process, all so that, two years later, we can taste through everything and pick the Cabernet that is the truest expression of the place where it’s grown. And that is what terroir is all about.

Mighty Merlot

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It should come as no surprise that we’re mostly known for Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s probably what brought you to us in the first place. We’re uniquely suited to growing Cab here in Alexander Valley, where it’s a little warmer than our neighbors toward the coast, but where the Russian River still provides us with cool, foggy nights on our hillside vineyards. But while Stephen and Jake Hawkes love Cab—prefer Cab; live, breathe, and bleed Cab—there’s another friend of ours from Bordeaux who flourishes down the hill from our favorite varietal.

Château Pétrus in Pomerol produces Bordeaux almost entirely from Merlot

Château Pétrus in the Pomerol appelation produces Bordeaux almost entirely from Merlot.

It is largely accepted that Merlot’s first appearance center-stage in the California wine industry was due mainly to Louis Martini, which produced the first of the “modern” Merlots in 1968. Merlot was planted initially in Napa (and later in the rest of the state) in a time when interest in Bordeaux-style blends was developing. Despite a century of success with Cabernet Sauvignon, folks back then pretty unanimously decided that California’s wines were not of the same quality as those from France, partly because, more and more, people were noticing a rough side to Cabernet Sauvignon. A rough side that could be tamed with Merlot. And slowly, they noticed that this grape—the most widely-cultivated in Bordeaux and the prominent feature in Right Bank districts like Pomerol and Saint-Émilion—not only rounded out and gave complexity to Cabernet Sauvignon, they thought it made a pretty tasty wine all on its own, one that was supple and matured earlier than Cab.

As of 2010 in California, Merlot is second only to Cabernet Sauvignon in the red grape category; it comprises 46,200 acres planted, with 6,300 here in Sonoma County. Around the country, the only grape consumed more is Chardonnay. And that big demand for Merlot may have led to its perceived downfall. Gundlach Bundschu made a brilliant short film that sums it up pretty nicely: Merlot, one of the five Bordeaux varietals, became soft and flabby over time. It was an easy-drinking wine without much to it, garnering a reputation as a “beginner’s” wine.

Then came Sideways. Now, the rumors that this film was the nail in the coffin on the Merlot industry are greatly exaggerated. It was not the apocalyptic scenario people seem to think it was, but it wasn’t insignificant. Sales of Merlot at the major retailers did fall nationwide, while sales—and prices—of Pinot Noir jumped something like 16% in the year following the film’s release. Smaller producers—ourselves included—struggled to sell their fruit as the larger producers made less Merlot.

100% Merlot from Red Winery.

100% Merlot from our Red Winery Vineyard.

But since then, Merlot sales have recovered. More than that. They’re growing, as they have been doing since Sideways was released. Merlot remains the third most popular wine in the country. And while the grape may have earned the reputation it had at the beginning of the last decade, more and more people are realizing that Merlot isn’t any different from other wines: there’s a lot of it, and some is good, and some is bad.

That’s what makes it particularly fun to share our Merlot with the folks who come by the tasting room every day. It’s a wine that everyone seems to have an opinion about, and that opinion is nearly always dismantled by our Merlot. We’ve got the 2008 Alexander Valley Merlot open daily at both tasting rooms, and we’d love to share it with you.

What the M.L.?

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Chardonnay is the most popular grape in the United States. (A bold statement, I know, but the numbers don’t lie.) Part of the reason for that popularity is the grape’s versatility; it adapts readily to its surroundings and conditions, reflecting the terroir of wherever it grows. Globally it’s planted in more regions than any other grape — yes, even more than our own beloved Cabernet Sauvignon.

Chardonnay grapes

Chardonnay grapes

A quick google search about Chardonnay from the Alexander Valley will tell you that it tends to be more Burgundian in style — meaning that, in general, they tend to be richer, rounder, fuller-bodied white wines that spend a part of their lives in new oak barrels. And a big part of that Burgundian (and now, more commonly, Californian) style is something I’m asked about on a daily basis: malolactic fermentation.

Malolactic fermentation (ML) is actually a bit of a misnomer. Really, it’s a conversion process that takes place after primary fermentation is complete. I won’t pretend to be more of a scientist than my English degree will allow, but the gist of it is this: the conversion is started by a group of bacteria which convert malic acid (think Granny Smith apples and Bartlett pears) into lactic acid. This process happens for several reasons: it serves to stabilize wines (and for this reason, all red wines go through ML) because all wines will go through the process in the bottle, of their own accord, if the lactic acid bacteria are present. This is, to say the least, not a desirable situation, as it tends to render the wine sour and undrinkable.

2010 Gravel Bar Chardonnay and 2012 Home Chardonnay

2010 Gravel Bar  & 2012 Home Chardonnays

The other reason wines go through ML is to reduce unpleasantly high acidity, in both reds and whites. This is especially true of many Chardonnays, where the neutral composition of the grape may be overwhelmed by harsh malic acid.The malolactic process is what is responsible for the buttery aspect that is now traditionally associated with Chardonnay, especially those from California.

And for that reason, our Home Chardonnay never goes through ML. We don’t have anything against ML Chards; we just don’t think ours needs it. We’re proud of our fruit, and we think our wines should be the truest expression of this region and of the varietals we grow. The 2012 Home Chardonnay is a great example of that philosphy. Released from the barrel six months earlier than previous vintages, the wine has more freshness and bright fruit, but it still has all the flinty, mineral traits that we associate with the Home Ranch.

On the other hand, our 2010 Gravel Bar Chardonnay had such concentrated fruit and intense acidity when it was picked, we knew it could hold its own against ML. It’s a great Chardonnay with “exuberant fruit,” a great candidate to lay down for a few years, or to drink now, while its citrus and mineral characteristics are at their brightest. And that’s the beauty of Chardonnay. Its versatility promises that there’s something for everyone.

Vibrant Vin Gris

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2011 Hawkes Vin Gris

2011 Hawkes Vin Gris

Last November, we bottled our first “Hawkes-worthy pink wine,” as Jake puts it. We did it just in time for Thanksgiving, and it’s been a hit over the last couple of months as more and more people have the chance to try it. Our 2011 Vin Gris is a rosé of Cabernet Sauvignon entirely from our Stone Vineyard, from a year that was … well, a bit difficult. Late spring rains resulted in shattered fruit on the vineyards, and cooler-than-ideal temperatures meant that harvest was later than I can remember it being. But something about the long, cool growing season made 2011 a great year for pink wines; it seems like everyone released one for the summer.

And thank goodness. Call me a cheap date, but I love a good glass of pink.

We opted for the term “vin gris” for a few reasons. Stylistically, this wine reminds us of the dry, zesty rosés from the Provence region. Bright and refreshing, it’s a versatile wine that’s light enough to enjoy with salad but possesses enough body that it will hold its own against a burger. In fact, rosé’s versatility is one of the reasons we released it when we did — the acidity tends to cut through the heaviness of wintertime foods, but the red fruit flavors hold up against the heavier dishes.

The region of Provence, via Wikipedia

The region of Provence, via Wikipedia

The other reason we went for “vin gris” over “rosé” is the method by which we produced this wine. Vin Gris is often produced by the saignée method, French for “bled” or “bleeding.” It’s not nearly as graphic as that though. Essentially, the saignée method starts with a red wine — in our case, Cabernet — right after the fruit has been pressed. In order to impart deeper color and better structure into the Cab, we removed a little of the juice, reducing the volume of the red wine and concentrating the must involved in maceration. The result was a Cabernet with the depth and intensity that we desired. And a little pink wine as a nice bonus.

In general, my personal preferences have always guided me toward rosés made from Rhône varietals — Mourvèdre, Grenache, Syrah, or any combination thereof. Perhaps it’s my inner Frenchwoman? The Provençal pink wines are primarily Mourvèdre, with the Bandol region being the only area “dominated” by that varietal, which is required by law to compose at least 50% of the blend for both rosé and red wines. But our Vin Gris is right up my alley: as light and crisp with refreshing acidity as I could want, and with ripe strawberry, watermelon, and even a touch of the mint that is a defining characteristic of Cabernet from Alexander Valley.

Courtesy of JustJonDesignsFolks often comment that it would be a great wine in the summer, and I agree. But at the same time, a great rosé should conjure up the feelings of summer no matter what time of the year.

Not to brag or anything, but that’s exactly what we’ve managed to achieve.

A Long Winter’s Nap

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From http://swirlingnotions.wordpress.com

Anatomy of a grapevine, from http://swirlingnotions.wordpress.com

Grapevines are simultaneously extraordinarily delicate and astonishingly resilient. From the moment they produce leaf buds in the spring until the time those leaves drop off after harvest, they are susceptible to damage from pests, disease, rot, rain, frost, and wind. Even the sun can wreak havoc on a vineyard. You know: too much of a good thing is, well … too much.

But in the winter, when the vines are bare, Vitis vinifera proves to be remarkably hardy for a species that originated in the Mediterranean and Near East regions and which are grown in scores of other locations that are dramatically different. Of course, Alexander Valley and much of California has what is designated to be a Mediterranean climate, so it makes sense that wine grapes would flourish here. But it is in wintertime that some of the most crucial work is done.

It’s both a matter of vine health and the quality of the crop, and the process starts as soon as the fruit is picked. The vine continues to go through photosynthesis, building up nutrient reserves to get it through the winter. When that process is complete, the leaves change color and drop away, leaving the bare vines that you’ll see all over the county right now.

Cordon-pruned vines on the Red Winery Vineyard

Cordon-pruned vines on the Red Winery Vineyard

It’s the onset of cold weather that puts the vines to sleep. Dormancy is a critical period for the vine in the same way that we rely on sleep to re-energize ourselves. And that’s where the health and quality factors connect. Grapevines are trained in different styles for different results. But the one thing all the systems have in common is that they are all done to regulate the canopy and control crop yields by promoting “favorable leaf-to-fruit ratios.” And that’s what happens in the winter.

Grapevines grow pretty vigorously. If left unattended, they’ll eventually produce so much fruit that things won’t ripen evenly — or at all — and the quality of the crop is diminished. So in the winter, when the frosts and the cold have put the vines to bed, the vineyard crews go through and prune back the canes (young growth that started as a bud back in the previous spring). Pruning is done with the next autumn’s crop in mind by spacing things evenly to make sure the next year’s growth is balanced and that the vine’s energy will be concentrated on the fruit during the summer months.

I joke pretty regularly that wintertime grapevines are nearly indestructible, and that only a nuclear explosion could do any real damage. That is, of course, complete hyperbole. But grapes are grown in all kinds of areas, including places like New York, Canada, Switzerland, Germany, New Zealand, and even France — all of which have much colder, longer winters than my backyard. And while I’m counting down the hours until Daylight Savings kicks back in, our Cabernet vineyards are enjoying their time off, relishing the cold, and building back their strength for the coming harvest.

Aravin Vineyards in Central Otago, New Zealand.

Now that’s cold: Aravin Vineyards in Central Otago, New Zealand. (Aravin.co.nz)

The Necessary Freeze

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Ice buildup on the river rocks.

Ice buildup on the river rocks.

It’s been cold this January. No, not the way it was cold this morning when my friend Noelle walked to work in Boston. That doesn’t happen in Alexander Valley. But we’ve had temperatures down in the twenties for the last few weeks. The puddles on the roadside are covered in ice, and the frost at the ranch and down at the river seems to accumulate with each passing day. There’s a fire burning constantly in the woodstove, and woe betide us if it should go out. I don’t go a day without snuggly wool socks.

Folks who come into the tasting room ask me, “Won’t the cold hurt the grapes?” And for a long time, the only thing I could tell them was, “No, not this time of year.” But I never really knew why the winter freeze wasn’t an issue until I bought a book called The Geography of Wine while I was perusing the local bookstore. I bought it on a whim, mostly to keep on the coffee table along with The River Cottage Meat Book and The Dude and the Zen Master, to flip through when idle.

Unsurprisingly, the answer to “why doesn’t the cold hurt the vines” came by accident, when I wasn’t looking for it. And once I read it, I thought, “Actually, that makes sense.”

Most wine is produced in the "C" areas

Most wine is produced in the “C” areas

You see, cold temperatures are actually necessary for growing quality wine grapes. In The Geography of Wine, Brian Sommers breaks down the the five basic climates that exist throughout the world: tropical, desert, subtropical, continental, and polar. There are local variations and areas over overlap, but basically, everything can be categorized into one of those five. And of them. the majority of wine production occurs within “Subtropical climates with mean monthly temperatures between 26.6 and 64.4 degrees Fahrenheit.”

So what happens in the winter? Dormancy. It turns out, the cold of the winter puts the vines to sleep for a while, and “without a period of dormancy or rest, wine grapes produce poorly for wine. Most plant species adapted to climates with a true winter cool period need that period to be at their best.” Within those subtropical classifications are the Mediterranean climates, “typically found at 30 to 45 degrees latitude (either north or south),” with mild winters and dry summers, and winters that “do not have more than a couple months when the average temperature is below freezing.”

Grapevines are much hardier than you'd think.

Grapevines are much hardier than you’d think.

In other words, Alexander Valley.

So the cold weather—from the chilly morning that keeps me in bed longer than I should be each morning and the ice that builds up on the bridge over Maacama Creek—is part of a necessary cycle. And for now, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Checking on the Mycelia

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A walk in the woods on Thanksgiving Day.

I wrote a few weeks ago about wandering in the woods and stumbling upon mushrooms. Specifically, a bearded member of the hericium variety, the Lion’s Mane. I wrote that we haven’t found many of these fluffy morsels in any given year, and articles that I read backed up my thought that these are a less-than-common find.

Well, I might have to retract that statement.

Two weeks ago, Peter went out for a ride around Lake Sonoma, and in the course of two loops, fifty miles of riding, and a net elevation gain of more than twelve thousand feet, he found …

Four. Four lion’s mane mushrooms. One was out of reach, far up the branches of a tree, but the other three went into his bag and came home. We ate them the other night in a sort of midnight-snack fashion with chorizo verde by the venerable Franco Dunn, and with Foggy River potatoes from the final CSA pickup, and our Thanksgiving day find.

We’ve gone for a ramble three years in a row now, and while Peter was skeptical we’d find anything, I was pumped this time around. We’d been surprised two years running. Why not a third time?

It was a strange haul.

Autumn coccora

Peter made the first find: a cluster of coccora, a member of the Amanita family (which contains, most recognizably, the red-and-white muscaria, popular in illustrations everywhere, as well as the aptly-named Destroying Angel and Death Cap). Peter is a well-seasoned hunter, and has been comfortably identifying and eating this particular mushroom for the last few years (but only the autumn one, as it is more easily distinguished from dangerous lookalikes than its springtime relative), and it was my first time finding them. Peter’s always found them on their own, so we were surprised to see them in such a large group. Unfortunately, only one of the seven or eight had not been beset upon by bugs. Into the bag it went.

About thirty minutes later, after much poking and prodding, and passing up one of the larger oyster mushrooms I’ve ever found simply because they were super wet (they had almost a liquid appearance), a queen bolete followed the coccora into the bag. That was a first; we’ve hunted in this particular spot for more than two years, and this was the only Boletus we’d spotted to date. It was in an area which, in years past, has yielded enough chanterelles to tire out our arms on the walk home. The chanterelles from that spot had turned into our Thanksgiving hors d’oeuvres last year, and I was hoping for a repeat.

Rain-soaked oyster mushrooms

I was to be disappointed. Nearly an hour on the hillside, and only one small golden chanterelle. We moved on, and the final discovery was on the side of a fallen tree by the river: a spidery, white member of the Hericium family. Everyone calls this one something different, so I’m not sure what the proper scientific name is (and my book is at Peter’s house now. I’m pretty sure it’s Hericium ramosum, thought it might be H. coralloides). We’ve found them before on this exact same spot, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but I still squealed like a kid when I saw it. Janne assures me that’s okay because “we’re proud, card-carrying mushroom nerds.”

The chanterelle was my only find of the day, although it was a big one in the scheme of things. We might have been out a little too early last Thursday, but we’ve got more rain on the way this week. And that might be all we need for the first bonafide mushroom feast of the year. When that happens, there will be baked brie, Pinot Noir, and much rejoicing.

Clockwise from left: hericium, chanterelle, coccora, boletus.