Second Flight

Last saturday I had the chance to attend a vertical tasting of Screaming Eagle. Well, actually it wasn't Screaming Eagle exactly,  rather it was the wineries much awaited new label release: Second Flight.

Back in 2006 Screaming Eagle was sold, which is a shame in my opinion, but then again, it is Napa. A once great wine region that's now the stomping grounds of corporate entities, bank holdings, the super rich elite, and the ridiculously one-dimensional people of perceived wealth who wear tacky jewelry and lap cougar juice from Riedel saucers in houses on cul-de-sacs all across America. ... Not that I'm opinionated or anything.

The tasting was the Oakville cabernet sauvignon from 2006 - 2009, each bottle retailing for $450 - $500. And I have to tell you, the '06 &'07 are uniquely different. Tight and stony with deep dark fruit notes. The '06 a hint more aromatic than the '07 as I recall, vibrant in color with a thick viscosity that coated the glass in deep garnet. Aging beautifully, the '06 is showing nice structure and balance with a delightfully complex old world style. The notes are more subtle and delicate causing the enthusiast to consider each note and flavor that creeps along the palate. There was a somewhat significant difference between them all, from the '06 and '07 to the '08 and '09 it's as if you're drinking two completely different wines from different producers and different vineyards. . . but I guess that's the point.

The '08 was a fruit bomb. Thick and sticky, with aromatics that seemed to burst from the glass with blackberry and cherry, cocoa and a bit of cedar note. Jammy on the palate with a good amount of tannin still holding the true flavors together. The '09 on the other hand, while young, had a better color and a more vibrant nose.  Now I know anyone who might read this will be thinking: obviously it has better color, it's younger. But one year won't make that big a difference, and the deep opaque purple color and sticky viscosity were intense. And there was something on the nose that was indeed, dare I say, smoky. A smoky quality in the '09 leads me to suspect that there might have been some '08 juice blended into the cab soup, and that '08 juice saw a little smoke contact from the wild fires that ravaged in that summer. I could be wrong, but it's my blog so it's my opinion. Aside form the smokiness on the nose the mouth feel was truly unusual. For a bottle this young that wasn't decanted it had an oddly oily mouth feel. Fatty and weighty, but not overtly cloying. There were hefty tannins, but nothing too unusual.  (None of the bottles had been decanted. They were all a bit tight. If the tasting hosts weren't going to be decant a couple of hours before hand, the bottles should have at least been opened one day prior to the tasting.)

Now, truth be told, I lost my tasting notes and I'm going off of memory.  But isn't that the best way to experience a wine?  I'm a fan of notes. I like jotting down my thoughts in the moment, or using a voice recorder for later, especially when I'm tasting a few different producers, but I always go back to the bottles that stick with me, and what has stuck with me most is the extreme difference between the '06 and the '08 & '09. The main difference is, obviously, Heidi Peterson Barrett.

It was Barrett who made the '06, and by '08 it's my understanding that the vines had all been re-grafted, and there was a new sheriff in town. Different vines + different winemaker = different wine. Will they continue to command the price of the famous '92 Screaming Eagle? I guess we'll have to see what the great RP has to say. If he taps his magic wine thief on the vertical Second Flight case, then yes. If not, no.

Score Revolution

I'm a C.S.W. That's a professional wine specialist - or Certified Specialist of Wine - it's my job and my passion. I'm a certified through the Society of Wine Educators, and on average I taste about 20 new wines a week which I consider purchasing for retail sale, and I do it because I enjoy wine (and I get health insurance).

Let me say that last part again: I enjoy wine. I enjoy the idea.

Right about this point in most blog posts out there in the inter-web world someone always makes reference to a scene in a certain movie about two guys trying to get laid in Santa Barbara, and in this scene two characters discuss why they're "into"wine. I have to tell you, anybody who makes reference to this movie scene does so because he or she has no actual opinion of his or her own. One simply saw a scene in a movie and said: yeah, me too. That's why I like it too.

The same thing goes for all the people out there who need a score to tell them if a wine tastes good to them. They have no opinion and are too lazy to formulate one, so they rely on reviews.  For example: someone came to me this past Thanksgiving and asked me for a good wine with a high score for under twenty dollars. I suggested some great wines, but unfortunately they didn't have any scores attached to them (most of my "high score" wines are over $20).  He reiterated that he needed the wine to have a high score, otherwise how would he know if it was any good?  I told him: "I'm telling you these are all good, I think you'll like them." Then he questioned how he would know if I was making a good recommendation - if the wines were good they'd have a score - so I suggested opening the bottles so he could taste them for himself. After all, it doesn't matter if I like them, the important thing is that he likes them. Then came the moment of truth. He said: "I don't know what good wine tastes like, that's why I need a wine with a high score, so I know it's good."

Let me explain something about scores: I taste more wine than the average Joe, I read about it, I study it, it's what I do for a living, therefore my palate is a bit more advanced than most consumers. That being said, someone who assigned a score to a wine isn't tasting 20 wines a week, they're tasting more like than a 100 wines a day. So a person assigning a score to a wine has a far more advanced palate than the average consumer. In fact, most of the little flavor profiles that stick out to a professional reviewer aren't going to be visible to the palate of the average consumer.

PEOPLE: You're not drinking a score, you're drinking a bottle of wine - that's a bottle of fruit juice that has gone bad - nothing more, nothing less. That's all it is. It's your need for scores that's ruining wine, and let me tell you why: A high score means a higher price, more sales and more revenue for a winery or producer, and that's fine. The problem is that those scores come from a select few who have distinct tastes. Lets use the famous Mr. Robert Parker for example: everyone knows that he loves those big, jammy, slutty, extracted, concentrated, fleshy fruit bombs. So rather than making the wine that the winemaker wants, or the wine that's the most natural expression of the fruit, the juice gets crafted into what Mr. Parker likes so he'll give it a favorable score. If every winemaker in the world is doing that, then every wine starts to taste the same. Fuck terroir. Fuck those expensive winemaking degrees from UC Davis and University of Bordeaux. Fuck varietal expression. Fuck tradition. Fuck nature. One flavor of wine made in one style to be consumed by people who only drink the wine they bought at Whole Foods out of their Target wine glasses, in their Old Navy weekend clothes, while talking about news of the world they don't understand but are regurgitating from what they saw on TV. (Breath.)

Go to SCORE REVOLUTION and sign the register. Let grape growers grow grapes and let winemakers make wine. The key to finding a bottle that you enjoy has nothing to do with a score, it means going to a wine seller who is willing to get to know what you like without making you feel stupid for not knowing a muscat from a muscadet.

Wine is unnecessarily pretentious as it is. There's nothing more off-putting than talking about wine with someone who corrects your pronunciation, or says things like "pee-no new-wah" as if they're suddenly French, by way of New Jersey. Why make it worse by adding a score?

Clos Encounters

Clos Pepe Vineyards and Estate Wines

A Private Farm and Residence: Trespassers will be Arrested

Vineyard Tours/Tasting By Appointment Only

4777 East Highway 246Lompoc, CA 93436

On weekends, the air that hangs over the town of Solvang smells like powdered sugar. Almost as if the puffy down comforter of cloud cover that hangs groggily on the rolling mountains every morning is one solid mass of confection. On this Tuesday morning however, the town was empty, the sweet scent was missing and the only thing filling the air was the fattened dew rolling down the hills, too lazy to be mist, but not ambitious enough to become rain.

This is a typical morning in the pinot noir country of central California.  No weekend tasters, to tourists, no festivals, just quiet, damp and oddly still. 

I had been on the road since 5:30 in the morning in order to make it to my vineyard tour appointment with wine maker Wes Hagen at Clos Pepe in Lompoc California at 10:30, about ten minutes outside of the town of Solvang. In my confirmation email from him I was sent a link to the conformation rules that are to be read and understood if one is to tour Clos Pepe. The link goes to a web page that states quite clearly that if anyone is more than ten minutes late, he or she may not be permitted to join the tour.  The instructions give the gate code, navigation of the small vineyard property under different livestock conditions, and directions to stay to the left and look for the small houses. The web page states: When you're there, you'll know you're in the right place because Wes will greet you with a big wave and a smile and he'll say: "welcome to Clos Pepe."

I envisioned a scene not unlike when Charlie finally got to see Willy Wonka for the first time (that's Gene Wilder, not Jonny Depp).  I wondered if I too would be able to look on from a distance as the wine -Wonka wobbly walked his path to greet his tour, only to stall, fall, and recover with a miraculous somersault.  But that wasn't exactly how it happened.

Fifteen minutes early, I sat outside of his small tan house with blue shudders listening to a brown dog bark at me from behind the confines of a wooden fence made of old wine barrel staves. Two more cars arrived before Hagen finally emerged from the house with more of a spring in his step than I had drummed up in my imagination. Well known as a world-class wine maker, a founding father of both the Santa Rita Hills & Happy Canyon AVAs, and an all around colorful character, I must admit I was intrigued to meet him. When Hagen neared, on path to greet the occupants of the car behind me, I got out of my car with an extended hand and told him my name, to which he replied with more of an accusation than conformation, "of course you are."  

I have always known Clos Pepe (Klo Peppy) for producing beautifully layered, crisp and mineral touched Burgundian style chardonnay, as well as pinot noir ... but not just any pinot noir, Clos Pepe pinot noir. Juice that has a balance of acid and fruit with woven synergy highlighting the melding of earth and hand, steeped deeply with an elegiac sensuality. I've always loved the bursts of red berry and aromatic flower petals, silky and soft in texture, and yet there's usually a sprinkling of the hot-stuff - a little spice - often showing with a hint of astringency. That's how I've come to know these wines, at least. I use to associate these unmistakeable flavors with terroir, something unique to the Santa Rita Hills, but Hagen says: "we like to use terroir because we [Americans] don't like to admit that we are ignorant infants in this business. We like to believe that somehow we have terroir too," he says. "I just think it's a truly French idea. The Italian idea, I think, is more like: the earth speaks through the wine. 'Wine is the poetry of the earth' and I love that idea. I think pinot noir at Clos Pepe is the poetry of the earth ... but it has no terroir." His contention is that vines can have a connection to the land, but it takes hundreds of years create that connection.  

So maybe what I've come to know in his wines, and in fact the wines of this part of the central coast, isn't terroir after all, maybe it has nothing to do with the land where the vines thrive. If wine truly is the earth's poetry in the bottle, then wouldn't that make the winemaker merely the scribe, and the idiosyncrasies in each bottling akin to the swoops and dots of his penmanship? If this is the case then everything that is the winemaker, meaning his or her personality, beliefs, level of concentration and ability to focus, learn, adapt and accept in his or her surroundings, in effect is the wine. No different than a monk quilling the pages of a bible. Or a drunken starlet with too much smoky eye makeup being praised for her portrayal of a vampire, when in fact her only real value is somewhere between the genetic makeup given by her parents, and her performance coaxed by the director. 

This is something I've realized retrospectively. After he passed me without feeling the need to introduce himself and went on to the intended greet-ees whom I had intercepted, I went over to say hello to the dog. When I returned to the collecting group the conversation had drifted from a "corked" bottle of wine that was being returned by a fellow tour guest, to the topic of Joseph Smith and necromancy. Hagen was saying: "on any given day I put on a little bit of Mormon / Muslim repellent - just a little scotch whiskey behind each ear - carry a copy of Origin of Species - works really really well."  What they were in fact talking about, I don't know, but now I have a better idea of the origin of the spice and mild astringency so ever present in his award winning pinot noir.

The tour has three stages: live stock and sustainability, vineyard, and wine tasting. 

"Let me introduce you to the livestock," he said to the group, "because that's always a good place to start." He led us behind the small tan houses to a gate on the other side of which were free range wandering chickens and a pen of sheep.  "We use to save this for the end of the tour, but I've found that it's a lot safer starting with sheep and ending with alcohol, than the opposite."

He explained the sheep, which all looked vaguely like filthy white teddy bears, and how they have a specific job at the vineyard. Not only do they help to breakdown the compost, but they act as growth management in early spring, clearing grass and weeds which, in turn, staves off frost while simultaneously fertilizing the ground. The idea is sustainable, and essentially veering in the direction of biodynamic without all the crystals, woo-woo and dream catchers dangling from the trestles. "The fertilizer has a perfect sort of nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus levels for our grapevines," he explained. "We mix a little bit of chicken manure in with the compost - it's a lot of nitrogen so we don't want to drive the grape crazy and suddenly all-of-the-sudden be big, vigorous vines - that's not really what we're looking for. It's also partially - part of - a symbol of our commitment to sustainable philosophy. About 85% of our cultural practices here would be considered organic by the CCOF - we have no interest in being certified." And then he added: "I personally find conversations of organic rather bourgeois and exclusionary. It's nice to talk about organic food if you can afford it, and then laugh when the rest of the poor world has to eat conventionally farmed food." He went on to explain that his dedication to sustainable practices is also because it makes a difference in the grapes, and thus the wine produced.

From the sheep pen we walked to the vineyard where each vine row is numbered and crowned with clusters of roses growing at each rows head, which Hagen explained was a Burgundian tradition. Speckled throughout the property are posts with round baskets loosely guarded by drooping chains for catching flying disks during the heated Frisbee golf tournaments that fill the slow growing months of summer.

With excitement in his voice, Hagen explains what's different about the soil in the Santa Rita Hills.  With fistfuls of dirt in his hand, he is able to retrace the steps of time, all the way up to the hiccup that is today in the grand scheme of history. He explains the composition of the soil, where it came from, and how it differs from the red clay soil of Burgundy and Washington. "Diatomaceous earth is calcium silicate, which lowers soil pH.  Low pH saddled with poor sandy soil, saddled with cool temps and windy days keeps our clusters tiny, the berries minuscule." He explains that calcium in the soil builds thicker skins on the grapes, and "because there is more skin than juice, it really concentrates the flavor of the pinot noir and chardonnay grapes here at Clos Pepe."

From the papyrus of the vine we made our way to the poetry of the tasting room, which is the patio of the main house on the property. The tour guests all took their glasses and picked their seats at various tables, as the winemaker himself offered a selection of cheeses and then poured from each bottle. As he did, Hagen explained the winemaking process in detail while fluttering from glass to glass with the nectar of each pour releasing fragrances in plumes.  He explained everything from what was unique about the grapes of each particular vintage, to what he was trying to accomplish. Why he chose certain fermentation separations and certain yeasts, what he wanted to achieve inside each vessel and what he was trying to capture under the closure he selected for that particular bottling. In a sense, why he chose a certain nib for his pen, or one ink for this verse, and another for the next, and mostly, what he was hoping to say when the two verses were blended together and read on the same page. 

What was most interesting about the tasting was the lineup because, quite frankly, not all of the wines poured were stellar, but that wasn't a bad thing because not all of the wines poured were for sale either. Starting with sparkling blanc de noir rose and ending with a pinot noir grappa, the tasting was a truly unique and personal experience that included a 1998 chardonnay broken out of the vault just for the sake of giving it a try. In many ways it was the tasting of a chardonnay that was long past its prime that was the best part. It was - to stretch an analogy - the crumpled up papers, the first drafts, and the sketches of a thought. The flavors that were once obviously there, now only vaguely showing as visible as the ghosts of erased words on an old page.  The melding of art and agriculture has often been used to describe winemaking, and now, after visiting Clos Pepe for a couple of hours on a misty spring morning, the idea has been argued in the field with science and passion, and then proven in the glass with the proverbial poetry of the earth - scraps of paper, first drafts and all. 

Too many times I find tastings are the same from one tasting room to the next. One is poured a succession of wines with overly explained introductions that unless the taster is relatively well versed in the wine trade, simply wouldn't and usually doesn't. Touring Clos Pepe is different; it's a lesson in viticulture, history, practices, and theory. 

Note: it's advisable for those not in the wine industry to study a bit before requesting a tour, not because you won't understand what winemaker Wes Hagen is talking about, but so you can appreciate what he is telling you.

CLOS PEPE WEBSITE

PURPLE TEETH AND ALL - Notes from the 4th Annual Family Winemakers of California Tasting, Pasadena

The afternoon of March 13th marked the 4th annual Family Winemakers tasting event in Pasadena. The morning after, my teeth are still a faint shade of purple, and as I watch my fingers type I'm suddenly aware of the purple line on the outside of my index finger that matches a purple spot on the inside of my thumb. It's the mark of a good tasting when you don't notice an entire day of wine dribbling down the stem of your glass, and I'm sure I'm not the only one to have the signature markings. And like many in attendance, today I'm scanning through my notes and finding that by the end of the afternoon they were either nonexistent, or total nonsense altogether.  

Beside me on my desk I'm left with cards and fliers I picked up, with only muddled recollections of why I grabbed them, my stained digits being my only clues. Sometimes it isn't easy to match the memorable sips to the logos on the business cards the day after, but that's all part of the experience if you ask me. A tasting event of this magnitude isn't so much about discovering new wines you like, as much as it is discovering the one you're still thinking about the morning after. (Vino Noceto 2011 pinot grigio, Amador County, Shenandoah Valley.)

I'm still drinking my coffee and trying to jot down my impressions of my first Southern California wine see-and-be-scene bonanza. And I'm sorry to say that slowly the individual memories are already beginning settle into one round thought; one table nearly impossible to differentiate from the next, just as all the flavors and smells eventually did of the some 700 wines poured between the hours of one & need-lunch:30.

It isn't that I was drunk, mind you. For me, actual drinking isn't a part of the process.  I walk around with my own personal sticker covered spit cup and bottle of water tucked in one arm, with my wine glass in my free hand. But no matter how much you spit and rinse, your mouth still instantly absorbs a small amount of alcohol directly through the soft tissue. And while that amount of alcohol is minute, when you multiply minute by 700, you get enough. And in some cases, way more than enough. And that was certainly the case for many, many people packed into the Pasadena convention center. (Number of wine glasses heard shattering on the floor: 5)

When writing an article like this I'm usually focusing on a single bottle, a varietal or a handful of winemakers, something specific, but what truly overshadowed the winemakers and the wines they chose to pour were the attendees. The elegance and style of people who came from all over Los Angeles to taste wine were in some cases worthy of their own sitcom, and for that reason alone it will be worth attending next year.

If you've never been to a large wine tasting event, I highly recommend attending one. Don't go under the impression you're going to be experiencing wine, while you do sample quite a bit, it's often hard to remember the subtle differences of the hundreds of wines offered in quick succession. What you'll really be experiencing are wine people.  Wine people are a unique bunch, and like cork patterns: no two are exactly alike. Often times the effects of the minute bits of alcohol, when multiplied into the hundreds, can transform polite to pompous, easygoing to arrogant, and elegant to obnoxious in a way unlike any other tasting event. You almost never see matching couples clutching their own personal cheese knives at an aged cheese tasting, trying to match wits by boasting about a goat herder they've met. And you almost never see young women photographing one another laying on the hood of a taxicab, and spanking one another outside of the doors of a pickling festival. (Although, I have been know to do crazy things after eating too much kimchi.)

On arrival, a long line stretched outside of the convention center doors of people who, for the most part, were dressed to impress. Fancy men in designer suits with crisp white shirts accompanied by tall women perched on stilts towering over them. The scene wasn't unlike the outside of a trendy nightclub where an event is taking place and people are expecting to have their pictures taken against a logo sprinkled backdrop. It all left me feeling out of place and under dressed, I must admit.  But I dress the way I do to these sorts of events intentionally.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who can confidently dress up for a big wine event. Unfortunately, I know myself all to well and I know no matter what I wear, in the end I know I'll be remembered as the guy who looks as if he thinks spin art clothes are still cool. (They were cool once, right?) Streak defying droplets of purple across my front, and purple spatter stains on my face from where the community spit bucket spit back at me, I'm often the buffoon the winemakers, marketers, sales people and snobs alike won't talk to at these things. Often times, they'll opt not to pour me a taste at all. It's as if they think I'm just looking for a hit and might attempt to take my sample of their precious wine off to a dirty bathroom stall, where I'll cook the juice down on a spoon and try to inject the syrup between my toes. However, in today's volatile times I suppose it's important to have those who see a wine tasting event as an important impromptu fashion show.  After all, if everyone who converged on the event came dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt with an extra dark colored stain-covering flannel, the city of Pasadena might have thought it was being "occupied."

Inside, the room was alive with the even murmur of winers whining. The heavy air was dense with the scent of fermented juice, and the sound of bottle to glass rung like twinkling chimes high above the white noise.

The first memorable stop was at Tercero Wines where we sampled some of Larry Schaffer's whites, the standout of which was his gewürztraminer. "I call it the Outlier," he said.  "No one in California should call a gewurz, a gewurz. As soon as you hear gewurz you think it's going to be 4% RS [residual sugar] and sweet and syrupy and that's not the style I make it in." He went on to explain that the juice is stainless steel fermented and aged with one barrel stuck at about 2% RS, which is then blended back into the stainless held cuvee.

I have to admit, when I think of gewürztraminer, sweet and sticky is often my first thought, but when the juice is taken all the way, as Schaffer has in this case, the depth and complexity can be awing.

Notes of lychee fruit off the top of the nose pull your senses into a gentle swirling floral blend of roses and honeysuckle. The acidity and spice hold your attention as the wine softly tingles on your palate bringing it to life. Normally, I like to go back to the first wine I taste at an event. Your palate isn't quite ready for the alcohol and often that first wine will taste slightly different the second time around, but with "The Outlier" this wasn't the case. When we moved on to the next bottle, I found myself stepping back in an effort to savor the moment a few seconds longer.
   
I have clear notes of that first stop, and it's clear in my mind too. The wine; the laboratory beakers on his table used for decanting; the explanation and enthusiasm he has for his craft. It was a memorable tasting experience, but I honestly can't say that was the case for all of the tables.

For example, I remember Dragonette Cellars vividly, genuinely enjoying the rose - a blend of grenache and mourvedre with a kick of syrah. Light pink in color, the shade of the inside of a seashell (say that three times fast), and a pop of strawberry on the nose with hints of lychee fruit as I recall. Red berry followed through onto the palate with good crisp acid in perfect balance while retaining a somewhat fatty mouthfeel and a peppery hint of spice on the finish.  It was wonderful. But the rest of the memory of the wine was pushed aside by two seasoned wine tasters who shoved past me to assume the tasting space where I was already standing.

An older couple dressed in matching snug black outfits - the man differentiating his ensemble with a black leather vest - it didn't take a keen eye to know they've done this before. They're tasting people. They had their own Riedel tasting glasses, and as they shoved past me the bouquet of the wine in my mouth was sucked out by the perfume that may or may not had been surgically affixed to the woman's aura.

(Note to those who love to go wine tasting: DON'T wear any cologne or perfume. If you must have a scent on you in order to feel comfortable, simply find a wine you truly love and put a dab behind each ear, or do as I do and spill some on your shirt.)

Up one side of the room and down the other, my companion, winery publicist Georgina Stassi, paved the way through the crowds, red plastic spit cup in hand as if she was leading me from clique to clique through a college kegger. From Center of Effort (a nice un-oaked chardonnay, and a couple of exceptional pinot noirs) to Calera (a viognier worth note) we wove our way through the swarms of fancy men and their stilted women at heel, the only near miss being a girl in white jeans who drunkenly crashed into me sending a dollop of wine from her glass splashing to the floor between us. "Oops," she giggled as purples spots set into her jeans at around calf height. Before I could acknowledge her, she was gone and my companion was leading off to the next table.

We landed at Vino Noceto, where I had an experience that I can't seem to shake.  Now, normally I'm not much for pinot grigio, not that I have anything against the grape, but I've come to never expect too much. A citric and sometimes slightly floral nose, nice acidity it's crisp and easy to pair, but I've never found depth or complexity in one - especially domestic ... until this one.

Floral and fruity (stone fruit, if my memory is serving me) right off the bat, and actual depth and complexity. Notes of citrus, distant peach, and wild flowers and melons - I kid you not.  Layers upon layers of flavor with a nice dry bit of mineral towards the back of the palate leaving that crisp, fresh feeling, and a finish that lasted long enough for me to actually ask if it was 100% pinot grigio (it is), and whether or not it has a touch of residual sugar (it doesn't). At $16.00 a bottle, this is worth grabbing just to have around the house for those hot days of summer.

The final memorable stop was at a winery table that I won't mention [Hitching Post] where the pourer seemed to only, and reluctantly, offer me a small splash of a sample, rather than the full taste he offered to my companion. She introduced me, and for a split moment he seemed happy to meet me. Not happy in the - wow, I'm happy to meet you because you might buy a lot of my wine - sort of way, but more the way one acts when meeting someone who has been battling a fierce drug addiction, and has the ground down purple teeth to show for it, but now claims to be just taking it day-by-day and keeping it real.

I was waiting for the next taste in the line of bottles when a fancy man in a crisp white shirt and a badge that said COSTCO asked me if he could slide in a bit, so happily I moved to the side. He shouldered in and actually stood where I was standing, turned his back to me leaving me one deep from the table - right where he had been standing. The wine pourer went from barely acknowledging me to focusing on Mr. COSTO and producing a bottle from under the table that wasn't offered to just anyone.

I took a step to the side, thinking that by changing my positioning I might get back into the pouring flow, holding my empty glass where it could be seen but it didn't happen.  It was then that a voice came over my shoulder and the neck of a bottle appeared in my peripheral vision.  "Here, try some of this." A man said.

I stepped over to the next table and swirled my glass then sunk my nose deep. Cassis hovered high above the darkness of a deep cherry note. Only one grape smells quite like this: cabernet sauvignon.

Hidden Ridge. If you should see this bottle anywhere, grab it - grab a case of it - and throw it into your cellar. The 2006 cab he poured me was, in a word: sexy. Deep dark fruit, layers of spice and cocoa, fleshy and concentrated on the palate and held together with structured tannins that have obviously mellowed in the past six years, but can still go for a long while.

From the west side of Sonoma's Spring Mountain, the 100% estate grown cabernet sauvignon grows in volcanic basalt and sandy clay loam on a 55% grade slope at elevations as high as 1700 feet. The vines have to work for everything they get and that creates a connection to the soil that can't come from just any plot of land. Elevation, grade, dirt and grapes that can only be picked by hand, when combined with a passion for making great wine, Hidden Ridge has, with one sample, made my list of must have bottles.

By the end of the event when my companion and I approached tables she would accidentally hold out her spit cup, rather than her wine glass, and I must admit I wasn't too far behind.  We left the tasting room and were stopped by security to be sure we weren't taking glasses. Georgina was asked to open her purse to be sure she wasn't stealing wine (I offered my security checker a glance at the inside of my spit cup). We stopped for lunch on a patio across from the convention center and watched the wine people leaving as we talked about some of our favorite wines, a conversation which drifted quickly into general talk.

We watched the girl in the purple speckled white pants and her friend lay out on the hood of a taxicab together while a third friend snapped iPhone photos. They posed spanking one another, laughing loud and abandoning themselves to the facebook moment.

The matching couple dressed in black barked from across the street at the scene, with no awareness that they were making a scene of their own, as they clinched their ruby filmed Riedel glasses and made their way to a black Toyota four door with a designated driver, parked and waiting.

People in suits toted cases of wine, fancy men in not-so-crisp white shirts walked ahead of stilted women taking their time carefully descending the stairs one step to the next. It was hard to believe it was only 4:30.

Wine is the great leveler, isn't it? Owning a lot of it doesn't make you a connoisseur, and drinking a lot of it doesn't make you an expert, unless you're one of those who are truly interested and passionate about the stuff, then it takes on a meaning of its own. If you're spiritually connected to practicing yoga, you can't talk about it with someone who only goes to classes for the work out. If you're a surfer then you understand the meditation of being out on the water and waiting for the perfect wave, the peacefulness, beauty and lucid clarity that comes from standing on a wall of water, and you know you can't discuss that feeling with someone who tried it once while on vacation. Wine is its own language, it's its own passion and its own people, and the things we have in common aren't money, or education, or style, it's the fact that we all geek out on smelling bananas, petrol or leather in a glass of old juice.

When going to your next tasting here are some things to remember: not all good wine is expensive; not all expensive wine is good; no one person's opinion is any more valid than anyone else's, and nobody looks good with purple teeth, so don't be embarrassed. There's nothing more silly than allowing the wine to take you away, and then covering your teeth so no one can see you smile.