Wine Biz Interviews Part Three With Alice Feiring

I first heard her name from a coworker who was trying to get me into this whole blogging thing, trying to get me to read them, post on them and maybe start one of my own…I was resisting. “She has been banned from the Parker boards” now my interest had been piqued. I had tried to read those wine chat boards, wanted to talk about wine with other like minded people…um, the thing was, there were very few people on those boards that talked about or liked the wines that I did, in short…I didn’t fit in there, nor did I want to.

Shortly after having that conversation at work I started reading Alice Feiring’s blog and before long I went out and got her book, The Battle for Wine and Love OR How I Saved the World from Parkerizarion. I loved the book and Alice’s willingness to stand up for what she believed in…her willingness to speak out against the globalization of her (and my) favorite wines. So I thought after Charles, “California Wine Guru” Olken it would be fitting to hear from a wine writer that champions Old World wines.
How many years have you been professionally writing about wine?

Irony. My feature-length piece was in 1990, for Connoisseur magazine. Topic? Long Island wine. I used to write on a trio of subjects: food, wine and design, but I finally got pigeonholed in 2000.




What wine was it that flipped your, “Damn” switch?

A California zinfandel drunk in the Boston Common during spring break in 1976 (?) with my college roommate and the guy we both had a thing for. Back at Stony Brook, we had been hitting the Germans, being mindless about fluffy rieslings but that domestic red forced us into discussion; “Wine or is it gasoline?”
However, the first exalted wine was the one pinched from my father’s mistress’ husband’s wine cellar. A 1968 Scanavino barolo.

How does it feel to be one of the most talked about women in the wine world?

If I take this as truth, I feel both uncomfortable, honored and mystified.

Mystified: I am no Jancis, or Elin or Lettie and they are far more well known than I.
Uncomfortable: I’ve been in shyness recovery for decades—relapse is a part of the disease. It has been a difficult to embrace that I am now a public person. Along with that comes both good and bad. The good (having an impact) is terrific, but the bashing? That one takes some getting used to.
Honor: Outside of academia, the female voice doesn’t usually factor in to the wine discussion. That Jay Miller has more clout that Jancis Robinson is one of life’s injustices.
When I let myself enjoy the fact that some people think I matter, it’s a kick. And if I’ve done a bit to help crack that well- defended territory and pave way for other women, well, hooray.

Boxers or Briefs?

Depends on the body, I actually love boxers though I did spend a dozen years with briefs. They suited him quite well.

I know you are not a big blog reader, (I know because you told me when you sent me and email…ahem, hear that people? Alice sent ME an email…just sayin’) but are there any blogs that are in your weekly/monthly must read pile?

I’ve been bad. I try to check-in every month (or so) to see what my friends are up to. But more frequently I rely on Tweets and Facebook to clue me in to a posting that should be on my radar. The regular reads for me are still websites and not blogs—Wines & Vines, Wine Biz, Decanter, and the like.
Note to self: Spend less time on line, and more time writing and-- dare I say-- museums. I still can’t forgive myself for missing Kandinsky because I couldn’t wrench myself from my apartment. There’s no excuse. I just don’t get out enough.

Biodynamics, real deal or horseshit?

You mean cowshit? It is both cowshit and horseshit
I don’t need science to tell me that many of the wines I love are the off-spring of Biodynamics. Sure, winemakers tell us of healthier pH’s, acidities and claim their vines have greater flexibility under the method.Their experience might not be enough proof for the naysayers but it is enough for me. I just care that about what’s in the glass. To hell with proof.
However, for many reasons, I am not convinced that large-scale Biodynamic farming is relevant or even advantageous; we can take that one up later. It also makes me queasy to see folk sling around manure for the camera. If I see one more cow horn on an advertisement… . Hell, now that Gina is married to Jean Charles, we are sure to see Gallo going for the dung.
Note: if the vineyards and winemakers lack talent, no amount of nettles and 500 will save you from making crap wine.




I heard that Tom Wark made you cry, you want I should beat him up for you?

Bring on the whips. Yes, sweet Tom staged an nocturnal event that choked me up (thank god the night was moonless). Nothing in my past has prepared me to handle that kind of attention graciously. All I could do was say thank you and try to stop from going Sally Fields on the evening.

What is the market like right now for wine writers?

The market is in marketing, public relations and blogging for free. Anyone who sets out to be a self-supporting, independent wine writer in America is delusional. That said, I don’t want to squish anyone’s dreams. The right creative spin can make anything work.
As part of my 2010 Think Positive initiative, I sent off my application to Whole Foods. I was planning on a brilliant mid-life crisis. I was dreaming about raising goats. And then I –against all odds—sold my next book proposal. I have a 1.5 year reprieve.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

As a matter of fact, I have, especially when I’ve been around shorthaired cats. But you know for those of us who sit to pee, it’s not really a problem.





Have you ever made out with a winemaker?

I have, though not with enough of them to draw global conclusions. I have to get back to my research.

Are you afraid I will ask you which one?

Nope!

In three words, “The wines I ache for are”….


Seductive. Expressive. Surprising.

Single worst bottle of wine you have ever had?

Yellow Tail shiraz tasted in 2007.



What would you rather put in your mouth, a roast beef sandwich or Rombauer Zinfandel?

Thanks for suggesting in my mouth and not down the hatch. The Rombauer of course. I have to taste all sorts of things and am quite adept at spitting.

Playing rock chick, Lady Gaga or Pink?

To make an informed decision I just snacked on You Tube. Bitch! Trick question! But, I guess I must Pink-out.

Barolo or Burgundy?

Burgundy. Don’t forget that until they secede, Beaujolais is still part of that region. Lucky as I cannot live without gamay.

Vacation: Cleveland or The Former Czech Republic?

I don’t think my passport works in Cleveland so let’s go for the CR. Even though they still drop tons of gum arabic in their whites, there’s a nascent natural wine scene, so I’ll have something to drink.




Pet: Parrot or Rock?

Last summer I babysat a cockatiel. Posy chewed on my finger the way my mother used to chew an ear of corn. I’ll go with the rock. Make it a fossil from Jura, please?

Airplane reading: Playboy or The Wine Advocate?

That’s a very, very hard choice as they are two iconic publications.
Playboy.

If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice about wine writing, what would it be?

Become proficient in French, Spanish or Italian.

Hangover cure of choice?

A slice of toast with butter and honey and three aspirin before bed. But for some weird reason, no matter how hard I try, I don’t get hung over anymore.

Do you ever delete comments on your blog?

Yes! If someone is on attack mode and name calling or clearly crazy, I delete. There’s no room for evil in my community.





If I told you that your telling me that you read my blog was one of my proudest moments would you share a bottle of Champagne with me?

If I told you I envied your wit, would you share a bottle with me? I think hammering out which one or two we’d choose would be almost as fun as the drinking.

I would like to personally thank you Alice, not just for granting me this interview, (which was wicked cool of you) but for speaking up…no matter how unpopular the message might be in many wine circles, for wines of place, purity and integrity. Your voice is a very important one to people like me, people that want French, Italian and Spanish wines to taste like…well, where they came from. So um, thanks lady! Oh and when we share those bottles, (and it will be bottles, not bottle…who are we kidding) of Champagne we can swap winemaker stories…I just worry that with as close as our palates are, it might just be the same story…

Grumpy & Needing A Really Big Hug

My day started out really great, woke too early, (not at all shocking for those of you that have been reading for awhile, go to bed far too late…wake up far too early. Sleep and I, well we simply don’t understand or like each other much) but was in a great, feeling rested and ready to get back to work mood. I was off for five days, even with being out of town for a couple days, that is just too long for this wine slinger. I like me some time off and all but The Wine Country is like my home, when I am away that long it feels a bit like I am living part of my life in a hotel, nice but not where my stuff lives, my people live….I was ready to get my ass back in the shop.

Had a slow, chill morning, watched our president on the news, drank my coffee, took an early shower so I had time to let my hair dry a bit, (I loathe the sitting there with the fucking hairdryer…argh, such a waste of time and nothing to do but stare at myself in the mirror…not my favorite time of day to say the least) a smooth, easy morning. The only minor hiccup was when I went to grab my color appropriate bra and I remembered that it was in the other room drying….the room that I would have to walk past our open windows to go get. Now I have made this error so many times I am beginning to wonder if there is not some part of me that likes to wiggle her little inner exhibitionist. It’s always the same, me there in my jeans…topless muttering, “dammit….” Cupping my breasts in my hands and making this rather exaggerated, somewhat leaping dash to the other room to retrieve the needed garment. Okay, best part about this scenario, I never put the damn thing on the drying room, make the goddamn leaping dash back to my room to strap the sucker on…see, starting to wonder about myself.



It was so good to be back in the store, my beloved wines where I left them…aside from the ones that sold out while I was gone, damn I love that too. Got to see my people, Merritt, Ronnie, Randy and Dale, my little heart was so happy…the grin on my face unshakeable. Got a phone call that sent me into full twitterpation mode, a friend I must confess to having a MASSIVE crush on. Isn’t that the best? The way your heart pounds out of your chest, everything makes you giggle, that vibrant, bubbly feeling of hope, want, wonder…the powerfully beautiful feeling of being spun by something as simple as a voice…an idea, a laugh. The knowing that wanting is all you can or should ever do…just makes it that much hotter. The sassy feeling was with me the rest of the day, lifted me, made me all wiggly, full of snark and nibbles.

So while walking past the cheese case this evening I noticed a lovely piece of Huntsman, (a rather powerful but delicious cheese. A layer of Glouster which is like Cheddar, a layer of Stilton topped with another layer of the Glouster) and thought, “Oh, that would be amazing on a burger” Called the hubby to be proactive about the whole, “What you feel like for dinner?” call. Gave the hubby the shopping list, (this is where I should point out that we shop daily, and by we I mean he. Call-o works from home so he does all the shopping….I plan or pick the meals, cook them but he shops and does the majority of the clean up) bought the cheese and was so looking forward to my medium rare burger with a thick slice of Huntsman with some thinly sliced red onions…what a great day right? Yeah….

The reason I was all pro burger was we have a new BBQ at the apartment, one that like works and junk. Got to say the hubby has completely avoided the whole helping with cooking ever since the old BBQ took a crap like two years ago, thing still worked but it was so uneven it was not at all worth the bickering over. New BBQ meant grilled burgers and I have to say, that sounded marvelous. Got everything ready, burgers seasoned, formed and ready for the grill, onions taking a bath in cold water to shhhh the bite and thick slices of Huntsman ready and waiting, all that was left was the grilling….sigh.



Call-o was already tucked into his burger before I was even off the couch, “Ugh! It’s not cooked” he alerted with a look of indignation on his face. “Well you cooked them” was what I wanted to say but seeing as I am of the save the fighting for when it is really needed camp. I just let it go. Next thing I know the burgers are in a frying pan, on the stove, cheese melted completely away, along with any hint of grill flavor…dammit. Again, not wanting to bicker over something so tiny I just loaded up my burger, placed a thin slice of cheese across the top of my, “looked like it once had cheese” meatball….which is what is was now that it had been steamed and robbed of anything that I had been originally interested in, now it was merely sustenance.

Sliced the gray fucker in half and went to take a bite….now, have you ever had a favorite shirt? A shirt that every time you wear it you not only feel great but you get a shitload of compliments on…guess who was wearing hers this evening?! Two bites in and there was a blob of grease down the front of my most adored shirt…fuck, fuck. I was now so steaming, (like the meatball) that I just went to throw the damn thing away…trash was too full to do so, ARGH!!! Never said a word to the hubby, like I said, I save the fights for the big stuff but, dude I was fuming by this point. Snatched the shirt over my head, washed it in the sink….still drying so the jury is still out, wish me luck.

Tried to just put dinner behind me, pretend that it was not Carl that was bugging me, debated, (in my head of course) if I was being less tolerant because I had that twitterpation call earlier..trying to reason with myself. That was when I heard a loud clink and a call from the kitchen, “Whoops, I broke it”….my colander, the one I use all the time, the one that fits perfectly across the sink…broken. I just closed my eyes, breathed deeply and reminded myself how much I love my husband and that it was just dinner, and the trash, and the colander, not him. I knew that second that I needed something indulgent, just for me, something to end the night on a high note…hit the wine fridge for something that I should have been saving. I was going to self pleasure again and just this once, I will shout it from the rooftops, “I so need to do this!!”



Grabbed a bottle of 1999 Savigny-les-Beaune from Camus-Bruchon, felt the sleek, cold bottle in my hand, noticed how my body reacted to its touch, its promise of pleasure, felt myself wanting, aching and my lips curled into a self indulgent smirk. Took notice of each and every movement of my own body, the way the tiny hairs on my arms stood erect from the chill, the way I slipped my hand around the neck of the bottle, my fingers curled, my grip tightening and my forearm flexing as I pulled the foil from the neck. The thrill of domination as I forced the cork from the bottle, the submissive flow of brickish red wine splashing into the glass…that shiver of excitement ran along my spine and I could actually feel each and every hair standing up on the back of my neck. I raised the glass, spun it, watched as the wine fell upon itself in the glass, shinny, glossy layers slipping up the sides of the glass and settling slow and motionless awaiting my next spin or demand. I raised the glass to my nose…slowly, not wanting to miss one iota of fragrance, wanted to be seduced one layer at a time….

Fucking thing was corked….
I so need a hug

Went to take a bath after the wine debacle…ipod died halfway through, hot water was working though….whimper.

Here's To Old Friends

“I really miss good wine. I can’t seem to find anything here like the stuff we have at The Wine Country” these words were looping around in my head as I finished my day on Thursday evening. It was my beloved Amy bemoaning the offerings available to her in her new un-chosen city, Dallas. She had been telling me that she was pretty much stuck drinking New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, (and you must know how that made my heart just break) when she was looking for something racy and refreshing. Poor Aims, having one hell of a time finding her much adored Loire wines there in Dallas. I was thinking about all of this and right before closing the store before my trip to go see her, I grabbed a six pack shipper, called the hubby and warned him that we would have to check an extra bag and did a little shopping.

Now I knew she was longing for some grower Champagne, this she didn’t even have to tell me…I just knew. Amy and I have wrecked more bottles of Champagne than we will ever admit to. We fell in love over bottles of bubbles, got to know each other, laughed, taught classes, behaved wickedly, forgave each other, cemented our devotion to each other over bottles and bottles of grower Champagne…I was bringing some. Grabbed some Menetou-Salon, Sancerre, the afore mentioned bottles of bubbles and left two spots open for something from my little wine fridge. Got home and spent less than five minutes trying to figure out which two bottles to take, they damn near screamed at me the second I opened the door; Dagueneau Silex and a 1996 Herve Azo 1er Cru Chablis. Two old friends that these two old friends had a very intimate knowledge of…well, not the 1996 but Azo is one of Amy’s favorite producers in Chablis, so this was a no-brainer.

Sexy Bitch picked us up at the airport and he was elated to see two other people in flip flops, guess they aren’t big there in Dallas, stepped outside and figured out why….Holy Mother of All Frozen Digits, it’s fucking cold! I stood outside smoking my, “just off a flight” cigarette watching my toes turn as purple as my toenail polish.



(So a quirky little Amy and Sam story here. I have had red toes for like twenty something years, always red, kind of a signature thing really. As long as I have known Amy, and been noticing her toes, she has worn purple polish on her toes, kinda her thing I guess. So one time she talked me into getting purple polish after having my toes, “did”….hated it, it was like I was wearing someone else’s feet, went right back to red. After she moved away I stumbled upon a bottle of dark purple polish and gave it another try, kind of liked it and have been wearing ever since. So imagine how heartwarming it was when my little buddy ripped off her socks this weekend to expose….red toenails, it’s like we are wearing each other’s feet while we are apart. I might be reaching a bit but cut me some slack, I’m all post-visit-with-my-girl gushy.)

When we pulled onto the street where Amy and Sexy Bitch now live I was a bit taken aback by the, “sameness” of all the houses….everything looked alike. Brick, dormant trees, no cars on the street or driveway, it just felt vacant, cold and not at all like those two, felt myself getting a little blue, “They don’t belong here” spinning around my head, my lips slightly downturned and pouty. That pout was smacked off my face the second we pulled into the driveway, there was My Amy, brilliant smile, big blue eyes, jumping…jumping up and down and waving. Big hugs and kisses all around and we got our first look at where our people will be living for awhile….it’s perfect. The house is so them, hardwood floors, tons of windows, beautiful kitchen….perfect. We walked through the rooms and I felt my eyes well up as I passed little bits of the home I used to know, the home that we had some of our most amazing nights in. The couch where we would all end up, take naps, watch football and movies. The pictures that I had passed a million times before, the Sponge Bob alarm clock….all reminders of happy times, but a little sad as all those things are so far away now. But mostly it was just so nice to see them all again, Amy and Sexy Bitch, the puppies, the cat and all those little bits of a life that is much loved and very much missed.



Once the grand tour was complete we settled down on the couch and did a little catching up. Amy had made dinner reservations at an Italian joint she had been wanting to check out and these two friends popped a bottle of one of our old friends, NV Jean Milan Carte Blanche Blanc de Blancs, ($48.99). We skipped the Champagne flutes, something I do often with truly fantastic, (and I am talking grower here) Champagne. The bubbles being less important than the smelling and tasting of what is in fact truly great wine…fuck, it was glorious. Heavier than last time I had tasted it, it had filled out in that sexy, weighty way. The fruit was all citrus but there was so much more going on than fruit; minerals, seashells, salty raw dough…um, RAWR. The wine not only exploded on the palate, it shook its new curvy body and hung around for awhile. Neither one of us put our glasses down, not once.



Milan was tossed back in the fridge, (was not quite cold enough anyway, not that a wine of that magnitude should be served too cold…that drives me insane! Serve Moet icy cold, it needs it but let these wines shine dammit) and we headed out to nonna, (no capitalization…I checked) for dinner. We were seated in the front of the house, something that I tend to love, and often work my wild curls and funkiest outfits to ensure we get…but um, this table was right at the freaking front door of this rather hip spot. That means the door was being opened and closed all the damn time, sending icy blasts of air down my side and further freezing my already cold digits.

The restaurant could have been right out of LA, the look, the vibe, the house cured meats and the menu that changes daily according to what they were able to find locally, the servers…kinda laid back but super knowledgeable and more than willing to not only be playful, (I dig that) but offered suggestions and coaching on the best way to order. We jumped right in and ordered the starters; house made Porketta, olives and a plate of Salumi. Amy and I both had the wine list and knew right away what to get, Pra Soave, a wine we had shared numerous times back home, another old friend. I know a few people might raise an eyebrow to white wine with these sort of dishes, meat and all, I don’t know any personally but if you happen to be….let me assure you, there is something so magical about cold sliced meats, either cured or raw, with a crisp white wine like that Pra Soave. You know the way those things are served with a squeeze of lemon, (like with thinly sliced raw beef) or baby greens dressed with something tangy, well it’s the same idea…bringing some bright and lively to the plate, or in this case table by way of the glass. The Soave was sublime, lemony, fresh, bright, laser sharp focus and acidity…drank it throughout the meal as a matter of fact.

Let me just say, if you are ever in Dallas…give nonna a try. Everything from the bread, big puffy pillows right from the wood burning oven…little bits of char, lovely drizzle of olive oil, nicely salted. To the lobster ravioli sitting in a little puddle of broth, no thick rich sauces, broth…balanced food, beautifully done, perfectly portioned….I would go back in a heartbeat. The rest of the evening…well.



Once the Pra was drained we opted to go for a Martini, this is never a wise plan this late in the evening but we were all having such a great time just being with one another, just could not let the night end just yet. Drinks up, we asked if it would be possible to get a cheese plate, our menus were gone so we had no idea if what we were asking was kinda…douchbaggy. Turns out the chef came out to chat with the table that asked and whipped a plate together for us, complete with thinly sliced, very ripe pears…delicious.

We walked out of the restaurant full but not stuffed to find that it was snowing…did I mention I was wearing flip flops…dammit! So what do smart people do after a half bottle of Champagne, a bottle of Soave and Martinis…in the snow? Have no idea, but we went to a gay bar that Amy and Sexy Bitch had been to on one of their visits prior to the move. Not all gay but very gay friendly and a hell-of-a-lot of fun. Far too many shots, I seem to remember Jamison and something pink…pink is always bad. Pepto is pink and that should be a big old reminder of what pink drinks can lead to. In the interest of protecting the innocent, and the not…I will not go into all the nights events but I will say this, I can check meeting a very tall black man named Kim and being asked “if we wouldn’t mind leaving” a gay friendly bar in Dallas, off my list. Awesome.



The next two days were much more civil, lots of talking, watching television…recovering? Saturday we cracked into the other bottle of bubbles, one that I just wrote about so I will not wax rhapsodic, the NV Camille Saves Carte Blanche….holy crap, I just noticed that both the bubbles I brought were Carte Blanche, rather telling no? Anyway, the Saves was flashy, brilliantly crafted and had a finish that went on forever. I so adore the way wines like this seem so much bigger in texture, the way the envelope the whole tongue and make themselves at home there…damn, that is just out and out sexy.

The day I was preparing to leave Amy was feeling under the weather, we had not yet hit the Dagueneau and that 1996 Azo was staring me in the face each time I opened the fridge. I was willing to leave Dagueneau, had way more than my fair share of that Silex and I knew I could get more but, that 1996 Chablis was just taunting me. I simply had to taste it, was not going to be able to sleep if I did not. “Aims, do you mind if I open that Azo?” I asked in my sweetest, “Please can I have some. Please can I have some?!” tone. “Sure, go for it, it’s yours” she responded, well…I heard the first sure and I was up and in the kitchen, that last little bit landed upon my ears as I was drilling the corkscrew into the cork.



Now Amy has a very real passion for white Burgundy, I am sure it is even bigger than mine and like I said Azo is her favorite producer in Chablis. The one thing I forgot, she doesn’t love older white Burgundy…she misses the fruit and if there is any touch of oxidation, well she is kind of, “out” as it were. When I poured us each a glass and that deep golden color met my eye…well this old friend was thinking, “Woo hoo! More for me!” The wine was clearly advanced, deep, super rich and dense, oily in texture and brimming with nutty, salty flavors. Minerals, dough and bitter almonds were the primary flavors, a bit of honey and salt were on the finish. The thing that struck me, that always strikes me in older white Burgundy…length. Now if you don’t dig the flavors, (as I believe Amy did not) than you don’t really want them clinging on your palate…but when you DO in fact love them….well nothing delivers like a great aged White Burgundy.

I sat there on the couch I had planted my ass on a thousand times, (face planted once as well) my best friend at my side, wearing my feet and me wearing hers….feeling full of love, happy, complete, a little sad but mostly…at home, spinning this fucking unreal glass of 14 year old Chablis in my glass. Here’s to old friends indeed.

Wine Biz Interviews Part Two Sir Charles Olken...aka Puff Daddy

I had so much fun interviewing the, “Wine Blog King” Tom Wark and got so many interesting comments, (and let’s face it, we bloggers are in it for the comments) that I thought I would do a series of them….that and it gets me off the hook with the whole actual, “writing” deal. So I asked a few people that I find terribly fascinating if they would be willing to let me interview them; retailers, writers, sales reps, importers…still waiting to hear back from them. In the meantime I did find a couple people willing to partake in this little plan of mine, and one of the first to get back to me just so happens to be one of the first people I thought of and asked…



Hard Hitting Questions For Sir Charles Olken Editor and Publisher of Connoisseurs’ Guide To California Wines

When did you begin blogging and why?

I don’t blog, and I am proud of it. People who blog have too much time on their hands. And I always wonder when I read these endless strings of blogs, if these folks have so much time on their hands, when was the last time they wrote letters to their mothers. On the other hand, I am probably going to start my own blog one of these days, but here is my problem. There are a couple of dozen blogs I like and a couple of thousand that are too boring for words, and I am scared of those odds.

How come?

Well now, that really is none of your business. I don’t go around asking you why you read the Hosemaster of Wine or love your neighbor’s kid or drink that yukky Pastis, do I?

Okay, when did you begin your publication?

Earl Singer, a friend and co-worker and my mentor in serious wine-drinking, and I had too much time on our hands in 1974. Not our fault. Our boss, one Mr. Richard Nutcase Nixon, tried to shut down the poverty program we were working on at the time, and as the result, our entire agency was told to stay in our offices and do nothing for six months. So, instead of doing the people’s business, we used our time to devise a mythical wine publication for California wine drinkers like ourselves.

What inspired you to start Connoisseurs’ Guide To California Wines?

Seems that no one was writing much about the wines we were collecting. No offense to Robert Lawrence Balzer and others, but, frankly, the wine writing of the day either favored Europe to the exclusion of California or was being written by folks who, to be polite, were a couple of chapters short of a short story. After a while, it seemed like we might have a good idea on our hands, and, we became convinced that there were probably enough other crazy folks like ourselves out there to allow us to make a go of it. So we mortgaged the ranch, sold the kids and started publishing. It took about eight months from first idea to first newsletter in November, 1974. We bought ads in Vintage Magazine, the major wine publication of the day, and to our amazement and incredible good fortune, people sent us more money than the ad cost. So we wrote the next edition of our rag, took another ad, and people sent us more money.



How come your stars are so, “Puffy”?

In the words of Ronald Reagan, “there you go again”. I am not telling you why my eyebrows are so puffy or my stars so puffy—except for this. If you ever have a chance to read a red Guide Michelin, take a look at the “etoiles” that are employed in that publication. You will see that their stars are also puffy. In fact, we liked their puffy stars so much, that we copied them. Over the years, they have been called (by others, mind you) snowflakes, cookies, clouds and bomb bursts, but the nickname that stuck was “puffs”. I can’t tell you how many times I have met people over the years who have said to me, “Oh, you’re the ‘Puffs” guy”. If I ever get my hands on the SOB who first identified our stars as “puffs”, I will have a few unkind words for him, his mother and his offspring.

Have you ever gotten hate mail from winemakers?

It’s funny you should ask. Connoisseurs’ Guide has a couple of unfortunate habits that make it unpopular with some wineries. For example, we have this bad habit of reviewing every wine we taste rather than ignoring the bad wines the way some candy-ass writers do. You see, if you only say nice things, then you get to do things like ride Rachel Alexander and go to nice dinners at Cyrus. But, we started CGCW for the sole purpose of providing evaluations that would be as close as possible to what people would find when they pulled a cork. And part of that responsibility to the very people who put us in business (wine consumers like ourselves) was and is to also tell people what wines to avoid. So that was sin Number One to some wineries. And sin Number two is that we have not, to the best of our ability, engaged in grade inflation. Thus our ratings have always been stingy. Tant pis.

Are you afraid I am going to ask you from whom?

Scared to death. I can tell you this. A winery owner/winemaker once sent us a letter so filled with vile images that our description of his wines as barnyardy paled by comparison. It was so threatening that to this day, when I see his wines on the shelf at Trader Joe’s, I walk the other way just to be sure that I am safe.

Boxers or Briefs?

I don’t have a dog.

Where do you stand, Mr. Fancy Pants print guy, on the whole social media argument?

I am too old to understand what the hell social media is. Blogs, to me, are not much removed from the old wine bulletin boards. I like the writing on some blogs, but I like even more the conversations that go on in those blogs. As for Twitter, well, I have a marketing person, one of those new, smart winedrinkers who is studying to get two letters after her name (please don’t tell the Hosemaster), and she insists that I “tweet” as a way of getting attention. So, for the last six months, I have been tweeting semi-so often, and I have earned all of 37 responses. As for FaceBook, I am sure there is a way to use it constructively.

You have been very active in the blogosphere, how many blogs do you read and comment on regularly?

I read six or eight blogs regularly and others when I see mentions to something interesting that someone references or something interesting that a blogger will say on someone else’s blog. It is all a bit incestuous, isn’t it?



More than one blogger has named you the most interesting and prolific commenter, if they were to give you an award which would you prefer, a crown or a sash?

Tom Wark made a comment that I was the commenter he would most like to see have his own blog. I took that to mean that he hoped I would go away and stop posting so often on his blog. And, just the other night, I was at the ZAP Good Eats event, and a winery guy I have known for a bit (Tim MacDonald, who himself will comment on a blog now and then) said, “I know that if a good controversy blows up on one of the major blogs, you will be in the middle of it”. Sounds to me like he has been reading Wark and agrees with him.
And, by the way, my award of choice is a good Corned Beef sandwich on rye with strong mustard, no mayo, and a really briny dill pickle.

Hangover cure of choice?

Bloody Mary, hands down.

How have you seen your readership shift or change in the past 36 years?

A really bad thing happened to me tonight at ZAP. A guy comes up to me, a really old guy, must have been as old as me, and asks for my autograph. Turns out that he has been reading Connoisseurs’ Guide from the beginning. So, yeh, my readership has shifted. It is made up on octogenarians and their children. I plan on retiring when I start getting subscriptions from the grandchildren of my early subscribers.
Aside from that, the real difference is that we now have both Online and Print options, and as the older subscribers drop off, the newer subscribers are predominantly Online.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

No, but I once dropped a rozzer in snide.



You drink a butt load of California wines, when you reach for French….where do you go first?

No fair. You know I don’t drink that stuff. I am the California wine guy for goodness sake. So, now that I have that off my chest, I probably have ten or twenty answers to that question but not one.
No wait. Bring me a bottle of DRC La Tache or Romanee-Conti.
Or to put a more day-to-day face on it, we (my wife and I) go out of our ways to drink something other than California wine when we can find a decently or even semi-decently priced bottle on a wine list. And since I tend to bring reds from my own cellar to nice meals out, I look for whatever white fits what we are eating. Sauzet and LeFlaive whites Burgs, Dageneau or Huet, Zind-Humbrecht, Cuilleron.

Single best bottle of wine you ever had?

So many wines, so little time. One of these days, I will write a book about the one-hundred wines that are the best single bottle I ever had.

Single worst bottle of wine you ever had?

Did I tell you about the vile letter I got from the guy whose wine I called barnyardy? Perhaps, you missed that part above where I said I was still afraid of him two decades later. Well, let me tell you that barnyardy was a kind description, and the merde in his bottle had nothing to do with Burgundy. It could have been real merde.

Do you think wine blogs are having any effect, like at all, on the wine business?

My guess is that blogs are like all kinds of wine writing, and that they have an effect on those who read them. For example, when a noted wine writer tells people that they need to use words like “sweet” correctly, I assume that everyone who reads those comments does penance for their sins and gets it right going forward. Or like when Tom Wark charges out after the defenders of the three-tier system or Tyler Coleman (Doc Vino to his friends) does surveys about which wine to serve with smores. Sam, this is serious shit we are talking about here.



Pastis or Almond flavored sparkling wine?

May I leave now?

Vacation: Riverside or Provence?

It depends on the river. I like vacationing along the Thames, the Seine, the Rhone, the Po, the Charles (a river I used to believe was named for me when I was a wee lad growing up on its banks).

You once rode my ass over at Reign of Terroir, do you feel bad about that?

I thought I was trying to jump your bones. I guess it did not come through over the Internet.

When you play rock star in your car who do you pretend to be?

Billy Gibbons or Pete Townsend. I also play a very mean blues guitar, sort of like Ry Cooder in my mind but probably closer in real life to Eric Clapton imitating John Lee Hooker.



Airplane reading: The MS Conspiracy or TV Guide?

I could never cop to reading the M. S. Conspiracy, that lunacy over on the Hosemaster of Wine website. To do that, I would have to admit that my own sense of humor has a certain dark side that makes me laugh right out loud when the Hosemaster makes fun of Harvey Steiman’s backside. So, TV Guide, it is. I do need to preserve at least a shred of my dignity.
Oh? You say you saw my almost daily comments over at Hosemaster of Wine? Well, that must have been some other Charlie Olken.

What advice would you give to someone thinking about getting into the wine writing business?

I was walking along the beach in Atlantic City the other day when this cat comes up to me and says, “How do I get to Carnegie Hall”. I replied, “Practice, brother, practice. You’ll get there”.

If you had to change the mind of one of those simple minded, not using their words carefully, dismissive of California wines, people….what one bottle would you choose?

Freestone 2007 Chardonnay, a wine of great depth, impeccable winemaking, brilliant balance of acidity, alcohol and oak. At 13.7% alc, it puts the lie to the drivel that all CA wine is overripe, overoaked and flat as a pancake.
But, I would then serve them Hudson 2006 Chardonnay, a wine so pure that our tasting panel thought it was a ringer from that other place. Like the Freestone, it is brilliantly crafted. But in this case, it has 15% alcohol. OK, some people also do not like Le Montrachet. I do.

If I were to tell you that having you read and comment on my blog has humbled this goofy wine slinger, would you give me a hug and share a bottle of Pommard with me?

I like many blogs for all kinds of reasons, but there is not one blog I read that is as real, as giving of the writer, as cannily crafted as your best, and it is not I who humbles you. I stand in awe at the way you have twisted me around your finger in the last couple of weeks. Sure, bring on that wimpy French stuff. I am man enough to take it.



Thank you Mr. Charles Olken...you are a gifted writer, a cool ass cat and dude, you crack me up. Cannot tell you what it means that you would take the time to do this, not to mention reading and commenting on this goofy blog. I adore you kid.

Long Day Before A Short Trip To Texas

I woke at 5:30 yesterday morning feeling restless, antsy, anxious, like my mind was far more awake than my body was even close to being. I found myself laying in bed rubbing my feet back and forth atop one another, rubbing my eyes, trying to take deep sleep welcoming breaths…yeah, didn’t work. My mind was going a mile a minute, thinking about the tasting I was to do later in the afternoon, lost on some tiny piece of dream….a man walking on a porch, little bits of storm shrapnel crunching beneath his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes locked on a bright shining moon, eyes full of hope, heart full of questions…I felt myself wondering if we had met, did I know him, should I know him…yeah this is the shit that comes racing to my feeble, damaged mind in the wee small hours, and you people wonder why I drink?!

I grew tired of waiting for a rest that was not going to come. Slithered out of the covers making sure not to wake my deep breathing, (that’s nice for snoring) husband, and made my way to the kitchen to the coffee pot. Hit the, “For The Love Of All That Is Holy Please Go” button and settled into my little, (well not that little) ass shaped spot on the couch. So here’s the thing…normal people are like sleeping at that ungodly hour, no new posts from fellow bloggers, a couple emailed photos from friends travelling through France, but for the most part…nada. Ended up watching American Justice and can I just give you dudes a tip, just leave your wives…don’t kill them, you are not going to get away with it, trust me…I watched like a giant chunk of this show…hours of it, and you aint getting away it, trust me. My hubby is a brilliant man but should he come at me with insurance papers, I am not only shooting him the hairy eyeball, I am misspelling my name.

Got into work and was inundated with wines sales reps. Corks popping, glug-glug-glug of a wine splashing in my glass, the somewhat soothing feeling of a pen in my hand….my script, my hand, my eyes closed trying to drown out their yammering….trying to picture myself on a porch, storm shrapnel crunching under my feet…silence, closed eyes full of hope, heart full of questions. My, “dream man” was with me as I scribbled my notes this afternoon, my unshakeable 5:30 vision was beside me, reminding me…”find hope. Find answers.” My sleep deprived melon was revived by the crunch of his feet, the longing in his eyes….tired or not, I was still going to focus, find, and seek. I tasted, laughed and blew off many a sales rep yesterday afternoon, but I found a few things. A wicked cool Anjou blanc, sexy as all get out, ripe pears, minerals and just a faint touch of Sherry…scintillating. A Hermitage, a 2000 Hermitage that was refined….pure, focused and set this girl back, reeling on her heels….coming soon.



Finished with my reps with just enough time to ready for my tasting. I was feeling good, so ready to turn some folks onto Camille Saves Champagne…was heartbroken to find that they really didn’t give a crap. I had some of my beloved regulars, people there to taste and really understand, but for the most part…these people were just there to taste wine and break my bawls. I had a guy, rather un-attractive in that….slim, balding-but-I’m-gonna-still-dye-it, wrinkled Target collared shirt and oddly fitting cargo pants, kinda way. He rolled in with three girls, big shot right…yeah, the girls. They were made up but, how do I say this…nature was not kind, they like fell out the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Hey, he was feeling all, “Heff” and who am I to burst his bubble? Truth be told I was kind of digging his swagger, he was feeling it, the girls were in, who the hell am I to yuck someone’s yum. That was until he started giving me crap about the size of my pours, dude. “How about you pour me a bigger one seeing as I am a big guy” said my wannabe, and I looked at his five foot nine frame, surrounded by those heavily perfumed one-offs…short skirts, stockings, that long sexy eyebrow running across their foreheads, “Sir, these glasses hold almost a bottle of wine each. It might look like a small pour but I assure you there is plenty of wine in there for you to smell and taste” He looked at me like I was speaking pig latin, “I don’t care about smelling it, I’m trying to get drunk” he responded, making sure to look at his homely harem while shaking his head. I caved, gave him just a splash more, (and he complained to his gaggle of ducklings, of the ugly variety) and felt myself snarling as he raised his glass, looked at my pour and herded his….sheep to the cheese table for dinner.

Half way into the tasting my jaw was tight, felt each and every little swipe from those that felt their $10.00 entrance fee entitled them to behave like pompous jackasses. “Give me more, I am a regular” comments just making me cringe, made me cringe as they are regular….regular cheese buyers. Oh don’t get me wrong, I love anyone that is willing to plunk down their cash in the store but…forgive me if I don’t pour unlimited amounts of eighty dollar Champagne when I know you are walking out with a bottle of six dollar Spanish wine and a chunk of cheese. Been at the shop too long, yes I know you are going to buy something but I can’t just keep pouring you more because, “These are too expensive for me to buy”….yes, what someone told me. Your tasting fee entitles you to one taste of each wine and unlimited amounts of cheese and bread….when I look at the wines we were tasting; four wines the least expensive was $57.00, it really is a wicked deal, no one was getting screwed, so why the unrelenting hammering on me for more?!

Finished the tasting, not sure we sold any wine…wait, I know by beloved Vicki bought a bottle but other than that, think it was a bust. Kills me, that just kills me, those are some of the most earth shattering wines I have ever had the pleasure of putting to my lips. Camille Saves, if you have not as of yet tasted these…seriously, get off yer rump. Each and every wine is enthralling, captivating, sexy as all get out. The Carte Blanche, ($56.99) showed the flashiest, tons of ripe, round fruit, studded with bits of raw dough and a sexy little snap on the back. The Carte d’Or, ($72.99) was my favorite of the day….very serious, minerals, dark red fruit, citrus and a thread of yeastiness that was relentless. The 2000 vintage, (sold out) was a crowd favorite, massive in the mouth, big fruit, big toast and yeast and big ass finish. Had one customer that I adore, that was kind of “Meh” about Champagne, change is mind once he tasted this wine…created a convert. The Rose, ($74.99) while popular was my least favorite of the day, showing a touch of stink on the nose, black cherries, tangerine and pie crust but…just seemed lacking in the depth and expansion that the other wines had.

Got home not feeling at all like making dinner, (leaving for Texas in the morning) and the rest of the evening went like this….

Marioitas, wicked strong...so good. What you see here is why we go to this old school joint, chips and salsa and delicious drinks. The food? Um...

Yeah, what's under all that goo? Have no idea but everything you order at Mario's looks like this and is at your table like five minutes after you order it.

Winding down.....

Is there a better way to end your day? Freaking un-tied...socks off, hot water, Dave Matthews, (Google Alert, C'mon Dave) and a glass of crisp white wine....

Popped a bottle of 2008 Roland Schmitt Pinot Blanc, ($15.99) a wine I happen to think is one of the best, most versatile food wines we carry but…I was so just looking for lightness, refreshment, pleasure…and it was so willing to give it to me. So clean and refreshing, bright exuberant fruit, kisses of spice and citrus and the perfectly balanced wine just seemed to shimmy on my palate, lift the snarl right off my mug leaving just a hint of peach and wet river stones….delightful.

Wandered off to bed, sleepy...mildly buzzy, thinking about seeing my Amy & Sexy Bitch the next day. As my mind began to shut down I thought of my, "dream man" once again, the way this person I had never met was able to stay with me all day, make me wonder, focus and keep cool under some rather trying situations. Don't know who he is but if I did...I'd be giving him the sweetest of kisses and offering him a glass of wine. Thanks dude, whoever you are...I owe you one.

Off to, "The Big D"....

I Just Can't Do This Anymore

You know those moments in your life, those rare moments of complete clarity. Where your mind finally wins the battle with the heart takes control and kind of shakes you by the shoulders. Through clinched teeth whispers in your ear, “You can’t do this anymore. You have to just let go” and you feel your heart sink a bit from knowing that it is in fact the right thing to do….I am caught in the middle of one of those heart and head battles and I think this time, this time I have to let go of the heart and listen to my head. While it may break my heart, leave me missing and longing, wondering if there is any way to go back to where we were, in the long run….this is what has to happen if I am ever to find real happiness, pleasure and not end up broken, disappointed and feeling as if I have been played for a fool.

I am nothing if I am not loyal, once you have my heart, (not that easy to steal by the way) you have it for a very long time and I can endure many an argument or stumble along the way, my love is hard to win but easy to keep….that is unless you continue to hurt or disappoint me without any of those heart pounding, inspirational moments of passion that make it all worth it. I tend to love with my whole heart and through the years my heart has grown, learned to expand and accept the new but I never, not ever…lose my passion or fierce love for those that came before. I will fight and defend those I love with a tenacity that leaves those who dare to cast aspersions, licking their wounds and thinking twice before ever crossing or questioning my affection again. This is what I have always given you, what was yours for the taking…my love, my fight, my passion, but I just can’t keep giving while getting nothing, nothing tangible, nothing real in return.

I just can’t keep doing this, can’t keep pretending you are something you’re not. Keep ignoring the comments from friends and loved ones, their concern is weighing heavy on my heart and no matter how I try to justify this relationship we have….I simply cannot keep putting myself through this. I feel as if I have really tried, tried to hold on, waiting for you to be what I remember…to thrill me as you used to, but I simply cannot keep trying when I get nothing but disappointment and heartbreak from you.

I will forever remember you for what you were, no amount of time will ever destroy the memories I’ve stored deep in my heart about you…your touch will forever be a part of the woman I am, but I have to let go now before the heartbreak chips away at the little pieces of joy that I am still able to hold onto….I need to let you go just so I can still hold in my heart how beautiful what we had once was. Let me, let me have that….please. I hope that one day you are able to find your balance, and that you will be able to touch a woman the way you once touched me…it was lovely while it lasted but I simply have to walk away now.




Today will forever be the day that I broke up with one of the most powerful loves I ever had, one that I held on to for far too long and tried desperately to overlook the changes that were happening right under my nose….I just can’t do it anymore and so it is with a heavy heart that bid a farewell to my once beloved New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. A wine that once sent my heart and palate reeling and now leaves me flat and feeling like I am drinking the water that is left over after steaming vegetables. Just cannot spend one more of my hard earned dollars on the too ripe, top heavy, seriously out of balance wine that I have been tasting the past couple years…so sad.

Just Curious, When Did Sweet Become The "S" Word?

So I have been wrestling with this post, not the writing part (which is my usual issue) but if I should even bother. It’s been done, the argument had and the outcome is always the same…nothing is ever resolved, both camps believing they are right and the other must be high. So why bother bringing it up again…just not so good with the whole, “leaving well enough alone” deal I guess. After tasting and commenting on a bunch of California wines this past weekend the whole thing came up again….sweetness.

Now before anyone goes jumping on my neck let me just say, sweetness, perceived or actual is all in the palate of the beholder. I don’t wish to continue the argument about what is sweet and what is not, or if the, “perceived” sweetness is from actual residual sugar, alcohol or oak…wanna know why? Because it doesn’t freaking matter! Who cares what is giving the “impression” of sweetness, if the wine tastes sweet, it is freaking sweet. This thing drives me nuts, every time I taste something and say, “it’s a little sweet” I get to hear the speech again, “Oh no, that wine is not sweet, there’s no RS on that wine. If you are getting a perceived sweetness it might be from the oak” this speech is always delivered with the slightly aghast, how dare you say that, face.




Two things about this whole thing twist my undies; one is the arrogance of one person telling another what they are tasting or worse, that they are tasting wrong…who the hell do you think you are?! What I taste, how I taste and my perceptions are correct…for me. Would I turn around and tell a customer that the wine is sweet, probably not, not unless I knew their palate well enough to know that it would likely taste sweet to them. All taste is subjective, some people have a higher threshold for sweetness than I do, matter of fact I think most do. I don’t drink soda, will take cheese over dessert every time and I even put salt on my fruit for balance, I don’t find pleasure in sweetness but I would never call it a flaw. The other thing that gives my knickers a twist is the fact that those people that scrunch up their face when I say I am getting sweetness on a wine, see that as me pointing out a fault or flaw….when did, “sweet” become a bad word?!

I just don’t get it, some of the world’s greatest wines are sweet, some of the most respected, most sought after, most expensive…but I mention that I got sweetness on a Marcassin Pinot Noir and I get the scrunchy face and speech. Did I say I didn’t like the wine? Did I say that it was in any way jacked up?! No, as a matter of fact I rather liked the wine, it was sweet to me but I still liked it, was still able to taste things beyond the initial, “perception” of sweetness…so what gives? Why the defensive attacks on people’s palate when they mention sweetness? Why be defensive at all? Somehow we can talk about animal pee and poo but mention sweet and the fancy pants wine police thump you about the head and shoulders. Fruit is supposed to be sweet right; I mean you rarely see a shelf talker that says, “aroma of under ripe cherries” do you?



Last month I was given a box of rare and very special California wines, a beloved friend was trying to show me, teach me really, what great California wine can be…that Marcassin Pinot Noir was one of those wines and I popped it at work to share with the kids. I was tickled by the wine, I knew it was special and alone gave me a giggle, here I was the proud owner of this hard to get bottle of California wine. It was a gift from someone I absolutely adore, nother giggle. When I took my first deep whiff I must confess that my brow furrowed a bit…brown sugar, not my favorite thing to find in any wine, but I kept trying and I was able to pick out some cooked black cherries….ripe ones even. I brought the wine to my lips and again was a bit taken aback by the sweetness, that smack of sweetness that seems to attack the very tip of my tongue, but the more I tasted the more I was able to pick up. I liked the wine, even ended up pouring myself a deep glass of it to keep me company while I was doing my closing duties.

The more of those wines I tasted the more I started to crave that little sweetness, the way it wrestled with my tongue…and won. I would get home and dip into my fridge to see what was next or, I would be having a glass from the bottle I had opened the night before, or the night before that…..and you see, the thing for me, the way I drink, I never have a leftover bottle of French wine to dip into. So while I may not always go for a second or third glass in one night, I find that sweetness quite pleasant. Now I’m starting to wonder if I should be using some other term to describe that, “sucrosity” that I tend to perceive when tasting a lot of domestic wines….cuzz I’m getting kinda tired of picking at that crusty old scab of a conversation about residual sugar. If it tastes sweet to me than it’s sweet….to me and I personally don’t think sweet is a bad word.