Mostly an update: An article from the NYT on Grange's poor cousin St. Henri. An article from the Post on Sophisticated wines at accessible prices. C, J ----- Forwarded message from "Jim L. Ellingson" <jellings(a)me.umn.edu> ----- Date: Wed, 19 Oct 2005 15:32:15 -0500 From: "Jim L. Ellingson" <jellings(a)me.umn.edu> To: wine(a)thebarn.com Subject: [wine] Current Fr. Whites, Zins at Oddfellows Greetings, This week, we're doing Rhone Wines at Oddfellows. Your choices include whites, reds and of course "ringers". (Ringers. Wines the approach the style of the day in the glass, but do not fully fit the criteria. e.g. Rhone style wines not from France) The Wine Enthusiast Vintage Chart says the bigger reds from 1997 and older are ready to drink (e.g. Hermitage, Ch Neuf du Pape, etc.) 2002 wines may also be ready. Smaller wines (Cotes Du Rhone) from more recect vintages are probably ready. Oddfellows is one block east of Surdyks on Hennepin. These are mostly guesses. Tables are small, so make the reservation for two more than we expect? Reminder that we go to Five next week. We're down for 10 people, but we want to provide Joyce and the rest. w/ an update by next Tuesday. Surdyk's Heart Healthy Sale is Th-Saturday. All wines are 20% off. Betsy Bob Annette Nicolai Bill Ruth Jim/Louise Russ Lori Betsy, Bill and Louise are tentative at this point. I haven't heard from Lori. Starting our list for Read and Read at Five! Joyce Annette Betsy Bob Ruth/Warren Jim/Louise Russ/Sue Cheers, Jim February 1, 2006 The Pour An Australian Sibling Comes Into Its Own By ERIC ASIMOV HALF a century ago, two wines were born at Penfolds in South Australia. They were like brothers, really. Both were made largely of shiraz, with a little cabernet sauvignon occasionally thrown in, yet they offered completely different expressions of the same grapes. As with so many siblings, each seemed to represent all that the other was not, the apparent differences concealing their shared pedigree. One of these wines is now justly celebrated around the world. It is prized by collectors and commands $200 to $300 a bottle for recent vintages and far more for bottles with a little age. This wine, christened Grange Hermitage and now known simply and grandly as Grange, is today the most famous of all Australian wines. Its brother has lived a considerably more obscure life. It goes by the modest name St. Henri, which sounds especially self-effacing if you pronounce it with an Australian accent. As you might guess, it is a quieter wine than Grange. Yet its elegance and purity, for those who take the time to know it, are undeniable. Back in the 1950's, Grange and St. Henri cost essentially the same. Today, you can find St. Henri for around $50 a bottle, not cheap by any means, but a relative steal for a wine of this quality. The history of St. Henri and Grange is a story of the importance of preserving choices among wines. It is a reminder of how different styles can best be understood and appreciated in contrast to one another, and a cautionary tale about how fragile this diversity can be. As Grange and its stylistic adherents became wildly popular, Penfolds considered doing away with the St. Henri approach. "Marketing types kept urging us to keep the name, keep the label, but change the style," said Peter Gago, the chief winemaker at Penfolds, who visited with me in New York last week. "But we resisted, and it's never changed." Mr. Gago came to New York with 13 different vintages of St. Henri, ranging from a 1958, which offered a quick impression of its youthful allure before slowly fading in the glass, to a robust-yet-juvenile 2002, which will be released this spring. As he and I tasted through the wines, it was fascinating to compare the St. Henri style with the better-known Grange, and to see how beautifully St. Henri stands up for itself. Grange, which was first produced as an experiment in 1951, was at first considered shockingly modern. Max Schubert, its creator, was consciously trying to produce a shiraz with the aging potential of top Bordeaux, and he made a big, powerful wine that was aged in small barrels of American oak. The initial reception was lukewarm. "Knife and fork stuff," one journalist said at the time, referring to the young wine's almost impenetrable concentration, a style that many have since come to prize. By contrast, St. Henri was considered an old-fashioned wine, even in the 1950's. Unlike Schubert, John Davoren, a Penfolds winemaker who created St. Henri, looked backward for inspiration. He wanted to make a wine that demonstrated the pure character of the shiraz grape rather than framing it with the flavors of new oak. Yet he was not making a small wine; younger St. Henris have a sort of raw-boned power, while grape tannins offer a structure that can last for years. Instead of using small barrels of new oak, which can impart powerful flavors, he chose to age the wine in huge oak vats that were at least 50 years old, which have minimal impact on the flavor of the wine. The battle of styles characterized by the use of small new barrels or big, old, neutral containers has been fought all over the wine-producing world, from Barolo and Montalcino to the Rhone and Burgundy to California. Those who have favored the lusher, rounder flavors imparted by new oak have held sway for the last 20 years, but tastes may slowly be moving back toward the center as a small but significant portion of the public has been registering its vote in favor of less oak influence. Mr. Gago said he has noticed an increased interest in St. Henri in the last few years. "Everything is about fashion, isn't it?" he said. "What's old is new again." FROM the almost joyously grapey 2002 back to the still-dignified 1958, each decade offered different insights into St. Henri. A 1962 had a eucalyptus quality, while a 1966 had a sense of power and a caramel-like flavor that Mr. Gago called "praline." A 1971, from one of South Australia's best vintages, was rich and complex, with smoky, meaty flavors that lingered in the mouth, while a 1974 . a poor vintage . was pleasing, though without the concentration of the '71. A 1976 was inky black, with a pronounced licorice flavor. I loved two vintages from the 1980's, the '83 and the '86, but my two favorites in the tasting were the 1990 and the 1991, both excellent wines that kept changing in the glass. The '90 was pure, with sweet fruit aromas and a high-toned brightness, while the '91 seemed to have darker licorice and plum flavors. What was striking about the wines was their transparency, each offering clear insights into the peculiar characteristics of different vintages. "It's much harder to make this style," Mr. Gago said. "The fruit quality has to be that much better because it's not just a component, it's the structure, too. So much more effort is put into the fruit, the vineyard and the grapes, because you don't have the other support." The grapes for St. Henri, like those for Grange, come from a variety of sources in South Australia. Each year, Mr. Gago and his team of winemakers do numerous blind tastings to select what will go into the St. Henri blend. For St. Henri, he said, he is looking for fleshy, succulent flavors, as opposed to the assertive, darker, chunky Grange flavors. Neither wine offers the pleasure of tracking the flavors of a single vineyard over time. For that, there are other shirazes, like Henschke Hill of Grace or Penfolds's own Magill Estate. Nonetheless, both Grange and St. Henri have their important place. "Too many people, they don't even look sideways at St. Henri because they don't get the style," Mr. Gago said. "But there are so many different variations on a theme. Why not offer them?" Sophisticated Wine on a Budget Developing Palates, One Sip at a Time By Jose Antonio Vargas Washington Post Staff Writer Wednesday, February 1, 2006; F07 So what transpired when we gathered a group of young, hardworking, Type A overachievers for their first professional wine-tasting experience (meaning not in a college dorm room or at what-was-his-name's apartment)? Lots of chattering. Tony Forte, a 23-year-old financial analyst for a real estate investment management firm, was having too much fun. His hearty laugh turned into an infectious giggle by his seventh taste, a 2004 Mas Carlot. Veteran Post wine critic Ben Giliberti was on hand to keep the talking in check and the sipping of 10 wines -- five reds and five whites, priced between $9.99 and $18.99 -- in perspective. Look for flavor, aroma, color and finish in a fine glass of wine, Giliberti told the wine neophytes, and "finish," he went on to explain, is "the impression that the wine leaves in your mouth." Kristy Huh, a paralegal for the Department of Justice, scrunched up her face after taking a sip of the 2004 Hayman Hill Pinot Noir. "This one is tangy," said the 24-year-old. "Like a sweet-and-sour candy." John McKinley, a Justice Department program analyst, prodded Renee Faulkner, a trainer at the Posse Foundation, a scholarship program, to give the 2003 Chateau de Roquefort another sip. "Try it again. Try it again," said McKinley, 24. "It's just too strong for me," said Faulkner, also 24, shaking her head. "It reminds me of cough syrup." They cracked up. Amanda Fein, a 23-year-old paralegal at the Justice Department, wasn't initially a big fan of wine -- whites or reds. It wasn't until after college, she said, that she began to develop an appreciation for it. These days, she usually orders a glass of cabernet sauvignon. What does she look for in a glass of fine wine? "A balance between something sweet and something substantive," said Fein. "I'm straying away from wine that tastes like grape juice." Jose Antonio Vargas writes for Style. � 2006 The Washington Post Company -- ------------------------------ * * Dr. James Lee Ellingson, Adjunct Professor jellings(a)me.umn.edu * * University of Minnesota, tel: 651/645-0753 fax 651 XXX XXXX * * Great Lakes Brewing News, 1569 Laurel Ave., St. Paul, MN 55104 *