Diary Of A Start-Up Winemaker: The Imposing International Wine Style

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"The uniqueness of America would prove to be its ability to erase uniqueness."
— Daniel J. Boorstin, The Americans: The Democratic Experience.

 

When we planted our vineyard, we knew what we were up against: our wine versus the so-called international style of wine that is prevalent, prized, and promoted in today's market — something we kind of, yet not really, understand. Let us explain.

In 1976, we celebrated the bicentennial of our country's adoption of the Declaration of Independence, our separation from a king and nation that tried to impose too much of itself on its subjects. We were individuals, after all, and we had had enough of someone telling us what to do, and so took action. That same year, another celebration was taking place, one that would rightfully draw the eyes of the world to fine American wine (and wasn't it about time, the wine industry must have thought).

It was the so-called "Judgment of Paris," the Paris wine tasting in which two California wines — a Chardonnay and a Cabernet Sauvignon — brought home top honors in both the red and white categories. They beat out the most celebrated French wines and proved to the world, and showed consumers at home, that our wine was on par with any of Europe's finest. Yet at the same time, we believe it inadvertently set in motion the current state of affairs, one where a few palates dictate a wine style that has little if nothing to do with individuality at all. It's called the international style of wine.

Please don't misunderstand. The American wines in the Judgment of Paris were truly some of the world's finest wines. But we are a country of opportunity and marketing prowess, and in 1976 there was a lot of opportunity out there for the wine industry, especially with the steady increase in wine consumption. The Judgment of Paris must've felt like the silver bullet needed to reach the uninitiated: Drink, people, drink.

So what happened was this: Starting back in the '80s, wines were made in a manner that produced an ever riper flavor profile and higher alcohol content. At the center of the ripeness escalation was California Cabernet Sauvignon and chardonnay. Australian wines, another gi-normous country with lots of acreage for planting and eyes out to all the potential world drinkers, soon followed. Early on this new wine style — powerfully fruit forward, jammy, sweet, plush, high alcohol — was called New World because European wines (Old World) were still being made in an elegant, complex style (we're sure you can already tell which style we generally prefer).

Why this tendency towards big, powerful, bigger-is-better wine? Like most things, the reasons for these rather dramatic stylistic changes are complicated, but many experts on the subject point to the timeliness of one very influential wine critic, Robert Parker. He stepped onto the wine stage at a time when the industry was growing, and you know how wine was considered snobbish, with Orson Welles' distinct and rather high-brow, "We'll sell no wine before it's time" for Paul Masson and all that? Well, this average Joe-Bob guy was going to point the way for the rest of us ignorant masses. A way towards the style he preferred from the beginning of his career (the sweet and jammy), and boy did we need him to help us figure all that wine out. Another camp says that wine scores and wine judging competitions in general favor New World Style because these wines are more upfront, in your face, and obvious (the we-want-it-now crowd). Something that's needed when you're tasting through dozens or hundreds of wines in a day to decide that coveted and useless super platinum best-of-show medal, for example.

Whatever the cause, these wines tended to capture high critic scores, especially from Parker, and then others, and consequently more and more wineries around the world started to produce the same to get high scores because scores drive sales. "Emulate!" became the battle cry. To hell with individuality, make it a "like Mike" wine! And so it turned into a self-perpetuating international wine style.

Generally speaking for wine, bigger is not better, and "obvious" borders on the mundane. Overripe wines can often taste one dimensional because fruit and power can overshadow the finer complexities. One Cabernet can taste very much like another, and worse yet, a Pinot Noir can taste like a Syrah. Serendipitously, Eric Asimov recently had a post on New York Times' Diner's Journal that profiled two critics with "diametrically opposed opinions" about a well-known international style Bordeaux. One thought it was approaching perfection, the other thought it was garbage! Not to mention, international style wines don't leave much room for "afterthought," the savoring of the moment. They're more immediate, providing instant gratification — like getting a candy bar in the check-out line, or a drive-thu Big Mac. By comparison, the Old World style asks that you have patience, contemplate why it is how it is, and that you relish the experience. It's wine that encourages you to pause and think — what a lovely thought in this busy world.

Thankfully we're not the only ones who feel this way, and we're not the only producer creating wines 100-percent opposed to this homogenous style. In fact, there was just an article from Jancis Robinson in the Financial Times speaking to what she calls "pioneers of delicacy," those producers seeking to create less buxom wines, particularly California Pinot Noir. Jancis! It's happening in Oregon, too! We're here! We're here!

So there it is, what we're up against, this imposing international wine style that so many people think is the cat's meow. We don't get it, because wine made in this fashion brings with it sameness and removes identity. If we are what we eat and drink, what does that say about its consumers? Could it be true, what Jonathan Nossiter tried to tell us Mondovino, that we no longer appreciate the true grit of a wine?

After all, great wine should show us the when, the where, and the who it came from. Just like a great work of art there is a transparency. Instead, the international style of wine exists because of the dominance of a few palates, whose highly subjective tastes and self-appointed, quasi-sovereign league echo throughout the wine world. Prevailing not only at the economic expense of the few trying to maintain individual integrity in the wines they/we produce, but also stifling the cultural values of producers who must either conform or risk losing the race. Time for another revolution? Or more simply, a Declaration of Wine Independence? Sounds like another post.

With a vineyard planted in the "unproven" wilds of wheat country outside The Dalles, Ore., Scott Elder and Stephanie LaMonica struggle to promote their label, The Grande Dalles, and make a go of selling their wine. From the start, the couple has set out to do things their own way, with the belief that staying out of the crowd is better than being lost in it. These posts share their ups and downs.