In the current opportunistic political climate where border fence construction and a hostile immigration debate can pass for civil expression, it is easy to lose sight of the durable commonalities enjoyed between Mexico and the United States. Cinco de Mayo is for that reason a particularly unique holiday in that it celebrates a moment in our shared histories. But I did not clearly understand the holiday’s significance until I contacted a number of Latino wineries and winemakers, all in Cali, for comment on the meaning of the date.
I was surprised to learn from them that Cinco de Mayo is much more an American than Mexican festival. Often mistaken in El Norte for Mexico’s Independence Day (Sept. 16th), Cinco de Mayo, in fact, celebrates Mexico’s first defeat of an imperial French army contingent bent on conquest. The battle took place on May 5th, 1862 in Puebla where, to this day, the date finds its most popular festival.
But I leave it to the folks below to explain!
I am pleased to post the following series of wonderful replies I received:
The extraordinary Amelia Moran Ceja of Ceja Vineyards sent this:
“The 5th of May is not Mexican Independence Day, but it should be! And Cinco de Mayo is not an American holiday, but it should be. Mexico declared its independence from mother Spain on midnight, the 15th of September, 1810. And it took 11 years before the first Spanish soldiers were forced to leave Mexico.”
“So, why Cinco de Mayo? And why should Americans celebrate this day as well? Because 4,000 Mexican soldiers smashed the French and traitor Mexican army of 8,000 at Puebla, Mexico, 100 miles east of Mexico City on the morning of May 5, 1862.
“The French had landed in Mexico (along with Spanish and English troops) five months earlier on the pretext of collecting Mexican debts from the newly elected government of democratic President (and Indian) Benito Juarez. The English and Spanish quickly made deals and left. The French, however, had different ideas.
“Under Emperor Napoleon III, who detested the United States, the French came to stay. They brought a Hapsburg prince with them to rule the New Mexican Empire. His name was Maximilian; his wife, Carlota. Napoleon’s French Army had not been defeated in 50 years, and it invaded Mexico with the finest modern equipment and with a newly reconstituted Foreign Legion. The French were not afraid of anyone, especially since the United States was embroiled in its own Civil War.
“The French Army left the port of Veracruz to attack Mexico City to the west, as the French assumed that the Mexicans would give up should their capital fall to the enemy — as European countries traditionally did.
“Under the command of Texas-born General Zaragosa, (and the cavalry under the command of Colonel Porfirio Diaz, later to be Mexico’s president and dictator), the Mexicans waited. Brightly dressed French Dragoons led the enemy columns. The Mexican Army was less stylish.
“General Zaragosa ordered Colonel Diaz to take his cavalry, the best in the world, out to the French flanks. In response, the French did a most stupid thing; they sent their cavalry off to chase Diaz and his men, who proceeded to butcher them. The remaining French infantrymen charged the Mexican defenders through sloppy mud from a thunderstorm and through hundreds of
head of stampeding cattle stirred up by Indians armed only with machetes.
“When the battle was over, many French were killed or wounded and their cavalry was being chased by Diaz’ superb horsemen miles away. The Mexicans had won a great victory that kept Napoleon III from supplying the confederate rebels for another year, allowing the United States to build the greatest army the world had ever seen. This grand army smashed the
Confederates at Gettysburg just 14 months after the battle of Puebla, essentially ending the Civil War.
“Union forces were then rushed to the Texas/Mexican border under General Phil Sheridan, who made sure that the Mexicans got all the weapons and ammunition they needed to expel the French. American soldiers were discharged with their uniforms and rifles if they promised to join the Mexican Army to fight the French. The American Legion of Honor marched in the Victory Parade in Mexico, City.
“It might be a historical stretch to credit the survival of the United States to those brave 4,000 Mexicans who faced an army twice as large in 1862. But who knows?
“In gratitude, thousands of Mexicans crossed the border after Pearl Harbor to join the U.S. Armed Forces. As recently as the Persian Gulf War, Mexicans flooded American consulates with phone calls, trying to join up and fight another war for America.
“Mexicans, you see, never forget who their friends are, and neither do Americans. That’s why Cinco de Mayo is such a party — A party that celebrates freedom and liberty. There are two ideals which Mexicans and Americans have fought shoulder to shoulder to protect, ever since the 5th of May, 1862. ¡VIVA El CINCO DE MAYO!”
Alex Sotelo of Alex Sotelo Cellars wrote, “The Cinco de Mayo meaning for Californians has been very important for the proximity to Mexico and interaction to Mexicans on both sides of the border. Cinco de Mayo is in fact a bigger celebration to Californians than the people in Mexico.
“For Mexicans in Napa Valley or even the rest of the wine country where labor for wine production is done primarily by us, we are proud of the contributions to the Wine Industry; and yet more and more of us Mexicans Wine Producers in California are making wine to an excellent level.
“So it is a good reason to say Salud with a good glass of wine to celebrate the contribution by Mexicans to the wine industry, or even better with a glass of wine made by a Mexican.”
I was very pleased to also receive a comment from the justly celebrated Bulmaro Montes lately of Maritas Vineyard. He said (through Deborah Zaragoza), “It is the battle with the French people. It means a lot, it opens (life up) to be more free. Strength to be an independent country and effort to succeed in our world. Cinco de Mayo (allows the Mexican-American) to show love for our country.”
Perhaps the most charming quote was not a quote at all. 
I wrote to Elias Fernandez of Shafer Vineyards. A response came from Andy Demsky in Media/Communications for Shafer. Andy wrote, “Elias asked me to write back – he’s up to his neck in bottling right now and isn’t in a spot where he can really respond to this. (He did mention that he and his crew are working on Cinco de Mayo!)”
What I find delightful in Elias Fernandez’ non-comment is what it says not only about him but about all the Mexican-Americans who toil in the vineyards and wineries: they work very hard. And the glass of wine we all enjoy is simply not possible without such a dedication to their craft.
Admin
Antichi Poderi Dei Marchesi di Barolo 1967 Nebbiolo d’Alba
This was a present from my partner for my 40th Birthday last year, one of 2 1967 wines she got me, the other being the Vignamaggio Chianti Classico (Vignamaggio is famous for being the location for Kenneth Branagh’s 1992 movie of Shakespeare’s Much ado about nothing). Wine from my birth year was the perfect present and since then I had often wondered whether either of them would still be drinkable and, if so, when would be an appropriate occasion.
Both companies continue to produce wine so I’d e-mailed them enquiring what they thought about the chances of the wine being worth opening. Vignamaggio quickly responded suggesting their one would be better kept as a memento, since Chianti from that era was blended with white grapes and is less likely to have withstood the rigours of time. Marchesi di Barolo didn’t send a reply, but the more I read about Nebbiolo the more it looked like this one may have some life left in it, even though Barolo tends to be thought of more as Nebbiolo’s long-lived incarnation.
So onto the occasion, and what better then the evening before my 41st birthday? I was visiting my parents for the weekend and my mother is known to enjoy a glass or two of red so I’d have someone to share with (my father and partner don’t usually drink red). There were a few raised eyebrows once they’d realised what the wine was, but there was no going back now, the time had come.
I carefully cut and removed the foil to reveal the top of the cork level with the bottle, no signs of leakage, so a good start.
The corkscrew went in easily and came out easily….too easily, the cork had broken on the way out, leaving the bottom 3rd still in the neck but unfortunately not enough to get the corkscrew back into, I pushed it into the bottle instead. 
Unperturbed I gently decanted the wine past the cork remnants until the bottle was empty - there was no sediment and as it poured I could see the rich dark, burnt toffee colour. Apart from a couple of small specks of cork the wine was clean and, more importantly, didn’t smell bad.
I quickly poured the first glass, if there was life left in this old Italian I wanted to make sure I tasted it at all stages. There was a definite age to the nose, my mother said it smelled of an old museum, but after a couple of minutes this mellowed and a toffee sweetness came through. In the mouth this was smooth and a little acidic, with a hint of oxidation at the front, but not too much, the mid-palate has some mustiness (the museum again) with some dryness on the finish. The next glass was about 10 minutes later, and it hadn’t changed too much with the toffee sweetness smell still coming through, maybe a little stronger. There were some features of aged sherry at the beginning, a little Oloroso nuttiness, and I could detect tannins on the top of the palate, the finish was a bit longer this time. This was a light-medium bodied wine with good acidity. 
After 30 minutes another glass delivered a hit of mushrooms, the sort of smell you get when you pour hot water on dried Porcinis. It was still a bit funky, a bit sweet and showed delicate legs down the side of the glass when swirled. The taste was still the same, with a touch of stewed tea for good measure, in the mouth this was a wine of textures rather than true flavour (most of which, to be honest, had probably gone 10 to 20 years ago). It seemed to be getting drier in the mouth with time, and those rehydrated Porcini mushrooms kept coming round again.
We decided to see how it went with food, cheese to be precise. A selection of white Stilton with apricot, Wensleydale, Edam and a creamy goat’s cheese was brought out and tried with a sip or two. The Goat’s cheese was the out and out winner, its salty sharpness seemed to complement and enhance the wine perfectly, turning it sweet and delicate and removing the musty acid/tannin combination. While the Edam was neutral, the white Stilton and Wensleydale went the other way, making the drink bitter. 
1 hour on and I get some cigar ash on the nose and oak, like an old wooden beam, slightly toasted and darkened with age. At the end of this glass I notice the sweetness back again and suddenly it hits me – dark Muscovado sugar! We get a jar of the stuff out of the cupboard and compare, and it’s a perfect match. This similarity was the residual smell of the just emptied glass, freshly poured it was hidden by the mushroom and musty wood.
As the end of the evening drew near I had one final glass and was surprised at how little this wine had changed since opening. The nose was still the star, a heady mix of complex aromas which I’ve never experienced before in one glass. In the mouth the slightly sweet, slightly sour, slightly acid bitterness and the tea tannin finish was unremarkable except for the fact that it was not unpleasant, a dry delicate and relatively light wine, but heavy in years. I hope that I’ll be able to try more aged wines in the future and was not disappointed by this introduction.
Greybeard
So, I’m in Turkey again (and not for the first time) but as with other trips recently I’m now thinking of wine as a background to the business that’s paid for my ticket. The country is a series of contradictions - nominally Muslim, and with a pro-Islamic government (although not in the same league as Iran or Saudi Arabia) it is actually one of the most secular, open societies I’ve been to outside of Western Europe. Alcohol is widely enjoyed and the Turks are rediscovering a long tradition of winemaking spanning several civilizations, including the Hittites, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and Ottomans. However out of more than 1.5 million acres of plantings only about 2% of the fruit is turned into wine, with the bulk going for table grapes and raisins.
Istanbul itself is a typical modern city, the business hub of the dynamic Western half of the country while Ankara, the capital city and seat of government, is less vibrant, but still open and busy. In both cities, more so in Istanbul, Islamic strictures are frowned upon by the populace. This is an effect of the Atatürk republic, set up in response to the stagnation of the Ottomans and the disaster that was WWI - to set the country on a road of modernisation and to separate Mosque and State ( there were demonstrations recently when the Government repealed a law banning headscarves for female students, many Turks worry it is the start of a slide towards Islamic fundamentalism ).
As befits an area with ancient ties to wine there are a host of indigenous grapes for Turkish Winemakers to choose from, estimated between 900 and 1,250 varieties. The excellent Vinotolia site covers the main ones - from my experience I’d say look for the red Öküzgözü, Bo?azkere or Kalecik Karasi, while for white try a dry Narince or Emir.
The country has 7 main wine regions.
Thrace and Marmara - including European Turkey and the Sea of Marmara area, centred on Istanbul. This is the key winemaking area to date.
Aegean - South West around Izmir and including the Turkish Riviera (the coastline which is a favourite for holidaymakers).
Black Sea - the northern coastline stretching east to Georgia.
Central Anatolia - the Anatolian plateau, Ankara and areas east, including Cappadocia, which can date winemaking back to early Christian times.
South-Eastern Anatolia - the landlocked southern area bordering Syria.
East Anatolia - Eastern Turkey up to the borders with Armenia, Iran and Iraq, including the Elazig area.
Mediterranean - southern coastline to the border with Syria.
Mustafa Kemal Pasha (Atatürk) founded the modern Turkish state in 1923 and less than 2 years later founded his own personal wine cellar which he continued to stock, and drink, until his death in 1938. The Kavaklidere winery was established near Ankara in 1929 with Atatürk’s support and is one of the more famous of the modern wineries, with Diren, Kayra, Pamukkale and Villa Doluca (DLC) amongst many others, although nowadays even small local farmers are seeing the financial benefits of planting vineyards.
One problem for the wine lover in Turkey is the cost. Since the conservative AKP government came to power in 2002 taxes on alcohol have soared, which is hurting consumers and producers alike 2. This means that Turkish drinkers pay up to 3 times the price for a bottle compared to an equivalent quality bottle bought in America or Europe. The 3 bottles I came back with this trip came to more than £30 ($60) which, for typical local wine bought in the country of origin, is amongst the priciest in all my travels. This cost has led to a black market in wine production, with counterfeit wines becoming a problem, similar to neighbouring Georgia (discussed in an earlier R.O.T. post).
So finally onto the wine itself. My previous experience of a slice of Turkey was 2 years ago with the Anfora Trio 2004 from Pamukkale, a blend of Shiraz, Kalecik Karasi and Cabernet Sauvignon. It was rustic but good and I noted raspberries bursting out of the bottle, with a subtle background of caramel, leather and tobacco.
This time it was Kavaklidere providing the initial experience with a 2000 Öküzgözü from Elazig and their popular white, the 2006 Çankaya 
. I’ll discuss the Öküzgözü in a separate post, but the white is a blend of “four different grapes from Anatolia”. Although they don’t say which grapes are included Narince is likely, as it’s from the region, and Emir is a certainty as the wine has a nice crispness which matches the flavour profile of this grape. It worked well with the spicy flame-grilled chicken wings we had that night (which may not sound particularly Turkish, but apparently so!).
Two additional whites I tried were the DLC 2006 Sultaniye, Emir - which was very aromatic, floral with a fresh acidity, and the Kayra Tilsim 2007 - a Sultaniye, Semillon and Emir blend with a wonderful smell of banana and tropical fruits which was very dry, but let itself down with a wateriness which didn’t match its nose.
As for the 3 bottles that made it safely back to the U.K. with me, the two reds are safely stored away. The Kayra Terra 2005 Öküzgözü looks like it will make a nice weekend red sometime in the next year or so, while the Kavaklidere Selection 2005 Öküzgözü-Bogazkere promises to be something a little more special to be enjoyed in the next 5-6 years. The white was the Diren Dörtnal 2002 
, a 100% Narince that I was a little sceptical on buying, not knowing the grape variety I had worries that a 2002 was past its best. With that in mind I opened it for the Easter weekend and am currently sipping it while finishing off this article. The colour is medium, like a pale honey, and there was an initial hint of rubber on the nose before settling down into a floral perfume. It’s light in the mouth and very dry, not strong on flavour but, for a 6 year old white, still fairly fresh. I’d score it in the 82-83 range which doesn’t justify its £7 ($15) price tag, but it’s a new variety for me, and new experiences are what life is all about.
One final note. Cappadocia is famous not only for its wine but also for its landscape, and both can be viewed on an informative post on the Wine Library TV forums, A Turkish Wine Experience.
Greybeard.
This necessarily incomplete article began with a simple visit to Nuestra Senora de la Soledad, California’s 13th mission. Located at 36641 Ft. Romie Rd., Soledad (founded 1791), it is not the oldest mission nor the most significant historically, but it has what no other California mission has, twenty ancient Mission grape vines, vines dating from at least the mid-19th century, perhaps earlier. Or at least I believe them to be, along with a property maintenance man! No one seem to know with complete certainty just what they are or where they came from. I’ll explain in a moment.
Of course, San Gabriel Arcangel (founded 1771) has 3 or 4 ancient vines, one of which is 75 feet in length, and all are believed to be original to the mission (though some claim the vines were planted in 1861). Yes, they still produce. In fact, a few years ago grapes were harvested from the vines and a few bottles of wine were made. Sad to report, when the bottles were placed on display in the mission’s winery museum they were promptly stolen (private communication). And it is claimed that when La Purisima Conception (founded 1787) was undergoing restoration in the 1930’s original vines were dug up from the historical mission vineyard site at Jalama Beach and transplanted to the new mission grounds. It is also believed original ancient vines, now wild, survive on National Forest Service land near San Antonio de Padua (founded 1771). As well do untended vines survive on private farmland near San Miguel Arcangel (private communication).
There are other exciting examples of surviving vines, new information, new leads I’ve learned of and will discuss at a later date as my research firms up. Yet the idea of ‘research’ here requires significant qualifications. Some missions have more abundant, dependable historical records than others. Santa Barbara, the “Queen of the Missions”, for example, has quite rich holdings. But of Nuestra Senora de la Soledad…? Much has been lost. Situated between the Gabilan and Santa Lucia mountain ranges, on the windy floor of the Salinas Valley, it is of a particularly forlorn aspect. Isolated. One of the least successful missions with respect to neophyte recruitment and conversion.
Even as late as 1953 it still retained high adobe walls, structures of discernible use to mission life, but rains would virtually melt them away by the nineties. And theft would take a toll. All the remaining roof tiles not previously sold had been stolen along with who knows what else. Indeed, restoration was late in coming to Soledad. It is claimed by an authority, “Finally, in 1954, the Native Daughters of the Golden West began restoring what little was left of the Mission Soledad. When restoration was begun, only piles of adobe dirt were remaining.” As the recently surfaced photo I’ve posted reveals, this was not at all the condition of the mission in 1954. But the authority above highlights an ongoing problem with research on Soledad. Though their museum may contain artifacts, a modest archive including a big book of newspaper clippings waiting for proper digital preservation, it remains a sad fact that generations with knowledge of the mission have passed on without leaving a record, their oral memories untranscribed. Hence, the same stories keep getting reprinted, all using the same abbreviated, partial sources. Information is scattered, dispersed. Much of Soledad’s history is only recoverable, revitalized by chance encounters with the right soul. Such as the aged maintenance man I mentioned above. Though I had heard rumors of the age of the vines before it was he who told me matter-of-factly that many but not all of the vines and olive trees came from La Purisima Conception cuttings. It was a detail I’d not heard in weeks of research. Regrettably, he did not specify whether the cuttings arrived as part of Soledad’s 1954 restoration or if they were planted earlier. Indeed, though another oral source suggests an age of no more than fifty years, the vines appear much older than that.
In any event, the origin and age of the Soledad vines remain compelling mysteries for me, ones that I shall endeavor to solve; as well as that of the proper dispositions of other ancient grapevines throughout the California Mission system. When I visited Nuestra Senora de la Soledad on Saturday, 3/08, the buds were swelling on every vine. Bud break should occur in just a few days. I will return soon.
Admin
At first glance Genetics may seem a strange topic for a Wine Blog, but look closer and you’ll discover that humans have been genetically modifying the grapevine ever since it was first farmed over 6,000 years ago - by selecting the best growths and characteristics (results of genetic variation and mutation) and then locking them in by vegetative propagation, aka cloning. As we progress into the 21st Century advances in molecular genetics allow us to look deep into the DNA of this intoxicating plant to uncover its history and potentially allow further manipulation of its future.
First some background Biology. There are over 60 distinct species of fruit producing vines of the Genus Vitis, in the Family Vitaceae, but, with a few rare exceptions (such as the Norton grape) there is only one that attracts the attention of you and I – Vitis vinifera L. This is the Eurasian vine used in the production of grapes, raisins and wine which has spread around the world with human agriculture. (The L. often used at the end shows that this was one of the original plant species named by the founding father of biological classification - Carl Linnaeus in his Species plantarum in 1753.)
Most members of the Vitis species, and all V. vinifera, have 19 pairs of chromosomes; 38 units of hereditary that carry the DNA within each cell and on into the next generation. Research has shown that V. vinifera has approximately 30,000 genes spread over 500Mb of DNA (Mb = Megabase pairs, a unit of DNA length). Compare this to humans, who have 23 pairs of chromosomes containing 3300 Mb of DNA carrying..… 30,000 genes. Yes, as a species we have no more genes that a grapevine, just a lot more junk DNA in between them!
Most members of Vitis are dioecious, separate plants are either male or female and cannot pollinate themselves, while V. vinifera are hermaphrodes and can self-fertilise. The Norton variety mentioned above is referenced as V. aestivalis, but the fact that it can self-fertilise suggest more than a touch of V. vinifera in its parentage. However modern viticulture is based on using cuttings (cultivars) to produce clones of the original plant to preserve their desirable characteristics, such as fruit quality. There could be up to 10,000 cultivars of V. vinifera in existence (about 7000 red and 3000 white varieties) and these are the names we see on the labels of our favourite wines; Cabernet, Syrah, Riesling, Verdejo, Assyrtiko etc. In trying to visualise the varieties genetically I liked the description found on “Professional friends of wine” likening them to human populations “each variety should be considered a “surname” which can have it’s own close family and extended relations stretching back in time, but which may have different names or marriages into other families.
In their 2006 paper Vouillamoz & Grando of the Istituto Agrario di San Michele all’Adige 
discussed a key aspect of cloning, namely that it was difficult, often impossible, to know the family history of a single cultivar - genetically it may be tens, hundreds or even thousands of years old. While leaf morphology was used to guess relationships in the past now molecular genetic techniques allow for more precise identification of related varieties of V. vinifera. Similar to the 1997 finding at UC Davis that Cabernet Sauvignon is the offspring of Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc they showed that Pinot Noir, “one of the most ancient western European cultivars still in cultivation today” is related to Syrah (either a “great-grandfather, great-uncle or cousin”). Unfortunately they also pointed out that getting a complete family tree of the major varieties is not realistic as many of the contributory family members will likely be extinct, something just avoided with Gouais Blanc, the almost extinct white variety which, along with Pinot, was involved in the parentage of grapes such as Chardonnay and Gamay.
Cloning of our favourite varieties is not the only genetic dabbling done in the name of viticulture, how about hybrids and chimeras? The devastation of European vineyards by Phylloxera in the 19th century led to the widespread grafting of old world V. vinifera onto the rootstock of native American species such as V. aestivalis, V. riparia, V. rupestris, V. champinii, V. candicans etc (or on crossings of these with V. vinifera). Let’s just be clear here, the grafting of components of one distinct species onto another separate species or a hybrid cross of mixed species - that is genetic modification of the highest level, and something done in agriculture for hundreds of years, not just with grapevines. Of course all of this is done primarily for disease resistance and maintaining plant and fruit characteristics.
Like many plants V. vinifera is highly heterozygous, meaning that for its 19 pairs of chromosomes the 2 members of each pair (the homologues) show a large degree of DNA variation when compared to each other. This was highlighted in the 2007 mapping of the Pinot Noir genome by Riccardo Velasco & colleagues, also of the Istituto Agrario di of San Michele all’Adige. Their findings showed that, on average, there was an 11.2% variation between each of the 19 sets of homologues, which is an enormous amount. As both of Pinot Noir’s parents provided one of every homologue this shows how different, genetically, those parent varieties were, and by assumption all V. vinifera varieties - that level of variation is greater than across all the members of the great ape families; Orangutans, Chimpanzees, Bonobos, Gorillas and, of course, Humans. This also explains why vegetative propagation of grapevines is a necessity, since V. vinifera does not seem to tolerate any degree of inbreeding and in normal sexual reproduction actively mixes up the DNA it passes onto the next generation, which would create chaos for viticulturists trying to maintain favourite features.
Velasco’s paper is the grape equivalent to the Human Genome Project and is a fascinating read, if somewhat technical, showing how genes for disease resistance make up a large proportion of the genome. But if this is so why are commercial varieties so vulnerable to disease? In comparison wild grape varieties typically exhibit significantly more disease resistance, and this is because they reproduce sexually and resistance evolves competitively with the diseases and vectors they’re exposed to – think of it as allowing their genes to download the latest Operating System updates and anti-virus software! However the Pinots, Cabernets etc, because of long-term cloning, have not been allowed to update to counter the new pathogens the vine is exposed to now. Of course you could cross wild and cultivated varieties to breed in the new resistance, but this would also affect the good characteristics you want to keep. Velasco suggests the research could lead to new “molecular breeding” programs, where clusters of resistance genes from wild strain vines could be selectively crossed into the domesticated varieties without losing the genes involved in grape or wine quality.
Elsewhere genetic research by scientists in Australia show that originally all grape varieties were red, but several thousand years ago two independent genes involved in skin colour mutated at about the same time to produce the first white grapevine, the ancestor of today’s white varieties. The earliest known white wine has been confirmed from the time of Tutankhamun, more than 3300 years ago.
It’s not just the vine itself that is now open to genetic changes, there’s another species involved in winemaking – Yeast. There are already new strains of these single cell organisms that can tolerate higher alcohol levels than ever before, perfect for the “No Wimpy Wines” generation and others designed to finish at lower levels to counter these Frankenwines, but that would be the start of a whole new controversy, so I’ll bring this article to an end by mentioning Dennis Gray of the University of Florida 
who has been working with Muscadine grapes for many years. According to The Economist last year, in their review of the Pinot Noir sequencing story, he’s already started field trials of genetically engineered grapes against Pierce’s disease (a condition which has been touched upon in an earlier Reign of Terroir post).
As a trained geneticist researching this topic allowed an intriguing glimpse into aspects of viticulture and winemaking I had not truly appreciated, and begs the question, should we be afraid of future genetic tinkering with our favourite beverage? For me the answer is no, partly because the fermented grape juice that makes it into our glasses doesn’t contain active DNA anyway, but mostly because we’ve been genetically modifying the vine for thousands of years - so why should we stop now?
Greybeard.
Additional references.
International Grape Genome Program
Science daily, Pinot Noir Grape Sequenced
Science daily, Ripening Secrets Of The Vine Revealed
Dir Rafat Monastery, Beit Shemes, Israel
When I visited the Mony winery this month I knew nothing of its story, but it would appear to have one of the more interesting backgrounds around and is hopefully a sign of what is possible in this troubled region.
Mony is set in the grounds of a Christian monastery, is owned by an Arab-Christian family and makes Kosher wines. For years wine was produced by the resident monks of Dir Rafat, famous for its painted ceiling with the words “Peace” written in hundreds of languages. The Artoul family worked in the winery until Shakib Artoul leased the land and established Mony in 2000. 
The winery is named for Dr Mony Artoul, Shakib’s first son who tragically died of a heart condition in 1995 – a plaque dedicated to him hangs over the entrance to the tunnels and cellar at the back of the winery. Nur Artoul is the winemaker and with his father and two remaining brothers they oversee the winery operations.
I tried the line up of Reserve reds, all from 2003 – a Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Shiraz. The Merlot was well balanced with a mix of mild oak and berry fruits - I’m not much of a Merlot fan but this was a pleasant drink, although probably at its best and unlikely to age further. I moved onto the Cabernet Sauvignon, and again it was an easy and balanced drink, but much lighter than I was expecting, medium bodied at best. Finally the Shiraz, and I was looking for something with a bit of depth, but unfortunately it was very similar to the first two, uncomplicated. 
Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed all three, but for a Shiraz and Cabernet my hopes were higher, particularly after just having tried a couple of very good wines from the Agur winery. It was therefore with a little surprise that the bottle I chose to buy was the Merlot, since it gave me exactly what I was expecting from the grape, and I plan on drinking it on a quiet weekend sometime in the next 6 months.
I then noticed a Muscat of Alexandria Dessert wine and asked for a taste of that. Although, for me, it was much too light to be considered a true dessert wine I still bought a bottle as it reminded me of something semi-sweet from Alsace, with a rich mouth-feel and a nice dry bitterness on the finish.
Before leaving I had a quick look at the tunnels dug, over the last hundred years or so, into the hillside at the back of the building. Walk down some steps and you see ahead a short tunnel containing 3 large wooden benches used for events, group tasting and festivals . I can imagine some great parties here, drinking their wine with a generous selection of the olives, goats cheese, honey and olive oil they also produce and sell. To the left a door is locked with a Hebrew notice indicating a Kosher environment 
(all Mony wines have been Kosher since the 2005 vintage) but you can look through the glass and see barriques stretching away in the distance.
I enjoyed my visit here, the people were friendly and accommodating and although they couldn’t speak much English I had my colleague Yaron with me to translate. The wines were reasonably priced - together the Merlot and Muscat I bought came to 95 Shekels, so about £13 ($26) - and the history of the winery added an extra level to the visit.
Greybeard.
Wine has a long history of involvement with religion - from the brooding Greek wine god Dionysus to his tamed Roman version, Bacchus, through the red wine used in the Eucharist as a symbol for the blood of Christ, to the complete rejection by Islam of any fermentation of grape & grain (abstinence is also part of the Mormon “Word of Wisdom”). The Jewish faith has a long documented association with wine - the Bible states it was Noah who planted the first vineyard after the great flood, and it plays a key role in the Sabbath (Shabbat) meal with the Kiddush blessing recited over a cup of wine.
On my recent trip to Israel the religious links to wine were very apparent, from the bottles opened and served by ourselves in a Kosher restaurant (as the waitress did not observe the Shabbat), the warning signs on the cellar door at the Mony Winery in the Judean Hills to the wines produced by the several Christian monasteries in the Jerusalem area.
The laws of Kashrut are the main association with Israeli wines, what makes a wine Kosher.
The main rules, as they affect the production, look simple;
- Grapes cannot be used until the vines are 4 years old – the law of orlah.
- Every 7th year the vineyard must be left fallow – the law of shmita
- Tools and equipment must be certified Kosher and cleaned accordingly.
- Only Jews who observe the Shabbat are allowed to be in contact with the wine - which is why many wineries employ only haredim (Orthodox Jews) and have special Kashrut supervisors to liaise with any non-observant Jews.
- All yeast, additives and fining agents must be certified as Kosher.
All of these are not contradictory to the production of fine wine, and in the Israeli domestic market such wines are equal in quality to a typical non-Kosher bottle. Unfortunately there’s another key point which has the biggest impact on the export market. Jewish law (Halachah) states that if the bottle is handled (in practical terms opened or served) by anyone, Jewish or otherwise, who does not observe the Shabbat then the wine becomes yayin nesech (idolatrous wine). In ancient times the worry was that pagans could take good Jewish wine and debase it by using it in their profane rituals. The workaround? Simple – make the wine Mevushal and boil it. Ouch! The idea is that boiled wine would not be wanted by the pagans, and you could see why!
Today a wine is made Mevushal by flash pasteurisation at approx 87 degrees Celsius (190F) for about half a minute, but while the effects on the wine are not as drastic as in years past there are still compromises. Daniel Rogov, in his Guide to Israeli wines states such wines are “often incapable of developing” and impart “a cooked sensation to the nose and palate”. He finishes with “none of the better wines of Israel fall into this (Mevushal) category” and his guide references many Kosher, but no Mevushal wines. It is unfortunate for us that Mevushal wines are destined for the overseas Kosher markets, to observant Jews in Europe and the U.S. and, by default, the rest of us. Only the smaller boutique wineries who are not reliant to making Kosher wines for domestic supermarket sales can offer us the chance of tasting the best of what Israel has to offer without having to visit in person.
The Christian aspect to wine from “The Holy Land” is apparent through the several Monastery wineries dotted around the landscape. I visited the Mony Winery at Dir Rafat Monastery, but the winery itself is now run by an Arab-Israeli family producing Kosher wines so I’ll post a separate visit report on them.
Of the monastic wineries still run by their respective brotherhoods there is the Latroun Trappist Monastery which produces wine in “the French Style”. However possibly the most intriguing is Cremisan , founded near Bethlehem in 1885 by the Italian Salesian order. The winery that has been run by the monks since that time has the dubious honour of being the only one in the Palestinian Territories, and at times Cremisan has become part of the unfortunate political tensions in the area. 
As such visiting and trying the wines on-site is difficult, but they also offer tastings and sell the wines at the Monastery of Bet Gemal, just south of the town of Bet Shemesh, which was where I ended up on my mini-wine tour of the Judean hills.
The wine shop was manned by an ancient man happy to show the bottles and offer a tasting of what he had open. When I said “Vecchio Rosso” with a slight Italian accent he beamed at me and started off in Italian, and nothing I did could persuade him that I could only understand a few basic words of what he was saying! 
Of the red wines I tasted they were, as he told me, in the “Italian style” – although I would say the “Sacramental style” as they had a tendency for sweetness and simplicity. The white Messa had “Altar Wine” on the label and was equally sweet, while a “Port Extra Doux” was light, at 14% abv. but pleasant. I ended up coming away with a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 “Vin Nouveau” for £3.50 ($7).
As a keen student of history and current affairs I’ve always enjoyed my business trips to Israel, and this time round I’ve had a welcome expansion to my wine knowledge and experience. It should come as no surprise that this region, known for its political issues, is also a melting pot of wine traditions and production - historical, cultural and religious.
Greybeard.
In my previous article, I discussed the foundation of why Bordeaux exists, ending with its transfer back to French rule after the first 100 years war. It sounded like a happy ending, but in truth, it was just the beginning of the formation of the region.
France and England remained at war on a regular basis. In reality after the end of the first 100 years war in 1453 they didn’t really stop warring against each other until around 1815. There was an official peace of about 120 years between 1559 and 1688 but when you look back in the books, not really. Henry VIII was chopping off his wives heads and giving Pope Clement VII the two finger salute whilst destroying monasteries, ending whatever wine production England had at the time wasn’t exactly what the English public would have called peaceful, maybe normal, but not a happy time. Fifty years after that England was in Civil War for fifteen or so years (I’m sure the French had their fingers in all that unpleasant mess unofficially) ending in 1652 and 30 years later France and England were officially back at it.
During those 400 years of war and peace the English ‘discovered’ modern Bordeaux as we know it. On April 10th, 1663, a young Samuel Pepys wrote in his fine diary about “A sort of French wine, called Ho Bryan that hath a good and most particular taste that I ever met with.” Pepys chalked one up for phonetic spellers.
Wait, did I say discover? No, it was hardly discovered, it was the first known documented and marketed wine brand. A brand wine in the 1600’s? Todays image of brands brings to mind names like Yellow Tail, Antinori, Mateus and Mouton Rothschild. They are made popular with exclusivity or market penetration and a lot of advertising dollars are spent on maintaining their reputations. In today’s world if you want to make something famous, you just have to have enough money to sustain a large multi media advertising campaign. Case in point, the Yellow Tail phenomenon. But in the 17th century during Pepys lifetime, newspapers were only about 30 years old, printing presses about 120 years and the local news report was in the form of some poor bastard standing on a box, ringing a bell, screaming the town’s taxes just got raised by the King to pay for whatever war they were in at the time, and praying he didn’t get stoned by the townspeople upon hearing the news.
So how would a vigneron in France make his wine the most famous in England, create heavy demand and escalate its price during the 17th century without modern advertising tools? By building an exclusive pub in the wake of chaos.
During the great fire of 1666 a pub called The White Bear Tavern was destroyed. In its place on Lombard and Abchurch was built The Pontack’s Head, from which the finest French food and the finest claret from a single source called Haut Brion was served. The tavern was a hit in the City of London, very popular and very expensive.
But why am I writing about pub in London? There were hundreds, maybe thousands of alehouses, taverns and public houses during that time. What made it special as it was the first known pub to be built by a Bordeaux chateau or any other producer to exclusively sell its wine. For example, its common today for breweries in England to own pubs to exclusively sell their products. It’s formally called a “tied-house” as opposed to a “free-house” which can sell whatever brands it chooses. Would the Pontack be the first of its kind? Technically no, alehouses made and sold their own named brew on site, but domestically England only produced wine for sacramental purposes, so it was the first exclusive fine wine brand to be documented and sold as such.
The Pontac (Pontack) family of Bordeaux were wine exporters and wealthy with vast holdings throughout what was the Graves region. They primarily produced red wine from sandy gravely soil not suited for anything else other than wine production. Though the estate was in wine production for 150 years previous, it took the Dutch to give the family an opportunity to turn their claret into something in demand.
In 1635 the Dutch became allies with France. It’s not generally known, but the Dutch purchased much more wine from the Bordeaux region than any other country at the time and in 1647 formed a committee to establish the wine prices for the region. This is but one of many formal and informal lists that took place before the famous 1855 classification, however, until 1855 some of these classifications were made to bend prices more favorably in the interested parties direction. The new classification by the Dutch distributors detailed the sweet wines of Bordeaux and the “palus” wines.
The sweet wines were popular in Holland and the classification used to raise market prices, and the Dutch transported the palus wines to the New World. Claret was not included in the classification. It wasn’t included because it had no market in Holland. Claret was king in England, but too many wars and trade restrictions were always in the way. The current owner, Arnaud de Pontac, had to find a way to sell his fine “unclassified” wine called Haut-Brion (Ho Bryan) and increase the family fortune.
By the 17th century, wine production was becoming more advanced. Pontac began using viticultural practices to ripen his grapes, deepen the colour of his wine, separate its style from the common claret of the period. What he produced was the predecessor to the modern red Bordeaux we enjoy today, and unique and popular enough to garner many written references (first tasting notes?) of its finesse.
The diaries I’ve researched show Haut-Brion selling for around 7 schillings a bottle around 38 pounds or $76 at the Pontack’s Head around 1663. It was cheaper to just to buy your bottles and take them home instead of drinking at the Pontack as dinner cost about one pound or 108 pounds or $216 in today’s exchange, but it did include a beaker of Haut-Brion wine. The Pontack’s Head was very popular and one of the best places to be seen at. Vanity has always been easy to capitalize on and though it seems London has always been an expensive destination, fine dining does appear to now be a bargain. Given the current rate of inflation that same dinner would cost about $1500 today and I doubt any dinner by Marco Pierre White, Heston Blumenthal, Thomas Keller or Ferran Adria could garner those prices for a single person’s supper.
Such expense, you say? This was an era without a lot of regulation and any business that anyone could walk into and be assured the food would always be the finest quality and the best wine served full strength, not watered down with polluted, brackish water from the Thames, would be in great demand. The outrageous prices formed the most exclusive club in town. The Royal Society had their annual dinners for nearly 100 years at the Pontack’s Head. The Royal Society is England’s oldest learned society for science and its presidents while the Pontack was in operation were Christopher Wren, Charles Montagu, Lord Somers, Isaac Newton and our good friend Samuel Pepys. What illustrious patrons the Pontack had!
But how did Haut Brion maintain its consumption demands and sales in England when every other day they were or were not at war? A bit of smuggling. Of course a blind eye would be turned for the most famous tavern in London so image and status could be maintained for its patrons. It was common to sell the wine to a country not at war with England to get the goods through. Of course smuggling also avoided the hefty taxes and there are invoices for small French and Channel islands habitants supposedly consuming absurd amounts of wine that would easily kill a human in a week.
Today, wine production and pricing has always been about supply and demand. When a famous wine like Haut-Brion has a huge demand for its luscious and hedonistic style, it gets huge prices to match, no matter the era when it’s sold.
Donna
Courtesy, The Biane Collection, Museum of History and Art, Ontario [1992.682.1]
There is a wonderful passage in Eddie Condon’s, We Called It Music: A Generation of Jazz. Mr. Condon writes, “Wine bricks were the great flop of prohibition: the essence of the grape was compressed for you in a package no bigger than a bar of soap; you took it home and made yourself the worst drink in the world.” I first came across this passage as part of broader research on the Prohibition Era. I had read a few and scattered references to the wine or grape brick, “Solidified Merriment” as one essay recounts it having also been called.
But finding a surviving example proved very difficult, until I learned of the Museum of Art and History, in Ontario, California. They received an endowment from the Rene Biane Family which includes, in addition to the brick, “wine bottles, technical, recipe and promotional books, business records, scrapbooks and promotional pieces, photographs, trophies and awards, cooper’s tools, field implements, and laboratory equipment as well as curiosities such as a painting of Marilyn Monroe which was reproduced as the “Dolly Madison” wine label and a rare grape brick sold during Prohibition for home wine-making.” All materials date from “the vineyard and wine-making history of the area which was a premier wine region before World War II — producing mostly red dessert wines.” (ibid.)
Indeed, the Los Angeles area was home to a number of very successful wineries, including the Biane’s own Brookside Vineyard Company, in Ontario, established in its present location in 1952, though it has not, since 1982, produced wine. But the four generations of the winemaking family stretch much further back, to the 1880’s in SoCal with Marius Baine, Sr., a winemaker for over 50 years. Philo and Francois Baine, his sons, later, Rene Biane, I believe he’s still the winemaker at Joseph Filippi Winery. Further back still (please click the ‘home’ link above.) The Bianes are a California winemaking dynasty, simply put. And their work is far from finished. Not too long ago Gino L. Filippi of the Filippi Winery, Philo and Rene Biane, along with the significant contribution of others, were responsible for the creation of the Cucamonga Valley AVA in 1995. I hope that a full accounting of the Biane Family’s achievement may someday be gathered into a proper narrative. For now, I offer Philo Biane’s oral history kept at the Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley
Wine bricks were made principally by two companies, Fruit Industries, Inc. and Vino-Sano, Inc.. A surviving example of Solidified Merriment is a thing to behold. Ontario’s Museum of Art and History must contain many other rare pieces, thanks to the Rene Biane Family. All museum materials are currently being inventoried by curator, Steve Thomas, and he will publish an on-line fully searchable public database in the not too distant future. I will be the first in line!
Admin
The greatest pleasure to be had writing a wine blog is that of discovery. And today, while researching the health benefits of wine, this is what I found: A certain Paolo Mantegazza (1831-1910) had recently returned from a trip to Peru, and intrigued by the local’s use of coca leaves, he tried them himself. He was inspired, shall we say, and went on to successfully isolate the active ingredient, cocaine, (other sources credit Albert Niemann) and to write, in 1858, a paper entitled On the Hygienic and Medicinal Properties of Coca and On Nervous Nourishment in General, a paper promptly read by French chemist Angelo (Ange-Francois) Mariani, (1838-1914). In 1863 Mr. Mariani produced and marketed Vin Mariani, the world’s first cocawine. It must be remembered that coca was then poorly understood, its addictive properties unknown. Addiction itself, as a physiological condition, was limited to morphine, a grim consequence of The Civil War. Indeed, during what has been called The Great Binge (1870-1914) all species of newly synthesized drugs were naïvely blended in every consumable, from cough syrups, cordials, to children’s toothache drops.
So, stateside, Mr. Mariani, when met with stiff competition from similar domestic tonics, upped his cocaine content from 6 mg per fluid ounce to 7.2 mg per fluid ounce. Enter John Pemberton (1831-1888), a Confederate Civil War veteran and pharmacist out of Georgia. Mr. Pemberton’s biography is too litigious to tease out here. Let’s just say he developed a rival product, and that it, too, was designed to promote health, which in his case included relief from morphine addiction, his and others. Introduced in 1881, it is alleged his vinous product contained 8.46 mg of cocaine per fluid ounce.
Now, all of the above is a fairly routine gloss. I’ve done little more than piece together elements from lazy, contentious public sources. However, what follows is a bit more rigorous. It seems cocawine lives on. 
In Bolivia, for example, there exists a small family-run company, Coincoca. Melby Paz, owner of Coincoca, like many small Bolivian coca drink producers, she provides necessary cultural continuity. In addition to cocawine, her company sells coca-laced remedies for everything from simple coughs to diabetes and obesity, but sells only domestically. Of far greater moment is Vin Mariani Winery , a new Peruvian wine concern. They have resurrected Angelo Mariani’s brand. Coca wine is back, and the new Vin Mariani Winery is looking for markets. I encourage you, dear reader, to take a moment and wander through their web-site linked above. I am especially fond of their Tour de Peru. And if you’ve the time or inclination read the publicity from their U.K. based company, Mariani Amalgamated Ltd. I’ve been told Vin Mariani Winery has an international campaign in the works for sports drinks. Look for them at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. Down the rabbit hole we go.
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In the current opportunistic political climate where border fence construction and a hostile immigration debate can pass for civil expression, it is easy to lose sight of the durable commonalities enjoyed between Mexico and the United States. Cinco de Mayo is for that reason a particularly unique holiday in that it celebrates a moment in our shared histories. But I did not clearly understand the holiday’s significance until I contacted a number of Latino wineries and winemakers, all in Cali, for comment on the meaning of the date.
I was very pleased to also receive a comment from the justly celebrated Bulmaro Montes lately of Maritas Vineyard. He said (through Deborah Zaragoza), “It is the battle with the French people. It means a lot, it opens (life up) to be more free. Strength to be an independent country and effort to succeed in our world. Cinco de Mayo (allows the Mexican-American) to show love for our country.”
