Wine Review: Back to Bordeax—2005 Chateau Larose-Trintaudon Haut-Medoc

Wine Review: Back to Bordeax—2005 Chateau Larose-Trintaudon Haut-Medoc

By Codey Foster

This past Saturday, while at a wine bar in Greenwich, I found myself standing in line for the restroom next to a girl of who I took inexplicably quick interest in. She was short, blonde, unrefined, albeit gorgeous. Not my type, generally, but it wasn’t long before I found myself asking where she was from.

She looked me up and down. “France,” she replied, curtly. “But where in France?” I asked. “Bordeaux,” she replied. “Where in Bordeaux?” I asked. She scoffed, “but you don’t know Bordeaux.”

It was at this moment that the next restroom opened up and she disappeared behind the women’s room door.

Because of her austerity, tight structure, and overall inaccessibility, I can only assume that she was from Graves—but that’s beside the point.

I entered the men’s room just a moment later, hardly giving it any thought: ‘Psh. Of course I know Bordeaux. I bet I know Bordeaux better than anyone in this entire place,’ I reassured myself. It wasn’t until some time later that it really began to resonate with me. I really don’t know Bordeaux. Hardly at all.

Sure, I know my first growths, second growths, Sauternes, Cheval Blanc, St. Émilion, and Pomerol. I know the names of the estates, basic soil compositions, and blends. But when it really comes down to it—the nitty gritty details that don’t appear on a sommelier exam—I know very little. I hardly ever drink the wines, I couldn’t describe more than a couple of vintages, nor the nature of a particular vineyard site (save D’Yquem). Truthfully, Bordeaux is my single weakest French wine region. 

And so this is my resolution. Before the schools out, before the lifeguards perch, before the ice cream melts—I’ll know Bordeaux like the back of my hand. And so let the learning begin with the Chateau Larose-Trintaudon Haut-Medoc 2005.

Some people are afraid of affordable Bordeaux—and with good reason, I suppose. There’s been a lot of garbage imported in past decades, however, in recent years not only have quality-minded importers brought some really awesome stuff to the United States, but the Chateaux have stepped up their game as well—using more quality-minded methods of production that allow them to produce great wines at great prices.

This particular Bordeaux comes from the Haut-Medoc, a Left Bank AOC just south of the Medoc that is famous for its quite variable soils and a handful of estates ranked 3^rd-5^th growth in the 1855 classification. Although Chateau Larose and Chateau Trintaudon were not among them (they were in fact, once, two different estates)—the current estate is known for producing some of the finer wines from the Haut-Medoc despite being excluded from the classification. As a result Larose-Trintaudon often produces great wines that don’t come with a grand cru price tag.

2005 was in fact a spectacular vintage for the Left Bank, producing wines with especially apt aging structures, meatiness, and finesse.

I was surprised to notice that this $20 Bordeaux is still fairly young looking in the glass showing off deep red with a pit of dense purple at its center.

On the nose the Larose-Trintaudon offers up a ‘just rained’ kind of earthiness, wet pavement, succulent cherry, some raspberry, and spice box at its core. Freshly cracked pepper and subtle dried fruit (although nothing too raisony) also make an appearance at its edges.

On the palate this wine is still quite grippy and showing nice potential for additional aging. It is perhaps a bit stemmy upon pulling the cork however, this isn’t something that detracts from its overall unction and grip. As it opened up, more generous fruit came forward that was more representative of the other 2005s I’ve tasted. Maraschino cherry notes followed by hints of cassis and figs opened vibrantly.

I often find that cab-based wines take on more cherry-driven characteristics in the Old World where as, in the New World, they are more black currant oriented and jammy. This Left Bank  is no exception. Its structure is classy and composed. A thought-stimulating, yet classic example of Bordeaux that won’t break the bank. I’d be willing to bet you’d do pretty well for yourself sticking a couple of these in the cellar and forgetting them for another four years.

A recommendation from my buddy Thor

Available at Ancona’s Wines for $19.99

http://www.anconaswine.com/sku03620.html

Wine Review: THE Non-Vintage Brut—The Krug Grand Cuvee

Wine Review: THE Non-Vintage Brut—The Krug Grand Cuvee

By Codey Foster

The first time I recall hearing about Krug Champagne was in my junior year of high school when Jay-Z announced that he would boycott Louis Roederer’s Cristal as a result of the supposedly racist remarks made by Louis Roederer’s managing director Frederic Rouzaud—as published in The Economist earlier that year. What was said, or who was throwing stones didn’t concern me, at the time—but the elixirs that the hip hop community and its following would adopt in replacement were a different story. Jay’s nominees? Dom Perignon and Krug.

Cristal is good stuff. There’s no doubt about it. But from what I’ve experienced, Dom Perignon and Krug seem to come in at just about the same (or even higher) caliber for substantially less money. So coming off an 18-day alcohol cleanse, I couldn’t help but treat myself and my family to a bottle of the non-vintage Krug Brut Grande Cuvee—a wine that I generally consider to be the most balanced Champagne in the world.

As it turns out the Grande Cuvee makes up just about 75% of Krug’s annual production with about 75,000 bottles made every year. Most blends constitute 45-50% Pinot Noir, 10-15% Pinot Meunier, and 35-45% Chardonnay. Rumor has it that over 150 base wines come together to make this non-vintage blend and complexity is the grand result. My brother was keen to point out that we might have purchased a keg for the same price but at just about $1 per base wine, I feel Krug’s price is high, but not overly exorbitant.

In the glass, the Grand Cuvee showed a light straw hue with a rich, persistent mousse.

On the nose it is full of vibrant baking spice, crisp red and green apple, and delicate yeasty whispers followed by a full and sophisticated toastiniess.

It is on the palate that Krug really shines. Its searing green apple acidity is brilliantly counterpointed by rich allspice berry qualities and a creamy texture that is anything but an over-eager bombardment of bubbles. Its effervescence is lively but refined and cohesive. This is a wine of tremendous balance and execution. Its sweet fruit points hit the palate in all the right places and its acidity and savory complexity fill in the gaps for a truly cerebral Champagne experience.

As far as food pairings, well, I’ll be the first to admit that it doesn’t take a sommelier to pair the Grand Cuvee. This is the kind of wine that is versatile, inviting, and will hold its own beside many preparations that other wines will not. From oysters to popcorn to unusual preparations of deep fried fruit—you’ve got your bases covered. My dad and I opted for ultra-crisped lobster/crab/shrimp/scallop cakes and the marriage was seamless. The varying and stimulating mouth feel of each shelfish/crustation made for a pairing that worked on both a textural and flavor-oriented level. The toasty crispiness of the cakes harmonized so flawlessly with that of the wine and an array of textures from both the food and the wine completed the experience. 

750 ml--$169.99 at Ancona's Wines

The Romance of Old Wine

The Romance of Old Wine

By Codey Foster

In a 1998 horizontal tasting of Châteauneuf-du-Pape an innocent bystander once asked me, ‘what’s the point? Why not enjoy the wines individually on several different occasions and experience several times the pleasure?”

I must admit, for a moment I was stumped. If our tasting group had instead tasted the eight Châteauneuf-du-Papes on eight different nights we could have certainly appreciated each wine at least a little bit more. Perhaps on eight different occasions each wine could have been even more special than all eight at once. But after a little consideration I soon realized that the answer to his question was actually quite simple.

As I’ve said in the past, I’m a firm believer that a great wine can take you somewhere. And on that rainy night in Norwalk Connecticut we were actually quite far from home—we were in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, 1998, right around harvest time.

What I’ve just described is what I like to call the romance of aged wine. Sure, mature wine can take you somewhere. I recognize and admire its ability to do so. But past the romance I’d like to examine its transformation in the bottle with detachment from nostalgic baggage. And so, for the purposes of this commentary I’d like to momentarily forget about the romance of old wine and focus purely on its development and lifespan.

In fact, I believe that for the sole purpose of improving overall quality of wine—time actually does very little, and more often than not, it actually causes detriment. Yeah. I said it. An aging wine is a deteriorating wine.

I must admit that because of my age I haven’t had a great deal of time to lay down and mature my own bottles, which I hope only slightly discredits my accountability to write this article. I’m 22 years old. So it’s only through generous friends and acquaintances that I’ve been blessed enough to taste a good amount of mature wine. And with those experiences I’ve realized one thing--as a wine ages, it is more often that it loses something rather than gains something. Over extended periods of time a wine lets go. It’s color fades, the fruit dulls, and everything that once was, is no more.

Nothing is produced as a wine ages in the bottle, it merely changes form, and I think this is something that us wine lovers often lose sight of. Now, I’m not saying we should all start drinking Beaujolais Nouveau. There are certainly some wines that come on to the market just far too young—but I feel like in general, the wine world overestimates that drinking lifespans of great wines, and they’re the ones missing out.

One of the wines that really made this idea resonate for me was a 1988 Chateau Rayas—a wine that drank marvelously in the moment, paired flawlessly with the meal that accompanied it, and could probably deliver pleasure for several years to come. But in retrospect, the ’88 Rayas was well past its prime. And when I say ‘past its prime’ I don’t mean that it wasn’t drinking well, I think it was, and I derived much pleasure from it. But what I mean is that I think it might have been even more remarkable ten years earlier.

This is where I take qualm with suggested drinking windows. When someone like Robert Parker says that the newest vintage of Chateau Lafite will drink best from 2023-2060, what is he really telling you? Not very much, that’s for sure.

 I’m sure that within that time span there is a smaller period of time that that particular wine will be drinking substantially better than it will be for the rest of the time within the larger window. And I’ve got a feeling it’s not 2050-2060. The end result? We end up holding onto our wine for longer, and enjoying it less. That’s poor investing.

I agree that a small part of my argument has to do with circumstance and personal taste. Sure, you might enjoy you’re Chateau Haut-Brion at 25 years of maturity, while I more enjoy it at 10 years of maturity--and it might also have to do with factors like wine service, temperature, and food pairing. But when push comes to shove, I think you’ll find that of-age wines out perform ancient ones, and anyone who says differently is probably just caught up in the ‘romance’.

To approach this from a different angle it might be valuable to examine what makes an ancient wine great. I’ve spent a lot of time around other wine lovers and tasted a lot of 'old' wine. And in that time I’ve tasted a fair amount of what other people called ‘spectacular’ bottles. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed (even loved them) too—but the one thing that every single one of those ‘spectacular’ bottles has in common is that it was drinking ‘fresh, vibrant, and as if it were 10-15 years younger’.

Come on now. Do you realize what you just did there? You held a bottle of wine for a substantial fraction of your lifetime so it could ideally taste young (and you incurred the risk of flaw, breakage, and theft along the way). Am I missing something here, or are you just lighting candles and setting the table for a romantic dinner?

The last thing that ticks me off about old wine is something that I couldn’t fully put my finger on until just recently. I was even hesitant to include it in this commentary for fear of sounding ungrateful but I think it’s pretty important so I’ve decided to say it anyway: as a wine ages it departs from what it was originally.

Over the holidays I had the chance—a chance that I am so incredibly grateful for—to taste two different specimens of 1964 Cheval Blanc. Both bottles were sound, had been stored well (to the best of my knowledge), and were opened at the same time, under identical circumstances. And yet they were two completely different wines.

Cheval Blanc 1964 A was austere, mineral driven and earthy with hints of mushroom, cedar, and spice. Cheval 1964 B was rich, full of ripe red fruit with a background of leather, dry earth, and roasted herbs.

This degree of bottle variation isn’t something that occurs at the chateau during the winemaking process but something that happens over time as each wine ages. As time goes on each bottle deviates from the original ‘chateau wine’ so that 40 or 50 years later, there is no such thing as ‘1964 Cheval Blanc’ but only variations and fragments of its original spirit. I think this has to do with a lot of things including small variations in importing, storage, and every part of the overall journey. But the greatest, perhaps, is cork variation. As we all know, not only are corks imperfect objects but the composition of each and everyone is in fact quite different. Wines breathe through corks and when two wines breath through two different corks for 40 years—well they end up becoming two different wines. Even identical twins, two offspring with the same DNA grow up to be two different people—well it’s the same story with wine.

So sure, hold onto your over-age wines and drink them on special occasions—I know I will--but do so with the full understanding that the value is often more sentimental than quality-minded. Logically speaking, you’re much better off going out and buying a wine that is drinking well rather than trying to incubate it yourself. Wines die. But don’t be too disappointed because that magnum of '36 Beaucastel that you procured off of Christies last year is going to make a fabulous doorstop. 

Wine Review: 2001 La Rioja Alta "Viña Ardanza" Reserva Especial Rioja

Wine Review: 2001 La Rioja Alta "Viña Ardanza" Reserva Especial Rioja

By Codey Foster

When I taste a great wine, I’m generally inclined to detail how individual and unique that particular wine is. And although I believe this wine is exceptional, it is not a ‘one-of-a-kind’ but instead a flawless representation of its kind. Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s special, but even more so I think it’s a flawless textbook example of Traditional Rioja.

To put the differences between modern and traditional Rioja into black and white is sometimes difficult, but more often than not traditional Rioja is grown at high altitudes, is generally lighter in body and color, more austere, earthy, and aged in 100% American oak. To the contrary, modern Rioja generally comes from lower altitude vineyards, is denser in color and body, riper, and generally aged in 100% French oak but sometimes in 50% French oak and 50% American if the modernist winemaker is feeling nostalgic. 

This particular specimen from Viña Ardanza was produced in a particularly fine Rioja vintage, 2001 (dubbed by some THE Rioja Vintage), and as a result the bodega has decided to label it with the designation ‘Reserve Especial’—a designation that it has released in only two other vintages: 1964 and 1973.

In the glass it shows off a deep majestic ruby with significant bricking around the rim.

On the nose this wine radiates beautiful dill-driven American Oak aromas followed by chewy red cherry, malt chocolate, and an underlying dried Earth characteristic that is well refined and complex. If mature Silver oak showcases American oak this beautifully, someone should let me know so I can start putting together a vertical tomorrow.

On the palate the Ardanza Reserve Especial is composed and structured. I wouldn’t say that it is tight by any stretch, but this wine still has a long road to travel, although it is also drinking quite well in present. Its soft tannins and very nice acidity help it to pair with almost any food rather seamlessly. I don’t think I’d be going out on a limb to say that it’s the most food-friendly non-Pinot that I’ve tasted this year.

And what else do I love about the Viña Ardanza Reserve Especial? It’s price. Ringing in at just 32.99, this might just be the only wine on the market over 10 years of age, this beautiful, and under $100. I’ll stack a few of these in my cellar for sure. The final challenge? Track down the ’64 and ’73.

As I said, $32.99 at Ancona’s Wines 

http://www.anconaswine.com/sku01885.html