Boutique Bargains
By Lyn FarmerDon't let anyone kid you about size not mattering. It does. And in the wine world, smaller is better. I know this not from tastings, but from observing herd behavior at a recent wine auction. It was early spring; perhaps it was a seasonal molting process à la collectors shedding their inhibitions that contributed to the frenzy. Whatever the reason, there was lunacy in the air and it started with Screaming Eagle.
You may have encountered Screaming Eagle in auction catalogs, but the trendy California cult Cab isn't the sort of wine most of us actually buy. Sold to a small mailing list for $250 per 750 ml bottle, it occasionally turns up at outrageous prices ($1,000 and up) on only the hippest restaurant wine lists and often sells for more at auction, but more often it pretty much sleeps in collectors' cellars. I know a few people who own a bottle or two, but until that evening, I didn't know anyone who had actually opened one. A friend surreptitiously committed that rare act during the auction dinner and a low rumble went through the room. It was as if the same instinct that tells animals when an earthquake is imminent without a cry being uttered suddenly conveyed to the crowd that something scarce had been uncorked.
I was one of the lucky few who got a half-ounce from that single bottle of wine. It had a deep ruby color, a pretty, slightly floral nose, as much violets as cassis with more than a subtle hint of oak, and a creamy, silky texture. I liked it; in fact, I had the wine once before and I liked it then, too. But would I bid something in the neighborhood of $1,000 for a bottle of it at an auction? My half-ounce pour would run around $25. I'd willingly pay that amount, except no one is selling it in thimbles.
I don't begrudge Screaming Eagle its success, but neither do I confuse it with the real world. What concerns me isn't so much the price of the bottle but the mystique that surrounds it. Dozens of wine lovers at that dinner would gladly have paid $250 for a glass, not because they knew what it tasted like and loved it, but because they didn't know what it tasted like and thought they should.
A corollary to vinous supply and demand also seems to indicate to consumers that the wines they can easily obtain are less worthy than those they can't have, which sounds like Groucho Marx's refusal to join any club that would have him as a member. But I'm not sure Screaming Eagle - or Colgin or Harlan or Pingus from Spain or Le Pin from Bordeaux - would cost as much if more people got to try them. Where does the hype end and the reward for quality begin?
Yes, there is value in scarcity, but not every wine made in small quantities gets tinged with collector-mania. What about the many wine-growers producing small quantities of very good wine who don't get hyped?
Take Pam and Andy Simpson, for example. They own the Hayne Vineyard (Andy is the great-grandson of Maude Hayne), and are the partial creators of a cult Zinfandel produced by Larry Turley. Made from the Hayne Vineyard and sold mostly through a mailing list, Turley's Zin is heavily extracted and heavily lusted-after. If you can find a bottle on e-bay, it will set you back $75 or more; it's almost certain you won't find any in your corner wine shop.
The Simpsons figured that with the rarity of Turley wine from their vineyard, there was a niche waiting to be filled. They started making a Hayne Vineyard Zinfandel under their own label, named for Andy's great-great-grandmother Sara Chase, who bought the vineyard in the 1890s. The resulting Chase Hayne Vineyard Zin is terrific; in fact, I like it more than Turley's version because it feels better balanced, with the bright blackberry and currant fruit and soft body I like in a Zinfandel without any creeping heaviness. Best of all, it costs just $36 and the only reason you can't buy it is because the Simpsons run such a small operation they have trouble distributing their precious commodity. But it's not that they hope to become the next cult winery, though that might make their bankers happy. They simply deserve attention in an upside down wine world that only wants what everyone else already wants.
Much to my surprise, I came across a bottle of Chase Zin at the appropriately named Zin Restaurant in Sonoma's Healdsburg one cool April night. There's a thrilling sense of discovery that comes from finding a wine well in advance of the herd.
Dozens of tiny producers aren't growing because they can't create demand. Sometimes that's because the quality isn't there, but more often the quality is there but the buzz isn't. That may be about to change. A new Web site called ilovenapa.com sprang up just around bud break in wine country. Purporting to be "The Voice of the Visitor" to Napa Valley, the site is the creation of retired marketing guru Jim White and his publicist pal Jeremy Benson. They intend to focus attention on the best of the valley, and to White and Benson that often means the small producers and purveyors that dot the county, be they vintners, cheese makers, restaurateurs or hoteliers. In the wine department, they've gone to great lengths to find boutique, mom-and-pop producers interested in reaching an audience wider than the occasional visitors who straggle in by chance.
After tasting through a sampling of the site's portfolio, I think they're on to something, especially because White and Benson are working hard to meet myriad state shipping regulations that seem hellbent on preventing anyone outside California from buying wine direct from properties too small to forge national distribution agreements.
Eventually, White thinks they'll be able to offer bottles for sale from their small wineries in most states. For now, the site is a great place to read about some good, largely uncelebrated wines worth knowing. Arns' Merlot - grown down the hill from Howell Mountain, for one - is, at $50, one of ilovenapa.com's most expensive offerings.
Another unheralded Napa bottling worth far more than its asking price is a vibrant Pinot Noir made by Nicole Abiouness at her eponymous winery. She only has access to ten rows of vines on the Stanly Ranch from which she turns out a wonderful, Burgundian-style Pinot (in my book, a very good thing, indeed). Earthy intensity, lovely balance and bright cherry fruit are the hallmarks of the 2000 Abiouness Pinot, but there are only 280 cases. Normally, that would mean you can't get it, but if ilovenapa.com pays off, many of us might have a shot at scoring a bottle or two, along with some Farella-Park Cab and Vinoce Meritage.
This intriguing new Web site is only one way to discover an undiscovered boutique winery. A good wine merchant may not be able to do the nose-to-the-terroir sleuthing White has done, but I have found some great, relatively obscure bottles because I place my faith in a trusted retailer rather than following the lemmings after an impossible-to-attain and cost-prohibitive cult wine. There are not just boutique bargains out there - there are treasures to be found. All it takes is a bit of independent thinking - and drinking.
Senior Editor Lyn Farmer is also the restaurant critic for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel.