Barreling Down

A funny thing happens to all winemakers when they see their first wines go from fermentation bin into barrel.  I'm sure of it.  Seeing the product that you have cultivated from a simple cluster of berries - or, further back, a mere shoot on a vine in late winter - turn into a living piece of art, it is truly moving.  Perhaps like giving birth (although that is really more the feeling one gets when finally moving the wine from barrel to bottle); or perhaps jumping off the high dive for the first time.  The volatile period of primary fermentation is over.  Your baby now moves into the more permanent home for the remaining months of aging, malo-lactic fermentation, and into the period where the flavors of the wine embark on a roller-coaster of a ride, until (you hope) they culminate into a glorious symphony of flavor and texture that captures the essence of the year, the beauty of the fruit, and the personality of the winemaker.  That's the percice moment that you want to capture the wine and put it in it's bottle.  But, first, it has to find comfort in it's new home - the barrel.

Now, I could go on here about the various tonneliers that produce barrels from oak found in forests from France to Slovenia to Pennsylvania.  How each barrel has a distinct toasting level, and how winemakers regard the barrels as the "spice rack" of the cellar.  But suffice it to say, where you choose to make a home for your wine is very, very important.  When I barreled down my 2008 wines this year, I felt a very anxious void fill my stomach.  No longer able to be caressed with my hands (and punchdown tool) 2 or 3 times a day, it was all going to be consolidated in a few 60-gallon wood barriques.  Hidden away.  Aromas and flavors only exposed by the glass thief, stealing little sips out of the small round hole at the top of the barrel.  It was perhaps like sending your little 8 year old off to boarding school in the Alps - knowing that where little Timmy was headed was indeed going to make a very refined gentleman out of him, but aching to see him grow before your very eyes.  

Luckily, that little round porthole allows us to check in on a regular basis, just to make sure it's on the right path,  growing into a very prolific artistic expression of soil, vintage, and character.  So far, boarding school is treating the Abaluche 2008 vintage very well...

(For more pictures of the barreling down process, follow the link below.)

http://picasaweb.google.com/christinasports/AbalucheWineCompanyGoingToBarrel?feat=directlink

Poitevin-Saintongeais

Poitevin-Saintongeais is a post-medieval dialect originating in the South-Central region of France, an area bordered by the Bay of Biscay on the West, the Loire River to the North and the Gironde River of Bordeaux to the South.  The area is currently referred to as the Poitou region, divided into three departments:  Vendee to the West; Deux-Sevres in the center, and Vienne in the East.  

The area fell to the Visigoths in 418 AD, and to the Franks in 507 AD, and became a part of the French crown after the Hundred Years' War.  The Golden Age occurred in the 11th and 12th Century, which is characterized by the abundant Romanesque art and architecture found throughout the area.  The dialect was first used in print in 1554, in early accounts of French theatrical pieces and dramatic monolouges, and is considered one of the earlier Romantic languages.  In 1785, during the French and Indian war, many Arcadians, who were decendents of the Poitou region, migrated to Louisiana, and formed the Cajun culture.

Today, Poitou-Charentes is a diverse region featuring sundrenched seaside resorts, some located among the famous salt beds that produce the rare and exquisite Fleur de Sel; lovely marias, known as 'The Green Venice', winding throughout the farmhouses and country estates that dot the estuaries; unspoiled fishing villages, historic castles and world-famous architecture, and the famous Poitou donkeys.  Food and wines in the region focus around the fresh seafood gathered from the Bay of Biscay, and crisp, aromatic whites.  

The Poitevin dialect was the language of artists and scientists.  One such scientist, as well as a renown modern philosophist, is Rene Descartes.  Born in Indre-et-Loire, he studied at the University of Poitiers.  A chemistry term that has been used by Descartes is one that is part of the ancient Poitevin-Saintongeais dialect, which roughly translates as 'a suspended particle in a liquid'.  The word is 'abaluche'.   

Some families in France that have decendents from Poitou have used the word in casual slang, to mean either 'to propose a second glass of aperitif', or as a name for the cookies or nuts that accompanied an apertif.  

Whether in the context of science, food, or drink, it seems that 'abaluche' has the underlying definition of celebration.  When I think of a suspended particle in a liquid, I immediately think of a champagne bubble.  Proposing a second aperitif reminds me of the toasts I enjoy with friends and family.  And what good is wine or aperitif without a tasty little snack to highlight the flavors of the drink?

I hope to visit this very special region of France someday.  I have a feeling there will be a lot more connections with this beautiful place and Abaluche Wine Company.  And I hope that as I go forward in developing wine and building the Company, the principles and expressions of the various definitions of 'abaluche' are reflected.  In the meantime, raise a glass and toast to all of the blessings in our lives.  Abaluche!

Coryelle Fields Vineyard

So it seems that I have somehow gotten myself knee-deep in grapes this year.  By accident, of course.  It's just when something serendipitous comes your way, especially in such uncertain times, you just have to go with it.  And it's a very good feeling when you never look back, feeling that whatever it was that was so serendipitous to begin with was absolutely, without hesitation, the right thing to embrace.  And so this is how I found Coryelle Fields Vineyard, in the extreme northern appellation of the Sonoma Coast.  1235 feet in elevation, to be exact.

To get there, one must pass through the delightful hippie-ville of Guerneville, which runs alongside the bucolic Russian River (which from time to time one can spot nude frolickers along its shores).  Winding through the redwoods and through the strangely attractive vacation town of Monte Rio, you come to the turnoff for Cazadero.  Then, the journey begins...  An hour later, after enduring hairpin turns with precarious drop-offs into valleys strewn with rivers, rocks, and redwoods, one-lane gravel roads winding past hidden treehouses and ramshackle barns, then finally to the summit - eagles circling, scrubbed oaks sprinkling the landscape, the thick fog from the Pacific drifting down off the peaks into the crevices of the various ridges.  To say that this is a very special place is quite an understatement.  To plant a vineyard in this extreme location is not only daring, it is a true testament of the grower to the importance of place in the fruit that the vineyard is destined to produce.

As you can see, there was no way possible for me to pass up working with fruit from this fantastic place this year.  Working with Carolyn, the grower, out in the vineyards this past year allowed me to really feel how the vineyard takes all the elements - the elevation, the proximity to the Pacific, the diurnal shifts in the weather, to really give a defined character to the fruit produced.  The block that I worked with was planted to Syrah, a little over an acre, located on a south west-facing slope, and trained to Geneva Double-Cordon.  In it's seventh year of crop, it showed a little yield restraint this year, but the phenolics and the structure of the fruit looks like it is on its way to become truly beautiful wine. 

Now, it'll be a quite a few months until we all can taste how this crazy harvest (mark my words - its a vintage for the history books!) will be translated into the wines of Abaluche Wine Company. All I can tell you for certain is this - they come from a very special place.