Go ask Alice: Feiring reads at Lou on Vine
Alice Feiring, Los Angeles, Lou on Vine, Wine bars
We went to an sparsely attended intimate reading last night at our neighborhood wine bar, Lou on Vine, featuring hot-button wine writer Alice Feiring. We read her book about a month back, and, though we don’t always agree with what she says, in the book or elsewhere, we have great respect for both the author’s prose and her point of view. We won’t get into a review of the book here, and maybe we never will (there has certainly been enough back and forth about the tome without us throwing ourselves into the dialogue). Nor will we get into a review of Lou, which continues to grow on us (can’t get enough of the Pig Candy or Hook’s Cheddar) despite our disdain for their frustratingly compact stemware (bitching about it makes us feel a bit wine-snobby, but oh well).
Suffice it to say, Feiring takes a hard line approach to the current state of the wine world, while the approach at domaine547 is admittedly soft line, with a highly inclusive attitude to wine. Yes, we like leaner Loire Valley Cab Francs made with native yeasts. We like us some slightly oxidized Chenin Blanc and Burgundian Pinot Noir. But we also like bolder California wines, such as the Curran Black Oak Syrah, which we’re fairly certain would trigger Alice’s gag reflex (though we bet Alice would be intrigued by the Curran whites).
And in person, she’s a dynamo. Our first time meeting Alice in person was incredibly friendly. She’s warm, charming, articulate, and prickly. Yup, prickly. And we love us some prickly. A meek audience member told Alice that she thinks the homogenization of wine might have some benefits — since she likes the plonk she gets now a whole lot better than the plonk she used to find at grocery stores. And this comment was not met with any amount of sympathy.
Instead, Alice responded that there is no reason to drink plonk, period. She noted that it’s still very possible to find bargain wines from Europe (despite the plunging dollar) that show terroir, that have interesting flavor profiles and depth, rather than plonk dominated by tea-bagged oak chip vanillans and overripe fruit. There may have been a scoff and a scowl involved, but the scoff was charming, the scowl winning. We’re not sure the meek audience member felt the same way.
Personally, we’d have to say we agree with both Alice and her lone detractor. Cheap, mass-produced wine is more drinkable now (even Jonathan Gold seemed to think so), and maybe that’s the result of Robert Parker’s palate, or maybe it’s the result of inevitable technological advancements in food processing in general. But smaller, artisan wines (not always, but often natural) are also readily available and affordable, and from our perspective, there seems to be a growing number of wine consumers open to trying them. The question is accessibility — and, ultimately, it’s just as much (if not more) the responsibility of critics and wine sellers to highlight these wines as it is for the wine drinker to seek them out.
Despite the subtitle of her book, “How I Saved the World from Parkerization,” Feiring doesn’t have delusions of grandeur. But she does have a very specific point of view and she feels that it’s an underrepresented one, as far as the market is concerned. Her attitude is that it’s her duty to speak her mind, and we think this confidence in her own position is something we can all learn from.
Feiring’s hard line approach may be leaving her trapped in a corner. But it’s a corner we can peer into on occasion, without resting there permanently ourselves — mostly because she’s there on our behalf, fighting the good fight. And for that, we’re very grateful.
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get your wine on
2008 “Bebame” Red, El Dorado County, California
Cabernet Franc (65%) and Gamay (35%) from - gasp - California! And only 13% ABV, pretty modest by California standards. If I tasted this blind I would probably have said it’s from the Loire Valley. It has pretty much nothing in common with the full bodied iterations of Cab Franc coming out of Napa. Juicy, light, delicious quaffing wine.$18 a bottle
2006 Telegramme Chateauneuf-du-Pape Rouge
Really balanced and smooth, this is a bargain of a Chateauneuf. Yeah, the 07s are lauded but what would I prefer to drink? This! It’s the second label of Vieux Telegraphe, from the same property but from younger vines. And it’s a deal at $33 a bottle.2006 or bust!
NV Barcino Cava: LA Times Wine of the Week!
Delicious and just in time for New Year’s Eve…this is the LA Times Wine of the Week, and we have plenty in stock. Order online, pick-up in-store!$14 a bottle!
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The Business of Saying No:
No, I am not a natural wine merchant.
And no, I am also not not a natural wine merchant.
So what exactly is my store, Domaine LA? This is a tricky question that I try to answer here.
________
A couple of months back, I participated in the first annual Los Angeles Natural Wine Week, spearheaded by Lou Amdur of Lou Wine Bar. At that time, I took some heat from a few folks around the Internet who felt I might have been merely capitalizing on a trend and didn’t see me as a true natural wine merchant.
The thing is, I’ve never claimed to be a natural wine merchant. When I started my business online a few years ago, I stated plainly that I wanted to sell wines I loved. I was an enthusiast with a fairly receptive, wide-ranging palate, and I considered learning about wine a journey I would be going on alongside my customers. While I’ve since expanded my business to include a brick and mortar space, my self-conception and mission statement haven’t really changed. But my palate has.
To be absolutely blunt about it, I used to love wines that I simply can’t stomach anymore. There are blog posts archived on my website that in retrospect make me cringe, paragraphs singing the praises of some of the most blatantly manipulated wines in the world. I once criticized a wine bar for not having any Southern Hemisphere selections; it’s now my favorite spot in Los Angeles. And today I carry barely a dozen Southern Hemisphere SKUs myself.
By and large, my palate-shift is reflected in what I bring into the store. Chris Ringland and Mollydooker have been replaced by Eric Texier and Thierry Puzelat; the California fruit- and alcohol-bombs, for the most part, have given way to wines from La Clarine Farm, Donkey and Goat and LIOCO.
As a result of my largely obscure inventory, almost every day I’m faced with customers asking for items that I don’t stock. On a regular basis, I hear:
“Do you have Rombauer Chardonnay?”
No, I answer.
“Do you have Caymus?”
Afraid not, I reply.
“What about Blackstone Merlot?”
So sorry, but no.
“Where’s the Veuve Clicquot? This is a gift. I need the recipient to know it’s nice!”
Sigh.
Saying no to people sets up a potentially risky relationship that may start and end with that one exchange—many customers want what they want and aren’t open to alternative suggestions. In other cases, however, that simple “no” can be the beginning of something beautiful, a dialogue that winds up with a customer who came in looking for the Prisoner instead going home with something like Morgan Twain-Peterson’s Bedrock Heirloom Red, a wine which, while perhaps not 100% natural, is a more honest “made in the vineyard” (yes, I know this is also a cliché) version of what the Prisoner purports to be.
Of course, sometimes that customer really just wants the Prisoner. Which leads me to my major confession here: despite more than a bit of ambivalence, I continue to sell the Prisoner, along with other wines that are by no means natural, wines that are quite frankly manufactured. The Prisoner sits on the shelf right next to the Bedrock Heirloom Red, and for the time being, it will stay there. At least twice a week people come in asking specifically for this wine, and, for several reasons, it’s a request I’m not—yet—willing to deny.
Even though I no longer drink the Prisoner, there was a time–not too long ago–when I did so happily. When I first started getting interested in wine, it was a bottle that captured my imagination and helped launch me on the journey I remain committed to today. So maybe I keep the Prisoner around out of a sense of nostalgia. Or maybe I keep it around to remind me how far I’ve come. Maybe I keep it around hoping that for those who ask for it, it will simply be their starting place just as it was mine.
Or, more cynically, maybe I keep it around because people buy it. Maybe it’s a crutch to lean on when I’m too tired to hand-sell the less familiar items on my shelves. Seeing something recognizable is comforting to consumers, and that comfort somehow lends me credibility; credibility is a precedent to trust. Trust is what enables me to recommend something different to a customer who normally drinks the Prisoner.
In this sense, the Prisoner is of great value to me, not just as an easy sell, but even more so as a gateway to all the other wines I have available. I don’t know that I’d be able to move as much of the Bedrock, an unknown wine with a tiny case production, without the Prisoner right next to it.
______
Saying no is extremely hard. Right now, I’m willing to do so 90% of the time, maybe even 95%. Call me a coward or a fake if you want. But I know where I started out, and it’s been a logical evolution. And while I’m headed in a particular direction, guided by my palate, it’s safe to assume I won’t ever be a 100% “natural wine merchant.”
I like to think there’s room for somebody like me—somebody with confidence in her tastes, who also takes into account modes of production in buying decisions; someone who has a particular point of view, yet retains an inclusive attitude. I am strong in my opinions, and enthusiastic in my passions. I never judge my customers, and hope that they’ll be as open-minded and respectful of my offerings as I am of their preferences.
So far, it seems to be working out. In recent months, I’ve brought in only one case of the Prisoner (less than a thousandth of a percent of its total production) for every three cases of the Bedrock (1.3% of its total production).
So, what am I?
I’m not a natural wine merchant. And I’m not not a natural wine merchant.
I’m a work in progress. And I’m okay with that.
The Business of Saying No
Los Angeles Natural Wine Week: Taste California Terroir on 5/15/2010 at Heath Ceramics
Meet the Reps: Amy Atwood
wine jargon
Frizzante
From Wikipedia: Frizzante is an Italian wine term term for semi-sparkling wine (as opposed to Spumante, which is generally used for fully sparkling wines). Frizzante wines generally owe their bubbles to a partial secondary fermentation in tank. You might notice a light fizz or tingly sensation on the tongue with a Frizzante wine, compared to the more carbonated sensation that more fully sparkling wines yield.
Scorekage
Okay, so we made up this word yesterday after a great restaurant experience. We brought a bottle of wine with us, expecting to pay a corkage fee. But the restaurant either forgot to charge us the $15, or decided to be nice to us. We scored! Hence, “scorekage” has entered our lexicon. This can also refer to BYO friendly restaurants that don’t charge for corkage under any circumstances.
grapewise
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June 21st, 2008 at 6:08 am
Good for you for looking past her recent rants in the L.A. Times and giving her a shot. I’m not sure I could have done that.
June 23rd, 2008 at 1:48 pm
First off, let me say that I think you did a stellar job writing this post. Second, go with me for a second while I veer WAY off track recounting a story to eventually get to my point.
Last night, Ryan and I were watching the Tudors, a TV drama based in the Middle Ages. This particular episode revolved on the execution of anyone who wouldn’t accept, his divorce, and his now mistress as the current Queen of England. Sir Thomas Moore, a religious scholar and previous counselor to to the king, countered the King’s order and died a martyr, opposing this very rule.
Granted, I’m neither a huge fan of organized religion, nor of martyrdom, but I am big fan of sticking to your guns and standing up for what you believe in. When I finished the episode last night, I was struck with how angry I felt in how we tend to ostracize those who don’t have the same opinion as we do, no matter how extreme it may be.
Do I agree with Alice’s hard-lined approach to winemaking? No. But like you, Jill, I can agree with some of her views, and cast aside those that don’t coincide with my beliefs. Beyond all else, I think it’s important that we respect her, and give her credit for her ballsy approach to speak up against the tide.
June 23rd, 2008 at 1:49 pm
PS: By “his divorce” I meant that of King Henry
June 23rd, 2008 at 7:45 pm
Very interesting. I would have to agree (as you did) with both Alice and her audience-member critic. Certainly there are a number of affordable wines out there that are better than the mass market swill.
Unfortunately, as a PA resident, I can definitely attest to your statement that often availability is the biggest deciding factor in what is purchased.
June 24th, 2008 at 5:58 am
I too agree that Alice’s position has some validity to it. I like wines from more artisan producers, those injecting more character into their wines. There are better alternatives to much of the mass produced plonk out there. But, Alice does go too extreme in her views, which could simply be an over reaction intended to garner attention to her cause. Plus, I don’t share her views on biodynamic wines.
I also enjoy some wines that Alice detests. And I offer no apology for enjoying those wines. It is just my preference to enjoy wines of many styles.
June 29th, 2008 at 11:44 am
Jill, I think this post is so well written that it’s made me less mad at this woman. I still think she doesn’t really understand how much money it takes to make a decent bottle of wine (ala my ire regarding the idea that we should all “return to the land” and own our own vineyards vs. grape purchases). And BTW I like Robert Parker - I find I like his approach and consistency. I suppose Alice doesn’t do the Molly Dooker Shake?
July 4th, 2008 at 9:13 am
Wow. That’s the only balanced thing I’ve read yet about this book. Thanks for the perspective–particularly from the front lines of a bookstore reading. And kudos to the audience member for also sticking to their guns about the mass produced stuff. I think most of us who are into wine wish the average consumer would get off the mass brands and into the smaller value wines, but to do so takes not only availability (as Steve points out) but also an adventurous spirit and the financial latitude to get it wrong and not blow your entire wine budget on a wine you end up not liking. In these fiscally-stretched times, that may end up turning people back towards the big brands.