The Vinferno - Bonny Doon Vineyard

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Da Vino Commedia
by Al Dente Allegory
Part I: The Vinferno
I L L U S T R A T I O N S B Y A L E X G R O S S
© 2 0 0 5 B o n n y D o o n V i n e y a r d
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De Canto I
Midway through a bonny career that I had plied,
I found myself lost, not (of course) in a copse of new wood,
But rather, I awoke to grasp that I had put a great dream aside.
The vast portfolio of labels, brands, had once seemed all to the good,
As one might sire a score of loyal scions, sons,
Who would see to their old man in his doddering decrepitude.
A career of witty étiquettage, bonny mots and outrageous puns,
A true love of the biz that I could hardly feign,
Après tout, in sum, it had been a superlative run.
Yet I found myself at dusk midway up a great calcareous mountain,
When I was seized with angst to my deepest core,
And the most feverish visions invaded my brain.
I had never worried o’ermuch about critics’ indifferent scores,
Knowing the wines were well-made, albeit hardly grand cru,
But now wondered what might remain when I was bonny no more.
What had I accomplished in a life as brief as a turn of a screw?
A legion of vinous trysts –from alicante to zinfandel.
To a single cépage I could not remain true.
‘Tis true I have loved multitudinous grapes o’erwell,
Never stopping long enough to gain true mast’ry.
A bee here now, on every flower though not long to dwell.
Perhaps I had squandered my vinous qi
To produce joyful, if obvious wines of exuberant fruit.
(The Rhône cépages have been berry, berry good to me.)
But this would still leave the question moot.
What had impelled me this terraced mountain vineyard to climb
And a largely predictable existence to uproot?
Did I mention that the sous-sol possessed 40% free lime?
And a bonny climat conducing to pinot,
Cépage of my dreams, the Burgundian paradigm.
Do I stay (resting on my laureiros) or do I go?
I could not another step betake for all my fears,
When I at once beheld a most blood-curdling tableau.
A Giant Southern Leopard known to be fierce,
Stood right before me and gave out a fearsome snarl
More disquieting than a sudden outbreak of la maladie de Pierce.

But with this daunting giant I had no real quarrel.
I stood in awe of its all-devouring appetite
As I stepped o’er ancient gobelet vines, wizened, gnarled.
Lucky I was that it did not wish to take a pre-emptive bite,
But retired to lick its own private parts
As I stood shivering in the falling light.
But this was not the end of further shocking starts.
As I next beheld a great Yellow Tailed Lion,
Loathèd for its ubiquity and noxious, mephitic farts.
I pressed ever upward on that steep incline,
Stumbling as I strode and prepared to flee
The most dangerous beast in the great commedia of wine.
Yet no one was laughing, least of all me,
For I had been nipped once before by this vulpine damozel
And knew how lethal its piercing wound might be.
The Spectacular She-wolf had an uncanny sense of smell.
Detection of a tragic flaw for one so prodigiously snouted,
Rated nada and a swift bite sent her victim straight to Hell.
I feared lest I found myself odiferously outed,
But these swirling thoughts were soon set aside.
“Who goes?” my own unrecognizable voice seemed to have shouted.
De Canto II
A tall and shadowy figure I had but just espied.
“Ne vous inquietez pas,” I heard him say.
“N’ayez pas peur,” (switching to English), “I will be your guide.”
“But who are you?” I asked with some dismay.
“You knew me as the legendary cellar master of DRC.
The name, monsieur, is (the late) M. André Noblet.”
‘Tis true I had had my share of spirits, but it is often a matter of degree
Whether one can trust one’s own credulous eyes
Or behold, say, an eau-de-vie de poire 1 -impaired fantasie.
“I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy,” I began to sycophantize.
“Tais-toi! My time here is short and I don’t suffer fools.
I have been sent by Herself, a name you will certainly recognize.”
“If you can’t suffer fools, who am I then to suffer ghouls?”
“Silence!” he thundered. “I come from Herself, Mme. Lalou,
Who bade me protect your unworthy self. Putain, she is cruel.
1 Pear brandy is known to be among the highest in methanol among the various eaux-de-vie. Curiously, in the U.S., there is a
maximum permissible level of methanol to be found in poire, whereas in France, there is a minimum permissible level.

“Lalou is your angel from the celestial milieu.
She spins the stars so you might come to no harm,
A tall order to perform for a thick-headed crétin like you.
“She charged me to insure that you not (as it were) ‘buy the farm,’
That you succumb not to overpowering fright
When I lead you to harrowing vinsights apt to cause great alarm.”
Fearful I was but did not wish to appear impolite,
As Noblet grabbed my arm and bade me to follow.
This was not le moment juste to light out in flight.
While his cockamamie tale was difficult to swallow,
I knew I’d never again have this remarkable chance.
My half-hearted protests remained essentially hollow.
“Cher maître, I ask you to please not look askance,
But I must learn your cellar secrets, oh tell me please,
What secret barrel additions an aroma to enhance? 2
“Perhaps a discreet tisane of framboise or a soupçon of crème de cassis?”
“Imbécile, you have learned nothing, évidemment.”
“Macération à froid? Anything? I’m doon on my knees.”
“To teach you more maquillage 3 was not why I was sent,
Tricks you know all too well but fathom not their consequence.
You’ll soon behold a vision of winemaking hell and tearfully repent.”
I found it hard to divine his sense.
Was it not the role of a winemaker, or to be fancy, vigneron,
To please his consumer for all purposes and intents?
“You shall hear the anguished cries and moans
From those who sought to make wines très flatteurs,
Producers of all ilk: burgs and clarets, Rhônes….
“For them the highest point score was all that mattered.
What availeth a score of ninety-five
When one loseth one’s soil 4 and a sense of place is shattered?”
I had been on the leeside 5 of 90 for some time, although connived
To wear my bottom o’ the barrel status as a small badge of pride.
(Though I secretly craved approbation if only just to stay alive.)
But Noblet had seen right through me; there was no place to hide.
He had judged well and found me wanting.
All I might do now was to follow on by his side.
Deep in my bones was a feeling that was haunting.
“Where then are you taking me, cher maître?”
“You wish to master pinot, to ascend the steepest mountain?
2 At the beginning of the narrative, our narrator had appeared to have sickened (almost unto death) of his own facile, wine
making tricks employed to produce “flatteur,” fruit-forward wines, but at this juncture he seems to have atavistically regressed
to his earlier predisposition of wanting to please his customers at whatever cost to his immortal wine soul.
3 Literally, “make-up,” the cosmetic tricks, viz. the utilization of new oak, that a winemaker might employ to make his wine
present better upon release, but often with the consequence of the obscuration of terroir.
4 It is ambiguous as to whether the great caviste is here referring to a literal loss of top-soil, owing to poor viticultural practice or to
inexpressiveness of terroir, due to excessive monkeying around with the wine.
5 The poet is truly a master punster, if not unregenerate show-off. In most cases, lees may well be more.

The way up is the way doon, 6 peut-être.”
These words had a rather harrowing effect.
I steeled myself for great pain, torture, anguish, et cetera.
Suddenly a cavernous sinkhole appeared– what more to expect?
I was overcome with all-encompassing dread.
I trembled greatly but still bethought some humor to inject.
“I can’t stand the sight of blood, spiders, snakes,
demons or over-oaked chard,” I pled.
Noblet: “Your very soul and sol are at stake!”
I stumbled as we walked and doon and doon he led.
De Canto III
I don’t know how long I had been awake
When I bestirred myself to inhale a noxious reek.
My body and brain wracked with a thousand aches.
I could not think nor act nor speak,
Yet my olfactories still worked well, to my distress,
I was overcome by the wretched smell of garlic, leeks.
On top of that I got a nose of rotten eggs, but I digress.
Unbearable were the pungent fumes–
The whole place just reeked of mercaptans and H 2 S!
A wide and tall door before us loomed–
I beheld and grasped the matter with perfect lucidity.
We stood before a warehouse of souls (not so bonnily) doomed.
through me the way to volatile acidity;
through me the way to premature oxidation;
through me the way to corporate cupidity.
through me vinonymity and unnatural concentration.
me did judge a wine overtly fruity or austere;
the gift of minerality did my maker 7 confer for
sublime gustatation.
before i was were no fermented things (including beer),
save the secret potential of terroir, and terroir abides.
abandon all oak, ye who enter here.
These words of a dim, rust color I espied
Written above a lintel of the great portal.
Whereat: “Maître, their sense is hard,” I cried.
“No more than the tannins of a vin de garde,” he chortled.
His sense of levity seemed a bit misplaced.
“First, you’ll meet a mob and then later the true wine immortals.”
6 Noblet’s classical view harkens back to the formulation of Heraclitus.
7 The poet can only mean Dionysos.

Noblet pushed hard upon the great creaky door we faced.
The door opened with much rasping and grating.
We plunged through the entry and soon were in medias res.
Was I not myself in store for the ultimate, definitive Rating?
“Fear not,” said Noblet, “your job is merely learning and observing,
Neither to judge or be judged, the noblest form of spectating.”
The air was filled with a cacophony I found most unnerving.
There was endless gnashing of teeth, retching and hawking.
To the unruly horde, great bottles of Red Bicyclette a waiter was serving.
I could not seem to resist staring, in fact, gawking,
Tens of thousands of diverse vintners chattering;
Burgundians, Bordelais, Tuscans, Languedociens.
I’m sure that I overlooked many and beheld just a smattering.
“Maître, what exactly is this caitiff rabble?”
I could not abide their endless kvetching and nattering.
“Pay no attention to their pointless babble.
These are vignerons who have literally not at all rated.
They are the vinous second string; dilettantes, dabblers.
“Vintners who were by their own election fated
To produce wines neither so great nor so wretched,
Provoking nothing but yawns, neither well loved nor well hated.
“Wines of such little consequence, diluted, stretchèd,
Leaving the world neither better nor worse,
Evanescent on the palate, a vingram unetchèd.
“But let us no more of these matters converse,
And leave these poor whining winers to their eternal woe,
Their own insipid mediocrity forever to curse.
“I have far greater and more awful things you to show.
This is but the Vinferno’s entrée, its vintichamber;
The real action (read pain) still awaits us below.
“What you have seen so far are sights far tamer
Than anything else you might henceforth observe.
Prepare yourself to soon behold wine’s quite literal flamers.”
The preceding tableau was but a visual hors d’oeuvre,
As we moved quickly through the great hall,
Knowing there were further horrific sights waiting in reserve.
I was relieved to have quit the vinous free-for-all,
Reminiscent it was of a ZAP tasting
And other orgiastic bacchanalia I could recall.

My mind could not but help its ideative racing
As Noblet propelled me along, in tow,
Upon the ephemeral praise I’d myself been ever chasing.
“It lasts but a moment, fame’s seductive afterglow.”
Noblet, obliquely seemed to read my thoughts.
“What you seek, only you to yourself can bestow.
“The fortune of all wine-men must needs come to aught
Like a prized bottle of a rare millésime,
Languishing o’er-long in cellar to ignobly rot.
“It is the rare epiphanous moment that we must glean,
When we somehow become more than mere vignerons
And instead become the content of Great Terroir’s inspired dream.
“But let’s no more these pétillant sophistries intone.
You are here to observe and to witness
Who has been up to Weingut and who’s been b-b-bad to the Beaune.”
His casual comments had a way of scaring me witless
And I despaired of ever finding solid earth, much less true terroir.
I was damned (if you doon) by a system, vinfernally pitiless.
De Canto IV
We walked and walked a distance rather far
Through a bleak and sepia blandscape.
There was naught but scorched earth, seemingly done to a heavy char.
With no horizon in sight, neither land to lub nor sky to scrape,
All forward progress was nearly arrested,
Until we suddenly espied a rather mysterious, inchoate shape.
Tree-stump or man, perhaps? Well-muscled, barrel-chested,
One could not discern with visibility so scanty.
In the miasmic fog one’s vision was sorely tested.
From the man-barrel-shape, we heard a sort of ariose shanty,
“Row, row, row your Boutes, 8 ….”
He sang simply, a capella, in a lilt that was rather jaunty.
Drawing closer, we observed a superannuated coot.
Grizzled in countenance and grimaced of mien,
His presence was rather quite alarming, in perfect truth.
Noblet: “It is Char-on, 9 the ferry-man, who shuttles souls between
Two discreet realms and minds the gap
‘Twixt Vinferno’s vestibule and the deeper Underworldly demesnes.
8 Boutes Cie. is a well-known Bordelais cooperage.
9 Mr. Chips Goes to Hell

“Alas, it is he we must entreat for passage, this disagreeable chap,
To ferry us across the treacherous Vacheron River.
In our arrival we remain lost, but at least without gross mishap.”
Char-on’s craft, a leaky raft, was indeed a superannuated flivver,
No question that he had us, as it were, over a barrel.
Still worse, he seemed to regard us as égale to chopped liver.
Suddenly, a cold wind came up and chilled me to the marrow.
Noblet pled, “Might you ferry us across? We’d be forever in your debt.
My colleague is feeling skittish and rather easily harrowed.”
“No can do, chief. No way, no dice, nix, negatory, not on a bet.”
In his commentary I detected a certain recurring motif.
Char-on clarified, “Skittish he may be, but he ain’t dead yet.
“My orders are very clear and brief.
I am charged with ferrying the very souls,” he said,
“Of zinners, palate killers, merlot mongers and wine thieves.
“As far as criteria for passage, let some light be shed.
The poor sods must have zinned in some wise against the grape
And they must be 100% dead!” 10
Noblet argued with him anent Vinfernal red-tape
And the massive bureaucracy of the nether realms.
Char-on relented, but like an o’erworked stave, remained bent out of shape.
We crossed in his ferry with Char-on at the helm.
“Wish us luck,” I said and saw him grimace, almost.
My plea for beneficence had clearly underwhelmed.
As we debarked I heard him clearly riposte,
And not without some unmistakable professional pride:
His final words to us: “You are so toast!”
De Canto V
We found ourselves landed on the Other Side.
An oddly familiar place it turned out to be.
So strange to be quick among the scores of the unscored who had died.
The very air was filled with haunting shades of gris
Eminences, legendary presences from another time.
“Cher maître, enlighten me please to the nature of these esprits.”
Noblet: “These are the great immortals of the vine,
Les vrais maîtres, the great Legends of yesteryear.
We sip (metaphorically) of their life-blood in every glass of wine.”
10 In some instances it is reported that Char-on insists on his passengers being 200% dead.

“If they truly noble Greats are, how came they here
And not to a finer, more exalted place?
Noble lives they led only to now reside in eternal drear.”
“The Great Ones enjoy a modicum of grace,
But barred from further ascent, expecting no more,
They abide here, grateful not to have ended up a burned-out case.
“This is Wine Limbo, where reside the brilliant vignerons of lore,
Masters who came B.S. (Before Spectation)
And were never awarded a numerical score.
“Thus, never qualifying for vinous salvation,
They gather around de Limbo Bar (how low can you go?)
And discuss the state of de vine on Earth with great consternation.” 11
I caught a glimpse of Dr. Jules Guyot, 12
Himself pruned back to a mere stump of the powerful man he was,
Conversing with Ronald Barton with significant brio.
There was a rather powerful buzz that came across
In conversation between two great Bourguignons,
René Engel and Dr. Barolet, anent the latter’s “secret sauce.”
There were the Greats from the Côtes du Rhône–
Rayas’ Louis Reynaud and Jacques Perrin from Beaucastel,
Debating whose Estate was finer, who really had the Stones.
“The wine business has really gone straight to Hell,”
This opinion voiced by M. Raoul Blondet. 13
“There is no more finesse, it is all late-harvest zinfandel.”
“If we could only have gotten then the prices we see today.
Today’s consumers are fools to pay what they do!”
A sentiment shared by Chafee Hall 14 and Madame Ferret. 15
“A hundred dollars a bottle for an unknown cru?
No track record, no terroir?” pondered Count Haraszthy.
“It’s given a high score and consumers don’t say boo.
“I’d say the practice is downright ghastly.”
“Calma, Count,” counseled the Veuve, Mme. Clicquot.
“You are, perhaps, over-reacting vastly.”
I had so many questions to pose to her and to my other heroes
Viz. “What were the pre-phylloxera wines really like in their prime?
Were they really so special, imbued with much greater mojo?”
The widow: “I didn’t really appreciate them so well at the time,
But let me give you a lesson, young man, and mark well:
While ‘tis true les grands crus d’antan were truly sublime,
11 They are particularly agitated about such high-tech “solutions” as reverse osmosis.
12 The most widely used vine training system, “le systeme Guyot” or “cane-pruning” as we know it, bears his name.
13 Legendary maître de chais at Mouton-Rothschild.
14 Proprietor of Hallcrest Vineyard in the ‘50s and producer of extraordinarily elegant wines.
15 Certainly the greatest producer in the appellation of Pouilly-Fuissé.

“I’d rather drive a Red Truck on Earth than drink 1865 Lafite in Hell.”
Chimed in Dr. Chaptal, “Being dead is really quite a bugger,
But, let’s not on these grave matters dwell.
“Veuve, be a doll and give your daddy-doctor some sugar.”
The very thought of a coupling of two decrepit necrophiles…
Yet I tried hard to remain a non-judgmental onlooker.
They were both consenting (if dead) seniors acting juvenile.
“Live and let live,” ironically proposed Jacob Schram.
“We’re all a little hot and bothered down here,” he ventured with a smile.
Schram continued, “In fact, I would not myself have any qualms
Nor fear appearing to be the least bit kooky,
In proposing the following to my friend, Gustave Niebaum:
“Why don’t we essay to score a little Inglenookie?”
I was heartened to know that wine’s great pros
Despite their reduced circs still hoped to quote, unquote “get lucky.”
Noblet gestured to me that it was soon time to go.
But I could not leave without seeing to it
That I bid one last adieu to M. Emile Peynaud.
And leave best wishes for the brilliant Lee Stewart. 16
It was raining pennies 17 from Heaven (or Hell) perhaps,
When I was saluted by the great Max Schubert.
And before I left I had to inquire, “What were the haps?”
In greeting Baron Philippe Rothschild,
Dr. Thanisch, J.J. Prüm, and several other noteworthy chaps.
“These men led a life in wine rather than had a wine ‘life-style.’
You may call them vinachronisms, hopelessly démodé.
They were (Baron R. excepted) humble, modest, low-profile.
“Unlike the enormous swollen heads one observes today
Before the cult of ‘wine personality’ and the practice of wine ‘branding.’”
My guide was rather insistent this particular point to convey.
“Lest there be no gross misunderstanding,
The Great Ones remain classiques even in death,
The fact they were unrated notwithstanding.”
A squat, beetle-browed figure, puffing mightily, out of breath,
In a cloud of billowy smoke he hovered, eyes ablaze.
It could have only been the legendary Tchelistcheff.
It was well before the popular film, “Sideways”
That André made California’s greatest pinot noir. 18
We bid farewell and strode onward into the gathering haze.
(to be continued)
16 Greatly beloved founder and winemaker of Chateau Souverain during the ‘40s and ‘50s.
17 Penfold’s Wine Pty Limited, (now subsumed by the corporate giant, Southcorp Inc.), the company for whom Max Schubert
invented “Grange Hermitage,” was sometimes referred to as Pennies, by its many growers in South Australia, typically in the
context of, “So d’ya reckon that Pennies will pay anything for shee-raz grapes this yee-ah?”
18 Beaulieu Vineyard’s legendary 1946 Napa Pinot Noir, the elegant likes of which have not been tasted again.

The Wines
(Tasting Notes by John Locke)
2004 Big House Pink
In a time when “red state” and “blue state” have divisively entered
the popular vernacular, it is heartening to observe that every corner
of the U.S. of A. has the potential to flourish in a rather lurid,
psychedelically hued “pink state.” In this vintage, we again congregate
a blend of primarily Italian varieties–the oft neglected Sardinians
represented herein by carignano–along with a dash of zinfandel and
charbono, which if not strictly speaking Italian, at least should be.
Unlike the more cerebral Vin Gris de Cigare, in Big House Pink the
front and center fruity notes dominate most of the organoleptic real
estate. This pink is flush, as it were, with strawberry guava and hibiscus
notes. And those who fondly remember Jolly Rancher watermelon
candies will experience a Proustian flash of recognition.
2004 Vin Gris de Cigare
The 2004 Vin Gris is not the pudgy, alcoholic endomorph one
might expect from such a hot and early year. In fact, the acidity is a
bit more evident compared to the previous vintage, perhaps because
the wine is once again bone dry (unlike the ever so slightly confected
2003). This vintage is indeed one of the more classically styled
editions of Vin Gris to date. All the signifiers we have come to
associate with classic Provençal style rosé are there–a definite suggestion
of aromatic herbs, citrus rind and rosehips along with a very pleasing,
mild astringency on the back palate. This makes for a delicious
apéritif, and allows the wine to pair much more elegantly with a wide
variety of foods. Here, one might imagine poached salmon, assorted
birds or, if one fancies oneself a true Provençal, a bowl of bouillabaisse
or a generous portion of ratatouille.
2003 Big House White
We continue to note that the paucity of distinctive, delicious,
inexpensive white wine produced in these here parts has directly
manifested itself in the wild success of Big House White. Even if
the label leads one to believe we throw anything and everything at the
wine, there is a conscious mind at work behind its slightly formulaic
conjuring, which imagines something like 2 parts crisp herbal sauvignon/
colombard/chenin blanc, 3 parts rich fruitful pinot grigio/pinot blanc/viognier,
and 1 part aromatic riesling/malvasia/muscat. Crisp and fragrant with

notes of Asian pear, grapefruit and wild mountain honey, the wine,
despite its melting pot constituent parts, reminds us of nothing so
much as the Friulian blends which are its soulful inspiration.
2004 Ca’ del Solo Malvasia Bianca
It is so hard to pigeonhole teenagers these days. One instant they
are cuddly and adorable and the next, they have discovered Gandhi
or macrobiotics or something and are imposing upon themselves
the most rigid, albeit admirable, austerities. Just when you think
they might become responsible adults, they again metamorphose
into lush softies. In the long, hot summer of her 15th year, as the
horse latitudes extended into Monterey County, little Malvasia has
acquired something of a plush, langorous quality herself (courtesy of
a slightly higher alcoholic degree and a touch less acidity than typical
for this wine). This malvasia is made in a style well suited to exotically
aromatized foods such as Moroccan, Lebanese, Greek or Indian
cuisine. If structurally the wine is a departure, the familiar flavor
signifiers are all there to remind one of the changeling in one’s
glass: pink grapefruit, litchi and pear along with the vaguest, reposeinducing
suggestion of candied ginger.
NV (Actually 2004) Pacific Rim Riesling
The unbearable lightness of riesling! Riesling is the true chameleon
grape with moods and aspects as changeable as the weather or the
character of the archetypical eternal feminine. We have never
pretended otherwise that it was not the presence of approximately 24%
in the total blend of the brilliant, crisp, racy, floral Moselwein from
our friend, Johannes Selbach, that really made this wine sing, as it
sings again for us in 2004. We did more work this vintage holding
the wine on its lees and circulating it (in the absence of SO2), to
develop a creamier texture and perhaps a greater suggestion of
minerality (in virtue of the yeast autolysis). The ’04 Pac Rim definitely
seems to manifest a more structured, earthier, sturdier aspect relative
to previous vintages–almost more suggestive of Austrian riesling than
examples from other parts of Teutonia. Riesling enlivens, vivifies
and brightens our world. Still the perfect accompaniment to Asian
cuisine, fusion cuisine, Angst or Weltmüdigkeit.
2004 Pacific Rim Chenin Blanc (Note courtesy of R. Grahm)
loiriverrun past yves st. pierre (the shellfishgene) and adamantine
mini-rows, from swerve of spicy swirly veuffaffray all spiceapplecloven
sinnamese liberation to bend of bonnyzoo, brings us by a
clerksbourgeois savanillicus back to Sunburnknobby casteel. If
younewsushilikei. Chenin, again! Began again! Slake. Botrytisthee
marsannemanme! Till souseendsthee. MLs. The keys to. Swallowed!
Oyvay arhone a lapse a loved a long the

2004 Le Cigare Blanc
From what far-flung, telic appellation might be dispatched a white
cigar? Le Cigare Blanc is the white analogue of Le Cigare Volant,
our homage to the complex blended wines of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.
This iteration is dominated– strictly in the proportional sense–by
roussanne, to the tune of 72.4% of the overall blend which seems to
contribute a real sense of minerality to the wine. We have supplemented
the roussanne with a significant fraction of grenache blanc, which adds
tannic structure and an unmistakable peachiness, and a homeopathic
dose of marsanne for the je ne sais quoi. The wine is intensely suggestive of
white peach, honeydew, lime blossom, lilac and the stony goût des minéraux,
contributed by an exceedingly far-off hillside. Resistance is futile.
2004 Clos de Gilroy (Grenache)
While it is true that we have historically enjoyed the elegant grenaches
that have emerged from cooler vintages in California, we are not
utterly unhappy with the results of the ’04 vintage, which everybonny
knows was quite a scorcher. The ’04 has a much more defined tannic
structure than Gilroys d’antan, resembling a rather powerful Côtes du
Rhône, as much as anything else. The wine is peppery as all get-out
with a bright core of red fruit, grenache’s raisin d’être. We bottled this
wine perhaps too early, in a somewhat misguided attempt to beat
the Beaujolais boys at their own game. (So, where’s DuBoeuf?) In
retrospect, the wine was perhaps too powerful to really show as well
as it might upon its early release, but of this writing, it is just glorious
–an explosion of fruit and a long, lingering finish.
2003 Big House Red
What remains to be said for the wine that inspired a thousand red
trucks, antlered mammals and any number of other counterfeit
œnvil-doers? This year’s model is built around substantial tranches
of syrah, petite sirah and carignane, so despite the Italian conceit on the
label, there is more than a faint echo of the Languedoc to be found.
The ’03 reprises all of the subtle and not-so-subtle charms which
have distinguished this wine from the beginning: a potent blast
of raspberry and licorice; a wide variety of subtle, satellite notes
courtesy of grenache, barbera, malbec, usw., a soft, plush midsection that
would have been contained in early days by plaid sans-a-belts; a surprising
long and complex finish; and of course, the stylish Stelvin screwcaps
(which, two years on chez Doon, have acquitted themselves admirably).
2003 Syrah “Le Pousseur”
There is something very charming in the notion of “Le Pousseur,”
part herbalist, alchemist, snake oil salesperson and loveable though
treacherous scam artist, who, paradoxically, unaccountably, is
hawking the genuine article. This is the man to see, withal in a very
sketchy back alley, if you want to score some very good schist. And

while we have cried “wolf” or “bacon-fat” perhaps one time too
often, we are, nevertheless, compelled to report that this time we
have utterly, utterly rendered a pure and authentic syrah, that reeks
of typicity. 19 White pepper, bacon fat, violets, anise and licorice are
all signifiers of the Real McCoy and all are present in the 2003
in somewhat staggering profusion. A significant dollop of wine
from partial whole cluster fermentations has also contributed a very
interesting wintergreen and white pepper note. The vast majority of
this blend has been contributed by three vineyards in Santa Barbara
and San Luis Obispo counties. Steppenwolf be damned, let us praise
the Pusher Man.
2003 Ca’ del Solo Sangiovese “Il Fiasco”
The 2003 sangiovese surprised us this year with its power, grace and
non-trivial surmaturité. Rather than a powder blue vintage Vespa puttputting
down a sunny, cobblestoned lane, the ’03 is a blood-red
Ducati roaring into the Florentine night. The grapes were perhaps
a bit riper than they were in ’02 with a little more dehydration. We
reasoned (or raisined) that we would get a bit more alcohol this year
and perhaps some more developed fruit aromas, but nothing quite
prepared us for the inky, sanguinous intensity that started exuding
into our tasting glasses three days into fermentation. In the past it
has been our wont to supplement sangiovese with syrah or freisa rendering
it darker, richer and spicier. In earlier days, we may have considered
a “technological solution,” to the seemingly elevated alcohol. Maybe
it is age/wisdom, but in this vintage, we have more or less just decided
to let it be, in all of its idiosyncratic glory. It does not quite conform
to the house “style” per se –too big, too brooding, too much la bomba di
fruta, but it is what it is and a bloody good bottle at that.
2003 Cardinal Zin “Beastly Old Vines”
We have been working for years to imbue some gravitas to zinfandel,
a grape variety that is the original party hearty bimbette cépage. 20
We have found that ageing in larger format cooperage equipped
with “lees hotels,” 21 a largely reductive system of élevage, seems to
help us preserve the wine’s essential fruitiness while injecting it with
greater savoriness. The good Cardinal shows a deep ruby color and
a slightly smoky nose from the first hit, owing to the very discreet
oak treatment, one presumes. This is followed hard on by lots of red
fruit –chiefly brambleberry, mulberry and some very engaging hints
of mint and chocolate. The mouth reprises the nose, but there is
real depth there and a real quality of minerality that gives the wine
a sort of moral center. It is my presumption that this quality derives
primarily from the very profound root system of these exceptionally
hoary vines. 22 Very soft mouthfeel, medium acidity and a refreshing,
clean finish.
19 M�
this wine does indeed contain multitudes and limns the Platonic ideal of syrah.
20 Zinfandel, blowsy, drowsy, often lacking in acuity and concentration (but never in alcohol), the veritable Chico State of
grapes, just wants to have fun.
21 Pe�
but they don’t check out.”
22 I believe that in fact a lot of the minerality of the wine can likewise be traced back to the non-trivial percentage of very, very, old
vine carignane in the blend. Carignane, as ugly a vinous duckling as can be imagined and a certifiable bête noir of Jancis Robinson,
is incontrovertibly rustic flying al solo but as a component of a blend it puts starch in the wine’s collar, lead in the vinous pencil.

2002 Le Cigare Volant
While the ’02 may be a larger, beefier number than some vintages
I could name, it is hardly a juiced-up, mesomorphic golem conjured
up in the top-secret “Oys Only” section of the cellar. The high
percentages of mourvèdre and syrah endow the wine with an evocative
smoky, meaty, peppery core on which to rest its somewhat rotund
boo-tay. It may be too much to ask a wine knit together with grapes
from numerous different vineyards to express terroir, but there is also
an undeniable stony nose that contributes a meta-dimension of
flavor. Fear not however, fruit lovers of America, the widely divergent
spectrum of flavors is still topped off by licorice, black cherry, and
an electric bolt of black currant.
2002 Old Telegram (Mourvèdre)
For the first time, we have produced this wine in three consecutive
vintages so we are on somewhat of a hot streak Telegram-wise. A hot
streak is normally an important factor in producing ripe mourvèdre,
for it buds out and ripens much later than virtually all other grape
varieties. In the utterly vinfernal demesnes of Contra Costa County,
bringing in ripe grapes is not so great a trial. When mourvèdre is at its
acme – as it approaches here– it shows a rare combination of fruit
liqueur, viz. kirsch, smoked meat, saddle leather, great depth of flavor
and the undeniable suggestion of forest floor –and exercising in
speaking truffe to power, as it were. This vintage has all the hallmarks
of a keeper—a wine for the long haul, and a telegramatic transmission
into the distant future.
2004 Viognier (Doux)
Viognier Doux is an inside look into the true life of a vin de paille,
made from grapes dried on raisin trays placed under the vine rows
immediately after picking. It is a wonder what a few weeks of leisurely
reclining en pleine aire under the Paso Robles sun will do for a tired
winemaker or her grapes. Despite the loss of moisture and consequent
rugosification, the juice is paradoxically innervated, enlivened, and
made far more aromatically complex, possessing an added dimension
of crème brulée, coconut and autumnal spice to accompany the peach,
apricot and white plum character observed in previous vintages. The
good Burghers of Alsace or the Gascons among us might insist that foie
gras is the sinful qua non of food pairings, though in more aviophilic
environs, a plum tart or poached pear will provide ample opportunity
for dulcet satori.
NV Framboise, Infusion of Raspberry
Still the essence of raspberry, our Framboise derives its mystical
charisma from three highly aromatic varieties of raspberry cultivated
in northwest Washington state–namely the Meeker, the Tulameen
and the mythical Morrison 23 –an exceptionally flavorful variety
23 It has been a while since Randall has recounted this story and it does bear retelling, at least as a Doonian footnote: “It was
perhaps 10 or 12 years ago that I spent one of the finest days of my life tasting hundreds of different raspberries being cultivated
as field trials at a raspberry breeding station in Puyallup, WA. The wild raspberries were of course the best, but they were far
too small to consider for commercial cultivation. There was one selection, however that had virtually the size of a commercial
raspberry but seemed to have the unmistakable flavor profile of the wild berry. Our grower, Mike Youngquist, was amenable
to cultivating the berry, if on a small scale. It only remained for Patrick, the raspberry breeder to come up with a name for this
new berry. ‘The State of Washington wants me to come up with names for all of the new berries,’ he complained. ‘I’m just a
farmer and I’m not so good at coming up with names.’ ‘Don’t worry, Patrick,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll think of something.’ I proposed
to him that he name all of the new raspberries after dead rock stars and voilà, the (dead) Morrison variety was born.”

selected by us at a raspberry research station in Puyallup, WA. We
imagined that we were approaching the theoretical limits on the
raspberriocity potentiometer, however the Morrison provides an
extra quantum of flavor heretofore unknown to fans of this exceptional
dessert wine. Perfect for kirs, kir royals, and spritzers.
NV Bouteille Call (Port of Syrah Framboisé)
What is the wine like? For one thing, it is not a wine so much as a
call to action, an entreaty, an appeal to reacquaint oneself with the
pleasures of the sensual world. It also happens to be an unguent/
boisson that must be slathered about or accompany the most tasty and
tender chocolate-covered bits one can, well, tender. On a more
qualitative plane, the wine is almost unnaturally rich and viscous.
When the wine is poured, the aromas of raspberry, cassis and licorice
fairly billow out of the glass in an almost cartoony Barbara Eden-like
fashion. Though the wine has considerable tannin, that feature is
largely buried under the richness and extract and yumminess. This
iteration of Bouteille is slightly less sweet than the previous version,
but no less luscious. “Decadent” is an adjective that is grossly overused
within the academy of wine writers, but one can easily imagine Hef
in the grotto, washing down his little blue friend with a glass or three
of BC in anticipation of innumerable momentos de verdad.
2004 Muscat Vin de Glacière
Gather ‘round boys and girls, the ice(box) capades have returned
to a Butler building near you. After a brief flirtation with some of
the more Faustian, seditious winemaking legerdemain (no need to name
names 24 ) one is likely to encounter this side of Antipodea, we returned
in ’03 and ’04 to a process we had employed for many years, whereby
grapes are picked at “normal” 25 sugar levels, frozen to roughly 10 o F
and subsequently pressed while frozen. This manner of cryomancy is
a very elegant way of producing something approximating Eiswein in a
region not known for precocious frigidity. It allows us to make a very
particolare style of wine which has many of the hallmarks of a late
harvest, while retaining the freshness and vibrancy of a dry wine.
This year’s model: beauteous notes of apricot, elderflower and
rampant pineapplicability that send shivers down our spines.
Euro-Doon
2003 Syrah “Domaine des Blagueurs”
Perhaps the greatest Blagueurs to date and, if we may claim immodestly,
unquestionably the steal of the century. While we remain great lovers
of the wines of southern France –their earthiness, which is their
moral center, 26 their balance, their sense of proportion all draw
us in, whereas the brazen fruit bombosity of New World efforts,
far too much rouge, 27 liner and lipstick is a definite turn-off –there
24 We did some experiments with freezing must (cryo-extraction) as well as with the vignominious process of reverse osmosis.
25 It is hard to know precisely what that word signifies chez Doon.
26 Ma�
it leaner, tighter and more compact, thus helping to avoid the oft- observed toroidal properties of wines of the New World.
There is thus a greater middle palate, which carries through to the finish, much like the “sustain” pedal on a piano.
27 �
are turbo-charged by the modest or immodest addition of a product called “Mega Red” or any number of its analogues, which
are esse�
are said to respond favorably to optically opaque red wines.

is “earthiness” from the earth (good) and earthiness from a critter
called brettanomyces (more challenging). Some of the earlier vintages of
Blagueurs have had perhaps more than a whiff of the sweaty saddle,
but the ’03 is (knock bois) as clean as a whistle. Very, very complete
wine –fragrant, peppery, elegant and rich at the same time. This is
the kind of country wine that the French can do better than anyone
else. Forgive the hyperbole, but it is a stunner.
2002 Madiran “Heart of Darkness”
There is something utterly delicious about being both lucky and
good, or at rate, working with individuals upon whom such fortune
has been bestowed. ’02 was something of a crapshoot through Europa.
In Madiran, it was very successful, though the harvest chez Bortolussi
concluded roughly two hours before the onset of a solid month of
rain. Madiran should never be delicate, though it can be refined
and well-mannered. Perhaps we are being unconsciously influenced
by the knowledge that there is for the first time, a 10% addition of
cabernet sauvignon in the cuvée, but the wine does seem to have a much
more bordelaise aspect to it than previous vintages. The hard granitic
character translates this year as cedary cigar box and balsamico. And
while Heart of Darkness will never be delicate or modest, this is
nonetheless a more polished example than we have seen in recent
years –more Aramis than D’Artagnan. The tannins are fairly modest
yet the wine still has enormous depth; the flavor impressions reach
into the palate’s back alleys and nethermost subterranean nooks.
2004 Il Circo Erbaluce di Caluso “La Funambola”
Erbaluce is a variety shrouded in legend and mystery. The favored
creation myth tells of a child of celestial beings, Albaluce, born on
a bric, or hilltop, near the town of Caluso. After a long period of
great celebration involving many fresh cheeses, singing and gift
baskets, it was time to pay the piperini and something akin to a drought
descended upon the land. This made the goddess Albaluce very sad
and many tears did she cry. However, up from the ground upon
which those tears fell grew erbaluce vines and the rest blah, blah, blah.
The wine itself is pure sunlight –brilliant, crisp and clear –and a
torrent of lemon chiffon, white peach, almond and fennel. The vines
from which this wine is produced are relatively elderly, which endows
the wine with significant depth of flavor. It has benefited from nontrivial
lees contact, a practice that gives the wine an extremely creamy
texture to balance its acidity. A model of Wallendian grace, it is a
perfect apéritif and conventional wisdom suggests it will pair nicely with
mild cheeses, shellfish, salmon –the usual suspects. We recommend,
however, pairing it with more challenging, high-wire dishes like
scallop carpaccio, grilled wild mushrooms or even the molto-Piemontese
steak tartare. Leap, and the net most assuredly will appear.

2003 Il Circo Ruchè “La Donna Cannone”
We have followed the highly idiosyncratic 2001 with a grandly successful
and more balance 2003. (2002 was a ruinous vintage in many parts
of Piemonte, inclusive of Castagnole Monferrato, from which this
little precious ruby hails.) Ruchè relies on neither anthocyanic
endowment nor tannin to insinuate its way into one’s life. It is a
variety which employs charm and curiosity to do its bidding. Ripe
ruchè reeks of dusty rose petal and on a scale of 10, this one goes to
11. The intense floral character is also met in counterpoint by a
strong impression of autumnal baking spice. A nice accompaniment
to medium-rich, medium gamey (I favor rabbit), dishes, it is also a
compelling mate to tagliatelli con funghi, beet ravioli or, if one is fortunate
to be passing through northern Italy in November, some risotto con
tartuffi, the Piemontese miracle of autumn.
2003 Il Circo Montepulciano “Il Domatore di Leoni”
We are very pleased to welcome montepulciano into Il Circo, a tent large
enough to accommodate a large subsection of Italy’s charming lesser
knowns. Montepulciano is a dark, muscular, tannic grape which benefits
greatly from the civilizing touch of microbullage. While not sharing the
rarefied air of rarity that uva di troia or ruchè occupy, a well-behaved yet
authentic montepulciano is an exception rather than the rule. With a
few of the scruffiest layers bubbled away, this wine reveals a still burly
core of juicy, peppery, licorice fruit. The grapes come from an area
on the border between Marche and Abruzzo on the Adriatic and one
can well imagine a heaping plate of antica penne d’Abruzzo washed down
with a healthy glass of this very full Monte.
2002 Il Circo Uva di Troia “La Violetta”
While not the tannic monster that the ’01 Troia was, the ’02 is
definitely more aromatically complex and balanced on the palate.
Along with its signal violet scent, the crunch of minerality is apparent
and that brings the wine into sharper focus. In 2002, a larger
percentage of the grapes were obtained from vertically trained vines,
as opposed to the traditional overhead-canopied tendone, employed
in this bit of Italia. It may well be that grapes grown on tendone are
more successful in the typically (brutally) hot and sunny years, while
the increased sunlight afforded by a vertical curtain is preferred in
the milder, clement vintages. Despite its relative finesse –in accord
with its modest 13% alcohol –the wine is still very persistent, silken
and complete on the palate, not a harsh or shrill note to be found.
We should note that we are speaking in relative terms, however, and
the above description should not be taken to suggest that this is
anything but a rich, full-bodied –if not precisely bodice ripping –
wine that can stand up to, or lay down with, the sauciest of dishes.

2004 Il Circo Moscato d’Asti “Il Giocoliere”
Piemonte has few rivals when it comes to producing an embarrassing
fortune of nature’s miracles. Barolo, white truffles and Moscato
d’Asti alone or in combination will cure–or at least provide a
potent palliative– for just about anything that ails ya. Produced in
the rolling hills south and east of the town of Asti, Moscato d’Asti
is the sophisticated and artisanal cousin to Asti Spumante, the mass
produced scion of the muscatary/industrial complex. Moscato is
very modest in alcoholic degree (typically from 5-7%), has a gentle
sweetness and roughly half the effervescence of méthode champenoise
sparkling wine. Its calling card, however, is its unrivaled perfume–
part orgiastic explosion, part demure entreaty. Peer into a glass of
Moscato and experience the botanical world unfurling before your
olfactors– lime, peach, apricot, bergamot, acacia, elderflower, sage,
orange blossom, wisteria and exotic honeys too numerous to count.
The low alcohol and bewitchingly musky muscat scent will refresh
your palate of a gentle summer afternoon or an excessively vinous
late night debauch. This exceptional Moscato is made for us by the
Cavallero family in the tiny village of Vesime. The Cavalleri own
achingly beautiful, steep, hillside vineyards in one of the cooler
subzones of the region. This climate produces a more refined,
higher toned wine with brighter acidity than warmer, flatter
vineyards planted at lower elevation.
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Prsrt Std
U.S. POSTAGE
Bonny Doon Vineyard
PAID
P.O. Box 8376 Santa Cruz, California 95061
Permit #378
Santa Cruz, CA
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