Castor Membership December 2022: A Festival of Kindness and Man, That’s a Big Steak
Christmas season in Colmar, Alsace.
“A Festival of Kindness”
Meyer-Fonne White Blend “Gentil d’Alsace”, Alsace, France 2020
Imagine for a moment your breath, visible and viable, announcing your presence as you round a bedazzled timbered building into a snowy square filled with light and lavished with decorations. This tiny plaza, at certain times of year a monument to gentle tranquility but here in the early days of December a teeming mass of humanity, is home to the Gourmet Market, a bewildering array of nine different chefs’ “cabins” (the Alsace translation for a market stall, but I love the coziness it invokes a bit better than our connotation) wherein you may sample from any number of delights: Alsace specialties, traditional holiday offerings, even oysters freshly arrived from elsewhere and just as freshly shucked. This region, bordering Germany and, after centuries of being on one side or another of the two countries’ map lines and sharing much of the je ne sai quoi of its neighbor, knows how to celebrate the season, particularly in the city of Colmar, a town oozing provincial charm that of course needs no less than six different Christmas markets to serve its population of under 70,000 residents (imagine if DC had six holiday shopping markets instead of the one located in Chinatown, singularly dedicated to, among other things, handcrafts, children’s toys, and the aforementioned culinary treasures). The jumping-off point for anyone exploring the heart of Alsace’s famed wine region, a long and narrow patch of land that extends quite Burgundy-like along a mostly north-south axis for about 20 miles southeast of the regional capital of Strasbourg, Colmar is almost a municipal manifestation of what makes the wines of Alsace so special: steeped in tradition, with an air of timelessness, and, particularly in the bell-clear solstitial surroundings of the Christmas markets, the very definition of the word festive.
The picturesque village of Katzenthal, home of Felix Meyer and his family’s domaine, Meyer-Fonne.
Jean Trimbach came to visit me once at the DC restaurant that I was running at the time; after tasting through a lineup of wines from his family’s famous Alsace estate, which range from uncannily solid at the lower end to spectacularly luxurious in the bespoke price range, I asked him about the style of his domaine, which traditionally runs very measured, eschewing the opportunity to present the noble white varietals of Alsace (Riesling, Gewurztraminer, Muscat, and Pinot Gris) in a hedonistic, larger than life fashion that is easily achievable in this cool yet sunny corner of northeastern France. His response to me was two-fold: he loves balance in wines and the ability to still show terroir rather than just huge fruit and flavor profiles, but it was the second statement he made that caused me to grin: “Besides, Alsace wine is tough enough to sell anyway, isn’t it?” This rhetorical question was equal parts acknowledgement and rebuke of a strange phenomenon in the wine world: Alsace produces some of the most stellar white wines on the planet, full of lush tropicality, bold aromatics, and steely mineral, and yet in many markets (including the US) the average consumer just doesn’t seem to care. The combination in the area of riverbed and foothill soil deposits and the aforementioned lack of rain lets white varietals that in other parts of the world scream with stony acidity (Riesling) transform into something richer and more over the top texturally, which sets them at odds with what the average wine drinker has been conditioned to expect from the grape. On the off chance that the prospective consumer wants a sweet wine, the Alsace version of Riesling also has the tendency to disappoint, as even those examples with residual sugar harbor so many other aromatic and secondary complexities that the saccharine elements are in check and therefore missing to many palates. Likewise, these same climactic circumstances lift up the perfunctory Pinot Gris (Grigio) and make it too burst with stone fruits and body in a way other regions can’t match, and yet this very liveliness contrasts with the watered-down versions of Gris/Grigio that wine drinkers so often are tasked with drinking they readily dismiss Alsace examples as “too much”. And so, these world-class whites that so often represent the height of varietal potential too often sit in the dustiest section of a wine shop’s shelves, or languish unsold at a restaurant, checking a box on a sommelier’s “I need to have all the main wine regions represented” list, without being appreciated for what they can be, which for me is wines that are synonymous with the holiday season-perfect pairings with rich and celebratory foods, both in their ability to go toe-to-toe with the cuisine in terms of fruit and textural mass and in their knack for cutting through all of that seasonal slog with amazing acidity. Alsace whites are versatile, joyous, and at times a vinous representation of one of the region’s main appellation designations: Gentil (kind).
Rows of vines in and around the natural amphitheater of Katzenthal.
In a region with such a longstanding tradition of wine cultivation, it is ironic that the Grand Cru system that now classifies Alsace’s best vineyards is relatively new; Alsace’s dependability worked against it, as for so long large portions of its grapes were sold to other regions or included in the local blended whites called “Edelzwicker” (a generally jovial but unassuming field blend, with virtually no rules on varietal minimums, vinification standards, or even vintage listings). Thankfully, the idea for the denomination “Gentil d’Alsace” was formulated, reserved for AOC Alsace wines that fit within the standards of a superior quality blend. A Gentil must consist of at least 50% of the “noble” white grape varietals mentioned above, and each grape must be vinified separately and qualify as an AOC Alsace wine all on its own prior to being blended with other like-minded juice. In the tiny village of Katzenthal, an area that stands out in the heart of Alsace for the unique presence of granitic soils, Felix Meyer has been producing an astonishing number of different wines each year since his taking over of the domaine 30 years ago. With 32 cuvees that muster a total production of less than 7,500 cases annually, Felix’s wines feel at once familiar and scarce (many of his Grand Cru sites are smaller than 1/2 an acre of land), and his astute blending skills are on display when tasting his version of a Gentil d’Alsace. As with most of his wines, Felix gives us more than we should expect with his Gentil, as it is chiefly comprised of the noblest of Alsace varieties, Riesling, and taken from vines that in the oldest parcels exceed 45 years. Tasting this wine is just a small introduction into the grandeur of this exceptional wine region which, in so many ways, is just beyond the nose that we can’t see past the end of. It is my hope that as you celebrate the holiday of your choice with your loved ones that you will find yourself partaking of a sumptuous snack, candlelight flickering and a glass of Gentil in your hand, allowing Felix Meyer’s skills to transport just a touch of that Alsace holiday magic to your table-a festival of “kindness”, of joy, and of peace-D.
Domaine Meyer-Fonne White Blend “Gentil d’Alsace”, Alsace 2020
Country of Origin: France.
Places and People: If it is possible for a third-generation winemaker to be considered a rising star, Felix Meyer fits the bill. From his family's home in the tiny village of Katzenthal, located centrally in the heart of Alsace west of the Fecht river, Meyer produces an astonishing 32 cuvees using organic practices. Total production at the winery reaches just 7,000-7,500 cases per year, meaning that the number of cases of each cuvee remains quite small. The vines for the Gentil range in age from 12-46 years old, giving this blend an unusual level of complexity for such an approachable Alsace white.
Soil: Granitic Colluvium and Alluvium. Colluvium is cobbled stone and sand based on hillside slopes, while alluvium is the same composition but located in riverbeds.
Grape Varieties: A proprietary blend of 50% Riesling, 25% Muscat, 20%Pinot Blanc, and 5% Pinot Gris and Sylvaner. (Gentil d'Alsace is a designation that is reserved for AOC Alsace wines that fit within the standards of a superior quality blend, i.e. the blend must consist of at least 50% "noble" varietals in Alsace (Riesling, Muscat, Pinot Gris, Gewurztraminer). Felix Meyer's consists of 95% "noble" varietals.
Winemaking: Ever ecologically-minded, Felix Meyer’s vines are farmed organically-plowing by hand is performed in all sites but reduced in some where soil erosion is a danger. Cover crops are planted in every other row of grapes. Guyot-trained vines that are meticulously de-budded, making green harvesting unnecessary in most years. Grapes are gently pressed in a pneumatic machine for up to 10 hours, and then the must is left for up to a day and a half, leaving the heavy lees to settle. Felix Meyer believes very strongly in raising his wines on the fine lees in large older foudres, a traditional Alsace technique. Only native yeasts are used during the fermentation of the grapes that go into the Gentil, making the process longer and slower.
Aging: Approximately two weeks after the fermentation is completed, all of the grapes in the Gentil blend are racked and kept on the fine lees as mentioned above until May following the harvest, where the assemblage of grapes varieties and bottling is finished.
Flavors and Foods: A beautifully bright and aromatic structure awaits you upon first pouring the Gentil; scents of acacia blossom, fresh lilies, and exotic citrus abound, along with herbal notes of aloe vera and chive blossom. The palate brings definition to the exotic citrus: lychee, a fruit often associated with Alsace wines, is here, as is the Japanese yuzu. With a rounder than expected texture due to the lees aging (and accompanying creamy mouthfeel) the Gentil subtly screams, "I'm a winter white wine!" Classic holiday fare is totally in play (turkey, duck, ham, particularly with orange-based sauces or glazes), and regional Alsace food pairings will work also (flammekueche, boudin, choucroute). Finally, in case you aren’t on the heavy holiday vibe I’m swimming in currently, the Gentil would pair excellently with Asian cuisine (sashimi, hamachi crudo, Vietnamese grilled pork vermicelli).
Service and Cellar: Unlike other member wines where I've been adamant about a specific service temperature, I've found the Gentil is more a matter of personal preference than my recommendation. Serve it on the warmer side (48-50 degrees F) and you will definitely experience the exotic fruit mentioned above; if you pull the Meyer-Fonne directly from the refrigerator, the wine still shows well, but the lychee becomes more of a kiwi, the lees contact is more noticeable, and there is arguably a little sour note mingling with the richness (ruby red grapefruit). Enjoy the Gentil this holiday season and, should you muster up some willpower, next year as well.
The rather robust axe handle ribeye steak shared by Artadi’s Carlos Lopez de LaCalle and I, with Carlos’ hand for scale.
“Man, That’s a Big Steak”
Bodegas Artadi Tempranillo “Vinas de Gain”, Rioja Alavesa, Spain 2019
Full disclosure: this particular meal happened in September 2018, but given the results, I’m here to tell you that if you’re on the lookout for a healthy dose of holiday decadence, you could do far worse than St. Anselm in DC’s NOMA/Union Market area. A larger version of its original Brooklyn outpost, managed in DC by the Starr Restaurant locally renowned for the French bistro Le Diplomate, this fun mashup of corporate steakhouse through the eyes of a geeky wine bar is great fun, and not just for the wine list, comprising a multitude of both classic and new-age selections, including a sizable array of vintage Madeira dating back to the 19th century, all available by the (spoiler: expensive) glass. St. Anselm also plays its part with regard to the steakhouse vibe, serving all manner of cuts and a la carte side dishes, but when you’ve been on the road visiting clients from 8-6 and had literally no sustenance, as Bodegas Artadi scion Carlos Lopez de Lacalle and I had, the chalkboard of “axe handle” ribeye steaks beckon. It was opening weekend for the restaurant, and the staff, many of whom were alums of Le Diplomate, knew me as we shambled in, bedraggled and starving from a harried day of showing off the wines of Carlos’ family, iconic Spanish producer Bodegas Artadi. A native of the Rioja Alavesa, the Basque-leaning northerly province of one of Spain’s greatest wine regions and spiritual homeland of the country’s foremost red grape, Tempranillo, Carlos was currently residing in Brooklyn, setting up his family’s presence in the United States as they began to handle their importing directly, so he knew of St. Anselm already. Excited to see this brand-new iteration of the restaurant, we were seated at a booth table and looked around to see a great many industry colleagues in for their first meals, also. This shared kinetic energy with other food and wine pros, combined with our unsatisfied appetites, made our approach to the meal a little, shall we say, ambitious. When we saw that there was still a 67 ounce axe handle ribeye available among the rapidly dwindling selections on the chalkboard, Carlos and I exchanged glances. Fixing me with a direct stare, he said to me in his lightly accented and very good English, “I can eat.” I knew what he meant: full disclosure #2, Carlos is a smaller guy, but there was no doubting the resolve in his voice, and his pedigree of being in a winemaking family surely subject to all manner of business dinners and long, drawn-out meals was not to be questioned. And me? Well if you’ve met me, you know that I was all-in: “Let’s do it.” Upon ordering the behemoth steak, the platitudes of the service team (“are you sure?”, “that steak is generally thought of as being shared between four or more people”, etc.) fell against a forcefield of gluttonous insanity that we had constructed at the end of our booth, rendering their concerns more like the garbled huffing of the parents on an episode of a Peanuts cartoon than anything resembling logic. No, nothing could stop us now, not even when the meat and side dishes arrived to the table: a steak so sizable that Carlos’ hand (in the picture I just had to take of it for scale) looked like the mitt of a small child next to it. I disclosed that Carlos is a smaller guy, but he’s still an adult make, for crying out loud. As we lit into this crazy endeavor of eating, which (full disclosure #3) we failed to completely clean to the bone, but in fact ate so much of that we garnered compliments (concerned interventions?) from both staff and dining neighbors alike, our over-the-top experience was a perfect addendum to a day spent talking about Carlos’ family, because the wines of Artadi, from village-level offering to single-vineyard lushness, always feel like you’ve indulged.
Artadi owner and winemaker Juan Carlos Lopez de LaCalle and his son, Carlos.
Perhaps more than any country in Europe, Spain’s regional identities are fiercely held. In Rioja, the iconic region in North-Central Spain that straddles the Ebro River, south of the coastal city of Bilbao, there are three distinct districts of winegrowing: Alta, Alavesa, and Baja. Alta and Baja are what their names imply-the former the elevated, westernmost part of the appellation and the latter a hotter, southeastern enclave of heavily cultivated land. Rioja Alavesa, however, is not a merely a geographic designation, but a political and cultural one. The part of Rioja that exists in the Basque Alava province (hence the name), the area is at once part of Rioja and also a literal world apart, with its own language, laws, and infrastructure (which for the wine world means generous land grants and subsidies). Tucked into the foothills of the Sierra de Cantabria mountains looming to the north, the town of LaGuardia looks like the setting for a fantasy adventure movie, and the surrounding vineyards provide ample opportunities for microclimates and the showcasing of unique parcels, which Juan Carlos Lopez de LaCalle championed almost from the outset after purchasing Artadi, which had been to that point a cooperative of 13 winegrowers who owned well-situated, old-vine plots in the town. Recognizing the potential for producing truly elite wines, Juan Carlos succeeded in his vision of all-organic farming and meticulous yield controls, with Artadi becoming famous in the 1990s for a range of single vineyard bottlings, including the critical darling Vina El Pison, whose prices routinely stretch well into the three-figure range. Later, while Artadi continued to be synonymous with the quality of the LaGuardia area, one thing they chose to not be associated with sent shockwaves through the appellation: the Rioja designation itself. Unimpressed by the expansion of the Rioja DO and what he saw as the relaxing and dumbing down of winemaking standards and practices, Artadi made an unprecedented move in the region’s history, removing the word Rioja from their labels entirely and renouncing the appellation status. Indeed, when I worked with Carlos representing his father’s wines, the labels of Artadi simply said “La Guardia” on the fronts, with no mention of Rioja anywhere (the current label references their location in La Guardia as well as the Alava province). A gamble in the US market, certainly, as by the latter 2010s Rioja was synonymous with even casual wine drinkers and had a well-earned and slightly burdensome reputation for value (a burden in the fact that many of the examples being imported were anonymous at best and industrially fermented cherry bombs at worst). Juan Carlos felt (and feels), however, that his family’s work to produce impeccable examples of Tempranillo set them apart from the appellation, and as only 1/3 of Rioja identifies as Basque, it could be argued that what Artadi has done is simply an extension of the cultural boundaries that were already established. In tasting the family’s wines, however, my biggest takeaway over the years has not been their relationship with the politics or regional identities of their home, but rather, their relationship with the grape that represents six out of every seven rows of vines in Rioja-Tempranillo.
Blue and brilliant-Tempranillo on the vine.
The calling card of red wines from Spain, Tempranillo is ironically still struggling a bit with its identity. For most of the 20th century, Rioja’s winemaking practices were unique in that the aging process trumped everything that lead up to that point (vineyard work, winemaking). In fact, both Spanish geogpraphic zones known for the grape’s production (Rioja and Ribera del Duero in the west), the laws of Riserva and Gran Riserva that to this day are the region’s marks of quality do not focus on location or ripeness levels like other world regions, but rather solely on aging times. This 20th century trend for Tempranillo saw the grape fermented quickly and, in the case of large-scale producers, rather brutally before being thrown into oak barrels for protracted periods of time. Because of Spain’s traditional animosities with France, the Spanish coopers looked not to French barriques but rather to American oak for their primary source of barrels, giving the wines a distinctly vanilla/cedar/cigar wrapper quality rather than the softer, sweeter baking spices of French oak. No doubt the economic realities of World Wars and dictatorship played a part in Spanish vignerons holding onto their wines in American oak barrels for longer than they might have otherwise, and the sometimes decades-long aging in barrels resulted in these wines being defined as a signature style-pale, austere reds that can be fascinating and delicious in their own right, but which ultimately bring the drinker NOT the true flavor profile of either Tempranillo nor the terroir from which it came, but rather the aging vessel and the period of aging-in other words, Rioja descriptors even now revolve around old and oak. As young sommeliers, nothing we came up with to earn points on at tasting exams was really describing Tempranillo, which when compared to its medium-bodied, red fruit-driven counterparts Pinot Noir and Sangiovese has a decided air of sweetness and more lush tannin structure. The Lopez de LaCalle family’s decision to age in French barriques (when aging in barriques at all) showcases this trait of Tempranillo, and leads to their wines being described as “modern” by both fellow winemakers and critical publications, an irony that Juan Carlos points out is historically inaccurate-Rioja estates in the 19th century were not nearly as enamored with American oak or its aging process as they became later. For all of their single vineyard brilliance, Artadi’s “entry level” wine, Vinas de Gain, functions as an impressively pure salutation to their philosophy on winemaking. Long fans of France’s Burgundy region for its highlighting of single vineyards and minute parsing of location, the Vinas de Gain is intended as Artadi’s “village” wine, a blend of a few small parcels that highlights the family’s take on terroir-centric Tempranillo-a serious wine that is, as one finds, dangerously easy to drink. Recently available in the market again after a brief hiatus, it has been no small measure of joy for me to revisit this estate and family, and their commitment to bringing us a little something more for our collective mindset of an everyday red, a casual indulgence that is easily and memorably shared-at least, easier than a 67 ounce ribeye, anyway-D.
Bodegas Artadi Tempranillo “Vinas de Gain”, Rioja Alavesa 2019
Country of Origin: Spain.
Places and People: Juan Carlos Lopez de LaCalle purchased Bodegas Artadi, a former cooperative of 13 growers who owned premium vineyard sites in and around La Guardia in Rioja’s Basque Alavesa region, in the 1980s. By the late 1990s, de LaCalle’s vision had succeeded in making Artadi world-famous, with sought after, extremely limited single vineyard bottlings of Tempranillo that rapidly became collectibles. The Vinas de Gain was created as an homage to the village wines of Burgundy; a sourcing of impeccable Tempranillo sites in LaGuardia, Elvillar, and Leza at altitudes of 450-700 meters.
Soil: Clay-limestone mix.
Grape Varieties: 100% Tempranillo.
Winemaking: The grapes for the Vinas de Gain are hand-picked and hand-sorted. Vinification is done in stainless steel tanks with the top of the vats left open; cold maceration prior to fermentation runs for 2 days. Fermentation is done over a 12 day period with the cap managed frequently; Artadi also employs a brief pump-over of juice. The wine is then moved to French oak barriques, where it undergoes secondary malolactic fermentation.
Aging: The Artadi Vinas de Gain 2019 is aged for 12 months in the same French oak barrels in which malolactic had occurred.
Flavors and Foods: A nose of bright red cherry, almost candied, with secondary elements of wet rock and grilled meat-the Vinas de Gain is Tempranillo at its freshest. Ripe red fruit notes of both cherries, kirsch, and cassis are on the palate, and are complemented by the savory, meaty elements to form the essence of Tempranillo-sweet red fruit, medium-bodied structure, with a slight grip that speaks more to grape than oak, and should resolve itself with time-the Vinas de Gain definitely has the ability to be drunk or cellared. Mild cigar wrapper, cardamom seed, and grilled flat-iron steak headline the secondary notes. The Vinas de Gain is a red meat wine, but would do better with tenderloin-derived cuts rather than marbled ones (filet over ribeye). The mid-palate, varietally driven grip of the wine would do well with creamy, tangy hard cheeses like an aged Mahon or, more regionally appropriate, Idiazabal and Ossau-Iraty from the Basque country.
Service and Cellar: Artadi’s Vinas de Gain 2019 is just at the beginning of its drinking window, for me. The wine can be enjoyed now with a decanting of 15-30 minutes, and cellared easily for the next 7-8 years. Serve at a red wine cellar temperature of 58-60 degrees F.