It’s hard to believe that the foundation of Ted Lemon’s highly-lauded, award winning wines is built on compost…but it is, and I don’t think he’d have it any other way. After all, he is aware that the heart of the biodynamic farm is the compost pile. Yet, he is also aware that compost is only one of a series of vital combinations that weave the intricate skein of a functioning biodynamic estate. And so, his relatively new straw bale winery is a paragon of green building that utilizes natural lighting to reduce electricity. Chicken’s run outside of their cages and orchard mason bees, known as efficient pollinators, intently buzz about - even the area surrounding the vineyard is integrated into the expansive mandala that is his estate. Native plants and trees are allowed to flourish, their presence allowing the site to more acutely display the unrivaled elegance of the terroir of the Sonoma coast.
Standing inside a rather rustic and unheated barn with bunches of chamomile and nettle drying, his dog excitedly doing laps around us - we’re discussing Biodynamics and its detractors. “Look,” he finally says, “I don’t really care if people think Biodynamics works or not, I’m a farmer. I can see the results.” “Indeed,” I think to myself. And this coming from a man that admittedly came to Biodynamics a blank canvas. At the time it was just another option in his pursuit to make the best possible wines that he could. After years of experience, he has seen enough to warrant the finality of the aforementioned statement. Ruminating on his words, I think to myself, “It seems a shame that the market isn’t concerned with the soul of a winemaker.” As the birthplace for one’s passion it seems a necessary corollary to the fruits of one’s labors. Based on that, Ted Lemon would be among my top winemakers in the world. But I know that wouldn’t satisfy him. He is more concerned about sustainability and longevity in his wines, which brings us back to that compost…
What Ted Lemon is doing with compost is neither radical nor unconventional. Biodynamic vineyards are meant to be self-sustaining organisms: generating what they need and disposing of what they don’t. As winemakers are working with a perennial plant that doesn’t allow them the opportunity to rotate their crop, it becomes imperative that they enact a system of manuring that maintains the proper humus content. Manure is an essential component of any compost pile and, as it has passed through the digestive process of the cow, it has therefore been charged with the same astral influences that give life to said cow. In other words, the electrical matter that has animated the cow has left its blueprint on the manure. This matter is the base of the compost, and when used in conjunction with the six compost preparations (biodynamic preps 502-7), transforms ordinary compost into something that is receptive to the universal planetary impulses, into a medium between the soil and the cosmos: indeed, into all that Biodynamics - according to Rudolf Steiner, is meant to do. But what exactly is this celestial mixture composed of?
In the Biodynamic vineyard: mostly cow manure, some prunings, dead vines, skins of grapes and their pips, perhaps a little waste paper from the winery office, some dry vegetation and straw - and for good measure, some leaves and plant matter. This must all be properly watered and turned in order to provide the air and moisture needed for aerobic bacteria to break down mineral nitrogen in the ammonia in the manure to organic nitrogen, killing fungal spores, noxious bacteria and any weeds that might develop by raising the temperature of the compost pile. The result will sustain the humus content, microbiological life and earthworm activity of the soil.
As we walk in the stiff breeze out in Ted’s Haven Vineyard, our collars turned up against the wind, He’s rhapsodizing about the health of his soil, shovel in hand as he walks like some sort of diviner looking for his holy grail. He suddenly stops and looks around him briefly before plunging his shovel into the moist goldridge loam soil beneath us. It comes up sounding like a slice of delicious, rich, chocolate cake and when turned out into the hand shows earthworms wiggling gleefully in the rich brown matter streaked with golden caramel hues. It is refreshing to see this subterranean world as the showcase for a winery. While I do appreciate architecture, I’ve come to view it as a dubious selling point for wine.
Flowers, Soil and Bees at Haven Vineyard, Sonoma Coast
The soil at Littorai’s Haven Vineyard is a form of art unto itself. It is teeming with life; wildflowers, native grasses and plants all taking their place in the whole of the property, each item like the stroke of a brush on a canvas. Kneeling down here in the dirt in the open wind, it is possible to glimpse the delicate balance that I know will be present in any given bottle of wine borne of this place. From this vantage point one’s conceptions about the elegant and hierarchical world of wine are turned upside down. Too often, it seems, producers are intent on impressing their winemaking style to the public, concentrating on the satisfaction of the market trend, rather than following their own star. Tasting rooms across California are oftentimes rife with gimmicks and are more than willing to discuss such topics as flavor profiles in their wines, the pedigree of their winemaker or owner, and their commitment to be “the best,”- a tenuous and invariably subjective argument that reinforces a triumph over nature. Yet, out here on the coast of Northern California, just outside the tiny town of Sebastapol in what has traditionally been Gravenstein Apple territory, there is a decided lack of glamour, and even if the perfectly manicured rows and rows of vines that we have come to accept as the ideal romantic image of wine country are missing, there is another vista that is opened up here, one of expansiveness and a sense of discovery that Sonoma County’s more glamorous neighbor to the East lost quite some time ago.
Out of Time, Out of Mind: A Kincentric View of Nature and the Thrushes of Montalcino
Kneeling here in the dirt among the bare branches of winter, I’m reminded of the Poet Gary Snyder’s words on the indigenous peoples of America’s ability to create a “culture of place” by using legends, ceremonies, songs and dances to relate to the plants, animals and landscape around them to assist them in how to correctly interact with nature in a role of right stewardship. I mention this to Ted and his eyes light up a bit. After a brief pause he asks if I’d like to see the rest of the property to discuss this point. It turns out that he in fact has already begun to walk a path back in time to a way of thought that is more in line with the indigenous view of this land, than the European-based knowledge of Biodynamics.
In her groundbreaking work Tending The Wild M. Kat Anderson uncovers the myth of California as a Garden of Eden prior to contact and shatters the rather romantic notion of the Indian who rarely uses nature and ‘feels guilty about breaking a branch’ as something stemming more from Euro-American longings to have those same tendencies rather than historical fact. Even the celebrated environmentalist and Sierra Club founder John Muir was a proponent of the view that prior to contact California was a pristine wilderness. As he longingly gazed upon the dramatic views of Yosemite Valley and the explosions of purple and gold flowers of the Central Valley he was completely unaware of the fact that he was witnessing the fertile seed, bulb, and greens gathering grounds of the Miwok and Yokuts Indians, kept open and productive over centuries by carefully planned burning, harvesting and seed scattering. The removal of the Indians to create the myth of an uninhabited wilderness to attract settlers wiped out a millennia of the acquired knowledge of a people that humbled themselves to the more powerful universal forces that controlled the rhythms and seasons of their environment, in the process severing the human connection between man and land which has led to the environmental malaise we now find ourselves in.
This predicament has been created over the past couple hundred years as the expansion of the United States into the “virgin” territory of California displaced, and eventually eradicated a native population that for millennia had found a middle ground between overexploitation of nature and leaving it alone, casting themselves in the complementary roles of user, protector, and steward of the natural world.
The basis of indigenous interactions with nature relied more on a spiritual component, rather than a compilation of hard facts and experimentation. The California viewpoint differed in no way from Zuni, Hopi, Navajo, or any other Native American view and is based on the ethic that one must interact respectfully with nature and co-exist with all life forms. In this context all non-human entities are considered “kin” or “relatives,” nature is the embodiment of the human community and all of its elements: plants, animals, rocks, and water are all viewed as people possessed of intelligence, serving in the role of teachers, helping humans in a variety of ways – from relaying messages to forecasting the weather, to teaching what is edible and what is not and what will cure. From this perspective nature is not seen as separate from people. It is not something that is “out there” that you don’t touch or interact with, but rather something that we are complete participants in, sharing the mutual obligation of our intricate interactions with it and all other forms of life.
Carlo Petrini, the founder of Slow Food talks about the inception of the movement being born out of “The Festival of the Thrushes” in Montalcino, Italy. This annual festival goes back hundreds of years and is evidence that even Europe is still somehow innately tied to the more ancient and wise rhythms that pervade our daily existence. Basing a festival on the annual migratory pattern of a bird is something that allows one to think outside of the human-centric realm and asks one to ponder the greater patterns of nature around us that is the true pulse of our being. I find hope in this way of thinking. Perhaps it’s the solitary nature of open spaces that encourages one to connect more vitally to the vast source of wisdom that constantly sends messages out to a population that has forgotten how to hear, forgotten how to see. That force is still there, and out here in a small corner of the world, a winemaker walks his small parcel looking for its clues and listening to its stories on the wind.
The first time I met Eric Flanagan he did his Philippe Melka impression for me. Although it was in the middle of lunch service in a Michelin-starred Dining Room, he didn’t particularly seem to care. On the contrary, he was very relaxed and approachable, seeming more like a comedian moonlighting as a Winemaker. I immediately appreciated his casual and offbeat approach. Particularly when the world of wine can oftentimes seem like an offshoot of Skull & Bones, or the Freemasons: particularly here in Apollonian Napa Valley. By the end of the meal we had decided that I would come out to his Winery in the Bennett Valley soon. I must admit that I was curious as I’d never had a wine from Bennett Valley and wanted to see what the landscape and vibe were all about.
When the scheduled day arrived, it was the middle of winter. Rain had been falling steadily for about a week, and it was wet that morning. I brought the wife and baby with me, as Eric’s three girls were going to be there and we thought the kids could hang out. When I called him to confirm that morning he let me know that he had invited some people from restaurants in Napa and Sonoma and that Zazu would be providing food and Bellwether Farms would bring some cheeses. Living in Northern California, I’m acquainted with Bellwether Farm’s sublime line of cheeses, but I had yet to hear about the restaurant that he had mentioned. When you live in Napa and there are so many dining choices at hand, it makes it difficult to venture outside the bubble of the Valley - which explains the reason for today’s journey. Other than thinking that Eric was a nice guy and as far as I knew, an honest and thoughtful vigneron, I wanted to get out of Napa for a while and discover some of the hidden delights of Sonoma County. I’d made brief forays into the territory and had always found it redolent of a by-gone time in California that I cling to from the 70’s of my youth: a marine-influenced world of Sequoia, secluded windswept beaches, green grasses and rocky coastline. Although Napa has its own unique charm, it does not possess the maritime wildness and garagiste sentiment that pervade the rugged, far-flung reaches of Sonoma.
After about an hour in the car on a windy country road we were at the gate at the bottom of the hill. We headed up into the misty mountainside, up 1200 feet to the winery and vineyard. Once at the top, the view looks out over the low-slung Sonoma Coastal Mountains dotted with old growth oak, lush green grass and large volcanic outcroppings. The cold Pacific air sweeps by tufts of white mist with raindrops doggedly chasing behind, constantly bending the emerald sea of grass and even managing to ruffle stoic oaks.
Flanagan Estate's Vineyard
People’s Parties
I feel like I’m sleeping
Can you wake me?
You seem to have a broader sensibility
I’m just living on nerves and feelings
With a weak and a lazy mind
And coming to peoples parties
Fumbling deaf, dumb and blind.
-Joni Mitchell
from her album Court & Spark.
As a fine wine mellows with age, I too notice a marked change in my demeanor as I’ve grown older and added a wife and baby to the mix. Parties have always been hard for me, due to the mixture of alcohol and my mouth. I tend to speak my mind, and, having been raised in a typical Mexican-American household, feel that incessantly teasing one another is a completely acceptable form of communication, even love. In my experience this can lead to many cultural faux pas. However, as the guests started to show up it became evident that, like me, they were mostly restaurant professionals and were looking for something to do on a grey day in the middle of winter. I was particularly looking forward to meeting wine guru Philippe Melka, who consults on Flanagan wines. I had read a piece on him by Eric Asimov in the New York Times a few months prior and was intrigued by his non-interventionist approach to winemaking. Half an hour later about twenty of us were milling about, sipping on chardonnay and waiting for the possible arrival of even more people. The Zazu folks arrived with the food and once I sampled the salumi, I realized that Eric had brought in the big guns for the day.
Chef Duskie Estes opened Zazu in 2001 (the same year Eric planted his vineyard) with her partner John Stewart. Since then they have gone on to open Bovolo in Headlsburg, Black Pig, their own line of meats, bacon and salumi, and have produced their own wine, a northern Italian red called Schiopettino. The 2005 Holdredge Schiopettino, MacBryde Vineyard is poured exclusively at Zazu and The French Laundry. Duskie was voted City Search’s Seattle Best Chef in 2000, has co-authored a James Beard award winning cookbook, been on the cover of Wine Spectator and has been featured on P.B.S. All this not alone of course, John has been there all along. In addition to all the aforementioned kudos lauded upon them, they also have raised two girls while maintaining a marriage. The Tao says “what is rooted is easily nourished” this seems to apply to both of them. John has a strong, quiet presence, possibly part of his New York roots, and doesn’t seem the type to mince words. A mutual love of a hands-on approach to life, and a passion for the quality that comes from that, seem to be the kindling to their fire. Today they have brought an assortment of Black Pig Salumi, which marry wonderfully with the cheese, not to mention Eric’s wines.
Philippe Melka was born and raised in Bordeaux, and graduated with his Oenology Degree from the University there in 1991. He followed that with internships at Château Haut –Brion and Cheval-Blanc in France and Dominus and Ridge in California, among others. He is one of the world’s most respected Winemakers and is known for his terroir-driven style. But today, he is just another guest at a great party with a glass of wine in his hand.
Wearing a black Patagonia down jacket and holding a glass of red Wine, he actually reminds me of Yvon Chouinard, the iconic climber and surfer that created Patagonia out of the back of a shed under the shade of the 101 Freeway in Ventura in the 70’s. I’m sure that Philippe talks about wine all day, so I ask him about his jacket and outdoor experiences. It turns out we both have a mutual love of the outdoors, not so much for the action and the challenge, but for the pace and simplicity of nature. As he’s talking at one point, I realize, “my god! Eric really does do an excellent impression of him.” I start laughing and can see that Philippe is puzzled. “I’m sorry,” I say, “You do know that Eric does an impression of you, don’t you?” “Ereek?” He says. “Ee copy me?” Laughing I respond, “Yes, quite good, as well.” Philippe looks over at Eric, who’s holding court with about ten people in the other room, and smiles.
A bit later we all went for a little walk up the hill and Eric and Philippe talked about the vineyard. Thirteen acres were planted in 2001, running up the hill to the winery and around it. Eric farms with what he calls “a hundred-year mindset,” which means, among other things, utilizing cover crops throughout the year and sustaining the growth of native grasses to reduce erosion. Everything from the bottling to the ageing of the wine takes place at the Estate. The winery itself is well lit and spacious, though not decadent and has a charming, organic quality that situates it into the hillside effortlessly. I ventured off on my own a bit with one of Eric’s crew and looked at soil and talked about water. The brisk air felt good and it gave us all an opportunity to digest before going back inside to get warm and eat and drink more.
I’ve had Flanagan wines several times since I’ve written this. All are excellent and are a great value to boot. I find it difficult to pick out one wine from an estate and present it to the public based on my palate. I firmly believe that people should formulate their own ideas. Having said that, I will say that I think Flanagan Syrah would be a good place to start if you want to experience the potential of the varietal in the Sonoma Coastal context. The 2008 Flanagan Syrah exhibits aromas of deeply ripe black berries and currant with a hint of herbes de Provence and raspberry. Perhaps it’s the French influence, but there is also a distinct masculin/feminin correlation between the flavor and the aroma, and that contrast shows in excellent length, being both plush and austere on the palate.
If you search for Flanagan wines you’ll find an all-star line-up of restaurants, among them; Cyrus, Gary Danko, Charlie Palmer’s Dry Creek Kitchen, and of course, Zazu. The wines are produced in limited quantity and it’s evident that for Eric they are a labor of love. The unpretentious, approachable quality that Flanagan embodies is reflected in the plein air expansiveness of the Bennett Valley. The experience here at Flanagan seems to flow from a particular lifestyle, and now that the qualitative aspect of food is a part of the conversation, it is our duty as consumers to continue to make this a cornerstone of any discussion regarding production. Investment in the future of the California Wine Industry begins with ecologically sound choices. Eric’s philosophy of farming with a hundred year mindset echoes a similar sentiment from indigenous America, which actually goes further with a “seven generations mindset,” closer to five hundred years. Not too popular of an idea in today’s disposable, immediately gratifying society, but still, one can dream, non?
On the drive home later that day, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat melancholy about leaving the verdant green of the Bennett Valley behind. It was reassuring to know, however, that a homespun quality is part of the burgeoning food and wine scene in Sonoma. I had a chance to dine at Zazu a short time after that, and I was rather impressed with their chic-roadhouse bistro… but that’s a story for next time.
Invisible Frequencies In Three Realms
There’s something about the sight of a pile of cow horns lying in a pit that is simultaneously alluring and appalling. On the one hand, there is the macabre bone, exposed and bulging with dung. On the other, the image has a certain goldsworthian quality to it, displaying that classic symmetry found only in nature. More often than not it’s difficult for people to understand why horns are stuffed with manure and buried at a certain time of the year. And rightfully so: for the answer is not a simple one. If one is to truly understand why it is done, one will have to accept that the biodynamic process is happening on levels that cannot be seen. It requires looking at the universe in ways that have almost been forgotten, and most importantly: It requires the use of our imaginations.
The mesocosmic realm that hosts the everyday world that we can see is only one of three realms that biodynamics works in. The microcosmic world of invisible energies, and the macrocosmic world of the outer limits of our universe and our galaxy are the other two vital worlds that complete the framework of biodynamics. With the imagination as your passport, visualize the ideal moment in autumn, when the sun is ascendant in the southern hemisphere, leaving the northern hemisphere less under its influence and its soil at its most receptive. The proof that gravity has begun its work slowly emerges in the final journey of a leaf. Or, perhaps in the long amber-golden shadows that increasingly envelop the daylight hours. By the time winter arrives with its long nights of rest and rejuvenation, the earth’s energy has virtually crystallized and the frequencies inherent in the soil become clearer, and therefore more open to other planetary influences. During this time, the dung inside the horn is creating an environment rich in micro-organisms, which when returned to the soil at the beginning of spring, help the vine bloom again from the previous year’s pruning.
The Source: Of Horns And Hooves
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| Hathor, Egyptian god credited with bringing wine to Earth. |
Nicolas Joly begins his book, Biodynamic Wine Demystified with the above quote from Max Planck’s 1918 acceptance speech because it touches on one of the foundations of biodynamics: that there is matter unseen to us which is present everywhere, and at every level. Mostly, this matter is electric in nature, and exists on a level we are incapable of witnessing with naked eyes. Biodynamics makes no qualms about this energy existing or not. From its standpoint, there is no doubt that healthy root systems, soil teeming with microbial life, and consistently good harvests are all tied, inextricably, to this unseen network of the cosmos, our atmosphere, and Earth.
Preparation 500 gives a prime example of how this energy is harnessed and made to work in the biodynamic process. It is the digestive process of a cow that commences the biodynamic circle that runs from digestion, to packing into a cowhorn and returning to the earth, to being brought out in the spring and dynamised in water. Unlike the Deer, whose antlers act as antennae, the cow’s horns work much like its hooves. Both are designed to retain the interior current of forces working within the complex structure that is the cow’s digestive system. The hooves and horns both act as mirrors, but it is the horns that perform the added service of connecting the cow to the sun and the solar forces of ascension. It is this connection that allows the cow to bear its heavy head with ease and grace (see above photo of Hathor.) The dynamised cow horns function as a place that is receptive to unseen cosmic forces and in turn transmit that to its contents, in the process energizing the microbial life. When that in turn is dynamised in rainwater, by using a constant clockwise, and then a sudden counter-clockwise motion, creating what is referred to as momentary chaos- the point where you are not in the unseen energy world any longer, but not quite borne into the present, physical world – at that point one would have an effective batch of Preparation 500.
However, biodynamics exists by the dictum that the sum is greater than the parts. If one were to be able to apply the aforementioned 500 to their crop by spraying it on their vines, they would need to do so at the appropriate time of the year, as well as in tandem not only with Preparation 501 (which uses the horns as well, but fills them with silica) but ideally, with all seven of the other biodynamic compost preparations. There are many layers to the biodynamic process, and all their success depends on a variety of factors. It should be noted that simply because a winery chooses to farm with biodynamics doesn’t necessarily ensure that they will be making a great wine. The typical factors that go into finding the right site for the right grape must be observed as well. If one chooses to use biodynamics in a site that isn’t so good for, say… Pinot Noir, then it doesn’t matter if one practices biodynamics or not, the results will never mirror the results which might be attained in a particularly wonderful spot for Pinot. Biodynamics doesn’t create terroir, but it does connect whatever is growing on a particular site on a deeper level to that site, imbuing it with a more profound sense of its properties.
The Field Work: A Hole To Be Dug And A Prayer To Be Cast.
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| Raphael's St. Michael |
The temperature in Napa Valley hit 111 degrees yesterday, and today was looking like it would be about the same. In early afternoon I found myself driving out to Quintessa Winery to meet with their Vineyard Manager, Michael Sipiora, who had been kind enough to let me join in on the making of their Preparation 500. Ironically, today is Michaelmas, The Feast day of the Archangel Michael, protector against the dark and the administrator of cosmic intelligence, as well as a root day. Michael has chosen this day for those reasons as well as for its proximity to the autumnal equinox.
Quintessa is a visually stunning place. The graceful curve of its stone façade situates it seamlessly into its hillside. It’s interior is plush, yet not ostentatious, and the ingenuity of its gravity-flow system is a testament to its intelligent design. As I pull up the driveway I see a team out on the pad working the sorting tray, picking through berries, hand selecting the best, knowing that the heat is on and that they will have to work quickly to get the juice pressed.
The interior of the Winery is cool and mostly sunlit with some low lighting visible back in the cool shade of the cavernous tasting room. I announce myself and am told that Michael will be with me shortly. Sitting in the waiting area with a tour group while employees come and go across the lobby, I start thinking of how nice it would be to just sit in there instead; taste some wine, have a few snacks, go back into the cellar, maybe taste out of a barrel or two… when all of a sudden Michael approaches with outstretched hand.
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| Michael Sipiora of Quintessa. |
The actual feeling is diminished somewhat by the glove, but the tactile sensation of the dung still comes through a bit. I don’t find it uncomfortable at all. Not nearly as challenging as say…changing baby diapers. After a few minutes some of the people from Quintessa have arrived and are taking some photos, a couple of women from the front office join in, and in no time we are an assembly line turning out the required amount of horns. Michael disappears for a moment and then returns with a bucket of mud that we will use to seal off the top of the horns to assist in retaining the energy. We pack them in the back of his wagon and then head back toward where we got the dung.
Michael has a spot that he has chosen nearby to bury the horns on a little ridge looking back out towards the east and Rutherford. He starts in with the shovel and then quickly switches to the pick. It is hot now. The sun is directly above and the temperature is near 100 degrees. I realize that I’m standing around letting Michael do all the work, so I offer to help. He immediately accepts. And after about an hour of shoveling, sweating and talking, we’re placing the horns in the hole and covering them with dirt. My back is a little sore, but I feel refreshed. Michael offers me some water and we head back to the shed to clean up a bit. Although I’m tired and hot, I feel good as we bump down the dirt road, a little air tumbling in through the window. As we drive past the rows of vines, I imagine them in the spring: full of dangling purple orbs bursting with their ripeness, dappled sunlight and bright green leaves. I hope that they will be full of flavor and life, and that once they make the transition to wine and are at rest in their bottles, that they have pleasant dreams of the world they have left, and that perhaps my touch somehow will be remembered.
Image by Jennifer Kruch
Exit Dharma Bums, Enter A Slow Epiphany
Every couple of weeks or so, I find myself making the 40-minute drive along a crooked California coastline to Berkeley from Napa. Over the Richmond Bridge, the Golden Gate as a backdrop, you drive until the racetrack by the sea. From there the hills of Berkeley begin to show grey-white morning mist, or perhaps long golden shadows. Once on the city streets that are filled with international students, street vendors, hipsters and homeless, you begin to get the Berkeley vibe. It's here where the Italian -Socialist manifesto of Slow Food arrived, around the time that the Dharma bums went off into the mountains. farmers markets replaced the People'sPark as the revolution took on a homespun vibe. When I arrived in the East Bay several years back, my career in the restaurant industry took a decidedly different tact. Never before had I been in such proximity to locally grown, independently produced flavors. Menus became ingredient - driven and the celebration of the small, artisanal producer was on the horizon: quite a change from the steak houses and chain restaurants that predominated the California restaurant scene till then. It took some time for me to adjust. After all, one does not get the eyes to pick perfectly ripe fruit and vegetables overnight, or to understand the significance of Brussels sprouts on a pizza. The focus on ingredients almost always requires a focus on techniques. As global cuisines meld the traditional preparation techniques are incorporated as well, to be applied by chefs and cooks to great success, or, as Ferran Adria of El Bulli puts it, to the ˜banal inventiveness of a dish such as, say, Galician octopus sashimi with Thai-style guacamole.' Hearing about and tasting food like this prompted me to experience the food on my own terms, a truly poetic experience of searching bins for signs of ripeness that are first visually evident and then confirmed by touch and smell. Little did I know, but the experience had awoken something in me that was lacking. While I'm hesitant to call it religious, I knew it was something ancient as well as shared by others around me. It underlies the current trend towards farm-to-table and while it's nothing new, my hope is that it will be a part of the human story for some time to come.
The Journey
It's a typically sunny fall morning as I pull into town and I'm already thinking ahead to lunch. While ruminating on the options, I find myself driving past the now-defunct Olivia Restaurant at the corner of Dwight and Sacramento. Only open for a couple of years, Olivia was the brainchild of former Baywolf Chef Nathan Peterson, and was Michelin noted as a 'best value' in the first Bay Area guide. As I speed by, I'm filled with the memory of leaving there late at night, pockets full of cash and hopping on my bike for the cross-town jaunt through grimy neighborhoods towards the hills exposed by stars in the distance, which is Berkeley's charm: to simultaneously seduce and expose you. Taking a right onto Sacramento I'm only a few blocks from my reason for today's drive, which is merely to get some gas in my car. I know it sounds ridiculous to drive forty minutes to get gas, but when you're committed to using biodiesel your choices are limited. There aren't any public fueling stations in Napa County, and while there is the option of having it delivered to your home, it's rather expensive. So I make this journey to the locally and worker-owned biofuel oasis every couple of weeks or so. Often referred to as the grandmother of biodiesel stations, it has grown from a small industrial space near the freeway to a fully functional fueling station with multiple pumps and an abundance of do-it -yourself resources like home chicken coops and gardening supplies. Besides, I see old friends when I drive to Berkeley, many of which worked with me at that august church of adventure travel, Marmot Mountain Works. One of the last true mountain shops in the country, Marmot has been home to some of the seediest mountain folk of our time and it's alumni stretch from the Sierra Nevada to the top of Everest. I've had my share of experiences on foot or bike on a "cool clear Arabian night dusk with the tower clock of University of Cal a clean black shadow against a backdrop of cypress and eucalyptus and all kinds of trees, bells ringing somewhere, and the air crisp," just as Kerouac had.
Back In Napa
The next day I'm back in Napa driving up Highway 29. The midday temperature is in the low eighties and it still feels as if it might get hotter as I head up the Rutherford Crossroad toward Frog's Leap winery. Some time ago, I was reading Monty Walden's On Biodynamics book when I came across this statement from Frog's Leaps owner, John Williams, ˜Blind application of practices, Biodynamic or otherwise, won't get you where you want to be." I was immediately taken with his candidness, and then as I read further, the author went on to clarify that he had used that comment to explain the purpose of his book, which is mainly that there's no point in being biodynamic if: a) you can't be bothered to make decent-tasting wine (a subjective and contentious issue) and; b) one also addresses basic sustainability issues associated with the growing of a perennial crop like the vine, particularly in a hot climate. Walden then goes on about William's certified organic and dry farming practices and ends the chapter with this observation of him; Williams is more influenced by eastern, Taoist teachings emphasizing balance, serenity and perspective than by the European tradition of Biodynamics as outlined by Rudolph Steiner. This resonated with me as I started to reflect more on William's original statement of blind application of practices, when I realized that the comment actually reminded me of what Seventh century Zen Master Hui Neng said in the Diamond Sutra regarding those who speak about wisdom all day without having any self-knowledge; they are like those who speak about food all the time, but can't taste or are never full.
What is Rooted Is Easy To Nourish: Dirty Frog
I pull up the long drive to Frog's Leap and park under the shade of a tree off to the side of the parking lot. The tasting room is busy although it's a weekday. I am led to a table of my own on the patio by a pleasant young woman and told that someone will be right with me. The patio is shaded and looks out over a verdant garden where people sip on wine and nibble on dried fruit, prima donna cheese and almonds. Behind me a group of six or so from Los Angeles (I can't help but overhear them, as they are talking rather loudly), discuss the previous days tasting: what they liked and didn't. It's rather peaceful and the morning is lazily holding on. Soon another young woman approaches with a basket full of the day's wines and begins to pour me tastes of each. I'm enjoying myself, taking notes and some photographs, thinking about the day's pairings and basically enjoying the tranquility of Napa, when another woman from the winery stops by and lets me know that General Manager, Jonah Beer will stop by in a few moments and take me on a short tour of the vineyard. I'm wrapping things up and putting my camera into my bag when Jonah walks up and introduces himself. Let's go for a walk,he casually mentions, and we head out toward the vineyard discussing the weather of late and the coolness of the summer. We stop by the barn and Jonah picks up a shovel, explaining the Frog's Leap dry-farming techniques as we walk. A few moments later we're standing in the rows looking at trellising and leaf shoots when Jonah grabs the shovel and plunges it deep into the brown dirt. He grabs some and offers it up for me to smell. It's ripe with the scent of moist humus and in the hand it is cool with a good amount of silky dust and small clods.
In a document Frog's Leap includes in their brochure for trade entitled, ORGANICS 101, Williams states, Organic growing produces healthy soil, which in turn produces a healthy vine that is disease and pest resistant. Through the use of cover crops and compost, soil maintains its complex microbial environment that produces vital nutrients and structure. It's evident that the soil in my hand is quite healthy, however, the true test would be if that translated into the wines. After all, I agree with Monty Waldin; there's no point in being biodynamic if you can't make good wine. And although Williams isn't biodynamic, he's in tune with and deeply cares about his environment. Being certified organic and dry farming are only some of the things that Frog's Leap does regarding sustainability. They also apply a non-interventionist and terroir-driven style to their wines, and have a Silver level LEED certification. With all that said, I was still puzzled as to how Frog's Leap's methodology supported that of their iconoclastic owner's, particularly in regard to the statement of, ˜Blind application of practices, Biodynamic or otherwise, won't get you where you want to be." A clue lie in the second to last paragraph of the Organics 101 document ˜Grapevines exist in a natural living stream that reflects from deep in their soil to the cosmos above. Biodynamic farming, based on the philosophy of Rudolf Steiner, is one of the ways we are studying at Frog's Leap to learn more about the natural spiritual world of the living systems around us. Drawing on elements of homeopathy, using the natural cycles of the moon and planetary alignments and immersing ourselves in the deeper understanding of the farm as a living system. Whether the ˜natural living stream" that Williams is speaking of is called the Tao, or the universe, or the Napa Valley is of no consequence, or whether it's biodynamics, dry farming, organic farming or any combination thereof, what's important is that the endeavor is honest and respectful to the land it's on and the people working it. Williams says that what's exciting to him is quality, adding that in the Tao it says ˜what is rooted is easy to nourish." I say that I'm glad that there are options when buying wine that reflect conscious lifestyle choices, and I'll settle for that.
Tasting Notes and Final Ruminations
2007 Zinfandel
Napa Valley
76% Zinfandel
19% Petite Sirah
5% Carignane
Based on the Zinfandels that were produced in the 40's and 50's Frog's Leap Zinfandel is a field blend based on olde-time knowledge that Petite Sirah, Carignan and Napa Gamay all picked at ripeness add color, aromatics and complexity to Zinfandel, In other words: the other varietals help to reveal Zinfandel's true flavors.
Aromas of chocolate, ripe blackberry and raspberry with a hint of dill at the outset that revealed cinnamon and candied orange peel fifteen to twenty minutes later. Medium bodied with enough acid to frame the rather luscious fruit... just enough tannin at the end to provide a pleasurable finish: An elegant Zin full of character.
2006 Rutherford
92% Cabernet Sauvignon
8% Cabernet Franc
I can't remember if I tasted this at the Rutherford dust Society's annual tasting this past year at Coppola Estate, there were so many wines that day, Sauvignon Blanc as well, that I couldn't begin to remember. I did really like this that day at Frog's Leap, but I also had the opportunity to taste it again about a week later with Jonah Beer, and I remember being impressed with it. These notes are a synthesis of both days.
Plum & ripe apricot aromas among a mouth full of dark fruit; framed by just enough oak... dusty tannins in an earthy, typical bench style go all the way to the end of a medium length finish. Would be excellent with grilled meats, burgers.
2007 Petite Sirah
100% Petite Sirah
From the Galleron Vineyard in Rutherford, this Petite Sirah has a production of 794 cases. Frog's Leap says in their literature that the early barrel samples had a dark indigo hue and intense fragrance, which makes sense, given the final product.
Plum and blueberry predominate the aromas and flavors, while higher toned, brambly notes linger. A focused, yet fleshy wine that shows crisp dark fruit in a medium finish, refreshing and best had with food, preferably lamb, perhaps pasta.
