The value of blind tastings

As often as I embarrass myself in a blind tasting, it is essential to measuring a wine without prejudice. How many times have you — or someone in your circle — chosen a favorite based on cost or region? A $100 cabernet sauvignon must be better than one that sells for $25, right? Burgundy pinot noirs must be better than one from California, right?

The other day among friends we submitted ourselves to four sparkling wines: one from Champagne, one from Oregon, one from South Africa and one from England. All I asked is for the knowledgeable tasters to tell me which one they liked the best. The champagne was very good, but it was the Nyetimber from England that was judged the favorite. And, many thought it was champagne.

It was the result I was hoping for. I recently wrote a magazine article on the growing success of the English sparkling wine industry. I was blown away by the quality of these wines and their similarities to champagne. British winemakers are using the same grapes grown in similar soil and using the same traditional winemaking process. Temperatures in the southern region, thanks to climate warming, are as perfect as those in Champagne. In fact, as temperatures rise in Champagne, England has a better future. More than 70 percent of the wine that comes from these vineyards is sparkling.

Would anyone have judged the English wine superior had they seen the label? I doubt it. In fact, restaurateurs who carry Nyetimber in my town say it takes some convincing. But when the adventurous diners try it, they are universally delighted.

Subsequent to the sparkling wine tasting, we blind tasted four reds and asked to guess on their grape variety or region. I was convinced the first one was a blend from the Rhone Valley and the second was from Rioja. The third I couldn’t guess and the last I thought to be another Rhone.

All of them were from the Paso Robles region of the Central Coast. They were stunning, expensive wines Three were from the 2014 vintage, the fourth was a 2010.

The Booker Vineyard The Ripper was grenache, so I at least had the grape variety right. The second was a grenache/syrah blend from Law Estate — hardly close to Rioja. The third was the 2010 L’Aventure Cote a Cote, a blend of mostly syrah and mourvedre. The last wine — the 2014 Saxum Broken Stones — was a blend of grenache, syrah and mourvedre. All were stunning wines but I liked the Law Estate the best and close behind was the legendary Saxum.

As I said, blind tastings are humbling experiences when you stick your neck out. But they taught me a lot.

Old mourvedre shows the power of the grape

I'm a sucker for deals on old wines. They are often discounted because a store is eager to unload them. However, they come with risk. If they were in excellent condition, they wouldn't be discounted, right?

While touring Domaine Tempier in Bandol, I noticed a half-dozen wines from La Laidiere, a neighboring property Domaine Tempier had recently acquired. Red blends (mourvedre, grenache and cinsault) dating back to the 1991 vintage were selling for under 30 euros apiece.  I'm sure Tempier got them with the deal and was eager to sell them because they were someone else's wine.

Veronique Peyraud, one of the sisters running Domaine Tempier, recommended to me the 1993 because it had the highest concentration of mourvedre -- 80 percent. For about $30, how could I resist?

It was a fabulous wine -- the fruit was a little tired, but the structure was holding up. It showed the longevity of wines made mostly from mourvedre.

Veronique was right to point me to a mourvedre-dominated wine. I enjoyed Domaine Tempier's 2014 red blend -- about 60 percent mourvedre -- the following night. It was a beautiful, tannic monster with dense, complex dark berry fruit. Clearly, it could age 20 years.

Mourvedre, called monastrell in neighboring Spain, is a foundation grape to blends made in southern France. Although it often has off-putting aromas, mourvedre provides the hammer to a blend. Grenache and cinsault soften the wine and their floral elements offset the rotten egg notes that often accompany mourvedre.

Tempier's mourvedre now has me in search of similar wines from the Bandol area.

Is there really an "old world" style?

Last night I led a hearty band of wine enthusiasts through a pretty exhausting comparison of old world and new world wines. It was far from comprehensive, but the selections provided the right platform to compare wines from the two worlds. The results even surprised me.

Old world wines -- principally from European countries -- tend to be more subtle, less alcoholic, higher in acid and more restrained. This is principally a result of a cooler climate that doesn't allow the grapes to ripen as well. But, the wines are also a product of tradition. Generations of old world producers have for centuries made wines for their villages and to accompany meals. The names of their villages -- not the grape variety -- is still the sole focus on their labels.

New world producers -- Australia, New Zealand, North and South America, etc. -- on the other hand, are more likely to use technology and science to produce wines in much warmer climates. The name of grape variety or the vineyard play a more important role on the label than the village where the grapes are grown. 

The differences can be found in the glass, as my tasting vividly proved. A sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley was clean, simple, medium bodied while a New Zealand sauvignon blanc was bold, stylish and grassy.

The red wines compared similarly. I liked the contrast between a Spanish monastrell and a California mourvedre (same grape). The Rioja monastrell was rustic with earthy, barnyard aromas, medium body and subtle spice and oak flavors. The Cline Mourvedre -- a perennial favorite of mine -- was fruit-forward with ripe cherry fruit flavors and more oak influences, such as spice, vanilla and even a dash of chocolate. The first would do better with food than the ripe and jammy Cline.

Two new world cabernet sauvignon blends -- Unanime from Argentina and Columbia Crest H3 from Washington state -- were classic contrasts to a simple Bordeaux blend from Chateau Fonseche.  The Bordeaux, made in a cooler climate, revealed black berry and currants while the other two had more black cherry flavors that come from a warmer climate. 

As the climate changes between wine-growing regions, the differences are becoming more subtle. But as winemakers travel between regions and learn from each other, so merges their wine-making techniques. Old world countries have been adopting new world practices, including an emphasis on organic farming. And, there is the risk of over-generalizing these differences.

Not to be underestimated is the desire of new world producers to back off its fruit-forward, highly extracted and alcoholic style. This was a style embraced by international wine critic Robert Parker Jr. who could break a producer who chose to ignore his high scores. But it also impressed American consumers who tend to like ripe, bold wines with a dash of residual sugar.

At the end of the tasting, one taster said the comparisons allowed her to better define the kinds of wine she likes. The next time she goes blindly into a wine shop or restaurant she can tell a merchant that she's looking for an old world wine that is more subtle and less ripe. That was music to my ears. It's not that she won't enjoy a New World wine, but she knows what her palate likes and she can intelligently describe it.

Such comparisons are invaluable in understanding that geography and technology between continents have great influence in taste.