Twenty Acres and a Merlot

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April Richmond is a former colleague of Kathy’s, and April (her, not the month) has set in motion a whirlwind of shindigs, parties, special events and, I wouldn’t be surprised, TempranilloWare parties. It’s everything that I hoped we could do; she did it.

Kinda gave us a flashback to Cali’s Vision Cellars, one of the, perhaps the first, African-American vintners to showcase their wares. Kathy and I first encountered Vision when the owner was pouring at McMinnville, Oregon’s International Pinot Noir Celebration. The Sunday tasting, outdoors, at IPNC was crazy; they had to take a break to bring the second squad onto the field. Nothing based on merit: they just had a big lineup.

Ms. Richmond ushered us into the San Francisco Vintner’s Market the other day. Motto? “Try it. Buy it.”

So, we motor to San Francisco’s Fort Mason, a decommissioned naval-slash-commercial base, that has become the home to many, many small biz. It’s also a facility to which Kath and I took the bus to attend the ZAP Zinfandel bacchanal when we lived there, several lives ago.

FYI, City of SF: Stop having your parking lots spout tix if there are no spots available. Nice revenue stream, but it reinforces why folks live in the burbs.
But enough about CoCo’s Oakley ‘hood.

April treated us to a wonderful afternoon of artisan producers (we heard, repeatedly, the phrase “we do 300 cases”), bad fashion amongst the patrons and amazingly unique wines. A vineyard manager who wanted to grab a few blocks and maybe see if he could possibly go into biz for himself. Some one who lived abroad, fell in love with the native grape, and wanted to do it her way. And the folks who do an outrageous Fume Blanc, neutral oak, but a sop to the people who visit their tasting room in Murphys Gold County. Small production, nicely done.

Here’s what we bought: a Frog’s Tooth Fume Blanc, barrel fermented because their clientele wanted a Chard (with oak). Their riff is “If wine has legs, frogs have teeth.” It’s homage to Mark Twain’s Calaveras story, and their price point is akin to what Mr. Clemens’ juice would have sold for.

We scooped up a couple of Pinot Noirs from vineyard managers who have the hook up. Kathy and I love this groove: Dude knows the blocks, oversees what to prune and crop. Who better to approach the owner and offer to buy a ton when the market tightens? Sweetness. Encanto from Carneros fruit, and farther north, Fogline with stuffing from Russian River, really do the do.

And then we get to chat with Allison at Edelweiss. Her Riesling, based on a single block at Napa/Carneros is luscious. I may say, again, “sweet,” but it is dry, with layers of stone and fig. Suddenly, I know why 1) Winemakers abandoned the Riesling grape, and 2) Winemakers had to add “Dry” to the Riesling label.

Dude, it’s like Chardonnay: Belly up to the bar and get a by-the-glass pour that has you chewing on lumber, or an unoaked thang that people send back.

One stop is Simple Math, a tiny producer who sources grapes up and down the West Coast, including Cabernet from Washington state. He was overwhelmed, props to Ms. April Richmond.

Our final stop is a sparkling label, BHLV. It stands for Beverly Hills Las Vegas, and the reps behind the stick could not tell us what the grapes in the blend were. Lindsay Lohan, welcome back: Your reps are calling. Assuming that you have any reps. Guys, this was so wrong; obviously a brand without anybody to tell us what was in the blend.

Marketing v. Making. You tell me.