Carneros: A Bit of Versailles, a Lot of Vines

Hi gang; nice to talk at y’all encore une fois. There weren’t a lot of wine jaunts to take us out of our Oakley ‘hood here in Contra Costa County in recent weeks. Although, between Kathy’s day gig, we both running errands and doing groceries, it’s amazing to see our local gnarly ancient vines suddenly, one morn, shorn of shaggy canes, as if visited overnight by some viticultural Sweeney Todd.

Still, there’s nothing like the Circe-like call of a wine club shipment to inspire us to gas up the Lisa Marie, tuck away a $5 bill for one (of many around these parts) California bridge toll, and once again zip over the “Mothball Fleet” of WWII troop carriers rusting away in the Carquinez Strait, before choosing one of the tines of our regular wine country fork in the road.

Now, the bottles awaiting us were selections from the Hess portfolio, a very civilized collective comprising, among other menu items, estate Mt. Veeder juice, small-production varietal bottlings, and winemaker Randle Johnson’s “Artezin” label spotlighting old-vine selections such as those sourced from the oft-mentioned-and-posted-about Evangelho Vineyard a few miles up the road from our house.

But Kath had set up a little excursion to a region in which we haven’t lately spent a lot of time: Carneros, a cool (in all senses of wine connotation) regional east-west band undergirding the southernmost real estate of the Napa and Sonoma Valleys.

When K and I lived in San Fran a couple of lifetimes ago, we’d explore Carneros a bit; after crossing the Golden Gate, the crazy 12/121/29 (hey, my birth date!) highway interchanges brought us to our first wine stops of the morning en route to Napa.

The other day, on our Carneros trek as born-again Cali locals, and approaching from a more easterly (and cheaper) toll bridge, our first stop was once again Domaine Carneros, the venerable Napa outpost of Champagne house Taittinger.

The Cali joint (see photo above) has been around for decades at least, and if the marketing vibe has changed, the experience still serves as a tasty way to toot that flute of sparkling wine. Breakfast of Champions, indeed.

So, Carneros is that cucumber-cool cousin to Rutherford or Dry Creek to the north. They unabashedly espouse the Burgundian model of outrageously distinctive Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Fog from San Pablo Bay to the south (soup that rolls in by which you could set your wristwatch); sun-drenched daylight and “nighty-night” shutdown: It ain’t the crib for Cabernet or Zinfandel, both of which thrive in Napa and Sonoma, the municipalities of which Carneros shares.

My head hurts.

There’s a road loop up the hill from Domaine Carneros, and across the road from the southern outpost of Cuvaison (a gorgeous, and green, tasting salon combining “Atomic Age” design with small-lot elegant juice: the former you see in architectural magazines; the latter on San Francisco wine lists.

The limited production offerings at Acacia and Bouchaine and Etude, labels that were familiar to me, had me puzzled. Turns out that they have flagship, big-volume stuff for the distribution chain, but some, such as Acacia, produce esoteric 247-case stuff for sale only in-house.

We added $lightly to our Pinot and Chard $tash. But before we headed off to summit Mount Veeder and pick up our Hess stuff, we had a rendezvous avec destiny.

The tasting room at Artesa is another architectural marvel visible off of the north side of 121. Back in the day, ‘twas opened as Codorniu Napa, a literal mission vanguard for the Spanish Cava sparkling wine house. Owned by the same fam decades later, Codorniu has retooled its Carneros operations to focus on still wines, though bubbles are definitely in the mix.

At Artesa, ask for Troy Johnson. He will hook you up.

Onward!

Hess. In the galleries and in the glass. In da house. As aforementioned, their Artezin project is not shy of Frank Evangelho’s fruit from our neighboring burg of Antioch. CoCo fruit, with 5% Petite Sirah.

The tasting bar experience at Hess has always been a bit of a head-scratcher for me as a wine club member. For such a class outfit, with its mesmerizing art collection and pedigreed wine selections, it seems to lack a satisfying tasting regimen, especially for members picking up their wine in person.

I’m going to hark back to our Seattle days a few years ago as Chateau Ste. Michelle wine club folks. CSM set the club standard: any bottle open in the Vintage Reserve Room (complimentary reservations encouraged) was awaiting your glass; and, most important, they were pouring the current club selections.

Right now, Hess, citing “limited production,” does not pour the juice you’re picking up, never mind provide a members’ tasting area. And lest y’all think that this is wine club elitism coloring this, please know that Kath and I experienced an identical vibe in WA state once before at a brand new, architectural-magazine-worthy winery; a communally oval tasting bar with a full pouring staff so obviously assigned “stations” that one would swear that the bar was electrified should a host cross zones.

At “J/NH” (not the winery’s real name), we literally had pourers lock eyes with us, and then turn away to shuffle papers because there was no one tasting in their real estate. We cancelled our membership soon after.

We’ve seen a similar thang up Mt. Veeder way, seeing people ignored (and being ignored ourselves). Enough to make me run upstairs to gaze at a Rauschenberg, STAT.

OK, enough of my oh-so-softball edgy crit-ee-kues. I mean, here in Wine Countries, Kathy and I have had great conversations at tasting rooms region-wide with regional/national/international citizens who don’t have the nonluxury of a $5 bridge toll to cross the wine component off of their Bouquet List.

So, yeah, a bit of Versailles and a honkin’ lot of vines for us: from bubbly in Carneros to a brambly Carignane.

What was I complaining about again?