CLIFF.HANGER

From Benmarl Winery we drive thirty minutes to Whitecliff Vineyards. Hoping. The road curls over hills, twisting East and away from the tempering humidity of the Hudson. The sandstone and shale crescent of Shawangunk Ridge (from where the wine-region gets its regrettable "get gunked" tag line) hangs in the distance. This ridge likely traps the convection of warm air from the river just enough to grow grapes. Maybe.
Whitecliff's gravel drive slopes between western-facing vines and parks us around the back of the converted shed. The lot is a stage for their stainless presses and pumps. Proud in their farming roots and hard work (and costly equipment), Whitecliff has little to hide. We wrap around the massive, ridge facing deck and squeeze into the tasting room.

Inside, the tasting bar is mobbed and all the coffee, I mean wine tables, filled by chatting bachelorettes. We bob and weave our way to the counter. Behind it a lone twenty-something pours and drops bottles. Once he wraps up a pack of small-talking couples, he rolls over to us.

With two pages of wines to pick from, we stick to the Estate and Hudson Valley wines. Why try imported Long Island Malbec or Merlot?

The whites are honest.

The 2009 Traminette carries its Gewürztraminer (lit. "spiced Traminer") roots lightly, with the typical lychee, floral and ginger spice notes wafting about. However, the Cornell University crossing with the Franco-American Joannes Seyve 23.416 adds a watery white melon blandness to the Gewürz. A lack of ripeness might also be to blame.

The 2009 Chardonnay is crisp and fine. No oak or butter here, albeit a bit on the light side.

The 2009 off dry Riesling is fine, although the sweetness might make up for the lack of body.

Whitecliff's Estate Awosting White blends Seyval Blanc (another French hybrid that handles New York's cold) and Vignoles (ditto) into a dry white with enough wake-up acidity to stay interesting.

MASSIVE TANGENT ALERT:

[Phylloxera, a nasty sap-sucking aphid, had wiped out most of Europe's vines by the end of 19th century. Europe scrambled, crossing or grafting their classic Vitis vinifera grapes with hardier American varieties (Vitis aestivalis, rupestris, riparia and to a lesser extent, labrusca). Grafting French grapes onto American vines won out. So to pretend as if nothing had happened, EU wine regions excluded the hybrid grapes. But in cool climate, underegulated US wine regions these hardy new grapes flourished.]

Then there were Whitecliff's reds.

Their Estate Pinot Noir, Cabernet Franc and Gamay Noir, all from 2008, looked pale and pink in the glass. As if to compensate, the Pinot had an inch of sediment left in the bottle. The cool climate acidity cut across the palate. Finally oak veneered the faint fruit in harsh, woody tannins and toast. Whitecliff's overly petite French barrels left nothing but forest in the glass.

For kicks (and an extra $2) I tried their Hudson Valley Estate Port, distilled just down the road at Tuthilltown Spirits. The Frontenac grape (a recent French-American hybrid of U. of Minnesota descent) is red and all acidity. Combine that with 22% alcohol, toasted oak and 5.2% residual sugar and you have a maraschino cherry factory that's burning to the ground to sip, very, very slowly.

While waiting for our pourer to stop talking about guitars, Whitecliff starts to clarify. The flanking couple follows Whitecliff's mailing list religiously. Since the winery makes roughly 1,500 cases a year, getting a hold of anything takes will. Yet brand affiliation seems strong.

Whitecliff' has the will to experiment and learn but at the cost of focus. Having Merlot or Malbec might meet customer demand for fruity, warmer climate reds, but labeling them Whitecliff Vineyards is a bit of a lie.
There is even a Redtail red that claims to be their thirteen dollar "answer to Yellowtail". But why drag yourself into that battle (7.5 million cases -vs- 1,500)? New York wines will never be the soft, full bodied and cheaply mass-produced wines of the Aussies because the sun and available vineyards are not here. Competing on that level distracts not only the customers but the winemaker from learning what their vineyards do best. Also, now that Australia's wine market has hit a hard patch, such comparisons only lower expectations of your wine.

The only way to win is to trust your grapes and your location. Sell on the merits that differentiate you from the rest and find ways to take your customers there.

Next Time: garage wine with Brimstone Hill.

MID.LIFE.CRISIS

Free. We journey south, purging our palates of Stoutridge with water, on route to Benmarl Winery. A sign guides us past suburbia and onto a gravel road. Knotted, older vines twist along a slope to the left. Unassuming barn buildings emerge and we park the car just below them. In the courtyard, a white tour van worries us of the possible wine-trail trash inside. But the worn wood, flower beds, the faded door handle all reassures that this is more about wine than image.
Luck. The walking veil with mini plastic penises and her bridesmaids are already stumbling out of the cellar. We slide past their chatter to stand at the tasting table. No one. Just the smell of burnt cheese whiz. Not an ideal wine pairing. Our man pokes his head out of the kitchen, apologizes incoherently and disappears again. We glance at used wine lists.

Benmarl gleams its glory from having "America's oldest continuously producing vineyard" with 18th century grapes, Farm Winery License #1 and its "slate hill" name derived from Gaelic. We certainly stood in what was once a diner and everywhere was unfinished flooring and wood work. Our guide, still chewing, retired but amiable finally came up and began our tasting.

2008 Dry Riesling: Once my nose cut through our friend's cheese aura, vanilla notes from oak and butter jumped out of the glass. On a riesling? Seriously? Nearly all New York, German and Austrian riesling, I thought, rarely saw secondary fermentations especially not in new oak barrels. Yet there it was. A medium weight riesling, still holding its golden apple and pear notes yet cushioned in pillows of American oak and popcorn's diacetyl. Not bad actually. Perplexed, we moved on.

2008 Traminette: flowers and ginger danced quietly, echoing the hybrid grape's gewurztraminer origins. A crisp attack of acidity and green citrus followed on the palate. No oak just stainless steel and a trust that cool climate's grapes deserved their acidity. These vines are still young.

2008 Estate Baco Noir: Finally a legitimately local wine, born and raised to bottle on site from 50 year old vines. Baco noir began as a crossing a century ago by Francois Baco working in Belus, France. He created a red more resilient to rot, mildew, phyloxera, and cold from an unknown American and the grape hiding behind Cognac and Armagnac fame: folle blanche. Benmarl keeps it honest here. Black cherry, boysenberry, herbs and light oak spices are quickened by moderate acidity and a drawn out finish. Great wine but not at thirty dollars.

2008 Cabernet Franc: Yay! wait...it is re-fermenting in the bottle. Not today.

2008 Merlot: Oaked. Plum. Dull. Long Island grapes.

DeChaunac: Decent and red and twelve bucks.

2007 Cabernet Sauvignon: An import from Californian vines. It is well produced but underwhelming and, sadly, a sign of things to come throughout the Hudson.

Sangria: Our guide admits they dump a bucket called "Sangria" into their left over red.

Benmarl's wines show some experimentation under their new owner, Victor Spaccarelli. They are well made and interesting when local. Yet like the tasting room (a diner addition still under renovation), the fizzy cab franc and sangria, Benmarl lacks focus.
We wandered around the cellar basement, which retained the dust, barrels and bottles of Benmarl's original ownership. The remnant pride in its Baco noir echoed throughout the collection. Mark Miller obviously cared about his Baco and Spaccarelli has carried that mantel well enough since 2006.
Once outside, we saw how perfect this slate hill was for wine. High over the Hudson, the slope had great exposure to the morning sun: perfect for ripening grapes in cool climates. But like the fifty year old Baco noir, the 60s Corvette in the courtyard and all the rennovations, Benmarl was going through a midlife crisis. I still have hopes for how it will look tomorrow.

PREMATURE.AGGRANDIZATION

Our wine tour of the Hudson "gunks" off first with Stoutridge Winery. The winery sits at the end of a pit. On the right, a drainage pipe pours into what aspires to be a pond. Small plots of vines run up the hill like thinning hairs. The drive ends at the winery: an imposing cream cube littered with french lanterns, potted plants and hand-written signs that misdirect the entry.The side door opens to a long tasting bar connected to the cash registers. Behind the bar bounds Stephen Osborn with his bottle brandished high in hand. We catch him in mid-attack, breathless and raving, something about all other wines being canned tomato juice, processed, homogenized, pasteurized blandness.

The crowd stands a good yard away from the bar. They near this proselytizer in polyester only to fill the next glass and then step back. We squeeze up and Osborn throws two glasses down without breaking his verbal stride.

He starts with white. A pretty standard Vidal Blanc, like many from the Finger Lakes, with light white pear, honey and enough acidity to keep it from being boring. Next, two white blends showing off 2006's cool climate acidity against 2007's sunnier climes but softer and flabbier results. Next, the reds cut the palate with unending acidity and tight tannins. Osborn proudly kept waving his decanters up to a hanging light. They were ink black and not just hazy but opaque. The texture resembled pureed tomato sauce. Briars, black pepper, grass, pencil lead, stones overwhelmed any fruit quality. Drinkable whites and really rough reds, but what matters is the spin.

Osborn pushes that this is how wine is meant to taste. He adds nothing unnatural and says all his wines are unfined, unpumped and unfiltered. In itself this is laudable but slightly misleading, because he never educates us about what he actually does. Words like eco-friendly, solar power, green, all natural, antioxidants and slow food keep filling his sentences and the room, assuming these terms are self-satisfying. Worse, this distracts from real problems with his wine.

He won't ship because his wines cannot survive the heat of trucks (all of which are refrigerated). The wine is naturally fizzy because that is...um nature (a little stirring would resolve that problem). The crystals at the bottle bottom are normal (potassium tartrate crystals actually develop when wine is over-refrigerated). The wine is hazy because it contains healthy pectins and proteins, which he does not filter or fine away (a little more racking, even with your gravity-only setup, would solve that). High acidity and rough tannins are good for you, just decant for two hours or more (what? my wife's already gone to bed.).

Osborn never asks for reactions or questions about his wine. He must know it all.
Now hammered, but not because of alcohol, we break off to check out the winery. Shrink-wrapped barrels and stainless steel vats were cloistered behind glass. A computer monitor on a dresser enlightened us with bright colors about tank temperatures. Whether they were real or not. The kicker was the "Museum".
In an act of premature aggrandization, the Museum displays man-sized barrels mounted with LCD screens, knobs and Stoutridge's tomato sauce logo. The small plaque on the 1990s tropical carpeting reminds us that this hallowed space is cold because it is in a hill and therefore environmentally friendly. Impressive? Sure. But this all reeks of Disneyland (surprise, Osborn comes from California). Standing there, I cannot imagine these gleaming barrels in use. Everything is too clean and polished. That heady aroma of wine at work is no where.
Branding wine matters. The labels on your bottles should convey to the customer something about what is inside. That something can be the taste, place, persons or purpose behind the wine. If Osborn claims that "this is what wine should taste like", then why does his logo and labels resemble airbrushed playdough? If his message is all-natural wine, shouldn't his label be something other than a cartoon blob? Or maybe that is it. Like the blob, Stoutridge is not open to comment or question. You cannot fight it's mixed message of environmentalism and modernism. Nor do you want to drink it.