T a recent tasting-evaluation of a range of Rutherford AVA Cabernet Sauvignons from the 2004 vintage, members of the media were treated to about 30 wines that were, for the most part, pretty good. If you can overlook the price for some of them (in the $70 to $125 range), you could make a good case for this being the pinnacle of recent Napa Valley Cabernets, for at least three reasons:

1. 2004 was a good year, quality-wise, for Napa Valley red wines;

2. The number of producers who now make a Rutherford-designated Cabernet Sauvignon has grown, so the wine has taken on a critical mass, and,

3. Rutherford is the historic homeland for Cabernet in California, the place where Inglenook and Beaulieu were founded, where some of the greatest Cabs of the last 100 years were made, and where many of the nation’s finest wine makers have toiled.

And yet, as I went through all the wines in the allotted time, and listened to talk about the grape acreage of the area, I had a shocking realization: No one from Rutherford addressed the most obvious question, the one that would have made the tasting a complete circle of truth and meaningfulness: what is the essential character of a Rutherford Cabernet Sauvignon? They did say at one point that there was a similarity among the wines, but no one delineated what that similarity was. Indeed, I saw very little of the historic character once required for a wine to typify this area of the Cabernet world.

As Editor-At-Large for APPELLATION AMERICA, and as one of the senior members of the media at that tasting (my first visit to Rutherford as a journalist was 31 years ago), I could well have asked that question out loud. And I know for a certainty that what I would have been told, after a long, arduous discussion among the winery representatives, would have been totally unsatisfactory. I have as much background with these wines as anyone at that tasting and I know what the tenor of the area should be. And it wasn’t a component in most of the wines.

The mere fact that such an obvious issue was not a part of the Rutherford Dust Society’s formal verbal discussion; that it was not a part of the classy printed materials we were given; and that no other media attendee even brought up the issue is either astounding proof that no one cares any more about regional character, or affirms that defining it, in terms that once were more in evidence, would be a ludicrous act since only a tiny number of Rutherford Cabernets have anything remotely Rutherford-like in their makeup any more.

Indeed, if any wine maker did have a trace of the area’s terroir in his or her Cabernet Sauvignon, he or she would be derided as some sort of mastodon mired in the ooze of some prehistoric bog. The owner and wine maker would become pariahs in their own land, and soon (I’m sure) would fall prey to the score-mongering vultures who’d pick over their 78-point bones with a mockery reserved for those foolhardy enough to think they can change the course of destiny by making something with a classical bent.

The bottom line for most of the people who have so much wealth tied up in these precious soils is that survival (and the ticket to even greater wealth) means conformity to a style some producers may not personally like, but which sells better than the more structured wine of the past. And in my view, it means driving a 747 over the terroir characteristics of the wine and constructing a new model, one that is toothless and homogenous.

Napa Valley Style Multiple Choice: Myopia, Monotony, MonoTone, Monopoly

Indeed, as Randy Dunn of Dunn Vineyards ((Read Randy Dunn’s APPELLATION AMERICA interview) noted to me just two weeks after the Rutherford Dust Society tasting, “We [Napa Valley] are not only in danger of becoming a one-wine region, we’re in danger of making only one style of wine.” Not everyone is into this sort of global destruction of a birthright, of course. But the distinctive-ists really are from elsewhere. Think of the dozens of Russian River Valley Pinot Noir producers and the red wine makers along the California central coast, and in some pockets of Mendocino County. There is also Carneros Merlot, as well as Merlot from pockets in the Columbia Valley, and a handful of other tiny North American appellations (British Columbia’s Naramata Bench, Niagara, Oregon’s Umpqua and Rogue valleys; New York’s Finger Lakes; portions of Michigan, Ohio, and Virginia, to name just a few).

But note if you will that these and other regions of the United States and Canada (and perhaps parts of Mexico’s Guadalupe Valley soon will be included here!) are anything but household words, and certainly are not on the lips of wine collectors as are the Cabernets of Oakville, Rutherford, Yountville, and soon Calistoga (see Alan Goldfarb’s excellent article on the latest in the Calistoga appellation fight). Moreover, few of these other-area wines sell for very much money, and in our star-aligned wine culture, a high price almost always equals success. When a wine sells for $30 or less, it is simply not taken seriously by some people.

So for the makers of one of the most famous wines from one of the most famous wine regions in American wine lore to pay no attention whatever to its own regional character (about which much was written 30 years ago) is a relinquishment of an essential component in the history of the region.

The late Andre Tchelistcheff defined the “Rutherford dust” elements inherent in a great Cabernet Sauvignon. They were elements that he said defined the region, just as the region defined the wine. The dried herb, mint, faint eucalyptus (OK, pyrazine-linked) aroma that we see so rarely these days was Andre’s touchstone for a great wine that showed off its terroir proudly. It was not to be shunned, not something embarrassing. But that seems to be the reaction of many wine makers when I try to compliment them by saying the wine has a trace of that character. They wince, shudder, and/or look askance, as if my compliment is devoutly to be scorned. Many of them know the history of the region, but are unwilling to acknowledge that it plays a part in their wines. Such a “compliment” in print may never be used in press materials because the wine maker and/or owner may believe such praise actually will harm sales! Herbs?! Heaven forbid! Such a trait is not, uh, hedonistic.

Having a history with a place establishes its terroir-likelihood. Rutherford is old enough to have that, but things have changed structurally for many vineyards in Napa, not only Rutherford. What has driven it out is the derision of some high-profile writers who prefer walking-around wine rather than classic dry, food-oriented wine. And to that end, they have warped the grape, twisting it into a style that’s atypical of what the historic model represented.

The fact that the wineries here (notably a property as dramatic as Francis Ford Coppola’s Rubicon Estate, one of the finest pieces of Cabernet property on the planet) have elected to make a Cabernet Sauvignon that is very good but very “safe” indicates that no one seems prepared to go out on a limb and craft something that has the very qualities of which Andre Tchelistcheff would have been proud.

You may think of it in terms of its “sweetness.” There is a succulence to many Rutherford Cabs these days, which seems to create an “ooh and ahh” effect in tasting rooms and haute chambres when the wine is first tried, but it’s that very same character that leaves a purist like me scratching my noggin in personal debate: will this thing go with food? Will it age? And sure enough, it lacks the edgy, mineral-y character that is so compelling in a truly great wine.

Wines for the Now Generation, Not Necessarily the Cellar

I liked the Rubicon from ’04. But I did not swoon with the instant realization that it would be better in time. If you buy the argument that age-worthiness is one of the traits on which red wine analysis and evaluation are built, most of the Rutherford area wines will be fine in a decade. But will they improve, or even hold up, as well as have the great Rutherford wines of the past, from the 1970s? I seriously doubt it. For the most part, the structures are wrong and the flavors are built to impress now and soon. The edginess and herbal fascination of the past are no longer in evidence, the way you find them in, for instance, the wines of Cathy Corison. (And as for going with food, I’d say it would go with steak only if that steak were slathered in A1 Sauce.)

For that reason, the 2004 Trinchero Cabernet Sauvignon from the Chicken Ranch Vineyard, with its shocking “low” 13.5 percent alcohol and handsome structure, may well have been the stunner in the crowd. At $30 a bottle, it is one of the few wines I tasted that carried its regional story on its sleeve. Unaffected by high alcohol, the wine carries a modest intensity and a great balance to a finish that promises more in the future - and at a price most can afford, so it’s possible to buy a handful of bottles and try them over years, to see what Rutherford can do in time.

This essay may seem like a diatribe against the ills of following a path that seems suited to appeal most to people who are unfortunately unaware of the potential greatness in a region. And yes, to a degree it is. An entire generation has been educated to like a style of wine that is atypical to the historic model. And yet it is not all the fault of the wine maker, though there is a heap of justification for blame.

A set of circumstances have led us to this sad state. The entire Valley, not Rutherford alone, is rarely charged with being the major culprit, and for this the wine makers are only partially at fault. Making vital changes in any wine is like turning the Queen Mary in mid-sea. It takes a lot of time, and with the benefits being seen as dubious as well as risky, you can’t really blame the proprietors for sticking with Plan B since those with credit cards, checks, and cash seem not to be rebelling, and certainly not any time soon. They are perfectly willing to be a part of this sad state, and even are buying into the myth.

But as with many of the 1997 reds from this region, which are now a decade old and seeming as if rigor mortis has already set in, the 2004s are headed for a short, amusing life as a grand sipping wines for the parlour. As for dinner? Bring on wines that have better structure.

I believe it’s possible to state what a few of Napa’s drawbacks are, and what has led us to a state where aperitif wine is being made from Cabernet Sauvignon, and where the classics have been defanged in the quest to gain a high score. And we will set out to do that in our next installment of “As the World Turns.”

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Read Part 2 of Dan Berger’s Cri du Coeur at APPELLATION AMERICA:
Regional Transparency - When Marketing Trumps Winemaking

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Photo of Rutherford Bench © Michael Lasky; Photo of Rutherford vineyards © Jason Tinacci