As his name is, so is he,” the Bible states in I Samuel XXV, but this was surely not intended even twenty-five centuries ago, to apply to wine. For “Wine is a mocker. …” the Bible says in Proverbs XX, and certainly never more a mocker than when rigged out, these days, with a fancy label, a familiar name, and a singing commercial.
“Where a man calls himself by a name which is not his name,” said Lord Esher, “he is telling a falsehood.” This is even more applicable to bottles than to men, but before we go any farther into the subject of names and bottles, I wish to reassure my readers—the foregoing display of erudition is the fruit of a couple of profitable hours spent with Mr. H. L. Mencken's Dictionary of Quotations. What follows is my own.
Basically, all wine names exist only as guides or warnings or guarantees for the benefit of the consumer. If they are not informative, they are useless, however familiar; if they are inaccurate, they are dishonest; if they are too general and tell less than the whole story, they are to be avoided as suspect.
Up until about a hundred years ago, practically all wine names were nothing more or less than geographical designations—Burgundy, whether sold in Paris as vin de Bourgogne, in Hamburg as rot Burgunder, in Buenos Aires as Borgona, or in London as Burgundy, was a wine from a specific French province. The same sort of thing was true of sherry and port and Rhine wine and Chianti and champagne. South African Burgundy, California Rhine wine, and Australian port had not yet been born, to create for us a whole new series of complications. Still wines bottled at the vineyard and carrying the producer's name were so rare as to be almost nonexistent, and people were content, on the whole, to rely on their wine merchant's knowledge and good faith. Brands, in the modern sense of the word, were of importance only in champagne.
A good many of us may feel that what has happened since, in the field of wine distribution and merchandising, could scarcely be classified as progress. We shall have to accept it, willy-nilly, and here are a few of its implications. Retailers that can properly be described as wine merchants are to be found only in a few large American cities, although interstate shipments of wine, directly to the consumer, are prohibited by the laws of about forty of the forty-eight states. Americans no longer call on their wine merchants—they pick up a half dozen bottles at their local package store and find themselves up against a printed price list, a clerk who drinks wine rarely if at all, and a collection of the most complicated labels which the wine producers and legislators of seven or eight countries have found it possible to devise.
Theoretically, this self-service sort of shopping, for such it is, may perhaps be simpler; there is certainly a wider choice, but intelligent choice implies specialized knowledge. And how many of us can, at a glance, select the outstanding California claret when there are ten on a shelf, or put our finger unerringly on the best of a half dozen Pommards? Today, the American consumer is assumed to possess, and almost compelled to possess, if he wants a good wine, the sort of detailed information which wine merchants formerly spent half a lifetime in acquiring.
Wine by any standards is an exceedingly complex subject, and it is far beyond the pretensions of this article to cram what might be a four-year course into a few thousand words. On the other hand, it may be possible to set up a few signposts.
Wine fraud, of course, is as old as wine; it is probably no more prevalent today, and it is certainly easier to detect, than it was fifteen hundred or five hundred or fifty years ago. The Federal law requires that all bottles be clearly marked to indicate their net contents, the country of origin of the wine, and its alcoholic strength. The penalties for infraction of these rules are so heavy, and the possible gain through violating them is so small that you can forget about them. Your wine comes from the country that it says it comes from, you get full measure, and your wine is not watered. You are also effectively protected by the pure-food law against deleterious substances such as arsenic, and your wine, unless it says that it is made from blackberries or loganberries or cherries, is made from grapes. The rest, I am afraid, is pretty much up to you.
Originally, as I have pointed out above, wine names were geographical designations: Burgundy came from Burgundy, champagne from Champagne, port from Oporto, and Rhine wine from the banks of the Rhine. There were a few descriptive terms such as claret (originally clairet, a lighter wine) and two or three grape names (muscatel, Riesling, malmsey) acquired a certain amount of popular acceptance, but the basis of the whole thing was geographical—names of provinces, names of towns, names of specific hillsides.
Now in the last hundred years a good many of these names have, so to speak, got out of hand and have taken legal, if not moral, refuge in what is known as the public domain. It all started innocently enough. A Frenchman in California's Santa Clara Valley, let us say, started to make two red wines out of grapes that he had transplanted from France; the lighter he sold as “Lefranc's Claret” and the heavier as “Lefranc's Burgundy.” What else could he call them, in terms that meant anything to the public at large?
Another Frenchman brought back cuttings, when he revisited his native province, from the actual vineyard of Chateau Yquem. The name “California Chateau Yquem” which he gave to the wine from these grapes was intended as a tribute, not a fraud.
A third Frenchman, from the Champagne country, settled in upstate New York. He set out to make wine, using the only grapes available, and he made it precisely as he had seen it made in Reims and Epernay. What wonder, since it sparkled, that he called it champagne?
As might be expected, since there were no legal controls, this business soon began to run wild. People began to make “Burgundy” out of table grapes, all sorts of concoctions became “Chateau Yquem,” and even the manufacturers of carbonated cider began to feel that they had some sort of vested right in the name “champagne.” It is perhaps important to remember that when all this was taking place, even the copyright laws had not been established on any international basis, and the works of every well-known English author were being pirated and reprinted in this country with no mention of royalties.
Needless to say, this same story was repeated in ten or a dozen countries during the nineteenth century. Italian Marsala was sold as sherry, Spanish Tarragona produced port, Chile had its “Rhine wine,” Australia shipped “Burgundy” to England and undersold the peasant producers of the Cote d'Or, and South African “hock” had its day of favor about the time of the Boer War.
Eventually it became obvious that this sort of thing could not continue indefinitely, although as much “Chablis” is certainly still made in Spain as in Chablis itself, and more “sauterne” even today in California than in France. But some effort, at least, has been made to bring a modicum of order into what was rapidly degenerating into absolute chaos.
In the United States, at least, some twenty or thirty wine names have been declared “semigeneric,” and although European in origin, can be used on American wines providing the word “American” or “California” or “New York State” or “Ohio” appears prominently in direct conjunction. Unfortunately, although the use of most such names is strictly regulated and controlled in their country of origin, they can be used here pretty indiscriminately, as I expect to demonstrate in the following paragraphs.
About the same time, another change took place and this, too, produced a series of complications. The brand—as distinguished from the purely geographical name of origin—had achieved considerable importance in champagne by about 1800, and people had begun to ask for Mr. A's or Mr. B's champagne rather than, as formerly, for a champagne from Ay or from Cramant or from Verzenay. This had, in point of fact, both some technical and some commercial justification—the manufacture of sparkling wine required in general more capital and more specialized knowledge than the average peasant producer could hope to possess.
But the brand, before long, began to invade the field of still wine as well, and by 1920 we were being asked to believe that “XYZ's St. Julien” was superior to Chateau Leoville-Poyferre (the best vineyard in the township of St. Julien), that “SOS Bourgogne Monopole” was the equal of authentic Chambertin, and that “Wunderbar's Moselblumchen” could stand comparison with a Piesporter Lay Auslese of a great year. When prohibition was repealed in this country, we were deluged with the same sort of misinformation, told that “Old Crypt Brand Chablis,” although made out of raisin grapes in Fresno, was “America's best wine,” that “Hollow Tree Burgundy,” shipped in tank car and bottled in Norfolk or Fall River, was “a noble, noble wine, equal to the best imported,” and so on. We still get a lot of this, but more and more consumers are becoming gun-shy.
Brands have their honorable and unquestioned place in the merchandising of wine. They help a wine drinker to associate, as he should, the various products of an honest grower or merchant; they simplify the whole question for the uninitiated; only, perhaps, through the use of a brand can a small producer arrive at the volume which permits intelligent improvement and sound expansion.
The enduring brands, in the field of wine, will be those used to supplement, never to replace, the geographical designations and the names of grape varieties which alone, in the last analysis, inform the consumer. Thus Louis Latour Corton Charlemagne, BV Napa Cabernet, Charles Fournier New York State Champagne, Clos St. Odile Alsatian Riesling, Almaden Grenache Rose, Chapoutier Cote Rotie, Kesselstatt Josefshofer are, without reference to the excellence of the wines, brands that are informative and that should survive. The relevant facts concerning each wine may be on a back label or a front label, in large print or small, so long as they are there.
You will find no facts, relevant or otherwise, except the bare minimum required by law, on “John Doe Director's Special Claret, Made from the Finest Grapes,” or on “Ballyhoo Brand California Sherry, with That Special Flavor.”
And however long and difficult the road, America's consumers are making some real progress along it. Good wine, unlike good money, drives out bad.
The average American consumer, who drinks wine occasionally but not regularly, could, I suppose, if necessary, on a quiz program, with a new car or even a washing machine at stake, name and define with some degree of accuracy about thirty or forty wines. This estimate is perhaps on the high side, but Messrs. Gallup and Roper, to my knowledge, have so far not occupied themselves with vintages, so perhaps we can let it pass. However I propose to put down here, in alphabetical order, the names of forty wines. Inevitably there will be plenty of omissions in such a list, and for obvious reasons there are no brands or trade names included. I am listing, I think, the name of almost every wine you are likely to find in the average package store—I do not say wine merchant's establishment—by and large in this country. This is not, by any means, a list of the Forty Immortals, nor a roster of the House of Peers. It is just what most of us, these days, have to choose from, and what I am giving in the way of a definition of each should be helpful, even if it is a long way from complete.
ALSATIAN WINES
See Riesling, Traminer, and Sylvaner.
ANGELICA
Produced exclusively in California, and really not much more than fortified grape juice. Sweet, golden, and made almost everywhere in the Golden State from whatever grapes happen to come along. Skip it.
ANJOU
A celebrated and historic French province on the Loire, west of Tours and Saumur. As a wine name, exclusively French. The best Anjou wines are white, fruity, fairly sweet, made from the Chenin Blanc grape, comparable to Sauternes but with less alcohol and body. Anjou Rose, made generally from the Cabernet, is light, delicate, short-lived. There are a few good red wines but you are not likely to see them.
BARBERA
A grape grown in the province of Piedmont (northern Italy) and also spottily in the cooler districts of California. Perhaps the best of all “spaghetti wines,” full-bodied, full-flavored, in its prime when young. The California often better than the Italian, some of the latter unintentionally slightly sparkling.
BEAU JOLAIS
The southern edge of the province of Burgundy, in central France. As a wine name, French only. Produces from the Gamay grape one of the pleasantest table wines of the world, sometimes fit to drink when three months old, usually short-lived, rarely great, almost always good. Nearest American equivalent: a Gamay from one of the northern California counties.
BORDEAUX
See under the headings Claret, Graves, Sauternes, etc.
BURGUNDY
This is definitely one of the “international set”—produced in five continents, usually (except in France) out of whatever grapes are handy. Some of it, but never the best, is sparkling. In France, it is a wine made from one of some four or five superior grape varieties—Pinot Noir, Gamay, Chardonnay, Pinot Blanc, etc.—in one specific province. In America it is red by definition, and you can make it, if you insist, even out of Concords. If you want the best American “Burgundy,” look for Pinot Noir or Gamay on the label, whether or not the word Burgundy appears.
CABERNET
A superb red wine grape, responsible for almost all the great clarets of Bordeaux, on the labels of which, however, its name never appears, being taken for granted. In Santa Clara, Napa, and Sonoma Counties, in California, it is equally outstanding, and its name, plus an indication of such origin, is almost a guarantee of quality above the average. This is the thing to buy if you want superior American claret, and this is what you will get if you buy superior claret from France.
CATAWBA
A native American vine and an oldtime favorite. Once famous as the base of most Ohio (and later of much New York State) sparkling wine, it has been superseded by better varieties which have less of the pronounced “foxy” Eastern grape flavor. A white wine grape, of course. You will hardly see its name on bottles these days.
CHABLIS
Chablis is a charming little village not far from Auxerre, in northern Burgundy, and French Chablis wine, legally, is a wine made from Chardonnay grapes grown on a specified sort of soil in Chablis itself and a few adjoining townships. Imitation may be the sincerest flattery, but as far as Chablis is concerned there are about ten countries and four continents from which such flattery is exceedingly unwelcome. Among these, America is well in the van, since Chablis can legally be made anywhere in California out of table grape culls. The best French Chablis usually carries a vineyard name (Vaudesir, Valmur, Les Clos, Preuses, for example) and is estatebottled by a small producer. If you want a California equivalent, try to get Pinot Blanc, Pinot Chardonnay, or Folle Blanche from the northern counties, even if the word Chablis is missing.
CHAMBERTIN
One of the greatest of all red Burgundies. Trust it only after you have tasted it, unless it is estate-bottled by a top producer and carries a year like 1937, 1942, 1943, or 1945. No imitators outside of France as yet, thank God.
CHAMPAGNE
The best, of course, will continue to come from France, but so does a good deal which is less good, and there are probably more brands than vines. You will not see the names Pinot Noir and Chardonnay on French labels, but all French champagnes are made from these top varieties, and stories to the effect that wines from other districts are shipped into the Champagne country are sheer nonsense. As far as American champagnes are concerned, you may care to remember that anything made by the “bulk process” could not legally be called champagne in France. California, New York State, and Ohio all produce something well above average. Many people prefer the special flavor of Eastern champagne, but the best California, if made from the top quality grapes, is more like the French.
CHARDONNAY
One of the finest and rarest of white grapes, sole source in France of Montrachet, Chablis, Pouilly, and a number of wines of almost comparable rank. Used in champagne. This name on a bottle of California wine is, with a few unfortunate exceptions, a guarantee of top quality. Also called Pinot Chardonnay.
CHATEAUNEUF-DU-PAPE
Perhaps the most popular but not in- variably, by any means, the best of the red wines of the Rhone. A little white Chateauneuf is made, and pretty good, but you are not likely to see it. The vineyards are just north of Avignon on the left bank of the river. Full-bodied, often a little fiery, not so long-lived as you might expect. Exclusively French.
CHIANTI
A wonderfully agreeable but rarely distinguished table wine which has acquired most of its world-wide fame thanks to the attractive straw-covered bottle in which it is sold. In Italy, it comes from a country of rolling hills between Florence and Siena and is made, when red—the white is never so good—from the Sangiovese, Canaiolo, and Trebbiano grapes. It is usually and properly consumed when young. Counterparts and imitations have been produced in most countries where Italians have settled, by no means the worst of such in California, although the same grape varieties are rarely, if ever, used. The best Italian Chianti comes in wine bottles, not fiascbi, but is hard to find. The American is fine for a spaghetti dinner.
CLARET
Here is another perennial favorite and international champion—well known almost everywhere expcept where it originally and properly comes from, the Bordeaux district of France. In England, the word is practically synonymous with red Bordeaux, although I have never seen a bottle of red Bordeaux with “Claret” on its label. In France, the term is semiarchaic and almost meaningless. In Spain and Spanish-speaking countries, a clarete is a red table wine, light in body, and rather pale in color. Here in America, claret is a catchall term, used on a few good wines and many poor ones: it can legally be made anywhere, out of any grapes, it has to be red, and under 14 per cent alcohol by volume. Do not, I suggest, condemn a wine untasted because it is called claret; if you want the best, see under Cabernet.
CONCORD
A popular Eastern table grape, acceptable as such, but wholly unsuited to wine-making. At the risk of wounding sensibilities, I may add that Concord claret and Concord port are, in my wholly personal opinion, two of the worst wines now made within the terricorial limits of the United States of America.
DELAWARE
Perhaps the only grape, of the many hundred varieties grown in Europe and the United States, which is excellent when it is served and eaten as fruit. and equally distinguished as wine. A pink grape, grown exclusively in the East, it yields white wine. Generally used in the making of New York and Ohio champagne, but a still wine worth investigating.
GRAVES
One of the main divisions of the Bordeaux district of France. South and southwest of Bordeaux, it actually produces more red wine than white, but is above all famous for the latter. The vines are Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc (see under these), the vineyards are gently rolling or level, the soil is gravel (whence the word Graves), the wine is never bone-dry, never really sweet, usually contains a certain amount of sulphur (hardly detectable, except by an expert), is one of the world's most popular all-around table wines. The red Graves, of which Chateau Haut-Brion is by all odds the most famous, are largely made from the Cabernet grape. Graves, so far, is purely a French name. The nearest American equivalents are the Semillons, Sauvignon Blancs, and “dry sauternes” from the northern California counties.
LIEBFRAUMILCH
In German, this word means “milk of the Blessed Virgin.” The name; originally given to wine made from a few grapes grown around the Liebfrauenkirche of Worms, on the Rhine (the Liebfrauen Stiftswein, and by no means a superior vineyard) has become the lowest common denominator of cheap German Rhine wine. Legally meaningless, widely misused, the name is one that real wine lovers generally pass over without comment on their way down a wine list. Some shippers may and occasionally do ship under the name Liebfraumilch wines that are entitled to a far more precise and honorable name. So far, this appellation is purely German. I hope it stays so.