The International "Style?"
Tom Wolfe once excoriated the International Style in architecture.
J.M. Garcia does the same for the International Style in wine, with
its move toward flatness.
by J.M. Garcia III
I am one of those sensible sorts of men who places the potable at the
service of the edible.
Therefore, I'm adamant the wine (and occasionally the beer) serve the
purpose of making the food a higher, better version of itself. The wine, then,
is given a sacred duty to discharge: become the means for the wine’s self-
actualization. This is hardly a menial role. It is the cement which holds the
edifice of the meal together and erect. While expressing this very opinion
recently, I was told this was a very French way of looking at things. I was
thinking this was very Iberic rather than very Gallic, but I shan't quibble over
what part of the Roman Empire begat this very sensible outlook. I s'pose the
Italians may view this sort of opinion in a proprietary manner themselves.
It's my greatest thrill when sampling a wine to realize I know exactly what
sorts of foods will pair off beautifully therewith. "This would be ideal with
grilled lamb chops!" or something like that.
There are others, alas, who take an opposite view. They stash away over-
oaked tannin bombs and then try to pair off these juggernauts with
something edible. Failure is inexorable. Why? Because this is what the
mass opinion of the wine writers have led these poor deluded fools to
believe. If you are willing to take a large, expansive, big-picture view, you’d
notice the modern wine writer's palate has done as much for modern wine
as phylloxera. Actually more, because when phylloxera strikes, it doesn't
replace what it destroys with something abominable.
In some quarters, such a representative of the modern wine, er, press could
be safely called "Father Christmas" (no, not because mention of his name
makes you want to belt out "Oh, Tannin Bomb!" in a ringing baritone,
although that's a proper instinct) because the International Style of Wine ™
which he has seemingly championed -- with its varnish-dissolving tannins,
clumsy masses of fruit, blunted and stunted acidity, forests of oak, and hot
with ethanol -- really have made winemaking very easy for the non-
conscientious or expedient-minded vintners; with the added cultural
component of allowing them to charge confiscatory amounts for 750ml of
abused grape juice. You can’t blame the winemakers, exactly. They run
businesses and not charities for the oeniphilically sophisticated. They
produce wine to sell at a profit, not wine to store amid glad smiles of
knowing self-satisfaction.
The lesser-known French, Italians and Spanish haven't fully succumbed.
Yet. But the 100 point scale is handwritten on the wall. One day, the scion of
some grand family (an enterprising lad, who's been to the city) will rip out
acres or, if you'd rather, hectares of ancient native vines and replace them
with Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot or some other ubiquituous-yet-
incongruous varietal and proceed to make his best caricature of a California
clone of a Bordeaux grand cru.
His efforts will be rewarded with a 95+ rating and he'll have to hire additional
workers to harvest all the ducats which will inevitably be showered down
upon him, courtesy of grateful serfs, the denizens of Winegeekville.
And you will have to seek out another unspoiled place in order to find a wine
that, when paired with your favorite food, doesn't make the entire enterprise
taste as if one of the more misanthropic Borgias was the steward of the
feast.
Think of it this way. It's as if women of all ages, races, ethnicities and
nationalities decided to start emulating the look of Pamela Anderson.
Not that I feel passionately about this or anything.
But all is not lost. There are still winemakers who have declined to, as it
were, “drink the Kool-Aid” becoming recusants in the face of the
International Style of WineTM, and even some of the most egregious
offenders still have little-known bottlings worthy of your search. We cannot
turn back the clock, but we can turn back the tide.
Tom Wolfe once excoriated the International Style in architecture.
J.M. Garcia does the same for the International Style in wine, with
its move toward flatness.
by J.M. Garcia III
I am one of those sensible sorts of men who places the potable at the
service of the edible.
Therefore, I'm adamant the wine (and occasionally the beer) serve the
purpose of making the food a higher, better version of itself. The wine, then,
is given a sacred duty to discharge: become the means for the wine’s self-
actualization. This is hardly a menial role. It is the cement which holds the
edifice of the meal together and erect. While expressing this very opinion
recently, I was told this was a very French way of looking at things. I was
thinking this was very Iberic rather than very Gallic, but I shan't quibble over
what part of the Roman Empire begat this very sensible outlook. I s'pose the
Italians may view this sort of opinion in a proprietary manner themselves.
It's my greatest thrill when sampling a wine to realize I know exactly what
sorts of foods will pair off beautifully therewith. "This would be ideal with
grilled lamb chops!" or something like that.
There are others, alas, who take an opposite view. They stash away over-
oaked tannin bombs and then try to pair off these juggernauts with
something edible. Failure is inexorable. Why? Because this is what the
mass opinion of the wine writers have led these poor deluded fools to
believe. If you are willing to take a large, expansive, big-picture view, you’d
notice the modern wine writer's palate has done as much for modern wine
as phylloxera. Actually more, because when phylloxera strikes, it doesn't
replace what it destroys with something abominable.
In some quarters, such a representative of the modern wine, er, press could
be safely called "Father Christmas" (no, not because mention of his name
makes you want to belt out "Oh, Tannin Bomb!" in a ringing baritone,
although that's a proper instinct) because the International Style of Wine ™
which he has seemingly championed -- with its varnish-dissolving tannins,
clumsy masses of fruit, blunted and stunted acidity, forests of oak, and hot
with ethanol -- really have made winemaking very easy for the non-
conscientious or expedient-minded vintners; with the added cultural
component of allowing them to charge confiscatory amounts for 750ml of
abused grape juice. You can’t blame the winemakers, exactly. They run
businesses and not charities for the oeniphilically sophisticated. They
produce wine to sell at a profit, not wine to store amid glad smiles of
knowing self-satisfaction.
The lesser-known French, Italians and Spanish haven't fully succumbed.
Yet. But the 100 point scale is handwritten on the wall. One day, the scion of
some grand family (an enterprising lad, who's been to the city) will rip out
acres or, if you'd rather, hectares of ancient native vines and replace them
with Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot or some other ubiquituous-yet-
incongruous varietal and proceed to make his best caricature of a California
clone of a Bordeaux grand cru.
His efforts will be rewarded with a 95+ rating and he'll have to hire additional
workers to harvest all the ducats which will inevitably be showered down
upon him, courtesy of grateful serfs, the denizens of Winegeekville.
And you will have to seek out another unspoiled place in order to find a wine
that, when paired with your favorite food, doesn't make the entire enterprise
taste as if one of the more misanthropic Borgias was the steward of the
feast.
Think of it this way. It's as if women of all ages, races, ethnicities and
nationalities decided to start emulating the look of Pamela Anderson.
Not that I feel passionately about this or anything.
But all is not lost. There are still winemakers who have declined to, as it
were, “drink the Kool-Aid” becoming recusants in the face of the
International Style of WineTM, and even some of the most egregious
offenders still have little-known bottlings worthy of your search. We cannot
turn back the clock, but we can turn back the tide.
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