The Moody Blues

Well, just as I suspected, you gotta be careful what you wish for.  The recent rains have set all winemakers and viticulturalists on edge, not just for the delicate-skinned grapes, such as Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, but also for the sturdier backbone of the Valley: Cabernet Sauvignon.  While rain isn’t always bad for the grapes, our October storms were followed not by drying winds, but by morning mists, bringing the threat of bunch rot.  Add to that a smaller yield due to unseasonable summer rains which disrupted fruit set, and you're looking at direct proof that Napa does not always have perfect vintages.  Don at Shibumi Knoll in St. Helena said that his Cabernet Sauvignon crop looks to be down 50% after rain in June which knocked burgeoning blossoms off his vines.  Lower yields and higher prices was the front page news in the Santa Rosa Press Democrat: unfortunately, this doesn't necessarily translate into larger profits, as consumers don't want to shoulder the higher costs in this economy.  According to the paper, the price per ton for Sonoma County Chardonnay grapes in 2011 vs. 2010 has increased from $700-$1,300 to $1,100-$2,000; Cabernet Sauvignon has increased from $700-$1,500 to $1,700-$2,300.  Will this drive drinkers to the $3.99 Chilean Chardonnay I saw in Trader Joe's?

Front page of the Santa Rosa Press Democrat

Speaking of which, we brought in our last lot of Chardonnay late last week, contracted from Carneros.  It was a sad day on the sorting table; the fruit was mushy and damaged from the rain and still on the acidic side, although fortunately we didn't see too much rot.  What a difference from the Estate Chardonnay we picked two weeks ago when each cluster looked as perfect as it tasted.  But in the case of the Carneros fruit, our winemaker decided we had to pick, given what we could salvage now was a better tradeoff than rotten fruit.  We also had to do the same with some of our Petit Verdot, as the some of the grapes were beginning to split.  This led to a rather frantic day, as we had to clean out tanks for the red and white juice, clean the bladder press for the Chardonnay, clean the crusher/destemmer for the Petit Verdot, and basically run around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying not to get in the way of each other.

Starting to see the first signs of damage on our contracted Chardonnay

While the differences between Wall Street and a winery are vast, there are a few similarities: 1) you never know how your day is going to go until you get to work, and 2) you have to be as perceptive as possible or else you are going to get your head bitten off during hectic times.  Regarding point #1, on any given day in the market, you’re just as likely to have a winning day as you are to get your face ripped off; you can go from hero to zero in a nanosecond.  At the winery, I'm never sure what the plan is for that day, and it's plausible our winemaker and his assistant don't know, either.  I’ll walk in the door and be told to clean a tank, only to be pulled off to help clean the press or sort fruit that was not expected to be picked till the next week, only to be pulled off and moved to the bottling line, only to be told that I have to clean myself up and try to look competent because a TV crew is coming in, only to think I’m home free and ready to leave, when I’m asked to stay and clean the same tank I started that morning.

Regarding point #2, I remember during my Citigroup internship there was an intern named Tom who was doing what we were supposed to do; namely, introducing himself to all the employees on a desk.  On the trading floor, co-workers are seated at long desks so close to each other that it's impossible not to know who just did a huge trade or who's having domestic issues or whose herpes symptoms have just flared up again, since you can't help but overhear each other's phone conversations -- there are no cubicles.  So Tom was going from person to person at the much-feared Citi mortgage trading desk and failed to pick up on the fact that Dave, one of the senior traders, was in a God-awful sour mood, probably after having gotten his face ripped off on a trade.  "Hi, I'm Tom!" said our hapless hero, innocently.  "Whoever the hell you are, fuck off!" was Dave response.  Sadly, Tom voted himself off intern island after just a few weeks.  While an experience like Tom's has yet to happen to me at the winery, our day of Chardonnay and Petit Verdot brought back memories of Wall Street internship hell.  My winemaker was definitely Grumpy, and I was trying my best not to be Dopey.  Still, I felt like I was walking on eggshells all day, and any questions I asked or actions I took were met with sharp responses and accusations of doing things too slowly, or improperly, or too hastily.

What a change from the day before, when everyone played nicely in the sandbox together.  Not expecting to pick any grapes till the following week, we whistled while we worked, and I even had time to put together our winemaker's ergonomic yoga ball chair.  M and our new Aussie intern, N, who's here till the end of October, were happily washing bungs together, maybe even having a Bud and watching the game.  Who knows where P & T were, but I'm sure bluebirds were singing on their shoulders, too.  And later that night, we had a team dinner at the Rutherford Grill, bonding happily over good food and booze.

Me catching a quick yoga moment

M and Aussie N sharing good times together 

P eyeing his tasty dinner at the Rutherford Grill

Our team dinner wine lineup (the hot sauce was an excellent vintage!)

The next day was an 180º turn from all that camaraderie, and I was starting to feel downright crabby and defensive as the day progressed.  Thank God for P, who also noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere that morning, which was only getting worse as the day grew longer.  P urged me to remain Zen.  He told me to visualize Michael Jordan going for a slam dunk, so relaxed his tongue is hanging out as he flies through the air, all ease and grace and nothin' but net.  P said whenever I got stressed out or felt like I was bearing the brunt of bad moods just to remember Air Jordan and hang my tongue out while shaking my head around and making a "Bleeeeeeeeeeh" sound.  So, if you see me doing this around the winery, I have not lost all my marbles (yet) -- I'm just channeling my inner Michael Jordan.

It also helped that later that night I met up with a friend in the wine industry and her winemaker over drinks at Rutherford Grill.  They asked how the day had gone, and I explained my frustrations.  The winemaker laughed and admitted that just the other day, he had nearly popped one of his own interns in the face for asking the question, "So, how does the fruit look?"  The winemaker explained, "I know, it seems like an innocent enough question, and in any other situation it would've been a good question.  But can he not see the stress in my face and know that I've been tuning in to the Weather Channel every ten minutes since last week and that 2011 is making the incredibly difficult 2010 vintage look like a paradise and that I am basically FREAKING OUT ABOUT THE FRUIT?!?"  Oh-kay...  So I wasn't going to get any sympathy for being an abused intern that night, but it did feel good to laugh about it.  It was great to hear the winemaker expound on how concerned he is about pursuing perfection -- not to overshoot or undershoot -- and how he's always convinced that it could be better.  At first I thought he was talking about his wines, but he was talking about the fruit.  It just goes to show that the old adage of "great wines are made in the vineyard" still ring true, and that winemaker was part tortured artist and part Tiger Mother when it came to the proper maturity of his grapes.  Perhaps he should try the Jordan technique to de-stress.

Given that our Estate Cabernet Sauvignon has yet to reach optimum ripeness, I got the weekend off again, giving me the chance to fly down to LA for 12 hours and make sure that my place was still intact. Other than 99% of my mail not being forwarded to my parents' home, as I had designated the Post Office to do (are all postal employees at Occupy Wall Street protests?) but instead piled outside my condo door, everything was the same as I had left it.  Our winemaker told us that we'd had it easy up till now and we should expect to get "slammed hard" with multiple blocks of Cabernet picks in the upcoming weeks.  WTF?  Am I in the WWE?  Too bad I didn't pay more attention to that crap when my ex-husband used to watch it, as apparently I might need a Mexican wrestling mask and a folding chair to prepare for what's coming 'round the corner.  As it is, I'm filling two suitcases with Burgundian wines to take back to Napa.  That's the best way I know how to prepare: Burgundy and "Bleeeeeeeeeh."

My refrigerator in Venice Beach looks exactly how I left it last month!