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Il Reggio Marco I (or Marco Più Grande)

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Цар, transliterated either as Tsar or Czar, holds the same etymology as Kaiser, which is ultimately derived from Caesar, or G. Iulius Caesar as he was known before Shakespeare’s time. Truth be told—I’m just looking for a pretext to play with my Cyrillic fonts. Still, I often ponder how I would run things if I were Czar of the United States.
For starters, I would immediately sever jurisdiction over alcohol from the ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms). With no apology either to the NRA or the nicotine mongers at Altria, R. J. Reynolds and even the pseudo-holistic Natural American Spirit, there is no parallel between alcohol consumption and their lethal products. As a most perspicacious commentator (whose name eludes me) once noted, “it is the abuse of alcohol that is harmful, whereas it is the mere use of tobacco that causes its toxic effects.” To look at it from another perspective, the health benefits derived from moderate consumption of alcohol, and, in particular, wine, are well documented; try to cite any salubrious aspects to smoking. Or getting shot.
As Czar of the United States, I also would have put a complete freeze on the stock markets the moment the Dow hit 12,000. No movement, no trading, no evaporation of $4 trillion in capitalization. Meanwhile, I’d provide an opportunity for all the idle hedge fund managers, investment bankers, and stock brokers finally to accomplish something of genuine value to society. A true derivative of their worth, so to speak. Here is your hoe and your pail of asphalt. Imagine how pristine and pothole-free our city streets would be now!
OK, so perhaps it’s a bit hubristic to think I can run the entire country by fiat (after all, it’s not like I’m a 47-year-old neophyte). Maybe I should restrict my sights and simply aim to become Czar of California.
If I were Czar of California, I would immediately take steps to liberate us from the hegemony of the federal government. Be that establishing California as an autonomous province, à la Québec, or outright seceding from the Union. Washington, Oregon, British Columbia, even both states of Mexico’s Baja California would be more than welcome to join us (note that all these jurisdictions encompass significant wine-producing regions). On the other hand, Nevada would not be included, although I would annex all of the areas surrounding Lake Tahoe, even if it means ceding them Bakersfield as a quid pro quo.
Think of this as the West Coast’s risorgimento, and I, its Garibaldi. All I’d ask for in compensation would be a homestead on Angel Island. With WiFi access and 24 hour ferry service, of course.
As Czar of California, I would immediately restore the drinking age to an appropriate 18. Furthermore, I’d permit the service of wine at meals to minors at a family’s discretion, whether it be at home or in a public dining establishment. Readers will note the corollary diminished rate of alcohol abuse among societies that already have established this practice.
Again, I may be overreaching. Let’s therefore limit my sights to becoming Czar of California’s Alcoholic Beverage Control. As an autocratic reformer, I’d swiftly move to alter the hours alcoholic beverages can legally be served to 8 AM until 4 AM (as opposed to the current 6 AM-2 AM span). Where is the vibrancy of a cultural that has rolled up and is already beneath the bedsheets by the time Leno and Letterman begin their monologues? And do we really to have need folks pounding down boilermakers at 7 in the morning?
Another change I would implement would be to include all grape-based spirits within beer & wine licensing. So many of the wineries throughout the West Coast (Jepson, Bonny Doon, Germain-Robin, Clear Creek, Sonoma Valley Portworks, St. George Spirits, to name but a few) make extraordinary alambic brandies, eaux-de-vie and grappas—it is a considerable shame that these products cannot be served alongside the wines of our region.
Grappa, which, like Your West Coast Oenophile, is called Marc by the French, is produced by one of the earliest codified sustainable practices. The vinaccia (pomace) left over from the production of wine is fermented, then distilled to a level around 80°. Admittedly, grappa is an acquired taste, but it can be delightful as its production methods are laudable.!
There is a bar in San Francisco’s North Beach district that does not realize that grappa is not the same as wine and pours a glass as such. As this erroneous practice is an indulgence in which I partake not infrequently, I will not name the establishment here, for fear that I might disabuse them of the notion. However, it is fair to say that two  7 oz. glasses of grappa can give substance to any illusion (delusion?) of grandeur or otherwise.

Beating around the Bushes

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I didn’t vote for Obama. Nor did I vote for McCain. It should come as little surprise that Your West Coast Oenophile, the founder of Sostevinobile, the first wine bar dedicated to local, sustainable wines, is a card-carrying member of the Green Party. Besides, that insipid institution known as the Electoral College renders my vote virtually meaningless in any Presidential election, so I followed my conscience and wrote in Al Gore.

Despite what yesterday’s posting might seem to imply, this blog is not meant to harbor any political bias. Wine, after all, is meant to be one of life’s great equalizers. That said, it should be noted that, for the past four elections, the road to the Republican nomination has gone through me. Think this is hubris on my part? Hardly! Dole, Bush, McCain—each has a first cousin with whom I have been friends. Has there been a more common thread? Aspirants for 2012, take heed!
Boasts of connectivity allows me to segue into another story, of how I tried to leverage my first foray into producing my own wine label off the elder President Bush. On the morning of Nov. 9, 1988, the day immediately following the election, I woke up with a spurt of inspiration, the genesis of which still eludes me. Nonetheless, the first words I uttered in post-election semi-stupor were “George Herbert Walker Blush!”
It did sound good, I have to admit. A rather deft slogan, “A Kinder, Gentler Wine,” quickly came to mind (even Orson Welles’ “We will sell no wine before its time” was not this incisive). Next came a name for our label, which continued in the vein of gentle parody: Thousand Points of Light Wines.
Through my aforementioned connections to certain members of the Bush family, I was able to send off a proposal to the American Bicentennial Presidential Inaugural Committee that we donate a considerable number of cases to the Jan. 20, 1989 festivities in Washington, DC. All that remained was the incidental matter of actually bottling the wine.
In 1988, the late comedian Pat Paulsen had a winery up in Asti, CA. In fact, he owned the entire town of Asti and had proclaimed himself mayor. For those who remember his inexorable campaign, Pat Paulsen for President, this turned out to be the only government office he ever held. A better fit for Thousand Points of Light Wines could not be found, particularly in view of the fact that Pat had been divorced twice that year and was in serious need of a revenue-producing venture.
With Pat on board, I managed to source a commitment of some 500,000 gallons of négotiant White Zinfandel from San Martin Winery. Keep in mind that the wine we had elected to produce was to be called George Herbert Walker Blush—not exactly a Stags Leap Cabernet or even a Rosato di Sangiovese, but a rather pedestrian (albeit serviceable) entrant on par with some of Ceres’ finer vintages. We titrated and tasted in the San Martin lab until we had just the right balance. I whipped up a label in white Aachen Bold lettering, with a Yale Blue background framing a picture of the White House highlighted with gold foil trim. The scintillating copy of my piquant back label did not miss a single beat.



Naturally, the final hurdle proved fatal. We were felled not by opposition from the incoming administration nor the objections of the Bush family (whom I’m told really enjoyed the idea), but the low-level apparatchiks dwelling somewhere in the basement of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. When The Wine Institute  tried to submit our label for approval, it was swiftly rejected, based on ATF’s interpretation of Title 27, Part 4, Subpart D, §4.39, Section (a)(6) of the United States Code of Federal Regulations, which addresses prohibited Practices in the Labeling Requirements for Wine. The section in question disallows:.

A trade or brand name that is the name of any living individual of public prominence, or existing private or public organization, or is a name that is in simulation or is an abbreviation thereof, or any graphic, pictorial, or emblematic representation of such individual or organization, if the use of such name or representation is likely falsely to lead the consumer to believe that the product has been endorsed, made, or used by, or produced for, or under the supervision of, or in accordance with the specifications of, such individual or organization.

Now, to this day, I contend that not even a quasi-intelligent person could reasonably assume that the President of the United States had any connection to our wine (note my disclaimer on back), but try telling that to a Washington bureaucrat. Sure, if Bobby Koch had been CEO of The Wine Institute twenty years ago, we certainly could have rammed the approval through the ATF, but back then he wasn’t even married to George W.’s sister Doro. Chances are, had we chosen to fight their ruling, we’d still be litigating today.
And so, the only bottle of George Herbert Walker Blush—A Kinder, Gentler Wine ever made sits perched atop my bookshelf. Tales of my subsequent venture with Pat Paulsen will take up a later installment of this blog. For now, this day belongs to the Punahou Kid, and whether you consider him the most ill-prepared President to take office since, say, George W. Bush, or whether he portends to become the most inspirational President to take office since, say, George W. Bush, we all need him to do extraordinarily well with the formidable task he has lying ahead.

What’s in a name?

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I’m sitting down to compose my first entry with a glass of 2005 BV Rutherford Cabernet close at hand. When I first began cutting my chops in the wine industry, before the release of their acclaimed 1984 vintage, BV offered three Cabs: Beautour, Rutherford and Georges de Latour. The Rutherford was their mid-range offering, produced in large batches, and selling for $7.98. Today, BV has more Cabernet selections than I care to count and the Rutherford—you’re lucky to find it under $35.
Still, it’s nice to launch my wine blog with an old friend by my side. After all, the name Sostevinobile is a bit more than a mouthful, although you’ll find it goes down quite smoothly once you can handle its mellifluous pronunciation. Sostevinobile is my original portmanteau, a fusion of the Italian word sostenere, vino, and nobile—respectively, to sustain, wine and nobile (as in noble grapes). It’s also the working name for my latest venture, a rather expansive wine bar opening later this year with an exclusive focus on wines from California, Oregon and Washington.
I should clarify that and note that we will only be serving sustainable wines from the West Coast, although that will narrow our selection to around a mere 98% of the wines produced here. The irony, though, is that virtually every restaurant these days boasts a menu culled from local, sustainable ingredients: produce, meat, fish, cheese, bread, etc., then features a wine list that’s 75% imported wine—or more. Sostevinobile promises to be the first full-service wine bar that addresses this inconsistency.
I’ve been an impassioned proponent of the wine we produce here ever since I migrated West, following my stint in a graduate Creative Writing program somewhere back East. One thing I and Sostevinobile can promise is that there will be no shortage of intriguing variety and excellent quality in all the wines we will be serving.
Let the journey begin here.