Last Night's Tipple

The most commercially influential wine rating scheme in use today is the 100 point system. Popularized (although not invented) by wine critic Robert Parker in the 1980s and now adopted by most wine publications that rate wine, it's actually not really a 100 point system: if the liquid in the bottle is wine, then the minimum score it can get is 50 points. Any wine that it not badly flawed will get a score above 75 points; and in order to be commercially viable, the score has to be above 85 points. Well, at least if the wine costs more than $10 a bottle and is not available in unlimited quantities. Yes, ratings matter in the wine business, and they matter a great deal. Wine publications are widely read by enthusiasts (and those who fancy themselves as enthusiasts or want to be regarded as such), and a score below 85 for a wine from, say, Ridge, would be the commercial kiss of death. Nobody wants to buy bad wine, and a large percentage of consumers rely on wine publications to tell them what wine is good and what wine is bad.

And wine merchants take full advantage of this insecurity in the American consumer. Anyone who has been to a wine store has been bombarded by those little shelf talkers, which show the wine's score in some publication in a big, bolded number, followed by the blurb that that the publication had about the wine in smaller, unbolded type. For Parker and for most or all of the others that use the 100 point system, the score was intended to be nothing more than a quick reference. The description in the text was where the real meat of the review was supposed to be. Of course, it hasn't really worked out that way; and a lot of wine consumers seem to buy on the basis of the score alone.

I'd like to say that I'm completely uninfluenced by the scores shown on the shelf talkers in wine stores, but I know that this isn't accurate. I can say that I strive to be: a number tells you nothing whatever about a wine. It's even more worthless than a review by someone whose palate and preferences are different from your own. Chasing scores is unlikely to lead to good purchases.

And what scores has the 2005 Ridge Lytton Springs received? Beats me. I suspect that they're not that good, though, because of the lack of mention of them on the K&L Wine Merchants website. I can honestly say that I don't care, though. I liked this wine, and I liked it a lot. If the Wine Spectator or Robert Parker didn't, well, that's just more of it left for me.

Last Night's Tipple

I try not to read reviews of the liquors, wines, and beers that I drink for two reasons. First, I would rather not have my reaction to the wine influenced by the opinions of others. Second, I often read what others think about what I drink and get indignant about what is going through their minds, and there is no point in that. Well, I violated my rule and searched out comments about the 2005 Ridge Lytton Springs, and I was immediately reminded of why that's my rule. It seems that a lot of people think that the 2005 Lytton Springs is disappointing, that it lacks in fruit, concentration, and charm, and that it is not nearly as good as previous efforts. I don't agree with that at all. There was lots of fruit, including the briary Zinberry flavor that is common to Zinfandel, and the fruit coated my nose with its aromas and my palate with its flavors. It did not taste alcoholic, despite the fact that it was well over 14.5% alcohol. I thought that it was delicious, and much more enjoyable than the 1998 Lytton Springs that I opened a couple of weeks ago. It joins the top tier of Ridge wines that I have tried recently, and I would happily buy it again despite its expense.

So why do so many people think that this wine doesn't live up to their previous Ridge experiences? I have no idea, and it really doesn't matter to me. What matters is how I enjoy a wine, not whether others agree with me; and I enjoyed this wine.

Last Night's Tipple

I finished off the bottle of 1998 Ridge Lytton Springs last night, and my reactions to it are similar to my reactions from Monday night. I can't really call it good, and I don't think the extra day open benefited it at all. With some time in the glass, there is some fruit that is nice enough, but there's not that much sensual pleasure to be had on this. I should have opened this two or three years ago at least.

And let this be a lesson to you, wine lovers: lots of wine, including lots of good wine from excellent makers, doesn't really benefit much from bottle age. Like just about every beer, a lot of wine starts to deteriorate from the minute it's bottled. I don't know if that's what happened with this Lytton Springs, but it sure seems to me that it started to deteriorate at some point between 1999 and when I opened it.

Last Night's Tipple

At some point in 2000, I purchased a bottle of 1998 Ridge Lytton Springs. (The picture to the right is doubly wrong: it's a 2005 bottle, and it's a split instead of a standard 750 ml one.) I imagine that I was planning on keeping it for a special occasion or something. Regardless, I forgot about it for a number of years, which is how it came to be sitting in my wine rack in late 2007. Lytton Springs is one of Ridge's two flagship Zinfandel blends (along with Geyserville), although it is not labeled as Zinfandel. The 1998 is 77% Zinfandel, 16% Petite Sirah, 2% Carignane, 4% Mataro, and 1% Alicante Bouschet, according to the label, and it is 14.3% alcohol. The label also says that

Intense fruit, a rich structure, and firm tannins characterize this lovely vintage, which will be at its best over the next five to six years.

The wine was bottled in November, 1999, so math indicates that Paul Draper thought that it would last until late 2005. That was two years ago. And it's not like I have stored this in ideal conditions. There is nothing to do but drink it now and see how it is.

I suspect that it has seen better days. When I first poured it, the dominant aroma was of a box of Band-Aids. Yes, Band-Aids. I don't know what wine-taster-ese is for that smell, but it wasn't the world's most appealing. There was no fruit that I could detect: just Band-Aids and tannin. At one point, I almost poured it out, but I decided to persevere. I'm glad I did. With some time in the glass and vigorous swirling, it improves considerably. I started to get some fruit, and the Band-Aid smell dissipated. Still, it is dominated by dark, dank odors. I can't say that I actually liked it, but it wasn't revolting. Oh, how I wish that I had consumed this three or four years ago.