The mistreatment of Merlot, now so widespread it feels wrong not to mock the grape, did not begin with Sideways. The film was merely a proclamation, a Humanae Vinifera, which stated that Merlot had been corrupted beyond redemption and was no longer fit to drink.
Not much before the 2004 release of Sideways, Robert Parker's The Wine Advocate re-evaluated the 2000 Chateau Petrus, which is approximately 95 percent Merlot. Parker awarded it a score of 100 points, calling it "a perfect wine." He spoke of its inky color, and its scents of smoke, blackberries, cherries, licorice, and truffle.
So which one was wrong? Actually, neither.
Next to the environment, I can't think of much that has been willfully damaged by mankind as horrifically as Merlot. Outside the French appellations of Pomerol and St.-Emilion, where Merlot typically comprises more than half of the grapes used for blending (80 percent of Pomerol, 60 percent of St.-Emilion), Merlot tends to be abused. That's because it is relatively easy to grow and relatively easy to sell, and as we all know, pushovers rarely have happy relationships. Merlot has become a battered grape.
It was always thought of as easy to drink. In other words, vapid. It was always thought of as medium in body. In other words, wishy-washy. It was believe to go with almost any food because it didn't have enough character to cause problems for any food.
Once, Merlot was the basis of wonderful wines, even in California. I particularly recall the Beringer Bancroft Ranch bottlings of the early nineties. Back then, Matanzas Creek made Merlots that were almost as good. A few years later, in Chile, Casa Lapastolle came out with its Cuvee Alexandre Merlot, retailing for about $20. For the next few years, I considered it the best wine buy on earth. I don't even look for these wines any longer. None of them are as good as they used to be.
To my knowledge, there has been only one serious effort that enhanced the credibility of Merlot. That was done by Bordeaux garagistes, many of them in St.-Emilion and Pomerol.
In their tiny facilities, not much larger than garages and a few of them actual garages, they produced highly extracted, low-acidity, extremely luscious, extraordinarily praised wines based to a large degree on the Merlot grape. (The most famous of them, Chateau Valandraud, was so prized in the nineties and so difficult to obtain that I recall one sommelier who would carry bottles into his dining room, cradled in his arms, exhibiting them as though they were Ming-dynasty vases.) These were cult wines, fad wines, wines without great aging potential or much respect for tradition or terrior, but they sure tasted good. I thought they were, for a brief time, the savior of Merlot. Even though the garagiste movement is in disarray, I still think these guys had the right idea.
I don't think Merlots, to be successful, have to be quite so exaggerated, nearly so expensive, or saturated with so much new oak. But the old garagiste wines captured a style that should be the objective of Merlot: Rich, creamy, luscious, inky, concentrated, and lip-smacking. That would make them not terribly different from the most prized California Cabernet Sauvignons that collectors happily purchase for hundreds of dollars per bottle.
I went looking for interesting Merlots over the past few months, hoping to come across some made in that manner. I admit they were hard to find at the modest price I wanted to pay, so I decided to speak kindly of those I thought were successful even though not quite what I hoped to find.
I tasted 57 Merlots—or blends that were at least 50 percent Merlot—from California, Washington, France, Argentina, Australia, Italy, New Zealand, Chile, and Spain. (Quests are never undemanding.) The big surprise was how many Merlots from Italy I admired.
Duration : 10 hours
