Bonnie Drank Bridgehampton
Exploring Long Island wine, past perfect and future
Posted: Nov 23, 2010 11:30am ET
Once upon
a time, many years ago, Bonnie drank Bridgehampton. Usually the Sauvignon
Blanc. Tangy, prickly, delicious. "We should drink local," she said, as I gazed
at her befuddled with delight. "Local. Local... yes... we should." Where is
Bridgehampton? Local... somewhere. Did I ask? No. Was I happy? Yes.
And Amy
drank Hargrave. Wild, wistful Amy had somehow snagged Hargrave in her flowing
tresses, so we drank that. Long Island's first superstars, the Lords of North
Fork, brilliant, unpredictable reds and succulent whites, Amy and I drank
those.
That was
long ago and I needed to visit. And I knew I'd like it. Kerouac and
Fitzgerald—that's South Fork, Amy reminded me. Could it really be any
different? Well, yes. I quickly discovered that my fantasies of beat poetry and
beach posing might inhabit the jam-packed exclusivity of the South Fork, but
the forests and gardens, sod farms and orchards and vineyards of the North Fork
were where I was going to feel at home.
So on my
first visit to Long Island, we were hardly out of Riverhead when I saw my first
vineyard, but I sensed the sea air by then. You didn't have to see the water to
know that you were being hemmed in by the coast. You could feel it, suck it in
from the atmosphere. The Médoc in Bordeaux is just like that. Hargrave's reds
had made me think of Bordeaux, and I was beginning to understand why.
Fast
forward to my recent trip to New York when I had a few hours off. I didn't
have time to do a full vineyard trip, so I just went to Bedell, whose wines I
tasted most recently in London. This summer of 2010 may have frazzled a lot of
the Northeast, but the stiff briny breeze that bounded in from the Long Island
Sound kept me
cool in the blazing brilliance of a perfect October day, and must do the same
for the grapes as they stride to ripeness in late summer.
Rich
Olsen-Harbich, Bedell's winemaker, said 2010 was such a belter that even the
maritime winds couldn't keep him from bringing in some of his harvest up to a
month early. Usually he sees his sugars, acids and flavors all converging at
the same time. Not this year. By mid-September, his sugars were way high
enough, but the flavors weren't there—California on great Peconic Bay. But
then, he said, it was as though the blistering summer had exhausted itself, the
season had no more warmth to give, and a strange cold descended on the Island.
So Rich could leave his boisterous crop on the vine, in the gloaming cool—no
longer worrying about sugar, but thrilling to the flavors his grapes were
building as they caught their breath amongst the browning leaves.
His whites
were where he wanted them by late-September—that's at about 12.8 percent
potential alcohol for a marvelously fresh Chardonnay that he's fermented with
wild yeasts in wood (only about 15 percent new) and with beach pebbles in the
barrel. And there's me thinking I often get a wonderfully appetizing taste of
salt on Bedell whites, particularly their juicy, crunchy, spicy—and salty—First
Crush, which mixes Chardonnay, Sauvignon and Viognier.
Oz Clarke tastes barrel samples with Bedell Cellars winemaker Richard Olsen-Harbich.
Rich's
Malbec is so purple the glass is scarred for life; it's packed with floral
scent and the chewy juiciness of damson (black plum) peels. High acids, good
tannins, and only 13 percent alcohol after being picked Sept. 30. Rich thinks
his local yeasts have a low rate of conversion to alcohol. I believe him, and
tell him he should commercialize them right away for a world exhausted by big
bruising reds and head-spinning whites.
The Syrah—yes,
the Syrah—is
barely finished, as sludgy as a smoothie on first taste, but with fabulous
blackberry, blueberry flavor and violet scent. And they say Syrah is a hot-climate variety. Merlot—for once a lovely scented style, raspberries running to
black plums along a taut high wire of acidity. And Cabernet Franc. How did you
make this? Fourteen and a half percent alcohol. That's just what it wanted to
be. And good? Oh. So rich and ripe, so full of almond paste and juicy raspberry
fruit you can even taste the pits wedged between your teeth.
The sun
sets. Beautiful. Just a little melancholy. I often find American sunsets
melancholy. Perhaps because I'm always a traveler here, always heading west.
Next stop,
Texas.
I tasted out there this summer. Found most of the wine solid, but unexciting. The one key exception was Channing Daughters. I found many of their wines truly inspired. The 06 Mudd is fantastic, as were their Rosatos and Blaufrankisch.