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This is the second of two parts of this Eat, Drink, Savor article; the first part can be found here.
A year or so ago, while trying to line up a time to interview winemaker Randall Grahm, he mentioned that he would be meeting up with a wine broker at the barn at his Popelouchum vineyard in San Juan Bautista. They’d be tasting wine, he said, and would I like to join them?
Well, of course.
The barn, high on a hill above the vineyard, is where Grahm and his assistants test, taste and experiment, exploring the possibilities of the grapes grown below. The drive up is via a relatively precarious and nerve-wracking gravel-and-dirt road, loaded with bumps and jolts.
“Don’t get stuck,” Grahm said.
When I arrived, Grahm and his guest were already sitting at a picnic table with an array of the current Popelouchum wines, ready to be opened. Off to one side was an unlabeled 187.5 ml bottle, the obvious pièce de résistance.
It was one of Grahm’s experiments, which he said was the last bottle of a wine he’d made in a plastic garbage can. It came from the vineyard’s first fledgling Grenache harvest: one-year-old plantings in nursery rows, planted six inches apart, yielding one cluster per vine.
The simplest, least obvious thing stymied opening the bottle: a cork.
Flashback to 2002.
Grahm was one of the first proponents in the industry for using screw caps for fine wines. He publicly demonstrated that advocacy with an imaginative flair by staging “The Funeral for the Cork” at New York City’s Grand Central Station, which included a hearse and a casket with a full-sized corpse made of corks.
All of the other Popelouchum wines we tasted that day had screw caps; the grenache was the only holdout. And there was no corkscrew to be found anywhere, not even in my glove compartment.
One of Grahm’s associates had the presence of mind to drill a screw into the cork and pull it out with pliers. The reward was one of the finest wines I have ever tasted, and one of the most ephemeral experiences I have ever had.
For Grahm, the wine also had a wistful element: he hasn’t been able to duplicate it since. Nothing about the grapes or the process should have produced something of that caliber. It was a wild experiment that turned out brilliantly, as short-lived as a butterfly.
In this conclusion to BenitoLink’s two-part interview with Grahm, he talks about that wine and his fond hopes that he is remembered for more than his advocacy of screw caps.
BenitoLink: How much of the winemaking is intuition versus science?
Randall Grahm: I don’t even know at this point. I think as you do it for long enough, the science becomes kind of ingrained. You sort of know the science, and as they say, you have to know the rules before you break the rules. It’s helpful to know the rules before you just ride roughshod over them. I don’t ride roughshod over the rules. I do try to observe basic scientific principles. I understand what happens if you’re going to do X.
Or, to put it another way, you can try something totally crazy and kooky, like a carbonic Riesling. I did a whole cluster fermentation with Riesling. Terrible, undrinkable. As they say when you’re gambling, only gamble what you’re prepared to lose. You can’t produce all your wines in a totally random fashion. You have to know that you’re going to make successful wine out of most of your grapes. That’s common-sensical.
Winemaking seems like playing a long-term game with a deck full of wild cards.
For me, that’s certainly the case. I think other, more conventional vineyards have fewer wild cards in the deck. But there are always wild cards. A new disease pops up that wasn’t there before—that’s a wild card. There is the economic root disaster, another wild card that seems to be affecting the wine business pretty significantly these days. There’s always something.
In my case, I think I have introduced a few more variables than most, so I try not to get too obsessed with it. There’s the old saying: “There’s always another trolley car.” The thing with vineyards is, there’s always going to be another vintage if you have the resources to hang on. There’s always going to be another season. Try to learn from your mistakes and triumph the following year if you can.
You said once that if you’re willing to commit economic suicide, you can make some amazing wines.
I mean it. It turns out that the path to economic success is not always the path of making the most interesting wine you possibly can. Unfortunately, you may have to make some compromises along the way to achieve economic viability. What’s painful is that sometimes you have to make wines that are not the very best wine you could possibly make, to be able to achieve an economically viable product. It pains me greatly when that happens.
How do you decide when something moves from experiment to wanting to propagate it on a larger scale?
Every decision has a slightly different motivation. I think at some point you’re just really curious, or you have to get something in the ground sooner rather than later because you need the income. Unfortunately, not all decisions are made based on this pure platonic vision of things. Often there’s an element of expediency and necessity, mostly of the economic variety.
What would success look and taste like to you?
I think Brillat-Savarin said something like: the discovery of a new recipe brings more joy and happiness to the world than the discovery of a new star or solar system. I think producing a style of wine that has not existed before, that is somehow unique, distinctive, and delicious, is an accomplishment. To make a Pinot Noir that people describe as Burgundian—that’s great, but Burgundy already exists. Making a Pinot Noir that’s not Burgundian, that is also delicious, might be an even more interesting accomplishment.
Why such a focus on Grenache?
I’ve been lucky enough to work with Grenache since 1982. I always sort of thought of it as a helper variety, not really as a standalone noble variety like Pinot Noir. But I’ve since learned that, under the right conditions, it can produce an incredibly complex, satisfying, age-worthy, distinctive, really special wine, and I think there’s evidence that we can make extraordinary Grenache here at this site. So far, I’ve made a couple that just scared the s*** out of me.
I made one the first year we planted the vineyard. It was from the nursery row, just one-year-old Grenache vines. I made it in a 30-gallon plastic garbage can—not exactly perfect conditions—and aged it in a 15-gallon barrel. You never age Grenache in a small barrel because there’s too much oxygen.
Everything about it was wrong—it’s an example of how you should not make wine. But the wine was ridiculous—very likely the best Grenache I’ve ever tasted from California. The quality and uniqueness of the place and variety came through. I haven’t quite figured out how to replicate that, but I think our current Grenaches are showing pretty darn well.
How are the grapes developing?
The red has the greatest potential for complexity and possible age-worthiness, although I’m not totally sure about that. We’re blessed with preternaturally high levels of acidity in all the Grenaches—red, white, and pink.
The white we bottled a little bit on its own. Normally, we pick the white and pink together, press them together, and ferment them together because they’re in the press at the same time. But last year, the white was a little ahead of the pink, which was ahead of the red, which was the latest of the three.
The white really surprised me. It’s more delicate, more floral, and has good natural acidity. It seemed a little simple to me when it was first bottled—it’s been bottled for no more than three months—but it’s really developing nicely. It’s very satisfying, though slightly simpler, compared to the Gris.
The Gris, to me, has more depth, soulfulness, “soil-fulness.” It has this kind of mineral aspect, whatever the heck that is, and more persistence on the palate. I like the blend of the two together. Were I to do it over again, I might plant a little more. I initially planted more Grenache Gris and Blanc, but as I mentioned, the turkeys prefer Gris to Blanc, so that cut us back on the Gris.
Do you see Grenache as defining the vineyard?
Maybe. I hope not. As they say, “just spell my name right.” As long as people buy the wine, if Grenache needs to define the vineyard, so be it. What I wanted was some customers and, of course, to see the vineyard grow to a scale that demonstrates real sustainability. We need to plant more vines to reach a viable scale. It’s still too small to be sustainable.
What are you trying to do with your wine club?
We have wholesale distribution in California and several other states. But what’s cool about the wine club is something that I figured out at Bonny Doon years ago. I said, “I’m going to do experiments anyway, and small-scale experiments.” If I’m going to do these things, I might as well try to monetize them slightly if I can.
The so-called “Paradise Found” Wine Club includes not just the main releases, which are themselves in fairly limited quantities, but also the oddball things where we’ll make 15 or 20 cases—very limited. Ridiculously small quantities. It’s an opportunity to see how these things turn out and, if we can, monetize them ever so slightly.
How does it feel to find yourself the subject of a soon-to-be released documentary?
It’s so abstract; I don’t even think about it. Truly, I’m honored, of course, and slightly embarrassed. I’m sure I’m going to look ridiculous in it—I still haven’t seen it yet, so we shall see. In practical terms, I’m hoping it will result in some sales, which we could use, and some wine club memberships, which we could certainly use. It will be interesting, amusing perhaps.
Honestly, I’m not the world’s most gregarious human being. I’m pretty darn shy, in fact. But I feel sort of virtuous every time I go out in public, deal with my own insecurities, and successfully navigate yet another day without dying of embarrassment.
What are you hoping your legacy will be in the wine business?
I’m hoping that it will be more than “what a great marketer he was.” That would be most unsatisfactory. Also, I’m hoping I will be remembered for more than just helping to secure acceptance of screw caps—I think that’s probably the leading candidate right now.
I don’t know. I’m going to be dead, so I’m not going to be actively enjoying much at that point. Again, you just want to have a general positive effect on the world. When you leave, you want to feel that your presence has been a net positive rather than a net negative. So, I’m still working on it.
What is interesting to me is not being a copy of something else, not being a derivative. I want to be the San Juan Bautista Ranger and not the Rhone Ranger. I used to have sort of the illusion of control. Now I don’t even have that. It’s just a wild carpet ride.
Popelouchum wines and wine club memberships are available online. For other inquiries, contact hello@popelouchum.com.
A documentary about Randall Grahm by Golden Globe winner Jeffrey Reiner, “The Terrorist,” will be released later this year.
The Popelouchum Wine Dinner
Randall Grahm will host a tour of Popelouchum on Sept. 27 that includes tastings of some of his wines and ciders followed by a coursed dinner at Inaka Fusion paired with “ultra-rare new and some special vinous surprises.” A limited number of tickets are available through Inaka Fusion.
The trailer for “The Terrorist”
Recommendations for future Eat, Drink, Savor articles can be emailed to roberteliason@benitolink.com.
BenitoLink thanks our underwriters, Hollister Super and Windmill Market, for helping expand the Eat, Drink, Savor series and for giving our readers the stories that interest them. Hollister Super (two stores in Hollister) and Windmill Market (in San Juan Bautista) support reporting on the inspired and creative people behind the many delicious food and drink products made in San Benito County. All editorial decisions are made by BenitoLink.
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