15 winehiker points*
Some of you may recall that I celebrated the results of last month’s congressional elections when my friend Vindu cracked open a 1994 Staglin Cabernet from the oft-toasted Rutherford Bench of Napa Valley, California. Vindu had been storing this bottle for quite awhile, and had been suggesting that he would uncork it if the Democrats won.
Unless you’ve been thru-hiking the PCT all summer, you probably know that the Democrats won.
I’d had a Staglin Cab or two previously and had found them to be superior wines. Darn near anything from the Rutherford Bench had wowed me; however, I’d never formally scored a wine from this locale. Nevertheless, the two of us held great expectations for this ‘94 Staglin. Alas, the experience of drinking it was anticlimactic.
Damn. I really wanted to like this wine. I really really did.
I may have felt that I’d enjoy the Staglin because Vindu has made some good recommendations in the past; perhaps it’s because we tend to have similar palates. It might also be that Vindu and I have enjoyed pretty good luck finding and tasting wines. It might simply be that there’s a certain expectation and promise when opening a cabernet from Napa Valley, much less from the esteemed Rutherford Bench; you think it’s going to pop your eyeballs, your psyche, and your trousers (and yes, your wallet, too), and I’m no different when it comes to that particular pop (read: post-hype conventional) wisdom. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d tried a handful of Rutherfords, I’d have to pronounce myself a media dupe.
To top matters off, Gary Staglin himself had followed up to my aforementioned post with a very welcome comment at a time when I would assume him to be up to his elbows in punchdown activity, much less punching a ballot. The pressure was on (if only I felt it) to deliver a good review. Could that be why I’ve taken over a month to post this review? But I digress. And I’m not a media dupe. (Thus I proclaim, albeit feebly.)
Alright, so why do I pooh-pooh the Staglin? Especially one from the vaunted Rutherford Bench, the acclaimed “epitome of classic Napa Valley style”?
The answer: too much dust!
Granted, there was sediment in the bottle, which I noticed prior to opening. But what 12-year-old Cab might not have a little sediment? Nope, it wasn’t the sediment that caused the dusty notes, the almost greasy feel on my tongue.
I’ve mentioned before, and most recently when describing the 2001 Te Awa Boundary Bordeaux blend from New Zealand, that I don’t care for too much minerality – that I’d rather have earth under my hiking boots than in my mouth. And I couldn’t remember having tried a Napa cab with such earthy qualities; rather, I expect such from classic Bordeaux, which I’m still trying to get used to.
And trying, and trying. Let’s face it: I grew up in Northern California with a palate that embraces the bold fruitiness of many of the state’s classic zins (yes, what some call “fruit bomb”), yet I had always appreciated the deeper sensualities of a Napa cab, even those with certain mineral qualities.
Just not this much of ‘em.
OK, enough griping. On to the facts of the evening – if not to attenuate the profound shake-up in Washington.
“Mild sediment in bottle. Pink/gold edges, implies more aging ahead. Garnet color. Slightly herbal/earthy yet highly restrained nose. Sweetness slightly above target, mild oak, earthy flavor, medium body, more than moderate tartness. 10.5 points.”
I had downgraded the wine on acidity, the barely-perceptible aroma, and the highly-perceptible dusty taste. I tried again after 30 minutes in the duck decanter, with dinner.
“More balanced, softer acids/tannins. Body stands up to roast tri-tip. Finish lingers a bit more. Sour cherries, toast notes now gaining prominence. 14 points.”
There was still something not quite right about the wine. I think most cabernets tend to stand on their own, but this one was better with food. More often than not I tend to want to drink a cabernet (or nearly any wine) for its own merits. To find that a wine is better with food is a mixed scenario, a subtle juxtaposition that I’ve come to learn can detract from the pure experience of simply drinking it.
At 75 minutes’ breathing time in the duck, well after eating, I scored the Staglin a third time. I wanted to like this wine, after all.
“Delicate tobacco notes, still a little too acid. Duskiness still a turn-off but finish is improved, as well as final score: 15 points.”
If you were to liken Davis Scale scoring to the Parker, Wine Spectator, IWS, et al., scales, it’s a rule-of-thumb multiple of five; this wine would roughly equate to a 75-pointer, and hence not “good enough” to sensationalize on store shelves, the “accepted” threshold being 80 points.
I’m afraid that’s as good as it was going to get. Had the Staglin gone over? I don’t think so. The wine lingered well, and the balance aspects, though softened into slightly-less-tart acid bites, were largely intact and its body, though delicate, was quite present underneath those pesky, dusky flavors.
I didn’t really like it. Nevertheless, you might. Still, despite my fleeting research (90 seconds’ camping on Google; here’s one boffo review), the seeming lack of available “professional” scores for this wine may uphold my experience.
Gosh. There’s my second straight review of a wine that didn’t appeal to me. Dang! I had said last time that there’d be more. I didn’t expect it to be so soon. Sorry, Gary – at least you and I can still claim one victory from this experience!
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$30-35 at time of purchase (near as I or Vindu can recall); now $99 at Vinfolio and priced higher elsewhere online.
*Rated on the 20-point Davis scale using my Wine Scoring Sheet.
~winehiker
