It is during the cold, wet winter months that I endeavor to get most of our bottling done here at Montoliva. Unlike most 1,500-2,000 case-a-year wineries, I own all my own bottling equipment, and thus have the luxury of moving wine from barrel in to bottle slowly and methodically.  The goal is usually to get 4 or 5 different wines bottled each month, with each bottling day resulting in 75-140 cases completed.

It is during this season that decisions are made about what kind of bottles to use, what kind of corks will work best, how the labels will be printed and what they will say. Packaging materials also dictate a fair amount of a winery's overall carbon footprint. Do we use glass or box? Light weight bottles or heavy? Screwcap or cork? Natural cork or plastic cork? Soy-based or petroleum-based ink on the label?  And then there's the capsule.

There is no part of the packaging of a bottle of wine that I wrestle with more than the capsule. It's not just "what color" it should be. It is more fundamental than that. Do I even use a capsule? Do I physically put a capsule on the top of the bottle and stick the bottle in my capsule "spinner" to adhere it to the bottle? I'm frankly not a fan of capsules.  Sure, they look pretty, they can really accentuate a label, in that "Wall of Wine" at the local Safeway, the capsule could mean the difference between your bottle being pulled off the shelf, and someone else's. However, beyond their decorative value, they serve no utilitarian purpose, and this is the source of my ambivalence.

Wine capsules are made of one of two materials, either tin or plastic. Almost all of the tin mined in the world comes from a few mines in the Sub-Sahara African region encompassing the "Democratic" Republic of Congo. Tin mining in this region today is what conflict diamonds were to the same region a generation ago. And we don't even want to talk about the lack of basic worker safety and environmental controls of these mines. No thanks. And as for plastic capsules...well, I already use more petroleum based products than I prefer. I'd rather use less if possible.

So, seems like an easy decision, right? The capsule serves no useful purpose, and using them increases the winery's carbon footprint at a time when I'd like to reduce it. Alas, over the decades, wine consumers have come to expect to see a capsule on the bottle. In 2009 I tried leaving the capsule off of our 2007 vintage Sangiovese. The lack of capsule was noticed, and commented on, often. Many of our guests had the uncomfortable feeling that I had forgotten an important part of the overall wine production process. And if I'd forgotten this part, what else was I forgetting to do?

A wry little joke in the wine world is that you know when a winemaker reaches "Rock Star" status (ie: getting their face on the cover of Wine Spectator Magazine) because they stop filtering their white wines and stop putting capsules on their bottles. Once you reach cult-winemaker status, wine consumers will buy your wine no matter if your white wine is a little cloudy, or whether or not the bottle is properly dressed.

I've never been on the cover of Wine Spectator (last year's April Fool's Day email notwithstanding), however, this winter season I've decided that even if I'm not really a Rock Star, I'm still going to act like one (without the hotel room destruction part), and stop putting capsules on our bottles. I encourage you to come by, sample our current releases....see if you can tell the difference.  Cheers, Mark Henry

Being a boutique winery among Grass Valley wineries has certain size advantages...1,500 case annual output isn't a lot of wine. We also have certain size disadvantages...a 1,500 case a year winery isn't going to be springing for a Publicist, PR person or "Campaign" manager. Heck, I can barely justify a gig-based "social media" manager. This limits how small wineries can get the word out about what they do. No Publicist means your wines aren't getting in front of the Taste Makers (wine writers, critics, Sommeliers), especially if you are in a little known region like Chicago Park.

Where boutique wineries do have an outlet, and perhaps an advantage, is in blind commercial competitions.  All you need is a couple hundred dollars, and you're treated no different at the major competitions than a 100,000 case a year winery. I am, nonetheless, ambivalent about competitions. You can read more in depth about my thoughts here. 

There are three competitions I regularly enter these days. The Orange County Wine Competition (the largest in California), the California State Fair Wine Competition (best known) and the San Francisco Chronicle Competition (most prestigious).  First on the annual docket is the SF Chron. Entries actually have to be sent off in November of the previous year, with results posted around the second week of January. Because of cost, I do limit the total number of entries, in the case of the 2019 SF Chronicle Wine Competition, it was four. Here are the results:
2015 MV&W Aglianico - Silver Medal (Aglianico Category. Last year took Best-of-Class)
2014 Estate Sangiovese ~ Barrel Select - Silver Medal (Sangiovese Category)
2016 Negroamaro - Silver Medal ("Other" Italian Varietals Category)
2016 Dolcetto - Silver Medal (Dolcetto Category. Last year took Double Gold)

Ok, so Silvers all the way around. By awarding a Silver, what the judging panel is indicating is that these wines are Very Good representatives of the category they were entered in to.  The Negroamaro and Sangiovese are currently in release, so come by and find out what a Very Good (and reasonably priced) Negroamaro and Sangiovese taste like. Among Grass Valley wineries we are very close to I80!

 2017 I will mark ten years since I unleashed my first Sangiovese on an unsuspecting public in 2007. It came from the first commercial harvest of my estate vineyard; the grapes were picked in 2005. 2005 was not a particularly good year for wine grapes in northern California, and I recall adding in a little of the 2006 vintage of Sangiovese into the 2005. This was, at the time, not strictly legal, but frankly the ’05 needed some help and it being my first release, I could not afford to simply throw it away, like I could/would now (and did with vintage 2011, another “not particularly good year” in northern California). I remember vividly the struggle I had with coming up with the right descriptors for that wine. I knew I was working in somewhat uncharted waters, making a wine that had more in common with a typical Chianti than what was generally considered marketable in California. I figured as the years went on the words would more readily come to me (if you have ever visited the winery, you know I’m rarely at a loss for words). Yet, here I am winding down 2018, nearly ten years later, and I still have a difficult time coming up with descriptors that will accurately portray my wine without scaring away potential customers.
 
The word that most vexes me is “acidic”. I just can’t figure out a way to say this about my Sangiovese and my Aglianico in a way that doesn’t have wine consumers backing up with their palms out. Acidic, tart, sharp, astringent, these all have acquired negative connotations in relation to wine in California. I don’t have this problem with my Barbera. It is quite acidic as well, commonly being bottled at a pH of around 3.2. Barbera makes a very fruity wine, and the natural acid of Barbera makes the fruit very “bright”. So, there it is…my Barbera is “bright”. Neither Sangiovese, nor Aglianico are particularly fruity, at least the way I make them, so “bright” doesn’t really work. I don’t have this issue with my white wines either. Some years my Falanghina is fairly sharp, which combined with its natural lightness makes a wine that can be accurately described as “snappy”. Snappy is good for a light summer wine. My Sangiovese is not a light summer wine…neither is my Aglianico.
 
Generally, this isn’t an issue for visitors to the winery. Visitors can taste both wines and decide for themselves if they like it or not. It isn’t an issue in the grocery environment either, as with rare exceptions (like the Briar Patch in Grass Valley) I don’t sell either of these wines through grocery stores. It has, however, started to become an issue with on-line sales. How do I explain to a potential purchaser that my Sangiovese has a structure and acidity that is much more pronounced that what is the norm in California…and frankly, more than what is the norm for a lot of Chiantis that are being made today for the American and Chinese markets (which means it has become less useful today to say “it’s got a ‘Chianti-like’ character”). I suppose I could write a 600-word essay on the difficulties with coming up with the right terminology to explain how these two wines present themselves, then link that to the vintage listings on my website. Yeah…that just might work!

​There are many truisms in business. “Build a Better Mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door” Is a time honored, and honorable truism that is oddly enough credited to the American poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Create a need, and then fill it”…yeah, time honored, but not so honorable.

This is what comes to mind whenever someone asks my opinion about wine bottle closures.  How do I feel about “alternative” closures like synthetic cork, Zork or screw-caps?  I hate them.  I hate them all (no, really, Mark…how do you feel?).  They are, today, in my mind, a solution looking for a problem.  And not a very good solution at that.  In fact, ultimately, a “solution” that creates more problems than it purports to solve.

What problem does “alternative” closures seek to solve?  What “need” has been created? As recently as 2005 Wine Spectator Magazine had reported that no less than 7% of all the wines they had received as samples showed some sign of “cork taint”, a condition that at its least robs a wine of its distinctiveness, at worst gives you a wine that tastes like wet cardboard.  Yikes!  No wonder the mad rush to metal and plastic closures!  Hang on! Before you take the pledge to only buy screw-cap bottles, let’s get “The Rest of the Story”.
Cork taint is caused by a chemical compound called 2,4,6-trichloroanisole (also known as TCA).  Until recently (last 10 year or so), all we knew was that a certain level of this compound existed in wine corks.  It wasn’t until very recently that wine cork manufacturers determined that it wasn’t so much the cork itself that was responsible for TCA, it was the chlorine that was widely used for cleaning and sterilizing cork that caused most of the TCA issues.  The answer – use something other than chlorine, like steam.  Problem mostly resolved.  Current research indicates that cork taint is still an issue with between .7-1.2% of wines sealed with cork.  But just how much of an issue? 

​Additional research indicates that 99% of the population can detect TCA at levels of 200-300 parts per million.  One of Wine Spectator’s reviewers is reputed to be able to detect wine with TCA at 2-3 ppm.  To which I respond…so what if some critic has superhuman powers.  I don’t…you probably don’t.  If it can’t be detected, just how much of a problem is it?

But hey, why not screw-caps and/or plastic?  Especially if it reduces the potential of cork taint to 0%.  In life there are trade-offs.  As a winemaker, I want to provide my customers with the best possible wine I can, while maintaining as much philosophical integrity as I can.  Of the various wine closures available, only cork is 100% renewable, 100% biodegradable, and uses a lot less petroleum products than plastic.  Additionally, cork forests are unique bio-systems that thrive in regions that are inhospitable to most forms of agriculture.  If cork farmers can’t feed their families growing cork, they will cut those forests down and graze cows or sheep.  Finally, if more locally produced economic activity is desirable (I think it is), then the equation becomes simple.  What would you rather have in your backyard – a cork forest, an aluminum smelting plant or an oil refinery?