Flinching at the A-Word

It was not long ago--a couple of decades at most--when one word summed up the difference between European wines and American: quality. They had it and we, for the most part, didn’t. That has changed.

But today a new delineation might apply: acidity. Their wines have it and too many of ours don’t.

Europe’s greatest wine asset is its drinkers’ profound understanding of the desirability of acidity in wine. Yet here it’s almost a dirty word. The word itself is unattractive, calling to mind something mouth puckering, almost painful, like eating a lemon.

How many times have you heard a winemaker or writer praise a wine for its wonderful fruit? It’s endless. Yet how often have you heard about great acidity? Not often, and then only in passing. At best, you hear about balance, which is really code for the A-word.

Balance is a taster’s sense of the interplay between fruit and acidity. A wine, unlike a ballerina, is never either in balance or out. There’s always a range for every wine and every taster. That acknowledged, too many of our wines lurch to one end of the spectrum. They fatigue rather than refresh. They lack bright, fresh, even piquant acidity.

This is not because winemakers or critics are unaware of the importance--indeed, the appeal--of acidity in wine. But it’s better to talk about lush fruit and velvety texture. And if you’re a winemaker, it’s better to make a wine that emphasizes just those qualities, even if the result tastes vaguely sweet and not refreshing with food.

Why do Americans flinch at acidity in their wines? Partly it’s because of our famous liking for sweet and bland. But it’s also because American wines too often exist--and are assessed--independent of food.

The vast majority of American wines reap their highest praise (and price) in tastings conducted far from the table. Wine newsletters and magazines typically assess wines in large-scale blind tastings, often with dozens of wines lined up beauty pageant-style. It’s a much-needed service.

But make no mistake: These tastings inevitably reward only certain types of wine beauties. It’s a structural problem. Wines that show best in big blind line-ups are those with the deepest color, richest fruit and least intrusive acidity. They tend to be noticeably oaky, conveying a hint of vanilla-scented sweetness that marries beautifully with the rich fruit. In short, they taste great on their own.

Yet when served with food, these same wines suddenly seem unbalanced. Their fruit fatigues where it once exhilarated. They lack zip. They seem excessive. Almost invariably the problem is a deficiency of acidity. Everything else about the wine can be lovely--except that you just don’t reach for it.

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The following white wines show just what brisk acidity can do for lovely fruit: It makes a wine come alive and stay vibrant for years to come.

1995 Domaine Les Hautes Noelles Muscadet Co^tes de Grandlieu ($8.95): Few dry white wines are more publicly linked to acidity than Muscadet. It’s the name of both a district in the westernmost section of France’s Loire Valley, near where the river empties into the Atlantic Ocean, and of a grape variety.

Muscadet (the grape) also is known as Melon de Bourgogne, a reference to its distant origins in Burgundy. A winter-hardy variety, it was brought to the Western Loire to replace vines that were destroyed in the frigid winter of 1709.

The reason Muscadet is so famously associated with acidity is that it is, indeed, pretty tart stuff. This is less because the grape variety is so high in acidity (it isn’t) than because its growing area is so cool, near the Atlantic’s breezes. Also, too many bottlings lack fruit from excessive yields, and the deficiency makes the wine seem even more acidic.

In France, Muscadet became the wine of choice to serve with shellfish, especially oysters. After World War II, a bottle of Muscadet with your oysters was de rigueur in Parisian brasseries. That’s where many Americans discovered its bracing crispness.

But no sooner did Muscadet producers find a loyal market than complacency set in. Because everything they made was drunk immediately (and indiscriminately) in Paris, they had no incentive to create something really fine. Muscadet became a commodity.

As a result, few wine lovers have had the chance to taste a really good Muscadet. They exist, but they drown in obscurity in the sea of Muscadet mediocrity. Winegrower Serge Batard of Domaine Les Hautes Noelles, is one of the upstarts of the region. Young, ambitious and experimental, Batard is dedicated to taking Muscadet to its fullest expression. In the superb 1995 vintage, he did just that.

This is Muscadet as it should be but so rarely is: intensely flavorful, anise-scented, texturally dense and, yes, crisply acidic. Not least, it offers a mouthful of mineral flavors.

Worth noting is that a Muscadet like this is capable of rewarding additional cellaring. This is a Muscadet that can age and improve for a decade or more in a cool spot, increasing in flavor and complexity. Jacqueline Friedrich, in her superb “A Wine and Food Guide to the Loire” (1996) cites an anonymous winemaker who poetically observes, “As Muscadet ages, it rediscovers its roots in Burgundy.”

Price is the best part. Even the best Muscadet is a bargain at $8.95 a bottle. The importer, North Berkeley Wines ([800] 266-6585), sells retail and distributes to many retailers in Los Angeles, including Hi-Times Wine Cellars ([800] 331-3005), Northridge Hills Liquor & Wine Warehouse ([800] 678-9463) and the Wine House ([800] 626-9463).

1995 Spring Mountain Vineyard White (Napa Valley) ($16.95): Spring Mountain Vineyard is a superb example of a new winery built over the bones of old ones. Its name derives from the former Spring Mountain Winery, which had its moment of fleeting fame when its 1973 Chardonnay placed fourth in the now-legendary Paris tasting of 1976, when California wines outpointed famous French bottlings.

But the new owners (an investment group headed by financier Jacob Safra) also purchased other old vineyards in the Spring Mountain district, above the town of St. Helena in the Mayacamas Mountains. Three names appear on the label: Miravalle, Alba and Chevalier.

Miravalle was the name given by Tiburcio Parrot, a flamboyant figure from Napa Valley’s first golden age in the 1880s, to his mansion on Spring Mountain that later became part of the original Spring Mountain Vineyards. This namesake vineyard is 30 acres.

Alba is an adjacent 10-acre vineyard, formerly part of Streblow Vineyards. And Chevalier refers to the former Chateau Chevalier winery, whose 50-acre vineyard is part of the new holding.

Spring Mountain Winery issues only two wines, a red and a white. The ’94 white, the first release, was 100% Sauvignon Blanc and it was enthusiastically recommended in this space. Now comes the brand-new 1995 bottling, and it too is a stunner. It’s 97% Sauvignon Blanc and 3% Muscat Frontignan.

This particular wine actually comes almost exclusively from 4.53-acre parcel of the Miravalle vineyard, smack in the heart of the Spring Mountain District. Not much is made, just 624 cases.

Worth noting is that the ’95 Spring Mountain Vineyard White has higher acidity than the lush ’94. It’s tighter and more restrained, with a dominant flavor note of figs, a signature scent of Sauvignon Blanc. This is a Sauvignon Blanc that is sure to age beautifully, thanks to its superb fruit and notable acidity. Look for a street price as low as $13.95.