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Encompassing the Charm of Alsace

Wednesday, March 7th

A Brief History of Alsace Wines

Part of what makes Claiborne and Churchill so unique and special is our production of Alsatian white wines.  These wines  are virtually unheard of among novice wine enthusiasts.  Alsatian wines originate from the region of Alsace in France, producing delicious, high quality wines, dryer in contrast to their neighbors in Germany.  The German-influenced wines are often sweeter, but produced from the same grape varietals.

Wines such as Rieslings and Gewürztraminers are today generally misconceived as being “too sweet” in the United States.  This is mostly due to a sweeter style with higher residual sugar evident in these wines in the 90’s.  Many producers who work organically didn’t want to pick grapes before they reached total ripeness and didn’t want to add store-bought yeast to complete fermentation that indigenous yeast couldn’t.  This resulted in the wines retaining more sugar post fermentation.  Due to the popularity with consumers and some wine critics preferring the sweeter wines and rewarding them with high scores, winemakers were discouraged from changing their methods until more recently.

Vintners began to adjust their viticultural methods to define ripeness with lower sugar content in the grapes.  Winemakers have worked to achieve beautiful acidity and vibrancy rather than letting the sugars take over and being stuck with a syrupy product.

Embracing Tradition

Our take on Alsatian wines pays homage to how they were traditionally produced and enjoyed. Because of our proximity to the ocean, cool coastal breezes and morning fog create a growing environment similar to that of the Alsace region, yielding in Rieslings and Gewürztraminers with evident floral, spicy, and an array of fruit notes balanced with excellent acidity.  We celebrate a harmonious balance of fruit and oak, structure and texture.

For more information, click here for a fabulous article that goes more into depth on the history of the Alsace region wines.

The Origin of Claiborne & Churchill, Part III: “Selling Wines that Nobody Drinks”

Tuesday, August 12th

In my previous two entries of this rambling “history” of Claiborne & Churchill, I described how in 1981 Fredericka and I left our former academic careers in Michigan behind and started a new life in the California wine business. I had managed to finagle a job as a “cellar rat” at Edna Valley Vineyard, where I got a thorough “education” in winemaking; two years later my mentor (the late Dick Graff) gave us permission to start making our own wine in a corner of their cellar.

So: in 1983 we borrowed a few dollars from relatives and bought 30 used barrels and 8 tons of grapes: Riesling and Gewurztraminer. Determined to specialize in “niche wines” inspired by the dry white wines of Alsace, we jokingly told our friends that we were going to “make wines that nobody drinks.”

Alternative White Wines

In the summer of 1984 it was time to sell these “wines that nobody drinks.” Where to start? Bear in mind that in those days wine was sold not in BevMo, not in Costco, not in Total Wine & More, Whole Foods, Vons, Albertsons, and other warehouse-type stores, but in “Fine Wine Shops.” Such shops had savvy wine buyers, a sophisticated customer base, and a limited selection of the most prestigious wines from California and Europe.

Somehow (the Edna Valley/Chalone connection was helpful), Fredericka was able to secure appointments at a number of fine wine shops in the Bay Area, in Santa Barbara, L.A. and Orange County. We grabbed some samples, hopped in the pick-up truck, and took off to sell these wines (that nobody drank).

To our surprise and delight, we were welcomed by the wine buyers with open arms. We were “a breath of fresh air”, bringing not just another Chardonnay, but fruity and refreshing (but dry) wines, “delightfully different” wines they all were fond of. They bought our wines, they featured us in their newsletters, they helped us sell out the entire vintage in a few months. “Hey, this is easy,” we thought.

Not so fast! It seems that while the wine buyers were excited by this new wine venture of ours, the wine-drinking public was still a few years behind the curve. Stuck in the Chardonnay/Cabernet rut, they had trouble adjusting to the idea of a Dry Gewurztraminer or a Dry Riesling.

Now began the hard work of promoting these wines, getting people to taste them, winning them over one by one. Gradually we increased production; our initial vintage of 565 cases became 1100, then 2500, then 3000. In the early ‘90s (still in our “warehouse winery”) we began selling direct to consumers through wine tastings and the wine club. We got a big boost when we completed the new winery in early 1996; we had a visible presence in the heart of the Edna Valley. The wine-drinking public took more and more to “alternative whites.” Tourism (and wine tourism in particular) increased dramatically, as people discovered San Luis Obispo (“the happiest city in America,” according to Oprah Winfrey).

We now produce upwards of 8,000 cases a year, still with our original focus on “Alsatian style” white wines. We’ve weathered three recessions and an equal number of “booms.” Last year we celebrated our 30th anniversary. Apparently we now make wines “that people drink.”

The Origin of Claiborne & Churchill, Part II:
How To Start a Winery With No Money and Scarcely a Clue

Tuesday, April 22nd

In early August, 1981, I gave up a tenured professorship at the University of Michigan to move to California and start work as a “Cellar Rat” in a local winery, for $6 an hour. Fredericka and I had married on August 6th took Amtrak from Ann Arbor to San Luis Obispo, arriving just in time for one of the earliest harvests in history.

The Pinot Noir crush started during the second week of August, and I quickly learned that I had severely underestimated my fitness level. Crush work at Edna Valley in those days was extremely labor intensive; within a month I had lost fifteen pounds and gained a nice layer of callouses all over my hands. At the end of each 14-hour day I would return to our little apartment on Higuera Street ($330/month) sore and exhausted.

Regrettably, I did not keep a diary of those early days. It was abundantly clear that I could not both DO the job and also REFLECT upon it. It was one or the other. I had burnt all my bridges, and I had to succeed in my new career.

I had never been happier in my life.

Working in the “wine business” was a breath of fresh air after the stale and stultifying atmosphere of the university. Here I found co-workers who reveled in hard work, who supported each other at all times, and whose satisfaction came from creating a product of the highest quality.

I hasten to add also that it was a heck-of-a-lot of fun. The camaraderie, the horse-play, the pranking, the unrepeatable bad jokes: there was an esprit de corps I have never experienced before or since.

In 1983, after two years of cellar work, crush and bottling, laboratory and even sales experience, it was time to take stock of my new “career.” I was never really on a track towards the title of “winemaker,” usually reserved for those who studied the subject at U.C. Davis. For a while it looked like I might be groomed to sell wine for Edna Valley and its parent, Chalone.

But what I really wanted was to make wine. Our own wine. Different, special wines. “Niche wines.”

In those days the advice was to make not wine that you liked, but that the market liked. “Make Chardonnay and Cabernet and hire a pretty girl” was the mantra.

Fredericka and I rejected this idea. Through our experience in western Germany and eastern France we had developed a love of the dry, fruity and well-structured Rieslings and Gewurztraminers of Alsace.

In the summer of 1983 we flew to Europe, took a train to the town of Barr at the northern end of the Alsatian “Route du Vin”, and back-packed southward through the vineyards and wine villages, sampling the wine and food and visiting and talking to the vintners themselves.

We returned eager to make wines inspired by the wines of Alsace. Still, we had no winery and no money. Happily, we were able to borrow a little from relatives, and then received permission from Chalone to start our wine production in a small corner of the cellar at Edna Valley Vineyard.

In the fall of 1983 we bought 30 used barrels and eight and a half tons of grapes and produced 563 cases of barrel-fermented, dry wines: 224 cases of Dry Gewurztraminer, 128 cases of Dry Riesling, and 211 cases of a blend of the two, which we called “Edelzwicker” after the Alsatian name.

Now we could joke that we had fulfilled our dream not only to “make wines nobody drinks” but also to “make wines nobody can pronounce.”

Next: Part III; “Selling Wines that Nobody Drinks”