Crush Time

SPRING VALLEY - Reporting on my first crush season in this corner of the Walla Walla wine region, I was fully prepared to remove

my shoes and socks, step into some large vat and start stomping on freshly picked grapes.

I wasn't shocked to learn "crushing" isn't done this way these days, at least not at Spring Valley Vineyard or Dumas Station, the two local wineries I visited for a taste of the season.

But I was surprised the word "crush" isn't even a very apt way to describe how winemakers prefer to extract fermentable juices from their grapes.

Too much pressure actually risks crunching the seeds, which can release an overpowering bitterness into the mash. Breaking the skin gently is enough to release the liquids and ignite the conversion from sugars to alcohol with the help of some yeast.

On a recent October morning, I was the guest of Frenchborn winemaker Serge Laville, who oversees production of the Spring Valley label for Chateau Ste. Michelle a mere seven miles from Waitsburg.

His crew brought out a large plastic bin with hand-harvested cab franc grapes, hoisted it up to an elevated chute with a forklift and tilted it to free the clusters and send them down the chute into the de-stemmer below.

I watched them pick out some green leaves and guide the grapes down the stainless steel slide. After taking some pictures on the upper platform, I joined Serge down below, where the newly separated grapes moved down a vibrating conveyor that screens out the smaller, immature, bitter, green grapes.

The rest made their way into the giant stainless steel fermentation bin, errant brown leaves and all. Serge said winemakers prefer to include some of the extraneous organic ingredients from the terroir for what he calls the essential, "vineyard note."

No wonder Waitsburg-based wine columnist Paul Gregutt attributes, "unique and fragrant aromas of grain, light herb and explosive jammy fruits," to Spring Valley wines. I checked in with one of the guys helping the small, red grapes on their way to the mash ton. His name was Mike Malott, a sophomore studying food sciences at Oregon State University in Corvallis who is getting academic credits for being at Spring Valley for a quarter to learn how wine is made and how the wine sector fitsinto the entire food industry. He picked a somewhat unusual harvest year to do so. Bringing in the grapes from the vineyard is happen­ing much later than normal this fall. Ordinarily, picking starts in early September and ends in mid October, but cold, wet spring and cool, late summer have delayed the grapes' maturation. Only one-fifth of Spring Valley's grapes have come in from the fields so far, and Serge doesn't expect harvest will be completely done until mid November.

"I don't even feel we're in harvest," he said. When first talked to him on Friday, he didn't seem worried about it, rather delighted in fact. As a winemaker, Serge is after quality not size or quan­tity. He'd just as soon see the grapes ripen slowly and take their merry time soaking in the earth's riches. The French have a perfect attitude - laissez faire - to describe Serge's approach to making wine. "We make sure the grapes grow slowly and get plenty of hang time," he said. "Then eventually we're going to make some wine."

But on Monday, when rain was coming in sideways under the shed where Serge and his crew applied the final press to the first several tons of Spring Valley grapes, he was a bit concerned about the humidity and the time now left for picking. "I'm not panicking yet, but getting closer," he said. Jay DeWitt, co-owner of Dumas Station, says his cab sav grapes from Minnick Hill are the smallest he's ever worked with in his 10 years as a winemaker. Overall, that bodes well for the area's 2010 vintage: the smaller the grape the more intense the finished wine. The other development that bodes well for Wash­ington wineries this year is the poor, and in some cases, shrinking harvest elsewhere in the world. Yields are down in California, and Oregon is a disaster, DeWitt said. Australia is losing acreage from a shift in that country's agricultural industry. But the Walla Walla AVA isn't entirely immune to this year's unusual weather. In other parts of the county, some vineyards reported frost damage earlier this year. Spring Valley, which has a higher elevation, seems to be shielded from the extremes because it's always cooler when it's hot, and warmer when it's cool, Serge ex­plained. He took me into a 60 plus-degree cellar to taste a sample of wine in active fer­mentation.

He took the large stop from the turned-up belly of a barrel, and I put my ear to the opening. It sounded like the bubbles atop a soda drink after it's been poured into a glass. He siphoned enough rich, red liquid for several mouth­fuls. We sniffed and sipped. I swirled it. After an initial flavor of berries and lico­rice,

I picked up the acidity of the immature merlot and noticed little of the wine's notes lingered on the palate. Those come with the mel­lowing and aging process, Serge said.

But I could tell the prom­ise it holds as a fine, high-end wine, whose quality Serge likes to characterize as a cross between the traditional elegance and subtlety of the French wines he grew up with and the bolder, more oaky finish American con­sumers favor. Serge started at Spring Valley not long after he had been educated in the art and science of winemaking in France. When he was tutored by the late Devin Derby, who launched the vineyard with his parents Dean and Sheri in the early 1990s, Serge had to adjust to the American palate for which he is now finishing his wines. He has come to appreciate the compromise between the two continental preferences more and more each year. "Americans like the big flavor - fruity, oaky wines," he said in his unmistakable accent. One of the main reasons is that consumers here often like to sip their wines by themselves, while for the French, wine is a soul mate to the food they eat, so the beverage shouldn't be more powerful than the dish. In ad­dition,

the American cuisine is different - richer and with bolder flavors, the kind a big­ger wine can get along with. I've tasted many wines in France and in Washington. In the fermentation room with Serge, I found myself agreeing with his assessment of the wines that are owned and sold by Chateau Ste. Michelle under the Spring Valley label, some of which I've had the pleasure to taste from the bottle with dinner.

They are a nice balance of berrylike spontaneity and lin­gering, palate-pleasing herb­al tones that don't slam your taste buds with a two-by-four like some other Washington wines do. If that's what Serge calls his vineyard note, he's welcome to strike it up any time.