A word about numbers

In nearly all of the criticisms of wine scores that I’ve encountered over the years, I find that people try to read more meaning into them than perhaps they deserve.

Some wonder, Are scores adjusted for price? Generally speaking, no. Others ask if the producer’s reputation is considered. Again, no. Still others speculate why they’ve never seen a 100-point Beaujolais. Are scores varietal-biased? Nope, some varietals, enjoyable though they may be, simply don’t offer the complexity of, say, a Premier Cru Burgundy.

Underlying all these concerns is the belief that apples-to-apples comparisons can never -- and should never -- be made. As if, somehow, wines were above that. What then is the purpose of wine competitions if wines cannot be compared?

Rather than put too fine a point on the business of scores – and it is a business – a more serviceable approach may be this:

SCORES. JUST. ARE.

In other words, you can make all kinds of arguments for what a score means/implies/accounts for, but in the end, it’s simply a number that accompanies the wine, much like the price that (supposedly) reflects it.

Let’s put scores back into context for a moment. The reason why critics put scores in their reviews is because they believe (rightly) that people need them.

While it is true that numbers without commentary are arbitrary and of little real value to consumers, it is also true that most people, when presented with a paragraph of tasting notes AND a score, are going to look at the score first and then decide if the review is worth reading. Would you bother reading a review of a wine with a dreadful score? Didn’t think so.

Conversely, a high score on an unfamiliar label/varietal/appellation might intrigue a reader enough to spend time with the actual review. In this instance, (high) scores have the effect of broadening a drinker’s horizons, instead of narrowing them as the naysayers fear.

In the end, we need scores, we need critics, we need to make comparisons between wines because there is an overwhelming amount of choice. And with almost no meaningful advertising coming from producers as to what distinguishes their wines (other than scores), there is simply nowhere else to turn. (Please, don’t get me started on the recommendations of retailers. Their interests are as conflicted as the publisher who reviews the wines of its advertisers.)

As for wine producers taking control of their message and having their brand stand for something, well, that’s what I do for a living. Operators are standing by . . .

Tag, you're it

In the most recent Dining In/Out section of the NY Times was an ad for Dominus, the Napa Valley winery owned by Christian Moueix of Pétrus-fame. What struck me -- besides the fact that they were even advertising -- was the tagline: "Napa terroir, Bordeaux spirit."

It seemed, mmm, a bit too familiar. In fact, it seemed to be almost a parody of another American outpost of a French brand, Domain Drouhin. Their slogan is: "Oregon soil, French soul." I filed this away in my memory-bank because it's an excellent poisitioning line, one that articulates the winery's focus, approach and authenticity, all in four simple words. Brilliant.

Domain Drouhin's tagline is a model of positioning that every winery should strive to emulate. I know it has served me as a benchmark for the branding work that I do.

For example, one of my clients, Renteria Wines, sources its grapes from vineyards managed by Renteria Vineyard Management, which has some 1,350 acres of vines under its care. This is far more than all but the very largest vintners could ever dream of owning. Unlike an estate winery, the Renterias aren't limited to what grows on their property. And because they farm the grapes, they can control the quality, block by block.

Having a vineyard management company and a boutique winery under one roof offers considerable advantages. Advantages that I tried to capture with the positioning line: "The benefits of an estate winery without the boundaries of an estate."

There is more to the story though. Unlike so many who arrive in Napa with millions to spare, Salvador Renteria, the family patriarch, began as a vineyard worker. His Horatio Alger-like rise now has him retired and living in the hills above the Silverado golf course, while his son, Oscar, runs the company. Clearly, this is a family with big dreams and even bigger achievements.

Thinking about the Renteria family story, combined with the Renteria Winery positioning, lead me to the tagline: "No boundaries." Seems so simple, doesn't it? Of course, it's not, which explains why more wineries aren't able to carve out a position of their own. Did I mention that I do this for a living . . . ?