06 Belle Pente, Pinot Noir Belle Pente Vineyard

I would have had this wine sooner, but I was looking for my good corkscrew. The one I've had since I was 21. A compass to gauge perfect center on the cork closure. Christmas lights. I had to put on my mood ring. The moment had to be just right. This wine deserves it. Maybe more than any other producer, Belle Pente captures Oregon pinot noir. Relax. Don't get up in arms at me about The Eyrie. Or Ponzi. Or any other boy up north. Let me clarify myself. I'm talking about Yamhill-Carlton. Not the oh Oregon can make Burgundy wines. Not the see I told you they can'ts. The ones that say what exactly are you talking about and who gave you permission to write about it. Let me see your yellowjacket scars. I'm talking about the kind of wine Soter makes before I even look at the bottle or remember that Soter's Mineral Springs is from the same place. Sometimes, terroir is so fucking obvious. So much so, that I couldn't care less if you knew this was from Yamhill, or even Oregon. The point is, it's completely unique, but it still reminds you of something. So what could that mean? What does it mean if that happens, but what you're reminded of is a late spring afternoon on a beach in Normandy with your dad's credit card (he still doesn't know). Or the first evening your fiancee turned the tables and made you dinner--the best fucking dinner you've ever had, yeah, sorry Mr. Kahan. That's what we're talking about when we say terroir, when we say "sense of place." It's more than soil or tradition, it's about having your bearings. Getting the fluids in your ear level. (In Yamhill's case, distinctively plush, low-acid fluids.) Absurdly smooth, rich, and spicy, when I think "Oregon," this is exactly the kind of wine I think of. That doesn't mean it's good or bad. Or that great winemakers doing something different should give half a care. But it does mean that in all the years I've been drinking Oregon pinot, a few styles have stood out to me. Styles that make me want to replace the French word "terroir" with an American word: pride. Black cherries, fennel, maduro pipe tobacco, espresso, and sweet San Daniele proscuitto fat? Yeah, those are the flavors we make. No, we didn't figure that out drinking Gevrey-Chambertin. This is our beautiful slope. Our beautiful slope.

06 Belle Pente, Pinot Noir Dundee Hills Murto Vineyard

This is exactly what's wrong with today's glut of California pinot noir. Leave it to Oregon to tell us that too. Because while I wouldn't want to cover my body in, say, beef tallow, I wouldn't mind washing my lips every evening with a thin strip of Armandino Batali's lardo. Bear with me. What I'm trying to say is while this briary, sometimes sappy, full-flavored pinot noir doesn't have to hold anything back, it manages to find restraint. Like Miles on a Coltrane track. Some kind of purple. A bold pinot noir that finds the musicality in flavor. A melody to string along its power chords. And where some boisterous Cali pinots (don't get me wrong, there are many great ones in all styles from the gentle Au Bon Climat to the proudly powerful Sea Smoke Southing) seem to forget that pinot existed before them, that they don't need to reinvent the press with outlandish flavors and textures, Belle Pente's seductive Murto Vineyard wine adds to the grape's storied history--from its first century Burgundian, possibly Greek, origins to, well, Sideways. And where we land is, much like the winery's juicier, less spicy eponymous bottling, somewhere in the middle of Oregon, just north of Grand Cru Charmes-Chambertin. Unlike some of the more overworked, governating pinots of its neighbor, Belle Pente's supple texture, ripe buttered cherry, blueberry, and sweet rhubarb flavors, violet aroma, and spicy minerality feel inborn instead of inbred. Not added, really, by oak or winemaking wizardry, but husband to the grapes themselves. And, in that way, not at all unlike the rich north Burgundy wines--often forgotten when talking about the fallacious lightness and elegance of French pinot noir. It's a true testament to this side of Oregon wine. And proof positive, in my book at least, that not only does terroir exist, but that the terroir of Oregon is among the world's most important. That, had things started a little later than 2,000 years ago with pinot noir, we might have first discovered this wild rootstock not in France or Greece, but on a roadside off Oregon Route 47. And 2,000 years from now, nothing would be different.