Earlier this year, I happened to get invited to the 2019 Austrian Wine Summit because, well, I’m just that kind of lucky fellow these days. Since one should almost always begin with bubbles, it seems apt that my first foray into an Austrian wine feature would be about the official changes to their sparkling wine quality pyramid, and also end up being the kick-off piece for my new gig contributing to the Napa Valley Wine Academy’s online content stream.

You can head over to the NVWA website to get the skinny on the new Austrian Sekt designations, its history, and what it all potentially means for the fine wine sparkling import markets. You’ll want to hit that article first so that you get the context of the new Sekt pyramid levels, and because you’re just that kind of informed person who digs learning and not just drinking, right?

As for what the latest developments in Austria’s Österreichischer Sekt mit geschützter Ursprungsbezeichnung (g.U.) means for your mouth, I did have my boots on the ground, tasting through several examples in every level of the Sekt g.U. pyramid. In a Sekt vineyard. In the Weinweg Langenlois, which sports a panoramic vineyard viewing platform, riddling rack, charming little tasting huts, and a couple of hammocks. Go ahead and hate me, I even hated myself for a few minutes after experiencing that embarrassment of riches (if it’s any consolation, it did rain on us, cutting short the tasting by about five minutes… ok, forget it…).

Anyway, here are the highlights…

It’s in Israel‘s north, along the borders with Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan, where you realize that you’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto, viticulturally-speaking. Actually, let’s correct that – it’s not just viticulturally-speaking, it’s just-about-everything-speaking.

Certainly the rocky hills in the Golan Heights and Galilee speak to Israel’s unique location as a transition zone between the Sahara and Europe, with the requisite variations in soils (from volcanic, to terra rossa, to chalk, to te dessert-like Les), climate, and elevation; you know, the standard grape-growing stuff.

But while that sort of geological and climatic scene is mirrored in many wine regions across the globe, there aren’t many that are surrounded by imposing barbed wire fencing, dotted with even more imposing signs warning of land mines, and sporting the occasional airfield patrolled by very imposing drones.

Welcome to wine-growing, northern Israeli-style. It wouldn’t be for the faint-hearted even without the explosives.

As a wrap-up finale on Israeli wine, here are highlights from my not-so-recent media tour there, which culminated in trips to some of the most promising producers in the Golan Heights and Lower Galilee…

I know that I was supposed to finish up my take on the wine regions of Israel… but a) this is my blog, so I’ll do what I want, and b) I’m so late on that anyway that another week (or two?) won’t matter, right?

The wonderful distraction in this case comes by way of a sample of Mayacamas Vineyards’ stunning 2017 Chardonnay, about which I will type much more in a minute or several. First, it’s worth detailing a bit of the storied history of Mayacamas, older vintages of which may have passed my eager lips at previous points, because it’s both literally and figuratively the stuff of movie scripts.

Maycamas’ winery was built in the late 1800s by a German immigrant who then went bankrupt, and, supposedly, its stone cellar was used to make bootleg wine during Prohibition. The winery’s shadiness had a respite in the `60s, when the Travers family purchased and revitalized it (with deliciously long-lived wines from primo vintages being produced during their tenure), and fame coming in the early 1970s when they were chosen to take part in the famous (or infamous, if you’re French) “Judgment of Paris,” which is the USA’s fine wine equivalent of the Miracle on Ice. In the mid-1990s, Mayacamas became a location-cum-pseudo-character on celluloid, in a romantic dramatic film starring national treasure Keanu Reeves.

Things took a potentially darker turn in the 2000s, when investor Charles Banks purchased Mayacamas for an undisclosed amount; I write “potentially darker” because Banks (with whom I once had dinner, come to think of it) eventually plead guilty to fraud charges and was sentenced to four years in federal prison…

For a year and a half now, I’ve struggled.

It’s been that long since I had my feet on the ground among the vines in Israeli wine country, and until now I’d yet to write a word about the experience, apart from a few social media updates and the odd mini-review.

The mistake I’d made over that period of waiting? Thinking that there would be an appropriate time during which the political maelstrom that is Middle East politics would present a low-key time for me to simply be able to focus on the region’s wines themselves, without the specter of centuries upon centuries of conflict rearing its ghostly head obtrusively behind. And it’s just difficult to do that when you have visited vines that grow among former Lebanese army bunkers, or are surrounded by land mine warning signs, or that have turned up with the occasional IED among them. In that context, waiting for a quieter period of Israel in the national news before focusing on something as simple as vino doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

Buuuuuut… Fat chance. I may never see that time. And so I suppose this is the start of me trying to do a (very) small part of in taking matters into my own hands with giving Israel a bit of media focus that isn’t packed to the gills with cringe-worthy tales of damage to pride, property, and lives. Well, perhaps the writing will be cringe-worthy, but hopefully that’s the extent of it.

Fortunately, Israel’s winemaking history surpases its history of conflict, both in terms of longevity and in interest. There is evidence of winmaking and (particularly along the Mediterranean coast) wine export dating back at least five thousand years. About seven hundred years of Muslim Ottoman influence slowed things down, buy by the 1880s a wave of Zionist immigrants, focused on farming, renewed and rejuvenated the region’s wine industry. Investment from the Rothschilds in France helped to modernize the industry here, and another wave, starting in about 2008, focused the fine wine scene mostly on Mediterranean grape varieties, and saw the development of more modernized marketing approaches.

And despite all of that, as Recanati winemaker Gil Shatsberg told me, “Israeli wine is not really defined yet…”