The peerless wine writer Jancis Robinson has developed her own code of ethics over her long career: She accepts current samples from a winery, rejects aged bottles obviously sent to butter her up, and allows winemakers to put her up only when there’s no room at the provincial inn — or no inn at all. She also acknowledges that remaining unsoftened and unswayed by the charms of winemakers and sellers is possible, but remaining unexposed is a much tougher task.
Robinson confides that she tries hard to taste wines from smaller outfits “because [she realizes] they need more help.” While she might do this out of duty and altruism, I doubt it’s a drag; they are often easy to love. The shop owner whose inventory mirrors his taste and who spent 15 minutes helping you find the perfect wine? It’s natural to want to see that person succeed, and just as natural to feel detached from the fate of a megamart that passes a baggy “Wine Consultant” vest from one employee to the next.
Robinson’s idea of “help” — holding the gate open for upstarts — brought up a question in me: If you try to help those who need it, how do you treat those who don’t? Contrary to the Instagram feeds of quaint importers, the industry isn’t just made up of vignerons who lovingly escort the grape to the glass — a crucial bulk of the industry is composed of flush, uncuddly concerns pumping out large quantities of wine. Some of this wine is very good. Can an opinionated but (hopefully) fair-minded writer just ignore a major brand the way an underdog-loving sportswriter might want to ignore the Yankees?
I don’t think so, and so I feel compelled to write about Costco’s indigenous brand, Kirkland, which Nashville shoppers may know from their trips to buy tubs of detergent and $15 fleece sweatshirts. Walk the aisles of topless cases in their warehouse and you’ll see many Kirkland wines sprinkled in with the other brands that Costco stacks deep.
Ha-ha, Kirkland wine. The brand is easy to mock because its ubiquity, breadth and utilitarian image are at odds with the soulfulness and luxury that are associated with wine. Those who don’t simply dismiss it might instinctively wonder: Could Kirkland wine possibly be any good? But a fairer question might be: Must a Kirkland wine necessarily be bad?
Instead of thinking of Kirkland as a generic or store brand, think of it as a négociant: a wine producer who uses other people’s grapes. The négociant tradition is a long and proud one, and the term is broad; some purchase grapes and take it from there, and others jump in later by buying, blending and bottling wine that has already been vinified. The most hands-off approach is buying shiners — unlabeled bottles of finished wine — then slapping on labels and taking them to market.
Here’s a Music Row analogy: Tim McGraw is the négociant, songwriter Jason White is the grower, and the sublime song “Red Ragtop” is the final product. Although McGraw put his own distinct signature on the tune and brought it to a wide market, most of the heavy lifting was done beforehand, and I bet if you asked the singer, the songwriter and the listening public — many of whom probably assume McGraw did it all — they’d all be pretty happy with how the whole thing turned out. Same thing with the négociant system. It’s important, it’s legit, and it allows different players to do what they do best.
I chose three Kirkland wines and poured them alongside comparably priced wines from other producers. Calvin Webster of Midtown Wine & Spirits and sommelier Alex Burch of Kayne Prime joined me, and I tasted them blind so opinions wouldn’t be tainted by previous positive or negative experiences with Costco pizza.
Chablis
Kirkland Premier Cru ($14.99, Costco) vs. William Fevre Champs Royaux ($21.49, Costco, easy to find elsewhere)
Since the first assumption about bargain wine is that it’s being made from the cheapest grapes, the Kirkland wine intrigued me. Unlike the U.S., France has official quality designations, and the Premier Cru mantle is reserved for wines that come from vineyards that have proven higher quality over the years.
We tasted the Kirkland Premier Cru Chablis alongside the William Fevre Champs Royaux Chablis, a widely available, extremely lean exemplar of the style. The difference showed before the first sniff; the Kirkland wine was gold in the glass, in contrast with the green-tinged Fevre.
Lime, lemon and minerals dominated the Fevre’s aroma; the Kirkland wine’s was riper, hinting at tropical fruits. We all noted creaminess and body in the Kirkland that the Fevre lacked — no surprise, since law dictates that Premier Cru grapes have a higher degree of natural potential alcohol.
I should note that this was a somewhat unfair comparison, as the wines were of two distinct quality levels. Comparing Premier Cru to Premier Cru would have been more just, but also would have created a comical price disparity. As it stood, the choice was clear: Unless the crispest and leanest possible expression of Chablis is what you desire, Kirkland’s Premier Cru is the way to go.
Napa cabernet sauvignon
Kirkland Oakville 2013 ($18.99, Costco) vs. 90+ Cellars Rutherford 2014 ($24.99, Grand Cru)
We tasted Kirkland’s 2013 Oakville cabernet against the Rutherford cabernet from 90+ Cellars, a négociant with an enticing if slightly misleading name (they buy from wineries with solid scoring histories — the actual wines they bottle and sell are not necessarily highly rated). The wines were both bursting with aromas of dark fruit, cocoa and oak, but they were different in structure: The Kirkland’s tannins were rustic and pronounced, while those in the 90+ Cellars wine were softer and more integrated; it epitomized the crowd-pleasing, drink-now cabernet.
Quality-wise, it was a toss-up, but the 90+ Cellars wine is a better choice for the drinker who prizes immediate drinkability in the form of silky tameness. I believe that time — five years or so — will be kinder to the Kirkland cabernet. Wait … did I just recommend cellaring a Kirkland wine?
Willamette Valley pinot noir
Kirkland 2014 ($14.99, Costco) vs. Cooper Hill 2014 ($17.99, Grand Cru)
I passed on tasting Kirkland’s Russian River chardonnay because we covered the grape in the Chablis tasting, and because I suspected I knew what was coming. I opted instead for pinot noir from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, as I was genuinely curious about what they had done with it.
The tasting didn’t expose the shortcomings of Kirkland’s winemaking as much as it hinted at a larger limitation; maybe some wines don’t belong in that below-$20 category at all. The Kirkland pinot had a passable aroma, but the wine was lethargic and armored with oak that made us wonder what it was meant to hide. The Cooper Hill got off on the wrong foot with a bewildering nose that Alex finally nailed down as “processed meat.” (That’s not a compliment.) The wine did nothing on the palate to make amends, and the competition between the two was moot. We concluded that, at Costco or any other store, Willamette Valley may not be the place to stretch your $20. And so we reached again for the cabernets.
Email arts@nashvillescene.com
