Copia, Round Two : A Reader Responds

I was fortunate enough to receive a long and thoughtful response to an earlier post on the bankruptcy of Copia, the Napa wine and food museum. A fellow blogger and wine enthusiast, and somebody who knows much more about wine than I do, Catie had this to say:

In regards to Copia: I never paid a visit, so it's tough for me to judge it. However, I would like to think there was at least one member on the board and/or building committee who really believed it would be an honorable monument to American food and wine history. Perhaps even a monument to like the food you wrote about at your own Thanksgiving table - foods that reflect our heritage.

If Copia was hoping they would stay afloat by droves of limos, as you say, they were sadly mistaken. One important thing that the Walla Walla wine industry learned early on is the "wine-slurping limo crowd" will not gladly plunk down $25 - let alone $5. Typically, limos are not full of buying passengers. Let's put it this way: buying wine is not their objective.

And because of that, implementing tasting fees during wine weekend events have really assisted us in weeding out the "wine slurping limo crowds" from the serious wine aficionado and student. Wine sales have continued to climb while the head count has declined. Which means = serious sales by serious wine consumer.

My hopes are that Copia can pull itself out of their financial problems and in the future take a simple approach with an emphasis on traditions and education and less cloying pretense and glam. I feel strong about this as I believe in the beginning, Copia had all of the elements to succeed and if they cannot succeed, then what will our future hold for other programs regarding American food, agriculture and it’s history. As you know, programs like this are especially important to new generations - as it is, we have generations who think food comes from a sack brought to them by a clown. And who knows, even a basic, but broader appreciation regarding food, such as the slow food movement, could even bring to future generations different shopping values - less instant gratification.

Part of my reasoning for attacking the pretensions behind Copia (apart from just being a brat in the Tom Wolfe / social satire sense, of course) had to do with the entire aura of exclusion that sometimes hovers over sections of the wine world in general and the Napa Valley in particular. In some ways, Napa is to American wine what Hollywood is to American film - both the largest producer and the market dominator, but in no way the most accurate representation of the art form or the best exemplar of its possibilities. The ostentatious displays of wealth found among the Napa wineries may not be the sole fault of the wine makers, who do offer incredibly nuanced creations that (sometimes) justify the price tags bestowed upon the bottles. But the wineries certainly do their best to cultivate an image of respectability, refinement and exclusivity.

There's no arguing that low yields and limited growing zones for wine force higher prices onto the product than that of, say, beer, which so often gets shoved into foodie ghettos due to its relative affordability, and not for any lack of craft or skill involved during creation. But wine makers and wineries do seem culpable in stoking the class-war divide that has unfortunately dominated much of American eating habits. And part of my disagreement with the Copia model is that it offers little alternative to an either / or food philosophy in our culture - fast food for the masses, gourmet fusion for the wealthy. This is a gross oversimplification, of course, but the middle ground between food-as-fuel and food-as-ostentatious-display-of-wealth seems left out. Perhaps a focus on lost or vanishing recipes and traditions, or a greater emphasis on urban gardening and non-industrial agriculture, might prove more essential to food education than a Napa monument to refined dining and world-class wines?

I wonder if there is a way to bring a venture like Copia in line with the slow food movement, or if the two suffer a fundamental opposition? For deeply embedded within the Slow Food philosophy is a concern about class manipulation and a strong anti-capitalist and anti-globalization platform (as befits a movement begun in Italy, where they still read political philosophy). I'm personally convinced of the destruction capitalist systems wreak upon local cultures and traditions, and find my conscience often conflicted when enjoying a wonderful bottle of wine that I know has been priced out of the vast majority of my fellow consumer's budgets.

At the risk of turning this blog entry into a draft for a thesis project, I guess I'd note one last thought on the intersection of food and class. Wine seems to many to be a private club, requiring inside information, sophistication, jargon and cash for entry. Given the immense costs and skill required to produce wine, the product practically begs to be used as a class barometer. Yet, given the alcoholic makeup of wine, it also begs to be used as a means of getting sloshed. This lethal combination - basically, social mobility in drug form - is partly what requires tasting fees at wineries. Yet this implementation necessitates leaving out individuals curious to explore the world of wine yet unwilling or unable to sacrifice $5, $10, $15 for a few small pours. As somebody who takes wine seriously and has little but disdain for the rowdy bachelorette parties I've had to elbow past at certain tchotchke-laden wineries in Riverside County, I understand the necessity of tasting fees. But I've also seen these fees and a reliance on stoppers and "drink chips" turn off many a potential wine enthusiast.

I'll close with a memorable encounter in a Walla Walla winery in which a certain local lawyer, his professor wife, their lovely daughter and I sampled some decent reds in a luxurious and calm tasting room. Not necessarily fully sympathetic to the world of wine, this lawyer had occasion to glance over the tasting notes for the various pours, and came across ROAD TAR as a descriptor for a luscious syrah. Needless to say, this lawyer got a big kick out that. "Road tar?" he said to the extremely poised pourer. "You're telling me people look for road tar in a wine? That's what they want to smell and think of when they put down $40?" He even went so far as to sniff the glass and exclaim, "Ahhhh, road tar!" I feel at this point the pourer (who had been trained in the wine world for many years, we had been told earlier) could have used the opportunity to educate on the variety and complexity of wine - to agree that, yes, I suppose the notion of road tar being listed as a flavor profile might seem a little odd (maybe even laugh along for a minute), but that part of building a mature palette and nose is to trust one's senses, make unlikely observations, and go beyond the standard and the safe. Instead, she shut down, looked nervous, refused to crack a smile, insisted the wine and many others smelled like tar, changed the subject. When he pressed the issue, she grew testy. Rather than foster a welcoming environment, she presented a humorless facade - suggesting the man making jokes in front of her was unworthy of entry to the wine world.

This was one case out of other, more positive, encounters, and I wouldn't dismiss the suggestion that this certain lawyer has been known to take things a little far sometimes. But I've observed similar interactions at many wineries from the Walla Walla and Willamette Valley to Napa and Santa Barbara. And while it's silly to get hung-up on the personalities of individual wine pourers, I wonder what approach Copia will take if and when they regroup and begin anew - a temple to refinement, or a dirt-under-fingernails venture?