The other side of Been Doon So Long is meditative, serious -- which is to say, witty, somewhat less goofy, and only a touch softer on the tannins. On page two of his introduction, Grahm starts with his own shortcomings. In essence, he wouldn't have had to become the writer and marketing savant he is had his wines been as wonderful as he'd wanted them to be. Words -- with regard to wine -- are where he has made his mark. The success of Bonny Doon and his other labels have kept him a few steps further from the poorhouse than the average grape-stomper, but he has typically been known more for his prose, antics, and stinging satirical flail than for the quality of his wines. Many entries are both amusing and illuminating. In one chapter, he runs through some of Bonny Doon's best pre-Steadman labels, discussing the Jules Verne-influenced scene on Le Cigare Volant and revealing that the label for his muscat was inspired by a trip to a lady's underwear boutique in San Francisco. For me -- again, the non-expert -- Grahm repeatedly uncorks sweet, thoughtful conceits about wine that make me eager to improve my grasp -- not on know-how and scoring systems, but the mystery and magic of wine, to see it as a lovely, boundless parcel to discover and unravel in the same way I've devoured popular music and steeped myself in its history, absorbing its movements and collections of characters, coming to understand first-hand how certain changes and instrumental colors render certain effects on a listener. On page 220, he writes:

"...[R]emember that wine's inmost nature is metaphoric (wine can smell like grapes and cigar boxes), that wine's very essence is linked to mutability and to memory..."

Way back on page seven, Grahm sums it up -- his lot, at least -- as a "soul's journey" toward a better grasp on wine's "animating brilliance, the profound truth of terroir." His discovery of wine was a stumble, not a search, "a happy accident," and now it means much more: "winemaking and the culture of wine provide a unique and powerful language that carries the rich metaphoric suggestion of the sweetness and strangeness of life itself."

Terroir is one of Grahm's central preoccupations, specifically its "Old World" form of expression, when a winemaker attempts to "excavate" the power and potential that already exists within the soil, in the setting, under the sun: "the vineyard itself becomes a sort of mantra or prayer wheel and successive vintages are our reincarnations." At the same time, he's frank about his own efforts. He calls the wines he has made thus far "puppy-dog wines," and wonders if he'll ever be able to discover terroir -- to make a wine that has a taste expressive of its physical place of origin, not jammy, high-fruit, "bimbo" wines that he finds as vacuous and disposable as fast food.

robert parkerrobert parker

Randall Grahm: Doon It, and Doon It, and Doon It Well