wine-labeling regulations were lax, shaped by the practices of industrial producers in California and New York. A winery could legally give a wine a varietal label, such as Pinot Noir or Chardonnay, when as little as 51 percent of the grapes in the bottle actually came from that variety. We didn’t want wineries compromising our reputations by labeling a wine “Pinot Noir” when 49 percent of it was made with less expensive grapes. Using cheap table grapes like Thompson Seedless would have been legal. We wanted the world to know that if the wine came from Oregon, virtually all the grapes would be the variety printed on the label.
Dave Adelsheim wrote up the regulations we had all agreed to and presented them to the Oregon Liquor Control Commission (OLCC), the state regulatory agency. The OLCC was not eager to have stricter laws than those required by the federal government, but with the whole Oregon wine industry behind the changes, it agreed. By the late 1970s, when our new regulations went into effect, any Oregon wine with a varietal label had to contain at least 90 percent of that variety. We made an exception for Cabernet Sauvignon, requiring only 75 percent, because in the grape’s French home, Bordeaux, similar varieties were often blended into the wine. Oregon’s stringent new labeling requirements influenced the federal rules, but not for another ten years. At that point federal regulations raised the requirement for varietals from 51 to 75 percent, better for consumers, but still far below Oregon’s standard. California and Washington winegrowers accepted the federal regulations. Only Oregon had tighter restrictions.
Another piece of the new regulations concerned generic wine names. As growers of Pinot Noir, the grape of Burgundy, we were outraged that some large California wineries would put a blend of cheap red grapes together and call it “Burgundy,” trading on the prestige of Burgundian wines and intimating that their product would taste as if it had been made of Pinot Noir grapes. So we devised a regulation that said Oregon wines could not be named for a geographic region unless all the grapes actually came from that place. This precluded labeling wines Burgundy, Chianti, Chablis, or Champagne—all names of wine regions in Italy or France. In reaching consensus on labeling regulations and persuading the government to implement them, the Oregon winegrowers demonstrated a level of cooperation and commitment rarely found in an industry whose members are ultimately in competition.
IN THE EARLY MONTHS of 1979, when Nik was eight and Alex was five, Bill and I suddenly realized that our boys were growing up fast. Bill commented he missed having a baby around and I surprised myself by admitting I did too. Impulsively, I stopped taking birth control pills and was soon pregnant. The boys were excited, since they were old enough to have proprietary interest in a new brother or sister. We had planned to tell Bill’s parents at a family gathering, but Alex, full of importance with his new knowledge, blurted out, “Mama’s going to have a baby!” to Grandma Betty and Grandpa John before we even got through the front door.
Because I would be thirty-five when the baby arrived, the age after which pregnancy was considered riskier, my doctor recommended that I undergo a new procedure, amniocentesis, to check the health of the fetus. I had the procedure, then waited six weeks, which seemed an eternity, for the report. After reassuring me about the baby’s health, the nurse who called asked if I wanted to know the baby’s sex. When she told me I was going to have a girl, I burst out crying. I hadn’t realized until then how much I had wanted a daughter.
Our baby girl arrived in December 1979. Alison was so much younger than her brothers, I worried they would boss her around—a predicament I knew well, growing up with three older brothers. But Alison seemed born to take charge and quickly proved she could hold her own. One night, when Bill and I had prevailed on the boys to babysit, we returned home to find four-year-old Alison clutching a large wooden spoon while playing Lego with her brothers. We knew something was up.
It turned out that after we had left, the boys had gone off to play, leaving Alison alone. She didn’t like being ignored and decided she wasn’t getting the babysitting to which she was entitled. So she got a wooden spoon from the kitchen and ran after them with it until they paid attention to her. They were more amused than scared, but they gave in and played with her. The episode firmly established Alison’s reputation for not taking any guff, and Alison threatening her older brothers with a wooden spoon became a family joke.
We had started the decade with a new baby, a wild business idea, and a bare piece of land. By the end of 1979, we had three children, a mature vineyard, and a fledgling winery. What a decade it had been.
Mac & Cheese
In the 1970s, Bill was commuting to Portland for work and got home just in time for dinner, so I had all the cooking duties. One of our staples, which the kids loved, was homemade macaroni and cheese. It’s still a comfort food for them and their families today. When I told cookbook author Marie Simmons how I put the dish together in those early days of the vineyard—a quick one-pan recipe that didn’t require a separate sauce—she helped me re-create this recipe. Sokol Blosser Pinot Gris would be a great pairing.
Makes 6 to 8 servings
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt, plus salt for cooking the pasta
2 cups elbow macaroni
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon dry mustard
3 cups whole or two-percent fat milk
2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
Bring a large saucepan three-fourths full of salted water to a rolling boil over high heat. When the water is boiling, stir in the macaroni and cook until it’s almost tender (taste a piece), 8 to 10 minutes; the macaroni will continue to cook in the sauce. Drain the pasta through a colander and return it to the hot pan.
Immediately add the butter, flour, mustard, 1 teaspoon salt, and the milk to the pan and place over medium-high heat until the liquid begins to boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring constantly, until the sauce is smooth and thick, about 5 minutes. Add the cheeses and stir until well blended.
Remove the mac & cheese from the heat and serve right from the pan. Or, for a casserole, pour the macaroni and cheese mixture into a buttered shallow baking dish and bake in a 350°F oven until the top is golden, about 20 minutes.
CHAPTER TWO
A Sense of Place
My father, who loved to say that the best fertilizer is the farmer’s footsteps on the land, had been urging Bill to devote his full attention to the vineyard and winery. In early 1980, shortly after Alison was born, we decided the winery could afford to pay its president, so Bill quit his job in Portland to be the full-time winery president. Every morning after breakfast, he walked to work, through the vineyard, down the hill to the winery. I watched him disappear among the vines, wearing jeans, and vineyard boots, and carrying his briefcase—the only vestige of his city job. His suit and tie collection hung in the back of the closet, reserved for sales trips and meetings with the banker. He no longer spent two hours commuting, and it felt as if he were closer, but really it meant he could spend more time working.
Having Bill at the winery on a daily basis changed our dynamics. I had been running the tasting room pretty much on my own. With Bill there I was less autonomous, and I didn’t want him to be my boss. He understood and we looked for an arena that could be mine. Why not running
