Okay, "to catch a buzz" is a crude way of defining what the folks at Swirl, Smell, Slurp are trying to do (check out our collaboration HERE). The enigmatic "She" and "He" of this operation have struck out on a quest to taste wines from all 50 states. Dubbed the "United Slurps of America", this painstaking process involves contacting wineries nationwide, procuring product, navigating the logistical minefield that is state-by-state shipping law, booking local bloggers and other rascals to themselves wrangle identical product, tasting (or "slurping", as they say, though I've never been complimented on my audible slurping ability at any wine tasting outside of Woodstock, GA), evaluating, writing, and posting. All this while being honest, but positive enough to maintain interest in participation from potential winemakers.

But maybe it's not that simple. Maybe the winemakers and vineyard managers in West Texas, in Michigan's Leelanau Peninsula, in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, and on Georgia's Dahlonega Plateau are trying to do something unique. Maybe they're working the land with unique grapes like Seyval Blanc, Chambourcin, and Tempranillo ...trying to find what fits each area's unique climate, geography, and soil. Perhaps all the toil and effort (which is MORE THAN SIGNIFICANT in the process from grape to glass) is simply intended to express...terroir.

Is there beauty in a wine that expresses- exactly- a vine-draped piece of dirt in Iowa? Isn't the fact that no other bottle of wine on earth can truly reproduce what comes from that infinitely unique square of terrain a thing of beauty? Something worth exploring? At the very least, worth trying? We can make broad assumptions- based on our limited knowledge and experience- of where a wine should find its genesis, but we simply cannot KNOW without a personal, sensory evaluation. We may not realize what we're missing out there. Wine is the ultimate in subjectivity, and the notes, recommendations, and even warnings of others simply cannot decide for us.

So I applaud Swirl, Smell, Slurp for undertaking the ultimate evaluation; for not going the easy or familiar route and approaching the bounty of America without pretense or expectation. I'm proud of Georgia. Ben Simons is proud of Texas. Grace Hoffman is proud of Iowa. Shannon & Cortney Casey are proud of Michigan. Dezel Quillen is proud of Virginia. Brian Kirby is proud of all of the "other 46". And I think I speak for these wine lovers and the producers in our respective states when I say, "thanks for stopping by."

As for the wines themselves: they are all pleasant enough. The Seyval Blanc (a French-American hybrid) is unique. The Cabernet Franc brings an interesting nose. The Merlot is easy-drinking. And then, there's the Riesling: dry, crisp, and aromatic. I'm pretty stunned that they have the cojones to grow Riesling in Georgia. Generally regarded as a cold weather grape, the pride of Germany seems clearly out-of-place (hell, even the German-kitsch town of Helen is more than an hour away). However, it's worth noting that Persimmon Creek sits at 2200' above sea level, and there's a bite in the gusts of wind this morning. According to Mary Ann, bud break occurs a much later than the nearby Dahlonega Plateau, and she definitely considers this a "cold climate" growing region. Furthermore, those vines are used to produce a rich, concentrated Ice Wine. There's enough sweetness, enough acidity, and a very interesting nose that I feel I'm about to decipher before Shadow the sheepdog knocks my glass out of my hand.

Unlike the Ice Wine, where the rest of the wines lack to me are on the palate. Like many Georgia wines I've tasted, I feel the flavors tend to be a little hollow. That being said, I imagine this will only get better. Most of the vines are Persimmon Creek are only about 5 years old, so they've yet to even reach maturity. As the vine ages, its roots go deeper and work harder, soaking up nutrients in the soil. The result is more complex fruit, creating more complex wines. Furthermore, these wines have a soul all their own. They don't taste like California wines. They don't taste like Australian wines. They are subtle, likely food-friendly, and have a smell and a taste that can only be described as...Georgia. And isn't that what "sense of place" is all about. If the locals try to produce bottles in the California style, they are destined to fail miserably. But if they work to express the unique terroir of these vineyards, then there's a much better chance of success.