My good Grenachie Friends…it’s Grenache Day. What are You Doing?
Fifteen years is a long time to celebrate anything, and yet here’s the thing about Grenache Day: it never feels routine. Each year carries the weight of that first dinner at Pamplamoose Grill, after Nicole Sierra-Rolet and a handful of wine-obsessed friends convinced me to throw what seemed like a simple gathering. What started as one night has become something much larger, spreading across continents, connecting people through a grape that somehow embodies the spirit of discovery itself.
This year, I’m back home in Las Vegas, hosting an event at Ada’s new downtown location in the Arts District along with their “Wine Goddess,” the one and only Kat Thomas (who debuts her own Grenache that night). And really, what better venue could there be? A wine bar run by someone who’s not just serving Grenache but making it. That’s the kind of full-circle moment that makes you pause and reflect on how we got here.
Because here’s what I’ve realized: Grenache Day isn’t really about the wine. I mean, it is, but it’s also about the stories that wrap around every bottle, every vineyard, every person who’s touched this journey. This year, more than any other, feels like the right time to tell those stories.
Let me take you back to the 90s. My first trip to Roussillon, where I met Bernard Vaquer on advice of a wine rep who was having lunch next to me in Alsace at a wine bar. A few years later at dinner in Montpellier with importer and former Compuserve Wine Forum member Dan Kravitz, I convinced him of the excellence of Bernard’s wines, and Dan began to import them to the United States.
A few years later, Bernard passed away, leaving everything to his wife, Frederique. Later, at a dinner at Sylvain Fadat’s home, I connected Kermit Lynch with their wines, those beautiful Grenache, Carignan, and Syrah expressions that deserved a wider audience. Tomorrow night, we’ll start with the Vaquer Blanc, made from Grenache Gris and Grenache Blanc. It’s not just a wine; it’s a thread connecting decades of relationships and discoveries.
Then there’s Arizona, a place most people wouldn’t associate with great Grenache. But my colleague in wine crime, Victoria Nicole Varela-Cotler, and I discovered Birds and Barrels and Pillsbury Wines in the high altitude of Wilcox, AZ, not far from the Mexican border, and later, on a July 4th weekend, I drove to Jerome to taste the wines from Caduceus, made by Maynard James Keenan of Tool. These were revelation moments, reminding me of those early trips to Santa Barbara, the Rhône, Languedoc, and Roussillon, long before these regions became the standard-bearers they are today. High-altitude Grenache from Willcox? Green Valley Grenache? It works, and it works brilliantly.
But if I’m being honest, the wine memories that stick with me aren’t just about discovery; they’re about the people who made those discoveries meaningful.
Jim Clendenen. Gone too soon, as they say, though that phrase never quite captures the loss. I remember that dinner outside Philadelphia in 1990 at Doug Kaplan’s parents’ home in Gladwyne, with Jim and Bob Lindquist. Then there was that epic night in NYC at Aldo’s: five hours, fifteen bottles (at least), followed by more wines with Tom Black. Dinners at Arterra in Del Mar, at Roy’s La Jolla celebrating their first anniversary – both with Bob and Jim- with the Roy’s event which led to the legendary “third bottle” and the Atavistic Thrill story, and countless lunches at the winery.
Then there was the last-minute invite to an Au Bon Climat Dinner at Torrey Pines. Bob Fry called me that afternoon of the dinner. He simply said, “Jim’s having a wine dinner not far from you. He’d love to see you.” I booked the last seat around at around 230 PM and showed up that night. My seat was at the far end of the table. Jim gave his opening talk. Left the head of the table and sat with me. All night. We talked about my wine trip to the winery and Santa Barbara a few days later. At the end of the night, the wine staff was still trying to figure out why the guy with the last-minute booking, who had never dined there before, was getting the guest of honor’s attention. Bob’s message was no different than Jim’s in 1991 at a wine dinner in Pasadena shortly after I had moved to SoCal. “Come up to the winery, Bob would love to see you,” and again no different than one from Bob in 2015 in London when he walked into Bar Bolud, in town for a tasting, when I was having dinner with the “Bleu Cru” of ladies from Chene Bleu and Nicole…saying, “oh, you’re in town, well we’re in town for our importers tasting, and Jim would love to see you.”
But what I’m most grateful for is Jim introducing me to Doug Margerum in 1991. Burgers and martinis at Harry’s in Santa Barbara, no wine that day, just the beginning of a friendship that produced amazing wines, all with at least a touch of Grenache.
Then there’s Peter Fraser, the man who was Australia’s Grenache ambassador, if anyone deserved that title. His High Sands from McLaren Vale is one for the ages. I met him in 2013 at a lunch at Solomon’s Gorge Winery, organized by a local somm just for me, and a who’s who of McLaren Vale winemakers, but Peter was the most colorful of the bunch. When he had a free night in Los Angeles, I invited him down to Solana Beach for dinner at Pamplamoose. He raided my wine cellar and found a Côte-Rôtie from Georges Duboeuf, my last bottle. “Let’s open it tonight,” I said. We added some Syrah from Alain Graillot, a Croze Hermitage, another St. Joseph from Faury, and a few more, then headed to dinner with some friends of the female persuasion who were wine regulars with me (names omitted to protect the not-always-so-innocent). The night didn’t end at The Moose: there was a cab ride to the Saddle Bar in Fletcher’s Cove, and after that, everything became wonderfully fuzzy.
Then there’s Walter McKinley, the Grand Old Man of Grenache. I often joke that when I’m in my nineties, I want to be Walter: still sharp as a tack and still owning a winery. An entrepreneur, a technology executive, a man of the world, and genuinely one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Nicole Rolet introduced us, and we connected immediately. A few years later, we had lunch in Vaison, just north of Séguret, near Domaine de Mourchon. Walter was in his eighties then, still driving, still brilliantly articulate. We talked about wine, technology, business, the world. It was one of those lunches that reminds you why we do this: not for the wine itself, but for the conversations it enables. I had mentioned to Walter that a change was coming at his California importer and how it would impact his sales. Walter, the very proud man that he is, called me a few years later and said, “Andy, you were right, my sales had flattened.” I simply got him an importer again in California who could sell his wines. Tonight’s bottle is one of the bottles he gave me as payment for making that possible. That’s Walter, a true gentleman to this day.
And of course no story would be complete without a tale or two about Nicole Sierra Rollet, hostess to the world, visionary, the single force behind making Grenache known worldwide.
From the moment Doug Margerum introduced us, I knew we were kindred spirits. At that wine dinner at Wine Vault and Bistro, I spent more time talking to Nicole in the hall than to my wife at the time. We shared a vision, a passion, and a moment of recognition. That dinner led me to organize the first Grenache Day at Pamplemoose. Nicole saw the wine list and simply emailed: “You won best list of the year for Grenache Day.” A few months later at Vinisud, I showed up to receive my award from Nicole and Marlene, and who appeared but Kelly McAuliffe, the same person who had served wine the night Helene and I got engaged at Christian Etienne in Avignon during one of our Découverte du Rhône trips. The award said “Grenache Ambassador.” I didn’t receive an award; I got a job. That’s so typical of Nicole: bringing people into her circle, collecting friends like others collect wines. But there’s more. Grenache parties at La Verriere during DVR. Dinners in Los Angeles at Tesse and in San Francisco. London wine bar excursions with the staff and of course, the many days pouring the Chene Bleu Rose at Hospice du Rhône, as an Ambassador’s job is never done.
And that’s what Grenache is really about, isn’t it? It’s about the friends from the wine roads less traveled, the people we’ve met along the way, the stories we’ll carry forever and a day.
Tomorrow night at Ada’s, we’ll open bottles and share stories, and somewhere in that room, new connections will form, new stories will begin.
The wine is just the excuse. The people are the point.
Pour generously.