<a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/01/11/WIIDST3AC.DTL">http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/01/11/WIIDST3AC.DTL</a><br><br><span id="bodytext" class="georgia md"><p><strong>(01-11) 04:00 PST Bekaa Valley, Lebanon</strong>
--
Autumn at Lebanon's Massaya winery brought the usual challenges -
millions of grapes to harvest, a batch of Cinsault that matured early. </p>
<p>But, fortunately, no bombings. </p>
<p>"Last year, we couldn't work from our main building at harvesttime,"
says Ramzi Ghosn, Massaya's CEO and winemaker. "It was an easy target.
So I lived outside, in a tent." </p>
<p>Winemaking in Lebanon is big business - more than 4 million bottles
each year. It has succeeded in Lebanon's diverse demographics, where
Islam, which forbids the drinking of alcohol, coexists with Maronite
Christianity and a long-standing wine culture.</p>
<p>But the industry has struggled to gain recognition in the West.
Lebanon produces some excellent wines, but the Bekaa Valley has none of
the cachet of Bordeaux. The Levant is associated with many things; wine
is not one of them.</p>
<p>Still, Lebanese wineries, with their French-inspired techniques,
have achieved high status within the industry. They create complex
blends of grapes, mixing imports with native Lebanese varieties, like
the Obaideh and Merwah in Chateau Musar's white wines. And their
vintages appear at distributors around the world, and on wine lists at
restaurants like Cyrus in Healdsburg. </p>
<p>"Our aim is to create not just a wine, but an experience. We're
producing a message," Ghosn explains. "Very few people are aware that
Lebanon produces wine. For the last 30 years, they've heard about
nothing but politics. We want to change that." </p>
<p>But that change is difficult, winemakers admit, in a country racked by war.</p>
<p>It didn't have to be. Lebanon is one of the oldest centers of wine
production in the world. Containers of Lebanese wine were found in the
tombs of the Pharaohs; it's no coincidence, many winemakers say, that
the Roman Temple of Bacchus is in the Bekaa Valley. </p>
<p>The modern industry started in 1857, when a group of Jesuit monks
founded Chateau Ksara in the Bekaa, the fertile land nestled between
Mount Lebanon and the Syrian border. For almost a century and a half,
three vineyards dominated the market: Ksara; Musar, founded in 1930;
and Kefraya, which opened its first vineyard in 1951. The market ran
into trouble in the 1970s, however, as the Lebanese civil war raged.
Virtually overnight, winemakers say, their business model did an
about-face: Musar's domestic wine sales plummeted from more than 90
percent of its annual product to less than 5 percent. </p>
<p>By then, though, Musar had gained recognition in the West. The
winery made its international debut at the Bristol Wine Fair in 1979;
Musar was called the discovery of the fair. So exports quickly made up
for the domestic downturn. In the United States, San Francisco's
Broadbent Selections became one of Musar's largest distributors, and
now imports some 3,000 cases a year. </p>
<p>And, ironically, the war's end in 1989 would eventually spark a
dramatic growth in the industry. "People who'd fled Lebanon came back
after the war, and they brought with them habits from the United States
or Europe," says Musar's Gaston Hochar. "And one of those was wine." </p>
<p>Some of them turned their habit into a business, and so Lebanon's
wine industry boomed, morphing from three wineries to more than a dozen
in a matter of years. Massaya is one of the newest, a French-Lebanese
collaboration founded in 1998; so is Cave Kouroum, run by two brothers
who fled to the West during the civil war. </p>
<p>"We are the first generation of post-civil war wineries," says CEO
Sami Rahal. "And we've had difficulty because we need investment from
abroad - but people are afraid. Nobody in the West will order Lebanese
wines unless they can be sure the product will be delivered."</p>
<p>Last summer showed Lebanese winemakers that those concerns are quite
real. Israel's war against Hezbollah started with weeks of aerial
bombardment, shutting down Beirut's air and sea ports. The bombing
damaged many of Lebanon's major highways, posing a particular problem
for Musar: The winery itself is in Ghazir, a coastal town north of
Beirut, but the vineyards are in the Bekaa, an hour's drive east
through the mountains.</p>
<p>"We had a pickup loaded with grapes," Musar recalls, "and it had to
drive down a straight road where it was an easy target for bombers. And
the truck broke down. So what should have been a five-minute stretch
took two hours, and the whole time the driver was worried about Israeli
bombs." </p>
<p>For Massaya, the threat was to the winery itself. The building took
several hits during the war; a section of the roof and several windows
were still missing a year later, testaments to the war's "collateral
damage." </p>
<p>"So we improvised," Ghosn says with a laugh. "The staff rotated; all
of our employees came out for a day at a time. They brought food from
home, so we had a picnic and camped in the fields and harvested the
grapes. What else could we do?"</p>
<p>For Chateau Kefraya, getting the wine out of the country was the
challenge. "It was impossible for us to sell last summer because the
port was blockaded," says winemaker Fabrice Guiberteau. "So we just
waited until the war ended, and we exported anyway." </p>
<p>Kouroum was not as lucky. The winery had a container at the port in
Beirut, waiting to be shipped; because of the bombing, Kouroum brought
the container back to the Bekaa. Locked in a hot container at the
harbor, the wine spoiled and was never shipped.</p>
<p>"There's always a concern that people in the West won't buy our
wine," says Massaya's Rahal. "And 60 percent of our business is
exports. So when the West doesn't order, our business is slow." </p>
<p>So many of Lebanon's winemakers are turning to the domestic market.
"The goal is to export," Massaya's Ghosn explains. "But the domestic
market is getting better; sales have tripled since we started (in
1999). Everyone reads that wine is good for your health, and they're
buying more."</p>
<p>At first, that seems surprising, the idea of increasing wine sales
in a country where much of the population isn't supposed to drink. That
notion elicits a sly smile from Lebanon's winemakers. </p>
<p>"You said it: People are not <em>supposed</em> to drink," Guiberteau
points out. "But at home, behind closed doors, it's different. I used
to work at a winery in Morocco. It's a Muslim country, but there was
such a domestic demand that Morocco actually imported wine."</p>
<p>Lebanon is no different. Chateau Kefraya sells 1 million bottles
domestically each year - and "our customers are not all Christians,"
Guiberteau muses. What's more, Lebanon's winemakers point out, their
country is a unique one in the Middle East. Lebanon might be known in
the West for its brutal civil war - which largely cut along religious
lines - but there is also a surprising degree of tolerance. </p>
<p>"The Bekaa is a very mixed region," Ghosn explains. "Everyone lives
here - Sunni, Shiite, Christian - and at these wineries, we work toward
a common interest. So the religious differences don't matter so much."</p>
<p>Lebanon's Muslim population not only consumes wine, Ghosn continued,
it also helps in winemaking; Massaya, for one, employs a majority of
Muslim workers.</p>
<p>"I could tell you that there are five mosques near my winery, that
we regularly hear the azzan (call to prayer) during our tastings, but
why bother?" Ghosn asks. "We all coexist."</p>
<p>So wine has become a point of pride for many Lebanese. The largest
wineries welcome visitors with elegant tasting rooms and glossy
brochures; well-stocked wine shops have appeared in Beirut's wealthier
districts. And in 2000, Lebanon joined the Office International du Vin;
the government simultaneously removed caps on wine production.</p>
<p>Since then, domestic consumption has surged. Arak - an
aniseed-flavored spirit, like Greek ouzo - remains the drink of choice,
but more than 4 million bottles of wine are consumed each year. </p>
<p>That surge, though, is a cause for concern amongst the stalwarts of Lebanon's wine industry.</p>
<p>"I'm concerned that the new wineries could jeopardize the reputation
of Lebanese wine," Musar says. "They've sprung up so quickly, and many
of them don't understand what makes a good wine."</p>
<p>The so-called newcomers have different responses. Some complain that
the real problem is the Lebanese consumer. Rahal criticized the
domestic market for being uneducated.</p>
<p>"In the West, most people have some understanding of wine," he
argues. "But here, people don't know. They decide based on the color of
the label. And that's bad."</p>
<p>Massaya's Ghosn takes a different approach. Lebanon has its own
traditions, he argues; most people prefer easy-to-drink wines. Indeed,
the most popular grape has historically been the fruity Cinsault. </p>
<p>These days, many of Lebanon's grapes are imported varieties,
primarily in homage to the classic French plantings; visitors to
Kefraya drive by fields of Cabernet and Merlot. There is certainly a
strong French influence on the winemaking industry, but the newcomers
are trying to introduce what they call an "Arabesque" flair. "We're not
in a position to compete with Bordeaux," says Ghosn. "So we produce a
uniquely Lebanese wine. </p>
<p>"When people have a glass of Massaya, they should feel the Bekaa Valley."</p>
<p>Massaya's marketing strategy reflects that ideal. The illustration
on the company's labels is evocative of the geometric architecture
found throughout the Islamic world. And the name comes from the Arabic
word misa - evening - "the perfect time of day to enjoy a glass of wine
in the Bekaa," Ghosn says.</p>
<p>In the end, Lebanon's wine country is perhaps a microcosm for the
country as a whole. It has grown steadily since the end of the civil
war; last summer's Israeli bombardment was a temporary slowdown, but
one the industry is determined to recover from.</p>
<p>With typical Lebanese good humor, of course.</p>
<p>"How do you create a business model for a country that's completely
unpredictable?" asks Ghosn. "MBA programs should offer a course in
contingency planning. And the teacher must be Lebanese. We're experts."
</p>
<div class="infobox"><h3 style="">Tasting notes </h3><p> Lebanese wines
can be remarkably polarizing. Carignane or Cinsault, two lesser-known
grapes native to France's Rhone Valley, often form the backbone of red
wines. They're supplemented with Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah.
Stylistically, the wines fall somewhere between Bordeaux and the Rhone,
but they're more unique than that. The rare white wines may come from
Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay, but also from native varieties like
Obaideh and Merwah, thought to be related to Semillon.</p>
<p>Chateau Musar may be the most polarizing of all. One of its
hallmarks is the presence of the yeast Brettanomyces, which adds a
rustic barnyard aroma. Though winemakers usually shun Brett, Musar
devotees often love this nuance. The wines aren't for everyone. But
they are remarkably long-lived, easily lasting 25 years and more. The
Musar red receives four years in the bottle before it's even released. </p>
<p>By contrast, Massaya's wines are clean as a whistle. The
forward-thinking Ghosn family, plus Massaya's notable French partners -
Dominique Hebrard, formerly of Chateau Cheval Blanc, and the Brunier
family of Chateauneuf-du-Pape's Domaine du Vieux Telegraphe - deserve
credit for the modern winemaking approach.</p>
<p>Chateau Musar and Massaya, both from the Bekaa Valley, are imported
by California firms. Musar can be found at retail in the Bay Area or
ordered from its San Francisco importer, Broadbent Selections (<em><a href="http://broadbent.com">broadbent.com</a></em>).
Massaya is imported by LAC Products in Glendale (Los Angeles County)
and distributed in Southern California and can be ordered from Mission
Liquors & Wines in Pasadena (<em><a href="http://missionliquor.com">missionliquor.com</a></em>).</p>
<p><strong>2001 Chateau Musar Hochar Pere et Fils ($25)</strong> Hochar
is Musar's more approachable line of wines, a good introduction to the
winery. It uses the same three grapes as the Musar red - Carignane,
plus Cinsault and Cabernet Sauvignon - but with a higher percentage of
Carignane. This current release is a bit closed, but minerally red
berry and toasted wood emerge, along with a leathery note on the palate
and somewhat wild aromas of sausage and game meat.</p>
<p><strong>1999 Chateau Musar ($50)</strong> Current release. Intense
Brett notes are present, along with licorice and rustic dust notes,
broiled black fruit and hints of cranberry, musk and asphalt. Ripe and
round at its core, then develops a lean mineral focus toward the end.
Radiant, but intensely funky. Probably best left to age another 10
years. As polarizing as it gets.</p>
<p><strong>1998 Chateau Musar ($50)</strong> Lots of dry dust on the
nose, with roasted cranberry and orange peel. A riper style, with the
semblance of Grenache, though sharper and more tart, and very little
Brett evident. The tannins are already integrating into the structure,
making it approachable. Fans of Chateauneuf or Bandol will easily warm
to this one.</p>
<p><strong>1997 Chateau Musar ($52.50)</strong> A leaner, higher-acid
style, with lots of crystalline minerality, bacon, rosemary and roasted
strawberry. Has a leathery texture and the semblance of red Burgundy,
though with a nod to an aged Rhone wine. Powerful and bright, with lots
of tannic structure.</p>
<p><strong>2000 Chateau Musar Blanc ($33.50)</strong> Serge Hochar
insists that his white wine be served at room temperature, decanted and
after his red wines. They have the body and durability of a red - and
reportedly can age for 50 years or more. It's a blend of century-old
Obaideh and Merwah vines, grown at 5,000 feet and yielding just one
glass per vine. At room temperature, a galvanizing nose is full of
pecorino-like umami notes, plus sherry, lemon and creosote. The dense,
coating texture reveals plenty of skin contact, but it ends lean and
sharp, almost cheese-like in its innate high-acid tang.</p>
<p><strong>2005 Massaya Classic Red ($9)</strong> Massaya's entry-level
bottle, it comes in a screwcap. Sixty percent Cinsault, the rest
Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah. A bit closed on the nose, with black
fruit and reductive tar. Then more ground pepper arrives, plus
strawberry, mint and a touch of dusty cassis. Alternately bright and
brooding.</p>
<p><strong>2006 Massaya Classic White ($9)</strong> Sauvignon Blanc and
Obaideh. Some hay, lemon and bitter herb to start, but also a richness
to it, like walnut butter, and a firm mineral finish. Consider it with
oysters.</p>
<p><strong>2004 Massaya Gold Reserve Red ($25)</strong> Fifty percent
Cabernet Sauvignon, 40 percent Mourvedre, 10 percent Syrah. Opens with
a mix of dry wood notes, plus blackberry, licorice and the funk of
saddlebags. Vanilla and hints of herb-rubbed meat are added to the mix,
with a dark, anise-filled, slightly bitter palate. More angular than a
Chateauneuf, less stoic than Bordeaux, it ends bright and long. It
needs a good five years to age, but also distinctively world-class. --
Jon Bonne</p>
</div></span><br>