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local red, which he tasted in his millipede-infested hotel room. Then he started working the phone. He was lucky enough, and early enough, to find a core of extremely talented young winemakers, including Dan Standish, the wine-maker at Torbreck; Ben Glaetzer, who was involved with his family’s estate; Ben Riggs; and Reid Bosward. In the years since he signed them, Hammerschlag has become more and more involved in the winemaking process, a commitment that has nearly ruined his teeth—the result of tasting through thousands of barrels of tannic young reds.

“I go for that tightrope quality,” he says through his dingy choppers one spring evening at the SoHo Grand Hotel, as we slurp the ′02 Kaesler Avignon Proprietary Red, which would make a really good Châteauneuf-du-Pape. “Pushing the limits, but still maintaining balance and harmony.” To put it another way, Ben’s Froot Loops have fiber, and his muscle cars have precise handling and even, sometimes, luxurious interiors. Dan Standish’s ′01 The Standish, for instance, is the most satisfying young Aussie red I’ve ever tasted—an old-vine Shiraz that has complex leather and coffee aromatics, an unbelievably voluptuous and viscous texture, and a long, lingering finish that left me alternately giddy and awestruck.

After just two vintages, Ben Glaetzer’s Amon-Ra and Mitolo’s G.A.M., two old-vine Shirazes, have become instant legends, earning exceptional ratings in the Wine Advocate, although like many of Epicurean’s wines they are made in tiny quantities. Mitolo also bottles an Amarone-style Cabernet called Serpico that will drive your tasting group into raptures. Fortunately, Hammerschlag has been just as energetic in finding wines for budget-minded hedonists—seriously fun reds like the Black Chook and the aptly named Woop Woop Shiraz. Competitive as he is, Hammerschlag will be furious with me for mentioning that there are some other fine importers, like Appellation Imports, Click Wine Group, Old Bridge Cellars, Old Vines Australia, and Weygandt-Metzler, but nobody is bringing in more consistently thrilling Australian wines than Epicurean.

MOUNTAIN MEN

The Smith Brothers of Smith-Madrone

The temperature plummets as I make the steep ascent of Spring Mountain in my rented Explorer; the redwood forest becomes thicker, damper, and more verdant, threatening to overrun the narrow switchbacks of the road. It’s hard to believe I’m just a couple of miles from the arid valley floor and the chic boutiquey hamlet of St. Helena. By the time I reach the top of the Mayacamas Ridge and follow a rutted dirt road down to the Smith-Madrone property, I feel I’ve traveled back in time to a prelapsarian Napa, a wild paradise with an alley of giant unkempt olive trees and islands of vines—an impression that is only reinforced by the sight of the bearded mountain man on an ancient tractor who looks at me askance, as if I’ve just beamed down from another planet, and then chugs away without comment.

I’d decided to come here after being knocked sideways by a bottle of the spectacular ′97 Smith-Madrone Riesling. I’d never heard of the estate and I was frankly amazed that any American Riesling, let alone one from the warm Napa Valley, could taste this complex—like a great Austrian Riesling from the Wachau. Standing at the top of Spring Mountain in early October freezing my ass off, I felt the Riesling concept (it’s a cool-climate grape) beginning to make sense. I’d learned that the estate also made Cabernet and Chardonnay—at prices that hadn’t been seen in Napa since the Reagan era. Smith-Madrone is an anachronism in several regards, and I fervently hope it never joins the avant-garde.

Eventually another Grizzly Adams look-alike emerges from the ramshackle barn and introduces himself as Stuart Smith. The taciturn tractor driver, he tells me, is his brother Charlie. “We’ve been here since ′71,” Stuart says. “I graduated from Berkeley and came up here. There was a revolution going on. A food-and-wine revolution was starting, too. We wanted to join.” What little of his face isn’t covered in beard is