A friend invited me to have a beer with him after work the other day at a place that offers “designer” beers, and I ordered one that I didn’t know. The color was a beautiful coppery red and I raised it to my lips with the anticipation of refreshment. But something was a little off. It was too sweet. The beer had tons more character than an everyday American lite, but to me it was out of balance and not very enjoyable.I realize I have the luxury of being pretty picky. There is such a vast array of micro-brews available that a consumer can pretty much dial in the exact style of beer they prefer. My tastes run to a more austere beer with the light sting of more aggressive hops.

That beer sparked a discussion of wine styles. My friend had recently tasted a 1987 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon from a prominent producer. The wine had aged quite nicely. Upon opening, it displayed considerable green pepper and green olive aromas as well as a slight herbal character in the flavors, but he said those components gradually diminished to mere hints as the wine revealed more currant and cassis. The label showed the alcohol at 12.5% (a popular level for its era), and while he recalled 1987 as a big, warm vintage, he found nothing in the wine to dispute that figure. The wine was very pleasant but subtle, he said, with no big “wow” factor.

My friend has been an avid wine consumer for three decades, so he recognized those “green’ aromas and flavors as appropriate for Cabernet Sauvignon. Yet he was surprised to encounter them. We have shifted our paradigm in California, away from pyrazine, that “green” compound in red grapes.

If we consider the range from obscenely green to slightly vegetal to perfectly ripe to over-the-top, as an industry we’d rather be over-the-top than green (not to be confused with environmentally conscious). In 1987, I suspect the focus was on who was getting the ripest fruit. Now that everyone strives for and most achieve ripeness, if not over-ripeness, I consider the best producers those who can attain a perfectly balanced ripeness.

My friend asked me how many producers do that consistently, and I had to say maybe half a dozen produce the style that I prefer. He persisted, wondering if they were smaller producers, and most of them are. Then he wanted to know if my wines were among those I chose.

Good question. A winemaker’s style is a combination of variables coming together to produce a recognizable signature. Most of the time, you know that’s your wine, even if sometimes you’re not exactly sure why or how. For me, experiencing my own wine is like being unable to see the forest because you’re so familiar with each of the trees.

Even if I’ve just nailed the wine, it’s not as easy to love as someone else’s wine. There’s a joy of discovery in finding a wine somebody else nailed. How did she do that? Speculating on the reasons for another winemaker’s success is the best part. Learning - solving the puzzle - is fun. I suppose thinking about my own wine is like looking at a crossword puzzle that I’ve already filled in.

My friend tasted my beer and agreed with me. He said it was “too” smooth, slightly cloying. He loves Pinot Noirs - he’s had the iron fist in the velvet glove experience - so he asked about texture.

I told him I think texture is all about farming and then not abusing the fruit in the cellar. It’s a function of a mature vineyard in balance with a proper canopy and crop load that produces depth of fruit. You bring it in at the proper moment and you treat it gently. It’s amazing how much you can and should beat Cabernet Sauvignon to death and how fragile Pinot Noir is.

Extended contact with the lees is huge. I’m sensitive to texture when making the wine. I taste it frequently, and if it’s getting a little rough around the edges, I pull back, ease off on the extraction. If it’s not enough, I move forward.

As he pushed my beer back to me, my friend asked if I thought high-end Pinot producers sometimes had residual sugar in their wines. I think there’s probably a little r.s. in quite a few. I don’t consider that cheating. I’m a big believer in the juice, and if the wine didn’t finish quite dry, who cares as long as it isn’t problematic. If it’s not cloying, is it good? Does the end result give the most pleasure?

As new consumers and new winemakers, we often get hung up on picking out a flaw. Someone once pointed out that a great vintage of Haut Brion had some Brettanomyces, volatile acidity and residual sugar. Yet the sum of the parts was extraordinary.

I know with my own wines, I have stopped looking at numbers. I do look at them when the fruit comes in for any possible adjustments, but after that I taste the wine. I really don’t care what the final numbers are. It all comes down to that moment of anticipation when you raise the glass to your lips. Is it in the glass? And, yes, it does take at least some good beer to make good wine.

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