Although the Vancouver Playhouse International Wine Festival has been going for a couple of days, this morning’s plenary was the official kickoff (well, that and the Bacchanalia gala last night, I suppose). This morning was our first chance to really explore wines from the two theme countries, New Zealand and Argentina, and all I can say is what a great way to start a day, not to mention a festival.

We got to taste 14 different wines from the two very different countries, while the producers and their reps got up and told us a little about how they were produced. The wines ranged from the exquisite champagne-like Argentinean sparkler Bodega Vistalba Progenie Extra Brut NV ($54.99, special order only) to the tropical fruit explosion of the Babich Family Estate Vineyards Cowslip Valley Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand ($21.99) to the big, bold Argentinean reds such as the Bodega Catena Zapata Adrianna Malbec ($86, special order) or the  luscious Xumek Syrah ($22.99) or the exotic lavender-and-pepper bouquet of the Crossroads Winery Elms Vineyard Reserve Syrah from New Zealand’s Hawke’s Bay ($32.99, special order).

What was particularly interesting is that all the wines were chosen as truly tasting of the terroir, the land where they were produced. And there is no way you could confuse, say, a syrah from New Zealand, with its lean, dry, floral notes,  with a big, bold, juicy and peppery Argentinian one.

I know this split theme has been a bit of an organizational headache for the fest, but I have to say, it’s  brilliant from the perspective of an attendee. I have a very happy palate right now, and since I’m heading off to the Tasting Room followed by a very intriguing wine launch and a celebration of some local icons, i figure things are only going to get better as the week goes on.

So yesterday I spent the afternoon at the Vancouver Playhouse International Wine Festivals’ discussion: What’s In Your Wine? A Symposium on Truth in Labelling. And an eye-opening experience it was, though not, I suspect, for the reasons the organizers had planned.

As Boneta’s sommelier and co-owner Neil Ingram summed things up: “The most interesting thing I thought about the symposium was everything that wasn’t discussed.” He was referring partly to the whole cellared in Canada imbroglio which organizers dismissed as something that everyone knew had been dealt with. Well, obviously not everyone did know, because there were more than a few angry mutterings about the fact that that one apparently taboo issue was the main reason they’d come to the symposium.

But Neil was also referring to the irony that the discussion kept coming back to the over-arching importance of the consumer — who wants more and more information disclosed — but the panelists all emphasized how little they wanted the consumer to actually have the kind of information they’re demanding.

As one winemaker from Argentina said, “It is not an industrial product. People are not going to read a manual before they drink a glass of wine.” Well, perhaps no, but really, what’s the big deal about identifying a set of generally important health, environmental, provenance and other criteria and popping them on a label? After all, some 90 per cent of wine-buying decisions are made at the shelf.

To me the most bizarre thing was the language that was being used about the whole issue of disclosure, words like “disaster” and “catastrophe.” Really? REALLY? Sticking a calorie count on a label would be a catastrophe? Explaining that even though your winery is in, say, Cowichan Valley and your grapes come from Washington State would be a disaster?

The really frustrating thing about all this is that disclosure rules are coming, like it or not. The European Union already has pretty stringent rules about this stuff, and now that the giganto conglomerate Wal-Mart is demanding this info, governments are likely to follow. So why wouldn’t winemakers get ahead of the curve and establish those rules for themselves, rather than wait for someone who doesn’t understand the business to do it for them?

Just wondering . . .