You've no doubt heard some of the buzz about terroir. It is particularly strong on the West Coast, where wineries large and small have embraced the idea of terroir-based wines. In almost every respect this is a positive development. But I fear there is a dark side to the current terroir craze. I will explain.

First a brief explanation of what someone means when they speak of terroir as it relates to wine. They believe a terroir-based wine is an expression of the unique characteristics of the place it comes from. This includes the type of soil, the climate, elevation, sun exposition and so on. The concept is as old as the hills.

There is no better example than Burgundy, which employs a system that ranks wine quality according to place, with designated grand cru and premier cru vineyards at the top of the pyramid. These are treasured parcels that deliver quantifiable quality and unique flavors, aromas and structural characteristics vintage after vintage.

At the next level down are the village wines. These wines are not from a specific vineyard, but instead can come from any vineyard -- great or not -- within a village appellation. To elevate quality, top producers will sometimes blend a small portion of grapes from premier cru vineyards into their village wines and hopefully fetch a better price.

Then there is generic Bourgogne, wine that is made from grapes that could have been grown anywhere in the greater region of Burgundy, including less desirable zones such as the Macon.

This system works well and everyone who drinks Burgundy on a regular basis more or less understands it.

New World wines work much differently. Wines are identified primarily by grape variety rather than place; and quality is indicated by a combination of verbiage (such as the word reserve) and price, neither of which is 100 percent reliable.

Those parameters aren't likely to disappear, but there has been a huge shift in recent years to vineyard designations, taking advantage of both name recognition as well as the unique personality of a special vineyard to deliver wines that stand apart from the crowd.

So far, so good. I experienced a terrific example of that recently when I tasted three different Chardonnays from Nickel & Nickel at the same time. Two were from vineyards (Searby and Medina) in the Russian River Valley and not surprisingly they possessed similar characteristics. Yet they hardly tasted the same and were easily distinguished apart.

The third (Truchard) was from the Carneros district of the Napa Valley and was decidedly unlike the two wines from the Russian River, though the winemaking was the same. This is due to terroir.

So what's not to like? The rhetoric. If you listen closely to New World proponents of terroir, you will notice an evangelical zeal that, while admirable, is somewhat frightening. These people have seen the light. They now know the one and only true path, and everything else might as well be labeled vinegar.

This is nothing more than New Age wine snobbery. I beg to differ with those who would build another artificial box for what constitutes correctness in wine.

I love wines that express very specific terroir as much as anyone. I even love wines that only express terroir in a broader sense (such as the earthiness of a village wine from Puligny-Montrachet or the pungency of a Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand's Marlborough region).

But I would point out to my friends and colleagues, who are waging war on the unwashed with their overheated rhetoric on the glories of terroir, that some of the greatest wines in the world are blends.

Penfolds Grange is a blend. Phelps Insignia is a blend. Some of the most heralded Chateau wines of Bordeaux come from parcels that aren't even contiguous. Some of the finest Champagnes are made from wines that come from multiple vintages as well as a variety of disparate vineyards growing different grape varieties.

Chateauneuf-du-Pape, as a category one of France's most renowned red wines, often employs more than a dozen starkly different grape varieties, usually from an assortment of vineyards. In Spain's Rioja region grapes for even the grandest of reds (the Gran Reservas) are sourced from a free-flowing marketplace that pays scant attention to vineyard designation and mixes everything into one fabulous brew.

My advice to those who are caught up in the so-called 'terroir-ist' revolution in wine is this: Take a deep breath.

Vineyard-designated wines are difficult to find, for one thing. Production is measured in hundreds of cases rather than thousands. And they are generally more expensive, though that depends entirely on the renown of the vineyard and the confidence of the producer to ask and fetch a steep premium for a limited-production wine.

There are plenty of wonderful experiences to be had with blended wines that are simply made to taste good rather than reflect the personality of a region or vineyard.

And the folks who make these wines are not uncaring winemaking mercenaries. They have a purpose. They want to make wines that deliver good quality, are affordable and readily available. Believe it or not, they love wine, too. They really do.