Varietal definition

There’s a lot of energy in some quarters around “emerging” grape varieties. At first glance, this is intriguing because it gives us a view into what happens when you combine, say, Sangiovese with, say, the McLaren Vale. But how to judge the result? One’s expectations of character and potential quality from Sangiovese-based wines will in most cases have been formed by Italian examples. This might cloud one’s view not only of an individual wine’s quality, but of the potential for this combination and variety and region.

If we can break from the dictates of established styles, though, experimentation with different varieties could hold the key to understanding our potential as a wine producing nation. Indeed, it may expose combinations of region and variety that we’re simply not aware of today, and so illuminate a potential level of quality that surpasses our current achievements. And yet, for all this unexplored territory, I think a view of wine in terms of grape variety is fundamentally limiting. I’m aware that much of the conversation in Australia for a while now has been around varietal definition and, in the context of raising the quality bar across the industry, something like varietal correctness isn’t a bad lever to pull. But once you have a Cabernet that, we all agree, tastes broadly like Cabernet, then what?

I’ve seen the concept of field blends enter the marketing literature of late. Although field blends have been around for a very long time, it’s interesting to consider why, all of a sudden, they are gaining a perceived currency both here and abroad (especially in the USA) with wine consumers. My take is they form part of a broader trend towards “hands off” winemaking, where terroir is perceived to drive the character and quality of a wine, not the winemaker (of course this is a gross simplification). In the context of this conversation, though, field blends are especially relevant because, by their nature, they emphasise the vineyard above varietal composition. Even if it were possible to calculate the percentage of each variety in a true field blend, it would be quite beside the point. Wine is a product of its vineyard, full stop.

There are local precedents. The Lake’s Folly Cabernet, a long-established Hunter Valley label, eschews a purist view of varietal definition in the pursuit of a clearly defined regional style. This wine is a veritable fruit salad of grapes, yet year after year tastes resolutely of the Hunter Valley and, crucially, of itself. It is also a wine of the highest quality. That it tends to divide drinkers only adds, in my view, to its worth. Real personality, after all, always provokes a reaction.

The Unison Selection from the Gimblett Gravels sub-region of Hawkes Bay is a contemporary Kiwi example of terroir-driven style at its most distinctive. Deliberately reticent about its precise varietal composition, its makers prefer to emphasise their flagship wine’s integrated flavour profile above its constituent components. Here’s a wine that blends several varieties found in Hawkes Bay to achieve something that tastes purer than any single variety might.

And rightly so; varietal “correctness” can be the great leveller, but it can also detract from an inherently unique regional influence. Who, really, cares the exact percentage of each variety that goes into a favourite Bordeaux or Châteauneuf-du-Pape? The enduring character in these wines doesn’t come from rigid ideas around varietal blending (which, indeed, continue to change over time) but from broadly understood notions of style. I love the Unison Selection and Lake’s Folly Cabernet because they, first and foremost, identify with their respective regions, and use whatever mix of grapes is required to achieve their stylistic goals.

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Consider this:

“Wine producers of the Old World have had hundreds of years to figure out how each variety best expresses itself. Therefore, we should look to these wines and to Old World approaches for stylistic inspiration in our local product.”

And this:

“Australia as a wine producing nation is definitively New World. We should focus on authentically Australian wines that aren’t afraid to violate Old World notions of regionality and style.”

Not direct quotes, mind you, but distillations of two especially interesting threads in the ongoing local wine conversation. Given they represent somewhat contradictory directions, it’s worth pausing for a moment to consider them in more detail.

The spectre of our cultural cringe hovers over both trains of thought. Just as we imbue the phrase “European-designed” with positive associations, I see a tendency to benchmark Old World wines and (tacitly) position them as inherently superior to local wines. For example, it’s quite common to see a wine described in terms of its similarity to an Old World style. Ostensibly, this comparison indicates a stylistic similarity, and can be quite useful. What’s perhaps less overt in these comparisons, but I would argue very much present nonetheless, is an implicit mark of quality by association conferred on the local wine. When one reads “Burgundy-like,” this suggests not only a general style but in many cases a level of quality too.

So, if we believe best wines are, say, French, then surely we should aim to emulate them? As a consumer, I’ll never argue with a drive to higher quality. What’s less clear to me is whether the quality equation implies a stylistic relationship between Australian wines and those from the Old World. Do we align ourselves with the first conversation, which suggests a single path to ultimate quality? My instinct tells me this approach introduces constraints that are fundamentally artificial to our wines. I just don’t see the point in Australian wine trying to be something it’s not. And yet, when I consider the second conversation, I can’t believe lessons learned over hundreds of years deserve to be branded irrelevant. So I find myself sitting, somewhat ambivalently, between these two positions.

With your indulgence, I’d like to post a series of loosely connected thoughts on this topic over the next little while. Feedback and (dis)agreement encouraged. To be clear, my perspective is that of an inquisitive enthusiast, not someone with deep technical expertise or even especially close industry ties. I write from a position of personal taste and limited means.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4