Ramblings: Style v Substance (4 of 4)

The future

In a sense, it’s easy to describe what has come before, but much more difficult to prescribe a future path. I speak as a consumer first and foremost, someone who is unhealthily passionate about wine and who hopes to gain much pleasure from it for the rest of my life. I care deeply about what I drink, not only because wine is bloody expensive, but also because, to paraphrase Len Evans, life’s too short for crap wine. I might amend this sentiment to reflect my own point of view, which is that life’s too short for wine that isn’t true to its region, and that isn’t made to engage deeply with its inherent potential.

It’s a truism that our only unique asset as a wine producing nation is our land. The same varieties exist all over the world, but there’s only one Yarra Valley, or Margaret River. The experiences of nations with a far greater history of wine production than our own inevitably tell us that, in the end, regions are what come to be identified with wine styles.

A lot of the work has already been done by our industry pioneers and current leading lights, and thanks to them we have a range of regional wine styles that ought to qualify as national treasures. Yet there’s still so much energy and experimentation underway, and perhaps this suggests a shared feeling that the best is yet to come. It may be that in many existing regions, we’re only just beginning to identify not only the highest quality wines at a broad level, but also how a particular style may vary based on sub-region, and which outstanding vineyards ought to be recognised as such through unique bottlings. Drilling down like this enables us to capture the variety and drama within each region in order to tell, and sell, this story to the world. It also enables us to hone our understanding of what works best in a given region, focusing time and investment in these wines instead of on wines that can only deliver mediocre outcomes.

As for an end state, if we regard the Old World AOCs and equivalents as the natural conclusion to centuries of experimentation with vareties and terroirs, then in order to achieve the same level of quality and renown, perhaps we need to take a correspondingly long term view. It takes time to identify the strengths of each region, what works and what doesn’t, especially if we liberate ourselves from the comfortable constraints of received wisdom around varietal definition and style. By all means look to the Old World for inspiration, but not for wines to emulate in a New World context. Instead, take the lessons around blending, terroir and appropriate varieties and put them to work in a uniquely Australian context. Most of all, identify the truth in a region, nurture these authentic styles, and ruthlessly cull the rest.

There are some challenges with a “region first” approach. From a commercial perspective, I suspect many consumers rely heavily on varietal composition when purchasing. It’s an enormous shift to start thinking in terms of regions, especially after years of marketing and indeed winemaking focus on grape varieties. Regionality is also inherently more complex. There are only a handful of commonly used grapes in the local industry, and it doesn’t take long even for newcomers to grasp the range on offer. Regions, on the other hand, are both numerous and hierarchical in nature. A deep view consists not only of a broad categorisation (“Barossa Valley”) but also sub-region (“Greenock Creek”) and even vineyard or plot. Perhaps the shift to a more regional focus will take a long time, and may require a degree of market maturity. But if we agree that a view of wine primarily in terms of varietal composition masks our unique strength — our regions — then it’s an inevitable, necessary change. It’s our opportunity to understand what Australian wine is really about.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Domaine Alain Chavy Saint-Aubin 1er Cru En Remilly 2006

A subtle, prickly nose that’s more about minerality than anything else. Not that it’s one dimensional; indeed, there are subtle, elegant fruit and almond notes that fill out the wine’s aroma profile. As with the 2005, this is evolving rapidly in the glass, crisp white stone fruit moving up to push the entire nose forward a notch. The minerality gains a sort of smokey dimension with some energetic swirling. It’s not excessively complex, but this wine has the sort of clean, characteristic aroma that is a pleasure to smell — this is a self-confident wine.

Entry is crisp and acidic, lightfootedly ushering delicate fruit flavour to the middle palate. Wines that show consistent line from nose to palate are especially satisfying to me, and I’m happy to report this one replays the same almond and light stone fruit flavours observed in its aroma, albeit with an additional sense of weight. Having written that, it’s quite a light bodied wine, noticeably acid driven. It seems minimally worked, with little creaminess and no discernible butterscotch character. Instead, one enjoys a straightforward purity, an unmediated sense of terroir, although perhaps one held back at present by its structure. I’m yearning for a few ounces more weight and intensity.

Perhaps I just need to be patient. Hints of richer yellow peach sneak out now and then, promising a future filled with greater generosity.

As an aside, I had a couple of glasses of 2004 Brands Chardonnay the other day, and was reminded simultaneously of why full-throttle Chardonnays have historically been extremely popular and why they became, ultimately, reviled. I felt like I was eating dessert, an overly rich one at that, which was delicious in the same way that sweet, battered, deep fried things are delicious. We couldn’t finish the bottle between us. The funny thing is, I have a periodic craving for this kind of Chardonnay. I guess they have their place.

Domaine Alain Chavy
Price: $A48
Closure: Cork
Date tasted: December 2008

Ramblings: Style v Substance (3 of 4)

A sense of place

If you accept that a sense of place is one of the principal pleasures of wine, then it becomes natural to seek out a variety of distinctive goûts de terroir. I would suggest that, historically, the Australian industry has chosen not to cultivate a series of intricate regional identities, preferring instead to view regionality more broadly or not at all. And this has often served us well. Grange, our greatest wine, embodies this approach to wine, where an identifiable style of the highest quality is achieved by using appropriate raw materials without preciousness with regard to regional origin.

I think it’s telling, though, that we have only one Grange, whereas there are myriad top French (and Italian, and German) wines that are inextricably related to, indeed that leverage powerfully off, their regions. As complex as are the rules relating to AOCs, their very existence provides support for the idea that a product’s origin, it’s regional identity, can be a powerful indicator of (perceived) quality. So whilst a 1er Cru Burgundy may not be a good wine, chances are one’s initial impression is that it might be.

In addition, the complexity associated with Burgundy’s patchwork of vineyards, whilst perhaps forbidding to a newcomer, promises endless exploration and riches to the dedicated wine enthusiast. These nuances aren’t covered up; rather, differentiation between this or that soil type is an inherent mark of the top end. Terroir is priced into the product, and consumers lap it up. Not that it’s purely a matter of marketing. The Old World lesson here is that, as a matter of course, we gravitate towards a more and more nuanced feel for regionality as a culture of wine production matures over the decades and indeed centuries. It appeals to our natural urge to overlay taxonomies and to organise what may begin as randomness. It creates a journey for us to follow. And, perhaps most powerfully, it creates the tantalising prospect of an ultimate wine — a wine that best represents a specific intersection of variety and region.

On the subject of ultimate wines, Mollydooker and its kin may represent the ne plus ultra of a particular trend in Australian wine. Broadly, this trend is represented by large scale red wines, perhaps high in alcohol, often limited run, historically popular in the North American market. They are often associated with specific wine regions in Australia: McLaren Vale and the Barossa Valley amongst others. Indeed, they have helped raised the profile of these regions substantially in the international market. Further, some such wines have achieved the rare feat of conferring on specific vineyards (or even plots within vineyards) an amount of prestige. One would usually think of Burgundy when beginning to understand a region in terms of its patchwork of terroirs, but our hard-hitting red wine styles have been amongst the few in Australia to encourage scrutiny to this level.

What’s interesting about some of these wines is they combine an identifiably indigenous style with a sense of regional identity. They are, one might argue, sui generis, both authentically Australian and authentically regional. No matter one’s personal taste, it’s worth acknowledging they represent a breakthrough direction of sorts. And, further, that this future might represent the future of all Australian wine.

At the other end of the stylistic spectrum, there’s the Hunter Valley. The Hunter is well known for its Semillon which is generally regarded as a singular wine style on the international stage. Historically, too, Hunter Shiraz has carved out its own niche, occupying a more delicate, medium bodied position than our full blooded red wines. Despite possessing some of the oldest vines in Australia, indeed the world, the collective portfolio of Hunter wines is, to my view, short on insight into these individual treasures. This is why the work Tyrrell’s is doing with its range of wines is so important. By identifying especially notable vineyards or plots within vineyards and bottling their contents, wines like the Tyrrell’s 4 Acres Shiraz move us in the direction of a Burgundian model of terroir. The results, I would argue, are distinctively Australian wines that capitalise on their uniqueness whilst acknowledging the beauty of a fine-grained understanding of regional character. These wines, though they borrow an Old World approaches to region, could never be made anywhere else. And they taste it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Domaine Séguinot-Bordet Chablis Premier Cru Vaillons 2006

Mealy, flinty nose that shows markedly more tension than this same maker’s Chablis tasted recently. It’s tighter and less broad in fruit character, even as winemaking is a more obvious influence. Very attractive, actually — complex and elegant, with fruit sitting squarely in the grapefruit zone. Highly sniffable.

The palate shows good focus and general zinginess. There’s also a reasonable degree of mealy, lees-type influence in the flavour profile that provides a nice counterpoint to tight, bright fruit character. On entry, very refreshing and bright, with ultra-fine acid firming the wine’s line. The flavour profile is extremely well integrated and this allows one to focus more on refinements like shape, flow and complexity. Reasonable intensity, though not mouth-shattering either. A lovely mineral lift through the after palate seems to linger for an unreasonably long time, generating both satisfaction and the desire for another glass. Very dry, very fine finish.

The price of Chablis being quite reasonable, it’s worth springing for the higher levels of quality, as one’s satisfaction scales, to my taste, in proportion to outlay, if not more.

Domaine Séguinot-Bordet
Price: $A39.50
Closure: Cork
Date tasted: December 2008

Domaine Séguinot-Bordet Chablis Vieilles Vignes 2006

Interesting wine, this one. I guess we come at most established wine styles with a set of expectations that serve, correctly or otherwise, to orient our enjoyment and criticism. The risk is, of course, that we stop judging wines on their merits but rather by their adherence to an abstract idea of what they ought to be.

Take this wine, for instance. One the one hand, it shows all the flinty minerals one expects of a good Chablis, yet overlays this austerity with much richer pear and overripe apple fruit that is quite unexpected and, initially, a little disconcerting. But, relaxing into its aroma profile, there’s an integrity to the way each element comes together that’s perhaps left of centre but no less legitimate.

>On the palate, quite high toned on entry with minerality playing a key role. Acidity is fine and full, nicely three dimensional. It’s only towards the mid-palate that one realises there’s a there’s a barely adequate level of intensity, although there’s a good level of flavour complexity to keep things interesting. Nicely round pear fruit and a sweetly floral note sit astride a core of more savoury notes. As the after palate rolls on, a subtle butterscotch flavour begins to emerge, becoming a highlight of a finish that is easygoing and deceptively long.

A very drinkable Chablis that shows soft, round fruit flavour alongside more typical (and typically challenging) minerality. The winemaking is well judged, and one only wishes there were a notch more intensity to be wrung from the grapes. Not an apex of typicité, but still tasty. I have one of this producer’s 1er Cru wines for tasting soon, and look forward to a step up in fruit quality.

Domaine Séguinot-Bordet
Price: $A28
Closure: Cork
Date tasted: December 2008

Domaine des Roches Neuves Terres Chaudes Saumur-Champigny 1998

An older Cabernet Franc from the Loire Valley.

Some bricking but mostly a rich, dense garnet. The nose is appealing, with sweet hay and a touch of dusty library, plus a bit of mushroom. We’re a long way from fruit bomb land here, the aroma profile being quite angular and savoury. There’s also, perhaps, a hint of brettanomyces here, coming across as a meaty (verging on shitty) note, but it’s certainly subtle enough to slide into the mix without overwhelming anything.

The palate is all about line, slinky elegance and elusiveness. It’s also about fruit, quite sweet really, and unexpected considering the savouriness of the aroma profile. On entry, a cool burst of leather and sweet berry fruit, the latter taking over as the wine moves to the mid-palate. There are also assertive tannins, very fine, a little unevenly distributed, and very drying. Some good complexity here, with a range of barbecued meat type flavours in addition to the core of fruit. Overall, the impression is lean and bright and a little unclean. Leathery notes float over the top of the wine’s finish, which is of good length.

If ever a wine were a matter of taste it would be this one. It’s a bit stinky and I suspect this isn’t terroir-related. If you can get past the faults, though, there’s some interest here, not least a lithe, elegant line that communicates the pleasures of structure better than many wines.

Domaine des Roches Neuves
Price: $NA
Closure: Cork
Date tasted: November 2008

Ramblings: Style v Substance (2 of 4)

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.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Domaine Dublère Puligny-Montrachet 2006

Interestingly, this domaine is owned and run by an American, Blair Pethel. According to Ross Duke’s catalogue notes, Mr Pethel was formerly a journalist before turning his passion for wine into a career. None of this has anything to do with his wine (although it may explain the Stelvin cap); still, it’s always nice see someone follow their dreams.

Flashes of green in amongst light straw goodness. Lovely nose of choux pastry and minerals, with just a hint of lean stonefruit. It’s straightforward and extremely comforting at the same time, rich without heaviness. Very nice. The palate shows a level of intensity and drive that’s not evident from the aroma. It’s one of those wines that sneaks up on you; a slippery slidey mouthfeel and delicate entry lead to a mid-palate of considerable presence. To be sure, it’s not a knock ’em down sort of wine, but it rises above the relaxation suggested on the nose and attack. More stonefruit and funky minerality wash over the tongue here, along with a suggestion of vanilla essence. It’s not an elegant wine, but it’s generous and true, and deceptively complex too. Clean fruit on the after palate shows more citrus than anything else, adding a fresh lift to the wine, although it also loses density and hence impact. The satisfying finish displays butterscotch tendencies that outlive fruit flavours by some margin.

A drink-now white Burgundy of significant deliciousness.

Domaine Dublère
Price: $A63
Closure: Stelvin
Date tasted: November 2008

Ramblings: Style v Substance (1 of 4)

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

Grosset Polish Hill Riesling 2008

This, along with its Springvale sibling, is a lesson in terroir, Australian-style. There’s never any mistaking one wine for the other, with the Polish Hill often considered a more appropriate ageing style (and, perhaps by implication, the “better” wine).

Very pretty talc-like aromas that circle atop layers of minerality and lemongrass. Unlike the Springvale, this isn’t a full-on lime juice style. Instead, the emphasis is on high toned complexity. Having said that, it’s not as shy as some young Polish Hills I’ve tried, so there’s no struggle to extract aroma here. But it’s intellectual, this one, less easily read.

Interestingly, the palate reflects this evasiveness in its flow and structure. Not that there’s a lack of flavour; quite the opposite, in fact, the wine showing good intensity of flavour. Rather, the combination of detailed flavour profile and firm structure translates to a challenging experience in the mouth. Acid tingles the tongue immediately on entry, and carries a crescendo of flavour to the middle palate. Notes here echo the aroma, with lemongrass, passionfruit pith and a generally delicious sourness all socialising well. Great balance and complexity, especially for a young Riesling. Some may find the acid a little firm, but it’s a very fine acidity and personally I love its crisp line. There’s a little dip in intensity on the after palate, but the wine surges again through the long finish.

Fabulous Riesling, then, and one that would seem to have its best years ahead of it. Whether it’s a better wine than the Springvale is very much a matter of taste (and perhaps mood). It shows greater complexity and is a more angular wine, and I suspect may never be a completely sensuous style even with the luxury of bottle age. A wine to make you think.

Update: on the second night, complexity has notched up even further, with a range of musk and Turkish Delight flavours joining in the fun. There’s just so much going on here for a young Riesling. Extremely impressive.

Grosset
Price: $A38
Closure: Stelvin
Date tasted: November 2008