Topper’s Mountain Barrel Ferment Petit Manseng 2011

As I mentioned in my review of the 2010 Tempranillo, a barrel fermented Petit Manseng isn’t something one comes across every day in Australia, so this wine’s very existence is notable. It takes guts to produce a premium-priced varietal wine without the benefit of a recognised noble variety behind it, so hats off to Topper’s Mountain for putting their faith in Petit Manseng on the line.

Of course, it’s foolish to judge the potential of a wine style from a single tasting, but one has to start somewhere, and my impression is there’s some interest here. The aroma is soft and subtle, with florals the dominant element along with a hint of beeswax. It’s the sort of soft focus aroma that finds its equivalent in Flake ads from the 1980s — all smears of Vaseline and sexiness without really showing much.

In the mouth, a good interplay of textures, and I see the wisdom of the winemaking approach here. There’s fullness and generosity on the mid-palate, presumably in part stemming from barrel work, that balances out some reasonably strident acidity through the after palate. There’s a definite textural story here. Flavours are, as with the nose, soft and perhaps a little indistinct, though certainly quite pleasant. For me, though, the interest here is in mouthfeel and the way the wine’s weight modulates along its line. It’s unusual and quite compelling. Incidentally, alcohol sits at a restrained 12.25%.

Topper’s Mountain
Price: $A34
Closure: Stelvin
Source: Sample

Cardinal Cusanus Stiftswein Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Auslese 1992

Harvest ended with somewhat of a whimper in the Mosel. For me, straddling both vineyard and cellar, the end of picking simply meant more cellar work, less physically demanding but no less interesting. It’s a monumental achievement, though, when the last of the fruit comes in, especially in a year like 2013, which was in many respects a race against a steady, weather-induced loss of grapes from the vines. We celebrated en masse at a wonderful dinner hosted by Weingut Kerpen, with plenty of great estate wines and hearty German food.

A few days later, I dined again with Martin Kerpen, this time at an astonishing restaurant in Zeltingen-Rachtig, a couple of kilometres from Wehlen. The Zeltinger Hof is somewhat legendary in the area, not least for its selection of well over a hundred and fifty wines by the glass. Bottles line the walls and represent a list that, I imagine, is unparalleled when it comes to wines of the region. It’s the kind of list people travel for and its context — a humble hotel restaurant in a small wine village — might strike some as unlikely.

The travel journalist Jacob Strobel y Serra caused a minor sensation recently when he wrote scathingly of the Mosel as a backward-facing tourist destination, lacking the sorts of modern attractions demanded by today’s traveller. While this has stirred debate within the region, it has also prompted many restauranteurs to feature Moselochsen on their menus, Serra having accused the region’s inhabitants of an attitudinal similarity to the lumbering, narrowsighted Mosel ox.

For me, a menu of schnitzel and Moselochsen sounds like a piece of heaven, and it’s true the Mosel seems free of the sort of ultra-high end tourism experiences that can, for better or worse, transform a region’s appeal. As such, it’s terribly easy to get a good, cheap meal at many of the villages that dot the river. At the Zeltinger Hof, Martin and I ordered a menu with Moselochsen at its centre, and the proprietor provided two wines to match. One was a Mosel Spätburgunder with considerably more structure than I’m accustomed to, the other was this Riesling from Wehlener Sonnenuhr, old but by no means ancient as wines of this region go.

It amazes me how the Rieslings of the Mosel are used as food pairings locally. A plate of slow-cooked red meat with a rich, sweet jus cries out for a big red wine. Or does it? Of the two wines paired, the Riesling was by some considerable margin the more attractive match. The wine itself was excellent. A curious thing happens to Mosel Riesling as it ages. Unlike, say, a Clare Riesling, whose flavours typically move through honey and toast, Mosel wines seem to deepen without such sudden, radical changes in flavour. This Auslese is caressingly gentle on the nose, with aromas of vanilla, lemon curd, butter and minerals. It perhaps lacks a degree of refinement, like a stuffed toy just starting to come apart at the seams, but one forgives older wines these flaws more easily than younger ones.

In the mouth, it shows the slippery texture that graces older Mosel wines, a texture that strikes me as not unlike Hunter Semillon. It’s the mid-palate, though, that allows this wine to pair so well with rich, meaty food. There’s still good body and sweetness here, age adding richness to its flavours and matching its impact to the sweet jus of the Moselochsen. Good length, intensity and complexity. Again, this lacks the sort of precision and refinement of a truly superior Riesling, but in the context of this meal, it was nigh on perfect.

Cardinal Cusanus Stiftswein
Price: N/A
Closure: Cork
Source: Retail

Weingut Kerpen Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Auslese *** 1995

The last two days have seen wonderful visits to Weingut Kerpen by friends of mine: Chris Thomas, winemaker at Dowie Doole in McLaren Vale, and Jimi Lienert, with whom I worked in New Zealand at Terra Sancta. On both occasions, Martin Kerpen generously opened many bottles for us to taste, so I enjoyed the good fortune of sampling a range of Kerpen wines from the last three decades.

To single out one wine seems a little pointless, as the interest in such wide ranging tastings lies in understanding the diversity and flavour development within the style. However, I felt one wine above all others was dripping with beauty and quality — this 1995 Auslese ***.

There’s a big jump between Spätlese to Auslese, and within the latter quality level a wide range of permissible ripeness levels. This wine, a three star Auslese, is at the top of the ripeness scale, a fact abundantly evident in the richness and power of its flavours. It simply screams from the glass, not in the strident manner of a young, dry Riesling, but in the buxom style of a deeply fruited wine, layers of rich fruit aroma emerging from the glass. There’s a good deal of flavour development, but this doesn’t read as an especially old wine; rather, its primary fruit smells burnished, high toned edges having been replaced with golden, glowing hues.

In the mouth, an exceptionally long wine. This is probably carrying a ridiculously high level of residual sugar (by Australian Riesling standards, anyway) but it’s taut and clean, balancing powerful fruit at the front of the palate with refreshing, fine acid at the rear. What one gets at these higher ripeness levels is more power and complexity, and this seems to me quite remarkable for the amount of fruit that is packed into what never seems an especially sweet or dessert-like wine. Line and length are impeccable, as is balance, so critical with this style. On the basis of tasting much older wines from this estate and vineyard, I’m sure many more years could accrue without detriment, but I think it’s fabulous right now. I hope Martin will sell me some from his cellar.

Note: I’m currently working the vintage with Weingut Kerpen.

Weingut Kerpen
Price: N/A
Closure: Cork
Source: Gift

Weingut Kerpen Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Auslese 2003

A year in the Mosel that was at first celebrated for its richness and power, then reviled for its perceived lack of longevity, and now one that is experiencing a certain positive reassessment. How much we put our beloved wines through. While I understand the human impulse to categorise and build hierarchies, I’m coming to believe wine is an object quite unamenable to such endeavours. For all the effort that goes into “assessing” each vintage, not all of which is wasted by any means, what matters is how a wine tastes at various points in its life.

Clearly, this wine is connected to its vintage. At ten years of age, it remains a powerful, bold wine of strikingly rich flavour and somewhat blocky palate structure. It’s far from nearing the end of its life; I’d say it’s at a point of some flavour development but isn’t yet showing many flavours I think of as indicating full maturity. So, there’s a mixture of primary fruit on the aroma — rich mandarin, flowers — and tertiary characters like honey and toast. This is clearly the product of ripe fruit with plenty to give. As with so many Rieslings from this area, relatively high levels of sugar disappear into the fabric of the wine’s acid and minerality, making it both fresh and low in alcohol.

The palate is mouthfilling and generous, with more ripe citrus, mineral and honey notes. Granted, this is a bigger wine than many others I’ve tasted at this quality level from this vineyard, but the elements are in balance. Good length, good acid and plenty of flavour both primary and developed. As it stands, this strikes me as a wine that could lend support to several views of 2003 – praise for its fullness of flavour, criticism for its scale and relative masculinity. And to that I say: “who cares?” What matters to me is that it tasted damn good last night.

Note: I’m currently working the vintage with Weingut Kerpen.

Weingut Kerpen
Price: N/A
Closure: Vino-Lok
Source: Gift

Weingut Kerpen Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Spätlese Trocken 2004

Ah, German wine labels; uniquely intimidating. The key to this one, though, is “trocken,” or dry. For a region associated in the Australian mind with sweet Rieslings, the Mosel churns out a fair few dry versions of its signature variety and I’m especially keen, while working here, to taste as many as I can.

My vintage hosts in the Mosel are the kind folks at Weingut Kerpen (a disclaimer in addition to a hopefully-interesting factoid). Martin Kerpen, the proprietor, excitedly called me over after a tasting this evening and shared this particular wine with me. A bottle from his private cellar, this shows the benefit of its glass stopper and cool conditions; it’s in exceptional condition. And what a lovely wine too.

I keep coming back to the word “pretty” when tasting this. It has a delicate charisma running right through its refined body, and this plays out through its flavours, which are bright and delicate, and its structure, which is firm and fine. Only the first signs of toasty development are evident on the aroma, which is composed primarily of citrus blossom, talc and a hint of cumquat juice. Absolutely no kerosene here.

The palate is intensely flavoured within the confines of a fundamentally delicate wine. The acid is spectacular in its finesse and balance. A hint of sweetness fills out the juicy mid-palate, but the wine finishes dry and its flavours don’t read as overtly sweet. I suspect this will develop for several years yet, and I envy those with a few bottles in their cellar.

Weingut Kerpen
Price: N/A
Closure: Vino-Lok
Source: Gift

Adegas Castro Brey SiN PalaBRAS 2011

Another standout Albariño from Rias Baixas. It’s worth pointing out how often I came across wines of exceptional value while in Galicia; this, for example, goes for a modest €16.50 on the wine list of moderately swanky O Beiro Vinoteca in Santiago de Compostela. A bargain at that price, let alone whatever it must go for at retail.

This fresh beauty has seen some time on lees but no oak. The nose is crisp yet full, with fresh melon fruit, fragrantly ripe flowers, almonds and spice. It’s not a sharp aroma but it shows nuance and vivacity. What I like about the palate is the way it combines fullness of body, a reasonably complex texture and flavours that are both worked and fresh. In particular, an almond meal note through the after palate is a nice segue from melon fruit that fills the mid-palate, so the wine’s narrative moves from fresh to warm down its line. Good intensity, good length and flavours that show real coherence.

I wish I could drink a few more bottles of this.

Adegas Castro Brey
Price: €16.50 (wine list)
Closure: Cork
Source: Retail

Martín Códax Organistrum 2010

When in Galicia recently, I made an effort to taste as many Albariños as I could, particularly those from the Rias Baixas sub-region. In tasting through these wines, I was interested to note the diversity of styles applied to the variety, with many houses having a simply made wine followed by one or more labels with more winemaking input, in particular techniques like barrel fermentation and extended lees contact. Although some such wines I tried had lost their varietal definition, I was pleasantly surprised by how well Albariño can stand up to a fair bit of manipulation and still retain its flavour, structure and impact.

This wine, made by the ubiquitous Martín Códax co-operative, sees a period of oak ageing and lees stirring before it is finished off in stainless steel. Compared to a simply made Albariño, this has immediately evident yet measured barrel-derived aromas akin to vanilla and almond. As one might imagine, these mesh superbly with fruit-driven notes of melon and stonefruit. The aroma is highly expressive and well balanced, with a lovely rich vibe.

In the mouth, predictably full and round, owing to both variety and winemaking. Its flavours are quite complex; more vanilla, nuts and stonefruit; with texture becoming a dominant feature through the after palate. It’s reasonably, if not overwhelmingly, concentrated. Rather than all-out impact, though, this wine is about rich flavours that lend the wine a luscious, generous feel without heaviness. Nicely judged in the winery, and quite delicious to drink.

Martín Códax
Price: €24 (wine list)
Closure: Cork
Source: Retail

The Scholium Project Michael Faraday 2010

I have no interest in diminishing the role of viticulturist and winemaker through my practice of wine writing. Making wine is an inherently interventionist process; a simple fact, but one worth repeating in an age where we deify a nature curiously devoid of people and fetishise a past of naive wholesomeness. The right degree of intervention is, of course, vastly contested, and guiding principles like “minimal intervention” are both hopelessly reductive and damagingly misleading. Many wines benefit from extensive work in the winery which, when done with sensitivity and skill, helps to illuminate the underlying qualities of the fruit and create a more complete wine. To the deniers, I simply direct you to unwooded Chardonnay.

Intervention oughtn’t, however, be the focus of a sophisticated criticism of wine. Viticultural techniques and winemaking operations are means to an end, and it’s in connecting those means to the achieved end where a truly interesting conversation about wine is located. In other words, we judge a wine with reference to why it was made, how it was made and what it tastes like.

Straightforward commercial styles yield easily to this analysis, made as they are to be both technically sound and easily accessible. No faults and plenty of fruit? Check. To effortlessly produce these wines in large quantities is one end point of many New World wine industries, and represents a collective achievement I respect enormously. But these wines are often boring to drink, boring to write about and, as such, contain little to engage one’s interest critically. Monumental efforts in the service of bland ends.

Jumping to the other end of the spectrum we have producers like The Scholium Project, who seem determined to (re)invent, discover and pervert conventional notions of wine style. It’s part punk, part hipster and, as an enterprise, vastly more interesting than yet another clean Cabernet. Especially daring are experiments with wine faults, something Scholium seems to explore with its white portfolio in particular.

Clearly, then, not styles for those without a certain tolerance for winemaking eccentricity. There’s a slight urge I feel to celebrate these wines simply for existing, and I do believe there’s value in an ongoing curiosity about how wine ought to taste. In a way, though, by requiring a greater role of the winemaker, these styles expose themselves to greater criticism. When production decisions are so obvious, they become very large targets for the critic.

This wine goes further than the 2009 the sylphs in its focus on aldehydes and its suppression of primary fruit. Indeed, the distorted but complete view of fruit in the sylphs is here reduced to remnant flashes of flavour; slight darts of citrus, peach and minerality. So thick is its blanket of nutty, sherry-like aromas and flavours that few other elements make it out alive. Yet it’s curiously lacking in freshness too, not at all like a good flor sherry. There’s structure here, but somehow the flavour profile suggests a sort of stasis, like wading through mud.

Clearly, the defining act of winemaking was to allow the wine to sit on ullage for a year or so, developing the nutty aldehydic notes that so emphatically dominate this wine. The consequences of this choice are so significant they come to define the entire flavour profile. That’s ballsy winemaking.

One must ask at this point, though: does allowing the wine to develop so oxidatively illuminate the fruit’s underlying qualities? Do the winemaking inputs help to achieve balance? Is this a wine of beauty?

For me, the answer is no in all cases. I believe the style has a precedent in the wines of Jacques Selosse, but what might work in Champagne seems less successful in the world of Sonoma Chardonnay. Drinking this wine is an exercise in frustration. It’s not totally without beauty; there are beguiling flashes of minerality and fruit, bright and pristine enough to suggest some exceptional raw material. Yet I resent having to fight for these moments, and I regret not knowing what the fruit might have made if handled more sympathetically.

As with all the Scholium wines I’ve tasted recently, this is made with clear intent and conviction, qualities I applaud. It takes guts to be so bold in the winery, a domain that is too often about avoiding faults and too rarely about chasing a vision. That this wine ultimately fails, though disappointing, is perhaps unavoidable in a project so intent on experimentation.

The Scholium Project
Price: $US75
Closure: Cork
Source: Gift

The Scholium Project the sylphs 2009

About three days ago I arrived in San Diego, a place I haven’t visited since 1997 when I was here on a student exchange. What a year. I had come to finish my science degree at UCSD, and I did indeed do that. But my fondest memories are of life outside school.

For the first couple of weeks back then, I wasn’t even 21 years old, so was legally unable to enter any of the bars that, as a fourth year university student, I had become rather too accustomed to frequenting in Australia. No matter; my birthday soon ticked around, the school year started, and my time here flew by in a haze of perfect weather, minimal study and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of great beaches.

The intervening years have brought many things, one of which is my friendship with Christopher Pratt, co-publisher of Full Pour and all-around awesome guy. A few years ago, Chris and his partner made San Diego home, and the city has beckoned ever since. Finally, in my year of wine, I’m here again.

Amongst the many Californian wines I’ve been keen to try, few are higher on the list than The Scholium Project’s various bottlings. Chris has written about these in some detail on Full Pour, and I encourage you to browse through the archives to familiarise yourself with what must surely be one of the more intriguing producers working in California at the moment. We’ve already tasted several over the past few days, and none have been less than interesting. This, though, stands out for its sheer perversity.

This is what might happen if you turn Chardonnay inside out. Everything about it seems designed to test one’s idea of what varietal Chardonnay ought to taste like, from its emphasis on flavours that ordinarily sit at the edges to its radical re-rendering of some clearly beautiful fruit. The nose shoves things like nutty aldehydes, salt spray, Mexican candy and your grandmother’s stash of sherry (thanks Chris for that image) right into the foreground; fruit becomes utterly secondary to aromas that are ordinarily used sparingly to add complexity and depth, and that might reasonably be considered faults if too prominent. But do conventional ideas of balance apply when a wine is so determinedly styled to challenge those conventions?

The palate reveals a core of fruit that seems radically distorted yet weirdly beautiful, like trying to see a peach through glass bricks. This styling strikes me as cubist in its reconceptualisation of expected flavours. This extends to palate structure too; weight is much lighter than expected and lacking the sort of flesh one might associate with Chardonnay from California. Flavours aren’t quite as sweet as the nose suggests, although no amount of fiddling can completely rob the fruit here of a certain lusciousness. Texture becomes rough through the back palate, and complexity of flavour is unmitigated from front to back.

In some ways, I’ve no idea what to make of this wine in quality terms. It’s full of intent, shows good fruit and is vastly provocative, stylistically. Does that make it a good wine? Do regular indicators of quality even apply? I’m not sure, but I love that it poses the question.

The Scholium Project
Price: $US75
Closure: Cork
Source: Gift

Louis Moreau Chablis Grand Cru Les Clos 2010

With so many producers in Australia ostensibly chasing Chablis-esque expressions of Chardonnay, it’s refreshing to go back to the source. Although a tight, linear wine, this is far from lacking in fruit and provides a nice lesson in what makes Chablis such a refreshing style.

The nose shows some free sulfur at first; as this blows off, sulfide characters and floral aromatics dominate, anchored by bassier notes of white peach. High and low, then, with a definite fleshiness on the aroma, promising a taut but generous palate. There’s a precision to the aroma that I particularly appreciate, each component dovetailing neatly as it gives way to the next. It’s cool, even slightly dispassionate, perhaps a wine for a particularly analytical mood.

The palate is linear and quite steely, with an initially dominant saline note that gives way to fruit, herbs and flowers. There’s a subtle thread of much riper fruit, almost raisin-like in character, that is unexpected. I like the weight and flesh this gives, but the flavour itself is one I question. A keen thrust of acid drives the wine fairly hard, with chalky texture descending on the after palate. This is all precisely put together, the flavours varied, structure fresh and texture just so.

Louis Moreau
Price: $NA
Closure: Stelvin
Source: Gift