Results tagged “McLaren Vale”

Last Friday, I invited some friends over to the house so that we could open two wines, drink them together, and talk for a while about the differences between the two.

I'll start with some background: both of these wines were Verdelho. Being a Californian (and not an Australian), Verdelho basically means absolutely nothing to me. If I hadn't had spent so much time in Australia, I likely wouldn't have been familiar with the grape at all: it has no role in my nation's cultural history (whereas it absolutely does in Australia's). The first Verdelho I ever drank was most likely something I encountered whilst on vacation in Western Australia in early 2002; they seemed to be legion, with most wineries having at least one on offer. (Capel Vale, perhaps? Dang it, I should have taken better notes.)

After nine months' travels throughout Australia, I eventually came to know Verdelho as a generically rockin' good time: you could count on it to taste good in a simple, pleasing manner without giving you all too much to think about, and that was just fine by me. After returning home to California, I'd occasionally see Australian Verdelho gathering dust in the "miscellaneous white wine" bin in a shop; I usually picked up a bottle, took it home, and drank it mindlessly. Thanks to a strong US dollar and the utter unfashionability of the wines, prices never hit double digits and I never grew tired of them.

As always, however, I digress. I'm here to talk about these two wines in particular: the 2009 Mollydooker The Violinist Verdelho and the 2009 Scholium Project Lost Slough Vineyards Naucratis. These are both straight varietal Verdelho from the same vintage year, albeit from opposite ends of the globe. Climactically, both wines are produced from similar geographic origins; McLaren Vale, in South Australia, is relatively warm with daily summer temperatures around 90 degrees, Clarksburg, in California, is warmer still with daily summer temperatures in the high 90s. (For you Australians, that would be 32 and 36 degrees C, respectively.) In short, nothing too dramatically different.

Soils, too, are probably not wildly different; the California wine is presumably grown on poor soil, and I imagine the Aussie wine isn't that different either. In short, probably not hugely different either.

The major difference, then, at least superficially, would be between the two wineries. One is a spinoff (or, rather, the logical next step arising from) a once phenomenally successful Australian-American wine import business that made its name during the Bush administration importing, well, hedonistic fruit bombs; Dan Philips (and Marquis-Philips, his joint venture with the Marquis family, who became Mollydooker) had the brilliant idea of critter wines on steroids: double or triple the price of cheap and cheerful Aussie imports, but with vastly superior label design, bi-national critters (google Roogle if you'd like), and delicious, high octane, pleasurable wines that seemed just the perfect thing to serve at a megachurch BBQ celebrating to invasion of Iraq.

I will pause here for a moment and apologize for the intrusion of the political in to a nominally aesthetically oriented wine blog: one of these wines was a press sample, and God knows the generosity of the winemakers should not be abused. However, if one of the objectives of shipping samples is to potentially result in interesting ways of thinking about the wine, then I suppose they're getting their money's worth, even if obliquely. These sorts of wines - high alcohol, usually Shiraz, occasionally lavishly yet softly oaked - seemed to have sprung up shortly after that Mission Accomplished banner did, and it seems no mere coincidence that The Grateful Palate, Dan Philips' importing business, ceased to exist shortly after President Obama took office and not too much longer before the cessation of combat operations in Iraq. In short, I am unfairly and hopefully amusingly positing that there is an odd synchronicity at work here between the go-go Bush years, filled with foreign policy adventuring beyond anyone's wildest dreams, and the heyday of massive, plush, jammy, hedonistic wines (at this point, I am imagining someone with a distinctly non-West Coast accent spitting them into a football helmet on YouTube, for some reason), an odd crosstalk where one informs the other, a mad rush of consumption and decadence leading... well, I'm still not sure, exactly, except for the wines, which always, always led to massive ibuprofen consumption the morning after.

Of course, again, I digress.

The other wine, the Californian one, was produced by a small winery founded by a one-time professor from a notoriously obscurantist liberal arts college where they (shudder) still teach Aristotle... in the original Greek, no less. Again curiously coincident with the disastrous economic meltdown of 2008, his wines slowly but surely came to prominence not through glowing Wine Advocate reviews, but rather through one-off New York Times articles and general Terroir (the wine bar) fandom; most reviews I'd read were faintly reminiscent of early Dooniana , filled with remarks along the lines of "I can't drink this, but I'm excited that it exists." Much in the mode of recent newcomers such as Field Recordings, Abe the winemaker traveled California, hunting down vineyards that might produce interesting wines; in this case, a wine from a grape no one's ever heard of (here, at least) from an area that's generally as well regarded as Redfern (amusingly, the small hamlet of Woodbridge, which gave its name to an ocean of crappy wine that helped bring the Mondavi family to its doom, isn't too far away to the south).

But again: I digress. On to the tasting notes; these are courtesy of a group of six friends. Both wines were placed in the refrigerator Thursday night and removed about forty-five minutes before tasting; we were hoping for a happy medium between "cold and doesn't taste like anything" and "warm and tastes gross." Wines were served in two identical glasses (Spiegelau Authentis red wine); we drank slowly, talking about these for a good half hour, before finishing up for the evening.

• Both wines smell towards the sweet/syrupy end of the spectrum
• This wine... well, it doesn't quite smell like canned peaches because it doesn't have that tinned smell to it that California viognier does. It's kind of like viognier, but smoother, I guess.
• This almost has kind of a sugar cane factory, cut cane, simple syrup, pineapple effect here with not much spice, just a happy go lucky sugar factory really.
• It's a little bit floral to me, but hard to say exactly what I'm smelling here. There might be a slight amount of spiciness to it, almost a hint of black pepper... celery salt or perhaps something slightly green there? Really hard to say.
• Candied/salted spinach perhaps?
• Seems hot to me.
• Seems a much richer wine, more concentrated, perhaps even a bit of residual sugar here? Definitely very mouth filling, unctuous rich.. almost flabby. I think this might be going too far.
• This wine seems... whiter? More like white peach than yellow peach. Some minerality here, really a striking difference. Generally more "serious" and more northern Rhône than the other one; better acidity, tighter, just a tiny bit of astringency to it.
• Almost bitter, definite complexity on the finish, which lasts for quite a bit of time.
• This almost has a sort of quinine note, reminiscent of bitters, which it desperately needs to give it complexity and style.
• Strange to think these are the same grape from roughly similar climates; the simpler one has a deeper, richer yellow color, but the more complex one seems lighter, less imposing in the glass
  

There was, alas, one thing we all agreed on by the end of the evening: the one wine would have been just fine on its own, but it suffered by comparison with the other wine. It's funny how things go sometimes: often, in the midst of unbridled enjoyment, it's hard to imagine how an experience could possibly be better. I've personally bought both of these wines in the past - it was happy coincidence that I was given a bottle as a press sample - but having now had them simultaneously, I'm not sure I'd buy any more, especially considering that the pricing is roughly the same for the both of them.

What it boiled down for me was this: I know it's cliché to point this out, but every profoundly beautiful thing has to have a flaw - or at least something there that serves as a counterpoint, a foil, a dissonance to draw the beauty of the object in sharper, finer focus. The real reason I came away from this evening finding one wine profoundly beautiful and deeply satisfying was this: it showed restraint. Similarly high in alcohol, it seemed to have better acidity, more minerality, less residual sugar, but most of all that subtle, quinonic, bitter, savory edge that suddenly shifted it all into vibrant, ecstatic focus. You'd be hard pressed to expect more from a wine like this, especially at $20.

My advice to the other winemaker? Simple: The boom years are behind us. It's time to go beyond simple fruit ripeness, high alcohols, and straight-up appeal; it's time to find the subtle beauty that's probably always been there, time to experiment with phenolic aspects, time to consider the joys of Italianate bitter notes. I now know that there is Verdelho beyond the simple, fruity joys I've known from Australia from years; it's there if you want it. Go for it: if you do, I'll be there to buy it. And I'll even go out on a limb here and groundlessly speculate: the Americans that were buying your wines in the past were probably buying them using home equity loans on houses that have already been foreclosed. The days of reckless consumption of shiny pretty wines with high point scores seem to have gone missing over the last two years; instead, we're looking for subtlety, complexity, something with pain, something to match the anxiety and frustration we're all feeling in these, the empty, anguished dog years after the binge of the Oughts. Give us something we can relate to; your wines remind me too much of those years where we weren't thinking.

I really liked the 2007 vintage of this wine, so approached the current release with some anticipation. As an aside, it amuses me sometimes to read winery press releases on wines from hot years - it seems no-one ever picks after a heatwave. And so it is with this wine, picked before the heat, with the intent of producing the lighter and more easygoing Dowie Doole house style. For the most part, I would say this is a success.

I understand 2009 was a difficult vintage in some parts of the McLaren Vale. Certainly, compared to the 2008 Merlot, this wine shows less freshness of fruit character. It retains, however, the same sense of drinkability and charm, and for that I like it a great deal.

Whether it's the youth of this wine, vintage conditions or a stylistic choice on the part of its maker, the 2010 Chenin from Dowie Doole is a significantly more taut, edgy experience than previous vintages (for example, the 2009). And, as delicious as the softer, fruit salad Chenin style can be, this is something else entirely, closer to the reserve Tintookie wine than to its predecessors. 

Make no mistake, the Dowie Doole California Road and Reserve Shirazes from 2008 are very good wines. The single vineyard wine, in particular, is a beautifully characterful, limpid expression of McLaren Vale Shiraz. One could argue, though, this producer's stylistic philosophy finds its most satisfying expression in the regular Shiraz, reviewed here. 

It's probably counter productive to go to the gym then pick up McDonalds on the way home. And yet, here I am, pleased to report my Mighty Angus went down superbly, well accompanied by this reasonably priced McLaren Vale blend. I'm a firm believer even the humblest meal can be a bit special, and that the right wine is often the key. But then, I've been known to match wine with Chicko rolls, so trust me at your peril.

This single vineyard wine is, in some respects, the ideal Dowie Doole red. Incidentally, Dowie Doole must surely be amongst the more satisfyingly alliterative names in the wine world. It's the name of a card game, or perhaps a bubble gum and, whether deliberately or not, its wines often reflect a sense of relaxed playfulness.

I've tasted quite a few Dowie Doole wines over the past few months, and in most cases they have been an unpretentious pleasure. This wine, the flagship Shiraz in the range, is interesting to me as it's the first "serious" red I've tasted in the portfolio, and I wonder how the approach shown in the standard range translates to something more upscale.

There's something both fun and savvy about the way this wine is marketed; indeed, about what this wine is. The label design for starters, which caused me to laugh out loud when I pulled the bottle from its box, calls out the initials of its constituent grapes. Being a fan of gin and tonic, I immediately thought of satisfyingly fresh aromatics and a vaguely medicinal effect. More to the point, though, I thought of fun, ease and casual sophistication. Not a bad association to make given a new wine label.

I believe this is due for release in late 2010, so I feel lucky to get a sneak preview of one of the few adventurously styled Chenin Blancs in Australia. The 2006 was impressive, even though its vibe seemed in some respects unresolved. Hence, I'm keen to understand how Dowie Doole, with its second Tintookie release, has evolved its idea of Australian Chenin style.

The companion wine to Simply Sunshine's White, and made in the same mould. The challenge, it seems to me, at this price point is to deliver something with a bit of character within the constraints imposed by production costs, margin and the presumed taste of consumers. With regard to the latter, I have a horror of wines that are cynical and hold their drinkers in contempt; this attitude is by no means limited to cheaper wines, either. 

Apparently, this is a one-off. The Gilligan red is usually a blend of Grenache, Shiraz and Mataro, but for 2008 it's a single varietal. 

Why is Coke so popular? Why isn't Passiona taking the world by storm? Personally, I adore Passiona and think it has a lot to offer the soft-drinking community. Yet Coke flies off the shelves. It all begs the question: are some soft drinks inherently better than others? Ditto grapes; do some varieties, barring easy targets like Trebbiano, simply make better wines than others? 

The third of three current release Dowie Doole reds tasted (also tasted: 2007 Shiraz and 2008 Merlot). This is the most interesting for me personally, as I strongly prefer cooler climate expressions of Cabernet. Yet, ironically, this is perhaps my favourite of the three; it's strongly regional and quite delicious. 

I've tasted all three current release Dowie Doole reds in the "standard" range, though this is only the second note I've posted (Cabernet to come soon). There's a definite family resemblance at work in the way the fruit is expressed in these wines that makes this trio of labels variations on a theme. Though they show different flavour profiles, they are all primary, fresh wines of attractive vibrancy.

Considered in conventional terms, a more serious wine than its sibling, though to my mind this is an entirely different conversation from whether it's better or worse. Indeed, I'm on the record as preferring many "second label" wines to their reserve partners, as what constitues a "reserve" wine for some producers strikes me as most unimaginative. Throwing oak, extract and a general exaggeratedness of scale at something does not automatically make a better or more worthy wine. Dowie Doole's Tintookie poses the question of reserve wines rather differently. For a start, it's made from Chenin Blanc, so the template for its elevated status isn't so obvious as some. Indeed, what does a reserve Chenin Blanc look like in the Australian context?

There aren't too many wineries in Australia who have made a speciality of Chenin Blanc. In the case of Dowie Doole, one can legitimately say it is a producer who is at the vanguard of Chenin in Australia, with two quite different wines in its range. The Tintookie (to be tasted soon) is a subjected to a variety of winemaking tricks, whereas this wine is a more straightforward expression of the grape. Both wines are made from old vines (70+ years) in the McLaren Vale region.

A less-than-ideal tasting at the recent Brisbane Fine Wine Festival nonetheless left me intrigued by this wine, and I've been keen to try it again in more relaxed circumstances. At the time, in a lineup of McLaren Vale reds, this stood for the clarity and freshness of its flavours. Picked "before the heatwave," the fruit going into this wine is mostly Merlot, with 7% each of Cabernet Sauvignon and Shiraz.

I'm a sucker for McLaren Vale Shiraz, and tend to prefer its flavour profile to some other nearby regions. There often seems a thread of bitter chocolate running through the most typical wines that meshes well with a what is frequently a dark fruit flavour profile. Yes, I declare a decided preference for this style, and it's gratifying to have an especially good example in front of me now.

Dusty Dutch cocoa and vanilla essence before all else, but with a deep vein of dark, savoury fruit running underneath. There's real sophistication and complexity here, with bursts of licorice and spice adding detail to the aroma profile. It seems quite woody; happily, the oak is well matched to the fruit character.