It’s probably not the best idea to taste wine while you’re baking a cake, but as Philip White wrote recently in defense of mixing fragrance and wine: as if wine was always meant to be drunk in sterilised rooms. In fact, the smells of baking are stimulating my appetite in the most gluttonous manner, and I’d like to think this provides an
Travel for reasons other than leisure is surely one of the loneliest pastimes. I’m currently away from home and, to relieve the tedium yesterday evening, wandered about looking for something moderately interesting to eat and drink. The idea of dining alone in a restaurant didn’t hold much appeal, so I rocked up to a local wine and cheese shop hoping for a solution. Half bottles are ideal in such situations and, fortunately, a small range was on offer, including this wine. A few minutes after spotting it, I was on my way back to the hotel, also equipt with
Despite having published a series of turgid articles (1, 2, 3, 4) arguing precisely the opposite, I think there’s something deeply authentic about Australian wines that are a blend of material from several regions. For a start, many of our great winemakers (Roger Warren, Max Schubert, Maurice O’Shea and Colin Preece, for starters) often used this approach. It remains a part of our industry to this day, arguably representing the mainstream.
The intent is often to create a better wine than can be crafted from any one constituent component. For example, I’ve read that Colin Preece used to sometimes include some rich, ripe Rutherglen red in his elegantly spicy Great Western material to create a superior end result. There are many such examples, Grange being the most obvious and enduring. So one could pursuasively argue that a multi-regional blend vibrates with the sort of authenticity that can’t be achieved by simply doing it the way they do in, say, Burgundy. Perhaps this is the Australian way.
Is this even important? Surely, what’s in the glass is all that matters. Well, yes and no; to me at any rate. I’m not of the “wine is just a drink” school. I believe intent matters. And I think the degree to which a wine engages (or disengages) from a certain winemaking tradition should be considered. None of that changes what’s in the bottle, but wine exists in a context and, when I taste it, the purely sensual experience intersects all these things.
Perhaps I should apologise to the creators of this wine, Gary Walsh and Campbell Mattinson, for not getting straight to the point. But, in a sense, this is the point. Well-known wine writers, Messrs Walsh and Mattinson have ostensibly created the Mountain X label not only to produce something very tasty, but to explicitly draw on various Australian winemaking traditions.
This may be the first seriously postmodern wine that I’m aware of, at least locally. The name recalls O’Shea’s naming conventions. It’s a blend of Hunter Valley and Yarra Valley wine. And it’s a blend of Shiraz and Pinot Noir varieties. Hardly anyone does Shiraz/Pinot blends any more; it’s certifiably niche, and yet fits naturally into the history of the Hunter Valley. Even the outdated nomenclature of Hunter Burgundy suggests it. So neat on so many levels.
Indeed, the conceptual side would threaten to overwhelm the wine if it weren’t deliciously, obviously good. And it’s so good, fully justifying its existence to those who just want to drink a quality wine. The nose for starters. First impressions are of expressively funky brambles and stalk, fully ripe and strongly suggestive of the Pinot component. There’s also what I presume is an oak influence, sweetly malty and nougat-like, not too assertive in volume or aggressive in flavour. Then, some mellow berry fruit, straddling sweet and savoury. This is such a relaxed aroma profile, one that gently glows in the glass and calls you back not with a shout but with a sweetly harmonised tune.
This quiet sophistication carries through to the palate. All the obvious markers of quality are here — intensity, length, complex flavour — as they are in thousands of other wines. What’s fascinating about this wine is the flavour profile. As with the nose, it’s quite funky but not in a dirty way. In fact, this wine is a great example of how to achieve character without resorting to questionable flavours. I’m not sure I can tease it apart, but I’ll give it a go. A strong thread of sour cherry. A small amount of intensely sweet, positively confectionery fruit (sort of like Redskins, but of course in a clever adult sort of way). Brambles. Nougat. I’m not sure I’m communicating things accurately (or completely, as it’s quite complex) but suffice it to say it’s coherent and attractive. Structurally, this is acid-driven, though delicately so, such that it’s not forbidding in any way. Body is medium, with a sprightly mouthfeel that also manages to feel luxurious. The finish echoes the very beginning, with ripe, stalk-like flavours freshening the palate as sweet fruit lingers like an echo somewhere up high.
Performance art in a bottle. Serve it to non-wine nerds and enjoy both the wine and a quietly smug chuckle.
Mountain X
Price: $A30
Closure: Diam
Source: Sample
Really typical Barossa Semillon aroma, showing quite fleshy fruit notes of citrus and perhaps pear, plus some composting hay and a hint of honeyed age. The aroma profile is relatively thick and even, if not hugely expressive. In the mouth, a lot more forward, thanks partly to an acid structure especially well balanced for approachability. The acid is very fine and even, delivering good impact without being forbidding. A big wash of flavour starts right at the tip of the tongue and widens out towards the middle palate. This is a relatively weighty wine, and its structure, whilst present, is counterbalanced by a juicy mouthfeel that’s all about flavoursome drinking. There are definite indications of bottle age, and these nascent flavours add some complexity to primary flavours of citrus, sweet hay and soap. The overall effect is vividly autumnal and recalls slowly decomposing leaves. It’s also a bit rustic and unrefined, in the best possible way.
White Box apparently refers to a particular variety of eucalypt that exists in some numbers on the vineyard property. Being a design geek, I can’t help but reflect the label, far from encapsulating a “down home” environmental message, is stuck in a characterless aesthetic that would feel more at home on a Web site circa 1999. Am I the only person who thinks this?
I’ve previously reflected on varietal correctness and how, ultimately, a specific
I’ve popped the cork off a Pinot Noir in anticipation of a good match with roast duck this evening. The bird is resting, so I’ve a few minutes to swirl and sniff my way through this reasonably priced Burgundy from Savigny-les-Beaune. A very Pinot-esque purple/red/orange hue that is pretty and not especially dense. Colour’s one of those things I tend to gloss over a bit; with Pinot, though, I enjoy the paradox of a red wine that can often lack colour density but which, when it’s good, is intensely aromatic and powerful in the mouth. One of the charms of the variety, I guess.
Domaine du Prieuré
Price: $A39.80
Closure: Cork
Wine, for me, has been an acquired taste, or rather a series of acquired tastes that continue to accumulate the more I drink. Funny thing is, an acquired taste can be the most stubborn, displacing attractions that, at first, feel easier and more natural. So it is with Pinot Noir in general, and Burgundy in particular. I’m far from the most erudite taster, yet my first smell of this wine had the same effect as (for me) the smell of a Hunter Semillon, or a Coonawarra Cabernet. In other words, at least at first, the recognition of something familiar has as much to do with one’s pleasure as the absolute quality of the aroma. The accumulated experience of tasting makes the smell of this wine the summation of all the Pinots I’ve smelled. It is most curious to me, and something I’d like to explore further. If only I knew where to start.
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.
A dark, rich red with edges of purple. This wine’s nose is like a bunch of dark cherries being greedily, juicily eaten by a feral animal. There’s some stink that comes in waves, but the overriding impression is of fresh juice and tart, split berry skins. At the edges, an appealing, icing sugar-like powderiness that adds some detail and presence in the higher registers. This seems a darker wine overall, though not serious so much as rich and generous. I’m not sure the animalé is entirely terroir-driven; it smells as much of boiled eggs as it does wild Pinot. Certainly within tolerable limits.