Tag Archives: Shiraz/Syrah

Bonny Doon Cigare Alternative A 2001

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The marketing materials suggested that this wine would greet 2010 “in fine fashion,” so how is it doing in 2009? I never did try it when originally shipped to wine club members many years ago, but here it is now, after two interstate moves; I’m tired of schlepping it around and now it’s time to slug it back.Immediately after opening the bottle, the smell of this stuff managed to overwhelm the homemade tamales I bought from a door-to-door vendor and has for dinner earlier tonight: this stuff is pungent. Boys and girls, the word of the day is Sauerkirschen: this smells like sour cherries, Moravian I suppose, or whatever those large, cheap glass jars contained back when the USSR still existed and you could buy them cheaply at any American grocery store. Whoa. Really strong, bright, dark, sour cherries. There’s also a hint of something that reminds me of freshly polished shoes: a light leathery note with the sharp tang of shoeshine polish. Pretty cool.What this wine taste like? Again, strong, sour cherries with only the faintest hints of darker flavors. There’s also a rather strange, herbal note here that is something like off-brand spearmint mouthwash; that sounds worse than it is, I know, but it’s very distinctive and not something I’ve encountered before. All of this is tightly grasped by still present, still somewhat hoary tannin, which at first was so unpleasant I considered throwing it out – but over time, it does loosen up enough to get past. Overall, the mouthfeel is pretty strange; it’s like a tug-of-war between not-yet-resolved tannins taking place in the shallow end of a pool. The color of this wine is dark and foreboding, yet it all seems fairly medium-bodied in the mouth, which is I suppose normal for a mature wine like this.All in all, I really don’t know what to make of this wine. Is it too old? Probably not. Was it better young? Who knows? Is the overall disorienting mouthfeel a relic of Bonny Doon’s then-obsessions with spinning cones, microbullage, and other weird winemaker tricks? I’m thinking yes; there’s something just not right about this wine, something getting in the way of the direct transmission from Mother Earth. I get the feeling that if Randall Grahm had made this ten years later it would be OK – but as it is, I imagine that he’d be recherching an awful lot of temps perdu if he were to open this puppy now.To paraphrase Stephen Malkmus: A for effort, B for delivery.Bonny Doon Vineyard
Price: $30
Closure: Cork

Mountain X Hunter Shiraz 2006

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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

Ravensworth Shiraz Viognier 2005

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What a few days it has been — a busy schedule combined with the sort of low-level cold that is mind altering in an irritatingly subtle manner. It’s one thing to be demonstrably ill, each messy blow of the nose fully justifying the most outrageous self-pity and prompting those wonderful moments of over-the-top affection from one’s partner. The curse of the slight cold, however, is to want to complain knowing no-one will take you seriously. It’s also to taste wine (as I did last night) and realise that you have a totally screwed palate. Hence no tasting notes.

Tonight’s a completely different story, though. I’m as fit as a fiddle (well, I could lose a few kilos but let’s not get hung up on details after surviving a vicious sniffle) and things are again tasting of themselves. I remember this wine created quite a stir on release. It was as Bin 389 is to Grange — a way to get a good hit of Canberra Shiraz Viognier goodness without shelling out for Clonakilla’s top drop. I enjoyed it a good deal on release, but this is the first time I’ve tried it in a while.

Domaine de Durban Cru Beaumes de Venise Cuvée Prestige 2006

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There’s no sense in beating about the bush here: this is one of the best wines I’ve drunk so far this year. I had to look this one up: Beaumes-de-Venise is an AOC in the southern Rhône that is primarily known for a VDN/fortified sweet white wine; until this bottle showed up at the house last week (as part of a special offer mixed dozen from Kermit Lynch in Berkeley), I had no idea that they made red wine there as well.This is in a sense your bog standard southern Rhône: it’s mostly grenache, there’s some syrah, and just a little bit of mataro there as well. The strange thing here is this: at first, this seemed to behave like a fairly typical New World fake Rhône: the nose was wonderfully rich, promising cherries and leather and rich, easy-drinking fruit. However, it also suggested caramelized sugars, still-drying tobacco, and medium-dark molasses as well; it was frankly fascinating.Things really kick into high gear once you get a taste of this wine, though, because it quickly morphs from New World fruit fiesta into a very, very traditional French wine, with thick, assertive tannins quickly demanding attention combined with that peculiarly French minerality that shows up in kind of a nearly-harsh, high-toned, almost-sour character that dominates the finish. It’s like sucking freshly pressed raspberries through finely crushed gravel in a Kentucky tobacco drying shed. All of it put together is utterly entrancing; I wish I’d ordered more than just the one bottle of this.Domaine de Durban
Price: $20
Closure: Cork

White Box Heathcote Shiraz 2006

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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?

Annie's Lane Copper Trail Shiraz Grenache Mourvèdre 2004

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I was hoping for a robust, rustic Clare Valley red in the traditional mould, but what I’ve got in front of me is something quite different. There’s no shortage of flavour here. On the nose, a complex mix of eucalyptus, dark fruit, slightly sauvage vegetal notes and black pepper. It takes some teasing apart, and on first sniff I comprehensively failed to understand its nuances. I’m not sure whether I actually like the aroma profile, but there’s no denying its interest and complexity.

Shottesbrooke Eliza Shiraz 2006

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This is Shottesbrooke’s premium Shiraz label.

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.

In the mouth, a slow attack gives way to a rush of dense fruit flavour towards the middle palate. Quite a lot happening amidst the medium to full bodied palate, and it’s cleaner in flavour profile than the dusty nose suggests. A nice burst of dark, glossy and straightforward berry fruit defies the oak treatment and proves the latter isn’t, in fact, overdone. On the after palate, a seriously attractive lift carries berry fruit flavour right up into the back of the mouth, along with some vanilla that resonates through the lengthy, warm, cocoa finish.

Clonakilla Hilltops Shiraz 2007

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It’s especially satisfying to follow a label over time and observe how it varies with each vintage. Sometimes an especially good vintage will show extra depth, or unusual complexity, or a particularly intense perfume, all the while retaining an essential consistency with its siblings. There’s no doubt this is an excellent Hilltops, and it shows the trademark fruit density and character that I look forward to every year. But there’s a powerful something “extra” in this release — an almost flamboyant spiciness that is present both on the nose and palate — that has me smiling tonight.

Smelling this wine is like inhaling the potpourri jar on the coffee table in front of your grandmother’s overstuffed, slightly faded floral lounge. I trust that experience isn’t unique to me.

Langhorne Creek Area Red Blend 2003

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Only this afternoon I was listening to Max Allen’s Crush podcasts, which briefly discuss various Australian wine regions in Mr Allen’s typically fanciful style. The episode on Langhorne Creek discusses at some length the relative invisibility of this South Australian region, although plantings there are extensive. Fortuitously, I came across this wine when rummaging through the “cellar” at home. Not only is it a Langhorne Creek wine, but (according to the back label, anyway) is made expressly to showcase the region’s qualities. “Created” by Cellarmasters but made at Bleasdale, the wine was assembled from several growers’ grapes;