Category Archives: Wine

St Emilion 2016: a Vintage for Left Bank Lovers

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“I’m finding it hard to see a lot of love in these wines,” one taster said at the tasting of 2016 St. Emilion Grand Cru Classé in New York. Indeed the wines are quite tight at present, but although elegant is not the first word I usually use to describe St. Emilion, it was often the most appropriate description in my notes.

The general impression of the vintage is fine, structured, and still a little tight. In a blind tasting it might be difficult to identify most of these wines as being predominantly Merlot because their texture has a finesse you might not usually associate with the variety. Most need at least 3-4 years, not so much for the tannins to resolve, as they are generally fine and tend towards silky, but to let flavor variety come out from under. They remind me more of the Left Bank than of the usually plusher character of the Right Bank.

The style of 2016 is a great compromise between the extremities of earlier years. At the same tasting of the 2010 vintage six years ago, my problem was in distinguishing wines from one another  (Oenologues Triumph in St. Emilion) because they all showed much the same character of furry tannins behind soft black fruits. And then four years ago at the tasting of the 2012 vintage, the wines were tight and alcoholic, often verging on tough, with quite sharp tannins (Alcohol and Tannins in St. Emilion: Cheshire Cat Years?)

By contrast with the earlier years, 2016 has a great sense of balance between fruits and structure. Of course they vary in their stages of development. A few are really still tight, but in most, flavor variety is just beginning to poke out from the palate, with some wines now moving in a savory direction. They should become increasingly fine as they age over the next couple of years, and then show increasing generosity and delicious refinement for at least the next decade.

I hesitate to project beyond that, but there were a few older wines on display to give some indication of aging potential, among which Dassault 2000 was quite mature and really at its peak with signs of tertiary development, Grand Pontet 1995 was flavorful but quite dry at the end, and Grand Corbin Despagne 1989 is à point although not showing tertiary development. (I had the 1988 at the château a year ago, and it was even better, making the point that Grand Corbin-Despagne really makes 30-year wines.) The best wines of 2016 may therefore well last for two decades or more.

The 2016 Vintage

Bellefont Belcier: Very smooth on palate, with structure just holding the fruits back, but very fine impression promising elegant future.

Chauvin: Very fine impression with smooth, silky tannins, flavor variety just coming out, moving in a savory direction with a tang on the finish. Fine result for vintage.

Clos des Jacobin: Fine elegant impression to nose, elegant structure and fruits on palate against silky background, flavor coming out and moving in savory direction.

Corbin: Firm palate with hints of chocolate on finish, nice flavor variety already beginning to show with the finesse of the vintage. Flavorful palate is moving in a savory direction.

Dassault: Firm palate moving in chocolatey direction, underlying texture with savory flavors, a touch of tannins at end on long finish.

de Pressac: Minty impression to nose, nice solid impression with good flavor variety showing on palate, moving in savory direction, with hints of mint coloring the palate.

Faurie de Souchard: Very smooth indeed, very fine texture to palate, with tannins just showing on dryness of finish, with hints of mint and chocolate. Very fine indeed.

Fonplégade: The most approachable wine in the 2016 tasting. Quite a rich nose tends to buttery impressions, with good structure and elegant balance on palate. Fine silky tannins evident only by faint bitterness on finish. Touch of heat at end but otherwise very sophisticated for St. Emilion. Tannins moving in chocolatey direction.

Fonroque: Restrained nose, fine palate shows rather fresh acidity considering vintage and appellation, quite tight and backward. Might be difficult to identify this as 90% Merlot in blind tasting. Needs time to release flavor variety.

Grand Corbin: Tight and backward, almost fresh acidity, tannins tight on finish with touch of bitterness, somewhat of an old school impression with reflections of the left bank.

Grand Corbin-Despagne: Very faint buttery impressions to nose. Fine texture in background on palate, structure shown by a little bitterness at end but is very fine. Long finish promises goof future development.

Grand Pontet: Elegant impressions to nose, fine and tight, follow to palate. Fine texture should turn silky with age. Flavor variety is just beginning to show. Should mature to real elegance.

Jean Fauré: Very restrained nose, really quite dumb. Palate shows a little more texture than most, but not so lively (yet). Quite structured and a bit uncertain how long it might take for fruit to come out.

La Tour Figeac: Some flavor variety beginning to show against background structure evidenced by almost-phenolic bitterness at end. This needs time to come around. A savory impression on the finish is promising.

Ripeau: Fine structure supports savory notes on palate, somewhat backward in being gripped by acidity, and a little uncertain as to future supply of generosity.

Yon Figeac: Generosity is hiding behind the structure. Smooth palate shows flavor variety just coming out, structure in nice balance with fruits, which will emerge more clearly in next year or so.

Older Wines

Dassault (2000): Mature impression with nose showing some tertiary notes and some high-toned aromatics with oxidative notes. Shows some development on palate with touch of sous bois contrasting with the high-toned aromatics. Around its peak, with the risk of oxidation taking over with further aging.

Grand Pontet (1995): Faintly minty, faintly herbal impressions to nose, following to lovely palate on edge of showing mature development. Quite dry on the finish but good flavor variety. Some people might find this a little dry.

Grand Corbin-Despagne (1989): Surprisingly youthful with no signs of tertiary development. Nose is a little dumb but palate is à point. Smooth palate with tannins almost resolved, moving a little towards minty herbal impressions. May be on verge of fruits beginning to dry out.

 

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Encounters of the Strange Kind with Sommeliers in France

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I admit that sometimes I have issues with sommeliers. I respect sommeliers who try to help diners to match a wine they will enjoy (at a price they are prepared to pay) with a meal, I respect sommeliers who try to find unusual wines or unexpected matches with food, I respect sommeliers who are highly opinionated even if their opinions clash with my own views. But I do have a quarrel with sommeliers who decide I should not be allowed to drink a particular wine with my meal.

Some years ago I went to dinner in a famous restaurant in Strasbourg with a group of scientists from a conference I was attending. We ended up ordering a mixture of fish and poultry, so I looked for a white wine and settled on a Domaine Leflaive premier cru from Puligny Montrachet that was at a price point I thought the group would be comfortable with. “Oh no, you don’t want to have that,” the sommelier said. “It is not ready yet. You want the Puligny village wine (from the same vintage).” This wasn’t completely unreasonable as a view, but I felt that the premier cru would have more interest and would on balance go better with the variety of dishes we had ordered, so I said we would stick to it. The sommelier went off grumbling. He returned in due course with a bottle of Leflaive from the right vintage—but it was the Puligny Montrachet village wine. “This isn’t what we ordered,” I said. “Oh no, you don’t want the premier cru,” he said, and went through the whole litany all over again. At that point I gave up and we had the Puligny. Very nice it was too—but the premier cru would have been better!

Last week in Haut Savoie, a sommelier once again told me I had got it all wrong. I was eating with my wife at a restaurant where the only choice is how many courses to have on a tasting menu. The dishes are exclusively fish or vegetables, and the style is very modern (no cream sauces). It’s always a bit tricky to choose a wine when you haven’t been able to choose the specific dishes, but I thought the Clos Rougeard Brézé 2009 from Saumur would be very suitable. “Oh no,” said the sommelier, “you don’t want to order that. It is much too powerful to go with the food.” I demurred politely by saying I thought it should be more or less ready now (I had the 2011 a few months ago and it wasn’t quite ready). The sommelier then looked for other arguments. “Anyway, it is much too oaky now, it will clash with the food.” This seemed a surprising, not to say deceptive, argument, as the Foucault brothers never used much new oak on Brézé, and I imagine they would instantly have taken away his allocation if they had heard this. And why was it on the list anyway, if it’s unsuitable for the cuisine? With an increasing air of desperation, the sommelier proposed various alternatives in the form of a series of white Burgundy premier crus from 2015 or 2016. Talk about new oak! I stuck to my guns, and there was something of a delay before the wine was disgorged, but it arrived in time for the meal. With which it was absolutely brilliant!

What’s the common pattern here? I am very much afraid it is that in these (and other similar cases) the restaurant has been able to obtain a scarce wine at a reasonable price and has not taken advantage by marking it up, but the sommelier cannot bear to share it. It’s greatly to the credit of the restaurants that they don’t go in for price-gouging, but it’s somewhat presumptuous to assume that they can tell who deserves to enjoy the wine. I feel a bit suspicious about this, and am inclined to wonder if the same attitude is shown to all diners.

Sometimes you do wonder how a wine comes to be on the list. At a restaurant in Beaune, I ordered a Pommard premier cru from a good vintage from a producer I did not know, because the price was fair and I assumed that in Beaune they would certainly know their producers. My tasting note starts “This gives a whole new meaning to rusticity in Pommard.” The wine was truly terrible, over-ripe and raisiny, fruits steadily deteriorating in the glass, and a heaviness suggesting over-chaptalization. I hesitated as to what to do, as my impression was that this was the style, and unexpected though that might be, I wasn’t sure there was a single flaw that would be a reason for sending it back. So I said to the sommelier, “Would you taste this wine and tell me what you think.” He grimaced, and said, “We did wonder why you ordered it. Would you like to choose something else?” I asked why it was on the list. “The proprietor comes here often for dinner and likes to see her wine on the list.”

Most sommeliers are pretty quick to whisk a flawed wine away, or to replace a bottle if a diner points out a defect, but the bane of my life is the sommelier who won’t admit to a fault. This happens to me more often in France than anywhere else, and once again I am left with the sneaking question as to whether the sommeliers are equally patronizing to all their customers. In the mid nineties, at a restaurant in Provence, I ordered a 1989 white Burgundy. When offered for tasting, it was slightly oxidized, enough that you couldn’t really see typicité. (This might be a common enough event today, but this was years before the premox problem first appeared.) When I said that I thought the wine was not in top condition, the sommelier drew himself up to his full height and intoned, “Ce sont des arômes de quatre-vingt neuf.” (That’s the bouquet of 1989.) I said as politely as I could that I did not agree, because I was currently drinking 1989s from my cellar and none of them had any oxidized aromas. Grudgingly he brought back the wine list, but advised me not to choose another 1989 because all his wines of that vintage had this aroma. A whole cellar of oxidized wines at a Michelin-starred restaurant!

Sometimes the restaurant redeems itself. Dining at a small restaurant near Nice, we ordered a Chablis that turned out to be corked. The waiter seemed a bit dubious (the restaurant did not run to a sommelier). At the next table was a gentleman dining alone of whom the staff were all making a great fuss. The waiter took our bottle off to him to taste a sample. “Nothing wrong with it that I can see, most enjoyable,” I heard him say. The waiter returned to say that they didn’t think there was anything wrong with the bottle, but of course I could choose something else. (It turned out the gentleman at the next table was a well known local food and wine critic; I hope his taste for food is better than his taste for wine.) Ten minutes later the chef came out from the kitchen. “I am so embarrassed,” he said, “that bottle is so corked I can’t even cook with it!”

Assemblage in a Beaker: Clos des Epeneaux 2018 Leads to Some Heretical Thoughts

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A visit to Comte Armand is always an education in the intricacies of classifying terroir in Burgundy. The domain’s famous holding is the 5 ha monopole of the Clos des Epeneaux (which makes up about half of the estate altogether). Located at the junction of Grands and Petits Epenots, the clos is surrounded by a wall that was built at a time when both Epenots had only a single owner, so defining it as a single Cru. But in fact the wine is a blend.

“The magic of the clos is that you can do an assemblage from four different areas,” says cellarmaster Paul Zinetti.   There is significant variation in the soil even within its walls. Topsoil is deeper right at the top of the Clos and at the bottom, with 60-80 cms resting on fragmented rocks. Other parts are shallower with only 20 cms of depth, sitting on a horizontal stones and a compact bedrock. There is quite a lot of iron in the soil. It’s more calcareous at the top.

In effect the  clos is divided into sectors by location (upper versus lower) and age of vines (35- to 90-years). Each part is vinified separately, and assemblage occurs at the end of élevage. Usually all the lots go into the final blend, but sometimes some are declassified (to Pommard Premier cru without a name). Tasting barrel samples shows how each part brings its own character.

The youngest vines near the top give a wine that is tight and fresh. A plot of older (55-year) vines with similar geology but lower down gives more aromatics, turning from red to black fruits. 65-70-year old vines on the calcareous terroir at the top give wine with more aromatic lift and an impression of elegance as well as power. This sample is perhaps the most complete in itself. The oldest vines, from the lowest part, give flatter aromatics but greater structure.

Concentrating on the proportions, but warning that the blend was only approximate as the wine is only part way through élevage, Paul did an assemblage in a beaker, swirled it around, and then presented the sample for tasting. Immediately you could see the increase in complexity, with hallmark black fruit aromatics balancing chocolaty tannins.

This creates somewhat mixed feelings about terroir. If it wasn’t for the accident that the clos was enclosed by a single wall, very likely it would have been classified into more than one part, and tastings would focus on the changes brought by the terroir of each climat. (Of course, the comparison here isn’t simply on the basis of terroir, as each part of the clos was planted at a different time.)

If these were separate cuvées, once again one would be marveling at the infinite variety of Burgundy. But the blend was vastly more complex than any of the individual samples. The relative merits of blends versus single-vineyards are in contention elsewhere, of course, and in regions such as Barolo the argument has swung one way or the other according to fashion.

The difference in Burgundy is that the detailed classification of so many premier crus (extended by the division of communal appellations into lieu-dits) has pre-empted discussion. Has it ossified the situation? You have to wonder whether Clos des Epeneaux is representative of a more general situation, whether it might be a mistake to classify  some of the smaller premier crus  separately, and whether blends of adjacent premier crus might be more complex? When is the whole greater than the sum of the parts, and when are the separate parts more interesting?

Tasting Notes (ordered by age of vines in each sector)

35-year-old vines: Light red fruit impressions with fresh acidity, fine texture on palate, tannins a little tight but elegant, aromatics a bit flat but just a touch of chocolate at the end.

55-year-old vines: More aromatic impressions, more towards black fruits, finer texture, greater aromatic lift with some hints of blackcurrants. Elegant style feels more like Volnay than Pommard.

65-year-old vines: A more complete impression, with elegance as well as power, and yet more aromatic lift, in fact quite aromatic, with lovely balance. Partly reflects fact that combination of vine age and position at top of clos gives smaller berries.

90-year-old vines: More structured and less aromatic, more sense of black fruits, firmer tannic structure evident.

THE BEAKER: Immediate sense of greater complexity on nose. Palate is quite firm with subtle hints of chocolaty aromatics, but in balance with structure (not as light as first sample, not as dense as last sample). Fine granular texture, chocolaty tannins show on long finish. Promises an elegant future.

Marching to the Beat of a Different Drum: A Visit to Domaine Robert Ampeau

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The concept of the current release has virtually no meaning at Robert Ampeau. All week I’ve been tasting current releases in Burgundy, varying from 2017 to 2018 depending on whether producers want to show bottled wines or barrel samples. But tastings at Robert Ampeau start way beyond where others leave off. A tasting in the cellars yesterday included only one wine from the present century, a 2002 Meursault Charmes, while all the others, red or white, were between 1999 and 1976.

Wines are released when they are ready, or perhaps more to the point when the domain feels like selling them. I asked Michel Ampeau, who has been making the wines since Robert died in 2004, what vintages were on sale now. I thought I must have mistranslated the years from French when he said 1993-1996, and wondered whether perhaps he had really said 2013-2016, but no mistake: both reds and whites from the mid 1990s are on sale now, giving an almost unique opportunity to start with mature wines.

Production is 60% red and 40% white. There are holdings in ten premier crus, including four in Meursault. The wines are meant to age, or perhaps more to the point, have reached an interesting stage of maturity when released. Since current releases haven’t really reached the era of premox, it’s impossible to say if that will be a problem for the whites, but typically they peak around fifteen years of age and hold until twenty. I suspect that the traditional style of winemaking in an oxidative manner will avert any problem.

The style of the whites is rich and full, so I wondered about late harvest, but Michel says he is an early picker. This may explain why they maintain their freshness for decades. Meursault Sous Le Pièce shows a classically nutty flavor spectrum, Meursault Sous Le Pièce adds hints of honey and spices, and the Charmes premier cru adds a subtle hint of minerality. The complexity of Meursault Perrières shows at one why it is considered a candidate for promotion to grand cru, with complex layers of flavor on a seamless palate. This is the epitome of the classic style of Meursault. Puligny Combettes is a textbook example of the purity and precision of the appellation.

The reds show a great combination of a sheen to the palate masking great fruit density with a structure of supple tannins faintly evident in the background. Although they show development (the youngest we tasted was 1999), all have a sense of liveliness that gives an impression of being a decade younger than the real age. Savigny-lès-Beaune and La Pièce Sous le Bois from Blagny age much longer than you might expect for those appellation, in the generally soft, earthy style of the house, and Auxey-les-Duresses Les Ecussaux adds faintly herbal notes. Beaune Clos du Roi shows a smooth opulence, Pommard is broader but still sophisticated, while the Volnay Les Santenots premier cru tends to earthiness. Reds age easily for 30 years.

Wines from the great appellations show great typicity and ageability, but the surprise and the bargain are the wines from lesser appellations: and the domain is also remarkable for its ability to produce high quality in lesser years, vintages such as 1994 or 1997 showing well today.

Domaine Leflaive and the 2017 Vintage

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The atmosphere has certainly changed since I first visited Domaine Leflaive. Twenty-five years ago, I called one morning for an appointment. Anne-Claude answered the phone herself and said, come along this afternoon for a tasting. Today, emails to the domaine get an automated response saying that visits can be arranged only through your local distributor. Yesterday I turned up for an appointment at the domaine in Place des Marronniers in Puligny Montrachet where I have always gone in the past, wandered around until I found somebody, and was then told by a rather brusque, not to say definitely put-out, gentleman, “You are in the wrong place.” “This is Domaine Leflaive?” I asked with some puzzlement. “Yes, but it is the wrong place.” Eventually he said, “you have to go to Rue l’Église.” No further instructions emerged until finally I was able to extract a street number.

7 Rue l’Église is the original cellar of Domaine Leflaive, before they moved into Place des Marronniers. There I found Brice de la Morandière, Anne-Claude’s nephew, who returned from a career running international companies to take over after her death in 2015. He has expanded the old cellars, which are now used for fermentation and first year aging of the local wines. Place des Marronniers is used for second year aging, and there is another facility nearby for producing the wines from Mâcon.

“At Domaine Leflaive, there is only one method,” he says. “We haven’t changed anything. “One year in barriques is followed by one year in steel. First the wine likes to have the oxygen from the barriques, then it likes to have the mass from the stainless steel.” The only difference is the proportion of new oak, rising from 10% for Bourgogne to 15% for village wines, 20% for premier crus, and 25% for grand crus. The intention is that oak should be integrating when the wine is released. “With grand crus you see the oak integrating over the two years it spends with us, with Bourgogne Blanc, if it shows it’s hard to get rid of it. We would be upset if you could taste the oak.” There is battonage during aging. “I read all those articles about battonage being bad—totally unscientific and wrong. If you don’t do battonage, the wine oxidizes slowly but surely.” (Élevage is a little different for Mâcon, which ages in a mixture of concrete and steel, single-vineyard wines from Mâcon get about 10% in old barriques, and the transition to the ‘Leflaive Method’ comes with Pouilly-Fuissé.)

It was worth persevering to get to Rue l’Église because the tasting illustrated the style of Leflaive from Mâcon to grand cru. Production in Mâcon has been expanding and is now up to 24 ha. “In 2017 we decided to start some single-vineyard wines as we could see there were interesting differences,” Brice explains. There was some unconventional thinking here. “One is west-facing, the other is north-facing.” Comparing the west-facing cuvée, Les Chênes, with the Mâcon-Verzé, the single vineyard is deeper and more textured on the palate. A single-vineyard wine from Pouilly-Fuissé, En Vigneraie, comes closer in style to the wines of Puligny, with stone and citrus fruits texturing the palate, but without the characteristic minerality of Puligny.

We tasted a range of premier and grand crus from 2017. “This was the fourth-earliest ever at Leflaive, starting on August 29,” Brice says. “This is really early in our world. The first August harvest was 2003. I came back here in 2015 and three of my vintages have been August years. Although 2017 was an early vintage, the wines don’t turn out over-ripe or too alcoholic.” They are 13.5% alcohol, but taste like less. The character is very linear for an early vintage, presently showing as a somewhat understated style. “2017 is a fantastic vintage, amazingly subtle and elegant,” Brice comments.

Clavoillon shows the smoke and gunflint that is classic for Leflaive’s Pulignys. Sous le Dos d’Âne from Meursault is sweeter and broader, less austere, with less obvious minerality. Pucelles, as so often, moves towards the smoothness and roundness of the grand crus: somewhat shy and reserved right now, its minerality is in the background. Bâtard Montrachet moves to a sense of power, more obvious oak mingling with the stone and citrus fruits: a sense of holding back makes it obvious the wine is too young now. Chevalier Montrachet shows that unique property of the grand crus: it is simultaneously more powerful and has greater sense of tension. Going up the hierarchy, there is greater refinement rather than greater power. Il vaut de detour.

The Whirlwind at Domaine Stephane Ogier: Tasting Cote Rotie lieu-dits

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Stéphane Ogier is something of a whirlwind. He greeted us when we arrived at the winery, while simultaneously sending out a delivery of a few cases, and saying goodbye to a large group who had just had lunch and a tasting. Originally his parents had a winery in the village, but Stéphane built a striking winery in contemporary style on the main road between Ampuis and Condrieu 2013. The ground floor includes a spacious tasting room, and there’s a vast winery underneath.

The new winery has a striking design.

Stéphane spent five years studying viticulture and oenology in Burgundy, and then returned home to join the domain in 1997. “That is why great Burgundy, along with Rhônes, are my preferred red wines,” he says. Michel Ogier had sold his grapes to Chapoutier and Guigal until 1983, when he started to bottle his own wine from his tiny 3 ha vineyard in Côte Rôtie. One of Stéphane’s main objectives was to increase the estate to a more economic size, and he added vineyards in several lieu-dits in Côte Rôtie, now totaling 11 ha, and at La Rosine just above Côte Rôtie, as well as planting Syrah farther up the river at Seyssuel, and acquiring a hectare in Condrieu.

Tasting here is an extended process, as the focus is on barrel samples from Stéphane’s many different lieu-dits in Côte Rôtie, all of which are vinified and aged separately. It’s the way par excellence to understand the different terroirs and the basis for making individual wines versus blends. You really get a sense of the variety within Côte Rôtie. At the end, you feel you are almost ready to start blending…

IGP La Rosine comes from the plateau above Côte Rôtie; rich and plush, it offers a foretaste of the Côte Rôtie. IGP L’Âme de Soeur comes from Seyssuel and is more mineral. The Côte Rôtie Reserve is a blend from 10 lieu-dits. There are four single-vineyard wines. “There are no Grand Crus in Côte Rôtie, but I have mine—they are the cuvées of Belle Hélène, Lancement, and Côte Blonde,” Stéphane says. Viallière has also been a single-vineyard release since 2015. Other lieu-dits may be bottled separately depending on the year.

Lots are variously destemmed or fermented as whole bunches. Viallière is elegant, Côte Blonde is rounder with slightly lifted aromatics (it includes 5% Viognier), Lancement is broader and may age longer, and Belle Hélène, from 80-year old vines, is the most complete and subtle. All wines age in barriques, with 1-year to 6-year old barriques for the Côte Rôties, but the only cuvée showing obvious oak is Belle Hélène. The approach is modern, showcasing elegance and purity of black fruits. “Elegant” appears often in my tasting notes.

The wines mature slowly. When you taste the 2010 and can still see the tannins, you think the current vintages must be brutal, but not atall. Tannins seem, for example, to be quite similar in their impression on the finish in 2015 and 2010. Stéphane says it is best to wait 10 years to start, and 15 years for a great vintage.

2018 barrel samples from Côte Rôtie lieu-dits

Besset: nice aromatic lift with chocolaty impressions on nose. Very fine on palate, quite precise, greater precision and breed than La Rosine. Very fine, silky tannins, very elegant, sense of purity to the black fruits enhancing the sense of precision. All destemmed.

Mont Lys: very fine, precise, linear, not quite the breed of Besset, relatively lighter, more sense of linearity, not so profound. This is a wine to blend.

Montmain: chocolaty impression to nose, fine but rounder than Besset or Mont Lys, chocolaty at first, but then a sense of minerality grips the palate. Whole bunch.

Côte Boudin: comes from the lower slopes, all destemmed. More coffee than chocolate on nose, soft impression on palate, furry tannins, showing a touch of bitterness at end. Moving towards floral impressions although whole bunch.

Fonjeant: chocolaty nose moves to become slightly tart and then palate shows faintly acid edge. Partially destemmed, this will bring freshness to the blend.

Champon: always the last parcel to harvest. Very fine impression here points to potential delicacy. Quite tight, tannins fine but a little bitter, Very good acidity. This will really bring freshness.

Lancement: one parcel here goes to the separate cuvée, the others go into the general Côte Rôtie. All destemmed. Tight impression to nose, follows to palate, delicate impression, but less floral than Boudin. Precise impression, the most Burgundian, the most lingering finish, moving in a savory direction.

Côte Blonde: faintly chocolaty, faintly acidic, very fine, a chocolate edge, sense of coffee at the end, more evident aromatic lift. This will be fragrant as it ages. This has 5% Viognier, which explains the aromatic lift.

Belle Hélène: gives the most complete impression on the nose, with some delicate aromas of vanillin, hints of coffee and spice, very fine granular texture. This will be very elegant. Solely Syrah but 80 years old, planted by Stéphane’s grandfather.

 

 

 

 

Playing Russian Roulette with the First Growths

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At a wine dinner with Bordeaux first growths from 1985 to 1996, the big surprise was not the quality of the wines, but the huge variation between different bottles of the same wine. Although in each case the wines had been acquired from the same source and stored together, there was not a single instance in which two bottles of the same wine tasted the same.

The 1985 Haut Brion was the greatest puzzle. The first bottle showed a funky, quasi-medicinal nose, which seemed to suggest the possibility of Brett (unlikely though that might seem for this château), although the palate cleared a bit in the glass. It was actually subtle enough that I quite liked it. The second bottle went completely in the opposite direction, showing elegant fruits, but a squeaky-clean character with  that came close to eviscerating the character of Haut Brion.

Next came Angelus 2003. (Yes, I know this was not a first growth at the time, but the organizers evidently took a broad view of the term. Anyway, you wouldn’t balk at including Mouton Rothschild pre-1973 in a first growth tasting.) First bottle was fairly restrained, with rather flat aromatics, and the character of Cabernet Franc pushed a bit into the background. It never came to life. A second bottle showed more aromatic lift with a greater sense of structure at the end. A third bottle showed a more exotic impression, more sense of the precision of Cabernet Franc, with heightened sense of elegance; the very antithesis of any thought that the heat of 2003 might have given a jammy wine, it was one of the more elegant wines of the evening, while the first bottle was one of the most disappointing.On to Mission Haut Brion 1990, where the first bottle was absolutely true to the typicity of the chateau and appellation, with elegant fruits and faint sense of cigar box in the background. The next bottle showed flattened aromatics to the point at which all the life seemed to go out of the wine. While the first bottle was fabulous, the second was merely ordinary.

We went into high gear with Ausone 1996, where the aromatics of the first bottle seemed to point more to the elegance of the left bank than the richness of the right bank. Beautifully integrated, with a sense of seamless layers of flavor, the wine showed something of the ethereal quality of a great vintage of Lafite. A second bottle had a slightly sweaty nose, a faint sense of gunflint, and gave an overall impression of reduction. A third bottle was between the first two, with a flattened profile but not obviously reduced, and a fourth was almost as good as the first.

The first bottle of Lafite 1986 was a bit flat aromatically; although showing the precision and elegance of Lafite, a sense of austerity on the finish made it seem almost stern. I took the sense of a somewhat hard edge to the wine to be the character of the vintage and was uncertain whether it would dissipate with further aging. But a second example showed that this was the character of the bottle rather than the vintage: it really sung, with that ethereal quality of Lafite showing as a seamless impression of precise, elegant fruits, all lightness of being.

With Mouton Rothschild 1989 there was another sort of surprise. The first pour (from a decanter) showed the plush power of Pauillac, very much Cabernet-driven, with black, plumy fruits. A second pour (from another decanter) showed just a little more aromatic lift. The difference between these two was much slighter than between any of the preceding pairs. Here’s the rub: the Mouton came from a single Imperial. The fact that there was any difference at all is surprising, although I have had this experience before, when some pours from an Imperial seemed to be corked while others were pure (I Want My Glass From the Bottom of the Imperial). Interestingly this was also from a Mouton 1989.

The notion there can be differences within a single (large) bottle is disturbing. I think this warrants a proper investigation. I will undertake a thorough experiment if given a supply of Imperials of first growth claret (Mouton from 1989 would be preferred). We will extract the cork and take samples from the top and bottom using a very long pipette, without stirring up the wine at all. Then we will know if proximity to the cork and oxygen on the one hand, or to the sediment on the other, makes any difference within the bottle.

It is not so surprising there should be differences between bottles. After all, if you buy a case of wine and store it for ten or twenty years, you can see at a glance that every bottle has a different level. Differences in ullage imply differences in exposure to oxygen that might well affect the flavor spectrum. But the comparisons in this tasting went well beyond minor differences, to the point at which in each flight there was one bottle that was unquestionably first growth, and one bottle that was disappointing enough to cast doubt on that status.

One moral is that if you are at a tasting where there are second pours from a different bottle, always get a fresh glass for the second pour. Another is to ask whether there is really any point at all in tasting notes, projections of aging, or recommendations, if every single bottle is going to be different. Certainly this is not what the punter expects when he buys a bottle. The culprit must be the cork (inter alia, the sommelier reported that he had never rejected so many corked bottles in preparing for a tasting, so the worst cases had already been removed).

Is there any alternative? Experience with New World wines suggests that using screwcaps might cause the wines to age more slowly and a little differently, but with greater consistency. I’m sure the argument in Bordeaux would be that it’s a bad idea to risk damaging the product of one of the most successful wine regions in the world, but is it so successful if there is no predictability after twenty years?

Why Technology Is Not the Main Issue in GMO for Grapevines

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I have despaired for years of seeing a reasoned discussion of the implications of genetic engineering for grapevines or other plants. Politicization has created an atmosphere in which it becomes impossible to discuss on a rational basis the advantages and disadvantages of the technique. Of course there are dangers, but they have to be weighed against potential gains.

This was brought back to mind by an essay by Hrisha Poola, the winner of the wine writing competition on jancisrobinson.com. In his essay (available at https://www.jancisrobinson.com/articles/wine-gets-crispr) he focuses on the potential use of the new CRISPR technique for GMO of plants and in particular grapevines. This is a valuable exercise, but I can’t help feeling that in focusing so closely on CRISPR, this somewhat muddles the wood and the trees.

Genetic engineering of the grapevine has been possible for a couple of decades, as indeed it has for other crops. In fact, the grapevine is an outlier in the lack of GMO. CRISPR is a technical development, an important one, that makes it much easier to do genetic engineering, and which offers much greater precision than before. It’s significant enough that the authors are candidates for a Nobel prize, but it does not represent the same paradigm shift as the introduction of gene editing itself.

Concentrating on the technique, and giving the impression that it is CRISPR that has actually created the possibility for genetic engineering, distracts us from the main issues. We should be discussing the implications of loss of diversity by exacerbating the trend to use clones, that is, to risk allowing a few genetically engineered clones to replace existing genetic variation. In that context, the interesting question about CRISPR is whether, by making the process easier, CRISPR might make it possible to introduce the same change into a variety of base material and thus reduce the effect of loss of diversity.

We should be discussing how to weigh up the pros and cons of the use of sulfur and copper, necessary for organic viticulture, against the possibility of eliminating them by genetic engineering of the plant. We should be discussing whether it’s better to use steroid sprays to control fungal diseases as opposed to changing the genetic constitution of the plant. And, of course, all this should be within the context of explaining how using genetic engineering relates to conventional plant breeding, and what are its advantages and disadvantages relative to cross-breeding.

It is perhaps significant that Hrisha’s essay opens with a quotation from Mukherjee, who has had a great success with his book (The Gene: An Intimate History), but which is skeptically regarded in the scientific community for its over simplification of epigenetics. It is a sad truth that those who have the public ear tend to trivialize or politicize the issues. I don’t want to cavil, I would love to see an informed debate on the topic, but discussions need to be based not on technique and technology, but on the principles of what is involved.

Unfortunately we live in a culture where the media do not take science seriously, or perhaps to be more accurate, where they do not regard it as a topic that should be treated seriously. I remember years ago when we published a significant paper on the common cold virus in Cell, it made the concluding item on the evening news in the form of a report showing clips from Charlie Chaplin movies where the actor was ridden with cold. Very funny, but not going to help public understanding of science. Sadly, nothing has changed in thirty years. Only last week, a report that alcohol might cause cancer by leading to the production of acetaldehyde was trivialized on Reuters by video clips of drunken revelry. It’s never going to be possible to have serious debate against that background, so kudos to Jancis for publishing a serious essay: but let’s move on from the technology to the philosophy. Now that would be something!

I Want My Glass From the Bottom of the Imperial

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I was at a wine dinner last night which served three first growths from 1989 all from Imperial. The Margaux was surprisingly earthy, the Latour was the standout–it may become ethereal if we live long enough to see it–but the Mouton was variable. I tried three glasses: the first was definitely corked, the second was on the edge, and the third seemed fine at first, but showed signs of cork taint an hour later. A normal enough experience, you might say, especially since 1989 was a period when cork taint was perhaps at its peak–but I believe all three glasses came from the same Imperial (equivalent to 8 bottles). Bottle variation is common enough, but how can there be variation within a bottle?

This set me wondering about the diffusion of TCA from the cork into the wine. I’ve never regarded a corked bottle as being anything other than simply corked, by which I mean that the wine is spoiled, and that’s the end of it. But if the bottle is large enough, is it possible that the top has a greater concentration of TCA, and that the contaminant might not have diffused to the bottom? The idea is rather at odds with the usual analogy used to explain the power of cork taint: a couple of teaspoonfuls is enough to contaminate a swimming pool. It’s never been suggested that the deep end would be less affected than the shallow end.

Certainly I’ve never been able to detect cork taint by sniffing the cork, which I assume is the purpose of the exercise when it’s presented to you at a restaurant, even when it’s obvious in the wine: I suppose it needs to be dissolved in the liquid to be effective. But suppose a bottle has been lying down ever since release, with some TCA in the cork. It’s going to diffuse into the wine, and the nature of diffusion is that its concentration will be greatest nearest the source, that is, the cork. If the bottle is very large, perhaps the difference might be great enough to detect in the glass. (How much time is needed for diffusion: would such an effect be more marked when the wine is young?) On the other hand, the moment the wine is poured, the liquid will be stirred up, and the TCA should become generally distributed. (And moving the bottle around would certainly have a homogenizing effect.)

So I’m mystified. It’s difficult to see how there could be significant variation in cork taint between one end of the bottle and the other, but the fact is that three glasses were all different. Logic or no logic, as a precaution I think in future I will try to have my pours from the bottom of the Imperial rather than the top.

Bibi Graetz: Wine in the Hills of Fiesole

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Bibi Graetz has a penchant for making wine in unusual places—high up in the hills of Fiesole, overlooking Florence, and on Giglio, a steep and rocky island off the coast of Maremma. Well outside the famous areas, the winery in Fiesole is there because “I was born here. My grandfather bought the house and land, did some farming and made some wine that was sold in bulk. My father planted a 2 ha vineyard here in the 1960s, after talking to the local farmers.” Bibi started making wine in 2000, but “when I started it was not a business, it was all very casual. I remember people coming to the house to buy wine in demi-johns. I threw myself into winemaking and since then it has been my life.”

The medieval castle of Vinciaglata is at a high point overlooking the vineyards. Now empty, it would make a splendid winery.

Bibi sources grapes from vineyards all over the area. Besides the small plot in Fiesole, which has expanded to 4.5 ha and is just across the road from the winery, there are vineyards all over the Chianti area, “like a stripe running through the whole area of Chianti,” Bibi says.

Right from the beginning there have been two wines, Testamatta and Colore, both labeled as super-Tuscans. The approach is the antithesis of the increasing worldwide focus on single vineyards; both wines are blends from multiple sources. “I was in love with old vineyards, so it didn’t make any sense to buy land and plant—I planted my first vineyard only in 2012—so I looked for old vineyards. I still don’t own vineyards, but I have long term contracts; we manage the vineyards but don’t own land. So it doesn’t make sense for us to make a single vineyard wine. Our idea is more like a super-Tuscan than a Burgundy concept.”

We tasted barrel samples of the individual vineyards from 2016. “We are going to taste the vineyards from north to south,” Bibi said. As he described the sources, it became clear that Bibi is in love not only with old vineyards, but also with vineyards at high altitudes. All except one of the vineyards are above 300m. You might say his wines are all high altitude wines. And not only was there a wide spectrum from the different vineyards, from the cool climate impressions of a plot at high elevation above Greve in Chianti, to the more powerfully structured expression of a south-facing vineyard south of Siena, but there was a remarkable difference between barrels of different ages, even though there is no new oak in Testamatta. In the early years, the wines went into 100% new oak, under the advice of an oenologist, but this changed after 2005. “I don’t work with an oenologist any more because I like to do my thing. I worked with an oenologist at first, but they didn’t like my experiments.” Today Bibi’s view is that, “for Testamatta it is important not to use new oak, we wouldn’t have the fruit coming forward. The uniqueness of Testamatta is that we don’t impose a style, you don’t have the oak, you just have the impression of the grapes coming out.” Indeed there is wide vintage variation: 2016 will be a powerful vintage, but 2015 is infinitely elegant.

The family house and small winery buildings are grouped around a courtyatrd, right on the road through Vincigliata.

Testamatta comes from seven plots and is 100% Sangiovese. Colore is a selection of the best lots, from the oldest vineyards, and is about a third each of Canaiolo, Colorino, and Sangiovese. The vineyard plots used for Testamatta are more or less the same each year; there is a little variation in the Sangiovese used for Colore as it always has the best barrels. “Colore has a little new oak, we look for the lots with more structure, so it has a bit more volume.”

Bibi also makes the white wines on the island of Giglio, just off the coast of Maremma. “It’s basically a rock in the middle of the sea, it’s a pretty arid climate—it never rains!” Bibi says, with perhaps a slight exaggeration. “Vineyards go from sea level to 300m. We are planting one at 550m. You can do a big white wine in Giglio, it’s not so easy to find a big white from Tuscany.”

White wine has always been a bit of a problem in Italy, in my view. The paucity of interesting white wines has led me to start meals in Italy by choosing a red wine, irrespective of what food we might choose. There’s a handful of exceptions, starting Valentini’s Trebbiano d’Abruzzi, which I love for its savory character, and there are some Chardonnay’s from the north following a more Burgundian model, but it’s hard to argue with the view that white wine is much more difficult than red.

Bibi’s whites have their own character. There is a strong emphasis on Ansonica. Scopeto (named for an area of Giglio) is the entry level, and is a blend of Vermentino and Ansonica. It has 20% fermented with skins for one week “in the old way” and has a slight impression of an orange wine. The other whites are all 100%. Ansonica. Chiozzolo really is an orange wine, fermented on skins for 7 days and aged in new barrels that come from Burgundy. Bugia is more conventional, aged 90% in stainless steel and 10% in wood. Last year Bibi produced a white Testamatta for the first time, just 700 bottles. “For Testamatta I took the best parcels, there’s no skin contact but it’s fermented and aged in 100% new oak. Here I think you go towards a big white wine.” The common feature, whether it comes from the grapes or from skin contact or oak maturation, is a sense of extract and texture to the palate, almost a sense of austerity to restrain the fruits. Powerful would be a misleading description, but these are definitely wines with a strong personality. In the white Testamatta 2016, the oak is already beautifully integrated and is (as it should be) a subtle presence in the background. I suspect it will prove to be just as successful as its famous red brother.

Making wines in three places,Bibi is a busy fellow. White wines are made on Giglio, Testamatta and Colore at the small winery in Fiesole, and the entry level wines, which are part of a negociant activity, under the Casamatta name, are made in rented space at a larger winery. “Our winery is not big enough to do entry level wine,” Bibi explains. It has been difficult to visit or purchase wine at the winery, because it’s basically a small group of buildings extending from the family house. But this may change as Bibi is thinking about moving into larger space, which would relieve the cramped conditions at the winery, and allow there to be a tasting room. Spending a morning with Bibi, I got the impression that it’s not just wine that ferments here: there is a constant ferment of ideas. In the air at the moment are the possibilities of introducing a single vineyard wine or a second wine to Testamatta. This must surely be one of the liveliest wineries in Tuscany.