The Answer to Terroir Does Not Lie on the Skin

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The most common descriptor associated with terroir is “undefinable”—it’s attributed to a mix of influences including soil, exposure, and climate that create distinctive character in the wine coming from different vineyard sites. At its simplest extreme, it is scarcely rocket science to accept that grapes (or for that matter any other crop) will be quite different if grown in a sunny, well drained spot at the top of a hill from those grown in a shady, waterlogged spot at the bottom of the same hill. That reductio ad absurdum disguises the fact that there can be vineyard sites which to all appearances are identical in all the parameters you might think distinguish them, but which nonetheless consistently produce different wines. No one to date has been able to explain this mystery in any rational way.

A large part of the mystique of wine would disappear if we could explain terroir on a scientific basis, but there is actually little threat from the latest attempt, a report in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences from a group at the University of California, Davis headed by Dr. David Mills. The basic finding is that microorganisms on the skins of the grapes are different in various vineyards in California. These observations were made possible by the ability of rapid DNA sequencing to identify large numbers of microorganisms without the need actually to culture them.

So vineyards in different places have different sets of bacteria and fungi, very likely related to both region and climate. Wind, temperature, and humidity were identified as pertinent factors. This is scarcely a major surprise. But that’s a far cry from supporting the conclusion that “these differences may help explain regional patterns in wine chemicosensory properties,” which is quasi-scientific speak for arguing they might be involved in terroir.

For these microorganisms to be involved in determining wine character, they would most likely need to play some role during fermentation (their mass could scarcely be sufficient to provide any significant level of flavor components in themselves). Well, here is a problem. A significant proportion of the microorganisms that were detected are so-called spoilage organisms, which if allowed to act on the grapes in fact spoil the wine. Precautions are taken to prevent this (most typically the addition of sulfur to block bacterial or fungal action before fermentation).

In fact, wine producers divide into two groups on the issue of the role of yeasts in fermentation. Probably most producers in California are in the group who kill off all the indigenous yeasts before fermentation; cultured yeasts are then added. This provides control of the process and prevents spoilage organisms from acting, making it quite unlikely that any yeasts or bacteria on grape skins are involved in determining wine character.

Some producers allow fermentation to be catalyzed by indigenous yeasts. But here is an interesting point. In spite of a longstanding general belief that this is part of the properties of the vineyard (which makes the present article appear somewhat less than novel), it appears that the yeasts that actually catalyze fermentation are different every year. Eminent oenologist Ribereau-Gayon said, “In a given vineyard, spontaneous fermentation is not systematically carried out by the same strains each year; strain specificity does not exist and therefore does not participate in vineyard characteristics.” So it is hard for this to explain terroir. Curiously, the present paper finds that there is greater vintage variation between small vineyards than between wider areas (but this is based on a comparison of only two years). To make a case that microorganisms are involved in terroir, wouldn’t you need to show that there is some consistency in them over substantial periods of time?

The microorganisms also differ from regards to grape variety, again not a surprise, as grapes with thin skins (more easily damaged) are likely to attract different microorganisms from tougher grapes with thicker skins. This goes back to the point that many of the microorganisms are in the spoilage class, and the last thing you want is for them to affect wine character.

My bet would be that if microorganisms are involved in terroir, it would be more likely to be those in the soil that act on the roots of the grapevines, and which might therefore indirectly affect the properties of berries as they develop. Maybe the answer lies in the soil.

Reference: http://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1317377110

Cru Bourgeois: a Work in Progress

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A tasting of Cru Bourgeois from the 2010 vintage showed some remarkable similarities and remarkable differences with a tasting earlier this month of Grand Cru Classés from St. Emilion.

Both groups come from classification systems whose attempts to modernize foundered in legal challenges, and the classification had to be withdrawn, before compromises were found to restore a system. The final systems are almost at opposite poles. In St. Emilion, reclassification every ten years takes account of the terroir of the chateau, the price of its wine, and quality (as assessed by tasting). For Cru Bourgeois, the classification is now done every year, which makes it completely different from all the other classification systems where history (very distant in the case of Médoc Grand Cru Classé, more recent in the case of St. Emilion) counts for something.

Once a château has received the agrément that is required for its wine to be included in the AOP each year, it can apply for the Cru Bourgeois label. The wine is assessed by a tasting panel. “We are not assessing style, everyone is free to define their own style, but we are really concerned with quality. Typicity is really more a matter for the AOC. There are eight appellations and even within each there is variety,” says Frédérique Dutheiller de Lamothe, Directrice of the Alliance des Crus Bourgeois. So in effect, putting Cru Bourgeois on the label is an imprimatur of quality. There are also some arcane rules about timing of sales, which actually excluded Chateau Caronne Ste Gemme from the 2011 classification, although its proprietor François Nony is President of the Alliance.

The difficulty with this system, it seems to me, that it lacks practicality for the consumer. Surely a consumer expects a classification to place a producer at a certain level, that it establishes a general reputation: are they really going to look at the label each year and ask whether the wine got the sticker for that vintage? What does it say if a chateau gets the classification some years and not others? Isn’t this really rating current vintages rather than classifying the producer? And what about vintage variation—will allowance for vintage mean that the classification is awarded in a poor year for wines that wouldn’t get it in a better year?

In spite of these reservations, what sort of standard was established for 2010? Just like St Emilion there seem to be a certain similarity to the wines, and it seemed to override the appellations as we tasted through the 2010 vintage from Médoc, Haut Médoc, Listrac, and Moulis. Somewhat tight fruits were supported by a strong acidity; these wines seemed more backward than the Grand Cru Classé last time I tasted them, not so much because of tannins but because the acidity was so pressing you couldn’t really see the fruits, which seem somewhat one dimensional. This seemed like a throwback to traditional Bordeaux, and these wines need time, the antithesis of the St. Emilion tasting, where the wines all had the same soft, over fruity taste (Triumph of the Oenologue in St. Emilion). But when we got to Margaux and Pauillac, communal typicity seemed to reappear in a certain finesse for Margaux and roundness for Pauillac. However, I thought the best Cru Bourgeois I tasted was Chateau Serilhan, from St Estèphe, whose refinement belied the reputation of the appellation.

Whether it’s the character of the appellation or the individual château, it did seem to me that the Cru Bourgeois from Margaux, Pauillac, and St. Estèphe were better than those from other appellations. But Cru Bourgeois, at least for the present, is a single level of classification (as opposed to the old system, which had multiple tiers. It would be interesting, and perhaps useful for the consumer, to restore the hierarchy, but it’s not obvious how that would be done in the context of the new system, as this would really put the Alliance into competition with the critics for rating the wines. But it’s a work in progress, so wait to see what happens next.

Stick to Tradition in Spain

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There are some famous exceptions that prove the rule – such as the inclusion of Cabernet Sauvignon in Vega Sicilia – but for the most part Spain’s top wines are based on indigenous varieties: primarily Tempranillo, with Grenache, Monastrell (Mourvèdre), and Graciano. A tasting from the Grandes Pagos d’Espana, covering single vineyard wines from all over Spain, suggested that the trend may be changing: a third of the producers (especially those outside of the classic regions of Rioja and Ribera del Duero) showed wines including “international” varieties, typically Syrah or Cabernet Sauvignon.

Few of the wines here could really be called “traditional,” but there was a real contrast between those from traditional varieties (most often 100% Tempranillo, sometimes with some Grenache included) to international varieties. I formed a strong impression that there’s a reason why Tempranillo has succeeded in Spain: it produces interesting wines from many places.

It was often hard to see the advantage in blends with Syrah or Cabernet Sauvignon, where I could see neither the typicity of the Tempranillo nor a clear contribution from the blending components, and the wines to my mind had less character than those from traditional varieties. It was difficult to relate wines that were exclusively new varieties (100% Syrah or a Bordeaux Blend) to those from their more customary habitats.

Geographically, interest was spread all around, with the rising regions just as interesting as the old traditions of Rioja or Ribera del Duero. In fact, grape variety and winemaking style seemed to have more effect than region of origin.

Wines from traditional varieties extended from those with lashings of new oak (most often French but sometimes including American oak), where often the sweet vanillin of the oak simply obscured the fruits, to wines with a lighter, more elegant balance. There were wines from Toro or Priorat conforming to the stereotype of raw fruit power (Termanthia from Toro), but there were also wines with more pleasing restraint and even subtlety (Mas Doix from Priorat).

Whenever a producer had a wine that was 100% Tempranillo to compare with a wine blended with the new varieties, I preferred the former (Abadia Retuerta’s Pagos Negralada, which is 100% Tempranillo, for example, versus Seleccion Especiale, which includes Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon).

I don’t think the flirtation with Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon is improving the top wines of Spain (maybe there’s a case for it at lower levels).  The sum is not greater than the whole of parts when Syrah or Cabernet Sauvignon is blended with Tempranillo, and I appeal to the producers: go back to Tempranillo, at least for  the single vineyard wines, it makes more interesting wine, better balanced, with more flavor variety, better expression of the terroir, and greater potential for interesting aging.

Oenologues Triumph in St. Emilion

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A tasting organized by the Grand Cru Classés of St. Emilion turned out to be a striking demonstration of the power of the oenologue. The 64 Grand Cru Classés are the starting level of the classification, below the 18 Premier Grand Cru Classés (according to the reclassification of 2012).  Half of the Grand Cru Classés were represented at the tasting, showing their 2009 and 2010 vintages.

While many of the wines conformed to the general reputation of the vintages – 2009 for lush, more forward fruits, but 2010 more reserved and structured – there were enough where the 2010 was more open than the 2009 to make generalization difficult. The most striking feature of the tasting was not the difference between vintages or variety between chateaux, but the general similarity. If there’s a model for the Grand Cru Classés today, it’s for furry tannins behind soft black fruits: the very model of micro-oxygenation, you might think. (I have no idea how many of these wines actually used micro-oxygenation, but the overall impression from this tasting was that it might be epidemic in St. Emilion.)

On the subject of style, alcohol levels were high, just a touch higher in 2010 (average 14.6%) than in 2009 (average 14.3%). A more revealing comparison is that some wines in 2010 were as high as 15.5%, and almost half were 15% or greater, whereas the highest wines in 2009 were 15%. In all fairness, the alcohol was well integrated and did not stick out, but the level gave me pause for thought about the staying power of the wines. I was also extremely surprised to discover that some wines had levels of residual sugar that were almost detectable (around 3g/l: the level of detection for most people is around 4 g/l, and most red wines usually have only around 1 g/l). Sometimes I got a faint impression of saccharine on the finish, but this seems to have been due to ripeness of fruits, because it never correlated with the level of residual sugar.

The similarities among the wines are less surprising when you realize that more than half were made with the same winemaking philosophy. To be more precise, Michael Rolland was the consulting oenologue for 40% of chateaux, and Jean Philippe Fort of Laboratoire Rolland for another 20%: there was scarcely a single chateau left without a consulting oenologist. (What happened to the old proprietor-winemakers?)

So I thought I would see whether I could detect the hand of the oenologist directly, and I organized my tasting in terms of oenologists, tasting all the chateaux from each oenologue in succession to see whether similarity of style was obvious. I think it is a fair criticism that the style of the wines tends to be a bit “international,” but there did not seem to be enough homogeneity among the wines of any one oenologue to validate the view that they impose a common style. Every oenologue had some wines that were lush, but at least one that showed a more restrained fruit impression, sometimes with an almost savory sensation. It would have been difficult to identify the oenologue in a blind tasting. Perhaps the wines for which Hubert de Boüard was the consulting oenologist tended to be the most refined. If there is a marker for Michel Rolland’s style, perhaps it is the sweetness of the smooth tannins. Rolland’s focus on ripeness is shown also by the fact that in both vintages, the wines on which he was a consultant showed higher alcohol than the average.

There were direct impressions of overripe fruits on only a couple of wines. I did not get much sense of anything but Merlot in most of these wines (the average Merlot is 75%); the dominance of those soft Merlot fruits tended to give a somewhat monotonic impression. Overall I was disappointed: there was too much sameness and not enough character to the wines. They seemed more at a level equivalent to the Cru Bourgeois of the left bank than to the classed growths of the Médoc. Perhaps flavor variety will develop as the wines mature, but my impression is that the wines are more likely to simplify into sweet fruits. Perhaps this is due to the combination of grape variety and the ripeness of the vintages rather than oenologues’ choices. But I was left with the feeling that the monotonic fruit character and high alcohol would make a bottle tire over dinner.

A Visit to Clos Rougeard

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The unassuming appearance of Clos Rougeard completely belies its international reputation as the domain where the Foucault brothers make the best red wine of the Loire. Located in a residential street in Chacé, there is no nameplate or even a street number to distinguish the domain: you have to deduce its location from the numbers of the houses on either side. A neighbor on the other side of the street watched with some amusement as we pressed the bell and got no answer. “They’ve gone out,” he told us, “I saw them leave a few minutes ago. Do you have an appointment?” When told that we did, he said, “well it will be alright then, they will be back soon.” I had the impression that watching people turned away from Clos Rougeard might be part of his day. But in a few minutes, Nady Foucault indeed returned to let us in. Once admitted, the house is to one side, and across a courtyard is the entrance to the winery, with a rabbit warren of old caves underneath, carved out of the rock and very cold.

The domain has just over 10 ha, with 9.5 ha of Cabernet Franc and a hectare of Chenin Blanc. The three cuvees of Cabernet Franc are the domain wine (an assemblage of many parcels), Les Poyeux, and Le Bourg: the white wine is called Brèze. Les Poyeux is a 3 ha plot of 40 year old vines with soils carrying from argile-silex to argile-calcaire. Le Bourg has 70 year old vines on argile-calcaire terroir (located behind the house), consisting of  1 ha in two parcels. Le Bourg gives a tighter wine with higher acidity and tighter tannins and needs more time. Usually Le Clos (the domain bottling) and Les Poyeux spend 24 months in barrique as does Bourg, but in 2009 Bourg spent 30 months because this was a powerful vintage. The white (Brèze) spends 24 months in barriques, with 20% new oak. One need hardly ask about methods: they are all traditional. Vines are maintained by selection massale. There’s no chaptalization, no collage, no filtration, no battonage (for red: sometimes there is battonage for white).

The major characteristic of the house, for both reds and white, is the sheer purity of the fruits. There is a wonderfully seamless, smooth, edge to the Cabernet Franc; you feel you are tasting the unalloyed purity of the variety. The underlying structure is so refined it is hard to see directly. The fruits are precisely delineated, with great purity of line, supported by a very fine underlying granular texture, with a sheen on the surface. Hints of stone and tobacco show on the finish. All the cuvées offer an unmistakable impression of pure Cabernet Franc. There’s a smooth generosity to the wine that in terms of comparisons with Bordeaux might be regarded as more right bank than left bank. The reds are by far the best known, but the white is also very fine: concentrated, mineral, and savory.

There are other fine red wines in Saumur Champigny and Chinon, but it is fair to say that nothing else I tasted on a recent visit to the region left me with that impression of seamless purity. I asked the Foucaults what is responsible for the difference at Clos Rougeard. “We had a chance, our parents never used herbicide; they were the only people in the appellation not to do so in the 1960s and 1970s. The other vignerons mocked us because we had weeds among the vines. And in the 1980s we were the only ones to mature our harvest in barriques; most people only used cuves,” says Nady Foucault.  The difference is so marked, it’s hard to believe that is all there is to it! When pushed, all Nady would add was that, “The other difference is that we are very traditional, we are making wine exactly like our parents and grandparents.” But with all due respect, I would be astonished if the wines were this fine two generations ago.

The Foucaults sell the wine at a reasonable price, not cheap, but fair (although it’s all on allocation: even top restaurants get only a half case). They are conscious of its fame, however. When I visited, there was a lively discussion about the price of wines, including Clos Rougeard on the after market. ““I am not for speculation in wine, it’s made for drinking. Wines are not like jewelry,” says Nady, and the price recently reached by an old bottle of Le Bourg was regarded with incredulity.

Link

 Tell him to buy me an acre of land, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

To the east and south of Burgundy, the Jura is an old but little known wine growing region where the wines are a mix of the familiar (Pinot Noir and Chardonnay) and unfamiliar grape varieties (Savagnin for whites, Poulsard and Trousseau for reds), and familiar and unfamiliar styles. White wines made in a conventional style are called ouillé locally, meaning that the casks are topped up during élevage; the word comes from ouillage, meaning topping up. But the traditional style here is oxidized, when a voile of yeast is allowed to grow on the surface of the wine in the barrique. The wine matures under the layer of yeast, giving a result resembling fino sherry.

The ultimate expression of this style is Vin Jaune, which is matured for six years in the barrique, and comes only from Savagnin (a subvariety of Gewürztraminer but usually showing a savory rather than perfumed impression). Other oxidized wines can come from either Savagnin or Chardonnay; even after only a year or two under voile, the wines in oxidized style are quite savory. Ouillé whites may come from either Chardonnay or from Savagnin. The conventional Chardonnays have a minerality that sometimes resembles Chablis or Puligny Montrachet, but which tends to have savory overtones resembling the Savagnin. In fact, those savory overtones somewhat resemble the flavor spectrum of the Vin Jaune.  Jancis Robinson remarked on the similarity between Chardonnay and Savagnin and suggested to me that one possible explanation might be use of the same containers for fermentation and élevage.

Although the layer of yeasts that forms on the surface of the maturing wine has different species in Sherry and in the Jura, one common feature is the formation of Sotolon, a compound with an aromatic, spicy, aroma. Sotolon is also formed naturally in the plant fenugrec, whose seeds have a curry-like aroma. In fact, fenugrec is a component of Madras curry. I have been wondering if fenugrec might be making an unsuspected contribution to the aroma spectrum of whites wines in the Jura (much as eucalyptus makes a contribution to some New World Cabernet Sauvignons).

When I visited Stéphane Tissot in Arbois recently, we went out to see his vineyards, and the air was redolent with a savory aroma, hard to pin down, but somewhere between rosemary, tarragon, and curry. It had a noticeable resemblance to the characteristic aroma of Vin Jaune and the common savory element of Savagnin and Chardonnay. I’m wondering whether this could be the result of fenugrec growing in the vineyards.

There are some difficulties with this idea: the aroma of fenugrec is usually attributed to its seeds, so it’s not obvious how it would influence the grapes. And it’s usually considered to be a Mediterranean plant. On the other hand, they produce a fromage “aux graines de fenugrec” in the Jura.

The idea that fenugrec might give an interesting aroma to wine is scarcely new. Writing in the first century in Rome, Columella proposed a formula for adding fenugrec to wine: he recommended a spoonful or two per urn. This very likely produced a wine with a similar flavor spectrum to today’s Vin Jaune or Fino Sherry.

At the end of the day, cross contamination in the winery may be the most likely explanation of Chardonnay’s resemblance with Savagnin, but next time I visit the Jura I shall take a careful look for fenugrec in the vineyards (especially among cover crops in organic vineyards) to see whether it might be common enough to contribute to the profile of the wine.

Two of Tissot’s wines give a perfect demonstration of the difference and resemblance between the two styles. The conventional style is labeled Traminer and the oxidized style is labeled Savagnin.

Tasting notes

Arbois Traminer, Domaine André et Mireille Tissot, 2011 This is a Savagnin matured without any oxidation. It’s quite savory at first impression, with the aromatics showing slightly after. Savory suggestions extend to texture as well as flavor. It’s hard to disentangle savory and aromatic influences on the finish. Lots of character here. 88 Drink now-2018.

Arbois Savagnin, Domaine André et Mireille Tissot, 2011 This spent 30 months under voile. Medium gold color. Powerful nose in which savory notes mingle with oxidative notes like Fino Sherry. The finish seems quite manzanilla-like. Very nice balance of influences. 89 Drink now-2023.

A Visit to Chateau Rayas

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It is notoriously difficult to make an appointment to visit Chateau Rayas. Past proprietors were famous for failing to make appointments, even with their own distributors, or for hiding when visitors came. Emmanuel Reynaud is not quite so reticent, but all the same he likes to group his visitors, so that they do not distract too much from the serious business of producing Rayas.

Given this history I was surprised and pleased to be able to make an appointment to visit Rayas as part of the research for my next book, and I made sure to arrive in good time. Rayas is not the easiest place to find, with a somewhat obscure dirt track entrance around the side of Chateau Valdieu. The “chateau” is a utilitarian building appearing like a warehouse on a small hill. When I arrived, M. Reynaud emerged to say that he would be ready shortly. Slowly the other members of the 4 p.m. tour arrived. This turned out to be one of the most curiously composed visits I have made to a winery. Given the reputation of Rayas, and the difficulty of making an appointment, I expected a very serious group of professionals. But one couple turned out to have no interest other than to purchase a few bottles of wine: everything was delayed while they accomplished this, and then they left.

A diminished group, we set out to explore the terroir. M. Reynaud explained that Rayas has several individual vineyards, each surrounded by the local forest. Next to the chateau is the “Coeur” vineyard. The terroir is sandy and a slight elevation relative to the surrounding countryside ensures breezes that give freshness. The other major plots are the Couchant (to the west) and the Levant (to the east). All the plantings are Grenache. A little to the north is the Pignan area, used to produce the second wine. The vines date back about 70 years, and are replaced individually as necessary; there is never any wholesale replanting. M. Reynaud is not especially forthcoming about his techniques, so I was not really able to establish his opinion on how these features contribute to Rayas’s ability to retain freshness so well.

Rayas1

One of our party was amazed by the concept that the vines were grafted: this led to much discussion about French vines and American rootstocks. When we had all that straight, we went inside for a tasting of barrel samples from Fonsalette (the Cotes du Rhône made by Rayas), Pignan (really more a wine from the northern terroir than a second wine made by declassifying Rayas), and the individual terroirs of Rayas. The emphasis here is on the reds, but there are also whites, including the white Châteauneuf that can be very good, with a savory representation of the garrigue that is quite remarkable considering its constitution from an equal blend of Grenache Blanc and Clairette.

The building lived up to expectation, or at least to its reputation for dilapidation. It’s an old two story construction, with a roof that was recently replaced. Several rough holes have been knocked in the concrete floor that separates the two storeys, presumably to allow pipes to be run through. Aside from the fermentation cuves, everything is old wood, very old wood in fact, in various sizes from barriques or tonneaux to larger containers. I asked M. Reynaud if he ever uses any new oak. “Why would I want to do that,” he said with a look of amazement. “I make wine,” he added as a further explanation. “It’s for the Americans, the new oak.”

But the quality of the barrel samples (all from the 2012 vintage) spoke for itself. The most interesting was a comparison between the three main Rayas vineyards. The Coeur was silky with much finesse, refined and sophisticated rather than fleshy. Le Couchant was warmer and nuttier (more typically Grenache, you might say), in a similar style to Coeur, but rounder, richer, with a faint sweet impression on finish. Le Levant offered a sterner quality to the nose than you usually see in Rayas itself, rich again, but with a strong sense of underlying terroir: I felt this might provide the backbone for the blend. I could see these components of the blend combining to offer freshness, fruits, and structure, but the whole is undoubtedly greater than the sum of the parts in the magic that is Rayas.

Should there be corkage on bottled water?

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In the era when restaurants customarily doubled the price of wine, I felt more or less free to order any wine on the list that I could afford.  As prices slowly crept up to three times retail, I began to feel restricted, and if I could not find a (relative) bargain, somewhat confined to less interesting wines than I would usually drink. As prices routinely increased over a three-fold markup (and remember that this is really probably closer to four-fold since restaurants pay trade rather than retail prices), I reached the point of gritting my teeth and saying to the sommelier, bring me the cheapest bottle of red on the list. Now I have decided that ordering off the list is a mug’s game and I have been looking for restaurants that allow corkage.

Even in New York City, there is a surprising number. By and large, at any quality level there are some restaurants that allow corkage and some (more?) that do not, and it’s only a rare exception when a restaurant offers something so unique that I feel it is worth patronizing in spite of the absence of the corkage. The most common range is $35-$45, going up higher at some grander restaurants. The case I always make to restaurants that do not have corkage is: why don’t you charge the price of your cheapest bottle, or the average profit on a bottle, for corkage: then it will be revenue-neutral and everyone wins. Some restaurants accept it, some don’t.

I will at a pinch accept the argument that a restaurant is putting thought into providing a wine list that suits its food and that they want diners to focus attention on it. But I really find in infuriating when the list is simply put together by a distributor, it has no particular interest, and it’s just another profit center. Sometimes the wines are simply so inappropriate (and expensive) that I feel, absent corkage, I must vote with my feet. In the course of research into  corkage, I have had some interesting exchanges with sommeliers or wine directors. The Atlantic Grill informed me that they do not allow corkage but have an appropriate list with well trained staff to help diners. When I replied that I did not actually like their white Burgundy selection and found the New World whites overbearing, but I thought there might be a place for Riesling in a fish restaurant, the response came with a distinct sense of “gotcha” that there were many German Rieslings on the list, perfect for someone with my taste. Sadly, the accompanying copy of the list showed that not a single one of those Rieslings was dry. I don’t know who is going to drink off-dry or sweet Riesling with their fish, but it ain’t me.

I have started  compiling a list of restaurants that do or do not allow corkage, attached at the end here: additions and corrections are welcome. In the meantime, that brings me to water. I happen to like sparkling water with meals, but everything seems to have changed with the introduction of equipment that allows restaurants to introduce their own bubbles into tap water. This may be good for the environment because the bottling is done at source, as it were, but the stuff has a lethal taste: it is not like  mineral water, it tastes like chlorinated water with bubbles. I think it is absolutely the ruination of a good meal: it gives no refreshing uplift to counterpoise the food. Now some restaurants that have the equipment also have real mineral water for those who ask for it, but some have switched over completely and there is no alternative. My question to them is: can I bring my own Pellegrino and will you charge me corkage (screwage?) on it?

Restaurants with corkage in Manhattan:

l’Absinthe $45

Antonucci $20

Casa Lever $65

Dovetail $35

David Burke $45

Eleven Madison $75

Gramercy Tavern

Jean Georges $85

La Mangeoire $30

Marea $75

The Mark $75

The Modern $45

Picholine $50

Sette Mezzo $35

Spigolo $35

Tocqueville $45

Union Square Cafe $20

Restaurants that do not allow corkage:

Atlantic Grill

Cafe Boulud

Crown

Daniel

Le Bernardin

Veritas

Vico

Experiments at Chateau Margaux: fining, filtration, and closures

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You might think that once a wine has gone through alcoholic and malolactic fermentations, and been matured for months in oak barriques, that the die was set. Not a bit of it: the continuing experiments at Chateau Margaux show that there is an effect from every stage of what I suppose you might call finishing procedures. “Once again it is impossible to deny the differences, which is somewhat frightening,” was Paul Pontallier’s comment at the end of the tasting.

Once simply part of the routine of producing red wine, fining has become somewhat of a controversial issue, and is now one of the most obvious differences between Old and New World. When I was discussing Cabernet Sauvignon with producers in the course of researching my book Claret and Cabs,  virtually every producer in Bordeaux told me they fine, and almost all producers in Napa Valley said they avoid fining just like filtration.

Fining was introduced as a procedure to lighten the wine, the traditional process being to add egg whites to the barrel. Albumin protein in the egg whites is positively charged, and so reacts with negatively charged tannins to precipitate them. The conventional argument is that this softens the wine by removing harsh tannins and also polishes it by taking out other components. Critics ask why the egg whites should act only on harsh tannins and take the view that desirable tannins and other components might equally well be affected. And, of course, over the past ten or twenty years, tannins have become much riper so you might well ask whether they still need to be removed. (Most producers who continue to find do use fewer egg whites now than they used to.)

Well, the answer at least in the context of Bordeaux, is absolutely clear: the 2004 Chateau Margaux fined with 6 eggs tasted like a completely different wine from the unfined example. Some people thought they could see a difference on the noses of the two wines, but personally I thought they were indistinguishable (and I am a bit hard put to see why volatile compounds might be removed by fining). But the unfined example had more evident tannic grip, less finesse, and came up just a little shorter on the finish. The fined sample simply gave a distinctly more polished impression, not just because of less tannin, but with a sense of being altogether better rounded. Chateau Margaux as you will find bottles in the shops, by the way, has been fined with 5 egg whites per barrel since 1996.

Filtration seemed to have less effect, as tested by comparing unfiltered Chateau Margaux 1995 with sterile-filtered wine. There was no detectable difference on the nose, and the balance on the palate seemed very similar. The main effect to my mind was that the sterile-filtered example seemed like a slightly older, more developed wine, with a touch of sous bois that was not evident on the unfiltered wine. Most participants preferred the second wine, but that depends somewhat on whether you prefer your wines younger or older. Paul Pontallier felt that the filtered wine had actually deteriorated a little due to a touch of oxidation. I can’t say that I would describe the filtered wine as eviscerated or having lost character as a result of filtration, but I suppose it might be the case that the filtration removed components that protect against oxidation.

The closure trial compared Pavillon Rouge 2002 sealed with natural corks with the same wine sealed under screwcaps. There had also been a trial with synthetic corks, but apparently the results were disastrous, and in relatively short order the wine was spoiled. “It’s a good decision to use screwcaps for white wines that will be drunk in the first six months,” says Paul Pontallier, “and with what I know now I would do the same, but our dilemma is that we want to make wine that will age.” The two wines were quite different: open, round, and fruity under cork, but reserved, backward, and showing more austerity under screwcap. Interestingly, the participants split more or less equally as to which style they preferred.

Chateau Margaux is just about to undertake the construction of a new experimental cellar that will allow them to undertake even more experiments. Among future projects are looking into the properties of individual clones of grape varieties and investigating the effects of different types of pressing. “To my astonishment, many people take the view that, if it is new, it must be better,” says Paul Pontallier, “I admire their optimism, but I feel the need to experiment first.”

Experiments at Chateau Margaux: biodynamic, organic, and conventional viticulture

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Far from the stuffy reputation for sticking to tradition, Chateau Margaux has one of the most active experimental programs in the world of wine. Paul Pontallier presented the results of some of these experiments in a seminar in New York this week. “I believe in doubt,” he says, explaining that he thinks viticulture and vinification should be based on knowledge gained from testing situations rather than on unsubstantiated beliefs.

The first experiment was a comparison between wines made in the 2012 and 2011 vintages from vines that had been cultivated conventionally, organically, and by biodynamics. This experiment started 5-6 years ago with a 2 ha plot—unfortunately not one of the best, says Paul—and is going to be extended to a slightly larger, more homogeneous, plot next year. The plot is divided into groups of rows that are cultivated with different methods, and every effort is made to stop treatments from spreading into the other rows. There’s more than one separate block of each type in order to minimize soil effects.

I have always been a skeptic about the effects of different types of viticulture. It seems obvious that organic viticulture is better for the environment than conventional treatments with herbicides and pesticides, but it does not seem axiomatic that it will necessarily produce fruit of better quality. Whether biodynamic treatments add anything to organic cultivation has always seemed rather doubtful to me. One problem is that no one has tested the effects in any sort of controlled way, and you might well argue that many of the well known organic or biodynamic wines are better than conventional wines simply because the producers are more skilled at what they do. So this was a very rare opportunity to see whether wines made under exactly the same conditions, but from grapes cultivated in different ways, show any differences.

The wines were tasted blind: all we knew was that the first three were from 2012 and the second three were from 2011. The immediate surprise was that in each group two wines were closely similar and the third was distinctly different. The two similar wines shared brighter fruits and acidity, more sense of aromatic uplift, more presence on the finish: in each flight the other wine had a slightly flatter profile with less finesse. My assumption that the last wine must be the result of conventional viticulture turned out to be correct. I had not expected such a striking demonstration of the advantages of organic viticulture,  but I feel the results were completely convincing.

The differences between organic and biodynamic examples were much narrower: in 2012 I had a slight preference for the organic wine, whereas in 2011 I had a very slight preference for the biodynamic wine. The differences were slight enough that I would not have argued if I had been told they were different bottles from the same lot.

Paul Pontallier says that to date they have found no objective differences in grapes or wines from the different treatments; and soil measurements this year suggested that if anything the conventional soils have more diversity. One of the most stunning aspects of the comparison, it seems to me, is that a clear difference should be evident between conventional and organic/biodynamic in only five years, given that it takes at least three years for a vineyard to be converted. Many producers whom I’ve asked about the effects of conversion say that the most significant difference appeared after something closer to a decade, so it will be fascinating to see whether these differences are sustained and broaden in the future.