Tag Archives: Pinot Noir

Will people please stop trying to prove terroir exists. It’s more useful to look for gold at the end of the rainbow

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Grow one plot of grapevines on the top of a hill in a really sunny, exposed, windy spot. Grow another plot at the bottom of the hill in a shady waterlogged spot. It is really not rocket science to understand that the grapes are likely to be quite different, as will wine made from them. That’s terroir, stupid.

Pushing the argument to these extremes doesn’t really resolve the issue of whether terroir effects exist that produce wines with subtle but consistent differences from adjacent vineyards where there is a little perceptible difference in growing conditions. Burgundians will argue, for example, that the adjacent vineyards of Cazetiers and Combes aux Moines in Gevrey Chambertin produce different wines. Faiveley have adjacent vineyards with vines of the same age, tended the same way. “The tractor doesn’t stop,” says Jérôme Flous of Maison Faiveley. But as I describe in my book, In Search of Pinot Noir, the wines are consistently different.

Well, yes, but maybe in such cases, producers, consciously or unconsciously, are treating the wines just a little bit differently to produce results that conform with their expectations for each vineyard. You might almost call it the Holy Grail of Terroir to demonstrate that the wines from different vineyards are intrinsically different. A group of scientists have just reported an attempt to prove this.

They took Pinot Noir berries from two vineyards managed by the same producer in Burgundy, one in Flagey-Echézeaux and one in Vosne Romanée. They don’t give exact locations, but the vineyards appear to be within a mile of one another. They report that soils types are similar in each vineyard: they don’t comment on the age of the vines or planting density, but let’s give the benefit of the doubt and assume that all extraneous parameters are the same.

They took two samples of 100 berries from each vineyard in 2010, 2011, 2012 and compared the berries and wine made from them by microvinification. Well, here’s the first problem. ONE HUNDRED BERRIES! How many berries do you suppose there are in a vineyard? Let’s try to estimate this. Suppose the vineyard is 1 ha and has 8,000 vines, each with 6 bunches, and each bunch has 50 grapes. I make that 2.5 million berries. I do not think you need to be an expert in statistics to see that 100 berries is not going to be representative of the vineyard. (For the more geekishly minded, you’d need a few hundred to achieve a 5% statistical significance level.)

I won’t go into the details of the analysis, which uses formidably complicated equipment, but comes down to the ability to measure small amounts of phenolic compounds. The authors conclude that  differences between vintages are more significant than differences between vineyards. This is not a surprise. But they go on to say they can find  differences between the vineyards, for both grapes and wine. This I do not believe. It’s definitely fair to say that when you compare the samples in one vintage, all four are different. But I’m not at all convinced that the two samples from each vineyard identify any distinct character. The results look  higgledy-piggledy, and the two samples from each vineyard seem just as different from one another as from the other vineyard. Misquoting Monty Python, Every berry is sacred, every berry is great.

I believe in terroir, but I don’t believe this study proves any more than that each sample of one hundred berries is a different from every other sample of one hundred berries. (Gives a whole new meaning to micro-cuvées.) Anyway, do we want to see a scientific basis established for terroir, wouldn’t that spoil the fun?

Terroir in New Zealand

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Anyone who does not believe in terroir in the New World should have come to the Circle of Winewriters tasting of Central Otago Pinot Noirs, which compared different cuvées from Felton Road and Two Paddocks. “I remember when people were not convinced that regions of New Zealand show differences,” says Nigel Greening of Felton Road, “but now we see differences even between vineyards.”

The tasting displayed Central Otago’s versatility by starting with two whites. The Riesling came from Two Paddocks. “I planted Riesling because I wanted to make a white wine and Riesling is the only white grape that succeeds in Central Otago,” says Sam Neill of Two Paddocks. He allowed an exception for Felton Road’s Bannockburn Chardonnay, which followed. Central Otago whites show a tendency towards exotic fruits: Pinot Noir is more successful, in my opinion.

Central Otago is still going through the argument of whether the best wines come from assemblage from sites with complementary properties or from single vineyards. “We are working with two different approaches to Pinot,” says Sam Neill, describing the differences between the Last Chance single vineyard wine and the Two Paddocks bottling. “One comes from a tiny vineyard in a corner. The other is an estate wine, it’s a blend of our best lots.”

Two pairs of comparisons certainly made the point that there are real terroir differences here. From Two Paddocks came the First Paddock and Last Chance 2010 Pinot’s. First Paddock comes from Gibbston, more or less the central part of Central Otago (“always the most perfumed,” says Nigel Greening), while Last Chance comes from the most southerly vineyard in the Southern hemisphere, according to Sam Neil. “There are no grapevines between here and the penguins,” he says. The difference was somewhat like the rusticity of Pommard versus the sheer refinement of Volnay.

The difference between Felton Road’s Cornish Point and Calvert vineyards 2012 was equally striking. Both have wind-blow loess, but Calvert has heavier soil, whereas Cornish Point has a calcareous subsoil. There’s also difference in wind exposure. “This is a descent into hedonism,” says Nigel of the Cornish Point. I would actually describe the wines differently, as I find the Calvert to have more obvious weight and tannin, while the Cornish Point gives a refined impression almost of delicacy. Here is a sense of finesse that quite sets the lie to the notion of boisterous new world fruit.

My own preference is for those wines that display coolest climate impressions, Last Chance from Two Paddocks, and Cornish Point from Felton Road. “Central Otago is growing up. It was known for its fruit bomb wines but I don’t see that here; there’s expression of place in these wines,” says Nigel Greening.

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.

The Best Terroir is the Best Terroir

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How far can you take terroir? It seems blindingly obvious that some sites produce better wine than others: it is not rocket science to suppose that a sunny spot in the middle of a well drained slope will produce better wine than a cool, shady, damp spot at the bottom.  And I am prepared to buy the fact that slight differences in terroir can reliably produce different nuances in the wine: I was quite convinced of this by several series of pairwise comparisons in Burgundy when I was researching my book on Pinot Noir. Other convincing examples come from comparing, for example, Ernie Loosen’s Rieslings from different vineyards in the Mosel. You can’t mistake the fact that these wines are consistently different, although all made in the same way. But the unresolved question that sticks in my mind is whether different terroirs match different grape varieties or whether the best terroirs are simply the best terroirs. (The middle of that slope would probably produce better plums, apricots, or apples than the bottom.)

I was much struck by this issue when visiting Pinot Noir producers in Germany. All of them, of course, also produce Riesling; in fact, for most of them the Pinot Noir is little more than a sideline. Everywhere in Germany, Riesling is planted in the best terroirs. Those terroirs that aren’t quite good enough for Riesling are planted with other varieties. But where is Pinot Noir planted? Are there spots that are really suitable for Pinot Noir but where Riesling would not succeed? This does not seem to be the case. Pinot Noir is a demanding grape, and it is usually planted in spots that would also have made good Riesling. The best terroirs are the best terroirs, and it’s a matter of choice whether Riesling or Pinot Noir is planted there. And as for the effect of terroir on the nature of the wine, I saw similar effects on both Pinot Noir and Riesling: more minerality, more sense of tension in the wines from the volcanic soils in the north, to rounder, fatter wines from the limestone soils in the south, and softer, lighter wines from sandstone soils in the east.

Is it a general rule that every wine region has a top variety (or varieties) that take the best terroirs? Even on the left bank of Bordeaux, where you hear a lot about the perfect match between Cabernet Sauvignon and the gravel-based soils, it’s really more the case that the gravel-based soils are the best terroirs – so Cabernet Sauvignon is planted there. Merlot is planted in the spots that couldn’t ripen Cabernet Sauvignon. I’ve yet to hear a proprietor extol a vineyard for the perfection of the match of its terroir to Merlot – I suspect the match is more faute de mieux.

Are there regions that grow multiple top varieties where we could test the argument that there are terroirs that are equally good but suited for different varieties. Burgundy seems the obvious case, where the contrast is increased by the fact that Pinot Noir is black but Chardonnay is white. Isn’t it the case that the terroirs of Puligny Montrachet, Chassagne Montrachet, and Meursault, are uniquely suited to Chardonnay whereas those of (say) Nuits St. Georges, Clos Vougeot, and Gevrey Chambertin are uniquely suited to Pinot Noir?

Not exactly. The focus of the appellations to the south of Beaune on white wine is quite recent. Until the second half of the nineteenth century, Puligny Montrachet was mostly planted with Gamay, Chassagne Montrachet was almost exclusively red, and Meursault was divided between red and white wine. The area that is now Corton Charlemagne mostly produced red wine until the twentieth century.  And in the eighteenth century, Clos Vougeot’s white wine was almost as highly regarded as Le Montrachet, as indeed was a white Chambertin. Could we at least argue that the change is due to better understanding of what grape varieties are suited to each terroir. No:  it’s the economy, stupid.

When fashion has swung to and fro on red wine versus white, plantings have followed. Here’s a modern case in point. Beaune’s Clos des Mouches is one of the few vineyards that have both black and white grapes. But there isn’t any pattern to the plantings that follows details of terroirs: in fact, rows of black and white grapevines are more or less interspersed, according to what was needed when replanting last occurred. And as Chardonnay has proved more profitable than Pinot Noir, there’s been a trend towards replanting with Chardonnay.

If the best terroirs are the best terroirs, what determines the best variety for each location? Well, climate is no doubt the most important factor: heat accumulation and hours of sunshine are basically going to determine whether and when the grapes reach ripeness.  Are the best terroirs simply those where historically the grapes have ripened most reliably? On the hill of Corton, where the plantings of Chardonnay for Charlemagne stretch round to the western end of the hill, where Pinot has trouble in ripening, you might argue that the best terroirs are planted with Pinot and second best with Chardonnay, although I have to admit that they make wonderful white Burgundy.

So here is the challenge. Are there examples where two terroirs in the same vicinity give different results with two grape varieties of the same quality (and color if we want this to be a rigorous test)? If one terroir gives better results with one variety and the other terroir gives better results with the other variety, then I will withdraw my conclusion that the best terroir is the best terroir and matching grape varieties is down to climate.

An Experiment with Corks and Screwcaps

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It’s years since I did a scientific experiment but there is one I would like to see done with corks and screwcaps. It’s quite amazing that even with a more than a decade’s experience of bottling wines under screwcaps, the long term effects of the type of closure remain controversial. One issue that I think should be finally resolved is just what effect exposure to oxygen has on long term maturation.

When the same wine is bottled both under cork and under screwcap, it’s evident within a few months that they develop differently. Most of the comparative tastings that I have done have been with white wines, where the usual difference is that wine under screwcap retains brighter fruits with more evident freshness. Preferences are usually split at such tastings between the bottlings: some people prefer the fresh, young style of screwcaps, while others find more complexity in the greater development of the wine under cork.

When I was out in New Zealand and Australia earlier this year, I had several opportunities to compare older red wines that had been bottled under both types of closure. The results were completely consistent.  The wine under screwcap always seemed younger – in a blind tasting you might have said by a couple of years – with more primary fruits, whereas the wine under cork showed some development towards more savory, sometimes even tertiary, aromas and flavors. All of these wines were Pinot Noir (mostly from the first few years of this millennium) but I assume the results would be generally true for all red wines. (The tastings are described in more detail in my recent book, In Search of Pinot Noir). This may not be a completely fair comparison, because the reason for the switch to screwcaps was often the terrible condition of the corks available down under. In fact, when there was the opportunity to taste multiple bottles under cork, they often tasted as different from one another as they did from screwcap, an immediate validation of the decision to switch to screwcaps.

So wines under screwcap clearly develop more slowly: the question in my mind is whether they develop in the same way at a slower pace or whether the overall pattern of  development is different, reflecting a different relative timing of the loss of primary fruits and the appearance of tertiary flavors. Among the wines I tasted, when the wines under cork were in perfect condition, I generally preferred them: but that may be because my taste generally runs to older wines. I would be really interested to repeat the comparison in a few years when the screwcap wines have developed further to see which I prefer then.

Anyway, back to the experiment. The difference between screwcaps and corks is the rate with which oxygen gets into the bottle. It can be close to zero for screwcaps: in fact, there have been problems involving reduction for wines bottled under screwcap, just as damaging in their way as problems with oxidation for wines with faulty corks. Sulfur levels need to be reduced when bottling under screwcap and it may take a while to establish the most appropriate levels for wines intended for any aging. The very best corks (defined operationally as the tightest) have very low oxygenation levels close to those of screwcaps. But the unanswered question is whether you do actually need some level of oxygen exposure; for corks this comes from the supposed “breathing” of the cork; for screwcaps it could come in the future from liners with defined rates for passage of oxygen.

So the experiment I want to do is to determine definitively whether the difference between corks and screwcaps is solely due to oxygen exposure. It is very simple in principle. Bottle a (red) wine under both cork and screwcap. Take bottles with each type of closure and keep one set in normal cellar conditions (cool, dark, humid). Put the other set under identical conditions but in an atmosphere of nitrogen. Then see whether the wines with cork and screwcap closures develop in exactly the same way under nitrogen (which is what you would expect if oxygen is the sole relevant factor). And of course see what differences emerge with and between the wines in the normal cellar. All that’s required is a cellar filled with nitrogen (and I suppose a means of retrieving bottles for periodic testing). Then finally we would know the answer instead of speculating and arguing about it.

Pinot versus Cabernet

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I’ve spent the last year visiting producers and tasting Pinot Noir for my book, In Search of Pinot Noir, published this week. I’ve been so immersed in Pinot Noir that I feel somewhat guilty about deserting it for Cabernet Sauvignon now that I’ve started writing the next book, Claret and Cabs: the Story of Cabernet Sauvignon. They are so different that it’s going to be a big transition, from a wine made from a single variety to a wine that’s mostly blended in Europe but often monovarietal in the New World, from elegance to power, from small producers to large producers. Some issues are similar but take different forms for the two varieties. For Pinot Noir, I spent a good deal of time considering the differences between Old and New Worlds; for Cabernet Sauvignon, the question is more the reversal from the New World copying the Old to influencing it. Will I find as much variety of style in Cabernet as there was in Pinot?