Blind tasting, of course!
Given the weather, everybody brought red. It reminds me of this passage in Ant and Bee Go Shopping by Angela Banner, where Ant and Bee and Kind Dog all go shopping to buy cakes, chocolate and fruit for a dinner party (and people wonder why all the English are pasty and pimply when they drum this sort of stuff into kids... It's almost as bad as the Bible...) After buying various cakes (Ant buys a round and flat cake, Bee buys a square and fat cake, Kind Dog buys a round and fat and square and flat cake made especially for dogs) and chocolates (Ant buys a chocolate mountain, Bee buys chocolate beans and Kind Dog buys a chocolate bone made especially for dogs [he he, chocolate bone – sounds like a dirty sexual position, like the Filthy Sanchez, or the Hot Lunch]), they end up buying fruit, and “they ALL bought plums”. (Angela must have been sick of the repetition of the “Ant bought X, Bee bought Y and Kind Dog bought Z made especially for dogs” formula. Repetitive, I’ll grant you, but not as bad as Alan Ginsberg’s Howl).
So, anyway, my birthday lunch: they ALL brought reds.
But who am I to complain – they were yummy. And here they are.
2003 Domaine Leon Vatan Sancerre Rouge “Les Pains Benis”
Brought by Justin, and prefaced with the comment “this is advanced blind tasting – but you should be able to get it”. I hate these prefaces (although I must admit I’m guilty of indulging in them myself) – they make one second guess oneself. Translucent mid red. Confected, jammy red fruits on the nose, it couldn’t really be anything but pinot noir (which of course it was). A hint of tomato leaf vegetation suggested its origin, although I wasn’t clever enough to pick up on it. Janet and I had it in Oregon, Sarah as Nuits St Georges, but there you go, Red Sancerre, who would have thought? And a nice one too – by no means mean, as I often find them.
1996 Mount Langhi Ghiran Langi Shiraz (Grampians)
Brought by me (as a result of the remainder of my wine collection finally being shipped over from Australia). This is a fantastic wine – my favourite of the day. Still deep red. Extremely savoury, peppery and meaty, with lush fruit, bell pepper and spicy oak underneath. Excellent balance. Everyone had it in the Northern Rhone (I can die a happy man now that I’ve convinced Oxford blind tasters that restrained, savoury wine does exist in Australia). A star. My great mate Nick Hildebrandt says he “doesn’t know what all the fuss is about” in relation to Mount Langhi (or at least he did in 2001) – but after 11 years it’s fantastic.
1996 Fojo (Douro Valley)
Brought by Sarah. I think I’ve noted this elsewhere. Perhaps unfortunately I had served the meal at this stage – a lamb and date tagine – and against the fruitiness of the dish it was rather thin. Shame really, it didn’t do this great wine justice.
1982 Chateau Bellegrave (Moulis en Medoc)
Brought by Janet. Classic claret, rusty rim. Clay minerality on the nose, showing developed cigar box and smoke on the nose, still presenting youthfully on the nose with underlying blackcurrant fruit, and very full, but with a distinct lack of fruit on the palate in favour of smoke and slate. I had it in St Estephe, and as young as 1996, but there you go. A delight.
1997 Cullen Cabernet Merlot (Margaret River)
Brought by me. Another triumph for the “oh my God it’s Australian” reaction. Dark red with a brick rim. Prune, dark chocolate, liquorice, tobacco, jam, dried fruits, cassis – very powerful. Meat and marmite, with a seductive bass-baritone weight. Janet’s favourite of the day – “when you’re on your third line of adjectives, you know it’s good”, she said.
1996 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
Brought by me. “All right, so tell us where in Australia this one is from” said Sarah, rolling her eyes. Of course I wasn’t going to serve three Australian wines in a row, but what a reaction for serving classed growth Bordeaux! Everyone was pissed by this stage and had given up caring, but I thought it was bloody lovely. Deep red – dark fruit nose, crème de cassis, cherry, mint. Inky. Still tight, the highly integrated palate shows plum and a hint of cinnamon spice, with nervous tannin. Will keep for some years yet. Great stuff.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Oxford Blind Tasting, 11 November 2007
Blind tasting explodes a lot of myths about wine that should well and truly have been exploded by now – usually bald claims about the impossibility of identifying a certain wine, or about other wines being unmistakable, or about how the New World is not a patch on the Old, and so on. I am always especially fascinated by the result of group blind wine tastings, where the conclusions of several people in relation to a wine presented blind say more about it than 100 back-labels ever could. Sunday was no exception, when I presented a bracket of 6 to this year’s batch of blind tasters at Oxford. Here are my notes on the wines, together with what the group said.
2006 Grove Mill Sauvignon Blanc (Marlborough, New Zealand)
Very pale, with a green tinge and appealing clarity. The nose is pungent, showing intense grassy aromas and a certain celery-salt herbaceousness. The palate is very clean and high in acid. Although it shows some tropicality, it is definitely at the herbaceous end of the spectrum, finishing with a clean mineral streak. All but one of the 10 or so of us there identified it as Sauvignon Blanc, but interestingly only two put it in New Zealand, and only one in Marlborough. Of the others, Sancerre was the common consensus, but personally I thought it was classic Marlborough (although of course I knew what it was beforehand). I do, however, see the point of the one candidate who placed the wine in Pouilly Fumé, which to me is the vigorous, slightly aggressive appellation that most closely approaches New Zealand in style, although personally I didn’t pick up any of Pouilly Fumé’s characteristic smokiness on this wine.
2004 Domaine Roches Pouilly Fuissé
Mid gold. On the nose, a heavy influence of New French Oak, manifesting itself in heady aromas of butterscotch and caramel, with some faint stone fruit and candied orange underneath. In the mouth the wine is as round and voluptuous as any number of fatties that Gok Wan can try to make look good naked (except with the curves in the right place for a change). I suspected that everyone would put it in the New World, but happily all but one had this squarely in Burgundy. An oxidative hint together with the heavy oak influence led one person to speculate that it was white Rioja. Close, but no cigar. I’ve made that mistake myself on a couple of occasions, but the oak was clearly French and there was none of the spicy, sherryish character that one associates with white Rioja.
2005 Hugel Gewurtztraminer (Alsace)
Light and clear, with a tinge of green, and hanging quite heavily in the glass, as one would expect. Highly aromatic – pear, lychee and orange zest on the nose, with rosewater and Turkish delight joining in on a fairly unctuous, oily palate, finishing slightly bitter. No prizes for identifying this one – and a good thing too, because everyone got it right.
2006 Wild Rock ‘Cupid’s Arrow’ Pinot Noir (Central Otago, New Zealand)
Mid- to dark-red, but still translucent. The nose has some dusty new oak on it, together with some sweet red fruit and a bit of alcoholic heat. The palate shows forward non-descript red fruit, together with pinot’s sappy greenness. Of the majority who correctly identified it as Pinot, only one had it in New Zealand, the others placing it in Burgundy, probably on account of the lack of purity on the nose rather than because it was stellar in any way. One had it in Beaujolais, although to me it wasn’t at all confected, as would be usual there. Interestingly, two very good tasters had it as Cotes du Rhone. Personally I would probably never have thought this, although it’s an interesting guess. I always think of Grenache as being heavy and “purple fruits” dominant, although I admit this is usually the case where it is heavily blended with other heavyweight Rhone grapes. One quickly forgets that in the more generic Rhone appellations, the wines can become thin in both colour and flavour, bringing Grenache closer to Pinot than one would usually expect to occur.
2006 Chapoutier ‘Les Meysonniers’ Crozes Hermitage
Dark red-purple. Jammy, confected nose, with the palate showing crunchy purple fruit, blackberry, boiled lollies and a tiny hint of white pepper. Guesses were all over the shop with this (only one person correctly identifying it as Crozes), but this is pretty unsurprising given how young the wine is. Its voice is nowhere near broken yet – the 2004 was still on the shelves only a matter of weeks ago. Interestingly, a critical mass of people mistook it for Loire Cabernet Franc. This surprised me, but I can sort of see the case for it now, with the tight, crunchy fruit, high acid and a certain leafiness to it as well.
2002 Petaluma Coonawarra
Ah, the welcoming scent of home. Opaque. Loads of mint on the nose, over layers of dusty oak and rich cassis. Cedarwood comes through on the palate with rich brambly fruit, dense fruit layers and ripe tannins. A unanimous verdict for Australian Cabernet Sauvignon (which of course it was), although interestingly the merlot content is virtually absent on the palate despite forming 49% of the blend. Happily for me, everyone said they liked it (most thinking it was the best wine of the tasting), even though they knew all along that it was Australian. No prejudices in this year’s group. That’s what I like to see!
Afterwards we went to the Anchor for dinner. Thumbs up for the steak and kidney pudding; thumbs firmly down for the thin, acidic Barbera d’Asti on the wine list.
2006 Grove Mill Sauvignon Blanc (Marlborough, New Zealand)
Very pale, with a green tinge and appealing clarity. The nose is pungent, showing intense grassy aromas and a certain celery-salt herbaceousness. The palate is very clean and high in acid. Although it shows some tropicality, it is definitely at the herbaceous end of the spectrum, finishing with a clean mineral streak. All but one of the 10 or so of us there identified it as Sauvignon Blanc, but interestingly only two put it in New Zealand, and only one in Marlborough. Of the others, Sancerre was the common consensus, but personally I thought it was classic Marlborough (although of course I knew what it was beforehand). I do, however, see the point of the one candidate who placed the wine in Pouilly Fumé, which to me is the vigorous, slightly aggressive appellation that most closely approaches New Zealand in style, although personally I didn’t pick up any of Pouilly Fumé’s characteristic smokiness on this wine.
2004 Domaine Roches Pouilly Fuissé
Mid gold. On the nose, a heavy influence of New French Oak, manifesting itself in heady aromas of butterscotch and caramel, with some faint stone fruit and candied orange underneath. In the mouth the wine is as round and voluptuous as any number of fatties that Gok Wan can try to make look good naked (except with the curves in the right place for a change). I suspected that everyone would put it in the New World, but happily all but one had this squarely in Burgundy. An oxidative hint together with the heavy oak influence led one person to speculate that it was white Rioja. Close, but no cigar. I’ve made that mistake myself on a couple of occasions, but the oak was clearly French and there was none of the spicy, sherryish character that one associates with white Rioja.
2005 Hugel Gewurtztraminer (Alsace)
Light and clear, with a tinge of green, and hanging quite heavily in the glass, as one would expect. Highly aromatic – pear, lychee and orange zest on the nose, with rosewater and Turkish delight joining in on a fairly unctuous, oily palate, finishing slightly bitter. No prizes for identifying this one – and a good thing too, because everyone got it right.
2006 Wild Rock ‘Cupid’s Arrow’ Pinot Noir (Central Otago, New Zealand)
Mid- to dark-red, but still translucent. The nose has some dusty new oak on it, together with some sweet red fruit and a bit of alcoholic heat. The palate shows forward non-descript red fruit, together with pinot’s sappy greenness. Of the majority who correctly identified it as Pinot, only one had it in New Zealand, the others placing it in Burgundy, probably on account of the lack of purity on the nose rather than because it was stellar in any way. One had it in Beaujolais, although to me it wasn’t at all confected, as would be usual there. Interestingly, two very good tasters had it as Cotes du Rhone. Personally I would probably never have thought this, although it’s an interesting guess. I always think of Grenache as being heavy and “purple fruits” dominant, although I admit this is usually the case where it is heavily blended with other heavyweight Rhone grapes. One quickly forgets that in the more generic Rhone appellations, the wines can become thin in both colour and flavour, bringing Grenache closer to Pinot than one would usually expect to occur.
2006 Chapoutier ‘Les Meysonniers’ Crozes Hermitage
Dark red-purple. Jammy, confected nose, with the palate showing crunchy purple fruit, blackberry, boiled lollies and a tiny hint of white pepper. Guesses were all over the shop with this (only one person correctly identifying it as Crozes), but this is pretty unsurprising given how young the wine is. Its voice is nowhere near broken yet – the 2004 was still on the shelves only a matter of weeks ago. Interestingly, a critical mass of people mistook it for Loire Cabernet Franc. This surprised me, but I can sort of see the case for it now, with the tight, crunchy fruit, high acid and a certain leafiness to it as well.
2002 Petaluma Coonawarra
Ah, the welcoming scent of home. Opaque. Loads of mint on the nose, over layers of dusty oak and rich cassis. Cedarwood comes through on the palate with rich brambly fruit, dense fruit layers and ripe tannins. A unanimous verdict for Australian Cabernet Sauvignon (which of course it was), although interestingly the merlot content is virtually absent on the palate despite forming 49% of the blend. Happily for me, everyone said they liked it (most thinking it was the best wine of the tasting), even though they knew all along that it was Australian. No prejudices in this year’s group. That’s what I like to see!
Afterwards we went to the Anchor for dinner. Thumbs up for the steak and kidney pudding; thumbs firmly down for the thin, acidic Barbera d’Asti on the wine list.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
In defence of being "an accountant"
I have wandered the Earth a troubled soul for the last month or so. You see, I felt personally wounded when Ch’ng Poh Tiong wrote in last month’s Decanter magazine “I’ve always thought that great pinots are loved by poets and masochists and that cabernets are preferred by accountants and new millionaires.” As one who, when forced to make a decision, sides with the cabernet lovers, my throat began to tighten and tears began to well in my eyes, having effectively been told by a fairly well respected wine writer that I was no more than a new-money, Zegna-suit wearing, Subaru-WRX driving, Aqua-di-Gio smelling, Tony & Guy visiting, lowbrow-highbrow piece of filth. I haven’t been so crushed since Renee Dodd came up to me in the playground in year 4 and said “You’re ugly.”
I’ve always thought it was pretty self-serving for the pinot crowd to play the Emperor’s New Clothes “Not everyone is capable of experiencing all that finesse” card. We claret-o-philes should just band together and say the same thing. “Oh, claret is way more complex then Burgundy… you just don’t appreciate it”. Notwithstanding this, I had to face facts. Was I really going to spend the rest of my days unable to appreciate the alleged zenith of the wine world? Would I be forever unable to witness the poetic soul of red Burgundy? And how much Burgundy had Ch’ng Poh had to drink before he wrote this article? I suspect that anyone capable of writing “Pinot is a more philosophical grape. Not just any philosophy but that of the Tao… The cabernet…is more Confucian, more conservative, more of an ‘obey your emperor and father’ sort of wine” must be at least slightly too charioted by Bacchus and his pards to have meant it in complete seriousness.
Then I woke up this morning, and like a lightning bolt, it hit me. “Wait on a minute, Ch’ng Poh, mate”, I thought, “Most poetry is fucking shithouse!” And then I felt rather jolly for the rest of the day.
Oh, yes, if Burgundy is anything like most of the poetry I’ve read in my life, you can have it. In Paris a couple of years ago I went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare & Co, a place where wannabe poets and novelists gather on Sunday afternoons to drink free tea out of vases and jam jars (which I must admit is rather fun) and read out stuff of theirs to any idiot who will listen. I was chatting to a woman with a sock on her head who lamented continuously about how her one-eyed dog, Mont Blanc, kept getting rejected from auditions to star in dog-food commercials. Luckily (or so I thought) this little story was interrupted for a reading of a poem from a woman who had just returned from Amsterdam. It went “Whores in the window! Whores in the window! Fat ones! Skinny ones! Whores in the window!” So courageous. So evocative. Oh yes, it really takes a special type of person to appreciate that sort of nuance.
Unfortunately, recalling this experience only gets me half of the way there, because of course just because there are people out there who think they’re clever because they can explain that “fate” is an anagram of “feat”, this doesn’t negate the obvious greatness of the Yeatses of the world, who without doubt have vinous equals in Burgundy. I will admit that I can recall specific Burgundies on specific occasions that were nothing short of legendary – entirely individual wines that simply could not be imitated. For example, I recall a 2000 Nuits St Georges 1er Cru Clos de l’Arlot (I don’t recall the producer) – the first serious Burgundy I had tried, and that has lived with me ever since. Brick red, with a leafy, almost cabernet like nose (ironically), with a hint of ash. The palate was rich and full, with pepper, bacon and dark fruits with a warm hint of chocolate on the finish. Finesse and power. Fruity, yet savoury. Warm but delicate. It was a wine that changed with every sip. Yet of the 53 pinot noirs that I have bothered to write tasting notes of over the last 2 years (leaving the mound that I didn’t bother with), I can count on the fingers of less than half a hand the other Burgundies that have impressed me as much. Against that, of the 100 cabernets I have written tasting notes for over the last 2 years, I have been moved in a similar way more times than I can remember. True, no particular wine stands out the way that Clos de l’Arlot did, but that’s probably a case of “too many good clarets” rather than the Burgundy being so much better.
So at the end of the day, if I have to sit through 52 whores in the window before I get one terrible beauty being born, then I’m afraid I will walk away from those odds, thanks, particularly since there’s so much good stuff on offer in the Bordeaux stable. True it is that an annoying number of new money accountants buy it, but be that as it may, the exotic perfume of an old Margaux could easily challenge the poetry of a Gevrey Chambertin, and where in Burgundy will you find something to trump the orotund voice of majestic, structured Pauillac, saying “Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair”? Bordeaux is SO much a safer bet than Burgundy, and pays out equally handsomely, whether in the poetry stakes or otherwise.
This is particularly relevant because I am not yet someone who has unlimited wealth to spend on Grand Cru Burgundy and classed growth claret, and I’m not currently in a position even to drink much on weekdays. So when I open a bottle of wine, I want it to be fucking good. I don’t want to run the risk of its being some £40 mouldy thin piss that poets say smells like “truffles” when it really smells like cardboard.
But don’t take my word for the above. It was, after all, John Keats himself who said “Let my friends drink a case of claret around my grave.” If it was good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me.
I’ve always thought it was pretty self-serving for the pinot crowd to play the Emperor’s New Clothes “Not everyone is capable of experiencing all that finesse” card. We claret-o-philes should just band together and say the same thing. “Oh, claret is way more complex then Burgundy… you just don’t appreciate it”. Notwithstanding this, I had to face facts. Was I really going to spend the rest of my days unable to appreciate the alleged zenith of the wine world? Would I be forever unable to witness the poetic soul of red Burgundy? And how much Burgundy had Ch’ng Poh had to drink before he wrote this article? I suspect that anyone capable of writing “Pinot is a more philosophical grape. Not just any philosophy but that of the Tao… The cabernet…is more Confucian, more conservative, more of an ‘obey your emperor and father’ sort of wine” must be at least slightly too charioted by Bacchus and his pards to have meant it in complete seriousness.
Then I woke up this morning, and like a lightning bolt, it hit me. “Wait on a minute, Ch’ng Poh, mate”, I thought, “Most poetry is fucking shithouse!” And then I felt rather jolly for the rest of the day.
Oh, yes, if Burgundy is anything like most of the poetry I’ve read in my life, you can have it. In Paris a couple of years ago I went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare & Co, a place where wannabe poets and novelists gather on Sunday afternoons to drink free tea out of vases and jam jars (which I must admit is rather fun) and read out stuff of theirs to any idiot who will listen. I was chatting to a woman with a sock on her head who lamented continuously about how her one-eyed dog, Mont Blanc, kept getting rejected from auditions to star in dog-food commercials. Luckily (or so I thought) this little story was interrupted for a reading of a poem from a woman who had just returned from Amsterdam. It went “Whores in the window! Whores in the window! Fat ones! Skinny ones! Whores in the window!” So courageous. So evocative. Oh yes, it really takes a special type of person to appreciate that sort of nuance.
Unfortunately, recalling this experience only gets me half of the way there, because of course just because there are people out there who think they’re clever because they can explain that “fate” is an anagram of “feat”, this doesn’t negate the obvious greatness of the Yeatses of the world, who without doubt have vinous equals in Burgundy. I will admit that I can recall specific Burgundies on specific occasions that were nothing short of legendary – entirely individual wines that simply could not be imitated. For example, I recall a 2000 Nuits St Georges 1er Cru Clos de l’Arlot (I don’t recall the producer) – the first serious Burgundy I had tried, and that has lived with me ever since. Brick red, with a leafy, almost cabernet like nose (ironically), with a hint of ash. The palate was rich and full, with pepper, bacon and dark fruits with a warm hint of chocolate on the finish. Finesse and power. Fruity, yet savoury. Warm but delicate. It was a wine that changed with every sip. Yet of the 53 pinot noirs that I have bothered to write tasting notes of over the last 2 years (leaving the mound that I didn’t bother with), I can count on the fingers of less than half a hand the other Burgundies that have impressed me as much. Against that, of the 100 cabernets I have written tasting notes for over the last 2 years, I have been moved in a similar way more times than I can remember. True, no particular wine stands out the way that Clos de l’Arlot did, but that’s probably a case of “too many good clarets” rather than the Burgundy being so much better.
So at the end of the day, if I have to sit through 52 whores in the window before I get one terrible beauty being born, then I’m afraid I will walk away from those odds, thanks, particularly since there’s so much good stuff on offer in the Bordeaux stable. True it is that an annoying number of new money accountants buy it, but be that as it may, the exotic perfume of an old Margaux could easily challenge the poetry of a Gevrey Chambertin, and where in Burgundy will you find something to trump the orotund voice of majestic, structured Pauillac, saying “Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair”? Bordeaux is SO much a safer bet than Burgundy, and pays out equally handsomely, whether in the poetry stakes or otherwise.
This is particularly relevant because I am not yet someone who has unlimited wealth to spend on Grand Cru Burgundy and classed growth claret, and I’m not currently in a position even to drink much on weekdays. So when I open a bottle of wine, I want it to be fucking good. I don’t want to run the risk of its being some £40 mouldy thin piss that poets say smells like “truffles” when it really smells like cardboard.
But don’t take my word for the above. It was, after all, John Keats himself who said “Let my friends drink a case of claret around my grave.” If it was good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me.
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Emporia 2
As some of you may know, my peerless knowledge of wine has finally been recognised by my being invited to be a face of the Emporia 2 range of wines (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see: http://www.emporiabrands.com/brochure/winepages/vigouroux.htm).
If only. The real story is that I happen to know the wine account manager there (an old blind tasting friend who ended up going into the trade once she realised that a geography degree was a pretty useless qualification to have, and that you can get loads of free samples if you go into the wine trade), who was desperate for any passing person to pose with a bottle on account of real celebrities not being arsed to pose for a wine catalogue photo. My appearance fee being as low as it is (a free glass of wine will get me to show up almost anywhere, often uninvited), I was there quicker than you can start complaining about mark-ups on 2006 Bordeaux.
But what wine to choose to be the face of? This is very important, you see, not least because I get to keep said bottle after the photo shoot. (Sadly I really am that cheap). So you can bet your sweet bippy that I’m not going to choose a Fino Sherry that tastes like licking the side of a boat, or a £5 Australian Semillon/Sauvignon Blanc blend (I don’t work at the Airport Hilton anymore!) Sarah suggested a 2003 Margaux (2003 Chateau Mongravey (£36), incidentally – an elegant wine, perfumed, with very pure damson fruit), but the Bordelais don’t need my help to sell wine, so in the end I chose a 2003 Chateau de Haut Serre Cahors (£13) (note the price difference – even I am not so mercenary as to choose the most expensive wine for the sake of it). It is, of course, a superb wine. I would endorse nothing less. The nose is intensely ripe – mashed raspberries, blackberries, liquorice, and the palate tremendously amplified, with layers of jammy fruit, white pepper, a slight minerality and ripe tannins on the finish.
But the strengths of the Emporia 2 range do not stop there (given that I have declared my interest in this range I have no qualms in going on to plug the other wines in it).
I recommend the 2002 Clos Liebenberg Riesling (£13) and 2004 Bollenberg Gewurtztraminer (£15), both from Domaine Zusslin in Alsace. The Riesling is beginning to develop some powerful petrolly notes on the nose, whilst retaining purity and elegance on the palate, with hints of apricot and caramel making the wine taste like more than just alcoholic lime juice. The Gewurtz shows delicious clean pears (I wrote ‘peas’ in my tasting note but I’m pretty sure I meant ‘pears’ – I’ve never taste a wine that smells like peas…) and lychee on the nose, with a hint of orange. The palate has great length and freshness for a Gewurtz, whilst retaining that lovely oiliness that gives Gewurtz its character.
Next, the wines of Maison Jean-Luc & Paul Aegerter, an exemplary portfolio of Burgundies from the stunning 2005 vintage that, while expensive, are worth every cent (or possibly every ‘scent’ – geddit?) The 2005 Meursault Premier Cru Poruzots (£26) has an oily, nutty nose, showing hazelnuts and almonds. The palate is elegant, with soft white fruits, apple and pear liqueur. The 2005 Beaune Premier Cru les Reversees Blanc (£28) is at the other end of the scale with spicy oak, grapefruit, stone fruit, butter, and a soft, persistent finish. But of the whites, the 2005 Chassagne-Montrachet les Embazees (£37) was by far my favourite. This wine has no corners. It is one of those great wines that doesn’t taste of peach or nuts or whatever, it just tastes of ‘wine’. A complete, highly integrated wine with serious persistence and finesse. The reds are also worth dwelling upon. First the 2005 Beaune Premier Cru Les Reversees (£23) shows pronounced raspberry and ripe cherry flavours with an earthy backbone and very open palate while the 2005 Gevrey Chambertin (£25) is more plummy and rosy-cheeked, with an herbaceous, vegetal streak to it. My favourite, though, was the 2005 Nuits St Georges Premier Cru les Damodees (£32) – highly perfumed violet, lavender and marzipan aromas leap from the glass, with an attractive yet structured cherry liqueur palate.
When the Beastie Boys said “Like a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape/I’m like a fine wine when I start to rap” (Body Movin’, 1998) they were probably thinking of the famous red stuff rather than the much rarer white Chateauneuf. I don’t know. If anybody runs into Mike D or Ad-Rock maybe they could ask. But the statement could certainly apply to the 2006 Domaine de la Presidente Chateauneuf-du-Pape Blanc (£20), in so far as the lyric makes any sense at all, that is. This wine is part of a corpus of white Chateaneuf that reminds me that this appellation is highly underrated and should be added to the list of trends that should be happening but sadly aren’t. The nose begins soft and clean, with fresh mandarin, soft caramel, white peach and apricot stones, all courtesy of the dominant Grenache blanc grape. On the palate there is more serious marzipan and almond flavours giving the wine an agreeable bitterness and interest.
All the wines can be ordered from Arthur Rackham Emporia: http://www.ar-emporia.com/Public/index.php
If only. The real story is that I happen to know the wine account manager there (an old blind tasting friend who ended up going into the trade once she realised that a geography degree was a pretty useless qualification to have, and that you can get loads of free samples if you go into the wine trade), who was desperate for any passing person to pose with a bottle on account of real celebrities not being arsed to pose for a wine catalogue photo. My appearance fee being as low as it is (a free glass of wine will get me to show up almost anywhere, often uninvited), I was there quicker than you can start complaining about mark-ups on 2006 Bordeaux.
But what wine to choose to be the face of? This is very important, you see, not least because I get to keep said bottle after the photo shoot. (Sadly I really am that cheap). So you can bet your sweet bippy that I’m not going to choose a Fino Sherry that tastes like licking the side of a boat, or a £5 Australian Semillon/Sauvignon Blanc blend (I don’t work at the Airport Hilton anymore!) Sarah suggested a 2003 Margaux (2003 Chateau Mongravey (£36), incidentally – an elegant wine, perfumed, with very pure damson fruit), but the Bordelais don’t need my help to sell wine, so in the end I chose a 2003 Chateau de Haut Serre Cahors (£13) (note the price difference – even I am not so mercenary as to choose the most expensive wine for the sake of it). It is, of course, a superb wine. I would endorse nothing less. The nose is intensely ripe – mashed raspberries, blackberries, liquorice, and the palate tremendously amplified, with layers of jammy fruit, white pepper, a slight minerality and ripe tannins on the finish.
But the strengths of the Emporia 2 range do not stop there (given that I have declared my interest in this range I have no qualms in going on to plug the other wines in it).
I recommend the 2002 Clos Liebenberg Riesling (£13) and 2004 Bollenberg Gewurtztraminer (£15), both from Domaine Zusslin in Alsace. The Riesling is beginning to develop some powerful petrolly notes on the nose, whilst retaining purity and elegance on the palate, with hints of apricot and caramel making the wine taste like more than just alcoholic lime juice. The Gewurtz shows delicious clean pears (I wrote ‘peas’ in my tasting note but I’m pretty sure I meant ‘pears’ – I’ve never taste a wine that smells like peas…) and lychee on the nose, with a hint of orange. The palate has great length and freshness for a Gewurtz, whilst retaining that lovely oiliness that gives Gewurtz its character.
Next, the wines of Maison Jean-Luc & Paul Aegerter, an exemplary portfolio of Burgundies from the stunning 2005 vintage that, while expensive, are worth every cent (or possibly every ‘scent’ – geddit?) The 2005 Meursault Premier Cru Poruzots (£26) has an oily, nutty nose, showing hazelnuts and almonds. The palate is elegant, with soft white fruits, apple and pear liqueur. The 2005 Beaune Premier Cru les Reversees Blanc (£28) is at the other end of the scale with spicy oak, grapefruit, stone fruit, butter, and a soft, persistent finish. But of the whites, the 2005 Chassagne-Montrachet les Embazees (£37) was by far my favourite. This wine has no corners. It is one of those great wines that doesn’t taste of peach or nuts or whatever, it just tastes of ‘wine’. A complete, highly integrated wine with serious persistence and finesse. The reds are also worth dwelling upon. First the 2005 Beaune Premier Cru Les Reversees (£23) shows pronounced raspberry and ripe cherry flavours with an earthy backbone and very open palate while the 2005 Gevrey Chambertin (£25) is more plummy and rosy-cheeked, with an herbaceous, vegetal streak to it. My favourite, though, was the 2005 Nuits St Georges Premier Cru les Damodees (£32) – highly perfumed violet, lavender and marzipan aromas leap from the glass, with an attractive yet structured cherry liqueur palate.
When the Beastie Boys said “Like a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape/I’m like a fine wine when I start to rap” (Body Movin’, 1998) they were probably thinking of the famous red stuff rather than the much rarer white Chateauneuf. I don’t know. If anybody runs into Mike D or Ad-Rock maybe they could ask. But the statement could certainly apply to the 2006 Domaine de la Presidente Chateauneuf-du-Pape Blanc (£20), in so far as the lyric makes any sense at all, that is. This wine is part of a corpus of white Chateaneuf that reminds me that this appellation is highly underrated and should be added to the list of trends that should be happening but sadly aren’t. The nose begins soft and clean, with fresh mandarin, soft caramel, white peach and apricot stones, all courtesy of the dominant Grenache blanc grape. On the palate there is more serious marzipan and almond flavours giving the wine an agreeable bitterness and interest.
All the wines can be ordered from Arthur Rackham Emporia: http://www.ar-emporia.com/Public/index.php
Thursday, 2 August 2007
Pink – it’s for shirts and ties, not wine
Rosé is very popular at the moment, so much so that people whose binge of choice is flavoured vodka or alcopops and who wouldn’t usually touch a glass of wine with a 10 foot barge pole are now to be seen ordering pink wine by the bucketload across the pubs and bars of England.
Trends in wine consumption are nothing new. Indeed I have jumped on pretty much any band wagon that has gone past in the last 10 years – the “anything but Chardonnay” trend of the late 1990s, followed by the “actually Chardonnay is very nice can we have it back please?” trend of the early 2000s (sort of how we flirted with cargo pants around 1999 as an alternative to jeans, before we realised that pockets on the outside of trousers was patently ridiculous, and that you can wear the same jeans for more than four days without needing to write a song about it – I think I’ve had mine on for about 3 weeks now without anyone noticing – and came running back to jeans and have been wearing them ever since); then there was the “Viognier” trend, the “Pinot” trend after the film Sideways came out, and now the “South America” and "Low Alcohol Wines" trends. (Incidentally, Mosel Riesling and Hunter Semillon have always been 'low alcohol' - it wasn't invented in the lab down at Tesco, as much as they would like you to believe it was). All very good trends, excellent, keep them coming.
But pink wine? The wine press has been quick to sing the praises of pink wine with all sorts of articles along the lines of “you thought pink wine was shit – well you’re wrong, it can actually be quite nice.”
Well, this piece takes the opposite view – pink wine is shit, the masses are wrong, and there are structural reasons why pink wine cannot be serious.
One such pro-pink article (at least half heartedly) is ‘Can Rosé ever be a serious wine?’ by Joanna Simon in the August edition of Decanter magazine. Her argument is that people dismiss pink wine because it is rarely oaked, designed to be drunk young, and therefore not worthy of serious consideration; but that because there are plenty of serious unoaked, drink-now wines (e.g. Sancerre) we should not dismiss pink wine on these bases. That is perfectly fine, and I agree that these are not reasons why pink wine should be derided. But it does not follow that there are not other reasons why pink wine is no good – Simon does not cover the field of reasons why pink wine is, well, not as good as proper red and white wine.
My main argument would be that pink wine can never be serious because it is pink. This is not some sort of joke. Pink wine is not made from pink grapes. It is made by either adding red and white grapes together, or squeezing red grapes without letting the pigment in the skin colour the wine beyond the desired level of pinkness.
Basically, pink wine arises because the natural process of winemaking that results in the best expression of any particular grape has been interfered with, either by adding to or subtracting from the normal course of winemaking. And that pretty much always comes at a cost. In the case of pink wine, the cost is that the resultant wine not only rarely has any varietal definition, but this Frankenstein of wines doesn’t even provide us with a product that does a job not already done by some other wine.
There are, of course, several wines that rely on interfering with the natural course of wine making but that are nevertheless masterpieces – Champagne, Amarone, Sherry, or any fortified wine for that matter. But there are usually good reasons why these gimmicks work. They originally put bubbles in Champagne by accident, and if you tried flat wine from Champagne it would turn your face inside out, so the bubbles are an improvement. In making Valpolicella, the technique of drying part of the harvest so that some of the wine is effectively made from raisins has resulted in a wine far superior in intensity and flavour than the relatively insipid stuff that results when this method is not employed. Similar reasons exist for fortifieds – for example the Palomino grape is very bland so making it into Sherry makes sense; Pedro Ximénez only shines as a fortified wine.
But to my mind there isn’t a similar excuse for Rose. It is neither geographically necessary, nor the best expression of any grape from which it is made, nor a delightful accident.
Pink supporters will probably rejoin with some cant about how, technicality aside, in summer time it is just nice to drink chilled pink wine that is zingy and fresh but with some nice red fruity, lolly water characters to it. Well, point number one is that if you want a wine to taste like lolly water you already agree that pink wine is crap. (I don't mind if you like crap - I do mind if you claim it to be a serious contribution to the wine portfolio though). But moreover, I just don’t think it’s possible to combine the zingy acidity of crisp whites with the red fruit of light reds and have a product that combines the two. The moment you introduce the characteristics of red wine to white, you are shackling the ability of white wine to do what it does best. It would be like putting a brick in Margot Fonteyn’s underpants, or asking Barney Gumble to sing the ‘mad’ scene from Lucia di Lammermoor. As much as we might want to combine the best of two things we like, this can’t always be done. As Simon Marchmant from Posh Nosh would say: “Never buy anything that calls itself shampoo and conditioner. It won’t do either.” Mixing white and red doesn’t make some sort of ‘super wine’ – it is the worst of both worlds.
I don’t doubt for a minute that within the pink wine genre, there are some that are better than others, and some very skilled winemakers plying their trade. I just think it’s a waste of time. I shouldn't complain though - it leaves more of the good stuff for the rest of us, I suppose.
Monday, 9 July 2007
You are what you drink
I’ve been asked for my opinions on what ‘brow’ classification certain wines fall under. For those unfamiliar, the ‘brow’ classification divides life on earth into four categories – Highbrow Highbrow, Lowbrow Highbrow, Highbrow Lowbrow and Lowbrow Lowbrow. It first came to my attention in an Honi Soit article reviewing pub trivia venues in the vicinity of Sydney University. I have found it most efficacious for classifying everything else too.
The classification applies to both things and attitudes towards things. Highbrow Highbrow is the ultimate in the evolution of any field, like a Doctor of Letters from Oxford University, the works of Joyce or Proust, The Rite of Spring by Stravinsky, shirts from Turnbull & Asser.
Lowbrow Highbrow is its poor imitation – things that attempt to rival true Highbrow Highbrow but fail miserably, yet are still loved by those with a little learning and loads of cash. Members of this category include MBA degrees, Tim Winton novels, classical music compilations such as ABC Classic FM’s ‘Swoon’ collection, Rockpool restaurant, Armani suits, the(sydney)magazine.
Highbrow Lowbrow is my favourite category – its members don’t pretend to greatness but are the greatest things of the everyday – Agatha Christie novels, sausages and mash, Wife Swap, Naxos CDs, yum cha.
And Lowbrow Lowbrow is pretty self explanatory – Lowes, shop-a-docket, Panthers World of Entertainment, greyhound racing, The Jeremy Kyle Show.
This classification is not, repeat NOT meant to be a hierarchy. One’s life may, indeed probably does, (and really should for the sake of life experience alone), transcend the brows. A great friend of mine went to Eton, studied classics at Oxford and is related to Earl Grey (of tea fame), and even he likes Desperate Housewives and Sainsbury’s pepperoni pizza. (As do I). The only category really worthy of scorn is LH – the hallmark of LHness is being able to afford to do better, but choosing not to (or being culpably ignorant of the possibility).
So here is my first attempt to classify some wines (and wine writers) into the four brows. I welcome challenges and challengers to my selections. With any luck this might begin to partner scores and star ratings as a method of assessing wine.
Highbrow Highbrow
Grand Cru Burgundy. Ah, Burgundy. Loftily inaccessible labels, expensive wine the quality of which varies so much that you basically need an MW to even navigate the Burgundy section in any wine shop – but superb, intellectual wine that you probably won’t like the first 50 times you drink it.
Classed Growth Bordeaux (other than First Growth). Current favourites of mine include Ch Leoville-Barton, Ch Cos d’Estournel, Ch Kirwan, Ch d’Armailhac. Same comments as for Burgundy, but at least Bordeaux is more accessible, consistent and immediately likeable. Where are the First Growths? Well, it’s hard to say whether they are HH or LH. It’s probably true that Chateau Latour 1982 is one of the greatest wines ever made, but at over £1000 a bottle (if you can get it) is it really worth the price? How much better can it really be than any of the super-seconds from the same year, at a fraction of the price?
Hungarian Tokay. The thinking man’s sweet wine, that draws quizzical looks when brought to a dinner party but is universally admired once tasted.
Barolo. The king of Italian wines. Difficult to appreciate, but rewards persistence. I once witnessed a conversation about Barolo that I think gives the gist of it: “You know, I just don’t understand Barolo.” “Well, it’s like ‘la la la, I’m riding through a cherry orchard! Oh, there are some roses…’ then getting bashed over the head with an oak plank.”
Vintage Port. If I ever get gout I hope it’s from drinking VP. It takes decades to mature, but when it does, you’ll never be able to look at another bottle of Penfold’s Club Port ever again.
Jancis Robinson MW. Not a wine, but a wine writer – the first woman to get an MW, the first non-wine industry person to get an MW. Her knowledge is unparalleled (if you don’t believe me, go read Vines, Grapes and Wines – they didn’t have Wikipedia when it was published in the 1980s, so she can’t have cheated), her writing accessible, her attitude correct (although far be it for me to even offer my opinion). I’ve been in the same room as her twice. The first time, she brought a 1993 Josephshofer Von Kesselstatt Spätlese Riesling to the OUWC Christmas Tasting, and was my introduction to what is now one of my favourite styles. The second time I got to speak to her. It was after the varsity blind tasting match and I had been awarded a tasting prize so I dared to ask her what my score was. She said “I can’t remember but it can’t have been that bad.” Dismissive, and rightly so.
Lowbrow Highbrow
Penfold’s Grange. Australia’s greatest wine, allegedly. I don’t think so, and I don’t really know any serious wine enthusiast that does. Or at least, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t think that the likes of Rockford Basket Press Shiraz, Mount Langi Ghiran Langi Shiraz, or Cullen Cabernet Merlot don’t equal it, at a fraction of the price. Doubtless, Grange is an excellent shiraz, and historically very important - Max Schubert made it in secret after being told by Penfold's to stop making it after the first vintage. It was a breakthrough wine that proved Australia was capable of producing serious table wine. But these days, with so many other good wines on the market, its price reflects its for show-off value, not the contents of the bottle. Want proof? I once served a bottle of 1971 Grange Hermitage ($1400 a bottle) to a table of Japanese businessmen who ate it with Singapore Noodles, the chilli in which would have ruined any ability to properly taste and appreciate the wine.
Prestige Cuvee Champagne, such as Cristal. The Champenois unashamedly say that they produce these wines for the sake of image and don’t really care that their target purchasers don’t appreciate them. Hubert de Billy of Pol Roger told me once that ‘People want to drink what the rapper drinks, or what Winston Churchill drank’ and that prestige cuvees are made for the ‘money to burn’ set that want the story behind the wine rather than the wine itself. (Indeed Champagne Pommery have just released a champagne in a blue bottle that is claimed to be ‘specially blended to be drunk from the bottle or through a straw’ in order to capitalise on recent media images!) Louis Roederer NV is probably the best NV around, but it is ignored in favour of Louis Roederer Cristal, which, for all the fanfare, isn’t that much better (if it is better at all). Pol Roger Cuvee Sir Winston Churchill wasn’t made until 10 years after its namesake died, so people who drink it because they want to drink what Churchill drank are kidding themselves. It’s a fine drink, let there be no doubt, but why are the excellent vintage champagnes (Pol Roger Vintage is at the same quality level if you ask me, and is the stuff that Churchill actually drank) ignored in favour of prestige cuvees? We can also lump into this bracket the likes of Moet et Chandon NV, which is nowhere near as good as other NVs at or around the same price, like Louis Roederer, Pol Roger, or Billecart Salmon, but that people still drink to feel posh.
Leeuwin Estate Art Series Sauvignon Blanc. Leeuwin Estate Art Series Chardonnay is one of the best Chardonnays produced in Australia. Yet in a restaurant I used to work in, sales of its Sauvignon Blanc far outstripped sales of the Chardonnay, and it is a much worse, much cheaper wine. My theory: the desire for the Art Series label without having to pay the price of the Chardonnay. Unfortunately the Chardonnay is much better than the Sauvignon Blanc, so the prestige doesn’t transfer across. And there are many better Sauvignons for the price (such as virtually any Sancerre or Pouilly Fume).
Anything with a medal on the label. Show medals don’t mean anything. Most people don’t even know that a gold medal does not denote first place at a wine show. It denotes any wine that receives over a certain score in its class. And if that is “Bundanoon Back Yard Tasting Club Class 22 – Chardonnay under $5” then it’s no proud boast. I once examined a bottle resplendent in a gold medal, the medal sticker reading, in 6 point font “Organic” – it wasn’t even a wine show prize medal! If that’s not an attempt to mislead or deceive, than I don’t know what is.
Robert Parker. Sadly the world’s most influential wine writer. Even more sadly, his preference is for overblown, far-too-alcoholic, porty reds. (He regularly gives 100% scores to Barossa Shirazes that I can’t drink more than half a glass of before being under the table). Why must people listen to him so much?
Highbrow Lowbrow
I hope no LH types are reading this – all the good stuff might become popular.
Sherry. Not just ‘dry, medium or sweet’, good sherry is a revelation, and relatively inexpensive. Try a fresh Manzanilla, a nutty Palo Cortado, a rich Oloroso or a delicious sweet Pedro Ximénez from good bodegas like Hidalgo, and you’ll see what I mean.
Virtually all Spanish and Chilean wines. Great quality, supple flavours, some really interesting styles, and reasonable prices.
German Riesling. Still suffering from the image of the likes of Blue Nun and generic Liebfraumilsch, there are some great bargains to be had, even of rare and aged wines. I recently obtained a bottle of 1992 Reinhold Haart Piersporter Goldtropfschen Kabinett Riesling for only £10 and it’s one of the best wines I’ve ever had. (Actually, that wine probably belongs in the HH department).
Beaujolais. Often mocked, but great to drink in summer, and very cheap.
Wines from little-known appellations, particularly in the South of France. This is where it’s all happening. Loads of great stuff is coming out of Provence (tried any Bandol lately?) and the Midi, much interesting and affordable. And then there are the loads of wines that because of the tyranny of the appellation system can’t use words on their labels that would get them loads of customers. Everyone’s heard of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, but not many have tried Lirac, virtually next door, with some excellent producers. Henri Milan ‘Le Grand Blanc’ is a superb wine that is only ‘Vin de Table’ classification. And then you have Cahors, Bergerac – fantastic wines that give Bordeaux a real run for its money.
Mark Shield. The greatest wine (and beer) writer that ever lived. He never spat when judging wine, even if faced with a bracket of 100 shirazes. For that he earned the nickname ‘dry bucket’. What a man.
Lowbrow Lowbrow
Well, I could go on for ever here, about virtually any wine under $10. But I single some out for particular attention.
Fetzer Coldwater Creek. I don’t just mention this wine because it is the first wine to be served ‘on tap’ like beer from JD Wetherspoon pubs. You could, theoretically, put good wine on tap, but as a rule of thumb, the more a vessel deviates from a 750mL capacity, the worse its contents. On that scale, a 115 litre keg foreshadows a dismal beverage. This is truly awful stuff. I made a New Year’s Resolution about 4 years ago to never drink bad alcohol ever again. I’ve only breached it a few times, but one of the most memorable of them was when I was served this wine at a recent university function. I only had the red (I think it’s a Cabernet/Shiraz blend). God it’s dreadful. It tastes of metal, beer and tomato sauce. Truly disgusting.
Golden Oak Sherry. This drink is very close to my heart. I used to use it for cooking if I couldn’t get rice wine. A friend of mine and I calculated that it is the cheapest drink available in a Sydney bottle shop, coming out at about $0.36 per standard drink.
The classification applies to both things and attitudes towards things. Highbrow Highbrow is the ultimate in the evolution of any field, like a Doctor of Letters from Oxford University, the works of Joyce or Proust, The Rite of Spring by Stravinsky, shirts from Turnbull & Asser.
Lowbrow Highbrow is its poor imitation – things that attempt to rival true Highbrow Highbrow but fail miserably, yet are still loved by those with a little learning and loads of cash. Members of this category include MBA degrees, Tim Winton novels, classical music compilations such as ABC Classic FM’s ‘Swoon’ collection, Rockpool restaurant, Armani suits, the(sydney)magazine.
Highbrow Lowbrow is my favourite category – its members don’t pretend to greatness but are the greatest things of the everyday – Agatha Christie novels, sausages and mash, Wife Swap, Naxos CDs, yum cha.
And Lowbrow Lowbrow is pretty self explanatory – Lowes, shop-a-docket, Panthers World of Entertainment, greyhound racing, The Jeremy Kyle Show.
This classification is not, repeat NOT meant to be a hierarchy. One’s life may, indeed probably does, (and really should for the sake of life experience alone), transcend the brows. A great friend of mine went to Eton, studied classics at Oxford and is related to Earl Grey (of tea fame), and even he likes Desperate Housewives and Sainsbury’s pepperoni pizza. (As do I). The only category really worthy of scorn is LH – the hallmark of LHness is being able to afford to do better, but choosing not to (or being culpably ignorant of the possibility).
So here is my first attempt to classify some wines (and wine writers) into the four brows. I welcome challenges and challengers to my selections. With any luck this might begin to partner scores and star ratings as a method of assessing wine.
Highbrow Highbrow
Grand Cru Burgundy. Ah, Burgundy. Loftily inaccessible labels, expensive wine the quality of which varies so much that you basically need an MW to even navigate the Burgundy section in any wine shop – but superb, intellectual wine that you probably won’t like the first 50 times you drink it.
Classed Growth Bordeaux (other than First Growth). Current favourites of mine include Ch Leoville-Barton, Ch Cos d’Estournel, Ch Kirwan, Ch d’Armailhac. Same comments as for Burgundy, but at least Bordeaux is more accessible, consistent and immediately likeable. Where are the First Growths? Well, it’s hard to say whether they are HH or LH. It’s probably true that Chateau Latour 1982 is one of the greatest wines ever made, but at over £1000 a bottle (if you can get it) is it really worth the price? How much better can it really be than any of the super-seconds from the same year, at a fraction of the price?
Hungarian Tokay. The thinking man’s sweet wine, that draws quizzical looks when brought to a dinner party but is universally admired once tasted.
Barolo. The king of Italian wines. Difficult to appreciate, but rewards persistence. I once witnessed a conversation about Barolo that I think gives the gist of it: “You know, I just don’t understand Barolo.” “Well, it’s like ‘la la la, I’m riding through a cherry orchard! Oh, there are some roses…’ then getting bashed over the head with an oak plank.”
Vintage Port. If I ever get gout I hope it’s from drinking VP. It takes decades to mature, but when it does, you’ll never be able to look at another bottle of Penfold’s Club Port ever again.
Jancis Robinson MW. Not a wine, but a wine writer – the first woman to get an MW, the first non-wine industry person to get an MW. Her knowledge is unparalleled (if you don’t believe me, go read Vines, Grapes and Wines – they didn’t have Wikipedia when it was published in the 1980s, so she can’t have cheated), her writing accessible, her attitude correct (although far be it for me to even offer my opinion). I’ve been in the same room as her twice. The first time, she brought a 1993 Josephshofer Von Kesselstatt Spätlese Riesling to the OUWC Christmas Tasting, and was my introduction to what is now one of my favourite styles. The second time I got to speak to her. It was after the varsity blind tasting match and I had been awarded a tasting prize so I dared to ask her what my score was. She said “I can’t remember but it can’t have been that bad.” Dismissive, and rightly so.
Lowbrow Highbrow
Penfold’s Grange. Australia’s greatest wine, allegedly. I don’t think so, and I don’t really know any serious wine enthusiast that does. Or at least, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t think that the likes of Rockford Basket Press Shiraz, Mount Langi Ghiran Langi Shiraz, or Cullen Cabernet Merlot don’t equal it, at a fraction of the price. Doubtless, Grange is an excellent shiraz, and historically very important - Max Schubert made it in secret after being told by Penfold's to stop making it after the first vintage. It was a breakthrough wine that proved Australia was capable of producing serious table wine. But these days, with so many other good wines on the market, its price reflects its for show-off value, not the contents of the bottle. Want proof? I once served a bottle of 1971 Grange Hermitage ($1400 a bottle) to a table of Japanese businessmen who ate it with Singapore Noodles, the chilli in which would have ruined any ability to properly taste and appreciate the wine.
Prestige Cuvee Champagne, such as Cristal. The Champenois unashamedly say that they produce these wines for the sake of image and don’t really care that their target purchasers don’t appreciate them. Hubert de Billy of Pol Roger told me once that ‘People want to drink what the rapper drinks, or what Winston Churchill drank’ and that prestige cuvees are made for the ‘money to burn’ set that want the story behind the wine rather than the wine itself. (Indeed Champagne Pommery have just released a champagne in a blue bottle that is claimed to be ‘specially blended to be drunk from the bottle or through a straw’ in order to capitalise on recent media images!) Louis Roederer NV is probably the best NV around, but it is ignored in favour of Louis Roederer Cristal, which, for all the fanfare, isn’t that much better (if it is better at all). Pol Roger Cuvee Sir Winston Churchill wasn’t made until 10 years after its namesake died, so people who drink it because they want to drink what Churchill drank are kidding themselves. It’s a fine drink, let there be no doubt, but why are the excellent vintage champagnes (Pol Roger Vintage is at the same quality level if you ask me, and is the stuff that Churchill actually drank) ignored in favour of prestige cuvees? We can also lump into this bracket the likes of Moet et Chandon NV, which is nowhere near as good as other NVs at or around the same price, like Louis Roederer, Pol Roger, or Billecart Salmon, but that people still drink to feel posh.
Leeuwin Estate Art Series Sauvignon Blanc. Leeuwin Estate Art Series Chardonnay is one of the best Chardonnays produced in Australia. Yet in a restaurant I used to work in, sales of its Sauvignon Blanc far outstripped sales of the Chardonnay, and it is a much worse, much cheaper wine. My theory: the desire for the Art Series label without having to pay the price of the Chardonnay. Unfortunately the Chardonnay is much better than the Sauvignon Blanc, so the prestige doesn’t transfer across. And there are many better Sauvignons for the price (such as virtually any Sancerre or Pouilly Fume).
Anything with a medal on the label. Show medals don’t mean anything. Most people don’t even know that a gold medal does not denote first place at a wine show. It denotes any wine that receives over a certain score in its class. And if that is “Bundanoon Back Yard Tasting Club Class 22 – Chardonnay under $5” then it’s no proud boast. I once examined a bottle resplendent in a gold medal, the medal sticker reading, in 6 point font “Organic” – it wasn’t even a wine show prize medal! If that’s not an attempt to mislead or deceive, than I don’t know what is.
Robert Parker. Sadly the world’s most influential wine writer. Even more sadly, his preference is for overblown, far-too-alcoholic, porty reds. (He regularly gives 100% scores to Barossa Shirazes that I can’t drink more than half a glass of before being under the table). Why must people listen to him so much?
Highbrow Lowbrow
I hope no LH types are reading this – all the good stuff might become popular.
Sherry. Not just ‘dry, medium or sweet’, good sherry is a revelation, and relatively inexpensive. Try a fresh Manzanilla, a nutty Palo Cortado, a rich Oloroso or a delicious sweet Pedro Ximénez from good bodegas like Hidalgo, and you’ll see what I mean.
Virtually all Spanish and Chilean wines. Great quality, supple flavours, some really interesting styles, and reasonable prices.
German Riesling. Still suffering from the image of the likes of Blue Nun and generic Liebfraumilsch, there are some great bargains to be had, even of rare and aged wines. I recently obtained a bottle of 1992 Reinhold Haart Piersporter Goldtropfschen Kabinett Riesling for only £10 and it’s one of the best wines I’ve ever had. (Actually, that wine probably belongs in the HH department).
Beaujolais. Often mocked, but great to drink in summer, and very cheap.
Wines from little-known appellations, particularly in the South of France. This is where it’s all happening. Loads of great stuff is coming out of Provence (tried any Bandol lately?) and the Midi, much interesting and affordable. And then there are the loads of wines that because of the tyranny of the appellation system can’t use words on their labels that would get them loads of customers. Everyone’s heard of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, but not many have tried Lirac, virtually next door, with some excellent producers. Henri Milan ‘Le Grand Blanc’ is a superb wine that is only ‘Vin de Table’ classification. And then you have Cahors, Bergerac – fantastic wines that give Bordeaux a real run for its money.
Mark Shield. The greatest wine (and beer) writer that ever lived. He never spat when judging wine, even if faced with a bracket of 100 shirazes. For that he earned the nickname ‘dry bucket’. What a man.
Lowbrow Lowbrow
Well, I could go on for ever here, about virtually any wine under $10. But I single some out for particular attention.
Fetzer Coldwater Creek. I don’t just mention this wine because it is the first wine to be served ‘on tap’ like beer from JD Wetherspoon pubs. You could, theoretically, put good wine on tap, but as a rule of thumb, the more a vessel deviates from a 750mL capacity, the worse its contents. On that scale, a 115 litre keg foreshadows a dismal beverage. This is truly awful stuff. I made a New Year’s Resolution about 4 years ago to never drink bad alcohol ever again. I’ve only breached it a few times, but one of the most memorable of them was when I was served this wine at a recent university function. I only had the red (I think it’s a Cabernet/Shiraz blend). God it’s dreadful. It tastes of metal, beer and tomato sauce. Truly disgusting.
Golden Oak Sherry. This drink is very close to my heart. I used to use it for cooking if I couldn’t get rice wine. A friend of mine and I calculated that it is the cheapest drink available in a Sydney bottle shop, coming out at about $0.36 per standard drink.
Friday, 6 July 2007
Chile – it’s not just empanadas and genocide any more
Think ‘Chile’ and what is the first thing that springs to mind? Legendary pianist Claudio Arrau? Legendary poet Pablo Neruda? Legendary génocidaire Augusto Pinochet? Well, no longer! Step forward a new great Chilean – legendary red grape Carmenère!
As is now well known, Carmenère is an obscure Bordeaux grape that was exported to Chile and thought for a long, long time to be Merlot. Lo, the ampelographers came forth and, in a style not unlike a Scooby-Doo cartoon in which that nice little-old lady’s mask is ripped off to reveal a bandit underneath, showed that the vine’s DNA matched Carmenère, not Merlot.
Well, now it is a regional speciality. ‘Regional speciality’ is one of these terms that to sceptics (myself included) often carries an implication of ‘So you’re a country that can’t grow decent cabernet sauvignon? Here – try this grape that nobody else wants and you might be able to market yourself on novelty value.’ (Don’t believe me? Well, go and try a South African Cinsaut or an Algerian Carignan and tell me I’m wrong). But Carmenère is not at a regional speciality in that sense. It’s more a regional speciality in the sense of ‘you wish you could grow your own grape this well, France’ accompanied by a two-finger salute – Like Hunter Valley Semillon, or certain Marlborough Sauvignons.
Anyway, I tried an absolutely superb Carmenere the other night at a restaurant in Surry Hills called Bodega (which I recommend in its own right. Its wine list contains only wines from Spain and South America. Hurrah! Sydney has waited too long for a restaurant that doesn’t treat foreign wines as novelties. I’m all for low food-miles and ‘showcasing’ domestic wines, but really, how many McLaren Vale shirazes can I drink in 6 weeks?) The wine is Perez Cruz Reserva Limited Release Carmenère (Maipo Valley). Ripe, freshly cut red capsicum on the nose, with leather, leaves, ink, woodsmoke and coal. The palate is an exercise in elegance (especially for a wine of 14.5% alcohol, which I simply don’t believe, as the alcohol is not obvious): soft plummy fruit, blackcurrant, almost imperceptible acid and fine tannins. An absolute triumph.
While I’m at it I will mention the Cardenal Cisneros Pedro Ximenez Sherry that I ordered for afters, if only to show my old flatmate and his new flatmate (with whom I was dining) that Sherry can be fantastic. The old flatmate’s new flatmate (let’s call him Darren, since that is his name) is a chef and came out with this – cinnamon, orange zest, raisin, treacle, coffee; and I agree. The palate is rich and sweet with a distinctive coffee-bean finish.
As is now well known, Carmenère is an obscure Bordeaux grape that was exported to Chile and thought for a long, long time to be Merlot. Lo, the ampelographers came forth and, in a style not unlike a Scooby-Doo cartoon in which that nice little-old lady’s mask is ripped off to reveal a bandit underneath, showed that the vine’s DNA matched Carmenère, not Merlot.
Well, now it is a regional speciality. ‘Regional speciality’ is one of these terms that to sceptics (myself included) often carries an implication of ‘So you’re a country that can’t grow decent cabernet sauvignon? Here – try this grape that nobody else wants and you might be able to market yourself on novelty value.’ (Don’t believe me? Well, go and try a South African Cinsaut or an Algerian Carignan and tell me I’m wrong). But Carmenère is not at a regional speciality in that sense. It’s more a regional speciality in the sense of ‘you wish you could grow your own grape this well, France’ accompanied by a two-finger salute – Like Hunter Valley Semillon, or certain Marlborough Sauvignons.
Anyway, I tried an absolutely superb Carmenere the other night at a restaurant in Surry Hills called Bodega (which I recommend in its own right. Its wine list contains only wines from Spain and South America. Hurrah! Sydney has waited too long for a restaurant that doesn’t treat foreign wines as novelties. I’m all for low food-miles and ‘showcasing’ domestic wines, but really, how many McLaren Vale shirazes can I drink in 6 weeks?) The wine is Perez Cruz Reserva Limited Release Carmenère (Maipo Valley). Ripe, freshly cut red capsicum on the nose, with leather, leaves, ink, woodsmoke and coal. The palate is an exercise in elegance (especially for a wine of 14.5% alcohol, which I simply don’t believe, as the alcohol is not obvious): soft plummy fruit, blackcurrant, almost imperceptible acid and fine tannins. An absolute triumph.
While I’m at it I will mention the Cardenal Cisneros Pedro Ximenez Sherry that I ordered for afters, if only to show my old flatmate and his new flatmate (with whom I was dining) that Sherry can be fantastic. The old flatmate’s new flatmate (let’s call him Darren, since that is his name) is a chef and came out with this – cinnamon, orange zest, raisin, treacle, coffee; and I agree. The palate is rich and sweet with a distinctive coffee-bean finish.
Thursday, 5 July 2007
Planet of the Grapes post no 2
My remaining notes from the (not so) recent Planet of the Grapes tasting, in order from good to bad:
2004 Kientzler Reserve Riesling (Alsace) (£14.50)
Relatively closed nose of minerals and lime. Palate very minerally, wet coal, nice, tight acidity.
2005 Max Ferd Richter Mosel Riesling (£11.50)
Very restrained, closed nose. Palate bursts forth with lime/lemonade flavours but really with insufficient acidity. Nic thought it was ‘like flat lemonade’ and I’m inclined to agee.
2005 Domaine Boisset Bourgogne Blanc (£11)
Ripe Chardonnay nose. Peaches and cream. Creamy palate, very well made in a ‘New World’ style but ultimately not a wine of character.
2006 Isabel Estate Marlborough Riesling (£11.50)
I’m not enamoured with New Zealand Riesling. Isabel Estate is one of the best producers in Marlborough and not even they can get it together, at well above the price at which you can get some very worthwhile German wines. Lively lime/orange sherbet nose leading to a lime lolly palate, a bit of a train wreck actually, burnt orange on the finish. Starts German, ends Australian.
2003 Botalcura ‘La Porfia’ Camenere Reserva (Chile) (£10)
Roast capsicum on nose, but alcoholic. Soft fruit, easy drinking, with an ink/charcoal dimension.
2004 Luigi Bosca Reserve Malbec (Argentina) (£10)
Very dark. Purple fruit, southern Rhonish. Palate is dense, liquoricy, alcoholic.
2005 Chermette Fleurie ‘Poncie’ (£13)
Confected yet concentrated nose showing dark jammy fruit. Palate shows fresh bubble-gummy character. A rather serious attempt, but then again so was Dohnanyi’s ‘Variations on a Nursery Theme’.
2005 Marques de Murrieta Capellania Rioja Blanco (£11.50)
Spicy nose, not as aggressive as it could be. Oxidised sherry smell. Chippy palate, salty, sherryish.
2006 Falesco Valpolicella (£8)
This is where Valpolicella gets its terrible reputation. No wonder they invented Amarone. Cheap cherry liqueur bubblegum nose, straight forward lolly-ish palate with a bit of vanilla. Uninteresting.
2003 Keerweder Pinotage (£9.50)
Stinky nose of tar and rusty nails. Aggressive palate, some coffee hints. Horrible.
2004 Kientzler Reserve Riesling (Alsace) (£14.50)
Relatively closed nose of minerals and lime. Palate very minerally, wet coal, nice, tight acidity.
2005 Max Ferd Richter Mosel Riesling (£11.50)
Very restrained, closed nose. Palate bursts forth with lime/lemonade flavours but really with insufficient acidity. Nic thought it was ‘like flat lemonade’ and I’m inclined to agee.
2005 Domaine Boisset Bourgogne Blanc (£11)
Ripe Chardonnay nose. Peaches and cream. Creamy palate, very well made in a ‘New World’ style but ultimately not a wine of character.
2006 Isabel Estate Marlborough Riesling (£11.50)
I’m not enamoured with New Zealand Riesling. Isabel Estate is one of the best producers in Marlborough and not even they can get it together, at well above the price at which you can get some very worthwhile German wines. Lively lime/orange sherbet nose leading to a lime lolly palate, a bit of a train wreck actually, burnt orange on the finish. Starts German, ends Australian.
2003 Botalcura ‘La Porfia’ Camenere Reserva (Chile) (£10)
Roast capsicum on nose, but alcoholic. Soft fruit, easy drinking, with an ink/charcoal dimension.
2004 Luigi Bosca Reserve Malbec (Argentina) (£10)
Very dark. Purple fruit, southern Rhonish. Palate is dense, liquoricy, alcoholic.
2005 Chermette Fleurie ‘Poncie’ (£13)
Confected yet concentrated nose showing dark jammy fruit. Palate shows fresh bubble-gummy character. A rather serious attempt, but then again so was Dohnanyi’s ‘Variations on a Nursery Theme’.
2005 Marques de Murrieta Capellania Rioja Blanco (£11.50)
Spicy nose, not as aggressive as it could be. Oxidised sherry smell. Chippy palate, salty, sherryish.
2006 Falesco Valpolicella (£8)
This is where Valpolicella gets its terrible reputation. No wonder they invented Amarone. Cheap cherry liqueur bubblegum nose, straight forward lolly-ish palate with a bit of vanilla. Uninteresting.
2003 Keerweder Pinotage (£9.50)
Stinky nose of tar and rusty nails. Aggressive palate, some coffee hints. Horrible.
Friday, 15 June 2007
Planet of the Grapes post no 1
OK, after a long time typing up my notes from the scores of wines tasted at the Planet of the Grapes tasting last week I am finally ready to release my opinions to the public. Originally my plan was to present my complete and unabridged notes. However I am not a professional taster (if only) and so, after about 40 wines my concentration began to wane (along with my ability to write) and I don’t think that my readers would be greatly assisted by the resultant notes, which consisted of incisive remarks such as “minrmmmly/chooolfm…dog” and “orly +? shiraz?” together with smears of bodily fluids.
So instead of being prolific but boring (like the Etudes of Czerny), I propose to present two smaller batches of hopefully worthwhile notes (like the Etudes of Chopin). The first, contained herein, is called “interesting and different” and comprises notes of those wines that, rather obviously, I either found particularly interesting or were made from different or unusual grape varieties. A further post will follow with my notes of other wines that I simply found to be of high quality or value or otherwise worthy of comment.
And here they are:
2006 Domaine Felines Jourdan Picpoul de Pinet (£9)
I had never tasted a varietal Picpoul before, the grape being known to me only as one of the permitted whites in Chateauneuf du Pape. The guy behind the counter described it as being ‘real peasant’s wine’ (‘peasant’ being a compliment these days in certain circles), so I will start drinking it regularly once I buy a beret and take up backgammon. Austere nose of slate, armpit and grape fruit. Palate shows hay, grape fruit, moderate acid and a lingering sappiness/greenness. Worthwhile.
2006 Nautilus Pinot Gris (Marlborough, NZ) (£14.50)
There is a real dispute as to whether Pinot Gris smells of ‘pork fat’. James Simpson MW thinks it does, and he’s an MW so his opinion is probably valid. I have found it less helpful as a descriptor, but this wine really does have a pork fat/pork scratchings nose, together with the poirewilliam/pear drops more commonly associated with Pinot Gris. Unfortunately I had already lost credibility as a taster with the guy behind the counter because I had described a 2005 Pazo Senorans Albarino (Spain) (£12) as smelling like pork fat and nacho cheese flavour Doritos. So he did not accept my pork fat comment. (You really have to earn respect at ‘public’ tastings. At ‘trade’ tastings they assume you know what you’re talking about – at public tastings it’s quite the opposite, and usually for good reason. Still, it annoys me). He insisted instead that this Pinot Gris had a ginger and lemon tea dimension to the nose, which I’ll allow. In any case the wine has a zesty entry, with green pears, a bit of hay, and a soft lingering finish with even a hint of parsley. Perfect for Chinese food/noodle dishes. (Incidentally the Albarino DID smell of Doritos, at least initially, with hay, chorizo, and olives on the nose. The palate is all lemons and melons with a rather short finish).
2005 Jean Daneel Signature Chenin Blanc (South Africa) (£20)
I’ve already noted this wine elsewhere, but it was showing particularly well today – in fact I would say it was the best white wine of the tasting. Golden yellow – dried apples, pears, caramel and vanilla on the nose. Palate shows honey, caramel, sandalwood. Rich, lots of finesse, no corners. A small percentage of botrytis affected grapes is included in the blend, to great effect. This wine is definitely going in the ‘wines I pull out for wine lovers’ box. (One MUST have interesting things of high quality in reserve for one’s wine loving friends. Interest alone is insufficient – they also have to be good wines. If you start bringing Bulgarian Traminer to tastings you will get a reputation for stinginess that is hard to shed…)
2005 J Lohr ‘Wildflower’ Valdigue (USA) (£10)
Valdigue is pretty common in the Midi, apparently, but the only reason they grow it in the US is that they thought they were growing Gamay for decades before ampelographers told them otherwise. A bit like learning that the ‘original’ Rembrandt on your wall is actually a fake. Still, it shouldn’t matter if the quality of the wine produced is good. The wine has rhubarb, red fruit and boiled lolly characters on the nose, and slightly vegetal hint. There is some Cottee’s strawberry jam on the entry with some sweetness. (For my UK readers, Cottee’s is a very mainstream Australian brand of cordial and jam, one step up from Home Brand products. Only one step up though – still lots of sugar). An interesting one off, but too sugary and confected for my liking.
2004 Cline ‘Small Berry’ Mourvedre (USA) (£21.50)
It is not usual to find an American attempt at a wine that is more subtle than its French equivalent. Usually US wines are a bit like the Canyonero – 12 yards long, two lanes wide, 65 tons of American pride. Loads of coffee, spearmint, eucalypt and anise on the nose. Palate shows loads of black fruit, intense, liquoricy. Supple but firm tannin finish. A big wine, let there be no doubt, but not as black and gothic as some Bandols I’ve had.
2004 Ridge Lytton Springs Zinfandel (USA) (£25)
A really serious attempt at Zinfandel here. Liquorice, black jelly babies on the nose, with something fruity like fibrous peach or peach stones. Thick, fruity palate, very supple, almost no discernible acid or tannin on the finish. Zin isn’t really my cup of tea, but this is as serious as they come.
So instead of being prolific but boring (like the Etudes of Czerny), I propose to present two smaller batches of hopefully worthwhile notes (like the Etudes of Chopin). The first, contained herein, is called “interesting and different” and comprises notes of those wines that, rather obviously, I either found particularly interesting or were made from different or unusual grape varieties. A further post will follow with my notes of other wines that I simply found to be of high quality or value or otherwise worthy of comment.
And here they are:
2006 Domaine Felines Jourdan Picpoul de Pinet (£9)
I had never tasted a varietal Picpoul before, the grape being known to me only as one of the permitted whites in Chateauneuf du Pape. The guy behind the counter described it as being ‘real peasant’s wine’ (‘peasant’ being a compliment these days in certain circles), so I will start drinking it regularly once I buy a beret and take up backgammon. Austere nose of slate, armpit and grape fruit. Palate shows hay, grape fruit, moderate acid and a lingering sappiness/greenness. Worthwhile.
2006 Nautilus Pinot Gris (Marlborough, NZ) (£14.50)
There is a real dispute as to whether Pinot Gris smells of ‘pork fat’. James Simpson MW thinks it does, and he’s an MW so his opinion is probably valid. I have found it less helpful as a descriptor, but this wine really does have a pork fat/pork scratchings nose, together with the poirewilliam/pear drops more commonly associated with Pinot Gris. Unfortunately I had already lost credibility as a taster with the guy behind the counter because I had described a 2005 Pazo Senorans Albarino (Spain) (£12) as smelling like pork fat and nacho cheese flavour Doritos. So he did not accept my pork fat comment. (You really have to earn respect at ‘public’ tastings. At ‘trade’ tastings they assume you know what you’re talking about – at public tastings it’s quite the opposite, and usually for good reason. Still, it annoys me). He insisted instead that this Pinot Gris had a ginger and lemon tea dimension to the nose, which I’ll allow. In any case the wine has a zesty entry, with green pears, a bit of hay, and a soft lingering finish with even a hint of parsley. Perfect for Chinese food/noodle dishes. (Incidentally the Albarino DID smell of Doritos, at least initially, with hay, chorizo, and olives on the nose. The palate is all lemons and melons with a rather short finish).
2005 Jean Daneel Signature Chenin Blanc (South Africa) (£20)
I’ve already noted this wine elsewhere, but it was showing particularly well today – in fact I would say it was the best white wine of the tasting. Golden yellow – dried apples, pears, caramel and vanilla on the nose. Palate shows honey, caramel, sandalwood. Rich, lots of finesse, no corners. A small percentage of botrytis affected grapes is included in the blend, to great effect. This wine is definitely going in the ‘wines I pull out for wine lovers’ box. (One MUST have interesting things of high quality in reserve for one’s wine loving friends. Interest alone is insufficient – they also have to be good wines. If you start bringing Bulgarian Traminer to tastings you will get a reputation for stinginess that is hard to shed…)
2005 J Lohr ‘Wildflower’ Valdigue (USA) (£10)
Valdigue is pretty common in the Midi, apparently, but the only reason they grow it in the US is that they thought they were growing Gamay for decades before ampelographers told them otherwise. A bit like learning that the ‘original’ Rembrandt on your wall is actually a fake. Still, it shouldn’t matter if the quality of the wine produced is good. The wine has rhubarb, red fruit and boiled lolly characters on the nose, and slightly vegetal hint. There is some Cottee’s strawberry jam on the entry with some sweetness. (For my UK readers, Cottee’s is a very mainstream Australian brand of cordial and jam, one step up from Home Brand products. Only one step up though – still lots of sugar). An interesting one off, but too sugary and confected for my liking.
2004 Cline ‘Small Berry’ Mourvedre (USA) (£21.50)
It is not usual to find an American attempt at a wine that is more subtle than its French equivalent. Usually US wines are a bit like the Canyonero – 12 yards long, two lanes wide, 65 tons of American pride. Loads of coffee, spearmint, eucalypt and anise on the nose. Palate shows loads of black fruit, intense, liquoricy. Supple but firm tannin finish. A big wine, let there be no doubt, but not as black and gothic as some Bandols I’ve had.
2004 Ridge Lytton Springs Zinfandel (USA) (£25)
A really serious attempt at Zinfandel here. Liquorice, black jelly babies on the nose, with something fruity like fibrous peach or peach stones. Thick, fruity palate, very supple, almost no discernible acid or tannin on the finish. Zin isn’t really my cup of tea, but this is as serious as they come.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Wines from the Magdalen College cellar
Not everybody is lucky enough to have a boyfriend in the SCR at Magdalen College Oxford, and therefore vicarious access to that institution’s vast cellar, the contents of which are available to the lucky few at insanely low prices.
But I am, so I might as well write a few notes about what I have been drinking from there over the last term.
But first, a rant about the ridiculous glassware that one is expected to drink from when dining (on the High Table, no less!) We are talking here about a college with an endowment of £116 million. A place with its own deer park and constitutionally mandated chapel choir. A place where water at dinner is served in hand engraved, double handled, 19th century silver tankards; and which has a designated common room the sole purpose of which is to eat fruit after dinner in Summer only. (There’s a different room for Winter). A place where coffee is drunk in one room on Thursday but a different one on Sunday.
This place is so oozing in wealth that I at least expected the wine to be served in Riedel ‘Sommeliers’ series lead crystal glasses, and even half expected each person at dinner to have his or her own personal butler to recline each chair back and pour the wine into our mouths to save us the hassle of tilting our heads.
But no. Instead of good stemware, or even the modest but functional Luigi Bormioli large ISO glasses (which come in at about £2), which are totally acceptable budget glasses, one has to drink from a shitty thick glass goblet that not even Argos sells, and that would be more at home in a JD Weatherspoon pub after they’ve run out of glasses on Curry Club Thursday. And to make things worse they serve the white wine in Champagne flutes! This might seem like pedantry, but when you’re serving something as worthy of appreciation as aged Grand Cru Alsace Riesling, or Premier Cru red Burgundy, it is disgraceful to put it into a vessel that (for various reasons) decreases one’s ability to enjoy the beverage and that would be more accustomed to receiving box wine or West Coast Cooler.
2005 Isabel Estate Sauvignon Blanc (Marlborough, NZ)
Just when I was becoming disenamoured with Marlborough Sauvignon, on account of so many of them being so aggressively herbaceous, this one restores my faith. It is at the very tropical end of the spectrum – zesty nose of passion fruit and lime sherbert (Almost Mosel-like!), lean, clean palate with a slightly herbal dimension and crisp acidity. A very energetic, fresh, lively wine.
1996 Zind Humbrecht Wintzenheim Riesling (Alsace)
I don’t often think of Riesling as being ‘big’. But this wine is very big. Deep gold. (I was slightly late to dinner on this day on account of some idiot crashing their car on the M40 meaning that the Oxford Espress had to use an A road, making the journey last about 3 hours. Anyway, in my absence, my dining companions were slightly worried that there might be something ‘wrong’ with the wine, because it was ‘so yellow’, as Stefanie put it. No, no. The wine is very right indeed). Intense mouth- and eye-watering lemon juice on the nose, slightly sweet, sherberty entry, major minerality/steeliness on the mid palate, finishing tight, austere and chalky. Still incredibly youthful.
2003 Domaine Vacheron Sancerre
Red Sancerre. A pretty ordinary proposition I’m afraid (I didn’t order it). A certain blackcurrant leafiness to it, but all in all just a bit too thin, green and under-ripe for my taste.
1993 Domaine Rion Chambolle Musigny ‘Les Cras’
A very agreeable red Burgundy. Perfumed nose of lavender, redcurrants, dried cherries and leather. Palate follows through – flavours seamlessly integrated, subtle, pure. Good balance between fruit and secondary characters. I don’t like my Burgundy that old, to be honest (sacre-bleu!) and I think this wine is probably about as old as I would want it. Mid-palate fades away a little bit but it’s beautifully supple and elegant.
1998 Chateau Potensac (Medoc, Cru Bourgeois Exceptionnel)
Utterly exemplary claret. Integrated nose of blackcurrants, cedar wood and cigar box, following through onto a very smooth, supple palate, warm mouthfeel, ripe tannins.
2002 Samos Grand Cru Muscat
In the dessert room they send the bloody wine around in carafes so one has no idea what it is (there being no printed menu). Good blind tasting practice though. I thought this was a Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, being such a competent expression of the flowery Muscat Blanc a Petit Grains. But I sneaked a look at the label before I left and was quite surprised that this was a Greek wine of the same grape variety. Fresh, fragrant, with that agreeable oily/bitter finish that Muscat has. I thought it was great. I even resisted the temptation to correct everyone who had been calling it ‘Sauternes’ (which is just SO wrong, on so many levels). People think anything sweet and white is ‘Sauternes’ (little learning being dangerous and all that). Perhaps a rant for another day.
But I am, so I might as well write a few notes about what I have been drinking from there over the last term.
But first, a rant about the ridiculous glassware that one is expected to drink from when dining (on the High Table, no less!) We are talking here about a college with an endowment of £116 million. A place with its own deer park and constitutionally mandated chapel choir. A place where water at dinner is served in hand engraved, double handled, 19th century silver tankards; and which has a designated common room the sole purpose of which is to eat fruit after dinner in Summer only. (There’s a different room for Winter). A place where coffee is drunk in one room on Thursday but a different one on Sunday.
This place is so oozing in wealth that I at least expected the wine to be served in Riedel ‘Sommeliers’ series lead crystal glasses, and even half expected each person at dinner to have his or her own personal butler to recline each chair back and pour the wine into our mouths to save us the hassle of tilting our heads.
But no. Instead of good stemware, or even the modest but functional Luigi Bormioli large ISO glasses (which come in at about £2), which are totally acceptable budget glasses, one has to drink from a shitty thick glass goblet that not even Argos sells, and that would be more at home in a JD Weatherspoon pub after they’ve run out of glasses on Curry Club Thursday. And to make things worse they serve the white wine in Champagne flutes! This might seem like pedantry, but when you’re serving something as worthy of appreciation as aged Grand Cru Alsace Riesling, or Premier Cru red Burgundy, it is disgraceful to put it into a vessel that (for various reasons) decreases one’s ability to enjoy the beverage and that would be more accustomed to receiving box wine or West Coast Cooler.
2005 Isabel Estate Sauvignon Blanc (Marlborough, NZ)
Just when I was becoming disenamoured with Marlborough Sauvignon, on account of so many of them being so aggressively herbaceous, this one restores my faith. It is at the very tropical end of the spectrum – zesty nose of passion fruit and lime sherbert (Almost Mosel-like!), lean, clean palate with a slightly herbal dimension and crisp acidity. A very energetic, fresh, lively wine.
1996 Zind Humbrecht Wintzenheim Riesling (Alsace)
I don’t often think of Riesling as being ‘big’. But this wine is very big. Deep gold. (I was slightly late to dinner on this day on account of some idiot crashing their car on the M40 meaning that the Oxford Espress had to use an A road, making the journey last about 3 hours. Anyway, in my absence, my dining companions were slightly worried that there might be something ‘wrong’ with the wine, because it was ‘so yellow’, as Stefanie put it. No, no. The wine is very right indeed). Intense mouth- and eye-watering lemon juice on the nose, slightly sweet, sherberty entry, major minerality/steeliness on the mid palate, finishing tight, austere and chalky. Still incredibly youthful.
2003 Domaine Vacheron Sancerre
Red Sancerre. A pretty ordinary proposition I’m afraid (I didn’t order it). A certain blackcurrant leafiness to it, but all in all just a bit too thin, green and under-ripe for my taste.
1993 Domaine Rion Chambolle Musigny ‘Les Cras’
A very agreeable red Burgundy. Perfumed nose of lavender, redcurrants, dried cherries and leather. Palate follows through – flavours seamlessly integrated, subtle, pure. Good balance between fruit and secondary characters. I don’t like my Burgundy that old, to be honest (sacre-bleu!) and I think this wine is probably about as old as I would want it. Mid-palate fades away a little bit but it’s beautifully supple and elegant.
1998 Chateau Potensac (Medoc, Cru Bourgeois Exceptionnel)
Utterly exemplary claret. Integrated nose of blackcurrants, cedar wood and cigar box, following through onto a very smooth, supple palate, warm mouthfeel, ripe tannins.
2002 Samos Grand Cru Muscat
In the dessert room they send the bloody wine around in carafes so one has no idea what it is (there being no printed menu). Good blind tasting practice though. I thought this was a Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, being such a competent expression of the flowery Muscat Blanc a Petit Grains. But I sneaked a look at the label before I left and was quite surprised that this was a Greek wine of the same grape variety. Fresh, fragrant, with that agreeable oily/bitter finish that Muscat has. I thought it was great. I even resisted the temptation to correct everyone who had been calling it ‘Sauternes’ (which is just SO wrong, on so many levels). People think anything sweet and white is ‘Sauternes’ (little learning being dangerous and all that). Perhaps a rant for another day.
Monday, 28 May 2007
Lincoln's Inn Loire Valley & Bordeaux tasting
When you go to a wine show, the last thing you want to do is give your honest opinion of a bad wine to the exhibitor’s face. Usually exhibitors make you taste your way through a forest of appalling lesser wines – usually their ‘unwooded Chardonnay’ (code for ‘we’re pricing this at £2 so we can’t afford oak barrels’), or their ‘unique’ Riesling-Viognier blend (code for ‘it’s much easier to offload one badly made wine than two’), or their ‘barbecue Rosé’ ‘for drinking rather than thinking’ according to the pamphlet – before they let you loose on the good stuff.
Accordingly it is wise counsel for the amateur, if he doesn’t want to lie outright or attract the exhibitor's ire in the form of a glass to the face or a corkscrew to the bottom, to at least cloak his true opinion in apparently complimentary terms. I learnt this lesson very quickly after describing a 1991 Chateau Pichon Lalande as 'stinking like a public toilet' to one of the chateau's reps direct from France, and we all know how the Bordelais take such comments. I had to move hemispheres before I was able to blag my way back into a Bordeaux trade tasting, and have shut the hell up ever since. So when Cookie told me at yesterday’s Loire Valley tasting in our living room that the 2004 Domaine de la Cotellaraie St-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil (£8) ‘stank of farts and poo’ I quickly reminded her that in wine parlance we would prefer her to say it ‘had a wild, untamed earthy nose of barnyard and truffles’.
In the wine’s defence, the initial bottle stink went away after a couple of hours and in my opinion was one of the standouts of the tasting. The nose ended up developing a rich fruitcaky character, the palate following through with dried fruits, pepper and a ripe tannin finish.
Here are my notes for the rest of the stuff we tasted yesterday.
First a pair of Muscadets. 2005 Chais de la Grange Muscadet (£5) was pretty much par for the course – soft nose of white fruits, a little salty and yeasty, with a prickly finish on the tongue. Not at all interesting, but textbook in style. Ruth didn’t think it really smelt of anything, which is probably right. Beside it, a 2005 Le Vieux Chai Muscadet Sèvre et Maine ‘Sur Lie’ (£5), which was not showing at its best. Ruth noticed an unattractive, solvent/glue note on the nose – others thought it was like aniseed (Adam), pear drop ester (Andrew) and bananas (Bobby). Not particularly pleasant at all. Crowd reaction: boring.
Then a pair of Sauvignon Blancs – one Sancerre, one Pouilly-Fumé. Personally I’d like some definitive guidance on what the stylistic differences are between these two regions. The World Atlas of Wine (5th edn) says that ‘The best of each are on the same level; the Sancerre perhaps slightly fuller and more obvious, the Pouilly-Fumé more perfumed.’ In complete contradiction Roger Voss’s Wines of the Loire, Alsace and the Rhone says of Pouilly-Fumé ‘the wines tend to be fuller, higher in alcohol, richer and longer lasting than white Sancerre, but sometimes lack the initial crisp fruit.’ So go figure. 2005 Domaine Daniel Crochet Sancerre (£10) is perhaps a more restrained, closed example of the style. Evident alcoholic heat on the nose, followed by white fruits and only faint hints of the grassy, herbaceous character of the grape. The palate is light bodied, with a hint of orange and decent acidity. The 2004 Domaine Cailbourdin Pouilly-Fumé ‘Les Cris’ (£9) on the other hand is a pungent bastard – celery salt, herbs, cut grass, tomato leaves, wet slate, gun smoke. ‘Acidy plant smell’ according to Neil. Palate follows in the extracted herbaceous vein, with citrus and mint in the mix, finishing with really high, persistent acid. Personally I preferred it over the Sancerre, but I was in the minority – the crowd generally preferred the more restrained Sancerre.
And finally in the white department a pair Chenin Blancs from Savennières. 2004 des Forges ‘Clos du Papillon’ (£11) I’ve already noted elsewhere, but was really showing at its best with its opulent honeycomb/chocolate nose, fat, floral, sandalwood palate and chalky finish. The 2004 Chateau Pierre-Bise ‘Clos de Coulaine’ (£10) was also impressive. Golden colour, nose of red apples, sandalwood and honey. The palate entry is slightly sweetish, with honeycomb and heather characters and finishing very dry with very high acid. Crowd reaction: bouquets.
The red bracket began with a Gamay – 2005 Domaine St Nicolas ‘Les Gammes en May’ (£7). I’ve tried this wine a few times now and I’m afraid I don’t like it. The colour is a bright lustrous purple, but the nose is brackish and dank. The palate is a bit tingly, with red cordial and boiled lolly characters, but these fade behind a bitter, green flinty character. Crowd reaction: If my pet made this smell I’d send it outside.
Then two jolly decent Cabernet Francs. The 2004 Domaine Wilfred Rousse Chinon 'Les Galuches' (£8) is mid red with a purple tinge. Nose is metallic (Cookie – ‘like staples’) with charcoal hints, blackcurrant, raisin and tomato leaves. The palate is supple and round, with soft ripe plums, jam, and cherry pie, with a tight minerally finish. Well structured. And the Domaine de la Cotellaraie I’ve already noted at the beginning of this post. Crowd reaction: varied, from ‘farts and poo’ through to ‘pretty promising, actually’.
Strictly this was supposed to be a Loire tasting, but I decided to throw in a few Merlot-based Bordeaux blends for variety’s sake and because you just can’t find that many interesting Loire reds in one’s local High Street retailer (and I’m not yet prolific enough to have Chateaux throw free wine at me for my opinion).
So, first was 2001 Chateau Barrabaque (Canon Fronsac) (£16). The nose is dominated by cedar wood and vanilla, with almost no fruit showing, and is far from integrated. The full bodied palate is still tight, finishing with ripe tannins. A few years yet before it will be showing at its best. This was followed by 2000 Chateau Franc La Rose (St Emilion) (£16), which was very promising on the nose – fruitcake, mint, generous dried fruits and beginning to integrate very well. Unfortunately the palate delivered less what the nose promised, and is ungenerously minerally, with river water streaks and even fish (Andrew). The 2003 Chateau Preuillac (Medoc Cru Bourgeois) (£13) was showing the best of the Bordeaux reds. Generous chocolate and coffee aromas, with a ripe palate of blackcurrant and black cherries and soft ripe tannins on the finish. Very 2003 with its amplified fruit and ‘baked’ character. Crowd reaction: flat patch bullies – Bordeaux will always taste superior when following Loire Cabernet Francs.
As has become my custom, we finished with a crowd pleasing sweet wine – 2003 Chateau Pierre-Bise Coteaux du Layon Beaulieu ‘Clos de la Soucherie’. Dried apples and honeycomb on the nose, palate is fresh but ultra-sweet, finishing dry and chalky.
Accordingly it is wise counsel for the amateur, if he doesn’t want to lie outright or attract the exhibitor's ire in the form of a glass to the face or a corkscrew to the bottom, to at least cloak his true opinion in apparently complimentary terms. I learnt this lesson very quickly after describing a 1991 Chateau Pichon Lalande as 'stinking like a public toilet' to one of the chateau's reps direct from France, and we all know how the Bordelais take such comments. I had to move hemispheres before I was able to blag my way back into a Bordeaux trade tasting, and have shut the hell up ever since. So when Cookie told me at yesterday’s Loire Valley tasting in our living room that the 2004 Domaine de la Cotellaraie St-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil (£8) ‘stank of farts and poo’ I quickly reminded her that in wine parlance we would prefer her to say it ‘had a wild, untamed earthy nose of barnyard and truffles’.
In the wine’s defence, the initial bottle stink went away after a couple of hours and in my opinion was one of the standouts of the tasting. The nose ended up developing a rich fruitcaky character, the palate following through with dried fruits, pepper and a ripe tannin finish.
Here are my notes for the rest of the stuff we tasted yesterday.
First a pair of Muscadets. 2005 Chais de la Grange Muscadet (£5) was pretty much par for the course – soft nose of white fruits, a little salty and yeasty, with a prickly finish on the tongue. Not at all interesting, but textbook in style. Ruth didn’t think it really smelt of anything, which is probably right. Beside it, a 2005 Le Vieux Chai Muscadet Sèvre et Maine ‘Sur Lie’ (£5), which was not showing at its best. Ruth noticed an unattractive, solvent/glue note on the nose – others thought it was like aniseed (Adam), pear drop ester (Andrew) and bananas (Bobby). Not particularly pleasant at all. Crowd reaction: boring.
Then a pair of Sauvignon Blancs – one Sancerre, one Pouilly-Fumé. Personally I’d like some definitive guidance on what the stylistic differences are between these two regions. The World Atlas of Wine (5th edn) says that ‘The best of each are on the same level; the Sancerre perhaps slightly fuller and more obvious, the Pouilly-Fumé more perfumed.’ In complete contradiction Roger Voss’s Wines of the Loire, Alsace and the Rhone says of Pouilly-Fumé ‘the wines tend to be fuller, higher in alcohol, richer and longer lasting than white Sancerre, but sometimes lack the initial crisp fruit.’ So go figure. 2005 Domaine Daniel Crochet Sancerre (£10) is perhaps a more restrained, closed example of the style. Evident alcoholic heat on the nose, followed by white fruits and only faint hints of the grassy, herbaceous character of the grape. The palate is light bodied, with a hint of orange and decent acidity. The 2004 Domaine Cailbourdin Pouilly-Fumé ‘Les Cris’ (£9) on the other hand is a pungent bastard – celery salt, herbs, cut grass, tomato leaves, wet slate, gun smoke. ‘Acidy plant smell’ according to Neil. Palate follows in the extracted herbaceous vein, with citrus and mint in the mix, finishing with really high, persistent acid. Personally I preferred it over the Sancerre, but I was in the minority – the crowd generally preferred the more restrained Sancerre.
And finally in the white department a pair Chenin Blancs from Savennières. 2004 des Forges ‘Clos du Papillon’ (£11) I’ve already noted elsewhere, but was really showing at its best with its opulent honeycomb/chocolate nose, fat, floral, sandalwood palate and chalky finish. The 2004 Chateau Pierre-Bise ‘Clos de Coulaine’ (£10) was also impressive. Golden colour, nose of red apples, sandalwood and honey. The palate entry is slightly sweetish, with honeycomb and heather characters and finishing very dry with very high acid. Crowd reaction: bouquets.
The red bracket began with a Gamay – 2005 Domaine St Nicolas ‘Les Gammes en May’ (£7). I’ve tried this wine a few times now and I’m afraid I don’t like it. The colour is a bright lustrous purple, but the nose is brackish and dank. The palate is a bit tingly, with red cordial and boiled lolly characters, but these fade behind a bitter, green flinty character. Crowd reaction: If my pet made this smell I’d send it outside.
Then two jolly decent Cabernet Francs. The 2004 Domaine Wilfred Rousse Chinon 'Les Galuches' (£8) is mid red with a purple tinge. Nose is metallic (Cookie – ‘like staples’) with charcoal hints, blackcurrant, raisin and tomato leaves. The palate is supple and round, with soft ripe plums, jam, and cherry pie, with a tight minerally finish. Well structured. And the Domaine de la Cotellaraie I’ve already noted at the beginning of this post. Crowd reaction: varied, from ‘farts and poo’ through to ‘pretty promising, actually’.
Strictly this was supposed to be a Loire tasting, but I decided to throw in a few Merlot-based Bordeaux blends for variety’s sake and because you just can’t find that many interesting Loire reds in one’s local High Street retailer (and I’m not yet prolific enough to have Chateaux throw free wine at me for my opinion).
So, first was 2001 Chateau Barrabaque (Canon Fronsac) (£16). The nose is dominated by cedar wood and vanilla, with almost no fruit showing, and is far from integrated. The full bodied palate is still tight, finishing with ripe tannins. A few years yet before it will be showing at its best. This was followed by 2000 Chateau Franc La Rose (St Emilion) (£16), which was very promising on the nose – fruitcake, mint, generous dried fruits and beginning to integrate very well. Unfortunately the palate delivered less what the nose promised, and is ungenerously minerally, with river water streaks and even fish (Andrew). The 2003 Chateau Preuillac (Medoc Cru Bourgeois) (£13) was showing the best of the Bordeaux reds. Generous chocolate and coffee aromas, with a ripe palate of blackcurrant and black cherries and soft ripe tannins on the finish. Very 2003 with its amplified fruit and ‘baked’ character. Crowd reaction: flat patch bullies – Bordeaux will always taste superior when following Loire Cabernet Francs.
As has become my custom, we finished with a crowd pleasing sweet wine – 2003 Chateau Pierre-Bise Coteaux du Layon Beaulieu ‘Clos de la Soucherie’. Dried apples and honeycomb on the nose, palate is fresh but ultra-sweet, finishing dry and chalky.
Sunday, 20 May 2007
Classed Growth Bordeaux blind tasting
I love red Bordeaux – it’s the answer I give when people ask me the unanswerable question “what is your favourite wine?” simply so that I don’t have to give a long-winded explanation to someone who probably doesn’t care and was only being polite. (Anyone who does care would probably ask a better question). But I learnt two things at a tasting of classed growth Bordeaux on Saturday.
First, when you get a good Bordeaux in a lineup of random wines (of equivalent quality, let’s say), it sits head and shoulders above the others in terms of its attraction, and it becomes very easy to label it ‘beautiful’ or ‘classic’. But when you try a lineup of good Bordeaux against each other, one’s critical faculties come to the fore, and no wine seems good enough for approval, when under any other conditions, any of them would probably emerge the favourite. I was really disappointed that in yesterday’s lineup of 6 wines, I only really liked one or two of them. But I bet that if any of them had been presented on its own or in a lineup of other wines I would have been making all the right noises about it. Lesson: don’t drink a lineup of just classed growth Bordeaux if you want to cream your pants over every sip.
Second, when I try a glass of Bordeaux on its own, I always struggle to find more than a few generic descriptors for the wine – blackcurrants, cedar, mint, tobacco. But when I try a lineup of all Bordeaux, a whole spectrum of flavours appears that is much wider than I would have expected, and includes flavours that I would never even expect to find in Bordeaux let alone in such abundance. Turns out the people from Berry’s aren’t bullshitting me in their daily emails encouraging me to purchase wine I couldn’t afford in my wildest dreams. Lesson: if you want to expose the variety of Bordeaux, drink it in a lineup of Bordeaux. Why must the lessons conflict?
Anyway, here are my notes for the wines tasted.
1995 Chateau Lagrange (St Julien)
Mid red, with a brickish rim. Nose shows mint, river pebbles, blackcurrants, mulberry leaves. The palate is on the thin side, to be perfectly honest, with a little too much acid for my liking and almost no tannin at all, and slightly sour on the finish compared with the others. Fully developed, I don’t think it will improve greatly from now on.
1998 Chateau Langoa Barton (St Julien)
Dark red-purple. The nose is fairly closed and restrained, but what does emerge is quite fragrant – perfumed sour cherries. The palate has a more cedary edge to it and is rather green but finishing with fine tannins. To be honest, neither of the two St Juliens excited me that much, despite having been impressed on previous occasions by the same wines on their own.
1995 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
The two Pauillacs were the two that most obviously reflected their terroir, and this one was the most classic of the wines tasted. Nose of cedarwood, blackcurrants and tobacco, the palate is plummy with violets and a minerally streak to it, finishing with medium tannins. All elements well integrated and mature, and showing some complexity.
1999 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
The general consensus was that this was the favourite wine of the afternoon, and I agree. Mid-red in colour, with an opulent nose of ground coffee, chocolate and cigar-box aromas. The palate is supple and concentrated, with ripe red fruit and finishing with mouth-coating, persistent tannins. Well proportioned and will continue to improve in years to come.
1995 Chateau Haut-Bailly (Pessac Leognan)
Nobody could believe this was a 1995 – still an incredibly youthful wine, and built to last. The other interesting thing is that the half of us that didn’t think it was Pessac, thought it was St Estephe, such was the minerality of the wine and the power of the tannins. But wrong we were, and to my mind it is interesting that so many people were wrong in the same way given how remotely different the two communes are. Anyway the nose is minerally, with loads of slate, river water and wet pebbles, with ink and green capsicum too. The palate is forward with loads of ripe fruit and mint, with a long finish with very firm, drying tannins. Powerful.
2002 Domaine de Chevalier (Pessac Leognan)
Mid-red, nose of caramel, rhubarb and cream, boiled cherries and mulberry leaves. The palate is restrained and a bit green, with oak that is a far way from being integrated. A few years yet before it is ready.
We joined a party at a Lebanese restaurant after the tasting. Naturally the only thing on the wine list there was Chateau Musar, so we had a bottle of the 1997 with our meal, which I suppose is worth noting. Translucent red (but throwing a massive deposit), nose of raisins, spices and dried fruit. Palate is relatively light, and forwardly fruity with bright acid, but almost no trace of tannin on the finish.
First, when you get a good Bordeaux in a lineup of random wines (of equivalent quality, let’s say), it sits head and shoulders above the others in terms of its attraction, and it becomes very easy to label it ‘beautiful’ or ‘classic’. But when you try a lineup of good Bordeaux against each other, one’s critical faculties come to the fore, and no wine seems good enough for approval, when under any other conditions, any of them would probably emerge the favourite. I was really disappointed that in yesterday’s lineup of 6 wines, I only really liked one or two of them. But I bet that if any of them had been presented on its own or in a lineup of other wines I would have been making all the right noises about it. Lesson: don’t drink a lineup of just classed growth Bordeaux if you want to cream your pants over every sip.
Second, when I try a glass of Bordeaux on its own, I always struggle to find more than a few generic descriptors for the wine – blackcurrants, cedar, mint, tobacco. But when I try a lineup of all Bordeaux, a whole spectrum of flavours appears that is much wider than I would have expected, and includes flavours that I would never even expect to find in Bordeaux let alone in such abundance. Turns out the people from Berry’s aren’t bullshitting me in their daily emails encouraging me to purchase wine I couldn’t afford in my wildest dreams. Lesson: if you want to expose the variety of Bordeaux, drink it in a lineup of Bordeaux. Why must the lessons conflict?
Anyway, here are my notes for the wines tasted.
1995 Chateau Lagrange (St Julien)
Mid red, with a brickish rim. Nose shows mint, river pebbles, blackcurrants, mulberry leaves. The palate is on the thin side, to be perfectly honest, with a little too much acid for my liking and almost no tannin at all, and slightly sour on the finish compared with the others. Fully developed, I don’t think it will improve greatly from now on.
1998 Chateau Langoa Barton (St Julien)
Dark red-purple. The nose is fairly closed and restrained, but what does emerge is quite fragrant – perfumed sour cherries. The palate has a more cedary edge to it and is rather green but finishing with fine tannins. To be honest, neither of the two St Juliens excited me that much, despite having been impressed on previous occasions by the same wines on their own.
1995 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
The two Pauillacs were the two that most obviously reflected their terroir, and this one was the most classic of the wines tasted. Nose of cedarwood, blackcurrants and tobacco, the palate is plummy with violets and a minerally streak to it, finishing with medium tannins. All elements well integrated and mature, and showing some complexity.
1999 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
The general consensus was that this was the favourite wine of the afternoon, and I agree. Mid-red in colour, with an opulent nose of ground coffee, chocolate and cigar-box aromas. The palate is supple and concentrated, with ripe red fruit and finishing with mouth-coating, persistent tannins. Well proportioned and will continue to improve in years to come.
1995 Chateau Haut-Bailly (Pessac Leognan)
Nobody could believe this was a 1995 – still an incredibly youthful wine, and built to last. The other interesting thing is that the half of us that didn’t think it was Pessac, thought it was St Estephe, such was the minerality of the wine and the power of the tannins. But wrong we were, and to my mind it is interesting that so many people were wrong in the same way given how remotely different the two communes are. Anyway the nose is minerally, with loads of slate, river water and wet pebbles, with ink and green capsicum too. The palate is forward with loads of ripe fruit and mint, with a long finish with very firm, drying tannins. Powerful.
2002 Domaine de Chevalier (Pessac Leognan)
Mid-red, nose of caramel, rhubarb and cream, boiled cherries and mulberry leaves. The palate is restrained and a bit green, with oak that is a far way from being integrated. A few years yet before it is ready.
We joined a party at a Lebanese restaurant after the tasting. Naturally the only thing on the wine list there was Chateau Musar, so we had a bottle of the 1997 with our meal, which I suppose is worth noting. Translucent red (but throwing a massive deposit), nose of raisins, spices and dried fruit. Palate is relatively light, and forwardly fruity with bright acid, but almost no trace of tannin on the finish.
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Top wines from Yalumba
I tend to eschew wine from my homeland. It was all I drank until I was 26 and moved to the UK. Ever since I’ve been playing catch-up with the rest of the world’s wine regions, whilst earnestly defending Australia’s ability to produce excellent wine (perhaps a view that is gently being eroded the more my palate becomes attuned to old world wines).
Anyway, Australia DOES produce superb wine, as a tasting of Yalumba’s top cuvees yesterday, proved.
The star for me was the 2000 Yalumba ‘Octavius’ Barossa Valley Shiraz (£45). The nose is dark, introspective, brooding: cool coffee grounds woven with caramel, chocolate, vanilla and pepper. It is the Shostakovich of wines, or perhaps the James Joyce of wines – many layered, complex, difficult to understand and hard to consume in all but small doses. The palate is dense as a black hole but maintains its elegance. There’s no doubt this is an extraordinarily powerful wine, but not in a jammy, over-baked, overtly fruity, flabby way. It’s just extremely amplified. It's all muscle and no fat. Perhaps a good match for venison or kangaroo.
The 2002 Octavius is similar in style and structure, but a little too young for drinking now (the 2000 is developing nicely but still has many years ahead of it). The nose shows wood smoke, plum jam and perfumed violets. The palate, again massive, is still fresh and youthful with clean acid and tannins pronounced enough to maintain good structure. It’s hard to believe the Octavius is matured in American oak, let alone in such tiny vessels as the tiny 90-litre new ‘Octaves’ that are used, as the oak treatment is subtle. It lends a spicy hint to the wine – but not at all the dusty, woodchippy, bitter hiding that American oak so often gives to a wine.
Just to compare what the old world does with shiraz, we tried a 1996 Chapoutier Cote Rotie against the two Octaviuses (Octavii?). Here we move from Joyce to John Steinbeck. This wine has a fuck-off savoury nose, with celery salt, leather, pepper, bacon, dry meat. It is as if water has never deigned to fall on the land these vines were planted on. The thin palate has very developed dry cherry and leather-bound library book characters. It may have been open a little long – to my palate it was getting thin and tired, but still showed a remarkable contrast to the oily, voluptuous Australian versions.
The 2002 Yalumba ‘Menzies’ Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon (£23) is Yalumba’s top cabernet. At the moment it is far too young to drink but will get there, I think. The nose is laden with fresh green capsicum, cedar bark, menthol oil and, as my flatmate Andy’s friend put it – Silvo. The palate is very tight. After breathing for several hours it is more recognisably cabernet like, with blackcurrant and cedar characters. But frankly, everything is just a little too primary and aggressive at the moment. It had been said that the winemakers had made a decision to modernise this wine in recent years, making it less tannic and green. Having no basis for comparison, I don't know whether this has worked or not. To me, it was still a very tight, green wine. But in a good five years it may well be a different wine altogether.
Then a few odds and ends to finish off the afternoon. 2004 Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir just stinks of every horrible smell ever to adorn a South African wine – soot, ashtray, roadworks, burnt rubber, you name it. Underneath it tastes vaguely like pinot noir. And finally 2003 Pontodi Chianti Classico is a very fruity version. Heady maraschino cherry liqueur characters, with liquorice and strawberries. On the palate, some cherry blossom characters, a little smoky and great creamy length.
Anyway, Australia DOES produce superb wine, as a tasting of Yalumba’s top cuvees yesterday, proved.
The star for me was the 2000 Yalumba ‘Octavius’ Barossa Valley Shiraz (£45). The nose is dark, introspective, brooding: cool coffee grounds woven with caramel, chocolate, vanilla and pepper. It is the Shostakovich of wines, or perhaps the James Joyce of wines – many layered, complex, difficult to understand and hard to consume in all but small doses. The palate is dense as a black hole but maintains its elegance. There’s no doubt this is an extraordinarily powerful wine, but not in a jammy, over-baked, overtly fruity, flabby way. It’s just extremely amplified. It's all muscle and no fat. Perhaps a good match for venison or kangaroo.
The 2002 Octavius is similar in style and structure, but a little too young for drinking now (the 2000 is developing nicely but still has many years ahead of it). The nose shows wood smoke, plum jam and perfumed violets. The palate, again massive, is still fresh and youthful with clean acid and tannins pronounced enough to maintain good structure. It’s hard to believe the Octavius is matured in American oak, let alone in such tiny vessels as the tiny 90-litre new ‘Octaves’ that are used, as the oak treatment is subtle. It lends a spicy hint to the wine – but not at all the dusty, woodchippy, bitter hiding that American oak so often gives to a wine.
Just to compare what the old world does with shiraz, we tried a 1996 Chapoutier Cote Rotie against the two Octaviuses (Octavii?). Here we move from Joyce to John Steinbeck. This wine has a fuck-off savoury nose, with celery salt, leather, pepper, bacon, dry meat. It is as if water has never deigned to fall on the land these vines were planted on. The thin palate has very developed dry cherry and leather-bound library book characters. It may have been open a little long – to my palate it was getting thin and tired, but still showed a remarkable contrast to the oily, voluptuous Australian versions.
The 2002 Yalumba ‘Menzies’ Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon (£23) is Yalumba’s top cabernet. At the moment it is far too young to drink but will get there, I think. The nose is laden with fresh green capsicum, cedar bark, menthol oil and, as my flatmate Andy’s friend put it – Silvo. The palate is very tight. After breathing for several hours it is more recognisably cabernet like, with blackcurrant and cedar characters. But frankly, everything is just a little too primary and aggressive at the moment. It had been said that the winemakers had made a decision to modernise this wine in recent years, making it less tannic and green. Having no basis for comparison, I don't know whether this has worked or not. To me, it was still a very tight, green wine. But in a good five years it may well be a different wine altogether.
Then a few odds and ends to finish off the afternoon. 2004 Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir just stinks of every horrible smell ever to adorn a South African wine – soot, ashtray, roadworks, burnt rubber, you name it. Underneath it tastes vaguely like pinot noir. And finally 2003 Pontodi Chianti Classico is a very fruity version. Heady maraschino cherry liqueur characters, with liquorice and strawberries. On the palate, some cherry blossom characters, a little smoky and great creamy length.
Saturday, 5 May 2007
Sarah Chang and two New Zealand Pinots
Last night I saw Sarah Chang perform Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No 1 with the BBC Symphony Orchestra. It was without doubt the most amazing concerto performance I have ever seen by any performer on any instrument. Jaws dropped into laps across the hall at the sight of Ms Chang whipping out the cadenza at the end of the third movement with more speed, force, texture and energy than I thought humanly possible, let alone ever expected to witness live. The poor girl sitting next to me actually covered her eyes and mouth at one point, presumably out of fear that the soloist was going to explode, or at least accidentally release her bow into the eye of an unsuspecting audience member. (She wasn’t too far off – Chang had broken so many of the hairs on her bow in her thrashing of the cadenza that in the brief orchestral tutti at the beginning of the fourth movement she jettisoned her bow altogether and commandeered that of the first violinist to complete the concerto!)
Anyway, it was a jolly good thing that I had had a few settling glasses of wine to anaesthetise me beforehand – I’m just not sure I could have withstood such exposure totally sober.
Tilley’s ‘Interesting Wine of the Week’ award goes to the 2006 Plozner Venezia Giulia Sauvignon Blanc from Italy. Gooseberries and mangoes on the nose. Limey palate, with hints of apricot and an agreeable oiliness finishing with racy acidity. Refreshing and interesting. And it comes in a bottle with a glass closure. Genius or gimmick? You be the judge.
Then a pair of New Zealand pinot noirs. 2005 Thornbury Central Otago Pinot Noir is translucent even red-purple in colour. Closed nose, slightly cedary and stalky. Red-fruit palate, very fresh and linear, but well balanced. At £9 odd it is remarkable value, especially as I had tasted it blind and thought it from Burgundy. 2005 Cable Bay Marlborough Pinot Noir is mid red. The nose is a mix of pepper, capsicum, cherries, stalks, caramel and hint of cherry sherbet. Palate shows strawberry and barn yard characters. On balance, I like it a little more than the Thornbury, but at about £14 it is less good value. My colleagues thought the Thornbury outshone the Cable Bay on both quality and price, but there really isn’t much between them.
Anyway, it was a jolly good thing that I had had a few settling glasses of wine to anaesthetise me beforehand – I’m just not sure I could have withstood such exposure totally sober.
Tilley’s ‘Interesting Wine of the Week’ award goes to the 2006 Plozner Venezia Giulia Sauvignon Blanc from Italy. Gooseberries and mangoes on the nose. Limey palate, with hints of apricot and an agreeable oiliness finishing with racy acidity. Refreshing and interesting. And it comes in a bottle with a glass closure. Genius or gimmick? You be the judge.
Then a pair of New Zealand pinot noirs. 2005 Thornbury Central Otago Pinot Noir is translucent even red-purple in colour. Closed nose, slightly cedary and stalky. Red-fruit palate, very fresh and linear, but well balanced. At £9 odd it is remarkable value, especially as I had tasted it blind and thought it from Burgundy. 2005 Cable Bay Marlborough Pinot Noir is mid red. The nose is a mix of pepper, capsicum, cherries, stalks, caramel and hint of cherry sherbet. Palate shows strawberry and barn yard characters. On balance, I like it a little more than the Thornbury, but at about £14 it is less good value. My colleagues thought the Thornbury outshone the Cable Bay on both quality and price, but there really isn’t much between them.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
Barbecue Reds
‘Barbecue wine’ is a veiled insult used by the likes of Jane MacQuitty when trying to find something nice to say about a brackish £3 red that has nothing to recommend it and that must feature in their columns out of fear of isolating people who aren’t prepared to spend more than £3 on a bottle of wine. (Do such people read wine columns? I ask you.)
Not me though. I take rather decent wine to barbecues, and it was no exception when Tom and Cookie invited me to a spontaneous roof-top barbecue at 1 Old Buildings this afternoon. ‘Barbecue wine’ is the ultimate compliment for liquor chosen to complement some of God’s greatest uses for ground, otherwise nondescript meat – sausages and hamburger patties. And people who dare bring Oddbins Own Red to such religious occasions deserve a jolly good knee-capping and a lesson in robust reds from the south of France and Italy.
2003 Domaine du Joncier Lirac (£9) is mid red, with a classic Southern Rhone nose of pepper, purple fruits and sour cherries. The palate is at once spicy and savoury, but at the same time with attractive, peachy undertones on the mid palate, finishing with a hint of minerality.
2005 Piarncornello Poggio dei Leicci Rosso di Toscana (£10) is translucent purple. The nose shows cherry sherbet, almonds, and cherry liqueur. The entry is sweet and woody with a vanillin palate, spicy oak and chipper tannins.
Not me though. I take rather decent wine to barbecues, and it was no exception when Tom and Cookie invited me to a spontaneous roof-top barbecue at 1 Old Buildings this afternoon. ‘Barbecue wine’ is the ultimate compliment for liquor chosen to complement some of God’s greatest uses for ground, otherwise nondescript meat – sausages and hamburger patties. And people who dare bring Oddbins Own Red to such religious occasions deserve a jolly good knee-capping and a lesson in robust reds from the south of France and Italy.
2003 Domaine du Joncier Lirac (£9) is mid red, with a classic Southern Rhone nose of pepper, purple fruits and sour cherries. The palate is at once spicy and savoury, but at the same time with attractive, peachy undertones on the mid palate, finishing with a hint of minerality.
2005 Piarncornello Poggio dei Leicci Rosso di Toscana (£10) is translucent purple. The nose shows cherry sherbet, almonds, and cherry liqueur. The entry is sweet and woody with a vanillin palate, spicy oak and chipper tannins.
Saturday, 21 April 2007
Friday afternoon miscellany
Here are a few notes about what I’ve been drinking so far this weekend. I’m going up to my old college ball tonight, so unfortunately that means my Saturday drinking will consist entirely of seedy cocktails made from rotten fruit, cheap rum, and served in plastic cups. Nevertheless, this small Friday afternoon bracket more than makes up for what I will have to deal with this evening.
2003 Amayna Chardonnay (San Antonio Valley, Chile, £17)
When as a kid we used to go on long driving holidays through places like Gundagai, we used to stay at country town Motor Inns – the sort of place that boasted having ‘COLOUR TV’ as one of the facilities. The breakfast menus at these places used to offer, quite incredulously, ‘Compote of Fruit’, which was code for an ungenerous spoonful of tinned fruit salad with little cubes of some sort of yellow fruit (peach?) some sort of white fruit (pear?) and cherries, coated in thick syrup. Back then I thought this was the poshest thing in the world (I was probably 4 at the time). I was devastated when I eventually learned that ‘compote’ is a legitimate culinary term that should evoke orchard-fresh fruit lovingly combined with sugar and spice and all things nice and slowly reduced in a copper pot atop an environmentally unfriendly Aga in the kitchen of a 17th century stone cottage, that had been fraudulently deployed when used to describe fruit salad ladled out of a 5 litre tin by a stinking man in a wife beater. Anyway, this wine has a weirdly fruity nose of rhubarb and cream, toasted marshmallows, and – there it was on sniff number 3 – Gundagai Motor Inn Compote of Fruit. Then there are aromas of baked fruit – possibly even a caramelised apple/tarte tatin character. Only when you taste it do you realise it is an alcoholic beverage (very much so at 14.5%) – with a fleshy palate, bordering on the flabby. Yes, it does taste like a Chardonnay (and a good and interesting one) but to my mind not acidic enough to deal with the Golden Circle train wreck that is the wine’s opening gambit.
2005 Jean Daneel Signature Chenin Blanc (Stellenbosch, South Africa, £17)
Now I’m not the world’s biggest fan of either Chenin Blanc or South African wine, but I do like this (indeed I’ve liked the vast majority of Jean Daneel wines I’ve tried), and it is allegedly the best Chenin produced in South Africa. Nose of butter and caramel, with dried apples in the background and that characteristic South African pong (which, in fairness, is very faint and you only notice on the first sniff). The palate is ripe and full, with caramel, apricots, viscous melons and butter, and a searing acid finish leaving a hint of caramel behind it. It is, however, a very attention-seeking wine (at 15% alcohol), made almost as if it’s there to prove a point, and you do have to concentrate very hard on it. I’m not sure I could drink this wine and hold a conversation with someone at the same time.
2004 Jean Luc Colombo Crozes Hermitage ‘La Tuilière’ (£12)
This is the third Jean Luc Colombo wine I’ve tried in the last week or so, and although they are all quite good wines the opinion I’ve formed is that they’re rather characterless. The white Cotes du Rhone is quite didactic in the way it sets out benchmark viognier characters. ‘Benchmark’ is one of these words that looks like a compliment when it isn’t one. Although the initial sentiment is that it is something by which others are judged, the implicit sentiment is that one is always hoping to come across something better. Just as the Cotes du Rhone was benchmark viognier, this was benchmark Crozes Hermitage. Nose of white pepper, and forward red fruit, perhaps even a little confected. The palate leads with black peppercorns and straight forward, clean red fruit. Well made, but ultimately not a wine for showing off. The sort of wine that could fairly be included in a blind tasting match, but that you just don’t get that excited about having a second glass of.
2001 Marchesi de Frescobaldi Castel Giocondo Brunello di Montalcino (£30)
This was presented to me blind, and to think that Marc quibbled with my identification of it as being a Tuscan Sangiovese. Is Brunello not another word for Sangiovese? Can anyone tell me definitively whether these are merely synonyms, or if there is actually a botanical difference between Brunello and Sangiovese? Anyway, that’s beside the point. The wine is a lustrous red. A nose of cherries, chocolate, fragrant lavender, anise, and a hint of cedarwood. The palate is less complex than the nose might lead you to expect, but is big and full, fruit driven and chocolatey, finishing with full, ripe tannins. A really impressive wine.
But my favourite wine of the day was the second Tuscan Sangiovese I tried, a 1999 Le Fioraie Chianti Classico. Perhaps I was just a bit excited that I had bought some bottles for £10 each, a substantial discount from its usual price, or that maybe I just like a mature old-style Chianti Classico, but it was just lovely. Subtly perfumed nose of dried and fresh cherries. Smooth, full palate, creamy, with cherry liqueur and a slight charry/cigarry dimension, supported by supple fruit and ripe tannins. My flatmate Andy said it reminded him of those little ‘Campino’ strawberries-and-cream lollies you can get on the continent, and I think he’s exactly right. It’s probably at the peak of its maturity now, and even after being open for about two hours it began to turn a little sour, so drink up now.
2003 Amayna Chardonnay (San Antonio Valley, Chile, £17)
When as a kid we used to go on long driving holidays through places like Gundagai, we used to stay at country town Motor Inns – the sort of place that boasted having ‘COLOUR TV’ as one of the facilities. The breakfast menus at these places used to offer, quite incredulously, ‘Compote of Fruit’, which was code for an ungenerous spoonful of tinned fruit salad with little cubes of some sort of yellow fruit (peach?) some sort of white fruit (pear?) and cherries, coated in thick syrup. Back then I thought this was the poshest thing in the world (I was probably 4 at the time). I was devastated when I eventually learned that ‘compote’ is a legitimate culinary term that should evoke orchard-fresh fruit lovingly combined with sugar and spice and all things nice and slowly reduced in a copper pot atop an environmentally unfriendly Aga in the kitchen of a 17th century stone cottage, that had been fraudulently deployed when used to describe fruit salad ladled out of a 5 litre tin by a stinking man in a wife beater. Anyway, this wine has a weirdly fruity nose of rhubarb and cream, toasted marshmallows, and – there it was on sniff number 3 – Gundagai Motor Inn Compote of Fruit. Then there are aromas of baked fruit – possibly even a caramelised apple/tarte tatin character. Only when you taste it do you realise it is an alcoholic beverage (very much so at 14.5%) – with a fleshy palate, bordering on the flabby. Yes, it does taste like a Chardonnay (and a good and interesting one) but to my mind not acidic enough to deal with the Golden Circle train wreck that is the wine’s opening gambit.
2005 Jean Daneel Signature Chenin Blanc (Stellenbosch, South Africa, £17)
Now I’m not the world’s biggest fan of either Chenin Blanc or South African wine, but I do like this (indeed I’ve liked the vast majority of Jean Daneel wines I’ve tried), and it is allegedly the best Chenin produced in South Africa. Nose of butter and caramel, with dried apples in the background and that characteristic South African pong (which, in fairness, is very faint and you only notice on the first sniff). The palate is ripe and full, with caramel, apricots, viscous melons and butter, and a searing acid finish leaving a hint of caramel behind it. It is, however, a very attention-seeking wine (at 15% alcohol), made almost as if it’s there to prove a point, and you do have to concentrate very hard on it. I’m not sure I could drink this wine and hold a conversation with someone at the same time.
2004 Jean Luc Colombo Crozes Hermitage ‘La Tuilière’ (£12)
This is the third Jean Luc Colombo wine I’ve tried in the last week or so, and although they are all quite good wines the opinion I’ve formed is that they’re rather characterless. The white Cotes du Rhone is quite didactic in the way it sets out benchmark viognier characters. ‘Benchmark’ is one of these words that looks like a compliment when it isn’t one. Although the initial sentiment is that it is something by which others are judged, the implicit sentiment is that one is always hoping to come across something better. Just as the Cotes du Rhone was benchmark viognier, this was benchmark Crozes Hermitage. Nose of white pepper, and forward red fruit, perhaps even a little confected. The palate leads with black peppercorns and straight forward, clean red fruit. Well made, but ultimately not a wine for showing off. The sort of wine that could fairly be included in a blind tasting match, but that you just don’t get that excited about having a second glass of.
2001 Marchesi de Frescobaldi Castel Giocondo Brunello di Montalcino (£30)
This was presented to me blind, and to think that Marc quibbled with my identification of it as being a Tuscan Sangiovese. Is Brunello not another word for Sangiovese? Can anyone tell me definitively whether these are merely synonyms, or if there is actually a botanical difference between Brunello and Sangiovese? Anyway, that’s beside the point. The wine is a lustrous red. A nose of cherries, chocolate, fragrant lavender, anise, and a hint of cedarwood. The palate is less complex than the nose might lead you to expect, but is big and full, fruit driven and chocolatey, finishing with full, ripe tannins. A really impressive wine.
But my favourite wine of the day was the second Tuscan Sangiovese I tried, a 1999 Le Fioraie Chianti Classico. Perhaps I was just a bit excited that I had bought some bottles for £10 each, a substantial discount from its usual price, or that maybe I just like a mature old-style Chianti Classico, but it was just lovely. Subtly perfumed nose of dried and fresh cherries. Smooth, full palate, creamy, with cherry liqueur and a slight charry/cigarry dimension, supported by supple fruit and ripe tannins. My flatmate Andy said it reminded him of those little ‘Campino’ strawberries-and-cream lollies you can get on the continent, and I think he’s exactly right. It’s probably at the peak of its maturity now, and even after being open for about two hours it began to turn a little sour, so drink up now.
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