general

Spotting an expert wine maker isn’t always that easy. However, red stained finger nails and the ability to rattle off the history of Syrah in the Hawkes Bay, from its clonal inception at Te Kauwhata to it’s evolution throughout the region, are a bit of a give away.

And thus it was, meeting Geoff King at the cellar door at Te Awa, accommodating the requests of a visitor with a penchant for Syrah, before whisking me around the winery for what proved to be a Diploma in wine making, a tank sampling and a cellar door tasting in under two hours.

Te Awa has an interesting history for what would be considered a smallish producer making on average only 250-300 tonnes a year. Owned originally by the Billionaire hedge funder turned winemaker Julian Robertson, also responsible for the Cape Kidnappers Golf Course, the winery expanded quickly to produce a diverse range: The Leftfield wines for fruit driven easy drinking (although this loose turn of phrase does them a disservice), the Te Awa range showing greater secondary characteristics courtesy of further winemaker interaction, and the Cape Kidnappers selection, sold under cork and with a need for bottle ageing to reach its apogee.

In the latest twist in its story, Te Awa was recently bought by the wine giant Villa Maria. Reminiscent of recent acquisitions of craft brewers by larger drinks companies (one thinks of the purchase of Emmerson’s by Lion Nathan in particular), Te Awa is to retain its creative control after only a cull of it’s less profitable varietally driven wines. This hands off approach is very much a win win; a winemaker like Geoff might sacrifice the pleasure of playing around with a few parcels of vines to create his own vinous baby, but will gain massively through a well developed support system, from lab sampling at a drop of a hat, to the slightly less glamorous world of general on site maintenance. In addition, the well oiled commercial machine that is Villa Maria provides further outlets for wine that can’t be made and sold under the Te Awa brand in poorer vintages, such as 2012 – an important factor in maintaining profitability.

The winery is an impressive set up of stainless steel vinifiers and storage space, which all seem to be temperature controlled, and hard to appreciate when stood in the cosy, wooden confines of the cellar door, only metres away. Geoff spares no detail leading us through the finer points of both white and red wine production, but only after a quick history of the Gimblett gravels, on which the vineyard site is perched. Formed only 160 years prior by the alluvial remnants of a massive river diverted by a tumultuous flood, this soil is young, which sounds strange in wine terms – but is so fitting in a country whose wine industry is only decades old, and is now forging its own wine identity.

I am introduced to the grape baskets and the pneumatic crusher, the hammer and chisel of the winemaker, and then meet the vast array of other tools that are deftly used to create the detail, depending on the wine to be sculpted. Stainless steel open top tanks for punching down, and closed tanks for pumping over – depending on the desired level of phenolic extraction for reds. Stainless steel or barrel fermentation for the whites, and even stainless steel barrels for those not wanting oak, but that will benefit from some time on lees. Rather like staring into a Mandelbrot Set, it would appear that at every level, wine making gains in complexity. Micro-oxygenation in oak to fix and polymerise tannins, and different barrels from different coopers, whose recipe of provenance of oak and level of toast will play a huge factor. Wild vineyard yeasts for varied rolling ferments that are higher risk, but reward with greater complexity, and cultured yeasts for a certain mouth-feel or flavour profile that are more guaranteed and can be bought off the shelf from the yeast rep. The list goes on.

A continuation into the realms of chemistry continues, as the artistry of wine gives way to a certain level of science (it is a form of alchemy after all), and we enter the lab. An array of vials and tubes on one bench is juxtaposed nicely by a tray of eggs on the other, but Geoff’s explanation of the use of egg white for fining, with its negative ions attracting the positive ions of tannins, is a nice reminder of the science behind every stage of wine making.

Descending back into the winery proper, it is a welcome relief that Geoff suggests we taste some samples from the tank, the dry theory having left my head in a gentle spin, and my palate parched. We taste the 2011 Chardonnay which is ready to be bottled, spitting liberally and inaccurately into a drain on the floor (why can’t all tastings be like this) and the 2011 Te Awa Syrah which has a keen acidity, and which Geoff feels he might revisit. The vats are cool and tasting reds at this temperature is not easy, the tannins and acids being more pronounced than they otherwise would, but we continue with the Cape Kidnappers Syrah and the Ariki (Cabernet, Merlot, Malbec), which are both big wine and showing plenty of fruit and phenolic structure.

The whole experience has been an education, and the tank samples are the perfect precursor to a perfect finish at the cellar door, where Geoff passionately shows off the end result of all the back room labour. The deeper structured Bordeaux Blends show exactly why this region has become so famous – but it is the Syrah that points to a possible future. Geoff explains that there is currently a lot of buzz about Syrah but that the slow process of vintage production means only time will really tell. Importantly, it is a new and unique style that seems to be developing, but then that’s the Kiwi way after all.

There is an untold truth in wine, that for exceptional wine to be made, man or woman must first enter into an agreement with the vines. There is no dark magic or religious power at play, just as there is no need for slight of hand or mathematical tomfoolery, which it has been asserted can make 2+2=5. The vines must be planted on soils that force them to work, just as the aspect or incline of the site will force the winemaker to work too. This is the agreement – we shall both work hard and the results will be better than if we hadn’t. The outcome is often called terroir.

The basis for this symbiotic relationship is thus the soil; the bedrock on which the foundations of the agreement stand. Therefore, if scouring the earth to find the right limestone-clay combination is required, then scour one must. If the right site is far from civilisation, on an incline prohibitive to mechanisation, and where the vines must be grown low and pruned hard to de-vigour, then so be it.

Both man or woman and vine must make sacrifices. The vine must be clipped to force its mother root down into the hardened rock in search of water and minerals, and must be grown in high density to force competition. The grower will play his or her part and accept both increased toil in the field and the reality of a certain economic gamble from diminished yields per vine, necessary for maximum concentration.

Before its work is done, the vine will provide for with one last gift; the yeast that is required for the fermentation of its bounty, thus securing the continuation of the agreement. The flame will be passed from the grower to the winemaker in the knowledge of this fact, and as a result the agreement will continue into vinification.

Vintages will vary, but this will just grow the relationship and enforce the agreement. The vines will provide as best they can, and the winemaker will work with what he or she has been given, learning from the process, and reinvesting the intellectual results back into the vineyard. People will come to enjoy the variation and how it keeps them on their toes, as they discover new flavours, aromas and sensations they hadn’t expected to encounter.

For his or her part in the deal, the winemaker will agree to treat the grapes as naturally as possible, refraining from fashionable, overt processing with new “flavour of the month” techniques. Grapes will be crushed by foot, and intracellular fermentation will occur naturally as a result, and oxidation, if it occurs, will be accepted and not despised as a thing of the devil.

Additives such as DAP and powdered tannins, and the practices of acidification and chaptilisation will be avoided, as too will the overuse of sulphur dioxide. Courage for this brave act will be gained through the knowledge that the grower and the vine have already worked hard in the field to provide all that is required.

People will claim this as hands off wine-making, but the last laugh will be on them in the knowledge that, through hand weeding, picking, selecting and de-stemming, the number of hands that have played a part in this wine is uncharacteristically high.

Having built its bones from the limestone, and its blood from the clay, the wine will not be stripped of its soul by fining or filtering, and will be allowed to grow older and wiser in vessels of maturation as befitting its character; old barrels for the gentle caress of oak and softening oxygenation, and clay amphorae for acetaldehyde development.

Instinct and gut feeling will be encouraged and nurtured, as too will experimentation wherever possible; one must not live in fear of difference or exception to the rule, as this is the charm of wine. In this respect, uncommon varietals must be welcomed, as too must the treatment of common ones with different and uncommon practices.

The results will at the same time, be fine, complex, and sophisticated – rustic, raucous and lively, showing depth, concentration and yet fragility at once. And as a final proof of  the agreement and its worth, grapes from neighbouring sites, grown with identical care and vinified in a consistent manner will show variation and individuality that, after searching long and hard for the correct descriptor, people will announce as the proof of terroir.

by J J Shearlock

Click here for my latest article published on the Harpers Industry Blog site

It is dusk on the Côte Brune in the Rhone valley. A stiff, cool breeze is  whistling briskly through the vineyards causing quite a  drop in temperatures, but no one is complaining – least of all the Syrah. The breeze goes by the name of the Mistral, and her drying, cooling fingers caress the grapes that are deep into ripening, having baked under the sun in temps of 30 degrees plus for most of the day. This cooling breeze slows the grapes, and buys a fraction more time in the race of physical ripeness vs. phenolic ripeness, a race that always works best for wine with a photo finish, no clear winner. If physical ripeness is reached too soon, then the grapes may need to be harvested before tannins have ripened too, the results being bitter, green or coarse tannins on the palate, canceling out the ripeness of fruit the grapes have worked so hard to achieve. It’s not all about ripe fruit and high alcohol, the grape is like an uncut diamond, its many facets needing to be cut and polished for it to really shine.

Some 8,000 miles away it is eleven am Pacific Standard Time and the docile vineyards of Carneros are shrouded in a deep fog fresh off the pacific. The fog, formed as moisture from the sea condenses in the cool westerly breezes, rolls into the Gulf of Farallones and is sucked into San Pablo Bay through the Petaluma gap and into Sonoma and Napa, channelled by the Sonoma mountains to the west and the Mayacamas to the east. Extending the ripening season and allowing for varietals such as Pinot noir and Chardonnay to thrive, the phenomenon of the fog  was a big factor in Carneros being the first AVA to be defined by climatic characteristics rather than political boundaries. With longer to ripen and at cooler temperatures, aromatics are nurtured and acid is retained, a factor in the quality of the Pinot coming out of areas such as Russian River Valley further up the coast.

Be great to stay and taste some wines, but we must continue eastwards. Bounding god like, Hawaii and New Zealand our stepping stones, we arrive in Australia’s Margaret River region. It’s 3am but a different hemisphere brings a different season and the vines lie dormant waiting for temperatures to rise. A breeze rolls off the Indian Ocean, its effects are minimal but as we move into summer it will become stronger and cooler. It is the Fremantle Doctor and will cause summer temperatures to drop by as much as 3 degrees, its effects reaching some hundred kilometres inland. Blowing from the south west, in deep summer it will fight it out with scorched easterlies from the arid interior of Australia. It’s a battle that must be won, the fruit driven Rieslings of Frankland River relying on their high balancing acid, and the structured complex Cabernet Sauvignons of Margaret River on their developed aromatics; cooler temperatures and longer hang times are an essential factor in this.

Diving off Australia’s south west corner, the chilly currents of the South Indian Ocean carry us past the Antarctic where we are grasped by the equally cool Benguela current, which pulls us north and deposits us flotsam-like on the Cape of South Africa. Longitudinally we are back where we began, but seasonally a million miles away from the warmth of the Rhone. The cooling current that has helped us on our journey cools the warm Mediterranean climate of the Cape to temperatures lower than would be expected for this latitude. This too is aided by the presence of a strong south easterly known as the Cape Doctor, which lowers temperatures and tempers humidity, reducing the risk of mildew and fungal grape diseases at the same time. The doctor’s benevolence is much lauded in these parts, but she doesn’t always administer the correct medication. With the massive fetch of the Indian Ocean behind her she can reach gale-force, damaging vines and disrupting fruit set and fertilisation. If the elements conspire and Mother Nature is feeling particularly cruel, accompanied by an extreme low, the result can be a black Sou-Easter bringing torrential rain to the Western Cape.

This is the thing with weather patterns, they aren’t always predictable. The sheer magnitude of variables means we are looking at mind boggling equations, and entering into the realms of chaotic complexity. In Australia a butterfly beats it’s wings and in Piedmont, two days later, hail flattens a vineyard. But this complexity is key to the regional diversity of wine, the liquid in your glass possibly the answer to the equation.

JJS

I hate chardonnay, can’t stomach pinot griggio and for certain, ” I ain’t drinking any f#!king merlot.”*

How often have you heard someone flatly rule out drinking a certain variety of wine? For me it’s a frequent encounter, and personally something completely incomprehensible – akin to a sort of grapism if you like. I’ll concede that the preference of white over red has a certain fundamental taste implication, but to be a fan of say, sauvignon blanc, but refuse a glass, any glass, of Chardonnay has to be closed mindedness in extremis!!

Let’s take Chardonnay as our case in point, after all it Is  probably the object of grapism more often than any other variety. When someone rules out drinking chardonnay, how many styles are they taring with the same brush? Old world, new world, unoaked, lees matured, barrel fermented, those subjected to malolactic, those not. Single vineyard, cool climate, warm climate and well most Champagnes and fizz. Admittedly there is an overlap between a few of those, but I am sure you see the point.  So where does this aversion stem from and why is chardonnay so commonly its subject?

It is more likely than not, that in chardonnay’s case, this aversion comes from the use of oak and malolactic fermentation. There are few wines that use these factors so potently,  to create tastes from which the style of the wine is so intrinsically determined. Oak used in red wine tends to be masked more often by the arguably stronger inherent fruit components of red varieties, and any malo will simply add a softness and roundness to the mouth. But with Chardonnay, oak and malo often working in tandem and can create a buttery flavour of extreme concentration. This can compliment the grape beautifully, but can also be a shock to any unsuspecting  imbiber expecting a mouthful of mainly fruit flavours. However, chardonnay’s propensity to dance merrily hand in hand with oak is what sets it apart from other whites and makes it so special. Similarly the acidity and earthiness of pinot, the pepperiness of syrah, the gaminess of aged cabernet and the grassiness of sauvignon blanc are all factors that make these varieties so special.

Differences in wine should be embraced and drinking wine should be about experiencing and learning to appreciate those differences.
JJS
*Miles from sideways

Aged wine doesn’t come my way that frequently. Apart from a few cases bought and stored with merchants, what I buy I tend to drink pronto, even when my best intentions are to cellar and imbibe when said vino has hit it’s apogee. Maybe if I actually had a cellar, things would be easier, but with my general lack of will power, and weakness before the charms of Mrs. Vino, I somehow doubt this.

This said, I found in my possession recently two cases of decent plonk  that were starting to look old enough to drink. They were wines I had bought with my mother who is now sadly deceased, and which had been stored at hers and then with a friend when I left the UK at the end of 2007  to live in New Zealand for two years. So it would seem the key to storing wine is distance between one and ones wine, 12000 miles probably being the optimum!

The bottom line is that so many of the older wines just didn’t cut the mustard.  They certainly showed interesting aged characteristics that you don’t find in younger wines, but many were thin, had lost their fruit and to be frank were passé. We started with the ’98 Larrivet Haut-Brion which although a wine of obvious quality, failed to really fulfill it’s potential and found the same with a 1998 Duhart-Millon. Even the robust oz Shiraz seemed to have given in against the ravages of time, showing heavily oxidative traits.

I’d be foolish to imply there is no point in aging wine, but maybe there is no point in aging wine badly. My Mum’s cellar, a rack under a hi-fi in the coolest room of her house was obviously not an environment free from temperature fluctuations, or vibration for that matter. In addition, all the older wines had lived through the 2003 heatwave stored in these conditions, so who knows what effect this would have had on them. It would be interesting to track down a few of these disappointments from more venerable sources and do the comparison, but next on the list are several cases from the 2000 vintage that are currently stored with berry brothers that are approaching readiness. At eight pounds a case a year, I’ll be hoping these don’t disappoint too!