Hey everyone,
In class on Tuesday, we tasted through what I lovingly refer to as the "unpronounceables," wines from Germany, Austria, Hungary and Greece.
These ones usually send wine consumers running back into the warm, comfortable arms of California Cabernet Sauvignon and Shiraz from Australia--but they're missing out. Very tentative acceptance has been occuring for wines like Gruner Veltliner and Xinomavro outside of the connoisseur circles, but sometimes wines are still a tough sell if you can't even say the name properly. Gewurztraminer still hasn't really gained momentum because of that, no matter how they've been matched up with trendy Thai and Vietnamese dishes touted in magazines--and these rarely even breathe a word about its versatility with cheeses in the case of medium-alcohol examples.
The thing is, these wines are usually quite stellar examples of that mysterious concept of terroir, the loosely translated French term for "sense of place," which in southern Ontario we equate with steely, minerally whites that show off that limestone-bedrock-derived flavour profile. I can see how tasting gravel in the glass may not be winning too many folks over, either.
A Word on Varieties
The world of wine has seen so many viticultural innovations over the years that we can plant almost anything almost anywhere. In 1985, plenty of vinifera were still being summarily executed each winter by Mother Nature, and Syrah (Shiraz) was incredibly bad at surviving more than five years. Sadly, it still struggles in the more brutal winters. As with anything agricultural, we just had to see what worked, and where. It cost us a lot of money in the region. Growers were forced to replant and rely on crop insurance in poor years. We tried to take a competitive stance in the $12 and under price category with Baco Noir, Vidal, Marechal Foch, and Seyval Blanc, but we admittedly didn't initially know how to make these well either. Most of our issues came down to cropping level--how much fruit we left to ripen on the vine--and also winemaking techniques. Few wanted to spend the money on these varieties even if they could--they were acidic, one dimensional and structurally fell apart over just a few years. That isn't something that you want to happen in a wine that sells slowly.
Just as it's kind of hard to define "traditional Canadian cuisine," it's also hard to call one particular grape variety our own. We in Niagara still don't really want to take ownership for Baco Noir, it has a recovering reputation that still attracts sneers from even the most "open-minded" wine consumers.
We do make some varieties consistently well, however, and the top white is certainly Riesling. It ages well, can handle the cold, and does not need to hang in the field for a long time to accumulate sugar. It makes gorgeous wine in every style--sparkling, Icewine, late harvest, dry and off-dry table wines--I've tasted some that were older than me, and still alive and kicking in bottle.
While I can parade around all day with my Niagara Riesling banner, I have to say that German Rieslings express something which I can only refer to as terroir maturity--these vines have been in the ground for a long time, and those vineyard sites tell stories that span generations. German wineries have been crafting Riesling at its best for hundreds of years--the first documented usage of the grape occuring there in the 1400s. The winemakers know their site, their soil; these wines have layers and dimensions that one may not expect to be found in an aromatic white.
When I say "ageability," I'm not joking--mid-priced German Rieslings that have had 7 or 8 years of age still retain fresh, bright citrus characters ranging from fresh lime juice to confit lemon peel to grapefruit rind. All forms of tree fruit: quince, Granny Smith and Golden Delcious apple, Bartlett and Bosc pear, clingstone peach; again ranging from peel and flesh flavours to baked, poached, caramelized flavours. There's more mysterious aromatics too: gunflint, honeycomb, candlewax, petroleum, lamp oil or kerosene, latex. You can see almost anything in a glass of Riesling, it's an entire world. The well-made ones will play with you: in the first sniff citrus may dominate; five minutes later it's a pretty, floral, honeyed creature; a couple minutes after that, wet gravel and apples. It's hard to talk over a wine like this: it draws contemplation (of course no two are created equal--and that's the best part).
I would like to talk about Austria in another post, because I need to taste some more Gruner Veltliner, the main white variety. This is one of my favourite aromatic whites, and luckily it's recently become fashionable, so we'll finally be getting more examples in the LCBO (...maybe...?).
A Little Love-Hate
There is one part of the class that I had an issue with, and that was when we got to Greece. I did a lot of reading on the wine-producing areas of the country before class, and since it was last up we didn't really get a chance to talk about it very much. I did get a lot of valuable information from the instructor, but I was pretty disappointed by the red that we tried, a variety called Xinomavro.
Characteristic of hot-climate reds is high alcohol due to high sugar accumulation in the berry. There's lots of sunshine, and as sugars load, acids can in turn drop quickly. This one had luckily retained the acidity, but oh man, did that booze ever burn. The fruit I found there wasn't plush, and lively; it was dried and straining even from the background. I tasted asphalt, cigarettes, and smoked meat. I didn't have a very good impression of it. I've tried some really neat Greek wines, and an aromatic white called Assyrtiko is also reportedly a fantastic terroir grape, but the Xinomavro just wasn't doing it for me.
Part of our tasting note is a comment on the development of the wine, starting with its current state and finishing with a note on where we think it's going. The question is, if that fruit flavour is already in this dried-out stage, where can it go? I didn't know, and my enthusiasm for what was in glass had kind of burned out. Part of the notes that I took in class read, "long elevage in barrel and bottle," which means that the wine had some oxidation and likely a lot of oak contact before it reached critical me, and it showed in the flavour characteristics. I still can't rule this out as a failure by any means, just because the winemaking style doesn't fit in with my own approach, or those that I've worked with. It's extremely rare for me to actually dislike a wine style, and instead of tossing the hot climate reds off the ledge, I should be stepping up to them and getting to know where they've come from--then I think I can see where they may be headed.
I may take a few reds to cellar and assess them over a few years in order to get to the bottom of it--the only thing I could see carrying this one any further in the cellar would have been the acid. Would the alcohol dominate even more as it aged? Everything I that know about aging reds could not paint me a picture for this wine's future--admittedly, I haven't tasted tons of aged reds, and those I have tried have been almost entirely older Bordeaux and Niagara Cabernets. So, I graded it harshly. My instructor was really forgiving towards me for that, but pointed out that he thought it was interesting because it wasn't just a big fat fruit bomb, or entirely predictable in the terms of a cool climate frame of reference for aging, which I've taken to heart.
I think I can certainly get behind these ideas, and it does give me ambition towards discovering my blind spots as a taster. I'm here to learn about this as much as I can, and part of that is taking the plunge into the great unknown bottles, even if I don't "get it" at first. I used to hate Sauvignon Blanc too, and I didn't even "get" that wine until I actually made it under the instruction of a winemaker from South Africa--a place where this variety appears in the upper echelons of quality and popularity.
My encouragement for all of you, then, is to take a wine; a region, variety or style that turns you off, and try to understand what may be going on behind the bottle. There may be a discovery lurking beneath that cork, so don't write it off right away.
Slainte!
Melissa
Explorer of Worlds of Wine
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