A slightly rambling post about natural wines and their adherents

One of my stated intentions of my trip to France was to really get under the skin of the natural wine movement.

As I see it there are two main thrusts to natural wines.

Firstly there is the ethical and philosophical argument that posits the viticulteur as the guardian of the soil and preserver of the uniqueness of the local terroir. There is a lot to be said for parts of this argument, however from a strictly consumer led point of view it is in a sense less than pointless. Good intentions do not necessarily a good taste make. There may well be a large group of people who argue that the practices involved in organic and biodynamic viticulture contribute to better quality wine, however there are equally those who reject the dogmatic adherence to some faintly ridiculous practices as being unnecessary, so long as there is a proper consideration of the effect of each treatment.

The better end of modern viticulture is a long way from the maligned industrial producers of old pumping their soil full of pesticides and fertilisers. For a start the chemical products are all rather expensive, profligacy really doesn’t pay.

Now, looking from the other side of the fence, that of the consumer brings other issues into play.  What if there are certain elements to the natural wine making practices (and here I am now talking almost exclusively about the zero/minimal sulphur end of the spectrum) that influence the final taste of the wine. As a wine drinker, if I’m happy with slightly raised levels of volatile acidity, if I can cope with the low levels of wine-making faults as being symptomatic of a certain type of wine that I happen to like, then surely there is no real problem. The question that follows is how many of these characters are intrinsically linked with organic/biodynamic farming. Could I take conventionally farmed grapes, process them in such a way as to allow a chunk of wild yeast to arrive in the must, then bottle with a small level of dissolved CO2, no added SO2 and simply watch as the wine became ‘natural’. Now many wine makers would argue that conventionally farmed grapes will be lacking in the necessary micro-floral to initiate and sustain fermentation. However I’m of the view that unless their wineries are cleaned to a CDC approved aseptic level then there are going to be wild yeasts present in the winery, merely waiting for the right sugar rich solution for them to fall into and wake up in. As Wayne Stehbens of Katnook estate once pointed out to me, to get a reliable ‘wild’ ferment every year all you need to do is make sure you don’t quite clean your winery after fermentation.

This leads me to another, slightly more disturbing, question. The style of wines that many of us in the UK have come to know and appreciate as being part of the ‘natural’ wine movement, are often (to put it gently) a trifle funky. When I compare these wines with wild ferment examples from wineries with immaculate winery hygene, such as Schiopetto in Fruili, there is a much ‘wilder’ and varied set of aromatics present. Are we in fact fooling ourselves with the idea that the vineyard micro-flora has anything other than a minor role in the very early stages of fermentation? It is at this point worth remembering that there are many different yeast species that are present during a ferment, with different strains having population explosions at different points during the ferment depending on variables such as sugar concentration and alcohol concentration. Also the dormant yeasts in the winery are likely to be the ones that were most successful in the previous years ferment, implying that they are best adapted to the particular environment of the fermenting must, a very different environment than the skin of the unbroken grapes in the vineyard.

So, to recap, how much of the vogue for natural wines is an emotional and philosophical response to the environmental questions posed by monoculture vine viticulture, and how much of it is related to an appreciation of the particular aromatics and flavours that a slightly dirty wild ferment provides?

Kvevri - Romanian Amphora (sorry) wines

Kvevri:

Some thoughts on Kvevri:

Having been invited to attend an evening in honor of Georgia by the lovely Isabelle Legeron, I was privileged to taste a selection of wines made in the old fashioned Kvevris.

These are some thoughts, based on a small amount of reading and tasting six wines. As such, I’m mostly posing the questions that occurred to me.

How much micro oxidation do the Kvevri enable, they surely can’t be too porous otherwise they’d be a bit shit for winemaking.

How are the kvevri cleaned out, obviously the old grape pomace needs removing, but how much tartaric acid residue is present and what effect does this have.

Is there any leaching of minerals from the clay of the kvevri? And if so, does this affect the resultant wine?

Given the liquid is not moved all that much inside the kvevri (they are buried) how much actual contact is there between the wine and the skins, surely the skins will form some sort of semi solid in the base of the kvevri above which there is no contact.

now some notes on the wines –

Iago, Chinuri (cultivar, non aromatic and mostly used for sparkling production) Kartli (region) 2009 – this is from the east of the country and has had 6 months on skins. The wine was a pale golden colour, it had a slight acetyl note, quite grippy tannins, very full bodied for a white, orange peel, black tea, white flowers, something honeyed. All of this was wrapped around a savoury mildly oxidative sort of core flavor. On the palette there was an intriguing feeling of coating on the finish, rather like I imagine lime scale to feel like.

Nika Antadze, Mtsvane (again the cultivar), Kakheti (region) 2009 – this had 1.5 months of skin ageing and was bottled especially for the tasting. Also a light golden colour, this showed a slightly vegetal and volatile nose with green pea notes, and oddly enough an aroma that really reminded me of sugar beet that’s been soaked overnight. On the palette there was the same weighty tannic presence,  as well as the sensation of having a mineral mouthwash.

Aleksi Tsikhelashvili, Rkatsiteli (cultivar) Kakheti 2010 – 6 months skin contact, now the only time that I’ve previously come across aromatics as incredibly redolent of Christmas as this wine was in a Solera aged Maury vin doux naturelle, with wines going back 100yrs in the blend. This was a riot of spiced raisins, currants, cloves and toasted cinnamon, aged mincemeat with an brandy like oxidative tang, it may not have been my favourite wine of the evening but it was vertainly the most distinctive. On the palette it had that cold tea tannin and sugarbeet sweetness of the Antadze that it followed.

Our Wine, Rkatsiteli, Kakheti 2006, a deep burnished orange glowing with browned edges, this had a rich warm earthy sort of aroma, redolent of clay dust, on the palette there was an astringent saltiness that brought to mind what I imagine preserved salted apricot skins would taste like, the finish was wooly, salty and earthy, with a great moreish complexity. This was my wine of the evening.

I’ll come back to the reds at a later date as I felt they were substantially less impressive.

If Irancy had cheekbones like Kate Moss

Pinot Noir, the cultivar that prompts more poetic flights of fancy than any other, about which there has probably been more chin stroking and idle speculation than all other varieties put together. It is also one of the more planted red grapes in the UK.

English wine has taken no small amount of criticism over the years, despite vigorous fighting back on the bubble front and a nice rear guard action from the aromatic whites the reds have still largely been left to suffer in silence.

It was a morning of twitter discussion that brought the idea of an English Pinot Noir tasting into fruition. Now at this point, I should mention that virtually all the organization was undertaken by the fabulous Dominique and Julia; of the Wine Pantry in Borough Market. They harangued producers into submitting bottles, sorted a glorious spread of nibbles and arranged a room in which we could sup.

I managed to bring along a bottle of ropey Sancerre Pinot, which did at least make everything else look well made and beautiful.

A short aside regarding clonal diversity, nomenclature, influence and language:

Pinot Noir is an incredibly old vine cultivar. As such it is rather plastic with regards to genetic homogeneity, there are multiple clones (often known simply by their nursery numbers, 113, 114 etc). Aficionados will drop these into conversation as a signifier of their elevated knowledge. In the UK there is less of a clonal issue at the moment, except relating to the difference between Early Pinot and Late Pinot. The Germans, who as far as I can gather, have the most that makes it to market call it Fruhburgunder as opposed to Spatburgunder, the French plump for Pinot Noir Precoce. The EC regards the two cultivars as being distinct and thus they need to be labeled as such.

I shall use the term on the label, though I prefer early and late.

Some wines..

Sharpham Estate 2010, Pinot Noir Precoce (Totnes, Devon)

This showed a slightly smoky cherry/raspberry edged nose with vibrant acidity and a spritz of tannins.

Welcombe Hills 2010 Pinot Noir Precoce (Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire)

Minerally strawberry inflected fruit overlaying a definite autolytic leesy like character. Just a hint of clove, with a fresh juicy palette.

Three Choirs 2010 Pinot Noir (Newent, Gloucestershire)

This wine caused a degree of disagreement, there is a very obvious oak influence on the nose, I found this unsettling, though there were comments that it would really help in a dining context.

Chapel Down 2009 Pinot Noir (Tenterden, Kent)

Slightly mute initially on the nose, some meaty bread like characters, again cherry scented fruit and an almost chalkiness to the acidity.

Gusbourne Estate 2010 (Appledore, Kent)

The palest of the wines, almost a schiller wine sort of colour, however this didn’t detract from the aromatics, clove scented cherries, a touch of something floral, this was for me the prettiest of the wines, a steely yet elegant palette made this my favourite wine of the day.

Plumpton College 2010, Sutherland’s Block (Plumpton, East Sussex)

This had a sort of caramel, milk chocolate hobnobs character that I found quite disconcerting, lending the wine an air of confectionary, sharpish acidity and a little short. I’d like to point out that I have in the past raved about this wine.

Bolney 2010 (Bolney, West Sussex)

Strawberries and a lactic sort of note, a touch of orange peel and some swish acidity.

So seven Pinot Noirs, coming across like Irancy but with the cheekbones and steely hauteur of Kate Moss at her prime. As I expected I liked the wines that had the least done to them, as it’s a slight struggle to get the real ripeness to the wines, it’s the growers with the gentlest touches that impressed me the most. As a final thought, I’d love to see these wines in ten to twenty years, as many of the ancient Burgundies were probably of a comparable ripeness and alcohol, so I have an inkling that these wines could age surprisingly well.

There is no place for fruit in cheese

Somethings are inherently wrong. White Stilton with apricots or cranberries is one such thing.

While I appreciate that some people will like the fruity sweetness of a nice piece of ripe fruit alongside the sharp acidic tang of a good cheese. There is no justification for the blasphemy that is mincing the fruit and then mixing it with low grade unaged pieces of non mould affected Stilton.

I think what gets me most is the faux affectation of quality that seems to come with the novelty value of the fruit addition. One can imagine the marketing wonks who came up with the idea salivating at the thought of people looking longingly at the cheese counter, ‘tonight, how about something special? Ooh what about that cheese with the fruit it it?’

To commit this crime on Stilton just makes it worse, I have no great desire for Wensleydale, as such it doesn’t rankle quite the same, however Stilton is a king amongst cheeses and to see it being debased so foully is where the upset comes.

So I’m proposing that next time we see cheese cut with fruit pieces, or layer cake designs of plastic factory cheddars and cheshires being served in anywhere where we frequent, we let it be know that it’s fucking wrong and shouldn’t have been made in the first place, let a lone purchased by anyone who has any authority of food purchase decisions.

I should (te) Koko

A potted history;

2000 – I’m working in the call centre at Direct wines, it’s my gap year and Cloudy Bay is still impossibly desirable, there are rumours that sweep the telephones that there is some stock of the Sauvignon available, but it all goes to the fine wine sales staff on the floor above.

2005 – On the restaurant floor at the Hotel du Vin in Brighton we have a healthy allocation, but one that tended to disappear with an alarming rapidity.

2007 – I’m starting to wax lyrical about the other Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc, Te Koko. By now I’ve decided that it’s impossibly trendy to knock Cloudy Bay as merely part of the LVMH stable, as a conscientious sommelier, I can’t really be seen to be recommending something that’s made by a multi-national luxury goods company.

But still there’s something about the Te Koko that meant it held onto its charm. It’s slight mutedness on first release, the sense of walking into a dew slicken arcade of summer white flowers that it soon evoked. I was hooked, and to Te Kokos credit I never found any oaked Sauvignons that tasted quite the same.

2011 – By now cynical and quite a lot older I’ve been invited to a tutored tasting of the Cloudy Bay wines with Nick Lane their head winemaker.

Te Koko began as a small barrel experiment in 96, initially with 10g residual sugar left in, 97 saw very heavy oak being applied, before the current more measured formula was found.

There is no specific selection of parcels or plots, the wine can be part of a normal Cloudy Bay parcel, or as happens occasionally just the next load that arrives into the winery. Before I make this sound terribly slap dash, I should point out that selection criteria for Cloudy Bay starts out very high and that there is a huge amount of work done in the vineyard to ensure the high standards .

However none of this can take away from the fact that this is a winemaker led wine (well in some ways it is and in other ways it’s less so)

The chosen must it allowed to ferment naturally (in contrast to the neutral yeasts favored for the Sauv B) and is then plonked whole sale into old oak (8%) new. Between 50-80% malolactic fermentation takes place, with occasional barrels warmed slightly to encourage it should the vintage seem a trifle acidic. This is then left on lees for 16-18 months. That’s pretty much it.

We had the 2008 to start with, this is the most recent release, white flowers, just a tiny hint of coffee, some honeysuckle, white peach and tropical flavours. On the palette there is that lovely silkiness that Sauvignon in old oak seems to acquire. Due to the slightly oxidative character of the vinification there is substantially less herbaceous (typically Sauvignon type) aromas, something all the wines will show.

The 06 was slightly less floral but had a marked lime and mango character to the nose. There was something of the bottle aged character to this that was slightly revelatory, a sort of lime marmalade and toast impression. Not the same as, but similar to the aged Riesling notes I’d expect of a 5 year old Clare Valley.

The 05 was similarly slightly waxy and Riesling like, the floral notes were still there but accompanied by a delicate caramel note, some interesting waxy tropical fruit notes on the palette and a certain saltiness on the finish.

Finally we were served some of the 2001, now I can’t be certain, but I think this was the wine I first fell for (the dates of releases sort of make sense, also it was stock that didn’t move that fast). A ten year old new world Sauvignon Blanc, by all that is right and good (and French) in the world, this should have been rubbish. It wasn’t. Lime scented salt caramel, a whiff of the elusive sous bois, a hint of something that reminded me of damp cellars, a powerfully silken palette intertwined with aldehydic and autolytic aromas, Nick Lane was suggesting an affinity with youthful Bollinger, but for me there was still just a bit to much floral and ghostly herbaceousness for the comparison.

I’m really glad that I still like Te Koko, yes it’s LVMH, but so is Yquem so sod off. The strength of its showing in the older vintages was very impressive.

Much too much, too much too young

Bear with me while I think about Hollywood starlets.... I'll get to wine a little later.

Lindsey Lohans youth shone incandescently, showered with plaudits, feted for her precocious charm and ability.  It seemed the world was going to be her oyster. Now it’s all expensive meltdowns, insurers refusing to cover her and convictions for driving under the influence. Of course it’s hard to know whether she’d have still had her breakdown if she hadn’t been so successful early, but it’s likely that the pressures of fame at such a young age didn’t help.

Chateau Tahbilk make two Marsannes, their everyday new release Marsanne, made with modern vinification, steel tanks, cool temperatures and protection from the deleterious effects of oxygen. Then there’s their 1927 Vines Marsanne, made in the traditional style, open top fermenters, no temperature control.

In their youth they could hardly be more different, the Marsanne is fresh, clean bursting with lime tinged tropical fruit notes, a beautifully modern wine. The 1927 vines is mute, there is next to no fruit, it seems to stare sullenly at you out of the glass, the effects of the oxygen during vinification showing like dirty smudges on a scrawny kids face. But like the children that get left to their own devices, the dirt and introspection only serve to hide a burgeoning character.

Fast forward five years, the Tahbilk Marsanne is reaching its prime, the lime like fruit turning waxy, salt like secondary charcters ring minerally tones, there is a richness and elegance that is very appealing. The 1927 Vines on the other hand has only just started to wake. Stripped of its overtly fruity phenolics when young, there is much less to oxidise and brown when older. As such the ravages of time that nag at the heart of fresher and fruitier styles leave it comparatively unharmed. Instead, good oxidation, the wonderfully subtle passing of youth works its magic, salt caramel, hazelnuts, glimpses of white flowers and the  moreishness of madeira all start to appear. Its lithe marathon runner physique hits its stride, it’s a wine with easily another 20 years of bottle ageing ahead of it.

The contrast in ageability and styles of the two Tahbilk Marsannes is more than of just passing interest. Instead I believe it casts a very interesting light on the issue of Premox in Burgundy, premature oxidation of the finer white wines from the Cote de Beaune has been one of the regions bugbears for the last decade. Undermining the confidence that consumers once had in these princes of the white wine firmament. But looking at tasting notes of recent bottlings and younger vintages I’m struck by just how drinkable they often are, of course I never tasted the twenty year old bottles that I’ve had in their youth, but I can look back at others tasting notes. They regularly allude to the wines being difficult, tight, of the need for bottle age. Notice the word I use is need, not benefit. Time for that good oxidation to fill the gaps, only now those gaps aren’t there, instead we have soft appealing fruitiness, all ready to bruise and brown at the first sign of age.

Cloudy Bay Te Koko + Pinot notes

I might try and type this up..