Domaine Nicolas Réau Anjou Rouge Cuvée Pompois 2009

Today is Cabernet Day, better known as #CabernetDay.  I was torn between participating as I did for Carignan Day in February and Malbec World Day back in April or ignoring it, as I did for Chardonnay Day.  While Cabernet Sauvignon is a fine grape, made into some excellent wine the world over, it doesn’t need any help from me to raise awareness of it.  And so participating according to the letter of the day, while showing complete disregard for the intentions of the organizers, I give you a Cabernet, Cabernet Franc that is, the Domaine Nicolas Réau Anjou Rouge Cuvée Pompois 2009.

Really I have nothing against Cabernet Sauvignon – I respect it as the cornerstone of many great wines, including the Ridge Monte Bello I had for my birthday this past year.  I’ve covered a dozen wines so far in which it was a component, most either as the largest portion of a blend or as a varietal.  But just as I hate it when someone says “Pinot” without specifying Noir, Gris, Blanc or Meunier, people who say Cabernet without specifying Sauvignon or Franc need some reminding that there’s more than one.

I’ve written about the variety before, in particular when I covered another wine of Anjou, the Château Pierre-Bise Sur Schistes.  To quickly recap though, Cabernet Franc is a classic French grape, a traditional component of the red Bordeaux blend and the main red grape of much of the Loire Valley.  Relative to its Bordeaux blending partners, it ripens early, is somewhat light in colour, tannins and body, but can bring fruit to the blend as well as a bit of leaf and stem flavour.

Anjou as well deserves a quick word – a region in the Loire, grouped together with Saumur, it’s in the western end of the valley with Nantais between it and the sea.  The area produces red, white and rosé wines, still and sparkling, which range from dry to very sweet.  If they distilled spirits and perhaps made fortified wines, they would have everything covered.  The climate is continental, though with some influences from the sea and winds down the river valley.  The main soil type is schist, though there are areas of chalk as well.

Nicolas Réau is a native of Anjou, but not from a wine background.  Described as a rugby player and a jazz and blues pianist, he was in his thirties and finishing some commercial studied when he decided he’s rather move into growing grapes and making wine.  He bought a clos in Anjou of a dozen acres and started his new career not long after the millenium.  He also produces wine off property in Chinon, and his range consists of two other varietal Cabernet Francs and a barrel fermented Chenin Blanc.  Vines are grown organically, though apparently not certified as such.  Harvesting is done by hand into baskets, fermentations are not inoculated so wild yeasts do all the work, there is no filtering or fining of the wines, and apparently no sulphites are added to those that occur naturally.

I hate to say this, but the wines of Nicolas Réau are described as ”natural”.  Long time readers of this blog will perhaps remember that I expressed my thoughts on “natural” wine some months ago when I looked at a Pinot Noir from Lucy Margaux.  If you don’t follow the link, suffice it to say that I think that using the term “natural” to describe wine is dishonest.

First off, there’s no strict definition, such that any producer, even the most massively industrial, can call their wine natural.  Second, calling your wine natural implies that people who don’t use that term are making wine which is unnatural.  Finally, compare a naturally growing plot of virgin forest with any vineyard in the world and then try to tell me the vineyard is natural, with its evenly spaced, identical clones.

That said, I can gripe all day about what people say or write about their wine and what they put on the label or in the marketing materials, but what actually matters to me is what’s in the glass.  And if you made it all the way through what I had to write about the Lucy Margaux, I liked that wine.  I think it is dishonest to use the term natural to describe wine, but that influences what I think of the producer, not what I think of the wine itself.

So in the glass this wine is clear and bright, and has a deep purple colour with quick, thick, pale purple legs.  On the nose it’s clean, with medium intensity, a developing character and notes of black fruit, stalks, and sweet spice.  On the palate it’s dry, with medium plus acid, medium body, medium alcohol, medium plus intensity, and medium green tannins.  It has notes of tart cherry, some cranberry, some greenness, a hint of chocolate, and some Red Vines® ( a red liquorice candy).  It has a medium plus length and a black liquorice finish.

This is a very good wine, natural or whatever.  It’s a bit tight – it comes across as almost concentrated and needs time to open up, be it a few hours exposed to air or if you’re more patient perhaps a few more years in the cellar.  The colour is much richer than I would have expected from a varietal Cabernet Franc, but the flavour profile certainly has typicity, and does not lack complexity.

And while the rough theme for this week had been inexpensive but potentially interesting wines from a large wine retailer, this wine was purchased from one of my regular suppliers at a price well within my normal range (not too expensive, not too cheap).

Gilbert Picq & ses Fils Chablis 2009

My visit to Burgundy at the start of a tour through France was certainly memorable, from visiting the vineyards of DRC to the winery tour at Dubœuf.  Unfortunately with only so much time, it’s impossible to visit all the places one would like, and regrettably I didn’t get to Chablis.  Fortunately, Chablis is widely available internationally, and today’s wine is the Gilbert Picq & ses Fils Chablis 2009.

Burgundy is a region that rewards closer inspection, and specialist knowledge can demand detailed information not just down to specific villages but indeed down to who owns which row of vines in which vineyard.  With that intensity of focus, it’s no wonder that in the study of Burgundy, sometimes entire regions can be overlooked or forgotten.  It most frequently happens with Beaujolais – I have a map supplied by the Bourgogne Conseil Régional that notes the region as being south of Macon but apparently there was not enough room on the paper to include it.  The map does include Chablis, and while there is an argument to be made that Burgundy and Beaujolais would be better thought of as separate regions, it is a far less common sentiment with regards to Chablis.

That said, even a quick look at a map reveals the geographic distance between Chablis and the rest of Burgundy, and it could just as easily have been included with Champagne or the Loire’s Central Vineyards of Sancerre and Pouilly Fumé.  However, in terms of wines, the still, varietal Chardonnays of Chablis are a better match for the other white regions of Burgundy despite the distance.

The region has a continental climate, and a cool to cold one at that.  While summers can be hot at times, winters are typically very cold and spring frosts through May are one of the biggest factors in vintage variation.  They can impact not just the quality of the vintage, but in extreme cases whether or not there is a vintage.  So potent is the threat that since the 1950s various approaches have been pioneered to help the vines survive frosts, from heating units in the form of smudge pots to aspersion, or the spraying of water droplets to form a protective layer of insulating ice on the vines, preventing serious damage.  Both approaches have their drawbacks, in terms of cost and effectiveness respectively.  I’m also somewhat surprised that aspersion is permitted given its resemblance to irrigation.  (I am kidding).

Chablis is largely based on a highly sought-after soil type known in English as Kimmeridgian (sometimes Kimmeridgean), or argilo-calcaire in French.  Named after Kimmeridge, a town in Dorset, England, it is typically a mix of clay and limestone fossils dating back to an identically named stage in the Upper Jurassic epoch.

In terms of the Chablis appellation, established in 1938, Chardonnay is the only permitted grape, and there is a hierarchy of classifications.  There are seven Grand cru climats, or lieu-dit, and a further 40 such vineyards with Premier Cru classification above the generic AOC Chablis.  There is also the neighbouring and not as highly regarded Petit Chablis, also Chardonnay based, and established in 1944.  However, it is on the fringe of Chablis and based largely on Portlandian soil, which is younger and has a larger sandstone content.

As this is my sixth varietal Chardonnay, I’m not going to talk about the grape too much, but how it is handled in Chablis does deserve a note.  Chardonnay is a wine that can be subjected to a variety of treatments in the winery depending on the desired style.  Within Chablis, the use (or not) of oak is a big point of differentiation in terms of style.  The region as a whole is known for producing wines that have a steely intensity, and in some cases that is quite literal with fermentation in stainless and no oak treatment post-fermentation.  (I am not suggesting you can taste the fermentation vats.)  Others ferment in barrel, and others still start in steel and then have some oak maturation.  However, other influences outweigh the use of oak, such that Chablis is generally thought of as an easy wine style to identify in blind tastings, perhaps because with age even those wines not subjected to oak treatment can pick up flavour characteristics often associated with oak, including nuttiness.

Gilbert Picq & ses Fils is a small, family run producer which has been working vines in Chablis for generations.  The domaine and its 32 acres were established by the namesake, but were passed to his children in 1976, with Pascal tending the vines, Didier making the wine and Marilyn running the business side.  In the vineyard, their focus is on low yields, with severe pruning and two rounds of crop thinning over the growing season.  In the winery, the wine is fermented in stainless steel and does not see oak maturation, so as to most clearly express their terroir.  It does, however, undergo malolactic fermentation.  In 2006 they acquired a sorting table, enabling them to hand select their grapes, and in conjunction with that improvement they shifted to using wild yeast for fermentation.

In the glass this wine is clear and bright, with a pale lemon green colour and a thin film instead of legs on the inside of the glass when swirled.  On the nose it’s clean and developing, with medium plus intensity and notes of lemon, seashell, quince, candle wax, a hint of smoke which may be what other people call struck match.  On the palate it’s dry, with high acidity, medium body, medium plus intensity, medium alcohol, and medium plus length.  There are notes of lemon, really tart lemon at that, quince, seashells, and some flint.

This is a very good wine.  I want to call it austere, but I’m not sure that’s really what’s hitting me.  There is a purity to the acidity, which is very intense, but not to the exclusion of the mineral notes.  It certainly fits the profile of what I would expect of a somewhat young, unoaked Chablis, and while it’s at the expense of any richness or creaminess that some people enjoy, the steeliness is undeniable.

I can’t find a website for the producer, so no link and the pin in the map is approximate.

E. Guigal Lieu Dit Saint-Joseph 2005

While I’ve been to Paris more times than I can remember, I’ve only been a wine tourist in France once.  It was a little over a year ago that my wife and I toured the country spending roughly a week each in Burgundy, Bordeaux, the Loire and the Rhône Valley.  It involved a huge amount of driving, not just between regions but within each, but it was crucial in terms of converting names in a book or on a map to memorize into experiences to recollect.  We had the pleasure of joining a group tour of the E. Guigal facilities, and while it was certainly one of the largest producers we encountered on our trip, this bottle of E. Guigal Lieu Dit Saint-Joseph 2005 reminds me of their charming hospitality.

Geographically if Burgundy is a north-south line in the northeast of France, the Rhône Valley is a contiuation of that line, just further south, headed toward the Mediterranean, and it’s broken into two distinct parts, north and south, with the area and appellations of Die often forgotten but marking roughly the middle.  The northern Rhône is characterized by steep hillsides, often cut into narrow terraces, overlooking the eponymous river, with plantings largely on the western side of the river (with the exception of Hermitage and Crozes-Hermitage).  The hills largely consist of decomposed granite which needs to be replenished as erosion pushes soil down the slopes.  Vines are individually staked, though not so much as protection from erosion as defence against the Mistral, a strong wind that runs through the valley.  The stakes and steepness of the slopes preclude most mechanization, so viticulture is manual labour intensive.

The climate of the northern Rhône is sometimes misunderstood, partly due to having an appellation called Côte Rôtie, which can be translated as roasted slope in English and conjures images of vines in sweltering heat.  In truth, Côte Rôtie is named for the abundance of sunlight hours it gets due to its favourable aspect, but the region as a whole has a continental climate and is heavily influenced by both the chilling Mistral and fog rising from the river, such that ripening can be a challenge.  As a result, natural amphitheatre sun traps are highly prized, and throughout the region vines are planted at aspects to soak up as much sunlight as possible.

The northern Rhône as a whole is responsible for only 5% of total Rhône wine production, but it tends to command higher prices than its southerly neighbour.  It also has more of a focus on varietal wines, with Syrah being the only permitted red grape in AOC wines, though some appellations allow Marsanne, Roussanne and/or Viognier as minor components.  White wines of the northern Rhône, which make up only 10% of production, are either varietal wines of those three grapes, or blends of Marsanne and Rousanne, which can also be made into sparkling wine in the appellation of Saint-Péray.  (If anyone knows where I can get a bottle of sparkling Saint-Péray in Australia, please let me know.)

Saint-Joseph is roughly in the middle of the northern Rhône, stretching from the south of Condrieu to the north of Cornas, with Hermitage and Crozes-Hermitage to the east.  The climate is largely continental, though there is some Mediterranean influence in the southern part of the region.  Vineyards are planted on terraces on the slopes down to the river, though has been some expansion into the plateau areas to the west.

Syrah is the main grape, and most red wine produced is varietal.  As this is the third varietal Syrah in this blog, so I won’t go into the grape itself, but I did discuss it somewhat when I wrote about the Pangea Syrah.  Up to 10% Roussanne and Marsanne are permitted in the red blend, though in practice most of those grapes are used in still white wines.  It is the second largest northern Rhône appellation in terms of plantings and production, and is known for relatively easy drinking wines that can be appreciated young.  Much of this is down to the aspect of most of the region, which gets less overall sunlight than other areas of the northern Rhône as the shadow falls earlier on the eastern slopes.

E. Guigal is a producer so famous it has its own entry in the OCW.  Established in 1946, it is a staple of fans of the Rhône, and to a large extent it was Marcel Guigal, son of founder Étienne, who pushed renewed international appreciation for wines of the Rhône in the 1980s.  The family run company produces wines from the vast majority of Rhône appellations, across a range of price points, but it was their single vineyard flagship Côte-Rôtie wines of La Mouline, La Landonne, and La Turque (known as the “La La’s”) that drew the attention of Robert Parker and his audience.

Tasting room at the end of the tour

There are volumes written about E. Guigal if you wish to have a read, but I’d rather tell you about my experience in Ampuis.  My wife phoned up to arrange a tour and we were given the time for an English language group.  Our host was a very knowledgeable young man who led a dozen of us throughout their whole operation, from the ultra-modern warehouse full of huge stainless steel tanks and fermenters, down through the barrel cellars which looked as though they hadn’t changed in decades.  Finally at the end of the tour there were a selection of wines to taste, including La Turque, which was amazing.

One thing that was unique in my experience was that at no point were wines available to purchase.  I can totally understand why.  Visitors in our group were all foreign, and it’s a bit of a pain to transport wine internationally while on holiday, and believe me I write that from experience.  Also E. Guigal has among the best international distribution in the industry, so every person on the tour could buy their wines at their local wine merchant.  It was nice – it made the experience all about the wines and not at all about commerce.  Obviously not something I would recommend other wineries emulate, but perfect for E. Guigal.

Finally, this wine.  As I mentioned, it’s a varietal Syrah, grown on sloped vineyards of granitic gneiss, and matured in 50% new oak and 50% second use barrels.

In the glass this wine is clear and bright, with medium plus garnet colour and quick legs.  On the nose it’s clean and developing with medium plus intensity and notes of sweet spice, luscious, ripe, red berries, a little liquorice, and some red meat.  On the palate it’s dry, with medium acidity, medium plus fine delicious tannins, medium plus alcohol, medium body, and medium plus length.  The palate matches the nose closely, with notes of chocolate, red berries, liquorice, red meat and blood, with a chocolate finish.

This is an excellent wine.  It has a seriously ripe nose followed by a rich palate.  I know I said that wines of Saint-Joseph are often best consumed young, but while this wine is very fresh at seven years, it has a great deal of room to grow.  The developed flavours are just starting to show themselves, and I’m glad I have another bottle ticking over in the cellar.  I’ll have to set a reminder to give it another look in five years.

Domaine Lafage Tessellae Carignan Vieilles Vignes 2009

First off, I’m not dead.  I’m sure many of you were concerned when I went without posting for almost two weeks.  More importantly, I have given up neither drinking nor writing.  There have been a few concerns, not related to drinking or writing, which have been more pressing over the last fortnight, but with this post I hope to return to form and look forward to bringing you further wine most weekdays.  And to get this week on track, I give you Domaine Lafage Tessellae Carignan Vieilles Vignes 2009.

First off, where was this wine on Carignan Day when I mistakenly ended up with an admittedly very good blend when what I really wanted was a varietal?    At long last I can add Carignan as a varietal to my list.  As far as Carignan goes, I did write a fair bit about it when I reviewed the De Martino, but just for a quick review, it’s a grape that is not universally loved, and in fact was considered something of a pest within the trade due to its use in cheap wine made from highly cropped vines (up to 200HL/HA in some cases).  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s no longer the case entirely, but there are certainly some producers making quality wine from the grape, with much more tightly controlled yields.  The grape is found throughout the warmer areas surrounding the Mediterranean, including North Africa, and can produce wines high in colour, acidity and tannins, though sometimes with a fair whack of bitterness as well.

So in addition to being a varietal Carignan, this wine is interesting to me because it’s a vin de pays, or country wine, though within France that term is being phased out and replaced with Indication Géographique Protégée, which I’ve seen abbreviated as both IGP and PGI.  This category of wine is not new to this blog, though perhaps in this form it is.  I touched on the topic a bit with the IGT wines from the Sicily tasting, in particular the Duca Enrico, which are essentially the Italian version via the overarching EU regulations.  In quality levels, at the high end you have appellations with their strict regulations and rankings, and at the lower end you have table wine which has very little regulation at all.  However, in between there are many wines which are not strictly restricted by appellation rules but which are from a particular region with the right to designate themselves as such.  So vin de pays are from an area, rather than table wine which can be a blend of wine from anywhere, but without so many of the appellation rules to do with permitted varieties, yields, winemaking styles, what have you.

So why do I find them interesting?  Three main reasons:  value, room for innovation, and local scarcity.  First, they can represent very good value.  There’s a great deal of vin de pays produced, and while much of it is very mediocre, there are some excellent wines to be found.  However, since they’re grouped with a large range of competitors, even the very good ones can’t charge a huge premium, and as such you can find very good vin de pays for decent prices.  Second, without established appellation rules, winemakers are free to experiment and innovate in terms of what they plant and how they make their wine.  Vin de pays can be as unconventional as any New World wine, and while not all of them are, I like that experimentation is permitted.  Finally, because these are often value wines that compete on price within Europe, they have a hard time competing against local wines in Australia because of the taxes levied against them before they even get to a shelf.  A five pound sterling bottle of vin de pays might do well competing against a similarly priced Australian bottle in London, but on a shelf here it would cost much more than a local wine of similar quality.  As a result, not a huge amount of vin de pays is available in Australia – it often just isn’t competitive.

Right, so that’s the grape and vin de pays out of the way, but I haven’t said a word about the pays in vin de pays, and in this case it’s Côtes Catalanes.  I’ve only previously written about a single wine from the Languedoc-Roussillon region, the Picpoul de Pinet, and this wine is from another subregion within the greater area, the Catalan coast.  Vin de pays can be named at three levels – regional, such as Vin de Pays d’Oc which covers all of Languedoc and Roussillon, departmental (which is roughly equivalent to a county), and local.  This is a local designation, having to do with the Catalan ethnic group of what is now Catalonia of northern Spain and southwestern France.

Côtes Catalanes is based in the Pyrenees-Orientales department in the Roussillon region.    The climate is warm Mediterranean, and the soils vary from a combination of decomposed shale and clay with poor drainage through to schist marble and limestone hills, and gravel as you near the sea.  While there are certainly plantings of Carignan, Grenache and Syrah are the dominant red varieties, with a mix of traditional and international whites.

Domaine Lafage is the estate of a family which has been cultivating vines in the region for six generations, going back as far as the late 1800s.  The label itself is a relatively recent invention of Jean-Marc Lafage, who with his wife Elaine, established it in 1996 after years of wine studies and work throughout the New World.  Their holdings are 138 HA of vines across 200 HA total, with plantings of Muscat, Chardonnay, and Grenache, in addition to Carignan (among others) that go into AOC Côtes du Roussillon wines, various vins de pays, vins doux naturels, and a line of bag in box wines.

This wine is made from grapes grown in the Agly Valley, with soils of black shale and schist.  In terms of yields, this wine is made from grapes that yielded roughly 20HL/HA, whereas at the extreme some vineyards can bring in ten times as much.

In the glass this wine is clear and bright, medium plus ruby colour, with slow thin legs when swirled.  On the nose it’s clean and developing, with notes of raspberry, perfume and dark chocolate.  The palate is dry with medium acidity, medium minus body, medium plus tannins, medium plus alcohol, and medium flavour intensity.  There are notes of plum, raspberry, blueberry, some blood and meat, and a little chocolate.  It has a medium length and a chocolate finish.

This is a good quality wine – interesting and worth a try.  It’s certainly not the Carignan that is the source of so many complaints.  The tannins are supple, the fruit sweet but with rich chocolate.  There’s a fair amount of complexity for a very unpretentious wine.  It’s not a wine that’s going to change your life, but certainly one worth drinking.

Antoine Arena Patrimonio 2009

When I think of France, I generally stick to the hexagon between Spain and the rest of Europe.  However, that’s forgetting Corsica, home to some interesting grapes and wines.  France without Corsica is like Australia without Tasmania, though sadly I don’t know that there are many carnivorous marsupials on Corsica.  While they do have their own species of Fire Salamander, I’m more interested in their unique wines, such as this Antoine Arena Patrimonio 2009.

Corsica, of course, is a French island in the Mediterranean to the southeast of mainland France and to the north of the Italian island of Sardinia.  While part of France, it has it its own widely spoken language (more like Italian than French), and a unique culture.  Along with that are some grapes that are endemic to Corsica, including the one used to make this wine, Nielluccio.  However, before I get into the grape, a bit more about Corsica and Patrimonio.

Corsica has a long tradition of winemaking, dating back to the Phoceans, who imported grapes to the island.  The wine trade has had its ups and downs over the centuries, with a notable down being when the island was under Islamic rule around 700AD, and a notable up when Napoleon Bonaparte, a native son of Corsica born into a winemaking family, allowed Corsica to export its wine without duty throughout the French Empire.  In more recent history, the second half of the 20th century saw Corsican wine production grow in quantity at the expense of quality, with it being one of the many sources of the European wine lake.  However, since then a combination of vine pulls and the shift toward modern winemaking and application of technology has limited production and improved quality throughout the island.

Corsica has nine AOCs, including a catch-all that geographically covers the entire island.  In addition, there is also vin de pays designation that covers the island, Vin de Pays de l’Île de Beauté, for wines that don’t conform to the AOC requirements which account for the bulk of production.  This wine is from Patrimonio, a nook of a region in the north on the west side of the northernmost outcropping.  The region was the island’s first AOC, established in 1968.  Red wines are predominantly Nielluccio, with Grenache and Sciacarello permitted as minor components, while whites are exclusively Vermentino.  Rosé wines are largely Nielluccio, though in a rare case of red and white grapes in the same wine, some percentage of Vermentino is also allowed.

The climate of Patrimonio is Mediterranean, with very little rainfall leading up to vintage.  With most of the vineyards near the coast, there is very little diurnal temperature variation, as the warmth of the predominantly sunny days is retained by the sea and radiated in the evenings.  There are four main soil types on Corsica, with the west coast having granite, the east coast being more sandy and alluvial, the northern outcropping largely schist, and Patrimonio chalk with clay.

Nielluccio is a new grape for me, in that I had never even heard of it until I came across this bottle.  It is thought to be a Sangiovese clone, brought to the island by the Genoese when they ruled it between the 14th and 18th centuries, though not everyone subscribes to that belief.

I’m having a difficult time pinning down details on the grape itself, as Jancis Robinson describes it as having low colour in her Vines, Grapes & Wines book but as having intense colour in the OCW.  Likewise, it is described as “lacking guts” or structure in the former reference, but having “good, structured tannins” in the latter.  The discrepancy is likely due to the former book being published in 1986, versus the OCW being published in 2006, with 20 years of improvement on the part of Corsican wines in between.  She apparently has a new book on grapes being readied for publication, and I can’t wait to get my hands on it.

That said, like Sangiovese, it buds early and ripens late, meaning late frosts and autumn rain are both hazards.  It does well in limestone soils, such as those of Patrimonio, but it has not found a home as yet outside of Corsica.

Antoine Arena, the producer, is one of the most renown winemakers of Corsica.  While he left the island as a young man in search of employment in mainland France, he returned with the rise of the Corsican nationalism in the 1970s, determined to make his home in the land of his birth.  Since then, he has been a strong advocate of Patrimonio, particularly for the Paris market.  He now works with his two sons, Antoine-Marie and Jean-Baptiste, producing three each single vineyard Nielluccios and Vermentinos, as well as a blended rosé, a Bianco Gentile (near extinct Corsican grape), and a Muscat à Petit Grains.

The vineyards are organically grown and over the last ten years have shifted to biodynamic.  Most of the work in the vineyard is done by hand, and a bare minimum of sulphur is used on the vines.  Grapes are harvested by hand, aged only in steel, and are bottled unfined and unfiltered, with the use of minimal sulphur (often none).

In the glass, this wine is clear and bright, medium ruby in colour, with quick thick legs.  It’s clean on the nose, with medium intensity, a developing character, with herby notes as well as spicy blackberries and cherries.  On the palate it’s dry, with medium plus tannins – really grippy –  medium plus acidity, medium body, medium plus alcohol, and medium plus length.  It has notes of red berries, some chocolate, a bit of pencil lead, a little spicy meat in the middle, and a mocha finish.

At the bottom of the last glass was a wash of sandy diamonds – I should have decanted.  Interestingly though, what was left behind was all crystal, and not the black deposit normally thrown in red wine.  I know the wine is neither filtered nor fined, but possibly not cold stabilized?

This is a very good wine – interesting and complex – but pehaps not for everyone.  It had a certain spicy character that I enjoyed, but the tannins felt a bit dirty, and I don’t mean just teeth staining.  I don’t know if rustic is the right word, but if it isn’t, it’s not far from it.  The thing is, I know it’s a set of stylistic choices that made this wine the way it is, and in that it’s very good quality and well executed, and while I’d be happy to have another bottle, I can easily imagine people whose opinions I respect not being as keen on its earthiness.

Domaine Roger Champault Sancerre Le Clos du Roy 2008

Learning about wine has been (and continues to be) an interesting journey.  I think I developed my initial tastes in wine based on what people I knew were drinking, so I can remember exactly who introduced me to oaky, buttery California Chardonnay, white Burgundy, and Sancerre.  (All women I fancied, funnily enough.)  It would be years later that I came to understand anything about those respective wine, such that white Burgundy is also Chardonnay.  I remember a real revelation though when I encountered a bottle of red wine that had Sancerre on the label, and my mind was opened up to the fact it’s a region, not a grape.  And with that memory in mind, today it’s a bottle of the more familiar colour from there, the Domaine Roger Champault Sancerre Le Clos du Roy 2008.

So yes, Sancerre is a region.  I have personally verified that with a visit last July, and it’s well worth the trip.  At the far eastern end of the Loire Valley, it’s arguably the best known of its subregions.  The region stretches out to the north, west and south around the walled town of Sancerre itself, which sits atop a hill overlooking the surrounding area.  To the east is the river, and across it is Pouilly-Fumé.  The climate is continental, though slightly mitigated by the river, and the hillsides can provide favourable aspects.  The soils are generally grouped into three classifications – the vineyard to the west are situated on clays and limestone, those near the town are on flinty soils, and in between is gravel and limestone.

As I alluded to earlier, Sancerre as a region produces more than just white wine – it covers the spectrum with reds and rosés as well.  White wines, which constitute the vast majority of production, are varietal Sauvignon Blanc, while reds and rosés are made from Pinot Noir.

Most of my experience with Sancerre (in terms of drinking it) is in the context of eating shellfish.  For me, there is something about facing a heap of crustaceans and bivalves atop a pile of crushed ice that makes me thirst for white Sancerre.  This is strange for a few reasons.  First, while many of the white wines from Sancerre have a flinty, minerally character that goes very well with the aforementioned heap of tastiness, some of the Sauvignon Blancs of Sancerre see oak treatment, which makes the pairing less obvious.  Second, of all of the regions in the Loire, Sancerre is nearly the most distant from the sea, meaning any salt-water shellfish would be on a truck for hours before making it to a plate in Sancerre.  And finally, the only time I actually had a picture postcard plateau de fruits de mer in France was in Nantes at La Cigale, at the opposite end of the Loire Valley and of course when in Nantes, one drinks Muscadet Sevre-et-Maine.  (It was a wonderful meal, complete with a table full of locals who were happy to act as grandparents to my then eight month old daughter while my wife and I ate.)

I have in fact written up a Sauvignon Blanc recently, the Astrolabe, and I did talk a bit about the variety so I won’t repeat myself so quickly.  However, as varietal Sauvignon Blancs from Marlborough and Sancerre are often held up as examples of how a grape can be very different depending on the terroir and the treatment, it’s worth having a quick compare and contrast, though in general terms, not of these wines specifically.  For white wines of Sancerre, Jancis Robinson uses terms like racy, pungent, delicate, and perfumed.  While not exactly austere, fruit is not the main thrust of the wine.  Rather, people claim to be able to taste the limestone of the soil.  Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, on the other hand, can have much more evident fruit, with gooseberry, grass, bell pepper and cat piss being more common descriptors.  Of course these are very broad strokes, and there are certainly winemakers in Marlborough expressing the terroir through their wines as there are those in France who strive to ride on the success of Marlborough with greater expression of fruit in their wines.

This producer was founded (at least in its current form) by the namesake, Roger Champault, though he was the fifth generation to work in the family business of growing vines and more recently producing wine in the Sancerre region.  Now succeeded by his two sons, Laurent and Claude, who in turn are assisted by three workers, production is based on roughly 20 HAs of their estate.  They produce nine wines – four each whites and reds, with a rosé rounding out the mix.  This wine is made from vines based on limestone soil, and after fermentation spends some time on fine lees.  I can’t tell from research if that time is spent in tank or barrel, but my notes suggest barrel.

In the glass this wine is clear and bright, pale gold with quick legs, with a fully developed character and medium plus intensity.  It started out with a bit of yoghurt on the nose, which opened up into oak and mineral notes. On the palate it has notes of lemon, mineral, and more oak.  It’s dry, with medium plus acid, medium plus flavour intensity, medium body, medium alcohol, medium plus length, and an oak finish.  It has a very nice texture.

This is certainly a good wine in that it’s of good quality and well made, but unfortunately I’m drinking it a bit past it’s prime.  As I was tasting it, if I had to guess the variety I would have started thinking it was Sauvignon Blanc but as it opened up it turned into a Chardonnay.  I’m not sure which I liked more.  While I certainly enjoy wines with a bit of age on them, and I don’t shy away from older whites, I’m fairly certain this was better a year or two ago and I wish I had been able to enjoy it then.  So a bit of a shame to be drinking it when I was, but I wouldn’t hesitate to try a younger version in the future.

Château d’Yquem Sauternes 1997

This is a bit of an unusual post for me, and though I think I can make it worthwhile, some context is required before I dive into my hundredth wine post, the Château d’Yquem Sauternes 1997.

In the wine trade, there are some things that are sancrosanct.  To many they include such things as the first growths of Bordeaux or Domaine de la Romanée-Conti of Burgundy.  They’re never questioned in terms of how good they are.  They are just regarded as the pinnacle against which other wines are measured.  There are certainly complaints as to how much they cost, or their availability, but their quality is only ever judged within a very limited context, and that is vintage to vintage.  The only way to judge the quality of a particular DRC is to compare it against the other DRC vintages.  You’ll only ever see someone comparing a first growth Bordeaux to another wine when they’re trying to tell you how good the other wine is, not when they’re trying to tell you about the first growth itself.

And so while those wines are rarified and in a class all their own, Château d’Yquem takes that to an even higher level, and I don’t just mean because in the 1855 Bordeaux Classification they were the sole producer rated Superior First Growth (Premier Cru Supérieur). People not only compare Château d’Yquem to other vintages of the same, sometimes they restrict themselves to comparing it to its own vintage, just tasted at different times throughout its development.  Given the longevity of the wine, that still leaves a great deal with which to work.

All of this is my way of saying that I will certainly endeavour to tell you about Château d’Yquem, about sweet wines of Bordeaux in terms of the grapes used and how they are made, and I’ll tell you a bit about Sauternes the region.  However, when it comes to assessing this wine, there are people who are experts on Château d’Yquem who will be writing books where this wine will comprise an entire chapter.  For my part, I did jot down my tasting notes, and I can certainly tell you what I found in the glass, but there are others able to judge this wine in the manner it is most appropriately assessed with the full context of other vintages and other tastings of this vintage.  That said, let me tell you what I can about it.

First, the region.  Sauternes is an area of Bordeaux in the Graves district, along the south bank of the river Garrone, near where it meets the tributary Ciron.  It’s a a low lying area with some gentle hills and soils of gravels, limestone and clay, and its climate is broadly maritime though it is among the furthest of the Left Bank regions from the Atlantic.  What makes the area special geographically is the interactions of the rivers.  The Ciron is spring fed and typically cooler than the tidal Garrone.  Where the two rivers meet, mists form in the autumn evenings, blanketing vineyards until the following day.  The moisture encourages the growth of Botrytis cinerea, or Noble Rot, a type of fungus that removes moisture from grapes, concentrating their sugars, acids and flavours, while adding a unique flavour of its own.  While the resulting grapes are rather unappealing in appearance, that is raisins covered in mold, what remains inside is capable of producing some of the most intense and long lasting sweet wines.

The traditional grapes of Sauternes are Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc and Muscadelle, for richness, acidity and aromatics respectively.  Yields are incredibly low – limited by regulation to less than half of what many neighbouring areas allow, but in practice typically much lower still.  Producing wine from botrytized grapes is a gamble, even in the best of years, as waiting for the grapes to shrivel on the wine exposes them to the whims of the weather.  Yields vary greatly year to year, and in some years conditions are so unfavourable very little wine is produced.

Producing Sauternes is also very expensive.  Grapes are hand harvested, but as botrytis can be quite patchy in its attack, often several passes through each vineyard over weeks are required, multiplying costs.  Fermentation often takes place in barrel, leaving a sweet wine of roughly 14% with another 4-7% potential in unfermented sugar.  Barrel ageing over 18 to 36 months is then required, often with new oak, before the wine may be sold.

This is not the first time this blog has come across Semillon or Sauvignon Blanc, but as I’ve not written about a Bordeaux white blend, a quick word is in order.  While Bordeaux is best known for its great red wines, and to some extent for its great sweet wines such as this one, it also produces some fine white wines as well.  Traditionally everything in Bordeaux is a blend, with the red style being imitated the world round.  California producers went so far as to coin the term Meritage to describe the blend of red grapes in their context.  The white blend of Bordeaux is classically described as Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscadelle.  However, there are some other white grapes grown for base level white Bordeaux AC, including Ugni Blanc, Columbard and Merlot Blanc.  So while Sauternes producers are best known for their sweet wines, they retain the option of making still wine from their grapes.

I can only cover the very basics with regards to Château d’Yquem, but here it goes.  The property itself dates to 1593 when it was acquired from the French monarchy by Jacques de Sauvage, and vines were first planted in 1711.  There is a great deal of history over the subsequent 300 years, including the appreciation of Thomas Jefferson when he was based in Paris, the subsequent 1855 Classification, and no small amount of family intrigue and struggles.  Fast forward to the end 20th century and it is majority owned by Moët Hennessy-Louis Vuitton, and soon thereafter is being run by Pierre Lurton of Château Cheval-Blanc fame.

The vineyards themselves are 113HA in total, with roughly 100HA in production at any given time.  The vines are 80% Semillon and 20% Sauvignon Blanc, eschewing Muscadelle.  They ferment in barrel, and typically keep wines in new oak another three years, with yearly racking.  They’ve also employed the very expensive process of cryoextraction, whereby grapes are exposed to very low temperatures, and then immediately pressed, with only juice being extracted from the ripe grapes while the less ripe grapes are completely frozen and thus yield no juice.  Roughly 8,000 cases are produced annually, a small percentage of the wine made by other classified producers.  In addition to their sweet wine, they also produce a dry white in some years called Y or Ygrec.

As you can tell from the photo, I was tasting this from an Enomatic, paying dearly for each sip.  While it is expensive, I did once manage to buy a half-bottle to accompany the starter and dessert of Thanksgiving dinner, and it was magnificent.

This wine is clear and bright in the glass, with a medium amber colour.  The nose is clean, developing, with medium plus intensity and notes of honeycomb, orange marmalade, a hint of vanilla, and some lemon rind.   On the palate it was sweet, with high flavour intensity, medium plus alcohol, a full body, medium plus acidity.  The palate delivered what the nose promised, with all parts of an orange – the peel, oils, marmalade, but not orange juice – rather candied orange.  It had long length and a marmalade finish.

This is a wine of outstanding quality.  The concentration and complexity is fantastic.  I don’t have the context required as far as multiple tastings of d’Yquem and revisiting of past vintages to do this wine justice, but if the only way you’ll get to enjoy it is a small tasting sip, it is still well worth the experience.  It’s the perfect wine with which to toast a hundredth wine post, and so I raise a glass to the next hundred.

Domaine de la Majone Coteaux du Languedoc Picpoul de Pinet 2010

I swung by a favourite wine bar recently and had an opportunity to try something rare, and even though I just wrote about a similarly lesser known white grape from the south of France, I couldn’t resist.  Obscure grapes are really a matter of perspective, in that if I lived in Pinet this would be considered absolutely common.  But since I don’t, I give you Domaine de la Majone Coteaux du Languedoc Picpoul de Pinet 2010.

Before I get into that, you may have noticed a change on the website, in that each post starts with some data about the wine in question, and those terms click through to all the wines that share that origin or variety.  While I still have a fair amount of work ahead of me, all the posts that relate to a single wine (approaching 100) now have those details.  It’s handy as I will be making more templates to make use of those, but even just now as I was putting those details in I had to enter both the location and the grape into the database, so I know that I haven’t covered either before.  And that means I should get to it.

So Languedoc.  It, along with Roussillon, made up the compulsory question on the WSET Diploma Exam in January (I passed – not sure if I’ve mentioned that enough) and so I should be well equipped to say something meaningful about it.  However, the question was about the strengths and weaknesses of the two collectively as a wine area, and I think I got points for showing thoughtfulness instead of actually knowing many facts.  I’ll start with what I know, and then, as always, consult the pile of books I have here (as well as the OCW at jancisrobinson.com).

Languedoc-Roussillon is an area in the south of France from the Spanish border to the Rhône river, extending inland from the Mediterranean between roughly 30km at it’s most shallow and roughly 100km at its deepest.  Roussillon is the area closest to the border and is culturally Catalan, but best kept on its own until I can talk about a wine specifically from there.  Languedoc is the more northern and eastern section of the broader region, and is culturally an area where Occitan was spoken.  If you add spaces and punctuation, Languedoc becomes Langue d’òc, or language of òc, hence the name of the region.  The climate is Mediterranean, with short, rainy winters, long springs and autumns, and hot dry summers.  Drought is a constant threat.  In addition to the sea, the Mistral can have an impact, keeping the region from becoming unbearably hot.  The soils vary across the rather large region, though limestone is a common theme.  Otherwise, it’s rich soil in river valleys, sandy in the area around the Rhône, but more clay and gravel on the plains.

In terms of wine, Languedoc is a big place, both geographically and in terms of production.    Along with Roussillon, the two make up roughly a quarter of total French area under vine, though that is down from a third in the 1990s.  While the areas produce a vast quantity of wine, they represents only 10% of AC wines.  Instead most wine produced is either in the lowest quality designation, Vin de Table, or increasingly in the intermediate category of Vin de Pays.

In parts of the New World, there are areas that are best known for bulk production of wine but likewise not generally known for high quality wines, such as California’s Central Valley, or Australia’s Murray Darling.  It’s tempting to think that Languedoc must be the same, and at one point that might have been true.  Carignan, little loved, is the main grape of the region.  Traditional winemaking is still very common, with little availability of modern conveniences such as destemming machinery, and new oak is usually beyond the budgets afforded by the selling price of the wines produced.  Fermentation is typically done in concrete, though stainless steel has made some inroads.  Carbonic maceration is commonly used to moderate the harsh nature of Carignan, and much of the wine is sold in bulk to consumers without ever seeing the inside of a bottle.

However, while Languedoc does produce more than its share of mediocre bulk wines, it is also an engine of innovation in the Old World.  In the absence of strict appellation rules, some winemakers have taken advantage of the freedom by experimenting with different varieties, blends, and winemaking techniques.  Vine pull schemes sponsored by the European Union have cut back on the dominance of Carignan, opening up the region to Grenache, Cinsault and Syrah.  Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Chardonnay are also finding a home there, though not for AC wines.  Wines are sold with the variety written on the label – something unusual in France outside of Alsace.  Modern wines of Languedoc can be fresh, interesting, and able to compete with their New World counterparts on price and accessibility.  The thrust of my essay answer on the exam was that as a region it was a small piece of the New World in an Old World country.  So freedom, modernity, and some of the cachet of being French, but none of the recognition or prestige of the fine wine regions.

To narrow the focus somewhat, much of that does not apply to this wine or its region.  This wine is from Coteaux du Languedoc AC, which immediately puts it a step up on the quality classification ladder from most wines of Languedoc, and in particular it is from the named Cru of Picpoul de Pinet.

Picpoul Blanc is the grape, and it is neither of the new crop of varieties being planted, but rather a re-emerging regional grape of the area that fell out of fashion when phylloxera destroyed much of the wine industry.  Literally “lip stinger” in Occitan, it’s an oval shaped white grape found in loose bunches.  It buds early but ripens late.  Unfortunately, it has low yields and is susceptible to fungus, and as such was not a popular candidate for replanting after the blight of the 19th century.  While it is not the next Sauvignon Blanc, it has come back from complete obscurity.  It tolerates sand, which has been used to good effect in coastal vineyards, and modern winemaking has allowed its crisp character to be more widely appreciated.  It, along with Picpoul Rouge, are permitted varieties in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, though are only ever seen there in tiny amounts.  It is at home in Languedoc, and Picpoul de Pinet may be made in both the namesake commune and a number of its immediate neighbours.  There area also plantings in California and Texas, but I can’t find anyone growing it in Australia.

I can find very little information about this producer as I’m unable to locate their website, but I did drop a line to the importer and have one detail.  They’re apparently part of a co-operative in Côtes de Thau with their own winery.  The bottle shape is also required of the AOC, and while the photo doesn’t do it justice, it is somewhere between an Alsace and Burgundy shape, with an embossed detail most of the way up the bottle.

As to this wine itself, in the glass it’s clear and bright, with medium minus lemon green colour and slow thick legs.  The nose is of medium plus intensity, with scents of green apple, honey, mineral, and pear.  It’s youthful without really any development.  On the palate it’s dry with medium plus acidity, medium body, medium alcohol, medium plus intensity and notes of grapefruit, some pear, mineral, and a little paint thinner on the finish. It has a medium plus length.

This is a good quality wine.  It’s fairly intense and has good complexity of tart and mineral flavours.  The acidity is certainly living up to the variety’s name, and it makes me wish the weather was warmer and I was having something salty like fish and chip to eat by the seaside.  I’d recommend this if you can find it, or really any Picpoul de Pinet, as they’re refreshing and certainly undervalued.  I’m not positive, but this could be the least expensive wine I’ve covered, but certainly one of the best in terms of value.

Pin location is approximate.

Chateau Bouscassé Jardins 2008

One of the better wine merchants in my area has a section near their checkout register where they put wines that are moving especially slowly.  I think they may have had a buyer who liked the esoteric, but perhaps their customers didn’t share his tastes.  I, on the other hand, love getting to try something rare and unusual, even if it means I have no idea what to expect.  At least three past posts, the German Silvaner, the Swiss Chasselas and the Burgundian Sauvignon Blanc, all came from that area, and I’m adding another to that list with this Château Bouscassé Jardins 2008.

The front label has the name of the producer, wine and vintage, but it’s otherwise opaque to those without prior knowledge.  Some quick research revealed this to be a varietal Petit Courbu from Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh Sec.  That clears up everything, right?  Actually it does, though looking back at my study guide from the WSET Diploma, we are officially beyond the syllabus, but not by much.

First, the nearly familiar.  Yesterday was a Tannat from Uruguay, and I mentioned that it is associated with the southwest of France, in particular Madiran.  Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh Sec is the AOC in the Madiran region for white wines.  (Without the Sec it is another AOC for sweet white wines.)  It has the same geographic footprint as Madiran, so why it isn’t just Madiran Blanc is a mystery to me.

As I said, Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh / Madiran is the southwest of France, about 60km from the border with Spain and 120km from the Atlantic, or about twice that if you head in the opposite direction toward the Mediterranean.  The geography is dominated by hills with clay and limestone being the major soil types.  The climate is generally considered continental, though the Atlantic does provide a moderating, if distant, influence.  Hot days and cool nights are the norm in the summer, autumns are dry, and winters are cold and dry.  While Tannat and partners to blend with it dominate the area, the whites that make up  Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh are predominantly Corbu and Petit Manseng, with Gros Manseng, Sauvignon Blanc, Arrufiac being permitted in smaller quantities.

Courbu is slightly less than familiar, but it’s a family of grapes of the southwest of France.  The AOC documentation I found just lists Courbu as a grape without being more specific, but I believe within Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh Petit Courbu is the grape in question.  Courbu Blanc is a separate grape, though generally found closer to and within Spain.  There’s also a Courbu Noir though it is thought to be nearly extinct.

Petit Courbu is light skinned and its name translates to “little curved one” which could refer to the small bunches or the grapes themselves.  It can give high yields, but is susceptible to grey rot.  It’s used in the region to make both sweet and dry wines, but is not well travelled beyond that.

The region surrounding the French / Spanish is rich in local varieties, but in terms of grapes I’m finding it something of a difficult area to understand.  We encountered this when I wrote about the Getariako Txakolina where the white grape of that wine can be called Hondarribi Zuri, Hondarrabi Zuri, or Ondarrabi Zuri depending on where you are on a particularly stretch of road, and not a long road at that.  It doesn’t get any better when you take the border crossing into account, as Petit Corbu is sometimes known as Hondarrabi Zuri Zerratie in Spain, which is not the same as Hondarrabi Zuri Zalla, also known as Courbu Blanc in France.  To further complicate things, there may have been a variety of Hondarrabi Zuri which was actually a North American hybrid grape called Noah.  There are conflicting accounts online as to which grape is which, all the more confused by the fact that you can say Courbu or Hondarrabi Zuri and mean several different grapes for each.  Jancis Robinson should have a big book of grape varieties published sometime in the next year, and I’m really hoping that it clear up some of this.

One other thing I would like cleared up relates perhaps a bit more directly to this wine.  I found the French legal document that lays our the rules for the Vic-Bihl Pacherenc of Sec AOC, and in terms of grapes it specifies that Petit Manseng and Petit Courbu must be at least 60% of the blend, but neither may be more than 80%.  (Note, Google translate replaces Petit Courbu with “curvatures”.)  Then I have the technical sheet for this wine from the Brumont website which says that this wine is 100% Petit Courbu.  Is that why the front label doesn’t really have much to say about the wine?  It could be that it’s not an AOC wine, or it could be that the technical sheet relates to a different vintage, or I might just not understand the AOC rules.

In any case, researching this wine and grape has left me with at least as many questions as answers.  About midway through my Diploma I started to think that the factual part of the course wasn’t all that bad.  Of course, there are many, many things that one is expected to know, but the vast majority of it could just be memorized.  So if you could rattle off the location, climate, soil, grapes grown, types of wine produced and some example producers for 1,000 regions, and then list the colour, when it buds, when it ripens,  how it yields, to what is it susceptible, what type of wine it makes, some example producers, and where it’s made for a couple of hundred grapes, that was that.  Yes, quite a big pile of flashcards, but it was all knowable.  However, while I don’t really have even a small percentage of that information at ready access in my brain, I’m finding that even if I did, that’s not enough.

There are in fact many things that are not known, or at least not well known, within the study of wine.  DNA profiling will continue to show that varieties believed to be unrelated are in fact the same thing.  It will also do the opposite and reveal that what might have been thought to be a uniform variety is actually partially one variety and partially another.  On top of that, things are always changing.  Varieties are being planted in places far from their origins, new techniques are being pioneered in terms of viticulture and winemaking, laws and regulations are constantly being changed, and new ventures are springing up left and right.  It could be a bit depressing if your goal was really to be on top of everything there is to know, but I quite like the fact that it’s a moving target.  In truth, I’ll probably never be able to rattle off details for a thousand regions, but I’ll never get bored trying to keep up.

So to get back on the topic of this wine in particular, just a quick word in an already overly long post.  The producer, Alain Brumont, is worth a full post on his own, but I’ll give you the quick summary.  He’s an extremely innovative producer, and had almost single-handedly returned Madiran to the wine world from obscurity.  Having worked in Bordeaux in the 1970s, he returned to Madiran determined to make fine wine that expressed the unique terroir of the region.  In particular he worked with Tannat which was an unfashionable grape of an unfashionable region.  He has rehabilitated derelict vineyards under organic practices, with high vine density and native varietals.  In addition to Château Bouscassé he also runs Château Montus and a venture in Gascogne.

Finally, I need to talk about this wine itself.  In the glass it’s clear and bright, medium lemon green colour with quick legs.  On the nose it’s clean, with medium plus intensity, a developing character, and lime, lemon curd, yoghurt, capsicum, and sunflower notes.  On the palate it’s dry, with medium plus acidity, medium plus body, full flavour intensity, medium plus length, and medium alcohol.  It has an interesting texture – something fuller than oily, but not sure what that is.  Flavour notes were lime, a hint of salt, green apple, white pepper, and creamy yoghurt.  It had a fair whack of oak, but it’s not that shavings flavour you get from new oak.

This is a very good wine.  It has loads of character, with great intensity and a curious texture.  It’s a very robust white, and I’m sure could handle a few more years in the cellar without any trouble at all.

Domaine Mittnacht Freres Riesling Les Fossiles 2010

As I type this, there is nothing French on the front page, even if you scroll all the way to the bottom, though I’m sure no one has done that ever.  There is another French wine in the queue, but it’s going to be something of a bear to put together, so instead I’m going with the more straightforward option, a wine I recently had by the glass, the Domaine Mittnacht Freres Riesling Les Fossiles 2010.

Or so I thought.  As is common in many wine growing areas, the family name is not such a good unique identifier.  I started out my research looking at Domain Mittnacht-Klack, which may or may not be from the same family tree, but which is certainly not the same producer.

Instead, Mittnacht Frères was formed in 1963 when two brothers, André and Louis Mittnacht combined their vineyards.  The production is now run by two cousins, Christophe and Marc Mittnacht.  If only the vignerons of Burgundy had been able to do the same under the rule of Napoleon we wouldn’t have to remember two dozen different producers for each little clos within the Nuits-Saint-Georges.  Their vineyards are biodynamic, which seems to be a recurring bugbear in this blog.  They don’t appear to have a website, so apologies as to the paucity of details – the back label on their bottle lists an email address instead.

One of the great things about the Where I’m Drinking page is that I can just zoom into a region and look for the pins indicating producers I’ve featured.  I had a look at Alsace and was somewhat surprised that I’ve only written a proper post about a single producer, The Furst Pinot Blanc.  I think I was somewhat traumatized by our tasting practices when our tutor poured us an off-dry Domaine Zind-Humbrecht Pinot Blanc, which seemed to come from another world and completely put me off Alsace.  I think I guessed Vinho Verde based on the light, sweet taste and bubbles in my glass, but they were due to age, not fermentation.

The basics are that it’s a cool region in the east of France near the border with Germany.  In fact, the area has swapped between German and French governance, and culturally it’s somewhere in the middle.  You’ll often find people there with Germanic surnames but French sounding given names.  The area is defined by the slopes of the Vosges mountain range to the west and the Rhine river to the east.  There are vineyards running up the slopes and along the flats.  While the climate is cool continental, the weather arrives from the west, and the mountains provide a rain shadow, making winters more mild than they would be otherwise.  The slopes, as well as those of the foothills, allow vineyards to be planted in a way that maximizes sunlight for ripening.  Geologically, the area is part of the Rhine Graben, of the Rhine River Valley, which is essentially a rift in the crust where what became the Vosges moved away from what is now the Black Forest to the east.  As a result, the geology of the area is highly varied, with everything from granite, quartz, and sandstone on the upper slopes to clay and calcareous marl on the lower slopes and whatever has washed down on the plains.  There’s also volcanic influences dating back 15 million years.  Really it’s better to talk about the geology specific to a vineyard or at least a village, but unfortunately I don’t have that information with respect to this wine.

With regard to wine and winemaking, the region is well known for a number of reasons.  Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Pinot Gris and Auxerrois Blanc top the league charts in overall plantings, with Pinot Noir being the fifth overall and the most widely planted red grape, but none are more than 25% of the total.  Sylvaner and Pinot Blanc round out the top seven, after which the percentages drop off significantly.  Most wine is made as varietal, and unusually for France, grape varieties are usually indicated on the front label.  Bottles are required to be the tall, shoulderless bottles most commonly associated with Riesling.  The region is covered by an AC for still wine, and there is an Alsace Grand Cru AC though as with all such ratings with any fluidity, it is highly controversial, and in Alsace it is not does not seem to be regarded with the level of respect given to the rankings within the Left Bank or Burgundy.  There is no vin de pays for Alsace, so non AC wines are vin de table.  Most wines are dry, though some retain sweetness stylistically, there are late harvest and botritized wines as well, and even ice wine.  In addition, Cremant d’Alsace is also produced, for which Chardonnay may be used, though it is not permitted in still AC wines.

I’ve written a bit about Riesling when I covered the Pikes Clare Valley Riesling in February, and the only thing I’d like to add is that Alsatian Rieslings are meant to have higher alcohol and than their German counterparts, and more body than Australian versions.  With that, it’s time to look at this Riesling in particular.

In the glass, this wine is clear and bright, pale lemon colour with green highlights. On the nose, it’s clean, developing, with medium intensity.  There are notes of pear, lime, and a little custard.  On the palate it’s dry, with medium plus acidity, medium body, medium minus alcohol, medium plus flavour intensity and notes of lime, almost salty, intense citrus but not an especially specific fruit, maybe grapefruit, with a custard finish and a medium plus length.

This is a good quality wine – neither wanting nor particularly special.  It has good fruit and more body than many Rieslings, but doesn’t lack acidity or intensity.  And as it is one I had by the glass, not an expensive wine, and certainly delivers typicity both as Alsatian and as a Riesling.