The Wine Savant: A Guide to the New Wine Culture Read online

  But I think probably the most exciting story in this globalized wine world is the emergence of northern Spain, which has become a source of incredible white wines. Galicia, an autonomous region in the northwest of the country renowned for its firthlike inlets and verdant landscape (it is sometimes referred to as “green Spain”), has been at the forefront of this development. At the turn of the last century, Galicia was hit hard by phylloxera, vineyards were abandoned, and the wine industry fell into a prolonged slump. The dictatorship of Francisco Franco only compounded the difficulties. During the Franco era, Spain’s wine production was dominated by large cooperatives churning out insipid bulk wines. There were pockets of excellence—Vega Sicilia, Spain’s most acclaimed winery, had a number of stellar vintages in the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s, and some brilliant Riojas were also made during this period—but they were a distinct minority. With Franco’s death in 1975 and the establishment of democratic rule, many of Spain’s cellars and vineyards underwent a dramatic overhaul. New and better vines were planted, antiquated equipment was replaced, and over time the emphasis shifted from quantity to quality.

  Globalization has not just been a boon for previously obscure grapes; it has also been a tonic for many small, artisanal producers. They were supposed to be globalization’s roadkill, as it was widely assumed that the production of wine would increasingly be corporatized and industrialized. There has been a lot of that, particularly in California and Australia, but not nearly as much as many people expected. It’s true, too, that many small producers have been hurt by the increased competition that has come with a globalized wine market. Large swaths of the French wine industry, for instance, have been suffering through a decade-long economic crisis caused in part by stepped-up competition from abroad. But here’s the thing: with rare exceptions, the producers who have been hurt are ones who don’t make particularly good wines. For quality producers, globalization has proven to be beneficial, enabling them to tap new markets and cultivate new clients. In fact, some winemakers in France might not be in business now but for the ardent followings that they’ve attracted in the United States and other foreign countries.

  A good example of this occurred a few years ago when a superb winemaker in the Beaujolais region of France, Jean-Paul Brun, inexplicably had a wine rejected by the local appellation authorities. Brun owns an estate called Domaine des Terres Dorées, from which he fashions classic, lip-smacking Beaujolais, the sort that is increasingly difficult to find in a region drowning in cadaverous, insipid wines. Brun’s 2007 Beaujolais l’Ancien, his entry-level wine, was rejected by a tasting panel allegedly because it had off aromas (no one else who tasted the wine, including me, found anything wrong with it). As a result of this decision, Brun was forced to sell most of the ’07 l’Ancien as a vin de table, the lowest classification in French wine and one that permits neither the vintage nor the appellation name (in this case, Beaujolais) to appear on the label, omissions that could have seriously impeded sales. Brun was just one of a number of very good French winemakers who found themselves running afoul of their appellations, and you didn’t need to wear a tinfoil hat to wonder if local jealousies were the root cause of these controversies. Brun was a fairly prosperous winemaker with a strong international following, working in an area in which many other vintners were struggling. As it turned out, Brun’s international following was a lifeline after the ’07 l’Ancien was demoted. Word of this calumny quickly spread via the Internet, and Brun fans in the United States and elsewhere expressed their indignation in the most effective way possible: they bought the ’07 l’Ancien as soon as it became available. Score one for a globalized wine market.

  Galicia was one of the regions that benefited from these changes. In the mid-1970s, Galician vintners took renewed interest in some long-neglected local grapes, and an infusion of financial aid from the European Union helped modernize wine production. Albariño, a thick-skinned grape said to have arrived in Galicia in the twelfth century and now the pillar of the Rías Baixas appellation, was one of the varieties given a second life. In the early 2000s, it emerged as the first big breakout star of Spain’s wine boom, becoming a trendy pour in New York, San Francisco, and other American cities. Albariño remains very popular but now has some competition in its own barrio: another born-again grape, Godello, mainly associated with the inland Valdeorras appellation, has lately been generating considerable excitement.

  Similar stories have played out elsewhere in Spain. In Castilla y León, the Verdejo grape began making a comeback in the 1970s and has turned the Rueda appellation into a source of toothsome white wines. For much of the twentieth century, the Basque country was a viticultural basket case. The local quaffer, known as Txakoli (cha-co-lee) or Txakolina, a white composed primarily of the indigenous Hondarrabi Zuri grape, was a fairly nasty garage brew produced in minuscule quantities by mom-and-pop vintners. But increased investment in the 1980s and ’90s led to a big improvement in the quality of the wines, and consumer interest, undoubtedly encouraged by San Sebastián’s emergence as Europe’s gastronomic mecca, has soared.

  Spain’s renaissance has not been an unqualified triumph. In some regions there has been a move toward “international-style” wines—inky, lush reds strongly marked by new oak flavors. These alta expresión wines thrilled some critics but seem to have lost their charm for rank-and-file drinkers; sales have slumped sharply in recent years. And not all the white wines coming out of northern Spain are winners. Earlier I mentioned that some Albariños have an off-putting Juicy Fruit fruitiness; if I want that—and I don’t—I can find it closer to home, in any number of California Chardonnays. The better Albariños, however, combine zesty fruit with bracing acidity, the same kerosene note that you often find in Muscadets, and an invigorating whiff of brine (that’s the maritime influence—or the power of suggestion!—speaking). Godello tends to produce slightly rounder wines, but the fruit is balanced by a chalky, Chablis-like minerality. For its part, Verdejo is an intensely aromatic grape yielding wines that manage to be both crisp and mouth-filling; it is sometimes blended with Sauvignon Blanc, which can impart a flattering herbal note. Most of these wines are fermented and aged in stainless steel, so there’s no oak influence mucking things up, and the alcohol levels are modest. These are complex but also deliciously transparent and refreshing wines.

  NINE GRAPES THAT YOU SHOULD GET TO KNOW

  Mencia This is a red grape indigenous to northern Spain, where it is found in the Bierzo, Ribeira Sacra, and Valdeorras regions. It was once thought to be related to Cabernet Franc, but that turned out not to be the case. It produces relatively light, wonderfully perfumed wines. In addition to strong floral character, the wines often have a pronounced gamey note, and the best examples also show a strong mineral edge. While a few Mencias are ambitiously priced these days, most remain very affordable, in the $20–$30 range.

  Assyrtiko This is a white wine grape native to the Greek island of Santorini and makes what I think are the most compelling wines coming out of Greece. The vineyards on Santorini are composed of volcanic ash and pumice, and the Assyrtiko vines are trained in the shape of a basket so they can withstand the harsh winds that sometimes blow across the island. Needless to say, Assyrtiko is a resilient grape, and one that manages to maintain its robust acidity even as it reaches peak ripeness. The wines it produces on Santorini are zesty, bone-dry, and incredibly refreshing. These are archetypal Mediterranean white wines, and they speak to Greece’s winemaking potential.

  Vermentino This is another Mediterranean variety that yields lithe, crisp, summery white wines. It is the main white grape on the islands of Sardinia and Corsica and is found on the Italian and French mainlands as well. It is also turning up in California and Australia these days, which is testament to its growing appeal. The grape has some major selling points: in addition to being deliciously zesty—it is a great food wine and is particularly good with fish—it tends to show quite a bit of minerality, and it is also able to withstand hot temperatures
better than some other white grapes, which is no small consideration amid global climate change. In the past fifteen years or so we’ve seen the triumph of Mediterranean cooking, principally Italian cuisine; it stands to reason that Mediterranean grape varieties should also be ascendant, and Vermentino is definitely a grape to watch.

  Blaufränkisch Thanks to Riesling and Grüner Veltliner, Austria is generally known as white-wine country, but a native red wine grape, Blaufränkisch, has caught on in the past few years. A thick-skinned, late-ripening variety, it is found throughout eastern Europe (it is known by different names in several different countries), but Austria is having the most success with it. At its best, Blaufränkisch yields wines that show lots of ripe berry flavors, excellent acidity, and a good spicy bite on the palate. It is a grape that lends itself to different styles; some Blaufränkisches are fairly light and delicate, while others have a rich, robust quality.

  Godello For the past few years, as a bit of Albariño ennui has set in, Godello has been touted as Spain’s new “it” grape, and not without justification—it can produce outstanding wines. Search around enough and you will see it being compared to Chardonnay, Riesling, Chenin Blanc, and even some other grapes. Here’s what we can say about Godello: it turns out wines that manage to be crisp but also a bit round and generous, a sensational yin-yang effect. Godello is indigenous to northwestern Spain, and the best examples from the Valdeorras appellation show a terrific slaty minerality to go along with the white fruit notes that predominate (think apple, pear, quince).

  Aglianico This is a fascinating grape that yields rich, soulful wines that with their spice and herbal notes proudly wear their southern Italian origins. Aglianico was brought to Italy by the ancient Greeks, and it was apparently the mainstay of Falernian, which was the grand vin of Roman times. These days it is cultivated mainly in Campania and neighboring Basilicata and is considered southern Italy’s noble grape, its answer to Nebbiolo and Sangiovese. The better Aglianicos show bright, zippy dark fruit, brisk acidity, and muscular (one might even say rustic) tannins. With all that structure, they can reward cellaring, but they are also deliciously exuberant in their youth.

  Lagrein This is a red wine grape from the Alto-Adige region of northern Italy, an area bordering Austria and with a strong Germanic influence. Alto-Adige has been at the forefront of Italy’s recent wine boom, and Lagrein is finally getting some well-deserved notice. It is a grape that turns out rich, highly aromatic reds that pair well with meat dishes, cheese, and yes, pizza. Not unlike Barbera, which is grown in the Piedmont region on the other side of northern Italy, Lagrein tends to be brisk in acidity but fairly modest in tannins, which helps make the wines approachable in their youth.

  Cabernet Franc Okay, Cabernet Franc is not an obscure grape. I’m including it here because it is an insufficiently appreciated one. Cabernet Franc is the third most important red wine grape in Bordeaux, after Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, and is the main grape in Château Cheval Blanc, one of Bordeaux’s most celebrated wines. However, Cabernet Franc’s real homeland is north of Bordeaux, in the Loire Valley of France. In appellations such as Chinon, Bourgueil, Anjou, and Saumur-Champigny, it is the main red grape and produces elegant, earthy wines that go well with all sorts of food. It also yields some very good wines in Italy and California. So why isn’t Cab Franc more popular? It could be the herbal note you often detect in the wine. To me, at least, that herbal note is evocative of tobacco, an aroma I love but that others might find off-putting. At any rate, I think Cab Franc produces some really exceptional wines and deserves to be more popular than it is.

  Mourvèdre Like Cabernet Franc, Mourvèdre is a widely planted grape that deserves more respect than it gets. A thick-skinned, slow-ripening grape, Mourvèdre is believed to be native to Spain, where it is known as Monastrell. It is also found in California, where it is sometimes called Mataró, and in Australia, too. But Mourvèdre is used to greatest effect in France. It is one of the primary grapes of the southern Rhône Valley, where it is a key component in Châteaneuf-du-Pape. In fact, it is traditionally the main ingredient in what is arguably the finest Châteaneuf-du-Pape of all, Château de Beaucastel. It is also the signature grape variety in the Bandol appellation. Located on the Mediterranean coast just east of Marseille, Bandol’s parched hillsides have proved especially hospitable to Mourvèdre. Mourvèdre does not suit everyone’s taste. One of the grape’s signature aromas is a certain gaminess—what the French call animale. But I think it yields sensational and very distinctive wines and is well worth a look.

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  Bucket List Wines

  ONE OF THE telltale signs that your interest in wine is morphing into obsession is when you begin to feel a compulsive desire to experience the Holy Grail wines—the Bordeaux first growths, the top growths of Burgundy, and the like. If you are lurking on wine discussion boards (another indication of a full-blown obsession), you are probably reading lots of breathless accounts of Great Wines Consumed, and soon enough you will find yourself salivating on your keyboard and composing lists of Wines You Must Try Before You Die. It’s a feeling I know well. In the nearly fifteen years that I’ve been writing about wine, I have chased a lot of bottles—1974 Heitz Martha’s Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon, 1961 Haut-Brion, 1990 La Tâche, 1982 Mouton Rothschild, and the holiest of Holy Grail wines, the 1947 Cheval Blanc, which I spent months actively pursuing and ultimately traveled three thousand miles to taste.

  The 1947 Cheval is probably the most celebrated wine of the twentieth century. It is the wine every grape nut wants to experience, a wine that even the most jaded aficionados will travel thousands of miles to taste. A few years ago I wrote an article for Slate about the ’47 Cheval, a piece that culminated with my one and only taste of this fabled Bordeaux. I went to Geneva, Switzerland, to try the Immortal One, and it was well worth the journey. The wine was simply amazing. The moment I lifted the glass to my nose and took in that sweet, spicy, arresting perfume, my notion of excellence in wine and my understanding of what wine was capable of were instantly transformed—I could almost hear the scales recalibrating in my head. The ’47 was the warmest, richest, most decadent wine that I’d ever encountered. Even more striking than its opulence was its freshness. The flavors were redolent of stewed fruits and dead flowers, yet the wine tasted alive; it bristled with energy and purpose. It was a sensational experience, and I was also lucky: bottle variation is always a risk, and the older the wine, the greater the danger of an off bottle (because of poor storage, for instance). In the case of the ’47 Cheval, there was also the risk of a fraudulent bottle; not surprisingly, given the wine’s lofty reputation and price, a lot of fake ’47 Cheval is on the market. But knowing something about its provenance, I’m reasonably certain that the bottle I tasted from was genuine. And if it wasn’t, it was one hell of a brilliant forgery.

  What distinguishes the ’47 Cheval, apart from the fact that it is so mind-bendingly delicious, is that it was the product of a completely aberrant year. Nineteen forty-seven was the second of three great postwar vintages in Bordeaux, a hat trick that began with the 1945s and ended with the 1949s. Two things distinguished 1947 from those other immortal years: it was a vintage that strongly favored the right bank of Bordeaux, which is Merlot country, and the weather that summer was almost biblical in its extremity. July and August were blazing hot months, and the conditions turned downright tropical in September. By the time the harvest began, the grapes had more or less roasted on the vine, and the oppressive heat followed the fruit right into the cellar. Because wineries were not yet temperature-controlled, a number of producers experienced stuck fermentations—that is, the yeasts stopped converting the sugar in the grape juice into alcohol (yeasts, like humans, tend to wilt in excessive heat). A stuck fermentation can leave a wine with significant levels of both residual sugar and volatile acidity; enough of the latter can ruin a wine, and more than a few vats were lost to spoilage in ’47. But the vintage also yielded some of the greatest Bordeaux ever made; in
addition to the ’47 Cheval, there is ’47 Pétrus, ’47 Lafleur, ’47 Vieux Château Certan, ’47 L’Eglise-Clinet, ’47 L’Évangile, and ’47 Mouton Rothschild, legends all.

  We think of excessive heat, and the drought conditions that often accompany it, as detrimental to the production of wines, and generally speaking, that’s true—the grapes tend to be overripe, if not sunburned, and they can be woefully deficient in acidity. Yet many of the most acclaimed wines of the last century were products of blistering hot years. While 1947 was a particularly extreme case, 1959 and 1961 were also scorchers and likewise yielded a number of now canonical wines, not only in Bordeaux but in Burgundy, the Rhône Valley, and Champagne, too. One shouldn’t conclude from these examples that extreme weather is necessary to produce truly epic wines, because that just isn’t so; plenty of legendary wines have been made under “normal” conditions, too. The key point: it is very difficult to generalize about wine, which is part of the pleasure.

  CLIMATE CHANGE

  To this point, climate change has actually been a boon for a number of wine regions, particularly in northern Europe. Thirty years ago, places such as Burgundy and the Loire were lucky to produce two or three good vintages in a decade, and they often lost entire crops to crappy weather. These days it is extremely rare to see a complete washout in any of these places; Burgundy hasn’t had a truly lost vintage since 1994, for instance. Good vintages are the norm now, not the exception, and great vintages seem to come along every three or four years. The change in fortunes has been astonishing, and there is no question that it is due in no small part due to climate change. The growing seasons have become warmer and more consistent over the past twenty years or so, making life much more agreeable for winemakers in Burgundy, the Loire, and throughout northern Europe.