New Releases Tasting - Part One
We held our autumn tasting styled new releases at the Contented Vine in Pimlico. The idea was to broach those wines which were in too short supply or too expensive to flash around as samples normally.
The “expo” was held on a fruit day. After an early downpour, the sun came out and the weather was positively brilliant which raised spirits and expectations. There were six small tables: one featuring regional French wines, another with offerings from Alsace, Loire and Jura, a further demonstrated a flange of Italian lovelies, there was one naturally yoking Portugal with Australia, and one manned by Pierre Breton, he of natural Bourgueil fame, who had arrived by TGV that very morn.
Being a trawl through new arrivals there was no particular rhyme or reason to the wines but a theme soon became clear: largely organic and biodynamic with a healthy sprinkling of low sulphur wines.
The first wine on the first tasting table lulled people into a sense of false security being the lively Cotes de Gascogne Cuvee Marime from Domaine de Menard. Gros Manseng provides the pineapple punch and Ugni Blanc lends some grippy minerality. You’d think the tip of your tongue was doodling round the whorls of shell; the wine has mother o’ pearl purity that is awfully impressive for the price. Next in line Le Petit Curieux from Patrick Rols elicited many knowing smiles (bloody Caves de Pyrene and their crayzee wines), but its spiky pink grapefruit crunchiness fizzling with tongue-teasing bubbles reconciled people to the fact that even crazy wines can be effortlessly drinkable. Elian da Ros’ pure Abouriou furrowed the furrows of many brows; it is for those who can appreciate linear, rillettes-dissolving red wines. The two Minervois from Jean-Baptiste Senat were hymning and herring nicely; La Nine, a smooth fragrant cocktail of five grapes including centenarian Carignan, was joyously fresh and pulp-fruity, the antithesis of the modern baked Shiraz style of Minervois, whilst Mais Ou Est Donc Ornicar was more of a mouthful in both the vinous and tonguetwistery senses. The Mourvedre stands to the fore with its belting black berry fruit overlaid by tobacco aromas.
I am a fan of the Matassa wines. The Roussillon is an amazing region when you think about it. Limestone scarps, shattered schists (a geological scrapyard as Andrew Jefford might describe it), clumps of garrigue, hot as during the summer – a land of extremes. The wines, mainly from very old vines, seem to suck up the minerals thirstily and have excellent, defined structure. The Matassa Blanc is from old vine vineyards, half of which are situated high up in the Coteaux des Fenouillèdes and the other half around the village of Calce, lower down (at around 150 m). Tom Lubbe and Sam Harrop say that the lower vineyards contribute power and the higher ones minerality and finesse. The white wine is whole bunch pressed in a wooden basket press and is fermented with indigenous yeasts in foudre and barrel and then aged on the lees for 14 months. Elevage is in a mix of 500 litre demi-muids and 228 litre pieces, of which only a third are new. Lovely toasty, aromatic minerally nose is sophisticated with a lovely reductive edge. There are minerals, some spice and some flint. The palate is ripe and full with lovely freshness and minerality.
The red is equally reckonable displaying a range of lovely clean black fruits on the nose with a hint of mineral reduction with touches of thyme and white fennel. The palate is medium-bodied, very well balanced and again with a sense of natural “being” with lovely simple, off-dry finish of raspberry, wild strawberry and loganberry with just a hint of hung game.
Rhone, sweet Rhone. Il fait soif, Soif du mal, Soif is so du jour – innit?
Maxime Francois Laurent makes two wines; the abovementioned Il fait soif and Pourpre. He purchases the grapes from his uncle, keeping a close eye on the vineyard with particular attention to the yields (never more than 35hl/a) and the treatments (which are organic). Both the wines are 100% Grenache with the Soif from youngish vines (20-25 years) and the Pourpre from gnarly specimens between 50 and 80 years old. Limestone soils confer freshness and delicacy one would normally not expect from the southern Rhone. Fermentation is by wild yeasts only at 25 degrees with regular pigeage only 1g/litre sulphur added after the malo. The Soif dallies only a little while in tank, whereas the Pourpre spends six months in previously used barrels. The former possesses a lively violet colour and dancing aromatics — lots of sour cherry, pepper, wet leather and herbs. Candied fruit dominated by notes of cherry and raspberry, loaded with pepper and a smear of grape jam, some graphite and pencil shavings. Its irresistible juiciness will get you plunging this into the nearest ice bucket but there’s enough grunt for a grilled steak. Gather ye round the barbecue. The Pourpre is a shade more purple (yes, it does what it says on the label) and is more textural; there is the flavour of red grape juice but also the skins beautifully combined with ripe tannins. These natural wines won’t frighten the horses and those cynical gainsayers who believe that wild yeast ferments and minimal sulphur inevitably leads to death-by-funk.
If affluence of incahol floats your luxury cruise liner then the Chateauneufs of Barroche (hard a port!) would satisfy the craving for power. The Signature, a blend of Grenache, old vines Cinsault, revealed an italic verve; of the three cuvees this was the most composed and mineral. The Fiancee where Grenache and Syrah, like ebony and ivory, are meant to live together in perfect harmony, had yet to establish a matrimonial middle ground, whilst the Pure (100 plus year old pur Grenache) was like a port reduction. This monumental wine needs to settle for about five years.
After the beasts some sylph-like beauties commencing with a pair of Frick Rieslings. Ah, I hear the critics muttering, it’s that low sulphur “hay-hoe” stuff. Au contraire. The sulphur addition may be low to virtually non-existent but the Rieslings are delicious. The Grand Cru Vourbourg was exceedingly mellow; not tart and stripped to the bone like some Alsace Rieslings, nor waxy and oily, but like biting into a fleshy white pear with just enough give. The 1997 Vendanges Tardives was so relaxed that it carried its 13.8 alcohol like invisible hand luggage. On to the Loire – just three offerings here. Savennières Les Genets was one of my stars of the show, Chenin operating on various levels. Orchard fruit – quince, pear and bruised apple – dry honey – bakewell tart - hint of mulch – whisper of truffle – soothing acidity bringing up the rear. An intellectually and emotionally engaging wine, young for its age and wise beyond its years.
The label on the Goutte d’O says it all. Vin artisanal. Jus de raisins fermentées. This is dirt-under-the-fingernails artisan viticulture. Ploughing is by horse, no chemicals are used and only natural, organic solutions are sought. Yields are a minuscule 10 hectolitres/ha and a manual harvest with strict selection is carried out in small cagettes. Vinification is very slow with light pressure using an ancestral press. Fermentation and maturation is in old barrels for fourteen months before the wine is bottled on the lees without filtration or added sulphur. A beautiful wine rippling with tension, possessing an exceptional, precise minerality, unveils subtle aromas of poire william and shaved quince, dried fruits and herbs. Only 500 bottles made. I tasted this with a couple of people who I felt were looking for the wine as if price should equate to the perceived volume of wine in the mouth. The Goutte d’O is not a wine that you find; it finds you. It is naked, pure, yet gently revealing.
The discreet, graceful Saumur-Champigny Vignes Franches from Thierry Germain came from vines planted on French root stock on sandy soils. This vintage is its maiden voyage and a truly lovely that would appeal to (Cab) Francophiles and Cabnostics alike.
I then positioned myself behind the Jura wines of Jean-Francois Ganevat. J-F has moved towards biodynamic methods in the vineyards and works without sulphur for his reds and only a tiny amount for the whites. His Chardonnays would get the stoniest of burghounds whiffling appreciatively. Florine Ganevat, from vines planted sixty years ago, is beautifully composed. From the delicate nose of acacia to a mouth filled with yellow apricot to a fine, persistent finish seasoned by dry spice, this is an effortless Chardonnay. Les Grandes Teppes (ninety year old vines, twenty four months sur lie, aged in demi-muids) was hiding initially under a reductive veil. Some rough decanting and assiduous swooshing contrived to disperse some of these aromas. The wine itself was thicker and creamier than the Florine with phenomenal mouthfeel, length and mineral presence. Unlike most critics I am a big fan of Jura reds which may come from Pinot Noir, Trousseau or Poulsard/Ploussard.
The Trousseau comes from a terroir which is marne with big stones. It is apparently not necessary to do a green harvest on this cuvee because the vines are from a selection of old vines that only give small yields (selection massale). The vines face due south - a tremendous exposition but are on a 50% incline! It has cherry red colour, aromas of red fruits and blackcurrants and is lively and fresh on the palate with pronounced acidity and just a hint of musk and sous-bois. The Pinot, from even tinier yields, has brilliant red fruit aromas and flavours. It is pared down, stiletto sharp, with a dimension of purity that I love. Weighing in at an unburly 11.5% the Poulsard is sui generis, rose-hued, slithering hither and thither across the palate with the slicing angularity of a razor blade dipped in pomegranate juice or cracking whip flavoured with raspberry liquorice.
And so to the Vin de Paille and my contender for wine of the year. Vin de Paille is a selection of naturally super ripe grapes which are left to raisin traditionally on straw mats to concentrate the sugar before pressing. Sweet wine is best when it is made in a completely naturally fashion. During fermentation the yeast eats up all of the sugars in the wine it can stomach. If the yeast is vigorous it wants to digest it all until the wine is left dry. However, if there is still sugar left, the wine stays sweet. You can stop the fermentation by adding neutral spirit—as with Port or the category of wines called ‘Vin Doux Naturel (such as the French Maury or Beaume de Venise). However, if the grapes are super-concentrated and super-sweet to start with, fermentation will “stick” at some point.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach
Andrew Marvell – The Garden
An exotic, regal nectar of apricots and peaches and plum jam in one sip, quinces, gooseberries and pineapples dusted with preserved ginger in the next. And the finish comes as if the sweetness had been carved to a point and layered with gently toasted brazil nuts.
We pass to Italy. The Costadila Prosecco may have been sporting its leesy goop at the bottom of the bottle, but it had a lemony freshness as well. Next up was the Dinavolo, a blend of Malvasia, Ortruga, Marsanne and AN Other grape. Four months skin contact gives the wine its deep amber colour and tannic structure. The wine is mellowing and that initial rough n ready impression of apple skins floating in fermenting cider has given way to autumnal notes of sun-ripened apricot and peach. Princic’s Pinot Grigio from selected grapes in low yields only is pretty in pink is , eight days maceration on the skins in wooden casks, nothing controlled as always. The fermentation is done in big wooden vats with indigenous yeasts – as per usual - covered only with a plastic film (to keep out pesky fruit flies). No batonnage is made as the lees moves biodynamically. The wine rests, mellows and generally ruminates for two and a half years in tonneaux before bottling. 100% fermented juice, nothing is added… as the man himself says. It has a dark pink-amber colour, with exotic and ripe fruits, mutating all the time. Apricot skin, mandarin and ginger surge across the tongue and there’s a touch of astringency to remind you of the original grape. Not just a great Pinot Grigio, a wine reeking (in the classiest sense) of individuality.