Return to terroir
I covered the fascist, eugenic philosophy of terroir in a column a couple of weeks ago, so we needn’t go into all that again, except to point out that placing a French restaurant called Terroirs in the middle of London begs the question they might not have fully understood the concept implicit in their title.
A restaurant journalist who should know much, much better
Lazy writing is invariably the product of lazy thinking. The words fascist and eugenic are horribly misapplied and abused here. Crypto-idiocy, par excellence. Terroir, of course, a term used and occasionally abused in the wine world, not just by the French, refers to wines that exhibit something of the place they originate as opposed to “international wines” which taste as if they might come from any country in the world. Terroir is fundamentally a positive term, connoting strong identity, individuality and traceability. Assailed by homogeneity and “lowest-common-denominatorism”, it is important for us to encourage those artisan growers who capture the flavour of the real in their produce. Cuisine de terroir is a common expression, hearty cooking based on local ingredients. It comes from the heart. A fascist philosophy, if we must use that puerile assimilating term, would insist that everything must be the same and correct, that all growers should make identical wines according to the dictates of consumer acceptance panels.
For terroir to flourish, however, an appellation system needed to exist which laid down guidelines for what constituted regionality. The concept of terroir developed through centuries of French winemaking based on observation of what made wines from different regions, vineyards or even different sections of the same vineyard so different from each other. The French began to crystallize the concept of terroir as a way of describing the unique aspects of a place that influences and shapes the wine made from it. Long before the French, the winemaking regions of the ancient world already developed a concept of different regions having the potential to create very different and distinct wines, even from the same grapes. The Ancient Greeks would stamp amphorae with the seal of the region they came from and soon different regions established reputations based on the quality of their wines. For most of its history, Burgundy was cultivated by the literate and disciplined members of the Benedictine and Cistercian orders. With vast land holdings, the monks were able to conduct large scale observation of the influences that various parcels of land had on the wine it produced. Some legends have the monks going as far as “tasting” the soil. Over time the monks compiled their observations and began to establish the boundaries of different terroirs-many of which still exist today as the Grand Cru vineyards of Burgundy.
To qualify for appellation status wines had to be made from vines grown within a delimited area (although as knowledge of the area increases maps are inevitably redrawn; certain grape varieties were authorised and yields were regulated. The notion of appellation was not merely to protect heritage for heritage’s sake, but also a laudable attempt to define quality. The parcelling of vineyards, the knowledge of where to plant, the identification of best (cru) locations, derived from systematic observation. To understand one’s terroir was to understand that the building blocks of real wine emanated from a subtle cocktail of different factors, ranging from meso-and-microclimate, relief, geology and soil types to indigenous yeasts.
Terroiristes posit that flavour derives from a specific place. In Sancerre, for example, the existence of flint in the soil meant you would be more likely taste residual flickers of flintiness in the wine. Similarly wines from vineyards located in the midst of the Provençale garrigue would take on the herbal character from those proximate clumps of wild herbs. Analysts who believed that flavour in a wine could be solely attributed to the grape variety’s signature in conjunction with fermentation techniques seek to dismiss the idea that flavour can be transmitted through the soil although some will acknowledge that the respiration of the vine plays a part in the process. A reductive argument, for if this was true, wine wouldn’t be so nuanced; every Chardonnay would taste the same. It is no coincidence that the flavours in wines correspond to the terroir in the immediate vicinity of the vineyard.
Many decisions during the growing and winemaking process can either downplay or enhance the expression of terroir in the wine. These include decisions about pruning, irrigation and selecting time of harvest. At the winery the use of oak, cultured or ambient yeast, length of maceration and time in contact with lees, temperature during fermentation as well as processes like micro-oxygenation, chaptalization, clarification with fining agents, and reverse osmosis all have the potential to either downplay or emphasize some aspect derived from the terroir. Winemakers can work between the extremes of producing wine that is terroir-driven and focused on purely expressing the unique aspects of a region terroir or winemaking that is done without any consideration given to terroir. Furthermore, it is possible to take into consideration certain terroir aspects like climate and soil type when making decisions such as which grape variety to plant with the goal of simply trying to make “good wine” rather than necessarily terroir-driven wine.
The importance of these influences depends on the culture of a particular wine region. In France, particularly Burgundy, there is the belief that the role of winemaker is to bring out the expression of a wine’s terroir. The French word for winemaker, vigneron is more aptly translated to “wine-grower” rather than winemaker. The belief that the terroir is the dominant influence in the wine is the basis behind French wine label emphasizing the region, vineyard or AOC more prominently on the label rather than the grape varietal and often more prominently than the producer.
It is tempting to say that terroir is an invention of the French. Maybe it is that word – provocatively French – but the notion of terroir is embraced by every country (and region) on earth that is proud to advertise an individual culinary and vinicultural heritage. And terroir is not just the bare ingredients; it is the people who labour the soil and help to transform the grapes into something extraordinary.
A wine, like a person, is shaped by its experiences: in the vineyard, in the winery, and in the bottle. Where, when, and how it was made will all affect what it tastes like. Terroir is the word given to that part of a wine’s experience which is determined by place. It is the fingerprint of the earth in the grapes that have grown there and the wine they become. It is more than, as some people say, an accent, it is the particular essence of the wine itself.
The aim of the natural winemaker is to allow his wines to express their terroir as purely and as honestly as possible. Any attempt manipulate or interfere with this expression is a falsification, even if the result is likely to be more popular in the marketplace.
Natural wines are as diverse as the places they are made. Natural wine lovers are people who celebrate this diversity. Conventional wines have little or no sense of terroir, because it is all but destroyed by conventional winemaking practices. This does not stop them from using the term enthusiastically. Now what was that peculiar restaurant reviewer saying about the fascist, eugenic philosophy of terroir?
