Full Pour

Last Saturday afternoon, I found myself in Berkeley, California, home of Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant. For you Aussie readers, I'll just say that Kermit is no Dan Murphy; he's been in the business for decades and could well be said to have single-handedly revolutionized the import business by traveling to Europe (OK, mostly France) by himself, tasting small, handmade wines from family-owned wineries, and then going to the trouble of importing them in refrigerated containers to preserve the wine's quality. The California wine scene hasn't been the same since Kermit hung out a shingle, and we are very much the richer for it. Where else can you find an artisanal Côtes du Rhône for less than $12 or small production wines from places you've never even heard of?

As Randall Grahm once wrote, one should "Go to Berserkeley, get a case of Clape" - so I figured sure, why not. Probably not a case - I mean, a case of this stuff costs more than most studio apartments in Berkeley - but a single bottle? That, I could do, even if I think it's a new record for me (even Ridge Monte Bello costs less as futures here). We stopped next door at Acme Bread for a whole wheat walnut levain and pain de mie, hit the Cheese Board for some delicious cooperatively retailed small production cheese from Marin County, ran by Genova Deli in Oakland for some prosciutto di Parma, and we were good to go.

Back in Oakland - I had come up for the weekend to spend time with an old friend I hadn't seen in years - we got to work. I opened the wine, poured two glasses... and was instantly greatly relieved that it was obviously worth the money. The best wines in the world defy description; the only word that comes to mind in that situation (to me) is ineffable. I experienced a visceral, physical reaction: the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, I stopped thinking, and a few moments later I came to again. Thinking that this puppy would need a lot of exposure to air, I headed back to the kitchen and helped prep the food; later, armed with an array of cheese (if you've never had Cowgirl Creamery's Red Hawk, by the way, I can't recommend it highly enough), freshly baked bread, zucchini torta, and a mountain of charcuterie, we got down to drinking.

If memory serves me correctly, the primary aromas of this wine were steely minerality, a fleeting floral note, dark red or black fruits (think cassis, perhaps), wet, stony earth, leather, a little bit of smoke (perhaps from a butcher's), and a trace of bacon fat. In short, this is exactly what you would expect from syrah from the northern Rhône. No matter how many times I returned to the glass, it absolutely refused to settle down into any kind of a predictable pattern. Just as a good perfume is designed to constantly change every time you smell it, this wine was a beautiful, living, breathing thing constantly suggesting new ways of approaching it. Over time - it took a few hours to dust the bottle - it did mellow out somewhat, with the tooth-staining, formidable tannins relaxing somewhat into a sweeter, less aggressive profile - but even then, it threw forth an impenetrable aura of undeniable, reserved elegance very much like traditional luxury goods do: you know it's expensive, you know it's the best - and there's also a certain humorlessness that goes with the terroir, er, territory.

Lest I leave out any part of a standard tasting note, I will here perfunctorily note that the color was an exuberantly youthful purple, noticeably clear at the rim, and very clean. The finish was masculine and tannic, but no match for the initial attack of the wine: the initial sensation of leathery minerals with raspberry darkness was more than you could possibly want.

Thinking about the wine for the next two days, however, I almost found myself longing for something a bit more, well, strange about this wine. In a very real sense, this wine is indeed brilliantly made and an archetype of a style, the obvious bottle that launched a thousand New World imitators. But what if you're a New World kind of guy? To me, this wine was almost more of a learning experience than pure physical pleasure: to drink this wine is to understand where you (and your country's wines, in part) came from. To drink this wine is to be properly schooled in How It Is Done. To drink this wine is to be presented with a tangible challenge: How are we in the New World to respond to this? The country that we have: where is the place that could produce a wine anywhere this elegant, this powerful, this beautiful? Do we even know where it is? And if we did, how would we farm it? Would we succeed?

I believe that I have had the great good fortune to taste several New World wines that approach, equal, or even exceed the greatness that this wine personifies. Christophe Baron and Tim Kirk have both (in my mind) proven that great Syrah can be grown outside of the northern Rhone: a Cayuse or Clonakilla syrah exhibits all of the same characteristics in of course regionally distinct ways... and I have to guiltily admit that I admire their wines the more for it. The Clape family figured it out a long time ago; Baron and Kirk are relatively new at this, and I find their achievements all the more impressive for it. However, parochialism and nationalism aside (on my part), I am ultimately simply grateful that wines like this exist. After all, that moment of pure physical pleasure, of experiencing a beauty outside of time, isn't something that just happens: it takes hard work. Without the dedication and efforts of these men, experiences like this would simply not exist.

I've had some interesting conversations over the last couple of weeks on the merits (or otherwise) of writing up straightforward, commercial wines. There's no arguing the relevance; this wine is available pretty much everywhere, and as a consumer I'm just as interested as the next snob in reading a bit about what I might buy. But as a writer, my issue is that, more often than not, they provoke no reaction. They are exactly what I think they will be, and where's the fun in that?

Disgorged in 2009. This is essentially the same wine as the Karra Yerta Sparkling Shiraz previously reviewed on Full Pour, so one might wonder the point of writing it up. Two reasons: firstly, it's an excellent sparkling red worthy of some air time, and secondly, I'm kind of curious of my impressions the second time around.

I've been a bit slow in tasting my stash of 2007 German Rieslings so, this evening, as I enjoy the company of a great friend, I have opened this Kabinett-level wine from the Mosel. 

I (Julian) am currently in the enormous Goulburn Valley region -- Dookie to be exact -- kicking off what I hope will be an interesting part-time course of study (wine-related, of course). Forgive me if posts are few and far between these couple of weeks. On the plus side, some interesting wines are being tasted, including a most unexpected Semillon, made from fruit grown at the Dookie campus vineyard, twenty three years old and still singing.

Dinner with family in Melbourne on Friday evening was enhanced by the provision of this bottle. Thanks to my cousin Travis -- who continues the Coldrey line as far as an obsession with wine is concerned -- for his generosity in supplying all the evening's drinks. My first Sorrenberg Chardonnay and I'm favourably impressed.

A powerful, worked style that, in the first instance, is most notable for the richness of its fruit flavours. Nectarine, fig and some grapefruit all intermingle within an aroma that also throws a range of caramel and oatmeal notes. There's significant complexity and scale, but the confident, seductive aromas themselves are what draw me to this wine.

The palate follows through on all aspects of the nose, showing a forthright, complex range of flavours. Good presence and consistency along the entire line. A couple of points, then. Firstly, this isn't a wine for those fixated on the current vogue for lean Chardonnay styles. The lushness and luxe inherent to the fruit and style are quite contrary to a more minerally, austere expression of Chardonnay. And that's OK. Secondly, this is a wine to sip and savour, not necessarily to drink in large volumes. Certainly, I helped my dinner companions to finish our bottle with ease. But as I drank more, a cracked toffee note through the back palate became slightly dominant, pushing fruit and savoury characters out of the way to the detriment of the wine's overall balance. Still, a minor quibble over what is an impressive wine of some beauty.

A few more random tastings, on the whole very pleasant indeed. The first two were consumed at Brisbane's 5th Element wine bar, which is not a bad place to soak up both the afternoon breeze and a few nice wines. Prices are as per the venue's list - do the usual adjustment to determine approximate retail.

Flaxman Riesling 2008 ($A44, restaurant list)

Showing some nascent signs of bottle age (a bit of toast, mostly), this is a wonderfully gentle drink. Unlike the driven, juicy 2009, this wine is a laid back expression of Eden Valley Riesling, with pastel fruit colours and a precise presence in the mouth. This wine reminded me of feathers and clouds and everything that suggests delicate beauty. Will no doubt continue to age, but I'm glad I caught it as a relative youngster.

By Farr Saignee 2008 ($A44, restaurant list)

How interesting. In terms of how this wine drinks, as opposed to what it tastes like, it reminds me most strongly of Chardonnay. Like a worked Chardonnay style, this wine is all about texture, mouthfeel and presence. On the nose, creamy notes alongside fresh berries. There's nothing overty fruity about this wine, though; rather, the berry notes present as evasive, almost hidden. The palate is full of winemaking in the most positive sense; it's quite unexpected, blending a creamy, mealy mouthfeel and flavour with fresh fruit; all totally dry and well balanced. A really exciting style.

Kreglinger Vintage Brut 2003 ($A40, retail)

Had trouble with this one. I found this a heavy style, with a lumpen presence in the mouth and little of the fleet delicacy I enjoy with sparkling wine. It's undeniably flavoursome, and the dosage seems more or less well-judged (perhaps a bit high for me). But it never takes flight through the middle palate, and seems to get stuck half way, the fruit being too broad to maintain movement and flow.

Not a lot of tasting (as opposed to drinking) these last few days. Tonight, while dinner is cooking, I thought I'd give this wine a go. It arrived during the week from the indefatigable David Cumming, who does PR for many Central Ranges wineries. My experience of recent wines from this zone has been variable, but this bottle is getting more and more interesting as I swirl.