This no doubt seems absurd to normal people, but one of the reasons why I still look forward to tasting wine after ten or so years of considered consumption is that, over time, my tastes have changed quite dramatically, and with it my opinions on a range of wine-related things. So tasting wine isn't all about that moment -- it's also about the whole journey. Chardonnay, for example. A few years ago, I found Chardonnay difficult to understand and enjoy, especially larger scale styles with a lot of winemaker input. I instinctively reached for the purity and accessibility of Riesling, and approached Chardonnay most comfortably from a Chablis angle.
Things are different now, and I'm a little obsessed with the stylistic variety one sees with Chardonnay in Australia, without even bringing Burgundy into the picture. Unlike Riesling, around which local winemakers seem to have achieved a sort of consensus, Chardonnay still seems all over the map. I can't speak for the industry, but as a consumer I see this as an ongoing enquiry into the grape, its authentic expression in various regional contexts and, perhaps, a struggle to understand what people like to drink.
These thoughts crossed my mind when I first smelled this Tower Estate Chardonnay. Juicy yellow peach and vanilla oak are the dominant aromas by some margin. It's not a completely over-the-top style though, and in fact there's a nice sense of complexity, with a bit of herb and maybe even some minerally aromas.
This nascent sense of delicacy is shattered, at least at first, by an entry that combines good impact with a thick, somewhat viscous mouthfeel. It's difficult to see past this sledgehammer-like start, but a few more considered sips reveals quite a lot of interest. To be sure, there's a core of rich, ripe peach flavour filtered through prominent oak. The mouthfeel, though, shifts from being slightly slippery and fat to nicely textured, thanks to a thread of acidity that peeks out from under the viscosity. Flavour-wise, there's a similar transition from simplicity up-front to a greater sense of sophistication on the middle palate, astringent herbs and flint adding a savoury dimension. The after palate is less intense than the entry and mid palate but widens beautifully, threads of flavour separating and fanning out well. Perhaps some alcohol heat on the finish.
To return to my original train of thought, this wine seems to sit uncomfortably between a few stylistic camps and, as a consumer, I'm not sure I am getting a clear view into the region, the grape or the intent behind the winemaking. For all that, it's a very flavoursome wine that has certainly been thought-provoking for me, at least.
I could happily discuss the "problematics" of chardonnay for days on end.
Your final paragraph reminds of a 2006 Wonga Estate Chardonnay I had just a glass of recently. Certainly heavily worked, enough so I would not have been able to pick it as a Yarra. Also not sure of precisely what the winemaker was after. But a glass was very enjoyable in it's own way.
And, because of my background, of which you are somewhat aware I can't help but comment on your use of-
"...its authentic expression"
Authenticity is a term a gave up on a long time ago, leaving it in the same rubbish bin to which I'd consigned Platonic Forms and Essentialism.
Neither am I a relativist. Slavoj Zizek deals with this conundrum excellently (forget which of his books). Relativism is just the flip side of Absolutism/Essentialism. Both are caught in the same philosophical trap/paradigm. Language creates its own games with its own sets of rules. If one is tired of the game, one changes language.
This would probably bore most people to death but it is part of who I am.
Hope you are enjoying your long weekend.
cheers
jeremy
Thanks for this.
While I'm not as au fait as you with respect to cultural studies in general, and Lacan's work in particular, I understand where you are coming from. Personally, I do give some currency to old-fashioned notions of truth, beauty and authenticity and am probably rooted in philosophical soil that stagnated with existentialism (how passé!). In fact, my views tend to be informed more fundamentally by "applied" aesthetics, so Proust (or Brahms, or Wilde, or...) is my philosophical hero more than Hegel or Camus or Derrida...
Having made that detour, I return to Chardonnay to make this point. I can't help but think that, given a particular terroir, Chardonnay will express itself most truthfully (or authentically, etc) in a certain fashion. Such a wine would be made from these Chardonnay grapes picked at a certain point and vinified in a certain way as to achieve an absolute height of quality. I suppose this is, broadly, Hegel's theory of aesthetics applied to wine. Certainly, as a drinker, the idea that a wine perfectly made reveals the inherent beauty in its grape resonates for me.
How this quality is interpreted by you and I is incredibly problematic, subject to all sorts of notions like "taste," "mood" and so on. Personally, I also believe that taste isn't democratic and that some people, through whatever combination of experience and discernment, are better able to establish a hierarchy of quality over time. But negotiating this process seems to me quite difficult. So whilst a particular wine might represent the truest expression of a particular site's Chardonnay grapes, can we ever know?
I think between you and I we've just reduced Full Pour's readership by about half. But it's interesting stuff.