I attended a showcase of Picardy wines on Wednesday evening. On offer were the 2001 and 2007 vintages of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Shiraz and Cabernets. The wines triggered a wide-ranging conversation amongst my dinner companions. I summarise some personal impressions here.
Old wines
Not that wines from 2001 are terribly old. Nevertheless, the character of some of Picardy's 2001s posed the rather intractable question of what makes an older wine attractive? The 2001 Chardonnay seemed to have taken age in its stride, communicating a sense of buxom, elegant maturity. Its companion Pinot, by contrast, evoked gradual, decadent decay, even though it was not excessively far along its journey. Which appealed to me more? In hindsight, it's hard to say, though in the moment I felt a wine that truly ages well should build positively and give the impression of healthy middle age before becoming autumnal. Perhaps some wines truly are best consumed young, even though they are capable of taking significant bottle age without falling apart.
Structure
Mark Gifford (of Blue Poles) writes in his May 2009 report of structure in wine, and his missive arose as a topic of discussion while tasting the rip-snorting 2007 Shiraz. I'm not sure I fully understand Mr Gifford's intent, but I do know I draw a distinction between what I call structure (the conventional view: "acid, tannin") and architecture (a more aesthetic concept that melds structure, flow, character, etc). The 2007 Shiraz has the most appealing architecture, almost narrative in its clarity. In the mouth, this wine is like spilling a box full of the most beautiful jewels on a red velvet cloth. That is, it is not overbearingly controlled in its flow over the tongue, instead scattering fascinating flavours, glittering and brightly coloured, and altogether desirable.
Inspiration
Clearly, the Picardy ethos is deeply inspired by Old World counterparts, in particular Burgundy. On several occasions, comparisons were drawn on various levels, from clones and techniques to resultant flavour profiles. And, whilst I understand why, for me there's a line to be drawn between looking to France for direction and trying to replicate French styles. Regarding the latter, I would have found Picardy's wines profoundly boring if they simply copied existing styles. Luckily (whether through intent or constraint), the Chardonnay and Pinot taste little like my experience of Burgundy. I regard this as a good thing because I'm interested in what Pemberton Pinot tastes like, not whether Pemberton Pinot can be made to taste like Vosne-Romanée.
Equally, there was a discussion on whether the 2007 Shiraz tasted more like Côte-Rôtie or Saint-Joseph. My (deliberately provocative) response is: neither, I hope. The best comparison I could draw was a more elegant version of a Hilltops wine; I look forward, though, to being struck by how much Pemberton Shiraz tastes of itself.
Integrity
Dan Pannell, Picardy's winemaker, hosted the evening and was a most engaging, eloquent speaker. He's obviously and joyously passionate about what he does and seemed almost embarrassed by the commercial side of the enterprise (which, frankly, just makes me want to buy more Picardy wine). There was nothing self-satisfied about his commentary on the wines, and I rather got the impression he's restlessly looking to improve every aspect of them.
The scene
I don't get out much, clearly. The venue was Era Bistro, a mid-range establishment with a bustling vibe and plenty of space (not to mention a fabulous adjoining bottle shop). Having come straight from work, I was underdressed by several orders of magnitude. But, aside from the mortified stares I received, the most interesting aspect of the crowd was how upscale it was. Upper middle in both senses (age and socio-economic position). Is this where the fine wine scene is at?
Eloquently put Julian
I have been made aware of the note above and your comments on structure. It is not an easy area to discuss as it breaks down into the "bits and pieces" camp and the "holistic" camp very easily.
Structure to me equates in many ways to your "architecture", but I believe it is more grounded than that. Like describing a face, tannins become the nose, acid the mouth, etc - but the look, or the symmetry, is the key to how the face will age and keeps its distinctive style. Without a grounding a wine will look more and more awkward with time, with the classic examples of collapsable wines being many of the fruit bombs generated in the late 90's and early naughties. Without fine bones and a sense of elegance it's not worth aging - and a simple fruit driven wine you really can only enjoy its baby face.
Of course this is personal opinion and preference, but I've yet to have an excellent aged Bordeaux that doesn't have a structure to die for underpinning the enjoyment...
Cheers
Mark
Hi Mark,
You're right, it's difficult to discuss for the same reason wine is difficult to describe: how to create a coherent narrative around what are essentially abstract sensations? Like you, I believe structure (let's call it that) sits somewhere between a reductive list of components on the one hand, and an holistic aesthetic judgement on the other. But how to describe it?
I'm a firm believer in the utility of an appropriate metaphor, and your "face" does bring things into relief for me in terms of your intent when discussing structure. In particular, I think you're right about its relationship to age. I've certainly been guilty in the past of simplifying the maturation process down to one or other element (tannin, acid). Perhaps you are right that a wine which glows in maturity relies on bone structure in youth that goes beyond simply having sufficient tannin or acid. After all, a wine may age without "falling apart," but this is quite a different thing from a wine that ages beautifully.
The aesthetics at play here are of particular interest to me. A well structured wine is immediately recognisable but perhaps not so easily understood, just as you might glance a second time at an especially lovely face without knowing quite why. You're right -- the harmony between each element, the proportion to their arrangement, defines whether the overall effect is grotesque, blandly handsome, sensual, etc. There is a degree of aesthetic judgement here (personal opinion and preference) yet, as with faces, I wonder if we tend collectively to gravitate towards certain expressions of beauty?
I would do well to think more on it, but certainly lots of food for thought.
Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to comment.
Julian.