Whenever I have asked a wine professional the question; what’s your favourite wine, region or varietal, the answer is invariably in the realm of, Burgundy (never, ever would anyone admit to loving chardonnay or pinot noir, it’s Burgundy or nothing) nebbiolo (almost always Barolo), riesling (some broader answers here, as most of us know less about the subject than we would care to admit) and that’s about it.
Never, and I mean never would the answer come back as Barossa Shiraz, Bordeaux (of any description or appellation), Rioja (traditional or otherwise) or even Champagne. The list of rejected wines goes on and on and that leads me to my next question; do you taste a wine without prejudice? Do you take any wine handed to you in a glass and take it as seriously as you would if you knew what you were tasting, or if the wine handed to you was amongst your stated favourites?
We’ve made a wine in our garage with some friends. I’m not going to lie, it’s been in the barrel for 3 months and I think it’s great. It’s still pretty raw, there’s a long way to go, but if we can stay the course and not mess it up from here, it’s going to be really, really good. But so what? I haven’t encountered a single wine professional from salesmen, viticulturalists to winemakers who have shown the slightest interest. It’s as if a wine made in a garage by a bunch of novices, with grapes from Australia’s un-coolest wine region – the Hunter Valley (with some viognier from Orange), is just not worth a swirl, sip and spit.
When I proffer my wine, I never tell the taster what it is or where it is from. As soon as you say the Hunter Valley, the interest drops to the floor, not far from where it already was because I made it in a garage. I can see their reluctance and lack of interest, and it bothers me.
To begin with, my first rule of tasting is keeping an open mind, to taste without prejudice. Your job as a wine professional is to assess and critique by whatever the parameters you as an individual has set, but it’s important to set those parameters as wide as possible so they don’t favour certain styles of wine, otherwise known as your favourites or prejudices. For what it’s worth, whenever I’m asked what I like, I always answer ‘everything’. I’m not lying. I will try anything and everything, and if there’s something to like about it, I’ll say so.
Aren’t you just a little bit curious? It’s true, most homemade wine isn’t the greatest, but so what. Don’t you think it’s cool that a bunch of suburban Italians, Greeks or Serbs are trying to keep their traditions alive, or Anglo, suburban Aussies rooting for new ones. It’s fun to taste, drink, eat what someone else has made or grown, to be a part of their story in the most time-honoured way. This isn’t business, this runs deeper. And you just never know, it might be amazing.
All chefs I know love a home cooked meal, why not winemakers and homemade wine? It’s as if the sceptical need you to be a qualified winemaker to make something, a drink that has been made mostly by unqualified people for thousands of years, to warrant any attention. But more than anything I think a great many wine professionals have fallen for the bullshit of labels, trendy producers, vinous fashions and their own marketing spin.
When I first told a few wine industry friends that I was going to be making wine, they asked questions regarding technique. The use of whole bunches, oak and wild ferment or otherwise was upper most in their minds, and I think I said no to just about everything. I just wanted to make a wine that was sound and drinkable, therefore, I would be using cultivated yeast and yeast nutrient, oak and certainly no whole bunches. I didn’t want to take risks, I just wanted it to work and if the wine was delicious, well, that was a bonus.
We used a basket press, not because it’s delicate, but because it cost $500 cash. I used old oak, not because I dislike oak, but because the barrel cost $250. I used open top vats, as they were cheap and I don’t like reduction. My youngest son, Tom, tread the grapes for a short period until he got bored, so about half the berries were intact.
I used yeast nutrient to make sure of the ferment, but also to lessen reduction. The ferment was warm, lasting only 4 days. And we pressed using that basket press, pressing like a Trojan, as hard as I could. What can I say, I like tannin. And the result? A pure fluke of an uber pretty, bright, translucent red fruited wine with firm, puckering tannins. Made with care to be sure. Expensive grapes but otherwise using budget equipment and a massive dose of pragmatism.
If I had told people that I was making wine with a super known winemaker, from grapes sourced out of some cru in Barolo would they still be so ambivalent to taste? I don’t think so, and they would bring all their prejudices to bear, and no matter the quality of the wine, conclude with a favourable impression.
For what it’s worth the grapes were sourced from an excellent vineyard, and YouTube helped, and a winemaker mate over the phone chimed in too and the results thus far are really good. Fair dinkum. No talent, just good grapes, pragmatism and a healthy dose of luck.
On the nature of frivolity and thoughtfulness G.K Chesterton wrote:
A man who deals in harmonies, who only matches stars with angels, or lambs with spring flowers, he indeed may be frivolous, for he is taking one mood at a time, and perhaps forgetting each mood as it passes. But a man who ventures to combine an angel and an octopus must have some serious view of the universe. The more widely different the topics talked of, the more serious and universal must be the philosophy which talks of them. The mark of the light and thoughtless writer is the harmony of his subject matter. The mark of the thoughtful writer is apparent diversity.
So when someone proffers a glass, don’t ask what it is, put all the bullshit of fashion, labels, hubris and dogma out of your mind and taste. Curious tasters thrive on the multiplicity and infinite variety of wine, and not the repetitious tasting of enthroned styles and whatever is in vogue.
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