Château-Grillet would be a contender
for the world’s most beautiful vineyard if it weren’t for the billowing
smokestacks of Chemical Valley across the river. From high among the estate’s
3.5ha of terraced Viognier, surveying the Rhone Valley’s post-war industrial
heartland soon dispels any delusions of wholesome rural living, not that Noble
Rot is complaining. As one of less than ten visitors a year to this hallowed
chåteau-cum-monopole- appellation, we’re lucky to be here. “It’s not that we
don’t want guests, we just make such little wine that we’d soon run out,” says
Grillet’s Italian ex-lawyer turned winemaker, Alessandro Noli. A century ago,
when white wines were celebrated for their richness and texture, the likes of
Fernand Point and Curnonsky regarded Chåteau-Grillet as the equal of Le
Montrachet and Chåteau d’Yquem, before decades of inconsistent winemaking
tarnished its reputation. Now well into a process of modernisation initiated
after Francois Pinault’s 2011 acquisition, it could be easy to be cynical about
another iconic estate bought by a billionaire businessman. That is until the
sublime 2014 Chåteau-Grillet passes your lips. A classic Rhone mix of apricots,
pears, cream and minerals, its fine, oily texture and glycerine-rich salinity
make it a perfect example of a gourmand white. “From the great terroirs of
Burgundy, wines like Montrachet and Meursault can be beautiful at 30 years
old,” says Noli.“Chateau- Grillet is this kind of wine.”
Fresh and svelte
Today, texture has become a dirty
word, eschewed in favour of ‘precision’ and ‘minerality’ - worthy qualities in
themselves, but terms increasingly in jeopardy of becoming synonyms for
elevated levels of acidity. Northern Rhone whites aren’t the only victims.
Burgundy vineyards such as Meursault-Charmes and Båtard- Montrachet now
regularly receive sneers for their richness, and it even seems to have become
fashionable with some to claim to dislike the Domaine de la Romanée-Contfs
historically late-harvested Montrachet.
The war on fat
Lifestyles and cuisines have
changed, of course. The war on fat has vanquished dishes laden with butter and
cream as unhealthy choices, and the wines which married so well with them have
become collateral casualties. Food and wine pairing today is often more about
cancellation - neutralizing the heat of a Thai curry with a sweet Riesling, for
instance - than it is about synergy. The profound things that happen in the
mouth when those creamy quenelles Lyonnais meet a great white Rhone are harder
to explain and predict. It’s natural, too, for individual palates to vary: the
glossy, glycerine-laden attack of a great Chave Hermitage Blanc simply isn’t
for everyone. But whatever happened to a diversity of tastes?
Can’t we appreciate
the raciness of Saar Kabinett and the buxom exuberance of great Condrieu?
Part
of the problem is that texture has been debased. The confectionary
sweetness and alcoholic warmth of much New World Chardonnay, ample but devoid
of dimension or complexity, cloying rather than glossy, has tainted the world’s
great gourmand whites by association. Not all imitation, after all, is
flattery, and modern wine making and warmer climates make texture easier than
ever to attain. If we’re to defend textural whites from obsolescence, we need
to be able to explain what differentiates Rombauer Chardonnay from Ramonet
Båtard-Montrachet, but vinous discourse simply hasn’t kept pace.
Today’s wine tasting notes attempt
to analyse a bouquet’s kaleidoscopic complexity, invoking a litany of fruits
and flowers, herbs and spices. But once the wine hits the palate, critics’
enthusiasm seems to ebb, their lip-service to balance, structure and
persistence communicating enthusiasm or disapproval, but all too often failing
to differentiate one bottle from another. After all, a Blanc de Blancs
Champagne and a Chambertin may both be focused and precise - but they could
hardly be more different. In fact, when it comes to texture English vocabulary
is remarkably limited.
French is more succinct: wines can
have muscles (muscles), gras (fat), charpente (a frame); they can be came
(blocky), droit (direct), or velouté (velvety); and in reds tannins can be vert
(green), sec (dry), dur (hard), or fondu (melted). Such terms can be
translated, but many are inherently ambiguous and jar with the Anglophone
critic’s pretensions to scientific precision. (Is that velvet medium-plus or
medium-minus?)
Even across the Channel there are
murmurings that texture is now neglected. “Until the 1970s, we would taste with
the tastevin”, says the godfather of grower Champagne Anselme Selosse,
remembering the shallow silver saucers once used for sampling in the cellar.
“But then they developed the INAO glass and everything changed. In modern
oenology aroma and colour take precedence over taste and texture.
T0P 10 GOURMAND WHITES
●
2 2006 Chateau
Rayas Blanc
●
3 2014 Georges Vernay Condrieu “Coteau de
Vernon”
●
4 1999 Leflaive Bienvenues-Båtard-Montrachet
●
5 2007 André
Perret Condrieu “Coteau du Chéry”
●
6 1995 Kalin Cellars Chardonnay Cuvée CH
●
7 2014 Domaine des Comtes Lafon Meursault-Charmes
●
8 2014 Domaine de la Bongran Viré-Clessé
●
9 2014 Chåteau-Grillet
●
10 2010 Chateau des Tours Cotes-du- Rhone Blanc
And of course, that’s what glasses
emphasize. For me, however, terroir is in the taste, not the aromas.” This is a
philosophy that Selosse shares with his friend, Jacky Rigaux, a Burgundian
writer best known for his work about the late Henri Jayer. “In the era of the
tastevin, direct olfaction was accorded little importance; wines were assessed
in the mouth,” Rigaux says. “But that changed with the advent of ‘sensory
analysis’. It was Jules Chauvet who said that olfaction is
‘20,000 times more important than taste.’” Have enologists’ priorities changed
what we prioritize in the glass? Selosse and Rigaux both say they have.
Back in the Northern Rhone some 40
miles south of Chåteau- Grillet, Jean-Louis Chave contemplates the future of
gourmand whites from his winery in the backstreets of Mauves.
“To like white Hermitage you need to
be a gastronome because the only way to think about it is with a dish,” he says
between sips of 1998 Chave Hermitage Blanc, a luxuriously textured wine if ever
there was one. “But also how people talk about white wine has dramatically
changed. Take the language people used to use about Burgundy. When I started
making wine it was about being ‘buttery’, ‘soft’ and ‘rich’ - today it’s all
about being ‘mineral’ and ‘tight’; the complete opposite. In the past the Grand
Vins were rich, so why would you want to drink a skinny Grand Vin today?” Like
so much about fashion it doesn’t seem to make much sense, but here in Mauves,
at least, these sumptuous whites are alive and well. As
tastes inevitably come full-circle and the uncool becomes cool, maybe one day
the world will fall back in love with their charms.
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