Are the world’s best wines made from single vineyards? Or are they blended from a number of different sites, fashioned into a clear expression of variety or style? Your answer to this question depends largely on whether or not you are a member of the ‘terroirist’ subspecies of wine drinker. What makes this so timely a question is the imminent release of Penfolds’ new flagship white wine which, if the pre-publicity is to be believed, will partner the exalted Grange in all but name. Without giving its identity away, the wine is anything but an attempt by Penfolds to isolate a single, specific vineyard site of special qualities to deploy year after year in the fashion of the great Burgundian domaines. Penfolds has been true to its red wine heritage, initiating a complex, multi-regional, multi-vineyard and winemaking-driven style it should be able to continue and enhance. But in so doing, is it moving counter to the current fascination for individual site and terroir? Could Penfolds be limiting its quality potential by not adopting a terroir-driven approach? Given its scope, terroir is an oft-abused term. A French concept, it takes into account the physical factors that distinguish a particular site, such as soil, slope, exposure and microclimate. The old-fashioned French approach to terroir is that almost irrespective of grape variety or how it is treated, a wine is nothing but a reflection of terroir: the winemaker virtually becomes irrelevant. Before winemakers began to experiment with such variables as the significant use of different types of new oak, stalk content, different percentages of solids, whole berries and whole bunches, Burgundian winemakers would virtually shun their own roles. Older, lighter styles of Burgundy, for example, were actually defended as being more reflective of terroir, while in reality they were often devoid of fruit expression and reflective of an outdated approach considered by today’s best makers to be lazy and laissez-faire. The modern accent towards lower-cropped, riper and more intense fruit, better oak and cleaner winemaking was actually considered to prevent the terroir from shining through! Today’s best are in effect becoming less ‘Burgundian’, to subscribe to the old interpretation of the term. Since its magical 1988 vintage the great new wines of Domaine Leroy reveal again the dramatic degree to which winemaking can influence wine quality when the variable of terroir is removed. Lalou Bize-Leroy has shown that until then the inherent greatness of her vineyards had been effectively nullified by bad winemaking practice. Without questioning the role of terroir, there could never be more graphic evidence that winemaking has at least as much say. It’s possible to argue that the terroir concept actually held back progress by imposing a limitation on the expectations of winemakers, retarding the removal of poor clones and lesser varieties, while providing an excuse not to correct under-worked soils and vineyards. The appellation systems of Europe, founded as they are on the principles of terroir, have only just began to deal with makers of wines considered to be ‘too good’ or else of ‘the wrong variety’ for their site. Terroir is clearly a two-edged sword. Furthermore, if the winemaker’s role was as irrelevant as the ‘pure’ terroirists would suggest, how would it be possible to identify a house or domaine style amid a range of wines from the same vineyard but from different makers? Yet it’s clearly possible to do so. By the same token, it’s also possible to link together certain qualities and characters in wines from the same regions, communes or sub-regions. Regional character is undisputed and so is the influence of terroir. But it is clearly just one factor in wine, albeit a crucial one at that. How many times have I heard the expression: ‘Our wines don’t taste of pinot noir; they taste of Burgundy’, from the mouths of someone about to pour a near-perfect example of what the pinot noir variety can achieve? The French have often used the terroir concept firstly to justify bad wines from poor years and secondly to create an impenetrable barrier between their wines and those of the New World. ‘You make great pinot noir/cabernet/shiraz’, they might say, ‘but it’s not Burgundy/Bordeaux/Hermitage’. The point is that it should go without saying. Given the empiricals of terroir, nobody in their right mind would attempt to duplicate the great wines of France or any other region. But that doesn’t mean that we need to re-invent the wheel. The close observation and selective introduction of successful techniques deployed around the world has clearly improved Australian wines across a number of varieties. And in their turn, the French have also learned from us. There is of course a danger that winemaking influence can restrict or over-ride the very expressions of terroir which give a wine its unique quality and individuality. Too much oak or an over-dominant malo-lactic; we see it all the time. How much Australian shiraz today simply tastes jammy, charry and creamy, without any pretence towards individuality or expression of terroir? Too many. In the last issue Stuart Anderson referred to these as ‘industrial’ wines. Fine for everyday drinking, but hardly interesting enough to fuel a conversation at the dinner table. Generally speaking, buyers at the premium end want more: a point of difference of taste or texture, a true expression of terroir. The absurdity of this debate is its repeated tendency to polarise opinion. A wine can be influenced by winemaking and also by terroir; it’s not the case of one, but not the other. A maker’s stamp, will show through regardless of where the fruit is grown. In 1992 Coldstream Hills and Tarrawarra each swapped some pinot noir and made wine from the other’s fruit. The wines tasted typical to each maker, but significantly different to their usual style. What is really fascinating is the interaction between terroir and the maker. Few winemakers have such control over their winemaking processes as Brian Croser. The Petaluma Chardonnay, sourced from a variety of sites in the Piccadilly Valley, does not reflect the terroir of an individual vineyard but is instead a precise, refined expression of chardonnay as it varies from vintage to vintage in that small, picturesque valley. But Croser is getting edgy. Fuelled by the passion and experience of Len Evans, he is expected to release a wine straight from his best individual site, the Tiers Vineyard (house block) at Petaluma. This wine should match together terroir and masterly technique like no other Petaluma chardonnay. I can’t wait to see it. Similarly at Bannockburn, Gary Farr has isolated his premier chardonnay vines within the overall vineyard to fashion small amounts of wines cropped at grand cru levels and sold approaching a grand cru price. All power to him; without the SRH we’d never know how good Bannockburn’s excellent chardonnay could really be. So now to the new Penfolds white wine. The brief given to its makers almost exactly parallels the way they source the material for Grange. I can’t think of another top-market chardonnay conceived this way, since the best until now have all been sourced from single vineyards. While Croser is heading down one direction in his quest to make the best possible Petaluma chardonnay, Penfolds has chosen the opposite tack for theirs. Croser is seeking more influence from terroir, given a consistent winemaking approach, while Penfolds is attempting to fashion a super-premium chardonnay so closely identified with its own identity that nobody else could possibly have made it. There’s great logic and sense behind these dipolar approaches towards making a great Australian chardonnay. Given the indisputable interplay between terroir and winemaking, I expect both to succeed, fashioning vastly different wines in the process. But which would I expect to prize most highly? The Petaluma, provided it’s from a great year.
