This week I stumbled across a bottle of what was aptly introduced to me as a famous Australian wine. I failed to pick what it was, although Huon Hooke, who was sitting opposite me, nailed it. It was the wine that convinced some – myself and others excluded – that the Hunter Valley was indeed as fine a place for growing pinot noir as there was. Need any more clues? Of course not. The wine was the (in)famous Tyrrell’s Pinot Noir 1976, which for reasons known only to the judges on the day walked off with first place in the pinot noir class of the Gault Millau ‘Paris Wine Olympiad’ of 1979. It then made the front cover of Time magazine, where it was heralded as one of the 10 greatest wines in the world, earning a comment from the judges comparing it to the ‘greatest of the Cote de Nuits’. All of which proves that the French can indeed get it as wrong as anybody else. Little wonder their best wines never enter such competitions any more! Back to the wine. As I’ve often observed and commented, it’s a beautifully structured and silky-smooth sort of a thing that doesn’t much taste of pinot. It’s possibly been twelve years since I’ve last tasted it, and during that time it has acquired a meaty, cedary bouquet of mint and menthol, losing much of its fruit aroma in the process. It’s still long, elegant and satiny, with prominent spicy vanilla and caramel characters, and a slightly citrus-like expression of sweet, mature fruit. It remains a delicious, easily-enjoyed tight-knit wine of considerable quality. But, Murray, wherever you are, I still reckon it doesn’t taste of pinot!
