Maar: attention

Ik was eigenlijk op zoek naar een boek van wijnschrijver Harold Hamersma, maar de lokale bibliotheek had niet hem, maar wel Ilja Gort grijpklaar liggen. En ach, waarom ook niet. Een Nederlandse wijnboer in Frankrijk (Bordeaux) kan vast een interessante blik achter de schermen geven. Zo kan ik meteen zien wat hij de geïnteresseerde leek op wijngebied te bieden heeft.

U kent Ilja Gort vast wel: een karakteristieke verschijning met alpinopet en peijes langs zijn kin. Zijn wijn ligt in de schappen van Albert Heijn, zijn boeken liggen in de (internet)winkel en zijn kop was afgelopen jaar op tv. In de anderhalve aflevering die ik van zijn programma Wijn aan Gort heb gezien, heb ik hem leren waarderen als iemand die met verstand, nieuwsgierigheid en ironische distantie het wijnbedrijf bekijkt.

Zijn Wijnsurvivalboek is wat lolliger en gek genoeg oppervlakkiger dan zijn tv-programma. Om van beginnende wijnliefhebbers echte ‘wijntijgers’ te maken, geeft Gort de lezer een inleiding in het kiezen, proeven, kopen en praten over wijn. En onder ‘praten over’ moet zeker ook ‘een goed weerwoord hebben tegen’ worden verstaan. Tegen hautaine obers bijvoorbeeld, die tegenstribbelen als je zegt dat de wijn kurk heeft.

Aardig zijn de verhalen over het leven tussen de wijnboeren in Frankrijk. Soms nogal gewild lollig zijn de leesadviezen bij elke paragraaf (‘lezen en onthouden’, ‘overslaan’, ‘lezen en vergeten’) en zijn voorbeelden van over-the-top wijnvocabulaire. Onbedoeld (?) grappig is hij dan weer als hij in het stukje over wijnetiketten zegt dat ‘Grand vin’ als kwaliteitsaanduiding ‘dus drie keer niks’ zegt, getuige de tekst op zijn eigen etiketten.

Raad ik u aan dit boek te lezen? Alleen als u nog niets van wijn weet en een uurtje of twee kunt missen. U hebt het zo uit en steekt er ongetwijfeld iets van op. Maar: attention, om het op zijn Gorts te zeggen, de wijnwereld is vele malen groter en veelzijdiger dan hij u laat zien. Voor hem komt wijn uit Frankrijk, dat wil zeggen: uit een beperkt aantal delen van Frankrijk. De Beaujolais vindt hij niet interessant, uit de Corbières komt volgens hem niets goeds en de Elzas noemt hij slechts in het voorbijgaan. Hij gaat af op zijn eigen smaak. Daar is niets mis mee. Sterker nog: doet u dat vooral ook. Maar wees iets avontuurlijker.

 

Ilja Gort, Het wijnsurvivalboek. Een handleiding tegen foute wijn, katers en ander wijnverdriet, Baarn: Tirion 2005

S’mores, Gorp and Nova Scotian Wine

Having dinner with perfect strangers in a Scottish B&B, what do you talk about after having discussed the weather conditions? The stomach content of a certain snail variety that is to be found only on Skye is a subject that has come up in quite some detail, as is faith. “Do you believe in the resurrection of the Christ?” I was once asked over a delicious pan-fried halibut. I am always grateful if we can stick to non-gastric food issues.

Being Dutch, the most popular question in this kind of situation, “What would you say is your national dish?,” is easier asked than answered, though I am more confident since I’ve learned the Canadian answer: s’mores and gorp. There is not much wrong with gorp (Good Old Raisins and Peanuts), but to call it a dish is slightly exaggerated. S’mores (some more) are probably something one must have grown up with to appreciate. This girl-scouting bonfire treat is made of roasted (or microwaved if you’re not outdoors) marshmallows dipped in milk chocolate and mashed between sweet biscuits.

So when I read about wine from Nova Scotia I had to get rid of (a) bias and (b) blatant geographical ignorance. Can a country that considers s’mores as their gift to world cuisine be trusted when it comes to wine making? Bias was quickly put aside as I remembered I had tasted a few Canadian wines from Pelee Island Winery at a small distributors’ wine fair in April last year. The island in Lake Erie itself I had seen before from air on my way to Cleveland via Detroit, not knowing what kind of agriculture the green fields represented. Some of the grape varieties (Riesling, Zweigelt) and the owner’s diction give away its Austrian background. I tasted a fresh blend of Chardonnay and Gewurztraminer with tones of exotic fruit and spices (2010) and a Pinot Noir of the same year that could compete with some of its Burgundian nephews.

Now, Lake Erie is on the same latitude as Rome and has a microclimate similar to Burgundy, though with more heat units. But Nova Scotia is arctic. It’s the nearly uninhabitable place where poor Scots—driven by circumstances or their landlords—were shipped in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, only to find themselves in even worse climatological and economic conditions. ‘Cool climate’ is a euphemism. Here I must admit I thought Nova Scotia to be in the same league as Newfoundland. And indeed the first settlers had a hard time, as winters over there are quite cold. But Nova Scotia is a few miles south of Newfoundland. The summers must have been a revelation to the Scottish settlers. The climate is ‘continental’, the temperature extremes moderated by the Atlantic Ocean. Still, the winter is a force to be reckoned with. As a result wine making is heavily dependent on non-vinifera vines: hybrids as New York Muscat, Vidal and Nova Scotia’s own L’Acadie Blanc. But there is some real vitis vinifera too. The wines of the only appellation, Tidal Bay, are low in alcohol, but not so low in price. They are said to be crisp and pair well with the local sea food. If those first settlers just had known.

 

For Dutch readers: The wines of Pelee Island Winery are for sale here. For the wines of Nova Scotia one has to go to, well, Nova Scotia.

A Perfect Wine List

If you were in a restaurant and the wine list contained some fine Champagnes, South-African, New Zealand and Loire Sauvingnon Blancs from renowned wine makers, an astonishing choice of German, Austrian and Alsatian Rieslings, several Grüner Veltliners, Chardonnays from all over the world, Gewurztraminer from Alsace and New Zealand, dry and sweet Bordeaux wines—and that would only be the white wine section—what would you do?

I’d ask for the menu, just to check if it contains anything but Leviathan, as I would probably be dead.

A wine list of this sort only exists in heaven, and in the mind of Jamie Goode. It’s a fun list, and as with any personal list, it may lead to animated discussion. Though maybe less animated in Burgundy (“I could just about live without Burgundy [Pinot Noir]”), Bordeaux (“I’m not sure where [red] Bordeaux would figure”), and some Spanish regions (“I can’t see Rioja or Ribero del Duero getting a look in”). Unfortunately Jamie Goode doesn’t reveal what kind of restaurant he was thinking of, let alone what dishes would accompany his wines of choice. On the other hand, with such an extended list, what dish would not find a pairing wine?

Now it is one thing to have a wine list in your mind’s eye, but (at least for me) quite another to be honoured with a try-out of candidates for a new real life wine list. My favourite local restaurant may be just that: a restaurant cherished and favoured within a 10 mile zone, their wine list covering the entire world: France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria, Morocco, Israel, Lebanon, Argentina, New Zealand, South Africa, United States and Chili. It needed a small refurbishment, as menu’s do every now and then. Spouse and I had just sat down for a quick dinner, rather tired after a hard day’s work and looking forward to an early night. Before we could order the boss brought out his best glass ware, poured a Menetou-Salon and asked us if we would like to taste a few wines with our dinner that he felt might have a place on the new wine list. It wasn’t a question really and we were happy to oblige. So we spent the evening sniffing, chewing, tasting, discussing. No early night, but revived all the same.

 

Menetou-Salon, Domaine de Loury, Belles Roches 2011, 12,5% alc

Great wine for an aperitif that will also go well with not too heavy fish dishes. This Loire Sauvignon Blanc has a vivid nose without the cat’s pee of its neighbours. Tastes of gooseberry, yellow apples, pear and something grassy. Zesty with an agreeable roundness.

 

Picpoul de Pinet (of which I forgot to pen down the details)

I thought it smelled of acetone and didn’t taste it. Spouse called it ‘medicinal’ and said the wine was unremarkable on its own, but suited the sesame madeleines and Thai basil that accompanied her tartare of tuna, less the tartare itself.

 

Pinot Grigio, Tiefenbrunner 2011 (Alto Adige)

I am always surprised how different a Pinot Grigio is from a Pinot Gris. One probably shouldn’t compare the two. This Pinot Grigio, made by a well-known North-Italian winemaker, has an, I quote Mr Tiefenbrunner, ‘unobtrusive bouquet.’ Though it had the difficult task to make me forget the Menetou-Salon—it failed—I must admit it paired better with the vitello tonato, due to its freshness and acidity.

 

Sequillo 2011, Swartland, South Africa, 14,5% alc

This blend of, hold on, Chenin Blanc, Palomino, Semillon Blanc, Grenache Blanc, Semillon Gris, Viognier, and Clairette was served with a grilled white fish on a puree of chickpeas. It could have passed for a Southern Rhône if the Chenin Blanc wouldn’t have given it away. Neither fined nor filtered, the bottle warns you in bold type. I like that. Exciting wine. Tropical fruit with a certain freshness, full-bodied but not fatty. A pity that it contains so much alcohol. And mind you, they reduced the alcohol level in this vintage.

 

Domaine de Piaugier, Gigondas 2010, Marc Autan et Fils, Sablet, 14,5% alc

This young Gigondas desperately needed the proteins of Spouse’s rib-eye to soften its tannins, even with the bottle open for two hours. A fruity yet full-bodied wine. Quite some alcohol, but balanced. Hope we’ll see it on the list in two years.

It Ain’t Half Hot II

“Thinking of movies and comedy series set in British colonial environments, I don’t think I have ever seen someone drinking wine. Sweaty men gulping whisky (…), yes, that I can remember (…),” I wrote in my last posting. I just found out they were quite avant-garde. See this post by Fiona Beckett.

It Ain’t Half Hot

Thinking of movies and comedy series set in British colonial environments, I don’t think I have ever seen someone drinking wine. Sweaty men gulping whisky, elegantly dressed women sipping tea on well-mowed lawns, yes, that I can remember (though the mind is a source to be distrusted). Yet I just read that the British have stimulated India’s already century-old wine industry during colonization. In India’s hot climate, where in some regions one can harvest two crops a year (one shouldn’t), there must have been enough wine to wash away their curries. At least till Phylloxera took its toll, followed by shifting public opinion, and, in the 40s, shifting powers.

The end? Certainly not. There are even new beginnings, as shows Sula Vineyards (Nashik, 180 km northeast of Mumbai). This relatively new player in the Indian wine industry (1997) has gained some fame already, their wines for sale in several European and New World countries. Nashik having similar climatological and soil conditions as California, Rajeev Suresh Samant, CEO of Sula Vineyards, brought a Sonoma County winemaker and some New World grape varieties (the result being a sort of Neo-Mock Cabernet?).

His Sula style is herbal (whites) and spicy (reds) with a sweet touch, the reds and some whites rather high in alcohol. More often than not a I smelled and tasted something chemical. As different as these wines may be, they have one thing in common: both whites and reds matched perfectly with the hot and spicy Indian snacks that were served with them by the Dutch distributor.

Sula Sauvignon Blanc 2011: lots of flavour, dry, greenish, mineral. Not bad. € 7,95. (With spicy cod.)

Sula Chenin Blanc 2010: withdrawn, Lysol?

Sula Dindori Reserve Viognier 2012: I wouldn’t have recognized it as a Viognier. Herbal, fruity (apple, a little peach). Adequate, but at € 10,95. (Good with cardamom.)

Sula Zinfandel Rose 2012: if you’re fond of Danone style strawberry yoghurt, this is your wine. € 7,50.

Sula Cabernet Shiraz 2010: I smelled dried watercolour; taste a bit sweet. Not my favourite but our most experienced taster detected wet leather and said this wine was too young but would mature well. If we take his word for it: a great wine in a few years’ time at € 7,95. (With Indian ‘kroepoek’.)

Sula Red Zinfandel 2011: a bit hazy, mildly chemical strong dark fruit, a bit alcoholic. Not bad, but I’m unfamiliar with Zinfandel. € 8,50.

Sula Dindori Reserve Shiraz 2011: now we’re slowly getting there; a bit hazy, spicy, dark fruit, vanilla, pepper; a full bodied New Worldish shiraz. € 11,95. (With Chicken Tikka Massala.)

Sula Rasa Shiraz 2011: now we’re really getting there; no whiff of industrial candy here but real dark fruit; spicy, balanced; Old Worldish Shiraz. Great wine. You pay for it though: € 18.

Sula Sparkling Wine 2012: not very sparkling (but not the right glassware) and an unfavourable nose; yoghurt. Something went wrong?

So which one would I pick in my favourite Indian restaurant? Well, I’ll stick to tea, but that’s because—for reasons that are of no interest—I always go there by car.

Bordeaux Tasting

Bordeaux tastings have magic around them. And why shouldn’t they? The ‘fine fleur’ of wine journalism and wine trade from around the world gather in this château-studded area to taste and judge new vintages. Being the world’s most famous wine region, its blends imitated by many a New World wine maker, where the best wines are only affordable to the (nowadays increasingly Chinese) rich and famous, pension funds, and insurance companies—a bit of magic comes natural. Even more so as the wines are tasted (and sold—this is not a charity event) ‘en primeur,’ as cask samples, i.e., as unfinished wines. A true surprise party.

I am not easily scared off, so I boldly accepted an invitation for a Bordeaux tasting last November. Of course it did help that the tasting didn’t take place in Bordeaux, that it wasn’t ‘en primeur’ and that the invitation came from Gommers, a trusted, sympathetic wine retailer. No Pétrus here, nor a Haut Brion, but then the wines didn’t cost one a month’s income (per bottle, that is).

 

Magic was there all the same: 42 red Bordeaux wines of sometimes lesser, sometimes better known châteaux, elegantly presented in a renovated coach house. That was more Bordeaux than I had ever seen in my life. What to choose, where to start, especially if one is fairly unfamiliar with Bordeaux wines? Spouse and I had done some homework, thought it better to skip the wines under € 8 and kicked-off. We tasted lots of blackcurrant, leather, vanilla, remnants of cigar box, a dash of stable, harsh and soft tannins. Each wine, each vintage different from the other (with 2009 acknowledgedly sticking out as pretty near-perfect).

Here are a few of our favourites.

2009 Château Croix de Rambeau, Lussac Saint-Emilion, a 90/10% Merlot/Cabernet Franc blend. Though I noted a floral nose, lots of fruit and soft tannins, the tasting comments of the French cellar master—and who am I to think differently—tells me that, I quote, ‘the mouth is very pleasant from the attack.’ For sale at € 15,50, and well worth it’s price.

2009 Château Saransot-Dupré, Listrac Cru Bourgois, a classic Bordeaux blend of Merlot (56%), Cabernet Sauvignon (24%), Cabernet Franc (15%), Petit Verdot (3%), and Carmenere (2%). Dark fruit, cigar box, leather, laurel. Friendlier and fresher than the 2006. At € 16,25.

The 2009 Château de Pez, Saint-Estèphe Cru Bourgeois Exceptionnel was the most expensive, selling for € 45 a bottle, and to my taste also the finest. Blackcurrant, vanilla and leather in the nose; soft, full-bodied, fresh; balanced. Yummy indeed, but three times as yummy as the Croix de Rambeau or the Saransot-Dupré? I didn’t think so.

Brain damaged

After I finished correcting a rather sloppily written book (not on wine) that for reasons unknown to me hadn’t been edited, I dreamed that the hostess of a lavish dinner party announced she was going to pour us a Champignon-Musigny. In the rest of the dream I kept looking for a way to tell her without making her feel a fool it’s Chambolle-Musigny.