Naked Vine Double Barrel -- New Terroir, New Tastes

Terroir comes up quite a bit around here, obviously. To refresh your memory, terroir is the combination of soil geology and composition, geographic location, and weather patterns that affect the growth of grapevines and thus affect the flavor of a wine. A wine made from Chardonnay in the cool, limestone-soiled French region of Chablis will taste completely different from a Chardonnay from the warmer, loamier soils of California’s Central Valley, for instance.

The practical upshot of the effect of terroir is that, given enough consumption, you can make general assumptions of what a wine from a certain country or region will taste like. This is especially true in some of the regions lesser known by the general wine-drinking public. For instance, if I’m in a restaurant and I see a New Zealand sauvignon blanc on the wine list that I’ve not heard of, I usually feel fairly certain that the wine will be highly acidic and have grapefruity flavors with the occasional fragrance of fresh-cut grass.

Of course, you’re familiar with the old saw about the word “assume” – and that can come into play with wine. One reason we can make these assumptions about a country’s wine flavors is that there tend to be areas of that region that dominate wine production – whether because of weather, amount of grape production, access to easy shipping, and any number of other factors. The New Zealand sauvignon blanc I mentioned above? I can also make an assumption that the wine came from the Malborough region of New Zealand, which leads that country in wine exports. However, other regions of the same country do their own twists on wine production – yielding wines that can be very different and certainly worth exploring.

I received a pair of bottles from Juliana at Colangelo from a couple of Southern Hemispheric regions which are starting to make more of a dent in the U.S. wine market. Both turned out to be somewhat different than my usual expectations.

The first bottle was from – surprise, surprise – New Zealand. As I’ve mentioned, most of the best known wines from there hail from Marlborough, which is on New Zealand’s South Island. This wine, the Trinity Hill 2013 “The Trinity” Red Blend, comes from Hawke’s Bay on the North Island. (I’ve actually written about a wine from Hawke’s Bay a couple of New Years Eves ago…) The reds I’ve tried from New Zealand tend to be on the lighter side, like pinot noir. The North Island’s climate is somewhat warmer, which allows for the growth of grapes that thrive in a little more heat. This Merlot-dominant blend with additions of Tempranillo and Malbec, packs a little more oomph in its pleasant package.

The nose is fairly fragrant, full of plums and blackberries, and those big flavors are echoed on the palate. It’s not too thick – certainly falling into the medium-weight category, with plenty of grippy tannins that aren’t overwhelming. The finish is lasting and full, with blackberry, mint, and lasting tannins. We cracked this over Memorial Day weekend, and I’d grilled up a London broil. The Sweet Partner in Crime made a wonderfully hashy side out of some leftover Israeli couscous, crystallized ginger, leek, and asparagus and we laid the strips of steak atop. Just a lovely meal, I gotta say. For $17, this wine stepped right up.

The other bottle was a Chardonnay from South Africa. The most common wines from South Africa are from regions such as Constantia, Stellenbosch, and Paarl – all of which have terroir that includes a warm climate. This makes for big, rustic reds – many of which are made from Pinotage, a cross between Pinot Noir and Cinsault that grows well in hot weather. The white wines tend to be made from sauvignon blanc and chenin blanc – again, good warm weather grapes.

However, there’s much more attention now being paid to a region of South Africa called Elgin. Elgin is located on a high-altitude plateau, which allows for the creation of “cool climate” wines, which tend to be lighter in body and higher in acidity. From Elgin comes the Lothian Vineyards 2013 Chardonnay – billed as a more “Burgundian” version.

I’m not sure I’d quite go that far with that description, but the flavors are certainly different from any other South African white that I’ve tried. Most of those wines tend to make good summer sippers, but this one makes for a much richer, fuller quaff. The nose brought to mind “toasted pear,” if that makes any sense. For a cool climate wine, the body is richly styles and somewhat hefty on the palate for a white with full flavors of honey, apple, and butterscotch. There’s some oak hanging out, too, but much less than I thought there would be given the nose.

The Lothian finishes creamily, with just a quick citrus bite and a long butterscotch ending. I wouldn’t exactly call it “elegant” – that makes it sound dainty, which it’s not. I’d probably go for calling it “classy” chardonnay. Good alongside any sort of fish with a little oil in it. We had this with some rainbow trout filets over wild rice, and we found it quite nice. The pricetag on this one is around $20. If you’re a fan of California chardonnay and would like something with a slightly different twist, it’s worth a try.

Tare What?

Hang out with corkheads long enough, and someone will eventually start talking about terroir. Wine's typically not something to be scared of, so what gives?

No, not "terror" -- "terroir!" It's pronounced "tare-WAHR" and is the backbone of any wine. Specifically -- it's where the bloomin' grapes come from.

The term is often used in discussions of the soil in which grapes grow, but I prefer the broader definition. Terroir certainly includes the soil itself, but also encompasses the climate and the topography of the growing region. The most obvious example of the expression of terroir is in the classification of French and Italian wines.

To wit, the terroir of the Bordeaux region produces a certain type of wine. That’s then further divided into the specific area of Bordeaux (Pomerol, Margaux, etc.) and then even further into the various Chateaus – like Lafite-Rothschild, et al. You see this more and more with many American wines as well. You’ll see wines labeled “Central Coast” or “Willamette Valley” – and these wines often get down to listing the individual vineyards from which the grapes are harvested.

So, why does all this matter? What difference does it make where these wines are from – especially wines like the ones we’ve got here – wines that aren’t the tippy top of the scale?

Because where the grapes are grown can tell you as much about what’s in that bottle as the grape varietal itself. If you’ve been reading the Vine for awhile – or even if you’ve just stumbled your way through Wine School, you’ll notice that there are often huge flavor variations among wines made of the same grape. The largest of these flavor differences go hand in hand with geography. For instance, a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand will generally have flavors of tropical fruit, a white Bordeaux often has a lighter, minerally taste, and an American sauvignon might taste more like grapefruit.

Terroir also explains why some regions grow certain grapes. Pinot noir, for instance, needs a very particular type of climate. That’s why so few regions produce the grape. And it’s no accident that New Zealand is about as far south of the equator as Oregon and Burgundy are north.

I bring all this up because knowing a wine’s terroir (and the general flavors of wines from that area) comes in very handy when you’re trying to find a wine either to pair with food or just to have on its own. As a rule of thumb – wines grown in cooler climates tend to be more delicate and have more complex flavors. Warmer climate wines tend to be higher in alcohol and have much more powerful fruit tastes.

One of the complaints you'll often hear about wines in the price range we're most interested in is the "uniformity of flavor" these wines often have. "One tastes like another," you'll hear many people say. Even among similarly priced wines from the same country, you’ll find significant differences. As an example, I tasted three American syrahs -- often considered to be fairly uniform. I looked at three, all between $10-12:

I started with the J. Lohr 2005 South Ridge Syrah. J. Lohr's syrah comes from Paso Robles. Red wines from Paso Robles (about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, and inland across the Santa Lucia mountains) have some consistent notes across varietals. The Paso Robles Wine website quotes Matt Kramer’s book in stating that almost all their reds (they grow primarily Cabernet, Merlot, Grenache, and Syrah) have soft tannins and rich fruitiness. This is another perfect example of terroir description -- common flavor elements across grape varietals. This syrah falls squarely along those lines. The nose of this wine is big, fruity and smoky. It tastes much like it smells -- with flavors of blueberries, blackberries and leather. The finish is leathery and dry, but the tannins soften considerably as the wine opens. If I hadn't known better initially, I'd thought I'd been handed a cabernet, and this certainly could pass as a cabernet’s first cousin.

From there, we move on to the Rock Rabbit 2004 Central Coast Syrah. Rock Rabbit grows most of its grapes slightly north of J. Lohr in the "Central Coast" region near Monterey. The wines from this region tend to be big and juicy, and this syrah also follows right along. According to the winemaker, this wine is made in "Australian style," and I would concur. The nose is big and plummy -- a fruit bomb to be sure. The flavor is very fruit dominant, although it mellows a bit after a sip or two. Plenty of plums and licorice, and the finish is only slightly dry. It's quite a contrast.

Finally, I went with the Hogue 2005 Syrah. I expected a big difference, and I wasn't disappointed. Hogue is from Washington State, where the weather is considerably cooler than what you'll find in California. As such, the wine is much more balanced and almost delicate. The nose has much more subtle fruit -- raspberry comes to mind, with a smoky undertone. The flavor is "smooth earthy" -- blueberries and caramel. The finish is long and not very dry. A very pleasant wine, and a much more complex one than the other two.

So, have no fear of terroir – let it be your ace in the hole when it comes to picking the “right wine.” Much as in the description of Paso Robles above, you can feel pretty safe in picking out a flavor profile once you get exposed to a certain terroir. Give it a go and see what you find!