Seeking out the joy in wine
A brilliant bottle I tasted last week made me wonder just what we really want in our glass - wine to make us think, or just enjoyment? Plus: what I've been drinking this week.
It was the kind of moment that happens less often than you might imagine at professional wine tastings. At the Berry Brothers & Rudd autumn press tasting last week, in a vaulted cellar beneath the venerable London merchants, I tasted a bottle that stopped me in my tracks.
Domaine du Gringet’s “Le Feu” 2022, from Savoie, is a French mountain white of astonishing complexity and length – and I’d been pretty blown away by the previous bottle, the same producer’s slightly lesser “La Bergerie” cuvée. This was a wine that demanded reflection. I grunted something to a fellow journalist about there being some amazing wines on that table. He looked dismissive: “Not much joy here, is there?” he replied.
It set me thinking about what we’re really looking for in wine: a glass that challenges us, or simply pure enjoyment?
For me, I suppose the answer is both. But this isn’t just a question of the kind of wine you’re tasting, as my fellow journalist implied. It’s more complicated than that, because what you get from wine depends a lot on where, why and with whom you drink it.
If you taste wine professionally, you obviously have to think about it, make notes on it, discuss it. I’ve written before about why big tastings are demanding. But just as important, you’re not there to enjoy the wine, as such. After all, you’re not drinking it – just tasting, assessing and spitting.
There are wine professionals – some writers and buyers, especially in fine wine – whose work is largely about assessing the quality of wines from one particular region. My own wine work – professional hobby as it is, at present – is more free ranging: I just want to find and explore interesting or unusual wines.
Regular readers may guess what I classify as “interesting” from my preference for wines from smaller producers, often from slightly obscure corners of Europe, made in fresher styles. They’re not the only bottles worth drinking – but I generally find tasting 80-odd Spanish regional wines infinitely more interesting than slogging through 80 left-bank Bordeaux reds. Still, the latter are more interesting than the mass-market wines that fill the large majority of supermarket shelves – where UK shoppers buy over 80 per cent of their wine. The dullness and predictability of supermarket press tastings was one of the reasons I stopped writing my weekly wine column in the London Evening Standard back in 2012.
I loved those Savoie whites at Berry Bros because they were offbeat, different, complex: I had to think about them. It’s not quite the same thing as joy, and might not be even if I were drinking them with food. Though this is why I headline the weekly section at the foot of this blog, “What I’ve been drinking”: to make a distinction between wines I’ve actually drunk, rather than those I’ve just tasted and spat.
So might over-thinking wine stop you feeling the joy? US wine writer Jason Wilson thinks so, recently appealing to us to “stop freaking out about wine. Let’s just enjoy it.” He takes his inspiration from the less-complicated (though also much less varied) wine environment of the Rioja town of Logroño.
He's certainly right to the extent that most drinkers don’t want to have to think about the wine in their glass at all. They drink wine in much the same way that I drink beer: I will give no thought at all to the bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 that I’ll open later. I know perfectly well that it is inferior to craft brews, churned out as it is under licence by Carlsberg Manston at a giant brewery in Wolverhampton. But it does the job – in this case, refreshing me as I cook dinner.
Wine’s job, for most drinkers, is in the same way largely a question of occasion. My recent successor as the Standard’s wine critic, Hannah Crosbie, has just written a whole book, Corker, detailing wine choices for different occasions. She’s highly entertaining offering advice of what to drink on “A first date (that’s going well)” and when “You just quit your job” through to after “You’ve just ordered a massive takeaway” and even “You’ve just had sex.” It’s brilliantly accessible, even though some occasions – “Dinner party (everyone there is a wine person)” – demand fancier choices; many others don’t (“You’ve been caught in the rain.”)
But her suggestions all naturally assume you’re drinking rather than merely tasting the wine in question. And when I’m doing that, it isn’t just the present occasion that guides my choices, but previous ones too. Because how wine makes you feel – how much joy you get from it – can depend on its associations as well as what’s in the bottle.
Thus I have a big soft spot for the southern Rhône reds of Gigondas and Vacqueyras, some of the first places where I tasted at vineyards, with old friends on memorable trips a long time ago.
Likewise, Greece is one of my happy places: when I taste an aromatic Greek white, it conjures up sunshine on a Peloponnese waterfront, Greek chatter around me in an Exarcheia café. In that way it brings me more joy than would a relatively similar southern Italian white. And even though I admit such associations bend my critical judgment a touch, I think that’s fine.
I’m not going to stop seeking out wines that are challenging and different. And professional realities demand that I taste many of them in the less-than-joyful setting of press tastings. But we need to remember the joy that this liquid can bring too, and seek it out.
Four wines that always bring me joy
The Society’s Greek White – the Wine Society’s Greek white, made from Peloponnese grapes, has been one of my go-tos since its introduction in 2019. The exact blend and producer has varied though it’s Moschofilero/Roditis: aromatic, crisp, fresh and evocative (£8.95.)
Le Clos des Cazeaux “La Tour Sarrasine”, Gigondas – I’ve written before about the many happy associations this wine has for me, but it’s as fine a southern Rhône mountain red as you could wish: Grenache dominated, spicy and rich yet so well balanced (Tanners, Waud Wines, Lay & Wheeler, from about £19; widely available in bond.)
Château Musar rouge – Lebanon’s greatest wine divides critics, but it enjoys an astonishingly devoted British following. I loved it even before I tasted it with the late, great Serge Hochar in the midst of a different Lebanese war in 2008. Made from a blend that is usually majority Cinsault plus Carignan and Cabernet Sauvignon, it is normally released at seven years of age. Deep, savoury, so distinctive (widely available, from £27.50. See below for their more affordable second wine.)
Fernando de Castilla Antique Palo Cortado – Palo Cortado is my favourite type of aged sherry, deep and nutty yet dry – and Fernando de Castilla make of the most sublime. This always takes me straight back to long nights in Jerez (fairly widely available, from £40/500ml.)
What I’ve been drinking recently
La Montina Franciacorta Brut, NV - Franciacorta is easily Italy’s finest sparkling wine, often world class, though it remains almost entirely overlooked in the UK. It’s not that easy to find here but the brilliant Passione Vino have got a good selection. This elegant one, made from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, boasts crisp, fresh fruit and appealing bready notes (Passione Vino, £42, or about £10 by the glass.)
Clos del Portal, Negre De Negres 2021, Priorat - my friend Owain brought this and some other offbeat Spanish beauties back from a recent trip, and it’s sadly unavailable here at present. This is gorgeous red Priorat in a fresher, modern style, a far cry from the oaky bruisers so fashionable in the 1990s. Mostly Garnacha with some Cariñena and Syrah, it has an enticing spicy red fruit nose; beautiful depth, balance and length. Come to think of it, a wine that made me think AND I just loved drinking (N/A UK, ca £21 Spain.)
Musar Jeune rouge 2019, Bekaa Valley - The second wine of Château Musar is recognisably its sibling, even if it doesn’t have the top cuvée’s complexity or ageability. Lovely warm, spicy fruit and depth. And at a moment when Lebanon is being abandoned by the world to death and destruction that no Western nation has the courage to stop, even drinking its wines feels like an act of defiance (Quite widely available, from £14.75.)
Acts of defiance are the least we can do, thanks for sharing the beautiful wines of Chateau Musar in Lebanon
Great little article! Greek wines (both red and white) have so much to offer so that’s definitely something I’d recommend diving deeper into!