The wine business is a litle like the car business: it depends on a steady stream of design innovation. A new model that’s a little different from the one that rolled off the assembly line the year before raises expectations and gins up interest.
If you read magazines and websites devoted to wine you know that a lot of attention is paid to providing news about the new vintage here or there – where the weather was good or not so good and what we might expect when the wines from those vintages come on line in a year or two or more.
From a winemaker’s point of view, a successful vintage is one in which vines get off to a good start, flower and set fruit on schedule and receive enough sun and warmth to produce healthy, ripe fruit at harvest.
But for the press and wine merchants this isn’t really enough. Another ho-hum, no-trouble vintage doesn’t breed excitement or increase subscriptions. What’s wanted are vintages that give something to crow about – that promise above-normal levels of ripeness, concentration and richness. Vintages of this kind may be heralded as once in a decade or even once in a century events – even as they come along, as they seem to, with more frequency than ever.
But while blockbuster (or even marginally more robust) vintages drive sales and prices, they don’t always produce more drinkable wines. This is because very ripe grapes typically mean higher alcohols and less acidity – things that generally make wine less, fresh, appetizing, and food-friendly. So, there’s a sense in which wine drinkers are driven from pillar to post: too little richness can make wine feel ungenerous, even a little mean; too-ripe vintages can lack the freshness and zip that constitute a big part of wine’s appeal.
To illustrate this in a recent radio segment, I offered Chris a taste of two pairs of red wines, each consisting of back-to-back vintages of the same wine. In each case one vintage was, to my palate, demonstrably richer than its counterpart. The challenge for Chris, tasting blind (the identities of the wines concealed), was first to put the pairs together, then tell me which of each pair was the richer and which the fresher, and finally to tell me which he preferred.
The wines we tasted for this segment were the 2014 and 2015 Vignobles Brunier “Le Pigeoulet” Vin de Pays de Vaucluse Rouge (around $20) and the 2013 and 2014 Monte Bernardi “Retromarcia” Chianti Classico (around $25). Each is in the process of a vintage change at Formaggio Kitchen, so fans of each are currently being confronted with this very issue as they come by to pick up fresh supplies of these popular wines.
Le Pigeoulet is composed of a classic southern Rhone cocktail of grape varieties including grenache, syrah, carignan, and cinsault; Retromarcia is solely sangiovese. Chris did a fine job of correctly pairing the wines, like with like, and had no trouble identifying which vintage had made the fuller, richer wine. Good for him.
I found our discussion about the relative merits of each interesting on more than one count. First, because one of the pitfalls of tasting wines side by side is that it easily devolves into a beauty contest in which the one showing the most flesh and curviest curves is awarded the roses. It takes a bit of experience and a judicious dollop of imagination to consider how each would acquit itself at the table where rather than taking a sip or two you’ll enjoy several glasses over a couple of hours.
But there’s something more to consider that’s a bit more difficult to describe. It’s what I like to call transparency: the sense that some wines give of being able to taste into and through them. I contrast this with wines that seem to be all surface and no interior. Often the culprit is just too much fruit – a product of very ripe – sometimes over-ripe – grapes
In most cases, the scenario I’ve painted will be unrealistically and unnecessarily binary. Plenty of middle ground exists between wines that are just too lean to please and those too rich to be engaging. This was certainly the case in our segment, where each wine we tasted was both delicious and serviceable, even though Chris and I agreed that it was the fresher (less rich) of each pair that we preferred.
Riding the ups and downs of vintage variation is one of the delights of wine, and watching skilled winemakers negotiate these hills and valleys is a source of admiration. But the next time you hear that the new vintage in such and such a place is going to be one in a decade or one in a century, don’t be too quick to jump in the queue. Bigger isn’t necessarily better.