Wines a World Apart

The thing about wines is that they seem to encourage snobbery. No matter how much discussion is allowed about demystifying wines, the reality remains that a select few will enjoy some wines, while completely snubbing out any competition for the stuff in their glass, pish-toshing it with mere waves of the un-used hand, dispensing, in-between sips, the very notion of other seekers of such pleasure even existing.

And with good reason too. The last time I checked, the price of a Bordeaux Claret was up almost 300% since it was released almost 20 years ago. Cent for cent, wines have seen a bigger jump in prices in China than even solid gold! Be it investment or the upping of ones’ social quotient by the uncorking of an expensive wine, the truth is that there people with the wherewithal out there and now they also have the acquired knowledge of just what they wish to see sitting in a glass besides their next entrée. The mix then, much to the chagrin of us lesser mortals who can only dream about such precious bottles, is morbidly prohibitively lethal.

To draw up a list of expensive wines around the world would be just crass if it wasn’t accompanied by some explanation as to what made them so coveted in the first place. So, instead, here you have a few factors listed which can generally make wine dearer and some examples of such wines which could be slotted as defining the category. Should you decide to break the piggy bank one day, these could make for some fine investments.

 Limitation of quantities: Nothing creates demand than a shortage of supply. While certain parts of the world may boast of an abundance of vineyards – some to the point of having to uproot them – most places that claim to attain a ‘luxury’ status will centre around the notion of limited supplies. Champagne, for example, it’s demand far outstrips the supply, making it a rare and hence highly-priced commodity. In other cases, the production is actually a small number. The numerous Garage wines of St. Emilion are made no more than a few thousand bottles at a time. Cult Californian Cabernets seldom cross the 10,000 cases mark. Le Pin, one of the most coveted wines in the world (from Bordeaux), is 500-700 cases strong, a few barrels-full of it. The Screaming Eagle has a coveted priority list for one to be considered to be a buyer, and even there, one has to consistently be buying their other wine (the Bond) before an offer is made from the company’s side to allocate some stock of this USD1000+ bottle of wine to you.

Historical importance: Certain brands gain importance for their historical significance. Madame Odette may have made great Champagne but the fact that her company, Pol-Roger, was the preferred bubbly of English Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill, may have lent it some (righty deserved) fame, so much so, that years after his passing, the house released their special cuvee and named it after him. Czar Alexander II had a similar effect on the Louis Roederer brand which, at one time, was so dependent on His Grace for their survival, that they bottled a special Champagne in a crystal bottle with a flat base, just so for the Czar’s personal stash. The resulting product, ‘Cristal’, is the cynosure of the rap community, the largest consumers of all things bling and luxury today. 

National heritage: In many cases, a wine becomes so popular that it becomes a point of pride for the nation. Such patriotic sentiments when relate to a wine, the price is the first thing to be affected. Take the Penfold’s Grange for example, a wine that is now on the formal list of National Australian Heritage products embodies the spirit of the early settlers and almost narrates the story of the rise of this far-fling English settlement through liquid medium. Other countries have similar wines – Champagne, for example, became famous as the region from where came the wine used at coronations of all French kings, starting with the first king Clovis, who also received his baptism in Reims when a Dove carrying holy water ampoule delivered it to Saint Remigius.

Difficulty of production: To understand just how difficult exactly can harvest become, one has to visit Mosel in Germany for starters, or the Douro valley in Portugal. So steep are the slopes that one needs to hone their rock-climbing and grappling skills before they can consider themselves adept at harvesting here. Add to this the problem that the weather is bone-chilling freezing cold at this time of the year and the problem is only, pun intended, heightened. Needless to say, the Rieslings from the Goldtropchen in Germany (or the ones from Wachau in Austria) as also the reds of Douro are no cakewalk. With the passage of time, it is becoming increasingly hard to find people to harvest and the few who are left, are ageing fast. This is not a fun job, it is a work sprinkled with hazards aplenty. Forget pleasant promenades and serenading siestas in these vineyards, where one slip n’ tumble could be the different between life and death. The wines that come from such labour and toil are, needless, expensive and rare produce.

Rarity of knowledge: Essencia is a wine that is made by literally collecting drops of nectar that ooze forth from dried and hardened berries, so precious and limited a product that even winemakers in the region often go for years without getting their hands on it to try. It is made in the Hungarian region of Tokaji and even a small bottle of no more than 185ml can set one back by a minimum of 500 pounds! This is wine perfume, if there ever was. And yet few people know about it, let alone drink it. Affordability is not the issue here, it is awareness. 

Vagaries of weather: This is something that mostly concerns wines that meant for long-term ageing. In the years following 1990, Bordeaux had a series of vintages during which the crops were devastated either by rain or frost, or both, and it wasn’t until 1995 that the quality that marks Bordeaux shone through again. As a result, the value of wines from the previous few years remained low whereas ’95 commanded a higher-than-normal premium. 15 years on, the prices further reflected this widening gap as the ‘91s and ‘92s dropped in quality and their holding value near-diminished whereas ’95 kept going, and growing, strong(er). This is true for all wines of the same stature: Cult Cabernets from California, Australian Coonawarra Cabernet and Barossa Shiraz, Spanish Rioja reds, and perhaps the most delicate of the lot, Burgundy. Pinot Noir, the principle red grape of Burgundy, has an extremely thin skin thereby making it more susceptible to the onslaughts of nature, from fungal infections in humid conditions to early rot in bright sunshine, which makes a good vintage quite a rarity. This factor contributes in a big way to the value of a wine, and at auctions, this difference can amount to four-digit figures of a difference!

So, what does make a wine luxurious? The answer, I imagine, is not as mono-faceted as people would like to believe. Sure enough all good wines somewhere encourage a certain sense of snobbery, but nothing that is considered privileged and exclusive can escape this phenomenon. To me, what makes a wine evermore so coveted is the story behind it: where it began and how it reached me. It is the fantastical voyage of the bottle that I visually build up in my head that perhaps contributes more colour and drama to the ensemble package than even perhaps the product itself. So, if you remember a sip from ages ago, and can recall the exact sensation decades after you had it, consider that a tryst with luxury.

My opinion on calories..

While I openly profess to knowing nothing about dieting save for the only necessary fact that they are an unnecessarily evil fad, I do know a thing or few about calories. 2300 things to be precise. I complain ever so often about them and how they and I have an inseparable bond, particularly around the belly region, it’s a wonder how I don’t refer to them as family given the seemingly indeterminate period of time for which they appear to have moved within and into me.

Before I go any further, if it wasn’t obvious to some I use the word diet to refer to all forms of eating disorders which are self-inflicted and not required by a certified general practitioner of the science of medicine. Diabetics following a regime is very different from a teenager not eating cake two weeks before prom night. My reference is to the latter.

To not believe in dieting and yet believe in calories seems quite the paradox, like an atheist who screams ‘Oh my God’ during climax. But that is not so. Calorie intake is an equation of sustenance whereas dieting is trying to merely cut or curb the calorie intake for a fixed period. You think that’s confusing? Imagine how inexplicable then, when you are told that some atheists scream “Jesus” as well!

I have consulted many a chart and purely because I happened to be in the vicinity of them. Here is my short two its worth. This done, I resolve never to bring such insulting topics up again. The number of calories required by a person between two sunrises is not a fixed entity. It changes with the amount of daily exertion and varies with the amount of general physical activity that a person puts in. It doesn’t however change as regularly as everyday. Think of it like a holistic long-term approach to healthy existence as, much like turning a 16-wheeler truck, the change becomes apparent long after the initial action was implemented.

But I am not here to expend on how many calories one is allowed. There are sites, scales, and calculators aplenty online to help you figure just how much you can let yourself go. Suffice to say that the physically active will generally be allowed higher and generous intake figures than someone older, or with a more sedentary job profile, or a particular digestive problem. That is not my gripe. My issue is, how is one supposed to measure these out in a daily meal? How does one ensure that the chicken just ordered and relished till plate-polished falls within the daily dietary requirements? How is it possible to ever know just how many calories are being indulged in per meal, in-between meals, and around these in-betweens? The situation gets worse when we go to a restaurant. First comes the wine list and then, as if in retrospect, the food menu is presented. If this isn’t already a tad futile already, the chef deems it his moral duty to send out platefuls of food without as much as once thinking of what degree of richness his dish had to attain all in an effort to be judged tasty. It is the job of the chef to not merely cook food. He is in the business of hospitality. Guests coming are there to be fed so he should, logically, make sure they go back well-fed, nourished and happy, and not just over-stuffed and bloated.

But sadly, portion control is a non-existent task on job description of most companies hiring chefs for their establishments. Unlike a good chef – who can draw down a methodical numeric for calories per meal – a cook merely throws something around in butter till it is tasty.

I have heard of outlets sharing about guests complaining of small portions. This, if anything, further exemplifies the need to portion control. If a chef were to construct a menu properly – and provided that all dishes are cooked appreciably well – there is no reason then for a guest to either complain or leave food on the plate. We all have but one life to ruin. There is nothing wrong with a little girth, some gravitas to hold down the situation, literally! But then vanity is such a party pooper; turning up at every instance you happen pass a mirror and your own form stares back at your accusingly, as if holding you responsible for its own deformed rotundness.

Watching calories, unlike dieting, is a more passive yet constant way to health. You don’t have to keep calculated account; just know when to say know. Even better than when a chef ensures that you never have to.

And only under two circumstances may you then allow yourselves to indulge sans guilt and regards to any such: when there happens to be champagne alongside and when nobody’s looking!

What kills wine

I am not here to demystify wine. I think it would be disservice to this fine beverage to even attempt such; allow me to explain.

There is something about the word ‘commercial’ that connoisseurs – not just in wines – abhor and corporates love. So strong is this term when assumed as an adjective that the same bottle of wine with sediments can be considered indifferently ‘faulty’ in one case and beautifully ‘rustic’ in the other. All depending on whether the product is considered supermarket-scale commercial or boutique and artisanal.

This leads us to further explore the question, just what exactly defines a wine as commercial? If success is a measure of commercial viability then most expensive Champagnes and Bordeaux clarets are commercial yet they don’t seem to lose consumers (not yet anyway.) If the word commercial implies wines that are cheap then that is something rather subjective and one man’s prize will always be someone’s plonk.

In my knowledge, a commercial wine can be considered to be one which is made using grapes that are internationally famous, and in a manner that implies cognisance of taste, i.e. the person who drinks it should be able to identify the grape or style, even if s/he can’t tell much else about it. Such wines are safe fence-sitters, never too edgy or punchy, just safe mama’s good boys, delivering exactly what they promise and not a whiff more.

A lot of winemakers in a lot of countries indulge in this habit: to make ‘commercial’ wines. it almost becomes a problem that threatens the existence of other autochthonous grapes when a vintner decides to uproot a local variety and plant instead a Cabernet or Chardonnay patch.

This may sound like bowing to the ‘system’, but here’s why a winemaker may have to consider going the commercial way.

Say a winemaker makes some superb Nero ‘Avola on the sun-kissed slopes of Sicily. He is known in all the nearby villages and seldom a tourist who chances to drop by leaves without buying a bottle or two but outside of that the market is non-existent. Lack of knowledge about the region and the grape make international markets difficult to harness. And being a small winemaker he can’t afford to start a campaign to educated the world about the wines of the region. If he continues like this, soon he shall have to sell and move out and people will talk bout the legendary reds of the regions which alas wouldn’t exist anymore. Then he hits upon an idea – a small patch of Merlot. The world knows the grapes and it is a fairly hardy type. If he can make a good Nero d’avola, he can surely make a decent Merlot, one that would be easier to sell internationally and given the acceptability of which, it could possibly draw attention and consequently a demand, for his other wines. And soon enough he releases not just a Merlot but also a Sauvignon Blanc. These wines are more saleable and find quick acceptance in certain international markets. In some of them, his other wines, including the prized albeit unknown Nero d’Avola also becomes popular slowly but in others the demand for the ‘commercial’ styles continues to rise. And soon the winemaker finds himself uprooting more traditional grape plantings to incorporate the popular varieties. This is how we end up endangering certain wine styles and this is why ‘people in the know’ consider commercialisation of wine a bad thing on the whole. Let’s face it, when this happens in another artisan fields, like say textiles and tailoring, or cricket, people are quick to respond, vehemently voicing opinions et al. But with wines, it is this general slackness on the part of the people to not make an effort to learn, a numbing complacency to have everything broken down to the simplest possible forms that compels hapless winemakers to cater to dumbed down tastes. Demystification is for join-the-dot sketches; to understand Picasso or Monet, some background study is necessary. Without curiosities and complexities, life would be but disguised ennui. And so it is with wines: one can tell you things about it but they need to be read, analysed, and memorised, before one can understand this beverage. Here then is the first lesson: there is no best wine, there never will be but the best part about wines is that each sip, no matter how undecipherable, leaves you more prepared and learned for the next.

A Case for Glass

Its common to celebrate the hero and forget those who were responsible for the protagonist’s portrayed success. In the world of wines it is no different – while we all go out of our way to talk about the stuff inside the bottle, few of us take a moment to think about the stuff that makes the bottle itself – glass.

Corks may get replaced by screw caps but few materials hold a similar scare for glass, the one material that has been used to contain wine since it’s early days. And not just wine, even the more heady range of spirits lie quietly and gently in this crystalline chamber.

And then, glass is also the material that we pour our wines into: it is from where we nose them, swirl and sip them, and savour them. So many varieties, so many designs, and yet so little space dedicated to their discussion. Today then, it’s all about the glass.

The very reason that wine comes in 750ml bottles is due to the glass industry. Back in the day, bottles were hand-made, blown by a glassmaker who used one lungful (OK two lungs-full) of air to shape each bottle. It was the first way of unknowingly standardising the product size. The capacity of the human lungs happens to be roughly between 600-720 cubic centimetre of air, which then explains why bottles were made to this odd specification. Today, the tradition continues of 750ml bottles, but now you know why.

As things progressed, the bottle was made in a furnace, with the top half shaped and cooled, and then fused into the bottom half just as it came out hot from the oven. The lower half would be supported on a stick (it was smouldering hot to handle) and the push pressure during the fusing created a concave dent at the base of the bottle, which later came to be known as the ‘punt’. No ‘distribution of pressure or collection of deposits’ property, no stacking ergonomics, no aesthetic reasons, just pure build mechanics.

Next, came the industrial revolution and brought us the possibility of assembly line manufacturing; bottles now came to be made with moulds, two halves still, but this time vertically. This is the style that continues unto today and if you were to examine a bottle anywhere today, you’d find two joints on either side of the bottle, running all the way down its length. Once again, ubiquitous and yet mysterious.

Which now leaves us to discuss glassware, the kind we drink out of. 

Wine, as a beverage is constant. It means that all the compounds that impart it a certain flavour are pretty much fixed. They were there once the wine was made and have pretty much remained unchanged. Sure the wine will evolve but even when it does, the basic set of compounds and all the ongoing chemical reactions, no matter how numerous, are still finite. Even if a million compounds make up a do of wine, the number of entities is still a quantifiable one. So one can conclude that wine is a beverage which at any given point can be measured and metered. It may be tough but it isn't impossible. 

The joy that one feels when drinking wine however is a different story; it is unlimited, unparalleled, and consistently variable. It depends on the wine but it relies equally heavily on a myriad mix of factors that influence our perception of it. And this perception, this tactile sensory intake, is where the drinking nay the enjoyment of wine becomes an infinite. 

Glasses have a defined purpose: to deliver the drink to a certain part of our palates, in order to enhance the intended effect of the drink. For e.g. Martini glasses are wide in order to send the cocktail towards the sides of our tongue where we detect acidity. The enhanced crispness makes for a refreshing sip. Same reason why Champagne was initially served in coupes and not flutes (flutes are the worst glass for a Champagne, or any quality sparkling wine; a tulip is much preferable). Backtrack a century and a half and the Champagne glass was almost like a shot glass, as the drink was cloudy and heavy with sediment, so the trick was to pour it out into a glass, allow for the sediment to settle and then shoot it back taking care to leave behind the dregs containing the sediment in the glass. 

The thinness of the glass is also a desirable quality as are the clarity and the transparency, and, to use a slightly technical term, their refractive index. Glassmaking is a science unto itself and companies dedicated to this form of art are specialised to the extent that they even evolve different shapes and sizes for different beverages and wine styles. My preferred brands are Zwiesel and Zalto although Riedel would seem to be the more popular alternative. Lucaris by Ocean and Chef & Sommelier series from Arc are other sturdy set sensibly priced options.

But is it justified to spend so much on glasses? Aren't we propagating the idea of ‘judging a book by its cover’? While this may be true to some extent, it is also important to remember that the pursuit of wine is a variable pleasure of a subjective nature and thus any stimulant, even if so only a placebo, is well worth the money one pays for it.

So that’s the glass story, or the summary of it; we haven’t even begun speaking of decanters! But glass has a history as important and as relevant as wine and whisky itself and, although it doesn’t seem like a lot, but for being a cradle that nurtures one of nature’s most precious gifts to mankind, it certainly deserves a mention and an applaud. 

A Nifty Barolo and Barbaresco Round Up

The first thing that comes to mind when the three words - wine, red, Piedmont - are spoken is the Nebbiolo-based duo of Barolo and Barbaresco. They are way more than just wines. The hills have been honoured with the UNESCO World Heritage tag for their history, cultural importance, and their wines shaping civilisation into what we know it as today.

Nebbiolo is a fussy grape that demands certain sites and a specific set of climatic conditions. Though a cold climate varietal, its thick skin delivers a punch of tannins, and adds to the body and longevity of the wine. Thicker skin also makes it a slow-ripening varietal, making its flavours and acidity more concentrated and complex than the Dolcettos and Barberas of the region.

The basic divide between Barolo and Barbaresco starts from the soils itself. While Barolo has the heavy Tortonian soils, Barbaresco enjoys the lighter Helvetica sites. The simple logic goes - heavier the soils, heavier the wines, the longer they age. That’s why the general idea is to age a Barolo for 7-10 years before relishing it, while a Barbaresco is ready to go after 6-8. However, in wines, nothing is written in stone.

If you’re chasing the finer nuances of dried violets and a more intense concentration of tar, crushed rose petals, truffles, forest floor, cedar, and tobacco, you're seeking a bottle of a good Barolo, preferably around its 10th birthday. Barbaresco would boast of more vivacious sweet and ripe red fruits, and though it would develop to be a gastronomic delight as well, it may be a bit shy in the masculinity and machoism department if pitted against a Barolo.

Vintages play a very important role in the region. Some of the recently marked vintages are 2008-2017, with and exception of a very rainy and wet 2012. They aren’t bad wines, just that they are meant for early drinking. Amongst the older ones, 2006, 2001, 1999, 1995+1996, and 1990 were the most bankable ones. Of course knowing the crus and the producer’s styles may be painstakingly detailed but definitely pays off on the palate and justifies the extra few Euros you may put in.

When putting besides plates, go for dishes with rich flavours, often game or heavier meats are used. Truffles, morels, mushrooms, and hazelnuts can also stand their own, and realise what is the delivery of matches made in heaven. A good pork roast definitely deserves a well settled and decanted Barolo. Yes, the vegetarian section feels bit lacking in the department for the moment but given the right chef with a limitless imagination, nothing is impossible.

But if you are feeling a tad shy about investing the big bucks a good Barolo or Barbaresco deserve, do start by trying a few Nebbiolos from the Alba region just so to get a hang of what this grape can deliver even at a basic or intermediate level. For only then will you feel that inner conviction to go that extra few yards, and then, with time, you can see for yourself what those few extra notes bought you.

The Cru Confusion

On reason why I used to find wines complicated is every time I thought I had the rough hang of a region, someone mentioned Crus. And just like that, all of a sudden, there I was, sitting for my tenth board exams, trying to figure which king in which year did what and how can I sum it all up in 5 minutes and should I call for an extra sheet now or later!

Okay, nightmare passed. But that’s how it felt. Wine was already an alien subject and then the very mention of the word Cru was enough to send me reeling. Well, decades later, I can safely say that although I don’t know them all by heart, Crus don’t baffle me as much, or as such, anymore. So let me quickly share what I understand of them in the hope that it can similarly guide you away from confusion. For most parts, Cru loosely translates to pedigree.

That established, let’s take the easiest one first, Bordeaux. Here the word cru has nothing to do with the land. Napoleon drew up a charter of fine wines based on their average selling price. His logic was economically sound, wines which commanded a higher price were clearly of a better quality else people wouldn’t pay extra for them. This list, he further segregated into Crus; so there were 4 First Growth or Premier Grand Cru wines, twelve Second Growth, 14 Troisiem Cru, 11 Fourth Cru, and 17 int he fifth and final. Not to debate the relevance or correctness of this endeavour, safe to say it was authoritative. And the word cru here came to mean growth, or lineage. The word Cru was used with wines based on their price and not provenance.

Now lets’ shift to Burgundy, a region so confusion and yet so enticing, it can only be likened to a Shakespearean romantic tragedy. Here Medieval monks, over a thousand years perhaps, classified the soil types, by observing their behaviour and the result of vines grown on them over seasons and years. So meticulous and detailed were their interactions that the folklore is rife with rumours of how they actually tasted the soils but honestly, these monks created timekeeping and the systems of weights and measures, all that we use even today, so I doubt they would have been so gullible and non-scientific in their approach.

So here, the word Cru was used to reflect the quality fo the land. The logic being better land would yield better quality produce which would make for superior wine. See, scientific!

So Crus in Burgundy, in order or hierarchy would go from Grand to Premier and the various names are only to help identify them. It is normal to not remember them all, if you have seen the movie Somm, those nerdy cork-sniffers dedicate entire decades trying to mug them all up and even then they sometimes forget!

The idea of land quality being denoted by classifying it as a Cru is what can be found in Germany and Austria as well. Spain and Portugal may not use the same exact word but have their own system of denoting it. The New World goes more for single vineyard names or brand names that they create to signify special blends or wines. The idea is simple, the more we know our lands and grapes, the more we can tell the minute differences apart and hence feel inclined to classify them so.

And that, friends, it the idea of Cru, in a very tiny nutshell. From here, it is all about learning up names of regions and vineyards, but frankly, the best way to learn about Crus is through tutored tastings where someone can lead you through a series of quality wines and explain how a subtle change in the soil composition can show as an olfactory or gustative difference on the palate. Remember studying fine wine intricately is like looking at a fine timepiece with a magnifying loup - you don’t really need to do it to simply tell time but the knowledge that it provides makes the idea of possession (and appreciation) a lot richer.

Wine Price Vs Value

The perennial conundrum in the world of wine concerns reconciling the price of a wine with its true value. There can almost never be one correct answer to it. In fact, even them same source might yield a different opinion at a different point in time. And this paradox makes answering two questions very diffucult -

(1) which is the best wine in the world and

(2) what is the best wine you have ever had?

Let’s try and answer both.

The price of a wine is a pure economics, demand and supply. A certain vintage might be highly lauded, preceded and followed by a spate of bad ones which would further heighten its worth, and as bottles remaining in circulation dwindle, the price would keep rising, till a point when the wine itself starts declining in quality and keeping potential. Seen that way, any wine’s price a singular wave graph, that rises and falls, holding its crest depending on the provenance, vintage and keeping conditions.

But that still isn’t enough to make it the best wine. The very subjective nature of the word ‘best’ makes it difficult to anoint any wine unanimously so. Best for you may only be average for me - or vice versa - and in some cases, our collective best could just as easily be another person’s absolute nightmares. So the hunt for the best is conclusively elusive. 

But what about its worth?

Is a wine we pay four-digit prices for guaranteed to deliver a better experience than a considerably lesser one? Well, the most memorable moments I have had with wine involved sharing it with company, comprising exclusively of people who I generally like to have around. Sure the wine would have played a role but the company and the conversations, the spirit of the moment are what I remember more than the tasting notes. I believe that having the same wine alone would have been a lot less memorable. Like the man who hits a hole in one when playing alone (who’s he gonna’ tell!) the joy of a good tipple only exists if it is shared.

So, I hope this little scribble didn’t answer the two questions set out above. if only I hope they have created further confusions. For the best way forward in the world of arts and fine living should never follow a straight stark line.