Monday, 27 April 2009
Despite confusion over its identity, I like it.
Just when you thought things were finally getting sorted out in the wine labelling department something comes along to upset your apple-cart.
I’ve been drinking wine long enough to remember when Semillon was labelled Hunter River Riesling as opposed to Rhine Riesling. Over the years we’ve become used to the fact that the same variety has slightly different names from country to country or from region to region within the same country.
When they throw the M into a GSM I don’t mind whether they label it Mourvedre or Mataro as long as they’re not trying to slip in a Merlot or Malbec without anyone noticing. One likes to be informed about things like that, but I don’t really care whether its Grenache or Garnacha, Shiraz or Syrah that turns up in front of the M in a GSM. When we visited Mitchell in the Clare Valley the S stood for Sangiovese and I didn’t mind that either. In fact, the Irish girl in the cellar door used it as a marketing tool, but I didn’t mind because we were told about it as a point of interest and differentiation.
As the spectre of climate change looms over the horizon (and, no, I’m not joining in the debate as to whether we should be doing whatever, just pointing out it’s something we’re constantly being told we have to consider) it’s obvious Australian wine producers are going to be interested in trying out new grape varieties. Nero d’Avola looks to have definite potential, and part of the reason for shelling out the bucks for the Brown Brothers Autumn Latest Release Pack was the chance to try the Nero d’Avola, Prosecco, Petit Verdot and, of course, the Albariño.
Now according to where you go looking on the Iberian Peninsula it may appear as Albariño, Albarín Blanco, Alvarinho or Cainho Branco, but we’re looking at the same variety, one that was possibly introduced to the area as early as the twelfth century. There’s some possibility that the plantings were a Riesling clone and it may well be related to the French Petit Manseng, though it apparently has nothing to do with Madeira’s Alvarinho Liláz. There are a number of Australian outfits turning out an apparent Albariño, and there has been quite a deal of effort expended on the variety which, after a Frenchman started asking questions in 2008, ended up being DNA-tested.
Apparently, it ain’t Albariño at all, but a French variety called Savagnin, completely unrelated to Sauvignon Blanc and, to judge by a Wikipedia entry, with a rather convoluted history itself, though how it convoluted into Albariño probably has a number of people scratching their heads.
The important thing, however, is how the wine, whatever variety it comes from, shapes up in the glass, and it’s not as if there are too many people out there who’d be able to identify an Albariño in a blind tasting.
So what are we supposed to be getting?
While the Wikipedia ain’t the most likely suspect for wine identification, it suggests that we’re looking for a distinctive aroma with apricot and peach notes, a light wine with high acidity coming in around the 12.5% alc/vol mark.
So, what have we got in the Brown Brothers 2008 Heathcote Albariño? 13.5% for a start, but pay that no mind.
Light yellow in the glass andthe nose fits comfortably into distinctive. It’s not something you’re tempted to walk around for half an hour with the hooter shoved into the top of the glass, but to me it smells ‘good’.
Taking a mouthful, and a swirl, as far as Hughesy’s concerned it feels good as well. Fairly crisp, plenty of acid, a touch of flint and a few stone fruits thrown in for good measure. Nice one, as far as Hughesy’s concerned, though your mileage may well vary.
And, in the case of ‘Er Indoors it did, though that may be related to the tuna wrap that comprised lunch. After a palate-cleansing glass of water she pronounced it ‘better’ but was still less than enamoured.
Me? Check the heading. I like it. Don’t mind it at all. Not likely to be running out to buy a dozen, but not likely to be averse to ordering a glass if it turned up on a restaurant wine list.
The other bottle’s going to be held in reserve till friends arrive on the doorstep for a quiet afternoon drink. Confusion over the identity might provide a topic for idle conversation while we’re sitting under the umbrella in the courtyard.
And if the visitors don’t like it?
I’ll be perfectly happy to finish the bottle.
Check the headline. I like it. Even if it is actually Savagnin.