Category Archives: Xeno Files

Wines and their creators from around the world, plus Australian renditions of matters foreign.

A Tale of Two Wolves

Balance is a buzzword in wine, a sacred virtue all aspire to. But few know the meaning of balance like Alecia Moore.

A performing artist, songwriter, mother and winemaker: all of these require delicate and constant balance.

The contemplative yin to the fan-crazed yang of stadium rock is a 25-acre vineyard in Santa Barbara County, California.

In a sense, with Alecia’s Two Wolves wines – which make their Australian debut this month- a circle is complete, too. It was on these shores 20-odd years ago that she had the first wine she loved, that she first joined the dots from vine to glass, that she first got to grill a notable winemaker on the nitty gritty of growing.

The short-term escape of wine in the McLaren Vale sunshine has reverberated through the decades. “When we’re on tour we see the inside of a venue and a hotel gym, basically,” says Alecia. “And when it’s our day off we want to be outside, we want to be in nature. And we were all young; we were babies, we were in our 20s, you know. We’d just started drinking legally so none of us really knew a tonne about wine. We really liked the people that would receive us and host us. We liked hearing those stories because that’s what we do: we’re storytellers. It all kind of just clicked.”

So, here was a field that ticked a lot of boxes for her: Nature, story, integrity, mystery, unpredictability. “And then deliciousness. That’s when I realised the more questions you asked, the more questions there are. And there’s no right answer either. You slowly piece together this journey.”

Anyone who’s witnessed the full-blooded commitment of a Pink performance knows what Alecia’s Two Wolves partner-in-crime, Alison Thomson, was to find out and somewhat understate: “She’s super-passionate and clearly is not a person that does anything half-assed.” Hence, she threw herself into studying with incendiary fervour. “I am a student,” says Alecia. “I’m a high-school dropout but I am a student. I am a learner. I learn by doing. I learn by screwing up. And I learn by working my ass off.”

In the late 2000s Alecia enrolled in online courses through the Wine & Spirit Education Trust (WSET) and UCLA. “I just did any and everything I could do. I would literally be like ‘THANK YOU, SYDNEY!’ and run backstage and get my computer set up and set up my glasses and get my wines. And then I would take my tests, and it was just so much fun. I was enjoying it. I love learning.”

In those intervening years, there were more tours, more side-trips to vineyards in South Africa, Italy, France, anywhere a bud might burst into a new revelation. And then, while on tour in where-else-but Australia, an organic vineyard came up for sale in the Santa Ynez Valley. She packed husband Carey Hart onto a plane home to check it out and – perhaps pressing for the ‘yes’ she wanted to hear – bought the place, sight unseen, in 2013.

DIRT BENEATH FINGERNAILS

“I started coming up here to Santa Ynez 20 years ago, at least, with Carey to go wine tasting just for fun, just to have something to do, you know, basically get hammered,” says Alecia, sipping a beer over Zoom in the afternoon light. “And then we fell in love with the area.”

The Napa Valley, north of San Francisco, is traditionally seen as the playground of the rich and famous and thus a more obvious place for a celebrity’s vinous venture. But its investors, corporations and status-symbol seekers didn’t chime with Alecia. The gritty, mom-and-pop operations and community of farmers she found in Santa Barbara were her people.

The bigger question, though, was how she would be received. “When I moved here, I was very nervous and afraid that people would think, ‘Oh Pink’s here, she has a vineyard, here comes the circus’, or that I was going to hire [multi-tentacled globetrotting consultant] Michel Rolland and have somebody make my wine. That would have been really easy.”

Needless to say, that’s not how it went down. Come January 2014 she was on her hands and knees pruning and was shamelessly cold-calling neighbours asking to hang out and taste barrels. The likes of Star Lane, Foxen, Grassini, Melville and many more welcomed her and spilled secrets. “Everyone threw their doors open for me; that’s what I love about this valley so much. No one treated me like anything other than what I was, which was a student who was earnest and wanted to prove that I had dirt beneath my fingernails.”

The dirt in question lies between the American Viticultural Areas (AVAs) of Los Olivos District and Happy Canyon, some 190km up the Pacific coast from Venice Beach, which Alecia called home from age 19. Even in the context of California’s varied and dramatic topography, this valley is a rarity, sitting as it does between a pair of transverse ranges, as opposed to the norm that roughly mimics the coastline. The ocean is about 32km west of the estate as the crow flies, and about 21km south over the east-west-running Santa Ynez mountains.

This makes for a particularly pronounced diurnal shift. “I wake up in a cloud every day,” as Alecia poetically puts it, evoking the heavy fog that swirls above the convergence of Pacific currents from the cooler north and warmer south and then gets sucked inland through the gap. In summer the fog keeps the full sun at bay till midday, when light and heat are unleashed on the vines, tempered by ocean breezes that act like an air conditioner before fully asserting themselves when the sun goes down.

That isn’t to say this isn’t a warm place to grow grapes. Nearby Santa Rita Hills are high-acid country, where Chardonnay and Pinot Noir rule. But with every mile you go east the temperature rises and by the time you reach Two Wolves, Rhône and Bordeaux varieties are the go.

It’s dry here, too; 14 inches of annual rainfall is about all they hope for and struggle to get. It doesn’t fluctuate much, which at least means the vines are conditioned to be resilient. But a break from drought in 2018 and ’19 was but fleeting relief. Irrigation is a must at the certified-organic and resolutely minimal-input affair that is Two Wolves, where the wines are ripe, fresh and unforced.

The original, 18-acre vineyard was planted in 2005, 2010 and 2015 and features predominantly soils of fine sandy loam and clay. Across the way is the 7.25-acre Right Left vineyard, planted in 2015 after Alecia dug soil pits and nosed around for the best options. It has a more diverse spice rack of soils from iron-rich sandy loam to shale, gravel and beyond. The two sites are home to Grenache, Syrah, Bordeaux white and red varieties and, somewhat randomly, Graciano (more on that later).

With the Two Wolves vineyard knocked into shape and Right Left vines in the ground, the priorities had crystallised by the end of 2015. “My goal here is to learn everything I can learn in one lifetime, and to put everything I have into this vineyard, and allow these grapes to realise their best potential,” Alecia recalls. “And then my other idea is to find a female winemaker who’ll teach me everything they know, and to raise my kids here.”

ENTER ALISON

“I’m always going to give women a chance,” Alecia says. The complement to her own energy and personality is what’s important. “I think when you have children and the many, many hats that you wear, you need sometimes a woman who’s also doing that, to understand. To understand why you’re tired when you show up or why you need to go into the corner and have a cry because your kid is sick.”

One name that came up was Alison Thomson. She had her own gig going on under her Calabrian-immigrant great-grandfather’s name, L.A. Lepiane, and had been handling side-projects for Chad Melville, one of the benevolent souls who’d welcomed Alecia into the Santa Ynez fold.

Alison had grown up in the Bay Area near the epicentre of the farm-to-table movement, spending childhood holidays on the lake north of Napa eating and drinking the good stuff grown in the valley. She went on to study biology at University of California Santa Barbara (UCSB). She’d hang out with friends working in Santa Ynez tasting rooms, and took advantage of UCSB’s study-abroad program to go to Tuscany. That ritual of wine at the table – the culture of conversation, grazing and sharing – made a strong impression. She returned and wound up working at UCSB in restoration ecology while hatching plans to return for a meaningful visit to Italy.

It was at this time that viticulture took root in her imagination. “In the back of my mind I’m like: ‘I love gardening, growing things. I love fruit; I grew up with apricot trees and we would pick and process the apricots, make jam, all that stuff and I love that,” Alison recalls. “And I love science. And so it seemed in my mind like, ‘Oh, this could be a cool melding of all the things I like’.” Alison applied to UC Davis in 2004 and was accepted. As she went about unwittingly building the perfect resume for Two Wolves – not yet a twinkle in Alecia’s eye – Alison went to work vintage in Barolo. “I loved it. There was a moment where we were washing the presses, it was like 1 o’clock in the morning and the moon was rising over a castle and I thought, ‘This is what I want to do for sure’.”

A decade later Chad invited Alison and husband George to dinner. Alecia would be there. “I knew they were friends and that she was into wine, so I didn’t really think too much of it,” says Alison. “She didn’t know it was an interview,” says Alecia. “She just thought I was the most inquisitive, curious person she’d met.” Not surprisingly, they hit it off. A few weeks later Alison got a call inviting her for a follow-up beer. “I asked her if she would want to maybe make wine with me in the garage,” says Alecia. “We had one air-conditioned bay and we rolled up our sleeves and got to work.”

FINDING HARMONY

Only briefly, Alison got to entertain the notion that Alecia was just playing. “I had all these other little projects that I was working on at the time and I thought, ‘Oh, she’s going to make a couple of barrels, it’s no big deal; I’ll just kind of pop in and out’.”

Again, though, no. They walked the vineyard together, tasted the fruit, discussed picking decisions and the host of steps that might come next. “All of it! She wanted to be involved in making those decisions and understanding all the options and forging her own path with the wines, and so it wasn’t me coming in and saying, ‘OK, here’s the program, this is what we should do’. It was more like, ‘Here are all the options for what we could do. What feels right?’”

It would be utterly misleading to paint Alison in a technocratic light; she exudes laid-back West Coast warmth mingled with the nurturing aura of a born botanist. But in the dynamic of artist and scientist, you don’t need to see on-stage pyrotechnics to work out which is which. ““One of the most hilarious things about us is, I know enough to be dangerous and I don’t believe in rules, and she’d been only taught rules,” says Alecia.

Spontaneous fermentation -as opposed to seeding the must with cultured yeast – proved one of the early points of contention, given Alison’s technical background at UC Davis and track record with high-acid grape varieties, which present a different chemical equation. Alecia – an idealist rather than an ideologue – was adamant. “I had this thing where I said, ‘I don’t care what happens, we’re not inoculating ever’,” she says. “‘I don’t want to introduce anything into this winery – or this garage, I should say – that didn’t grow here, that didn’t already live here. And if it doesn’t ferment, my bad – I’ll take responsibility for that’. And on day 13 Alison would be sweating and nauseous and nothing’s happening and I’m like ‘Walk away. Just walk away’. And she’s, ‘(Sigh). This is so hard for me’. And I’m, ‘I know, I know.’”

Much as Alecia is a tireless inquisitor, she’s also a good listener. They both lead the way. ““She has a great palate and had been drinking wines and tasting wines all over the world and had a real sense of where she wanted to go with it and what kind of philosophical ideals she’d like to lead with,” says Alison. “And I think that was super-exciting to me. She had this great vision.”

The push and pull of these personalities, and ups and downs of life and the ins and outs of harvest have turned this into a remarkable friendship and sensitive, potent partnership. “When I met Alison, I fell in love with the human being she is. And her work ethic and her curiosity and also her knowledge. She’s never above reproach or above anyone else,” says Alecia. “It’s so fun because she’s a genius and more people should know it. And also, I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, and more people should be brave enough to do that, too.”

TWO WOLVES WITHIN

The moon and native American wisdom inform this story. The Two Wolves parable starts with a grandfather teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he says to the boy. “It is a terrible fight, and it’s between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continues, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thinks about it for a minute and then asks his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replies, “The one you feed.”

There are myriad ways of reading the parable. The one I ascribe from what Alecia and Alison say, is that instincts are instincts – but we have a choice over which to nurture and promote. Overwhelmingly Two Wolves is a triumph of love.

For Alecia, Two Wolves is in part an example of overcoming what appear to be contradictory – or at least incompatible – desires. “I had no examples of what it looks like to be a touring artist and to want to have a family, or to even have ambition and be full-body committed to being an artist and still have a relationship.” Rather than give up on that fight, she fed the dream.

And she also fed the dream for Alison. “There was a while when I thought I was going to have to leave the wine industry because I didn’t see that compatibility in any role models,” Alison recalls. “There wasn’t anyone I knew that had young children and was working harvest, and I just couldn’t see how that was going to be a possibility. But Alecia, she was in the same position. She has two jobs that she loves – winemaking and singing – and young kids. And so, she’s able to make it work around family and I think provides that role model that I need to show me that, yeah, this is all possible and I can still do all these things, and she allows that space for family as well.”

Which brings us back to balance. ““I feel incredibly, incredibly lucky to be part of it and it’s like being in a relationship, it just feels like it is right,” says Alison about the push-pull of Two Wolves and the horizons it’s opened up. “And just being on this journey where we understand where we’re going together, it’s been a really fun trip so far.”

On the winemaker spectrum, Alecia sits at the hardcore end; take that as read. She claims she doesn’t have a patient bone in her body, but farming has taught her to slow down. “The first lesson was I guess you can only learn so much every year. It takes time, every single thing takes time. I think 2020 was my favourite year as a farmer because we lost our crew for a while. And so I really got to learn what’s necessary, and what’s just busy hands. And this place never looked so wild and beautiful in its neglect.”

It’s not just grapes that teach a valuable lesson; the fermented juice – if you allow it to – also has a lot to teach us. “I think that’s what wine, more than any other beverage, makes you do. It makes you take a minute, and it makes you pay attention. We’re always saying we should be more present. That’s a beautiful way to do it,” she says. “I also have lived a life that has been very scarily out of balance at times, a long time ago, and I also look at wine that way. You need balance, it’s what we should be striving for: balance of knowledge and curiosity; of fear and love; anger and exultation; and health and play – I have to separate those two! But also, in wine the most important thing to me is balance. I think that’s what we do here.”

PUTTING IT OUT THERE

Alecia and Alison released their first suite of wines from the 2015 harvest. There have been various chats about production levels but these are limited by a range of factors, not least the modest size of the winery and the desire of a global megastar to have a hand in all the work – vineyard, cellar and even restaurant calls. The first few vintages hovered around 2,000 cases, all of which to date have been sold exclusively in the U.S. where unsurprisingly the Two Wolves tribe is pretty tight. Alecia’s blog posts always appeal for people to send news of which wines they’ve enjoyed, where and with whom. The feedback is joyous, and joyfully received.

The first wines to come into Australia are mostly from 2018: Syrah with cool-climate echoes and a dash of co-fermented Malvasia; Cabernet Franc (Alecia calls Clos Rougeard her north star and spent one of the best days of her life with late legend Charly Foucault not long before his death in 2015); Petit Verdot; Cabernet Sauvignon; and a Syrah-dosed Bordeaux blend called Group Song. There’s also a zesty, chillable carbonic-maceration Graciano from 2020. (“What the fuck is Graciano,” Alecia and Alison had asked each other when their two acres of Mourvèdre were unmasked as an imposter; they’ve since grown to love it.)

For Alison, the Australian twist is another leg of a delightfully unexpected journey. “At the time, who woulda thunk – I don’t know – did I think I’d be working with, you know, Pink on a wine project ever? No!” she says. “I had hoped that at some point I could find a place where I could do a little bit of everything. I love the connection with the vineyard here. We can walk out of the winery and step into the vines and I think it gives you such a greater sense of the vintage and what wines you’re going to be making that year. And I love thinking about viticulture and the way decisions you make in the vineyard affect the resulting wines.” It’s a thrill to share that with people on the other side of the world.

The significance is even greater for Alecia, whose love-affair with the country spans more than 20 years and whose fanbase is enormous here. “This feels like a second birth. It’s exciting. It’s nerve-wracking,” she says. “It’s especially sentimental for me because that’s where I fell in love with wine. But also Australians, to me, you have no boundaries between work and play, and also a really authentic strive at connection. And you’re also really, really no bullshit, and looking for experience.”

Little wonder that Alecia identifies with the no-bullshit mentality. She is famed for her strength of character and the way her values lead her actions. Her intent, her sincerity and her work ethic are unquestionable.

“We have to preserve the art of wine because there are no real rules; it is intention and it is what mother nature decides to do that year, and it is how you either fuck it up or get out of the way and allow it to happen,” says Alecia. “You’re guiding this year into a vessel to be given to someone else as a bridge to their feelings and to their curiosity about ‘I wonder what happened, when all of this happened…’”

*A version of this article appeared on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the Australian importer of Two Wolves wines.

A Sense Of The Famiglia

It’s like synaesthesia. Whenever I hear the Vajra name or taste the wines, I see a riot of colour. It’s like drinking in the cheerful hues of the labels and stained-glass windows, or splashing through the poetry-soaked palette of the Barolo landscape.
Giuseppe Vaira reckons he wasn’t brainwashed. I don’t think I was either. It’s just that every interaction with the wines, the place and the people has felt like tracing another vivid detail on the same seamless canvas.
Fluidity and fusion are in G.D. Vajra’s DNA. A good dose of that genetic material was dished up by one Aldo Vaira, the flock-defying, tractor-loving intellectual who founded the estate in the early ‘70s. “I feel like I’m still discovering my father, but I guess it’s a journey like all human relationships,” says eldest son Giuseppe. “It’s a very alive relationship; it’s not like something stuck in a moment that’s always the same.” Aldo is cast as a multifaceted, nuanced character. “He can be strong in situations that would make other people feel weak. Very at peace, very hopeful, very faithful; he’s not going to give up,” says Giuseppe. “On other occasions when you want him to be more forceful, he’s not. When it comes to human relationships, he’s one of the most delicate, sensitive people I know.”
This gentleness may sometimes do a disservice in the short-term – the family’s lost out on acquiring coveted vineyard to more assertive rivals, for instance – but it’s a corollary to another virtue that’s stood G.D. Vajra in good stead in so many ways. “It took me time to realise that patience is incredibly important. I think it’s possibly the most important lesson I’ve learned from him,” says Giuseppe. “That certainty that things will happen over time, but at a time we do not decide. He doesn’t try to force the situation.”

However acute Aldo’s influence has been, it’s only half the story. “I can’t see Vajra as a one-man show,” says Giuseppe. “It’s always been a two-person show.” His mother Milena was raised on the plains some 20 miles from Vergne, by a family of cattle farmers. Agricultural accomplishment abounds on that side, too, with the grandparents’ house still filled with trophies from prize-winning Piedmontese veal. Milena wanted to work the land, too, but back in the ‘80s her best hope was as a farmer’s wife. “She realised she needed to go to college first to make a stand for herself if she wanted to be what she wanted: not just a wife but someone who shapes reality through work.” As fate would have it, she fell in love with a handsome professor of viticultural sciences nine years her senior. They soon married with Milena still in her early ‘20s. And there she was, shaping a reality she hadn’t foreseen, on a wine farm in Barolo. “She really complements our dad in the sense of her charm, her passion, her drive and energy.”
Aldo moved back to the fields in the late ‘60s, at a time when contemporaries were leaving the countryside in droves. What drew him was the spell of the land and the freedom of farming. As Giuseppe points out, there was always a creative aspect to this. “It was not about bucolic, untouched wildlife; it was nature as farming – so it was interaction between nature and humans.” And then the magic of making wine sprung from elevating that interaction into a form that would carry new significance and personality. “Eventually each bottle is like a picture, is a shot taken with a certain time and exposure and light,” says Giuseppe. “In other words, framing a moment – a certain grape and vintage.”

The artistic metaphor is apt. The family’s dedication to allowing every one of the Langhe’s great grapes shine in their own right – Moscato, Dolcetto, Barbera, Nebbiolo and Freisa – is rooted in a sense that the portrait of home would otherwise be unfaithful. A wholehearted portrayal is called for – but equally important are aesthetics. “Life is beauty at the end of the day,” says Giuseppe. Art and literature were omnipresent growing up, and every winter holiday’s itinerary featured visits to exhibits and local museums. “I never felt we were forced or brainwashed into this. Our parents just wanted to show their three little children what is beautiful about life, and then it grew spontaneously.” He and his siblings have their own tastes but common to each is a capacity to appreciate. It’s something Giuseppe wants to instil in his young children, too. “I’m not dragging them into museums at the age of four or five just because. But when you see something nice, you just point it out – whether it’s a mountain or a sunset or a starry sky.”
With all the art, then, where does the technical stuff come in? As a student, Giuseppe was actually on the path to medical school, and was only assured he could hack it in the family business when the combined nerdiness of vine physiology and wine science promised enough to feed his inner geek.
The precision of the wines makes clear that creativity and technical nous are evenly matched here. The marriage of the two is evident in ways methods have been adapted and equipment customised. But, Giuseppe says, aesthetics come first. “The bottom line is: ‘What is the wine we’d like to produce? What is the wine we’d like to drink?’.” And from there, the Vairas work backwards, weighing the options and possibilities, wondering what they can improve, what they can do differently and what they need to learn to get them to that goal. “I think it’s science at the service of a dream, rather than the other way around,” says Giuseppe. “Which I also think prevents us from going to extremes. Sometimes the extreme in winemaking happens when you fall in love with a technique – or a technical detail – but then what you pursue is that detail, losing control of the galaxy surrounding it. Wine is a galaxy, made up of many stars, so if you get too much into one detail, the risk is that you lose the orientation that only happens if you line up all the stars.”

What’s so telling at Vajra is that the children were left to gaze at the stars and find their own way from so early in the piece. Unlike so many European estates where the older generation brooks no dissent and clutches rigidly to the reins for as long as possible, Aldo and Milena’s children have long been encouraged to enquire and experiment. “Even today when we have more responsibilities, I don’t think there are many fathers or winery owners who allow the freedom he allows us. Sometimes he can already see that we might fail with our judgment, for lack of experience, but that’s exactly what he encourages: for us to have our own experience.” Giuseppe thinks this unique chance to question and learn is the reason he, Francesca and Isidoro are working together; had they felt pressed into it, they’d likely have walked away.  “I think having the chance to be ourselves and to make free choices is part of why we could eventually fall in love with this,” he says. “And now in the details of the work I realise how precious it is. I also realise how much of a sacrifice it is. For our parents to let us to take decisions and do trials – and it’s not just now that we’re over 30, it’s been for the past 10 years, so from a fairly young age – it’s definitely a sacrifice of their own power to steer the situation. But it’s a huge component of us growing our own experience. I’ll never be thankful enough for that because if you don’t go through that phase of learning through also failing sometimes, you just don’t grow. There’s just no other way around it.”
Now around his mid-30s, Giuseppe has made sacrifices of his own. Much of his 20s were spent split between the winery and overseas, and he still clocks up serious air miles pouring wines. The world has changed since this was a small gig, when domestic drinkers soaked up almost every drop, and Aldo and Milena knew just about every customer by name. “It’s a joy to meet the people who would drink our wines,” says Giuseppe, and he is clearly buoyed by their gratitude – plus it gives the vineyard team in Vergne a lift to know that the fruits of their labour are being gleefully lapped up on all corners of the globe. “But I’m a countryside kid; I really love my home and love staying home. And especially now being married with our children, there’s no other place I’d rather be than with them,” he says. “That being said I also have this impression: Sacrifice is never betrayal.”
And I suppose Aldo wasn’t betraying his own vision when he bestowed such freedom on his children. Likewise, Giuseppe – and you can well picture the scene of an 18-year-old Italian kid, sweating in the vineyard during summer while friends lounge about, play football, ride bikes and head to the pool to meet the girls – knows the worth of his toil. “When you embrace a sacrifice, whatever it may be in your work – not accepting a compromise; not looking at your watch because you need to refine what you’re doing; going one step deeper into details – yes, it takes something away from you, but it gives a lot in return.”
You can pack a heap of history into a glass of wine, we know. And the G.D. Vajra stamp is deceptively simple shorthand for all the profound and unhurried thoughts that have arisen here in Vergne – inspired by the land, refined by time, balanced by the will and wit of kith and kin.  

***Disclaimer: This article was first published on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the Australian importer of the wines of G.D. Vajra & Luigi Baudana***

Emma: The Full English

“Emma, your brains are not your asset. Your personality and your looks are your assets.” It’s hardly the advice you’re holding out for the day after a double magnum of ’79 Krug has persuaded you to ditch your old life and make a break for the wine business. Whatever else it might be, it’s also way off the mark. Emma Rice is sharper than a swig of Cumbrian Cabernet.
She’s since proved it beyond doubt, having twice earned the UK Winemaker of the Year title and turning Hattingley Valley into a spearhead of the world-class English sparkling scene. It takes deep pockets and nerves of steel to compete when operating in a fledgling industry in a marginal climate. It also takes raw smarts on a grand scale to pull the strands together to create a rich and seamless tapestry. And Emma wouldn’t flinch for a second.
Perhaps all that time spent in the pub initially concealed some of that cleverness; certainly it was enough to sharpen her pool skills at the expense of a university place. Instead she did a catering course and started out in hospitality. Then that fateful Krug came along. “I thought, ‘This is why people spend money on wine’, and I’ve been hooked ever since,” she says.
Furious, though, with the aforementioned job-hunting tip, Emma quit her service role and got a job at Oddbins, before working her way up to the position of sales and marketing coordinator at London-based Burgundy specialist Domaine Direct. Things went a step further when she scored an editor role at Mitchell Beazley and Hugh Johnson’s Pocket Wine Book became “my baby”.  “I got so inspired reading about all these wine writers and photographers who were off travelling, looking at wineries and talking to winemakers. I just thought, ‘I want to do that. I don’t want to be sat in an office in Canary Wharf anymore’.” Amid the magic of that little book, the expanding section on English wine caught her eye. Within it, Plumpton College loomed ever larger. And then, in 2003 at the age of 29, she moved to Brighton and joined the first intake to graduate with a full degree in Viticulture & Oenology.

emma-staff-training-city-wine-shop
Her first job after Plumpton was supposed to be as lab intern at Cuvaison, in Calistoga at the top end of California’s Napa Valley.  Upon arrival she immediately showed the blend of pluck and savvy that’s taken her so far, so fast. “I got there and they said, ‘Well, the oenologist left last week, so now you’re the oenologist. There’s your lab, we’ve got 1,000 tonnes coming in, we’ve got 12 different winemakers, off you go’,” she recalls. “I thought, ‘Oh, OK’. No idea what I was getting myself into.” It was supposed to be a three-month gig but she ended up staying two years. “That was fantastic – a wonderful lifestyle in California. Good wines, nice people. I would’ve stayed there if I could’ve done, but my visa ran out so I had to move on.”
Next destination was Tamar Ridge, then owned by fallen Tasmanian timber giant Gunns. This wretched stint (“The worst experience of my life. Working there was horrible”) turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After just three months, she chucked it in and went back to Blighty to regroup.
This was 2008, and in the intervening years the English wine industry had taken off. Emma seized the opportunity to start her own lab and consulting company, Custom Crush. She also appeared on the radar of ex-City lawyer Simon Robinson, who’d planted a vineyard on his King’s Farm property in Lower Wield, Hampshire. “He asked me to build a winery for him,” recalls Emma. “Every winemaker’s dream is to start from scratch.” So it was that Hattingley Valley was born, with a cutting-edge winery that could accommodate three times the production of the estate’s own vineyard. Just like in Napa, Emma wasn’t going to let the enormity of the task stop her. “I was inexperienced but I was a damn sight more experienced than anyone else. It’s all relative,” she says. “If I’d stayed in California I would not be head winemaker at a winery now. In such a small industry – such a rapidly growing industry with so few qualified people – I was catapulted ahead of where I should’ve been at the time. There was a certain amount of bravado involved when I started out my business.”
A dose of bravado is prerequisite in a climate where wine-growing is as risky and expensive as it is in the UK. This is a place where it rained for 28 days straight in June 2012, a year in which Hattingley Valley made not a drop of wine. This vintage just gone, yields were slashed in half, largely down to a lethal frost that also hit the Loire and Chablis. “Jim, the vineyard manager goes from the severe highs of ‘Oh my God we’ve got a fantastic crop out there’ to ‘Oh shit, it’s going to be frosty’. Managing him and his emotions is one of my biggest jobs.” The whims of nature add to the already considerable costs of a fine sparkling wine program. Emma estimates that Hattingley Valley’s own vineyard output from 2016 exceeded £3,000 (about AU$5,125) per tonne of grapes. To put that into perspective, that same vintage Australia’s cool to temperate regions averaged less than AU$1,200 per tonne.
So what’s England got going for it? Well, there’s the soil for one thing. The South Downs, where many of the best vineyards of Hampshire, Kent and Sussex are to be found, sit on the same chalky soils on which Champagne’s fame is built. As for the climate, it’s cool and capricious but conditions are held by many to mirror Champagne 20 or so years ago. Climate change may continue to play into English hands.  The growing season is longer, too, with British pickers traipsing out in their jeans and thermal underwear a good couple of weeks after their Champenois counterparts. Long, slow ripening gives the grapes depth of flavour that belies their modest sugar levels. It’s more than mere curiosity that’s led the likes of Pommery and Taittinger to dip their toe into English sparkling.
One way of mitigating against the fickle weather is to source grapes from different parts of the country. Emma has something of an advantage in this. Custom Crush, which she operates from the Hattingley Valley site, takes in grapes, juice and wine from clients right across the country. She also sits on the management committee of the UK Vineyard Association “because I’m nosy and I like to know what’s going on”.  She’s firmly opposed to rushing into stricter appellation system that would apply a straitjacket to English winemakers while they’re still getting to grips with the tools at their disposal. “We do a lot of experimentation at Hattingley, which is great, given we’ve got carte blanche to try things.”
Hattingley Valley embraces the freedom of the English Quality Sparkling Wine designation, which means the wines are made from UK-grown grapes from the same principal vine varieties as Champagne, and using the same “traditional method”.  The estate has 26 hectares of its own but also takes in grapes from vineyards spread far and wide under various contract winemaking arrangements. “It’s brilliant for me as a winemaker because it gives us a wider palette to choose from when it comes to blending.  It’s very much on the Champagne model.”
Site selection is crucial to any winegrower that aspires to greatness, but it’s arguably more so in such a precarious environment for ripening grapes. “If you don’t get that right, then you don’t stand a chance,” says Emma. Hattingley Valley’s two main sites both sit on solid chalk, about 20 to 30cm down.  The eponymous vineyard at King’s Farm was planted in 2008 on clay-loam topsoil, at an elevation of 180m. It’s a beautiful site, if a touch exposed. “It produces fantastic quality fruit in terms of ripeness and fruit flavours but the yields are just ridiculous. They’re just so small.” The other key vineyard is Cottonworth, at 40 to 70m elevation. Again, it has loamy topsoil, this time strewn with hunks of flint known as Hampshire diamonds. “That’s our grand-cru site. There are four distinct parcels which produce fantastic quality fruit – some of the best in England, I’d say.”
vineyard-from-insty
A defining characteristic of English sparkling wine is the piercing acidity. Winemakers from more conventional climes struggle to get their heads round the numbers. The grapes might be ripe enough to give 11% alcohol while acidity soars at 17g/L. “They can’t comprehend it; it would never happen that you’d get that that much acid and that much sugar at that pH level,” says Emma. “There’s disbelief that it can happen in grapes, but it does in England. In very few other places would you get figures like that, and especially along with the flavour development we get.”
That invigorating acidity is a virtue but only if coaxed into balance. The intensity of flavour in the grapes is one factor in this endeavour. Another is the texture that Hattingley Valley builds into the wines through various techniques. After the fashion of Champagne houses like Krug, Jacquesson and Bollinger, the team doesn’t shy away from exposing the juice to oxygen, which renders it more robust but softer. In a similar vein, Hattingley uses a portion of barrel-fermented wine in all of its cuvées, with old oak favoured because feel, rather than flavour, is the point. That said, the team takes the unusual step of putting the pressings in newer oak. This more phenolic part of the juice is handy for lending weight to the wines, which the acid is more than capable of carrying. Then there’s the use of acid-softening malolactic conversion, which select parcels undergo. Last up comes a well-judged squirt of dosage for taut, knife-edge balance.
emma-at-pws
The result is wines with great fruit purity, unexpectedly rich mouthfeel, and complexity from skilful blending of varieties, vineyards and winemaking parcels. As for that fabled acid, it gives them tremendous zip but comes across as fine and lingering.
Medals alone don’t tell much of a story, but it’s a measure of their pedigree that all three of the wines now available in Australia – the 2013 Classic Cuvée, 2013 Rosé and 2011 Blanc de Blancs – all won gold at this year’s Champagne and Sparkling Wine World Championships (the latter two were also best in class). This competition, the brainchild of Tom Stevenson, one of the world’s most-respected Champagne authorities, in fact propelled Hattingley Valley to global fame a couple of years back when its 2011 pink fizz won the trophy for best vintage rosé from anywhere.
It all goes to show that looks and personality can go a long way. Seriously, though, what has been the secret of Emma’s success? She had her first inkling that she might have the knack back in Calistoga. This mere novice from across the pond, green as a Hampshire paddock in spring, had the Californians remarking how good it was to have someone in the lab who knew what she was doing. “I thought, ‘Well, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m taking each day as it comes and hoping for the best and reading a lot of books’.”
Logical, methodical and matter-of-fact, Emma reckons much of what goes into making good wine is sound organisation and logistical nous. Press her, and she’ll just about admit that there’s more to it than that. “It’s in the tasting, I think. It’s in the blending. I don’t know how that happens, it just happens. It’s almost an instinct… That sounds a bit arsey, doesn’t it?”
She feels that she and her peers are exploring the frontier of winemaking. “It’s still a very exciting project at Hattingley Valley and it’s still very exciting being part of English wine generally.” It’s also a thrill to represent England abroad with the wines now available as far afield as Canada, Japan and Scandinavia. There are no illusions about the size of the task; the wines have to prove time and again that they warrant Champagne prices, when their French neighbours enjoy an enormous head-start in tradition, know-how and reputation. In spite of tremendous support from British wine writers, pubs, merchants and top restaurants, there are still people in Rice’s homeland who either don’t know they make wine, or else have been put off in the grim past by some German hybrid rotgut. “It can be a bit depressing sometimes when you come across people you think are relatively cultured and well educated and they still haven’t tried an English wine or think it’s all crap and acidic and nasty and they don’t want to drink it,” she laments. “Whereas if people try our wine, or Ridgeview or Nyetimber or one of the serious winemakers, then they understand that this is serious wine, especially if you can get them to taste it up against Champagne, blind, and they can’t taste the difference or they think ours is the best.” Ultimately, she’d love to see anyone who usually grabs a Champagne for a special occasion switch instead to English. “We want people to take it seriously because we’re making serious wine. This is not just a bit of fun.”
Of course there’s a lot at stake, and it’ll take plenty more time and effort to make English sparkling the toast of the wine world at large. But attitudes are changing fast, both at home and overseas, and the progress in quality has been little short of astounding. “I never ever thought, when I went to Plumpton to train as a winemaker, that I would ever live in England again. I thought I’d be living my life and career abroad,” Emma reflects. “Now I work half an hour from where I grew up. It’s very cool. I’ve got the best job in the world, really.”

***Disclaimer: This article first appeared on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the Australian importer of Hattingley Valley wines.***

Theresa’s Top Honour

Theresa in the footy dugout

“I felt so at the right place. I saw my mum and my uncle and they all said ‘Go away. Take some time off. Do whatever you want’. Nobody said ‘You have to do it’. None of the family said that. I had to actually convince them that I wanted to stay, that I wanted to be there. I just felt at home.”
It was the moment that Theresa Breuer’s fate was sealed. May 2004; she was 20 years old and her father Bernhard had just died suddenly. Setting aside the tragic circumstances that led to her premature accession to the helm of the family estate, these were enormous shoes to fill. Bernhard Breuer was one of Germany’s most respected winegrowers and perhaps the doughtiest campaigner for its dry Riesling in the global arena.
Barely a decade later, this slight and smiling 31-year-old has been named Winemaker of the Year by influential European magazine Falstaff. It’s an outstanding achievement, and one that honours her clarity of purpose and sensitivity to the people and land around her.
“Precise” is her word for what’s she’s striving for. And though she’d never claim making great wine is easy, she constantly stresses the simplicity underlying this pursuit. After all, her forebears – especially her father – discovered and distilled the precious attributes of these grand cru sites of the Rheingau.
GB_Weinberge_BergRoseneckIMG_9662 COMPRESSED
These have been nurtured even more closely since Theresa took over. A move to organic viticulture began a decade ago, and since 2011 all vineyards have been farmed 100% organically. The winery is certified sustainable and a member of Germany’s FAIR‘N GREEN scheme. She’s had to add a couple more vineyard workers and the rest now have to toil even harder. It’s paying off, though, with a more motivated team and better growing environment. “We’re just paying so much more attention. We’re a bit more on the spot with everything we do,” she explains. “There are more plants growing, the colour of the leaves is different. There’s a change going on. Really I hope we’ll get healthier fruit. I think less botrytis will be the result as the grape skins are developing a different structure, and you can see the soils are healthy again. I just want to make sure we can go on making wines for the next, I don’t know, 300 years.”
Theresa espouses “boring winemaking”. There’s no fancy technique or technology here. The cellar beneath the town of Rüdesheim is lo-fi in the extreme. When it does get rebuilt, temperature control will be one of the few concessions to modernity – but “just so we can continue to be boring”.
The treatment of the estate’s pinnacle wine, from the Schlossberg vineyard, sets the no-frills template followed across the Georg Breuer range. The family owns seven discrete plots from the bottom to the top of the vineyard, with altitudes varying from 90m to 350m. Each plot is picked by hand in separate lots on different days. The grapes are immediately whole bunch-pressed and then vinified separately. The seven wines are aged in separate old barrels. “We then start to pick out what we want. We want to be really precise on the style of the vintage.” Anything seen as less than the perfect expression of time and place doesn’t make the cut.
An incredibly close bond underpins this stylistic exactitude. Theresa’s faithful accomplices are Markus Lundén and Hermann Schmoranz. Markus was a sommelier and Georg Breuer fanboy who began an internship March 2004, two months before Theresa took the reins. Hermann was an engineering student when he joined the estate as part-time tractor driver in 1987. Ex-somm Markus is driven by flavours and sensory responses, while Hermann (pictured below) has a way with nature. The former is now happily ensconced in the cellar, the latter in his element in the fields. They are collectively the keeper of the house. “It’s been the three of us since my father passed away,” says Theresa. “There’s not been one cellar tasting where one of us was missing. We would never do a blend if one us is not in shape. It has to be the same team every time.”

HERMANN SCHMORANZ compressed
Along with her uncle Heinrich, Hermann (pictured above) played an especially important role as the bridge between Bernhard’s era and Theresa’s stewardship. “He was always like a second father for me,” says Theresa. “On the other hand he was extremely sensitive in teaching me everything but also asking for decisions. He told me the options and asked for a decision, which is I think a huge thing for a grown-up man, having this little girl there and fulfilling a role that I was not fit and able to do at all. So he really helped me through that whole process enormously.”
Theresa never got to work with her father on a similar level but she was picking grapes and helping in the winery before she even started school. She loves being in the vineyard, and the harvest days of her childhood were happy ones. “That was also the only period when my father was really home, because he was travelling quite a lot. Picking grapes was actually a chance to see him.”

Bernhard black and white COMPRESSED
Forthright, pioneering and something of a rebel, Bernhard (above) was OK with not being friends with everybody. “What I’ve learned from many people who were close to him and who’ve maybe not been friends but respected him in a really intense way, is that he really stood up for his ideas,” says Theresa. “He had a plan, and if the whole gang wasn’t following, it wasn’t a problem for him. He wasn’t one of those guys who needed to have 20 people around him because he was really strong in his beliefs and strict in the way he followed them.”
In his memoir A Life Uncorked, English writer Hugh Johnson writes fondly of those principles. “The purity of Rheingau wine was his passion,” he wrote of Bernhard Breuer. “He longed to know how best to express the terroir of his family’s vineyards.” Johnson recalls a frank, somewhat eccentric tasting with Bernhard and Heinrich, where the Breuer brothers opened unwanted orphan bottles of poor vintages going back to the 1920s. Sure enough, clear site signatures announced themselves but another motif emerged that was equally powerful: that of the grower’s humility towards his land. “It is the polar opposite of the race for high scores and gold medals that consumes the wine world today,” wrote Johnson. “Does it earn the farmer a living? Self-esteem, satisfaction and fascination, yes, but not necessarily a new Mercedes every year.”
Theresa Arbory laughing 2016
You see the same humility and tenacity in Theresa, who was honoured by Falstaff for furthering the estate’s reputation and maintaining the rare purity of its Riesling. “You start to pay so much more attention to things and you start to know the land you’re working with,” says Theresa. “I’ve done 12 vintages now and there are so many open questions, but it’s great to create a catalogue of references.”
That catalogue is being compiled year by year by the faithful Breuer team, which extends well beyond the inner circle of Theresa, Schmoranz and Lundén. Several others have been there for 10 years and they’re engaged, energetic and helping to shape the future. She wants them to stay together and keep improving together – which is easier said than done. “I’m not a fan of ‘bigger is better’,” says Theresa. “I think there’s so much more to being more precise, just figuring out the sensitive things. There’s so much more to go for, and if we realise that it will be cool.”

*A version of this article appeared on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the Australian importer & distributor of Georg Breuer wines.

Everything’s Hunky Dory

It’s simply not right to talk about Marlborough without mentioning its beauty. As wine regions go, it’s far from alone in being picturesque. But this is beauty as context, an in-your-face blessedness that hits you the moment you get there. Its key export, Sauvignon Blanc, seduced the world by projecting a similarly blatant, sunshiny charm. This easy appeal is often overlooked but shouldn’t be. The wine proved that some people can’t have too much of a good thing.
That’s how Mike Allan from Huia Vineyards* feels about his adopted home. He and wife Claire didn’t mean to end up here but they didn’t stand a chance. They were studying winemaking in Adelaide in 1990 and scored vintage positions there, Mike at Cloudy Bay and Claire at Corbans. “Very quickly we fell in love with it,” recalls Mike. “It was very energised. We just realised that Marlborough had an amazing climate and it just had everything that we loved doing right smack on our doorstep.”
They saw an ad in the local rag for a block of land on an old apple orchard in Rapaura that “looked to us like heaven”. They stretched themselves to the limit and bought it. That place is now Huia, and Marlborough has paid back its promise in spades.
“Within the wine community there’s a lovely joie de vivre of wine and food and that sort of thing. Malrborough’s not just great for wine, it’s great for growing anything,” says Mike. “There’s a real international flavour because everyone’s travelling. It’s very vibrant.” Then there’s the scenery; one hour up the road is the Molesworth High Country with its lakes and mountains, a second home for keen skier Claire and their daughters, Tui (22) and Sophie (18). Just 20 minutes away are the Marlborough Sounds and 1500km of coastline. The family has a launch there for Hunky Dory – the boat that shares its name with Huia’s second label – and Mike makes the most of it. He loves to cook, and the huge vegetable garden at home calls out for the local seafood. “There’s a lot of snapper and blue cod, and the Sounds are home to green-lipped mussels which are a perfect match for Sauvignon Blanc. It just doesn’t get better.”
As for the vineyards, it took four years’ toil to get the apples out and the land ready for planting. During that time, Mike deepened his relationship with the region at Cloudy Bay and Vavasour, while Claire went from Corbans to Lawson’s Dry Hills. By 1996, they had their own estate up and running. “It was the vitality of the wines we tasted when we got to Marlborough that told us we were somewhere special,” says Mike, accounting for the motivation that got the place built. And the allure of the signature grape is as strong as ever.
“Sauvignon Blanc produces so many different characters from different areas around the valley but there’s a common thread of really fine acidity and a wide range of flavours that go from tropical fruit to gooseberry-grassy,” he says. “I always find the challenge is not to try to show how much fruit you can jam in the bottle but how the different fruits can be made into something that’s really interesting and complex. I always had a problem with wines that are short-lived – it shouldn’t be a one-vintage wonder but something with the pedigree to last a few years.”
To this point, Mike and Claire opt to press rather than crush the fruit, aiming for purity over power. Though there’s no set recipe for barrel and lees work, these both play a key role in building complexity and rounding out the wine.
It’s clear that the Allans are spurred on by the friendships borne of Marlborough Natural Winegrowers. Known as MANA, this group was founded about four years ago and comprises Huia, Te Whare Ra, Hans Herzog, Seresin, Clos Henri, Fromm and Rock Ferry. These producers are either certified fully organic or on track to achieve certification by the end of 2015. It was conceived in the wake of “a perfect storm” for Marlborough: the planting frenzy of the early noughties culminated in a massive 2008 vintage that a GFC-shaken world couldn’t soak up. A lot of smaller producers struggled to survive – not least when they’d already been finding it hard to get their voices heard over the noise of the giants.
The MANA solution was to pool marketing resources, chip in for visits from international wine writers, consolidate buying power, share biodynamic preparations and trade knowhow on the fast-moving world of organics. “Our early aspirations are exactly as it’s unfolded,” says Mike. “We thought we’d be able to share and grow and learn together and that’s precisely what’s happened. There’s no inter-winery competition; it’s very collaborative and a hell of a lot of fun.”
Another thing they share is faith, firmly repaid by results, in Marlborough Pinot Noir. “I think it’s completely come into its own,” says Mike. Producers have a better understanding of the right clones, sites and crop loads. The vines now have a fair bit of age and, as he rightly declares, good Pinot Noir isn’t going to go out of fashion. “New Zealand is very strong south of Hawke’s Bay for Pinot Noir. Martinborough, Marlborough, Canterbury and Central Otago are all going to give you incredibly fine Pinot.” And the Marlborough climate once again may be its trump card, as it tends to give more reliably favourable vintages.
The sunny optimism that lured Mike and Claire here remains undimmed. Their eyes and minds are open, and they’re enjoying themselves. They’ve been invigorated by their 2015 crop of vintage winemakers, who brought fresh ideas California, Austria and Germany. Sophie and Tui, who’ve been helping with ferments since childhood, also pour their youthful energy into the mix.
“What’s lovely is that our vineyards are reaching maturity as well. We’re getting lovely consistency in our fruit quality. We’re completely estate grown. Some of those goals we set in the early days are really coming to fruition. The challenge is to keep the life and the vitality coming through.”

*A version of this article appeared on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the distributor of Huia and Hunky Dory wines in Victoria.

Playing It Cool

Anna Flowerday says ‘cool’ a lot. Not ‘cool’ as in climate – though her journey from fifth-generation Shiraz-swilling McLaren Vale lass to South Island NZ is a big part of the story. Nor ‘cool’ meaning on-trend – in fact some of the best moves she’s made run counter to fashion (and received wisdom). No, just cool in that simple, spontaneous way that says you’re going to dig it, whatever happens.
Example: it’s “pretty cool” that’s she gets to do a job she utterly loves with her husband. The fact that Marlborough Pinot is underrated isn’t an injustice; it’s a “cool opportunity”. And it’s “a cool thing” that her two sets of twin girls get to see her excel in a role once seen as the domain of men. “I’m very conscious of being a mother of four daughters and I want them to think they can do anything,” she says.
This positivity shimmers through Anna’s perspective on Marlborough, where she and husband Jason have been running the Te Whare Ra* (TWR) winery for the past decade. When we catch up over coffee in Melbourne, I ask whether the region’s runaway success with Sauvignon Blanc has been a blessing or a curse. She concedes it’s a double-edged sword, with “savvy” stealing the limelight – and the vineyard area – from other varieties, and leading some to write off Marlborough as a one-trick pony.
But she also sees the grape, which accounts for a third of TWR production, as a wellspring of opportunity. “To me Marlborough and Sauvignon was just a lucky accident, a variety and place that gave you something a bit different and a bit special,” she says. “I think it’s introduced people to Marlborough and it’s up to us as winemakers to be a bit thoughtful about what we do with it. At Te Whare Ra we’re trying to make a long-term, really strong estate. I want to be known for a really cool range of wines and it’s kind of like my kids; I like them all for different reasons on different days, but I love them all equally.”
Girls in net
It’d be tempting to put her sunny outlook down to all that UV light but in fact the unbridled optimism goes back to where it all started: Hardys in McLaren Vale in the mid-1990s. For a young winemaker back then, it was the coolest gig in town. “Wine was king, and there were a lot of us who were all pretty young. We all knew we’d been given a massive opportunity and we worked our arses off to prove ourselves.”
She was at Hardys for seven years all up, working in a positive, collaborative culture that encouraged speaking up and trying things out. “If you look at the Hardys kindergarten and who’s come out of it – Stephen Pannell and KT (Kerri Thompson) were slightly older than me and then there was Larry Cherubino, Rob Mann, Sue Bell – a lot of young winemakers who are now in the upper echelon in Australia. Those really were the glory days,” she says.
Much of the credit goes to Peter Dawson, Hardys chief winemaker of the time and now co-owner of Dawson & James in Tasmania. “The two things he believed in were passion and palate,” says Anna. “Those are the two things he looked for in winemakers and I think they stand you in good stead. No matter where you are or what you’re doing, that’s really what this industry’s all about.”
TWR syrah and pinot
At Hardys Anna also fell deeply in love – twice. The first time was in McLaren Vale and took the form of “that old vintage romance kind of thing” with Marlborough boy, Jason Flowerday. And the other – no less significant – was when she was promoted to a position at Leasingham in Clare Valley, working with Kerri Thompson. “That’s really where the love of Riesling kicked in and I guess that just spread to other aromatic varieties.”
The Flowerdays’ aromatic white range now takes in Riesling, Pinot Gris and Gewürztraminer, as well as a blend of all three, named Toru. Their success in this area has a lot to do with organic and biodynamic viticulture, says Anna. The vines are routinely delivering sugar, acid and flavour ripeness at the same time, so there’s no need to go chasing balance in the winery. “With Riesling you’re balancing the sweetness and the acidity; with Pinot Gris there’s a bit of that but then texture comes into it too; Gewürz has no acidity so you’re almost balancing the alcohol and the ripeness of the wine again with the sweetness. But when you get it right, it’s almost like you don’t see it. Balance really equals drinkability.”
As well as opening up aromatic options, life in a cool climate has changed Anna’s tastes. Where once she’d think nothing of knocking back youthful, ball-busting Shiraz, these days those same wines face a 10-year wait in the cellar, while whites and Pinot Noir are constant companions. “I guess one thing that I really look for – and I’ve appreciated it a lot more as I’ve matured as a winemaker – is that there’s a lot of beauty in purity. I think especially coming out of those late 90s, everything was about ‘big’ – big this, big that, big oak, big fruit – and I look now for more subtlety and nuances. I’m happy with wines that are a bit quieter, more understated.”
Vine row beautiful ground cover
True to form, she loves the challenge of the heartbreak grape. When they bought the vineyard in 2003, the Pinot Noir vines were young and not ready to deliver the wine they wanted – a fact that no amount of winery wizardry could distort. “Pinot’s about patience, that’s one thing I really have learned. You can’t force it anywhere it doesn’t want to go. If you overwork it or you cut corners you’re really going to see that in the wine. It’s very transparent like that. It’s both a challenge and an opportunity.”
Now, with older vines and better farming practices, the complexity has come of its own accord and TWR’s Pinot has won ardent fans. Thanks to greater care and investment across the region – and the annual Pinot Bootcamp where winemakers gather to compare notes on trial wines – Anna views Marlborough as the sleeping giant of Kiwi Pinot. “There’s a really strong line-up that I’d happily stand by and defend to all comers,” she says.
But if Marlborough Pinot has long “been the bridesmaid” Syrah would be lucky to even crack an invite. “It was a bit of a punt, to be honest,” Anna admits. It’s one that has paid off – but how did they come to take the plunge in the first place? Turns out the Hardys have-a-go spirit is only part of the answer. Temperature data monitoring and ripening dates had alerted them to a warm spot in the vineyard that might show promise. On top of that, TWR’s founders used to have a block they used for a Bordeaux blend, and a look at some of the old vintages showed they’d managed to ripen Cabernet almost as often as not. So from there Syrah – which tends to ripen a month or so earlier – was in with a chance. “If you asked 10 people in the region, nine of them would say you’re totally nuts to even try it. But that’s the whole point of what we’re doing. It’s not same-same and we don’t have to wear a commercial hat all the time.”
Picking the Syrah together is a Flowerday family tradition. The two sets of twins, who’ve just turned seven and ten respectively, really enjoy it – and it’s more than a clever cost-cutting scheme for their parents. “I think it’s good for them to understand what we do and why we do it,” says Anna. “Wine is such an obsessive thing. It’s our life, not just a job. And I think if you’re not into it, it’s actually quite hard to understand why you’re there for all those hours or why it’s a 360-day-a-year thing.”
A&J sorting table
And if you find your TWR wine seamlessly drinkable, then that might just be the taste of marital harmony. Anna says she and Jason make better wines together than they ever did in their individual careers. “Some of the best wines I’ve ever had were made by more than one person, because you’re not infallible and different people are sensitive to different things.” Anna and Jason agree 95% of the time – with the vexed question of when to pick being the source of most of their domestics.
And she credits Jason with what she sees as their proudest achievement at TWR: the restoration of some of the oldest vines in Marlborough to impeccable health. When they purchased the property they were “pretty near stuffed”, to the point where many would’ve given up on them. But instead those same vines live on to lend their own character to the wines. “And that’s really full credit to Jase because he’s the guru of growing things. He just has a real knack for understanding plants and what they need, and I get the benefit of that when we bring the fruit into the winery.”
Theirs is a vineyard that gets checked out an awful lot, such is the paperwork that goes with organic and biodynamic certification. But do you want to know the coolest thing? It’s when those soil scientists come with their clipboards and declare TWR the best organic vineyard in New Zealand. “Because everything we do is about being the best,” says Anna. “Not the biggest, not the loudest. It’s a long game that we’re playing, and I think we’re taking Te Whare Ra to a good place.”

*A version of this article appeared on the CellarHand website. CellarHand is both the author’s employer and the distributor of TWR’s wines in Victoria and NSW.

Volnay Of The Vale

Grenache has filled a Pinot-shaped void for Steve Pannell. I know, sounds an unlikely substitution: a sun-worshipping, late-ripening, oft-blended also-ran for the crown prince of the Côte de Nuits? But over recent years people like Pannell have steadily recast Grenache as the Burgundy of South Australia.
As a junior winemaker he was “very much obsessed” with Pinot Noir at Tim Knappstein’s Lenswood Vineyards in the Adelaide Hills. “I liked that style, with power and intensity fitting within a medium-bodied frame. When I first came to McLaren Vale I was at a bit of a loss,” he says. That was in the mid-90s when he started out at Hardys, where he’d eventually rise to the position of Group Red Winemaker before establishing S.C. Pannell* a decade ago.
So he started “mucking around” with Grenache at the famous Tintara winery to see what he could do. “Grenache takes a bit more nous and work and guile to get it where you want it to be, and that challenged me.” It’s a challenge to which he’s well and truly risen, in the process helping to unearth McLaren Vale and its old bush vines as one of the planet’s few sacred sites for Grenache.
The 2010 S.C. Pannell Grenache picked up Best Other Red Varietal at the 2012 Royal Melbourne Wine Show and scored 97 points in James Halliday’s Australian Wine Companion, a feat replicated by the 2012 release, which also won Best Other Red at the Wine Companion Awards a few months back. But while those titles confirm Pannell’s prowess with the grape, this “best other” business says something of the second-string status that Grenache has long been saddled with.
Grenache 2011
Pannell suggests a few reasons why it’s been left behind. There’s the so-called Parkerisation of wine, a bigger-is-better fad that did no favours for Grenache, with its modest palate weight and tendency towards boozy jamminess if not held in check. The fact that it is so commonly blended may also leave a question mark over its fitness for standalone supremacy – and here Pannell points to the lack of an obvious global benchmark wine that is 100% Grenache. He also posits that Australians may have shown a historical wariness of tannins, preferring the plush, velvety profile of Shiraz.
Conversely those tannins – a tricky thing to get right – help explain his fondness for, and success with, the grape. “I love the gritty, sandy tannins in Grenache, the savoury fruit and aromatic punch – what I see as a kind of musk and rosewater lift – in a light- to medium-bodied wine. That’s why I dig it.”
Further afield, Pannell definitely digs the wines of Clos des Papes and Château Rayas in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and has also enjoyed exploring the wares of Álvaro Palacios’s L’Ermita in that other old-vine Grenache heartland, Priorat. But he also marvels at the treasures on his doorstep, reserving particular admiration for Wirra Wirra, Yangarra and d’Arenberg. Fittingly, he’ll be spending International Grenache Day with fellow McLaren Vale flagbearers at Serafino, where Halliday is presiding over a grand masterclass.
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So what is it that makes this region so special for Grenache? There are the ocean breezes and Mediterranean climate, a combination that mirrors Sardinia, which claims to be the birthplace of Grenache (Cannonau as the islanders call it). There are the ancient and varied soils, too, plus the old vines.
But really, of course, who knows what the secret is? “It’s illogical. You can’t just say ‘It works here, so it’ll work there’. What makes the Côte de Nuits so good for Pinot?” says Pannell. “It’s part of the whole mystery of wine. It expresses a place and the people’s passion for that place.”
Pannell also embraces the mystery in his Grenache blends, such as The Vale (with Shiraz) and Tinto (with Touriga). “The varieties are like different colours, where you put them together and you don’t know what picture you’re going to end up with – and you don’t want to know, because in some ways that’s the beauty of it,” he says, likening the overall outcome to the experience of drinking a wine from iconic Clare Valley winery, Wendouree. “You know it’s a Wendouree before you know what it’s made of,” he says. “That’s the great beauty of having these very special pieces of dirt. The landscape is so important. It’s the only thing we have that’s truly unique.”

*This post was initially published on CellarHand’s website. CellarHand is both the author’s present employer and the distributor of S.C. Pannell wines in NSW and Victoria.

Game Of Rhones Rules

If I say “wine tasting”, this is what you see: Men – I bet it’s men – swirling and snorting, scowling and spitting in a space with all the cheer of a dentist’s waiting room. What you don’t see is the swashbuckling sauciness of the Seven Kingdoms.
But armour-clad winemakers and goblet-toting maidens are exactly what you get at Game of Rhones. This event, now in its second year, kicked off in Adelaide on 24th May before heading to Brisbane and then Melbourne on 7th and 14th June respectively. It features 150-odd drops from almost 50 Australian producers, as well as – say it quietly – fun.
The initiative is the brainchild of Melbourne sommelier and wine educator Dan Sims of Bottle Shop Concepts. It’s his act of rebellion against “boring-arse masterclasses” that cater solely for the geekiest 5% of the wine-drinking public. “We’re trying to speak to the other 95% and tell them that it’s possible to come along, enjoy yourself and learn about wine,” he says. “Plus by sticking to Rhône varieties, we’re keeping it simple.”

Dan Sims of Bottle Shop Concepts
Dan Sims of Bottle Shop Concepts

This last point is important. Beyond the theatricality – and organisers have camped up the Game of Thrones parody to the max – this is a chance to get to know some of Australia’s most enjoyable wines and the people who make them.
So which varieties are we talking about? For a start, reds rule the Rhône. Syrah (Shiraz) reigns supreme in the cooler northern end of the valley, while Grenache leads the way in the south, usually blended with the likes of Syrah, Mourvèdre, Carignan, Cinsault and others. Playing second fiddle are aromatic whites ranging from hedonistic Viognier to floral Marsanne and fashionable Roussanne.
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French wines will be available at Game of Rhones, but homegrown talent takes centre stage. It’s time to banish for good the stereotype of Aussie Shiraz as a generic big, dry red. “Shiraz in Australia is so diverse,” says Sims. “What we want to celebrate is the diversity of style within the variety.” Full-throttle blockbusters are but a detail in a tapestry that includes earthy, medium-bodied Hunter Valley wines, the peppery, black-olive notes of Victoria and evolving elegance from Adelaide Hills and Margaret River.
Meanwhile the Barossa and McLaren Vale are getting Grenache to sing right now. It loves the heat, as does frequent blending partner Mourvèdre (Mataro), and a trend away from hot, jammy numbers in favour of freshness, is allowing them to shine. “We’ve got some of the oldest Grenache vines in the world and the wines offer ridiculous value,” says Sims. “GSM is wonderful, medium bodied and goes great with food.”

Corinna Wright of Oliver's Taranga
Winemaker Corinna Wright

Let’s not forget the white varieties of the Rhône, which continue their mouthwatering march. The once isolated success of Yalumba with Viognier or Tahbilk with Marsanne is being built on by others. “Viognier is always going to be a richer style of wine,” says Sims. “Then you have Marsanne and Roussanne and blends. They’re never going to be as popular as Chardonnay but I think they offer a more savoury style, and Australian winemakers are learning to play with them better.”
Game of Rhones: you’ve got to be in it to win it. And the beauty is you can always play along at home.

Dan Sims’s Game of Rhones heroes:

Head Red GSM 2013 Barossa Valley $25

“Alex Head’s wines are going from strength to strength and this is just bloody delicious. Medium-bodied, red-fruited deliciousness.”

Voyager Estate Shiraz 2011 Margaret River $38

“While the west isn’t famed for Shiraz, Voyager is nailing it. Fuller flavour, dark plums with a savoury edge. It begs for roasted meats.”

Tyrrell’s Stevens Single Vineyard Shiraz 2011 Hunter Valley $38

“I really like Hunter Shiraz as it’s classically medium bodied without being too much. Perfumed and elegant now but long lived for sure.”

Oliver’s Taranga Shiraz 2012 McLaren Vale $30

“Superfresh, dark-fruited, slippery and slurpy deliciousness from winemaker Corinna Wright.”

Mitchell Harris Mataro 2012 Pyrenees $29

“Recently did very well in the North East Versus Western Victoria Challenge. Medium bodied, spicy, attractive fruit. Great drink.”

Shaw & Smith Shiraz 2012 Adelaide Hills $50

“Cool climate, spicy fresh Shiraz at its Adelaide best. Super smooth and seductive.”

Little Crowning Glory

I threw out something of a teaser last week when I referred to the Corte Sant’Alda Soave as “one of a couple Italian whites” I wanted to write up. Then I got a bit busy, plus May is Aussie Wine Month here so I feel like a traitor to the state even contemplating this.
But then there’s this Verdicchio. I only had a brief flirtation with it at a tasting in March and now it’s like a homeless puppy you accidentally grow too fond of. You know you’re hopelessly ill-equipped to take care of it but really, who could resist such playfulness?
The wine in question comes from the organic and biodynamic (though not certified) producer Fattoria Coroncino. This is the second Verdicchio to feature on Bonnezeaux Gonzo, the first bring the rapturously received but stylistically different Umani Ronchi. Both exhibit typical almond and brine but where the Umani Ronchi was subtle and slow to reveal itself, its counterpart is joyous and generous.
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Fattoria Coroncino was founded in 1981 by Lucio Canestrari and his wife, Fiorella De Nardo. They live in Staffolo, about 35km southwest of Ancona in the Marche region of central Italy. Verdicchio is very much their bag; their stated aim is to prove that there’s much more to Marche’s signature white than mere pizza wine. Lucio and Fiorella make a Sangiovese/Syrah blend in small quantities, but otherwise it’s Verdicchio all the way.
The pinnacle is Gaiospino, a single-vineyard wine aged for 18 months in 500-litre oak vats. At the opposite end of the scale is Il Bacco, which they endearingly call “a slave wine” because it’s always at your beck and call – any food, any mood, any time. In the right vintage they’ll also put out a passito wine, made from Verdicchio grapes left to raisin on the vine.
But back to my puppy: Il Coroncino. The fruit comes from a clay-based, north east-facing slope next to the cellar, with a view of the Adriatic. The grapes are picked by hand from the densely planted vineyard, then gently pressed and wild yeast fermented in stainless steel. The resulting wine has plenty of texture, body and acid, which means you’re laughing all the way to the dinner table. I’d like to see it again with spaghetti alle vongole or rabbit and pea risotto. But you could nudge it a fair bit further – coniglio in porchetta would be a whole heap of fun.

Coroncino Verdicchio “Il Coroncino” 2011 Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi DOC Classico Superiore

Clear medium green gold in colour, it gives off an initial whiff that reminds me of toasted corn; not altogether inviting. Overall fairly muted on the nose, just grilled almonds and apple skin. A different story in the mouth: a juicy attack of pear and stone fruits that builds to a crescendo. That sweetness is offset by briny and bitter almond notes. The texture is waxy and unctuous, the body fullish. Fine, citrusy acidity appears to pull off the feat of balancing the richness and high alcohol. Heady orchard blossom perfume and a bitter twist linger on the long finish.

Costs $33.90 at Enoteca Sileno – Alcohol 14.5% – Tasted March 2014 – Cork

Sign Of Life From Soave

This is one of a couple of Italian whites I wanted to write up before the sun set for good on the southern summer. At the end of a cold, blustery day on the Mornington Peninsula, just looking at my glass of Riesling is making me shiver, which suggests I’ve missed the boat. But it’s no big deal; it’s always summer somewhere and anyway this isn’t a mere thirst slaker. It’s a wine for food, and a delicious one at that.
It comes from Corte Sant’Alda, an organic producer from the Mezzane valley in northeast Italy’s Veneto region. The winery sits at an altitude of 350 metres in Valpolicella, where red varieties such as Corvina, Rondinella and Molinara rule. The appellation has a patchy quality record but is capable of turning out wonderful red blends in a range of styles, from light, fresh cherry- and herb-tinged wines through – thanks to the use of berries picked ripe and left to raisin in controlled conditions – to opulent, dry full-bodied Amarone and sweet Recioto.

Marinella Camerani (left) and family
Marinella Camerani (left) and family

In the mid-1980s Corte Sant’Alda’s Marinella Camerani moved to the country, rolled up her sleeves and began transforming the family estate into the dynamic producer it is today. Those reds that run the gamut of richness are her bread and butter. But she didn’t have to look far for a bit of white relief. In fact, she only had to go across the road to quench her thirst for a delicate dash of bianco. “Because I love fresh white wines, I decided to buy a little vineyard in the Soave DOC very close to Corte Sant’Alda, a vineyard still trained with the traditional pergola system for producing a simple, fresh Soave with Garganega, Trebbiano di Soave and a little part of Chardonnay,” she tells me. “I wanted to show that the terroir in this valley is suitable in certain parts also for producing wonderful white wine and that it’s possible to make a good, clean, mineral wine with native yeasts and without too much technology, in a biodynamic way.”
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Like Valpolicella, Soave hardly boasts a rock-solid reputation thanks to the glut of crisp, “inoffensive” whites that find their way onto UK supermarket shelves. I’m pleased to have been shown another side to Soave and I was on the hunt for a bottle when I chanced upon this. I’d been introduced to Camerani’s wines via the Corte Sant’Alda Ca’ Fiui Valpolicella 2008, which I had over Christmas and really enjoyed. So I pounced upon this when I saw it in the bottleshop fridge. It was drunk on the balcony with evening sunshine, good friends and homemade tapenade.
That was some weeks ago now but that summery mood is neatly encapsulated by a line I read on the Corte Sant’Alda website as I prepared this post. “It’s true, the grass in our vineyards is a bit too high, but for me this is a sign of life,” writes Camerani. “You can see colours, smell scents… of mint, arugula, chamomile. I can’t believe that all this would be dangerous for the vines. A tidy grassland is more an aesthetic need than a real necessity. I like to think that all these colours and scents are going to be characteristics of each of our wines.”

Corte Sant’Alda Vigne di Mezzane Soave 2010 Soave DOC

Clear pale lemon in colour with a moderately intense nose of white flowers, peach blossom, lemon pith and fresh mint. Pure lemon citrus, green plum and almond endure across the light- to medium-bodied palate, which has a touch of waxiness to it. The acidity is luscious and superfine, leaving floral notes to linger after the lemony finish. Delicate, lovely wine.

Costs $27 at Boccaccio Cellars* in Melbourne – Alcohol 12.5% – Tasted March 2014 – Cork

*Current vintage is Corte Sant’Alda Vigne di Mezzane Soave 2012