Robert Parker is often accused of not appreciating terroir. His response to the charge is characteristically provocative.
"I don't know how you can define terroir," Parker says.
Parker spoke at a 2005 Bordeaux tasting last month at the Culinary Institute of America, Greystone in St. Helena. He took questions on many topics, but the topic of terroir was the only one that got him riled up. Clearly, it's a sensitive spot.
But he does have a point.
"I've never seen anybody say, 'This is Chambertin' in a blind tasting," Parker says.
He went on to explain that in that one 32-acre vineyard in Burgundy, which is divvied up into more than 20 parcels with different owners, some wineries make consistently rich, full-bodied wines, while others make consistently austere wines.
"Which Chambertin is the best representative of Chambertin?" Parker asks. "Who has the right to say, 'This represents the terroir or Chambertin?' "
I don't share Parker's palate, though I respect it -- he is the most consistent rater I know, and is entitled to set his own standard for excellence. That said, I've had the opportunity to taste many wines he has rated over 95 points, and I find they share a richness and intensity that I usually don't want with dinner.
However, he's right on the terroir question. He says simply, "We know good wines come from good sites."
I have tasted hundreds of Cabernets from Napa Valley, and also from Lodi. I can't tell you what a Lodi Cab should taste like. Nor do I believe I could tell a Napa Cab from a Tuscan Cab or a Barossa Cab in a blind tasting (that may say more about Tuscany and Barossa than Napa.) But I know that I've had only one Lodi Cab in my entire life that I considered the equal of a good Napa Cab, of which I've had dozens. Sure, there are bad Napa Cabs, but it's simply much more likely for a winemaker to make a good Cab there than in Lodi. That's terroir.
Parker is also correct that people angry about poor ratings use terroir as a rejoinder.
"Sometimes when I hear that question (about terroir), it's said in a pejorative way because the wine is too rich or too good," Parker says.
It's easy to forget that Parker was a lawyer before becoming the world's most influential wine critic. His writing is not lyrical like, say, Gerald Asher or Jancis Robinson. But he does logically break down an issue and argue persuasively for his side.
Many of us don't want to admit that there is no identifiable "gout de terroir" of our favorite regions. But science continues to strip away our illusions. The barnyard notes Chateauneuf-du-Pape was famous for turned out to be brettanomyces -- a spoilage flaw that some drinkers like. The relative lightness of Carneros Pinot Noir seems to be because of the clones planted there, not the soil or climate.
There are general principles of terroir related to climate, such as that Napa Cabs must be higher in alcohol than Bordeaux to taste good, because otherwise they won't be ripe enough.
However, when you talk about the characteristic flavors of individual vineyards, you're talking about climate, soils, clones and winemaking approach. You can't change the climate (well, we are, but that's another topic) or soils, but change either of the other two and those characteristic flavors change. Yet is winemaking approach what people mean when they use the term "terroir?"
Parker's right: good terroir means a place where good wines come from. Whether or not you agree with his definition of a good wine, his definition of terroir is spot on.
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4 comments:
One time, many years ago, I stood in the Moueix laboratory in Bordeaux next to a fellow American, a well known wine retailer. Sitting in front of us were six 375ml sample bottles with the lab labels obscured. It was the 1973 vintage, each bottle was a different vineyard, and it was our first look at the wines. We tasted them, and as we tasted several people quietly drifted into the room. When we were finished we were asked if we could name the wines by vineyard. I thought it was an absurd request, I barely knew the vineyards they owned, let alone their characteristics, so I made no attempt to guess. But my friend proceeded to guess and guess each wine correctly. The audience laughed and shook their heads as they walked out of the lab. The reason ...this was not the first time this American had done this.
The clues that led this remarkable taster to identify the wines is "terroir." The fact that I couldn't recognize the distinctive characteristics did not mean they they didn't exist. The fact that in 1973 few wines in Bordeaux saw new wood and few exceeded 12% alcohol is significant.
That said, maybe we shouldn't use the "T" word. It really only applies to what a few winemakers, who make many lots of wine from a single grape grown on disparate plots of land, recognize as consistent traits from year to year in certain locations. And only those winemakers who work within a grapes natural levels of maturaty and modest oak will see these characteristics. They won't learn it in one vintage or two, because they're only tasting weather. Taste 10 vintages and they begin to see climate and its interaction with soil.
And if you are not a winemaker, it is something for just a few individuals who have a keen interest in learning, a keen palate, and a willingness to study many years. And you have to be selective in where you look. If you look in overwrought wines you will find little to learn or appreciate.
Being able to match wines in a blind tasting with their producers is NOT indicative of terroir. It's simply a matching game in which success is due to many factors, of which terroir may be one. Terroir may have existed at one point in time, but with wineries making wine however they want, from different clones of grapes, with different amounts of oak and alcohol, terroir quickly gets lost in the fold.
I can't believe you let this entire post go by without once riffing on "letting the terroirists win".
Hey, thanks for correcting the oversight!
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