Finding Greatness

Whether
we’re discussing wine, food, literature, art, athletics, or
life itself, there are virtually no clear, uncontroversial
standards. Much like love, you can’t prove its existence,
but most of us would say you know it when you feel it. The
fact is though that “great” means something a bit different
to everybody – there are people who throw the term around
quite loosely and others who are more restricted in its use.
There’s an inevitable cultural bias as well, where what
plays well in London doesn’t necessarily in Paris or Tokyo.
In relation to wine, however, acknowledging that
pronouncements of greatness are matters of opinion rather
than empirical fact does not at all mean that quality
assessments are purely arbitrary. Each point of view and
each palate may differ, but some rest upon a stronger
foundation than others. Some, of course, are based on better
information, deeper understanding and a greater depth of
experience. They do and should command more weight. There
may also be an unequal distribution of tasting talent
whereby some of us have a more finely tuned set of tasting
equipment than others. But even granting all of these
circumstances, there are many different but equally valid
aesthetic criteria at work that defeat any efforts at
universality. To some experts greatness can only flow from a
wine’s origins in a particular, distinctive terroir.
According to this viewpoint the very definition of quality
is that wine reflects the individuality of its vineyard. It
must express a sense of place, of “thereness”, to paraphrase
Matt Kramer, whose Making Sense of Wine and related volumes
argue this point quite passionately. Others, equally
qualified to judge, dismiss the terroir standard altogether,
upholding a more relativistic approach. Quality, to them,
relates solely to a wine’s ability to provide increasingly
profound levels of sensual pleasure – the more delicious,
the greater the quality. This, of course, is tacit admission
that a wine which is great to me may not be to you, and that
there are no ultimate tests besides our own palate
preferences. In the words of the late influential French
oenologist, Emile Peynaud, “Everyone drinks the wine he or
she deserves.” (Emile Peynaud, The Taste of Wine, London,
1987, p. 22O).

Still, despite
disagreements about criteria for quality standards, there
appears to be at least one area of broad consensus among
authorities addressing the question of attributes essential
to making great wine. To qualify, most agree, a wine must be
capable of improving and developing significant new
characteristics over a relatively long period of time.
Higher levels of wine quality are linked with this potential
to change from one state into another one, from raw,
youthful “unresolved” fruit flavors, as is often the case,
into a more nuanced, harmonious-tasting beverage. From a
roughly tannic state, where the flavors are somewhat masked,
to a softer, more integrated one. According to a classic
formulation stated by British Master of Wine Serena
Sutcliffe, “The very greatest wines should have a potential
for ageing, for improving with maturity and developing more
complex flavours (sic) and increased depth of taste.”
(Serena Sutcliffe, Editor, Great Vineyards and Winemakers,
New York, 1981, p. 23). Aging capacity, in other words, is
the necessary condition.

How true this remains in
the light of new technical advances and a resulting
evolution in popular tastes, is an open question. How and
why some wines can age constitutes a large subject of study,
and there is certainly a mystique surrounding antique
bottles. We understand much better today the mechanisms by
which wines are able to age in bottle, and also the natural
conditions that create ageworthy wine. Winemakers are taught
how – if they choose to do so, they can create wines with
greater aging potential. In my experience, however, not
everyone likes the drinking sensation one receives from a
so-called mature wine as much as they believe they’re
supposed to like it lest they’re judged by peers to have
pedestrian tastes. The cost of a bottle can cow even the
most confident connoisseur into silence. Great wine, mature
wine, rare wine, expensive wine, aren’t the terms related?
If everyone seemingly agrees that there are certain
acknowledged classic vintages and people are willing to pay
large sums of money for a wine with that type of pedigree,
then perhaps if I don’t think a particular wine of this
provenance is “great” the problem’s with my palate rather
than the wine.

The interesting thing about
tastings of several vintages of older wine, particular
so-called “vertical tastings” of wines from a single
property or company, is that many of the greatest accolades
applied to these wines refer to their retention of youthful
characteristics despite their age. In other words, a wine
that retains the vigorous charms of youth generally attracts
more praise than one that has lost some measure of its
flavor intensity and is somehow judged to have weakened or
faded. Accolades of greatness are sometimes attached. So the
highest respect is accorded to age so long as wines don’t
taste their age.

This viewpoint reflects a
new aesthetic paradigm at work. At an earlier stage of our
scientific understanding of viticulture and oenology, it may
have been absolutely necessary for a larger number of wines
to age for a lengthy period of time in cellars in order for
them not to taste harsh and disjointed. Nowadays we have
techniques at our disposal, both in the vineyard and the
winery, to create balanced flavors and textures without
recourse to a long required “settling down” phase of several
years. The elements come together sooner, and many good
quality wines from classic regions are consumed in a state
of relative youthfulness that only twenty years ago would
have been ridiculed as the vinous equivalent of infanticide.
Experience tells us that today young wine can taste good,
wonderful, even delicious.

Can it, however, achieve
“greatness”? In my experience, yes. There are whole wine
categories today that, in their context and served in the
proper manner, provide the highest degree of pleasure but
must be consumed young. Do they resist oxidation in the same
manner that wines traditionally accorded the “greatness” tag
do? Do they fall apart immediately? No, although enologists
can produce some of them in a manner that would make them
less vulnerable. But merely resisting bacterial or oxidative
breakdown is not a guarantee of improvement. There has to be
a certain potential there at the start. There are wines I
have had that I would consider great which have virtually
nowhere to go because they have already, after a few short
years post-vintage, reached their full potential. If they do
“keep”, as many can, they don’t taste even one degree
better. Delicious soon after release, they can only go
downhill.

So what, according to this
scenario, is greatness? Perhaps my working definition is
looser than others, but it’s a wine that is as near
perfect-tasting in its context as it’s possible to be. I’m
reminded of my first visit to the Rhone Valley, before I had
studied wine very deeply, and of an appointment I had one of
the top properties in Tavel. The proprietor served me his
wine, his one and only wine, and it was absolutely
delicious. It was a hot early fall day and the pale coppery
Rose was ideal with a pate de campagne, its earthy cherry
flavors accented with hints of herb and spice. The
proprietor told me about the wine, showed me the vineyard,
the rows where the Cinsault was planted, the sites for the
Grenache and the Syrah, and he walked me through his chai,
beaming at the relatively new stainless steel fermentation
tanks that had allowed him, he said, to capture so much of
the fruit from the vineyard. And then we were done. While I
should have been satisfied, I asked him if we could perhaps
taste some older vintages so I could see how this marvelous
wine develops. “But,” he said, “I don’t have any. My wines
don’t age.” I didn’t believe it. I thought he was not proud
of his older wines because they were made with old inferior
equipment. The wine I had tasted was so good now, I imagined
how amazing it would be in only a few years. Back in the US
I bought a bottle and put it in the cellar. Two years later
I had learned a little bit more and began to worry about the
condition of my precious Tavel. When I opened it up it was
vinegar.

Although I love good Rose,
this is not to suggest that most, or even very many, Roses I
have tasted I would judge to be great in quality. But there
are some, of quite diverse origins, and none of them age
very long with the exception of a Rioja Reserva Rosado I had
some years ago that was rich in extract, long in flavor and
agonizingly delicious. Agonizing because I knew it was a
rarity that I would most likely never experience again. But
there have been others that were more youthful: brilliantly
acidic Cabernet Franc-based Roses from Touraine, nuanced in
flavor and mouthwateringly balanced, and soft and elegant
Roses from seacoast of Provence, made from modest grapes but
scintillatingly delicious.

Probably my two most
distinctive examples, however, of wines that I would
sometimes consider great but that begin hitting a downward
slope after their third birthday, are Loire Valley Sauvignon
Blanc and Viognier from anywhere. Two divergent wine
categories, with dramatically different flavor profiles, but
with identical lack of suitability for aging. The price that
top quality Sancerre and Condrieu, or even California
Viognier, command nowadays leads many to think just the
opposite, that they can develop in bottle. On the one hand,
a Loire Sauvignon’s searing acidity might cause us to expect
it could easily withstand the ravages of age. Some few may,
but never in my experience do they seem to get better as
opposed to just older. The charm, the beauty, the mineral
nuance is all there by the third year after the vintage. In
their own terms, on my palate at least, the best one are
perfection. On the other hand there is little in the
Viognier grape to preserve it from oxidation, but there is a
suggestion of greater exrtract and even some phenolics that
makes one think of ageworthy red wines. In general, Viognier
starts to go seriously down after about four years. Not only
does it lose its youthful florality, spice and fruit, but
oxidation usually sets in, even in ideal conditions. A bit
of honey can develop, but this is more than offset by the
tired, lifelessness of the fruit. Brilliant young, great
even, but virtually undrinkable a half dozen years
later.

What about some other white
wines where I have tasted greatness, as I’m defining it, but
which do not age? Wines from the Rias Baixas region of Spain
made from the Albarino grape, and a few over the Minho in
Portugal, produced from the same grape spelled Alvarinho
there. This is a really ephemeral wine, brilliant when first
vinified, but fit only for a salad dressing a few years
later. The Godello grape from Valdeorras, in Northern Spain,
is in much the same boat – lush, soft and fragrant, but
without any capacity to develop at all. Pinot Blanc,
brilliantly soft in texture, with a suggestion of sweet
spices in the finish that fades away after about three
years. Like the Iberian examples, a wine that you have to
listen to closely to appreciate what it offers, and then
it’s gone quickly. Fiano, from Southern Italy, is nutlike
and creamy, with touches of white pepper and sage. There are
others. Even reds, my favorite example being Dolcetto, which
is not an easy grape to do well. But when it’s good it’s
great. And no one’s ever shown me one that was better five
years later. Zinfandel’s more controversial. Let me just say
that I almost always like them better before they turn five,
and I’ve had several I would term “great”, many of which I
put away for longer and have been disappointed.

The counter argument is
that all of these wines are fine as far as they go, but they
can’t be great because they’re not subtle or complex.
Everything is right there on the surface, readily apparent
in the wine’s youth. This is my definition though. Greatness
reflects perfect suitability for a particular situation, not
all situations being the same. It’s highly contextual. Most
wines don’t need to age any more. There are great wines that
do and great ones that don’t. This is not about New World
palate versus Old World palate. I don’t believe in that.
Personally I’ve had some peak experiences with wines that
are older than I am, which at this point is saying a lot. I
thoroughly enjoy them, but I can’t really say they’re
“greater” than some of the wine examples mentioned above.
They’re just greater for different situations. Don’t be
misled by high price tags or astronomical reviews. Greatness
is in the eye of the beholder and you can sometimes find it,
if you look, in unlikely places.