The Burgundy Ego Trip: An Over-Oaking Complex

The Burgundy Ego Trip: An Over-Oaking Complex

By Codey Foster

Over the past few months I’ve become ever more aware of the extent of oaking regimens in the Cote-d'or. And to put this gently. I can’t believe it.

As it turns out, it’s not uncommon for Burgundian winemakers to use 100% new oak on their Grand Cru and Premier Cru level wines. Why is this so ridiculous, you ask? Because they’re hypocrites, that’s why.

Simply put, Burgundy is the Birthplace of terroir. Its winemakers live terroir, breathe terroir, and preach terroir. It is in Burgundy that the same winemaker will tediously and individually vinify small and contiguous vineyard plots, often only several meters apart, in order to showcase the individuality of each parcel of land.

To go to such painstaking effort to preserve the purity of each vineyard plot and then allow the resulting wine to be marred by the tannins, phenols, and other wood compounds of new French oak seems sacrilege and contradictory.

What makes even less sense about this equation is that it’s only the very best (highest vineyard classifications) that see new oak. These are the vineyards that have the finest, most distinct terroir, and as a result, it gets covered by oak. I’m curious, where’s the logic there?

Leflaive, for instance, ferments Montrachet in 100% new oak. Now, if I’m going to shell out a small fortune to experience the nuances of Montrachet terroir, there better not be new oak in the way. I know what oak tastes like. I can get liquid lumberyard at retail for ten bucks a bottle—but Montrachet is a one of a kind (there are actually 26 producers, but who’s counting?) and if I’m drinking Montrachet, I sure hope to be tasting Montrachet and not some diluted or distorted fragment of what once was.

Dominique Laurent in fact takes oaking to a new level using 200% new oak on many of his Premier and Grand Crus. Yep 200%. That means oak aging in a new barrel for a period of time (probably 6 months to a year) and then re-racking the stuff into a second new barrel for a second round of oak aging.

I’m not a winemaker and I don’t claim to be but come on man. This is 2012. Obviously there are a lot of factors that contribute to the outcome of over-oaking including tradition, overestimation of the influence of new oak on bottle longevity, and plain personal preference. But I’m wondering if perhaps the most influential is pride.

I’m curious whether the notion that more structured and substantial wines are more apt to maintain grace even with heavy oaking has lead winemakers to use oak treatments purely to prove something about their wines. I can hear it right now. ‘My wines are so [structured, meaty, hearty, substantial] that they can handle 100% new oak.’ To be frank, the notion of a wine being able to ‘handle’ 100% new oak pisses me off in the first place. In my humble opinion, oak is merely an ingredient available to winemakers in order to incorporate particular characteristics to wine—not a yardstick at which to measure its quality. And I’m not denying that great wines can be made using oak, but in Burgundy I believe greatness occurs through transparent winemaking and true vineyard representation. Show off what you’re mama gave you, you know?

To that school of thought, one of my new favorite Burgundy producers Jean Marie Fourrier is a winemaker that seems to have adopted more concern for the representation of his vineyards than the showcase of his winemaking. Fourrier uses no more than 20% new oak in each vintage in order to maintain the individuality of each wine. "Oak is for slow breathing of the wine, not for taste,” Fourrier explains. And I can’t help but agree. The use of French oak for its inherent wine making mechanics is just fine. But when vanillin starts taking over fruit and mineral profile—that’s a different story.

So unless you’ve got a small population of Quercus petraea growing in your vineyard (that’s French Oak, for all of you not up to snuff on your Quercus varietals)—your brand new 60 gallon oak drum has got nothing to do with your terroir.  

Domaine Fourrier Bourgogne Blanc 2008

http://www.anconaswine.com/sku01049.html

Domaine Fourrier Gevrey-Chambertin Vielle Vignes  2008

http://www.anconaswine.com/sku01052.html

Fourrier Gevrey Chambertin Premier Cru Clos St Jacques Vieilles Vignes 2007

http://www.anconaswine.com/sku00025.html

Wine Review: Sharpe Hill Late Harvest Vignoles 2006

Wine Review: Sharpe Hill Late Harvest Vignoles 2006
By Codey Foster

This shameless golden nectar might be just about as close to Sauternes production that the state of Connecticut might ever come—and I’m not saying that with regret but with state pride. I’ve tasted a couple of the Sharpe Hill wines including ‘The Ballet of Angels’—the best selling wine produced in Connecticut--and although I don’t recall having particularly strong feelings about either of them, there is something so incredibly white Bordeaux about this bottle that I couldn’t help but share it with you guys.

In the glass this pure, golden beauty shows radiant and rich.

On the nose it is ripe and incredibly botyrised showing off unmistakable aromas of honey and apricots, less obvious hints of pineapple, mango, green tea, and maple, and ever so subtle hints of a good late harvest Riesling minerality. I only wish I could more aptly describe the character of honey in this late harvest because the honey-like profile in this wine is so distinct and so familiar but something that I’m unable to adequately put into words.

It is only on the palate that the Sharpe Hill Late Harvest differentiates itself from fine Sauternes. Imagine a classic ripe Sauternes, Chateau Suduiraut for instance, and just turn it down a notch. The Sharpe Hill shows just a touch less ripeness, sugar, and substantially less alcohol—ringing in at just 10.5. With so many modern Sauternes reaching upward of 13 and 14 percent, this wine is really in a category all of its own. I must admit, I’ve had a few Sauternes that came off just a little bit warm, and that was not the case with the Sharpe Hill Late Harvest. In fact, I think late harvest wine in this particularly low alcohol category is perhaps even a bit more marketable than a thicker and sweeter Sauternes--as is it just a little more compatible with food. Not only could this bottling match classic Sauternes food pairings (blue cheese, foie gras, escargot), but it could also do those preparations with a little bit of spice and zest. Red pepper infused cheese especially comes to mind, as do salty/spicy combos.

My only reservation about this wine lies within its very structure. While it maintains good freshness, just a little more acidity would have brought it into perfect balance. That isn’t to say it doesn’t have an adequate acidity to begin with, but I like my sweet wines racy, ya know?

I guess I also would have hoped for a little more finish but that’s not to say that it falls off the palate by any stretch. In fact, I hate to get down on this wine at all. I think it’s a spectacular effort, all considered, and I look forward to marrying it to something blue-veined and pungent in the near future. And from Vignoles! Who would have reckoned?

$24.99 at http://www.anconaswine.com/sku11592.html  

Wine Review: Mas Doix ‘Salanques’ 2006

Wine Review: Mas Doix ‘Salanques’ 2006

By Codey Foster

Someone with much more wit than I once described the experience of Le Musigny as ‘Baby Jesus sliding down the throat in velvet trousers’. Well, if that’s the case—and I will stand by this--then that makes the 2006 Mas Doix ‘Salanques’ the equivalent of Lady Gaga sliding down the throat in velvet stilettos, lacey thigh highs, and a silk half shirt. And believe me, I say that with affection.

To break it down for you, this Priorat is a nicely balanced blend of 65% Garnacha and 15% Cariñena, rounded off with international vinifera swagger (that is, some Syrah, Merlot, and a bit of Cabernet Sauvignon). The Garnacha and Cariñena at the heart of the blend, come from 70-90 year old vines in high altitude slate vineyards. As it turns out Salanques is not a direct declassification of the Mas Doix grand cuvee, as I previously believed, but in fact a wine all of its own. It is cool fermented and sees 14 months in tight grain French oak barrels—a recipe that seems to be working.

In the glass this wine shows appropriately dense and inky. 

On the nose it flaunts luscious dried raisons very reminiscent of fine vintage port. But past the raisons Salanques brings in unique tree fruit qualities including poached plumbs, orange peel, fresh squeezed orange juice (I swear), and apple juice. Now I know these descriptors sound far-fetched and innovative—but as is the concept and execution of Salanques. Past the fruit is every level of complexity that I ever hoped to find in a red wine including earthy/mineral qualities, earthy/gamey qualities, spice, tar, smoke, white and black pepper, chocolate, and a slight floral character that I unfortunately can’t aptly elaborate on any more.

However, it’s not the flavor descriptors of this wine that enamored me most. What enamors me most is its texture and mouth feel. It’s at this moment that I’d like you to reconsider what I said about Gaga. Imagine sexy full palate grip layered on with perfect proportions of velvet, lace, and silk—a cerebral experience that brings on just as much pleasure as the flavors themselves. In combination, flavor and texture marry to create a wine that is rich, incredibly layered, and decadent. This is a wine both of structure and grace. I’d imagine that it will show elegantly for at least another decade but with this kind of wine, there is really no reason to find out. Drink now because the drinking’s good.

As for pairings, bare one thing in mind: this wine rings in at a healthy 15% ABV, and it carries it well, but cracked black pepper, paprika, or any other zesty spice is going to bring the heat right out of the fruit. Simple red meat preparations with olive oil, garlic, and a little bit of salt might do wonders. I might also experiment with lightly caramelized onions or roasted peppers but anything too sweet might spoil the pairing, so don’t over do it.

If you can’t tell, I’m pretty fired up about this blend. I’ve been on the Priorat train for a while, but it’s this wine that has my running up front and shoveling coal into the furnace. I invite you to come join me—and if not, just dance, it’s gonna be okay.

$39.99 at http://www.anconaswine.com/sku01092.html