- Duncan Savage White Blend 2016 -
CATEGORY
South Africa
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The role of a wine merchant is not to simply sell wine but to shine a light for collectors, enthusiasts and drinkers.
My indoctrination was a brutal one: blind tasting sessions with Greg Sherwood MW at Handford Wines, which was my first serious wine job, back in the mid 2000s. Greg opened wines from across the spectrum both in terms of price and geography; he was extremely open-minded and in no way label conscious. All wines were judged and understood in relation to their region and style. Greg drove us to get to the essence of the taste for each wine. First in order to guess what it was, and then, when the bottle was revealed, to understand the wine within the context of its region, vintage and ultimately the producer. It was a great discipline, rigidly enforced by Greg, who acted as the arbiter of taste. I remember being astonished by Greg’s precision when tasting, he was regularly able to draw out the characteristic in the wine which defined it and build from that point to identify the wine. Greg was sitting his MW around that time and he really was an impressive taster.
Handford Wines was and is, like all the best wine shops, full of wonderful wines with essentially no bad wine. However, there is a huge diversity of taste and we need the staff who work in these shops to taste and drink endlessly so that they can help guide us through the selection. During the Handford years, many of my friends thought we just drank all day (and there was a certainly an element of that) but the first duty of every wine merchant is to taste, drink and know every wine in his or her shop. In a shop like Handford that is a tough and ongoing challenge and it very nearly bankrupted both me and my friend and colleague, Jack. The reality is though, if you don’t have the knowledge you might as well just stick a vending machine on the wall.
With plenty of time to reflect and find my own way in wine, I look back on this time with probably slightly rose-tinted glasses. Greg took considerable delight in putting us ‘young-uns’ on the spot and it would be hard to argue that there wasn’t at least an element of sadistic pleasure on his part. I do, however, think his motivation was to educate us and most importantly to eradicate bullshit. After working in wine for a couple of years you start to feel like maybe you know something. Greg was there to remind us that we didn’t. We came to understand that we were embarking on a decades long exploration and that we would get the most out of the experience by being open and honest about what we were tasting and what we knew.
Above all else Greg had (and has) a passion for the wines of his homeland, South Africa. He showed us the potential of cabernet franc in South Africa through the wines of Bruwer Raats in particular. The clamour for good cabernet franc vineyards and grapes continues to grow. He showed us the possibilities of chenin blanc from the top end right down to good, solid, remarkably cheap drinkers. He introduced us to Eben Sadie, for me probably the wines that changed my perception of South African wine. Sadie got off the beaten track and started to work with old shrub vines, especially in the Swartland. Now a generation have left the manicured traditional vineyards of The Cape behind to look for a few 100 year old Cinsault vines on a rugged and overgrown hillside from which they make 600 bottles of wine in a mate’s winery. Sadie paved the way for the new faces of South African wine: Alheit, Badenhorst, Mullineux, Savage and a host of others. Time continues to move on, the Swartland is now established and winemakers are looking elsewhere for the next exciting, undiscovered gems. The atmosphere is electric and fresh with producers teaming up to formally work together or just helping each other out to accomplish the major tasks of winemaking i.e. picking and controlling the grapes from the vineyard to the winery. Not everybody has a winery and many of these guys don’t own the vineyards.
This new paradigm is replicated in parts of the West Coast of the US and in the hills of Northern Spain to name but two places. These new ways of working are increasingly the norm in the most exciting wine regions and are even feeding back into firmly established regions. We see micro-negociants springing up in the less obvious parts of Burgundy buying grapes and scratching together fresh, exciting wines from less charted terroirs. These guys care about terroir but not about the dogma that surrounds it. They also show that a good terroir is not enough, it matters a lot who makes the wine.
Out of the new wave, which are now more like established stars, Duncan Savage stands out to me. I love his understated approach. He describes his method of winemaking in a typically succinct way “do as little as possible, as much as you can”. For me, this perfectly sums up the duality of the winemaker and the wine.
Duncan’s white blend is the wine I reach for when I want to show somebody how good this guy is; most recently I have been drinking the 2016. The wine is a Bordeaux blend (sauvignon blanc and semillon) with, in 2016, a chunk of chenin blanc. In this wine Bordeaux, Burgundy and South Africa seem to meet. It has the upright, rigid spine of a Bordeaux white but with no new oak character. The warm old oak gently rounds the wine like an old school speaker softens a recording from the 60s or 70s, giving the wine layers but not heaviness. The wine is driven by citrus with zippy lime, and, more mellow lemon. This acidity naturally refreshes and frames the rich and complex layers. This remains a distinctly South African wine with a very clear imprint from the chenin but it pays homage to the wines which have inspired the style both in South Africa and from outside. The Savage White Blend 2016 brings together a whole bunch of different characteristics that I really love and somehow presents them harmoniously together. I do not know how Duncan does this but is it singular and brilliant and you won’t find a better white wine for the quite ridiculously low sum that is asked (£27.95 per bottle all in). I wouldn’t hesitate to open bottles young, indeed, I regularly do, but this will certainly reward ageing too.
It is no longer breaking news that the best South African wines are excellent or that there is a vibrant scene of young and young-at-heart winemakers. It is however increasingly clear that we are seeing an exciting, interesting scene develop into an established hierarchy with some producers already commanding very high prices and easily selling out on release i.e. Alheit. Now is the time to learn about and understand these wines if you want to drink them in the future. Some prices are already out of hand and I strongly believe we are just seeing the beginning.
Burgundy - What next?
CATEGORY
Burgundy
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When the 2005 Burgundy vintage was released a healthy number of long term collectors dropped allocations on the basis that prices were simply too high. Greed had apparently gripped the Burgundians; a refrain that echoes today. The last ten years have seen an explosion in knowledge (albeit not always deep) of these wines, and for the most collectible, prices have continued to head dramatically upwards. This effect has been amplified by a series of very short vintages from 2010 onwards creating a real lack of supply of the most desirable bottles.
To take but one example, I used to drink the 1er crus from Fourrier regularly, even stretching to Clos St Jacques (CSJ) at around £40-£50 for a good vintage. These bottles now cost £300 to £500. I am not bemoaning my lot, far from it; I joined in before things went really crazy. However, the market has turned exciting yet accessible drinking wines (in style as well as price) into trophies – and herein lies the problem.
I can have a clear picture of the style of wines at say Rousseau or Roumier without tasting every single wine from every vintage because not a lot has changed there in 30 odd years. Not so with Fourrier. Jean-Marie took the very traditional style of his father and through the late nineties and early 2000s developed and changed the process; his wines honour tradition but pop with freshness, vibrancy and life in a way his father’s did not. As a result, we need to drink these wines a lot if we’re to understand the style, and the price is making this difficult.
The wines feel like they will age but until the 2005s and 2006s start to mature, perhaps ten years from now, we will not know for sure. With fewer people regularly drinking these wines it has become harder to track the progression and it’s natural to hold back the wines in anticipation. However, if we don’t drink the wines, especially with Jean-Marie, how will anybody know what the impact of the changes has been? Jean-Marie isn’t opening £300 bottles regularly just to check in either. We have lost the natural focus group that through the mid-2000s sprung up around Fourrier wines, which at the time were new, exciting and great value.
This phenomenon has spread to maybe 30-50 Burgundian producers, and there’s now a real clamour for their wines. However, it does not extend throughout the region and many producers sit forgotten, with apparent price rises which are purely a result of the decline of sterling. As with the Bordeaux wave through the 1990s and 2000s, collector and investor activity is narrowly focused and ignores the bulk of wines from a region. What we’re now seeing at the top end of Burgundy collecting is more and more wine in ever fewer hands and as a result a much more volatile market.
Many collectors have become de-facto investors and are faced with either drinking their cherished wines knowing they’re worth ten times more than they paid for them, or selling off the wines that have disappeared into the stratosphere.
What’s the take home? Firstly, and assuming that your wine collection is disposable income, I think it’s important to put current market value on one side. By all means cash in some of the collection to support new purchases, especially wines where you don’t quite believe the hype, but don’t sell off all the Roumier, Lafarge, Roulot, Dauvissat, Raveneau and Rousseau. Drink at least some - reap the rewards of getting there first. And secondly? Whilst you’re enjoying some exceptionally fine Burgundy, perhaps start thinking about getting somewhere else first too?
(As an aside, the Burgundy market has felt toppy to some observers since the release of the 2005s, that concern has been shown to be a little premature but I think we are at or at least very near to the high water mark. Many of these wines, in the UK market at least, are priced too high and I expect them in time to adjust back in line with other recent greats like the 2010s, 2009s and 2005s. Will this start a chain reaction through the market and cause a big correction? It’s a possibility worth considering, and a further reason to ensure that you aren’t too Burgundy heavy)
There is a perennial debate about which region will see the next boom. In Parker’s heyday, some backed the Southern Rhone; since the assent of Burgundy, many look to Piedmont for the closest comparison in terms of vineyard specific wines and joyful complexity. This well publicised interest in the region makes buying your favourite Piedmontese producers a safe bet, if only to pre-empt a rush which seems likely given the increase in prices for a handful of producers in recent years. There are, however, less feted pretenders to Burgundy’s crown lurking on the continent. Consider the Northern Rhone if you will - the steep, sandy, southern slopes at Cornas, Cote Rotie’s stone-walled enclaves, Syrah’s spiritual home at Hermitage…maybe even the relative newcomers from St Joseph, Pierre Gonon and the like.
For burg-lovers Syrah may seem a stretch, but for this burg lover, Syrah has long been on the radar. I started drinking Cornas about 11 or 12 years ago having been introduced by a couple of trusted and experienced friends. One of the most enjoyable wines I have ever drunk was with my brother on his birthday - a Clape Cornas 1980. We were enchanted by its unimpeachable quality yet radical and challenging flavours and how it sang so vividly when we got the food right. This was a wine to get lost in and we did. Since then my enthusiasm has flowed across the region - a couple of tastings with Rene Rostaing were truly memorable; and Jamet in Cote Rotie and Clape in Cornas have long been on my radar. The relatively recent discovery of Levet and Benetiere is extremely exciting; and the bonkers value from Faurie in Hermitage (£40 per bottle) and Lionnet in Cornas (sub-£30 for the brilliant Terre Brulee) are striking. It’s also clear that I am only beginning to scratch back the layers.
Here’s my current shortlist of producers but there are no doubt more to add – I’d love it if you’d let me know who you dig and why…
Domaine Jamet – Cote Rotie
Domaine Levet – Cote Rotie
Domaine Benetiere – Cote Rotie
Domaine Rostaing – Cote Rotie
Domaine Faurie – Hermitage
Domaine Clape – Cornas
Domaine Lionnet – Cornas
Domaine Gonon – St Joseph
Domaine Levet – Cote Rotie
Domaine Benetiere – Cote Rotie
Domaine Rostaing – Cote Rotie
Domaine Faurie – Hermitage
Domaine Clape – Cornas
Domaine Lionnet – Cornas
Domaine Gonon – St Joseph
Some of these are more obscure than others, but even the most renowned can be sourced for between £50 and £100, which for some of the most exciting wines on the planet seems like a deal. I am very confident that we will look back ruefully at these prices.
Good deals aside, a far worthier motive for venturing somewhere new is the thrill of discovery itself. Why wait for the wine world’s critics-in-chief to tell us who will be the next crown-prince when we can decide for ourselves? The answer may or may not be found at the bottom of a glass of Syrah but it’s a great place to look. So if, like me, you want to continue to nurture your love of Burgundy whilst also breaking new ground, get yourself to the Northern Rhone. Let’s road test these guys like we used to with Fourrier and learn by some seriously pleasurable doing.
Anthony Bourdain
CATEGORY
People
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Anthony Bourdain killed himself a couple of weeks ago and it has left me and a lot of other people feeling pretty bummed out. In a world of cooks that value presentation over flavour and TV food ‘personalities’ that want their followers to feel the same empty sense of loss that the many house decorating shows have successfully exploited to flog banisters and over-priced paint, Tony told us to eat it all and to find our selves in the experience of cooking and eating with others.
Reading Bourdain’s books and watching his shows for the last twenty years, it strikes me that cooking and eating can be a form of therapy. A way of feeding (pun intended) and honing your better instincts and impulses. A structure but not a dictatorship that nurtures individuality but with a social contract.
“I quickly came to understand that there are two types of people in this world. There are the types of people who are going to live up to what they said they were going to do yesterday, and then there are people who are full of shit. And that’s all you really need to know. If you can’t be bothered to show up, why should anybody show up? It’s just the end of the fucking world.”
I think it is fair to say that the world of food saved Tony Bourdain. It seems that like many of us he was swimming around in a mire of confusion and self-loathing getting his kicks from defining himself against things, damning the man. The great news is that you can be a petulant, unsettled teenager and even twenty something and maybe even thirty something and then find something that you give a shit about. Even better you still can and should damn the man.
Lovers of good food and drink don’t need to conform, in fact it’s generally a bad thing, but as one descends into a world of hedonism it becomes clear that there are, in fact, rules and they are important. I watched ‘The Mind of a Chef’ because Bourdain hosted the thing and encountered David Chang of Momofuku. Chang embodies the duality of respecting tradition but feeling free to fuck with it, recognising that if you take it too far you could and should be given some shit. There is a perfect segment with Sean Brock (another cool guy) where Chang really gently describes how a Mornay sauce relates to the canon of great sauces, coming from the ‘mother sauce’ béchamel. It is a perfect bit of unpretentious educational TV, he makes it clear that you don’t need to feel bound by the tradition but only a total dick would just jump in and freestyle without knowing where it all comes from.
The Mind of a Chef series is emblematic of Bourdain’s open-hearted enthusiasm for people who care about food and, as he said himself, have genuine talent as opposed to him as a jobbing cook. He used his profile to host a series that ties together many of the threads of good food across the world through a network of chefs who are individually excellent but are even better as a group. The foraging course hosted by Rene Redzepi of Noma is a perfect example. Chef Sean Brock is transparently feeling performance pressure, he wants to show what he can do, not for self-aggrandisement but because he wants to keep his end up. He respects the other chefs too much not to put out something fitting for the occasion. The series returns to this theme again in the music / pot luck episode where each of the pretty starry (not Michelin) chefs involved wants to pull out something that is going to enchant and excite their fellow enthusiasts and take them somewhere new and unexpected. Nobody is bringing a tried and tested standard from their restaurant, they are bringing something adventurous and outside the normal realm. Pushing themselves and their friends. There is such a healthy tension in the kitchen and you just want to be there.
No doubt these talented people would have, and in many cases already had, found an audience but Bourdain surely sped things up and pulled this global group together in a way that the viewer can see that this is not a bunch of disconnected stuff but a movement. I once went to see a beautiful exhibition in Copenhagen of the work of the Dane, Asger Jorn and the American, Jackson Pollock. The two artists were working concurrently but unaware of the other’s work. The two sets of work, although different, make it clear they were running in parallel, thinking some of the same things and finding some of the same answers. Bourdain used his celebrity status to show to people outside the industry that in the world of food the connections are explicit and that two people on opposite sides of the world can not only think the same thing but get together hang out and maybe get even better together.
I see a parallel movement in my own world, wine. Michael Sager from the London wine bar Sager & Wilde tearing up Europe with Rajat Parr, a winemaker with many projects on the west coast of the US and visiting producers such as Jean-Marc Roulot, one of the best white winemakers in the world, a guy who would be more accustomed to visits from fusty guys in red trousers. I remember fondly a night at Sager & Wilde with Jean-Marc Roulot walking table to table and chatting to people who were drinking his wines but didn’t have a fucking clue who he was. This guy is the Seve Ballesteros or Ayrton Senna of white Burgundy but he wears it lightly and just wants to know what people think of the wines.
In an epoch where status has become a way of life, Tony Bourdain shifted the needle towards deeper connections and meaning but wasn’t a prick about it.
In a world with half arse despots turning petty minds in on themselves and others, Tony Bourdain asked us to look around us and open ourselves up to the new and challenging. His milieu was food but there a lot more to it than that.
I didn’t know Tony but he had a big impact on me. He made me want to cook and made it cool to give a shit and to want others to give a shit.