Flat Whites, Icebreakers, Canterbury Lamb and Riesling: March 9, 2009

Just a few of my favorite things I’ve found this short while down here in New Zealand. Although not necessarily in that order. In the relatively short week I’ve spent here in the southern part of the world, I’ve seen my first blue penguin, had amazing lamb prepared several delicious ways, tasted a wild goat meat pie, sampled some of the best and most undiscovered Rieslings from this part of the world, and drank my weight in pints of Tui East Indian Ale while enduring a grueling 8 hour cricket match. In the blazing sun. Which, after 6 hours, turned into a frigid bowl of southerly gale force winds. I’ve also learned to drive on the other side of the road. Harrowing, considering that at every moment you are anticipating a head-on collision. And now, looking out onto High and Manchester streets in the center of Christchurch, I’m finally calm and settling into this new lifestyle, relaxed with my favorite Kiwi invention, the Flat White, as I watch the last of the Monday morning commuters buzz around me in a hurried attempt to begin their day-to-day cubicle life. Not me. Today, I travel with fellow Craggy Intern Patrick south of this Gateway To The Antartic to the Aroaki/Mt. Cook National Park. I have to admit, I couldn’t be happier to leave the city behind. For me, this is where the real New Zealand is discovered.

It’s freezing down here. And it’s March – I was expecting weather not unlike San Francisco in late August: warm, but with a slight chill in the evening. Not the case. So, after a necessary stop at one of the many outdoor stores (which are conveniently placed on every corner in the major intersections in South Island towns like Christchurch, Queenstown and Dunedin), I’m now all suited up with my North Face Ice Blue Fleece, my Mont goose-down sleeping bag and comfy ThermaRest camping mattress. I’m a fricking walking REI ad. NZed, here I come!

It’s a good thing that I got some civilized R&R in before embarking on this Great Unknown Journey. Prior to meeting Patrick in Christchurch (and witnessing way too much blood out in the streets for an average Saturday night), I escaped the City for a quick minibreak up to the Waipara Valley. Only an hour’s drive north of Christchurch, it is the perfect little getaway from the city. This is a region that is quickly becoming known for it’s delicate approach to Pinot Noirs and it’s ability to produce dry, off-dry and sweet Rieslings. I was able to taste at a few of the wineries in the region: Muddy Water, Pegasus Bay, Waipara Springs, and a little winery outside the region in little Waikari, Bell Hill, who are doing some absolutely fabulous small block, yet densely planted Pinot Noir and Chardonnay on limestone rich soils.

As for the Rieslings, where Pegasus Bay is king in the region, there are plenty more nipping at their heels. The Rieslings of Muddy Water were outstanding, with their dry Riesling showing delicate aromas of peaches, pears and lychee with a bit of hazelnut on the long finish. At 6gr RS, this is the driest style of the region, but the intense acidity and minerality helps to erase any sign of sugar on the palate. My preferred wine of the day. Their medium-dry, the James Harwick, was again just as minerally, with a distinct white floral nose, but a zesty Key Lime pie palate that kept me diving back in for more. Quite yummy. As for their sweeter style, the 2006 ‘Unplugged’ had a bit of Botrytis-affected fruit included, from a block that sits a little lower than their other blocks near the river. At 53gr RS, the wine was definitely more of a dessert style, but you won’t find any cloying fruit notes with this one. A very expressive nose of rose petals and a hint of petrol, the palate was more glycerine in style verses sticky sweet, and again the presence of the minerality and acitidy helped the wine to be focused and present. Other producers I was able to check out included Waipara Springs, Where I had one of the most delectable lamb salads on the terrace with a bit of dry Riesling.

Although the Riesling was quite expressive and lovely, it was the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from little producer Bell Hill that really stole my heart. Built upon a former limestone quarry and production facility, it is evident why Marcel and Sherwyn decided to turn the property into a home for Pinot and Chardonnay vines. The backdrop was luscious, with a light rain falling on the densely carpeted clover-green peaks and hilly ranges while the spun sugar clouds dotted the sky, tinged with a bit of gray, looking down onto the grazing sheep below. Upon a bluff overlooking all of this extravagance sits Bell Hill.

More vineyard than production space, the love is definitely felt in the dirt, where the vines are planted close together in tough limestone soils, perched on ridges and slopes and fight to be the very best they can be. The soil is actually three distinct layers, with the topsoil consisting of dark clay, the mid section, and largest section, all limestone, and the deepest layer a very fine, packed greensand soil. Wilco, vineyard manager from Holland via Martinborough, shows me each block and expresses just how carefully each row is cared for.

To taste with owners Marcel and Sherwyn is a magical experience, to say the least. After a quick tour of the tiny but functional crushpad and production room, I am escorted though a door in what looks to be an outhouse shaped like a mushroom, down a metal spiral staircase to a magnificent, yet ‘Lilliplutian’ cellar below. 12 oak barrels and a wall of mostly Burgundian wines line the inside of this submerged container. There, Marcel pulls samples of their 2008 Chardonnay, recently finished with ML. It tastes fresh and new, yet resplendent of limestone and mineral. Key lime, kiwi and honeysuckle with subtle tropical fruits accented the palate and finish. A gorgeous texture of Chantilly cream finishes it off. Delightful.

For the Pinot Noirs represented, all were pulled from the barrel, Marcel blending blocks together, and offering tastes of single block samples. All had beautiful expressive fruit, with the resplendent acidity and minerality gained from the soils. A hint of herbality and gaminess was something I could definitely sink my teeth into. The most expressive of the 2008 Pinots was that from a block affectionately dubbed the “Problem Child” block. It was one of the first planted, and so the most mature; however, the soils have been turning up curious deposits from its former life as a limestone processing plant, so each vintage presents new challenges and discoveries. If what was tasted from the barrel is any indication, this block is the one to look out for. The texture was both of lace and satin, with strong expression of fruit tannins and limestone, and the complexity of all the components was outstanding for the wine’s young age. Upon bottling, I can see this particular Pinot becoming even more elongated and defined, with years of aging giving it even more complexity.

Upon returning to Christchurch, I needed to find the perfect dinner experience to compliment the wine experience I’d just had in Waipara. Walking in awe in the shadow of the Arts Complex, directly across from the Botanical Gardens and the Canterbury Museum, I notice a sign for Annie’s Wine Bar. Intrigued, not only because the place looked like Oxford and Hogwarts all rolled into one, but because it also featured a Wine Bar, I headed straight to the hostess stand. A beautiful space accented by the cut stained-glass windows and soaring beams, the ambience was a 10. Apparently, open flame is acceptable in dining rooms throughout New Zealand, and the white tapers at the tables and ledges definitely tricked me into thinking I was in fact dining in the Grand Hall at some prestigious English university. Looking out through the beveled glass onto the green grassy commons with the last bit of afternoon sun filtering in, I felt very much at home, and like I should have a copy of Keats as my dinner partner.

The staff was quite young and friendly, and displayed quite a bit of knowledge about the local Canterbury wines featured on the list, as well as the flavor profiles for the wines found outside the immediate area. All of the wines poured by the glass were presented in the wine list with the actual label pasted onto the parchment page, with handwritten descriptions listed beneath the artwork. It actually created a sense of excitement to be ordering a glass of wine instead of a sense of dread.

To start, a Nobilo ’05 Method Traditionelle paired with ‘Annie’s Breads & Spreads’: Mint & basil, EVOO & Balsamic & Hummous. Quite non-descript, save for the excellent New Zealand Olive Oil. For the main, the South Pacific Grouper with Red Pepper, Japanese Radish, Tempura Pears & Cardomom. Wonderful flaky texture on the fish, if the spice was a tad bit lacking. To pair, the Aurum ’07 Pinot Gris from Central Otago. A nice pairing, that actually helped to bring out the spice in the dish. With a bright stone fruit nose featuring apricots, lycee, melon and flint, there was a hint on spice on the med-dry finish. A lovely, long citrus and floral palate assists the persistent finish. With the Grouper, the flavors seem to be more pure. Delicate, slightly sweet, and a savory texture that is definitely highlighted by the Pinot Gris.

So, although I have not done the bungee thing or the skydiving thing or the rafting thing, or even the work thing yet, I seem to be LOVING NZed, as it were, and can't wait to try all the above things (and perhaps eat a live worm or two). Provided that working down here is half as fun as playing down here, I should be in for a very good time indeed.....

Cheers and Kai Ora

Barreling Down

A funny thing happens to all winemakers when they see their first wines go from fermentation bin into barrel.  I'm sure of it.  Seeing the product that you have cultivated from a simple cluster of berries - or, further back, a mere shoot on a vine in late winter - turn into a living piece of art, it is truly moving.  Perhaps like giving birth (although that is really more the feeling one gets when finally moving the wine from barrel to bottle); or perhaps jumping off the high dive for the first time.  The volatile period of primary fermentation is over.  Your baby now moves into the more permanent home for the remaining months of aging, malo-lactic fermentation, and into the period where the flavors of the wine embark on a roller-coaster of a ride, until (you hope) they culminate into a glorious symphony of flavor and texture that captures the essence of the year, the beauty of the fruit, and the personality of the winemaker.  That's the percice moment that you want to capture the wine and put it in it's bottle.  But, first, it has to find comfort in it's new home - the barrel.

Now, I could go on here about the various tonneliers that produce barrels from oak found in forests from France to Slovenia to Pennsylvania.  How each barrel has a distinct toasting level, and how winemakers regard the barrels as the "spice rack" of the cellar.  But suffice it to say, where you choose to make a home for your wine is very, very important.  When I barreled down my 2008 wines this year, I felt a very anxious void fill my stomach.  No longer able to be caressed with my hands (and punchdown tool) 2 or 3 times a day, it was all going to be consolidated in a few 60-gallon wood barriques.  Hidden away.  Aromas and flavors only exposed by the glass thief, stealing little sips out of the small round hole at the top of the barrel.  It was perhaps like sending your little 8 year old off to boarding school in the Alps - knowing that where little Timmy was headed was indeed going to make a very refined gentleman out of him, but aching to see him grow before your very eyes.  

Luckily, that little round porthole allows us to check in on a regular basis, just to make sure it's on the right path,  growing into a very prolific artistic expression of soil, vintage, and character.  So far, boarding school is treating the Abaluche 2008 vintage very well...

(For more pictures of the barreling down process, follow the link below.)

http://picasaweb.google.com/christinasports/AbalucheWineCompanyGoingToBarrel?feat=directlink

Poitevin-Saintongeais

Poitevin-Saintongeais is a post-medieval dialect originating in the South-Central region of France, an area bordered by the Bay of Biscay on the West, the Loire River to the North and the Gironde River of Bordeaux to the South.  The area is currently referred to as the Poitou region, divided into three departments:  Vendee to the West; Deux-Sevres in the center, and Vienne in the East.  

The area fell to the Visigoths in 418 AD, and to the Franks in 507 AD, and became a part of the French crown after the Hundred Years' War.  The Golden Age occurred in the 11th and 12th Century, which is characterized by the abundant Romanesque art and architecture found throughout the area.  The dialect was first used in print in 1554, in early accounts of French theatrical pieces and dramatic monolouges, and is considered one of the earlier Romantic languages.  In 1785, during the French and Indian war, many Arcadians, who were decendents of the Poitou region, migrated to Louisiana, and formed the Cajun culture.

Today, Poitou-Charentes is a diverse region featuring sundrenched seaside resorts, some located among the famous salt beds that produce the rare and exquisite Fleur de Sel; lovely marias, known as 'The Green Venice', winding throughout the farmhouses and country estates that dot the estuaries; unspoiled fishing villages, historic castles and world-famous architecture, and the famous Poitou donkeys.  Food and wines in the region focus around the fresh seafood gathered from the Bay of Biscay, and crisp, aromatic whites.  

The Poitevin dialect was the language of artists and scientists.  One such scientist, as well as a renown modern philosophist, is Rene Descartes.  Born in Indre-et-Loire, he studied at the University of Poitiers.  A chemistry term that has been used by Descartes is one that is part of the ancient Poitevin-Saintongeais dialect, which roughly translates as 'a suspended particle in a liquid'.  The word is 'abaluche'.   

Some families in France that have decendents from Poitou have used the word in casual slang, to mean either 'to propose a second glass of aperitif', or as a name for the cookies or nuts that accompanied an apertif.  

Whether in the context of science, food, or drink, it seems that 'abaluche' has the underlying definition of celebration.  When I think of a suspended particle in a liquid, I immediately think of a champagne bubble.  Proposing a second aperitif reminds me of the toasts I enjoy with friends and family.  And what good is wine or aperitif without a tasty little snack to highlight the flavors of the drink?

I hope to visit this very special region of France someday.  I have a feeling there will be a lot more connections with this beautiful place and Abaluche Wine Company.  And I hope that as I go forward in developing wine and building the Company, the principles and expressions of the various definitions of 'abaluche' are reflected.  In the meantime, raise a glass and toast to all of the blessings in our lives.  Abaluche!

Coryelle Fields Vineyard

So it seems that I have somehow gotten myself knee-deep in grapes this year.  By accident, of course.  It's just when something serendipitous comes your way, especially in such uncertain times, you just have to go with it.  And it's a very good feeling when you never look back, feeling that whatever it was that was so serendipitous to begin with was absolutely, without hesitation, the right thing to embrace.  And so this is how I found Coryelle Fields Vineyard, in the extreme northern appellation of the Sonoma Coast.  1235 feet in elevation, to be exact.

To get there, one must pass through the delightful hippie-ville of Guerneville, which runs alongside the bucolic Russian River (which from time to time one can spot nude frolickers along its shores).  Winding through the redwoods and through the strangely attractive vacation town of Monte Rio, you come to the turnoff for Cazadero.  Then, the journey begins...  An hour later, after enduring hairpin turns with precarious drop-offs into valleys strewn with rivers, rocks, and redwoods, one-lane gravel roads winding past hidden treehouses and ramshackle barns, then finally to the summit - eagles circling, scrubbed oaks sprinkling the landscape, the thick fog from the Pacific drifting down off the peaks into the crevices of the various ridges.  To say that this is a very special place is quite an understatement.  To plant a vineyard in this extreme location is not only daring, it is a true testament of the grower to the importance of place in the fruit that the vineyard is destined to produce.

As you can see, there was no way possible for me to pass up working with fruit from this fantastic place this year.  Working with Carolyn, the grower, out in the vineyards this past year allowed me to really feel how the vineyard takes all the elements - the elevation, the proximity to the Pacific, the diurnal shifts in the weather, to really give a defined character to the fruit produced.  The block that I worked with was planted to Syrah, a little over an acre, located on a south west-facing slope, and trained to Geneva Double-Cordon.  In it's seventh year of crop, it showed a little yield restraint this year, but the phenolics and the structure of the fruit looks like it is on its way to become truly beautiful wine. 

Now, it'll be a quite a few months until we all can taste how this crazy harvest (mark my words - its a vintage for the history books!) will be translated into the wines of Abaluche Wine Company. All I can tell you for certain is this - they come from a very special place.