Joe Dressner on Wine

Does terroir exist or not?
© by Joe Dressner
Predictably, lovers of European wines line up on the side of terroir and lovers of cult Cabernets and the new wave of Australian Shiraz line up in the anti-terroir camp. The argument against terroir is that it is hocus-pocus, that cannot be quantified, nor for that matter tasted, and that it is the work of the winemaker we taste in the bottle. The argument for terroir is that Chambertin is different from Romanée Conti as Margaux is different from Haut-Brion as Rayas is different from Vieux Télégraphe.

Defining terms: What's terroir? "Gout de Terroir" is French for, more or less, "the taste of the soil." The most ardent advocates of this theory argue that the soil in which the grapes are grown literally communicates itself in the taste of the wine. In this column, Joe Dressner takes on the issue, which is the source of great debate among wine lovers.

The ensuing arguments go in circles: how come Ramonet's Montrachet tastes different than the DRC's if it is the terroir that is primary , countered by the charge that extreme vinification techniques are now obliterating the differences between terroir, leading to a homogenization of wine into just another technologically-rendered beverage.

Rather than get into that argument, let's approach terroir from another perspective: the thousands of hectares of European vineyards producing many 'small' wines, adapted to their terroir that have no pretense of being Grands Vins in the sense of DRC or Hermitage or the Grand Cru Classé. Whether it be Beaujolais, Muscadet, Cour-Cheverny, Cerdon du Bugey, various Muscats, humble Côtes-du-Rhônes, Bourgogne Aligoté, these are wines that are often delicious because they marry the terroir and variety in the sense of understanding an area's limitations. And this understanding and exploitation of limitation, which came with centuries of tinkering, adds so much to the richness of our wine culture and wine enjoyment. But in non-terroir cultures, one tries to make a world-class Cabernet in Virginia, Missouri and the irrigated flatlands of Napa. When America produces a great Muscadet or its equivalent, then we will have arrived at the centuries of terroir differentiation that Europe has achieved. To date, our best commercial effort might have been the White Zinfandel, which if nothing else saved Zinfandel, an interesting variety, in many spots where it might have been pulled out for more 'fashionable' plantings.

I am currently on medical sabbatical from a job with an importer of French and Portugese wines. In February, I visited and tasted 60+ wineries in France. In each and every one of them, I tasted the new vintage based on terroir, often very small cuvées each from different spots. A vat from this spot with this mineral composition, a barrel from that spot which has more chalk and a lesser exposition, etc. Each cuvée clearly marked and differentiated by the vigneron, whether it is a cellar with mono- or multiple-varietals. Some of the estates bottle by terroir (in Côte d'Or it is by appellation, but in areas without codified terroir the vignerons often use the names of vineyard sites on each bottling), others do an assemblage. At some of them, I have preferred terroirs and requested separate bottlings for my firm from particular spots. In principle I am judging the wine, but I note that year-in and year-out I tend to prefer the wine that came from particular micro-climats. At those that do an assemblage, the vigneron always discusses what each particular spot (terroir) does for the final mix. This is as true in Burgundy as it is in the Minervois or the Muscadet or the Beaujolais. I believe my colleague Kermit Lynch has a wonderful passage in his book on how Chave views his final blends of Hermitage.

Most vignerons like to take a taster on a tour of their vineyards. It is always intriguing to walk several yards and have the vigneron tell you why the wine over here is always different than the wine in the spot we had just left. Again, this is the case regardless of whether it is codified (as in Côte d'Or) or not ... Regardless of whether is is a 'grand' appellation or a 'small' one.

The other interesting aspect is that some of the vignerons my firm works with have their best wines come from younger vines. They happen to have younger vines planted in better terroirs than their older vines. This is a phenomenon that always intrigues me and is part of the richness of viticulture. The superior spots will become better as the vines age, but a Chinon with a perfect exposure in limestone/clay with 10 year old vines might be better than a Chinon in old vines but in a sandy soil.

Lastly, the key method of expressing terroir is the work in the vineyards. A dense plantation, low yields, intensive pruning, old vines, the use of massales sélections (not clones), roots that go down deep into the soil, a non-irrigated environment, and thousands of other smaller things are all essential if the vines are to express something other than their varietal character. Great wines come from vines that suffer. But this takes time and experience.

I know a French vigneron, not one I work with, who goes to Chile during the harvest and works as a consultant. What he always talks about is how Chile suffers from not having had the phylloxera. That there are vineyards everywhere, in good, average and dismal terroirs. That one of the advantages of the phylloxera in Europe was that the poorer spots were not replanted, that a differentation between terroirs was made (despite some sad mishaps in France where it was too labor intensive to replant: Côte Rotie, Condrieu, Montagnieu, etc.). We have just gone through this crisis in America and the final result was not only to replant everything (perhaps with some tweaking) but to add enormous acreage in vineyards wherever possible. Of course, this was a 'market-driven' decision, but it is unfortunate that we now have an expanded American vineyard that is predominately in young vines -- expansion and young vines, by definition, means a diluted expression of terroir.

For many of us Americans, terroir seems almost anti-democratic. One of the particularities of many of the new cult wines is that they come from nowhere and no one has any idea what their future will be or if they will even exist. All that was required to manufacture them was hard-work, money spent on consultancies, connections, oenological techniques, and purchased fruit. But inherited vineyard sites and the idea of superior sites making superior wines is not what this is all about. It is truly the triumph of the visionary winemaker, the American Dream!

Not only is there not a terroir there, there is often no there, there -- no owned vineyards, no winery facility and no work in the fields. Colgin, working out of leased operations, actually had the contracted laborers at the rented facility ruin an entire harvest by blending some plonk with the real juice. Virtual wine, which breaks from the historic constraints of coming from specific vineyards owned by farmers, is now an expression of consultancies and virtual reputations. It is almost www.ahighoctaneblockbuster.com.

In this world, there is none of the baggage of European winemaking where agriculture constrains creative exploration, along with family history, inheritance, AOC restrictions and traditions. The vigneron who inherits a plot of Richebourg tends to make a better wine than the vigneron in the flatlands with Bourgogne Rouge. Even if both of them are as talented and vigilant. And the vigneron in a 'small' appellation might work even harder and with more integrity and will still make far less money! To many it is undemocratic and un-American!

It is also why I get to enjoy my Muscadet and Beaujolais every year. Two appellations that give me great pleasure and that I wouldn't sacrifice for the top spot on the mailing list of every cult Cabernet! Two wines that express centuries of work, culture, cultivation and experimentation.

Two expressions of terroir.

June 25, 2000