Every so often I find myself stuck in a wine drinking rut. There are far worse problems in life to be sure, but I think complacency of any form is dangerous, even possibly symptomatic of a more serious lack of imagination. When you become blinkered to the possibilities and lose sight of the big picture, untold opportunities are lost. The beautiful world of diversity, of spice and variety and all that, is cut off, as though you’d been shuttered in a small room with one book, one album, one painting, one wine and a bag of plain chips. No phone calls permitted. Sometimes when I find myself reaching for the same wines, the same grapes, the same styles, this thought crosses my mind, and I wonder, “shouldn’t I be trying something else?”
There’s certainly nothing wrong with preferences. In fact, everybody has them. But in the case of wine, until you can say that you’ve tried it all, which is to say never, there’s always something new to discover. You never know what else you may find out there that will add just a tiny dash more spice to your life. When the stakes are high (first date, critical business meeting, big dinner party, etc.) there’s no shame in going for the tried and true. But given the risk of becoming overly complacent, you owe it to yourself to broaden the proverbial horizons now and then.
So, if you’ve been in a wine rut lately, here’s the first installment in a mini series of escape strategies: It’s designed to remind, or inform, of the vast world of possibilities out there, without straying too far from the nest.
If you like chardonnay, try:
- Soave Classico
- Roussanne and blends
- Portuguese whites from the Alentejo
- South African chenin blanc
Of course chardonnay comes in many shapes and sizes, from the lean, quivering, unoaked versions of Chablis to the rich and buttery Napa style. But the features that most chardonnays have in common are relatively subtle aromatics and succulent, broad, mouth-filling texture, neither fat nor austere. Chardonnay drinkers should feel at home with any of the suggestions below.
Garganega is the grape used to make the top versions of Soave Classico, grown on the volcanic hills around the town of Soave in the Veneto Region of Italy. Most Soave is un-oaked or just lightly oaked, with discreet orchard fruit flavours and a streak of minerality, alongside a generous but balanced body. I know many fine palates who have mistaken top Soave for top Burgundy (but never me, ahem). Beware, however, of the Soave missing the “Classico” designation. Basic Soave comes mostly from the flat flood plains below the hills and is made from less interesting grapes like trebbiano, resulting in an insipid shadow of the Classico stuff.
Roussanne is the most refined white grape of the northern Rhône, where it’s reminiscent of fennel, hay and white flowers along with ripe but fresh orchard fruit. It’s most often blended with marsanne (i.e. in Hermitage blanc, Crozes Hermitage, St. Péray), and with Grenache blanc, clairette and bourboulenc further south in the southern Rhône (Côtes du Rhone) and the Midi, mainly to plump up the wine and increase the volume of production. In California you’ll find in blended with the same Rhône grapes and also with viognier and chardonnay, especially in the Central Coast AVAs. At its best, it can’t be hauntingly good and dazzlingly complex. It comes in both wooded and unwooded/lightly wooded versions.
Most people would be hard-pressed to name any of the white grapes indigenous to southern Portugal, but who cares; it’s the style that counts. For the record, the grape that contributes most to the chardonnay-like profile of the Alentejo DOCs (where blends prevail) is called antão vaz, a particularly rich and creamy grape that tends towards a more tropical fruit profile, especially when grown in the relentless heat of the plains of southern Portugal. Miraculously, it also retains enough acidity to stay focused and keep its shit together in the maddening heat. You’ll frequently find the telltale traces of barrel ageing in these wines —caramel, vanilla, crème brulée and the like — making new world chard drinkers feel especially comfortable.
Chenin blanc was originally brought to South Africa principally for the production of brandy, a favourite tipple of the colonizing Dutch (who in fact gave us the word, derived from brandewijn, meaning literally “burnt wine”). Thanks to the declining popularity of distilled wine and the legacy of those early plantings, there are vast acres of old vine chenin blanc across the Cape that are being taken seriously for table wine production. And as we know, old vines usually make better wine, and the top examples deliver extraordinary depth of flavour, succulent texture and striking minerality. Wood is often a feature but rarely dominant, giving these wines a style somewhere between old world, assertive and minerally, and new world ripe and fleshy character.
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John Szabo is a master sommelier and wine writer for Toronto Standard. Follow his tweets here: @johnszabo.
More recommendations by John Szabo at www.johnswines.com
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