Wine Enthusiast |
- California Wines Made With New Hybrid Grapes Hold Promise, If Anyone Will Drink Them
- What Are ‘Lees’ in Wine?
- An Ancient Indigenous Drink is Revived, Illuminating Australian History
- Pio Boffa, Barolo and Barbaresco Trailblazer, Dies at 66
| California Wines Made With New Hybrid Grapes Hold Promise, If Anyone Will Drink Them Posted: 20 Apr 2021 05:00 AM PDT  Losing a vineyard to disease is "extremely painful," says Adam Tolmach, cofounder of The Ojai Vineyard. In 1981, he planted more than five acres of mostly Syrah on Ventura County land that his grandfather purchased a half-century earlier. His last vintage was in 1995. "You put your heart and soul into it," says Tolmach. "I planted every one of the vines and nurtured them. It was like my baby that I was working on. It was very heartbreaking to have it slowly die off." The culprit was Pierce's disease (PD), which is spread by insects known as glassy-winged sharpshooters. It's one of the few scourges that actually kills vines, rather than just hamper them. A problem in California since the dawn of commercial grape-growing in the 1880s, PD is more prevalent in Southern California. But it's also known to hammer vines in the north, especially along riparian corridors like those near the Napa River. "We were getting eaten alive by Pierce's disease in the mid-1990s," says Doug Fletcher, who worked for Chimney Rock Winery in Napa from 1986 until his retirement in 2019. "The next cycle is on its way up again. You're seeing more Pierce's disease now than we have in a long time." With climate change marching forward, it's only going to get worse. "As your nighttime temperatures warm up, Pierce's disease will spread further because it relies on mild conditions," says Tolmach. "Pierce's disease is going to become a bigger and bigger problem as California weather gets milder." But the cavalry is coming, in the form of hybridized, PD-resistant grapes developed by Dr. Andrew Walker at the University of California, Davis. At the annual Unified Wine & Grape Symposium, held virtually this year in January, Walker was joined by Tolmach and Chuck Wagner, the founder of Caymus Vineyards. Both are growing and now making wines from these new varieties. Attendees tasted two of Tolmach's white wines made from hybrid grapes (one called Ambulo Blanc, the other Caminante Blanc), two reds (one named Walker Red, the other Paseante Noir), and multiple vintages of Wagner's wine made from Paseante Noir. The wines were a pleasant surprise to many who had previously tried funky or flavorless wine made from hybrid grapes. They had familiar yet unique flavors, ample acidity and appropriate mouthfeel.  Though Walker believed these grapes might be planted in problem areas along a creek as a buffer to PD and used for blending, the results promise a more prominent role. "We're pretty ecstatic about it," said Wagner during the symposium as attendees sipped his rich, black cherry-fruited, mocha-spiced 2019, and fresher, black raspberry-laced, herb-inflected 2020. "We think it's high-caliber vinifera wine. It doesn't need to be squeezed along the creek. It can go right into large production. It's that good, at least in my mind." "I've never been all that thrilled by the [hybrid grape] releases of the last 50 years," says Tolmach, whose white wines showed melon, guava, grass and lime flavors. "Some have been O.K., but just not truly exciting. With Andy's grape varieties, from what I have tasted, there is something really there that is thrilling." Walker, a faculty member of the Department of Viticulture and Enology at UC-Davis since 1989, is a prominent name in grape breeding. His rootstock work saves vintners from diseases like fan leaf and infestations of harmful nematodes, and he's been working on PD-resistant vines for 25 years. He's proud of these latest grapes, but he believes they're just the start to address the titanic issues the wine industry will face. "PD is the last of our problems," says Walker. "The reality is that we're going to have to change what we grow and where we grow it as the climate changes, and we don't know how to do that yet. It looks like it will happen faster than we thought, and be more intense than we thought." Over the course of his career, improvements in genetic science and viticultural techniques have enabled hybrid grapes to be grown more quickly and be immediately analyzed for positive characteristics. "We know enough about the biochemistry of aroma, color and taste to start making decisions," says Walker, who tracks the DNA markers on each hybrid. "It can be much faster than traditionally." But it still takes at least two years to get fruit to ready to test, and hybridizing grapes in this natural way produces mostly throwaway results. "If you cross Cabernet Sauvignon and Zinfandel, you don't get a wine that tastes like half-Cab and half-Zin," says Tolmach. "You can get anything. What you get is unknown."  Both of Tolmach's white grapes, for instance, were mostly parented by red grapevines: 62.5% Cabernet Sauvignon, 12.5% Carignan and 12.5% Chardonnay. With five PD-resistant varieties now on the market, Walker is focusing his research on creating a vine that's resistant to powdery mildew, a fungus that also affects grapevines throughout the state. Vintners control mildew with a variety of applications that require a lot of time, money and energy. "It's the reason that you drive the tractor through the vineyard five to 10 times each year," says Tolmach. "If you could eliminate that, it would be an incredible economic boon, for sure." Walker sees his hybrids as just part of the strategy, which also includes efforts to plant existing heat-tolerant varieties and the exploration of cooler regions for future vineyards. He knows that breeding can bridge a wide gap, however, so long as the public accepts these hybrids. "There's been a widely held distaste of breeding new wine hybrid varieties," said Walker during the symposium. He lamented that the wine industry clings proudly to ancient varieties, whereas the rest of commercial agriculture constantly introduces hybrids that fight disease, increase yields and improve quality. "There is a new table grape every year, and yet we don't really see that in wine grapes," he said. "We're going to have to do that."
The responsibility to convert the public is on wineries. "It's the marketing department's job," said Walker. "Somebody has to take the bull and say we're gonna push this forward." Tolmach is grappling with that right now. Recently, he bottled his 2019 hybrid wines by blending the two whites together, and same with the two reds. He needs to figure out what to call the finished wines. "It will be a little complicated to introduce people to these new varietals," says Tolmach, who believes many customers will initially opt for his Pinot Noirs, Syrahs or Chardonnays over something new. But he's emboldened by the early success of these grapes. "The Pierce's-resistant varieties will stand up to climate change," he says. "And they're handling the problem in an environmentally friendly way, which is not using insecticide to stave off this pending disaster."  In addition to the acre-plus he planted in Ojai, Tolmach hopes to plant more hybrids at Fe Ciega, a vineyard he just purchased in the Sta. Rita Hills in Santa Barbara County. Though the property's Pinot Noir sits safely on a high ledge, a small block of Chardonnay along the Santa Ynez River was decimated by Pierce's disease a few years ago. That's where these PD-resistant vines will go. Tolmach is excited to see what cooler-climate versions of these grapes will produce. Most of all, he's just happy to have a working vineyard back at his family ranch. "We're excited about being able to grow grapes here at our place in Ojai again," he says. |
| Posted: 20 Apr 2021 04:30 AM PDT  "Lees are like the drunk uncle at a family gathering," says Toni Boyce, owner of BlaQ & Soul. "It gives a beverage life, but if it overstays its welcome, things could turn left quick." So, what are lees? Where do they come from? As yeast is added to wine, it starts to ferment, converting sugar into alcohol and carbon dioxide as it mixes with the grape juice. Eventually, when the yeast has consumed all of the sugar in the wine, it drops to the bottom of the fermentation vessel. That wet, dense pile of residual mass is what's called the gross lees. It’s a mix of dead yeast, grape skins, seeds stems and tartrates, which is then racked off and discarded. Another type of lees, known as fine lees, are mostly made of dead yeast cells that gradually settle on the bottom of a fermentation vessel. They have a silkier consistency than gross lees, and are both a byproduct of winemaking and an ingredient in its aging process. If wine ages in contact with its fine lees for a considerable time, it develops pronounced round, full, creamy flavors that may present as nutty or yeasty, like warm brioche, in the finished wine. The French call this process sur lie, which translates to "on the lees." Tara Gomez, winemaker for Kitá Wines, says that aging a wine on its lees adds "texture, depth, complexity and flavor to the wine." Winemakers around the globe agree. Lees aging is common with Chablis, Champagne, Muscadet and California Chardonnay. Some wines have less of those warm, savory flavors, while others wines explode with rich, bready notes due to bâtonnage, a process where the lees are stirred as the wine ages. The longer wine ages on its lees, the more body and dimensions it develops. Champagne is aged at least 12 months on lees for nonvintage bottles, and a minimum of 36 months for vintage cuvées. Those long aging times produce the fuller mouth flavors with every sparkly sip. Lees left over from fermentation have many uses. Marmite, a UK staple, is cultivated from beer yeast. In the Fujian province of China, a traditional braised chicken dish uses red wine lees that add punchy umami notes. Sakekasu, or saké lees, are used in Japan for pickling, marinades and even cosmetic products. |
| An Ancient Indigenous Drink is Revived, Illuminating Australian History Posted: 20 Apr 2021 04:00 AM PDT  Tasmanian way-a-linah, a cider-link drink produced by Palawa people for millennia, has been long overlooked in Australian history, along with all other Indigenous fermented beverages. Records of many First Australians' traditions, particularly relating to drinks and agriculture, were "eradicated early on by colonization, dispossession and the frontier wars," writes Max Allen in Intoxicating: Ten Drinks that Shaped Australia. "All dreadfully effective ways of erasing a culture. "Even where the practices or knowledge did survive and were recorded, those records have often been willfully ignored by the dominant culture over the last 200 years." It was so ignored that the belief that Australia is the world's lone "dry continent," that its early Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island peoples were among the planet's few Indigenous societies to live without learning to make alcoholic beverages, remains widespread Down Under. Today, in some Australian Indigenous communities, ancient fermentation practices are being revived, albeit on a small scale. In 2013, the Tasmanian Land Conservancy, Aboriginal Land Council of Tasmania and Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre purchased nearly 17,000 acres in the island's central highlands. Way-a-linah, in danger of disappearing, is now made by some Palawa peoples, who use local trees to produce the drink. "We have tried [making way-a-linah] a few times as a way to try and bring back the cultural practice, to rebuild that connection between Aboriginal people and those trees and that drink," says Andry Sculthorpe, land and heritage officer at the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre and a member of the Palawa community. Way-a-linah's history is evidenced on the trees that produce the sap that is the drink's sole ingredient. Scars from tomahawks are common on some of the 300–400-year-old Eucalyptus Gunnii trees, commonly known as "cider gums," which grow almost exclusively in Tasmania’s central highlands. Similar to how maple syrup is tapped in North America, Palawa peoples and other First Australians would harvest the sap that cider gum trees "weep" every year. The watery, mildly sweet sap could be enjoyed on its own, or they might let it run down the trunk into the tree's hollows, which they covered with flat stones to protect it from sap-loving insects and critters. The natural yeasts then fermented the liquid, producing mildly alcoholic way-a-linah. In an 1835 entry in Ross's Hobart Town Almanac, a gentleman named Mr. Blackhouse reportedly described way-a-linah as "a liquor resembling black beer, obtained by boring the trunk," according to an article by J.D. Hooker in The London Journal of Botany, Vol. III. But many other accounts say it more closely resembles a delicately sweet cider with a dry finish. "As it starts to ferment a bit, it's quite sweet," says Sculthorpe. "And then over a period of time, it gets more tangy. You can see how Europeans chose the name 'cider' gum, because it actually does resemble the flavor of cider." Unfortunately, a revival of way-a-linah is challenged by rapidly changing conditions. The climate sensitive cider gums are dying. Perched some 3,280 feet above sea level, cider gums are often exposed to the elements in areas too frost prone for most other eucalypts. Temperatures have risen steadily in Tasmania's central highlands for the past 75 years. Combined with industrial clearing throughout the 1980s and '90s, animal grazing, frequent fires and drought, some estimate that up to 60% of mature trees had died by 2001. Today, one of the two subspecies of Eucalyptus Gunnii called "divaricata" or "Miena" cider gum, known for its particularly sweet sap, is listed as an endangered species.  "There’s uncertainty there because the trees are in decline," says Sculthorpe. "It’s possible, at the current trajectory, they will be gone. There needs to be more focus on the protection of the living trees, and also work done around the understanding of [those] in the landscape that have cultural heritage value. Trees that have had the markings of traditional use." There have been efforts to replant cider gums on the island. In Tasmania's far south, Clive Crossley of Red Sails Cider planted a tree on his property in 1988. It blew down in a gale in 2020, which revealed "serious fungal and insect damage," he says. Caroline Brown, cofounder of Brady’s Lookout Cider in northern Tasmania, is currently planting a small number of cider gums. But seeds are hard to come by, and it takes many years before a tree is mature enough to tap. "We may look to explore using the cider gum for beverages in the future, but this would be a long-term goal," says Brown. "Our first aim is conservation." The use of Indigenous ingredients in modern Australian cooking and fermentation is on the rise. Botanicals like wattleseed, strawberry gum and native juniper find their way into beers, spirits and even wine. As the "dry continent" belief begins to crumble for some Australians, the fermented drinks made by the continent's Indigenous peoples may rival some of the oldest alcoholic beverages on the planet. But it also leaves their traditions exposed to appropriation. "I think it's super exciting to see all this innovation," says Allen. "Embracing Indigenous ingredients will lead to the creation of some uniquely Australian drinks. But it's crucial that this is done properly, in partnership with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, fully acknowledging and respecting their ownership of the traditional knowledge and cultural practices." |
| Pio Boffa, Barolo and Barbaresco Trailblazer, Dies at 66 Posted: 19 Apr 2021 01:07 PM PDT  The Italian wine world is mourning the loss of Pio Boffa, head of the historic Pio Cesare firm. He died this weekend after a two-week battle with Covid-19. Dynamic and charismatic, Boffa was a dedicated promoter of his native Langa in Piedmont and its wines, including Barolo and Barbaresco. "Pio Boffa was a point of reference," says Matteo Ascheri, president of the Consorzio di Tutela Barolo Barbaresco Alba Langhe e Dogliani. "He was both a person and the company, so much so that he was almost always referred to as Pio Cesare and not by his own name. He tirelessly traveled the world and became an ambassador for his own firm and for all our wines. "He'll be missed by wine lovers from all over the world and by all of us producers. He was a true example of Langa and spoke more with facts than with words." Boffa was the fourth generation to run the company his great-grandfather, Cesare Pio, founded in 1881. Pio Cesare is the last of the seminal wineries to remain in the bustling city of Alba, once the undisputed capital of Barolo and Barbaresco production. Like many of the storied houses, for generations, Pio Cesare sourced grapes from a multitude of growers. Boffa joined the family firm in the early 1970s and, with his father, ushered in the modern era of Barolo and Barbaresco. Together, father and son bought vineyards in prime areas, first in Barbaresco then in Serralunga in Barolo, followed by other vineyard acquisitions over the years. Today, Pio Cesare owns 173 acres of prime vineyard sites. Thanks to Boffa, the firm began making single-vineyard bottlings, staring with its 1985 Barolo Ornato. It was followed by another single-vineyard release, the 1990 Barbaresco Bricco. In 2014, as a present to himself on his 60th birthday, Boffa bought 25 acres of vines in the Mosconi cru in Monforte d'Alba. Since 2015, grapes from the oldest vines, planted between the 1940s and the early 1970s, are destined for the estate's Barolo Mosconi. Boffa was also an advocate of the firm's classic Barolo and Barbaresco, made by blending Nebbiolo from different villages and vineyards. "These wines made Pio Cesare famous and are still our calling card," Boffa told me during an interview at the winery in 2011. "Blended Barolos and Barbarescos are the true expression of Nebbiolo in their respective territories and denominations."
From the 2012 to 2016 vintages, the company added the phrase "Please, don't call it regular," to the front labels of these wines to drive the point home. It then added the terms 'Barolo Pio' and 'Barbaresco Pio' on labels starting from the 2017 vintage. Boffa strived to make structured, elegant Barolos that showcased the purity of Nebbiolo and their terroir. Approachable when young, they still boast great longevity. As Boffa liked to say, "If you buy my Barolo and have to wait 10 years to drink it, then you should also be able to wait 10 years to pay me." He had a role in every aspect of the winery. "I really admired my father for his expertise in all facets of the business, and how he could take care of everything from the vineyards to the cellars, to sales and marketing and how he could switch from one subject to the next in the space of a second. He was a brilliant businessman," says his daughter, Federica Boffa, 23. Frederica has worked at the winery for five years, first part-time as she studied Business Administration at the University of Turin, then full-time after graduating in 2019. She now runs the winery along with her cousin, Cesare Benvenuto, who worked alongside Boffa for years. In addition to Barolo and Barbaresco, Pio Cesare makes all the traditional local wines, including Barbera and Gavi, as well as a single-vineyard Chardonnay, Piodilei. The firm recently acquired land in the Colli Tortonesi Timorasso denomination where it will soon plant Timorasso. Boffa's funeral was held Monday, April 19th and attended by hundreds, according to Federica. After the service, she went to work at the winery. "I know it's what my father would have wanted me to do," she says, "because life has to go on." |
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