Blue Poles [Number 11, 1952] 1952; enamel
and aluminium paint with glass on Belgian linen; OT367; 2.121 x 4.889 metres;
signed and dated 1.1., "Jackson Pollock 52"; (originally inscribed
with a "3", subsequently painted over with a "2"). National
Gallery Of Australia
Making Margaret River Merlot:
nothing mellow in the madness;
passionate method makes sense
by PHILIP WHITE
Had Cabernet
sauvignon not been such a tough, easy-to-grow vine, and its wine fairly easy to
make, one wonders exactly what Australia would have chosen to plant in its
place.
More Shiraz?
There. I've
said it.
The point
being that too much Australian viticulture has been steered by ease of
production. Just as grape farmers tend to first plant the flattest ground with
little attention paid its location, chemical composition and geology, so they
tend to plant tough, thick-skinned vine types that are easiest to grow, hoping
that the marketing division, the wine shows and the wine critics might
magically make whatever it is fashionable.
David Wynn, left, with Howard Twelftree and the author, ca 1990 ... photo Adam Wynn
David Wynn
was the first winemaker I met who really bothered about which of the better
varieties gave the best flavours in
certain geologies at the required altitudes. After years trying Cabernet sauvignon
and Shiraz in the conveniently flat and coolish Coonawarra he decided instead
to work at Pinot and Chardonnay and climbed up the hills to begin the
development of the revolutionary Mountadam in 1969.
He'd drive
around the South Mount Lofty Ranges with one eye on the geology map and the
other on the altimeter he'd fixed to the dash of his Citroen. There was one
bright, stylish dude, believe me.
Tim Markwell, left, with Mark Gifford: straight Cabernet franc next? ... photo Philip White
In the
decades since, two accomplished geologists, Mark Gifford and Tim Markwell, grew
tired of too many long nights in the dongas of outback mining camps in the
Australian desert or Africa and the like, dreaming of the elegant but opulent
blends of Pomerol and St Emilion while they sat there in the dust, drinking
warm beer. In 2001 they decided to find a spot with the right geology and get
on spending too much money finding and buying it and planting vines to make
wines in that general Bordeaux blend direction.
Something
beyond the angular plainness of pure, raw Cabernet.
Eventually,
they drilled enough holes to find a geological profile in Margaret River that
suited their goals: iron-rich gravelly loams over clay, with just enough of the
latter to hold some moisture, but never too much. They raided their banks,
hocked everything, including partners and kids, and planted Merlot, Cabernet
franc and Shiraz.
Mark and Tim called
at the weekend, and together with the elusive Pike, of Marius Wines on the
faultline near Willunga, we took a full suite of their top reds to a very slow
lunch at Nigel Rich's exquisite temple of meat, the Elbow Room in McLaren Vale.
Things don't
get any better than this.
Being of like
minds, there was little convincing to be done either way. We agree that Merlot
and its image across most of the west has suffered terribly by the USA's
determination that Merlot should be mellow. It can be mossy, sure. Sometimes
mushroomy; at its best, often earthy. I love it when it takes on the black
Iberian ham/red charcuterie/blood pudding meatiness it can sometimes develop.
Short of that, the meaty nature of blueberry will really swell it up. Sometimes
it shows satsuma, sometimes prune. But it should hardly be mellow. I like it
when its tannins are still a touch granular, before the wine takes on a simple
silky sheen: the shiny hyper-filtered and fined character that I fear too often
leads to bland, mindless mellow.
We also seem
to agree that Cabernet franc is ideally a tighter, more angular variety if not
grown too heavily or too ripe. It's like Cabernet with neon. To my synaesthesia
it's gunbarrel blue at its best; deep blue being a hue I often find arising
from precise tannins like those of the juniper berry. It can have a meaty
blueberry twang like Merlot, but often its best contribution to a blend is the
ethereal violet and lavendar floral topnotes it can release when it's been
grown and made in the happiest, coolest manner.
In the best
years, Blue Poles Vineyard makes two sublime wines: the Reserve Merlot, and the
Allouran blend. If the wine's not the way they want it, they don't release it.
We first
slurped the Merlots.
2007 set the
pace for the shape of premium Merlot: "it rises and subsides like a giant
Pacific swell composed of prune and satsuma," my notes record, "but it's
multi-faceted and granular ... sexy, husky, moody, grainy, brooding ... NOT
creamy! Not mellow!" Now, after two days, it's still not slick. In fact,
that grainy texture (like an old Bunuel movie) combined with its cracker
natural acid, make it almost brusque. But it nevetheless retains that
remarkable rise and fall that's so gradual but massive. Not one mellow molecule
in sight, but plenty of damp earth and charcuterie - 92+ points.
When I
suggested 2008 was more conventional, Mark shot back "'08 was a more
conventional vintage." My comment was about its polished smoothness and
sheen.
"Americans could drink it," I dared. Its flavours first opened
were along the lines of Bickfords' Essence of Coffee and Chicory (more chicory
than coffee) with a rich plum syrup; after two days it's slumped to an even
more conventional aged dry red - 85 points - "not yet a curio." On my
tight scale, mind you, that's still 8½/10.
2010 was
immediately closer in form to the '07, with more granular tea tin tannin and
visceral fatty acid. After days open, it's lost much of its primary plummy
fruit, but remains an appetising, matte black serpent of a drink, lithe and
velvety - 90+ points.
2011, the
current release, takes the cake. I reviewed it here in June, with 93+++ points.
On opening this time, it immediately confirmed my suggestion: "When it tumbles over
the little waterfall of your front teeth it turns your mouth into a very dark
pool of swirling mystery. Blackcurrant pressings and juniper tannins well up
across the tongue and just sit there. Like for five minutes. They don’t even
look at you." It is at once the most elegant and fine of these Merlots,
with the best balance and harmony, even with the brash summer-dust prickle of
terroir it shows in this its youth. I'd call it 94+ now. It's a mighty Merlot,
with not one mellow hint. Yum.
At which point Tim pulled out a 2014 barrel
sample which pretty well undressed me at lunch, and has worked away at
devouring all my sensories since, getting greedier and more demanding and
deserving of attention with each hour. Ooops: finished it. Watch for that one!
The first Allouran, the 2005, was called Merlot/Cabernet Franc. Typical of the grocers
in the wine trade, most found this confronting nomenclaturial complexity impossible
to grasp, and therefore, not
unexpectedly, impossible to sell. It's tired and a bit short now, but given its
radical nature at birth, remains a pleasing curio.
"I mean we could have made a
Petrus," Mark said, "and still they wouldna sold it. They just
couldn't handle the idea of a blend. We had to come up with a new name."
As I wrote last April, "if you insist on buying 2010s, this Allouran is
AU$4,300:00 cheaper than Petrus." Per bottle. Really.
Allouran 2006 was most impressive when first
opened. Svelte, lissom, perfumed "as balanced, determined and elegant as
Audrey Hepburn - 93++ points." Now I wish I'd drunk it all that evening -
it's flopped into its evening chair, and won't be rising. So remove one of
those pluses, eh?
2007 Allouran was pure blue. It seemed franc
dominant, with gunbarrel blue, Miles Davis Kinda
Blue, Joni Mitchell Blue ... even
though franc was only 33% of the blend. Now, it's slick, svelte, magically
elegant and lithe, its blackcurrant, blueberry and aniseed swimming about my
sensories like an electric eel set on just a tingle - 95 points.
2008, the "more conventional
vintage," was as meaty and soused with slippery umami as a hotpot of
boar's liver cooked with shiitake and oyster fungus. But its tannins were still
dusty and dry; never mellow. Even now its primary fruit has fallen, but that
slipperiness, acid and tannin maintain its prime sensuality - 92+ points.
Mark reckons 2010 is their "most holistic
and complete Allouran philosophically." Freshly-opened, it seemed to leap
with ozone, as if lightning had just struck the berry patch. It has blue, it
has fur, it has cacao powder tannin, and now, after days, it's almost sickening
in its heady sensual wallow - 94++ points.
But 2011? Well, 2011 was a shit year nearly
everywhere in Australia apart from Western Australia. Margaret River had none
of the terrible rains and moulds and funguses that butchered just about
everything ordinary this side of the border. This wine overwhelmed me at the
table, and it's simply grown in stature, compression and determination since. It
has aniseed, juniper, blackcurrant, soft blackstrap licorice, sarsaparilla,
beetroot and blueberry. It has pure cast iron and steely stainless resolve. It
has brilliantly-balanced tannins. It's bright and racy and I reckon probably
the best such blend I've yet seen in Australia. Try one now, but keep enough to
do a bottle every year until at least 2022 - 95 points.
Merlot, when done properly is not mellow, see?
Pollock at work
I don't know if these blokes had the
anti-mellow in mind when they named their vineyard. It was a very brave thing
to do, naming it after Jackson Pollock's anguished explosion of colour and
contrast: the mighty painting which David Wynn and some erudite mates convinced
Prime Minister Gough Whitlam to buy on Australia's behalf. People whined about
wasting $1.3 million on the work of a drunk. What's it worth now, measured in
mere money? $200 million?
How do you value a work which has dazzled and
turned on the brains of forty years of Australians?
It sure hasn't done that by being mellow.
With every vintage they choose to release, the
impassioned, driven work of these two rock doctors picks closer to the heart of
that painting. Their wines are nowhere near as angular and cracked but they're all visceral and sensual
justifications of their presumption.
It's risky, but measured, and driven by thirsty desert visions of the
very best of Bordeaux.
Blue Poles Vineyard is not going away. Prepare
to be dazzled.
Pole-axed as much as Pollocked: feeling artistically accomplished after a great lunch and revelatory tasting: Elbow Room proprietor/head chef Nigel Rich, Gifford, Markwell and the elusive Pike of Marius Wines ... photo Philip White
