All these photographs were taken by the author at Penfolds Magill Estate
Penfolds plunges into the future:
a powerful array of brilliance
amongst their newest luxuries
by PHILIP WHITE
Many small
winemakers, even largish rivals, dread the leviathan Treasury Wine Estates with
a profound paranoia.
As I've gradually added reviews to this story over the week, some such
littlies, whatever their provenance, are already complaining that I pay too
much attention to Penfolds, the pointy, profitable end of the Treasury fleet.
Some think I'm in its pocket, even on its payroll, both of which are plain
fiction and would be insulting if not so plainly stupid.
I watch Penfolds,
and review their best, because this company more than any other opens the sort
of super-premium doors that all smart quality winemakers in Australia should be
delighted to enter.
Having spent eighteen months pondering, remembering and writing A year in the life of Grange, a multi award-winning book about the 2012 vintage published and photographed by Milton Wordley, I feel I have a better grasp of the workings of this great outfit than many.
Wine Australia's Export Report September 2015
shows the strongest rate of growth since the peak of October 2007. While the
bottom end of the wine business is pretty much cactus, the top end, as occupied
significantly by Penfolds, is booming like never before.
Export wines in the
A$20-$50 segment increased 13 per cent to A$88 million; wine above A$50/litre
rose 54 per cent to a record A$133 million - that's only 0.2 per cent of total exports
by volume, but 7 per cent of total value.
Here lies profit.
More than any
previous release of the Penfolds premiums, this year's shows the precise
planning intelligence and gastronomic
smarts that makes all this money.
Chief
winemaker Peter Gago, and his team, have faced a tricky arsenal of problems in
recent years. Like how does a brand like Grange evolve to fit a modern
marketplace without such overt changes of style as to drive habitual buyers
away, along with the very nature of the wine's provenance and remarkable
history?
How does one
continue to produce wines with dominant, unfashionable American oak
without looking really old and dorky?
Continual,
subtle fine-tuning does it, and considerable daring in developing and launching
new luxury products to fill the gaps left as old rusted-on customers go broke
or die.
Which is not to decry old styles smartarses like me might consider de trop. Just as many of the Australian newcomers to Penfolds gradually moved up through its range, making possible wines like these, markets the size of China have just commenced that same gradual stroll up to Base Camp 1.
Relentless
pursuit of the very best fruit, wherever it lies, is the key. Having the cool
and consideration to understand hundreds of premium vineyards across all our
vignobles and knowing when to pick them and which product they're intended for
is essential.
Getting all
those tonnes to the winery in top nick on time is another logistical mess that
many winemakers seem incapable of handling.
Getting all those wines made to
style without compromise or error or silly marketing interference, no matter how well-intentioned, is another
confounding knot to unravel.
Having the
political nous, patience and determination to drive all this through changes of
ownership and fashions of corporate philosophy - like mindless budget cutting -
takes a rare calm hand at the helm.
Those numbers
above, and the reviews below, show that Gago and his crew deserve only praise
for their passion and persistence. No other company on Earth can stack on an
array of products like this.
I have
avoided dissing wines whose traditional templates clash with my personal wine
philosophy. Like I know there are many who love the sappy woodiness traditionally
essential to extravagances like Bin 707, but I prefer to avoid trying to explain why
I'd give it 75 on my prejudiced point scale, while agreeing that as far as the
wine's commitment to style and recipe goes, it should probably score 95+++.
I haven't got
the time. But I've made the time to here recommend my most favoured wines of
the release: a set of mighty things in any keen ethanologist's language.
I'm sure that
if you're a tiny or modest-scale winemaker it's probably okay to hate the politics and envy
the power and weight of Treasury a little bit, but there's no point in dying of
hatred.
And it's just
plain dumb to hate Penfolds so much that you can't learn from their astonishing,
driven success.
Get your
plastic and your main squeeze up to their brilliant new restaurant/bistro tasting area and cellar
sales at the old Grange at Magill, have a leisurely taste of your own, then see
if you still hate me for passing the advice.
Penfolds Bin 51
Eden Valley Riesling 2015
$30; 11.5% alcohol;
screw cap; 92+++ points
It's a cruel way of offering the novice explorer of the
world of Penfolds an introduction like this at $30: while a ravishing beauty to
sniff, in the mouth department, the wine is typical High Barossa stone: as
austere and tight-lipped and close-knit as some of those old households in the
ranges.
But the bouquet is indeed just that: a bouquet: a bunch of flowers.
It's thick with the aromas of fleshy white petals like the magnolia and jasmine,
with some delicate lime blossom and the pith of its fruit. If you could make a
luxury bathroom cosmetic that smelled like this I imagine you'd be very
successful.
At first gulp, in bright contrast, you're all a-pucker.
It's like licking the slaty doorstep or the walls of a Lutheran church: stony
of texture and steely of resolve. It is classic high country Riesling, guaranteed
to live for many years beneath its reassuring closure. That's all abruptly
obvious.
Then as the flavour receptors acclimatise, shards of
acidic fruits begin to emerge: tight lemon and hints of gooseberry; even
oxalis. It's a severe rinse that turns the salivaries all a-gush, and had my
lot dribbling for fat chicken stewed in Kiwi Savvy-B with white onions, heaps
of garlic and lots of fresh tarragon.
Otherwise, like most of Penfolds very best, it's for the
cellar. Look again in six years.
Here's another review of the same wine from 13 August:
You know those big plush petals of the magnolia flower?
That's the first thing this lovely drink brought to mind. Texturally confident,
and creamy to sniff. There's lime blossom and lime pith too, of course, as you'd expect
of Eden Riesling. But this is not as austere,
stony and steely as many of those high country austerities. This is almost
fragile. It's a total delusion, but the wine has so much of that naive and
simple cleavage flesh that you forget to look at the amazing business going on
in the engine room.
Which you encounter in the mouth division. Clunk. You hit
the real old rocks here. The wine seems a bit short at first. Abrupt. But you
give it six or seven hours and the damn thing starts to begin to think about
showing its cards. It literally crawls out from beneath its rock, like
something serpentine or lizardish after hibernation: real slow and drowsy but
very very deliberate and hungry. Blue tongue flicking.
I've been taking flak lately for recommending so many
wines that I suggest need some cellaring. I dunno how to deal with this: my
stance must seem effete, unreasonable and unattainable. But c'mon cobber,
that's the heart of this business. Would you prefer to drink the 1971 Grange or
the 2011?
This wine will kick total arse like unforgettable in
what? Another generation? A decade? A forgetfulness? (93+++ points)
Penfolds Bin 311
Tumbarumba Chardonnay 2014
$40; 12.5% alcohol;
screw cap; 94+ points
The Immediate Gastronomic Delight Graph makes a perfect
meeting with the Spend Curve in this bonnie Rumba. I think it's the best value
adventure in the whole dazzling release.
While it has the classic butterscotch and cinder toffee
wave, with grilled cashews and citrus rind, and some white kassler or goose
fat, in its style it's still more along the lines of ripe Chablis than
full-blown Burgundy.
It's very very fine and poised and tickled my hooter with
a brisk maritime/dunal grasses edge.
It exercises the mouth just enough to make the lips smack:
the cool region natural acid is just right.
Try it as a between-meals drink, elevenses or fourish. Sit
and ponder and marvel with crumbly apple struesel from a good German baker.
Penfolds Yattarna
Bin 144 Chardonnay 2013
$150; 12.5%
alcohol; screw cap; 95+ points
"Royal, polished, reserved, genteel," the notes
go. "Waxy. Some pith, some burlap, sabayon, juniper ... " at which
point the electricity failed in the brilliant new restaurant and tasting rooms
at Penfolds Magill. I swear the stripes on the table moved. But a sudden blackout's
always a good measure of a clientele, and I swear there were many more ooohs
and aaahs than panicky shrieks from the restaurant full of mums of all ages breaking
fast with Yattarna and/or Grange by the glass and some polite poussin on the
other side of the partition.
"The power just went off," my scrawl continues,
"and I lost my electric spittoons."
This collision of sensory overload with the unexpected
deprivation and the thrill of the risk reminded me of dinner at the Bue
Bellbird in Healesville in November 1982. We'd located a bottle of Darren
Kelly's best vintage of his Kellybrook Yarra Valley methode champenoise Kingston
black apple cider - was it '76? - and had just watched it poured and clinked
coupes when the lights began to swing on their lines and the floor rocked like
a four-tonne sommelier had just rumbled past and the power went off with the
first anxious mouthful.
The Wonnongatta faultline over the range had slipped, sending
5.4 Richters of shock and panic through the Victorian Alps. That cider didn't
last long in the dark.
Anyway it was by no means dark when the power went off on
the Grange range, although the post-post modern jailhouse shadows swerved and twisted like
serpents, I guarantee.
This grand Chardonnay makes me want to simply sit and
ponder. I can't claim to have Richter-tested it, but it sure stayed smug and
ungiving through a power failure and it was very cool to have an excuse to commit
the act of swallowing when the rinsers went off in the electric spitters.
Typically Yattarna takes its time to exhale much of its
royal miasma ... it was a good half hour before this one began edging its way
out of the glass, and then it was with a "so whatter you lookin at, punk?"
disdain. Answer: cool bottle and decant. Not to put too much in the way of gender
specifics on the matter in hand, but you best defeat Her Majesty by releasing
her.
This is not a white Grange. You can't make any sort of
Grange from Chardonnay. But it sure is one king-hell Hell-queen mutha of a Chardonnay,
layered with so many levels of indulgent gastronomic wickedness that it takes
the form of a record-breaking trifle, composed say of brioche soaked in Krug as
much as spongecake soused in Max Schubert's legendary soup sherry, with a
compote of drunken peaches and passe-crassanne in kirsch with sabayon and crème
caramel and crunchy almond biscotti crumbled over the top. Dammit, you might
just as well set fire to it with Louis XIII Cognac to finish the presentation
with the regal dignity and force due a wine of this stature.
Otherwise, wait five years and repeat.
Penfolds Bin 2
Shiraz Mataro 2013
$30; 14.5% alcohol;
screw cap; 94++ points
Bacchus only knows what I would have/could have pointed
this wine on the blind anywhere else than in the Penfolds red den, but I loved it
for being such a true-to-form, traditional, composed and dignified Penfolds Bin
2. There's no coconut from raw Quercus alba, but more of your shellack and Marveer
- even a whiff of warm Stradivarius. Nah, nah, not the fiddle. The viola.
Fruit? More like pork ribs in cherry
cola and curry tree sauce. I'd just commenced writing of how Max would approve and
how good that old-fashioned chocolate custard aftertaste was when the electricity
switched back on, with the spittoons. Then the windows silently grew bigger as
some mysterious hidden solenoid decided I needed a touch more contrast on the table.
I felt like Saul turning into Paul on the Damascus track. Epiphany. Terrible magic; lovely wine.
But I'm gonna blame that music on the blackout. There
must have been a mistake. Get Gago to choose all of it.
Penfolds Bin 128
Coonawarra Shiraz 2013
[reviewed August 15]
$40; 14.5% alcohol;
screw cap; 93+ points
I don't reckon I've ever mentioned the word sexy in a
Penfolds review, so get that straight out of your mind. When this first came
forth, it seemed another of those Penfolds Coonawarras that are nothing like
much else out of that big red cigar apart from maybe Zema. Which made me think
it was a matter of venerable vine age, but it's not that simple.
I'm trying to be,
how you say, transparent.
The Weather Undergound vigilants of deep Penfolds get
stuff out of Coonawarra which is somehow pure Penfolds. Not Wynns, not Blass,
not anything alse. Not every year or anything like that, but regularly. With
the vagaries of the vintages, this stuff comes and goes and goes up and down
like the tides. But here you have a classic Penfolds Coonawarra Shiraz.
Ridgey-didge.
It's in the great framework of traditional Australian
claret, smooth and dignified and elegant with just the right see-saw of
yin-yang baby fruit and future.
Halley-friggin-loo-ya!
I need urgently to sit with Peter Gago, David Wynn and
Max Schubert to drink this and watch 'em
skite. A spoon of ripe Stilton would be the go. You got a special corner
somewhere in there Pete?
new review after fresh tasting:
It's become a habit, me dreaming of drinking Peter Gago's wine with him and other hero mentors long gone. I hope it's not droll. This is never to overlook the amazing work that Peter does, leading the Penfolds team into the now by rethinking and perfecting the past, with deep respect and care.
He sometimes gets excited, but believe me, Gago has the deepest cool.
Steering Penfolds must often be like driving a supertanker. It ain't no Ducati.
This is a good example of Penfolds somehow getting something from Coonawarra that no other maker seems to get, except maybe occasionally Zema. This wine's more Penfolds than Coonawarra, but it sure is Penfolds Coonawarra.
After the gently acrid whiff of dry chalk and cigar box lies a smooth, dignified, elegant syrup, Bible-black and increasingly profound as its tannins build to the tight dry finish we used to expect of what we were still allowed to call claret before the Frogs went nuts and said it was their name. Which it may have been when it was still clairette, meaning pale rosey wine from Bordeaux. But once the cockney wharfies and the Brit trade bastardised that to claret, meaning good elegant intense dry red, I reckon you'd be hard-pressed to call it a French word.
Just sayin'. I get cheesed off by stuff like this. You can't control language.
This is a lovely wine to drink now. It absolutely kills the Bin 28, which comes from everywhere other than Kalimna. In which instance I reckon David Wynn would enjoy rejoining the crusty spooks' circle (93).
Penfolds Bin
150 Marananga Shiraz 2013
$80; 14.4%
alcohol; screw cap; 93++ points
Whoever owned
Penfolds at the time obviously thought little about selling their amazing
Seppeltsfield vineyards when they flogged that bit of their empire to Warren Randall.
Now we see them moving back next door to reclaim their slice of the
Seppeltsfield/Marananga/Greenock Creek action.
How? By continually honing very fine wines like this.
Unlike the rest
of Barossa Valley floor, which is young alluvium (< 5 million years) the old
rocks between Stonewell and Greenock, a stretch which includes Seppeltsfield
and Marananga, are from the neoproterozoic Tapley's Hill Formation, Yudnamutana
subgroup and the Upper Burra group, all deposited between 700-800 million years
back.
These rocks
often give red wines a distinctive panforte di Siena character, that complex
fruit and nut chocolate cake with all its honey, dried figs, candied citrus
peel and the telling spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, coriander, ginger and
pepper.
Classic A. P.
John oak - it's matured in 500 litre puncheons, young and old, American and
French - has made this as much a Penfolds product as a Marananga one - it
reminds me of the reds Penfolds boss Don
Ditter was making in the early 'eighties, but with more subtle wood than he could afford.
So what have
a we got? A chocolate panforte you can drink, with the appropriate dusting of
confectioner's sugar.
Which means it's true to the sub-regional style. Whether the marketing division buggers this famous Marananga name by stretching the brand to include fruit from everywhere - as they stupidly did with the now dreadful Kalimna Shiraz - remains to be seen.
Penfolds Bin
389 Cabernet Shiraz 2013
$80; 14.5%
alcohol; screw cap; 93+ points
Straight down
the middle Penfolds here, again reminding me of the best of the 'eighties 389s,
but without so much volatile acidity and sappy American oak.
It's slick,
juicy, traditional Australian dry red, disarming and dead honest. In one sense,
I felt it was more of a Cabernet than the Bin 407. But thinking about it, the
Cabernet influence once again is more Penfolds than your actual Cabernet: its
presence is best betrayed by an alluring waft of sun-dried tomato amongst all
those chocolatey fruits, spices and balsamic.
While it's a
delightful drink right now, it's not about to disappoint any of the cellar fanatics:
it'll probably go twenty years.
But what about the popular fiction about it being the "poor man's Grange?" Some of its wood may have been in contact with Grange, sure, but this is nothing like Grange.
Penfolds St Henri
Shiraz 2012
$100; 14.5%
alcohol; screw cap; 95+++ points
One of the true stars of the release, this is right back
on Max's track. Or Birdie's, or whoever else amongst the stalwart cellar crew drove such things through changes of winemaker, however rare that's been. Which is the track of John Davouren and Edmund Mazure before
him: winemakers who determinedly invented and developed this soulful old style
of red, with 13 months in big 50-plus year-old oak vats instead of sappy,
expensive, small-format modern.
The stern reds of 2012 can be so taut and withdrawing
that many of the better ones are droll in their youth. Here, the old-style
winemaking has softened and opened the heart of the year, putting it on a plate
as much as a tasting glass: it's soft and genteel and warming and always
perfectly polite.
I think that in recent years the inclusion of larger
parcels of Robe fruit had focused St Henri in a leaner, less soulful and hearty
way than in this determined return to style: this model shows more of the
reassuring warmth and generosity - even calm sensuality - of the Barossa and
McLaren Vale base wines.
As history has shown, a St Henri made as well and
carefully as this will live for extreme periods in the right cellar: Peter Gago
says 2045 is not an unrealistic opening date for this vintage.
Him and the crew all deserve to be very proud of this wine.
A proper decanting sees it react beautifully
to oxygen even in this its extreme youth: it's already disarmingly luxurious
and soothing. It'd do wicked stuff to a dribbling aged pepper steak with mashed
potato and parsnip and a stack of beefy field mushrooms.
Penfolds RWT
Barossa Valley Shiraz 2013
$175; 14.5%
alcohol; screw cap; 94+++ points
The best: the
sweetest, smoothest, most seductive Barossa Shiraz in beautiful new and seasoned
one-year-old French hogsheads? Makes sense to me.
If they
hadn't thought of it before, the French who outlawed our respectful use of the
word 'hermitage' would have every reason to do it now with wine like this: this
French oak puts it much closer to the
best of that grand French appellation on the Rhône than the Granges once called
Hermitage ever got. No need for cheap American oak in France.
But then,
I've never smelled a Hermitage that reminded me of old Martin guitars, which is
what the oak's done here. Otherwise, it smells of your entire fruitshop, with some
fig hinting at Marananga.
Its staunch,
dry, savoury finish is just one indicator of its outstanding promise in the
cellar. In this case, patience will certainly pay.
Penfolds Bin 169 Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2013
$350; 14.5% alcohol; screw cap; 95++ points
This is the Coonawarra French oak partner to the RWT Barossa Shiraz. Together, these two make the alternative American oak Bin 707 and to lesser extent Magill Estate, which has some overt new French as well, look really Spalvins in style.
For those who came in late, Janis Gunnars Spalvins ruled Penfolds through his Adelaide Steamship Company until the whole thing went arse-up in 1991 when the recievers moved in and he moved along.
Spalvins just loved American oak. I doubt that a wine of this royal distinction would have survived in his time. I was startled to hear him reappear in the public fora last week to tell everybody that Treasury is over-valued.
It is classical, regal, sublime Coonawarra Cabernet, ripe enough to have disposed of any of the angular leafy methoxypyrazine acridity which so easily mars unripe over-cropped high-foliage Cabernet in Coonawarra. This is smooth, sensual, slightly syrupy claret that in the recent Cabernet stakes is beaten only by The Max 2012.
Penfolds The Max
Schubert Barossa Coonawarra Cabernet Shiraz 2012
[tasted 13 August]
$450; 14% alcohol;
screw cap; 95+++ points
I can imagine a health farm somewhere in the
mango/paw-paw tropics where you wash this on your face every morning and go and
stand naked in the rain
This wine somehow rises above drink. I reckon you can
inhale something this silky, luxurious and smooth through your pores.
It'd go straight into your genes.
More along the Bin 60A lines than Grange, it's a perfume.
Barossa provides the well-dressed saddle, plush and soft; Coonawarra perfume
rides the horse. Confectioner's sugar; musk; jellied mint; crystallised
violets. Persian pashmak: the original floss candy.
Faeries.
All this insinuates itself onto your tongue where it does
a totally disarming Medlar Gel sort of a seduction and you end up sitting there
like a dumbstruck zombie, wondering what could possibly happen next.
I don't mean to sound ambiguous.
What happens next is the damn thing does its long dryout
tease with those perfect tannins and still leaves a marshmallow waft of
blackcurrant/blueberry/red currant/aniseed ring magic sitting in the middle of
your head.
Not to mention the perfumed fields of Provence.
Bliss
out, baby.
Watch everybody come over all quiet.
It will become a very famous and much more expensive wine
than this.
Trust Unca Phil.
.
Penfolds Grange
2011
$785; 14.5%
alcohol; cork; 93++ points
2011 was the trickiest year: rains at vintage saw much
beautiful fruit fall to botrytis, much after the thunderstorm style more common
in, dare I say, Bordeaux, and to lesser degree, the Rhône.
So Gago and his team faced a difficult problem: sourcing
fruit for a wine of such lofty provenance would have been beyond winemakers
without that amazing library of great vineyards to which Penfolds has earned access.
Most of this fruit came from the old rocks and bits of
calcrete in the red loams of the north western Barossa: the eastern slopes of
the Nain Hills of Greenock.
As Gago puts it with typical candour: "such tough
conditions required tough decisions in the vineyard, at the fermenter, in
barrel, on the bench ... at half its average total volume it's a real Grange in
the 1974 and 1983 style ... we had nowhere to hide ... is it one of the best
Granges ever? No. Is it one of the finest reds from the South Australian 2011
vintage? Yes ... but it's not trying too hard to be something it isn't."
It's nowhere near as complex and confounding as, say, the
2012 is certain to be.
The wine is very well formed and less angular than most
baby Granges: the winemakers have worked wonders getting that traditional new
American oak to withdraw to the point where it's barely discernable amongst that
much softer-than-usual fruit syrup.
In which sense it's more of a St Henri in style. After
half an hour in the decanter, sensual flesh and saucy, cheeky aromatics begin
to emerge - soft licorice and sarsaparilla roots for starters - but the whole
thing stays in balance, slightly sullen and reluctant, but supple and right up
the comforting line that Max called "Motherly."
I'd be giving this one a nudge in about five years, but
it's not about to fall over. Ten or twenty more is well within its calm, quiet
reach.
Jerard Jaboulet once sent me to his favourite country
restaurant, somewhere on the humid flats of the Rhône delta, where its alluvium
spreads at the end of its gorge. He insisted I drink his legendary 1978 La
Chappelle with his recommended dish. A large flat white plate emerged, bearing
a thin layer of green lentils cooked in pork stock with little lumps of belly
flesh and softened skin, slices of carrot and fresh truffles. A grind of black
pepper set it dancing.
I ate it with a spoon.
This Grange would fill that role with gentle antipodean authority.
Hey Peter, where's Gerard and Max when we need them for lunch? Ray?
Imagine that.
There, I did it again.
these prices are from the Penfolds cellar door
2 comments:
nice snaps whitey
you getting paid?
NO
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