Frocking Up

L to R: Rolf Binder of Veritas, Philip White, Chris Ringland and Greenock Creek's Michael Waugh at the Barons of the Barossa 2005 ceremony at which Ringland was made Winemaker of the Year and Waugh viticulturer of the year. Contrary to the bullshit Dan Phillips and Robert Parker spread about Ringers being the Greenock Creek winemaker, Michael was well and truly making the wine. In spite of incredible drought conditions since, he still remains unique in that he will not add water to his musts. PHOTO - LEO DAVIS

I've taken some flak for presumption or silly walks or something for my attire in the photograph above, which was previously posted on DRANKSTER.

I was honoured some years ago to be inducted into the Barons of the Barossa, the philanthropic order of people who the Barons Grand Council believes have made a significant contribution to Barossa life, and the protection of its unique culture. One is a Baron for life.

Just for the record, my citation read thus:

"Philip White is a writer and broadcaster.

"Philip’s first visit to the Barossa, as a journalist, was 25 years ago when he came to write about Yalumba’s radical new computer system for the quarterly IBM magazine.

"Within a few years he was living in a heritage cottage at Dutton, writing what was Australia’s most influential wine column in The National Times. In spite of tasting at the hands of the PR spin-doctors, he claimed to learn more about the wine industry drinking beer with tanker drivers at the top pub in Truro, and he learned a lot more about drinking beers in the old Buick he co-drove with Peter Lehmann in the 1988 Redex Rally.

"Philip was a vital battler for the retention of the precious old shiraz, carignan, cinsault, mataro and grenache vines in the face of the notorious vine pull scheme, and was, behind the scenes, instrumental in forming the Barossa Residents’ Association, which eventually forced the government to put and end to that destruction.

"In the years since, Philip has written passionately and honestly about the Barossa in most of Australia’s major newspapers and many magazines, local and international. His decade broadcasting on the ABC was special for its knowing references to Barossa life, religion and agriculture. His controversial commitment to environmental conservatism in viticulture, the protection of aquifers in the face of deadly salinity, and the preservation of the culture that makes the Barossa unique, is exemplary, tireless, and ongoing."

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Zin is in, in a primitivo way

by PHILIP WHITE - from The Indepedendent Weekly 22 August 2008

Kevin and Helen O’Brien, of Kangarilla Road, hosted a brave tasting at The Lion last week. It’s always risky, presenting your wines on the blind, against direct rivals, but doing it with confounding and difficult varieties like zinfandel and primitivo is a real gamble. These ancients are so deep in tradition, contradiction and mystery, that they make that elusive will-o-the-wisp, pinot noir, look easy.

When I was Sex Pistol-whipped punk with ripple soles and no respect, I was amused by this new zin thing from California. But it took more than a “ZIN IS IN” badge and a set of papal purple lips to unlock the secrets of such an ancient freak. California told us that zinfandel was a Spanish mission grape which had morphed or mutated or whatever in the stiff chill of the High Sierra, and was therefore unique to California.

It was a surprise to soon discover Cambrai, in McLaren Vale, made zin. It was in Western Australia, too, which seemed as far away as California thirty quick years ago.

Winemakers were scared of zin: it regularly grows grapes of widely-ranging ripeness. When cabernet grows dead reliably, like weeds, well, why would you worry with something so hard to grow, difficult to pick, weird to vinify, and nearly impossible to sell. When I eventually found some zin in Margaret River, I was astonished to discover bunches with great fat sweet berries as big as table grapes, nestled there beside normal sized ones and others like bitter little lentils.

This presents real problems when deciding when to pick: some of the bunch has almost obscene sugar, the rest is tight with bitter acid. So it’s possible to get wines which seem like a blend of jam and lemon juice.

At Cape Mentelle, David Hohnen gradually beat his zin into something resembling submission, and I recall recommending one sixteen or seventeen per cent brute that tasted like “King Kong in Manolo Blahnik stilettos”. That pleased the Mentelle PR lady no end: that style was their goal.

Eventually Chris Ringland went off to Puglia, Italy’s heel, and made very successful La Corte primitivo, which by then was thought to be zinfandel, and was indeed the most prolifically-grown grape in Calabria. This, and other cult items, like the A-Mano, made by American Mark Shannon in Italy’s south, began to appear on lists like the off-the-wall fruitcake of the Exeter.

Fruitcake’s the word for primitivo, too. You can get wine which tastes as complex and fruity as fruitcake, but soused in acid and alcohol that could be kirsch and lemon juice. Otherwise, the wines tend to be too big, strong, fat and dumb, like the strange beasts we were offered from the Adelaide Hills during recent years: prematurely aging, leathery, sweet-and-dry reds.

Helen O’Brien’s research now shows that primitivo has thousands of years of history, while zinfandel doesn’t quite stretch back two centuries. We do know now that both, if indeed they are much different, descended from the ultra-rare crljenak kasteljanski of Croatia. The thirsty seafarers of the Mediterranean had it growing all over Italy’s sole way back in antiquity; but, true to form, the Italian agricultural bureaucracy never mentioned primitivo until forty years after zinfandel was first documented in the USA, around 1870.

Of the sextet of primitivo presented at The Lion, my highest points went to the Layer Cake 2006 (13.4%; $20; 92+) made in Puglia by Jayson Woodbridge. Its lower alcohol gave it vibrant ozone and blueberry tones; its tannins crunchy and rough. On the other hand, the ancient Italian house, Feudi di San Gregorio/Tenuata Ognissole’s Primitivo di Manduria 2006 (14.4%; $22; 92+) seemed very tidy and well-formed, with delicious ripe raspberry, like grenache, and zingy, sherbety acid. The Kangarilla Road Fleurieu Primitivo 2006 ($22; 16%; 88++ points) seemed not quite ready, with its incredible iron/cassis/framboise explosion of fruit suddenly leaving me with persistent, challenging tannin that made me yearn for large amounts of hearty Italian tucker.

My average score for the six zinfandels was a full ten points short of the primitivos. The Seghesio Home Ranch Sonoma 2006 ($32; 15.5%, 88) from an 1895 planting, was the best Californian, with just enough deep cherry to counterplay its abrasive, hunger-provoking tannin. Locally, the Kabminye Barossa 2006 ($38; 16.3%; 88+) seemed similar - in its vibrant ozone freshness - to the Layer Cake, despite the large alcohol difference, and its weird counterpoint of cassis and prune syrup with lemon juice and hot alcohol.

Then the Kangarilla Road Black St Peter’s 2006 ($34; 15.5%; 88+), from those 1975 plantings of Cambrai, which the O’Brien’s bought eleven years ago, was classic schizozin: an entertaining see-saw of fruit liqueur, licorice and lemons, finishing, of course, with that omnipresent, staunch tannin.

Visit O’Brien’s cellar soon, and talk all this stuff over. Or you can e-mail them with queries: kangarillaroad@bigpond.com. Time to commit some zin.