HICKINBOTHAM SAYS PASTEUR WAS WRONG

Is Oz Too Obsessed With Germs?
Great Aussie Plonky Gets Volatile

Controversial Keynote Speech Delivered by Ian Hickinbotham RD Oe OAM at the Sydney International Wine Competition's Awards & Trophies Presentation Banquet 2009

Pasteur's pronouncement regarding wine was — and I say it slowly with Anglicised 'pronunciation' — if bacteria are present, 'le mal existait'. As the first Australian oenologist to 'allow' bacteria to grow in wine (to do the malo-lactic fermentation and at a time when an oenologist was sacked for not adding sulphur dioxide to prevent any secondary fermentation), perhaps I have a duty.

IAN HICKINBOTHAM RD Oe OAM - CLICK IMAGE FOR A REVIEW OF HIS ASTONISHING AUTOBIOGRAPHY

There is a trade story from the days when Penfolds Grange was Grange Hermitage. Seems the Australian Wine Board's powerful tasting panel rejected the great wine for export on the grounds that the wine was volatile! To the credit of Penfolds and indeed, the wine industry itself (if true) the story was kept 'in house'.

'Volatility' is an all-embracing word: it means 'too much vinegar in a wine' — in various forms — and is invariably the consequence of bacterial activity.

There are commendable movements to revert to more natural ways and the word 'biodynamic' is much bandied, while last year at this august event, wine writer, Max Allen, expounded the biodynamic viticulture movement, mentioning the mystical cow's horn filled with manure, to be emptied onto the vineyard when the moon is in the right phase! Significantly, these attempts at embracing the old ways concern the 'growing' phase. My subject concerns the 'winemaking' phase — a natural extension, surely!

There are about 8 recognised diseases of wine, but you may never see any of them due to Australian oenology probably — not possibly — probably being the best in the world! I actually ponder if our wines are too clean now! English critics (who really lead the world) have been saying this another way, by asserting that our wines are bland, that they all taste the same and consequently have no reflection of 'place': they lack 'terroir'.

In 50 vintages, I saw 'graisse' in a wine once and it was indeed an experience — and spectacular. The wine was viscous: when poured from one glass into another, 'plopping' was quite audible! (In viscosity, it was more viscous than olive oil.) The event was the subject of recent correspondence to 'Wine International' magazine: we had missed adding sulphur dioxide to the new wine. French technical literature gave us the definition 'graisse', which can be loosely translated into our word 'fat'.

True, the content of sulphur dioxide in wine is a tenth of the amount added to some foods, especially commercial smorgasbord type salads, but even Japanese would not buy black apricots! Importantly, it is commendable that when I started as an apprentice, 400 parts per million was a normal dosage to Riesling wines, but a quarter of that addition would be considered quite excessive by current oenologists.

Another disease I saw in the 1950s afflicted a million litres of dry red made from Shiraz and Grenache that was undrinkable because of intense bitterness of taste, a consequence of unbridled activity by some bacteria!

Again, the remedy turned on judicious use of sulphur dioxide and clarification. The bitterness had resulted from bacteria attacking the natural glycerine of the wine: the French define the disease as amertume. (It is not generally known that glycerine is about the 4th natural component of table wines, after water, alcohol and acid.) Significantly, that wine became the second Australian dry red to win an international Gold medal!

LOUIS PASTEUR: WRONG?

Still another disease (and one you may well have seen without knowing) is 'tourne', which was described by Louis Pasteur himself. As the name implies, it turns dry red brown in colour with loss in desirable fruitiness when only months old. The disease is caused by bacteria attacking the natural tartaric acid in dry red wine, but such wine is at least drinkable!

Also drinkable, and actually appreciated by some (including some wine writers) are white wines that develop the distinctive smell of lychee fruit. This disease is a consequence of bacteria attacking grape sugar during some stage of fermentation.

Current winemakers have their own scourge in the form of Brettanomyces, commonly known as "brett". This wayward yeast affects dry red wine and 'metallic taste' seems to be the common descriptor. Prevention centres on increased use of sulphur dioxide, while oenologists are almost blamed for being all too sedulous, thereby bringing the scourge upon themselves!

Ancient civilisations drank increasingly acescent wines during the year, just because they could not keep their wine away from air and the ever-present bacteria progressively turned all of their table wines to vinegar. Vintage festivals are a reminder: they were the wonderful celebration of the new wine, which really meant – no more having to drink near vinegar: indeed at eleven months the ancients were drinking almost straight vinegar. Tourists in Europe today are still heartened to see the telltale bush affixed to the winemaker's door to inform the traveller that the new wine is ready.

It was only some 300 years ago (not long in the 10,000 year saga) that the English made better bottles, that lead to the use of cork, which neatly compensated for the small differences in bottle mouth dimensions and protected wine from air somewhat.

When I trained as an oenologist in 1950, an inordinate amount of time was spent teaching us to recognise acescence. Indeed we were actually trained to decrease our thresholds of perception, with wines containing decreasing volatile acidity! Importantly, it was instilled into us that if a wine displayed traces of volatile acidity, then it would assuredly get worse. Volatile acidity would inevitably increase with aging. So the official tasting panel of the Australian Wine Board (now the Australian Wine and Brandy Corporation) rejected wines with trace amounts of volatile acidity. Today, that assertion is no longer valid, because for at least 20 years, oenologists can remove every bacterium that could increase the volatile acidity in wines!

Remembering that Grange has a relatively high volatile acidity — deliberately — and the official tasting panel is charged with approving every wine intended for export, the panel comprises tasters who live near Adelaide. Further, given that the task is voluntary and panellists are called at short notice (often so the wine can be loaded onto a departing ship), panellists are generally retired wine industry executives — who — importantly, were trained in detection of miniscule amounts of volatile acidity in wines. Add to that normal human competitiveness — who can detect the lowest threshold amount of Volatile Acidity — and we have panels that are hell-bent on detecting volatile acidity — and rejecting them for export. Contrary to the out-dated entrenched opinion, though such a modern wines may contain traces of volatile acidity — its amount will not increase: there are no bacteria in such modern bottled wines!

So we do not need the official tasting panel of the Australian Wine and Brandy Corporation? Perhaps they are actually stultifying individualism in our winemakers.

Our two sons went to Bordeaux and Burgundy universities. Stephen told me that at Bordeaux University they actually teach that bacteria and moulds on grapes contribute something to the final wine!

Renowned English critic, Michael Broadbent, wrote in 'Decanter' Magazine in 2006:

“All were aware that Robert Parker had given the 1990 100 points. The fault is brettanomyces. Like volatile acidity it is often present, can even enhance the smell and taste. But over a certain level of noticeability, it is a fault. The day I was drafting this article I telephoned Farr Vintners, ‘when did you last sell 1990 Montrose?’ ‘We sold a case this morning: £2,200 in bond’.”

Finally, let's consider the famous pronouncement of the French professor long ago:

"If we did not interfere in the winemaking process, we would be drinking vinegar — not wine — as vinegar is the end product of Nature's glorious scheme"!

Through the past, darkly

by PHILIP WHITE - This was published in The Independent Weekly on 5 September 2008

Around 1982, I was pleasured to conduct a preliminary tasting of the fifty or so wines assembled from the Yalumba Museum for that year’s Museum Tasting. Michael Broadbent, the impeccably besuited gentleman wine scribe from London’s port-and-stilton clubland, and Len Evans, his opposite number in more ways than one, were my co-tasters.

Amongst the treasures on display was an old Australian red I quite loved. It was not in perfect condition, but it delighted me. In his round-up of our opinions, delivered instructively from a lecturn to the lucky throng who were about to do the same tasting, Evans shat on me for my appreciation of the wine, suggesting I could not see volatile acidity should I drown in it.

“Young White”, he’d always say. “Not a bad writer, but we’ll have to get him up to the Hunter to teach him a thing or two about wine”. He never missed such an opportunity. Broadbent, by the way, seemed to like the wine as much as I did.

It was a Caldwell red from 1937, a blend of Barossa shiraz and a Hunter component, probably made by the great Maurice O’Shea. Two bottles were for sale at the next day’s auction. The bidding went ballistic, but I prevailed. I had never spent so much on two bottles of wine.

I settled them, and drank them a week later at the Uraidla Aristologist. One bottle was poor, but still quite drinkable, the other in quite good nick for a forty-five year old.

A few weeks later I was in Western Australia with the winemakers of Hardy’s, and Bill Hardy raided the cellar at Houghton to find some old glories to be served, blind, at dinner. One bottle immediately rang my bells. “It’s not the same, but it reminds me of the Caldwell I recently bought at the Barossa vintage auction”, I said.

Bill was incredulous. This was a Western Australian red, from, I think, 1938.

“It’s from the other side of the country, Whitey”, he said. “But it’s made by Charlie Kelly, the same winemaker who blended that Caldwell in Sydney the year before.” Snap.

After working at Caldwell, an old-style negociant and blending house, Charles W. Kelly went to the West to make the wines at Valencia, where Bill worked with him before Kelly’s retirement in 1977. He was the grandson of Dr. A. C. Kelly, one of the first owners of Tintara, and author of the 1867 E. S. Wigg publication, Winegrowing in Australia, one of the colony’s first viticulture bibles.

A few weeks ago, I feasted at Norberto’s house of meat in Hutt Street, with Peter Gago, Patrick Conlon and Peter Vaughan. The latter, a fearsome wine collector, brought two rare bottles; Gago, of course, had dug deep as well.

Vaughan’s first offering was immediately recognised: the 1937 Caldwell, now gnarled and obviously very old, perhaps a little volatile, but certainly not poisonous. What a thrill to put such a slice of history into the gizzards!

“Best looking 71 year old in the country” Patrick gurgled. “Sweet and full of vinegar, but lush, live and lovely”, my notes enthuse.

Vaughan’s next offering was in near perfect condition. It was Maurice O’Shea’s Mount Pleasant Light Dry Red from the legendary Stephen hermitage vineyard, from 1952, my birth vintage. This was exquisite wine, in no worse condition than, say a five-year-old Bass Phillip, and certainly in better nick than many of the hyper-expensive Clarendon Hills offerings much beloved of Robert Parker Jr..

“Utterly wondrous!” I scribbled.... “Olives, bread, caramel, fudge, mealy tannin....96 points....looks much better than me!”.

Gago then poured Max Schubert’s crowning glory, the 1962 Bin 60A blend of Coonawarra shiraz and Kalimna cabernet. I’d had this wine many times with Max, and had feared that since his death, any fresh bottles with good corks had all gone. But this one, virtually straight from the cellar it had occupied since the day of its bottling, was alarmingly fresh and saucy in a “so whatter you lookin at?” manner.

The fascinating thing about it, however, was its preponderance of raw American oak. In the days when I drank such wonders with Max, nearly all of our top reds were covered in sappy, coconutty American oak, so the 60A never appeared outstanding for its wood. Compared to many, in fact, it always seemed perfectly balanced. But now, since we’ve moved on to much more suitable, finer-grained oaks from the cooler forests of France, the poor old thing was more of an audacious, out-of-fashion artefact, if indeed delicious and still cheeky. 96 points, two of them for emotion.

So never believe the winemaker who tells you “it’s pretty woody now with that spicy American, but it’ll assimilate with time”. American oak has no more chance of assimilating than the lumps of amber sap that have bobbed around the Baltic for millions of years.

Romney Park Barossa Shiraz 2006

$48; 14.5% alcohol; Diam cork; 94++ points

From the deep red dirt over the clay, bluestone and schist of the Barossa piedmont near Bethany, this rare, priceless wine is worth stocking up, since some boofhead who had no right to them put a mechanical harvester over the old bush vines this year, and simply headed off with the grapes. We know who he is. This is classic piedmont fruit: all deep and mysterious, with dried prune, stewed blackberry, mulberry and blueberry; a twist of carob bean; a lick of aniseed balls; a shot of mint; beetroot … and even while its finish is bone dry and schisty rather than slenderly tannic, it’s still elegant. Rostbif. 0439 398 366

Grosset Polish Hill Clare Riesling 2008

$44; 13% alcohol; screw cap; 93++ points

Deceptively reluctant to emerge at first – don’t chill it; cool it - this wine eventually exudes a pleasing, teasing whiff of nashi pear and a certain creaminess, like ly-chee. It gradually builds up a wet flagstone base note, giving it an almost Austrian authority, like some Salomon. Similarly, the palate’s creamy and lush, with a longer, more comforting finish than that slaty bouquet promised. Then you disturb a severe wall of lemon-and-lime acidity and sombre stone, and begin to realise this is a wine for very long-term cellaring indeed. It’s a beauty. Choucroute with parsnips and smoky speck. www.grosset.com

Petaluma Clare Valley Riesling 2008

$30; 12.5% alcohol; screw cap; 93++ points

Brrrrr. Here’s another ravishing example of the outstanding rieslings made in Clare before the heatwave turned everything to Aeroplane Jelly. I know, I know you’ve heard the descriptor before, but there are no other words for it: this smells like flagstone soaked in lime juice. It’s a scrumptious, unctuous, confounding wine: huge in force and presence, but still impeccably elegant and reserved. It has fresh healthy fruit spongily wrapped around a chassis of rapier acidity, with phenolics and tannins that resemble the Hanlin’s Hill rock, with maybe just a little tease of strawberry pith. One of Petal’s best. Salmon confit.

Morillon Port Phillip Estate Tete du Cuvée Mornington Peninsula Pinot Noir 2006

$??; 13.5% alcohol; Diam cork; $93++ points

I spose if you’re copying a wine style from France you might also copy their ling. This coulda bin called sumpin different. But it doesn’t jam in my craw, the ling. Nor does the wine. I like the fact that it’s not a juicy fruity pinot, filling the Port Phil’s top bot, nor is it a big tannic bugger, pretending it contains shiraz but not really. This is perfectly balanced, perfectly formed young pinot, understated in almost every way. But add all that understatement together, and you’ve got a simple, humble, plainly crafted antipodean wine that should have the haunches of all Burgundy ashiverin. Nice knock. Spare ribs. www.portphillip.net

Romney Park Adelaide Hills Merlot 2005

$25; 14.5% alcohol Diam cork; 93++ points

Real merlot’s freaky - it likes to keep its roots wet. So this vineyard’s as happy as a swine in the mire, on the banks of the Onkaparinga at Balhannah. It’s delightful, highly stylish wine, intense but sublimely elegant, with that heady, dark smell of swamp myrtle, with its waxy leaves. Blackberry vines, too, with ripe fruit. Unless you’re used to Petrus or La Pin, forget everything you’ve heard about merlot: this strapping, highly appetising bargain IS NOT MELLOW. With enough fine tannin to ensure at least a decade’s dungeon, it’s utterly scrumptious now. Juicy cutlets and reduced spinach. Call 0439 398 366

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