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| Leo Davis photograph - click it for a more precise image |
25 October 2012
20 October 2012
17 October 2012
THREE KRATERS FOR THE TEMPERATE
Three kraters do I mix for the temperate: one to health, which they empty first, the second to love and pleasure and the third to sleep.
When this bowl is drunk up, wise guests go home.
The fourth bowl is ours no longer, it belongs to hubris, the fifth to uproar, the sixth to prancing about, the seventh to black eyes, the eighth brings the police, the ninth belongs to vomiting, and the tenth to insanity and the hurling of furniture.
Some Greek poet to Dionysius, from πke
16 October 2012
SIGNAGE: PURGE URGENTLY REQUIRED
CASTAGNA 10s OUT BUT FORGET 2011
The Entry Level's Top Floor
After That It Goes Up Higher
Catching Castagna's #10 Rocket
by PHILIP WHITE
Those who’ve been in this for the long haul may recall me bumping into Castagna a dozen years ago. It was glass number 65 or something in a row of several hundred coupes of industrial auto plonk in my Top 100 tasting for Rupert, and when I hit it, it seemed so vibrant and alive and, well, Shirazy, that I couldn’t believe it came from Australia.
There were a lot of famous wines in that queue; some extremely expensive. But that newcomer stood as cheekily as an impossibly good Côte Rôtie; or maybe something secret and intense by August Clape or somebody. Most of Australia’s Shiraz was hot high alcohol jam in those years: dead grapes. This was intense, yet elegant, and bright with life.
“Number 65,” I said. “Can you check to ensure it’s Australian?”
It was Australian. I had the stewards include the same entry in another glass a lot further down the line. Second time I hit it, it looked even better. We put it in again. Ditto.
Damn thing up and won itself the highest points of any variety in the whole goddam show; best of thousands. I couldn’t wait to track down the responsible soul – I’d never encountered anybody called Chestnut before. Like Mark Almond is one thing, but I’ve never struck a Walnut, Macadamia or Cashew, be they Mr, Mrs or Ms ... Castagna is Italian for Chestnut. The label said they were at Beechworth.
Ring ring.
Carolann Castagna answered the phone in a dreamy British contralto, but she’s a writer, I discovered, so she can sound like that with impunity. She explained that it was Julian, her husband, I should be talking to, but he was in America or Zurich or somewhere.
“Oh no, here he comes now.”
The bloke was breathless. He’d just got home. He’d just been off directing another movie or something, to help pay for vintage. I told him what had happened in my tasting and asked him the secret.
“Do you really want to know?” he teased.
“Of course.”
“It’s bio-dynamic.”
I remembered only horrid organic and bio-d wines before that. They all seemed to need strong antibiotics, wadding, and a splint. Castagna’s wine was so full of vibrancy and rude, healthy life it laughed as you drank it.
To this family, managing the land and its plants in the most sensitive and responsible manner is the key to all good food and wine. They don’t boast of bio-d or anything much; they just think that’s the first thing anybody’d do if they had any respect for their land, their product, or their customers.
In the years since then, the annual Castagna release has become one of the true highlights of my calendar. It sits up there with Penfolds, Cullen, Moss Wood, Margan, Wendouree and the like. Revered stalwarts.
More recent additions to the list include Oakridge and Port Phillip … you get the gist.
And Castagna. Their annual open day on that bonnie alpine ridge of granite and sandstone was Saturday. I hope they sold lots of wine.
The Adam’s Rib duo, made by Adam Castagna from the home vineyard and some neighbours blocks, are the “entry level” wines. Pity two thousand others didn’t compare their entry level plonk to these wild masterpieces. Then, anything called Castagna is the best pickings from the family’s home vineyard, with Julian making the wines.
Or convening really. What he does is not winemaking. He makes sure the conditions are perfect for the wines to make themselves, should they indeed choose to. He listens to them. Like they chose not to in the disastrous moulds and mildews that smote south-eastern Australian in 2011, the wettest vintage since white settlement. Julian listened to them, and chose not to release any Castagna. This is the mark of a great winery. Very few will take such an honest and admirable lurch into, like, no money for a year.
So there’ll be no 2011 Castagna. Respect.
But the 2010s? Pretty much drop dead gorgeous. Incredible luxury items for your interior decoration and gifts at the festive season. And it’s not just about smell and flavour.
They’re brain crayons.
Adam’s Rib The White 2010
$35; 14% alcohol; Diam cork; 94 points
Both makers will probably dislike me saying this but in style this is so far out there the only other horse in the race is Johnny Gilbert’s forthcoming By Jingo Grillo. It’s about nothing smelling much like what everybody thinks grapes smell like, and letting the wine run off with its own flavour. Like it smells like wine, not grapes. Both those whites are big mature profound babies as thickset as the girls in Rubens’ room in the Louvre. This one’s got her face in a bowl of broad beans in butter and garlic. She’s just let it have another blast of pepper grinder, a grinder which doesn’t have a friggin torch in it. This is candle light wine. Somebody’s stewing jam melon in the corner. Woodstove business. Pears, too, but creamier and more buttery than any pear I’ve yet pillaged. But it’s no dessert wine. This is cassoulet wine. Everybody’s laughing! Oyster omelette wine. Wah Hing salt’n’pepper egg plant wine. Pig belly wine. Park Lok pig tripe in chicken stock with onion, mustard seed and white pepper wine. I just drank a whole bottle thinking that up. Oh yes. It’s Chardonnay and Viognier, and don’t you worry about that. Radical blanc for hardcore sensual rouge revvos.
Adam’s Rib The Red 2010
$35; 14% alcohol; Diam cork; 93+ points
Nebbiolo and Shiraz. Granite. Clean Beechworth air. Wild yeast. Approachable. That’s what it tells me on the outside. On the inside, add the triple-X rating. It’s like the fruit section of a bacchanale in the final movement. The jellied fruit wrestling. Where all is ripe and red and rude, and we’re rubbing it on each other in the bath. It smells deep and yearning and it wants you in there with it. The edge of it is pure smashed granite that sets the nostrils twitchin’ and itchin’. That’s just a carapace, a front, to protect and hide the rich soft within. There’s glowering, prickly anise, too. Drink. That stone-dust edge is in the palate like a vividly-coloured exotic reptile skin designed too for protection. Which is what it will do, keeping the fruit department preserved and fresh for a long time while it scares everything else away. This has to do with Nebbiolo tannins in a great year, but it’s not much like you’d expect of either of its components. They writhe so well together you can’t pick them. There’s also really sinuous acid, which will help with the preservation. But hang on, that’s a raspberry. A pretty raspberry gel. That’s the leader. Behind that there’s a stack of much darker blackcurrant and rude blue gunbarrel fig. But that’s just because I think like that. Rub it all over me so I forget. Beautiful, elegant, intense, joyous wine for participation. As the label says. “Approachable.” Really.
Castagna Genesis Syrah 2010
$75; 13% alcohol; Diam cork; 94++ points
Make a pie of whole berries of blackcurrant and blueberry, with a few junipers thrown in. Sneak some really peppery watercress in there somehow: maybe layer the bottom pastry with it before you spread the fruit on there - the pepper in this wine is watercress pepper, not peppercorn pepper. It has some anise, some licorice, some smote granite, some trippy petrichor, and the whole thing about this wine is the adventure anyway not the flavour. It’s science fiction, with much ozone oozing bluely from simmering electric connections. Like nuclear fuel rods glowering in the cooling brine. After it’s prickled and twitched your nostrils right up past the Jacobsen’s Organ, it goes kinda velvety and says everything’s all right. Don’t believe a word of it. You’re suckered. The Alien lives within you now.
Castagna La Chiave 2010
$75; 14% alcohol; Diam cork; 95+++points
This is Australia’s best Sangiovese. Ever. It is precise, brilliant and intense. That’s not saying a lot, but it makes my forehead fall to a supportive palm, while my breathe spills its marvels all over my desk. I have never exhaled a more satisfactory miasma born of the blood of St Jove. Which means the chiave, the lock, the latch, is open. Which makes me think of Chios, the Ægean island famous over the millennia for its wine. Not to mention the Teacher’s Chair of Homer. A liquor of sublime elegance, demeanour and poise. No further message.
Castagna Un Segreto 2010
$75; 13% alcohol; Diam cork; 96+++ points
One of the pointiest wines I’ve smelt in recent aeons, this is a new thing. Nobody’s done this so well and jumpingly before, and if they did, it’d probly be by genetic modification and a failure. But this has been grown outa the granite and sandstone ground from two sorts of right royal grape vine types, Sangiovese and Shiraz. It is alive, like carbon is alive when it’s on the paws of a giant Black Panther who is pacing on account of the inconvenience of the cage. The edgy reek of its sweat, which is white and salty on its muscular blackness. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down. The Juniper berry’s here again, but it’s really as much the smell of the bark of its tree on the heath there all the way from London down to the gin factory at Plymouth. Cat-scratching music, please. With some well-polished tack riding past. You can let it out to feed forever on the vast veldt of your sensories. In other words, Black Panther (cat not cat) stalks girls on horses, and boys who sometimes think them gals look good. You all deserve it. Stunning.
RAY BECKWITH'S LANGMEIL SPEECH
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| Ray Beckwith opens the mail ... photo Milton Wordley |
Winemaking - The New Wave
A Speech by Ray Beckwith
Langmeil Winery 1 August 04
The Barossa staged a huge international Shiraz conference in 2004. Because the cost was prohibitive, numerous small-scale winemakers simply could not afford to attend, so they held a sort of Fringe luncheon event at Langmeil Winery. When James Lindner asked me to address this, I suggested that they should best invite Ray Beckwith, who was then 92 years of age. I knew Ray was fit and well, but could not be sure that he’d agree to talk of his amazing life in wine, as he’d been sworn to secrecy by the fusty old Penfolds regime. Fortunately for that rapt international audience, Ray was happy to speak. He cruised in driving his V12 Jag, slung his sports coat over his shoulder, and strode into a room full of Shiraz winemakers from all over the world. I have compiled this account using Ray’s original notes -- perfect copperplate, of course – and my notes of a few moments when he improvised, like when he said that at 92 he felt he could finally talk with impunity. I am delighted that I finally found this important document after foolishly misplacing it years ago. Philip White 16 October 2012
Ladies and gentlemen,
Thankyou for your invitation and welcome.
I feel at home amongst today’s winemakers. I will remember them as perfectionists and optimists who defend their ideas passionately.
They’re always aiming at that perfect wine; that Nirvana.
I had a local hospital procedure last month at which they put the question:
“Do you have any allergies?”
My answer: “Yes. Bad wine.”
I have chosen to speak a little about the science of winemaking, and a little about the art of it. There can be all sorts of views; maybe controversial.
For the science side it was suggested that I talk of the early history of pH as a central mechanism in the growth of lactobacillus. I know I’m preaching to the converted, but some of you may not be conversant: pH – small p, capital H – is about Hydrogen ion potential. It’s a measure of the “active acidity” ... pH3 to pH4.
In the 1930s the wine industry was plagued by “Sweet Wine Disease”. Nobody knew what to do about it. It caused a lot of stress and financial loss, especially with our UK shipments. This is the time I became involved here in the industry in 1935. Dealing with faulty wine from earlier vintages was a challenge. It was a very steep learning curve. We tried all manner of treatments. Some just went to distillation. But the most successful was the refermentation of the older wines with must from later vintages.
It was important to be able to market the wine, but of greater importance was to adopt preventative measures.
What could we do about it?
Let’s look at the sequence of events in my experience.
At Roseworthy [College] Alan Hickinbotham interested me in pH. At Penfolds, that interest continued. At Adelaide University in September 1936, in the day of Professor A. Killen MacBeth and Dr S. W. Pennywick, the Professor let me use his private laboratory and the latest Cambridge pH unit. The intention was to see if there was any correlation between total acidity, pH and taste. I also tried the effect of various acid additions on the pH in wines.
The results were graphed. Two were completed with dotted lines, and the third? The Professor had drunk my samples. Out of courtesy, I gave him a copy of my findings. I could claim no direct correlation of total acid, pH and taste. But John Fornachon had been engaged by the Wine Board to research Sweet Wine Disease, and I'd read his preliminary paper. I took a foolscap sheet and typed on it a very simple statement: ‘pH control may be a useful tool to control bacteria in wine.’
To me that was prophetic.
I was travelling home to Murray Bridge on the Melbourne Express. It was a crowded train, and I was sitting on my suitcase in the dim light at the end of a carriage, listening to that clackety clack, when I remembered I had a copy of Fornachon’s preliminary report in my pocket. He described the influence of various factors on the growth of bacteria: SO2, alcohol, tannin, acids, pH, et cetera. I noted a clue there, and the penny dropped. I knew I must follow this up at work.
So back at work, I made enquiries about pH meters. Leslie Penfold Hyland visited and I broached the subject of acquiring a pH meter, telling him my vision of control. I held up the three brochures. “Which is the best?” he asked. I told him the best was the Cambridge unit with the Morton glass electrode.
“Get it,” he said.
I was impressed. It cost £100. My salary was £5 a week.
To put the proposition into practice, I had to adopt a suitable pH level. Here I was in unknown territory. Using Fornachon’s raw data as a guide, I proposed a pH of 3.8 as a maximum for fortified wine. This proved okay over many years. Other standards were developed for flor sherry, dry red and dry white, and, with fine-tuning only, stood for many years.
The means of adjusting pH was by Tartaric Acid, a natural constituent of wine.
So that is a bit of history.
Before I leave this topic, a few random thoughts:
In those early days, secrecy was common among the larger wineries. That offended me! Thus the above findings were not published. Other winemakers have told me that it was years before they caught on to what I had done. As far as is known, this application of pH to bacterial control was the first in the world. The work I did in 1936 was duplicated by a team in California in the mid-1980s. The conclusions were similar.
So while I had been sworn to secrecy by my employer, at 92 I think I can now tell you, speaking of it for the first time publicly, what I did all those years ago, when pH was almost regarded as a load of rubbish to be thrown out the window. I think of this today when I drink those luscious sweet whites, like Rutherglen Tokay.
There’s been a complete change in the exchange of information since those early days, which is all for the better. Look at today’s functions, here, and elsewhere around the Valley – it’s a testament to that change.
I have gone to some length concerning the history of pH control, but there were many other problems to be solved, such as metal contamination, stability, oxidation and so on.
I like to think that my generation created an infrastructure for succeeding generations to build on, and get down to the real task of winemaking.
That is THE ART OF WINEMAKING.
As we know the making of good wine starts in the vineyard, where great advances in management have been made over the years: such as canopy management for exposure to light and disease control; soil, water, crop limitation and so on.
Winemakers have their own styles. Hypothetically, say we had a vineyard of even quality fruit and three winemakers were asked to make wines from those vines. The chances are that there would be three distinct wines. In making wine there is a multitude of decisions to be made and each one has some bearing on the finished wine.
Examples are: at what stage of ripeness will the grapes be picked? To define “ripeness” can be the subject of debate!
At the winery: how much skin contact prior to fermentation; whether to settle and clarify white juice; the type of yeast used … for red wines, to plunge the skins, or use false head or rotofermenters … and the frequency? The temperature of fermentation. Decisions on the malolactic fermentation, and so on.
This is what I call “The Art Of Winemaking”. There is no hard and fast recipe – a judgement comes into play and the winemaker is trying to project forward to what the wine is likely to be.
Because of the time constraint in-between courses, I have touched only briefly on this subject, but it IS THE ESSENCE OF WINEMAKING.
So we have science and technology on the one hand and art on the other. To use an analogy – I think these are complementary – science gives the understanding – the BODY – while ART gives the SOUL to a wine.
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| Body, art and soul - Alfred Scholz, general manager of Penfolds Nuriootpa, pours a Great grandfather Port for Ray Beckwith, left, and Max Schubert in the 'sixties. |
The winewriters now so evident play an important role in the sense of being a bridge between winemaker and consumer. In their role of entertainment and giving information, I am sure we can allow them some poetic licence. They accent more the art of winemaking. Maybe the science remains in the back room.
In conclusion, wine, being organic in nature, is still subject to the ills of the past. The same yeasts and bacteria that caused such problems and losses are still with us.
A good motto is “Do not take anything for granted. Check. Check. Check.” That constitutes a common thread in winemaking over the ages: the need for attention to detail.
Many years ago Franz Liszt was asked to what he ascribed his success as a pianist and composer.
“There are three things, he said. “First, technique. Second, technique. Third, technique.”
I have paraphrased Liszt’s reply: there are three important things in winemaking.
First, is vigilance. Second is vigilance. Third, you guessed it, is vigilance.
Thankyou for your attention, and bon appetit!
For more recent news on Ray, who's finally delivered himself into care, click here.
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