Verdicchio

Verdicchio is a name used by half a dozen Italian grapes. This one, di Matelica, sounds like it should be connected in some way to an American heavy metal band but in fact comes from the central eastern Italian region of Marche. Most of the others are better known by other names, such as Pecorino, Maceratino, etc, and this one also crops up as a number of Trebbianos including di Lugana which we encountered in week L (2014).

Week V (2015) Villa Taurini Verdicchio di Matelica. 2013. Tesco £5.99

The root of its name, Verdi, means green (you may have heard of Joe Green, the composer of romantic opera) and that gives a hint of what to expect.


There are indeed hints of green in this mostly mid-lemon yellow wine and it smells mostly of pears with some warmer, stone fruit tones.

It is dry but with a fruity sweetness and a citrus acidity that makes it refreshing and enjoyable. The first impressions I got of this wine were slightly disappointing, but that was on a cold and snowy evening. The following day, at lunchtime, I returned to the same bottle and formed a markedly different opinion as it felt richer and more flavoursome. The effect of oxygen? Maybe, I can't be sure, but it did seem somehow better.

According to the bottle it has a fairly normal 12.5% abv and this is about right as there is some body and bite to it that means it is not a thin, watery wine.

I very much enjoyed the Lugana, made from a differently named but similar variety and that was priced at more than two and a hlaf times the cost of this bottle. Was it that much better or more enjoyable? The truth is that I can't remember clearly enough to be sure. I like the Lugana and I like this, but only on returning to it after  it had been opened for nearly twenty hours.

The Lugana came from a long way to  the North whre there is a more continental climate and further from the temperature moderating influence of the Adriatic sea, so perhaps that explains the difference and why the nectarine and clementine flavours of the Lugana were not in evidence on this Verdicchio. Again, I don't know.

Would I buy this again? Yes, but as a good value, everyday or perhaps high volume party wine. If I was wanting to be safe and get something more interesting I would be tempted to pay the premium for its differently named cousin.

Ull de Llebre

I have allowed myself more than a little poetic license this week, however, I feel justified as the purpose of this blogging nonsense is to provide me with the motivation to keep exploring and learning about wine. It doesn't matter to me if you know more or less than I do, or whether you think I am mildly entertaining or completely irrelevant (if it's the latter, you should seek help because you are still reading. Yes, you are.)

Ull de Llebre is one of the many Spanish synonyms for a grape internationally known as Tempranillo. Specifically, it is the name used in the Penedes region in North East Spain, more famous for Cava, the Spanish sparkling wine that mustn't be compared to Champagne.

Tempranillo is famous as the major grape of Rioja, where it can be blended with Garnacha and Mazuelo in various proportions, and indeed this week's wine is from Rioja.

Week U (2015) Campo Viejo, Tempranillo. 2012. Tesco £8.99.

This is a well made and good value wine. It has a redcurrant and gentle vanilla spice flavour profile and cheery ruby complexion and is smoothly drinkable. I know people who consider this to be their everyday red, and I can see why.

This may not be a particularly unusual wine, but it does serve to illustrate any interesting move in the producer's marketing strategy. Historically, Rioja is a region that has a unique and, once you have understood it, clear structure for the classifications and labeling of wines produced there. The purpose of the classification hierarchy as a few advantages.

Firstly, like most naming schemes it is about quality control and ensuring all the usual types of regulations are observed: permitted grape varieties, limits of the area in which they were grown, methods of production, ageing etc, and secondly it is about protecting the name Rioja both so that producers from outside the region cannot diminish the regional brand by making inferior wines and selling them as the real thing. It also provides a means of telling consumers what to expect when they open the bottle in terms of style.

The traditional naming hierarchy which indicates style is based on the way in which the wines have been matured and start with 'vin joven', for young wines intended to be drunk early, through 'Crianza', 'Reserva' and 'Gran Reserva', which indicate the minimum length of oak-ageing in barrel and bottle ageing afterwards each style of wine has enjoyed. It follows, broadly, that the longer the ageing the better the original fruit and the higher quality and price. Wines at the upper end will have greater complexity, higher oak influence and tend to be more full-bodied and rich.

However, as with almost all 'old world' regions, one piece of information not clearly given on the label is one of the two that consumers, certainly those in UK, use to select a bottle from the dreaded wine wall. The name of the grape variety. The other piece of information is the price and that is always available unless you buy your daily tipple at auction in which case I really don't understand why you have read this far. But thanks anyway.

In 2012 Campo Viejo, a major producer in Rioja which was established in the 1950's, decided to adopt a 'new world' approach to labeling its lower-end wine and shift from the traditional to the modern. They dropped 'Crianza' and instead put 'Tempranillo' up front. This was in the belief that the Tempranillo 'brand' could do in Spain what Sauvignon Blanc brand has done in New Zealand.

Has it worked? Well, in 2014 Campo Viejo Tempranillo became the UK's most successful red wine, by value. That is to say that more money was spent on than any other red wine by UK consumers. There has been a side benefit for them , too, in that sales of their higher-end Reservas and Gran Reservas have also increased (by nearly 80% in the case of the Gran Reserva) as the Tempranillo move made the name Campo Viejo better recognised to shoppers.

It is clear that as a marketing strategy it has been hugely successful, but are we at risk of losing something here? Wine bores, like me, often enjoy the esoteric nature of wine language and the opportunity to bang on about stuff that real people don't care about, however, that is not justification enough to resist change. In fact I do see that it is a reason to embrace it. But what if in the pursuit of the market the simplification of description leads us further towards the homogenisation of the product? If a wine is no longer labeled 'Crianza' the requirement for it to rest in oak for a year is no longer enforced and the subtle variations in style the are derived from these practices may disappear, which I think would be a loss.

Txakoli

Txakoli is not a grape variety, but a type of wine made in the Basque region of North East Spain in the general area of San Sebastian. There are a few variations on the theme but this week's wine comes from one of the smallest DO areas in Spain, Gipuzkoa, and that includes a few towns, of which Getaria is one, so the DO is Getariako and its wine is a Txakolina.

Lots of complicated names, but we have ended up with:


Week T (2015) Alaia Txakoli. Getariako Txakolina DO 2013. M&S £11.99.

The grape used has another exotic sounding name; Hondarrabi Zuri. I have encountered a few different spellings of the grape's name, but this is the one chosen by the producer, Amesguren, so I'll settle on that.

It is another wine from the impressive range at the local M&S which continues to support my voyage of discovery. I'll try to catch them out sooner or later but so far they are proving tough competition.

In the area where this wine is made there is a flamboyant habit of pouring the wine into a tall tumbler from a height. I imagine this is because it has a natural sprtiz (gentle fizz / petillance) and when it hits the glass it makes an attractive mousse (if you are a wine drinker, head if you are more of a beer bibber) which gives it something of a party image.

It is a light, lively wine, relatively low in alcohol and makes a great aperitif. It is pale, slightly sparkling, smells of apples, pears and grapefruit, and tastes the same.

It is not unlike a white Portuguese Vinho Verde and this is not a bad thing. The Basque region from which it comes has around three times the minimum rainfall required for grapes (at ~1500mm per year) which is approximately the same as Northern Portugal, so the comparison may partly explained by this, even if the varieties concerned are completely different.

I think that next time I try this I will also attempt the high-altitude serving technique at some suitable event, which would probably benefit from some warm summer sun.

Saperavi

As promised, we have stayed in Georgia to sample another indigenous variety, Saperavi. This one is red and a direct translation of its name is 'paint' or 'dye' (sounds like a threat that might have been issued by a less than charitable Pope, perhaps a Borgia, to a reluctant portrait artist) because of the depth of its colour.

The South African speciality grape, Pinotage, is sometimes criticised for tasting like paint, so i am hoping in Saperavi's case it is purely down to the appearance rather than the flavour.

Week S (2015) Chateau Mukhrani Saperavi, 2012. M&S £9.49.

Sure enough, this is a ruby/purple wine which clings to the glass a bit and just about lives up to the claims made for the depth of colour.

It doesn't smell of paint, which is a good thing, but instead gives a definite red cherry smell, with a slight vanilla spice. It has some flowery type tones which could be Violets or similar.

It tastes much the same with some Raspberry thrown in for good measure. It reminds me of a Cabernet Franc and this could be either because that's what it tastes like or because I haven't tasted enough Cabernet Francs.

It is another one of those 'easy-drinking', soft, fruity reds, but it does have some gentle tannins which are smooth and well integrated, and enough acidity to avoid the 'flabby' criticism. The producer claims 13%, but I have recently read some pretty clear advice about how accurate the numbers on bottle can be and why I shouldn't mention it.

Last week we tasted the white stable mate of this wine and found ourselves a little underwhelmed. This week, for the price, the same is true. Absolutely nothing wrong with it, but just a bit forgettable.


I am sure I will return to sample more wines from Georgia, but they will have to wait their turn.