Powder snow crunched underfoot. I edged around the corner of the old winery; isolated in the high Caucasus, not far from the Russian border. Clammy sweat traced my spine despite the freezing temperature. I tried to suppress my breath, lest it give me away and spook my quarry. There he was. George. He hadn’t seen me, his eye-line beneath his collar. I took my opportunity, maybe the last I’d get before the Georgians bundled him into the coach and away to safety. My index finger hovered. I took the shot. Calm and clean, but it would be some moments before I could tell if I’d hit the mark.

I had landed in Tbilisi 48 hours earlier, as one of a number of international delegates invited by the Georgian government to discover the country’s wines. Cosseted from the outset, I had dined with dignitaries, met with winemakers and attended a trade tasting; all as part of a push to raise international awareness of where many consider to be the birthplace of wine.
            As to exactly when people first noticed that grape juice fermented into wine will likely remain conjecture. Depending on your sources, dates vary from 6000 to 9000 BC; but it is widely accepted that the people of the High Caucasus, in which Georgia nestles, were the first to cultivate vines and make wine. The country is justly proud of this. Wine is ingrained in folklore, preserved in legend and glorified in architecture to a level not encountered elsewhere. But whilst history intrigues me, what had brought me to Georgia was a desire to find out whether the wines were any good now.
            A look at the statistics tells you they should be. The country has the ideal topography, climate and soils to make wine to rival the world’s best. It also has 500 native grape varieties. (Thankfully for those of us wanting to get acquainted with the wines, only about 40 are used commercially.) But a cursory peek at recent history makes the prospect of quality wine less certain. The twenty years since independence from Soviet rule is not a long time to shake off the communist paradigm of collective winemaking practices that are never conducive to quality. Thus my expectations weren’t high as I attended the trade tasting.

The tasting started well with a few fresh, modern styles, mostly made from the indigenous white Rkatsiteli, Mtsvane and Chinuri, and the characterful red Saperavi amongst others. But things took a turn for the worse in an area signed ‘Natural Wine’.
            ‘Natural’ is the latest buzzword in the wine world, with more column inches than the Acropolis currently devoted to it in the trade press. It’s the phenomenon of growing grapes and making wine with no mechanical manipulation or chemical intervention. In Georgia natural wine is often fermented underground in kvevri (see below), clay vessels that differ little from those used in Neolithic times.
            What I previously encountered had convinced me that the resurgence was faddish: the equivalent of crafting an iPad from wicker. What I tasted now did nothing to sway me. The wines were oxidised (having had prolonged and loosely controlled exposure to air, something most winemakers fervently avoid) and bitter, having been left with the skins for too long in fermentation: in all, simply wrong!
            ‘I can tell you’re not impressed.’ A ruddy-cheeked winemaker eyed me with paternal indulgence as I scribbled my notes. ‘Consider that we intend the wines to taste so.’
            Intrigued by the notion that preconception had clouded my judgment, I tasted all of the wines again, this time allowing for the proposition that they should have an oxidised style and be more bitter than I was used to.

It was a complete revelation. Placing those elements to one side allowed me to view the wines afresh. In some cases I found further faults! Instances of under-ripe grapes, poor wine hygiene and careless handling lowered my initial scores for these wines; but with others I found that setting aside those first prerequisites allowed me to discover pleasing flavours and characters that I’d not been patient enough to find before. There were a handful of truly great wines I’d initially written off and now found myself really enjoying.

That afternoon I was delighted to have found something that had challenged my preconceptions and wrong footed my tastebuds, so I elected to discover as many natural wines as I could on the trip. This I may have indulged in a little too enthusiastically over lunch at the winery in the mountains on the last day. I can find no other explanation for my engaging in an afternoon-long challenge with the other English wine trade delegate to get the best photograph of George − from the seventies sitcom George and Mildred − look-alike. An unusual undertaking I grant you, but refreshingly challenging nonetheless – a bit like Georgian wine… 

George’n Kvevri (the winning shot).

The battered Toyota minibus skidded to a halt beside me, dust billowing in the late afternoon heat. Three Hezbollah soldiers spilled from its rear door and ran towards me.

This I found somewhat unnerving, having spent my flight to Lebanon reading about the country’s turbulent political history. I had wondered how being English might affect my standing with the Sunni, Shia, Druze, Alawi and Marionite factions and whether I should ally myself to the Phalangist or Palestinian cause. In the end I had decided to do what came naturally and plead ignorance. Anyhow, I had nothing to worry about, according to a (with hindsight, less than well-informed) representative of the British Embassy in Beirut. ‘Everything is cool in Lebanon, don’t worry.’ It seems I’d sought advice from the wrong source, as had I called any other European embassy I now know that I wouldn’t have been alone in Baalbek (Hezbollah heartland) standing outside a delightfully tourist-free temple dedicated to Bacchus, the Roman god of wine.

Baalbek is at the northern end of Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, a twenty mile wide plain abutted by two mountain ranges that run down the east and west flanks of Lebanon. Whilst sun-drenched and Mediterranean, the climate here is tempered by the cooling effect of altitude (900m) and mountain breezes. The overlooking peaks are often snow capped (the melt providing year round natural irrigation for the vines) and it has a rich variety of soils that are perfect for vine cultivation. 
         It is one of the world’s natural wine lands and was, via the Phoenicians, the vinous starting point for many of Europe’s wine regions. The conquering Romans thought highly enough of the valley to build the largest temple they ever dedicated to their wine god. Impressive on an Egyptian scale, the Temple of Bacchus remains remarkably well preserved despite nearby temples lying in ruins. Those Lebanese who are partial to a glass of wine put this down to divine intervention, whilst others choose to ignore the coincidence. Unusually for the Middle East there is a balance of both in the country; there being a large wine-drinking Christian minority (40%), and secular elements within the Muslim majority.
        The combination hasn’t always been a harmonious one (try Wikipedia, too much history for here!) and Lebanon’s problems have in the past stymied the development of the wine industry. However, peace since the end of the civil war (1975–1990) has allowed it to flourish, and the last five years alone have seen the number of wineries grow from 15 to 35 in number. Yet their total production is still only six million bottles (less than some supermarket ‘special’ offer bulk buys) which is why few in the UK even know that Lebanon produces wine, let alone will have tried any.

Some may have encountered Château Musar, a truly wonderful wine (age it ten years and you’ll find it even better - an elixir to marvel over) steeped in a history of wine production through adversity, but the story only begins there. The insuppressible optimism of the Lebanese winemaking community seems to know no bounds. There are eco-friendly state-of-the-art wineries being built into the hillsides, where minimum environmental impact is as important as the wines’ quality; the finest sites are being sought in the mountains (cooler and with the best soils) and planted with a view to producing wines to rival the world’s very best, by people with the know-how to do so. There were a couple of wineries I visited whose exquisite output would easily grace the same tables as the stratospherically over-priced first-growths of Bordeaux; indeed I’ll be so bold as to say that in some cases they may even beat them in a professional blind tasting. But these wines are still in barrel and tank, yet to be released, so I’ll say no more for now.

It will take time and continued political stability for the wines of Lebanon to become more prominent in the UK, since they are at present being snapped up as quickly as they are produced; but should you chance upon them, do give them a try. There are of course some to avoid, as in any country, but if you’re feeling like experimenting with something new, try: Massaya (Berry Brothers), Château Musar(Majestic), Domaine des Tourelles Syrah du Liban (Lebanese Fine Wines), Kefraya(Great Western Wines) and you’ll get great value from Château Ksara(HallgartenDruitt).

The purpose of my visit I chose to keep secret from my decidedly tee-total Hezbollah inquisitors as they asked about the nature of my travel in Lebanon. I actually don’t think I’d have offended otherwise, as they were perfectly civil, only wanting to see if I wished to buy a rather natty tee-shirt loudly embroidered with a missile launcher motif. They encouraged me to take care as there’d been a kidnapping by another militant group in the area only a few months ago, something they were surprised hadn’t been mentioned by my embassy.
        My travel advice if you do go wine tasting in Lebanon? Don’t stray beyond where the (French) embassy suggests; or if you do, make sure you buy the tee-shirt.

Bacchus Temple at Baalbek. Bekaa Valley, Lebanon.

Wine Navigator Online - Fast, free and lots of fun!

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We’ve done it! After two years compiling content and Andy coding until his fingers bled, we can now pull the switch and release The Wine Navigator from our imaginations and into the lives of anyone who has ever wanted to be a little more adventurous with their wine.

But now comes the hard part: getting people to know about it. That’s where we hope you might help us. If you like it, tell a friend or two, if not, tell me how we can improve it to work for you. 

www.wine-navigator.com

Any comments will be very warmly welcomed: francis@francisgimblett.com

I’ll even send all comments a pack of Wine Trumps - see http://www.thewineadventurer.com/wine-trumps.php

Cheers!

Francis

This was a question asked of me at a wine tasting last night (thankfully before I took to the stage). There was a time, early in my career, when I would have taken offence at such an insult and offered a rebuke. Then came a period where veiled irritation was the order of the day, followed by one of paternal indulgence – I, the vinous vicar, piteous of an unbeliever. But now, when asked such a question, I too simply wonder why the wine trade is so up its own backside.

It’s not that it’s just dawned on me, as it is something that has troubled the Gimblett consciousness every time I have been among the gaggle of glugging glitterati at trade and wine institution tastings over the years. It’s just that I always felt I ought to defend my chosen profession.

So, for the first time, I have decided to put some thoughts down as to why the wine trade could be considered to have its head lodged somewhere that doesn’t allow it effective communication with its public.

I’m getting gooseberries, guava, and right on your nerves!
It’ll probably come as no revelation to learn that there is a huge amount of rubbish talked in the wine game. On hearing experts spout florid descriptions, most people have one of two reactions: one is that of suspicion, and the other is a belief that there’s some mystic art at play that is far too esoteric for mere mortals to comprehend.
        ‘I can’t taste that’ is most people’s reaction. If a wine guru tells you what aromas or flavours you absolutely should taste, they are a fraud and don’t understand their subject. Taste is particular to us all. When a wine expert writes a tasting note, it is written from their own point of reference and should be done to remind the writer of how the wine tasted to them and what that taste says about the wine. (Agreements can be found on more objective palate sensations such as acidity, sweetness etc.) Anyone can taste wine - we all have the tools to do so if we wish to apply them, it’s just a question of getting to know what the different aromas are telling you - how you choose to describe those aromas to others is, however quite subjective; there are no absolutes.

Wine institutionalised
As a child I spent much time in Hellingly Hospital, Britain’s last big lunatic asylum, surrounded by 3000 of the country’s mentally and criminally insane. This will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but as a boy waiting outside his mother’s office (she was a nurse), it gave me a fascinating insight into the way the thought processes of those within institutions become collectivised and distanced from outsiders, no matter how pleasant the members of that institution may be (though, frankly, many patients made more sense to me then than some wine pundits do now). I wonder if this could be a reason for the distance felt between most punters and members of The Institute of Masters of Wine.

Education, education, education!
The devotees in wine circles seem hell-bent on earnestly ‘educating’ everybody about their favourite subject in the same way that a rain-soaked train spotter might want to engage you in theirs. The reality is that most people understandably don’t care to be educated about wine to a high level. It may be a subject that many have a passing interest in, but too many in the wine trade mistake the polite phrase: ‘I’ve always wanted to know a bit more about wine…’ as licence to put dinner guests to a slow death by detailing the peculiarities of soil types. I only hold a passing interest in classical music and so any expert professing a wish to educate me I would think arrogant at best and a bore at worst – a key complaint levelled at many a wine expert.
      Wine is not about education, it is an entertaining indulgence. Even for those within the loftiest heights of the wine world who, sour-faced and cobweb-nosed, creak between bottles of pre-war Château Lafite in an effort to discern whether a new tractor at the château in 1925 affected quality, it is entertainment. It is not humanitarian aid work or palliative care. It is not a matter of life or death, nor even an essential. It is something we indulge in to entertain us, whether as a relaxant, a sensual experience, or as a vehicle of information for those who crave it. (The aromatic compounds in wine are particular to grapes, places and moments, and each sniff and sip has the potential to take you somewhere new – the reason I have a train spotters zeal for wine.) Why then are aid workers and nurses on the whole not snobs or prone to self-aggrandisement in a way wine experts often are? Could it be that the former are secure in their worthy and essential public purpose, whereas the latter endure an insecurity born of the realisation that people could live perfectly well without what we in the wine trade do?

Whatever it may be, to me wine’s a passion, one that I find enriching and which has led me to places I’d never otherwise have encountered and people I’d never have met. Maybe it’s that personal experience where the passion resides rather than the subject matter itself. Who knows, perhaps if I’d once had a brief encounter with the Orient Express in my formative years, I might now be found reverently noting down train numbers at the end of a wet platform in Reading.

Nothing to do with whether today will herald a change in our voting system, but instead for the Champagne chosen to celebrate the marriage of William and Catherine last Friday. As well as opening a bottle or two of Ridgeview and Denbies, we (somewhat reluctantly you understand) released the cork on a bottle of the white labelled interloper. (Well I suppose we should be grateful that they didn’t go for a German Sekt!)

NV Pol Roger. Extra Cuvée de Réserve
Treasure:Mature, elegant and flavoursome - a classic ‘British style’ Champagne.*
Good value at £35.00, better than a lot of ‘bling’ Champagnes at twice the price.
To experience: Take a large baking tin, line it with sweet pastry, add generous handfuls of peach, lemon peel, macadamia nuts, sultana and toffee chunks and fill with cake mixture. Bake and remove from the oven and once cool you’re ready to gorge yourself on Humble Pie.**

*Aged for longer before release. It even says British style on the back label - maybe that’s where the confusion lay?
**The Denbies and Ridgeview were every bit as good however and deserve to be on the same tables.

More sparkling alternatives for the royal couple.

Pol Roger can offer sale or return! This was confirmed by a quick call to their London offices, so it’s not too late for William and Catherine (Nee Kate) to see the light and drink for England on Friday.
Waitrose now have stock of Nyetimber and Ridgeview, so I took the opportunity to do a little more research for the couple this Easter break.

2008 Bloomsbury. Ridgeview. (Waitrose)
Treasure: A massage for the tongue. Voluptuous, fruit packed, supple and surprisingly mature for its age.
A revelation and cracking value at £16.99
To experience: Ask Zara Phillips to conduct aromatherapy with apple purée, lemon curd and marmalade in a cake shop.

2006 Nyetimber Classic. (Waitrose)
Slurp: Bold but elegant and packed with character.
Very good value at £23.99
To experience: I was told what I’d originally written here could be taken as treason. So I’ll just say the wine was more mature, though of similar breed to the Ridgeview. It had a nose of baked bread hints over sweet lemon and blossom; was backed by a palate with a mousse to put many a great Champagne to shame and had characters of lime, Cox apple and pear that lingered long after the glass was drained.
I preferred the original tasting note.

We also had a bottle of Roederer Champagne, which was an inferior drink to both of the above (rose-tinted spectacles aside). Majestic I am told are also stocking Chapel Down for the wedding.