This opinionated article deals with the terroir concept; it also provides a 'mathematical formula' to approach the subject with. But can you?
Typically
Terroir
by Georges Meekers © worldwide
A Take on the Soil
Doesn't it ruffle your feathers when you overhear wine experts explain 'terroir'
to wine aficionados: "This Cabernet tastes of the estate's soil which imparts
unique characteristics". It makes me shiver and here is why.
Talking Dirt for a Living?
Terroir, which loosely translates from French into the less
emotive word ‘terrain’, is a meaningful term in the making of a top notch wine
but it means many different things to many different people.
Terroir has never been a simple concept. Often it refers to the soil itself,
which is said to determine the taste of wine. To some it’s simply an ‘earthy’
flavour or a ‘mineral’ quality found in some wines but alas not in many. To
others terroir is every facet of the vine’s environment that leaves an imprint
of place on the liquid. Another more holistic concept includes also the local
influences of nature on grapes as well as the nurturing by grape growers and
processing by winemakers.
When advocates of the concept defend terroir, there is always an element of the
mystical, this singular character that comes from the locale, an emanation of
the natural forces. But, whereas believers take terroir for the Holy Grail,
sceptics deny its existence completely. However, just as we cannot lay our hands
on the legendary Chalice, terroir itself, too, eludes us and it is doubtful
whether one will ever conclusively prove its existence.
Habitually the case for terroir is presented as a romantic affair whereby the
relationship between soil and wine is simply accepted – not trialled. But, does
soil wield its clout?
Few wine drinkers seem to take issue because they simply experience it that way:
a whiff of gunflint in Sancerre grown on silex soils, a taste of graphite in the
wines from the schists soils of Poirat, Spain, a speckle of volcanic ash in
Piedirosso from the flanks of the Vesuvius, a unique salty quality in top-notch
Merlot from the bantam Maltese Islands.
But anyone who holds the view that the uniqueness of wine simply lies spades
deep, rooted in the bedrock and soils, finds himself rapidly in quicksand. Any
pure line from the soil to the wine, which is what the general claim of terroir
is, is highly debatable, if not entirely romantic.
The idea that you can literally taste the soil, such as wet slate in a glass of
German Riesling, is just not true. There’s no direct dispersion from the slopes
of the meandering Mosel to your palate. When describing such purity found in
wine one obviously uses the language of evocation. However, in a literal way it
is scientifically impossible to taste the earth.
Mineral flavours don't gush directly from Kimmeridgean limestone into a glass of
steely Chablis, not any more than horse manure smells through in biodynamic
wine. Minerality in a wine isn't a gauge of the mineral content of the soil.
It’s more likely caused by increased levels of sulphur compounds.
Our planet may have its own oeno-erogenous patches or places where the wine that
emerges is just exhilarating. It’s true that ideal vineyards are located on poor
and well drained soils that match the grape variety in a happy threesome with a
benign climate.
Obviously, geological factors do influence the character of a wine from a
particular region, but soil exerts its influence indirectly. All things being
equal, different soil types bring out different flavours from the same grape
variety. Yet how the soil of a vineyard can influence the ultimate taste of the
finished wine remains unresolved. Explanatory biochemical pathways are unknown.
Terroir shows in a wine as aromas and flavours that sprout not from the dirt per
se but from complex processes of plant metabolism which manage to mimic
descriptors associated with it. What’s more, there are other important factors
in play, too. Studies show that micro-organisms like yeasts, the winemaking
processes as well as the wine’s ageing regime largely influence the taste of a
wine and often are responsible for the characteristics wine tasters hold to be
evocative of terroir.
In other words, when examining the forces of nature and the creativity of man
responsible for the way a particular wine tastes, there are just too many
variables to be able to attribute recognisable characteristics reminiscent of
terroir to either natural conditions on the one hand or the intervention of
vigneron and vintner on the other.
Be that as it may, it’s not because one cannot put one’s finger on it, that
terroir doesn’t exist. On the contrary, every wine region probably has its own.
But, as is the case with the search for the mystery of the Holy Grail, its
significance lies in the exceptional properties of the liquid – not in the
discovery of the cup.
For terroir to exist we must be able to taste it and wine enthusiasts as well as
expert tasters persistently put forward they can indeed detect the signature of
a place in the wines it brings forth. Although none exposes irrefutable
causation, numerous wine tasting notes are presented in evidence. It may not be
the scientific method, but this kind of testimony can be compelling, especially
coming from good, trained palates.
Maybe then terroir is better understood not as an encircled piece of land or the
mysterious workings of flora and fauna but as significant and meaningful
organoleptic characteristics that are almost impossible to replicate and which
one attributes subsequently to extraordinary places and people.
Consequently, it’s conceptual. Terroir is conceived in the collective mind of a
loose group of wine tasters who are able to relate the distinctive taste of a
wine to its provenance based on their previously gained tasting experience. Wine
drinkers may not need to be administered classical conditioning like Pavlov’s
dog to trigger it, but apparently terroir needs pointing out to the novice wine
drinker so he can recognise it.
By themselves few amateurs would dare rave about the “decadent, even raunchy
smell”, as Robert Parker calls it, of some of France’s greatest pinot noirs. But
when having been exposed repeatedly to this typical characteristic, many
initiated wine lovers will follow suit and link it with great red Burgundy.
Still it will be impossible, though, to trace back this quality to the soil,
clone, climate, vineyard husbandry or cellar practises.
So, when assessing a wine’s flavour, terroir presents itself as an acquired
taste. Searching for terroir in a bell of wine is not about unravelling the
liquid in threads of ‘somewhereness’ (flavours originating from the physical
environment of the vine) and ‘someoneness’ (those qualities instilled by man).
It’s about singling out a rather unique added value to the wine’s style that is
expressive of provenance of place and people.
As such it’s an acquired taste for ‘typicalness’ (TP1) defined by the
significant difference in taste which becomes apparent when a wine from a
certain place (W1) is tasted comparatively against a number of other wines (Wx)
congruent in style (S) as a result of the influences of nature (N) and human
intervention (H) over a number of vintages (V).
TP1 ≡ │W1 – W x│ / S ~ (N+H) V
This working definition may help delimiting the term ‘typicalness’ which should
prevent it from becoming another polysemous term.
It doesn’t put the existence or the influence of terroir on trial. The term
‘typicalness’ recognises science has uncovered the importance of the earth
beneath the vine but falls short of tying an umbilical cord between the flavour
of a wine and its place of birth.
But, above all, ‘typicalness’ puts taste back in the centre of the equation,
which is just as well. After all, isn’t wine all about just that?
© Georges Meekers – Wine Campus ™