The following is a discussion
held online, with a particularly interesting response from Greg La Follette
that I thought was worth repeating. I had asked him to put this into
words a couple of times and this provided the opportune moment.
Here is the whole thread:
Differentiating
oak and lees, especially in Chardonnay
Gregs Response:
Lots of good points below,
and some gems for winemakers to take home. Here are a few of the other
complexities that I've seen related to oak that may indeed not be oak
(or even lees) - with the caveat that if you like it or don't like it,
who cares what you call it....
1) Additional oxidation.
This is often associated
with both oak and lees, because oak containers are generally more oxidative
than stainless steel and need to be topped frequently (evaporation of
the wood), and because lees are often stirred, which introduces more
oxygen. The result is indeed a nut-like quality, often referred to even
as cut pumpkin or squash. This is a result of increased aldehyde content.
Can be a good or bad thing depending on how far it goes and what your
tastes are. I tend to try to get a little of this nut-like, complexing
factor and have to judge how strong or how antioxidative the wine is
when considering how much oxygen is the right amount of challenge for
a wine. Taken into consideration are the amount of phenols (tannin and
in the case of reds, color) and other extract present, the boldness
of the fruit, the vintage, the health of the grapes, and the age of
the vines, among many other more subtle things.
2) Sulfides.
The classic winemaking question
about whether a wine has sulfides when in a barrel is, "is it real,
or is it Francois Freres?". Sulfides, at low levels, can mimic barrel
characters. Roast coffee, matchstick, smokey characters, and even more
subtle play that causes synergistic elevation of things native to the
grape that are not fruit-driven or are more exotic fruits (such as guava
on the verge of going too soft) are often the result.
Again, there is much that
has to be taken into account when playing this game. I am one winemaker
who plays the game of "managed sulfides" to gain extra elements of depth
and complexity. The game is played with the yeast and the rules are
defined by these one-celled organisms. A humbling experience for a being
as complex as a winemaker and probably unbearable for mammals of even
higher life form. This game, when played to its fullest, is the equivalent
of a bike racer shaving his or her legs because when (not if) she/he
crashes, the wound heals faster and better. My bike racing coach once
told me that if I never crashed, how would I know where the edge of
possibility was in the hard turns?
The terrain one has to negotiate
here is far more complex than a racer's speed and slope and pavement
quality, but having been in both situations, the comparison is valid.
There is much to be gained from a little risk.
3) Non-saccharomyces yeast (read "wild" yeast).
The main yeast that conducts
the alcoholic fermentation is called Saccharomyces. There are, of course,
indigenous forms of this yeast, but there are a host of other yeast
which can add to or detract from the party.
To get a pure, fruity wine,
one sulfites the juice and then inoculates with a pure culture of Saccharomyces.
I have a Gewurtztraminer in my cellar being made for Larry Londer in
Mendocino which has such pure fruit, it would have been a shame to do
anything but follow the fruit. This wine is already off the lees, was
sulfited and inoculated with a pure strain, and was fermented and is
aging in stainless steel (well, 2 of 4 barrels were fermented in neutral
oak, but are now racked into stainless steel). What I am avoiding here
is that wild, gamey, what the French call sauvage kind of character
which, I hasten to add, I find so attractive at a visceral level when
doled out in small amounts in a Sonoma Coast Chardonnay such as CMR
or Porter-Bass. This is also where some of the meaty, gamey qualities
come from in Rhones. It can be another element of complexity, of partnering
with the land and the yeast which nature provides.
Well, that is enough to go on for now.
As a winemaker, I am a student
of the land and am committed to entering into dialogue with the various
yeasts in different vintages, with the strength of the resulting wine,
and with its ability to be challenged.
My commitment and goal is
to produce wines that are a partnering with all of the elements of nature
and a winegrower's ability to interpret and serve them. When I feel
one element needs to speak clearly, such as in the case of Larry's Gewurtz,
I try to listen.
Mostly I try to see where
we, as grape borne of land and winemaker driven by passion and wonder,
can venture. The results can be surprising. Seldom are they boring.
Often have I been wrong. Always have I healed, and the wine is willing
(except in the case of Pinot) to forgive.
I'll leave ya'll with this one last thought,and ask if consumers should
or should not follow the same policy:
"to err is human... to
forgive is not Pinot Noir's nature".
Even though it is, indeed,
divine.
