Don’t let the percentages bother you, says this writer

1979. Margaret Thatcher came to power and the USSR invaded Afghanistan. I certainly recall both events, but I think that Nottingham Forest beating Malmö FF to win the European Cup had a greater influence on me (I have just flicked onto YouTube to watch, once again, Trevor Francis’s awesome header into the top of the net, giving the keeper no chance); as for Pink Floyd’s release of ‘The Wall’, well, it barely left the turntable.

It was probably Roger Waters’ lyrics, plus Dave Gilmour’s guitar solo on ‘Comfortably Numb’, that ensured that I was completely unaware of the quality of the vintage in Bordeaux. Digging around, I see that the late, great, Michael Broadbent MW only awarded it a couple of stars, declaring that, “The wines were generally at their best in the mid-1980s…but since then, the paucity of fruit, flesh and extract has left the tannin high and dry. Except for the great Pomerols, give the vintage a miss”.

Very succinct! Little wonder that the year’s clarets swiftly disappeared off the radar – indeed, there were very few on the John Harvey & Sons’ inventory when I joined said company in 1986.

So, when a great friend posed the question last year, “Shall we drink this?”, I did not hold out much hope. For he was holding a bottle of 1979 Château Léoville Poyferré, 2ème Cru Classé, Saint-Julien. A wonderful ‘terroir’ (some say better than neighbours Las Cases and Barton), but surely shot.

“The wine was poised, elegant, an extremely fine-boned Cabernet, with not an ounce of fat”

Not a bit of it. Think of an elderly, exquisitely dressed gentleman, immaculately tailored, beautifully polished brown brogues and probably accessorised with an ivory-topped cane. The wine was poised, elegant, an extremely fine-boned Cabernet, with not an ounce of fat. And, most interestingly, 11.5% alcohol. Wow, we thought, properly old school, they don’t make ’em like that anymore.

Of course they don’t. And yes, climate change now plays a significant (and ever-growing) role in all agriculture. But even without this upshot, grapes are still picked in a much riper, healthier state than they were in 79. It was basically hit or miss in those days. Great vintages really were a force of nature: vignerons picked, fermented and hoped that the finished juice was drinkable. Certain years, such as 1965 (“miserable” – Broadbent, again), 1968 (“atrocious”), 1972 (“cataclysmic”), and 1974 (“dismal”), were shockers; but 1959, 1961, 1970, 1971, 1978, very much the opposite. And then came the legendary 1982 (“a milestone”).

Even then, still no one really knew, initially, how good that vintage would become (apart from journalist Robert Parker – he made his name by nailing his colours firmly from the off), ’twas the same old situation. Nowadays, however, it’s the complete opposite, with vineyards being micro-managed down to the smallest detail. Back in the day, the harvest was begun almost on a whim. No longer. Now each parcel is picked separately, sometimes days apart. The emphasis, quite rightly, is to ensure the finest raw material for the cuverie; winemakers know, almost right from the start, how the resultant wine might develop.

Now, these riper grapes mean higher sugar content. And what follows is higher alcohol, about which people recently appear to be getting their knickers in a twist. Why? Beats me. Alcohol is a vital component in the structure of wine, giving it weight and texture, almost like a foundation on which the nuances of fruit and acidity (and tannins in reds) can play. And there can be a pleasurable effect, too (in moderation, obviously).

“Those over-oaked Chardonnays of the 1990s have also been consigned to the history books”

Surely much better to be able to drink a much better wine? Standards have risen exponentially over the past 40 years: stewed Chianti? No more. Paint-stripping whites, thin and acidic? Again, you’d be very unlucky to find. And those over-oaked Chardonnays of the 1990s have also been consigned to the history books. I can understand that people might not like a big, hefty, Barossa Valley Shiraz at 15 (commonplace), but it should be a matter of personal taste (stating the obvious), rather than ABV. Certain other wines are in a similar category to this burly Aussie red: Piemonte’s Barbera grape consistently comes in at over 14%, it’s the nature of the grape. Châteauneuf-du-Pape, meanwhile, has to be a minimum of 12.5% to be given the designated appellation status, but with most wines from that region containing the fulsome Grenache, 14- 15.5% is common.

Châteauneuf is one of the great wines of the world and, as such, defined by certain characteristics, yet the best examples are so perfectly in balance that the alcohol is barely noticeable. It’s only when the ‘équilibre’ wavers that it becomes a problem. I think back to a Barbera d’Asti, drunk in an Alba ristorante: having been tasting earlier that day at one of the area’s top estates, we decided to drink a rival. The 16.5% on the label certainly raised our eyebrows a tad, but it was the disjointed nature of the poorly made wine that meant that we did not finish the bottle, not the alcohol, per se.

“Buying Bordeaux to cellar might only ever be about a simple discretionary spend”

Of course, we’ve just had the release of the 2021 Bordeaux, with many wines under 13%, perfect for those who hanker after days of yore (and when it comes to claret of that ilk, sign me up). When offered to the market, however, response was lukewarm (and I very much note the economic and political upheavals of 2022, etc), a distinct contrast to demand for, say, the powerful 2018s. I am very possibly over-thinking this(!), buying Bordeaux to cellar might only ever be about a simple discretionary spend, the feel-good factor, the journalists’ verdicts or the investment angle. However, could there be a slight mis- match between what people (think they) want and what they actually purchase?

Anyway, don’t let the alcohol grind you down, have one glass rather than two, if it’s an issue. I was once sampling a 2010 at one of the smartest estates in all of Bordeaux: the winemaking team declared that it was a “classic” (don’t they always?!), with an absolutely flawless “typicité” of the château’s “climat”. Right. We were also told that the alcohol was at 15.1%… Hmm, not that classic then, I thought at the time. And what of the taste? The wine was seamless, flowing, gentle, persistent, with beautiful, lush, Merlot fruit, all held together consummately. The 15.1% was irrelevant.

Mark Roberts joined the wine trade as a graduate trainee for John Harvey & Sons in 1986. However, rather than piling into the Bristol Cream, he instead found himself based in the wine merchant division’s London office in Pall Mall. From there, he swapped SW1 for NW1, joining Laytons, and then skulked south of the Thames to SE1, Charles Taylor Wines, in 1996. He now works for Decorum Vintners Ltd, which he helped set up in 1999, and where the focus is very much on the offerings of small wine-growers, specialising in France and Italy.