Wednesday, Jun. 25, 2008

Stop and smell the Pinot Gris

By Dan Berger

The best news of the last decade for white wine lovers has nothing to do with Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc or Riesling, though there is good news on all those fronts.

For me, the best news is that U.S. winemakers have, after a decade of blindly fumpfering around, at last discovered a style for Pinot Gris that makes a lot of sense. And it is one that would warm the heart of a Frenchman if such a thing were possible, which it is not.

It all begins, I might suggest, with the fact that Pinot Gris is a grape variety that simply does not have a worldwide classic paradigm. Most Bordeaux and Burgundy lovers would agree with that, even though they might argue for Alsace being the grape’s ancestral home. Or they might agree with Jancis Robinson’s 1986 assertion that it is merely a degenerate cousin of Pinot Noir, and as such ought to be disregarded as “fine’’ in the traditional sense of the word.

After all, Chardonnay has its Burgundy, Semillon has its Sauternes, and even Sauvignon Blanc has its Loire. And as for Alsace? Some would point out that many Pinot Gris from there are soft and fleshy, not the crisp version we think of when considering grilled seafood.

Robinson points out that Galet, the French ampelographer, noted that there are variants of Pinot Noir so numerous that as long ago as the 18th century, some dozen and a half were identified as mere mutations of the famed black-skinned grape that is the heart and soul of red Burgundy and which seems headed for greatness in other climes as well.

And, she notes with an upturned eyebrow, “It is a wonder that Pinot Gris ever managed to establish itself, let alone spread so widely with such a positive character.”

One point of reference here: Alsace makes noises about being a natural place for the cool-loving variety, though we know it grew elsewhere as successfully before it arrived in Alsace. It was known (as Rulander) in Germany in the early 18th century, but there it made a rather lackluster wine because of its erratic nature in the vineyard and its naturally low acid structure. Thus it fell out of favor in Germany.

And, as a result, it was a grape Alsace was “encouraged” to keep making when, during some 87 years of occupation spanning both world wars, Germany imposed rules that limited use of the “German” grape, Riesling, in occupied districts.

Moreover, it wasn’t until about the 1950s or perhaps even later that German vine breeders discovered the mutation degenerates of the Pinot Gris tree and began to eliminate them.

Pinot Gris is thus a social outcast through no fault of its own, and the mere fact that it was disparaged in the past is proof that no one early on saw a trait that Robinson points out in her book Vines, Grapes and Wines to wit:

Pinot Gris has an “almost chameleon-like ability to adapt the style of wine it produces to each different environment” in which it grows. What a nice trait! Leave it alone and it will make a wine smelling and tasting of its region.

For years before this was recognized, people tried to twist, tug and stretch the grape into one thing or another. Here it was barrel fermented but kept un-malolacticked; there it was forced to undergo the indignity of malolactic, denuding it of its feminine charms to suit the will of a testosterone-challenged male, who then dressed it up in the trappings of a tree. The excuse was lame: “We needed to tame the acidity,” they’d say, looking sidelong at us, hoping we’d believe this little fabrication. (A low-acid grape needing acid reduction? Huh?)

The cruelty to which PG was subjected left the entire category without a single prototype upon which to cleave. And the result for a long time was a populace confused the way Riesling confuses: “Is this wine sweet or dry?” the PG-interested would say, “Is this wine faux Chardonnay or fresh and clean?”

So, back to my earlier premise, that the last decade has left us with a superb direction on which to build. Given the fact that Pinot Gris produces a wine that terroirly emulates its soil and regionality, winemakers throughout the Northwest have accepted the general admonition, “Leave it the hell alone!”

No malolactic. No oak contact. Damn little lees contact. Ferment it cold, get it in the bottle, and let the consumer have it. The result: wines from Oregon as sublime as Adelsheim, Erath, Rex Hill, Chehalem, WillaKenzie, King Estate, Bethel Heights, Elk Cove, Eyrie, Cristom, Cooper Mountain and the list could go on and on.

Hogue, Columbia, Arbor Crest, Willow Crest and a few others are getting into the act in Washington, though the zero-malolactic community isn’t yet universal here.

Even British Columbia has a passion for PG, and among the best are from CedarCreek, Gehringer, Tinhorn Creek, and a dozen more, and let’s not forget Gray Monk, a winery whose name is a synonym for the gray-fruited variant of Pinot Noir.

The fact that the majority of these wines now do not have any buttery or oaky flavors may be a disappointment to those who like to chew their white wines. But for those of us who prefer to smell the roses, not chew the thorns, today’s style of Pinot Gris is an encouraging sign. Grapes still have a place in the firmament.

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