by Martin Field

I enjoyed a bottle of Laroche Petit Chablis 2004 ($28) the other night. A Chablis of a lesser appellation admittedly, but a lovely aperitif for all that. Not a fruity style but clean, acidic, minerally, without apparent oak and showing lip-smacking persistence. As I poured another glass I wondered why Australian winemakers don’t or can’t make something similar.

Of course, I’m not suggesting we can copy the inimitable Chablis but it is made from chardonnay and we have more than enough of that in Australia to experiment with. But what do we do with chardonnay? We make big, blowsy, buttery, oak-saturated, oily, soft, sweet, alcoholic, over the top wines, is what we do.

In the unrefined circles I move in, these styles are rarely seen on the dining table any more. Many people are sick of them and are more likely to pour sauvignon blanc, riesling, pinot gris or even viognier.

And as for cellaring Oz chardonnay, in my experience it’s a waste of time and space and money. Just lately I’ve opened a selection of aged (six years and more) premium bottles. Mostly, they’ve been disappointing. They lack acid; they display premature brownish hues and oxidative bouquets and are fat and flabby on the palate. Yet rieslings and semillons of similar age are inevitably youthful in appearance and a delight to drink.

Thinks: if I’m going to drink chardonnay, I’ll stick to just-released, unwooded styles, and Chablis – when I can afford it.

by Martin Field

I’ve occasionally been criticised by a tiny minority of readers for not taking wine seriously enough. For, as it were, too much taking of ze peez. In a spirit of détente, ecumenicalism and with good will to all, I henceforth vows to treat all wine matters with a level of appropriate gravitas. Here goes…

‘Let us have wine and women,* mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after’
That well-known clairvoyant Lord Byron wrote the above way back when. Today his words might well apply to the debate concerning the after-effects of environmental degradation and the no doubt related drought that continues to devastate Australia.

A handy barometer of Yarra Valley climate change is the unirrigated shiraz vine in our garden, which has shown signs of stress from water deprivation for the first time in 17 years. The leaves are wilted and browning at the edges; the grape bunches, while plentiful, bear sparse berries and while some show a youthful purple, many are green and scrawny.

Similarly, our tomato plants are dying, the lawn is brown and parched and our sinks are cluttered with buckets, in a foolhardy attempt to recycle greasy washing-up water.

My tastebuds have a brainwave
To cope with the water shortage, I racked my brains for a water substitute. It had to be cheap, non-toxic and with similar qualities to H2O. That is, tasteless, odourless and colourless. Then, while I was absentmindedly sipping such a liquid, my tastebuds had a brainwave (sort of like an organoleptic epiphany – to put it more simply). I’d drawn the magic potion from a four-litre cask (bag in a box) of white wine that a poverty-stricken friend had left, inadvertently, in our kitchen.

It met all the above criteria, and I thought, if Cleopatra could bathe in asses’ milk why should I not shower in cask wine? A wise move. The acid and alcohol have done wonders for my complexion, there is evidence of hair regrowth amidst my monk’s tonsure and people in the street stop to ask me where they can buy the fragrant aftershave I waft onto the breeze as I stroll along the boulevard.

Try it yourself and see. A word of warning though. When I used a bucket of the stuff to wash the car it made the paint bubble.

Bruno of Balmoral sent in this little gem.

Smouldering red dawn
frantic waves quench ash grey sand
like sparkling shiraz