Dan Berger’s Wine Chronicles: The Soil Has a Voice

By Dan Berger

Oct 17, 2024

NAPA VALLEY, Calif. — One of the most important historical truisms that makers of fine wine all have heard, in one form or another, is that the land from which the grapes emanate dictates, at least to some degree, the sort of wine that that particular plot of land can deliver. Think of it as the personality of a place.

This is at the heart of the concept of terroir. It means that the style and tenor of a wine is established by Mother Nature before a winemaker ever arrives. It is true, of course, that the way the vineyard is farmed, the specific grape variety that’s planted, the clonal selection of the grape and at least another dozen variables also determine part of the result.

And terroir might be compromised or obliterated by the hands of humans. But the essence of terroir is that the site plays a significant role.

In some areas of the world the grape variety is dictated by law. Only the Bordeaux grape varieties may be grown in Bordeaux. It is possible that zinfandel or gamay might make a particularly nice wine in Pauillac, but we will never know. Non-Bordeaux grapes are not allowed.

Assume that a vineyard is planted with a single grape variety on a simple trellising system and it produces a moderate amount of fruit that is made into wine. It is likely that this wine will have modest alcohol, some varietal character and would probably show some regional elements – some terroir.

Over-ripeness would have shifted the wine away from its soil’s voice and toward a more manufactured persona.

Now assume that same vineyard is managed by someone who is fixated on getting a high score, which would mean that the grapes would be left on the vine far longer, probably until they begin to resemble raisins. The resulting sugars would be extremely high. The resulting wine would probably be more likely to achieve the winemaker’s goal, a very high score.

This wine would be radically different from the product in the first scenario. Chances are that it would not smell particularly like the grape, probably would have much more alcohol, and probably would not display much or any terroir. Over-ripeness would have shifted the wine away from its soil’s voice and toward a more manufactured persona.

But it was a success because it achieved a high score.

How the grapes were grown, how and when they were harvested, how they were fermented and how the wine was aged all dictate something different from what might have resulted without much or any human intervention. The more you do to affect the grape and the resulting wine, the more the wine becomes something different from what it might have started out to be.

I define some winemakers’ actions as meddling with Mother Nature’s intentions. In many cases, of course, some forms of intervention can be beneficial. When the grape’s natural inclinations are respected, a bit of aging in the barrel for the purposes of maturity (not additional flavor) can work out beautifully.

Describing such wines might be a reflection of the soil. Or it might reflect the vintage from which it came or from the hand of the winemaker or from the particular clone that was used or from the kind of barrel the wine was aged in and perhaps a few other intricacies. High-scoring wines are rarely defined with so detailed a description. Mostly they are described by a number.

I believe that by imposing a single number on a wine to denote someone’s conviction of its quality avoids the necessity to understand the wine’s varietal charisma – and obviates any need to even think of the regional characteristics. I have seen descriptions of dozens of 100-point wines. The adjectives go on and on, but I have never seen one that refers to a wine’s terroir, a historic principle of European origin.

For more than 170 years, Bordeaux red wines have been formally categorized by and revered for their regional distinctiveness. Whether or not that model continues to dominate in future Bordeaux wines is a topic for another day. But to be sure, regionality still has at least a lip-service argument in many regions of France, as well as in Italy, Germany, Australia and other fine-wine areas.

The main reason that terroir often is compromised is, in my view, for cynical purposes. Such as the quest to make a lot of money. And people who dote on wines of explosion (i.e., “1812 Overture”) and disrespect wines of subtlety (i.e., “La Mer”) are the point-loving winemakers’ lawful prey.

Abandoning Terroir: An Illustration

Decades ago, a winemaker with a track record of making excellent wine opened a winery in the Russian River Valley and began to make pinot noir. Let’s call it Winery R. In the main, the winemaker’s pinots were dark and concentrated. Some of the most “impressive” (i.e., rich) wines, as assessed by people who put scores on them, were soft and atypical of the region from which they came.

Concentration has never been a key component of Russian River Valley pinot noirs. Wines from this grape were pioneered in the late 1970s by Davis Bynum on Westside Road, south of Healdsburg. The variety gained added acclaim after the founding in 1982 of Williams Selyem, a harbinger of the classic style of the region, particularly in the coolest sites.

The most popular terroir-ish style of pinot noir emphasized moderately intense berrylike fruit within the context of complexity, with a lightness and elegance. Aroma notes frequently displayed raspberries and strawberries. Medium to high acidity was part of the interpretation of the best Russian River Valley pinot noirs, in my view.

Although Winery R frequently got scores in the high 90s from some reviewers, the wines seemed to me to be uncharacteristic of Russian River Valley. Their density often made them rich, oily and thick. Certainly they were impressive. But were they Russian River Valley pinots?

Living in Sonoma County, I had ample opportunity to try these wines, often side by side with others from the same region. Winery R’s versions were noticeably darker. Most other wineries’ pinot noirs from the district were slightly lighter in color and weight, more elegant and had a bit more varietal flavor.

One wine judge with whom I frequently connected began to refer to this heavier style of pinot noir as “syrah.” The remark was used almost as an epithet.

I have no animosity for people who like the heavier styles of pinot noir. The old Latin phrase, “De gustibus non est disputandum” applies here. Liberally translated, it suggests that in matters of taste, there can be no debate. You may like a thing that I hate. We justify our beliefs with differing rationalizations. I once knew a woman who adored Gregorian chants; I did not. Neither of us tried to convince the other that one of us was “wrong.” But we avoided this kind of music when we got together.

Similarly, although I love dry riesling, I don’t serve it when my guests prefer something else.

When it comes to wine and terroir, some elements are widely understood by wine-lovers. Think of the syrahs of the mountainous Rhône valley district of Côte-Rôtie. Rhône lovers say an authentic Côte-Rôtie should have the distinctive terroir-imposed aromas of violets and white pepper.

Similarly, the dry and off-dry rieslings of Germany’s Saar River Valley should have a distinct minerally/slate-y aroma. Rieslings from Australia’s Clare and Eden valleys should display some elements of TDN (petrol-y). Some chenin blancs from the Loire Valley display honeydew melon and/or honey.

Some of these wines may well have other distinctive, locally derived elements that only rarely show up in other regions, if at all. Also, local experts might be able to dissect the subtle differences that outsiders may miss — such as a local wine maven who can identify by aroma and taste each of the 10 different Cru Beaujolais subregions.

I have tasted syrahs grown in central and northern Victoria in Australia. Several display a kind of “Côte-Rôtie-ness” that allows them to be a recognized as to grape and sub-region by dedicated wine lovers who live in Australia.

So when Winery R’s pinot noirs were being evaluated by people who do not live in California and who tasted the wines infrequently, some of them may have smelled and tasted more impressive than I believed they were. In my evaluations of these wines, I factored in terroir, which others might not have. Because of this information vacuum, it certainly was possible for others to enjoy the more powerful pinots without factoring in where they came from.

As a result, terroir was not an issue for the remote reviewers of such wines. My view of them was colored by my usual reaction to wines of regional style.

Is Terroir Necessary?

Here we must ask how important an understanding of terroir really should be when assessing the quality of a particular wine, especially a wine that has both a varietal personality as well as a regional one. (If it has neither, we face another dilemma.)

Obviously, if someone buys a wine that has an appellation of Sonoma County, terroir is less important than is Russian River Valley. The fruit could have come from anywhere in the county. But we know that the vineyards from which the fruit came were largely coastally influenced, meaning that the temperatures were relatively moderate because of cooling ocean breezes. But not as cool as RRV.

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Terroir becomes so much more important when the designation on the label is a specific vineyard. However, the messages of specific vineyards in extremely warm regions are not as meaningful as are the identities of vineyards in cooler areas.

Some cabernet vineyards in Napa that are highly prized also rely heavily on how the fruit was farmed. Inside the industry, for instance, winemakers speak in reverential terms about their best vineyards and in almost the same breath they speak the name of the grower. As it should be!

Over the last decade, I have looked closely at some of California’s best pinot noir vineyards. One I have walked (with the grower) three times. I consider it to be one of the best pinot noir locations in the country. It is the 110-acre Hallberg Ranch in one of the cooler regions of Russian River Valley, Green Valley.

It is only 25 years old, which is considered young by pinot noir standards. This project off Highway 116 was the vision of Brice Jones, founder of Sonoma-Cutrer, and his grower, Kirk Lokka. When you taste a Hallberg PN (several wineries purchase its fruit), there is a kinship in them. Often, they display an element that I identify as wild thyme plus a hint of violets. Almost all the wineries that make it respect its acidity.

Another area with its own unique character for pinot noir is the windy Petaluma Gap, just east of Bodega Bay and reaching into the hills of Santa Rosa. Again, because of its cool climate, PN vineyards here make wines that frequently display an interesting “edginess” that some people say is slightly Burgundian. Two of the best vineyards are Gap’s Crown (more than 80 acres) and Roberts Road.

Wines from both Hallberg as well as most in the Petaluma Gap age particularly well for about a dozen years, which is just a little longer than several other cool Russian River Valley regions.

Evaluating these wines for their overall qualities is an extremely personal exercise. But since several wineries make wines from each of the two areas, it is not difficult to try them side by side to see their similarities and differences.

Since Hallberg is relatively large and has 13 different pinot noir clonal selections, the wines can differ slightly from one another. The two wineries that first made vineyard-designated PNs from this fruit in 2004 were Gary Farrell and Scherrer. Both continue to use this vineyard and make superb vineyard-designated wines from its fruit.

Petaluma Gap has 4,000 planted acres, most of it in pinot noir, and because almost the entire region is impacted by marine winds, several of the individual vineyards make wines that are similar to one another, which justifies the certification of this excellent appellation.

As with cabernets from delimited vineyards in Napa Valley, vineyard-designated pinot noirs from quality producers in Sonoma County now command prices that begin at about $65 per bottle and range up to $125 for limited bottlings. (These prices are extremely reasonable compared with some of the prices for Napa Valley cabernet.) The vineyard name on the PN labels usually promises to deliver a unique experience in which the buyer trusts that the wine will have a special character (terroir) that exceeds mere high quality. It is a certain specialness that offers uniqueness.

Again, terroir in Napa cabernet is rarely mentioned. The only thing that really matters is the score.

One important element to consider when it comes to terroir is that the more extreme the wine is, the less likely its relationship to its site will be perceptible. That is, when all of the components in a wine are moderate or balanced, the more likely its terroir will be discernible. When a red wine, such as cabernet, has a very high pH, such as 3.85, very low acid, such as 4.4 g/L and high alcohol (say 15.5%), the wine’s persona is masked.

As a professional cynic, I believe wineries would love for wine consumers to just ignore the regional characteristics and pay attention to the high scores. Just try getting a winery to tell you the technical details of their wines.

I have always believed that consumers have long been shortchanged by wineries when it comes to revealing technical details. I believe wineries should reveal the acid, pH and alcohol in their wines — details I believe are critical to understanding each offering. Such facts help buyers know whether a wine will have any terroir elements.

To answer the question above about whether terroir is necessary, I have to pose another question: Do you buy a wine for its explosive fruit and its impact, or do you prefer a wine that is more intricate, has nuances of minerality or earthiness and which relies on complexity? If the latter, it would be a good idea to seek out wines with a little less alcohol, a little more acidity and a lower pH.

The California wineries that are reluctant to reveal technical details may fear they will be destroying wine’s romance and mysteriousness. But I won’t even consider reviewing a wine if a winery doesn’t tell me its statistics. My readers need to know that a wine was made to be balanced.

I usually get the technical details I seek, but it’s often like extracting a molar.

Days ago, an Argentine winery based in Mendoza invited me to an event it was staging in the Napa Valley to unveil an important red wine. I asked the public relations director for the statistical details of the wine; the press release had none. (Press releases rarely do because most wine writers do not care; I do.)

Within minutes, the public relations person replied with all the technical details. This red wine has 14.5% alcohol, a pH of 3.82 (high) and a residual sugar of more than 3 g/L (high). I’m certain the wine will appeal to some people. From its numbers, I can tell that it will be rich and soft. It will be like a lot of other red wines these days.

Which is to say that it will have virtually no compatibility with food and likely will have no regional character – no Mendoza-ness or terroir. Not that it needs any. Many wines structured like this do perfectly fine in the marketplace for people who do not care about soil, site, aspect or a personality of place.

You want sameness? No problem; it’s all around us. This is what happens when scores become the dominant description of a wine. Imagine this conversation:

“What is this wine like?”

“Well, it got 97 points.”

“Terrific, I’ll take a case.”

This scenario plays out so often that it leads me to understand better why interest is growing in natural wines. Those who make natural wines do not get irritated when they read that their wines can be a little bit rustic or funky or far-out or off the beaten path or out of left field.

For one thing, there is the distinct possibility that such wines will be unique. And there is the distinct possibility that they will display some kind of terroir. Uniqueness is not part of the formula for getting a high score; similarity is.

I’m not suggesting that natural wines are for everyone. In fact, they may not be for many. But at least natural wines can be interesting and offer adventuresome wine-lovers an alternative to the sameness that seems to have invaded the wine business, creating very little excitement.

For me, most of today’s 100-point wines have not created excitement but a sea of wines that collectively add up to vinous ennui. Wake me when it’s over.

As to whether terroir is necessary in a wine, it depends on the individual. Distinctive characteristics are, for some people, fascinating over and above intensity, lots of oak influence, high alcohols, softness and succulence. It’s a bit like the suspension in a new car. Some people like firmness, others demand a soft ride. It’s why car companies make different models.

De gustibus …

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Dan Berger has been writing about wine since 1975.

The views, opinions and data presented in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy, position or perspective of Napa Valley Features or its editorial team. Any content provided by our authors is their own and is not intended to malign any group, organization, company or individual.

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