April Wines-Popes, Grenache and Châteauneuf
London,04 May,2025
We returned from Rome on 8 April, where I had had a very special birthday two days before. We had enjoyed a surprisingly good bottle of Mumm with Vitti cakes on our sunny terrace, but it occurred to me that the real birthday wines had yet to be drunk.
I had my eye on a bottle of 1958 Cossart Gordon Bual madeira which I had bought in Funchal on my one trip to the island, in the company of Paul Symington and Andrew Jefford. I had noticed that it had begun to weep a bit, and it was certainly time to drink up. As it was, I had also received some samples from Blandy’s of their new range of ten-year-old madeiras, which I thought would make good palate-trainers. It is not every day that I drink madeira.
There are two dry styles of madeira made from Sercial or Verdelho grapes. Sercial is the driest, and the Blandy was pale to light amber, rich, buttery and nutty on the nose with hints of that classic ‘rancio’ character. It proved my least favourite because it lacked the magnificent structure of the others, and its finish was a bit lacklustre.
The semi-dry Verdelho was another pair of socks. Initially, I found the nose closed, but it opened up with a vengeance with plenty of peach and apple. What it revealed from the first was a magnificent lemony, seemingly endless structure. I thought it would be hard to beat.
The sweet grapes are Bual and Malmsey. The semi-sweet Bual had plenty of that oxidative ‘rancio’ character: butter, nuts and liquorice and a huge, lemony power which pitched it into a positively Wagnerian register. By contrast, the sweet Malmsey seemed mute at first, but then it began to move, throwing off a few medicinal nuances and a citrussy palate before beginning to fill out, and become rich and luscious. I heartily recommend these madeiras.
We arranged to have the special wines on Easter Sunday, with a simple menu of melon and prosciutto, a little shoulder of Pauillac lamb with kale and roast potatoes done with Speck (carved off a hunk of prosciutto) and my wife’s heavenly walnut tart. We drank our last bottle of my son’s baptismal champagne, the 1995 Laurent-Perrier, which has been getting less and less effusive of late. With the lamb we had a bottle of 1999 Château Ausone, which I decanted an hour before serving. It was certainly not showing its age, there was masses of tannin as well as a cocktail of red fruits, but it wasn’t quite the most delicate or charming of wines; the real stunner that day was the 1958 Bual. It had an enchanting nose of caramelised peaches and waves and waves of flavour that crashed against the palate leaving behind a taste of honey and balsam – a truly unforgettable wine.
The next morning, we woke to learn that Pope Francis, who had blessed us all on my birthday two weeks before, had died following a short audience with the Vice-President of the United States.
The rest of the month was more-or-less about Grenache. I remind myself from time to time that I was a very early champion of Grenache, which I got to know when I wrote my monograph on Syrah, Grenache and Mourvèdre in 1992. In those days pure Grenache was an exception if not a legend. The story was unless you severely limited your crop, you needed Syrah or Carignan to give Grenache colour and aroma, and to prevent the wine from oxidising too fast. In Châteauneuf-du-Pape, most wines were about 70%-80% Grenache. There were fewer than a handful of pure Grenache cuvées. The same would have been true for Priorat. In Australia, ‘G-S-M’ was represented by a few lone rangers like Nine Popes, otherwise Grenache meant port, and port was deeply unfashionable.
As Garnacha Negra, Grenache is originally a Spanish cultivar, and I went to the big Spanish tasting on 1 April expecting lots of Grenache, but I found very little. I concentrated on a table of prize-winners until a friend took pity on me and located a few Priorat wines. Still, I tasted some good things like the Toto Barbadillo which resembled a light, sparkling sherry, the sherry-like 2023 Los Insensatos los Turistas from Montilla and the (expensive) quince-like 2019 Paco & Lola Heritage Albariño. The 2018 Las Planas Blanco de Viura was like a great, old-fashioned white Rioja and the 2021 white Tempranillo Rioja Vega Reserva was expressive, salty and nutty.
I was unable to track down many Grenache/Garnacha wines I liked, but I would raise a hand for the 2016 Cal Battlet Gratallops Vi de la Vila and Celler l’Encastell’s Marge and 2020 Artigas Mas Alta, both from Priorat.
Australia has come on in leaps and bounds since I wrote that book. Given the age of some of the vineyards in McLaren Valle and the Barossa, this is really no surprise: South Australia is a veritable museum of old Grenache vines. On the 28th there was a big Grenache tasting at Milk Beach restaurant in Soho. Once again, there was plenty of evidence of the Australian swing away from the butch style of winemaking that dominated in the eighties. Whether they have gone too far in the other direction is a matter of taste, but some of the Grenache wines were slightly astringent, which for me at least, was falling too far on the side of weediness.
Most were really good, however, and the following were just the ones that appealed to me most. 2019 Pikes Plantation Grenache was an attractive, old-fashioned Clare Valley wine with a telltale eucalyptus nose. 2020 Chapel Hill MV Bush Vine Grenache was again in a hunky, slightly sweet style. 2022 MMAD Vineyard Blewitt Springs was a successful take in the lighter, more modern idiom. 2022 Ox Hardy McLaren Vale had a seductive nose and a full, strawberry-like palate.
Thirty-five years ago, it was the former coffee planter Robert Oatley who told me that Australians wanted big wines that made them ‘stick their chests out’. He is no longer with us, but the 2021 Signature from McLaren Vale had lashings of strawberry character and was no wimp. 2020 Yangarra Estate Hickinbotham Clarendon Grenache had the right weight, even if it was ever-so slightly jammy. I could feel it summoning up some flavourful roast meat. Chaffey Bros’s 2023 Pax Aeterna was wrought in a similar idiom from almost 100-year-old vines. Tim Smith in the Barossa uses ancient vines to make his 2023 Bugalugs Grenache (small parts of 150-year-old Mourvèdre) and 2022 Barossa Grenache (Grenache planted in 1870) with plenty of fruit and fine, cooling tannins – it was one of my favourites. Torbreck’s 2021 Hillside Vineyard had to fight through a piece of chicken laced with chillis but stuck stubbornly to its guns; and finally, Yalumba’s 2022 Tri-Centenary Grenache (vines planted 133 years ago) tasted of brown sugar and black fruits and liquorice and was quite lovely.
Most of the greatest Grenache expressions still come from France. I was at the Rhone Roots tasting all day on the last day of the month and still only got two-thirds of the way round. Again, I shall list some of the best.
I have written about Château de Saint Cosme before: it makes excellent wines in both Vinsobres and Gigondas, the latter with that attractive brown-sugar nose. Moulin de la Gardette is another fine Gigondas producer of which the 2017 Cuvée Tradition impressed me most. Domaine Santa Duc spans Gigondas and Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The wines are top quality, particularly the Gigondas Aux Lieux Dits, and the Châteauneufs Les Saintes Vierges and Habemus Papam (Grenache 70% – 80%). We might be needing whole cases of Habemus Papam later this week.
It appears I can see the Clos de Caveau from my usual bedroom above Mormoiron in the Ventoux. On the slopes of the Dentelles de Montmirail, it lies partly in Gigondas and partly in Vacqueyras. There is a lovely Syrah-scented Côte du Rhône called Les Bateliers, but the top wines are the Gigondas Champvermeil and the Vacqueyras Lao Muse. There are good Côte du Rhônes at attractive prices from Domaine Saint-Amant and the Wine Society.
Chêne Bleu in the Ventoux makes a particularly good white called Aliot. The wines are expensive.
April had been about popes, and the remaining time I consecrated to Châteauneuf-du-Pape. It was lovely to taste the Perrin wines again, stars like Coudoulet and the Roussanne Vieilles Vignes, and of course that anti-Grenache Châteauneuf, Château de Beaucastel which uses all thirteen stipulated varieties, rather than the more usual 70% Grenache and 30% Syrah blend. What I had not tasted, however, was the marvellous Châteauneuf Les Chapouins, which is a Grenache-based wine. The 2014 was as great as one could expect from this house.
There were good things from the Domaine de Cristia, including a pure Grenache 2023 Côte du Rhône Vieilles Vignes and a truffley 2021 St Theodoric Châteauneuf. Domaine de la Janasse has 100% Grenache Châteauneufs: the 2022 Chaupin and St Antonin, which are pretty sensational. The 2020 Vieilles Vignes is good too. The Domaine de Beaurenard makes its Châteauneuf from the full panoply of varieties and is none the worse for it. The 2017 is gorgeous now. The ancient estate of Domaine de la Solitude recycles a label from 1789. The white is highly recommended.
Château la Nerthe is another Châteauneuf that goes easy on Grenache, making wines that are typically lighter in body. The best for me was the 2020 Cuvée des Cadettes. Le Vieux Donjon I remember stumbling upon one day on a walk through the steamingly hot village decades ago. They make a lovely white, but then again, the red is not bad either and they are not papal about prices.
