Red Wine — Fountain of Youth?

 

For Wine Lovers, it’s the Best News in Years

We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine. Eduardo Galeano

Plastic Surgeon Richard Baxter’s book ‘Age Gets Better with Wine’ tells the story of Jeanne Calment who died in her sleep in Arles in the south of France in 1997, at close to 123 years of age.

‘Her birth predated the telephone,’ writes Baxter, ‘and her death was announced via the internet.’ As a young woman she sold art supplies to van Gogh and other impressionists who came to the Provence to catch the light. When she reached the age of 90, she made an agreement with her lawyer to subsidise her stay in her apartment until her death when it would pass to him. He died years before her, and his heirs had to continue paying the rent.

Apparently Calment followed a Mediterranean diet, loved rich foods, chocolate and red wine (not at the same time perhaps). A few years after her death, researchers discovered resveratrol, a compound that Baxter calls the most potent antioxidant of all. The best source, as luck would have it, is red wine because the process of making it extracts large amounts of resveratrol from the grape skins.

Source: The Independent

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The World is Not Enough – Penfolds Follies Blast Off into Space

 

‘Max Schubert was a man of the people, an unpretentious, even humble man, who was bemused by the success of his most famous creation, Penfolds Grange Hermitage, and even more so by the prices paid for it, and the way it was captured by collectors and speculators.’ Huon Hooke.

‘Since the beginning, Penfolds has been looking to the stars,’ says the landing page for this red rocket. ‘Dreaming of what could be beyond. Our new limited edition rocket tin celebrates this pioneering spirit of going beyond, rather than accepting the status quo.’

Get the Penfolds side of the story HERE, and make sure you scroll down to the video. You’ll ask yourself: Is it a Space X rocket? Is it a NASA space shuttle? No, it’s a bottle of Penfolds red. What’s it doing in a tin rocket?

Remember when Penfolds released its 2004 Block 42 Kalimna Cabernet 10 years ago in a hand-blown glass ampoule, suspended by a bespoke glass plumb-bob in a wooden Jarrah cabinet? Only 12 were made of this ‘beautiful, thoughtful, unique objet d’art, designed to store wine in an ideal environment.’

‘The ampoule also provides a truly memorable experiential and sensory engagement,’ the press release added. ‘When a decision is made to open the [$168,000] ampoule, a senior member of the Penfolds winemaking team will travel to the destination of choice, where it will be ceremoniously removed from its glass plumb-bob casing and opened using a specially designed, tungsten-tipped, sterling silver scribe-snap.

The winemaker will then prepare the wine using a beautifully crafted sterling silver tastevin.’

We assume that the Penfolds winemaker will also blow your nose and wipe your bottom after the event, most likely with a handkerchief made from spun gold.

Marketing at Penfolds is a disaster area of long standing

‘Wine becomes just another vacuous totem of wealth,’ Decanter’s Andrew Jefford wrote, and compared creations like the Penfolds ampoule to ‘pointlessly complicated watches, tank-sized vehicles for urban use, houses which are never lived in and boats which spend the year bobbing about on their moorings.’

He added that he takes no issue with market forces that make rare wine unaffordable to many drinkers, but takes exception at marketing initiatives that ‘look so obviously like the fantasy of pale people who have spent too much time locked up in a room with glossy magazines.’

He also makes the point that ‘they [the pale people] are hilariously alien to the great Aussie traditions of piss-taking and pretension-popping,’ (which is what we’re doing here) and adds that turning fine wine into artificially exclusive luxury goods damages the brand.

‘No First Growth in Bordeaux or top Burgundy domain would contemplate anything this silly,’ he argues, ‘they leave that kind of ludicrous marketing excess to the bubble-brained Champenois, where form regularly eclipses content.’ Read the full post here. 

Marketing Genius or End-of-Empire Insanity?

How do you top a $168,000 extravaganza? With a £1.2 million, never-to-be-repeated Penfolds Collection: a flight of Granges from 1951 through to 2007.

Each of the Grange bottles comes signed by either Max Schubert, John Duval or Peter Gago (the current custodian of the Holy Grail). But wait, there’s more: a set of 13 magnums that includes the rare 2004 Bin 60A and the 2008 Bin 620 special bottlings. In addition, Penfolds will throw in one case of its icon and luxury wines every year for the next 10.

‘Gago believes this is probably the finest set of Penfolds wines ever to be assembled and sold,’ Decanter reports. ‘It is certainly the most expensive … Treasury Wine Estates have been aggressively re-positioning Penfolds icon range as a global luxury brand to capitalise on opportunities in newer markets such as China.’

   

Yes, China, and haven’t those pale people worked hard to make Penfolds’ reds attractive to Chinese folk down under and in China. What would Max think about his wines being wrapped in such chintzy, truly awful labels?

Max Schubert, the Renegade

Somewhere along the line, the pale people came up with a new angle: to paint Max Schubert as a renegade. What a shame they were too lazy to check a dictionary, which would have told them that renegade means ‘a person who deserts and betrays an organization, country, or set of principles.’

Max Schubert was unerringly loyal to Penfolds all his life – he worked for the firm for all of it – and always stuck to his principles. I suspect the word they were looking for is Maverick, which my dictionary describes as ‘an unorthodox or independent-minded person.’

The Blending Obvious

In 2017 Penfolds released the g3, a blend of 3 Grange vintages. Had Penfolds’ marketing minions run out of ideas for special bins? In the last couple of decades, Penfolds added a bunch of these, along with over 100 new labels.

‘Blending across vintages is part of Penfolds winemaking philosophy,’ Peter Gago told the media and referred to Penfolds’ Tawny ports, ‘famous in the mid-1800’s (they’re out by 100 years, but the lifestyle magazines didn’t pick that up) made by blending multiple vintages. ‘A natural progression was to apply this venerated technique to create a new Penfolds red style,’ said Gago.

This claim is fanciful at best, and cynical at worst as Gago well knows: Unlike vintage ports, tawny ports are blends of multiple vintages, and so are most champagnes. However, in both cases the single vintage wines fetch much higher prices than the blends because they’re only made in great vintages, in limited quantities.

I don’t know of any great reds in the wine universe that are blends of several vintages (although someone is bound to correct me). That said, the faithful snapped the up g3, and the g4 that followed in 2020. And then came the g5, an obvious move by Penfolds since it’s all money for jam.

Where do you get it? You can’t just walk into your local Dan Murphy’s and buy a 6-pack. Oh No, you have to go through an expression of interest process with Penfolds, where you might score a bottle or 2 if you’re fast enough. As John McEnroe yelled at the umpire: ‘You cannot be serious!’

The g5 is a five-vintage blend of Granges stretching back to 2010 that sells for $3500 a single 750 ml bottle. Is that it? YUP, that’s it. They pour bottles from 5 vintages into a vat, stir the blend and bottle it under a fancy new label. Then they sell it at 4 times the price of the current vintage Grange. Or 6 times the average auction price of the 2008 Grange, which scored 100 perfect points with Robert Parker’s Wine Advocate.

Is the blend of 5 recent vintages worth so much more than older vintages of Grange? And I’m talking about pitch-perfect Granges here such as the 1976, 1986, 1990, 1991 or 1996. Do you know that you can buy these FIVE vintages at auction for a total of $3500?

That’s right: 5 bottles of the best Granges made in the last 50 years for the same money as a single bottle of g5, or the same money as FOUR bottles of the current Grange 2017.

Sheer Genius

Perhaps I overlooked something here: the folks who buy Grange and the special Penfolds bottlings are a different breed from you and me: they don’t buy these wines to drink, they buy them as investments and to impress their friends.

Penfolds produced just 2,200 bottles of the g5 to make it a rare collector’s item, underscored by the expression of interest nonsense and the announcement that the g5 was the last ever rendition of multiple Grange blends. You and I might laugh at this nonsense, but the investors lapped it all up and coughed up the money.

Some wine merchants did as well, and now sell the g5 for $5,000. The package they come in provides the buyer with the most elaborate unboxing experience I’ve ever seen – check this video and listen to Peter Gago go into raptures about the packaging, with James Suckling watching his every move, trying hard not to break into raucous laughter https://youtu.be/Jd6tGhddG_o.

When these multi-vintage blends were snapped up by the faithful, Gago made more blends – and why wouldn’t he? Penfolds launched ‘Superblend’ 802-A Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 2018 on an unsuspecting world in 2021, for the same price as the current Grange.

This was a double release – 802-A had a twin called Superblend 802-B. One was matured in American oak, the other in French. The labels don’t look like Penfolds labels; instead they suggest a split personality dressed in bleak medieval garb. Have the pale people lost their branding template?

Grange, the Musical

How do you top these bold marketing moves? There’s only one option: a $100,000 bespoke music cabinet with a valve amplifier and a Penfolds-branded turntable. Apparently Max was a music lover. Oh really? He’s been dead almost 30 years, and now someone remembers that he loved music?

What’s the Occasion? Ah yes, we’re celebrating 70 years of Grange. ‘Only seven individually crafted pieces have been produced globally (I think they mean in toto),’ says Penfolds, ‘paying homage to the “all in one” console design from the 1950s – the same decade Grange was first created by Max Schubert.’ More Here, and here’s the video

Postscript

I want to express my gratitude to Peter Gago, Penfolds and TWE for supplying us with so much fabulous material for piss-taking and pretension-popping. Most of the ideas made no sense to this marketing brain, but they clearly found a ready audience among the Penfolds faithful and other investors with money to burn.

Kim

Best Chardonnays in Australia 2022 – Part 4

 

Chasing the best quality /price ratio between $20 and $60

You can read Part 5 HERE, Part 3 HERE, Part 2 HERE, and Part 1 HERE

In earlier parts of my ongoing quest for great good value Chardonnays, I added the ‘best’ bets from other reviewers. This time, that was too hard. The WineFront guys didn’t do their annual survey, perhaps due to Covid lockdowns, and Halliday’s WC list of best chardies is up in the $$$ stratosphere.

The Halliday Chardonnay Challenge, which has nothing to do with the man apart from his name, went ahead and now includes a Cabernet Challenge as well. The list was too long already, and now it’s as big the senate ticket in tomorrow’s election. I’ve added the list of the winners  – wines scoring 96 points or more – at the end of this post.

Huon Hooke’s Real Review produced some useful suggestions, which I’ve included in this list.

I’ve added more Kiwi Chardonnays to this list, and some from further afield. This is not a purist’s pursuit but a search for the best value Chardonnays we can lay our hands on in Australia.

I’ve also stayed mostly away from the Mod Aussie styles, the reductive ones that that throw struck matches around by the handful. When this kind of trickery is overdone as it has been these last years, it’s an aberration. We’ve found a couple of new entries on the other end of the spectrum, both from California.

At the entry level, giant killer Hoddles Creek’s price for the Estate Chardonnay has shot up to $24, which is fair enough. Higher up the scale, Dappled Appelation’s production of the 2020 was miniscule, but the 2021 is more plentiful. It’s gone up as well

I had a chance to taste some Kumeu River chardies with my best mate Reg who has long been a champion of this winery in the Auckland suburbs. The only wine they make that comes in under $20 is the Kumeu Village Chardonnay, which I’ve recommended more than once in recent years.

The  other wines from this winery cost a bit more, but they’ve demolished some of the finest white Burgundies in blind tastings, over the last decade. KR Estate and the Ray’s Road from Hawke’s Bay fit in the under $50 group, while the Coddington, Hunting Hill and Maté’s Vineyard are around $65, $90 and $120.  Given that they’ve beaten grand cru Burgundies that cost 10 times more in blind tastings, they’re stunning bargains.

Now that their fame has spread around the globe, these chardies are on allocation. We’re a bit late catching up with the 2020s, so be quick if you want some. If you miss out, relax because 2021 was another top vintage – please check my post on the astounding success of this family business.

The Short List

Kumeu Village Chardonnay 2021 -$20 at Kemenys. This has been our go-to chardy for years. I wish I’d bought more of the 2020, which was the best vintage winemaker Michael Brajkovich says he’s seen in 40 years. The 2021 has a bit more to it, and needs a little more time to settle down. 93 points.

Tim Atkin is a big fan as well, but I think he got carried away. ‘This is only Kumeu River’s entry-point wine,’ he says, ‘but is typically well balanced, refreshing and focused, with just a hint of oak spice, leesy complexity, some struck match undertones and a chiselled, refreshing finish. A Kiwi wine that’s better than many Puligny-Montrachets.’

Te Mata Estate Chardonnay 2020 – $23 at Our Cellar. Made by one of New Zealand’s best wineries, this wine tends to show cool restraint and classic lines. The warm 2020 vintage has produced a richer chardie with ripe stone fruits, without losing its classic lines. 94 points.

Robert Mondavi private Selection Buttery Chardonnay 2019 – $22 at Summer Hill Wine. Nothing subtle about this wine made for those of us who hanker after the chardies of yesteryear. Ripe peaches, more oak than butter at this stage, soaked in vanilla essence, with a creamy texture that lingers. Try it with full-flavoured foods – we had it with a Cassoulet, and it was a good match. 93 points. Good drinking now, and will improve for a year or 2.

Creamery Chardonnay 2020 – $24 at Our Cellar. Made by O’Neill Vintners, who make ripe Chardonnay from grapes grown in California – Monterey, Paso Robles and Clarksburg. It’s 100% barrel fermented, 100% malolactic fermentation, and spends seven months in American and French oak. Younger and more restrained than the 2019, but the style and build is the same. It’s good, rich drinking now, and will fill out with another year or two. 93+ points. BUY.

Creamery Chardonnay 2019 – $28 at Wine Square. This was the crowd favourite at a recent lunch we had for a big birthday with family and friends. So many of us prefer this style of ripe, peachy, creamy and buttery chardy to the austere grapefruit concoctions so popular with somms and critics. The 2019 is a little richer than the 2020 at this timeIn California they know how to fine-polish these styles too. Gorgeous drink, usually sells for around $30 or more. 94 points. BUY.

La Crema Monterey Chardonnay 2019 – $32 at Jim’s Cellars. In this case. La Crema refers not to a creamy Chardonnay but to the the cream of the crop – La Crema Viñera was the original name of the winery when it was founded in 1979. Still, the wine delivers peaches and cream with a buttery smoothness, backed by vanillan oak – less than the Mondavi – in a crisp, balanced, polished package. Malolactic fermentation and 8 months on lees with regular stirring. Good drinking, but a touch expensive for what is. 93 points.

Flametree Chardonnay 2020 – $24 at Winestar. I haven’t tried this vintage, but Huon Hooke says this would have to be one of the best buys under $30: ‘Light, bright yellow colour, with a complex spicy, smoky, struck-flint reductive and honey-tinged bouquet, almost Chablis-like. Delicious flavour, refined and penetrating, tensioned and long-lingering. It has lemon-citrus, honey and mineral-chalky flavours in a beautifully balanced combination. Good acidity drives the long finish. An excellent wine. Astounding value. 95 points.’

Isabel Marlborough Chardonnay 2019 – $28 at DM’s ($25 member offer at the time of writing). The fruit is stronger than the 2018, classic stone fruits and almonds; it’s a big mouthful, and the oak is a touch less heavy here. Less struck match funk too. Well integrated already but will improve over the next year or three. 95 points. The 2020 has just appeared on the shelves – the fruit is richer and more forward, but it needs more time to settle down.

Scorpo Aubaine Chardonnay 2019 – $29 at United Cellars. A great chardie from the Mornington Peninsula at a sharp price, and ready to enjoy. It has enough flesh on its bones, the fruit is white peachy, the oak nods toward cashews, and there’s a soft touch of struck match. It’s a vibrant chardy, full of life and gorgeous flavour. Perfect pitch, and ready to drink. 95 points. Grab some while the price is so sharp.

Oakridge VS Henk Chardonnay 2019 – this has been one of our favourite chardies these last 12 months, but it’s just about all gone. There’s some left at Crown Cellar & Co for $38, and at Cellars for $40 in a 6-pack with free shipping across Oz. The prices are up but the wine is worth it. The subtle layers of flavours have real depth and intensity here – stone fruits and a squeeze of lime, almonds and cashews, cool minerals on the long finish. Great balance of flesh and fine bones, lots of finesse. Last year I thought Huon Hooke’s score of 97 points was a notch too high but now I agree. This is one of the top wines on this list.

Dog Point Chardonnay 2019 – $34 at Summer Hill Wine. White peach, citrus, grapefruit, spicy oak, good depth an intensity wine with a fine line of acid. Malolactic fermentation has added a creamy texture with hints of toast and butterscotch. 95 points.

Merricks Estate Chardonnay 2021 – $35 at Nicks. Haven’t tried the 2021, but the folks at this long-established winery on the Mornington Peninsula haven’t put a foot wrong in a long time.  The 2021 is more opulent than usual, according to the guys at Nicks who score it 96 points – check their review at the link.

Dominique Portet Origine Chardonnay 2019, Yarra Valley – $36 at Wineaway. Dominique Portet has been making wine down under since the late 1970s, starting with immensely tannic reds in the Victorian Pyrenees. In 2000 he moved to the Yarra Valley, and now son Ben is helping with the winemaking. This wine is new to me, but The Real Review gives it a rave review.

‘The fruit for this wine is sourced from a mature vineyard in the Upper Yarra and it displays all that high-quality Yarra chardonnay should. This is archetypal gear: Lifted, layered and complex aromas of grapefruit pith, struck-match, bacon fat, grilled nuts and nougat. The palate delivers big time: stone fruit, melon, nutty, mealy, minerally, textured and layered. There’s a whole lot going on here and it’s très smart. 96 points. Outstanding value.

Medhurst Estate Vineyard Chardonnay 2020 – $38 at Langton’s.  ‘Wowee,’ says Jane Faulkner at the Wine Companion. ‘This is a bit of rock’n’roll. All citrus tones, with flint, fennel and daikon. It’s complex and savoury, with lots of texture. Brilliant acidity wraps it up tightly. Moreish and utterly delicious. 96 points.’

Dexter Chardonnay 2019 – $40 at Winesquare. Tod Dexter has been making great Chardonnays on the Mornington Peninsula for years. The hallmarks are intense flavours combined with finesse and purity, energy and drive. Perfect pitch, truly classic style. 96 points

Te Mata Estate Elston Chardonnay 2020 -$40 at United Cellars. ‘This is the first wine I have scored 100 points,’ said Bob Campbell MW in 2014 about Te Mata’s top chardy; he runs the NZ arms of The Real Review.

The 2020 reflects the warm vintage. I can’t improve on Huon Hooke’s review: ‘The bouquet is very rich and complex—roasted hazelnuts, buttered sweet corn, skillfully integrated oak and no reduction. This all translates to a beautifully framed palate, which is tremendously deep and intense, powerful and long, with multi-faceted flavours that will only grow and build more detail if given more time. An outstanding full-bodied chardonnay… 95 points’

Santolin Gladysdale Chadonnay 2020 – $42 at Prince Wine Store. This vibrant chardy from the upper Yarra Valley has a rich, seductive nose that makes you want to find out more. The palate delivers white peaches and nectarines with a squeeze of grapefruit, a sprinkle of nut meal and exotic spices. The wine’s bones are cool-climate delicate but the flavour is rich and the texture creamy. There’s a lovely tension that gives an extra lift to the wine. A winner. 96 points.

Kumeu River Estate Chardonnay 2020 – $42 at Good Pair Days. This is about the last place with stocks of this wine. It’s still a bit reserved but shows the hallmarks of the style, the rich, round fruit, the seamless integration of gentle oak, the fine acid needed for graceful aging. It just needs a couple more years to fill out. 95 points. BUY. Bob Campbell says the wine is as good as any he’s seen under this label.

Domaine Naturaliste Artus Chardonnay 2020 – $43 at MyCellars. This is one of the examples from the mid-price section of great Chardonnays Matthew Jukes makes in Margaret River. Just a hint of struck match on the nose, lots of rich goodies on the palate, from stone fruits and nutty oak to chalk and gravel dust; there’s even a hint of butter. 96 points.

Kumeu River Ray’s Road Chardonnay 2020 – $48 at Summer Hill Wine. This comes from their recently acquired Hawke’s Bay vineyard. I expected a leaner style, but the wine is rich and round, a polished mouthful of silken texture. All class, and likely to give winemakers in Burgundy a big scare. 95 points.

Neudorf Home Block Moutere Chardonnay 2020 – $55 at Winesquare. One of the best Kiwi wineries IMHO, along with Te Mata and Ata Rangi. They’re based at Nelson, not far from Blenheim on the northern tip of the south island. Moutere is an area where the soils consist of clay and gravel.

I haven’t tried this vintage, but Bob Campbell says it’s more than good:  ‘Delicious, finely-nuanced Chardonnay with grapefruit, citrus, stone fruit, ginger, oyster-shell and baguette crust flavours. A taut, nervy wine, with a delicious backbone of fruity acidity helping to drive a lengthy, mouth-watering finish. 97 Points

Kumeu River Coddington Chardonnay 2019 – $60 at Winesquare. The Coddington vineyard produces the richest, most seductive expressions of the KR range. Ripe peaches and apricots do the talking here, backed by subtle oak suggesting hazelnut meal. It is the biggest wine in the KR range, yet kept neat and tidy by the minerals on the finish and the fine natural acidity these wines have. Fewer than 1000 dozen made. 96 points.

Kumeu River Coddington Chardonnay 2020 – $64 at Winesquare. This vineyard in KR’s neighbourhood produces opulent Chardonnays, and 2020 added even more riches – about 1% of the grapes showed some botrytis, which added an extra touch of apricot to the wine. Seductive ripe peaches and cream do most of the talking, supported by exotic spices, French oak (30% new) and subdued struck matches. A fine line of cool acid keeps everything neat and tidy. 96 points.

Grab some for your next special occasion; these wines fly off the shelves at great speed, and Auckland’s urban sprawl casts a big shadow over the vineyard’s  future.

The Halliday Chardonnay Challenge 2021

Kumeu River, New Zealand’s Montrachet

 

August 2022 Update

I sent  a link to this post to Kumeu River, asking for corrections. omissions and additions, and received an email from Michael Brajkovich the following day with a few of these. He thanked me and addedd that he was happy to answer any remaining questions I might have,

I was surprised at the rapid and comprehensive response from this brilliant winemaker who has received so much recognition from the top wine critics in the UK and USA. He really doesn’t need our blessing. This family is so well-grounded, and just so plain humble!

Montrachet

Yes, that’s the wine some of the world’s wine critics have compared these wines to great Burgundies, and they’re made in the suburbs of Auckland. I had a chance to taste some Kumeu River chardies with my best mate Reg who has long been a champion of this winery. The only wine they make that comes in under $20 is the Kumeu Village Chardonnay, which I’ve recommended many times in recent years.

It shows some of the seamless polish of the wines further up the scale, in a ready to go, easy on the gums frame. The KR Estate and the Ray’s Road from Hawke’s Bay fit in the under $50 group, while the Coddington, Hunting Hill and Maté’s Vineyard are around $65, $90 and $120.  Given that they’ve beaten Grand Cru Burgundies in blind tastings that cost 10 times as much, they’re colossal bargains.

Fine wine merchants Farr Vintners in London have championed Kumeu River Chardonnays for about 25 years, and they arranged two blind tastings with the heavy hitters of the British wine trade, in 2015 and 2018. They put KR chardies up against white Burgundies costing many times as much.

4 Rounds with Heavyweights

Paul Brajkovich went to London in 2015 – while his brother Michael stayed at home and took care of winemaking – for the first blind tasting at Farr Vintners, which pitched KR’s chardies against top class Burgundies.

In the four flights of wine of the tasting (5 wines each), KR’s wines were outright winners in three, and came equal first in the fourth. The publicity this tasting generated made the English-speaking wine world sit up and take serious notice as you can imagine.

What a great result! Wild colonials showing up the aristocracy of Burgundy, makers of the best dry white wines in the world, and trouncing their precious labels in an international blind tasting. The Judgement of London.

Jancis Robinson, the grande dame of UK wine writers said, ‘the Kumeu wines shone because they were better made and more sophisticated. Perhaps the Brajkoviches are simply trying harder. It was not the performance of these inexpensive Kiwi wines that was shocking but the state of the white burgundies.’

She added that ‘every one of the Kumeu River wines was fresh as a daisy and clearly had a glorious future ahead of it.’

Jamie Goode’s take on the tasting was: ‘I think the first thing that most of us will have done straight after the tasting is to go online and see who has stocks of Kumeu River. They are sensationally good wines.’

More details here

Once More With Feeling

Farr Vintners ran a different tasting in 2018. I guess they had established the quality of the KR Chardonnays 3 years earlier, so this time it was a retrospective: a massive tasting of 12 vintages of KR wines, from 2006 to 2017. 48 wines in total. The tasting panel included Oz Clarke, Steven Spurrier, Jancis Robinson, Neal Martin and Will Lyons.

‘The result of this tasting was a clear winner for the quality and consistency of the wines from Kumeu River,’ wrote Michael Brajkovich in the Kumeu River blog. ‘The tasting ended with an ovation for the wines and the clear consensus that of the 48 wines presented there was not one poor bottle. This never happens in tastings of this nature.’

Jancis Robinson was elated. ‘I have long argued that New Zealand makes even better Chardonnay than Sauvignon Blanc,’ she said. ‘Kumeu River somehow manages to make some of not just New Zealand’s but the world’s finest Chardonnay from vineyards in the Auckland suburbs. Three years ago I participated in a professional blind tasting where Kumeu Chardonnays comprehensively knocked spots off some of the finest white Burgundies.’

Joss Fowler at Vinolent offered a sobering comparison: ‘It’s been a very long time since I tasted Coche-Dury Corton-Charlemagne, but I reckon that a punchy vintage of Maté’s Vineyard could take it on. And Maté’s Vineyard is less than £300 a case, compared with £1,000+ for a single bottle of Coche-Drury Corton-Charlemagne.’

You read that right, a thousand pounds for a single bottle. The most recent price I can find for this wine down under is $5000 a bottle.

40 Vintages and Counting

2021 was Michael Brajkovich’s 40th vintage at KR. Michael’s father Maté had been there to work with him until his death in 1992. Cellar master Nigel Tibbits continued to work with Michael; he joined KR in 1974 as a 16-year-old. 2023 will be his 50th vintage.

‘Nigel continues to do the sterling work he has always done,’ says Michael. ‘We have grown together in our roles over these 40 years and the evolution of the Kumeu River style has continued steadily over that time. Nigel has played a huge role in that.’

Michael says 2020 was the best vintage he has experienced at Kumeu River, and it’s bracketed by the outstanding 2019 and 2021 vintages. The Maté’s Vineyard Chardonnay 2020 was James Suckling’s wine of the Year [short video] with a perfect 100 point score (JS appears to have taken over from Robert Parker). How do the brothers Brajkovich keep their feet on the ground?

Michael studied winemaking at Roseworthy in the early 1980s, and worked a vintage in France. He became the second Master of Wine outside the UK (after Michael Hill Smith), and served as chair at both the Royal Adelaide (for 3 years) and the Air New Zealand wine shows (for 5 years) .

Kumeu River is a family business, with matriarch Melba heading up the firm, and the next generation doing the hard work.

From left to right: Paul, Marijana, Michael and Milan

Ten Questions with Milton Wordley is an interview with Michael Brajkovich that covers the family history and reveals lots of insights into how KR developed such a winning range of Chardonnays. And there are lots of photos of the family’s journey.

This extensive profile Peter Richards wrote for Decanter fills in more blanks, and provides time lines.

What makes KR Chardonnays so special?

Milan Brajkovich looks after the vineyards. He says, ‘We’ve always just made wines we like to drink. New World wines with an Old World twist, for a fair price. We focus on what we do best: Chardonnay. We didn’t choose Chardonnay – it chose us.’

Behind that simple statement lies a sharp focus on every aspect of making outstanding wines, which some people would describe as obsessive. It comes back to Jancis Robinson’s conclusion at one of the London tastings that the Kumeu wines shone because they were better made and more sophisticated than the best white Burgundies.

The Vineyard

Most serious winemakers will tell you that the quest for outstanding wines starts in the vineyard. The climate around Kumeu River is very close to that of Burgundy, but more humid due the proximity of the ocean – 15 kilometers to the west coast, and 20 kms the other way. It’s cool to moderate around here, with temperatures rarely exceeding 30 degrees C.

The soils on the other hand are nothing like those of Burgundy: heavy clay over sandstone, not gravel over limestone. The textbooks imply that this is not the best soil mix for producing wold class wines, but they’re clearly wrong. The soil at Kumeu River has the advantage of hanging onto enough water even during dry summers, so the vineyards don’t need irrigation which keeps yields low and the quality of fruit high.

The Lyre trellis system KR uses for the grape vines is no longer popular these days, as it doesn’t suit mechanical pruning and harvesting. Since the grapes at KR are picked by people and not machines, this is not an issue. The reason Micheal and Milan like the Lyre trellis system is that it reduces over-vigorous canopy growth and exposes the grapes to more sunshine, while the increased airflow reduces the chance of mildew forming. MORE HERE [3 min. video – an interview with Jamie Goode]

Winemaking

The fruit is hand-picked from low yielding vines, whole bunch pressed, and fermented with wild yeasts in French oak barriques. As the fruit arrives at the winery in bins, it is tipped straight into an air-bag press which is much gentler than the traditional crusher. The juice that comes out of the press is pretty clean, but requires some settling to clarify. It’s left overnight at 12 degrees C, then the clear juice is racked off, leaving behind less than 1% solids.

‘We will often also take some of the lighter golden-coloured lees to complex the fermentation,’ Micheal adds. ‘We are most concerned about leaving behind the heavy, easily removed, grape solids. These also contain most of the sulfur spray residues which lead to reductive characters in the ferment.’

After the primary fermentation, the wines go through a complete malolactic fermentation, which converts the green malic acid to softer lactic acid. This adds complexity and creamy texture to the wine. Buttery characters (caused by diacetyl) are avoided by extended maturation on yeast lees in barrel, well past the end of the malolactic fermentation.

‘[the malo] is pretty much a no-no with Chardonnay makers down under these days,’ says Michael. I agree wholeheartedly, as I’ve said more than once. Our young gun winemakers avoid the malo like the plague in their Chardonnays, or restrict it to a small portion of the finished wine.

That’s where the grapefruit tang comes from in mod-Oz chardies. The extended solids fermentation techniques they use also promote the struck match funk, that reductive sulfide character we see so much of in our up-market chardies these days.

Michael is no fan of that nonsense. He says, ‘it became very popular with winemakers both here and in Australia. But, true to the new world adage that if a little bit of something is good, then a whole lot more must be great, things went to extremes. Our wines have not changed in this regard, they have the same low-level reduction that they’ve had for many years. We have certainly not pursued the technique of full-solids fermentation, which maximises this effect, because we believe it also unbalances the wine.’

Balance is something KR chardies have plenty of. The wines are matured in French oak barriques, some of them new, and the oak integration is exemplary; it doesn’t poke out even in the young wines, the way it does in expensive white Burgundies. In short, KR Chardonnays are made to let the superb fruit do the talking.

Michael stresses the importance of the Mendoza Chardonnay clone in Maté’s vineyard. This clone is famous for producing ‘Hen & Chicken’ fruit sets in bunches of grapes, also known as millerandage. The result is small berries and normal-sized ones on the same bunch, which adds a richer texture and more complexity to the finished wine.

Mendoza is a close relative of the Gingin clone used in Margaret River. Professor Harold Olmo brought it with him from California when he was consulting to the W.A. agriculture department’s Bill Jamieson at the dawn of the Margaret River wine region. Various clones have been carefully selected for each of KR’s vineyards.

To sum up, what makes KR Chardonnays so special is the painstaking attention they receive at every stage of production. It’s labour intensive and costly, and doesn’t follow current winemaking fads. One gets the impression that Michael, Milan and Nigel Tibbits have been working with an unerring compass which they calibrated to perfection over many years.

The Future

Kumeu River is clearly an operation at the very top of its game. The demand for its wines has never been stronger, which has resulted in limited allocations so that every market will at least get some of the wines.

Auckland’s urban sprawl has engulfed Kumeu River’s original vineyard, which is a mere 30 minute drive from the centre of Auckland. As a result of spiraling land prices, expansion of the 30-hectare vineyard is not feasible.

That’s why the family bought the Ray’s Road vineyard in Hawke’s Bay when it came up for sale a few years ago. The Coddington vineyard is also in the way of the suburban tsunami, but the Brajkovichs have signed a 5-year lease with the new owners so its immediate future is safeguarded.

How long can the Brajkovichs hold on in the face of rising values for their land? At some point the economics of their position will force the issue, so I expect that KR will buy or lease more vineyards further afield.

I suspect that the critical factor for their success is their 40 years of experience making great Chardonnays, and this experience is transferable as long as the terrain and climate are suitable. New Zealand seems to have plenty of both in abundance.

Right now, these wines present outstanding value. Their quality is up there with the best Chardonnays from Burgundy and the Napa Valley, so my advice is this: scratch together all your spare pennies and buy whatever 2020 KR wines are left in the marketplace. Winesquare, Wineaway, Summer Hill Wine, The Vine Press, Grevillea Wine, The Wine Collective and Prince Wine Store have minute quantities of some of the 2020s left at the time of writing – July 2022.

Save some money for the 2021 though, the third great vintage in a row at Kumeu River, and Michael’s 40th.

These wines are becoming ever harder to find because of their limited production, and their growing fame worldwide.

MORE READING / VIEWING

Hill of Grace challenges Grange for Top Spot

 Blank on Purpose

Can you Improve a Wine by Raising its Price?

I wrote  a post under this heading a while back, and a few weeks ago a loyal subscriber wrote about his experience with the iconic Aussie red. His post could be titled Why I No longer Drink Hill of Grace.

‘I look forward to and read the advice in your email,’ Des wrote. ‘As a person who didn’t drink until i travelled overseas and discovered there was life outside a 1950s Aussie country  pub culture. I returned and read Len Evans column and booklets and then under some very bright wine merchants ie licensed wine/grocery stores advice i built a collection of 300 bottles.

Went overseas again and arrived back in the seventies to drink Hill of Grace etc. So i have always followed good advice and you have continued my luck. NOW i know longer drink Hill of Grace.

As an 81 year old I thought i should share my introduction to Henschke wines and how over time I and Henschke reconnected  given your recent newsletter’s foot note.

As a construction worker, but one who had been round the world by the mid 1960s, I had returned to Perth and bought my wine and spirits from wine merchants, one of whom sold my brother and I Henschke wines and said if you dont like it, the restaurant on the Perth Esplanade will all ways buy them off you.

Well we went off to travel the world again and I arrived back in the seventies with an idle cellar. At the time of my marriage, I plus the new wife were taken out for dinner by 12 of our closest friends and I took – it was bring your own – 4 of 1960s Henschke Hill of Grace, and Mount Edelstone wines.

Some years  later I was at a luncheon, strawberries, champagne and cheese, with several of the original wedding dinner reps plus others, and the same luncheon host. When he saw the three Henschke wines, corks drawn, said are you still recycling  those bottles? No one touched them after that, so I took them them home. And I said to the host you will never ever sip any of the remainder of  my cellar.

Many years later in Hobart at one of my favourite restaurants, the Mona Lisa, they had a vintage wine list, no names but you could ask for a wine off the hidden list. He used to buy estate cellars. The owner one day said I am not going to let you access the vintage unless you ring on the day and say you will be there for lunch – I want to air my choice. On one occasion he served a Hill of Grace, this is the 1990s, we ordered a second and he said I never serve two of those for lunch.

And we didn’t pay hundreds.

Kim, as a subscriber i thank you for your efforts, your contributions go beyond the wine itself; in my early adulthood the only source about wine for tradies was Evans in the Bulletin plus our three wine merchants. i am a buy local but I weaken occasionally and buy interstate.

Regards

Des

PS: I also picked up the deep woods ebony. We were at the NSW WINE SOCIETY 50th  dinner at the Must Restaurant  in Perth, and Deep Woods were present and announced they had won the Jimmy Watson, and my table neighbour was Dennis Lilly. After the dinner, Deep Woods laid on the Sparking wine for the diners, what memories of wine, companies – and I married into a Swan Valley grape grower soldier settler family.

Thanks for the story and the feedback, Des

OK, let’s answer the question: Can you improve a wine by raising its price?

I read with interest that Stephen Henschke wants to push the price of Hill of Grace past the price of Grange. Why? ‘When you think of rarity and story,’ says Stephen, ‘Hill of Grace is clearly the most precious wine.’ It follows that it should cost more, he argues.

Such crisp logic takes your breath away, doesn’t it? On our website, we provide abundant proof that price is a fickle guide to the quality of wine. Last year, Decanter magazine gave the trophy for Australia’s best Shiraz (and best red) to a $37 Shaw & Smith 2012. And late in 2013, a $27 Grant Burge Filsel Shiraz 2010 won Winestate magazine’s Great Shiraz Challenge. Also in 2013, a $17 Pepperjack 2012 won the Visy Great Aussie Shiraz challenge.

For this contest, Editor Peter Simic bought samples of Grange and Hill of Grace since their makers don’t enter them in competitions or wine shows for fear of embarrassment. It was a good move by Peter. This is what I wrote after studying the results: ‘ … near the end of the 20 pages of reviews we find Grange and Hill of Grace sitting in a corner like two school boys who’ve misbehaved in class. 3 stars out of 5 is a disgrace for wines that carry price tags in the $600 – $800 range.’

More >>

Best Value Reds of the Barossa

This is an example of our weekly mailer, which we’re using to support a Facebook ad

THIS WEEK

The nights are getting cold, and we’re longing for rich casseroles that call for heart-warming reds. They don’t come much more heart-warming than the reds of the Barossa Valley, so that’s where we’re going today.

Weekend Reading: The Vintage Journal – Barossa 2022, by Andrew Caillard and Angus Hughson\

Weekend Tucker: Dead Easy Sausage and Bacon Casserole.

WINE OF THE WEEK

Creamery Barrel Fermented Chardonnay 2020 – $24 at Our Cellar. Made by O’Neill Vintners, who take ripe Chardonnay made from grapes grown in Monterey, Paso Robles and Clarksburg. It’s 100% barrel fermented, 100% malolactic fermentation, and spends seven months in American and French oak.
This was the crowd favourite at a lunch we had for a big birthday with family and friends. So many of us prefer this style of ripe, peachy, creamy and buttery chardy to the austere grapefruit concoctions so popular with sommeliers and critics. California winemakers know how to fine-polish these styles too. Gorgeous drink, usually sells for around $30. 95 points.

BEST VALUE BAROSSA REDS

Yalumba Homefullness Grenache 2017 – $120 a dozen at the winery. Insights into this wine from Wine Companion. Yalumba donates half the proceeds to an outfit that builds homes for the homeless. It sounds like alight red that  can take a chill.

Duval Surgo Barossa Valley GMS 2018 – $10 at DM’s. I’m not sure about this one – a $10 red made by an ex-Grange winemaker who learnt his craft from Max Schubert? Check it out if you’re near a DM shop.

Thorn-Clarke Sandpiper Shiraz 2018 – $15 at Summer Hill Wine. A perennial bargain, from the great 2018 vintage, a generous red of solid build, chock-full of honest flavour. Will improve for 3 – 5 years.

Peter Lehmann Portrait Cabernet Sauvignon 2019 – $16 at mycellars, where the freight is free for subscribers on any quantity (promo code BWU20). This red won a bunch of bling, most likely because it’s a crowd pleaser, soft juicy and slippery. Drink now and over the next couple of years. 94 points.

Glaetzer Wallace Shiraz Grenache 2018 – $18 at Summer Hill Wine. Old vine Barossa Grenache at a bargain price. Aged in old oak so the fruit does most of the talking. Juicy red fruits, soft and silky on the palate, with the Shiraz adding weight and fine tannins on the finish. Another crowd pleaser. 94 points.

Secret Label Barossa Valley Grenache 2020 – $19 at Kemenys. Made by a couple guys who get their fingerprints all over their labels, this is a real charmer, soft and silky, mid-weight with lots of finesse. Lovely style. 95 points. Bargain.

Secret Label Barossa Valley Mataro Grenache Shiraz 2020 – $19 at Kemenys. From the same makers as the Grenache above. We opened a 2016 this week, and it was a beauty at its peak. The 2020MGS will reach its peak a bit earlier I think. The perfumed Mataro adds something special here. 95 points.

Teusner The Independent Barossa Valley Shiraz Mataro 2018 – $20 at Our Cellar.
2018 was a great vintage for reds, as I keep telling you, and Kym’s team made the best of it. This is a 50 / 50 blend. The Shiraz is rich, plummy and peppery, and the Mataro adds dark cherries, exotic spices, charcuterie and earthy notes. Layers of rich and robust flavour make this a superb Barossa red that is the perfect match for a hearty sausage casserole. 95 points. Back up the ute.

Shanahans Silence is Golden Barossa Valley Shiraz 2019 – $21 at DM’s (member offer). Top red from the word GO. Profound Shiraz with a spicy nose and a glossy texture. Rich, ripe fruit, dark chocolate and Christmas pudding spices, with some charcuterie in the background. Fine tannins on the long finish round it all off nicely. Perfect pitch, one of those reds you can enjoy now (after some airing) and keep for 20 years. Brilliant. 96 points. A genuine bargain.

Chaffey Bros Pax Aeterna 2021 – $23 at Our Cellar The brothers are 3 smart young Turks who make wines that are different, more modern, more intriguing, more colourful. I haven’t tried this wine, but CM at The Wine Front has. I love his opening line:
‘It took Grenache roughly 150 years to become an overnight success in Australia but the glory days of Aussie Grenache are upon us. This release is fresh, delicate, laced with dry spice and tannin, juicy with fruit, and high in drinkability. It feels authentic because it is. Raspberry characters with a glow to them. Earth notes inlaid. Everything on firm/sure tippy toes, ballerina-like, elevated and exact. There’s texture here too, warm texture, silk fresh from the ironing board, treated right. A lovely drink, it is. 92 points.’

Head Red Shiraz 2018 – $22 at Kemenys. Another red from the great 2018 vintage, and another one I haven’t tried. Gary at the Wine Front says: ‘Medium-bodied, succulent, intense fruit of perfume and weight, dark chocolate tannin, savoury elements, very long fresh finish. Super vintage. Puppy-like in enthusiasm as at now. Almost 94 points, though that’s kind of arbitrary.’

Gibson The Smithy Shiraz Cabernet 2018 – $25 at Nicks. Rob Gibson was amking reds at Penfolds until he went out on his own in 1997. He got the nickname ‘Dirtman’ because of his obsession about vine growth which led him to dig deep pits in between vines.
This is a big red, close to 15%, with impenetrable colour, a nose of ripe red berries, seductive oak, various spices, hints of warm earth and touch of tar. Another product of the 2018 vintage, and one that should improve for years. 95 points.

SPECIAL WINES

Teusner Joshua 2021 – $28 at Our Cellar (where the freight is free for subscribers (promo code BWU20). Grenache Mataro Shiraz stored in stainless steel to showcase the freshness and boldness of top notch Barossa fruit. Which is intense, glass-staining, and full of youthful exuberence. The attraction is strong but a little more time will not hurt the wine. 94+ points.

Teusner The Dog Strangler Barossa Valley Mataro 2018 – $28 at Our Cellar. I adore Mataro, and it’s so underrated. I love the flowery notes and seductive aromatics. In France it used to be known as ‘étrangle chien’, because it makes tough reds in a cool climate. In the Barossa it tells a different story. 95 points.

Duval Plexus Shiraz Grenache Mourvedre 2019 – $35 at Kemenys. Another Rhone blend, this one from ex-Grange winemaker John Duval. Haven’t tried it; check the real review’s rave review at the link. 95 points.

Sons of Eden Zephyrus Shiraz 2018 – $35 at Kemenys. Corey Ryan and Simon Cowham make generous Barossa reds, which always seem to have had some fine polish applied that adds a silky texture. Another great red from 2018. 95 points.

Yalumba FDR1A Barossa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 2015 – $44 at Our Cellar. A medium-bodied style of elegance and finesse, made from Eden Valley fruit a stone’s throw from the Barossa, stylish and good drinking already but there’s no rush since the pitch is perfect.
I remember the 1974, which was unloved and discounted heavily, a winemaking triumph in a wet year. The wine was still great 20 years later.

INTERESTING STUFF

2022 Barossa Wine Guide from Winepilot
Old School Meets New in Barossa, From Young Gun of Wine
World’s Drunkest Job – Wine Blogging, from the wine folly
Heat Threatens Oregon Pinot Noir, via wine searcher

That’s it for this week

If you want to support what we’re doing, please spread the word to your friends & colleagues, and on social media so they can subscribe to http://bestwinesunder20.com.au/

Your suggestions for improving this site are always more than welcome, as are your reviews of great wines you’ve found for under $25. We also want your feedback on the wines we recommend – please don’t hold back kim@bestwinesunder20.com.au or info@bestwinesunder20.co,.au

Kim Brebach
Wine Sleuth & Riesling Freak

CATCHER IN THE DRY

Bullets, Beer and Buffalos – Surviving the Outback

I migrated to Australia many years ago, when life was a lot simpler than it is these days. Within a week, I left Sydney for Darwin where I’d planned to work with a friend on a buffalo station, helping to build an abattoir. Sadly we fell out after a couple of months and I was back in Darwin, looking for a job. I got a job driving a truck for a week. I should’ve stuck with that but I ended up on another buffalo station, a fully functioning one. 

By the time I arrived at Mudginberry Station, some two hundred miles south of Darwin, the sun was fading. After dodging wild pigs and stalling the old Austin A30 while crossing a creek, I felt pretty good about getting here at all. I pulled up by the impressive homestead where two fellows stood, chatting.

‘G’day,’ I said. ‘I’m Kim. I’m here to work in the abattoir.’

They looked at me and smirked. I was covered with the grey dust of the dirt track I’d travelled; it sticks to the sweat on your skin and to your wet clothes. One of them pointed to some older buildings on the other side of the airstrip, saying ‘John Barling’s the bloke you want.’

I drove around the airstrip in the fading light and stopped outside a shack, where I could see people sitting around a table on a kind of porch enclosed with fly screen. A wiry bloke in shorts came out to greet me. His black beard and leather-brown skin he made me think of a Mexican bandit.

‘You must be Kim,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘John Barling.’ He grinned as he looked me up and down. ‘Bloody rough country, hey? Get some of that bloody dust off ya and come inside. You’re just in time for tea.’

I heard a clunk behind me and saw John laughing his head off. I turned around and saw the Austin leaning on its front bumper, a wheel lying on the ground next to it. ‘Shit.’

‘Pommy cars are no bloody good around here,’ John said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll fix the bloody thing tomorrow.’

Over ‘tea’ and several beers I met the rest of the crew. They looked more or less like John: rough as guts, as they say around here. John’s wife, an ex-school-teacher, was the only one who looked neat – she was the one who’d offered me a job here, last week in Darwin where I met her through a friend.

A few months ago, I’d finished high school in Hamm, a dull town on the edge of the Ruhr, the heart of Germany’s steel industry. I’d come to Australia looking for adventure, as you do at nineteen. The broad Aussie accent of the Northern Territory was a far cry from the English I’d learnt at school and I was still struggling to follow conversations. Aussies tend to mumble as well, more so in the bush since the flies crawl into your mouth if you open it too far.

As I answered their questions, one of the guys gave me a strange look. ‘You’re not a Pom, are you?’

‘No, I’m German.’ It was 1966 and I expected my nationality to be a problem.

He smiled. ‘That’s alright then. Rommel said: give me a division of Australian soldiers and I’ll conquer the world.’

I hadn’t expected the field marshal to have celebrity status in outback NT. ‘What’s wrong with Englishmen?’ I asked.

‘They whinge all the time, and they don’t wash.’

His summary seemed to sell the English short but I was glad to get off so lightly.

After dinner I followed my new companions to our quarters, a tin hut with slats for windows, a bunch of bunk beds and a table in the middle. We sat around it, drinking more beer and listening to Beatles records. Even at this late hour I was in a sweat. I was so tired I excused myself and crashed on my bunk.

‘Can’t handle a few beers,’ were the last words I heard.

 

Breakfast was in the same place as dinner, the chicken coop. The food was the same too: buffalo steak, eggs and white bread. At seven, we were at the abattoir, waiting for Bill the shooter. Bill was a rough version of Paul Newman. He’d left at dawn and soon came back with two dead buffaloes on his trailer. I wondered why they didn’t call him Buffalo Bill.

After we’d winched them onto the concrete landing, Bill hopped back into his Landcruiser with its chopped-off roof and shot off again, a cigarette between his teeth and the wind in his hair.

Wayne showed me how to skin a buffalo. He made it look easy, starting near a hoof and working up to the body with his knife, as if he was unzipping an overall. Thor cut the belly open to get the guts and organs out. Blood and piss washed around my boots. It took three of us to shift the stomach, a bloated grey thing.

‘Stab it with your knife,’ Thor told me as he and Wayne stepped back. I did what I was told and the stench nearly knocked me off my feet. They laughed and laughed. High School doesn’t prepare you for life, does it?

Soon the beasts were ready for Claude, the meat inspector. He lived across the airstrip at the ‘Hilton’. That’s what they called it over here. Claude wore a beret and sported a black mo but when I tried my French on him, he looked confused.

I was the rouse-about, as they call it. I’d chip in on the slaughter floor when the rush was on or I’d give Bruce a hand boning, or I’d help the two aborigine women trim meat. One of them was pretty and smiled at me more than once.

‘Stay well clear of her,’ was Bruce’s advice, ‘unless you want to wake up with a knife in your back.’

I had enough trouble adjusting to my new environment. If the days were an exhausting grind of blood and guts and sweat and flies and mossies, the nights were dull. We ate buffalo meat, drank beer and talked. After that, it was back to our quarters for more beer and talk and Beatles. I grew up with Mozart and Beethoven. I also liked Dylan and Donovan. Some nights I played their songs on my guitar, under the light outside the cold store, until the monster mozzies forced me back inside.

The nights belonged to the vampires and the days were ruled by squadrons of sticky flies that homed in on the moisture around your eyes, nose and mouth. The glowing stories I’d read about the great southern land never mentioned the flies or the mossies.

‘It’s your shout,’ Thor would tell me back inside the dorm and I’d trudge back out to the cold store. The lanky Norwegian drank more than anybody. He didn’t contribute a lot else. Bill the shooter didn’t talk much, either; Bruce and Wayne did most of that.

Bruce’s voice sounded like the whining diff in the truck I drove in Darwin. He had a constant sniffle that he’d wipe with the back of his hand. He shaved about once a week. He even looked sweaty at breakfast, in the relative cool of the morning.

Wayne was about my age, jet-black hair, tattoos on his arms that matched the dark blue of his faded blue Bonds singlet. If he wasn’t smoking a cigarette, he was rolling one. He’d left home at fourteen to get away from his ‘bastard of an old man’. I soon discovered that all the guys were here to get away from somebody: the cops or a divorced wife chasing them for alimony.

Wayne had learnt to talk like the others: grown-up and tough. For Wayne, the world was a source of wondrous surprises, which he tended to express with succinct phrases like ‘Fuck me rotten!’

I never asked what that meant. Sexual terms doing duty as swear words was very confusing for this young German. I admired the discipline these blokes showed in the chicken coop, when Mrs Barling was with us. The F word would turn into bloody, F me became bugger me, and dirty Cs became bloody bastards, all in the blink of an eye. Despite that accommodation, she kept her two kids right away from us.

Wayne showed no restraint when he flicked through magazines in the dorm, gaping at photos of pop stars and Hollywood celebrities. It was the closest any of us got to women out here. I can’t imagine what Wayne would say these days, in response to the pussies they thrust at the cameras of Penthouse.

 

Once a week, a semi would pull up with supplies, and that night there’d be pumpkin and potatoes to go with the buffalo. In the morning, we’d load the truck up with frozen meat bound for pet food processors in Darwin.

One day, a different semi arrived to collect the buffalo hides. They were as heavy as buggery and there was no shade where we were loading them. I began to feel faint but I toughed it out, still smarting from the slur of not being up to scratch in the drinking stakes. That night I went to bed early with a killer headache, which I kept to myself.

The next morning I couldn’t get my head off the pillow, it was pounding so hard. To my surprise the guys didn’t make fun of me; they said I looked green, pushed a bowl and a towel at me and fetched Mrs Barling.

She checked me over and asked a few questions. You were loading hides in the midday sun, and you weren’t wearing a hat? I don’t own a hat. Probably sunstroke. That’ll teach you to respect the sun in the territory!

She came back with a cup of tea and a blanket for the window, to stop the sun stabbing my head. I started throwing up. The pain in the head got so bad I kept passing out. I lost count of the days I lay there semi-conscious, only waking to drink and to throw up what I’d drunk.

One morning, Mrs Barling came to my bed with a cheerful bloke in a salvation army uniform. ‘This is Major Woods,’ she said. ‘He can take you to the Mission Hospital in Arnhem Land, in his aeroplane.’

I looked at them. The heavens had sentenced me to slave labour and condemned me to a diet of buffalo meat and beer. Then they’d tried to kill me by frying my brains. Now they wanted to finish me off. I knew it, but I was too weak to put up a fight.

‘You’re very sick,’ Mrs Barling said, as if I didn’t know.

As I sat behind the Major in his single-engined Auster, trying not to throw up all over him, my head throbbing to the thrum of the engine, I passed out again.

I woke up the next day, I think, glimpsing a starched white uniform. The nurse smiled and told me I would live. In fact, she promised I would get better soon. She spoke the truth: a couple of days later, the Major was back to return me to Mudginberry. His flying scared the life right back out of me and this time I told him.

‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, ‘I have to hug the contours – the instruments are on the blink.’

That night over dinner, John Barling’s black eyes sparkled with delight, as he said, ‘You’re bloody lucky, Kim.’

I let out a sigh. ‘That sunstroke nearly killed me.’

He chuckled. ‘I’m not talking about the bloody sunstroke, mate.’ He nodded toward Wayne. ‘Tell him.’

Wayne gave me his ‘you won’t fucking believe this’ look. ‘That Major Woods,’ he crowed, ‘do you know how many planes he’s crashed?’

‘No.’

Wayne held his hand up, looking around the table to ensure the other guys were watching. ‘FIVE!’

I was about to use Wayne’s favourite expression when Mrs Barling walked in.

‘I’ll be buggered,’ I said.

‘Five bloody planes,’ Wayne repeated, ‘and the bugger’s still flying!’

John and the others were heaving with laughter.

Mrs Barling wasn’t. ‘Why’d you have to tell him that? The Major’s a good man. God looks after his own.’

John gave her a crooked grin. ‘He’d bloody want to, in his case.’

 

John was a tinkerer. One day, the semi brought a shiny new set of wheels for his Landcruiser and John asked Wayne and me to help put them on.

‘You fucking beauty,’ Wayne said, ‘where’d you get them from?’
‘They’re aeroplane tires,’ John said. ‘Had the bloody rims specially made, in Darwin.’

He turned to me. ‘These trucks last two seasons before the bloody wheels fall off, like on your bloody Austin. There’s no vehicle built for this bloody country. With these wheels,’ he said, ‘I’ll bloody well float over the rough stuff.’

As soon as we’d bolted the wheels on, John bounced off into the scrub for a test drive. He’d invented the all-terrain vehicle long before its time; wide wheels and Desert Dueller tires, like Penthouse, were still way in the future.

When we finished work that day, John still hadn’t returned so Bill the shooter went out looking for him. Thor, Wayne and I jumped into the old Land Rover with everything chopped off and followed.

John’s rifle shots helped us locate him just before dark. Behind him was his moon mobile, sitting on four flat tires.

Wayne’s eyes were enormous. ‘Fuck me dead,’ he stammered.

That was poetry compared to what came out of John’s mouth. He swore he’d take the wheels back to the bloke in Darwin and shove them right up his big arse.

‘What the fuck happened?’ asked Wayne, rolling a cigarette.

It wouldn’t be right for me to repeat what John said because he was in quite a rage. From what I could gather, the tires had slipped on the rims and torn the inner tubes.

Bill the shooter helped calm John down. He turned to us. ‘You blokes better come back first thing and put the old wheels back on this thing.’

Dinner was late that night. John had settled down by then, even saw the bright side of it. ‘The truck bounced around so much I could hardly steer the bloody thing,’ he said. ‘I was going in all bloody directions at once – it was like riding a bucking ‘roo.’

He said bucking, I’m pretty sure.

 

One afternoon a couple of blokes turned up, one in a truck with a steel cage on the back, the other in a ‘cruiser with its top sawn-off and a steel platform welded to the front, crowned with the biggest bull bar Wayne had ever seen. By now you’ll know what he said.

John invited Gunther and Dave in for dinner. Gunther was ‘one of my mob’ and he’d come to sell John his buffalo catching services. The end of the dry season loomed and the buffaloes had figured out that Bill had a limited reach, imposed by Claude the meat inspector: the beasts had to be in the cool room, neatly carved up within an hour of meeting Bill’s bullet. Gunther could go further out and bring back live buffaloes.

Next morning, the two were gone by sparrow’s fart. They came back hours later with four buffaloes on the truck. The bad news was that Dave had broken his right arm.

Lucky for him, the bloke I’d met on my arrival at the Hilton was having a chat with John. It was a strange sight, the clean-shaven boss-cocky in his crisp blue shirt, his new hat and cream moleskins, talking to leather-skinned John in his grubby shorts. The boss-cocky offered to take Dave to Darwin in his Cessna. Where was he when I lay dying?

I’d asked my comrades a while back what the blokes across the airstrip did.

‘It’s a tax dodge,’ was Bill’s response.

‘They’re a bunch of wankers,’ Bruce scoffed.

Some nights, I’d look across the strip at the brightly lit Hilton, listening to the distant laughter, wondering how wanking could be that much fun. I also wondered what I’d done to end up on the wrong side of this strange world.

John was paying me 12 pounds a week, but a quick check with his wife revealed that my earnings were growing at just two pounds a week after the beer was accounted for. I told her that I’d gladly cut down on the beer but she shrugged that off.

‘I have to take an average,’ she said. ‘The boys wouldn’t like it any other way.’

Mateship meant all for one and one for all. I had to grin and bear it. I’d come to realize that the Territory was not the land of my dreams, and planned to leave as soon as I’d saved enough money to buy a decent car to go east in; the Austin was back on four wheels but it’d be lucky to make the trip back to Darwin.

Over dinner, Gunther asked John if one of the fellas could step in for his side-kick Dave. John looked around the table and found all eyes avoiding his. Even gung-ho Thor looked down at his plate of buffalo meat.

John gave me that grin of his. ‘Hey, Kim, you’re the biggest bugger here. Why don’t you give it a go?’

I weighed 220 pounds before I started here; now I was as lean as John. Let me tell you, these high protein diets really work, especially when you spend your days wrestling with dead buffaloes. Now he wanted me to wrestle with live ones. The eyes of the others were on me. It’s a male thing: you can’t say NO when you’re put on the spot like that, so I said I’d give it a go.

Wayne’s eyebrows went up as he exhaled cigarette smoke through pursed lips.

‘Bloody good on you, Kim,’ John said and slapped me on the back.

Gunther smiled. ‘Great. I’ll show you the ropes in the morning. Nothing to it.’

 

In the morning I followed in the truck as Gunther led the way through the scrub, flat as far as the eye could see, and bone-jarring. When the dry heat bakes the ground, the hoof prints left by buffalos in the wet season turn rock hard.

Eventually we came upon a herd of buffaloes and Gunther stopped. Time for him to show me the ropes – steel ropes. He stood on the ‘cruiser’s front platform and held up a noose.

‘You drive next to the buffalo,’ he said in his thick German accent. ‘I throw the noose over his head and when I give you the signal, you slam on the brakes.’

‘What happens then?’

‘When the buffalo runs out of rope, he falls down. I jump on him and hold his head down by the horns while you tie his legs up. Then we winch him on the truck and get the next one.’ He grinned. ‘It’s dead simple.’

English is a compact language: to translate ‘shit-scared’ would take a hole sentence in German. I couldn’t think of a way to tell Gunther that I needed to go behind the bushes, in either language. It’s that male thing again: what would he think of me?

I bit my lip and drove his ‘cruiser toward the herd, with him standing on the front verandah, steel rope in hand. The buffaloes started to run off in all directions. He pointed to the biggest one and I went after him.

‘Faster,’ Gunther yelled. I grit my teeth, foot hard on the gas. I had trouble lining up the beast, which was ducking and weaving; Gunther was bouncing up and down on the steel platform in front of me because of the rough terrain. When I got close enough to the buffalo, Gunther threw the noose over his head. ‘Hit the brakes; stand on them,’ he yelled and braced himself on the bull bar.

The rope lifted off the ground and there was an almighty twang that nearly threw me out of the truck. I don’t know how Gunther stayed on the platform. Big Buff was still standing, however, shaking his head like a boxer who’d taken a big hit. If his name were Wayne, I could imagine what’d be going through his mind.

‘Reverse, fast,’ Gunther screamed.

I did but Buff followed at full gallop. Shit! He was gaining on us.

‘Drive faster, in a circle.’
Have you ever tried outrunning a charging buffalo, driving backwards in circles? I turned left; I turned right, but the thing followed my every turn.

‘Drive faster!’ Gunther screamed.

How the … ? I had the engine revving, the gearbox whining. On my next turn I got lucky: Buff went the other way.

‘Hit the brakes.’

I did and thought the cable would snap from the jolt. I don’t know how it didn’t. Buff crashed to the ground as Gunther leapt off the truck and ran toward him. I grabbed some rope and followed. He had the beast’s head pinned down by the ends of the long horns. Buff’s legs were still free and it took me a while to get the front ones tied up, my hands were shaking so much.

Gunther was getting anxious. ‘Come on, I can’t hold the bastard down forever.’

Buff’s hind legs kicked hard and his bloodshot eyes left no doubt about his frame of mind. When I got him tied up Gunther jumped clear. He checked my knots while I fished a cigarette out of my shirt pocket. It was soaked in sweat.

He drove me back to the big truck and I backed it up to big Buff so we could winch him up on the tray. We caught three more buffaloes in that fashion.

Gunther seemed happy with the day’s work. ‘You handled yourself OK.’

‘I’m not doing this again,’ I said. I didn’t care what he thought of me anymore. I wanted to live long enough to leave Mudginberry and find the world I’d lost.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t that bad.’

I climbed into the driver’s seat of the big truck. I couldn’t think of anything that could be worse. Wrestling crocodiles?

Over dinner in the chicken coop, Gunther talked about our day’s adventures and sang my praises. Wayne’s mouth was stuck open. Even Thor raised a respectful eyebrow.

John grinned. ‘Knew you could bloody do it, you big bugger.’

This time, my will to live prevailed. ‘I’m not going back out tomorrow.’

They looked at me, all of them.

‘Why not?’ John demanded.

‘I might be green but I’m not stupid.’

Consternation all round.

‘What about one of you blokes?’ Gunther checked, looking around.

John’s eyes followed his. My companions were looking every other way.

‘I can’t do it on my own,’ Gunther pleaded. ‘I’d have to go back to Darwin to find someone else. The season’ll be over soon.’

Still no takers.

John shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate.’

On the way to the dorm later, Wayne was talking to Bill ahead of me. All I could make out was the punch line, ‘Catching the bastards live? Fuck me stupid!’

Bill nodded. ‘You wouldn’t catch me near one without a 303 in my hand.’

Gunther left for Darwin in the morning. I’ve never been so happy to say goodbye to someone.

 

The old 303 was Bill’s weapon of choice but John had bought himself a shiny new Remington 375 Magnum, complete with telescopic sight. He went out shooting with Bill when buffaloes became scarce, as they were now. The Magnum looked like it could kill a buff a miles away.

One Sunday morning we sat around the breakfast table, chatting. John was polishing his gun. He pushed some cartridges into the magazine, bigger than my middle finger. All the blokes admired the thing except Bill. He always said ‘a real shooter doesn’t need anything bigger than a 303.’

A big fat crow landed outside the coop and let out its horrible ‘argh, argh, aaaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!’ Shooting crows was a bit of sport around here but they were canny buggers: as soon you picked up a rifle or anything that looked like a rifle, they were gone. If you could hit a crow at all, you were considered a good shot. A shotgun improves your chances but real shooters don’t use shotguns.

As it happened, John’s Magnum was on his lap when the crow landed, pointing in the right direction. Once more the crow burst into song: ‘aarrgghh, aarrgghh, aaaaarrrr – BANG!’

John had fired straight through the fly wire. For the next five minutes it rained crow feathers. His wife came into the coop and stood there, mouth open, looking at the feathers raining down and the smoking hole in the chicken wire. ‘John, that’s the limit,’ she said and stormed off.

John was pissing himself laughing. We all were.

‘Bugger me dead,’ Wayne said, looking at the feathers, still raining down.

Not long after that I told John I was leaving. He gave me one of his wry grins, nodded and said, ‘Bit bloody rough for you, isn’t it?’

‘I just want to move on.’

‘Good luck to you then. We gave you a fair go, didn’t we?’

‘Sure.’ Within his parameters, he had.

His wife was less happy to see me go. ‘Thought you were settling in well, Kim.’

‘I did my best, but it’s time to move on.’

The boys weren’t surprised. They knew right from the start that I wouldn’t last.

Wayne showed genuine concern. ‘Anything you need, Kim? Some beer? Some petrol?’

He made sure the Austin’s tank was full and the oil topped up.

‘Take care of yourself,’ I told him. ‘And get the hell out of here. Do something with yourself before it’s too late.’

He shrugged as he rolled another cigarette. ‘Yeah, I will, one of these days.’

 

About twenty years later on a pleasant Saturday morning, I sat on the deck of my house in Avalon on the northern beaches of Sydney, reading the weekend paper. A headline on page 4 caught my eye: ‘Meat Workers Dig In at Mudginberry.’ The subtitle said: ‘Strike lames Northern Territory meat industry.’

Couldn’t be the same place, surely! But it was: Mudginberry had grown into a large commercial abattoir, and its workers were demanding better conditions such as air-conditioned quarters, danger money, a living away from home allowance and more. Their current earnings were close to $1,000 a week, the paper said.

I had to laugh, and then laughed some more. I knew exactly what Wayne would’ve said.

Why did you trash my Favourite Wine?

 

Money, Marketing and Madness

You can see it, can’t you? The marketing director comes back from his meeting with the CEO, and addresses his troops.

‘We need to show stronger growth,’ he tells them. ‘The fastest way to do that is growth by acquisition, and we have an open cheque book.’

The eyes of the young marketing minds light up as they shout ‘yeah, let’s do it’, accompanied by high fives. They used to work for Fabergé, Kimberly-Clark, David Jones, Lion-Nathan and Coca-Cola.

It was the 1980s, when corporate raiders swept across Australia buying wineries; or the 1990s when there wasn’t enough Chardonnay to go around and Robert Parker fell in love with Duck Muck; or the new millennium when the export boom was in full swing, with huge bladders of cheap Aussie plonk crossing the oceans to Britain and America.

Wineries were bought and sold like shares on the stock exchange. Others were simply allowed to die or swallowed by the suburban sprawl. Basedow’s, Stonyfell, Kaiserstuhl, Reynella, Minchinbury, Rothbury.

History and Mystery

Others were rebranded by the bright young marketing minds, like Lindeman’s. One of our great wine brands, once up at the top with Penfolds et al, making stunning wines from the Hunter to Coonawarra.

‘It’s old-fashioned, stuffy.’

‘Yeah, look at those labels!’

‘It needs a serious make-over. A new identity, a new narrative.’

‘Hey, I read that low alcohol wines are the coming thing – we could be at the head of the trend, or even set the trend.’

‘What do we do with Rouge Homme? What about that shocker of a label?’

‘Does anyone remember why we bought that brand?’

Silence all round.

‘History, who needs it? Stories is what we need. Marketing in the new millennium is story telling. Wine is such a blokey business; we need stories about women in wine, like Eliza Lindeman.’

Yeah! All agreed and high fives all around

Indigestion

The challenges at Southcorp were far more dramatic.

‘The stock market still hasn’t forgiven us for buying Rosemount,’ said the CFO. ‘They say 1.5 billion was far too much.’

‘Fosters paid more than that for Beringer-Blass,’ CEO John Ballard argued, ‘and we bought more than a winery, we bought a crack management team with it.’

‘You mean a fucked up management team,’ said chairman Brian Finn.

Ballard’s face was a grimace. ‘It was the integration of the 2 teams that was fucked up.’ He shrugged and added, ‘are we done? I’ve got to put the final touches on the revamped organization chart before we announce it to the press.’

Ballard had taken over as CEO earlier in 2003. He was still smarting form the remark made by one analyst who’d said: ‘He’s not a boom recruit. He’s not the big name the market was looking for.’

Ballard was new to the wine business. He had built APD/Smith’s Snackfoods into a major force, and then run United Biscuits Asia Pacific. The last few years he’d focused on his work as a board member of top companies. He’d never experienced a mess like the one he found himself in now.

Walking Winemakers

It wasn’t just the stock market and Rosemount’s management team; some of Australia’s top winemakers had walked out after Rosemount’s Chardonnay wizard Philip Shaw took over as chief winemaker: Neville Falkenberg, Philip John, Geoff Henriks, Ian McKenzie and even Grange winemaker John Duval. All gone.

Later that week, Ballard told the press: ‘As we put behind us the problems we have caused for ourselves, I think the Rosemount acquisition will prove to have been a very good one.’ He had his fingers crossed behind his back.

Two years later, Ballard walked as well. Southcorp was a Boa Constrictor that had swallowed a very large pig. A billion dollar write-down hadn’t reduced the pressure on its stomach – it just poured fuel on the ire of the analysts and shareholders. Worse, revenue was half of what it had been when Ballard took over. Then Fosters had launched a hostile take-over bid.

Ballard had read about the shareholder meeting in the Fin Review. There were angry scenes. One shareholder argued that chairman Brian Finn should resign since he had been ‘a party to all the disastrous decisions that had brought this company to its knees.’

Another shareholder said: ‘It’s all right to sit up there in your flash suits and get your big money, but none of you are suffering like we are. I’m an investor. I rely on the income from dividends.’

Buying Back the Farm

Special Homecoming For Much-Loved Metala was a headline in a recent WBM mailer. The Adams family had bought the brand back from Treasury Wine Estates, a rare good news story.

Metala is the oldest family-owned Cabernet vineyard in the world, and one of the oldest Shiraz vineyards in Langhorne Creek. I had long wondered how much local content had remained in this once great red from Langhorne Creek, which sells for about $10 these days.

Not much in recent years, according to Guy Adams. He says: ‘The homecoming and relaunch of the brand means that when wine lovers buy a bottle of Metala wine, they will once again be getting the original, rich and full bodied Metala fruit they’ve come to expect.’

Before Wolf Blass picked Langhorne Creek as one of South Australia’s great wine areas, the late Peter Lehmann made the wine for Stoneyfell. I remember a night when we had dinner in town in the early eighties, when my best friend Reg brought along a 1966 Grange, and I brought a 1967 Metala. It was the better wine of the two, we all agreed. 

Trashing hallowed Names

This story made me think of all the great brands that were swallowed up by the corporate raiders in the greed- and alcohol-fuelled 1970s, 80s and 90s.

Adelaide wine merchant Woodley’s once sold the Treasure Chest series of fabled Coonawarra reds. The pretty Treasure Chest label ended up in the clutches of Treasury Wine Estates, and soon graced $5 bottles of cheap and nasty bubbly.

It seems the marketing people at TWE despise all things old, and any kind of tradition, or don’t know what to do with it because they learnt their craft selling beer, cosmetics and toilet paper.

Lindemans bought Rough Homme in the sixties from the Redman family. Years later, the brand went through the hands of various corporate owners until the Digiorgio Family bought the winery in 2001 (which was the death knell for the label according to the Redmans). There was no official death notice or burial.

Led by CEO Ray Kidd, Lindemans had a towering reputation until it was bought by Philip Morris, and then passed through numerous uncaring hands until it ended up at Southcorp and then TWE. It now graces low-alcohol concoctions with utterly silly stories about Eliza Lindeman and her daughters.

What happened to the famous Hunter River Burgundies? Don’t ask. The Coonawarra Trio still exists somewhere in the bowels of TWE, well-hidden from public view. Most likely dead and awaiting burial.

Stanley Leasingham – after various owners that included Heinz of 57 varieties fame, this once great brand was bought by Hardy’s in the late eighties and later ended up in the hands of private equity firm Accolade, bereft of life. Tim Adams bought the winery and equipment.

Thomas Hardy and Sons – this was one of our greatest wine companies, which ended up owning Chateau Reynella, Stanley Leasingham and Houghtons in the West. It merged with Berry-Renmano in the early nineties and became BRL Hardy before it was gobbled up by Accolade, which became Champ Equity, which became part of an international conglomerate called Constellation brands.

Hardy’s flagship wines are fairly recent creations, but at least they honour their founders Thomas and Eileen Hardy with serious wines. Chateau Reynella, named after the man who planted the first commercial vineyard in South Australia, is now a housing estate, which may be a better fate than ending up gracing cheap plonk.

Quelltaler became Annie’s Lane some years ago, and its role in the TWE theatre was to produce rich, soft, easy-drinking affordable table wines. No more interesting white Burgundies made from Semillon, or brilliant Rieslings. TWE recently sold the vineyards to Warren Randall of Seppeltsfield, but kept the Annie’s Lane label which will no doubt end up gracing some vin ordinaire in the near future.

Minchinbury was once a powerhouse sparkling wine maker on the outskirts of western Sydney, with its best Great Wesstern bubblies fetching a much higher price than Penfolds Grange.

Today almost all remnants of the once proud estate have been swallowed up by another housing estate near the Great Western Highway. The once hallowed brand belongs to TWE these days, and graces $6 bottles  of awful wines with names like Minchinbury Dolce.

The New Guard

The sixties and seventies saw a whole lot of new wineries burst onto the scene; most of them crashed and burnt or were forced to regroup, but some of them built big reputations.

The ambitious Rothbury Estate in the heart of the Hunter Valley was the brainchild of Len Evans and Murray Tyrrell, and the expectations were flying high when it came to life in the early seventies.

Len and Murray put all their eggs into 2 famous baskets, planting 400 hectares to Semillon and Shiraz. The fickle punters never loved these varieties like Len and Murray did, and chased the fancy new Chardonnays and Pinots Noir. That was a serious problem for Rothbury. Various acquisitions broadened the company’s offerings, but looked like random hits rather than planned acquisitions.

Lexicon tells us that, ‘in 1995, despite fierce opposition from Evans, Rothbury Estate was hostilely (sic) taken over by Mildara Blass.’ Some people should stick to whatever they’re good at instead of mangling the English language, ja? What happened in between is a fascinating story of its own. Today the Rothbury name graces a range of $10 non-vintage wines of no apparent distinction.

Bob Oatley built the Rosemount brand into an icon, on the back of some big Chardonnays from the Hunter and fine reds from McLaren Vale. After a decade-long struggle, the once famous Rosemount brand died of mortal wounds inflicted by series of massive marketing blunders. OK, you can still find bottles of it in the discount bins of the big chains, but they bear no resemblance to the wines of the glorious past.

The story goes that Bob Oatley talked Fosters into buying Southcorp, in the hope that they’d return the Rosemount brand to its former glory. Fosters did no such thing; instead it spun off the whole wine business – including Penfolds – into Treasury Wine estates, telling the media that it was a distraction to the beer business.

The great cask hall at Rothbury Estate.

Is Champagne really better than the best Aussie bubbles?

 

That question usually produces a waffly answer about apples and oranges, or in plain English: surely you know that you can’t compare the two styles. This is despite the fact that our winemakers have been busting a gut for decades to produce a bubbly that could challenge the French icons.

Half a century ago we didn’t have the grape varieties or the cool climate of the champagne region. Since we planted Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in the Yarra Valley, Macedon and Tasmania a few decades ago, those limitations have gone away.

Aussie Prestige vs bulk champagne

As our ambitious producers developed better cool climate styles, they took a leaf out of the champagne marketing guide and introduced special ‘cuvees’ – fancy bottles from the House of Arras, Jansz and Chandon, Clover Hill, Hanging Rock, Brown Brothers and then a whole host of new producers.

The prices went up and soon reached the same $50 level as the basic wines of the champagne houses, which are made in vast quantities and owe more to smart marketing than smart winemaking. Today we have a number of bubblies that sell for $100 or more, as you cansee from the excerpt of Tyson Stelzer’s Australian Sparkling Report 2020 below.

Image Source: Tyson Stelzer’s Australian Sparkling Wine Review 2020

Game over but hold it – there’s a late scratching

It’s rare to find a review that pitches Aussie bubblies against champagne, but I found a piece James Halliday wrote for the Weekend Australian magazine a couple of years ago. JH reviewed a bunch of local and French wines, and the $40 – $60 locals acquitted themselves remarkably well with scores ranging from 94 -96 points. The champagnes scoring points in that range were $100 or more.

This was music to my ears until I saw this caveat form the G.O.M. of Aussie wine: ‘… are the points for the Champagnes comparable with those of Australian sparkling wines? The answer is no, they are not. Nor would points for great red Burgundies compare with those for Australian and New Zealand pinot noirs; or First Growth Bordeauxs with Margaret River cabernet merlots.’

I always thought we had a single 100 point scale for wine reviews, but James seems to suggest that we have a range of scales for wine styles from different parts of the globe. News to me, but James writes: ‘Points are as subjective as the words in the tasting notes, but are a separate way of expressing the taster’s opinion, to be assimilated along with the description of the wine in the context of the particular tasting. All this may frustrate some consumers, but the ultimate reality is that Australia can never make Champagne, a Burgundy or a Bordeaux, so direct points comparison is fraught with contradictions and qualifications.’

Frustrated? No, Confused

Why? Because comparative tastings are as common as heatwaves, and they always use just one scale for obvious reasons. Remember the Judgement of Paris in 1976? When French judges pronounced Californian Cabernet and Chardonnay superior to their French counterparts? Thousands of comparative tastings have followed over the years – Burgundies vs Pinot Noir, Aussie Chardonnays vs white Burgundies.

Chardonnays from New Zealand have held their own more than once against white Burgundies that cost ten times as much, in tastings organized by British wine writers. Did they use a different scale for the Kiwi chardies? Of course not.

By way of a final stamp of approval from the highest court in the world of wine, Grand Dame du vin Jancis Robinson chose a Chardonnay from Kumeu River (NZ) for her youngest daughter’s recent wedding.

Max Headroom

We review different wine styles and different wines from different countries all the time, and we always use the same system for reviewing and scoring. The reviews are based on the same criteria: the qualities of the wine in the glass.

In Australia, we’ve adopted what we might call a Readers’s Digest version of the 100 point system. Any wine under 90 points is regarded as a waste of time, and 98 points is about the limit on the sublime end of the scale. How is an 8-point scale better than the old 20 point system?

Bubles specialist Tyson Stelzer outlines his more nuanced criteria in the Australian Sparkling Wine report. He’s stretched the boundaries a little way down the scle, but it still comes down to 98 points = sublime, 88 points = vin ordinaire. Tyson clearly wants to give himself more headroom since he reviews wines like a $6 Wolf Blass red label on one hand, and a $400 Louis Roederer Crystal on the other. That’s a huge range to cover with one tiny scale. So he’s extended the range downward below 90 by about 6 points. The problem now is that his scores no longer match his reviews.

Brown Bros Pinot Noir Chardonnay & Pinot Meunier NV is an example. This is quite a recipe for this bargain price’, says Tyson. ‘Crafted according to the full regime of méthode traditionnelle, … four years on lees has built layers of spicy, toasty, honeyed complexity and a creamy structure, amplified by old French oak … Led confidently by pinot noir, the cool heights of King Valley have evolved into spicy, baked apple and fig character. Honeyed dosage counters a little phenolic bite on the finish, but you can’t have everything for $25.’

Great Review, right? Tyson’s score is a measly 89 points. I’ve rated it 93 over the years, others have rated it higher. In other words, we need to see Tyson’t scores in HIS CONTEXT. At least he’s not suggesting that we use different scoring systems for wines from Europe.

Almost across the board however, Tyson’s Aussie sparkling wine scores are a lot lower than his champagne scores, and he includes wines that score just 85 points. That’s a score he reserves for wines that he describes as ‘ordinary and boring, though without notable faults’. I’m confused again since Tyson’s lowest score for ‘sound’ wines is 88 points. I thought ‘sound’ meant without notable faults. Here is his list:

The vast majority of bubbles under $30 score fewer than 90 points in Tyson’s list, which suggests (more logically than Halliday) that our efforts are not in the same class as the froggy bubbles.

That’s it from me – over to you.

Penfolds and the Art of Fleecing the Faithful

 

‘If this year’s average auction price for the past 20 vintages is anything to go by, Grange should sell for $523. Will you pay $900?’ Tyson Stelzer.

You’ve gotta give it to Penfolds

They know how to milk their loyal customers. And they know how to milk Max Schubert’s towering legacy for every last dollar. They have no shame. They put the great man’s name on all kinds of garish labels. Max never made a Rosé, but they made one for him. They have no shame.

The latest stunt is the Penfolds g5, a five-vintage blend of Granges stretching back to 2010 that sells for $3500 a 750 ml bottle. Is that it? YUP, that’s it. They pour bottles from 5 vintages into a vat, stir the blend and bottle it under a fancy new label. Then they sell it at 4 times the price of the current vintage Grange. Or 6 times the average auction price of the 2008 Grange, which scored 100 perfect points with Robert Parker’s Wine Advocate.

Is the blend of 5 recent vintages worth so much more than older vintages of Grange? And I’m talking about pitch-perfect Granges here such as the 1976, 1986, 1990, 1991 or 1996? Do you know that you can buy these FIVE vintages at auction for a total of $3500?That’s right: FIVE bottles of the best Granges made in the last 50 years for the same money as a single bottle of g5, or the same money as FOUR bottles of the current Grange 2017.

You’ll never get your money back 

It’s a myth that Grange will appreciate with age. You can buy every Grange made since the stunning 1976 for less than the current release. How come? Penfolds got too greedy at the turn of the millennium when it pushed the price of Grange to $500 and beyond. That’s about the average price of Grange on the auction scene today, the ‘secondary market.’

The result is that you’ll lose money when selling bottles of Grange you’ve bought in the last 20 years. And you’ll be lucky to get your money back if you paid more than $500 a bottle. So why is Penfolds selling Grange for more than it will fetch at auction decades later? Because they’re greedy, and the faithful keep buying the wine.

Peter Gago claims that Penfolds’ high prices reflect the strong demand for Grange. That’s obvious nonsense given that the auction market is awash with top notch Granges at prices close to half those of the current releases. Check the latest auction prices here.

The 2011 vintage in South Australia was a washout. When this happens in Bordeaux, they don’t make the Grand Vin in that vintage, yet Penfolds sold their 2011 Grange for $785 in 2015, while the great 2008 and 2010 Granges sold for $600 at auction.

‘What’s the true value of Penfolds Grange?’ asks Tyson Stelzer in a post headed Grange, the Big Dilemma. He goes on to say: ‘If this year’s average auction price for the past 20 vintages is anything to go by, the answer is $523. Will you pay $900?’

Hunters & Collectors

The people at Penfolds know their market. Many of the punters lining up to buy the g5, or new releases of Grange, are not wine lovers or connoisseurs. They’re collectors. Grange is more often collected and traded than enjoyed, but most buyers say they’re happy to drink the wines rather than lose money selling them. Think of the g5 as a famous stamp or a special minting of Bitcoin. The stamp below is worth a million dollars.

Inverted Jenny 1918 Stamp (photo via Wikimedia Commons

Unlike wine, stamps become more valuable when a mistake was made in their production. As with fine wine, rarity plays a crucial role. Among Penfolds’ top end reds, the most valuable Granges are the early ones (1951 – 1953), which were produced in tiny numbers, and are now rare as hen’s teeth.

A very rare Grange Hermitage Bin 1 Shiraz 1951, the first ever vintage made, recently sold for $142,131 and became the most expensive bottle of Australian wine ever. Other Granges that fetch high prices are those Max Schubert made in the late fifties after he was ordered to stop making this wine. Again, the small quantities made, and the story behind them, have been good investments despite the fact that Max couldn’t buy the new oak barrels that are so vital to the make-up of this wine.

Unbroken sets of Grange also fetch high prices if they contain a few rare vintages.

Special Bottlings

Max made a couple of these in the sixties: the Bin 60A Coonawarra Cabernet Barossa Shiraz 1962, and the Bin 620 Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 1966 (also from Coonawarra). The Bin 60A is among the top wines ever made down under, the experts tell us, and fetched some $20,000 at a recent Barossa auction. The Bin 620 isn’t far behind.

A couple of mates of mine who own a number of old Penfolds reds went to a re-corking clinic in Sydney, where a Penfolds staffer pronounced the Bin 620 dead on arrival. My mates argued that the lady was wrong, so she got a second opinion from a colleague who confirmed her verdict.

My mates took the wine home with them, and just for fun opened it the following evening with dinner where it astonished them with its sheer delights. Needless to add: they don’t have a high opinion of Penfolds recorking clinics.

When Peter Gago took over as chief winemaker, he released new wines under the same 2 bin numbers in 2004 and 2008. There was a new special bottling as well: Block 42 Kalimna Cabernet Sauvignon 2004 (the wine that went into the 168,000 dollar ampoule). The follow-up was the Bin 170 Kalimna Vineyard Block 3C 2010.

The faithful snapped these wines up despite prices double those of the mighty Grange, which can’t have been thrilled about being upstaged by newcomers with no lineage.

Super Blends

In 2017 Penfolds released the g3, a blend of 3 vintages. Had Penfolds’ marketing minions run out of ideas for special blends? ‘Blending across vintages is part of Penfolds winemaking philosophy,’ Peter Gago told the media and referred to Penfolds’ Tawny ports, ‘famous in the mid-1800’s (you’d think they could afford a competent copywriter, wouldn’t you?) made by blending multiple vintages. ‘A natural progression was to apply this venerated technique to create a new Penfolds red style,’ said Gago.

This claim is fanciful at best, and cynical at worst as Gago well knows: most ports are blended from multiple vintages, and so are most champagnes. However, in both cases the single vintage wines fetch much higher prices than the blends because they’re only made in great vintages in limited quantities.

I don’t know of any reds in the world with 4 digit price tags that are blends of several vintages (although someone is bound to correct me). Such blends are typically found on supermarket shelves at single digit prices. That said, the faithful snapped the g3 up, and the g4 followed in 2020. An obvious move by Penfolds since it’s all money for jam. And now the g5.

Where do you get it? You can’t just walk into your local Dan Murphy’s and buy a 6-pack. No, you have to go through an expression of interest process with Penfolds, where you might score a bottle or 2 if you’re fast enough. No kidding.

Profusion & Confusion

In between the g3 and g4, Penfolds released the Bin 111A Clare Valley Barossa Valley Shiraz 2016, which scored a perfect 100 points with several reviewers. You can actually still buy this wine today, for $1500 a bottle. I suspect the faithful either couldn’t keep up with all the new releases or they were terminally confused.

You’d think Penfolds would’ve kept a wine of this caliber for the 70th birthday of Grange (2021), but you’d be wrong. Instead Gago launched ‘Superblend’ 802-A Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 2018 on an unsuspecting world in 2021, for the same price as the current Grange. This was a double release as there was a twin called Superblend 802-B. One is matured in American oak, the other in French.

These superblends didn’t impress Huon Hooke or Ken Gargett, who came up with scores of 93 points. Others score the wines between 95 and 97 points. Either way, these releases diminish the stature of Grange, and that of Penfolds, unless they are are really special.

The Penfolds Collection

Once the collection numbered half a dozen wines: Grange, St Henri, bins 707, 389, 28 and 128. The 2021 Penfolds Collection. contains over 30 wines. Penfolds has become a fashion house, turning out new styles for every season, except that they’re not new styles but new takes on an existing themes.

The style has changed dramatically from the days when Max Schubert made elegant reds of sublime caliber, complexity and staying power, often with 13% alcohol or less.

The custodians of Grange and its offspring have lost the master’s magic touch, and replaced it with more of everything – super-ripe fruit, massive oak, lots of polish and huge alcohol levels. It seems their leitmotif these days is ‘More is Better’. That goes for other labels as well: Penfolds now makes in excess of 150 wines.

Their website resembles a vast department store where finding what you’re looking for demands steely determination and endless patience.  The Collection is just the beginning.  There are subgroups of wines: Classics, Esteemed Reds, Favourites, vertical sets of wines, gift box sets and more.

Then there’s a section called MAX’s that serves up a mishmash of 7 reds that would embarrass Max, were he still alive. Then there’s the Cellar Reserve with another 9 wines, and 5 more wines appear in the Tribute Range. More embarrassments. Then there are the ordinary wines Penfolds makes, the wines they would rather not talk about: Koonunga Hill et al. Rawson’s Retreat labels no longer mention Penfolds’ name.

It all reminds me of that Stainmaster carpet ad, where the cleaning lady exclaims: Oh, Mr Hart – what a mess!

FOOTNOTE

I sold my last dozen of Grange (1972) many years ago for a decent profit, and I haven’t bought any since. I did buy some St Henri 2010 in 2014 for around $80 a bottle. The critics scored the wine between 98 and 100 points, higher than the then current Grange (2009?). Today the 2010 St Henri sells for about $300 at auction, close to 4 times what I paid 8 years ago. Here’s my take on the 2010 St Henri back in 2010.

The 2018 is another sublime St Henri from a great vintage that scores 97 to 100 points with the critics. It will appreciate in value for sure, and you can buy it for $115 a bottle or $690 for a 6-pack. At that price, you can enjoy it on special occasions over the next 3 decades.

Additional Reading

Penfolds Bin 60A 1962: Australia’s Greatest Wine Ever, via Quill & Pad

Grange, the Big Dilemma, by Tyson Stelzer

Penfolds Grange – Rich Wine – Poor Investment