Robert Sinskey Vineyards

Our search directed us into the caves and cellars of such legendary winemakers as Pascale Marchand who was then at the helm of Comte Armand, Christophe Roumier, Jean Meo of Meo Camuzet, Anne Gros, and Francois Millet of Comte du Vogüe, to name a few.

At our first stop, Anne Gros met us at her cellar door. We were dressed as for the first day of school, pencils sharp and notebooks at the ready. The young Anne Gros gave us the once over twice. Her steady gaze suggested suspicion, if not outright contempt. “What do you want to know?” she asked. We wanted to know it all of course, the vineyards, the cellar, the winemaking, everything! Her demeanor softened a bit. Maybe she expected a couple of know-it-all Americans. Instead she found herself in the company of a pair of humble knowledge seekers.
Out to the vineyards we went. Her pace was rapid and her footing was sure. We valiantly tried to keep up without losing our new French loafers, or our pride, in the winter mud. When we finally looked up, we had reached the Mecca of Pinot Noir. We found ourselves standing in the middle of Anne’s Richebourg vineyard! The three of us crouched down as if in prayer, silently watching as Anne fondled a spindly dormant vine. It was there, in that vulnerable position, that she established the pecking order.

“What is the clone and rootstock?” we asked. She hesitated and disdain once again darkened her face. “You ask questions like an American!” she hissed. We then closed our notebooks and decided to experience the visit instead of dissecting it. With notebooks closed and minds opened, we listened to Anne espouse her philosophy of being attuned to the unique personality of the vineyard and the grapes born of it. She lectured on her delicate approach to winemaking versus her brother’s masculine approach and how her straightforward cellar technique enhanced the fruit without masking its inherent character.

We tasted wine from barrel and experienced some examples of perfection. We tasted interesting wines and we tasted wines with technical flaws. All of the wines, whether they were masterworks for the gods or just wine for mere mortals, exhibited characteristics of the feminine side of the grape, each a distinctive family member born of the same parents. We left that first visit exhilarated, yet wanting more.
We happily ate and drank our way through Burgundy over the better part of the next week. Before we knew it, our last day was upon us. Our final appointment was with Francois Millet at Comte du Vogüe. We had seen enough vines at that point, and were anxious to get in out of the cold. After an exchange of initial pleasantries, we descended into the cellar to taste some wine. The first was elegant. Francois became animated as he described it, “Zees wine… zees wine… she is the matriarch, she knows all!” and then the next, “Zees wine, she is the daughter, she is all dressed up, but she has nothing to say!” and then finally, “Zees wine, zees is the bad uncle, no one understands him, but he has a good heart!” There was no technical jargon, no literal tasting descriptions. It was all about the place and the personality of the wine produced from that place. We could go home now. We had found the inner truth of Pinot Noir.

Mr. Petrini had just given an impassioned speech arguing that the French government’s recent folly greenlighting the use of oak chips in wine will help create a sea of sameness in a land known for its diversity and individuality.
The French have been losing market share to the New World, particularly the world “down under” where technology in wine rules supreme and the use of oak chips in inexpensive wine is commonplace. Unfortunately, the French have not been reading the news of the Australian wine glut. Aussies planted too much of a good thing- Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Chardonnay- handled it all in a similar fashion, and have created a commodity that trades more on price point than wine quality. By getting into this game late, the French run the risk of becoming a “me too” wine region where diversity is considered a negative and homogeneity is considered an asset.
The danger of this strategy is the loss of less marketable wine varieties (Jacquère, Chasselas, Altesse, Roussanne, Molette, Gringet, Malvoisie, Mondeuse Blanche, Gamay, Mondeuse, Persan, Savagnin, Poulsard, Trousseau, Melon à queue rouge, Cinsault, Grenache, Mourvedre, Muscadelle, etc.) and their genetic stock. The tragedy for consumers will be a lack of diversity, the inability to predict regional wine style and diminished compatibility with food. Instead of chasing the market, the French have the opportunity to define one through education and to use purity and diversity as a point of distinction. If everyone does their part by drinking a bottle of something they have never tried before, then perhaps we can reverse this trend toward sameness.
Mr. Petrini waited for an answer. The winemaker stuttered before answering with Clintonian precision “Not here, we don’t!” Those in the know understood what he meant. In that particular facility, barrels were used; however, the parent company used wood chips for their more moderately priced wines.
Making slow wine in a fast world is difficult. In some ways we suffer from too much information. Global marketing and instant feedback skews our approach to making wine. All too often, the demands of the marketplace determine wine style as opposed to the growing region. It is like fitting a square peg in a round hole. It can be done, but you have to cheat a little… and when the cheating is rewarded in increased sales and profitability, the seduction is complete and an international commodity is born.
Slow wine is pure. It is a wine that is grown organically, perhaps even biodynamically, and not mussed with in the cellar. It is true to region and true to varietal character. You don’t always know it when you buy it, but you know it when you taste it. It has a naturally vibrant texture. It feels like it belongs in your mouth… and it tastes like the grapes from which it was made.

Sterile ways do in fact make for sterile wines. Within the last fifty years or so, the goal of conventional farming has been to remove the guesswork. Chemical farmers analyze the needs of the plant, remove any potential risk or competitor, and artificially provide the needed nutrients through synthesized fertilizer amendments. We grant that this method of farming may yield an aesthetically pleasing crop but it does not address what a plant needs to make a more flavorful and distinct crop, particularly when that crop is to be used to make wine. Imagine feeding a baby solely vitamins, minerals, carbohydrates and protein as powdered amendments. No mother’s milk, no real food, just what the baby technically needs for basic growth. Undoubtedly you’d find that baby missing an enzyme that he needed for digestion, a vitamin for a sound immune system or a mineral for bone density.
There is much that we don’t understand about the dynamic relationships at work in the soil. For instance, mycorrhizal fungi in the soil hasten the absorption of certain vital nutrients to the vine as much as five-fold. Conventional farming often ignores this dynamic relationship. By creating an environment where nutrients break down slowly, as nature intended, we are able to provide the vine with what it needs when it needs it. Thriving microbial and fungal activity in the soil is our goal and the bonne merde from the sheep is a great boon to these colonies. The vine gets what it needs as it needs it, fortifying its immune system and improving the flavor of the grapes by picking up trace elements that would otherwise be missed when the vines are force-fed a diet of synthetic chemicals.
All of this bonne merde helps to preserve and accentuate the personality of our vineyards and grapes, and in turn lends personalities to our wines. We’re confident that all that goes into our soil makes our Pinot Noirs truly bonne merde.