Andrew Jefford – ‘Wine is hard to unearth in France’s present-day cultural identity’

Those of us whose mother tongue is English know what lies on the other side of the hill. Grass – grass of a dark, juicy sumptuousness unattainable over here, on this side. The familiar proverb came to mind while reading the Australian-themed articles in this issue.

During the 15 months my family and I spent in Australia between 2009 and 2010, there were things I missed about the European side of the hill – notably the prolific tannins of certain European regional styles, and the generally low acid levels of many European reds and whites. The Australian palate fights shy of tannin, or likes its tannins in fine, powdery, highly polished form; it relishes forceful acidity, and that which is lean, tight and taut. I missed the reassurance of settled appellation profiles, too – the way that the potential of a place was long-known, and its difference accepted and celebrated. Too many Australian wines fought to be identical.Now I’ve lived in France for seven years, there are large patches of the Australian side of the wine hill which look enviably green from here. The first concerns the role of imagination in wine creation. France is full of excellent wines made by modest, highly professional winemakers with subtle palates – but doing anything imaginative is suspect. Exciting if modest wines line the shelves like pan scrubbers, and are promoted as keenly as changes to the tax code; the pretension with which ambitious wines are laden by French marketers is every bit as unimaginative. Fun and spark is often missing from the grimly attractive French wine offer.

Australians are as dedicated and professional – but their style is completely different. Everyone is relaxed and open; everything is communicated and up for discussion. No one sets limits to what can be dreamed of, thought, said or done. Initiatives don’t always work, but everyone gives it a shot (their best, of course) – thus understanding moves forwards. In marketing and selling wines, too, humour, imagination and graphic endeavour hold sway.

The second green patch is stranger… as it’s so unexpected. France is (as one author put it long ago) ‘the vine’s great nation’ – yet wine is almost invisible in public life here, and even hard to unearth in France’s present-day cultural identity. Winemaking is very nearly the profession that dare not speak its name in France, and most French citizens see winegrowers either as troublesome hooligans attacking Spanish tankers on motorways, or rich capitalists engaged in tax evasion.

The contrast with Australia is absolute. I doubt there’s any nation on earth where wine and the act of wine creation occupies a bigger role in public life and the nation’s self-image than there. Growing vines and making wine is a celebration of the ‘Mediterranean’ side of the Australian character; revealing the potential of great wine regions is considered one of the noblest strands of the Australian farming challenge. If native Australian names proliferate on wine labels, it is in part because of that desire to assimilate the extraordinarily long history of habitation in Australia to this recent enterprise (agriculture is never more cultural than in winemaking).

Historic Australian winemakers like Max Schubert or Maurice O’Shea are national heroes; younger ones enjoy a little rock-star glitz. The ongoing debate between wine academics and wine drinkers fills newspaper and magazine columns, while winery visits fill family weekends and tourist agendas. Wine is a highly visible strand of Australian export activity (much sexier than iron ore).

Quite why all this is not possible for France I don’t know; it can’t all be down to the publicity-constraining Loi Evin laws. Perhaps Emmanuel Macron (an accomplished blind taster and genuine wine lover) will change things; he did at least say, during his election campaign, that wine ‘should be a brilliant asset for spreading French influence’, as well as calling wine ‘a little poetical treasure’.

I hope he can visit Australia as soon as possible – to learn how a nation might actually enjoy producing wine.

What I’ve been drinking this month

I’m impressed with the Roussillon collection of Jean-Marc Lafage – a huge range, but very well made and well priced, including a fine white blend, La Grande Cuvée Blanc 2015, and a sour-cherry red from the less well-known zone of Les Aspres, Cuvée Léa 2015. Best of all, though, was the Château St Roch, Chimères 2015 from Maury, a joint-venture with US importer Eric Salomon: creamy blackberry scents and dramatic flavours with plenty of nerve, stone and sinew behind the ripely beguiling fruit.