Archeology through the Cellars of anothers time
(A guest post from Mr Daniel, another appreciator of fine wine in all its forms)
We all think we’re rational people, but let’s face it: any wine collector is a hardened gambler. All of us are bathed in the neon light of our wine fridge doors, ready to pull the lever; or studiously examining the form guide that looks a lot like a stocktake list; or perhaps throwing caution to the wind and reaching blindly into the stack as we bet it all on red once again.
Sometimes it’s a good bet. It’s the big paydays that carry us through to the next roll of the dice, the next gently levered cork and validate that this isn’t just a fluke – it’s an investment damnit.
It was in this frame of mind that on a warm summer Sunday evening I drew a card from the top shelf. The shelf where all the slightly (or sometimes grossly) larger than normal bottles have to go. The shelf that breaks from what I assume is the normal strictly regimented age progression. I won’t fight with you about whether the older bottles toward the top or down the bottom – this isn’t codified etiquette like making tea or hanging the toilet roll – you do you. But the weird and bloated ones, the sparkling wines and the fancy bell-shaped boutique jobs, they occupy the very top rack. It’s just a physical necessity.
“Sort of like Pretty Woman .... on that Hollywood street corner”
In this season of post-New Year torpor, punctuated only by The Day Job’s sordid intrusion into my meditations on the cure for self-induced holiday corpulence, I was searching for a classy lift. Sort of like Pretty Woman’s Julia Roberts on that Hollywood street corner, but with more willingness to actually take my pants off (I kid: they’d been off since midday). When this little number emerged from the cabinet I felt that I was in for an adventure:
Had I really kept this one around for so long? Well of course I had; I’m a terrible gambler because I hate risks and I usually wait too long before laying down my chips. But also because red sparkling is a funny beast. What’s the right occasion? If you’re not deliberately hosting a 70s themed fondue revivial or trying to insult a Frenchman I’m not quite sure. But it sure felt like the right decision on the night.
A little about the bottle itself. Cleggett Wine’s Sparkling Bronze Cabernet was produced by Cleggett Wines in Langhorne Creek, South Australia. I say was because I sadly discovered whilst writing this review that they closed their cellar door in late 2015 and then ceased business for good in May of 2017. Mr Habit and I visited the cellar door only once, in 2007, when it was to all appearances a suburban home and not the rather stylish premises they would later open. Our hosts engaged us with gracious enthusiasm, explaining the development of their range centred around two unique cabernet mutant varieties: the Malian bronze cabernet and the Shalistin white cabernet. While I’m sure the varieties are more fully described in the literature somewhere us Google mashers can read a snippet about the varieties here: https://www.vinodiversity.com/what-is-a-wine-variety.html
As a lifelong enthusiast and sometime practitioner of scientific endeavour I immediately warmed to their approach. No buried bovine horns with a sprinkling of bulldust under the full moon here, just straight up genetics, perseverance and the desire to contribute something unique. And on tasting it certainly was. I remember being struck by that momentary perplexity that strikes when you want to immediately box a thing up in a conveniently labelled package, but can’t. I mean, it says cabernet on the label, but it’s clearly different to that. No good pleading with any of the other reds for help, and with it’s warm rosy colour and hint of tannin promise any white variety comparisons feel like you just dropped an f-bomb at a christening. In any case we enjoyed our visit, made our purchases and left with sincere but apparently empty promises to return some day. Back to the present day I found the cork eased out of the neck smoothly but only the faintest of pops was to be heard: clearly the fizzy exuberance of youth had departed this bottle. An examination of the cork showed a prodigious accumulation of tartrate crystals.
Upon pouring I was pleased to see that the sparkle element was not completely absent: a few dignified bubbles broke the surface to let me know I shouldn’t take the lack of prodigious foam to be any sort of fault. The subdued effervescence also seemed commensurate with a pleasing thickness in the pour. The colour was much deeper than I expected – certainly nothing like a sparkling shiraz or (heavens help us) chambourcin, but richer than memory or pictures now archived online implied. A certain brown tinge in shallower sections of the glass seemed perfectly in keeping with either the ‘bronze’ moniker that had seemed so apt 10 years ago or a terrible failure of cellaring.
The nose was a ride through the lexicon of comfortable leather armchairs owned by doting grandfathers with pockets full of pipe tobacco. No need to worry about a crowd of imps with squirt guns trying to jam fresh raspberries up your nose here, the fruit that remained in the equation was all about luscious cherry compotes and brandied plums. In fact another couple of hefty inhalations made the fortified comparisons seem even more apt – the vapour was positively heady with alcoholic promise somewhere beyond the winemaker’s 13.5% stipulation.
On the palate the syrupy character promised by the pour was brought home with gusto. All pretence at a party pleasing bubbly had now departed, perhaps aside from a lingering sweetness designed for the Sunday afternoons of 2007. Now the rich complex flavours of the aged tannins dominated, bringing home the promise of that tantalising nose and engaging with a length you’d need time on the Hubble to appreciate.
Perhaps that’s a little extravagant, but perhaps you could blame that on the heady nature of the genie unleashed. Ms Dragonfly swore I was trying to dose her with port upon first taste, shortly before retiring with a full glass of her own to ‘properly investigate the phenomenon’.
Enjoyed over a couple of nights tinged with a mixture of triumph, nostalgia and a little sadness, this was a bottle that to me encapsulated the essence and joy of amateur wine collecting.
