Twice a year I help to organise a wine dinner for a group of friends. For the next one, in Paris, my job is to bring the sweet wines and a selection of Grenaches. In preparation, I looked at what I have in bond and had a selection delivered to my house. Coravin in hand, I set to work.
A three-vintage selection of Domaine Huet Vouvray Moelleux sorted the stickies in minutes. The reds were trickier. I lined up two Châteauneuf-du-Papes, a Gigondas and a Cannonau Di Sardegna, all of which were at least 10 years old. One – a 2009 Le Vieux Donjon – was delicious. The others were “stuffed” as they like to say in Australia. I’d kept them all too long, paying storage costs to hang on to wines that were well past their best.
My experience got me thinking about old wines in general. Why do we keep them? What do we expect when we pull the cork? Is it a way of indulging the British tendency to covet disappointment? I’m an enthusiastic member of the DIY (Drink It Young) club, but even I must admit that the majority of the most memorable wines I’ve drunk over the past 40 years have been mature ones.
Old wines can be supremely enjoyable and come with an extra cachet if they are rare. On occasion, there’s a degree of self-satisfaction, even humble bragging, involved, which is why people are so quick to share their experiences on Instagram. But can they teach us something? Do they make us more informed tasters?
I’ve attended a couple of tastings in the last month that have done just that. The first was a vertical of 20 years of Palladius, the top white from South Africa’s most accomplished winemaker, Eben Sadie, right back to 2003, put on by Berry Brothers.
Inspired by Sadie’s love of white Rhônes and his time in Priorat, Palladius was the first Mediterranean Cape blend. “I was almost stoned for doing it,” he remembers. The early vintages were patchy, but it was fascinating to see the blend and Eben’s approach evolve with the years. At the start, it contained Chenin Blanc, Chardonnay, Grenache Blanc and Viognier and 25% new wood. Little by little, other, mostly more acidic grapes were added: Clairette Blanche (2007), Verdelho (2011), Marsanne (2014), Colombard (2015), Picpoul, Vermentino, Grillo and Cinsault Blanc (2019) and Assyrtiko (2021). From 2014, Eben did away with barrels. Today Palladius is a sublime, 14-variety assemblage.
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Evolving process
The tasting was educational because it allowed us to follow the palate and evolving thought process of one the world’s most talented winemakers. It gave us a glimpse into what Sadie calls “a deeper sense of time”. The early years, as I’ve said, were hit and miss. The most recent vintage – the 2023 – is the best and most complex Palladius yet.
The second tasting was a very different occasion, put on by Pedro Peciña in Logroño. As well as making wine under his own El Vino Pródigo label, Pedro buys and sells venerable bottles of mostly Spanish wine from restaurants, collectors, the widowed and distressed bodegas as part of his La Guarida del Pródigo business. For years, he’s been offering to open a few of them for me. Last week, he made good on the promise, lining up more than 20 bottles from Rioja, Ribera del Duero, Jerez, Navarra and the Napa Valley.
Given that Pedro lives and works in the region – and has good connections there – three-quarters of the wines were from Rioja, right back to a Viña Pomal 1953. Among other things, we tasted a CVNE Imperial 1962, a Rioja Alta 904 1968, a Muga Prado Enea 1969, a López de Heredia Viña Bosconia 1973, a Marqués de Riscal 1981, a Marqués de Murrieta 1982, a Remelluri 1983 and a Viña Real 1987. The quality of these older wines was very high, only let down by the occasional faulty cork and one instance of brett. No other region in the world, not even Burgundy, could match the complexity and longevity on show.
But what really made the tasting so special was the discussion among the nine people who were privileged to attend. All of us know a lot about Rioja, but no one was attempting to boast or show off about that knowledge. We wanted to understand the vintages, the house styles, the blends and the way Rioja has changed in the intervening years. Old wines can be great, but it’s the people you share them with that really matter.