In and out of love with chardonnay

Chris Williams talks about an enduring but problematic relationship

I have enjoyed (and endured) a long, on again, off again love affair with chardonnay. As a new wine lover in South Africa in the late 1980s, when  South African chardonnay first came onto the scene, I was one of  the multitudes who was thrilled and seduced by the big, bold flavours of a creamy, buttery, toasty and citrusy chardonnay. Here was a white variety that was opulent, rich and easily identifiable. The obvious toasty oak and ripe tropical fruit of a competently grown  and made chardonnay had instant appeal, especially when all that was on offer at the time were some pretty green reds, sulphurous and sweet chenins and searingly acid sauvignons. A new dawn had begun, the age of chardonnay.

The problem with those big, obvious flavours is that I soon tired of them. Many of the wines evolved very quickly into sickly, flabby and oxidative chardonnays. Improvements in sauvignon blanc soon followed and many wine lovers defected to its fresh, crisp food-friendly flavours. Since then many pundits predicted the death of Chardonnay. The ABC (Anything But Chardonnay) club was born, and the ‘alternative variety’ revolution began, including the Rhone Rangers. The riesling renaissance dates from this period as well.

The funny thing is though, sales of chardonnay continued to increase. It became available in bag-in-box and was the restaurant house wine of choice in the USA. The Aussies launched their assault onto the world market, their main weapons being cabernet-shiraz blends (remember those) and containers of big, ripe, fruity and oak chip-fermented chard. Cabernet shiraz may have all but disappeared, but chardonnay lives on, with plantings increasing all over the world more than any other single variety.

Restauranteurs love it, consumers love it and even growers and winemakers love it. The question is, why?

Chardonnay is occasionally referred to as ‘the weed’ by some people in the trade. It is happy to grow almost anywhere, is resistant to most of the maladies of the vine, reliably produces decent-size crops, and gets a good price. The strange thing about it is that it is a relatively neutral variety on its own, with little or no varietal aroma or taste apart from the vague lemon and honey flavours. But use some good oak, an aromatic yeast and some lees work and chardonnay blossoms in the cellar. It is often referred to as a winemaker’s grape rather than a grower’s one, because most of its character is developed in the cellar.

However, plant the right clone in the right spot, restrict the yield and chardonnay starts to become something totally different. Grown in the continental cold-in winter, warm-in summer climate of Burgundy on the clay-limestone marl soils of the Côte de Beaune, and lovingly fermented and matured in the best tight grain French oak barrels, chardonnay becomes a fantastically delicious and serious wine. Apart from the typical lemony, creamy flavours that it develops elsewhere, these bwhite burgundies are very responsive to their terroir, and a pronounced minerality – which can only be likened to wet river stones or struck flint – begins to emerge in the wine. Depending on where it grows, they also exhibit an oatmeal, cookie-dough yeastiness, similar to champagne. They have a bright, fresh acidity and malolactic fermentation gives the wine a breadth and richness which perfectly balances the freshness. These wines are a superb partner to seafood or simply as an aperitif on their own.

Unwilling seduction

A few years ago I  fell out of love with chardonnay. I was tired of making it and bored  by drinking it. I started trying a whole spectrum of new varieties: viognier, grüner veltliner, riesling, pinot gris, pinot blanc, the list goes on. Happily, all those varieties have found a permanent place in my cellar and I enjoy them when paired with fine food.

But chardonnay seems to have crept back into my favour, and every now and then I find myself fantasizing about a beautiful long-stemmed glass of green-yellow hued chardonnay. Small droplets of condensation form on the outside of the glass and the wine has the colour and vivacity of something that is almost glowing with life. The nose is the familiar creamy-lemony character that is so easy to identify. The taste is cool, fresh, rich and taut and somehow more quenching than spring water. The flavours fan out on the palate and temporarily colonise the entire organoleptic  experience. It is a big, friendly familiar wine with no sullen complications, just pure satisfaction.