Michel Bettane and Brian Croser talk to Tim James about such matters as modernism and classicism, New and Old Worlds of wine, Robert Parker, ripeness and reactionaries

An epic confrontation: on my left, scoffing at outworn creeds, the brash Australian admirer of oak, over-ripeness and sunshine in a branded bottle; on my right, muttering of terroir and typicité, the conservative disparager of New World soullessness threatening the timeless values of France’s winemaking patrimony. Well, no; far from it. A potentially fruitful conflict that might be, but such crude stereotypes did not emerge in my interviews with Michel Bettane, frequently instanced as France’s foremost wine-writer and one of that countries most experienced wine critics, and Brian Croser, leading winemaker and wine-judge, one of the best-known figures in Australia’s wine world. Both were in South Africa as judges in the 2004 Fairbairn Capital Trophy Wine Show, but agreed to talk of wider issues. There was even the odd occasion when it was not quite clear who was from the New World, and who from the Old...

Old and new worlds

Neither man, in fact, likes the well-worn oppositional wine typology of New and Old Worlds. Michel Bettane finds it especially irrelevant for fine wines: ‘For me the rules for making wine of distinction are the same anywhere – from cultivation to bottling. The sense of origin has the same meaning from California to Hungary. Contact between winemakers from different countries helps the creation of an international ‘classicism’ for the best wines – that is, the wines from the best places.’

Brian Croser does make a categorical division, but prefers to base it on quality and approach rather than crude geography: on the one side he puts ‘branded commodity wines’, on the other wine which is ‘differentiated, more cerebral, always regionally and often site identified, this differentiation also often supported by the artisan winemaker and his techniques. This wine product is higher priced, mostly better quality, more complex, more interesting and serves a different purpose to branded commodity wine.’

Bettane amplifies his perception of a universal quality standard by referring to the universality of the market, and a general change in the consumer’s taste. ‘For the moment’, he suggests, ’the consumer prefers wines made with riper grapes, with more colour and alcohol, plentiful oak, and for white wines a small amount of residual sugar.’

The Parker principle

‘Is this change of taste an improvement or a regression?’ asks Bettane, and places himself firmly in the modernist camp: ‘I am unable to answer, because the acidic, sulphuric, pink and dry type is not my cup of tea!’ It is a suitable moment to ask about the American wine guru Robert Parker, credited by many supporters and detractors in France and beyond with wielding an enormous influence (for good or ill) over consumer taste and thus over the wine produced to meet it.

In a much-reported recent conflict centring on Parker’s and Jancis Robinson’s radically different responses to the quintessentially ‘new’-styled Bordeaux, Chateau Pavie 2003, Bettane has allied himself with those who admire the ultra-ripe wine (Robinson’s characterisation of it as ‘ridiculous’ bought about Parker’s attack on her and other ‘reactionaries’). I asked him about the conflict.

Bettane: ‘It is evident that there is an opposition between some English wine critics and others, not in political terms of reaction opposed to modernity, but on aesthetic grounds – that is, what is best for Bordeaux. The funny thing is that the debate begins with a six months old wine, still in cask, for a vintage which for the greatest wines needs 25 years before one can be sure of quality! Time will tell. And in this case I am not worried about the Pavie 2003, just as there was no reason to worry in 1948 about 1947 wines, with their high levels of volatile acidity, their 14-15° of alcohol, their residual sugar. But at that time there was no contention between American and English critics to dominate the world of wine expertise. (Thank you for asking the opinion of a poor Frenchie about a wine produced in his own country by long-term French people!)

As for Robert Parker’s influence on Bordeaux, it is absurd to imagine that anyone – even the most influential wine critic the world has known – can change the taste or the style of a proud and tradition-wedded wine region. In the case of Bordeaux, Parker’s personal taste matched that of [influential consultant] Michel Rolland, but he did not influence Rolland or any other grower. The change toward riper, more fruity wines is a natural one among the public. The greater concentration that Latour or Lafite show nowadays is the result of better cultivation, selection of grapes, and warmer vintages. Of course, Parker’s influence on prices for the more speculative wines (premiers grands crus, garagiste wines, etc) is considerable: but if this persists, it is only because the (rich) consumer likes this type of wine and will follow the judgment of a guy who tastes like he does!’

With even a ‘poor Frenchie’ revealing himself as a modernist, what response could be expected from one of the great architects of modern Australian wine, someone who has done as much as anyone to challenge the vinous dominance of France? As Croser points out in relation to the Parker-Robinson fracas, the actual wine in question is irrelevant: ‘the framework of the bigger debate is English claret versus “Parker wines”’, and he reveals a devotion to the former, and concern about the latter.

Croser: ‘What is inescapable is the global characterisation of a certain style of red wine as a “Parker wine”. Invariably that appellation is applied to a super-ripe wine of high alcohol content, big soupy sweet mouthfeel, precocious aromas and flavours, relatively muddy and opaque appearance, and often with the characters derived from “dead grapes”.'

‘The wine that will never be described as a ”Parker wine” is a wine of bright medium hue, crystal translucent in the glass, of restrained but complex, fresh and vibrant aroma, with the flavour of perfectly ripe but not over-ripe grapes, with enough mouthfeel but, more importantly, with great length and savoury finish. This is the definition of the English claret style which has established Bordeaux’s unequalled reputation for producing age-worthy wines. It doesn’t matter that Parker might well like and recommend some wines of that style – they will never be described by the wine fraternity as “Parker wines”. These are wines that belong to the long tradition of excellence wherever made (in Bordeaux, Burgundy, Australia, California, or South Africa), and are being discriminated against by the over-rewarding of “Parker wines” in wine shows, review tastings, at auction and, it seems, at “en primeur” tastings – and not even requiring the presence of Parker.'

‘The real issue is Parker’s failure to champion a balance of wines of intrinsic quality in relation to the monsters and the failure of wine shows and critics to reward real claret quality in comparative tastings where the showy wines tend to dominate.’

As for Parker’s influence on the Australian wine image in the US, Croser is clear: ‘Many of the wines which Parker rewards have been negociant/imported-devised wines with little presence in the discriminating Australian market, and which have been produced to a Parker-pleasing formula. Many are made from old shiraz vineyards in the Barossa Valley and McLaren Vale, vineyards of merit more because of their age than because of the distinction of site. These wines a generally produced from super-ripe grapes and have a sameness of sweet flavours, and are rarely less than 14% alcohol. That is one very restricted view of the Australian wine portfolio, and tends to pigeonhole the ultra-premium win image of Australia in the US.’

Minor pleasures

One problem I have with Croser’s formulation of a distinction between commodity wines and site-differentiated ones is that it implies that only ‘fine’ wines will reflect their origins, and that ‘serious’ winelovers must always aim high (and expensively) to find interest. One of the joys of French wine – and one terribly endangered by the onward march of brands – is the distinctiveness and charm of some of the ordinary regional wines – modest appellations such as Côtes-du-Rhône or Minervois, or the humbler parts of Bordeaux; it can be pretty poor stuff – but at its best, it offers an interest, a difference, a genuine character, that is far distant from the safe brand blandness of Kumala or Jacob’s Creek. In the New World onslaught on Old Europe, I asked, are these minor regions not worth defending as much as the grander ones?

But Croser won’t have this: ‘I certainly don’t maintain that discriminating consumers will only drink expensive regionally differentiated wines. Wine choice is driven by occasion as much as by consumer experience or knowledge. Knowledgeable consumers will drink both wine types depending on the demand of the occasion, except for the extremely wealthy or wine snobbish, whereas uninterested, casual, economically restricted consumers are probably not going to buy First Growths. The lesser regions of France you so like are still more expensive than Jacob’s Creek, and by their limitations of consistency between producers and vintages do not earn the trust of casual consumers; but their biggest problem is simply distribution and availability. No, they most definitely are not worth defending and they have to compete by the same rules as Australian or South African wine. Margaux and Hermitage do not need defence.’

The Frenchman acknowledges the problems, but is more sympathetic: ‘It is true than our good and even best vins de pays are in direct competition with the great brands from the New World. The great problem is the lack of reliability of this type of wine, with too great variation from one vintage to another and from one source to the other. The consumer has some right to ask for consistency at this price also – and it is difficult to find it with a country French (or Italian or Spanish) wine; they are too different from one bottle to another. But at their best the wines have a definition and a personality impossible to reach with a good brand. As for distribution, however, it is obvious that the strength of the marketing of a brand wins over the second division players from the countryside!’

Brands and varieties

Talking of brands, it has been widely pointed out that some of the internationally better known grape varieties (chardonnay and cabernet sauvignon in the lead) function in much the same way as brands in terms of consumer identification and expectations. The muscling into the international foreground of New World wines in recent decades – starting with California’s, followed by Australia’s huge successes in the 1980s and ’90s, with Chile, South Africa et al in their wake – this winning of consumer confidence has had varietalism as a component of the marketed package. So convincingly so, that there are cogent demands throughout France to be allowed to at least supplement the primary geographical appellation by a mention of the grape variety – thus giving the consumer a reassuring handle.

There is, of course, also vigorous opposition from some quarters. Is varietalism, I asked, a defeat for the principle of origin, of terroir, which has been the guiding principle of the appellation systems of classic Europe? Does the stress on varietalism inevitably diminish a popular interest in origins?

Croser does not find a problem: ‘Varietal labelling is simply providing basic information for consumers. Only apologists for outmoded traditions don’t believe there is a basic genetic hierarchy of varieties. The occasional great grenache, carignan and (dare I say?) chenin or pinotage does not change the genetic rules meaning that, in adequate conditions with adequate viticulture, these and many other varieties usually produce less than adequate wine. And, yes, cabernet in certain places can be horrible as an example of noble varieties behaving badly. Inadequate conditions and inadequate viticulture can turn the noble ignoble.’

Varietal labelling will even come to help reinforce regionality, suggests Croser, ‘because of the synergies between region and variety or varieties. For example, when consumers pay top dollar for riesling in Australia, they expect the region to be Clare, Eden Valley or Mount Barker in Western Australia. Similarly with cabernet and merlot from Coonawarra or Margaret River. It is recognition of this nexus between variety and region that will drive the next stage of evolution of our respective industries.’

For Bettane, too, ‘There is no contradiction between the indication of origin and the indication of the grape, even if in the French philosophy the grape must express origin as well as it possibly can. When you have both front and back labels, it is easy to indicate on the first the origin and on the second the grape! If indicating the grape is necessary to inform foreign wine drinkers, or simply because it is the way they relate to wine, I see no good or valid reason to oppose it. The internal French debate on this point seems to me stupidity.’

Bettane does point out a potential double danger for good or great wines in ‘the varietal philosophy’. First, ‘the domination of two or three varieties (notably chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon, syrah), even in places where a great number of interesting grapes would be better suited to the particular soils or micro-climates’. And, secondly, ‘the idea than the grape defines the type of a wine – and has a character that the wine-drinker should memorise and love to recognise in every bottle from every place and every vintage. This is a terrible simplification of taste, and the only way to avoid this perversion is to encourage recognition of the many excellent but less well known varieties.’

Bettane on the New World

What do these two passionate wine-lovers think of the wines of each other’s country, I wondered.

Bettane: ‘I have to say I do not know Australian wines well, simply because their distribution in France is limited, Australia is far away – and there is more than enough wine from France and its neighbours to provide full-time tasting for someone with only one nose, two arms and a desire to survive as long as possible! When I visited Australia some years ago I liked the new wave of wine-making, less addicted to oak, trying to use wild yeasts and the least possible additions of tartaric acid. I was, of course, impressed by the biggest syrahs from Barossa and the best sémillon (surprisingly low in alcohol) from Hunter Valley, but really this is not the type of wine I like to drink where I live. My favourite type of Australian wine was from Cullen in Margaret River, because of some European background in their philosophy. Anyway, I will never make any generalisations about a country’s wines, because I know that any great wine is by definition an individual and exceptional creation!’

If Croser seems to have little time for the humbler reaches of France and their vins de pays, his attitude to the country’s finest appellations is very different: ‘I admire great Bordeaux, Rhône and Burgundy of finesse and length and complexity, and have a special place for the wines of Alsace, especially the lean and austere rieslings off the hard rock sites and the luscious gewürztraminers off the volcanic and soft rock sites. That’s what is fascinating about Alsace, the opportunity to compare a suite of wonderful varieties from a range of geologies and exposures.’

The typical New World demand for, above all, clean and pure wines then comes raging forward from Croser, as he attacks a defence sometimes put forward of ‘traditional wine-making’: ‘When a French wine is described as having “typicity” my heart sinks. Usually it is the description given by a conditioned consumer making an excuse for an inferior variety or mix of varieties, made in the fashion of the region that has been born of the lack of resource or technology to improve the taste and more often than not comes from a cooperative. There are many wines of the south of France that answer this description and if the taste is so special to the tradition of France let the French drink them. The great wines of France are self evidently typical of their site and region and are never described as having “typicity”.’

Learning from each other

New World wines (using the description in a purely geographical sense; Croser points out that ‘southern hemisphere’ would better reflect the shifting of production to the south) are, worldwide, on the march, gaining market share everywhere – though rarely, perhaps, achieving the commanding heights of quality. What are the lessons here?

Bettane lists some of the important things that the French have to learn from New World:

• ‘How to make a good wine with young vines: we are lucky to have a lot of old vines but this stops us from really giving young vines their chance, because we are stupid, stubborn and snobbish! In the best Bordeaux estates they have three levels of wine, simply to avoid putting the wine from young vines even under the second label. In South Africa and New Zealand, for example, I have tasted expensive wines – and very good ones – from vines only five or six years old.

• ‘How to be free enough to try new grapes, new technical devices and experiments, and imagine we can do even better.

• ‘How to sell and market a bottle and a label.

• ‘How to respect the consumer, and the needs of retailers, restaurants, and other buyers.’

Croser is well known for insisting that Australian winemakers must beware of limiting their focus and being ‘intent only on feeding the maw of the market with blended wine sourced from vineyards, anywhere and everywhere on the continent of Australia, marketed and blended to eliminate any attribute worthy of thought or conversation other than “it’s good value for money”’. Consumers around the world must, he is convinced, learn that Australia already offers much more than this. His response to the question of what can be learnt by whom was, unsurprisingly, carefully nuanced, and from a double perspective:

‘France will continue to lose volume share of world markets because of the increasing discrimination of consumers, the economic and standardised quality advantage of the southern hemisphere winemakers and the inability of the French cooperative-based volume production industry to adapt. They will not lose their share of the economic benefit of world markets (profitability), without serious effort from the New World to match the French use of site (viticultural excellence), and their dedicated promotion of the differentiation achieved through “distinguished sites”. The French are likely to gain share of the high quality, high profitability segment of global markets. Loss of volume share has implications for the rural fabric of France, and this fact dominates the economic agenda, at the expense of clear thinking about France’s competitive advantages.’

South Africa in the world

Especially given the doubts expressed by both Bettane and Croser about the usefulness of a New/Old World distinction, I wondered how they felt about the often-expressed idea that South African wine is, at its best, something of a cross between New and Old World styles. Brian Croser would have none of this:

‘This is an affectation or, worse, a delusion. The implication is that somehow South Africa achieves some of the best of each. As with Bernard Shaw and Marilyn Monroe the child might achieve the worst of each. South African wine is a product of that part of the old Gondwanaland geology and the climate created by the junction of three, not two, oceans, probably the most influential of which is the Indian. South African wine is just that, but has more in common for me with the wines of the Margaret River region in Western Australia than any other. Making phenolic chenin blanc and over-extracted cabernets doesn’t make wine more like that of France – it just makes it worse than it should be. The best South African wines are bright and fruity representatives of the unique viticultural environment, and are world class.’

Michel Bettane seems more inclined to consider the proposition, within his own concern for the both the expression of terroir and the universal connectedness of wine:

‘It is true that the best South Africa wines have an old Europe flair in their construction and taste, simply because as I said above, great wines anywhere are members of the same family. Balance, refinement of texture, complexity of flavour, blend of varieties, correct use of oak are indispensable features of any elegant wine; and good exposure, poor soil, aromatic ripening (long cycle more than short cycle) are necessary to achieve all of these, as they are in the best places in France. Many South African winemakers are European by origin and inclination, even if they have the freedom and generosity (a lot of space!) of the New World, and their wines reflect this double link. However, overcharged oaky, buttery chardonnays, or the barnyard heavy pinotage, are simply bullshit and have nothing to do with the splendid landscapes and conditions of production created by nature in South Africa.’