Purple prose and green wine    15 October 2007

Backlabels usually contain even more nonsense than winewriters' descriptions of wine, suggests Tim James in his latest Noseweek article

During their miserable summer, the Brits have been sadly learning that climate change has some unexpected jokes up its sleeve, and doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll be able to take their shorts off in Hyde Park more often, or grow shiraz on the Sussex downs. Meanwhile, we in the Cape winelands have also been having a lot of rain and cold – which, seeing as it’s winter here, is great for the vines: it allows them to get a good rest before the hard work of summer. Just so long as it ends sometime; writing this in early September there’s no sign of it doing so, and I can’t bring myself to sing my usual September song about all being well and happy in the vineyards, cellars and retail outlets. The song must be postponed; like spring.

So, let’s turn to things of the mind. Have you read any good back-labels recently? It sometimes seems unfair that we winewriters should get mocked and excoriated for our descriptions of wine. It’s usually the producers and their marketers who do the real damage to language’s fragile reputation as a tool in the service of truth. Sometimes, though, I also quail when confronted with some of the lurid nonsense that substitutes for a vaguely useful wine description.

Tahe this purple nonsense from a recent edition of the mostly sober Platter Guide: “beautiful flesh resting in sumptuous folds of powdery tannin, fine-toned structure reverberates with finesse”. It’s just a damn Merlot at issue, though the piled-up metaphors and sensuality summon up an image of what the muscular hero might expect to find when bursting in on a swooning heroine’s boudoir in classic Mills and Boone style. We can, I suppose, gather that it’s quite a nice Merlot, but I wonder if we know any more than that – especially as sumptuous folds and reverberating flesh surely suggest something other than the usual idea of finesse.

Nonetheless, apart from such desperate flights of fancy, wine writers usually try to justify their dubious calling by being semi-informative. Many of them are not actually paid to be flattering about a wine even when it shouldn’t be admitted to decent company, or decent mouths, while writers of the average back label are, I suppose, trying to justify their dubious caling by telling lies, if that’s what’s needed to prompt a sale.

That’s why we get so many backlabels hauling out the same whimperingly exhausted clichés, to obscure the reality of their dull little commercial blends – though the same descriptions only too often serve fine wines too. All winemakers in the world of such prose are passionate, all grapes are picked at optimum ripeness and reflect the glories of their portion of soil and landscape. The wine will mature well, but of course it’s delicious right now, and the perfect accompanient to everything from pizza to roast beef, taking in chicken and sushi on the way. When really the dish that would serve it best might well be vindaloo curry, or thousand year old eggs.

In comparison with such exhausted pretentiousness it’s refreshing to see the mocking deflation on the back labels of the Versus wines, that lower-priced range in white, red and pink. On the Red, for example, we find: “This is where they usually put those really pretentious descriptions of nutty overtones and aromas of old leather sandals. We'd rather you just enjoyed the warm and uncomplicated flavours of this wine.” On the White: “This is the bit where they tell you what the wine tastes like and what your should eat with it. Does anyone ever read that stuff? So just enjoy the wonderfully uncomplicated Versus White.”

There’s another good thing about Versus (and it’s not the producer’s name, which is The Company of Wine People and the arch, self-conscious tweeness always makes me shudder, especially when it has, as they prefer, no capital letters). The wine is now going to come in nicely designed two-litre pouches, so much more chic than cardboard boxes (isn’t it?).

The handle on the pouch makes it easy to carry, it’s light and space-saving (easy to squeeze into a picnic basket or a shopping bag), the tap seems to work – and the producers say its leakproof. Most important, the contents can be recommended as pretty good, and as really good value.

To add to all this. The funky packaging means, acording to the producers, a much lower carbon footprint and much less wastage than two glass bottles would – so drink away, and help improve English summers and Cape winters.