January 25 2010
Listen to a wine aficionado for long enough and you’ll encounter a loving soliloquy about the joys of Riesling. Likewise, if you listen to the same person for a period of time you’ll likely hear a scathing rant about wines that are anything but bone dry, having a hint of residual sugar.
For the life of me, I can’t reconcile why some (most?) wine enthusiasts have opposing views about the same thing – sweetness in wine.
This contradiction in action is only equaled in propensity by the same wine aficionado paying lip service to welcoming one and all to the world of wine while waxing philosophic about the allocated Pinot that only he and 498 other people have access to, but I digress …
If I had to make a guess about this seemingly contradictory view of wine with residual sugar, I’d posit that it’s not actually sweetness in wine that offends a wine enthusiast’s sensibility it’s the dishonesty in the respective types of wine.
I think.
A Riesling is classically defined with varying sweetness levels while a Cabernet, for example, is “supposed” to be dry.
In the unspoken view of the wine aficionado, a wine that is historically supposed to be sweet is okay. A wine that is supposed to be dry (but isn’t) is deemed as some sort of pandering to the palate preferences of unsophisticated Americans weaned on Coca-Cola.
I think.
To me, this is a mildly unexplainable mystery equivalent to Chicago Cubs World Series curses and the allure of the Twilight book series, but I think it comes down to inherent honesty in what a wine is supposed to be, or says it is.
Personally speaking, I hold no grudges against any type of wine with residual sugar. Live and let live, I say. I like Lambrusco, I can get down with Prosecco, I certainly enjoy Riesling, I believe dessert wines are an under-acknowledged part of wine appreciation and I live in the Midwest where every regional winery has a cordial-style fruit wine. In my worldview, even Yellowtail serves a purpose as a gateway wine.
Given my laissez-faire view, it should come as no surprise that I really enjoyed Jam Jar Shiraz with no hint of malice towards its demi-sec style.
Jam Jar is a newly imported South African wine that is unabashedly semi-sweet and labeled as such.
According to the web site:
Jam Jar Sweet Shiraz was born out of the realization that there are not a lot of options available to consumers seeking quality sweet red wine. This fresh, fruity, semi-sweet Shiraz aims to fill that void. Most of the grapes are grown in Paarl, a region with a Rhône-like climate that is ideal for Shiraz cultivation, and production is overseen by critically acclaimed winemaker Bruwer Raats. The brand’s packaging has a nostalgic, “retro” feel inspired by classic red and white checkered jam jar lids.
It makes perfect sense. In American wine culture, many people traverse a gauntlet of wine appreciation by first going through soft wines – a little bit of sweetness and not a lot of oak. Mostly these are white wines, with few red wine options. Jam Jar serves to address this intrepid wine audience by giving them a varietal red wine that is balanced with acidity while being a whole lot of fun as a quaffer that can pair with a burger or stand-alone.
My Mom would love Jam Jar. My wife tried it and gave it thumbs up. Neither of these self-identified wine drinkers deserves ridicule.
If I were a betting man, I would guess Jam Jar has a bright future as a wine that hits a niche at the right time in the right way.
No less a wine enthusiast than Thomas Jefferson said, “Honesty is the first chapter of the book of wisdom.” Jam Jar Shiraz calls itself, “simple, pure and honest.”
Taken together that honesty is a lesson (and wisdom) some wine enthusiasts could learn, as well.
Posted in, Good Grape Daily: Pomace & Lees. Permalink | Comments (4) |
Honesty is what makes this wine. It is exactly what is states itself to be, as you so carefully point out. I think this wine is going to surprise and win over more than a few so-called aficionados. First, it is elegant and never cloying (I do not detect any imbalance in the acidity). Secondly, there are so many foods that this wine will complement. I am too tired of opting for beer to complement spiced and intense foods that would overpower the sweeter whites. Barbecue anyone? Vietnamese beef? Caribbean Pork? You name it, this wine steps up to where no one else would dare.
Most of all, though, this is iconoclastic wine that just simply asks to be enjoyed. If it can toss a few sweet gobs of jam at into the eyes of wine imperialists and score one for the proletariat, then more power to it!
As a sweet white wine drinker, I’ve been on a quest for a red wine that suites my tastes. I was thrilled when I came across Jam Jar. I’ve also found that those who don’t typically opt for sweet have an appreciation for this wine. I agree it has a bright future ahead, and am happy I now have my go-to red.
Jeff,
Re, sweetness: With the exception of purposely produced premium dessert wines, I’d guess that most wines that taste sweet taste that way not because of their sweetness but because of their lack of balance.
I’ve said this before, and only two days ago on another blog: sweet is not the opposite of dry.
Sweet is a taste; dry is a sensation.
If you want to learn what I’m talking about add three teaspoons of sugar to 4 ounces of water and taste the sweetness; then, add three eye-drops of lemon juice and taste; continue to add lemon and taste until you reach an equilibrium or until you’ve gone out of balance to tart.
You didn’t remove any sugar but the water seemed “drier and drier” along the way, until it tasted tart.
Most sweetness in table wines on the market is there to give over the simplest, least complex taste experience to the consumer and that often means the wine is out of balance.
Pooh-poohing such sweet wine just might have a point to it. The reason Riesling gets a pass is because that varietal wine often comes with balanced sugars and acids/pH. The grape almost hands winemakers that balance naturally, which is why it is the Noble wine grape.
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I’ve tried it. It’s an acquired taste (to me, anyway). Starts off not-too-shabby but I quickly found it acerbic after a few sips, which struck me as kind of odd.