1994 McGregor Vineyards Blaganta Ubhal Fion, Methode Champenoise Apple Wine.
Some of you may have noticed that I tend to go on a bit about… well, about everything really, but right now I’m talking about wine. More to the point, fine wine, and what that term even means. I’ve been accused, possibly accurately, of being a bit elitist when it comes to my ideals of fine wine. In other words; vinifera, and vinifera only, at least for the most part. I’ve come to this conclusion because I haven’t come across many non-vinifera wines that I thought would age. I’ve only tasted a couple that were old and still had something to say. This is one of those wines, a non-vinifera, non-grape, wine that could change a person’s mind about such things.
McGregor Vineyards sits on the west facing slopes on the east side of Keuka Lake. The ripeness they achieve with their wines from this particular location is somewhat remarkable. There are quite a few wineries on Keuka making riper than average wines, but most of them have vineyards in the “banana belt” of southeast Seneca. Perhaps there is a similar effect on southeast Keuka? Regardless, if you haven’t tasted through McGregor’s portfolio, you’re missing a sometimes-overlooked star of the Finger Lakes. Most fans of Finger Lakes wine have heard of Black Russian Red (now more accurately known as Saperavi Reserve) but all the wines are top notch, and many have the ability to age. Some of them age for a very, very long time indeed.
This particular wine is a traditional, or methode champenoise, wine made from apples. Yes, apples. That means that a lot of people don’t even consider it a true wine. No grapes, no wine. I don’t intend to go down the rabbit hole and contemplate the true nature of wine, that might take a book, I just want to pause and consider the chain of events that led to this wine’s existence. In 1994 McGregor vineyard had a lot of apple trees on the hill above the vines, and there was a bumper crop to boot. With an abundance of apples, and winemaking equipment at hand, an apple wine seems like a no brainer. But traditional method? You either know what that means, or you don’t. It’s too complicated to give proper time to here, although I highly recommend you read about it if you like sparkling wines. Suffice it to say, it’s both labor intensive and requires specialized equipment. It’s the way the finest champagne is made, as well as a lot of incredible Finger Lakes sparkling. But not apples. It’s crazy. It’s mad. It shouldn’t even exist, and that makes it incredibly interesting to me.
The base wine was made in 1994 and it sat forgotten in McGregor’s cellar until it was disgorged in 2013. That’s nineteen years on the lees, if you’re keeping track, and it was another four years before I discovered this wine. The sense of awe and wonderment at finding such a treasure hiding in plain sight? Let’s just say, I loved the idea of this wine before I ever tasted it. That someone could have had this almost unique notion, and then carried through on it. That I can experience the essence of a Finger Lakes apple orchard in the autumn of 1994. That I can open this alcoholic time capsule 28 years later, and still hear the whisper of the harvest. It really is a kind of miracle, the kind that might lie within any thoughtfully made bottle of wine – if you’re lucky, and if you pick the right moment to let the genie out.
So, how’s the wine, you ask? Well, let’s be a bit mundane for a moment and talk of sensory things. The wine has some cider notes, with a faint yeastiness that gives it a quality I might associate with a tank sample of hard cider, or a fresh baked apple pie, layered with complexity from some spice I can’t quite put my finger on. Apples yes, bruised apple in some bottles, although this one is still quite fresh, and those yeast notes that I mentioned… It’s a fascinating combination, and one I have a difficult time pondering. Nineteen years in tirage should have left those yeasty notes dominant, but these bottles were never stored on their sides, they spent those two decades upside down, which dialed them down to a mere caress. A whisper, as I’m so fond of saying. A whisper with import. You have to really listen to catch the tune. I can’t describe a wine like this without falling into metaphor and wistfulness. I suppose some of you are thinking, “Well, here goes Smith again, spewing out hyperbole and incessant positiveness”. I understand, really, I do. I get it. They can’t all be superlative wines that change the way you think and see the world. They are not, and I taste wines that aren’t like that all the time. I just don’t write about them. This is one of those wines, and it isn’t even made from grapes. If that’s not a head turner, I don’t know what is.
So, there you have it, a wine my brain really doesn’t know what to do with. Is it a one-off, a fluke, a happy accident, or a shot across the bow, a glimpse of other things that might be possible? I know this, I have spent quite a bit of time over the last five years contemplating this wine and, for all the bottle variation and different circumstances I’ve experienced it in, certain things have always come through: it is interesting, and it causes me to think. It’s from a producer that consistently makes excellent wines. And it’s old. It’s really old.
So, what is a fine wine? I think I can narrow it down to three main points.
First and foremost, it has to be interesting, it has to have something to say. At least until it drifts away into senescence, and maybe even then, when it’s way gone. And full disclosure, I do not find fruitiness particularly interesting.
Next, it has to be a wine that was created by someone who gave a damn. Who cares about the experience. Cares about the product, to be a bit crass. Someone who is not only giving it their all, but wants to get better, to get closer in, with every vintage. Does it show in the wine? I think so. Even more importantly, I want it to be so. It should be so, therefore it must be so. I want to believe.
Lastly, and this is where I’ve had trouble with the hybrids and natives, it has to be able to age. This is my definition, you’ll have your own, but it is the heart of the matter to me; it must have the ability to get more interesting over time. There are plenty of well-made simpler wines out there that are not appropriate for aging. They should be consumed promptly, in all their fruity deliciousness. I drink these wines as well, but they do not fit my definition of fine wine, because they do not linger and become more complex. There’s a lot of risk involved with cellaring a wine. Is it being stored correctly? Does it have the structure to carry it? Does it have the ability to remain interesting for a few years? Or a decade? Or two decades? Will it be vinegar? This game isn’t for everyone, but it is for me.
So, there’s my ode to a Finger Lakes wine unlike any other. I don’t suppose many of you will ever get the chance to taste it, although I might have a couple of bottles, lost in some dark corner, that I’d be happy to share as circumstances permit (I can’t really enjoy a bottle of wine unless I have at least one other human being to drink it with). But perhaps this is not a one-of-a-kind wine. Perhaps there are other treasures buried in some cellar, waiting to be discovered. Or even waiting to be created by some of the new rockstar winemakers in the region who don’t want to play by any rules. My radar is up and I’m on the lookout. Interesting, caring craftsmanship, ageability. This wine has it, I’m sure there are others. Happy hunting.