So, with the 2012 BAFTA film awards almost upon us here are my recommendations of what wine to drink with each movie nominated for Best Film and Outstanding British Film.

The Artist

Nostalgic, playful, elegant and lean – it’s not a complicated story, but charmingly executed.  My perfect match would be a classic steely Chablis that dances on your tongue, and makes you feel alive and happy.

The Descendants

An absorbing story set on Hawaii, about a man who has taken a back seat bringing up his daughters and now has to take the lead. This demands something lush, smooth and tropical, such as a ripe New World Viognier.

Drive

Violent maybe, but this film about an enigmatic, taciturn outsider has divided audiences. Only a natural wine will do.  Something unfiltered, unfined, funky and on the edge. Given that there is quite a bit blood, maybe a red would be best.

The Help

A film about prejudice, both racial and class, needs a wine that is looked down on, ignored and thought of as third rate. So how about a Bulgarian, Greek or Turkish wine?  You’ll be amazed at the quality that is now exported. It’s just a shame there’s not more.

Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy

Whisky might be the most apt drink for this shadowy film full of smoke and subterfuge. But this piece is about wine, so I am plumping for Claret. Nothing too posh. Just something the old boy network would have knocked back at the club in the 70s.

My Week With Marilyn

Two words. Pink fizz. Preferably Champagne. But, since this is about Miss Monroe filming in the UK, an English sparking rosé will do just fine. There is a rule though. It can only be drunk out of a coupe glass. Giggling, sulking and drug addiction is optional.

Senna

You could make like a racing driver and grab yourself a Jeroboam of Champagne. Or you could drink some Brazilian wine in solidarity. If you can find any. I’d plump for something fast and focused like a Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire in France or Northern Italy.

We Need To Talk About Kevin

Not the easiest of films to watch, this needs something dark, challenging and hard to bond with. How about a cheap, young, astringent Carignan from the south of France, full of bitter tannins and tough to love. Like children, Carignan can turn out nicely. Or it can be murder to drink.

Shame

If only Yalumba’s René Pogel was still on sale (read it backwards, people). Sadly, it’s not. So instead, why not choose a wine you should feel ashamed to order in public. White Zinfandel. The wine world’s happy, sugary accident. I don’t care who drinks it behind closed doors. So long as they keep their dirty little secret to themselves, ok?

So, while magazines are full of soups, salads and “light food”, I’m going to buck the trend and write about Kinky Friedman-style big, hairy steaks matched with ballsy red wine. Argentinian Malbec to be precise.

It’s fair to say I’ve always been a little bit “meh” about how the South Americans treat this grape. I’ve had plenty of pleasant Malbecs, don’t get me wrong – but nothing yet has really rocked my world, even at the higher end.

Big, Dark and Smooth

That said, at the lower price range, they’re one of my default wines when I eat out with friends, where we don’t want to spend too much and can’t see anything else suitable on the list. I always know what I am going to get. Something big, dark, smooth and reliable. Ditto if I want something simple and easy to drink with a hearty winter stew. These Malbecs tend to be unchallenging, uniform and formulaic.

Which is a good thing or a bad thing depending on your viewpoint – and how much you expect a wine just under £8 (retail) to deliver. For a Malbec, if you take off duty and tax, plus marketing, bottling and shipping costs and you’re probably paying around £3 for the wine itself, and the labour that went into making it. About the same as a lunchtime sandwich.

When Grupo Codorníu offered me a bottle of Septima Malbec 2010 to review, along with two doorstop-sized Argentinean steaks, I thought I’d put a handful of Malbecs to the test in roughly the same price range . As I was in a gale-lashed Cornwall at the time, my choices were limited to a Co-op Fairtrade Malbec Argentine Reserva 2010 and Viñalba Malbec 2010, also bought at the Co-op.

Not Quite as Planned

Unfortunately, this particular bottle of Viñalba was faulty (I’ve had one before which was fine). It smelt of fish food and had a lit match taste  - which can be a by-product of too much sulphur dioxide, which is commonly used in winemaking. We poured some of the Malbec away and stuck the cork back into the bottle. The next day it was quite drinkable – simple, solid flavours of plums and cocoa, and no oak. Sadly, it was too late for the steak. At £6.49, it’s decent.

Next came the Co-op’s own label Fairtrade Malbec Argentine Reserva 2010 for £7.49. It had an intense red cherry and crystallised violet taste with an odd, dried apricot finish. It just lacked depth, but was ok with the steak. What was interesting about this Malbec (and others in the range) was the honesty in which it listed all the ingredients of the wine in the back.  A great eye opener to those who believe you shouldn’t pay very much for a wine – but would baulk at buying processed food. Oak chips and added tannins anyone?

Finally, the Septima Malbec (£7.49 Wine Rack). A weighty beast with a meaty, jammy smell, I was surprised – and pleased – at the amount of acidity I could feel, and the green, stalky edge which gave another dimension to the dark cherry, boot polish and oak-induced spiciness. It stood up well to the juicy steaks, the protein in the meat making the wine taste more of summer fruits.

The steaks themselves were butter-soft, and almost fell apart on knife contact . However, while the texture was fabulous, they didn’t have heaps of flavour.

I regretted not having to hand a bottle of The Wine Society’s Argentine Malbec (£6.50) which is still full-bodied but doesn’t feel too weighty and has sharp, prominent flavours of black fruits. Also the 2011 Finca Los Primos Malbec (approx £8.99 from various independent retailers) with similar focused fruit.

As it was, the Septima Malbec won this tiny, highly unscientific, not very successful taste-off. And for the moment, I’m still a bit “meh” about most Argentinian Malbec. Unless it is with a hairy steak.

We pull into the courtyard of a two-story villa. It is dark and quiet, save for a dog or two barking in the distance and there is the smell of woodsmoke in the chilly air. Waiting for us is Lucia Barzanò, and we are at Il Mosnel, one of the first wineries to start producing Franciacorta in the late 1960s.

Lucia, who runs Il Mosnel with her brother Giulio, guides us into a room with a roaring fire. Giulio joins us and we are handed glasses of the 100% Chardonnay 2006 Extra Brut EBB named after their mother Emanuela Barboglio, who planted the vineyards that now produce its seven different types of Franciacorta (though it has produced other wines since 1836).

After a quick introduction and trot through the cellars, we go upstairs for canapes and some non vintage pas dosé, made from Chardonnay and Pinot Blanc (Bianco) and a touch of Pinot Noir (Nero), the three grapes allowed to make Franciacorta.

Equal but Different

Like Champagne, Franciacorta is made from a still base wine that is fermented for a second time in the bottle. After this fermentation, the wine sits on the dead yeast (the lees) for a number of months, according to regional wine laws and the style the producer wants to achieve. Lees give an added depth and dimension to wines. The process of then removing the lees is called disgorgement. As some of the liquid is lost in this process, a small amount of base wine is added, along with some liquid sugar for taste and balance. Pas dosé means only base wine is added. In Champagne it is called zero dosage or brut nature.

While I find the latter can be austere to drink without food, the Franciacorta pas dosés I’ve tasted feel easier and refreshing to sip on their own. A lot of this will be down to the ripeness of the grapes – Brescia has a warmer and more moderate climate than Northern France. Perhaps too it’s the addition of Pinot Blanc, which you don’t find in Champagne. Producers are also fanatical about letting their wines sit on lees, sometimes for far longer than is required by law (and beating the minimum required for non-vintage Champagne).

According to Tilli Rizzo, of producer Fratelli Berlucchi, pas dosé is the true expression of Franciacorta. ”I think this is the real Franciacorta. It tastes like the wine it was made from,” she told me at a small tasting at Vini Italiani in London. Fratelli Berlucchi makes 10,000 bottles a year for a “small slice of customers” mainly in Italy. “It’s dry and not so easy to drink,” she added, meaning many people preferred something more rounded. However, I think the lemon and zinc purity of the Fratelli Berlucchi 2007 pas dosé, with its thin ribbon of softness and it tart green apple skin finish, would appeal to quite a few people I know.

Sumptuous Satèn

If pas dosé is still too hardcore for you, then Franciacorta comes in styles of ranging from extra brut, through to rosé and, perhaps the trump card, satèn. While satèn is made primarily from Chardonnay, though some Pinot Blanc is allowed, it is quite unlike a Champagne blanc de blancs. The amount of sugar added (with yeast) to kick start the second fermentation is lower than usual – even lower than pas dosé. As a result the carbon dioxide pressure is reduced, which gives it a satin mouthfeel. Hence the name. The ones I tried in Brescia, at a tasting prior to the Il Mosnel dinner, felt gloriously sumptuous in texture.

The problem with Franciacorta, as with other sparkling wines made in the traditional method, is that always gets compared with Champagne. People are happy to drink a substitute if it is cheaper. But Franciacorta retails in the UK at a similar price point to Champagne, often higher than discounted or supermarket branded ones, but it lacks the legacy and cachet, and sometimes the quality. It only got DOCG status in 1995.

Prosecco Problems

There’s another problem. Italian sparkling wine in many export markets is now synonymous with Prosecco, made from the Glera grape. With Prosecco, the second fermentation takes place in a tank and it is bottled and sold soon after. There are exceptions of course. But generally it is a lighter, fruitier wine than either Champagne or Franciacorta.

Which frustrates Franciacorta producers like Matteo Gazziero from Borgo La Gallinaccia, who shared our table at Il Mosnel and we drank his Franciacorta with dinner. With production of Prosecco set to grow fivefold, trying to set Franciacorta apart from this ubiquitous fizz will become an even tougher challenge.

I’ll be doing my bit this Christmas though. I’ll be opening a bottle of Ca’ del Bosco Cuvée Prestige. Made primarily from Chardonnay, and spending more than two years on its lees, this Franciacorta has a brioche and caramel depth, brought up sharply by a tangy citrus finish. Luxurious and undemanding, it’s my perfect drink to accompany the opening of presents. And giving them… of course!

Footnote

I attended the dinner at Il Mosnel as part of the EWBC conference. The chef was Stefano Cerveni from the Michelin-starred restaurant Due Colombe. Dark violet potatoes with bright coral prawns and an off-white creamy, sour sauce and a saffron risotto with ribbons of melted burrata and a licorice kick were the two dishes which stood out, not only because of their combination of flavours but their stunning colours.

I don’t mean that 37 of its stores were saved from administration. That’s, like, old news innit. I mean its shelves are filling up with wine again. Interesting, good value wines, some which are exclusive to Oddbins.

Take the Casa Lluch Blanco  2010 from Valencia in Spain, made from a local grape called Verdil.

Apparently, this is not the world’s most exciting grape. Nevertheless, the producer Bodegas Enguera has turned out an appealing, lightly aromatic fresh apricot and raw almond wine with a creamy roundness and a spicy tingle. It’s not seen any oak, even if it feels like it might have brushed past a barrel. Oh, and the grapes are organic.

For £8 this is a nice white wine for cooler nights.

Then there’s the Alma de Tinto Mencia 2010, Mencia being another Spanish indigenous grape. This wine has a rather savoury blood and cranberry nose, and some intense cherry flavours in the mouth before a super strawberry finish tempered by some mildly drying tannins.

At £7.50 this is a bargain.

I also liked the Latria 2006 from Celler Malondro a blend of Garnacha (Grenache) and Cariñena (Carignan), full of bright blackcurrants, with some green leaf and subtle spice action in the background. At £9, it shows that sometimes you can pick a good wine by its pretty label.

Conversely, don’t be put off by the jolly label for Green Fish Verdejo 2010. It may look like it’s trying too hard but really, it absolutely reflects what is in the bottle. It tastes of green apples and grass and goes well with fish (shellfish and white fish I would say).

My advice is, if you like cheap crisp whites, don’t spend your £6 on a mediocre Pinot Grigio. Buy this instead.

In fact, the new Oddbins has more than 40 Spanish wines on its list, showing there is so much more to this country than Albariño, Rioja and Cava. Mind you, I’m glad to see the crisp but biscuity Torre Oria Brut Reserva back on for £8 – a Cava that will turn any Champagne-lover’s head. I bought this under the old regime and was disappointed when I couldn’t find it any more.

There are plenty of wines from other countries of course. A few at the high end but many, many around the £7.50 to £12.  Of the 20 or so wines I tasted recently at Oddbin’s Clapham branch, my other picks were:

* Vinum Chenin Blanc 2010 – made from old vines in South Africa, it has an unctuous mouthfeel with some deliciously toasty flavours wrapped around grapefruit and herbs. £10.

* Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Sartarelli 2010 – like diving into a sharp lemon mousse, with a flinty finish. £8.50.

* J Boutin St Joseph Parcelle de Jean 2009 – an unfiltered Northern Rhône Syrah made by winemaker Stéphane Vedeau, who believes in minimal intervention in the vineyard. This is a smooth, weighty, deep, black cherry-driven wine with a sprinkle of savoury spice. At £19, makes a great treat.

Finally, a mention for two Italian wines – a white and a red – that Emma Nichols, the head of buying at Oddbins, described as “good honest wines”. The Gufo Bianco Terre di Chieti 2010, made from an Abruzzo grape called Pecorino,  is shiny and bright, with an acidity that would make it a great partner for light salads as well as seafood.

The Gufo Rosso 2010 tastes of crushed red berries. Pleasant, straightforward, drinkable. And you can’t always say that for £6. Unless it is a supermarket discount….

Clearly, I didn’t try everything in the store. But overall I was pretty impressed by what I did taste, in terms of quality versus price, and the diversity. Will it be enough to compete with the supermarkets and Majestic? I’d like to think so, if they can encourage people to see Oddbins as a store where you can try something a bit different – as well as good examples of your favourites – at a pocket-friendly price.

I’ll definitely be back to buy some of these wines.

It’s not just down to Willi’s winemaking talents of course – as I’m sure he’d be the first to admit. The grapes are grown in the gravel, clay and limestone slopes of the Alpine foothills in Alto Adige, the German-speaking part of Italy. Hot days, cool nights, a strong afternoon wind call the Ora and an early autumn gives these grapes a lengthy ripening time, while retaining high levels of acidity. Which is what gives this Nussbaumer its sense of freshness and balance, despite a stonking 15% alcohol by volume. While many believe it’s the wine makers of Alsace who have truly captured the essence of the grape, this more restrained style at Tramin speaks to my heart.

The village of Termeno (or Tramin as it also called locally) is widely regarded as the home of today’s Gewürztraminer. Perhaps unsurprising then that Catina Tramin, the winery, sees the Nussbaumer as its most important wine. It ages marvellously too. On a visit to the winery, as part of the European Wine Bloggers Conference (EWBC), I got the chance to sample the Nussbaumer 2000, which had developed an appealingly stinky vegetal edge to its tropical charms. According to Willi, it had another five to seven years before it was over the hill.

A fifth of grapes grown for Tramin is Gewürztraminer. I say ‘grown’ because Tramin, like many other local wineries, is a cooperative. Established in 1898, it is the third oldest in the area. Its 270 members get paid according to the quality of grapes they produce each year, not on the weight of grapes; each vineyard’s yield is set by the winery but it is down to the vineyard owner to grow the very best grapes he or she can.

The second largest amount of grapes grown is Schiava, a native red grape. Then there are smaller amounts of a variety of grapes including Lagrein (another native red), Pinot Bianco, Chardonnay, Sauvignon, Riesling, Pinot Grigio, Pinot Nero (Noir) – I got to taste all of these, either as varietal wines or blends, gazing out at the Alps in the far distance as I sipped, swooshed and spat.

Stoan In Love

My lasting impression is of vibrant young wines, focused varietals, elegant blends and some fascinating evolutions. Take the Unterebner Pinot Grigio. The grapes for this wine are grown at very high altitudes in extremely small yields, and because of this elevation, the grapes are left to ripen on the vine for a lot longer than if they were grown in the valley below. Willi and his team press the grapes as whole bunches, rather than de-stem them first, as is the usual practice for white wines. As a result, this fleeting brush with the polyphenols in the skin, pips and stalks of the grapes give this Pinot Grigio some structure for ageing. While the 2010 Unterebner was rounded with a mineral finish (though the alcohol felt a bit prominent) the 2002 smelt of mild brie and peaches, with vegetal flavours weaving their way through the still-bright fruit.

The 2008 Maglen Pinot Nero was light and silky, tasting of crushed raspberries supported by a subtle slick of butter. The 2009 Urban Lagrein is dark, intense, and brambly with high acidity and – we were informed –  a great match for venison. The late harvest 2009 Terminum Gewürztraminer was just super, if you like dessert wines lively and fragrant. And it wasn’t just me who thought this. My neighbour let out an audible groan of pleasure. The 2006 has a richer, more marmelade feel to it.

My personal favourite though was the Stoan, a blend of Chardonnay, Sauvignon, Pinot Bianco and a dash of  Gewürztraminer. We started with peachy 2010 with sharp spikes of acidity poking through its gentle creamy cloud through to a softer quince-flavoured 2006 and ended with cougar-like 2004, spicy and racy and still very much on the prowl.

It was a great tasting and sealed my love for wines from Alto Adige. Cantina Tramin is surrounded by other stellar producers such as Hofstätter, Foradori, Lageder and Terlan. We visited the latter in the afternoon.

The Evolution of Wine

When we got to Terlan, we were sleepy from lunch and well behind schedule. Some of us wondered how Terlan could grab our interest. Then they pulled the rabbit out of the bag. A Pinot Bianco vertical tasting with a wine dating back to 1959.

Terlan has a thing about ageing its wines. In the cellar, we were shown a tank that still contained a wine placed there in 1979, sitting quietly on its lees.

The challenge we had was timing. We raced through more than 20 wines which I felt gave us little chance to absorb what was in our glass. Which was a shame, because Terlan had worked hard to offer us some pretty stunning white wines from its classics, vineyard and selection ranges

A harmonious white flower and citrus 1999 Terlaner, a blend of Pinot Bianco, Chardonnay and a touch of Sauvignon Blanc; a 1994 Chardonnay with flavours of camomile tea, dried grass and grapefruit peel; and a smokey, savoury 1991 Sauvignon were my star pupils in this tasting.

The evolution of Pinot Bianco through seven bottles ranging from 2010 to 1959 was the most educational and intriguing. Take the tongue-tingling new release 2010 Pinot Bianco, the 2004 Vorberg (named after the vineyard) with its rye bread and fungal characters, the nutty, cooked stone fruit flavours of the 1999 Vorberg Terlano, the apricot compote and candied citrus peel 1987 Pinot Bianco. And finally, the 52-year-old wine which is the oldest I’ve every tasted.

We were told that normally, this tasting would take three to four hours and the older wines would be allowed more time to open up. But because time was tight, I had to empty mine swiftly for the next flight. If it hadn’t been for the PR sitting opposite me, who managed to hang onto hers, my notes may have simply stopped at “very yeasty on first smell, chalky, dried porcini, oxidised character.” Which isn’t surprising given this wine has sat in its bottle for so many years. As the clock ticked by, the yeastiness abated, and aromas of caramel, walnuts and wheat appeared. If only we’d had longer…

There’s no denying this was an acquired taste for modern palates used to fruit forward wines. I can’t see me sitting by the fire sipping this slowly – unless surrounded by other wine geeks where we could happily analyse it over the course of an evening. For me though, wine isn’t just about instant gratification. It’s about trying to understand what makes it tick. And seeing a wine develop over several decades is the ultimate thrill.

You can read more detailed accounts on the visit to Cantina Terlan, and the wines we tasted, in posts by Katie Myers and Alexandra Corvo .

You can find both Cantina Tramin and Terlan wines in a number of wine merchants and restaurants around the UK.

A quick search revealed some Tramin wines at online suppliers  Great Wines Direct, Strictly Wine and Terlan wines at Experience Wine and Mill Hill Wines. If you find them in other retailers, please do let me know.

The conference kicked off with a BYO dinner where participants brought along a wine – or in many cases wines – that had a meaning to them. Some brought along wines from their home countries like Poland and the Netherlands, others brought along wines from the 70s and 80s and some bought along wines they promoted (such as Charles Heidsieck and Graham’s Port – not complaining!). The wine I brought along seemed humble in comparison to many that evening, and perhaps I felt a little self conscious as a result – keeping the story pretty much to myself.

So let me redress the imbalance.

A few weeks earlier I was having dinner in Sonoma, California, when I was served a local Chenin Blanc with one of the courses. A Leo Steen Dry Creek Valley Chenin Blanc 2009. It was good. Not stunning. Just good. I was intrigued that someone was growing Chenin Blanc here. The next day, as I was planning which cellar doors to visit, I looked up the winemaker – Leo Hansen – and saw that he was a) Danish b) a former sommelier (including a stint at the Dry Creek Kitchen in Healdsburg where I first tried his wine c) had a nice looking website and d) had no cellar door. I called anyway and left a message, never expecting to hear back.

Later that afternoon I did get a call back – from his wife who gave me his mobile phone number and said I should try him after 9.30pm. I hummed and haa-ed a bit. It just felt a bit intrusive and when I did call, I went straight to voicemail. The next morning I had a new resolve. I was interested. I called and finally spoke to Leo, who suggested I come over late afternoon to where he worked – another winery, Stuhlmuller in the nearby Alexander Valley.

That’s how we came to be, at the tail end of a hot weekday – when the cellar door was closed, sampling almost every wine Leo makes for Stuhlmuller Vineyards - and the two he currently makes under his own label – chewing the fat about terroir, vineyard techniques and Scandinavian restaurants in London.

I’d never heard of Stuhlmuller and certainly hadn’t expected so many bottles to be opened. They were simply some of the best wines I tried on that trip. Looking at my notes, I’ve written “fresh boiled corn drenched in unsalted butter” for the heavenly nose of the 2009 Estate Reserve Chardonnay (the wine needed another three years in bottle before drinking well).  For the Estate Cabernet 2008: “Beautiful blackcurrant, perfumed, fragrant, lush, long finish, bit of tar, some drying tannins.” I even quite liked the sweet richness of the Zinfandel, which is pretty much the style round here – but perhaps because the bottle was a little cool.  ”Like a really juicy black cherry,” say my notes.

As we tasted, we learnt how Leo decided to make a Chenin Blanc based on his sommelier experience in Denmark, when he wished he could offer diners an alternative food-friendly and affordable dry white to the ubiquitous Pinot Grigio, and pricier Sancerre and Chablis. And that’s exactly what he had delivered with his Leo Steen Chenin Blanc (Steen is his middle name). The 2010 is crisp, with flavours of soft apples and grapefruit, and a decent finish, all for around $18 USD. You would never have guessed it came from California if it didn’t say so on the label, and just shows how it doesn’t all have to be big, jammy, oaky, high alcohol wines. Which is what I was trying to show at the EWBC.

His other wine, Calpella 2009, is a blend of Carignane (the ‘e’ gets added across the Atlantic) and Petit Sirah. Not an easy sipping wine, this needs food – exactly what it is designed for. We had some later that night with steaks at Shimo in Healdsburg. Our only regret? Not taking along the bottle Leo had opened for us. There was a BYO option.

What I loved most about the experience was the willingness to share wines with strangers who call out of the blue. His wines are a limited supply. They’re mostly sold to US restaurants, though you can buy from the vineyard.  And although I said I had a blog, I didn’t make a commitment to write a word about him. That’s the thing about wine. It brings people together. Not just for the act of drinking. But to share the stories behind the wines. No matter how simple the stories. No matter how simple the wine.

But the red soil in these grottos is rich in minerals. The rocks are made from calcium-rich limestone (or Karst), which provides good drainage but also retains moisture – great for growing healthy vines. And the maritime climate benefits from three different winds during the day, meaning grapes dry quickly if there is any rain – which both reduces incidences of disease and stops the grapes from ripening too quickly in the hot sun.

“We do all this work because the potential for quality is so great,” explained Goran Kante, nephew of producer Edi Kante, the man credited with turning the Carso into an area producing high-calibre wine.

Goran Kante, Carso Winemaker

Goran told us how, before planting any vines in the 1980s, they had to remove old vegetation and cut into the rocks to remove old roots. They then levelled the ground with several metres of terra gialla (yellow soil) from nearby Trieste, which is cheap, easy to find and retains moisture. Finally, they had to buy and then excavate a collapsed grotto for the top layer of nutritious terra rossa. Not so cheap, I imagine. For each 100 hectares of vineyard, they needed 1000 trucks of soil.

However, that wasn’t the hardest bit. Before they could drill a centimetre of rock, they had to wrangle with Italian bureaucracy – a “five to six year-long headache” – to get the correct paperwork.

High Density, Low Yields

As a result of all this effort, Kante (like other Carso producers) has a comparatively small vineyard but the density of vines planted is high – 8,500 plants per hectare. According to Goran, this is double the amount you’ll find in the flat parts of Friuli. “We have to squeeze out every single metre to get the quantity out of what we do,” he added.

To maintain the quality, and get lots of flavour into the grapes, they keep the numbers of bunches grown on the vines low, around half a kilo. As a general rule of thumb,  one kilo makes a 750ml bottle, though this depends on vineyard techniques. Unlike a number of neighbouring producers, they will intervene with synthetic sprays where absolutely necessary.

But their aim is sustainability, not to be certified organic, and they’ve made the most of what the land gives them by excavating the rock below into a three-storey wine cellar where they ferment and age the wines.

The subterranean cellar at Kante

So, what of the wines? While they make a decent sparking wine (KK Spumante NV), I think it is the still whites where they shine. The 2009 Vitovska (an indigenous grape) was vibrant, pithy and herby and cried out for local seafood. The 2009 Malvasia (made from the local Istriana variety) was blossomy and slightly nutty, with gently rounded edges and brisk acidity.

But the star was an elegant, slightly spicy, fresh but weighty 2001 La Bora di Kante Chardonnay, named after one of the three winds that daily blow through the Carso. Later, at lunch, we tried the 1991 Terranum, made from the Terrano grape – related to Refosco, a popular Friulian red grape. It had a fresh berry taste, but the acid was dominant, suggesting that the intervening 20 years hadn’t done this wine many favours. On the plus side, it was only 10.5% alcohol by volume, rare for a red wine. It would’ve been interesting to try a much younger version.

A Shared Belief

The Carso is an area that has changed nationality several times over the last two centuries, and while people living here are Italian, many of them have Slovenian names, speak Slovenian as well as Italian, give the grapes Slovenian names and see their winemaking brethren over the border in Kras (Slovenian for Carso) as part of the same region. (There are, apparently, plans to create a cross-border appellation.)

Despite the chequered history, the winemakers here share a united belief. That the wines they produce are made in the vineyard, not in the winery itself.  However, there are some philosophical differences to how much man should intervene in the vineyard – and whether the final wine is fined and filtered or bottled straight from the tank or barrel.

Sandi Skerk

Sandi Skerk is a proponent of the latter, making wines as naturally as possible. Head of the consortium of Carso winemakers, his vineyard is a few streets away from Kante, in the village of Prepotto.  He spins a similarly enticing story as Goran Kante about the soil, the rocks, the winds and the density of vine planting, though we spend quite a lot of time in his vineyard discussing his use of copper and sulphur to control diseases and looking at his albarello (little tree) vine training system, which produces smaller grapes in fewer bunches.

Albarello-trained vines with a little support from the strong Bora wind

Sandi believes the best bit of the wine is in the skin, and this training method results in grapes with a higher percentage of skin to pulp.

While he also believes most of the work is done in the vineyard, it’s the cellar that captures my interest. It too has been carved out of rocks, and you can see crevices running along the wall made by left by vine roots from the past.

Crevices made by old vine roots in Skerk's cellar walls

We taste the Skerk Vitovska and Malvasia straight from the barrel, while they are still fermenting on their skins (usually, only red wine is fermented on skins for tannins and colour). We also try some bronze coloured Pinot Grigio – the colour coming from the skins of this red-skinned grape. This is destined for his blended white called Ograde, which also includes Vitovska, Malvasia, Sauvignon Blanc.

Finally, we try some Malvasia, which has been moved from barrel to tank. Fruity, floral with a broad nutty note, this actually tasted of – well – wine. I am not the biggest fan of natural wine, you see – especially whites. It’s not the cloudy urine look I mind, it’s the instability of it. What tastes good in a tank may taste like cider out of a bottle some months later.

A boar carved into a limestone pillar at Zidarich

We put that to the test later at lunch, held at the winery of Benjamin Zidarich, another producer of natural wines – and just a stroll from Skerk. Sitting in a room above his winery and underground cellar, with a crackling open fire and sea views in the distance, we tasted several wines from the cantine we’d visited that morning including the yellow peach, orange zest and mineral-tasting Skerk 2009 Ograde.

I also liked Zidarich’s 2009 Prulke, a blend of Malvasia Istriana, Vitovska and Sauvignon with its intriguing flavours of oranges, quince, spice and little shards of grapefruit poking through. It was Zindarich’s 2009 Malvasia though that really won me over – like fresh blossom being rippled by a cooling sea breeze. Just drinking it made me feel alive.

Perhaps it was the sunny, crisp autumn day in the tranquillity of Prepotto. Perhaps it was the winemakers’ stories, and their uncompromising drive to make wine with a unique sense of place. Perhaps it was the wines themselves. Whatever the cause, one thing’s for sure. By the end of my visit, like a love-struck teenager, I totally fell for the Carso.

The terra rossa (red earth) of the Carso

End note: I visited the Carso with a number of other wine bloggers who attended this year’s European Wine Bloggers Conference (EWBC). Here’s another account of our visit to the Carso, from Simon Woolf.

This point was proved in the so-called Judgement of Paris in 1976, when – in a blind wine tasting – a Californian red and white beat two top French wines: a Château Mouton-Rothschild Pauillac and a Domaine Roulot Meursault Charmes.

“Last week in Paris… the unthinkable happened: California defeated all Gaul,” wrote Time journalist George Taber. Just those few words, in a four-paragraph scoop, shook the wine world to its core.

“A Wonderful Experience”

Today, wine lovers are still eager to hear from George Taber about this momentous event – which he turned into a book. At this year’s European Wine Bloggers Conference (EWBC), he told attendees about how he approached writing the book, telling the story through four characters. The night before, he’d also enjoyed tasting one of the Californian wines that also entered the Paris tasting – a Freemark Abbey Cabernet Bosché, though from a much later vintage – 1993.

“The most surprising thing about Freemark Abbey at the Paris tasting was that it was the only winery that had two wines in the tasting, a white wine and a red wine. So that really made it very special,” said George, at a pre-conference dinner where bloggers brought along wines they wanted other bloggers to try.  ”Tasting it tonight with all these other wines was just a wonderful experience, ” he added.

These days, of course, there’d be little mistaking your typical buttery Californian Chardonnay or over-ripe Cabernet-driven blends with a Meursault or a wine from the Medoc (even though the latter do seem to be getting ever more powerful). But there are, thankfully, quite a few exceptions. One of these is the Ridge Vineyards Monte Bello, which was another of the handful of Californian wines entered into the Paris tasting.

In 1976, a Monte Bello 1971 came fifth. But, when the Paris judgement was re-enacted in 2006, that very same vintage came first, beating the original winner, a Stag’s Leap 1973 and the original second ranking wine, a Mouton-Rothschild 1970.

“It was a great day for Ridge, for Monte Bello, and for wines made at a more moderate level of ripeness,” says Ridge, on its website. Monte Bello is not made in the Napa Valley, you see, nor in neighbouring Sonoma, where Ridge also has vineyards and a winery. The grapes for this Bordeaux-style blend are grown about 100 miles south, high in the Santa Cruz Mountains AVA (appellation), a much cooler region for producing the blend’s predominant Cabernet grape. The result is a fresher-feeling wine with more reasonable alcohol levels than some of its counterparts up the road.

A Vineyard Visit

The 2008 I tasted recently clocked in at just under 13.5% alcohol by volume (ABV), and was plummy and perfumed with underlying flavours of polished cedar and leather, and a heady blackcurrant nose. Nice to drink now, Ridge recommends another three years before this wine starts to really hit its stride. But then at $145 per bottle direct from the vineyard, it is a wine you’ll want to treasure. For many people this is simply out of their price range. But for $20 you can get a flight of this wine (along with some others) if you visit either of their two estates in Sonoma or Cupertino.

I spent $30 on a tour and tasting at their Lytton Springs vineyard in Sonoma’s Dry Creek Valley. Personally, I have no issue paying if a tour is this informative and the wine this good. We began in the home vineyard (with a glass of the Estate Chardonnay ’09 in hand) looking at 115-year-old vines and squeezing Alicante Bouschet grapes, one of the few varieties that have both a red skin and red flesh – and therefore red juice.

Explanations about terroir, viticulture and climate were pitched well to appeal to both wine geeks and novices alike – quite an art. We also learnt how their sustainable approach extends beyond their organic practices in the vineyard (including the ones which make Monte Bello) to the winery building. This is built from straw bales and has solar panels that give Ridge enough power to sell some back to the grid each year.

After a tour of the winery, we got to taste five more wines, one being the Monte Bello. The other four were Zinfandels – the classic Dry Creek Valley variety. Now, I’m not a huge fan of the big, jammy, dried fruitcake Zinfandels that a number of winemakers produce round here – and are HUGELY popular with the domestic market.

A Zin For All Tastes

However, Lytton make a range of different styles from different vineyards, some with other grapes included, such as the gravelly, mocha Mazzoni 2006 with 48% Carignan.

My favourite was the Lytton Estate 2006, which is made in years when some of the grapes destined for the Lytton Springs Zinfandel (which you can buy through the Wine Society and Slurp) are held back, because they would make the wine too ripe or too tannic. This one was clearly a “too ripe” year, as the ABV is almost 15%, but Ridge had added a generous slug of Petit Verdot to give the wine body and tannins. As a result, it was rich and fragrant with flavours of brambles and coffee grains. Sometimes big can be good.

Despite making a wine that can pass as a top-notch Bordeaux, Ridge – with its Zinfandels – is showing how California has truly made this a grape of its own. And, how decades after the Judgement of Paris, making a regionally distinctive wine is now what really matters.

We passed twisted old vines laden with fruit, and newly grafted vines – that were still establishing themselves (below).  The tall, wind turbine-like structure in the back is to prevent  frost by moving air through the vines. Temperatures in parts of the Russian River Valley can dip dramatically at night.

Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are the main grapes grown in the Russian River Valley, which is generally cooler than its neighbouring AVA (American Viticultural Area), the Dry Creek Valley. You will find other varietals (a wine that is made primarily out of one variety) for tasting at cellar doors here, but they are usually grown elsewhere. For example, at Gary Farrell Wine there’s a Sauvignon Blanc from the Sonoma County AVA. Although Pinot Noir is winemaker Gary Farrell’s varietal (sic) of choice, I was quite taken with his 2008 Russian River Selection Chardonnay. It had a divine smell of white toast dripping in butter, and it managed to feel sprightly and fresh despite its creamy peachy roundness. My kind of buttery Californian Chardonnay.

The tasting room is perched on a hill and worth a trip if only for the view.

Wineries here don’t have restaurants due to planning regulations. So, a good few landscape their grounds to encourage people to bring picnics. Why not enjoy some wine with food? (Though you don’t have to buy a bottle to do so.) And just because there’s no restaurant attached doesn’t mean you can’t hold a wedding there either. Arista looks perfect for a small celebration, with its Japanese garden. It was a pretty good spot for our take out lunch.

We got off to a shaky start at the tasting room at Arista when the first wine served was a 2010 Sauvignon Blanc made by Mark David, a winemaker who is a part owner of Arista. The grapes used are a clone called Sauvignon Musque, which makes a comparatively softer and more exotic tasting version of Sauvignon Blanc. To give it even more body and depth, the winemaker ages it in oak and then bottles it directly from the barrel, unfined and unfiltered. So far, so good. It always makes for a more savoury wine. But serving clumps of the dead lees in a small sample glass – when you don’t actually get much wine, and when I was going to be spitting it out – was not my thing. A Philistine, maybe. However, despite being told “the winemaker wants it served that way”, I did get a fresh glass.

Things got better with the three Pinots we tasted. Different vineyards, different styles, all good. My favourite was the 2009 Toboni Vineyard Pinot Noir, a striking purple colour and a satisfying medium-heavy weight, with tastes of fresh raspberries and red roses.

Like most of the neighbouring wineries, limited amounts are made of each wine and the home vineyards around the estate provide grapes for wines you can only get if you are on Arista’s mailing list. (Oh, and they don’t ship their wine to anywhere outside the US – and not even to some states within.)

After our picnic, shaded from the piercing sun, we called it a day. Lightweights, I know. But after a lousy British summer, every ray felt sacred. We headed back to Healdsburg, knowing we had a full itinerary in the Dry Creek Valley the next day.

This is not the first time we’ve been here and  - given its distance from grey old London – we always splash out on the tasting menu with wines. It’s one of Mr. SipSwoosh’s favourite things to do in one of his favourite places in the world.

However, I don’t remember the white wines being quite this reined in when we were last here, three years ago.

The Dry Creek Kitchen – one of Charlie Palmer‘s stable of restaurants – prides itself on a cellar of more than 600 Sonoma wines. It adds a $20 supplement on all bottles of non-Sonoma wine ordered. Which is all well and noble, though a little disingenuous perhaps when the starter we had featured a fish from New Zealand.

But as many of the local wines never make it into a shop, let alone out of the state (boutique wine production can be very limited), then this is one of the best places to try the good and the great from the surrounding wine appellations(or American Viticultural Areas – AVAs) such as the Dry Creek Valley, Russian River Valley and Green Valley.

We began with a delicate pink rosehip-infused glass of Russian River Valley J Brut Rose NV made from Pinot Noir in the traditional method (like Champagne). According to J Vineyard’s website, the diaphanous look and taste of the wine is down to the only operating Coquard Press in the US, which keeps the bunches of grapes stationary, reducing contact between skin and juice. Whatever. It was good.

While we liked this, we didn’t fancy another glass of fizz with the first course – seared Kampachi fish with avocado mousseline, pickled rhubarb, purslane (a type of salad) and kaffir lime oil. All in tiny proportions of course. We asked for a wine swap and were served a glass of Lime Stone Sauvignon Blanc 2010 from Dry Creek Valley – which I believe is made for Charlie Palmer. The logo is the same as his wife’s shop next door.

“Made in the New Zealand style,” we were told. Which part? Certainly not Marlborough. Far too verdant: nettles, grass, green leaves. Lots of minerals. Austere to drink but matched the tartness of the rhubarb and the oiliness of the fish.

The Balletto Gewurtztraminer 2008, also from Russian River Valley, was the big surprise. Fresh lychee on the nose, it carried a mere tickle of the spicy punch you often get with this grape. Fresh and zincy, it was a stood up, but didn’t overpower, cauliflower soup with curried creme fraiche.

The Capture Les Pionniers Sauvignon Blanc 2010 from Sonoma County was a kinder wine to drink than the Lime Stone. Quite a tropical wine, but with enough acidity to balance with a tomato consommé, pickled watermelon (they’re obviously into pickling), cherry tomato and burrata stuffed ravioli. Burrata? Take a ball of creamy mozzarella and add MORE CREAM.

Highlight of the meal was the crunchy brioche-crusted Alaskan halibut with an English pea mousseline, lettuce and bacon. It came with a glass of Leo Steen Dry Creek Valley Chenin Blanc 2009 which had a surprising but appealing smell of custard powder though reassuringly citrusy and mineral to drink, with a herby finish. I liked it so much I tracked down the wine maker, Leo Hansen – a Dane who now makes wine for Stuhlmuller, as well as a couple under his own label. Oh, and he used to be sommelier at the Dry Creek Kitchen.

After all these relatively understated wines, it was a bit of a shock to end on a big minty, smoky, squealing-tyre red, a Demuth Kemos Clajeux Cabernet 06. Too tannic to drink on its own, it was like Friends Reunited with the seared meat and smoke of the accompanying dish: American Kobe flat iron steak with smoked fingerling potatoes.

Actually, this wasn’t the last wine. But at this point, I’d drunk more than I had for a number of weeks and the dessert choice and wine pairing was off the main menu (of which I don’t have a copy). I’ve also lost the receipt. So I only have my wine tasting notes to rely on: “reisling – sticky nose fresh palate hpneysuckle citrus peel ( w/ drssert) nuts.” Oh.

I took a dark picture of the dessert and I can see it involved panna cotta. Beyond that, I have no idea.

Promise to do better next time – which I hope won’t be in the too far distant future.