Terroir and misunderstanding

“A spectre is haunting the world of wine. Its name is terroir.” [translated] With these words, Reinhard Löwenstein once opened his famous essay “Vom Öchsle zum Terroir” (From Oechsle to Terroir), published in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung in October 2003. The article was preceded by years of discussion that had shaped the German wine scene since at least the late 1990s. Löwenstein's essay was of enormous importance to the discourse at the time. In many respects, it is still highly topical. Nevertheless, the headline itself contains a serious misunderstanding.

The must weight, i. e. the sugar content, was proclaimed throughout the country to have finally served its purpose as a measure of wine quality. But this is where reality and perception diverge. Such a measure has only ever existed in the minds of winemakers and wine drinkers. The 1971 wine law at the centre of the criticism defines the categories from Kabinett to Trockenbeerenauslese according to different degrees of ripeness of the grapes. In this respect, the weight classes of the must are similar to those in boxing. In the latter case, the question of whether the performance of the world heavyweight champion should be rated higher than that of the world flyweight champion would never seriously arise. A Trockenbeerenauslese is not fundamentally better than a Kabinett because it is sweeter. Although Trockenbeerenauslese may be more valuable as a rare speciality, this does not make it better. Comparing the classifications is therefore as meaningful as comparing apples with pears.

The idea that the sweeter, the better never originated in wine legislation, but rather in the conditioning of the population in post-war Germany. After years of deprivation, fat and sugar were considered signs of prosperity. The economic miracle fed its children at the expense of diabetes mellitus and other lifestyle diseases. With increasing health awareness, sweet wines came under pressure. From then on, the know-it-all media lectured consumers that good wines should be dry.

The growing importance of dry wines and the effects of climate change, which had already been noticeable since the turn of the millennium, led to a rethink in German viticulture. Especially with dry wines, the focus shifted away from must weights and towards terroir – whatever that term, which had just spilled over the border from France, was supposed to mean. Because – let's be honest – many people still do not really understand it today.

One of those whose understanding does not seem to be particularly well developed is, of all people, the editor-in-chief of a wine magazine, VINUM. In a recent commentary, Thomas Vaterlaus laments the alleged “varietal mania” [translated] of German winemakers in particular. It is difficult to engage constructively with this criticism because it is completely devoid of any substance in its logical foundations and distorts the facts in an unbearable way.

After an inappropriate comparison of apples and pears, in this case in the form of tea and cocoa with grape varieties, Vaterlaus explains: “With all these luxury foods, the place where the fruit was grown is much more important, indeed the decisive differentiating factor. And actually, this should also be the case with wine, as it is considered the elixir that most subtly expresses its terroir. In the Latin-influenced wine-growing regions of France and Italy, which continue to shape our wine culture to this day, winegrowers still consistently follow the principle of terroir. In Burgundy, the Chardonnay and Pinot Noir grape varieties are banned from the label; the only information provided is about the region, the corresponding wine-growing village or the individual vineyard. […] Only in Germany, Switzerland and Austria, as well as in the New World, do winegrowers take the opposite approach and use the grape variety as a key distinguishing feature.” [translated] So what?

Let us give the writer a helping hand at this point. First, let us clarify what lies behind the abstract term terroir. Terroir describes the effect of origin on an agricultural product. Origin, in turn, encompasses not only the climatic, topographical and geological factors of a location, but also cultural influences such as a collective awareness among producers of the typical characteristics of the product they produce in the local context.

Collective consciousness does not arise spontaneously from a night-time dream or the musings of rambling wine journalists, but develops, often over generations. What applies to one region does not necessarily apply to another. The “Latin-influenced wine-growing regions in France or Italy” do not shape our wine culture, but only their own.

In this country, wine culture has developed in a fundamentally different way than in the Romance countries. This development was by no means flawed or accidental, but logical and always due to the viticultural conditions and possibilities of the respective era. Mixed plantings, which have contributed significantly to the diversity of grape varieties grown in Germany, were of vital importance for centuries in the cool climate of Northern Europe, which was not always favourable. Winegrowers deliberately spread the risk of crop failure across different grape varieties with different characteristics. It took several centuries for Riesling, which was previously little appreciated because it was frost-sensitive, to establish itself in the northern regions and displace other grape varieties. The monoculture of Riesling found today on the Moselle, Saar, Ruwer and Rhine is the result of an evolutionary development over a long period of time.

It is also true that the number of grape varieties cultivated has not increased over the past centuries, but rather decreased. Many of the numerous grape varieties that were once widespread are now only found in conservation breeding programmes, if they have not become extinct. Instead of a “variety mania”, it is more accurate to speak of a focus on just a few high-quality grape varieties. The prevalence of Müller-Thurgau is declining. It is considered a victim of climate change. Gewürztraminer is hardly available anymore. Fungus-resistant grape varieties such as Cabernet Blanc, Sauvignac or exotic varieties such as Syrah are only a niche market. With the best will in the world, there can be no talk of an excessive variety of grape varieties. Especially since most of the non-classic grape varieties do not even make it onto the bottle label, but are used in cuvées. The ranges of the wineries are not growing, as Vaterlaus claims, they are shrinking. Apparently, Vaterlaus is not familiar with the price lists of many renowned wineries from the 1990s.

The success story of Riesling, the spread of grape varieties as a result of climatic changes and changing conditions in viticulture – these are also developments that define the terroir. The terroir also includes the classifications that were once considered an achievement in wine culture. They were necessary for the purpose of distinguishability and still are, at least for Riesling, which produces an enormous range, from delicately fruity Kabinett to highly concentrated Trockenbeerenauslese from noble rot grapes, that is unmatched anywhere else in the world, even today. The headline “From Öchsle to Terroir” fails to recognise – and here we come to the aforementioned misunderstanding – that classifications are not in contrast to terroir, but that in German wine culture, the two are mutually dependent. Terroir is not an invention of the late 20^th century. It has always been there. But no one knew it.

The classifications are closely linked to Riesling and the diversity of its flavours. In combination with the exceptional single vineyards on the steep slopes of the river valleys, these classifications have given us a sophisticated wine culture that is unrivalled anywhere in the world. But suddenly, the grape variety is no longer considered so important? Vaterlaus: “A wise man once said that the cultivation and production of wine is nothing more than a journey from its origin, the vineyard, to the finished wine in the bottle. The variety merely serves as a means of transport.” [translated] We do not know who this supposedly wise person was. I suspect that, like Vaterlaus himself, he also came to wine purely by chance.

Let us apply this bold theory, that the grape variety is merely a means of transport, to music. After all, a musical instrument is also just a means of transport, namely for a piece of music. Does it really matter whether Vivaldi's Four Seasons is played by an orchestra or beaten out on a saucepan with a wooden spoon?

One thing is certain: articles such as Thomas Vaterlaus' merely cause confusion and serve no useful purpose. The wine world has no need for wine journalists with limited knowledge who present themselves as intrusive know-it-alls. They do not contribute constructively to the collective consciousness of winemakers and are therefore rightly excluded from the terroir.