More often than not in recent years, we have found ourselves spending summer vacation
somewhere in Europe. Having seen much of the US (including all corners of our beloved New England states) when the kids were younger, we now find ourselves eager to broaden our horizons and take in a different experience. As travel writer Rick Steves recently said, "We can never exhaust Europe of what it has to show us." Indeed, with six trips under our belts, we feel like we have only just scratched the surface.
Even before we planted grapes and incorporated Wachusett Vineyards, our vacations always had a wine-focused agenda. In 1999 we fell in love with the Bourgogne (Burgundy) region of France, where we stayed with a duchess who owned a vineyard right in the heart of Nuit St. George. We delighted in degustations (tastings) and toured some of the most hallowed vineyards in the world. We've since been to Bordeaux, the Dordogne, Northern Rhone, Loire Valley, Champagne, Savoie, Tuscany, and the Vaud and Valais districts in Switzerland. Now we've added Valpolicella, Soave, and the Alto Adige to the list. In each case, wine has been our muse.
It may seem single-minded to let wine guide our family vacations, but it has taken us to some fabulous places that we might not have otherwise known about. Grape vines are incredibly adaptable plants and they thrive in diverse locations - from the flat and fertile plains along the Loire river, which produce some of France's best Sauvignon Blanc, Chenin Blanc, and Cabernet Franc, to tiny vineyards perched precariously on postage-stamp sized lots clinging to mountainsides in the Val d'Aosta, grapes decorate the landscape of much of central Europe, as if to prove that in the right circumstances, man and nature can indeed live in harmony.
This brings me to our most recent wine pilgrimage. We had at least passing familiarity with Northern Italian wines prior to the trip, but we were unprepared for what a powerhouse of production the region really is. From the land of Prosecco in the gently rolling hills and flat-ish plains of the Veneto, to steep and wild lands of the Alto Adige, at the doorstep of the Dolomite mountains, grape vines are, quite simply, everywhere. Along highways, crammed behind rest-stops, in backyards, behind restaurants, adjacent to lakes and rivers, at the tops of mountains and the bottoms of valleys, every time you turn around, there's a vineyard.
Most germane, I think, to our vineyard in Central Massachusetts, is the realization that the wine world is a lot bigger than the half-dozen or so grape varieties that dominate the market. Although there exist at least 10,000 known varieties of grapes, it's really just a small handful that most consumers have ever heard of: Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Riesling, and maybe a few others make up the bulk of what you're likely to find on the shelf or even on a restaurant wine list.
Yet the wine grape universe is much larger than that! We are constantly reminded of this fact, as we made the deliberate decision to grow only French/American hybrid varieties. Grapes such as Marquette, Seyval Blanc, Petite Pearl, Traminette, Itasca, and a host of others are not only more adaptable to our changing climate, but also incredibly interesting to drink. In this respect, I feel a bond with our Northern Italian winemaker kin, who also grow many varieties unheard of by most American consumers.
You may have heard of Prosecco, the modestly-priced sparkling wine that burst onto the scene in recent years due to its crisp and fruity profile and modest price. But do you know what grape is used to make Prosecco? Neither did we. Prosecco is made exclusively with Glera, a grape of Slovenian origin.
How about Lugana? No, not Lugano - that's a city in Switzerland, as I was reminded by a waiter when I mixed them up. Lugana is a small DOC wine region that straddles Lombardy and the Veneto and produces a wine of the same name. Made with Turbiana grapes, it became our new favorite white.
And then there's Valpolicella, which produces smashing reds at a range of prices with other grapes you've probably never heard of, such as Corvina, Molinara, and Rondinella. Valpolicella can range from simple, light table wine to a complex powerhouse, depending in part on how it is made. The best are subjected to a process known as appassimento, in which the grapes are partially air dried to concentrate the flavors and sugar prior to fermentation. We found the best balance between price and quality to be a wine called Ripasso, in which the winemaker takes the pulpy leftovers from high-quality Amarone and adds it to standard Valpolicella, thus increasing the complexity and mouthfeel without significantly driving up the cost.
Lagrein, Schiava, Teroldego, Nosiola, Muller-Thurgau, Kerner... the list goes on. And it's the same story in France: Petit Manseng, Mauzac, Fer Servadou, Auxerrois, Chasselas,
Altesse and Mondeuse are only a sampling of the dozens of lesser-known French varieties. You'll often hear travelers opine Europe keeps the best wine for itself and there is a lot of truth to that, in part because some of the most interesting examples are made with grapes that most American consumers don't recognize.
Is it fair to make a direct comparison between the hybrid wines that we grow and the hidden gems of the European wine world? Yes, with a caveat... French/American hybrids like Marquette and Aromella are recent introductions, bred to thrive in a changing climate with increased pest and disease pressure. Obscure European varieties often evolved over time in certain locales simply because they grew well there. But the end goal is the same: Find the grapes that are adapted to a particular region... the ones that thrive in the local climate and naturally grow abundantly there without lots of fertilizers and pesticides... and select those that make the best wine. This, we feel, is the true expression of terroir.
So what is the ultimate grape for Central Massachusetts? Is it Petite Pearl, with its cherry candy flavors and balanced tannic structure? Or maybe Marquette, with its abundant growth and heady perfume? Or perhaps Itasca, so well behaved in the vineyard, or Brianna, with its unmistakable notes of ground cherry (physalis)? Maybe the perfect grape for our region hasn't even been hybridized yet. It's an evolving story, but we're committed to trying as many of the newest and best hybrids we can in the hope of one day finding the answer.