“In the 12th Century, Cistercian Monks of the Monastery of Fitero planted their first vines of Garnacha in Navarra. Rafael Reverte has recovered this ungrafted vineyard, planted in 1899 before the Phylloxera outbreak, to produce a legendary wine of limited production.” –from the back of the Cistum 2009 bottle.
I don’t always believe what’s written on the back of wine bottles, but when the wine also gets a Parker 92 score, I pay a little more attention. Once I tasted the 2009 Cistum Ancient Vine Garnacha from Navarra, Spain, I had to acknowledge my strange relationship with ancient vine wines, as well as relish in the opportunity to taste something left over from the end of the 19th Century. I must admit that I have a mystical reverence for ancient vines, especially 120-year-old, ungrafted, pre-Phylloxera vines. Even though I am a doubter by nature, ancient vines make me a believer and so I believe, I believe.
My first experience with old or ancient vines was a California Zinfandel, Lodi, perhaps. I remember it had a certain “je ne sais quoi” quality, where it was special and different, but I wasn’t quite sure how. I was to come to understand that this was not the norm. There is also no official rule about designating “old vine” versus “ancient vine” nationally, let alone internationally. If we poll a group of sommeliers we’d probably agree that old vines are over 40 years going up past 50 years, where ancient vines should be over 75 years approaching the magical century mark. A century is magical because it can bring us to those halcyon days, before that little North American louse, Phylloxera, wiped out European vineyards at the turn of the 19th to 20th Century. Therefore finding ungrafted vines, or vines not grafted on American rootstock, the only guaranteed protection from Phylloxera, which is now in most of the wine regions of the world, is note-worthy. A few higher-elevation, less accessible locales, like Navarra, never faced the scourge of this lousy louse, so we have the potential of tasting something out of history, even if the vintage is only five years ago.
If old vines create a better wine, why aren’t all vineyards old vine? When I visited Bordeaux a decade ago I was shocked to learn that they generally dig up their oldest vines keeping to a median age between 20 and 40 years. The reason is to maintain production quantities, as old vines produce less and less fruit each year, but the fruit produced tends to have more intense flavors, as well as more complexity. For many Bordeaux vignerons, the lack of quantity is not balanced by an increase in quality in their economic equation. This is not true for every winemaker. In my 25 years in this business, the main distinction for me with ancient vine wines is complexity. These vines reach much deeper (and therefore need less irrigation) and dredge up more minerality and subtle nuances from the soil, creating a wine of special character.
Let’s consider this ancient vine wine, Cistum. Inky black depths, olives and black currants crushed on a slab of slate. The color is ruby red, but on the palate I feel as though I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. The mineral density of these ancient vines is impressive with graphite and a pleasant chalky minerality. Now I’m perceiving rhubarb stored in a cedar spice box. Complexity is the key word, and I keep coming back to my glass for a completely different experience. This is not a light Garnacha at all! Think Priorat and Sardinian Cannonau, but at half the price. Cistum is a sommstumper, not what I was expecting in a Spanish Garnacha under $20. This bottle holds up for three days with just a recork, no Vacuvin or similar system required. Its ability to last after being open is another trait I associate with these ancient vines. This wine speaks of history and expresses a sense of time, of older days, deep and brooding, full of challenge and confrontation, rather than known New World fruit bomb comforts. Occasionally real wine lovers (wine geeks to some) like to think they’re drinking history. This is history.
The oldest producing vine in the world is a Zametovka vine grown in Maribor, Slovenia, planted in the 17th Century, which only produces 35 to 55 kg of grapes each year. In Australia’s Barossa Valley there are Shiraz vines from Tanunda planted in 1847, which are legally protected. So vines from 1899 might seem like newcomers, but to those of us in the business they represent a Holy Grail. Tasting this wine is a chance to try something truly special that is not available in most of the world, whose complexity and depth remind us of the mystery for which we are all searching in every glass.
Daniel Eddy
Gainesville Wine Consultant for ABC Fine Wines & Spirits
Wine Pairing Examiner for Examiner.com
