I grew up in wine on stinky Rhones. As my palate matured, I found brett a more and more objectionable component in many of my previously favorite wines. Not completely objectionable, but more and more I found wines that I just didn’t love (or even like) because of the level of brett.
After making wine for several years at home and working in wineries, I admit I’m even more brett averse. At a vineyard party last weekend, a local retailer mentioned to me that I’m probably gone to the dark side, where brett or anything “funky” is totally wrong, where the only thing I want in wine is fruit, sweet and plump fruit. I laughed, but it’s true, I’m not nearly as forgiving as I used to be about “the funk.”
Fast forward to opening a wine like tonight’s 2003 Ch. Les Valentines Cotes du Provence, a syrah, grenache, mourvedre and cinsault blend that’s imported locally by PS Wines and something I’ve cellared for a few years. Whoa, serious brett. The aroma is all horse blanket and bandages, the flavors short and bitter from this rogue yeast. But what do you know. Sipping the wine while grilling a big, beautiful tri-tip and some fennel, more and more fruit came to the fore. Then at the dinner table, the earthy, even gamy component of the brett just worked with the beef in such a nice way. Now that dinner’s over, I still smell and taste the brett, but there’s enough stone and raspberry flavor that even the memory of the meal seems to bring some balance to the wine. Have any of you had this experience?
In the end, this isn’t great wine, nor would I be nearly as pleased with it if I’d spent several times its bargain price. I’m just struck by the transformation of this wine – perhaps because of the food, perhaps because of tasting it more and more. Regardless, I love this inexpensive, flavorful and, yes, barnyardy wine. Am I alone in loving such a thing?