Wine's naturalistic fallacy

[William_Kelley]

Seems like you’ve proved that the mis-appropriation of the phrase “gout de terroir” is a recent phenomenon, not that the assignation of a unique set of sensory attributes to the agricultural produce of a certain piece of land is a new phenomenon.
I imagine that people have been trying to produce something “worthy of the land”–something that accentuates the positive attributes of a parcel of land and avoids incorporating any discernible amount of the negatives–for as long as man has practiced agronomy. Presumably, communicating the uniqueness of the site and explaining the importance of production protocols tailored to preserving that uniqueness came soon after.

Well, I think what this illustrates is how the impulses to which you advert came to be encapsulated in the repurposed one-word concept of “terroir”, and quite recently at that. Such narratives have certainly always existed in competition with the more universalized concept of the “brand” (even if they were not so clearly articulated), which—whether you call it Maison or Château or Marque—historically dominated most of French wine production, until other regions borrowed the “terroir” discourse from Burgundy, even more recently. But even Clos Vougeot and Chambertin are a brand as well as a place. In many ways, ironically enough, the notion of terroir per se actually represents not an alternative to “the brand” but in fact an integration of the brand into the site. In France, there are a lot of great “terres à vignes” (sites for growing vines) that are not so-called great “terroirs”. I.e. there are places where you can make “grand cru quality” wines that are not grands crus. Tonight I drank a Dureuil-Janthial Rully that tasted better than all but a handful of Puligny-Montrachet Premiers Crus from the same vintage. Isn’t a great terroir, then, a great terre à vignes fused with a great brand? But here I’m anticipating some of the themes of part two of this essay.

[William_Kelley]

We are enabling controlled spoilage.

Winemaking is essentially entropy management.

Like everything interesting in life!

[Marcus_Goodfellow]

But terroir is the expression of somewhereness.

Now this is a really interesting point, if looked at in its historical dimensions. Of course, there is a long and fascinating history of people distinguishing between sites on the basis of the characteristic textures and flavors they have tended to impart on the wines produced from their grapes. But this definition of terroir as the taste of somewhereness, as far as I can tell, is actually quite recent (I think Matt Kramer’s book was in fact very influential in this regard). At some point around 30 years ago, “gout de terroir” went from being translated as “tastes of dirt” to “tastes of the dirt”. This is a very intriguing discursive shift…

Just a few historical examples:

“Earthy Taste, Gout de terroir—By the term earthy a single definite taste must not be understood, but divers flavors which are all in general disgusting or bad” (1892)

“an earthy flavor, known in wines as gout de terroir” (1890)

“some wines are affected by the gout de terroir (earthy taste)” (1880)

“this latter grape, though magnificent to the eye, had, to my taste, a flavor different to the ordinary nice kind, something like what the French call the gout de terroir in wine” (1853)

“gout de terroir—taste of the soil” (1976)

“GOUT DE TERROIR : having a taste of the earth or soil ; strongly earthy ; quite pleasant in modest amounts but sometimes overwhelming” (1977)

“The red wines of […] are often marked by a gout de terroir […] with a marked earthy quality.” (1992)

Compare this with:

“the resultant wine will have a distinctive taste and character imparted by the local soil , called gout de terroir in France” (1992)

“the gout de terroir , or taste of place” (1999)

“The French term gout de terroir refers to the characteristic expression of a specific vineyard in a wine” (2003)

Coincidentally with “terroir” being imbued with additional meaning—let’s say, being the point around which a lot of existing thinking crystalized, especially for non-French wine lovers—the use of the word exploded in Anglophone writing, as you can see from this google NGram.

“terroir” in Anglophone published texts by WilliamGFKelley, on Flickr

So the word terroir went from being something that seemed to have been fairly consistently understood, to something that had different meanings for each person who used it. Chaos!

Umm…actually I would separate the word “terroir” as meaning the taste of the place. And gout de terroir as a parallel usage meaning “tasting of dirt”.

And the use of gout de terroir to mean the place as bad research/translation of meaning leading to a confusing of the terms. Not unlike the word “regardless” and the non-word “irregardless”.

[William_Kelley]

Now this is a really interesting point, if looked at in its historical dimensions. Of course, there is a long and fascinating history of people distinguishing between sites on the basis of the characteristic textures and flavors they have tended to impart on the wines produced from their grapes. But this definition of terroir as the taste of somewhereness, as far as I can tell, is actually quite recent (I think Matt Kramer’s book was in fact very influential in this regard). At some point around 30 years ago, “gout de terroir” went from being translated as “tastes of dirt” to “tastes of the dirt”. This is a very intriguing discursive shift…

Just a few historical examples:

“Earthy Taste, Gout de terroir—By the term earthy a single definite taste must not be understood, but divers flavors which are all in general disgusting or bad” (1892)

“an earthy flavor, known in wines as gout de terroir” (1890)

“some wines are affected by the gout de terroir (earthy taste)” (1880)

“this latter grape, though magnificent to the eye, had, to my taste, a flavor different to the ordinary nice kind, something like what the French call the gout de terroir in wine” (1853)

“gout de terroir—taste of the soil” (1976)

“GOUT DE TERROIR : having a taste of the earth or soil ; strongly earthy ; quite pleasant in modest amounts but sometimes overwhelming” (1977)

“The red wines of […] are often marked by a gout de terroir […] with a marked earthy quality.” (1992)

Compare this with:

“the resultant wine will have a distinctive taste and character imparted by the local soil , called gout de terroir in France” (1992)

“the gout de terroir , or taste of place” (1999)

“The French term gout de terroir refers to the characteristic expression of a specific vineyard in a wine” (2003)

Coincidentally with “terroir” being imbued with additional meaning—let’s say, being the point around which a lot of existing thinking crystalized, especially for non-French wine lovers—the use of the word exploded in Anglophone writing, as you can see from this google NGram.

“terroir” in Anglophone published texts by WilliamGFKelley, on Flickr

So the word terroir went from being something that seemed to have been fairly consistently understood, to something that had different meanings for each person who used it. Chaos!

Umm…actually I would separate the word “terroir” as meaning the taste of the place. And gout de terroir as a parallel usage meaning “tasting of dirt”.

And the use of gout de terroir to mean the place as bad research/translation of meaning leading to a confusing of the terms. Not unlike the word “regardless” and the non-word “irregardless”.

That is not a distinction that you will find made in e.g. 19th-century French dictionaries.

The most common usage appears to be that, yes, indeed, the soil can impart specific tastes to the wine, which may differ according to the type of soil; but that those tastes are literally earthy, soil-like and pungent; that they are to be considered a flaw, especially in excess.

It is reassuring to imagine that our conceptual arsenal for thinking about wine hasn’t changed for a long time, but I do not think that this is actually the case. It merits more extensive research than I’ve given it so far, however.

[Bruce_G1]

Well, I think what this illustrates is how the impulses to which you advert came to be encapsulated in the repurposed one-word concept of “terroir”, and quite recently at that. Such narratives have certainly always existed in competition with the more universalized concept of the “brand” (even if they were not so clearly articulated), which—whether you call it Maison or Château or Marque—historically dominated most of French wine production, until other regions borrowed the “terroir” discourse from Burgundy, even more recently. But even Clos Vougeot and Chambertin are a brand as well as a place. In many ways, ironically enough, the notion of terroir per se actually represents not an alternative to “the brand” but in fact an integration of the brand into the site. In France, there are a lot of great “terres à vignes” (sites for growing vines) that are not so-called great “terroirs”. I.e. there are places where you can make “grand cru quality” wines that are not grands crus. Tonight I drank a Dureuil-Janthial Rully that tasted better than all but a handful of Puligny-Montrachet Premiers Crus from the same vintage. Isn’t a great terroir, then, a great terre à vignes fused with a great brand? But here I’m anticipating some of the themes of part two of this essay.

It’s likely that the term “terroir” is used differently according to the speaker and, more importantly for this conversation, according to the listener.
Most of the French vignerons I know use the term “terroir” to simply mean “site”. Planted or unplanted, possessed of great potential or no particular potential at all… they’re all referred to as terroirs.
In that sense terroir is not an alternative to the concept of brand, but is completely outside it, largely unrelated.
The two are fused when some entity comes along and uses the fruits of a terroir to critical acclaim and/or economic success and so establishes a brand dependent upon the actual output and/or marketing image of the terroir. The two can co-exist, but needn’t do so.

[Bruce_G1]

Like everything interesting in life!

Ah, those mis-spent days of youth, when I thought that entropy only happened to other people!

I enjoyed your article, William… beautifully written and studded with comments that make one stop and think.
I don’t agree with all you’ve written, but what fun would there be in complete agreement?

One serious bone to pick is the lead sentence… “Winemakers have never been so self-effacing.”
One should NEVER imply that winemakers are being too humble or self-effacing.
As a demographic, we’re an awfully egotistical bunch. Best not suggest that we’re not giving ourselves enough credit.

[eweininger]

Thanks for this, William. Like everyone else, I very much enjoyed reading it.

I do agree, completely, with the main argument of your essay, as I understand it. That said, I feel that this statement is perhaps too strong:

“To acknowledge that terroir is a text to be interpreted and not a law that demands adherence is also to accept that any winemaking style that seems to be more “transparent,” offering a less obviously mediated expression of grape and place, is in fact only a subtler and more deceptive form of artifice.”

My issue, simply enough, is that even if there’s no unmediated access to “place”, there’s still a necessary distinction to be made on the other end of the scale: wouldn’t we all agree that a winemaker with malign intent (or just a clod) would be capable of thoroughly obscuring terroir, should he or she wish to (or not know better)? And if we do admit that, then isn’t it unfair to paint the whole canvas with a single shade of gray (“artifice”)?

Maybe switching up the vocabulary would help? “Transparent” is undoubtedly a loaded term in this context. Do you think talking about something like “clarity” of site would carry less baggage, while still being amenable to judgments of degree?

[Marcus_Goodfellow]

“GOUT DE TERROIR : having a taste of the earth or soil ; strongly earthy ; quite pleasant in modest amounts but sometimes overwhelming” (1977)

this sounds suspiciously like brett

i can’t recall having ever tasted too much terroir in my glass

Yes. And/or reductive compounds.

[Tom_Blach]

I’ve seen the analogy made that winemaking is like seasoning in cooking: you can range from the simplest plain poached egg, to L’œuf Cocotte façon d’Alba à la Truffe, to Huevos Rancheros smothered in beans and spicy salsa. Many of these are delicious (is ketchup on scrambled eggs the Yellowtail of cuisine?), but if the eggs become a mere component of the dish, instead of the prominent ingredient, where do they cease being “eggs”, and become something else?

I guess I’d take this analogy the other way, and suggest that saying a wine is “transparent” or entirely devoid of “makeup” is equivalent to saying that a beef Bourgignon is “raw” on the grounds that it hasn’t been seasoned.

I should follow up by saying that a simple poached egg, with nothing more than a dash of salt can be utterly delicious and satisfying, and a beautiful representation of “egg”. Or one could equally enjoy Eggs Benedict, with a well balanced dose of ham and hollandaise. There is room for the entire spectrum, which is what I took your piece to say. To take the analogy to its logical conclusion: I draw the line at obliterating a beautiful piece of fish by “blackening” it with a mass of burned spice that overwhelms any sense of “fish”, except perhaps the texture. 200% new oak, 100% green stems, or 30 brix is the blackened fish of wine. The question for each person is where is that line?

I’m not too sure about this-when making wine completely extraneous ingredients are not routinely added. When frying an egg the choice of frying medium is deeply influential as is the degree of heat , the time taken, the quantity of salt and possibly pepper, and the manipulative skill of the cook. The more elaborate preparations to which you refer don’t (or shouldn’t!) have any parallels in winemaking.

[Peter_Chiu]

Well, I think what this illustrates is how the impulses to which you advert came to be encapsulated in the repurposed one-word concept of “terroir”, and quite recently at that. Such narratives have certainly always existed in competition with the more universalized concept of the “brand” (even if they were not so clearly articulated), which—whether you call it Maison or Château or Marque—historically dominated most of French wine production, until other regions borrowed the “terroir” discourse from Burgundy, even more recently. But even Clos Vougeot and Chambertin are a brand as well as a place. In many ways, ironically enough, the notion of terroir per se actually represents not an alternative to “the brand” but in fact an integration of the brand into the site. In France, there are a lot of great “terres à vignes” (sites for growing vines) that are not so-called great “terroirs”. I.e. there are places where you can make “grand cru quality” wines that are not grands crus. Tonight I drank a Dureuil-Janthial Rully that tasted better than all but a handful of Puligny-Montrachet Premiers Crus from the same vintage. Isn’t a great terroir, then, a great terre à vignes fused with a great brand? But here I’m anticipating some of the themes of part two of this essay.

It’s likely that the term “terroir” is used differently according to the speaker and, more importantly for this conversation, according to the listener.
Most of the French vignerons I know use the term “terroir” to simply mean “site”. Planted or unplanted, possessed of great potential or no particular potential at all… they’re all referred to as terroirs.
In that sense terroir is not an alternative to the concept of brand, but is completely outside it, largely unrelated.
The two are fused when some entity comes along and uses the fruits of a terroir to critical acclaim and/or economic success and so establishes a brand dependent upon the actual output and/or marketing image of the terroir. The two can co-exist, but needn’t do so.

Wow…I love your comments. So terroir means somewhereness is a good translation.

[Wes_Barton]

So the word terroir went from being something that seemed to have been fairly consistently understood, to something that had different meanings for each person who used it. Chaos!

Umm…actually I would separate the word “terroir” as meaning the taste of the place. And gout de terroir as a parallel usage meaning “tasting of dirt”.

And the use of gout de terroir to mean the place as bad research/translation of meaning leading to a confusing of the terms. Not unlike the word “regardless” and the non-word “irregardless”.

That is not a distinction that you will find made in e.g. 19th-century French dictionaries.

The most common usage appears to be that, yes, indeed, the soil can impart specific tastes to the wine, which may differ according to the type of soil; but that those tastes are literally earthy, soil-like and pungent; that they are to be considered a flaw, especially in excess.

It is reassuring to imagine that our conceptual arsenal for thinking about wine hasn’t changed for a long time, but I do not think that this is actually the case. It merits more extensive research than I’ve given it so far, however.

Sounds like it’s being used to describe geosmin in that case.

[Marcu_Stanley]

But terroir is the expression of somewhereness.

Now this is a really interesting point, if looked at in its historical dimensions. Of course, there is a long and fascinating history of people distinguishing between sites on the basis of the characteristic textures and flavors they have tended to impart on the wines produced from their grapes. But this definition of terroir as the taste of somewhereness, as far as I can tell, is actually quite recent (I think Matt Kramer’s book was in fact very influential in this regard). At some point around 30 years ago, “gout de terroir” went from being translated as “tastes of dirt” to “tastes of the dirt”. This is a very intriguing discursive shift…

William is no doubt correct that “the expression of somewhereness” is a recent definition of terroir. But I think conceptually it’s still a great definition for pushing back against the logical problems with depicting wine as a “natural” product that springs spontaneously from the soil. “Somewhereness” does and should include the craft traditions and human culture of a place. The “somewhereness” of Tuscany isn’t just about the weather and the soil, it’s about the people. So too with wine. Because craft, technique, and tradition co-evolves with the physical nature and the history of a place the human “somewhereness” of a place is hard to transplant just like the soil is. It fits well with wine as a craft product. And course industrialization and globalization are an attack on “somewhereness” in that they try to deskill craft workers by reducing production to a simple recipe that can be replicated anywhere by anyone.

[Marcu_Stanley]

Well, I think what this illustrates is how the impulses to which you advert came to be encapsulated in the repurposed one-word concept of “terroir”, and quite recently at that. Such narratives have certainly always existed in competition with the more universalized concept of the “brand” (even if they were not so clearly articulated), which—whether you call it Maison or Château or Marque—historically dominated most of French wine production, until other regions borrowed the “terroir” discourse from Burgundy, even more recently. But even Clos Vougeot and Chambertin are a brand as well as a place. In many ways, ironically enough, the notion of terroir per se actually represents not an alternative to “the brand” but in fact an integration of the brand into the site. In France, there are a lot of great “terres à vignes” (sites for growing vines) that are not so-called great “terroirs”. I.e. there are places where you can make “grand cru quality” wines that are not grands crus. Tonight I drank a Dureuil-Janthial Rully that tasted better than all but a handful of Puligny-Montrachet Premiers Crus from the same vintage. Isn’t a great terroir, then, a great terre à vignes fused with a great brand? But here I’m anticipating some of the themes of part two of this essay.

It’s likely that the term “terroir” is used differently according to the speaker and, more importantly for this conversation, according to the listener.
Most of the French vignerons I know use the term “terroir” to simply mean “site”. Planted or unplanted, possessed of great potential or no particular potential at all… they’re all referred to as terroirs.
In that sense terroir is not an alternative to the concept of brand, but is completely outside it, largely unrelated.
The two are fused when some entity comes along and uses the fruits of a terroir to critical acclaim and/or economic success and so establishes a brand dependent upon the actual output and/or marketing image of the terroir. The two can co-exist, but needn’t do so.

The connection between brand and terroir is that there is no better or more powerful marketing technique than claiming your brand isn’t just a label dreamed up by someone trying to advertise and sell a product, but a mystical, semi-divine connection to a particular patch of land that you just so happen to own and no one else has access to. Branding is 100% about product differentiation and claiming a mystical uniqueness to one of your production inputs that no one else anywhere can possibly replicate is one of the most brilliant and powerful mechanisms of differentiation and market power ever devised. Like Coca-Cola’s secret formula but for SOIL, unlike Coca-Cola or Colonel Sanders top-secret recipe it’s not even made by man!

This is also why, for his own good, William needs to back off from making any connection between something as pedestrian as “branding” and the magical power of “terroir”. He is tampering with the economic heart of fine wine. If he is successful, Burgundy winemakers may have to sell their Mercedes and we collectors will have to take a writedown on our cellars.

[Brady_Daniels]

Anthony Hanson MW famously wrote in the first edition of his book Burgundy that “Great Burgundy smells of shit.”

He removed that sentence in later editions due, no doubt, to changes in the underlying terroir.

[William_Kelley]

Anthony Hanson MW famously wrote in the first edition of his book Burgundy that “Great Burgundy smells of shit.”

He removed that sentence in later editions due, no doubt, to changes in the underlying terroir.

Yes, I thought of this last night and had meant to bring it up!

But, I’ll save all this for another essay, it’s just too big and important a subject to get into piecemeal.

[Brady_Daniels]

Anthony Hanson MW famously wrote in the first edition of his book Burgundy that “Great Burgundy smells of shit.”

He removed that sentence in later editions due, no doubt, to changes in the underlying terroir.

Yes, I thought of this last night and had meant to bring it up!

But, I’ll save all this for another essay, it’s just too big and important a subject to get into piecemeal.

I guess shit was not the patina we were looking for after all?

I look forward to the next essay, but enjoy the piecemeal approach too.

[SOvery]

This reminds me of Ryle’s category error, which, in this instance, would go something like:

An American* stands in a French tasting room. “Yes, I have tasted the fruit, the tannin, and the oak, but where is the taste of your famous terroir?”


*Sorry, but Ryle was very much in favour of the perplexed questioner being a visitor or foreigner. I merely adhere to his convention.

[RichardFlack]

My signature on the Cellartracker discussion forum is, “Terroir is not a flavor.” It seems germane here.

There is something to be said for varietal, or site-specific, “typicity”; but it’s not the end-all be-all. And that’s said without even touching the third rail of “defining “typicity”.”

Had a discussion with someone just recently, they’re free to identify themselves, and this person knows napa wines and said basically “I’m coming to the conclusion that barrel selection/toast levels are the most important factor”. It’s a interesting take in the face of terroir because french/american oak is anything but terroir.

But those oak barrels do have the potential to reflect terroir!

Of the forest or the vineyard?

[Brian_G_r_a_f_s_t_r_o_m]

Had a discussion with someone just recently, they’re free to identify themselves, and this person knows napa wines and said basically “I’m coming to the conclusion that barrel selection/toast levels are the most important factor”. It’s a interesting take in the face of terroir because french/american oak is anything but terroir.

But those oak barrels do have the potential to reflect terroir!

Of the forest or the vineyard?

Forest.

[LasseK1]

I really like the “somewhereness” term suggested in here. It makes much more sense to me, as it takes into account both nature and human intervention, culture and history at a location.