I sat down with Alan on his back porch one Sunday afternoon, about this time two years ago. I was conducting research and interviews for an article I was writing for Wine Front, on New Zealand syrah. I buckled in, set the question level on turbo and sponged every last drop of gold from Alan’s mouth that I could. He truly is the syrah sensei. Having planted a single row of syrah vines in the Hawkes Bay back in 1984, his are the oldest producing syrah vines in the country. People become very misty at the “old vine” adage, as it were, but far more intruging is the manner by which these vines ended up firstly in New Zealand, and then in Alan’s hands.
It has since been tracked back that the wood I sourced in 1984 went through two or three government stations, dating all the way back to the 1800s. It looks like it was actually James Busby’s original import into New Zealand in the 1840s. He brought wood in from the Sydney botanical gardens where they had a vine collection and it looks like it was one of the early pre-phylloxera clones which, quite possibly, was the same stuff as the old vine shiraz in Australia. I had no idea. - Alan Limmer, Owner/Winemaker
Alan opened a 1997 Stonecroft Syrah (which was excellent - great spice and floral attributes, with impeccable balance) and we discussed the ripening window of syrah. Alan used a trio of consecutive years to demonstrate - 1997, 1998 and 1999. Now, 1998 was the lauded vintage of the decade, with hot, dry conditions, but despite this, Alan considered it poor for syrah. In fact, he had to chaptalise his 1998 syrah because the vines just shut down. The cooler 1997 and 1999 vintages provided Alan with a longer ripening window for his fruit, believing that the structure, fruit flavours and inherent elegance of the wines was preserved in such years.
So, what can we expect from Alan’s syrahs?
They tend to be reasonably weighted wines, fairly elegant without being aggressive in any sense. They have good aromatics, more of a feminine style than the all out grunt, fruit, tannin and oak. I think the wine shows better when it’s not pushed to those extremes. They’re easy to drink; they’re food wines. You don’t have to tough your way through them. Right to the end you’re still seeing things in the wine that are attractive, interesting, and still discovering components of the wine because they have this underlying complexity and elegance without being too one-dimensional. - Alan Limmer, Owner/Winemaker
Here are my thoughts (enjoyed this evening with a massive rump steak):
1999 Stonecroft Syrah Fragrant, spicy, subtly fruity and complex - that’s how I would describe the aromatics. Blackberry, black cherry, briar, licorice, tobacco and white pepper with a lifted, floral character to the bouquet. Medium bodied, the palate is seamless, layered with spices, earth and red and black berry fruits. The acid - still surprisingly youthful - augments the structure and fresh finish of the wine. The tannins are ripe and persisting yet nursed within a silken cloak that culminates in enviable length. Still primary enough to benefit (and require) food, this effort from Alan hasn’t even upchanged to second gear. Will easily cruise through the next decade and, for all intensive purposes, should be at its stunning climax circa 2020.
I’d like to be Terry’s understudy.
I don’t think it’s possible, not in this lifetime anyway, because I don’t presume for a minute that I can absorb the German wine nexus (and all there is to know of it, which rivals the intricacies of Burgundy) any faster than the man himself. Thus, as long as he’s a willing and able traveller, taster and writer, I hold little hope that he will ever require an offsider, let alone a replacement. Nevertheless, that won’t stop me from building my own little German empire in New Zealand and aspiring to offer a similar service, albeit far less entertaining, substantial or knowledgeable.
Let’s talk wine personalities and, informally, wine reviewers. Unless you’ve arrived here accidentally through web searches that capture our lascivious language with reference to wine descriptions and you were hoping for some lewd visuals, I’ll assume that you’re here with a basic foundation of wine knowledge and that you’ve heard of the infamous Robert Parker. If you have a bent for more specific reviewers of wine, especially pinot noir, then you may also have heard of Allen Meadow, who goes by the alias “Burghound”. However, I can almost guarantee that even the most learned of wine aficionados will not be familiar with Terry Theise, unless they are incredibly resourceful, most likely American, and have a penchant for German wines.
The “Terry Theise Estate Selections” are a set of catalogues produced by none other than Terry Theise, that cover the wines of Germany, Austria and Champagne. I have yet to divert my gaze from the German catalogs, such is my captivation and utter obsession with German wine at the moment, Terry’s entertaining dialogue notwithstanding. These catalogues are mass compilations of winery overviews, tasting notes, philosophical essays on wine culture and all associated (and unassociated) tangents. It is simply wine speak for enthusiasts on all levels, shaped into a casual, droll fable that courses with poignant morals.
I particularly like Terry’s approach to tasting notes. There are essentially three approaches to a tasting note. The first is the verbose approach. This looks at a wine in its current form when it is tasted, utilizing adjectives and descriptors, and would definitely be the most common review format. Robert Parker subscribes to this style.
Then there is the second approach; one of structure. This tasting note minimises the use of discrete adjectives for aromas and flavours, instead concentrating on the structure of the wine (its tannin, acid, mouthfeel, length, phenolic constituents, etc). The reasoning behind this method is quite sound, given wine descriptors will change over time as the wine moves through primary, secondary and tertiary stages. The descriptors change, but the underlying structure of the wine remains true. Allen Meadows uses this particular approach.
And finally, there is the “TT” approach. Terry Theise really does need a category all on his own. The approach? Anything goes. Let it flow, when it flows. It’s a hodgepodge of descriptors, adjectives, structural overview, carnal imagery and whatever else comes leaping from Terry’s cognizance at the time of writing and/or tasting. Allow me to illustrate his ethos. Below is an excerpt taken from Terry’s 2007 German catalogue (which can be found in full here):
I know you sometimes use me to discern what you want to buy, and believe me I want to be helpful. But do you really buy wine because it tastes “like boysenberrys and pork-snouts?” Wouldn’t you rather know the wine “danced like Gandhi would have had there been discos in Calcutta?” Well it’s what I’d rather tell you, so get over it. That, or I’ll take my cue from shampoo bottles, and if I like a wine just write, “Open, drink, repeat.”
I can’t tell you where the man was born. I can’t even tell you which state he lives in. I can’t tell you where or what his background was, nor can I relay how he happened onto German wine. What I can tell you is that he is a refreshing slap in the face of wine writing and all the pretention associated with the lemming herds. Anyone needing an introduction (and a lot more) on German wine need look no further.
The man, the myth, the legend - Terry Theise.