By: Tod Stewart
The latest vintage of Domaine de la Bon Bouche sets the lips tingling as if tickled by the eyelashes of an angel as it flits on gossamer caresses, coming to alight gently on the tongue. Resting its silky wings, it envelopes the palate in a cocoon of velvety, glycerol-induced unctuousness. Wrapped in a creamy, viscous robe, it perches supplely on the papillae, mustering the steely resolve required to resume an ultimately suicidal (though heart-arrestingly warm and generous) slink down…down…down. Without gritty tannin, without harsh heat, without even a suggestion of chalkiness, it bids, adieu mon amour to my spent taste muscle and departs in a gush of crisp, crunchy yet at once satiny tactile replay.”
Sick of this yet?
Me, too. So let’s get on with it.
Obviously Domaine de la Bon Bouche is not a real wine, winery, or marketing gimmick (okay, hold that last possibility). Nor is the “review” the product of a real “wine writer” (though considering some of the reviews I actually have had the displeasure of reading, it’s not much of a stretch to think it could be).
However, if you study that exercise in vinopomposity you’ll notice something interesting. Not once…once…were aromas and flavours ever mentioned. Coincidence? I think not (mostly because I wrote it that way on purpose).
The point, insofar as there is one, is that there’s a dimension to wine (and spirits and beer and all the other goodies that slide over your palate) that goes beyond smell and taste. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which….(Sorry, but I’ve been dying to shove the “Twilight Zone” intro into one of my bits.) Actually, it’s the dimension of the tactile and it is the zone where those elements that give wine textures roam. The things that make them “silky” or “furry.” “Gritty” or “velvety.” “Round” or “sharp.”
A highly extracted Alsace Gewurztraminer can come off as almost oily or “creamy” on the palate. A brisk, unoaked Chablis can be steely. A raw young Cabernet will be puckeringly astringent. These non-flavour components are responsible for what the cork dorks generally call “mouthfeel.” When a wine has a particularly noteworthy mouthfeel you tend to resist the urge to swallow it right away. Instead, you hold it in your mouth, roll it around, maybe even chew on it a bit before sending it on its way.
Some of you, perhaps a very few of you, might care to know where these textural elements originate. Given that I fall into the latter group, and I’m writing this, I’ll give it a brief once over then let the truly curious Google the night away.
Rumour has it (or maybe it’s actually the truth, who knows, but I’ve got a deadline pending and can’t waste too much time researching), that two French dudes named Semichon (which, translated, means “half chon” and shouldn’t be confused with Semicornichon, which, translated, means “half little pickle”) and Flanzy (whatever) suggested (to whom nobody is sure) that substances called pectins produced tactile sensations in the mouth. (Actually, a fellow named von Follenberg discovered these things in 1914, but it’s harder to riff on his name.)
Pectins fall into the larger phylum of polysaccharides, and within this party of “Ps” reside a few interesting members including Arabinogalactan proteins (AGP’s – originating in a galaxy far, far away populated – secretly – by those of Arabian descent), Type II Rhamnogalacturonas (RG-IIs; sung, albeit with difficulty, to the tune of The Knack’s My Sharona) and Mannoprotiens (MP’s; typically found dozing in Canadian parliament but also, apparently, found in wine – or into wine, as the case may be.) By the by, I’m not making this stuff up, at least not the names; the descriptors are, however, proudly my own.
I’ve never really been a “leg man” when it comes to wine (and let’s just call them “tears” instead of legs), but the thickness of those somewhat syrupy-looking trails that slither down the inside of the glass point to the presence of glycerol (and alcohol). The more glycerol the “oilier” or more viscous the wine will feel on the palate.
Anyway, numerous tests concluded that these fine thingamajigs do, in fact, combine to alter the textural nuances of a wine. And efforts have been made, usually by the pointy-heads, to analyze, categorize and compartmentalize tactile variants. The results, for good or for ill, being “texture wheels” (similar to the oft-cited UC Davis “aroma wheel”).
So now we know what creates texture in wine. But what causes textures to differ? The answer is found in both nature and nurture.
“But how is this going to impress my dinner guests/date/boss/Arabinogalactan-in-waiting?” you whine annoyingly. To which I answer, “All good things in time, grasshopper.” But seeing as there’s no time like the present, here we go.
If you think about it, texture factors largely in how a wine will tango with a particular morsel of food.
The zesty, electric acidity and mild sweetness of a kabinett level German Riesling offers the perfect foil for a creamy/salty dish, while the cleansing sparkle of a fine glass of fizz drums down the oily character of smoked salmon. The drying astringency of an austere young Bordeaux can be quelled by the proteins in a rare steak. And like the flavours and aromas of a wine, its texture can change with age.
Some feel that the texture of a wine is the most important aspect of the whole experience. David Ramey of Sonoma’s Ramey Wine Cellars is one of those types. How important is texture to him? “From my perspective, it’s huge. I don’t care if a wine smells like apples, peaches or whatever, but I really care that it feels good in my mouth. Focusing excessively on a wine’s aroma is like focusing on cologne while making love – it’s not the main event.” I’ll take his word for it.
Here’s something you can try at home (where else these days?) with minimal cash, fuss and planning that will show you how wine and food can both complement and contrast, and how important the textural aspect can be in making food and wine matches work.
Get yourself a brisk, zesty Sauvignon Blanc (Loire Valley, Niagara, California, New Zealand, etc.). Hit up the cheese monger for a creamy/crumbly young goat cheese, and the fish monger for a few fresh East Coast oysters. Don’t mess with the purity of the oyster by adding gloopy condiments; knock it back au naturel on the half-shell and follow it with a gulp of the wine. The bracing acidity of the wine marries nicely with the briny bivalve creating a sensation of textural lightness. Now try the same routine with the cheese instead of the oyster. The tang of the young cheese matches the zippy grapefruit zing of the wine, but its palate coating creaminess welcomes the wine’s cleansing quality. A great textual match, but on an entirely different level.
I recently (finally) got out of the house to celebrate the reopening of Chef Daniel Boulud’s Café Boulud in the swanky Four Seasons Hotel Toronto. Not only was I treated to a rather spectacular lunch (with some to-die-for duck), I also had the extreme pleasure of matching the various dishes with wines from one of my favourite Champagne houses: Ruinart. I asked the hotel’s Wine Director and Sommelier, Julie Garton, what her views were on the importance of textural elements in wines.
“Texture in wine can be very important for pairing,” she informed me, “especially with red wine as it tends to have higher tannin levels. Many factors contribute to the texture/tannin level of wine, including the thickness of the grape skins, ripeness of the grapes, length of maceration and the vessels used to age the wine. Together, these factors can create different textures which can be described as silky, firm, plush, or grippy. As a result of the texture, the wine can pair better with different foods and cooking methods. White wines aren’t without textures either. Certain wines are known for having a creamier or oily texture despite having tannins.”
She also mentioned that texture helps to balance the respective weights of both the wine and the food matches. Champagne, she assured, made for a fantastic food-pairing partner, notably due to its textural elements. I nodded in agreement (as it is rather bad manners to talk with your mouth stuffed).
“The bubbles can certainly help to add a creaminess to the texture of the wine. However, often the production method, for example, barrel fermented and aged, along with the dosage level and the type of grapes used tend to have the largest impact on the weight and texture of a Champagne. An Extra Brut Blanc de Blancs will often feel leaner on the palate than a Blanc de Noirs, or a Vintage Champagne, which with age will show more richness.”
Favourite matches? “A pairing I’ve always loved is Champagne with fried chicken,” she admits. “Champagne is great with fried foods because of its high acidity. The acidity and the bubbles help to cleanse the palate and cut through the fattiness and oiliness of the dish.” Which also confirmed another wine and food rule: simple wine with complex food; complex wine with simple food.
In the end, writing about wine textures can be a bit difficult, mostly because it’s writing about something we feel. And what we feel, as we all know, often goes beyond words.
