American wine writer Matt Kramer’s almost invariable response when a winemaker wanted advice on how to improve his wines — usually without even finding it necessary to taste the wines — was to say: “Use less new oak.”
And, oh, I agree. Probably these days one could add: “And pick the grapes earlier.” We have surely had enough of the unnecessarily high-alcohol, ultra-ripe-fruited stuff.
As to the noticeable taste and other effects of oak in wine, many local winemakers are, in effect, following Kramer’s advice. But not enough, unfortunately. The mocha note in so many pinotages in recent years derives from the clever use of heavily toasted oak as a wine flavourant, but it also happens at more exalted levels — and most certainly in some expensive wines.
Sometimes ambitious winemakers seem to use that sad bit of illogic, assuming that if a little of something is good, a lot must be better. And some wine drinkers find reassurance in that the aroma of oak has come to be associated with expensive (and therefore good, by another bit of illogic) young wine.
The traditional use of small oak barrels in the great classic wines of France (especially in Bordeaux and Burgundy) led imitators of those styles to realise that wood’s influence can add complexity to a wine. Partly it is a matter of the slow oxidation that occurs when a wine is matured in oak (and the smaller the barrel the greater the relative surface area in contact with wood). But new barrels will impart some flavour too and also some tannins (the mouth-puckering component also found in grapeskins, pips, stalks and strong tea).
Getting the balance right
With time, the flavours and tannins deriving from oak can resolve themselves into something more graceful than their youthful obviousness, but only if everything is in balance. But, especially for those untraditional early-drinking wines, oak too easily substitutes for the real complexity and interest that comes from grapes.
I do not think that a happy maturation process will transform a few youngish wines I tried recently. Kleine Zalze surprised me with new releases in the Vineyard Selection range, as I have come to expect better wines from it than the Chardonnay 2011 (R65) and the Shiraz-Mourvedre-Viognier 2010 (R80) — both sweetish, upfront and marked by obvious oak.
No more attractive was the Cabernet Sauvignon 2009 (R95), in which fruit aromas are bullied into submission by spicy oak and wood-derived tannins are surely too crudely powerful for balance and pleasure.
Even more oak-driven (but smoother and better to drink than the Kleine Zalze) is the maiden Welbedacht Patriot 2008, an unusually showy style to come from Schalk Burger’s Wellington winery. Strangely, however, I believe that, in spite of its drying hardness and green-flavoured edge, the wine is doing quite well with the habitués of flashy Johannesburg spots. Perhaps they really like this sort of thing, so I will leave them to it — especially at R240.
What a relief to turn to Waterkloof’s Circumstance Cabernet Sauvignon 2009 (R150), which does not rely on oak for a spurious appeal to importance. It is big but fresh, pure-fruited and lively. Although not aiming (or pretending) to be a great wine, it is harmoniously balanced, well structured and deliciously companionable. This genuinely ambitious modesty is characteristic of all the reds from Waterkloof. Oaking here is what it should be — supportive and unobtrusive.