Meet the naked grape

When it comes to California Chardonnay, there are usually two things you hear from winemakers. The first: “It’s very Burgundian.” This can be difficult to interpret, especially when the wine, hitting the mouth like a pineapple butterscotch sundae, tastes nothing like a lemony, minerally Burgundy. You wonder, does the winemaker really think it tastes like Burgundy? The other line you hear: “I’m not trying to make Burgundy; I’m only trying to make California Chardonnay.” The problem is that nobody seems to know what California Chardonnay is supposed to taste like. And if what it’s supposed to taste like is pineapple butterscotch sundae, well, there’s a problem.

Over the last decade, people have been fleeing Chardonnay precisely for these reasons. Adherents of the ABC (“Anything But Chardonnay”) movement of the ‘90s would drink anything but the over-manipulated California Chardonnays that were so ubiquitous.

The rise of such imports as New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Grigio from Italy, both lighter, crisper, unoaked wines, occurred in part because people were seeking a respite from clunky, heavy California Chardonnay.

That said, the Chardonnay market is very much intact. It’s still the No. 1 white grape, in both acreage and U.S. sales. But styles in California are changing, and many wines are moving toward being more drinkable, food-friendly wines that, well, taste like Chardonnay. These days, you even have a chance of finding one that actually goes with seared scallops, sauteed filet of Petrale sole or even an abalone steak. And the way wineries have been accomplishing this is by subtraction, not addition. Primarily what they’re reducing is new oak.

The trend is anchored by a small but significant group of completely unoaked Chardonnays that have hit the market over the last few years. Although this has been a popular style of wine in Australia for years (as in Yalumba and Mad Fish “unwooded” Chardonnays), in the U.S., the idea of naked Chardonnay is a radical thing. As Mike Chelini of Napa’s Stony Hill says, “it’s tough when you have to sell your wine and when there are critics who will ding you if they don’t taste some oak and some butter.”

But now the few lonely wines that have been resisting oak for years, such as Mendocino’s Toad Hollow (which uses no oak at all) and Napa’s Stony Hill (which uses only very old, neutral barrels) are being joined by others, with steely names like Inox and Metallico. And wines like Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars’ Arcadia Chardonnay, which had been made with new oak, have seen huge reductions of the time they spend in new wood in recent years. These wines emphasize clarity and purity of fruit over everything else. They seek to capture an essence that overindulgence in new oak can only cloud.

Here, one important point must be made: In and of itself, oak is not a bad thing. There are oak barrel-fermented wines whose oak you cannot taste. Just as there are completely unoaked Chardonnays that are simple and boring. When used well, oak adds complexity of flavor and structure. The issues are balanced winemaking and good taste, which, frankly, lots of California Chardonnays have lacked.

Slow oxidation

Oak’s primary responsibility in winemaking is as a storage medium, softening a wine through the slow oxidation that occurs through the pores of the wood. Oak flavoring comes from new oak barrels, which lend creaminess and flavors of vanilla, spice and toast. With softer flavors and acidity, the wine will be ready to drink sooner.

Steel tank-fermented wines don’t get that slow oxidation and thus retain both their crisp acidity and more of their primary fruit flavors. But there’s a big difference between a brand new barrel and a used one.

“In the old ones, the flavor’s pretty much gone,” says Dan Lee of Morgan winery. Lee’s Metallico Chardonnay, which is fermented in steel, “actually spends four to six months in older, neutral barrels,” he says, “which soften the wine for early consumption without adding oak flavor.”

Thus, using various combinations of both steel tank and neutral barrel fermentation and aging, winemakers are finding that they can craft stylish, individualized Chardonnays that are free of the flavors of new oak.

So how did California come to love the taste of new oak if great wines can be made without it? The answer brings us back to the Burgundy question. As French grapes supplanted varieties like Zinfandel and Petite Sirah in California vineyards, winemakers in the ‘70s and ‘80s became enamored of French winemaking methods.

In Burgundy, oak aging and malolactic fermentation (a secondary process that converts tart malic acids into creamier lactic ones, giving that flavor of butter) are standard for most Chardonnays.

In the rush to adopt these methods, California winemakers disregarded certain key points, namely that Burgundy and California have completely different climates. The techniques that augmented Chardonnay in cool Burgundy weren’t always tasteful in hot, sunny California.

For instance, Burgundy’s grapes have much higher acidity, which oak aging and malolactic fermentation will soften. A much warmer and sunnier place, California typically produces grapes whose acids should usually be preserved, not softened. Furthermore, in Burgundy only the most powerful and rich of Chardonnays, Montrachet for example, get completely new oak, as they can absorb it. In California, most wines were treated to such luxuries.

The exception to the Burgundy rule is, of course, Chablis, that northern part of Burgundy where traditionally the wines received no new oak. Chablis is an austere wine, tart and high in acidity, whose greatest examples are not usually drinkable for years. Stony Hill is the most Chablis-like California Chardonnay and has been made this way since the ‘50s. Although drinkable when young, the wine doesn’t come into its own until several years down the road, as it softens through age and its beautiful lemon, floral and mineral notes blossom. Commercial-minded winemakers in California chose not follow this model, instead opting for the more lavish, sweet taste of early consumption, which could only be achieved through barrel aging and fermentation. Thus oak became the tail that wagged the Chardonnay dog.

But for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and some, like the ABC crowd, turned away from the California caricatures of Chardonnay. This was not lost on some winemakers.

“Selling wine out in the market and talking to sommeliers and wine buyers,” says Greg Brewer of Melville Winery in Santa Rita (Santa Barbara County), “I found so many of them who were so burnt out on Chardonnays they wouldn’t even taste them. They were into wines like Riesling and Gruner Veltliner” (both of which are almost never oaked). “An unoaked Chardonnay,” he adds, “is much easier to pair with food than an oaky one.”

Where the fruit leads

David Rossoff, the departing wine director of Opaline, agrees. “There are very few dishes that mate with a flabby wine carrying the flavors of wood and butter,” he says, “because once you lose the precision and vitality of the wine, everything falls flat.” Caroline Styne, wine director of AOC, says, “it’s all about the acidity. If you don’t have acidity, the wine won’t go with food. Excessive time in new oak and malolactic fermentation just seem to take the acid away.”

There are other, practical incentives for a winery to forgo oak. “People love the price point,” says winemaker Craig Reed of Martin & Weyrich Winery. With new French oak barrels costing anywhere from $700 to $1,000 apiece, wineries save a lot of money if they don’t have to buy new barrels for their Chardonnay, savings that can be passed on to the buyer.

The fruit in Reed’s 2003 Martin & Weyrich Chardonnay comes from Paso Robles; winegrowers have determined that most sites there are too hot to produce great Chardonnay. Influenced by Australian unoaked Chardonnays, Reed discovered that he could still use the flabbier fruit he had by keeping the wine in steel tanks to preserve acidity and freshness. “It just clicked for us,” he says of his unoaked Chardonnay, which offers the tropical fruit notes of banana and pineapple you would expect from warm-climate Chardonnay but adds a lean citrus note and crisp acidity that leaves the palate clean and refreshed.

This doesn’t mean that all unoaked Chardonnays are cheap. Good fruit is still expensive. And it’s good grapes that have brought some winemakers to eliminate new oak. It’s the old rule: Don’t screw up a good thing.

Warren Winiarski decided to change his Arcadia Chardonnay because of something he found in his vineyard.

“One year prior to harvest,” he says, “I tasted a character in the grapes that was just so beautiful. I said ‘Let’s do everything we can to preserve this character in the final wine.’ The grapes just had great acidity, lovely fruit and this flowery character.”

The first trials were in 1988 and, over the next few years, the wine saw less and less new oak and malolactic fermentation. Now the wine is made only in older oak. It yields aromas of pear, lemon and honeysuckle; on the palate it is crisp, almost austere, with bracing acidity.

Greg Brewer began to make his Inox (the French word for steel) Chardonnay in 2000 for similar reasons.

“We isolated a particular area of the vineyard that just produces perfect fruit,” says Brewer. “It would be a crime to do anything but let it express itself.”

Inox never sees wood; it’s fermented and aged in steel. The wine is luminous, with clean aromas of citrus, mineral and hints of tropical fruit. In the mouth, Inox is lush and smooth with punchy acidity. Its sweetness isn’t the cloying, superficial kind that wine extracts from oak but an intense, fruit-driven one.

Fruit-driven has always been the model for California wines, so it’s good to see wineries return to it. The way things are going, the next time you order a pineapple butterscotch sundae, it might actually come in a parfait glass rather than a wine goblet.

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A sampling of the crisp new Chards

2003 Morgan Metallico, Santa Lucia Highlands (Monterey County) ($20): Steel-tank fermented, aged 4 to 6 months in neutral oak. Powerful, well-structured wine with notes of citrus and mineral. Available in Los Angeles at the Wine House and Beverage Warehouse and in Orange County at Hi-Time Wine Cellars (Costa Mesa) and the Wine Room (Irvine).

2003 Melville Inox, Santa Rita Hills (Santa Barbara County) ($30 retail): Steel-tank fermented and aged. Lean and crisp, with vibrant aromas of lemon and apple. At 15%, the alcohol is high, but the wine is balanced. Available only directly through the winery or at restaurants, including Campanile, Spago, Restaurant Alex, Bistro 45 and Robert Simon.

2003 Martin & Weyrich Chardonnay, Paso Robles ($12): Steel-tank fermented and aged. Aromas of tropical fruits overlay zippy acidity. A little hot on the finish. Available at Silver Lake Wines in Silver Lake, at Mr. Marcel in Los Angeles and at Friends of the Vine in Redondo Beach.

2001 Stony Hill Chardonnay, Napa Valley ($27 retail): Fermented in 25-year-old barrels, aged in used oak. Gorgeous nose of lemon and mineral. Elegant in the mouth, restrained fruit with complex structure and perfect balance. Available only directly from the winery (in a sampler pack with two other wines or in a case of library wines) or at restaurants, including Chloe, Zax, Globe, Yujean Kang’s (Pasadena and Costa Mesa), Wine Cask (Santa Barbara) and Ritz-Carlton Huntington.

2002 Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars Arcadia Chardonnay, Napa Valley ($45): 60% tank fermented and aged, 40% fermented and aged in 3- to 4-year-old barrels. Aromas of pear, lemon and honeysuckle. Austere, with restrained fruit and a long, delicious finish. Available at Wine House in Los Angeles, Heritage Wine in Pasadena and Hi-Time Wine Cellars in Costa Mesa.

-- Jordan Mackay