Vineyard geology – the rocks and soils in which the grapevines are rooted – pervades the world of wine. To illustrate the point, the picture below is a collage of wine labels – all of which bear geological terms. The back-labels on wine bottles also may mention geology, as in the following extracts: “our wine originates from limestone soils”; “the chateau is on sandy limestone from the Cretaceous period”; “the vines grow on argilo-calcareous soils with sea-shell fossils” and, most impressively, “our vineyard has Triassic and Jurassic sediments on undulating Proterozoic granulite and migmatite with numerous dolerite dykes”.
But it is in the wine press where wine-geology references really abound. It is de rigeur to at least mention the geology in vineyard descriptions, and commonly to assert how it influences the finished wine. Some even claim that the vineyard geology can be tasted in the wine: “you can taste the volcanic ash of nearby Vesuvius”; “wine allows me to taste soil and bedrock”; “a “graphite or schisty-ness flavor which I identify as coming from the soil of the Priorat”; “in Brouilly, there are veins of blue granite nuanced in the wines”.
Of course, all plants are influenced by the site and soil where they grow – every farmer or gardener knows that - but only with wine (despite the extensive post-harvest processing of the fruit) are the connections taken this far. And the fact is that much of the basis for this degree of interaction is anecdotal and subjective: the scientific justification is mixed.
This article attempts to review the situation, summarising present scientific understanding of vineyard geology and what it might bring to wine. It is in two halves. The first part outlines the general principles and the second part explains some of the wealth of geological terms and concepts that are so often met with in the world of wine.
A collage of wine labels illustrating the attraction of geological terms for wine names.
Historical: why do soils seem so important for vines and wines?
Back in the Middle Ages, the Burgundian monks were busy consolidating their newly granted monastic lands – and planting vineyards. They knew that vines grew better on some sites than others, and legend has it that the monks even tasted the soils to find which would give the best tasting wine. And why not? The vines were obviously taking up water from the soil and with it, presumably, everything else that they needed to grow. The vines and the resulting wine had to come from matter in the soil. The local climate affected the ripening of the grapes and to the monks there was a spiritual dimension to it all, but the idea that the vineyard soil was central to wine flavor seemed self-evident. Wine was made of the soil.
The idea was to become entrenched. It was all part of the patrimony of France, and the creed was handed down through the generations. Most soils come from the underlying bedrock so that by the time the appellation contrôlée system was introduced it seemed natural to involve the bedrock geology in delimiting preferred vineyard sites.
Today, to some it still seems self-evident. Wine writers have certainly embraced the sheer romance of the notion. Moreover, through bestowing an obvious “sense of place”, the idea provides immeasurable marketing value. After all, vineyard geology is one of the few things that cannot easily be replicated elsewhere. Also, in addition to the centuries of accumulated anecdote, there’s the fact that many classic wines, the Grand Crus and the like, come from sites with a particular geology. So – in a neat bit of cyclic reasoning – the bedrock is still supposed to be crucial. And it is certainly being perpetuated in the new fashion of tasting minerals in wine. “Minerals” and “minerality” are suddenly, apparently, the most commonly used wine descriptors – and now being extended to specifics, such as saying wines have a graphite, granite or limestone minerality. Those Burgundian monks would certainly be pleased with their legacy!
Modern science, however, gives a somewhat different view. For we now know that vines, like all other plants, are not made of soil. Rather, they are made, in a way, of sunshine, air and water. By the late 1800s scientists were talking about photosynthesis. And today, ten Nobel Prizes later, we know pretty well how plants carry out their growth. So we are now in a position to put the folklore to one side and look at what the evidence says about how important vineyard soils really are for vines and wines.
Scientific: what do rocks and soils bring to vines and wines?
Grapevines, like all land plants, use sunlight to extract carbon dioxide from the air and combine it with water to produce sugars. From these, all the various carbohydrate compounds that make the vine are manufactured. In other words, sunlight-driven photosynthesis, not soil, makes the vines. The soil, however, is still very relevant: much of the vital water is obtained from it, drawn up through the vine roots. And we know of sixteen elements that are essential for the carbohydrate reactions to take place, almost all of them coming from the soil, dissolved in the soil water. (The availability or otherwise of these elements is generally referred to as the fertility of the soil.)
Most people know at least vaguely about such mineral nutrients, seeing as all animals, including humans, also require such “essential minerals”. In fact, this would seem to be the basis of the fashionable notion of tasting minerals in wines - minerals well known to exist in soils and assumed to have been transmitted through the vine to the finished wine. (However, my article in the forthcoming Spring 2013 Edition of Practical Winery and Vineyard Journal will document why the perception of what we are now calling “minerality” in wine cannot literally be the taste of vineyard minerals).
Regarding these nutrient minerals, let us first note that:
They are derived from - but are not the same as - the geological minerals that make up the rocks, stones and physical framework of vineyard soils;
Hence the relations between the (minuscule) inorganic content of finished wine and geological minerals in the vineyard is complex and distant. That is one reason why it has proved so difficult to find a reliable way of chemically “fingerprinting” the provenance of wine. Even so, the nutrient supply is essential and so deserves a closer look.
Of the sixteen essential nutrients, a few are needed by the vine in relatively large proportions. Hence they are known as macronutrients. But note the word “relatively”: even these are measured in concentrations of only parts per million (milligrams per kilogram).
Nitrogen is particularly important in that small variations in its uptake affect the amount of vegetative growth of the vine and the way the yeast metabolises the must. Although, of course, air is mainly nitrogen, most of the vine’s nitrogen comes from the organic part of the soil, the humus, as does most phosphorus and sulfur. The latter, together with chlorine, can also be airborne and taken up through stems and leaves. Of the other macronutrients, calcium, magnesium, and potassium are derived wholly from the soil. Calcium is important because it influences the pH (acidity/alkalinity) of the soil and hence the availability of other nutrients, enhancing it for some but reducing it for others.
The remaining nutrients, such as iron, manganese, zinc and copper, are also derived from the geological minerals that make the soil. The essential amounts are tiny (parts per billion) so these are called micronutrients, or sometimes trace elements. Excess of them can cause toxicity. A common problem here is that although the vine roots attempt to govern the uptake of each nutrient, some elements are chemically sufficiently alike to “fool” the mechanisms so that too much is absorbed of one to the detriment of the other. A number of vine diseases result from this.
Grapevines try to develop extensive root systems, extending laterally and vertically for a metre and in some cases much more - a strategy of exploiting (relative to many other plants) large volumes of soil at a low root density. Some growers try to artificially increase the root density believing it may enhance any signature of the soil in the wine. Much of the root skeleton becomes established in the first few years of growth although small “feeder” roots continue to grow. Even then, the humus-based macronutrients will be derived from the topmost part of the soil and the other nutrients are usually available from not far beneath. Any deeper roots are chiefly seeking water.
It follows from this that the belief that old vines have deep roots and therefore provide something extra to wine lacks scientific justification. Similarly, there is no basis for the common assertion that a complex geology leads to complex flavors in the wine. Vine roots take up their required balance of nutrients irrespective of the source, although vineyards located on a single rock type are more likely to suffer from nutrient paucity.
Vine roots have to absorb the mineral nutrients in soluble form. And this is the crux of the difference between geological and nutrient minerals: the latter are dissolved, and most consist of single elements, whereas the former are insoluble complex compounds. As an example, various transformations are needed to extract soluble magnesium (Mg++) from the geological mineral pyroxene, a typical formula for which would be (Ca, Na), (Mg, Fe, Al) (Si, Al)2O6. If that looks complicated, then that’s the point. Most geological minerals are complex! And so are the processes by which the nutrients are made available.
This is because the constituent elements are firmly bonded within the geological minerals, and can only become released after various processes of chemical “attack” we call weathering. Water and air, and the impurities they contain, trigger chemical reactions with the bedrock minerals, changing their nature and eventually, through a complex range of processes, tending to release some of the elements in dissolved form. Then, if circumstances are right, they may be transported to the vine roots for absorption.
Here’s an example. (The names of the rocks and minerals involved will be explained in the second part of this article, on vineyard geology). All vines require potassium and in the Lodi district of California they acquire it primarily from the region’s granite bedrock. But that simple statement hides a whole sequence of processes. In outline, the granite has to begin physical disintegration in order to expose its constituent minerals to weathering. One such mineral is muscovite (which contains potassium), and on exposure to water, weathering starts to convert it into various clay minerals such as vermiculite. But although vermiculite (the same stuff you can buy in garden centers or for loft insulation) consists of loose, tiny grains and hence presents large surface areas that increase exposure to further reaction, most of the constituent ions remain firmly locked in the new minerals. Continuing reactions attempt to convert the material into other, different clay minerals, but the potassium may still be “fixed” in them. In fact, it has been estimated that although a typical vineyard may have plenty of potassium in the geological minerals, as little as 2% might actually be available to the vines.
Eventually, varieties of clay minerals may be formed that are able to yield the potassium from their surfaces, but only provided it can be swapped for some other suitable element that happens to be in the water adjacent to the mineral surface. If this does happen, finally the potassium that originated in the bedrock is released in dissolved form. But even then, transporting it to the vine roots and setting up the chemical gradients needed to trigger absorption involves further complex mechanisms. Natural vine nutrition is all very intricate, prolonged and variable.
Organic Content of Soil
All soil has some degree of organic content. It is this that makes fragmented rock a true soil. After all, the Moon is covered by rock debris and dust but it has no soil. However, this distinction between rock and soil is unusually blurred in the case of vineyards as vines can exist in thin, exceedingly stony soils.
Typical soils consist of a physical framework, usually geological minerals derived from some parent rock, with spaces called pores that contain some combination of water, oxygen and other gases, and organic matter, living or dead. The living material ranges from worms, lice, mites and the like down through nematodes and protozoa to invisible bacteria. Particularly important for vines are fungi, and especially the filamentous growths called mycorrhizae, which can live in partnership with the vine roots. They can extract directly, without the need for dissolving, certain elements from the surface of rock and yield them to the vine, in exchange for carbon. Such processes can be important in marginal soils, such as those poor in phosphorus.
While too much organic matter can lead to imbalanced nutrition, and especially excess vigour from surplus nitrogen, it is now fashionable in viticulture to strive for a healthy, living soil. This is partly a backlash to the sterile soils resulting from past decades and more of carelessly applied agrochemicals, but also a realisation that healthy soils tend to be well structured, easier to manage and relatively resistant to disease. Such thinking is the basis of so-called organic viticulture.
Strikingly stony soils (composed of a pale-weathering igneous rock called andesite) at Tokaj, Hungary.
In addition to the nutritional aspects outlined above, there are physical factors of the soil that are relevant to vines and wines. For starters, fundamentally it is the resistance of the bedrock to erosion that determines the lie of the vineyard land and all the climatic variations that stem from that, e.g. with altitude, air flow, slope angle and aspect, together with the tendency to break down to make soil.
Over time, soils tend to become thicker and finer, and nutrients may be progressively leached away faster than they are replenished. On hillsides gravity tends to move soils downslope. On plains and valley floors the loose soil debris may have been brought large distances, typically by rivers to give alluvium. Some research has suggested that soil depth can influence wine character: shallower soils can give better balanced wines with fewer vegetal notes.
The color of the soil can affect thermal properties, which can be relevant in more marginal areas of grape ripening. Pale-colored soils such as the white, chalky albariza soils of the Jerez region, Spain, reflect the heat of the day and increase light reflection. In contrast, the dark soils, walls and embankments of the Ahr district of Germany, one of the most northerly in Europe, are able to ripen red grapes through absorbing heat for re-radiation at night.
The texture of the soil can affect resistance to compaction, by treading or by machinery, and the ease of root penetration. Some soils can be deep overall but have what is called a duplex structure, where an upper layer of friable (crumbly) soil, possibly quite thin, overlies a hard lower layer which is impenetrable to vine roots.
Most importantly, however, the soil determines how rainfall is absorbed and stored, to be made available to the vine roots. A great deal of both practical experience and scientific research documents how this water behavior is crucial to vine development, grape ripening, and even, ultimately, to wine character. Two properties of a soil are fundamental to how it interacts with water, what are technically called its porosity and its permeability. The porosity expresses what proportion of the soil is space available to be filled by water; the permeability represents how well the spaces are connected.
Obviously a high porosity is desirable for storing water but it is no good if the pores cannot be accessed. A high permeability facilitates rainfall percolation in a wet period but also allows the water to rapidly drain away. So a good soil balances the two. The properties largely stem from the shape and size of the grains that are forming the mineral framework of the soil. The coarsest soils normally encountered in vineyards are gravels. They offer excellent drainage but normally need some additional way of reserving water. Gravels are important in areas of New Zealand’s South Island, like Marlborough, and on the North Island, in the Gimblett Gravels. They are especially noted in the Médoc, where, among others, Châteaux Lafite-Rothschild, Haut-Brion, Latour and Mouton-Rothschild are all located on mounds of gravel.
Particles measuring around 2mm or so across are sand, finer ones are called silt, and the very finest clay. A mixture of all three is termed loam. In general, coarser (larger) and round grains as in sands allow relatively high porosity and permeability; with irregular grains it depends on how they fit together. In addition, a suction force operates between the pore-water and the mineral grains, which is greatest in clays. Hence, together with other reasons, clay soils have the lowest permeability.
Some say that the most blessed vineyard sites have these water properties in exact, natural balance. Château Pétrus in Pomerol is an example. Perched atop a gravel mound providing excellent drainage there are nevertheless lenses of clay at depth, storing water from winter rains for the deepest roots. In Portugal’s arid upper Douro region it is well established that the preferred vineyard sites are on schist rather than granite bedrock. Why? Intrinsic weaknesses in the schist happen to be oriented vertically – ideal for root penetration and percolation by the winter rain. In contrast the granite bedrock is too strong for root access and, lacking fissures, rainwater just runs off it.
The striking terra rossa of Coonawarra, Australia (typically only half a metre thick) is justly famous but the key to its quality is probably the drainage and storage offered by the underlying fissured limestone. Certain esteemed vineyards at Montalcino and Poggibonsi in Tuscany give low yields and concentrated wines because their calcareous soils have just sufficient clay content to ameliorate drought. Accumulations of particles that were transported by wind – the material called loess – can have a good balance between porosity and permeability. Loess underlies some of the most desirable sites in the Walla Walla Valley of Washington and Central Otago, New Zealand.
Those then, are the principles. Taken together it may seem they go some way to restoring the pre-photosynthesis importance of vineyard soils. And clearly both nutrition and water supply are crucial. There is, however, a major proviso. That is, in most of the world’s vineyards these soil factors are artificially manipulated. Fertilisation takes care of nutritional needs and irrigation governs water supply. The natural situation presents the starting point but then the various factors are overridden as appropriate, hence reducing the importance of the natural soil.
The town of Chablis from the Les Clos vineyard. All the Grand Cru vineyards of Chablis lie on the relatively steep, SW-facing “scarp” slope of an escarpment due to the slightly SE-inclines strata of calcareous sedimentary rocks.
Pebbles of mixed lithology in a river channel of the ancestral Columbia River, Newhouse Winery, Snipes Mountain, Washington.
Manipulation of vineyard soils
Earth-moving has long been carried out at vineyards, to a greater or lesser extent. In olden days, down-slipped soil was carted back up a vineyard slope; terraces were built by hand. These days, it is normal for a new vineyard to involve major earth-moving machinery. Drains are installed. In past times, pale soils in cool latitudes of Europe were darkened by the judicious sprinkling of coal dust and soot. Today, planting inter-row cover crops is fashionable for various reasons, negating the role of soil color. Impenetrable soil layers or tough bedrock is attacked by machines known as rippers, to improve vine-root penetration. The list goes on, but the major interventions involve fertilisation and irrigation.
Most modern viticulturalists assess the vineyard soils for nutritional balance and correct it if necessary. The vines may show visual symptoms that all is not well, such as the leaf-yellowing of chlorosis, due to deficiencies in nitrogen, zinc. etc. but arguably it is better practice to anticipate problems through routine analysis. A whole sub-science has arisen on grapevine pathology: how best to carry out analyses, interpret them and selectively apply remediation. It has even become automated to some extent. Nutrient anomalies are detected by the remote sensing involved in precision viticulture and corrections included with the irrigation water, so-called fertigation.
It is axiomatic to many that wine flavor is enhanced by vines that have had to endure a degree of “water stress”. Science has now determined a range of parameters quantifying the required water values for this, for different varietals and soil types, and a range of sensors are available to monitor the data in soils and vine roots so that irrigation can be carried out with precision. Moreover, the timing of the irrigation regime can be adjusted in order to achieve certain desired outcomes. For example, water stress applied between bud burst and flowering can reduce cluster numbers, if this is desired; between fruit set and veraison some water stress can decrease berry size, with associated quality increase.
Of course, there are those who eschew these practices as far as possible, avoiding irrigation by “dry-farming”. An important reason for this is to attempt to restore the role of the natural soil and to enhance, as it is often put, the enigmatic “sense of place”. But usually some nutrient input, albeit organic, is needed. And a host of other decisions have to be made both in the vineyard and during the winemaking so that this remains a debatable proposition. One study showed that even with minimal interventions in a classic region like the Mosel, Germany, wine quality (as reflected by price and land values) fluctuates through time depending on the winemaker of the time.
For the majority of the world’s vineyards, at least some degree of intervention is necessary simply to maintain production. In fact, an important limiting factor in some of the world’s developing vineyard areas, such as Bio Bio in Chile and the Yakima Valley in Washington, is the restricted access to irrigation water. Soil factors can be left to nature if desired, with its attendant vagaries, but for most some manipulation is beneficial, and can be employed to whatever extent the winemaker’s philosophy allows.
From the above, it is clear that soil properties are highly relevant at least to vine behavior. But with so much artificial manipulation it may seem debatable to what extent the continuing preoccupation in wine writings and marketing with the effect of geology is justified, in the vineyard let alone on the finished wine. It is however, likely to continue: it is all very romantic and the fact is that soil ripping and fertigation does not make good copy. There is, however, a wild card lurking in here.
As explained above, the mineral nutrients essential for vine growth are needed in certain, small amounts, typically within a restricted range of values. Too little gives deficiencies and too much can lead to vine problems. But do variations within the known, narrow ranges have any effect? At present, science does not know. But they could be pivotal.
It is well established that very small amounts of metallic elements such as copper, iron and zinc can affect certain organic reactions, such as enzyme metabolism and yeast activation. Hence, conceivably, the course and progress of vine growth and vinification could be influenced. That is, tiny concentration variations in the nutrients of geological origin could in complex and in circuitous ways be influencing wine character and flavour. At present this is largely speculation but future research along these lines could finally provide a scientific basis for the hosts of anecdotal evidence. Note that in this idea the nutrient minerals themselves are still in minuscule amounts and virtually flavorless: they themselves are not tasted. The vineyard soil is not tasted in wine. Nevertheless, the idea would provide some justification for continuing the Burgundian legacy!
-Alex Maltman, Professor, Institute of Geography and Earth Sciences, University of Wales at Aberystwyth, United Kingdom
Outstanding article. Thank you so much for your contribution.
One question: Has there been any work that you are aware of to identify the chemical composition that leads to unique tastes in for example, Chablis? I can't argue that what I taste in Chablis is the direct result of a specific calcareous soil, but I can argue that Chardonnay from Chablis tastes like wine from no other place in the world and is chalk like.
If we are going to dispel the apparent myth – as you would argue – that the taste of soil is present in a wine, It would be helpful to Identify a few key examples and link their flavor to a particular chemical compound and have an understanding of it's origin in the wine.
"That is, tiny concentration variations......" = maybe yes, maybe no. We're not sure. And I, for one, have never stated I could taste the soil in a wine. I say I can taste the effects of a particular soil on the wine. Interesting, but I still beleive Chablis tastes like Chablis because of the soil.
Great article, Professory Maltman! As an educator/examiner, I am constantly trying to figure out what causes the unique end flavors and textures of the world's distinct beverages. There has been much discussion about what an examination can demand of its students, especially in terms of trying to deduce which classic wine they are tasting and what clues lead them there. If our end-game is understanding quality and value as related to, at least partially, "typicity" (for lack of an actual word) of a specific wine or beer or rum, we need to a)recognize certain qualities of a beverage and b)put some name on them. It is with the second point that I think we run awry; as we don't have words to describe that briny/chalky/citric combination found in Geoff's example of Chablis, we defer to the term, "mineral". Furthermore, there seem to be some minerals (or, to your point, maybe nutrients) we can taste; I am ashamed to admit I have eaten chalk as a child and know its taste. There are some rocks you can lick and taste, some you can't. Hardly a scientific assertion, but we are trying to define which terms we should utilize/test to as "markers" for a specific wine vs. those which are scientifically impossible and therefore unfair. Perhaps we will have to agree that some tasting terminology simply is unscientific, yet makes the most sense for our purposes (recognizing a great Volnay and describing it to a restaurant guest) for lack of better. "Slate" in the Mosel might be an example. And, as sommeliers, we have the added pressure of trying to balance real science with having to speak to the 99% of world who couldn't grasp the concept if they were paid a million dollars to do so and really only want something that tastes great with their steak. Is there some suggested balance? Or first baby steps you might recommend?
I might throw out there the connection between "minerality" and acidity in wine. Often, wines with high acidity we describe as "mineral", whereas wines with moderate or lackluster acidity do not tend to merit this descriptor. Regardless of the soil profile, wines with high acid are almost unwaveringly "mineral", but we are really commenting on perceived and elevated acidity. I think low pH tends to do a number of things to our perception - it makes sulfur compounds more obvious, it increases our perception of both sourness and bitterness...all of which may play into a feeling of "minerality".
Another question: Obviously various bottled waters have different levels of "minerality." The vines are obviously drinking water with varying degrees of mineral content. If you were to do an analysis of a finished wine similar to that of bottled water, what kind of numbers would you get? Would anything be of perceptible level? It would be helpful to see real numbers here.
This is a must read for those of us struggling with the concept of terroir, which I think is not too hard to grasp, but very tough to truly understand. It does get the wheels turning, though. A question for anyone who has insight, scientific or otherwise, to offer:
I've thought before, and even more so now, that marijuana farmers and grape growers could learn something from one another. (Sorry for going down this road, but you'll soon see why I have.)
Going to school in Flagstaff, AZ exposed me to quite a few pot connoisseurs (hippies) from California and the Northwestern states and something that stuck with me was their assertion that the flavor (in the smoke, the aroma, as well as if one were to physically eat the stuff) can be changed by adding or subtracting elements and chemicals to the growing material. Calcium carbonate, for example, yields a distinct bubblegum aroma to the finished flowers as well as causes more trichomes (crystals containing THC) to form. There are many other "tricks" that can be applied to yield different flavors, aroma, etc. I think that because of the legal aspects, this concept of minerality, or more specifically the effect of exposure to minerals, in marijuana has only been explored within a closed circle of people but seems to work the same way as with grapes. I don't know for sure, but I would imagine that most of these discoveries took place once marijuana farmers took to indoor hydroponic growing. By eliminating nature, they were able to fully control the nutrients the plant received, the sunlight the plants absorbed, and everything else that goes into the complex science of agriculture. That said, my question is: Has anyone ever tried this type of growing with grapes? If so, what was the outcome? If not, who's going to finance my grand experiment ;-)?
This is awesome stuff!!
How does soil pH affect the grape pH? Casual observation appears to indicate that soils high in calcium carbonate (high pH) produce grapes (and wines) with high acidity (low pH). Chablis is a good example, where the soils are very rich in limestone. Is this universally recognized as true?
In Germany, they actually argue the opposite: soils with high pH (limestone) actually produce Riesling with lower acidity than soils of low pH (slate, for instance). The Germans have actually put about 10 years of scientific study into this, whereas the French rely primarily on anecdote. You might check out my feature article on the Pfalz from a few months back for more on this.
I have a question. When we speak of "terroir," we speak of the total environment that sourced that wine. When we stand in a vineyard and take a handful of dirt/soil/rock etc to smell, we are not surprised to smell it again in the wine? Remembering that most of these inorganics are non-volatile, we are indeed smelling something. Is it an oversimplification to propose that when we scientifically test, we have undoubtedly been very clean. And this very cleanliness which is so important for the experimenter has simply washed the "terroir" away? In other words, perhaps the "minerality" of a wine is not just from what the vine absorbs, but also from what is on the outside of the grapes as well. Is this the crossroads where the quantitative meets the qualitative? Perhaps we analyze "soil" yet sense "terroir?"...Just sayin'
Some good additional reading on the subject: www.enologyinternational.com/.../Minerality_reprint.pdf
I have to agree with Stephen on this one. Many Australian Shiraz smell of eucalyptus to me. I have always attributed this to pollens settling upon the grape skin and being absorbed into the grape. I know the waxy skin should protect the grape but I feel that it is incorporated into the flavor of the wine. Could the 'minerality' we associate with specific regions (Chablis seems the one most commented upon) be a result of the soil being blown into the air and settling upon the grape skin? In this case limestone and chalk dust settling upon the grape and being absorbed into the must.
Thank you all, for your observations and questions. I hope the following is helpful.
Geoff: I wish I could reveal some data on why Chablis tastes like it does, but I’m afraid I can’t! Almost certainly its unique taste is due to the particular organic compounds developed during vinification from that region’s juice precursors. While impressive progress has been made in recent years relating such compounds to grape varietals, there are few data, so far as I’m aware, attempting to explain the typicity of wines from particular areas and none for Chablis.
I would argue that a list of factors determining the compounds at Chablis would be headed by those deriving from the local, high-latitude climate, then from aspects of the viticulture and vinification, with any influences from the soil way on down the list. (It pains me, as a geologist, to say that but I have to be guided by the evidence.) Time may tell. In other words: “no”, science doesn’t as yet know exactly why Chablis has its unique flavor.
But just to provoke more thought: it’s your “chalk-like” remark that I struggle with. Obviously it’s a valuable tasting cue for you, and for others, but chalk (calcium carbonate) is tasteless and odorless. However, some chalk is powdery to the touch so perhaps you are referring to something to do with mouthfeel rather than flavor?
Incidentally, there is no geological chalk at Chablis; neither is there flint, another tasting comparison that is often made for Chablis. Also, among the frequent marine allusions (perhaps because enthusiasts are aware that the geology at Chablis happens to be a sedimentary rock laid down under the sea, as explained in the second of my articles), iodine is often mentioned and related to the local soil. Such as in “the hallmark of great Chablis is the distinct iodine note, coming from the iodine-rich Kimmeridgian bedrock” and “How else can you explain the iodized notes in Chablis if not by the composition of its soil?”. I have recently been involved in a project analysing the iodine content of the soils, vine-tissues and wines of Chablis and nearby areas (and elsewhere). To cut a long story short, it turns out there is actually, on average, less iodine at Chablis (only around 4 microg/L) than in Burgundy soils, vines and Chardonnays, and a lot less than in the Australian and Argentinian examples we measured.
So these geological phrases – such as your “chalk-like” – have to be metaphors, thought associations, helpful personal cues, etc., but not an articulation of anything that’s actually in the wine.
Regarding Shayn’s baby steps, you won’t be surprised that as a scientist I would stick with an established science-based tasting scheme. Ron Jackson’s 2009 book is definitive (Wine Tasting, a Professional Handbook, 2nd edn., Burlington, Massachusetts: Academic Press) and the Noble et al. aroma wheel (originally in the 1987 American Journal of Enology and Viticulture) is well established and widely reproduced. For mouthfeel, Gawel et al.’s wheel is now available at www.winepros.com.au/.../mouthfeel.pdf
But my main point in all this is a plea not to single out tasting terms that involve geology (slate, flint, mineral, etc.) to have a literal meaning. We all accept that, say, plummy or spicy wines don’t contain plums or have had spice added so why do rocks and minerals have to be treated differently? Despite the Burgundian legacy, perceived tastes of minerals and rocks have to be metaphorical.
Justin’s input regarding marijuana is very interesting, In fact I’ve thought along similar lines with the taste of my greenhouse tomatoes! But subjective impressions are one thing, and very influenced by any prior knowledge: I don’t know how well this would hold up to proper testing. And there’s a major difficulty in extrapolating this idea to wine. Here we’re not just talking about the flavor of the vine leaves or the fresh grapes, but about the end result of extensive processing, and we know it is in this that the bulk of wine flavor compounds are produced.
Regarding Geoff’s and Jason’s question on bottled waters, I understand there’s a whole other debate out there about what such waters may or may not taste of. But putting that aside, the pertinent point here is that in comparison with wine the concentration of inorganic solutes in commercial waters is far greater, more varied and very different in origin.
I only have data for European waters. As a few examples, unlike wine, bottled waters can contain significant (up to 0.5 g/L) of tasteable anions such as sulfate. And while the calcium content in wines doesn’t differ a great deal from around 65 mg/L, some bottled waters have as little as 9 mg/L whereas some exceed 500 mg/L (with a taste threshold in water of 130 mg/L). The copper content of wine typically averages around 1.5 microg/L but in waters reaches over 19 microg/L (with a taste threshold in water of 6 mg/L). Please note that these “taste” thresholds are merely detection and not identification values, and that they’re in pure water, where obviously there’s none of the powerful aromatic volatiles of wine. These contrasts with wine come about because the inorganic solutes in groundwater have been dissolved over very long residence times directly from the host aquifer.
Stephen: rocks have no smell, and although any associated organic material may have odor, there is no known way of transmitting it through vine roots into grape juice. However, aerial matter landing on vine stems and grapes is an entirely different situation. For example, there is good documentation about agrochemicals, contaminants from traffic, odor compounds from forest fires, etc. landing on stems and berry skins, then directly dissolving in the must.
So Kevin: while there are various obstacles (of grain size, insolubility, lack of distinctiveness, flavor, etc.) to your Chablis/minerality idea, your eucalyptus point is well taken. We are highly sensitive to the main aromatic volatile in eucalyptus (as little as 1 microg/L) and it is demonstrably present in some California wines at >20 microg/L. But, significantly, only in reds, because of their maceration allowing dissolution from the grape skins. So there’s little doubt that skins are the source. Moreover, the concentrations in Australian Shiraz (also up to 20 microg/L) have been shown to vary with proximity of the vines to eucalyptus trees!
Oops, sorry about the Snipes Mountain mistake. My fault. Thanks, Beth.
Jack: I have no data on vineyard soil/wine pH relationships but I corroborate Matt’s remark that the anecdotes are inconsistent. It may be worth mentioning that an additional complication is that the mineral framework of soils and the parent bedrock, being solids, themselves have no pH (which is free hydrogen in solution). Their acidity/alkalinity has an entirely different basis. Granite, for example, is termed acid because it has a high silica content. Noone said this was straightforward!
Thank you Alex for addressing some of these comments. We are looking forward to the second installment!
Great read! Looking forward to the next installment!