Living in the shadow of Burgundy 🍷

Hi Wine Friends,

There has been so much wine activity this week (IPNC, six winery visits, one very special dinner) that it’s hard to know what to share - so I’m just going to focus on one… The New France / New Oregon Dinner that I hosted at Arden with wine writer Jon Bonné.

So what was this dinner all about?

In wine, as in life, there is always a desire to understand things definitively; to reason and ration our way into hard facts and sound logic. When we study wine, we learn principles (often by example of iconic European regions) and then apply that logical knowledge to our future wine encounters. This means hearing about x new region located close to the equator at y high elevation and therefore surmising that the wines will be in z resulting style (ripe and full bodied but with balanced acidity and perhaps an oceanic note).

In most cases, this logical methodology serves us well. As a recovering perfectionist and teacher’s pet, middle school me strove to learn quickly, understand the formula and get to the answer. I didn’t spend a lot of time in the gray area of questioning and contemplation. I just wanted to assess, declare and move on to the next assignment.

But the older I get, the more appreciation I have for the gray area. Maybe things aren’t so black and white. Maybe people aren’t just good or bad. Maybe life isn’t just pass or fail. Maybe whole regions can’t just be whittled down to Old World or New World in style.

When applied to this beautiful region I get to call home, I’m contemplating more thoughtfully what Oregon’s true nature is.

Since the first vines were planted in Dundee's Jory clay in 1966, the statement has been, ‘Burgundy!’  Oregon wine pioneers (wioneers?) like David Lett and Dick Erath looked around at Oregon’s climate (maritime) and latitude (45 degrees) and, based on those factors, decided that the closest parallel was Burgundy (continental/47 degrees). So they planted Pinot Noir and Chardonnay and began our marketing campaign as: ‘the Burgundy of the New World.’

And what a successful campaign it was. Here we are - 60 years later - in one of the most well-respected Pinot-producing regions in the world. We’ve boomed on the world stage, attracting talent (and capital) from Burgundy herself, as well as California, Germany and other Pinot-crazy regions. We’re even home to the International Pinot Noir Celebration!

But as Oregon wine production doubles, triples and quadruples at a breakneck pace, and the topdog grape in everyone’s vineyard is Pinot Noir, it’s worthwhile to ask: did we get it right?

I love Pinot Noir. I really do. And I adore Chardonnay. But as we learn more about the terroir of the Pacific Northwest, I see less and less parallels with Burgundy.

On a geological level, our soils are fundamentally different. Oregon was forged from volcanic activity - igneous basalt, jory clay and windblown Laurelwood loess - all born from volcanic fire and seasoned with rusty notes of iron. Burgundy was formed by the sea - it’s calcium-rich chalky limestone is filled with seashells from the ancient ocean it used to hold, which imparts a flinty minerality in the wines.

Our soils here in the Willamette Valley are acidic on the pH scale while Burgundy’s are basic. We get milder winters and Burgundy gets heaped in snow. We get 1,100 mm of rain; Burgundy only gets 800 mm. Our nights stay warmer (with the exception of the Van Duzer Corridor) while Burgundy has a more extreme diurnal shift.

This is not to say we do not produce excellent Pinot Noir and Chardonnay here. We do. And so does Burgundy. But the regions are not identical twins.

Local winemaker Kate Norris (owner of Division Winemaking Co.) was raised in the Auvergne region in central France - a pastoral landscape of rolling green hills tucked just west of southern Beaujolais and the northern Rhone. She cut her winemaking eeth on Auvergne Gamay and Syrah, along with Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. But when she moved to Oregon, she was surprised that Burgundy was on the tips of everyone’s tongues when, in her words, “it looked exactly like the Auvergne.”

Finally gaining visibility on the American stage, the Auvergne has been quietly producing excellent wine for some time, but has lived in the shadows of its more famous neighbors. It sits at 45 degrees latitude (just like us) with a milder, more maritime-influenced climate (again, like us). And its soils? Volcanic. Lying at similar elevation to the Willamette Valley, the terroir of the Auvergne is comprised of iron-rich basalt that almost directly mirrors the Willamette Valley.

Since not many people know the name Auvergne, it probably doesn’t make sense to change our marketing strategy now. But it does make sense to make friends with the region if we’re truly looking for kindred spirited wines. Gamay thrives in the Auvergne, and so does Syrah. Maybe we could see more of those planted in the Eola Amity Hills.

And why stop at the Auvergne? If we’re not looking at a direct corollary between Oregon and Burgundy, then why not look at Oregon through the lens of other regions to see what insights we can learn?

At Monday’s dinner, we tasted wines from six French regions other than Burgundy: Champagne, the Auvergne, the Loire, Alsace, Bordeaux and Beaujolais, alongside Oregon corollaries. We discussed the similarities in weight and texture between Junction City Chenin Blanc and top quality Savennieres. We noticed the distinct red fruit in Tualatin Valley Gamay (grown in iron-rich loess) opposite the purple fruit of Beaujolais (grown in granite). We marveled at the rocky notes of graphite and wet stone present in both Rocks District Cabernet Franc and Graves Bordeaux.

We could easily have expanded the dinner internationally and tasted Dundee Hills Nebbiolo opposite Italian Barolo, Columbia Gorge Albariño opposite Spanish Rías Baixas or Chehalem Mountains Riesling opposite German Rheingau. And that’s just scratching the surface. There is so much creativity happening in Oregon, but it needs to be encouraged by us - the consumers.

Nearly every winemaker I talk to says the same thing: they want to branch out, they want to plant less Pinot Noir and more of anything else (Gamay, Chenin Blanc, Friulano, you name it), but they're afraid that all the customer wants to drink is Pinot. And winemaking has too thin of margins to gamble your cards on a maybe grape.

So if we want to keep Oregon pioneering (are you up for it?), the best thing we can do to foster our quintessential spirit of exploration is to explore new wines.

The thought I was left with by the end of the meal is this: just like the child's game where you flip the cards over to find the matching sets, it’s fun to play the pairing game. It's satisfying to draw simple conclusions. But reality is much more nuanced. At the end of the day, no one region is exactly like another. And as much as we want an easy answer, it doesn’t lie in adopting an identity that already belongs to someone else.

I say we let Burgundy be Burgundy. Oregon looks pretty good on her own from where I stand.

Cheers,

Kelsey