Terroir and Sparkling Wine

There was a piece on a website I read recently—unfortunately a click-bait rant—on terroir and how it is a marketing term rather than an actual concept. I’m open to this cynical interpretation: terroir can seem like a term used solely for the wine insider to intimidate the general consumer.

I’ve previously written and podcasted about terroir, and the issues in describing the concept. It is a frustratingly nebulous term, especially as it’s often used in different ways. And, yes, it can be used as a marketing exercise: but wines do have to be sold.

At the same time, a unique factor to wine—whether in making it or selling it—is that it reflects where it comes from, whether it’s country, region, village, or vineyard. It’s impossible to argue that the climate, site, soil, aspect, exposition, grape variety, alongside historic and traditional practices, do not influence the style and quality of a wine; nor that very small differences in these factors affect the character of the final wine.

This isn’t the opinion of a wine snob: it’s an appreciation of culture. Where I come from, where my parents came from, where my friends’ families came from absolutely inform who I am: so it is too with drinks such as not only wine but whiskey, mezcal, or cognac.

can sparkling wine have terroir?

One example given in the piece is how talking about terroir is nonsense because the style and taste of sparkling wines such as champagne come from second fermentation and bottle ageing. (Coincidentally, in my recent MW exam one of the questions was, “Is there an ideal terroir for the production of sparkling wines?”) In my opinion, winemaking is a part of terroir: the wines taste like they do because of who has made them—wine would not be made without us humans.

Take champagne as an example. The styles of champagne have been formed through history, war, trade, and chance, as well as climate and localised growing conditions. The character of champagne would not be what it is without war and trade; but it would not be what it is without climate and soil types. All of this forms any definition of terroir. Champagne has a cool climate, hence the high acidity in the wines, but there is a wide variety of styles within the region.

For example, the grape varieties have changed over the centuries for commercial reasons but also because of a developed understanding of sub-regions and sites. Meunier is grown in Vallée de la Marne because it buds late and avoids the spring frost that is common in the valley. Côte des Blancs is planted to Chardonnay, to produce lean, elegant, sharp wines. Côte des Bars is further south and warmer, to produce wines with more body and weight, mostly from Pinot Noir.

Many of the big producers blend these regions as well as vintages to make consistent expressions of the Champagne region; but blending doesn’t take regional variances out of the equation. Louis Roederer are committed to converting their growers’ vineyards to biodynamics, because the quality of the land the fruit comes from is paramount. Jacquesson produce multi-vintage wines made from three successive years, with the exact aim of reflecting the terroir of the site and the years. Other small producers such as Agrapart make wines from specific sites to showcase their, well, let’s say it, terroir.

It’s not just champagne, though. In the main production area for cava, Penedès in coastal Catalunya, there are three broad zones for plantings ranging from sea level to higher elevation at 250m+. Again, a lot of cava is a regional blend, but for the best wines plantings of grape varieties must suit the soil, climate, and exposition; for instance, Parellada needs to be planted at high altitude to maintain its acidity. And there are a number of small producers making wine from their own vineyards to reflect place as well as house style: check out Alta Alella, Parés Baltà, or Avinyó for evidence that those producers who concentrate on place make wine superior to the generic, high-volume wines that dominate the market.

Prosecco, another sparkling wine, is not a region associated with the concept of terroir but there are local conditions which show that it’s important there too. Simple Prosecco is grown on fertile plains; good Prosecco is grown on the hills of Conegliano-Valdobbiadene; very good Prosecco comes from a small hillside slope called Cartizze di Rive. Aspect, elevation, and breezes coming in from the Adriatic Sea all influence the style and quality of the wine, which is noticeable when the production methods are the same.

Back in the early 1980s, Louis Roederer decided to invest in California as a loss-leader to avoid paying taxes to the recently elected left-wing President François Mitterrand (a romantic story, I know). To make the investment convincing and worthwhile, they conducted thorough research into the best area for making sparkling wine. They settled on a remote site in Anderson Valley in Mendocino: Roederer Estate now make the best sparkling wine in California. Other Champagne producers investing in California chose sites with a more commercial, tourist-based location: their wines are successful, the tasting rooms always full, but the wines are not as good. Site matters.

Terroir may be a frustrating term, mis- and overused by wine commentators. But until someone comes up with a better term, we’re going to have to continue using it. And that glass of bubbles you’ve just opened: it doesn’t just reflect production methods, but place, grape variety, and, yes, the people who made it and their culture, history, and personality.