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Feature Article
Chardonnay has been the white wine king in the U.S. but the once popular, rich, over-oaked style has tarnished the crown. Fortunately that's changing...
and that's no oak.
Want Classic Chardonnay?
Michael Michaud Still Makes It That Way
He’s one of a trio of Chardonnay producers that have been making Chardonnay for decades with a careful touch to avoid over-use of oak, over-the-top alcohol, and all-important acid - honest-to-goodness Chardonnay that reveals the place from where their grapes originate.
by
Alan Goldfarb
August 21, 2007
When I offered my neighbor a bottle of California Chardonnay, he stepped back a foot, threw his hands in front of him, and uttered these words: “Thanks, but I don’t like Chardonnay!”
I understand his unabashed refusal and I wasn’t the least bit insulted. So, I asked to explain his unbridled reticence. He told me American Chardonnays are too sweet, too high in alcohol, and way over the top in oakiness.
He would be right. Not only that, his comments reflect Chardonnay’s deep, dark foray into the land of commodity-driven, characterless wine.
As a consequence, Chardonnay has practically fallen over the side of the North American continent, even though once not too long ago, it was the generic white wine of choice. Where once Americans loved their sweet, buttery Chardonnays, all of a sudden they were told – and they bought – the notion that sweet and buttery was no longer in fashion.
But Chardonnay began to make an oh-so-slight comeback a couple of years ago, when those in the forefront of style got it into their brainpans to release Chardonnay with the claim on their labels “no oak,” or “unoaked.” But those wines too were disparaged, even by those who couldn’t discern a Chardonnay from a Charbono. Consumers realized quickly that those oak-challenged entries were insipid and just as un-hip as the popcorn-like Chards they had earlier eschewed.
All this is to tell you that if the likes of Michael Michaud and Peter McCrea and the Smith brothers, Charles and Stuart, have anything to say about it,
Michael Michaud with his vineyard stretching back to the Pinnacles.Chardonnay is on the comeback trail; and will once again capture the imagination of a populace that’s just waiting (as it is wont to do) for the next fantastic thing.
Except that the next best thing from the likes of Michaud and his Michaud Vineyard, McCrea at Stony Hill and the Smith boys at Smith-Madrone, have been with us all along; it’s just that the vox populi didn’t know it.
This trio of Chardonnay producers has been making Chardonnay for decades with lots of restraint and a careful touch when it comes to things such as over-use of oak, over-the-top alcohol, and all-important acid. More to the point, they’ve been making honest-to-goodness Chardonnay that reveals and informs the place from where their grapes originate.
Stony Hill and Smith-Madrone are kissin’ cousins, situated next door to each other on an anomalous piece of ground atop Spring Mountain. They’re both Chardonnay producers when all around them Napa Valley Cabernet is Mr. Big.
As for Michael Michaud, not only has he had to battle the citizenry’s repudiation of the poor, beleaguered variety, but he’s done it in a remote corner of California that’s more populated by rattlesnakes and other critters than people.
Michaud himself threw off the yoke and comfort of the Hollywood Hills where he grew up. He somehow wound up at the end of a dead-end road on top of a mountain, more than a dozen miles from the nearest town. A town that was more infamous for its correctional facility (read: prison) than its grape-growing prowess.
In what became known as the Chalone American Viticultural Area (AVA), principally because of its sole wine inhabitant, Chalone Vineyards, Michaud – who had been
the longtime winemaker at Chalone – started his own vineyard 20 years ago. It was adjacent to something called the Pinnacles National Monument, one of a chain of remote California parks, and 13 miles from the dusty Monterey County town of Soledad and its Soledad Prison.
It’s up there, at 1,500 feet that Michaud makes some of the best, most interesting, and most distinctive Chardonnays in America. Indeed, they are Chardonnays that sing of the region from which they are produced. And they are priced at a very reasonable $38.
We at APPELLATION AMERICA recently conducted a blind tasting of six of Michaud’s Chardonnays dating to 1998. The 9-year-old wine was showing some maderizing from years in the bottle, but it still had freshness and a patina of minerality that was consistent throughout. Additionally, the presence of oak was at a minimum, used merely to round out the wine, although the acidity throughout was prevalent and welcomed.
Michaud holds his wines back in order for them to gain some bottle age before release. It’s interesting to note, that while many Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignons from the 2004 vintage are selling out, Michaud won’t release his ’04 Chardonnay until September.
I spoke with Michaud (pronounced ME show) recently to find out why he does what he does and from where he does it.
I understand his unabashed refusal and I wasn’t the least bit insulted. So, I asked to explain his unbridled reticence. He told me American Chardonnays are too sweet, too high in alcohol, and way over the top in oakiness.
He would be right. Not only that, his comments reflect Chardonnay’s deep, dark foray into the land of commodity-driven, characterless wine.
As a consequence, Chardonnay has practically fallen over the side of the North American continent, even though once not too long ago, it was the generic white wine of choice. Where once Americans loved their sweet, buttery Chardonnays, all of a sudden they were told – and they bought – the notion that sweet and buttery was no longer in fashion.
But Chardonnay began to make an oh-so-slight comeback a couple of years ago, when those in the forefront of style got it into their brainpans to release Chardonnay with the claim on their labels “no oak,” or “unoaked.” But those wines too were disparaged, even by those who couldn’t discern a Chardonnay from a Charbono. Consumers realized quickly that those oak-challenged entries were insipid and just as un-hip as the popcorn-like Chards they had earlier eschewed.
All this is to tell you that if the likes of Michael Michaud and Peter McCrea and the Smith brothers, Charles and Stuart, have anything to say about it,
Michael Michaud with his vineyard stretching back to the Pinnacles.
Except that the next best thing from the likes of Michaud and his Michaud Vineyard, McCrea at Stony Hill and the Smith boys at Smith-Madrone, have been with us all along; it’s just that the vox populi didn’t know it.
This trio of Chardonnay producers has been making Chardonnay for decades with lots of restraint and a careful touch when it comes to things such as over-use of oak, over-the-top alcohol, and all-important acid. More to the point, they’ve been making honest-to-goodness Chardonnay that reveals and informs the place from where their grapes originate.
Stony Hill and Smith-Madrone are kissin’ cousins, situated next door to each other on an anomalous piece of ground atop Spring Mountain. They’re both Chardonnay producers when all around them Napa Valley Cabernet is Mr. Big.
As for Michael Michaud, not only has he had to battle the citizenry’s repudiation of the poor, beleaguered variety, but he’s done it in a remote corner of California that’s more populated by rattlesnakes and other critters than people.
Michaud himself threw off the yoke and comfort of the Hollywood Hills where he grew up. He somehow wound up at the end of a dead-end road on top of a mountain, more than a dozen miles from the nearest town. A town that was more infamous for its correctional facility (read: prison) than its grape-growing prowess.
In what became known as the Chalone American Viticultural Area (AVA), principally because of its sole wine inhabitant, Chalone Vineyards, Michaud – who had been
the longtime winemaker at Chalone – started his own vineyard 20 years ago. It was adjacent to something called the Pinnacles National Monument, one of a chain of remote California parks, and 13 miles from the dusty Monterey County town of Soledad and its Soledad Prison.
It’s up there, at 1,500 feet that Michaud makes some of the best, most interesting, and most distinctive Chardonnays in America. Indeed, they are Chardonnays that sing of the region from which they are produced. And they are priced at a very reasonable $38.
We at APPELLATION AMERICA recently conducted a blind tasting of six of Michaud’s Chardonnays dating to 1998. The 9-year-old wine was showing some maderizing from years in the bottle, but it still had freshness and a patina of minerality that was consistent throughout. Additionally, the presence of oak was at a minimum, used merely to round out the wine, although the acidity throughout was prevalent and welcomed.
Michaud holds his wines back in order for them to gain some bottle age before release. It’s interesting to note, that while many Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignons from the 2004 vintage are selling out, Michaud won’t release his ’04 Chardonnay until September.
I spoke with Michaud (pronounced ME show) recently to find out why he does what he does and from where he does it.
Alan Goldfarb (AG):
Jim Laube (Wine Spectator) and Robert Parker once called Chalone Vineyards’ Chardonnays the ‘Montrachet’ of California. I disagree. I think your Chardonnay is the ‘Chablis’ of California.
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