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Feature Article
Raising the viticultural flag over American terroir
Are we not good enough to own terroir?
Mary Baker’s commentary on the folly of attempting to define a French word in a North American context.
by
Mary Baker
April 4, 2006
“You can only produce Chateau Latour at Chateau Latour… This does not mean that good, even excellent wine cannot be made elsewhere, it's just that it doesn't reflect its origins as closely.”
This statement was posted online by a sommelier in a discussion comparing terroir character in the wines of France versus North America. To me, it is remarkable because it reflects a belief that North America is not good enough to lay claim to the concept of terroir. That somehow we are upstarts who have usurped classic European varieties and are trying to grow them in imitation of our betters, and that because we do not own the origin of the term terroir, we will never own the reality.
Let’s look at our history for a moment without the lorgnette of cultural superiority. How did these European Vitis vinifera vines, which produce classic European grape varieties, come to be planted in North America?
The vines were brought over by Europeans; primarily French, Italian and Swiss immigrants between 1870 and 1945. At this time, Europe was ravaged by three consecutive wars -- the Franco Prussian War, World War I, and World War II. Vineyards were devastated, and occasionally bombed. Husbands, fathers, sons, and uncles were conscripted and many never returned. Automobiles, tractors, even horses were requisitioned. Copper was scarce, fine vintages distilled into fuel, and barriques destroyed.
These immigrants came to North America, bearing cuttings and hopes of a new beginning -- a home and a future for their children free of war and scourges.
One such scourge, the Phylloxera louse, came close to destroying the wine industry of France after its accidental introduction from America in about 1860. Grafting of susceptible European vines onto resistant North American rootstock saved the vineyards of Europe. And how was phylloxera introduced to France? Was it because of an exodus of American settlers running to France? Hardly likely. And what saved French vineyards? The lowly, foxy Vitis labrusca, brought from North American soils.
V. labrusca is not all the Europeans harvested. Cod, salted or dried, was in great demand in Europe, where Catholics had to abstain from eating meat for more than 160 days of the year. In poorly heated France, fur skins were greatly appreciated as a means of keeping warm. North American forests supplied Europe with pine and oak, pulp and paper for centuries. The west coast supplied Europe, including France, with furs, gold and cattle.
It is not a French reluctance to share the concept of terroir that is at issue here. It is our own sense of inadequacy. And it’s time we got over that. Terroir is ours. It is time for us to define it as we choose.
But first we need to escape this self-effacing lack of confidence in our worth as wine growing regions. We often say that immigrants settled here because our terrain and soils are “similar” to those in Europe. And to say that we haven’t had “enough time” to understand our terroir is elitist bull. We didn’t need 200 years to learn to grow wheat, corn, and tobacco, all of which were gratefully purchased by European countries without complaint.
No, let’s face the truth with confidence -- our soils and terrain are better, richer, and plague-free. Our personal and political freedoms allow us to interact honestly with our soils, unburdened by strictures of tradition and feudalism. Our definition of terroir will be uniquely our own because our relationship with terroir is uniquely our own.
As a farmer myself, I do believe in mystical aspects of terroir -- that a man’s passion for his ground influences his caretaking and his expression of the soil. However, I think we are backing into the whole enterprise of defining North American terroir, precisely because we are attempting to define a French word, with all its French linguistic and historical connotations, in terms of our own uniquely American actions. Terroir is merely a word that defines an intangible -- our relationship with the earth -- how we use it, how we express it in our wines. If the word does not fit our modern North American relationship with our earth, then discard it. We can choose from dozens of other words: erde (German for earth), bionomic, principality, place. Personally, I think terroir is a fine word, but the definition we are seeking should define our relationship, not the word. The word is merely a label, which we will then paste over the bottled vintage of our finest efforts at understanding how soils and climate influence flavor.
~ Mary Baker, Paso Robles Editor
To comment on Mary Baker’s writings and thoughts, contact her at m.baker@appellationamerica.com
This statement was posted online by a sommelier in a discussion comparing terroir character in the wines of France versus North America. To me, it is remarkable because it reflects a belief that North America is not good enough to lay claim to the concept of terroir. That somehow we are upstarts who have usurped classic European varieties and are trying to grow them in imitation of our betters, and that because we do not own the origin of the term terroir, we will never own the reality.
Let’s look at our history for a moment without the lorgnette of cultural superiority. How did these European Vitis vinifera vines, which produce classic European grape varieties, come to be planted in North America?
The vines were brought over by Europeans; primarily French, Italian and Swiss immigrants between 1870 and 1945. At this time, Europe was ravaged by three consecutive wars -- the Franco Prussian War, World War I, and World War II. Vineyards were devastated, and occasionally bombed. Husbands, fathers, sons, and uncles were conscripted and many never returned. Automobiles, tractors, even horses were requisitioned. Copper was scarce, fine vintages distilled into fuel, and barriques destroyed.
These immigrants came to North America, bearing cuttings and hopes of a new beginning -- a home and a future for their children free of war and scourges.
One such scourge, the Phylloxera louse, came close to destroying the wine industry of France after its accidental introduction from America in about 1860. Grafting of susceptible European vines onto resistant North American rootstock saved the vineyards of Europe. And how was phylloxera introduced to France? Was it because of an exodus of American settlers running to France? Hardly likely. And what saved French vineyards? The lowly, foxy Vitis labrusca, brought from North American soils.
V. labrusca is not all the Europeans harvested. Cod, salted or dried, was in great demand in Europe, where Catholics had to abstain from eating meat for more than 160 days of the year. In poorly heated France, fur skins were greatly appreciated as a means of keeping warm. North American forests supplied Europe with pine and oak, pulp and paper for centuries. The west coast supplied Europe, including France, with furs, gold and cattle.
It is not a French reluctance to share the concept of terroir that is at issue here. It is our own sense of inadequacy. And it’s time we got over that. Terroir is ours. It is time for us to define it as we choose.
But first we need to escape this self-effacing lack of confidence in our worth as wine growing regions. We often say that immigrants settled here because our terrain and soils are “similar” to those in Europe. And to say that we haven’t had “enough time” to understand our terroir is elitist bull. We didn’t need 200 years to learn to grow wheat, corn, and tobacco, all of which were gratefully purchased by European countries without complaint.
No, let’s face the truth with confidence -- our soils and terrain are better, richer, and plague-free. Our personal and political freedoms allow us to interact honestly with our soils, unburdened by strictures of tradition and feudalism. Our definition of terroir will be uniquely our own because our relationship with terroir is uniquely our own.
As a farmer myself, I do believe in mystical aspects of terroir -- that a man’s passion for his ground influences his caretaking and his expression of the soil. However, I think we are backing into the whole enterprise of defining North American terroir, precisely because we are attempting to define a French word, with all its French linguistic and historical connotations, in terms of our own uniquely American actions. Terroir is merely a word that defines an intangible -- our relationship with the earth -- how we use it, how we express it in our wines. If the word does not fit our modern North American relationship with our earth, then discard it. We can choose from dozens of other words: erde (German for earth), bionomic, principality, place. Personally, I think terroir is a fine word, but the definition we are seeking should define our relationship, not the word. The word is merely a label, which we will then paste over the bottled vintage of our finest efforts at understanding how soils and climate influence flavor.
~ Mary Baker, Paso Robles Editor
To comment on Mary Baker’s writings and thoughts, contact her at m.baker@appellationamerica.com
