A New Year, A Full Moon and Movia "Lunar"

There's much in common between the symbolism of the full moon and the New Year. Both have been known to inspire wild and unpredictable behavior. Both drive transformation. And both are turning points. On the philosophical and spiritual levels, the New Year marks the end and spurs remembrance of one year while at the same time signifying the beginnings of and inspiring hopes for the next. On a more scientific level, the full moon marks the apex between the waxing and waning paths of the lunar cycle.

CURRENT MOON

about the moon

The full moon holds special significance on the Biodynamic calendar, as it does to those who farm and make wine with a belief that the soil is the meeting place between the earth and the cosmos, that that same soil is a living, breathing entity. According to the principles of biodynamic agriculture, the full moon marks a major turning point in the lunar influence on farming practices and plant growth. As the moon waxes, the gravitational pull of the moon increases and the flow of energy moves upwards, from the soil toward the sky, from the roots toward the leaves. As the moon wanes its gravitational influence lessens, the soil focuses its forces inwards and plant energies move down toward their roots.

Biodynamic winemaking principles, too, look at the influence of moon and star cycles to guide the timing of certain activities in the vineyard and in the cellar. Movia winemaker Aleš Kristančič, for one, considers the full moon to be the ideal time to bottle his aptly named Ribolla Gialla, "Lunar." It's the time during the synodic month when the wine's mineral content and energy — what Aleš calls "floating islands" as you'll see/hear in the video below — are active and upwardly mobile while the lees and grape solids in the same wine are moving downward toward a restful state.

Given that the full moon occurred on New Year's Eve just past, I couldn't imagine a more appropriate wine to enjoy with our last meal of one year and our first taste of the next.

Goriška Brda Ribolla Gialla "Lunar," Movia (Aleš Kristančič) 2005
$45. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Domaine Select, New York, NY.

As Aleš recommends, I decanted "Lunar" in order to leave behind most of the considerable sediment that makes its way into the bottle. A cloudy, coppery orange, it's a near match for the hue of peach nectar, just not quite so rich and dense to the eye. Likewise, the wine is loaded with peach and apple skin aromas and cidery nuances, which lead to a long, mineral stained finish. With air, more tertiary aromas of sandalwood, saffron and floral tea emerge, along with an intense leesiness that reminds me of the sweetness of fresh-baked whole wheat bread. Though not as tannic as some other extended skin contact wines, Paolo Bea's "Rusticum" for instance, the wine still has a definite textural component that gently grips and undulates across the palate.

Said my wife, "Why is it orange? And cloudy? I think there might be something wrong with it... it tastes kind of oxidized." For a moment, her words had me contemplating whether she might be a more honest taster than I. Certainly, "Lunar" and other "orange" or extended skin contact white wines like it are more than tough to understand without some context. And certainly, I did carry some context and correlated expectations to the table.

Why is the wine orange? Well, as Eric Asimov described it a couple of years back, "Movia’s 2005 Lunar is an experimental ribolla gialla wine, in which Ales Kristancic, an owner and the winemaker, tried to produce a wine basically without the touch of humans except at harvest. He put the grapes in specially designed barrels and then allowed them to ferment and age on their own for seven months, without pressing the grapes or adding any chemicals." Seven months of skin contact give ample time for the wine to absorb all of the pigmentation from the Ribolla Gialla skins — a distinct orange, even though "gialla" means "yellow."

Why is it cloudy? After those seven months on the skins and another extended period on the lees in small casks of Slavonian oak, "Lunar" is bottled without any fining or filtration. Only the energy of the full moon, in Aleš' view, keeps it from being even cloudier... that and perhaps more careful decanting than I exercised.


In the video above, Aleš explains his thoughts behind producing and bottling "Lunar" according to the cycles of the moon.
Why is it oxidized? Well, actually it's not, though it does have a definite oxidative character. You'll want to see Jeremy Parzen's excellent post about "Lunar" for a full explanation of the wine's production methods. In short, "Lunar" is whole-cluster fermented in special casks designed by Kristančič to mimic the shape of a grape, complete with a valve modeled after the stem of the grape that is meant to allow the carbon dioxide created during fermentation out of the cask without letting oxygen enter. After all that time on the skins plus added time on the lees, the oxygen native to the juice itself along with the oxygen that slowly permeates the casks, has an inescapable influence on the wine. But that influence is not detrimental or a flaw. Rather, you can taste how oxygen has sculpted the wine without blurring its edges or eroding its freshness.

Perhaps it's not surprising in that context that "Lunar" reminded me a bit of some of the Arbois whites from Puffeney and Overnoy/Houillon in the way it balanced oxidative character with brilliant, buoyant freshness.

"Lunar" is not inexpensive but, at half the price of similar wines from the likes of Radikon and Gravner, it constitutes a good value and makes for a quite accessible introduction to this genre of Slovenian/Friulano winemaking.

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WBW #41: White Wines from Friuli-Venezia Giulia

When Jack and Joanne at Fork & Bottle announced the topic for this month’s edition of WBW, they put forth a strong recommendation: spend at least $20 per bottle. Go for the best. My initial reaction was, “Ok, I’m on board with that.” It would give me the perfect opportunity to get into some of the wines from currently hot producers like Josko Gravner, Radikon or Edi Kante. I soon realized though that the task of acquiring those wines would not only entail the outlay of some serious greenback but would also force me either to make a trip up to New York or to resort to ordering via the Internet.

So I switched gears, opting instead to shop in my own neck of the woods. I picked up a total of three wines: the only two Friuli wines available at one of the better local Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB) specialty stores and one Slovenian wine from my own workplace, where we don’t currently carry any wine from Friuli. They all ranged between $10-20. It’s not the first time I’ve intentionally opted to break the WBW ground rules; only time will tell if it’s the last. Along the way, I also broke a few of my own rules (more on that as we move along).

It’s fair to say that Tocai Friulano is the signature grape of Friuli-Venezia Giulia. I rounded up two examples, both from Collio, a small province in southeastern Friuli that, along with neighboring Colli Orientali del Friuli, turns out most of the consistently higher quality wines of the overall region. Its historical origins may indeed be intertwined with the famous Hungarian Tokaji in more than just name, as some viticultural historians believe that Tocai Friulano was once identical to the Hungarian vine Furmint. However, most ampelographers (though not all Italians) agree that the vine called Tocai Friulano, since approximately the 1930s, is actually one and the same as Sauvignon Vert, aka Sauvignonasse.

Whatever the case may be, a good example of Tocai Friulano typically gives peach and blossom aromas with a distinctly crisp, mineral texture. Relatively versatile, Tocai is at home both in straight-forward, tank fermented wines and in more elaborate, oak-endowed selezioni. It also makes a reasonable blending partner.

In 1993, Hungary won its petition with the EU to gain sole rights to the terms Tocai and Tokay in an effort to protect the name of its famous dessert wine, Tokaji Aszu. Most producers in Alsace have already dropped the term Tokay from their Pinot Gris. Many Italian producers are now in the process of following suit. Any wines bottled after March 31, 2007 should theoretically no longer bear the work Tocai; most will simply be called Friulano. Andrea Felluga has written a concise explanation, along with some colorful insights into the matter.

Collio Tocai Friulano, Conti Attems 2004
This was the big rule breaker. First, most Tocai is best drunk young. Picking up a wine from 2004 in early 2008 was, I knew, already pushing the envelope. Buying it in a shop that doesn’t care for its wines or exert discretion in its selection processes, though, was the real no-no. But I was prepared to take some risks for the sake of the WBW exercise. I took more.

I never buy a wine strictly because of its label; however, I often avoid wines because of their labels. Cute animals, catchy names and absurdly oversized bottles are all red flags. Attems’ Tocai didn’t offend on any of those counts yet it still threw up some warning signs. It’s purely subjective and instinctive on my part, but something about the artwork and color choices on both the front and rear labels screamed “commercial” to me and would normally have made me steer clear. I would have doubly steered clear from the partnership with Marchesi de’ Frescobaldi – a large Tuscan wine concern that has held similar partnerships with Robert Mondavi among others – as such relationships are typically constructed to leverage brand awareness and distribution channels rather than to make a good wine better. The fact that the wine is estate bottled was about the only potentially saving grace that kept me from rejecting the bottle in spite of my willingness to suffer for the greater good of WBW.

I should have stuck with my instincts. This was the first wine I’ve purchased (as opposed to tasted in passing) in years that was just plain undrinkable. Its color was promising, suggesting no signs of advancing age. The nose, however, was lacking in the fruit and charm I expect from Tocai. Instead, it smelled of artichokes, lanolin and feed corn. The wine’s medium acidity was still in tact but its texture was coarse and hinted at the beginning stages of oxidation. Fruit was also absent on the palate, which was dominated by acrid, bitter sensations and a flavor of canned creamed corn. It became less and less appealing with air and as it warmed in the glass. Was it just over the hill? The deterioration of age may have played a role but I saw no signs that there was ever any good initial raw material.
$11. 13% alcohol. Natural cork closure. Importer: Folio Wines, Napa, CA.

Collio Tocai Friulano, Colle Duga di Damian Princic 2005
Colle Duga is a small estate of seven hectares that nearly abuts the border with Slovenia in the eastern extreme of the Collio. Their Tocai, much like Attems’ above, shone a pale greenish-yellow in the glass. Lime blossom and honeydew melon met my nose, followed by a fleshy, neutrally oaked, medium-acid attack on the palate. The wine got crazy in the presence of food, totally transforming to an intense, slightly candied lemon-lime character. It recalled a distinct flavor memory from my childhood. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but it was somewhere between the original Gatorade formula and a lemon-lime ice pop, plus a touch of Snapple peach iced tea. Though these flavors may sound strangely appealing, their unnatural character was driven home on day two, when Princic’s wine, in spite of showing a hint of its peachy typicity, smelled clearly of paint thinner and modeling cement. It was significantly better than the Tocai from Conti Attems. But at $20, marked down from $30 via the PLCB’s “Chairman’s Selection” program, it was neither a good value nor a wine I look forward to revisiting. If you do feel compelled to give it a try, I’d recommend making it a one-night bottle.
$20. 13.5% alcohol. Natural cork closure. Importer: Bartolomeo Pio, Fort Washington, PA.

Brda Ribolla Gialla, Ferdinand 2006
Given that I sell this wine at my day job, Ferdinand’s Ribolla Gialla was my failsafe for this tasting. One of my coworkers is fond of saying, “This wine is technically from Slovenia but it’s really Italian.” Apparently Jack and Joanne agree, as their definition of Friuli for this WBW episode was extended to include the hills (colle) on the Slovenian side of the border in Goriska Brda. It’s a position which is reinforced by winemaker Matiasz Četrtič’s decision as of the 2006 vintage to relabel his wine, formerly called Rebula in keeping with Slovenian culture, to the Italian Ribolla Gialla.

As Tocai is the signature of Friuli, so Ribolla, also planted in Friuli, is the traditional variety of Brda. Ferdinand’s Ribolla is simple, clean and easy, brimming with peach on both the nose and the palate. There’s a refreshing, tingly character in the mouth, accented by delicate minerality. As the wine warms, it becomes fleshier but holds onto its purity of fruit. It paired well with a semi-firm cow and sheep’s milk cheese, providing a worthy foil to both the fattiness and saltiness. Still a hint yeasty, I’ll look forward to revisiting this from time to time over the next six months.
$14. 12.5% alcohol. Natural cork closure. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.

If you’ve read this far and would like to read more, why not join me and participate in the first edition of the Wine Book Club. We’re reading Vino Italiano, by Joseph Bastianich and David Lynch. Given that Friuli leads off the geographical chapters of the book and that Bastianich owns a wine estate in Friuli, it’s a clear tie-in to and jumping off point from this month’s WBW theme.

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