The Planet is Talking to You Through Your Drink

By Corey Hill

Grapes have a lot to say. They will tell you about where they live, about how well they’re being cared for, and what the weather’s like. Maybe they will even tell you about their neighbors: the eucalyptus tree living nearby, the weevils squirming in the dirt. Through wine, the grapes craft a narrative of their lives. When you put a glass to your lips, you are drinking their stories. That’s terroir.

Like creamy food, the Statue of Liberty, and Gerard Depardieu, the concept of terroir is a gift from the French. It comes from the French word for Earth: “terre.” Literally, it means “sense of place,” and could be used to refer to anything, though it now refers almost exclusively to wine. In the words of Steven Ashton of Ashton Vineyards, terroir is the fruit expressing itself. It’s the idea that terroir shares the entire micro-biosphere of the grape with you, that everything that goes into the vine will come out in the wine.

People have long suspected that location is key. Hell, the Greeks were stamping their ceramic vases to ensure that thirsty citizens knew just where their wine originated. No proper bacchanalia dared have wine that wasn’t imported from the best provinces. Those best sources for wine in ancient Greece, in case you are curious, were Oenotria (in modern day Italy) and the Attican region (near Athens).

In it’s modern incarnation, terroir is about much more than stamping a name on the side of the vase. For the wine enthusiast, terroir is vital to appreciating wine. Further, the concept is integral to the French appellation system, and to the Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC) system used around the world.

Appellation systems are a way of guaranteeing consumers that they are getting what they want by classifying wines based on locale. These systems, with the French version perhaps being the strictest, mandate point of origin labels for grapes that will eventually make their way into wines. Some of the big names in French terroirs? Chablis, Riesling, Bordeaux, and Pinot.

Is it all just a marketing ploy? A way to charge more for snooty French wine? The intrepid men and women who brave the frontiers of science contend otherwise.

In 2008, a group of geologists and students from Bryn Mawr University explored the vineyards of Red Mountain. They found that identical grapes grown in different locations exhibited distinct differences in trace metal content. Even variations as small as a few hundred yards produced dramatic changes. In essence, the chemistry of identical grapes, grown in different places, is markedly different. Plants don’t move much. And they get all of their food from the sun, water and dirt. So it makes sense that they are what they eat.

The sun is a big deal. We know it, and the plants know it. The angle and the amount of sunlight vines receive alters the photosynthetic process — changing the plant itself. Generation after generation in one place, and the grapes hardwire their genetics to match the environment. What goes for the sun goes for the dirt, too. Soils vary in density, moisture absorption rates, and acidity. Mixed into the ground are all sorts of ‘oligoelements’ — chemicals, like phosphorus and potassium, found in trace amounts in most living things. These trace elements play a part in the process.

There is even some speculation that soil microbes and fungi influence the vine. Everything they sink their roots into makes a difference, and the plant passes these genetic changes on to future generations. Mix in rainfall, fog, and air quality, and the result is a highly variable end result. It makes perfect sense. For grapes, the dirt is their home. They can’t help but adapt.

So grapes are storytellers, sharing the tale of terroir through flavor and color. And science has proven what discerning drinkers have known intuitively for thousands of years. But not all grapes have the same gift for sharing their stories — they can’t all be Steinbecks and Hemingways. Cabernet Sauvignon, for example, changes very little no matter where it is placed. It’s pretty much mute. Pinot Noir, on the other hand, is hypersensitive to changing conditions. Pinot Noir is the modern, memoir–writer of grapes. It tells you everything.

And as for blended wines? Well, there’s really no such thing as terroir for a blended wine. The grapes need to express themselves, and their voice is lost if they’re all thrown together.

If it goes for the grapes, it only makes sense that other growing things would also respond to their surroundings. All plants rely on the same sources for energy. And all other beverages also start with plants.

European and macro-brewers will surely defend the unique terroir of their creations as strongly as any winemaker. Lambic beers, for example, can only be produced in a swath of land surrounding the Belgian capital. The ground around Brussels is swimming with a unique blend of microorganisms, whose influences on the brew are hard to replicate elsewhere.

In Germany, Kolsch beers are available only in the vicinity of Cologne. Pilsner Urquell, they say, is best enjoyed in its native Plzen in the Czech Republic. Guiness in Ireland. It’s not just beers, either. Appleton Rum in Jamaica claims that the flavor of their spirits is due in part to the limestone foundation deep under the Jamaican soil in Appleton Estates.

The grapes, grains, and hops are anxious to share, to tell you the tale of the soil, the sun, the planet. Earth’s been here for over five billion years, so no doubt it’s probably got a few good stories. And unlike the one your friend keeps telling you about the time he almost made it onto Survivor, this one actually means something.