Complex, subtle and richly rewarding, a good wine at the very peak of age "slips down the throat with silky ease", writes WFI's award-winning wine columnist.
Buttermere, I think it was; probably a decade ago. A day's walking in the Lake District was almost complete, and there, just beyond
one of the final stiles, was a National Trust
caravan. The recruitment volunteers were out
canvassing: was I a member? they asked. I
wasn't. Why not? I confessed that I didn't much enjoy wandering around country houses, staring at faded Flemish tapestries, unused dinner
services from Potsdam and gloomy portraits of the fourth Duke. But what, she pointed out, about all the hills, all the stiles, all the paths;
that was the National Trust, too, requiring
stewardship and upkeep, and my worn walking boots gave me away as a heavy user. Thus, on the basis of tracts of wind-scoured upland, I left a member. But I'll let you into a secret: duty and gratitude weren't the only reason.
My interrogator was a woman of perhaps 65 or so, and she looked her age. Magnificently, though unpretentiously. No line was concealed by make-up; not one silver hair had been dyed. She looked healthily and comfortably and
charmingly old, her creased eyes full of smiles, her entirely practical clothing sitting easily
on her; we got on famously. It was all I could do to refrain from rewriting my will.
I never saw her again after those five minutes of evangelism, but
I still think of her whenever I get out one of my oldest bottles and pour it gently into the decanter. It's strange, but the life of wines resembles the life of human beings. And if you talk to the most committed wine enthusiasts, you'll find that there is nothing they love more than good wine at the very peak of age, with a long and patient life behind it, just at the very point at which it is
considering (but still disdaining) a descent into oblivion. It is then that the wine has most to offer in terms of notes and allusions to other felicities of the natural world. It's chatty, if you like, but the chatter isn't vapid: it has much of interest
to say, and a whole lifetime of experience behind it. It is then, too, that the wine has most
harmony and least rancour, meaning that it slips down the throat with silky ease. It is then that it seems most digestible, most sweet-tempered, most likely to give you a good night and leave you with a clear head the next morning. Age, when perfectly judged, is virtue.
Young wine, by contrast, can be incoherent and muddled: everything is packed in, but the right forms of expression to enable it to charm and enlighten haven't yet emerged. Worse still, wines of this calibre often go through a dumb, surly adolescent period, when they close down and seem even less interesting than they were in earliest youth. Eventually, like the sun rising, maturity begins to illuminate the darkness: back come the scents, though this time the fruit of youth is laden with some of the earthy dignity of age. The colours lighten; the flavours lift and fill. Night's veil has passed. As an intricate mechanism for delivering drinking pleasure, the wine is returning to full working order once again.
But which wines, and what time scale? Let's start with the easiest reply of all, which is that most wine available in Waitrose is best drunk as soon as possible. It has, in other words, the
lifespan of a damselfly. Youth is all, and once summer's lease is up, the charm flies off, too. The wines grow thinner and thinner, more and more bony, until eventually nothing will be left but alcohol, acidity and water. There is no sadder (nor, alas, more common) sight for a 'wine expert' than a small rackful of modest wines lovingly aged by their owner for a decade. 'When should
I drink them?' is one standard question; 'Are they worth anything?' is the other. 'Nine years ago', and, 'No', come the sad but inevitable replies.
The exceptions tend to be red, and tend to
cost £10 or more. Even within this select band, wines from some regions have a better track record than others for ageability. One reason why Bordeaux still accounts for such a high
percentage of the 'fine wine' traded worldwide is because
history has proved repeatedly that it ages superbly. Burgundy is a much less certain bet. Good red wines from the Rh�ne and Italy are certainly worth ageing, and one advantage of Spain from the wine lover's point of view is that - as you can see from my wine selections this month (featured on page 24) - the Spaniards are still prepared to age their wines for us before selling them. In general, Southern Hemisphere wines have a mixed reputation for
cellar-ageing, but everyone remembers some great bottles.
If you do happen to become besotted with
the glories of full maturity, of course, you will
need somewhere suitable to age your wine. Time is money, and few producers nowadays want to spend it on ageing wine before they sell it.
(Serge Hochar of Lebanon's Château Musar - a man who worships time's healing - is an unusual
exception.) I have yet to come across modern house-builders who trouble to give their little 'executive homes' cellars, either, despite the fact that such places would be immensely useful on our overcrowded island. A steady (ideally cool) temperature, darkness and lack of disturbance
are the desiderata. The understairs cupboard is good; the kitchen and the garage are bad; the attic is mad. And then … wait.