For many in the wine sector, plotting the journey to take over the next few years looks especially challenging. Navigating a sustainable route through the choppy waters associated with a post China, post pandemic world should be the top priority for all. But what will that journey look like and who will plot it? What the future needs to look like is, predictably, exactly the opposite of what is likely to happen. Speaking to a major UK buyer last week, their major concern was that the combination of losing the Chinese market, a large harvest and Brexit pressures would mean that Australia returned (some would argue it never left) to being the whipping boys of UK multiple buyers. The grim inevitability of this immediate future is only balanced off by the gastric gnawing I feel for all those whose futures will be directly affected. After a brief period where the Chinese enthusiasm for all things Australian allowed warm climate, inland growers to sell fruit at profitable levels, the reverse position that we now find ourselves in, is likely to lead to a situation where many growers are forced into a position where selling fruit is loss making. The temptation in such circumstances may be to increases yields and cut costs per ton, but the increase in water usage required to do so is not only damaging to the environment but also economically unsustainable given the price of water rights. I’m empathetic to the situation that many growers will find themselves in. When times were good, it was too easy to accept high prices for mainstream varieties and the need to diversify into alternatives or re-focus on climate appropriate varieties already in the ground, was too distant. But, and it is a big but, this is a cycle that we have seen before, albeit, the scale of the Chinese problem dwarfs anything we have experienced. And, this time, the economic situation is accompanied by an environmental crisis which means that we simply cannot ignore the need to change. As with all change, some of it will be uncomfortable and there will be losers, but we must resist the human desire to bury one’s head, ostrich like, in the sand. Only this last vintage, I visited a Riverland grower who wanted to sell me his old vine Grenache. It looked terrific – small yields, gnarly trunks, well balanced canopies, planted just post 2nd World War I’d imagine. “This will be the last vintage though……we’re getting older and can’t be bothered with having to hand pick. We’re ripping it out and replacing it with Shiraz which we can machine…” My jaw almost touched the dirt. I pleaded with him not to do it, offered him more money, offered him a 5 year contract with us paying for the picking. I tried to convince him that now was not a good time to plant more Shiraz. I failed. I do not blame him, or the many others that think similarly but, as an industry, we have failed to provide the support needed for people such as these to make bold choices about their future….our future. When we began winemaking in Australia, the challenges, as we saw them, were rather narrower than those we face now, but can we learn anything from how we overcame them? At this point, I should add that I fully acknowledge that nothing that we do individually is going to change our world but equally, the failure to act on an individual basis while waiting for collective action isn’t the answer either. McLaren Vale Grenache growers (Grenache growers in any region would have been the same) back in the early 2000’s were not a happy band. The decline in Grenache plantings, already set on their way by faltering demand, Govt incentivised vine-pulls, and non-appealing wine styles, was met head on by people such as ourselves who could not countenance the further destruction of Australia’s viticultural history. We set about buying and specialising in Grenache. A few principles guided our way: make wines that people want to drink ; pay the growers and pay them well ; tell the story to benefit all. It has not been easy but 10 years later Grenache is the most expensive variety in McLaren Vale and people are talking about, if not actually, planting more. After establishing ourselves in some of the best sites in McLaren Vale, we turned our thoughts to the wider sustainability of the variety. It’s all very well making small quantities of high quality single vineyard wines that sell for high prices, but for the variety to turn the corner nationally, we have to make a wine that can be produced sustainably in larger volumes, at a more accessible price. We turned to the Riverland where older plantings of Grenache were largely neglected but capable of making delicious wine. We agreed to pay the growers more to incentivise them to keep the vines in the ground and we showed the fruit a bit of love and affection. The result was Gorgeous Grenache and the lessons are incredibly important. While regenerative agriculture is now more widely discussed, the principle of using an existing resource and creating more value for it is one that made as much sense to us then as it does now. Grenache is arguably much better suited to many Australian climates than varieties such as Shiraz or Cabernet and the older vines crop less, using less water and the fruit has shown itself capable of making delicious wine. What I want to say is that, like most subjects, we have to start with money. There’s no point brow-beating people into submission over sustainability unless they can see a way of it sustaining themselves. To do that we need to be creative – we need to view existing resources through new eyes and help them to see their resources as we see them. Work with them to change how they work, demonstrate what that could mean for them, us and the environment. We need to be open to risk, but support those, as best we can, who we expect to take the risks with us. We will need to accept that hoping for a cycle to turn positive is no longer sustainable business practice – there is no guarantee that what worked in the past will work again. To enable sustainable change, we must enable and work with those that tend the land for, if we see choppy waters, they will feel raging seas. Only by working together can we part those seas, charting a course to a more sustainable future.

Anyone familiar with the term “Grand Cru” will, no doubt, associate it with the great wines of Burgundy. Revered wines, commanding high prices. What distinguishes Grand Cru Vineyards from Village level wines? It is best explained by geography: The village sits at the bottom of the hills and its vines benefit from the richer soils that have deposited on the flat. The wines produced from these higher yielding vines may well be attractive but rarely capable of being profound. As one moves up the hill, away from the village, the incline becomes steeper, the exposure to sunlight more telling, the soils eroded and the resulting fruit is more concentrated and intense – these are the Premiers Crus. These wines may well be capable of greatness and can possess great balance and power. As one rises further, the soils are more eroded, the vines increasingly struggle and the yield becomes noticeably restricted. Combined with higher water run-off and greater exposure to sunlight, this fruit represents the limits of production before the higher reaches are no longer able to support vines. It is often said that the greatest wine is produced on the very limits of where it is possible to grow vines and, in some ways, this is what Grand Cru represents. Concentrated, supremely balanced fruit which has great typicity and is capable of producing great wines. The notion of terroir is something that most Australian winemakers are now much more comfortable with. Australia has some of the most diverse geologies in the world which have blessed us with some of the world’s great terroirs. In France, the influence of terroir is arguably most keenly felt in Burgundy where Pinot Noir, with its sensitivity to yield and to the suitability of clonal selection, reaches its apogee. In Australia, where place has sometimes played second fiddle to process, one variety in particular is finding that when it comes to quality, location is everything. Grenache was first planted in McLaren Vale in the 1830’s. Many of the original sites that were planted are capable of greatness. As winemaking has changed, with more focus on clarity and energy of fruit, aromatic profile and balance, those truly great sites have been revealed. The old, low yielding sites are difficult to cultivate but worth the effort. Today, Grenache represents just 1% of the total Australian vineyard. Focus has moved from looking at Grenache as a workhorse variety to be lost in blends, to producing single variety wines capable of narrating their incredible history. The best are now beautiful, elegant, aromatic and delicious expressions of the variety and, quite rightly, now regarded as world class. In a quest to produce the finest single variety Grenache, a new, more granular understanding of terroir has emerged – and with it, an understanding as to where Australia’s Grand Cru Grenache might hail from. Blewitt Springs is situated in the north east of the region, blessed by an elevation of 200-250 metres, the vineyards cooled by breezes coming off the Gulf of St Vincent. The best sites are on the SSE slopes, their old, gnarly bush trained vines enjoying the Maslin sand that is the hero soil type of the region. Phylloxera proof, free draining and adept at providing the indirect sunlight that the thin-skinned Grenache so loves, this is where Grenache flourishes. But even then, selection within a vineyard, akin to the selection between Premier and Grand Cru, is vital. Vines in the fertile lower sections of a vineyard such as Thistledown’s Sands of Time, respond by growing larger canopies and heavier yields. Those at the more exposed top section are more fragile, their canopies more spindly and less protective against the sun. But there, in the middle section, the Grand Cru, lie the vines which have the perfect balance between canopy and exposure, yield and concentration. The fruit that they produce is heady, exotic, laden with floral, exotic spices, redolent of a Moroccan Souk. Energetic, multi-layered with enticing texture. Not just capable, but possessing world class. If it wasn’t such an anathema for an Aussie to adopt a French phrase, this truly would be the Grand Cru of Australian Grenache.

Veraison (when the grapes soften and turn colour) is either well under way or has completed in most areas, and we now begin the nail-biting run in to vintage. So far, the season has been benign. After a wettish winter, the vines were well set-up and this has been followed by a relatively mild season so far. Canopies look lush and while fruit yields vary from vineyard to vineyard, and from region to region, things look a whole lot more positive than this time last year. But we all know that we can take nothing for granted : This time last year, we had just endured the devastating fires but were only hearing the first reports of a possibly contagious disease spreading through China. While Australia has handled Covid-19 much better than most, it is a timely reminder that we must constantly be alert to all challenges. Not relying on received wisdom and challenging the norm' has always been part of my psyche and that of Thistledown. Without generations of experience, we have listened to those that know more, but mostly we have listened to nature. Walking in the vineyards, tasting the fruit, visualising the wines to be made from them and not being afraid to take a few risks, is far more valuable than expertise that might be out of date or not relevant for our vision. This philosophy has served us well so far but around this time of the year I really get the jitters. We're well prepared, we have great fruit sources and our logistics are organised. But, we never know what nature will throw at us at the last minute and I guess that's what makes me most nervous - and most excited about vintage. In the face of nature, I guess we are all equal.

Absentmindedly, my mother had left me in a pram outside the baker’s shop in Brightlingsea, Essex. Walking, hand in hand with my two elder brothers, she was accosted by a lady who asked whether the screaming baby outside the baker’s was hers. The rest is history. Though my mother liked to take the credit for my career in wine, the result of her having briefly been the p.a to Ronald Avery ( a legend in the history of the UK wine trade), I’d suggest that the senses that have proved so valuable, were awoken that day. Consequently, my earliest memory is that of the smell of baking bread. And not just any bread. Oh no, it wasn’t the rich, complex woody aromas of sourdough or the herbal, briny tang of a focaccia but more the sweet, biscuity warmth of a tin loaf. You know the one. Now generally found wrapped and sweating on a supermarket shelf, but back in the 70’s the mainstay of the local baker and delicious only when warm and forgiving in its gentle crustiness. So profound was that memory, and so intense is our ability to link memory and smell that when I go back there now, my view of the scene is 360 degrees. Smell and taste are all encompassing. And so it is with wine. My world is dominated by smell and taste (please keep Covid away), the equilibrium subtley changing from what wine would go with this food to what food can I get to go with the wine that I really long for. Great bread doesnt really need anything else, it is sustaining and wholesome. Made using a natural sourdough fermentation, the process is as joyous, frustrating and unpredictable as crafting wine using wild ferments. Both are very much a waiting game, the results more irregular but immeasurably more full of life and goodness as a result. Paired with some artisan charcuterie, a glass or two of Gorgeous Grenache and the breaking of bread is what memories are made of.

Throughout the more creative side of my wine career, there has been a common thread. It's not always something that I have either been conscious of or acknowledged, but the influence has been there in one form or another. When I first saw the label for Janice McDonald's Suckfizzle Sauvignon Semillon I was immediately taken by the whimsical irreverence of the enormous foot and later found the reference to Monty Python was explicit. When briefing in labels, I often find myself drawn to the stream-of-consciousness, mind-bending randomness of Terry Gilliam's creations and these references have also framed some of our work. The brief for Vagabond, our benchmark Blewitt Springs Old Vine Grenache was to create an iconic label that merged the influences of Spain (for that is where Grenache originated) with a touch of Salvador Dali and the notions of knights riding to the rescue of this once ailing variety. At the back of my mind, there was a scene from Terry Gilliam's "The Fisher King" where Robin William battled with the demons of his mind, those demons characterised by the mysterious knight atop a thundering, fire-breathing stallion. Thankfully, the label emerged somewhat more beautiful than the scene from the film, but another clear indication that both the style of and content of Gilliam's approach had a profound effect on my approach. What crystallised his influence for me came more recently. The phrase "Tilting at Windmills" had fascinated me for a while and we recently had cause to develop a label using this phrase. The phrase was coined by Miguel de Cervantes in his book Don Quixote and referred to Don Quixote's irrational fears and inner demons. "tilting" being a word for jousting and the windmills an irrational and unlikely target. It's been adopted into common language use for anyone obsessed with battling enemies that dont exist. Terry Gilliam has had a life long obsession with the story of Don Quixote and his attempts to dramatise the story on film have dragged on for decades - life mirroring fiction if ever there was a case. I'd like to think that my influencing by Gilliam's off-beat, somewhat surreal artistry are less about battling demons and more about enjoying the ability to narrate a tale through humour and surreal imagery, but there is something about the notion of battling imaginary enemies that we could all learn from. And it got me thinking. What are the imaginary enemies that we fight in the wine business? Where should we be focussing our energies rather than the petty infighting that characterises many industries and trades? In Australia, it is easy to be swept up in debates over conventional versus natural, how much to rely on certain markets or how much to bash the wines of our competitors - these are the windmills at which we are tilting, the demons that too easily occupy our waking moments. The cure though, to this collective psychosis, is to focus on the bigger picture, and the windmills in Cervantes' tale provide a clue to what that focus ought to be. Renewable energy, whether solar or wind power, is one of the ways in which we are addressing the threats of climate change. Elsewhere, wineries are striving to be carbon neutral while the new found interest in "alternative" varieties has been driven by people whose primary focus was to change the environmental sustainability of our viticulture. Despite the current Covid-19 distractions, the battle to save our planet needs to the consistent focus of all of our minds. As mad as Gilliam or Don Quixote appear to be, these troubled minds provide clues as to how we might live better lives. Lives where we are focussed on the things that really matter and not on tilting at windmills.

“Why Grenache?” is a question that I am frequently asked. And the simple answer is that it makes wines that are delicious and life affirming – when handled correctly. The slightly more complicated answer is….slightly more complicated. English born but Edinburgh raised, I grew up at a time when the annual football fixture between Scotland and England was a major event. Regardless of the result, I (along with my siblings) faced running battles in the playground that would provide the foundations of my revelling in the position of underdog. It’s that enjoyment of succeeding from a position of weakness, of changing perceptions and of adding value that have driven much of my wine career so far. When we first started Thistledown, there wasn’t a variety more aptly labelled the underdog than Grenache. It was the forgotten workhorse. For decades it was the backbone of fortified production – reliably producing high alcohol reds, ideal for turning into port or sherry styles for both domestic and export markets. As tastes changed, so did its fortunes. Put out to pasture and forgotten, Grenache was the old nag in the paddock. Faithful but badly neglected. Many feared it would pass away, barely noticed. That was until a band of spirited winemakers noticed how delicious the wine made from old vine Grenache could be if you threw out the recipe books of yore. Forget the nonsense about late harvesting, high extraction and new oak. Usher in earlier picking, lower extraction, little or no new oak and a new found respect and appreciation of site and individuality. Thistledown was, of course, one of those spirited winemakers that have been at the forefront of the new style McLaren Vale Grenache and in crafting this new style of wine we, along with others ( think SC Pannell, Yangarra, Aphelion, Ministry of Clouds, Wirra Wirra, Bekkers, Bondar etc) have demonstrated that Grenache is not only delicious but incredibly versatile. There will always be occasions when only a Shiraz will do, where the modest, sweetly smoked fruit of great Rioja will appeal, or the majestic tannins of Cabernet will bolster the experience - but Grenache is the ultimate all-rounder. I quite often can serve the same Grenache based wine at 3 or 4 different temperatures and it does 3 or 4 very different jobs. Its vibrant fruit, supple tannins and moderate acidity lend themselves to so many occasions and foods that there is barely a time I cannot think that Grenache would be the right answer to the question “what shall we drink?” And then there are some cuisines that don’t just rub along happily with Grenache so much as crave its attention. The gentle, dried fruit and warming spice of Middle Eastern or North African cuisine is an incredible place to start. One of my favourite dishes to win people over is Ottolenghi’s Beef & Lamb meatballs with broad beans ( www.ottolenghi.co.uk ) where the subtle spicing and soft, giving texture of the meatballs is more than matched by the vibrant, energetic Grenache fruit. Both have touches of pomegranate and exotic spice, both truly life affirming. Try our Vagabond Grenache to get the idea ( https://www.thistledownwines.com/the-wine/The-Vagabond-Grenache-2019-p225550785 ) Of course, there is no end to the possible matches ( a term I use loosely given that what you drink with a particular dish is influenced by so much more than just what it tastes like) but Grenache is always a willing partner. Grenache’s time has come. It is no longer the old nag in the paddock, more often the gambolling foal, increasingly the thoroughbred. Grenache is undergoing a remarkable transformation.

In Greek mythology, the story of Orpheus is both famous and pertinent. “ Orpheus’s singing and playing were said to be so beautiful that animals and even trees and rocks moved about him in dance. Orpheus joined the expedition of the Argonauts, saving them from the music of the Sirens by playing his own, more powerful music. On his return, he married Eurydice, who was soon killed by a snakebite. Overcome with grief, Orpheus ventured himself to the land of the dead to attempt to bring Eurydice back to life. With his singing and playing he charmed the ferryman Charon and the dog Cerberus, guardians of the River Styx. His music and grief so moved Hades, king of the underworld, that Orpheus was allowed to take Eurydice with him back to the world of life and light. Hades set one condition, however: upon leaving the land of death, both Orpheus and Eurydice were forbidden to look back. The couple climbed up toward the opening into the land of the living, and Orpheus, seeing the Sun again, turned back to share his delight with Eurydice. In that moment, she disappeared.” For someone who delights in old vine vineyards, the dangers of looking back may seem like an odd sentiment to share. But let me explain. When we began our journey with Thistledown we were still not sure which route we should take to achieve our goals of producing brilliantly balanced, textural, delicious and contemporary Australian wines. Setting out to make wine in that ill-fated 2011 vintage, we could have easily been guided to take the path of more robust, more popular varieties to champion. Trying to sell Australian Grenache back then was not simple. But there was a strong pull, an irresistible urge to pursue the more difficult path. Time and time again we were shown beautiful vineyards (in both the Barossa and McLaren Vale) that were loved and cared for by their owners, but not by anyone else. Some were close to pulling out the vines, all were despairing about the state of the market for Grenache. I remember almost being begged to buy some fruit by an elderly couple who subsequently sold their vineyard and, now in the right hands, is flourishing. As if led by a higher power, we began pursuing a path that would lure us in, further and further, into the land of Grenache. 10 harvests on, the world is a very different place in so many ways. And of course, through the narrow prism of Grenache, the market has changed immeasurably. No longer are the old Grenache vineyard unloved and under-valued, now they are fought for, their vinous gems escalating in esteem and dollars at a rate previously unconscionable. People, like me, talk of Grenache being the signature variety for South Australia and even the big guys are waking up to the potential. And in this moment, blinded by the bright lights, it would be all too easy to look back. To yearn for a time when we were a merry band of highly motivated, artisan producers on a mission. To reminisce wistfully about the opportunities that were presented and not always grasped…. But no, now is the time to remain focussed on the path ahead, and to set out a future for Grenache. One where the viticultural gems of the past are valued and protected but one where we are also looking after the future, planting the nascent icon sites, making wines that will delight, inspire and enthral in equal measure. Let us not be like Orpheus.