The Merry Drinker

Funny grape, Malbec. It was once popular in Bordeaux, but after the 1950s it fell from favour. The only part of France that still uses it extensively is Cahors. But Malbec thrives in Argentina: at one point the Argentines had 50,000 hectares of the stuff. Most of the resulting wine was putrid.

This is no surprise when you consider that Argentina’s largest immigrant group is made up of Italians. Anyone who has been to Italy will have noticed a curious paradox. The country makes some of the world’s greatest wine, and everyone agrees that over the last twenty years its winemaking standards have soared. Yet the average Italian consumer is still happy to drink filth: urinous whites and sour, fizzy reds, mostly from the rancid little cooperatives I have deplored elsewhere.The Italians who emigrated to Argentina took this sad predilection with them. Until the 1980s Argentine wine catered entirely for their taste (or lack of it). Then the international wine market began to open up. It occurred to the authorities that a fine opportunity was going to waste. As it stood, Argentine wine was not remotely fit for export. How could they improve it?

The problem, they decided, was the grape. The Bordelais had given up on Malbec; so should they. The authorities launched a national root-pulling campaign. The winemakers complied. By 1990 there were fewer than 10,000 hectares of Malbec left in Argentina.

Then one or two wine connoisseurs noticed something. Some Argentine Malbec wines were good. One or two were outstanding. And now they thought about it, Malbec seemed to perform better in Argentina than anywhere else. Perhaps Argentina’s quality problem had nothing to do with its choice of grape. Perhaps it was more to do with the way the wine was made.

There was an abrupt change of policy. Root-pulling was abandoned. Malbec was replanted. Winemaking techniques were thoroughly overhauled. With remarkable speed, quality began to improve. By the late 1990s Argentina had joined the ranks of serious wine exporters.

At this point in the tale the exaggerations begin. “Argentina is now on a par with Chile,” we are told. “Before long it will be even better.” “Soon everyone will acknowledge the greatness of Malbec.” Piffle, humbug and bosh. It will be years before Argentina’s industry achieves Chile’s consistently high standards. And I know of no Argentine grower with the flair of Aurelio Montes.

What’s more, most Malbecs I have tried are second-rate. They have a gritty, metallic taste and are quite without pedigree. One or two expert winemakers may have performed miracles with this grape, but the country as a whole has not. They have yet to persuade me that Malbec, on its own, is in the same class as Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon.

I suspect Malbec probably works best in combination. This week’s wine is a good example of a Cabernet Sauvignon-Malbec blend, with each grape elegantly complementing the other. It is the result of a joint venture between Nicolas Catena, one of Argentina’s oldest winemaking firms, and Lafite-Rothschild of France. The wine is dense and full-bodied, with a fine floral aroma and a spectrum of tastes ranging from blackberry to rhubarb, with a lingering suggestion of pencil lead. I liked it, but thought it too expensive. Other wines costing $36 (£29 UK) offer greater complexity and finesse. Also, I have the uncomfortable feeling that the mere name “Rothschild” on the label is responsible for 20% of the price. It is a matter of preference, I suppose, but I am keener on obscure bargains than on prestigious rip-offs.