It’s
not that I don’t enjoy cocktails, or after-dinner Cognacs and brandies,
or the entire wonderful array of spirits (of which I particularly prize
great mezcal and Islay single malt). But as I have become firmly
ensconced in middle age, I find myself all too aware of what Len Evans,
the Australian impresario, used to call his Theory of Capacity.
According
to Mr. Evans, as we age we become acutely conscious of our finite
capacity to enjoy the world’s wonderful wines. By that calculation, no
space or time can be wasted on bad bottles.
By
extension, our limited capacity for alcoholic beverages must be devoted
primarily to what we love the most. For me, that’s wine. So I rarely
indulge in cocktails and spirits.
Even
at the holidays, which seem to call for punches and nogs, I prefer to
stay with wine. Luckily, this realm offers many pleasing dimensions that
go largely unexplored, like sweet wines, which offer novel, celebratory
shivers.
The
range of sweet wines encompasses wildly diverse styles like passito
wines, an Italian term for permitting grapes to dry to raisins,
concentrating sugars and flavors; ice wines, in which grapes are allowed
to freeze on the vine, intensifying the proportion of sugar in the
juice; and wines made from grapes attacked by the botrytis cinerea mold,
the famous noble rot, which amplifies sweet flavors in complex and
unexpected frequencies.
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Botrytis accounts for the most famous sweet wine, Sauternes.
It is also intrinsic to the great sweet chenin blancs of the Loire
Valley, the wonderful beerenausleses and trockenbeerenausleses of
Germany and the paradoxically legendary yet little-known Tokaji aszu
wines of Hungary.
These
aszu wines are perhaps my favorite sweet wines, astoundingly fragrant
and honeyed, yet fresh, balanced and refreshing. Their complexities
unfold in gorgeous waves that echo in the mouth. In every way, they
signify the sweetness of life and inspire the joy of the holidays.
Back
in the 18th and 19th centuries, Tokaji aszu, which came from the wine
region in northeastern Hungary centered on the town of Tokaj, was
renowned through European capitals. Phylloxera, the ravenous aphid that
devastated European vineyards beginning in the mid-19th century, took a
heavy toll, made more terrible by World War I, the dissolution of the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, World War II and Communism.
By
the dismantling of the Iron Curtain, Tokaji aszu (pronounced
TOKE-eye-ee AHS-ew) was almost a historic footnote, a half-forgotten
luxury of centuries past.
But
after Communism, the region drew significant foreign investment, and
recovery has been quick. You can now find quite a few superb Hungarian
wine producers.
Yet,
as wine drinkers today largely ignore the once-prized sweet genres,
many Hungarian producers have turned their attention to producing dry
wines. I don’t quarrel; some of these wines can be very good. Still, the sweet wines can be simply stupendous.
Take
the 2008 5 Puttonyos aszu from Royal Tokaji. When you pour this wine
(only lightly chilled, please), you are almost enveloped by its aroma.
What is it? Peaches? Apricots? Crisp apples? But it’s more than fruit.
Spices, too, like cinnamon, and flowers and honey. Take a sip and you
are immersed in a luscious nectar. The sweetness, which could be
overwhelming, is balanced by vibrant acidity. The result is surprisingly
refreshing and invites more sips.
While
similar, a 2005 5 Puttonyos aszu from Samuel Tinon is also entirely
different, as if the botrytis had taken the wine in unexpected
directions that year. The peach and apple flavors beckon, as does the
great acidity and balance, but the flavors seem wrapped in hazelnut and
caramel, beautifully fresh and complex.
Even
better is a 2001 Hetszolo 6 Puttonyos aszu, sweeter than the other two,
with aromas of wildflowers, honey, apricots and caramel, bordering on
syrupy yet held together and carried forward by that fresh, urgent
acidity.
What
are these “puttonyos”? The word puttonyo, or basket, signifies an old
method of gauging the sweetness in the wines. Aszu wines are made by
pressing the grapes shriveled by botrytis into a paste and then blending
that paste with a still wine. Moderately sweet wines contained three
puttonyos of paste while a sweeter wine contained four, and so on.
Nowadays the puttonyos statement refers simply to the level of residual
sugar in the wine.
Since
2014, only the five and six puttonyos wines are permitted to use the
term. Those in the three and four category now use generic phrases, like
late harvest. These wines can nonetheless be excellent. A 2008 Oremus
Late Harvest was exceedingly fresh, floral, fruity and quite sweet,
perhaps the equivalent of a 4 Puttonyos, if I were to guess.
The
great balance in these wines comes from the natural acidity in the
grapes, particularly furmint, the dominant variety, though three others
play roles — harslevelu, muscat blanc à petit grains and zeta — and a
few other grapes are also permitted. Usually the wines are blends,
though occasionally, as with the 2001 Hetszolo, you’ll find a 100
percent furmint aszu.
A
500-milliliter bottle generally sells for around $50, though the Samuel
Tinon, an outlier, costs $90. With these prices comes a rapturous wine
and an added benefit. Once opened, they will keep for several weeks if
refrigerated, extending the holiday pleasures.
