Appellations: would we be better off without them?

In a recent edition of Decanter magazine, Piero Antinori tells the world that Rosso di Montalcino might benefit from the use of so-called ‘International’ grape varieties. Indeed, the Tuscan Marquis says that Rosso ‘has never been a very successful product’.

By which we can all assume that he means Rosso di Montalcino doesn’t sell well. Uncontroversial. But the notion that what is good for an appellation is that it sells well (a merchant’s equation) is by no means what we would see as the founding principle of an appellation. But this depends on your point of view.

There are two reasons why we have appellations. The first is basic economic protectionism – we have a product we wish no-one to copy and it must be made from such-and-such a region (this avoids the kind of situation whereby Australians make Chablis – although, it seems, Sherry can be found in Missouri). The second is that it is an attempt to maintain a kind of cultural zone of protection that ensures the wines we know (and, dare I say, love) are not altered beyond our conservative estimation of what they should be (ie how they should taste). These are by no means mutually exclusive notions (and I would point out that the second point grows from the first) but it is interesting that, for the majority of people, appellations are viewed as the second point – something cultural, not commercial.

That view, therefore, is totally at odds with Antinori’s. Indeed, saying an appellation is culture must, by definition, resist almost any change to its rules, especially changes motivated by base economic desire or financial circumstance. Sure, Antinori and the like might make a quick buck if he could plant Cabernet or Pinot Noir or whatever in Montalcino, but would it still be Rosso di Montalcino? Would we be up in arms if someone suggested allowing Riesling or Barbera or Cabernet Franc in Volnay? Of course we would. But Volnay is successful, therefore why change it?

Unfortunately, however, appellations are not created by anthropologists. They are primarily a brand on which producers can piggy back their way into people’s cellars. They are open to change if those within deem it necessary or profitable – see the pending elevation of Quarts de Chaume to Grand Cru status. No lesser person tha Andrew Jefford himself blogged on the subject earlier this week.

In fact, the shocking part of Jefford’s blog was the appended list of ‘Grand Crus in waiting’. Honestly: ‘Croupes de Pauillac’ or ‘Croupes de Margaux’? They sound like a poo-shaped cheese. But putting the ridiculous names aside, reading that list was like getting a view into the minds of people like Piero Antinori: you can bet your life the ‘lesser’ Pauillac’s don’t have much vineyards on the Croupes, you can see where ‘St-Emilion Terrasse de Figeac’ is going, and there’s no points for guessing who’s on the Pomerol ‘Haute [Günz] Terrasse’. There’s enough elitism in these places already without the INAO (France’s appellation body) creating further reasons for the holier (and richer) than thou to tell us the ‘Croupes de Sauternes’ once again outperformed their neighbours.

So perhaps I should close by asking people to disabuse themselves of the notion that appellations are quaint little zones of anthropology at work and start to realise that they are nothing but a commercial circle jerk. A rebel in me wants a group of Rosso di Montalcino producers to nip Antinori’s proposals in the bud but I hold little hope. Appellations, eh. Perhaps we’d be better off without them?