2012 Greenock Creek Alices Block Shiraz
Philip White 91++ Points
"Blueberries smell meaty when you closely study their miasma. The great Brian Barry taught me decades ago that if you're sufficiently clever and/or lucky to get that smell in red grapes, and you manage to entrap it right through ferment into bottle, you're off to a brilliant start. Freshly opened, this is very much blueberry. There's also plenty of that nose-tickling quarry dust the ancient underlying rocks of Alices seem to impart. But back to meat, and flesh. This bouquet also insinuates a contrasting textural sensation, like face cream. Think a very posh Guerlain moisturising cream, with the caress of vegetable glycerol. But as it soaks up the air, the meaty bit takes over, and you get a rise of pale charcuterie produce, like kassler fat, capocollo, and mortadella. Maybe even fritz, which would befit the Barossa. The oak is also quite evident, its cedary, smoky reek taking me straight to Linke's Butcher Shop. Have a schlack, and before the flavours really hit, the wine gives that sinuous sensation which distinguishes the best of Clare Valley's reds: it's more like the pickling juice in a jar of kalamata olives than anything like primary fruits or berries. I can even imagine the odd olive leaf in there as a garnish. As the dusty tannins and the oak take over the finish, the wine seems to lose its puppy fat to lemony acids and sap, and all that pale chubby stuff you first smelled gradually wanes, leaving you reaching for any of the abovementioned meats. All of which adds up to a typical Alices, come to think of it. I'm amused that when Michael planted this vineyard, he intended it to provide a higher-yielding, earlier-drinking product than his other niggardly vineyards. But look at this: a tricky juvenile puzzle that really needs five years to even begin revealing its long-term possibilities."
Philip White 91++ Points
"Blueberries smell meaty when you closely study their miasma. The great Brian Barry taught me decades ago that if you're sufficiently clever and/or lucky to get that smell in red grapes, and you manage to entrap it right through ferment into bottle, you're off to a brilliant start. Freshly opened, this is very much blueberry. There's also plenty of that nose-tickling quarry dust the ancient underlying rocks of Alices seem to impart. But back to meat, and flesh. This bouquet also insinuates a contrasting textural sensation, like face cream. Think a very posh Guerlain moisturising cream, with the caress of vegetable glycerol. But as it soaks up the air, the meaty bit takes over, and you get a rise of pale charcuterie produce, like kassler fat, capocollo, and mortadella. Maybe even fritz, which would befit the Barossa. The oak is also quite evident, its cedary, smoky reek taking me straight to Linke's Butcher Shop. Have a schlack, and before the flavours really hit, the wine gives that sinuous sensation which distinguishes the best of Clare Valley's reds: it's more like the pickling juice in a jar of kalamata olives than anything like primary fruits or berries. I can even imagine the odd olive leaf in there as a garnish. As the dusty tannins and the oak take over the finish, the wine seems to lose its puppy fat to lemony acids and sap, and all that pale chubby stuff you first smelled gradually wanes, leaving you reaching for any of the abovementioned meats. All of which adds up to a typical Alices, come to think of it. I'm amused that when Michael planted this vineyard, he intended it to provide a higher-yielding, earlier-drinking product than his other niggardly vineyards. But look at this: a tricky juvenile puzzle that really needs five years to even begin revealing its long-term possibilities."
Philip White 91++ Points
"Blueberries smell meaty when you closely study their miasma. The great Brian Barry taught me decades ago that if you're sufficiently clever and/or lucky to get that smell in red grapes, and you manage to entrap it right through ferment into bottle, you're off to a brilliant start. Freshly opened, this is very much blueberry. There's also plenty of that nose-tickling quarry dust the ancient underlying rocks of Alices seem to impart. But back to meat, and flesh. This bouquet also insinuates a contrasting textural sensation, like face cream. Think a very posh Guerlain moisturising cream, with the caress of vegetable glycerol. But as it soaks up the air, the meaty bit takes over, and you get a rise of pale charcuterie produce, like kassler fat, capocollo, and mortadella. Maybe even fritz, which would befit the Barossa. The oak is also quite evident, its cedary, smoky reek taking me straight to Linke's Butcher Shop. Have a schlack, and before the flavours really hit, the wine gives that sinuous sensation which distinguishes the best of Clare Valley's reds: it's more like the pickling juice in a jar of kalamata olives than anything like primary fruits or berries. I can even imagine the odd olive leaf in there as a garnish. As the dusty tannins and the oak take over the finish, the wine seems to lose its puppy fat to lemony acids and sap, and all that pale chubby stuff you first smelled gradually wanes, leaving you reaching for any of the abovementioned meats. All of which adds up to a typical Alices, come to think of it. I'm amused that when Michael planted this vineyard, he intended it to provide a higher-yielding, earlier-drinking product than his other niggardly vineyards. But look at this: a tricky juvenile puzzle that really needs five years to even begin revealing its long-term possibilities."
