One of the weirdest things about wine is that we spend a lot of time talking about all the other things it tastes like: leather, tomato leaf, jam … We don’t really do this with anything else. You don’t eat a crisp, say, and go, “Wow, I’m really getting the salt and vinegar in this!” Of course you do: it’s got salt and vinegar on it. But wine isn’t like that. There is no tomato in that glass, just grapes and yeast.
“Summer fruit” is one of the first things fledgling wine enthusiasts can identify in a wine (at least it was for me), but because it’s such a common jump-off point, and because wine writing is prone to rather esoteric descriptors, it’s often seen as a bit basic – it’s Baby’s First Tasting Note by Fisher Price. But there is, as there nearly always is with wine, an opportunity to dig far deeper.
So why do we taste berry fruit in wine when there isn’t actually any in there? Everything we taste has aromatic compounds, but wines can have specific chemical ones in them that make us perceive summer berry aromas in our glass. When you’re learning about tasting wine in a systematic way, these are known as “primary notes”, or the aromas and flavours gained from the both grape and the alcoholic fermentation process. In other words, it’s hard to give a wine fresh fruit notes, because that potential already exists within the grape.
Some of my favourite grapes display these characteristics. Take the sour, tart cherry notes typical of nebbiolo, the grape responsible for some of the best-loved northern Italian wines, or the kirsch aromas in a beaujolais, dialled up to 10 with the use of carbonic maceration. Pinot noir is also famed for its red-fruit-forward nose and palate: bright raspberry, cherry and strawberry in its youth, and it can retain that vibrancy as it ages. Then there are the central European varieties st laurent and zweigelt, both of which I simply adore and which display a crunchy, thoroughly drinkable and distinctly cranberry flavour. In many sparkling wines, meanwhile, there is strawberry, raspberry, blueberry and blackberry to be found, especially in those made in a rosé style. Those dark fruit notes are particularly special in the bordeaux grapes, notably cabernet franc. Cooler climates will add a hint of greenness, perhaps a few leaves from bramble fruit, to the glass.
It goes without saying that this is all hugely subjective. Everyone has different sensitivities to certain aromatic compounds, so one person’s strawberry jam might be another’s wild strawberry. That’s one reason the tasting note is often simplified to “summer fruits”. And why not simplify? Wine is designed to be drunk, shared, enjoyed, so the less time we spend squabbling over tasting notes, the better. I’m reminded of a particularly surreal Tim and Eric sketch, where John C Reilly, joyous and red-toothed post-tasting, proclaims the words: “Sweet berry wine … no way José am I spitting this stuff out. It tastes like fruit!”
Four so-called summer berry bottles
The Society’s Chinon £9.95 The Wine Society, 13%. I’ll stop recommending this wine when I’m dead. Fresh cherry and berries, as the label suggests.
Marcarini Lasarin Langhe Nebbiolo 2022 £13.50 Berry Bros & Rudd, 13.5%. Vinified in stainless steel to preserve varietal aromas of cranberry and strawberry.
Neudorf Tom’s Block Pinot Noir £27.99 Waitrose, 13.5%. A dark cherry-fruited pinot from Nelson, New Zealand.
Everflyht Rosé de Saignée 2020 £40 Grape Britannia, 12%. Fresh berries meet a complex edge of almond pastry in this mind-bending single-vineyard English sparkling wine.
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Hannah Crosbie is a wine writer and broadcaster. Her book Corker: A Deeply Unserious Wine Book, is published by Ebury Press at £16.99. To order a copy for £14.95, go to guardianbookshop.com