Neal Hulkower reviews Taste the Limestone, Smell the Slate: A Geologist Wanders Through the World of Wine by Alex Maltman.
First, a question: After his Vineyards, Rocks, & Soils: The Wine Lover’s Guide to Geology (Oxford University Press, 2018), Alex Maltman’s brilliant broadside against the nearly universal and frequently literal use of minerality in wine tasting notes, why is another book needed? For one, the message hasn’t completely sunk into the psyche of most wine communicators. Here is an example from a recently published book whose author it would be unfair to identify, as he is far from being alone in insisting:
If “salinity” is one of wine’s most overused descriptors, then “minerality” has long been one of its most derided. Many people HATE it, considering it bad science. But for me, “minerality”, used with artistic licence, is handy shorthand for aromas and flavours such as salt/smoke/stone as opposed to those in a fruit/flower register. Rub a couple of rocks together under your nose and you’ll get what I mean.
The fact is that since rocks have neither smell nor taste, whatever your nose might pick up is likely organic but definitely not geological in origin.
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A search for “minerality” in the above text yields 22 matches, including “mineral” and “minerally.” One is in a description of the 2018 Cask Fermented Macharnudo, an unfortified wine from Jerez, “with mineral details from the chalky albariza soils.” This clearly implies that flavors from the earth are transmitted directly into the wine. To reinforce the fact that it doesn’t, here comes Taste the Limestone, Smell the Slate: A Geologist Wanders Through the World of Wine, Maltman’s second fusillade against such manifestly unscientific notions.
While the earlier book is primarily a detailed overview of geology, the more recent one covers much wider ground. Maltman—a retired professor of earth sciences at Aberystwyth University in Wales, tender of 20 vines from which he vinifies the grapes as a hobby, and undoubtedly a virtuoso teacher—dazzles us with his mastery not only of geology but also of his knowledge of the world of wine. Following the foreword by Charles Curtis MW and a preface, there are 17 chapters (many of which first appeared in The World of Fine Wine in one form or another), an epilogue, and a six-page index. In the absence of a glossary, the latter is particularly helpful. Unfortunately, there is no listing of references that could have been useful for those readers interested in more details. As we have come to expect from Académie du Vin Library, the volume is elegantly packaged, with stunning photographs, many of which were taken by the author.
Minerals and metaphors
In the first chapter, “On Rocky Ground,” Maltman challenges the kind of thinking many still seem to exhibit: “Two things bother me. On the one hand, nothing is ever said about how these connections come about, what the geology actually does, how a particular rock brings something special to the wine in your glass. And on the other hand, our present scientific understanding makes it difficult to see how such connections might happen” (p.15). What does matter to the vines is water and humus, the rotted biological material that grows on rocks.
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But here’s the thing—the source of the water also makes a difference, and “the chemistry it brings to the vine roots may well be quite different from that of the indigenous soil,” explains Maltman (p.25). Furthermore, “the chemical aspects of a vineyard can change through such things as treated fence posts, agrochemicals, and airborne pollution. In other words, the nutrients available in the soil don’t necessarily reflect the natural vineyard geology” (p.25). So much for terroir…
Since skepticism and uncertainty fuel scientific inquiry, Maltman allows that “it is possible we are missing something, overlooking some factor as yet unrecognized that might underpin all the anecdotes on geology affecting taste” (p.29). But he has no idea where or what it might be. Certainly, those who choose to ignore the facts are not likely to know or, for that matter, to care either.
Chapter 2, “Sunlight, Air and Water,” includes mention of Nicolas of Cusa (Latin for Kues), who, in the 15th century, debunked the idea that plants consume soil. Cusanus, as he was known, may also have discovered what became known as the Borda count, a method of aggregating ranked preferences that is increasingly being used for wine competitions. Maltman imagines that, while he didn’t mention a particular plant, he may have been thinking about grapevines that flourished nearby.
“Musings on Minerals and Metaphors,” the third chapter, explores the “newly muddled world of minerals” (p.48), emphasizing the difference between geological and nutrient minerals. While neither has an impact on the smell or taste of wine, the latter are essential to the vine. Furthermore, “the (nutrient) mineral content in the grape juice depends little on the vineyard geology,” asserts Maltman (p.52). He concludes, “If we describe a wine as tasting mineral, we have to be in the realm of metaphor” (p.53). Since there is no consensual definition, “Minerality can mean what you want it to mean!” (p.59)—which, for me, makes its ubiquity even more ridiculous. I hasten to add that Maltman is, on the whole, much kinder about the use of that term than I.
Required reading
In subsequent chapters, Maltman deftly leads the reader through a basic lesson in geology by focusing on wine-growing regions, both well known and obscure, and less on technical jargon. The geology is dissolved in wine, making discussions more digestible.
Throughout, he cites numerous examples similar to the one quoted above that state that particular rocks impart specific characteristics to wine:
Even more problematic, scientifically, is the notion that granite can actually be tasted in the finished wine. Literally. I see in tasting notes things like: “you can really taste the granite”; “the granite definitely comes out in the wine”; “it has warm, granite tones, with riveting granite aromas”. Such phrases may help convey a sensation but they have to be some sort of creative metaphor (p.78).
The final chapter, “What About Whisky? What About Beer?,” looks at the influence of geology on each of these beverages. While the impact on distilled spirits is “a bit more subtle than many of the claims would have it [… there] is a drink where geology was of pivotal importance historically and still today can have a direct effect on taste… Beer” (p.274). Maltman states that “in many ways beer is [a] more complex drink” than wine (p.282). He explains that minerals in the water, especially calcium and magnesium, affect the taste. “Nowadays the water in breweries of whatever size is usually artificially adjusted to suit the style of beer to be produced, but even so the local geology provides the starting point” (p.289).
In his epilogue, the author wonders if this insistence that wine tastes of the earth will fade. While allowing that science may someday establish a connection, “by licking and smelling a clean, fresh surface of the rocks” (p.293), one can readily realize that one cannot taste or smell a rock in wine.
With the ironically titled Taste the Limestone, Smell the Slate—the second of the one-two punch that began with Vineyards, Rocks, & Soils—Maltman offers ironclad science in velvety prose to challenge the rampant notion that it is possible to taste the rocks beneath the vineyard from which a given wine hails. The fact that prominent wine writers, including Andrew Jefford, who wrote the foreword to the first book, and Charles Curtis MW, who wrote the foreword to the second, have come to accept the science is certainly a step in the right direction. The fact that so many others cling to this tired and tiresome terminology suggests that this second reminder was necessary.
Both texts should be required reading for everyone seeking any certification as a wine expert. No wine writer should pass a piece that mentions geologic terms without checking these books. In an era when half-baked ideas and pseudoscience spawn and spread fake news, it’s the least anyone who puts words to wines can do.
Taste the Limestone, Smell the Slate: A Geologist Wanders Through the World of Wine
by Alex Maltman
Published by Académie du Vin Library; 280 pages; $47.50 / £35
