The evolution of Californian wines: from the domination of wood to the rediscovery of natural balance

Once upon a time there were the Californian wines of the 1990s, swollen bottles of self-confidence laden with wood, alcohol and jammy mouthfeel. The California of wine - which is perhaps going through a crisis of conscience - has now walked the muscles and jams of yesteryear to the door. After years of oenological bodybuilding, bottles are now being uncorked that finally taste of grapes, of fruit and not just of gymnastic exercise.

But let us start in the 1990s - for those who were over sixteen at the time and have a good memory in the present day - when Californian wines were the equivalent of a Michael Bay film (Armageddon, Transformers) explosive, spectacular and very loud. Napa Valley looked like Beverly Hills in the vineyard. I'm talking about 15-degree Cabernets, Chardonnays more buttery than an American breakfast (or Valeria Marini's silhouette, if you prefer, take your pick!) and toasted woods to the bitter end. All blessed by the most feared and courted critic on the planet: Robert Parker. He with his 'Parker points', translated world taste into a matter of muscle and concentration. It's called marketing, and who are we to judge?  

It was the era of so-called 'Parkerization', a term that defined wines sculpted to obtain the highest score in a classification that, at the time, shifted (determined) the economic future of the producing company. Opulent, hyper-extracted, 'eat and drink' glasses. Real competition bodybuilders, with polished fruit and wood always playing the leading role. California at the time was, of course, the perfect training ground for this style: abundant sunshine, pushed maturation, limitless technology and rich investors ready for anything to enter the pantheon of the hundred points.

But then, slowly, something changed. Public tastes, producer sensibilities, attention to terroir and sustainability have pushed towards a new balance. And so Californian wines (but not only Californian wines, to be honest) have 'deparkeralised'. They have stopped chasing power at all costs, abandoning concentrations and opaque woods, to rediscover transparency and freshness.

 Today we talk about acidity, tension, finesse. Areas once considered 'cold' have become synonymous with elegance and precision; so, it seems clear to me that climate change is not just affecting us! The Chardonnay has lost its buttered shirt, gaining sapidity; the Pinot Noir has finally found its voice, no longer badly imitating its Burgundian cousins, but interpreting California in a more centred, almost minimalist key than before. And in any case, the rule applies that Burgundy, a land traditionally of peasants, has set the standard for everyone.