Wither Hills Chardonnay (2014): Wither Hills, Marlborough

We have what I assume to be a very special bottle, tonight.  It got my attention because I initially thought that it was completely out of stock at Foursquare, but I happened to find a lone bottle that someone had left on a different shelf.  It's normally marked for $17, but was on sale for $12.

Aesthetically, it's a pretty unassuming bottle.  From the colors, to the font, to the graphics, there's nothing to really make you think this is anything but a run of the mill bottle of wine.  The one thing it does have is a uniquely shaped label.   The top of the front label is an angled, irregular line, presumably meant to emulate the Wither Hills from which the winery takes its name.  There is an image of some hills on the front label which, upon further inspection, actually have a textured element to them.  It's done in a way where I can't be 100% confident that it's not just a little too much adhesive in that articular spot, but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The back label is where Wither Hills makes its big impression.  First things first, it's 13.5% alcohol, which is pretty commonplace for reds, but seems to be pretty rare for whites, so it's already winning points there.  The back label also features two full paragraphs of text.  It blows every other bottle I've ever reviewed out of the water as far as text present on bottle, which isn't a metric I'm not used to having to measure.  The first paragraph is a description of the winery itself, describing how it was named for the Wither Hills range near their vineyards, and how their location makes their wine unique.  I'll have to look into these Wither Hills.  Shingle Peak has left me suspicious of landmark based claims.

The second paragraph is the standard back of wine text.  It outlines the sensory experience that I'm about to have.  So flavor wise, I'm going to get white peach, fresh tangelo, lemon sorbet, and "subtle spicy apple strudel".  You might thing that apple strudel or lemon sorbet would be the thing I'd latch onto here, but I'm more interested in the tangelo.  I think this is the first bottle I've reviewed that features a hybrid fruit in it.  A tangelo is a mix between a tangerine and a pomelo.  I feel like the standard representation of hybrid fruits has always been as something fun and quirky, very different than your standard white wine messaging.  I think the first time I ever heard of a tangelo was in the "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy".  Billy, the zany idiot of the duo, was walking around with a bowl of them strapped to his head in order to repel some nefarious force that I can't remember.  Maybe I'm just off base with the way the world perceives these fruits, but I'm kind of surprised that the wine industry doesn't view them as being abominations.

Back to the label, all those flavors I mentioned are apparently going to be bound together with "bright acidity" and "seductive French oak nuances".  Considering the confusion that oak has caused in the past, I'm glad that they went out of their way to specifically say that this is French oak, and I look forward to being seduced by it.  It's strange how common oak is in these cheap wines.  I wonder if it's just a matter of these wineries using their new barrels to makes these low end wines, so a lot of the wood flavor seeps into the product.  Bright is an interesting adjective to use for a mouth sensation.  I don't really know what to expect from bright acidity.  I generally view bright as being an overbearing amount of light.  Years of driving in Minnesota and North Dakota have trained me to associate the word with sunlight reflecting off of snow and into my eyes.  Finally, the wine is described, in summation, as being of "pristine texture, minerality, and style."  Again, I don't know what to expect, particularly in regards to "minerality".  I've never even seen that word.  My word processor doesn't recognize it as being a word at all.  I've definitely heard people in movies describe wines as "earthy", so maybe that's what I'm about to experience.  I'll do some research into it during the break.

Pouring the first glass, I'm struck by how clear it looks coming out of the bottle.  Sitting stagnant in the glass, it's got an unmistakable yellowish hue to it, like any other white wine.  The scent is sickly sweet.  There's something very familiar about it, but I can't quite put my finger on where I know it from.  It's not a pleasant association, whatever it is.  I almost have reservations about taking a drink. Almost.

The first mouthful is aggressively sour, positively mouth-puckering.  This is exactly what I was afraid of when the sourness was described as "bright".  Once that passes, there's a little more subtlety to the taste, with the peach probably being the most recognizable.  The aftertaste is distinctly that of pie crust, or maybe graham cracker, so props to them for coming somewhat close to hitting apple strudel as a wine flavor.  Early impression is that it's alright.  I'm particularly impressed with how distinctly some of these flavors are coming through.  I'm only halfway through the first glass, and the sourness is already becoming less overbearing.  Hopefully that's a good sign for things to come.  I'll be back after a few more glasses.

Alright, I've finished the bottle.  The sourness never went away quite enough for me, personally.  It did get better as the bottle progressed, but even as I was lapping up the dregs from the bottom of my last glass, it still was too sour for me to really enjoy.  I figured out what the scent was.  So, while I was working on my Bachelor's, I had a job with the North Dakota Geological Survey.  One of the jobs I had was photographing rock cores, and adding those photos to the core's profile in the state's database.  Before we would photograph we would dip them in an acid solution, to clean them off.  This wine smells like that acid solution.  This would also play into the mystery of "minerality", since we practically never switched those acid tub out and they were rife with sediments from the various rock cores that had been dipped in them.  I've also looked into the Wither Hills, and am relatively confident that they are a real place.  So points to this bottle, and more points away from Shingle Peak.

Final assessment is that as a $12 bottle, I'd definitely recommend.  As a $17, there's definitely better value options.  Presentation wise, nothing blew me away.  The front label is forgettable.  The back label has more text than what they can honestly expect anyone to bother with. I'll give it like a C for presentation.  It's not actively awful, but there's no reason to take notice of this bottle on the shelf.  As far as mouth experience, it's a strong contender for the best white I've reviewed here.  It was a bit sour for my taste, but there were different flavors that were very clearly present in every mouthful, and it did it while maintaining a high alcohol content.  That's admirable.  I'll give it a very solid A-, there.  That averages out to like a B- or B.  I'll give the nod to a B, especially at $12.

Shingle Peak Chardonnay (2014): Shingle Peak Wines, Waimauku

Shingle Peak is a mainstay of the Four Square wine-rack.  When I'm just perusing for a bottle to pick up, I'm looking at price tags more than anything.  Shingle Peak catches my eye every time I'm there because it's tag is simply a piece of paper with "10.99" Sharpied onto it, and I have to look up at the bottle itself to see what it is, at which point I think to myself "Oh, Shingle Peak", and move on.  As you may have gathered, I've had Shingle Peak Chardonnay before.  I don't necessarily pass it by because I disliked it, so much as it is because I've had it and I want to try something new.  Well, there wasn't anything new that jumped out at me this time, and it meets the 13.5% alcohol mark, so it's time for Shingle Peak to get another shot to "Wow" me.

The design of the bottle is one that I like more the more I look at it.  Because it's a glossy element surrounded by matte, the first thing you'll notice is a stylized image of a mountain, presumably the titular Shingle Peak, It stands above a black horizon, in front of a sky that gradates from white into progressively deeper blues. It boasts no visible awards, or certifications.  One element that I do appreciate, but didn't notice until just now, is a stylized "SP" that is watermarked on the black portion of the label.  The same "SP" is also on the cap.  I think cap marking is something underappreciated in wine.  I've definitely been in situations where there are multiple bottles of wine around, and had to go through the struggle of matching caps to bottles just based on process of elimination.  Something else I'm noticing is that the font on the neck and cap is also light blue, rather than the white that I though it was, in passing.  I like that it kept in theme with the blue sky from the main label.  They picked a shade kind of in the middle of their established gradient, though.  I can't help but feel like going with the dark shade from the top would have been more suitable, given that this is text far above the peak.

 And then, of course, there's the bottle, itself.  It's that shade of green that I can only really describe as "wine bottle green".  It sits somewhere in the neighborhood of olive and the color of pickle juice and really isn't a pleasant color to look at.  It's common enough in white wines that I have to assume there's some reason behind it, like preventing certain types of light from hitting the wine, or something, but I can't imagine your $10, 2 year old Chardonnay is really seeing much benefit.  I imagine for bottles like this, it's more about perception, than anything.  "The expensive bottles are green, so mine has to be, too."  This bottle would look much better with blue, or even just clear glass, though.

The text on the front label talks about how the mountain inspired their wine making philosophy.  Something about the purity of the mountains beauty made the founders of the winery need to find that purity in other things.  They settled on grapes as the thing they would unlock the purity of, apparently.  More power to them, I guess.  There have certainly been worse things done in the name of "purity."  The final line on the front of the bottle reads "Inspired by the majestic Shingle Peak since 1983".  I feel like, as a winery, 1983 isn't nearly long enough of a tenure to be bragging about.  Like, if you've been around sine 1883, ok, I'm impressed.  Something about this product has made this brand be able to withstand the test of time through some major changes in the world.  On the other end, if was like 2013, you're still the fresh and exciting thing that gets to bring something new to the table.  1983?  You're just another winery.

As is the standard, the back label describes what flavors and sensations I can expect to experience as I'm drinking.  The thing they chose to lead with was "biscuity creaminess".  I don't know if this is meant to describe a particular taste, or more of the general mouth experience.  I read that and assume there is almost going to be a degree of viscosity to it.  I also appreciate that they weren't afraid to make up an adjective in the word "biscuity".  Apparently, along with the biscuity creaminess, I'll get some underlying citrous fruits, which are always welcome.  The next bit worries me, however.  They brag about their "lively acidity".  As we learned a few weeks ago with the Mills Reef Merlot, acidity can be an issue when you're looking to drink a lot of wine in one sitting.  Hopefully it isn't as overbearing here.  The description finishes with "clean, refreshing" peach and nectarine flavors that "linger long and smooth on the palate", which actually sounds quite pleasant.  The back label is an interesting divergence from the other bottles I've reviewed in that they kept everything pretty familiar.  There's some vagueness with the biscuity creaminess and just general citrus fruits, but I at least have a general sense of what i can expect going in.  Going back to the Mills Reef bottle, I had no idea what I was in for when it was describing the "leather complexities" and "lingering star anise".  We'll see if this pays dividends for Shingle Peak.  Of note is that there is no recommended food pairing.  I know the general rule is white wines with white meats, but I'll assume that day-old Domino's pizza with beef as a topping is an adequate substitute.  They also reiterate that they've been "Inspired by the majestic Shingle Peak since 1983".  It's still not worth bragging about.

Opening the bottle, the citrus is immediately apparent, it dominates the scent.  Nothing about the pour strikes me as being particularly noteworthy.  It's a very light yellow-green in color.  I'm immediately reminded of low-end light beers in the US.  Keystone Light, in particular.  Taking the first drink, the citrus definitely leads the show.  The spikes dangerously close to sour right as it hits your mouth, but pulls itself back before going too far.  I feel like the peach is to thank for bringing back from the brink, and then settles into a surprisingly smooth experience, before the alcohol taste comes through.  There's a citrus taste that lingers around a little longer than I'd like it to.  Presumably, it's that nectarine.  Overall, I'm quite enjoying this so far.  We'll see how I'm doing after a few more glasses.

OK, I've finished the bottle.  As is normal, the alcohol taste became less noticeable over time.  The thing that didn't, however, was that lingering citrus taste.  I abandoned the glass to drink from the bottle and still found myself puckering after every swig because the aftertaste was too sour and stuck around for too long.  It still goes down pretty easy, relatively speaking, though.  The "dynamic acidity" never became an issue, or was even really noticeable, which I am glad for.

Also, I've done some research.  Shingle Peak is apparently in Marlborough, a region on the northern end of the South Island.  I happen to have a flatmate from the area, and he tells me he's never heard of Shingle Peak.   Other Kiwis I've consulted have told me the same.  Somehow, this mountain that was so beautiful as to inspire an entire winery to exist for 33 years is entirely unknown to local residents.  Google image search consists mostly of images of the bottle, itself.  Images of mountains aren't immediately identifiable as being the one depicted on the bottle, or even of all being images of the same place.  A Google Maps search places a point among some mountains in Marlborough, but it's not immediately apparent which of those mountains, if any, is actually Shingle Peak.  On top of that, I've learned that Waimauku, where this winery apparently is located, is on the very northern end of the North Island, nowhere near where Shingle Peak supposedly resides.  Did Shingle Peak Winery make up a place, unironically describe that place as their "muse" and then not even bother to have that place be near their winery?  I don't even know how to deduct points for that.  I'll give it a B+ for presentation, and a B- for in mouth experience, which averages to a B.  I'm going to take a grade away for not being located anywhere near Shingle Peak, even if it is real.  So Overall is a B-.  If i find out Shingle Peak isn't even a real place, I'm dropping this to a C.