Whitey dabbles round the edges of a couple of deep 2012 Shiraz ponds with these releases from McLaren Vale and the Barossa Valley.
Bellevue Estate McLaren Vale Shiraz 2012
$19; 14% alcohol; screw cap; 93+++ points
The 2011 version of this won the ol’ drinkster’s heart, then went on to win hat-trick gongs at the national Boutique Wine Awards and is only just beginning its ascent. This one, a more conventional wine in every way other than its sublime quality – it was a much more conventional vintage – has just won Best Value Shiraz Under $25 retail at The Edinburgh Cellars Shiraz Challenge. The other Ed winner, the Torbreck Factor, is $120. Snigger. You don’t get more honest or lovely wine than this. It’s a bit thick first thing in the morning, maybe a bit blocky, but last night and the night before it was creamy and silky and caressing. It was grown and made in the main street of McLaren Vale. Right across the street from Elbow Room, come to think of it. In marine limestone. On the family block by Corey Vandeleur. It’s like a sinful syrup-filled lozenge, whimpering for a big stack of field mushrooms, or rare veal livers with morel cream sauce. Like it’s royal wine. Like the 11, it’ll start its take-off about a year or three from now. It’s an impossible gift at this price so jump aboard and enjoy listening to engines warming.
Atzes Corner The Bachelor Barossa Valley Shiraz 2012
$26; 15% alcohol; screw cap; 91+++ points
Named after Bert The Bachelor Kleinig already, and made by Andrew Kalleske from his Mum and Dad’s block at Koonunga, which used to be “the Bachelor’s”, here’s a classic punch-in-the-forehead red in the old Ross Kalleske style. Like Ross would slug you out of pure affection. He whupped me once with that mighty bowed right in Schluter’s Greenock Creek Tavern and it was like somebody’d sucked my elevator shafts out from the bottom. Collapse without malice. This is a chocolate and licorice unconsciousness with that mysterious and threatening gunbarrel blue glint of star anise and really ripe juniper berries. And it’s Andrew and John and Barb Kalleske, not Ross. Whew. It’s a bit compacted and jackhammered right now, like all the best 2012s, so don’t judge it severely. Drink some now, and start on the rest in a year or two. Like 12. If there’s any sauce left the morning after that feast outlined above, wipe it out of the pan with crusty bread and butter; digest it with a backhand schlück of Bachelor and pretend it’s a swoon not an assault. See? I knew you’d be surprised.
