Writer Evan Jones shares how he went from being anti sweet wine to a full-blown fan.
The Muppets have taught me more lessons than I care to admit, but one stands out in particular. In their version of A Christmas Carol (forgive me, it’s the only one I know), Michael Caine as Ebenezer Scrooge is shown the error of his mean-spirited ways. The Christmas Muppet ghosts help him understand that, actually, there is some joy to be found in things he’d previously dismissed and railed against. In the end, he’s cooking up a Christmas goose with the best of them. He’s a changed man. And, as it turns out, so am I.
Our experience of the world is subjective and what we enjoy is rarely set in stone. When it comes to drinks, we might only be a friendly ‘Hey, try this’ away from completely changing our tune on something we’ve long avoided – like Scrooge and Christmas cheer. This is the idea behind this article series – a look into the drinks that have, for whatever reason, made us change our mind for the better about something we thought we didn’t like. Consider it a reminder that joy can often be found where you least expect it.
There is nothing more obnoxious than someone who, when offered a drink, scoffs and says something like ‘Oh no, not for me. Only [some other kind of person] would drink that’. It’s a haughty, elitist, smug mindset – and it was absolutely me when it came to sweet wine.
I’ve been writing about wine for years now, but it wasn’t that long ago that I was working in retail and couldn’t tell a shiraz from a shoe. I started drinking wine in my mid-20s and quickly found there were some wines that were ~good~ and some that were ~bad~. Sweet wines, for various reasons, seemed to get labelled by those around me as being bad. They were the sorts of one-dimensional drops favoured by people who didn’t really like wine, apparently. On the other hand, people would rave about ‘serious’ wines like pinot noir or Bordeaux blends and, naturally, I followed their lead. That was until I tried the Cookoothama Botrytis Semillon and everything changed.
Sweet wine comes in a lot of forms. There’s the easy-drinking saccharine moscato; the slightly sweet, lightly fizzy Lambrusco; the dialled-up richness of fortified wines. Worst of all – at least it seemed to the old me – were the sweetest of the sweet: stickies.
Sticky is a nickname for dessert-style wines made from grapes either picked late or infected with a fungus called botrytis. In either case, the ripened grapes shrivel and lose water, concentrating the sugars within and eventually becoming a wine of powerful sweetness (up to 200g/L of sugar in some cases). To me, this always seemed a terrible idea. I’m not a sweet tooth and, based on my brief exposure to other sweet wines, I couldn’t really get around the idea of this next-level sugar.
What changed my mind about stickies was the realisation that, sure, they’re sweet as hell, but there’s something else there: acidity. Juicy, vibrant, mouthwatering acidity. I can’t quite remember the context of drinking the Cookoothama for the first time, but I can absolutely recall the reaction I had. The sweetness hits first – and it’s intense. Then, a second later, this burst of acidity washes through, like a squeeze of citrus juice right on the tongue. The result is something in perfect harmony – two heavy-hitting sensations, balancing themselves like weights on a barbell.
I have rarely experienced such an unexpected about-face. I’m salivating just thinking about it right now. The Cookoothama was like a spoon of lime marmalade from the jar or biting into the most perfectly ripe peach. Since then, I have only fallen deeper in love with stickies, and I am happy to admit I couldn’t have been more wrong about sweet wines.
So, your interest is piqued and you’re looking to try a sticky? Welcome to the gang. A good place to start is by picking up one or two and getting a feel for the flavours and styles. Absolutely try the Cookoothama Botrytis Semillon first off – tell ‘em I sent you. The price-to-flavour ratio alone is off the charts. Another botrytis semillon worth checking out is from Peter Lehmann, which trades some of Cookoothama’s intense citrus notes for a tropical flavour profile.
Beyond that, I’ve always loved a sweeter riesling like Heggies Vineyard Botrytis Riesling. Like semillon, riesling is a high-acid grape variety and it ends up with a similar spectrum of intense citrus flavours to balance the sugar, with a little floral waft to top it off. The version being made by Hollick is another that dials up the racy acidity for a marmalade-ish zip.
So, how should you serve dessert wines? Whichever bottle you go for, stickies are generally best served chilled. They also make the very best match with salty cheeses – a holy trinity of salt, sugar and acidity – and bring freshness to sweet desserts, so it’s a good idea to experiment with a few.
