A few months ago, June Rodil of Congress Restaurant in Austin selected a wine from La Cruz de Comal winery as the Texas Wine of the Month. It was the 2009 Petard Blanc. Made of 100% Blanc du Bois, a white grape believed to originate from Florida and have some relationship to the muscadine grape, the wine was a bit unusual compared to other Texas wines. It had a little more cloudiness in appearance and a great deal of acidity on the palate. But as Rodil commented, it was a beautiful wine with “fresh, clean minerality, and high-toned citrus and stone fruits.”
It’s certainly unlike any other wine I’ve tasted from Texas, or anywhere for that matter. But it was Rodil’s description of this wine’s uniqueness based on the fact that it was a natural wine that intrigued me.
But what is a “natural wine?” How are other wines considered “not natural?” Honestly, I really wasn’t sure. So I dug up a bit of research to find that natural wine essentially means leaving the wine alone to simply make itself.
Unlike with organic and biodynamic winemaking, which are both primarily concerned with growing grapes in an additive-free, holistic manner. Natural wine is more about what happens to the grapes after they’re picked.
There’s a lot that happens once grapes are picked from the vine. During the “vinification,” or wine making process, a number of elements can be added, and typically are. Everything from certain strains of yeast, tannins, sugar, enzymes, proteins, even acid. Most all of wines are also filtered to make them less cloudy from the natural sediments in the wine.
And then there’s sulfur. Sulfur is the universal preservative of wine that is pretty much in every wine on the market. Most winemakers add additional sulfur as a preservative, to protect the wine from microbial spoilage or browning/oxidizing. But most hardcore natural-wine makers won’t add any at all.
Natural-wine fans tout the virtues of using only the yeast already growing in the grower’s grapes or in the winery to aid fermentation. These natural yeasts are believed to reveal the most natural expression of the wine, which means each vintage will have its own distinct flavor.
But there’s also a lot of controversy when it comes to natural wine.
When you let the wine make itself means you can’t manipulate when your fermentation process begins or ends. If you’re a large wine producer with a committed schedule for delivering wine to store shelves, relying on an unpredictable process costs time and money.
Without filtering, wine can have a cloudy hue in the glass and the flavor can be more “rustic” than what consumers are normally accustomed to drinking.
The lack of added sulfur creates the potential for natural wines to oxidize, or brown, quickly. It can create the potential for bacterial problems or the chance of a second fermentation in the bottle, which would result in something similar to sparkling wine, though not as refined. For that reason, many believe natural wines should really be for local consumption only.
Finally, you have to consider the flavor preferences of the general American wine drinker. We’ve been trained to like our wines clear, brilliant and clean in flavor. That doesn’t mean you can’t develop a taste and complete appreciation for natural wine, but you may have to retrain your palate.
Rodil’s not the only Texas sommelier to bring up La Cruz de Comal as one of the most elegant wine producers in the state. In fact, when you bring up Texas wine among sommeliers, a lot of them refer to Lewis Dickson as a sort of wine prophet of Texas.
Having never met Dickson, my interests were piqued. He doesn’t serve his wines at Texas wine events. I’ve caught a glimpse of him at a private wine tasting when renowned natural wine writer Alice Feiring was in town last fall. But until a couple of weeks ago, I had never actually met the elusive Lewis Dickson
I asked a friend and fellow wine writer, Jeremy Parzen of The Houston Press and DoBianchi.com to join me—primarily so he could fill me in on the most important to know about natural wine and how Dickson fits into that picture in Texas. Not surprisingly, Parzen, who is rather well versed in the world of wine, is a La Cruz du Comal fan as well.
“Lewis is showing that you can make good, wholesome tasting wine here,” says Parzen. “Instead of blindly embracing the California theory that wine is made in the cellar with corrective chemicals. And his wines are really beautiful.”
On a chilly Friday afternoon, Parzen and I drove out to La Cruz de Comal in Startzville, near Canyon Lake. As we drove up, we noticed a small billow of smoke rising from the newly finished tasting room. Designed by Dickson, it bares a striking resemblance to a cottage you might find in the rolling hills of Provence. He sourced all of his rock and a lot of his timber from his property and has included sentimental additions from his travels abroad including art, woodworking from an old hacienda in the Sierra Madres, and a small collection of antique mechanical rotisseries from France. (Rumor has it, you haven’t arrived until you show up for a tasting with Lewis and he’s got a rack of lamb roasting away in front of the fire. I look forward to that opportunity one day.)
Dickson’s a native Texan who grew up in central Houston. (As it turns out, he grew up with my father from elementary through graduating Robert E. Lee high school. It is a small world, after all.) A University of Texas grad, he moved on to nab a law degree and become one of the most prominent—if not controversial—defense attorneys in the state. But as it turns out, it’s his second career that makes Dickson such a success. As the only natural winemaker in Texas, he’s sort of “the radical,” “the rebel,” “the outsider” of the Texas wine industry. After spending an afternoon with him, I have to say, I think it’s a role he’s happy to fill.
After taking an about turn from his legal career in the late 1990s, Dickson took a personal sabatical and spent a couple of years living in the South of France. He had always possessed a fascination with wine. In fact, when he was graduating from High School, instead of the standard Cross pen and pencil set that most of his friends were getting for graduation gifts, Dickson requested a 1955 Chateau D’Yquem, a classic Bordeaux Sauternes (dessert white wine). Dickson got the D’Yquem. And about 15 years ago he opened it and enjoyed every drop.
In the 80s, he spent a lot of time touring around California wineries and found himself regularly returning to Coturri Winery in Sonoma where winemaker Tony Coturri has been making natural wine for more than 3 decades and is widely considered one of the pioneers of natural winemaking in the United States.
Dickson and Coturri became fast friends and in 1992, when Dickson decided to buy property in Startzville, he persuaded Coturri to help him establish a vineyard and make some Texas wine. It took a few years to get things up and running, but the two officially opened the winery in 2004. Each year Coturri returns to help Dickson with harvest and winemaking.
For our particular tasting, we were also joined by John Roenigk, the co-owner and general manager of the Austin Wine Merchant. We tasted a number of Dickson’s wines—many of which aren’t offered to the general public. Among the highlights were the 2009 Petard Blanc (for the same reasons Rodil selected it as a Texas Wine of the Month; a beautiful Merlot (90%) and Black Spanish (10%) rosé (Du Petit Lait) that tasted of earth, red fruit and fresh spring flowers; and a perky 2004 100% Syrah that smelled of magnolia petals, dark fruit and old library books—and tasted almost as good.
“It’s a bit twangy,” says Dickson. “Only in Texas can you use that term as an official wine descriptor. It was really high in acid when I first bottled it, but it has really died down in the bottle.”
We also tried a few other wines including the Cohete Rojo (it means “red rocket”), which is a blend of Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Black Spanish and few other red grapes and his two dessert wines, the Aprés made from Blanc du Bois and a hint of brandy, his nonvintage port, a delicious not-too-sweet dark fruit and cocoa bomb that sang with a smidgen of blue cheese to follow it.
The overall response? You can read Parzen’s at the Houston Press here.
The more reserved Roenigk agreed that it was the best portfolio of wine he had tasted from Dickson to date. (He followed the statement by requesting a list of them to stock on his shelves at the Austin Wine Merchant.)
Me? Let’s just say, I became an instant follower of the Texas wine prophet.
I happily purchased a bottle of the Petard Blanc and the Du Petit Lait. I’ve had buyer’s remorse for not also adding the Port to my purchase from the moment my wheels left the graveled drive of La Cruz De Comal. T’ant pis, I’ll just have to go back again.
Before leaving, I had a chance to get Dickson to answer a few questions on making natural wine in Texas.
Texas Monthly: What made you want to focus completely on natural wine?
Lewis Dickson: There’s a lot of good wine out there. But, to me, wine can and should be more than just good. It should be interesting, alive with personality. It should be reflective of the region. Wine ought not just evolve in the bottle, once opened that evolution should continue in the glass and from glass to glass. That’s how you know a wine is alive. The kind of wine I want to make is like a little motion picture in the bottle, not just 6 still frames of the same exact shot.
Texas Monthly: Is that why you invited Tony Coturri to aid you in your winemaking journey?
Lewis Dickson: I’ve always that Tony’s wines were like that: Not just good but, interesting, full of personality, sometimes more like a movie than a photo. I figured Tony’s way was the best, if not the only way to make wines that go beyond just good.
Truth is, a wine can be deeply colored, full of toasty oak and yet, DEAD ON ARRIVAL. Such wines will never have personality, let alone evolve in the bottle and later, in the glass upon service.
Texas Monthly: If sulfur is typically used to add longevity to wines, what do you rely on to help preserve your wines?
Lewis Dickson: Acidity is the natural preservative. It’s like if you slice a potato and leave it on the counter and they turn brown, they won’t do that—at least not as rapidly—if you put lemon juice on them. The fiction is that if you don’t add sulfites to the wine in the bottle they won’t hold up with age. That’s nonsense. If they’ve got acidity.
Texas Monthly: How would you describe how you and Coturri make your wine?
Lewis Dickson: What he does is wonderful, you don’t do anything. You pick the grapes. You crush them. You let them ferment on their own. But it’s like raising children, you let them be what they want to be – you just teach them right from wrong and give them a good place to live and take care of them. But let them be what they want to be. I didn’t make the wine, it made itself.
Texas Monthly: You’ve lived in France and have traveled extensively through the wineries in California. What made you want to come here and make wine in Texas?
Lewis Dickson: I’m from Texas. This is my home and it’s where I want to be. So, I’m making real Texas wine. I’m not backhandedly passing off wine that’s not from Texas. I have a motto for La Cruz Du Comal: Uniquely Authentic Wines. When I say authentic, I mean they are real wines that I think I can make consistently from year to year.
Texas Monthly: You’ve settled on making your wines primarily using Blanc Du Bois and Black Spanish grapes, both of which do well in Texas. What are your thoughts on using warm-climate grapes such as Spanish Tempranillo as other winemakers in Texas are doing.
Lewis Dickson: What I’m trying to do is make what works here. On this property. I want to find what interesting, unique wines can be made with consistency. I’m trying to make a statement that you can do what I’m trying to do as a Texas winemaker, but you need to learn to be comfortable in your own skin. You need to learn what you can do and then do it in an interesting, honest and unique way.
I don’t think it’s completely true that Mediterranean varietals are the key to Texas winemaking. Just because it’s hot over there and hot over here is not the only qualifier in the equation. Texas is a big place and what might work in the High Plains might not work in the Hill Country and vice versa. By “work well,” I mean with some notable degree of consistency. I’ve had some very nice Texas wines from the so called Mediterranean “hot climate” grapes. But the question is whether they can be done with consistency.
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While you can find some of his wines at select wine stores around the state—Austin Wine Merchant being one of them—I’d suggest contacting the winery directly to find out which stores carry them. But to be honest, you haven’t truly tasted the wines of La Cruz de Comal unless you’ve tasted them with Dickson himself. In many ways, having him prepare them and share them with you is as much a part of the rustic terroir as the natural acidity in his wines.
Will his wines appeal to everyone? Probably not. Especially if you’re partial to certain American, Australian or South American wine styles. And that’s ok. But if you like a little earth, petulance, complexity and a certain je ne sais quoi in your wine, then Dickson’s wines are worth a try.
- Jessica Dupuy
