What’s in a name?
Well this recent Newsletter article evoked so much comment that we thought it appropriate to duplicate it here.
Apostrophe man has been to visit us. This is the mad pedant who insists on correct punctuation and who is now insisting that we should put an apostrophe in “toms.” We won’t and we can’t for two very good reaWhat’s in a name?
Apostrophe man has been to visit us. This is the mad pedant who insists on correct punctuation and who is now insisting that we should put an apostrophe in “toms.” We won’t and we can’t for two very good rWhat’s in a name?
Apostrophe man has been to visit us. This is the mad pedant who insists on correct punctuation and who is now insisting that we should put an apostrophe in “toms.” We won’t and we can’t for two very good reasons.
The first reason is that according to the Commonwealth Government Style Manual apostrophes are not to be used in capital letters and as you will have observed all our labels, letterheads and other material are in capitals. And who are we to argue with the Commonwealth Government.
But the second reason is the real one and the one that is our own dirty little secret. The sign on the bridge with the apostrophe in it is wrong! The correct geographical name for the waterhole is Toms without the apostrophe because the waterhole is named not after someone called Tom, but after a local family called Toms.
The Toms family were selectors in the district in the nineteenth century and the waterhole was named after them. When we set up the winery, almost fifteen years ago now, we named it after the waterhole, the nearest geographical feature. It’s a happy coincidence that GK’s grandfather was also called Tom.
So now you know. And why a waterhole and not a creek? Because although the creek runs for kilometres it runs mostly underground, breaking to the surface as waterholes here and there, most obviously where Longs Corner Road crosses it but also at several other places up and down stream. It’s actually very pretty, but it’s really Toms, not Tom’s.
easons.
The first reason is that according to the Commonwealth Government Style Manual apostrophes are not to be used in capital letters and as you will have observed all our labels, letterheads and other material are in capitals. And who are we to argue with the Commonwealth Government.
But the second reason is the real one and the one that is our own dirty little secret. The sign on the bridge with the apostrophe in it is wrong! The correct geographical name for the waterhole is Toms without the apostrophe because the waterhole is named not after someone called Tom, but after a local family called Toms.
The Toms family were selectors in the district in the nineteenth century and the waterhole was named after them. When we set up the winery, almost fifteen years ago now, we named it after the waterhole, the nearest geographical feature. It’s a happy coincidence that GK’s grandfather was also called Tom.
So now you know. And why a waterhole and not a creek? Because although the creek runs for kilometres it runs mostly underground, breaking to the surface as waterholes here and there, most obviously where Longs Corner Road crosses it but also at several other places up and down stream. It’s actually very pretty, but it’s really Toms, not Tom’s.
sons.
The first reason is that according to the Commonwealth Government Style Manual apostrophes are not to be used in capital letters and as you will have observed all our labels, letterheads and other material are in capitals. And who are we to argue with the Commonwealth Government.
But the second reason is the real one and the one that is our own dirty little secret. The sign on the bridge with the apostrophe in it is wrong! The correct geographical name for the waterhole is Toms without the apostrophe because the waterhole is named not after someone called Tom, but after a local family called Toms.
The Toms family were selectors in the district in the nineteenth century and the waterhole was named after them. When we set up the winery, almost fifteen years ago now, we named it after the waterhole, the nearest geographical feature. It’s a happy coincidence that GK’s grandfather was also called Tom.
So now you know. And why a waterhole and not a creek? Because although the creek runs for kilometres it runs mostly underground, breaking to the surface as waterholes here and there, most obviously where Longs Corner Road crosses it but also at several other places up and down stream. It’s actually very pretty, but it’s really Toms, not Tom’s.
Apostrophe man has been to visit us. This is the mad pedant who insists on correct punctuation and who is now insisting that we should put an apostrophe in “toms.” We won’t and we can’t for two very good reasons.
The first reason is that according to the Commonwealth Government Style Manual apostrophes are not to be used in capital letters and as you will have observed all our labels, letterheads and other material are in capitals. And who are we to argue with the Commonwealth Government.
But the second reason is the real one and the one that is our own dirty little secret. The sign on the bridge with the apostrophe in it is wrong! The correct geographical name for the waterhole is Toms without the apostrophe because the waterhole is named not after someone called Tom, but after a local family called Toms.
The Toms family were selectors in the district in the nineteenth century and the waterhole was named after them. When we set up the winery, almost fifteen years ago now, we named it after the waterhole, the nearest geographical feature. It’s a happy coincidence that GK’s grandfather was also called Tom.
So now you know. And why a waterhole and not a creek? Because although the creek runs for kilometres it runs mostly underground, breaking to the surface as waterholes here and there, most obviously where Longs Corner Road crosses it but also at several other places up and down stream. It’s actually very pretty, but it’s really Toms, not Tom’s.
What happened to Cowra Chardonnay?
The Happy Winemaker
A story for our time
Once upon a time a winemaker came to a small country town. He saw the green hills. He saw the clean river. He saw the rich soil and he felt the warm sun and he knew that this was the place to plant his precious Chardonnay grape vines
So he planted his grape vines on those green hills with the clean water and the rich soil and the warm sun and soon the vines were heavy with bunches of rich, fat golden grapes. And the winemaker took those rich fat golden bunches and pressed them and fermented them and made a rich fat luscious golden wine with just a hint of the green hills that the vines grew on. Then he stored the wine in the finest oak from the forest and after a time he bottled the wine and the people came from all around to taste this marvelous drink.
The winemaker became famous and throughout the world people begged for his wine and other people tried to copy it but none of them had green hills and clean water and rich soil and warm sun like his little country town. And the winemaker was happy and the people who drank his wine were happy and the winemaker even had hopes that he might become rich.
One day a narrow eyed man in a white coat knocked at the winemaker’s door. “Hello,” said the winemaker, “how can I help you?”
The narrow eyed man looked down his narrow nose at the winemaker. “I travel all over the world tasting wine,” said the man. “I know all there is to know about wine. I am an expert. If I like a wine I give it a star and if I don’t like a wine I write nasty things about it. Then my friends who live in big cities and drink coffee with froth on the top and watch themselves in mirrors will stop drinking the wine so I am very important. I have heard about your wine and I have come to taste it.”
The winemaker was a naturally polite person so he invited the narrow eyed man to taste his golden luscious wine. The man took a glass, swirled the wine around, looked at the colour, stuck his narrow nose in the top, took a sip and spat the wine on the floor.
“Aren’t you going to drink the wine?” asked the winemaker.
“I never drink the wine,” said the narrow eyed man. “That would spoil my sense of taste.” Then he looked at the wine again and looked at the winemaker. “You say this is Chardonnay?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the winemaker, now suddenly afraid.
“No,” said the narrow eyed man. “I have traveled all over the world and I have been in the land of frogs where they have been making Chardonnay for hundreds of years and where, you will agree, they know how to make Chardonnay. This is nothing like Chardonnay from the land of frogs. This isn’t proper Chardonnay at all.” he looked sternly at the winemaker. “Unless you start making Chardonnay like the Chardonnay from the land of frogs I will write nasty things about you and my friends in the city who drink coffee with froth on top and like to look at themselves in mirrors will not buy your wine.”
“What must I do?” asked the winemaker in great fear.
“In the land of frogs the hills are not green, the water is not clear, the soil is not rich, the sun is not warm and their oak barrels are old. You must copy that.” The narrow eyed man in the white coat turned to go. “And remember, I will be watching you and I will return.”
Afraid that he would lose his sales to the city people the winemaker began to change the way he grew his grapes and made his wine. He let the soil grow poor and the hills turn brown. He stopped giving his vines the clear water from the river. He picked the bunches of grapes before they became fat and golden in the sun. He stored the wine in stainless steel tanks and it never saw the oak of the forest.
True to his word the narrow eyed man in the white coat returned and tasted the wine. “This,” he said, “is more like the Chardonnay from the land of the frogs.”
“But most people tell me they don’t like it,” said the winemaker.
“Don’t worry about most people,” said the narrow eyed man. “I’m the only important person; me and my friends who drink coffee with froth on the top and watch themselves in mirrors.”
So the winemaker continued in his new style, making Chardonnay like the Chardonnay from the land of frogs and most people stopped drinking it and he began to lose money. “Help me,” he called to the narrow eyed man. “You say you are an expert. My business cannot survive. What should I do?”
“Your problem,” said the narrow eyed man “is Chardonnay. People, real people who drink coffee with froth on the top and look at themselves in mirrors, those people don’t like Chardonnay any more. But in the land of the frogs there is another grape called Marsanne. You should grow that instead.”
So the winemaker planted Marsanne. It did not make a very nice wine and not many people bought it so he called out to the narrow eyed man again.
“No, no, I didn’t say Marsanne,” said the narrow eyed man. “I said a grape from the land of bulls, Verdelho”
So the winemaker planted Verdelho and it didn’t make a very nice wine and not many people bought it so he called to the narrow eyed man again.
“Verdelho? Why did you plant Verdelho? No, you need to plant the vine from the land of spaghetti. You need to plant Pinot Grigio.”
So he planted Pinot Grigio and it didn’t make very nice wine and not many people bought it. So the winemaker turned to the narrow eyed man.
“I’m sorry,” said the winemaker, “but I can no longer make wine. I don’t like the wine I do make and the people don’t buy it so before I run out of money altogether I’m going to pull up all my grapes and grow wheat and canola in the rich soil and fatten sheep on the green hills and sit in the warm sun and catch fish in the clear river and I won’t ever again have to worry about narrow eyed men in white coats or city people who drink coffee with froth on it and watch themselves in mirrors.
And,” he said to himself, “on the top of the hill will be one small row of Chardonnay that will grow fat rich golden grapes and I will make a fat golden wine just for me.”
Changing times
Last week we sent a letter to all our suppliers advising them that in future our Sydney office would close and that GT and Judy would cease to be Directors of Toms Waterhole. So what’s happening?
For the last few months we have been undertaking a complete management review, not only of Toms Waterhole but also our two associated businesses, Balloon Joy Flights and BJF Catering (that’s the business we use for our catering activities such as plowman’s lunches and pizzas under the stars.) We have done this with the help of a grant from Cabonne Council and a management consultant from Canberra.
At the end of the review the conclusion was inescapable. we had to bring all three businesses together and make the obvious synergies between them work properly. That was the only way in which all three businesses were going to grow. And if we did it was crazy for GT to be CEO of Toms Waterhole, GK to be CEO of Balloon Joy Flights and Jan and Judy to be buzzing between them like bees in a bottle. So we have centralised our billing and accounting at the winery and GK has taken over as CEO of the combined businesses with Jan as Marketing Director and Company Secretary. GT and Judy still have their interest in Toms Waterhole (although for structural reasons it will be changed a bit) and, most importantly, retain their consulting and advisory responsibilities.
And when it comes down to the wines GK and GT are still going to fight it out every time a new vintage has to go into the bottle. We don’t, actually, know how to do it any other way.
The grapes we grow
We have just received the 2009 vintage report from the Winemakers Federation of Australia and as usual it makes fascinating reading.
If you read the wine columns in the newspapers you could be forgiven for thinking that these days the only white grapes we grow are Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Grigio and most of the red grapes are the newer trendy Italian varieties such as Sangiovese, Nebbiolo and Barbera. Well, you couldn’t be more wrong.
The most widely grown red varieties are, in order of volume: Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Pinot Noir – almost exactly what the traditionalists would expect. But then come varieties such as Petit Verdot, Ruby Cabernet, Mataro, Grenache and so on. The Italian varieties barely get a mention. Sangiovese was a miserable 0.2% of the total crush, Barbera a tiny 117 tonnes and Nebbiolo so small it didn’t even appear amongst the “also grown.”
When it comes to the whites the results are even more astonishing. Chardonnay still accounts for almost half the white crush, followed by Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc and, believe it or not, Colombard. We have long suspected that Colombard is, as Jancis Robinson politely puts it “blended with more fashionable grape varieties to add volume and provide useful natural acidity” (Pinto Grigio anyone?) But what came fifth? Muscat Gordo Blanco.
What on earth is Muscat Gordo Blanco? Well, it’s a pseudonym for a grape better known to the rest of the world as Muscat of Alexandria and which, in typically Australian fashion we shorten to Lexia. This year we crushed 56,000 tonnes of it which, at 1,000 bottles per tonne translates into 56 million bottles or bottle equivalents of Fruity Lexia.
Scary isn’t it.
