Aren’t tasting notes wild? When you write a tasting note, you’re fumbling toward objectivity–or at least toward clearly communicating a subjective experience. Sometimes, wine writers gussy up our impressions with science talk: This wine has high levels of pyrazines, this one has 9 grams of residual sugar, blah blah blah.
But still, deep down, lies the suspicion that it’s all a stinkin’ ruse. You can never taste the same thing that someone else is tasting. Nor can you describe a flavor in a way that someone else will completely understand. Differences in genes, sensory memories, and cultural associations all get in the way of writing a truly comprehensible tasting note.
The most maddening stumbling block on the way to tasting-note objectivity is fruit. Wine is made from fruit, and often tastes and smells like other fruits. Easy enough.
Yet just like grapes, fruits are grown in places all over the world, and they all taste different! There are different cultivars and ripeness levels, too. When I read a tasting note with a fruit I’ve never tried (or rarely get to try) it’s unnerving. It’s another withering blow to the illusion that it’s possible to accurately convey wine flavors to anybody, ever.
But despair is not an option. As humans, we must strive toward effective communication, even if deep down we understand we can never achieve it. So I set out to learn about some of these strange fruits.
Today, we’re zeroing in on five wine descriptors linked to uncommon fruits. These tasting notes might be unfamiliar to American drinkers but are used a lot by British and European wine writers. Let’s begin with…
1. Damson
Damn, son. That’s what I say to myself when I’m reading an Oz Clarke book and he falls back on this tasting note yet again. (He especially favors it as a descriptor for Malbec.)
I gather that it’s some kind of fruit. But what actually is a damson?
It turns out that a damson is a variety of ancient sour plum that’s about the size of a very large grape. The name is Anglicized from “Damascene” (of Damascus). Originating in Asia Minor, they were probably brought to the British Isles by the Romans (and later to North America by English colonists). The damson is a tough, hedge-like tree. They don’t require human intervention to thrive and wild damsons aren’t much different in character than cultivated ones.
The fruit is blueish in color and pear- or teardrop-shaped. The trees are hardy and slow growing, but produce abundant fruits once established. There is a folk rhyme that says, “He who plants plums, plants for his sons. He who plants damsons, plants for his grandsons.”
The damson is related to the sloe, best known for its role in flavoring sloe gin. It has a characteristic astringent and tart, yet rich black plum flavor. They can be made into preserves and pickles, but few cultivars are sweet enough to eat out of hand. With their clinging pits and small size, they’re not as suitable for drying as sweet plums.
Damson wines and jams, once a common project for British home-brewers and canners, are now quite rare. It’s thought that sugar rationing in World War II has something to do with their falling out of favor. On their own, damsons don’t contain enough sugar to make a balanced dry wine or a sweet spread. You can still occasionally find damson jam at international grocers–but it’s mostly a rustic novelty.
How about distillation, then? A little damson gin is made, which is similar to sloe gin. Damsons are also the raw material for slivovitz, the extremely crude (culturally insensitive people might say “nasty”) plum brandy from Eastern Europe. Slivovitz has an elusive, teasing aroma of ripe fresh plum, but tastes like raw lumber and paint thinner going down.
On the fruit flavor spectrum, damson falls somewhere in between a blue and a black fruit. You’re most likely to find damson notes in tannic wines from thick-skinned grapes: Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah–and yes, Malbec. It’s also known as a characteristic aroma of Cabernet Franc.
2. Lingonberry
The lingonberry plant is a small creeping bush with bright red berries. It’s related to the commonly available (at least at Thanksgiving) North American cranberry.
Though a lingonberry is usually technically sweeter than a cranberry, they are smaller fruits with more skin and pips. That extra roughage makes lingonberries taste astringent and a little earthy.
Fresh lingonberries are rare outside of their native habitat of the Scandinavian and Baltic regions. They are usually sweetened and cooked to make them more palatable. Swedish, Norwegian, and Eastern European cuisines use lingonberry jams and sauces as a complement to bread, dairy, and meat dishes.
In fact, the best way to get ahold of it stateside is to go to your nearest IKEA. The home furnishings retailer has a veritable berry-burst of lingonberry products lining its aisles: Sodas, preserves, and syrups. Eat a spoonful of lingonberry compote to get an idea of the flavor, and then put the rest on your pancakes with some whipped salted butter. (Yum!)
Like cranberry, lingonberry is most often noted in wines that are paler red in color with red-fruit flavors and astringent tannins. (Think young-ish wines from Sangiovese and Nebbiolo.)
If a hint of the flavor isn’t enough for you, go whole-hog with a lingonberry flavored beverage! Lingonberries are difficult to ferment into alcohol for chemical reasons that are too boring to go into here. (I was only able to find one commercially available lingonberry wine, from this Minnesota winery.) More commonly, lingonberry is used to add flavor and acidity to finished grape wines, ciders, and meads.
A limited amount of lingonberries are cultivated in the United States–primarily in the Great Lakes region where there are many people with Scandinavian heritage. However, fresh berries are rarely found and most recipes for lingonberry hooch use an imported, bottled concentrate.
3. Quince
“They dined on mince, and slices of quince
Which they ate with a runcible spoon”
Edward Lear, “The Owl and the Pussy-cat” (1871)
English poets like Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll loved to make up nonsense words and fit them into children’s rhymes. So you could be forgiven for believing (as I once did) that quince is a made-up thing, like a runcible spoon.
But as it turns out, quince is real! It’s a lumpy and hard member of the pomme family, the same that includes apples and pears. Unlike apples and pears, however, quince is practically inedible when eaten raw. It’s hard, bitter, and astringent–like a supermarket Bartlett pear out of season.
It is cooking–either that, or extreme ripeness–that has the potential transform the homely quince into a fruit worth noticing. When you smell/taste it, you immediately understand why wine writers love this descriptor so much. The tart pear flavor is then joined by floral, vanilla, and honey aromas. Sniff the flower end of a ripe quince and you may detect some muskiness and creaminess, similar to a fresh yellow guava.
The other forms quince can be found in (besides fresh fruit) are jellies and pastes. A cooked and reduced version of quince flesh is a Spanish delicacy. Called dulce de membrillo, quince paste, or quince cheese, it’s also popular in Latin American countries as a pastry filling or sweet snack.
Quince paste tastes sort of like Fig Newton filling, with a guava-like aroma and pleasant tartness. It’s sliced and eaten with cheese, especially Manchego. (I like to think that “the slices of quince” in Edward Lear’s nursery rhyme are quince paste, not fresh quince. The Owl and the Pussy-cat might be crazy moonstruck lovers, but at least they have good taste in food!)
Among wine writers, “quince” seems to be shorthand for “This wine taste like a ripe apple and also a pear and there’s some floral and custardy-sweet notes, too.” You’ll find it most often in blossom-y, lower-acid wines like Chenin Blanc and Viognier.
4. Gooseberry
The gooseberry is a sour, slightly fuzzy green fruit in the currant family. It’s native to Europe and parts of Western Asia. They prefer partial shade and grow very well in Britain’s cool, overcast weather.
Just-ripe gooseberries taste a lot like a tart green grape. Very ripe ones taste sweeter and slightly tropical, like kiwi fruit. Under-ripe gooseberries have a bracing acidity and a green, tomato-skin flavor. If you’ve ever tasted a raw tomatillo then you get the idea. (Tomatillos, it so happens, are related to the South American fruit called Cape gooseberry–but not to European gooseberries.)
Gooseberry’s tanginess and herbaceousness are good partners to both sweet and savory foods. Gooseberry relishes and jellies are served as a complement to rich game and oily fish dishes. (The French term for gooseberry is groseille à maquereau, “mackerel currant.”) A traditional British dessert, “gooseberry fool,” tames the berries’ acidity with generous spoonfuls of biscuit and whipped cream.
Sadly, gooseberries are restricted (or illegal to plant) in some US states because they harbor a tree-damaging fungus. Where they grow wild, they are dug up lest they harm local timber industries.
Some greenhouse-grown gooseberries exist, but they’re astoundingly expensive. I worked at a place where we garnished a goat cheese panna cotta with a pair of the precious berries. The chef kept them in a locker in the walk-in with the Prime steaks, so they wouldn’t wind up on “ordinary” fruit plates.
Gooseberry aromas are most closely associated with Sauvignon Blanc, especially ones from cooler climates. It’s sometimes used for other young white wines that have green and herbaceous primary aromas combined with very high acidity.
As a tasting note, “gooseberry” connotes not just fruitiness but pungency. It’s a grassy, persistent acridity that can tend toward animal-ish. “Gooseberry bush” was a Victorian euphemism for pubic hair and my WSET 2 teacher says that “gooseberry” is understood to be a polite way to describe cat urine odors. Despite these unsavory associations, it’s a distinctive flavor that many people enjoy in wine.
5. Elderberry
Elderberries are an ancient wild berry known as the “Englishman’s grape.” It’s a small, concentrated fruit from the black elder tree. This “tree” is really a bushy shrub and has an ancient and complex folkloric history in Britain. It’s linked to Fairies, magic, and healing, and has variously been regarded as benevolent and cursed.
Elderberry is not the same tasting note as elderflower, the delicate floral aroma found in many white wines. But they are from the same plant.
In late spring, the elder tree produces sprays of airy white blossoms, which later turn into clusters of berries. These are ideally picked when very ripe. Fully ripe elderberry is intense, dark and woodsy, much like a blackcurrant.
Humans have been getting tipsy on elderberry wine for hundreds if not thousands of years. Before grapes were widely cultivated in Britain, foraged elderberries were an important source of fermentable sugar for homemade booze. The berries are small and therefore extremely high in tannin, which helped to preserve the wine before the invention of refrigeration.
Elderberry flavored wines are still commercially produced, usually by blending a portion of fermented elderberry juice with grape wine. If you get a chance to try one, they’re novel and can be quite tasty!
In fact, home winemakers sometimes add a dose of elderberries to enhance the color and tannin of red wines from weak grapes. The higher the concentration of elderberry, the more barrel-aging these wines require to soften their very high tannins.
Compared to other black fruits, elderberry is a complex, concentrated fruit flavor. At its best, it has an intense black-grape flavor that is reminiscent of good Port. It can also have floral and spicy aromas that echo lavender, chicory, and camphor. Extracts of the fruit are a folk remedy for colds and flu and often wind up in medicinal concentrates, teas, and syrups.
Elderberries aren’t easy to find here in the United States. A quick look at Instacart (my tactic for meta-searching area grocers) only yields a bunch of immune supplements and flavored cough syrups.
Dried elderberries are more widely available than fresh and are used in herbal teas and infusions. They’re not very tasty to nibble on. While chewing the dried berries yields hints of their woodsy blackberry sweetness, they’re tiny–smaller than peppercorns–and gritty.
In wine, I detect elderberry notes most often in robust Syrah-based wines like those from the Northern Rhône. As a tasting note, “elderberry” usually refers to a complex, feral black fruit taste–earthiness and spiciness combined with high tannins. Because it’s common in cough drops and syrups, it can also connote a medicinal quality to a wine which you may find in fortified wines like Port.
So Many Fruits, So Little Time
I hope you’ve enjoyed this little peek at exotic fruits from Europe and Great Britain. Even though you probably won’t find these fruits in the produce aisle at Kroger, once you learn their flavors you just might find them in your tasting notes!
Food history and food trivia are two avenues by which we can gain a greater understanding and enjoyment of wine. I’ll be exploring more “off-the-beaten-path” wine descriptors in future posts.
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