Jessica Monkivitch writes originally from Melbourne, Australia, I have split my time between the Netherlands and Australia for the last 17 years. I live in a very small village in the Netherlands called Lepelstraart, which to the amusement of many translates into Spoonstreet. After two decades in education, I recently made a career switch, and I now work as an Investment Writer for an asset management company. I enjoy travel, and wherever possible, seek to combine this exploring wine regions and uncovering great spots for lunch. Currently France is difficult to beat.
First it was coffee, then it was Chardonnay
Starting at the age of ten, I would go out with my mum each week for a cappuccino. Unlike now, finding a good coffee in Melbourne in the late 80s was a bit hit and miss, so our mission was to discover the best. We visited cafes in the suburbs armed with a set of criteria: milk temperature, coffee-to-milk ratio, and overall taste, and then we would rate the final product on a scale from 1-10.
Despite the obvious snobbery and potential health implications of drinking coffee so young, I learnt early that the quality of the product and the skill of the maker were critical to the result. Needless to say, my threshold for what constitutes a good coffee remains high.
When I started my first real job in my mid-20s, mum and I switched out coffee and would meet to dissect the week over a glass of wine at a local bar. Not just any wine. Mum only drank Chardonnay. And as I was to learn, not all Chardonnays were created equal.
And so, my lesson in what constituted a good Chardonnay began. Back in the early 2000s, Melbourne was yet to hit peak wine bar, so just like our coffee mission, we sought out the places that offered a “decent” Chardonnay by the glass.
At this time most of my friends were drinking Sav Blanc – probably from Oyster Bay. I didn’t love the fruitiness of that, so when I was introduced to the richer, deeper notes of Chardonnay, I found it much more to my liking.
To be clear, this was not an education in the finer art of wine tasting per se. There were no over-the-top discussions of apples or acidity, citrus or saline, which was not how mum rolled, but there were a few very important lessons.
In the early 90’s, rich, buttery styles dominated Australian Chardonnays, they were big, bold and oaky, particularly in the more mass-produced wines. Think Lindeman’s Bin 65. These, I learnt, were to be avoided at all times. Some Western Australians also came in swinging and a bit sharp and as mum would say, “not a fan of Western Australians.”
The next lesson was that colour was an important identifier. By the late 1990s and early 2000s, there was a shift to fresher Chardonnays, and these were more to mum’s – and quickly, my – style. We leaned towards Chardonnays that were paler in the glass, almost with a tinge of green, and consequently crisper. But, this was important, they had to have enough body to know you were drinking a Chardonnay.
This led us to Victoria and the Mornington Peninsula. Stonier was an early favourite, as was Ten Minutes by Tractor. The Yarra Valley region also produced some solid mid-level Chardonnays we would consider, like Yering Station, which was a tad toastier than the Mornington Peninsula. Tasmania was up there, but maybe because it had to cross the Tasman Sea, it was pricier and reserved for Christmas Day, which often meant Stefano Lubiano, which I just remember as pretty classy.
Part two of my Chardonnay education began when I moved to Europe in my early thirties, opening a whole new (old) world of wine. My first really good Bourgogne Chardonnay was a revelation. I could almost taste the sophistication in the glass, the colour and significantly the balance: spot on. Italian Chardonnay, harder to locate sometimes on a wine list, but pretty easy to not go wrong with and moderately priced, paired perfectly on hot days at the back of the beach with a spaghetti vongole.
As an Australian, understanding the depth and variety of Chardonnay across Europe – let alone in France – continues to be a challenge, but one I am definitely up for. There is nothing I enjoy more than being offered a taste and some details about style, maker and region to help me decide. Or the approach our waiter suggested the other night: you tell me what you like, and I will suggest things. Engaging, fun, effective. Equally, I love it when a sommelier urges you in new directions, like the Tomás Pico Chablis I had in December at a fish restaurant in Normandy.
And now with mum on the brink of 80 we keep to tradition on my trips back to Australia. A traditionalist (none of that natural wine stuff!), mum is now influenced by my choices. Over lamb shoulder at a trendy wine bar in Melbourne (now spoilt for choice) where mum was clearly the oldest person in the room, we sampled an excellent low intervention Chardonnay by Patrick Sullivan from Gippsland in Victoria. We were both big fans. The growth of regions and quality Chardonnays in my home state of Victoria gives trips back a focus: sample as much as possible!
So, is this an ode to mum or Chardonnay? I think both. They are tightly connected.
By introducing me to Chardonnay, I was inadvertently introduced to something bigger: a deep understanding of what makes something good, of high standards and quality. While discovering what I liked was guided by my mum’s taste, it gave me a base, and the confidence, to explore and develop my own taste. Although I have since broadened my love of wine to include Rosé, Pinot, Grenache, Syrah, etcetera, etcetera, Chardonnay was the start of what has, and continues to be, a very enjoyable discovery tour. And when confronted with sun, lunch and a restaurant, it remains my first choice.
And the most important lesson I learned?
Drink what you like. Because the process of finding what you like is half the fun….and maybe even the whole point.
And I hope as I enter my 80s that I will continue to enjoy a great Chardonnay, just like mum.
The photo features the author and her mother at Amsterdam's Petit Caron.
