The Problem With "Terroir"

From Napa to North Carolina, when wine regions mimic one another, the word loses all meaning.

You’ve seen it on the back of wine bottles, on website homepages, you’ve heard it uttered from the mouths of winemakers—perhaps you’ve even rolled it around in your own mouth to see how it sits: terroir. It’s the poetic force that beats through the vast world of wine, unifying hemispheres by defining their differences. It’s responsible for causing swarms of people to fall in love with wine because it embodies what is quintessentially lovable about the drink: that the place where the wine grapes grew, and what happened around them can be smelled, tasted, and felt.

Cue “Unique”, Beyoncé. 

There are many complex wine terms—terroir is the one whose definition has found its way across the bar, to people who don’t work in wine. These are terroir-driven wines. This grape is known for showcasing terroir. Notes of strawberry, wild herbs, and terroir. What the winemakers are trying to tell you, I think, is that this is good stuff, it’s unique stuff, and that it embodies that quintessentially lovable thing about wine (see above). But is that a guarantee?