Have some Madeira, m’dear
With its rich, refreshing zing, both Madeira and its drinker could stay young for 100 years or more, says Harry Eyres. Unless you’re the Duke of Clarence, who drowned in the stuff
ALL the great fortified wines of Europe are wonderfully odd, but Madeira is surely the oddest of them all. The oddness extends from its unlikely island home—a steep rock rising to 6,000ft in the middle of the Atlantic, 400 miles off the coast of Africa, where grapes seldom reach 12% potential alcohol—to its production process and commercial history.
Madeira’s characteristic slightly burnt or caramelly taste is the result of the chance discovery that barrels that had been shipped through the tropics to the Indies tasted better. Thereafter, that natural warming was—at least with the more basic wines—mimicked by the production process of estufagem or by heating in hot stores or vats. (The best wines have been left to mellow in sun-soaked lofts.) This takes place before or after the fortification of the base wine with aguardiente, leaving a certain amount of sugar unfermented.
This tipple has gone in and out of fashion, perhaps more dramatically than its rivals sherry and Port. The unfortunate mode of death of the Duke of Clarence (reportedly drowned in a butt of Malmsey, the sweetest Madeira) speaks of its popularity in the 15th century. It enjoyed a heyday in the late 18th and 19th centuries, especially on the east coast of North America: the American Declaration of Independence was toasted with Madeira and clubs and societies devoted to it were established along the eastern seaboard of what became the US; the Madeira Club of Savannah, Georgia, is still going strong. But the island’s vineyards were hit by the double whammy of oidium and phylloxera from the 1850s to the 1880s and never fully recovered. Madeira was, in the mid 20th century, hanging on by its fingernails.
Of the great Madeira families, the Cossarts, Gordons, Leacocks and Blandys, it is only the Blandys who maintain a strong presence on the island. However, Chris Blandy, one of five siblings now working for the family firm, together with cousins including the chairman Michael Blandy, reports: ‘Now, there’s an interesting and exciting wine industry on the island. The future for Madeira is really bright.’
Production is still quite tiny compared with that of Port or sherry: less than 1,200 acres under vines on the archipelago and a fraction of that planted to the four main ‘noble’ varieties, Sercial, Verdelho, Bual (or Boal) and Malvasia (or Malmsey). Two other nobles, Bastardo and Terrantez, had almost disappeared,
Madeiras are the longest-lived wines and the finest are among the greatest
but Chris reports that Terrantez is making a comeback. The majority of current Madeira wines are made from the variety Tinta Negra, which replaced the noble ones after phylloxera. Despite its somewhat indifferent reputation, Tinta Negra can make very fine wines.
Madeira provides a distinct taste experience or taste spectrum and unrivalled longevity.
If Port is shunned by some (wrongly, I think) as being too heavy or cloying and sherry is still misunderstood, Madeira entices with a rare combination of richness and rapier-like intensity. The astonishingly high levels of acidity are what keep it fresh for not only decades, but centuries (and fresh in the bottle for weeks after opening). Madeiras are the longest-lived wines on the planet—and most experts would place the finest of them among the greatest.
Where does Madeira fit into modern life? The usage of the beverage as a tool of seduction, satirised in Flanders and Swann’s immortal song Have Some Madeira, M’dear, already seemed outmoded in the 1950s—although the nice distinctions the vile seducer makes between the virtues (and vices) of different alcoholic drinks still have validity. In my view, the seducer commits his first faux pas by suggesting Madeira as a late-evening or just-before-bedtime drink. The ideal time for it—at least, the two drier kinds, Sercial and Verdelho—is surely mid morning. They are the perfect accompaniment to cake (including Madeira cake) and biscuits. If we are hit with fuel shortages this winter, I can think of no better way to supplement the central heating.
Sercial and Verdelho are both dry enough —in sherry terms, think Manzanilla Pasada for the former and fine dry Amontillado for the latter—to accompany a wide range of food, including fish and chicken dishes. Bual and Malmsey—now more often called Malvasia —are closer in sweetness to tawny Port and vintage Port, marvellous with nuts and dried fruit or even that well-known wine-and-food matcher’s nightmare, chocolate. Somehow, the extra acidity you get from Madeira seems to balance the dark strength of chocolate.
Odd as it may sound, Madeira has something in common with Champagne, at least as eulogised by the great Lily Bollinger: it can be drunk at any time of day, in any mood and will brighten the day and lift the spirits. Madeira may not have bubbles, but it shares with Champagne the tremendous refreshing zing that can keep wine—and possibly even its drinker—young for 100 years and more.