Cracking the Chardonnay code: it started with a cellar door, a dog, and more Chardonnay than any sane person should drink in a lifetime
Everyone’s story is different, this is mine
For a long time, I’ve lived in a small town surrounded by vineyards. It’s mostly Pinot Noir and Chardonnay country, where post-cool cellar doors abound and the chatter at the local primary school fair is about pruning and baumé and cover crops and early harvests.
Very slowly – and I mean over years – it’s come to my attention that there is a very specific subset of this community that are … ahem, just a touch off the main road.
They walk and talk like the rest of us but they see the world a little differently; you might even say they have a certain translucent golden tint to their vision.
I know about this because I realised recently that somehow, without realising, it turns out that I’d joined them.
Ordinary bloke, signed up while I wasn’t looking.
New obsession.
A regular, almost-transcendent ritual.
I’d developed a Chardonnay habit…
The beginning: reeled in
By one of those flukishly happy twists of fate, the prestigious Halliday Chardonnay Challenge was hosted annually at the winery where my partner worked.
Producers would send in thousands of bottles of Chardonnay to be judged, James and his team ranked them, crowned a few winners and then celebrated accordingly.
Fortunately for us, the judges only needed a splash to decide, thus leaving an enormous amount of high-quality Chardonnay in need of a good home.
It was a tough gig but somebody had to stand up and take care of the overflow.
For a few years we (and the rest of the staff) were the recipients of what I can only describe as a mountain of Chardonnay — in every conceivable guise.
The variety was mind-boggling. That’s where my obsession began.
It progressed to me thinking that a sunny Saturday afternoon wasn’t complete without a quality Chardonnay.
Then it hit me:
Walk the dog. Drink the Chardonnay.
Genius.
I could combine my two great weekend pleasures.
The route from my house to the sunny verandah at the local Giant Steps Wines cellar door actually went through the park!
Giant Steps just happens to be a top producer who just happens to make an outstanding range of single vineyard Chardonnays. Okay then.
So the plan went into action and after years of sunny Saturday walks, I knew their Chardonnays so well that I could point to one of their five vineyards and confidently tell you the size and age demographic of the wombat population in each block.
If that wasn’t enough, the wine bar a few doors along had a direct pipeline to every notable Aussie Chardonnay producer and a slate of Burgundian towns just brimming with this liquid gold varietal.
And they were dog-friendly too!!
Shaping the palate
Somewhere along the way, I realised my local adventures were shaping my palate.
So when I first tasted our own Mount Moriac Chardonnay from our volcanic black cracking clay slopes, it instantly made me think – Geelong citrus, hint of oak and malo, tight structure, finishes long on the back palate – Chablis style?
Then at some point, sipping turned into studying. I wanted to know why this grape had me hooked.
Before I knew it, I had turned into a card-carrying Chard-ophile.
And like with any good obsession, the more I drank, the more I wanted to understand what was really going on in the glass.
I started asking winemakers the kinds of questions that would get you funny looks anywhere else — though around here, it’s just another conversation at the local primary school fair.
Why did one wine taste like lemon and chalk while another felt like peach wrapped in smoke?
How could the same grape be so many different things without losing itself?
Their answers pulled me deeper into Chardonnay’s world, because it turns out this grape is a shape-shifter without ever losing its soul…
The shape-shifter
Yep. It’s a shape-shifter without losing its soul.
Chardonnay has a low-key aromatic baseline (think gentle citrus and white-flower notes rather than exuberant passionfruit). That neutrality is a gift: it lets the winemaker steer flavour and texture almost anywhere — without the wine feeling forced.
The grape’s inherent acid structure stays intact through those choices, so you can change the frame without breaking the picture.
Terroir shows up loud and clear
Few varieties broadcast site differences as transparently.
- Grown on limestone it carries chalk and lemon.
- In volcanic soils like ours at Mount Moriac you can find flint and ripe peach.
- In cool coastal loam you find saline grapefruit.
The Mount Moriac vineyard doesn’t give up its fruit easily – it’s low yielding as the vines work hard in the basalt and clay, and maybe that’s why the wine has such presence.
It’s not polite Chardonnay. It’s honest.
Oak and lees — the leftover yeast and grape bits that settle after fermentation — are not optional add-ons; they’re a toolkit.
The grape’s moderate phenolic load (the gentle grip and savoury edge Chardonnay picks up from the skins and seeds) means new French oak can wrap around it rather than dominate it; meanwhile, aging on fine lees (and stirring them) builds mid-palate weight and silky texture without sugar or added alcohol.
It walks the fine line between early release and long aging.
Chardonnay ripens reliably in a broad range of climates, so growers don’t spend harvest praying for an Indian summer.
In the cellar it finishes fermentation and stabilises early, meaning a fresh unoaked bottling can hit the market fast; yet the same vintage — if fermented in barrel and left on lees — can age for a decade or more.
A global conversation
Global benchmarks set the bar high — and people really care.
From Chablis to Montrachet to the modern classics of Margaret River and Sonoma, the Yarra to Geelong, Chardonnay sits at the centre of an established world dialogue.
So, that’s Chardonnay.
The half-beat pause in time
I’ve thought it about — maybe a bit too much haha.
I think what Chardonnay teaches best is this: the smallest details, invisible to most, can completely change how you experience the world.
Great Chardonnay doesn’t just taste good — it changes the pace of time.
So yes — I’m a Chard-ophile.
These days, the dog still leads me to a verandah, but the glass is ours — Mount Moriac Chardonnay, cool in my hand, carrying the half-beat pause in time I’ll keep chasing.
We’ll keep you posted.
See you in the vineyard.
– John
