USP or a waste of vineyard space? Carmenère, Chile's accidental gift to the world of wine, has been described as both things. Whatever you think of that country's most controversial grape, it's amazing that, until 1994, Carmenère didn't exist in South America. Or rather it did, but no one knew it was there.
When a visiting French academic called Jean-Michel Boursiquot identified Chile's Merlot plantings as Carmenère, it caused general consternation. Had some dodgy Del Boy nurseryman substituted one for the other back in the mid-19th century? The more prosaic truth was that, in those days, many vineyards were co-planted as so-called field blends. Maybe Carmenère adapted better than Merlot.
The more immediate problem facing the Chileans was that their 'Merlot' sold very well, thank you, largely because it tasted of Carmenère. So what should they do? Own up about the difference between the two, go on as before by misleading wine drinkers, or just fudge the issue?
The official statistics suggest that the issue has been resolved. Out of Chile's 115,000 hectares, Merlot allegedly has 11.5 per cent and Carmenère 6 per cent. But the figures are pure fantasy. There was very little real Merlot (called Merlot Merlot by Chileans to differentiate it from Merlot Chileno, or Carmenère) planted before the mid-Nineties, and Peter Richards, author of The Wines of Chile, reckons that somewhere between 50 and 80 per cent of the combined total is actually Carmenère.
The issue here is one of integrity. Many Chilean companies continue to label blends that are dominated by Carmenère as Merlot. It is perfectly legal to include up to 15 per cent of the former, but I think that economic imperatives - Merlot is the more famous name, despite the fact that it rarely produces great wine outside Bordeaux - have made them parsimonious with the truth.
I'm not sure why they are so worried. Chilean Merlot is rarely exciting, whereas Carmenère has a strong personality. Tasting the two side by side, you'd never confuse them.
These days there is a growing number of own-up Carmenères on the market. The identification of the right sites - Carmenère, unusually for a red, likes to grow in wet soils - and a better understanding of how to minimise the variety's characteristic greenness have resulted in some increasingly good wines. I'd rather drink Chilean Cabernet, but Carmenère has emerged as a distinctive variety in its own right.
How do you know that what you're drinking is Merlot Chileno as opposed to Merlot? Well, if it says Carmenère on the label, there's a very good chance that it is. If you taste the wine and it combines high alcohol with notes of chocolate and green pepper, often with violets on the nose, plummy fruit and a deep colour, then you're in Carmenère country. Encouragingly, the best producers have toned down the new oak to emphasise the grape's unique flavours
