
My answer is "no, they should not".
Even the event’s organisers acknowledged this was not China’s “1976 moment”, referring to a legendary blind taste-off in Paris at which Californian wines were ranked higher than competing Bordeaux wines.
The Beijing competition pitted China’s best estates’ best wines against a ragbag of run-of-the-mill Bordeaux wines. Since the wines had to cost between 200 and 350 Yuan (€25 to €40) and French wines are subject to heavy import duties in China, the Bordeaux wines selected for the competition would have cost half that in France, so they were not exceptional.
To overcome the price disadvantage inflicted by duties, a few big European names have been tempted to make their own wine in China. Moët & Chandon is, with local state-owned agriculture company Ningxia Nongken, making “Champagne” along the Yellow River flood plains in Ningxia, China’s third-poorest province where farmers earn less than €2,300 per year.
This watermelon-producing region is not steeped in wine culture, but Moët’s experts say Ningxia’s soil and climate closely match the terroir of Rheims. Really? Ningxia is 800 km west of Beijing, just south of the Gobi Desert and Mongolian steppes. The climate is semi-arid with hot, torrentially wet summers and winter temperatures as low as minus 25°C, when winemakers protect vines by burying them.
Curiously, Ningxia’s vaunted terroir, ideal (Moët’s experts say) for Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, is also where the top four Chinese Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot-based wines at the Beijing taste-off originated. With its capacity to produce Champagne, Burgundy and Bordeaux imitations, tiny Ningxia province is an obliging hussy of a terroir. Luckily it is not also subject to typhoons, like Shandong province – another of China’s up-and-coming wine regions – where legendary French wine producer Château Lafite recently opened up a vineyard.
However, the Torres Spanish winemaking dynasty invested millions of euros in winemaking projects in China but subsequently pulled out. Family patriarch Miguel Torres told me: “China doesn’t have any good terroir.” Where the land is suitable, the weather isn’t right; where the weather is right, the land isn’t suitable.
The other problem for foreign companies wanting to make wine in China is that their new (and unwanted) business partner is likely to be the local communist party honcho.
Nothing can be done to avoid the second problem, but companies with millions to invest can always transform their terroirs, for example by importing pudding stones or adding minerals to the soil, even by changing weather patterns to make them more vine-friendly. California winemaker Michael Mondavi mused about the possibilities of terraforming in the wine film Mondovino: “Wouldn’t it be cool one day to make wine on the moon?” No, it wouldn’t, Mr Spock. It would be illogical. Who would buy it?
Foreign wine manufacturers setting up in China are hoping to capture local market share; they’re not yet talking about widely exporting. However, given the Chinese middle class’s extreme brand-consciousness – for whom Bordeaux, Burgundy and Champagne are key names – even this is a questionable business plan. Face would be lost if you entertained your Chinese business colleagues with anything but the real stuff.
Marketers selling “Made in China” wines are betting consumers’ perceptions can be changed. So we have the spectacle of Chinese wine industry officials trying to establish their country’s wine culture credentials, like an American presidential candidate trying to establish his Irish roots. But do seven 4,600-year-old ceramic pots from Shandong province containing fragments of grape seeds constitute a wine culture? Does the birth register really say O’Bama?
First published in The Connexion (February, 2012)

