Koshu Wine's Rosy Future

Is Koshu a fine wine in the making? Or is it overpriced, over-hyped and over here?

It can be both. It has only been made into wine since the 1870s – before that, Koshu was grown as a table grape, having arrived in Japan 1000 years ago from, it is thought, the Caucasus. Robinson, Harding and Vouillamoz say Koshu is Vitis vinifera, while other sources say it's a hybrid, possibly (Vitis davidii x Vitis vinifera) x vinifera. It is said that it was discovered growing wild in Yamanashi prefecture in 1186. It is touted as Japan's indigenous grape and, since people can apply for Japanese nationality after a mere five years in the country provided they surrender any other nationality, we will accept that Koshu is Japanese and only Japanese. In any case, the only other places you'll find it growing now are the South of France and the Rheingau, and only a bit in either.

So: the indigenous Japanese wine grape. A grape, what is more, with a sustained and efficient marketing campaign behind it, and a great many critics giving its wines very respectable points. Are they justified, or are the wines of these pretty pink grapes wearing little but emperor's new clothes?

Koshu grapes are not as fragile as they look. These delicately coloured pink berries have thick skins, high in phenolics, that protect them from a wet climate but that can also layer a rigid slab of bitterness into their wines. The juice is often acidified, too, for an added sherbet note. The actual grape flavors caught in this crossfire are, well, subtle. Pear is the main one, or melon. The adjective I've been most tempted in the past to apply to these much-promoted wines is "innocuous". Some taste confected, especially if aromatic yeasts have been used to conjure more flavor. But I admire the wines of Château Mercian: Koshu Kiiroka is subtle and balanced, Koshu Kiiroka Cuvée Ueno harmonious and layered. Tomi No Oka's Koshu is creamy, Solaris Koshu Sur Lie from Manns Wines very pretty.

But suddenly, I'm a bit of a convert. What has changed my mind? Skin contact. Orange wines made from pink grapes. Yes, massively phenolic skins given a good soaking – I know, it sounds mad. But for whatever reason (and maybe the people doing it well are just good winemakers) it works. The balance is better, the wine more harmonious. Perhaps the extra tannin provides the substance necessary to hold these light wines (11-12 percent alcohol) together, to link elements that can otherwise seem far apart on the palate. Perhaps the tannin chains are longer and therefore softer in the mouth; I don't know. But I like the wines: Lumière's Prestige Class Orangé is terrific, as is Château Mercian's Gris de Gris.

It’s true that these orange Koshus taste more like orange wines from anywhere than they do Koshu. But then what does Koshu taste like, in the end? If you were going to compare it to other wines you might pick Muscadet or Chasselas – something pretty neutral but fresh; delicate but able to stand up to food. (I should add that I love Muscadet. Delicacy and structure is a virtue.) Lovers of Koshu talk about how well it goes with raw fish and its accoutrements. Patrick Schmitt MW, a leading authority on Koshu, tells me that orange Koshu is perfect with Japanese uni sea urchins. Such food matches – and Japanese food is not easy to match – give it a role both at home and in Japanese restaurants abroad, especially where people don't mind spending money – Koshu doesn't come cheap.

There's plenty of experimentation going on in Koshu country (which, incidentally, is mostly Yamanashi, where they get half the rainfall of Tokyo on the coast. Tokyo gets 2000mm a year, so even half that is still a lot. Growers staple little paper hats over each cluster for rain protection. Imagine INAO's reaction if anyone did that in France). They're into concrete eggs, clay amphorae, lees contact, no added sulfur, oak aging and, in the case of Katsunuma Jyozo Winery, freezing the grapes in order to give the juice the concentration it needs for barrel fermentation. There is also some traditional-method sparkling and, again, this can be very successful: bone dry, harmonious, and in Lumière’s version, not unlike a good Crémant d'Alsace. Kobo-no-awa Brut from Manns Wines (Charmat) is a winner, too.

Experimentation is taking Koshu in interesting directions. Japanese producers have a record of bringing in good advisors: Paul Pontallier and Denis Dubordieu both consulted there, and Bernard Magrez has a joint venture. The Koshu story is a great one, and chimes with Japan's reputation for meticulousness and finesse – and Japanese wine is super-lucky in having its very own grape. Wouldn't Chile or Argentina kill for that? The progress of other Japanese wines, especially Chardonnay, shows that they know what they're doing in both vineyards and winery. But Koshu, obviously, is what they're pushing most.

The reason I'm only prepared to offer Koshu moderate applause so far rather than a standing ovation is because I don't think it has quite found its way yet. These things take time; I remember Chilean "Merlot" from the 1980s and 1990s, when many a critic claimed to adore its frankly horrible mix of chocolate and green bell-pepper flavors. Once the Chileans had discovered that only part of it was Merlot and the rest was Carmenère, and that the one ripens long before the other, Chilean Merlot gradually turned into the ripe, round, succulent glassful it is today. Koshu now is promising, and delicious often enough to warrant watching.

Soon, it will be very good indeed. Soon.