Can Heida be the Patek Philippe of white wines?
I’ve had Heida on my mind ever since I was researching low-alcohol Alpine whites for my Summer Warm-Up Wines piece. This is not because the Swiss wine is particularly low in alcohol – it hovers between 13.5 and 14% ABV – but because all accounts I read of it were so effusive. “[In southwest Switzerland] Heida in particular achieves splendid density and richness,” write Hugh Johnson and Jancis Robinson in the World Atlas of Wine. In Trink Magazine, Swiss wine expert Chandra Kurt declared Heida “The Pearl of the Alps.” Robust and regal, Heida seemed to defy the stereotypes of simple and refreshing white wines the Alps are known for, and I was intrigued.
Only I had already tried it–or so I thought. Heida is another name for Savagnin (also known as Traminer, also known as Païen…Alpine grapes rarely make it easy). When Savagnin isn’t being mislabeled as Sauvignon Blanc on wine store websites, which actually happens depressingly often, it’s best known in the U.S. as the wine from France’s sub-alpine Jura region to the west of the Swiss border. Indeed, many of the descriptions of Heida define it in terms of its taste differences with French Savagnin, highlighting Heida’s fresh and floral profile, in contrast with the yeasty, oxidative notes found in the Jura wines.
These struck me as wholly unsatisfying comparisons, however, because the oxidative notes in Jura Savagnin stem from very deliberate winemaking choices, and not inherent qualities in the winegrowing conditions. The traditional method of making Savagnin in Jura is called sous voile, or “under the veil,” meaning that as the wine ferments in the barrel, a space forms at the top. Whereas nowadays wine is typically “topped off,” so more wine is added into the barrel to fill the gap, sous voile wines keep the space so a layer of yeast develops. The wine then ages under the yeast in the barrel, developing flavors like nuts, bread, and bruised apples, not unlike a Spanish fino sherry. They’re the types of wines I subtly warn the less well-traveled wine customers about when they reach for them, because if they think they’re buying an easy-drinking crisp white, they’re going to be in for one big, briny, yeasty surprise.
Yet there do exist (and increasingly so) Savagnin wines from Jura that are, for lack of a better word, normal. These are called ouillé wines, which is French for “topped off.” So it was clear to me that the ouillé Savagnins would be the key to a more apples to apples comparison with Heida, as opposed to, say, apples and funky cheese.
But enough about France – let’s talk about Switzerland. As mentioned, Heida is mostly planted in Valais, which edges into serious mountain territory. Higher altitude equates to cooler temperatures, but the grapes are also subject to a ton of direct sunlight and grow in stony, water-deprived soils. In these extreme conditions, within a stone’s throw of the rugged Matterhorn and the ultra-luxe Crans Montana resort, grows our pearl of the Alps.
Like pearls, Heida requires some deep-diving, or at least in the States. We managed to track down what appear to be the only two Heidas available in New York (but give us a shout if you know of more): 2019 Jean-René Germanier “Clos de la Couta” Heida de Vex and the 2018 Cave Caloz Heida-Païen "Les Bernunes", Cave Caloz. We weren’t surprised by the scarcity, however, since Swiss wines are notoriously hard to find in the U.S. And given some of the costs ($70 for the Caloz) it seemed Heida required some deep pockets as well. Jura Savagnin, as expected, yielded more options, and we selected the 2019 Croix et Courbet Cotes du Jura Savagnin Ouillé ($48) and the 2020 Domaine du Pelican Arbois Savagnin Ouillé ($45).
After tasting through the four wines, it did seem that the Swiss Heidas and the Jura Savagnins were different from each other. Call it terroir– the drier climate and glacial moraine of Valais, versus the wetter weather and clay soils of Jura. Or perhaps it comes down to local winemaking traditions, and what the producers are hoping to express with the grapes. Putting aside the “terroir or not terroir” debate for the time being, what I noticed in Heida was the tension between purity and structure. I caught some honeysuckle aromas on the Germanier, for example, that were grounded by the body of the palate; the wine was pretty, but not flighty. The Cave Caloz was strikingly energetic, and among the herbal and citrus flavors I sensed a strong mineral core binding it all together. I think of wines like Heida as “shimmering” because their complexity isn’t heavy and layered, but instead comes from a lot happening in the wine at the same time.
From the Jura side, the Pelican was probably the most crowd-pleasing of the four wines, with the rounder citrus notes I sometimes find in Loire Valley Sauvignon Blancs. The Croix & Courbet meanwhile hinted at the more unctuous flavors found in the sous voile Jura wines. “It needs…CHEESE!” my wine novice friend declared, grasping for a slice of gruyère. I have never felt so proud.
The comparison, while fun and worthwhile, still felt incomplete. Some of the Heidas that are routinely celebrated as some of the best of the varietal are simply not available stateside: Cave du Rhodan, Domaines Rouvinez, and St. Jodern Kellerei, for example. To understand why such an excellent wine isn’t more present in a country that’s the world’s biggest importer of wine is to walk backwards through basic economic logic. Demand for Heida among restaurants and retailers in the U.S. is low because general awareness of the grape is low, and because the costs per bottle are high. The costs are high because the grape is grown on steep vineyards that can only be harvested by hand, and labor in Switzerland is expensive.
Still, I thought of the billboards for Tag Heuer and Patek Phillippe dotting the major arteries in and out of Manhattan, and I wondered if it would ever be possible for American consumers to covet Heida with the same rationale: it’s a high-quality, hand-crafted product, composed of meticulously-sourced materials. A Swiss wine in your glass, and a Swiss watch on your wrist...could the Heida craze just be an influencer plug away?
But then, as under-attended wine tastings go, our Heida/Savaginin showdown got a little out of hand. We drained the Pelican; the remaining Cave Caloz got shoved in a purse and smuggled into an improv comedy show in Brooklyn. “We brought wine,” I said to anyone who would listen, “it’s Swiss.” But I was met with looks that were equal parts concerned and confused. Maybe the Montrose stop on the L train wasn’t the best landing spot for $70 Swiss wine. I still think the Heida moment can happen, though.
ALPINE INTERLUDES
🥃 The world’s greatest whisky bar is in the Swiss Alps — Wonderlust
🍷 “For some, the signature red grape of Burgenland is obscure or ‘challenging.’ For me, it's the taste of my immigrant ancestors, and peppery perfection.” — Alexandra strikes again in Everyday Drinking
🐶 St Bernards originated in London and not the Alps, new book claims — The Telegraph
🧳 Spring Travel To Switzerland: Where To Go And What To Do In 2023 — Forbes
📺 “Set in the Italian Alps, this tender memory movie charts an intense friendship across both decades and continents.” — ‘The Eight Mountains’ reviewed by the NYTimes
🕵️ Scientists Discover Special Bacteria in the Alps, Arctic That Can Digest Plastic — TechTimes
Here's an interesting sidestory. Around the turn of the 21st Century a lot of Australian Winemakers got excited about the Spanish variety Albarino and decided to grow it. Unfortunately the grapes they planted were in fact Savagnin. Many winemakers made some excellent light bodied wines from the variety before the cat was let out of the bag. From 2009 when the mistake was made some winemakers planted real Albarino, but a significant number persisted with Savagnin and are making attractive wines, not unlike Sauvignon Blanc but without the sometimes harsh flavours.