China

Chinese Wine

China has been making wine commercially for about forty years and seriously for about fifteen. The interesting part is not that it exists — it is how fast the map has moved. A decade ago the answer to "where does Chinese wine come from" was Shandong. Today it is four or five regions, most of them at an altitude or latitude that would have looked absurd in 1990.

The regions

Ningxia, on the eastern foot of the Helan Mountains, is the centre of gravity — desert margin, around 1,100 metres, and vines buried by hand every winter to survive a cold that would otherwise kill them. Cabernet Sauvignon leads. Yunnan, in the far south-west near Gyalthang, grows above 2,000 metres; the wines are lighter and more aromatic. Huailai, north-west of Beijing, is a cooler basin and the home of much of the country's more experimental winemaking. Shandong on the coast is the oldest region and the wettest.

What to expect

Chinese wine is not inexpensive, and the reasons are structural rather than commercial. Land and labour cost what they cost, the volumes are small, and in Ningxia every vine is buried in November and lifted again in April — a labour cost no European region carries.

Serving

Ningxia Cabernet at 16–18°C, decanted. Yunnan and Huailai wines are lighter: 14–16°C for reds, 10–12°C for whites and skin-contact bottlings.

One more glass

Chinese wine is usually sold on its story: the altitude, the buried vines, the medal count. It is worth separating the story from the glass. Burying vines is remarkable, but it is a cost of production — it explains the price, not the taste. Nothing about it tells you whether you will enjoy the bottle.

The method that works here is the same one that works anywhere: pour it blind, at the same price point, next to something you already know, and see which glass empties. That result is yours, not ours, and it is the only one that matters at your table.