My Lebanese Love

Is Château Musar still as exciting as it seemed all those years ago?

I am republishing this piece, originally written for Noble Rot issue 35, at a very challenging moment for Lebanese growers. Despite what you may have heard in the news, fighting between Israel and Hezbollah has impacted not just the Bekaa Valley but also locations further north. Winemaker Eddi Chami, situated some 100km north of Beirut and mentioned below, reported that one of the access roads to his vineyards was bombed and destroyed on September 30th.

It’s one of the wine world’s secret handshakes. Either you’re already in the know – and in love – or you’re yet to be inducted. Château Musar’s eponymous red blend remains the only real wine icon from Lebanon. It is universally loved by the trade, and the UK has a particularly long history of association. I was turned in 2002, unknowingly via writer Patrick Matthews, who gifted some bottles to friends of my parents. We sipped by the fire and instantly fell for its heady, exotic generosity. It spoke with a warm Mediterranean purr that was neither as brash as my nascent idea of the New World, nor as austere as the Old. I’ve spent the rest of my adult life chasing bottles to check if it is still as mind blowing as I remember.

Sometimes I’m doubtful. Is my Musar-fetish just a sentimental connection with the past? Are the wines really as ‘natural’ as they claim? Another Lebanese winemaker told me they must be making around a million bottles a year. Then there are the oft-heard laments that “they cleaned up the winemaking after the 1990s” and that the wines are no longer as idiosyncratic and quirky as in Serge’s heyday. As with all successful operations, Musar generates plenty of rumour.

Let’s paint the background. Although Gaston Hochar planted the first Bekaa Valley vineyards and made the inaugural vintage in 1933, his son Serge Hochar turned Château Musar into what it is today. Serge took the reins in 1959 while completing winemaking studies in Bordeaux. He spent the next decade or so developing his “formula”, essentially a low intervention approach, working without any additives, filtration or fining. Initially he also eschewed sulphites, but as the winery’s exports grew, a rethink was required. The blend stabilised to one third each of Cabernet Sauvignon, Carignan and Cinsault, as it has remained since.

By the time Serge found his comfort zone, Lebanon was in the throes of civil war. He liked to joke that the best vintages were the ones where the shells flying over the winery gently shook the barrels, but war completely stopped play in 1976, and very nearly did for 1984 too. Two trucks of grapes made it from the Bekaa Valley to the winery but had started to ferment during the delayed journey. The quirky result was bottled but not released until 2013.

The struggle to keep harvesting and producing during wartime is a key part of Musar’s legend. As is Serge himself: a big character given to witty aphorisms, his presence on the international wine scene certainly helped build the brand. The UK’s love affair with Musar began in 1979, when the late Michael Broadbent first tasted the wines at a wine fair in Bristol. Smitten – of course – his notes prompted not just sales but a bold move from Musar, who set up their own import and sales office in Suffolk the following year.

So, what about those rumours? I talked with Serge’s son Marc Hochar, who now runs the business with his brother Gaston, their cousin Ralph and winemaker Tarek Sakr. First to be debunked was the idea that there has been a change in winemaking or wine style since Serge’s untimely death in a swimming accident in 2014. It’s been very much evolution, not revolution. “Tarek started to run things from the 1990s on,” said Marc. “But Serge still did the blending until about 2010.”

Marc acknowledges that Serge’s early vintages from the 1960s were “quite wild”. But once the style crystallised in the late 1970s, things settled down. A bit of volatile acidity remains a key component in all vintages, although few are as extreme as 1995. “There are a lot of stories about VA in connection with this vintage,” Marc laughs. “Robert Parker gave it the lowest rating of any Musar when he tasted it.” According to Marc, the 1995 “was basically undrinkable” on release, but soon came round and is now considered by most – myself included – to be one of the greatest ever made.

Recently, I pooled bottles with some fellow Musar-loving friends to taste nine vintages from 1989 to 2009. Two things were notable. First, almost all the wines were on fire – only the 1997 seemed lacklustre and a little dominated by nail polish remover. Second, the stylistic consistency was impressive, bearing out what Marc had told me. But what about Chateau Musar white? I remember tasting it in the mid-2000s, and feeling it was even more bonkers than the red – and seriously oxidative to boot. Recent vintages seem fresher, a little more fruit driven and, dare I say, slightly tamer. Marc rebuts this, suggesting that improvements in the corks used for bottling may be a factor that has cut down on the oxidation.

He’s more than transparent on production figures. The estate has gradually expanded to its current size of 200 hectares. Total production is around 600,000 bottles, of which roughly one third is the grand vin. It’s not small by any stretch of the imagination, and I wondered whether corners are cut for the entry-level Musar Jeune line. Perhaps some selected yeasts and filtration for Musar Jeune white and rosé? Marc insists not: the whole range is made with the same minimal intervention philosophy. He adds that although blends and grape varieties vary across the three tiers of the range, vineyard yields do not. The whole production comes from low-yielding unirrigated vines, mostly bush-trained. Conversion to certified organic viticulture has been in progress since 2005 and is now “98% complete”.

It’s difficult not to admire Musar. But Eddie Chami, who makes wine under the name Mersel on the high slopes of Mount Lebanon, gave me pause for thought. “Lebanon has a wine identity problem. It’s overly connected to France,” he said. And I see what he means. All the major producers name themselves Château or Domaine – Kefraya, Ksara, Tourelles – and the grape varieties are overwhelmingly French, as are cellar techniques and wine styles. Musar is part of this paradigm and the Hochars themselves a Francophone family. Chami showed me a different take on the Lebanon when I tasted his lean, bright wines made from local varieties such as Daw Al Amar and Marini.

Still, Musar remains a great demonstration of how to scale up production without compromising ethics and quality, while managing to stay fairly priced – especially in the UK, where it hovers around the mid-£30s on release. For a wine released on its seventh birthday, that’s value. It has mercifully not been ruined by speculation and cultism. We should be forever thankful that Parker only gave the 1995 82 points.

I recruited a new member recently. Arriving at a packed wine bar late in the night, we spied half bottles of the 2015 on the list. He was excited about drinking something with almost a decade on the clock. I fretted that it would be too young. It was certainly youthful, but the familiar embrace of leathery fruit, sweet spices and supple tannins was as delicious as ever.

So, Mr Hochar, now there is one more of us.

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