Grover's Indian grape trick

Frenzy is the word. All over the northern hemisphere, wherever there are vineyards, this year's wine harvest is hurrying towards its conclusion. The last grapes are being picked; the first fermentations are beginning to seethe.

Except, that is, for 120 acres of curious vineyard found just north of Bangalore, at 13 degrees North (which equates, thinking laterally, with Bangkok, Bamako and Barbados). Harvest time for India's Grover Vineyards is in April; the vines flower in January. This explains why Kapil Grover, who runs the business, was in London last week rather than standing in his cellars in his gumboots.

Grover Vineyards, contrary to what you may be thinking, is a serious business. The world's leading winemaking consultant, Michel Rolland, is one shareholder; champagne house Veuve Clicquot is another. The enterprise has its roots in the passion and humiliation of Kapil's father, Kanwal. A series of business visits he made to France from the 1950s onwards aroused his enthusiasm for fine food, good wine, and their seductive liaisons. The humiliation came when Grover took French businessmen to top Indian hotel restaurants and had no option but to serve them with bottles of dismal, badly stored French table wine which cost him the same as a secretary's monthly wage.

Dining in private homes was, if anything, even worse. "In Bombay," says Kapil, "you reach a dinner party at 9.30 in the evening, then you drink whisky solidly until 11.30 or midnight. Then you have food, and as soon as dinner is over you leave." The Grovers stress, in this context, one of wine's advantages. You can remember what you ate the next day.

The initial consulting advice to the Grovers came, in the early 1980s, from champagne grower and winemaker Georges Vesselle. Kapil Grover took Vesselle on a 21-day prospecting tour of India to find the ideal spot to grow wine grapes. Vesselle unhesitatingly chose Gulmarg in Kashmir: he liked the slopes, the cold winters, the European look of the place. The governor offered land on a 100-year lease for one rupee per acre, which is as good as giving it away. "Sorry, Mr Vesselle," said Kapil; he didn't fancy the political and logistical risks of winemaking in a far distant Muslim state riven by secessionist strife.

In the end, Bangalore (and a place called Dod Ballapur) was chosen. No fewer than 33 varieties were trialled, and the winning varieties were Cabernet and Shiraz for the reds, and Clairette for the white ( subsequently joined by Viognier). Chardonnay, normally a happy traveller, didn't like Bangalore. The Grovers still aren't sure why, but think it may be due to the fact that it doesn't get long daylight hours in its growing season (there's only half an hour's sunlight difference between winter and summer there).

Georges Vesselle eventually retired; Michel Rolland, a still bigger fish, took his place. He did it because, Kapil Grover says, he "fell in love with India, and with Indian food". The Grovers couldn't afford his consultancy fees, but he sportingly agreed to accept shares in lieu of cash; they also throw in a short Indian holiday each year for him and his wife. Veuve Clicquot took a 20 per cent share because it wanted local help in distributing its champagne.

All my experience of wine grown in the tropics (where the vines never get a proper winter rest) has been unhappy. For some reason, though, Grover's wines, and especially the top red which they call La RÈserve, work well. Perhaps it really is the Rolland magic: one thing he and the Grovers insist on is that no acidity, tannin or anything else is added, and the consequent natural softness of its balance is one of its most agreeable features.

What would I guess it was if I didn't know? A decent crianza or reserva Rioja, perhaps, thanks to its sweetly oaky charm, savorous roundness and baked plum fruit. The ordinary Grover's Red and Grover's White are less successful, but are still enjoyable, outshining the French-sourced General Bilimoria wines marketed at Indian restaurants by the Cobra beer company.

This is a useful comparison: it's in Indian restaurants such as Bombay Brasserie and Port des Indes that you'll find the Grover wines, since there isn't enough yet for retail. For the future, the ideal is the Chateau Musar route: a slow traipse out of the ethnic ghetto towards acceptance of Grover as a paid-up member of the world's fine-wine fringe. If the improvements keep coming, and Michel Rolland continues to enjoy Indian food, it could happen.