So good they could be best cellars

Wine books usually fall into the coffee table or reference category, with pretty photos, topographical maps and lists of what to buy and when to drink.
For me it's been a case of "seen one seen 'em all", until two new books landed on my desk almost on the same day. Both were dedicated to pinot noir and yet both were infinitely different.
Technically, John Saker's History of Pinot Noir in New Zealand (Random House $50) is textbook-like in its timeline of the staggering ascent of the popularity of the world's most mysterious, moody, beguiling grape on our antipodean shores.
Saker, the wine editor of Cuisine Magazine, has penned many books on wine appreciation.
His accounts of those men and women responsible for pinot's roots reaching deep into New Zealand's vinous psyche provide a valuable insight into how pinot wooed our winemakers and won our hearts.
Stylistically, this book is a blissful read. Saker's skill at stringing a sentence together which creates powerful imagery sucks you in to the pinot noir love affair. "The grapes are alive and kicking when plucked from the vine, but from that moment their days as breathing earthlings are all but over. Once fermented, their juice becomes a sterile liquid, technically as dead as the glass in which it is entombed. And yet - in a mysterious, removed, ghostly way - it continues to reflect the character of that juicy, bursting fruit from which it was made.
From bottle to bottle, or glass to glass, this phantom presence never makes two visitations that are quite the same, which tantalisingly suggests something vital still flickers," he writes.
He tells brief but colourful stories of 35 of New Zealand's most influential pinot pioneers, from the boutique and biodynamic to the super-sized industrial players, aided by superb but no-frills photography by Aaron McLean.
From the Cistercian monks of centuries ago to the Sideways effect of today, the lure of pinot remains unshakable. This is despite the fact that, according to Saker, describing pinot is a difficult, imperfect business and that there is no 'typical' pinot, although his following description is pretty well on the money.
"Your nostrils are likely to receive an effusive, aromatic wave that has you thinking of roses, violets and sweet summer fruits, perhaps also a hint of coffee.
"There may also be deeper, more savoury scents reminiscent of mushrooms, truffles and meats. Smokiness and vanilla, also sweet spice, can come from the use of oak, but should never override the fruit aromatics" is pretty damn on the money.
I remember Saker mentioning that when he was searching for a title for this book that a fellow wine writer, former TV personality John Hawkesby, said: "You should call it Pinot Noir - how come it took you so long?" Which I think is entirely appropriate.
ALAN Brady's Pinot Central, A Winemaker's Story (Penguin $67) is his own story of how a former journalist and broadcaster from Northern Ireland became a pioneering Gibbston Valley viticulturist and creator of two of Central Otago's most revered wine brands, Gibbston Valley Wines and Mount Edward.
This is not a pretty read.
It's a rough, raw and honest, no-frills, first-hand account of how he turned a decrepit old stone building sitting on a couple of hectares of marginal land framed by schist rock cliffs into one of New Zealand's most successful wineries.
In the late 1970s it was supposed to serve only as a weekend refuge, a holiday home away from the chaos of city life in Dunedin. But that soon gave way to Brady searching for a way to base his family there permanently and earn a living from the land.
Wisdom came from old-timer locals, "There are three things you don't interfere with in Central: the neighbour's fences, the neighbour's wife, and especially you don't interfere with his water."
He planted an experimental vineyard on the slopes of the Gibbston Valley in 1981 with the help of family and friends. "We decided there was only one way to find out if grapes would grow and ripen in our conditions and that was to plant some vines."
Others soon followed. Central Otago's isolation meant that first batch of producers worked together, sharing ideas and equipment and pioneering names like Taylor, Hay, Mills, Verdun, Burgess, and Dunleavy et al make frequent appearances throughout Alan's story. He pulls no punches and describes the toll his Gibbston Valley venture took on his finances and family and how his "innocence" took a hammering during Gibbston's corporate-expansion phase.
He doesn't gloss over the many disasters which occurred in the vineyards and winery, particularly during the early years, either.
It's a gripping tale of a 30-year journey and took 10 years to write.
Stunning photography from Dale Gardiner combined with a lovely library of images gleaned from the family album add real character to this story.