Not any more. After the stunning international success of sauvignon blanc wines from Marlborough, the search was on for the next perfect blend of climate, soil and grape variety.
Here in the Wairarapa district, with Martinborough at its heart, they believe they have found the ideal home for pinot noir, the grape that makes all Burgundy's finest wines.
Further north in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand's oldest wine region, they are even more presumptuous: they reckon they can produce blends of cabernet sauvignon and merlot to rival the best from Bordeaux.
French winemakers might not need to worry were it not for global warming, which could in a decade or two make Bordeaux and Burgundy too hot for their classic grape varieties, according to some experts. They add that New Zealand, surrounded by cooling ocean, will escape the worst effects.
Having been knocked sideways by my first bottle of New Zealand pinot noir, I decided to investigate.
So many foreign pilgrims are coming in search of the source of their favourite wines that a "wine trail" has been created.
It begins in Napier, the Art Deco capital of the Hawkes Bay region, and passes through Martinborough to Wellington, where you take a plane or ferry across the Cook Strait to finish up in Blenheim.
Last April, the day after flying in from the other side of the world, my wife and I were on bicycles, exploring the Gimblett Gravels, an area of Hawkes Bay whose terroir is considered particularly conducive to producing the best wines.
The roads were as ruler straight as the rows of vines on either side, but there seemed to be a war going on, judging by the constant crackle of what sounded like small-arms fire.
It was only when we stopped at our first winery, Ngatarawa, that we discovered the reason: with the harvest imminent, all the noise was needed to keep the local birdlife away from the grapes.
That also explained the nets shrouding many of the rows, but why were there giant propellers looming over so many vineyards? In winter, it turned out, they stir the air to prevent frost damage.
It was already becoming clear that in New Zealand, unlike some other wine-producing countries, there is no preciousness about how the stuff is produced.
What counts is how it tastes, and if that requires techniques such as irrigation - anathema to the French appellation producer - so be it.
There is a refreshing informality at the vineyard tasting and sales outlets, known here as "cellar doors".
Joyce Ver-hoeven of Alpha Domus invited us to try their 2002 semillon, and asked what we made of its bouquet.
"I call it 'teenage boy's bedroom'," she said - and she was right.
Jenny Dobson, the winemaker at Te Awa, worked for 13 years in Bordeaux before returning in 1996. She seemed to be the ideal person to comment on the global warming theory.
"A bit more heat could only benefit the Bordeaux varieties in Hawkes Bay," she said, "but the weather is getting more extreme here as well, with frosts, droughts, and rain when you don't expect it."
Outside, though, her grapes were warming in benign autumn sunshine. It looked as if the 2008 vintage was coming along nicely.
Te Awa is American owned and the constant jet-setting of investors and winemakers around the world has brought an aura of international sophistication to New Zealand's wine-growing areas.
Next to the Martinborough Hotel, which has been restored to its Victorian splendour, are smart restaurants serving Pacific fusion cuisine and cafes which can satisfy the most neurotic New York moccachino addict, but the town is still small enough to have vineyards within its boundaries, and the bottling plant is on the central square.
When we reached Marlborough, the powerhouse of the New Zealand wine industry, our guide was Peter Blackmore, a down-to-earth former tomato grower with no time for any pretensions about the noble grape.
"Grapes are a weed," he told us as we looked at some of the vines destined to produce Montana wine. "It's virtually impossible to kill the plant."
As we explored leading vineyards such as the all-organic Seresin and neighbouring Highfield, where the farm buildings are modelled on a Tuscan village, we learnt a great deal more about the transition from vine to bottle.
The paradoxical thing about winemaking, it seems, is that the harder you make the vines work, the better the result. Plant them in rich soil and a mild climate, and the wine will be one-dimensional and overpoweringly fruity - "jammy", in the terminology of the trade.
Plant your vines in the gravel of an old riverbed, where water drains away so fast that the plant has to send down roots 30 feet or more to find moisture, subject them to scorching days and chilly nights in the ripening season, and you could have a classic.
Some of New Zealand's best wines, Peter told us, came from waste ground previously considered "no good even for sheep".
The wine trail misses out most of the spectacular scenery that draws many visitors to the country, but on our final day we cruised the beautiful Queen Charlotte Sound at the top of the South Island, stopping for lunch at the self-explanatory Bay of Many Coves Resort.
The memory of sipping Cloudy Bay sauvignon blanc by the pristine water's edge sustained us through the long journey home.
We returned with a wealth of oenological knowledge, and expensive tastes.
Some day I hope to hit the wine trail again, only this time I would want to start much further north, and finish way down south.
- INDEPENDENT
