The growers and grandes marques are in a battle of competing visions about what Champagne should be, and the growers are winning. The big producers, despite the fact that they function in exactly the same way that the Burgundy négociants do, are now seen as the Champagne equivalent of the major Bordeaux châteaus: soulless corporate entities that regard their own wines not as agricultural products but as luxury brands. The growers, by contrast, are seen as champions of the Burgundy model: plucky artisans crafting authentic, terroir-driven wines. And how do we know the growers are winning? For one thing, their Champagnes generate a lot more buzz these days than the big-house bubblies. But even more significant, where the growers have led, the big houses are starting to follow. The grandes marques are increasingly experimenting with single-vineyard and single-grape wines, which speaks to just how dramatically the “farmer fizz” phenomenon has transformed Champagne.
Names to know among grower Champagnes:
• Pierre Moncuit
• Egly-Ouriet
• Pierre Peters
• Jacques Selosse
• Vilmart
• Pierre Gimonnet
• Larmandier-Bernier
• Cédric Bouchard
• Ulysse Collin
• Henri Billiot
• Camille Savès
• Jacques Lassaigne
• Gatinois
• Agrapart
So Burgundy has gone in the direction of greater smallness in recent decades. In contrast to Bordeaux, winery owners in Burgundy almost always do the winemaking themselves, and these days the amount of time that a vintner spends in the fields is seen as a measure of his or her commitment to quality. The idea that great wines are made in the vineyard is now Burgundy’s mantra, and its best producers work their vines with a fastidiousness that would put their fathers and grandfathers to shame. With Burgundy, you are not drinking a luxury label owned by a guy in a Brioni suit but rather a wine made by a farmer dressed in boots, and for me and many others this authenticity, the sense that the wines are somehow closer to the earth, is also part of Burgundy’s attraction relative to Bordeaux.
Above all, I suspect that Burgundy’s growing allure and Bordeaux’s corresponding decline is a statement about what people value in their glass. The wines we feel most passionate about are those that offer not only compelling aromas and flavors but a little romance and soul, too. It is hard to discern these qualities in most Bordeaux nowadays; however good the wines may taste, they have become so bound up in prices, scores, and luxury marketing that the romance and soul have been drained out of them. For me, and I think for an increasing number of wine drinkers, what appeals about Burgundy is not only the excellence of the wines but the charm and character of the place itself.
WHAT’S KILLING ALL THE WHITE BURGUNDIES?
Burgundy is not an unambiguous success story. While this may be a golden age for the region’s red wines, it is a very different story with the white wines. Beginning with the 1995 vintage, large numbers of white Burgundies have fallen victim to premature oxidation; wines that should still taste young and full of promise are turning up dead in the bottle. They have the color of apple juice, smell like Sherry, and are undrinkable. I have a fairly extensive white Burgundy collection, and almost without fail now, the wines I have from the period 1996 through 2002 are kaput—and 2002 is by no means the last year affected by the “premox” problem. In fact, the problem is so bad that a lot of collectors no longer buy white Burgundies, or they choose to drink them very young in order to mitigate the risk.
It is a huge problem. Worse than that, it has become a scandal. That’s because the Burgundians were slow to acknowledge the problem, and a lot of Burgundy enthusiasts in the wine trade have also been reluctant to speak publicly about it. More frustrating, we still don’t know what is causing all these wines to suffer premature oxidation. A number of theories have been mooted. One possible culprit is the corks: it has been suggested that hydrogen peroxide, which is used to clean corks, was not properly removed from many stoppers during the period in question, and because hydrogen peroxide is an oxidant, these stoppers may have ended up killing the wines they were meant to protect. Another theory is that producers eased up too much on the use of sulfur dioxide, which serves as an antioxidant, or were doing too much battonage (stirring the lees, which imparts greater richness to wines but also exposes them to more oxygen).
Not every producer has been hit by the premox problem. Coche-Dury and Domaine Leflaive, two of the greatest producers of white Burgundies, seem to have avoided it. And bizarrely, many oenophiles report that the incidence of premature oxidation can vary even in the same case of wine: some bottles might be good while others are completely shot. But the bottom line is that a huge number of white Burgundies produced since 1995 have succumbed to premox, and the problem doesn’t appear to be going away (people have reported premoxed wines from 2007 and 2008, both highly regarded vintages for white Burgundies). My advice: I wouldn’t stop drinking white Burgundies—they offer great pleasure even when really young—but I would make sure to consume them within the first 3–5 years. With all due respect to Orson Welles, this is one instance in which it is best to serve wines before their time.
DOMAINE DE LA ROMANÉE-CONTI:
IS IT REALLY THAT GOOD?
Yes, it is. The wines of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti are prohibitively expensive these days, and for those who enjoy endless, inconclusive debates, there is a spirited one to be had about whether the DRC wines are worth the money. But there is no denying the quality: collectively, the seven DRC grand cru reds represent the greatest expressions of Pinot Noir in the world, and the lone white sold by the domaine, the Montrachet, is arguably the finest Chardonnay on the planet. The most sought-after of the reds is the Romanée-Conti, produced from the vineyard of that name, which the domaine solely owns (what is known as a monopole). A tiny vineyard—it’s just over four acres and yields a mere six thousand bottles annually—Romanée-Conti has been making oenophiles swoon for centuries. A document from the French Revolution described the vineyard as “the most excellent of all those of the Côte d’Or . . . Its brilliant and velvety color, its ardor and scent, charm all the senses . . . Well kept, it always improves as it approaches its eighth or tenth year; it is then a balm for the elderly, the feeble and the disabled, and will restore life to the dying.” Who wouldn’t pay a fortune for a wine with powers like that? This long-standing reputation for greatness speaks to the quality of the vineyard’s terroir; there is simply no piece of land yet known to man that draws such quality out of the Pinot Noir grape. A close second is DRC’s other monopole, the vineyard known as La Tâche; it yields the most seductively perfumed and elegant wine I’ve ever encountered. The other DRC reds can be pretty spectacular, too, and the Montrachet is amazing. There are lots of sensational Burgundies to choose from, but DRC remains the benchmark—something to keep in mind for when you win the lottery.
VALUE AND BURGUNDY IN THE SAME SENTENCE?
Yes, there is such a thing as value in Burgundy—relatively speaking. There is no such thing as a $10 Burgundy that’s worth drinking. But if you are willing to go up to $20, you can start to find some good wines, particularly from Burgundy’s periphery, namely the Côte Chalonnaise and the Mâcon. Some very good stuff is produced in these parts, and the wines are affordable for nonplutocrats. One caveat, however: in my experience, vintage tends to matter more with lower-caste Burgundies than it does with wines from the Côte d’Or, where the greatest vineyards are. In challenging years, the best producers on the Côte d’Or will still manage to turn out plenty of excellent wines. By contrast, “value” Burgundies can be pretty lean and shrill in off years. That’s particularly true of the reds. But in warmer, riper years—and 2009 was a great example of this—those same wines can drink exceedingly well.
Another source of value in Burgundy: négociant wines. Along with the rest of Burgundy, the négociants were in a rut during the 1970s and 1980s. But these days
the better ones are thriving as perhaps never before. Louis Jadot, Drouhin, and Bouchard Père et Fils, which are considered the three strongest négociant houses at the moment, are all turning out sensational wines, and while their grands crus and premiers crus can be expensive, they also make stellar village and regional wines that can be had for very reasonable prices. Affordable Burgundy—yes, there is such a thing.
ARE THE BORDEAUX FIRST GROWTHS REALLY FIRST?
An indispensable rite of passage for any oenophile is to taste one of the five Bordeaux first growths: Château Lafite, Château Latour, Château Mouton Rothschild, Château Margaux, and Château Haut-Brion. Nearly 160 years after the 1855 classifications were drafted, first-growth status remains Bordeaux’s ultimate mark of prestige and a powerful marketing tool. Indeed, many people now regard the first growths more as luxury brands than as wines, a view that the châteaus themselves haven’t necessarily discouraged (and certainly not with their, shall we say, aggressive pricing). But there has long been a debate about whether these five estates deserve the premium they command. In blind tastings pitting the first growths against lesser Bordeaux, it is often the case that the first growths do not finish on top; in fact, from my purely unscientific observations, that seems to be the norm in tastings involving professionals and amateurs alike. It is no accident that during the annual spring barrel tastings in Bordeaux, the first growths do not allow their wines to be tasted blind—enough poor showings and people might decide that these wines maybe aren’t so special. My view on the matter is, well, complicated. On the one hand, I’m an ardent empiricist, and if blind tastings show that the firsts cannot reliably finish first, then one at least has to grant the possibility that the firsts aren’t really first.
However, I have had too many amazing experiences with the first growths to conclude that they are overrated, and I’ve been doing this long enough—tasting wines—that I can honestly say that labels really don’t sway me. In fact, the loftier a wine’s reputation, the more skepticism I bring to the table (prove that you are good as everyone says!). The first growths are not superior to the grandees of the right bank—Pétrus, Cheval Blanc, Lafleur—but they have demonstrated over many decades a capacity for greatness. The 1945 Haut-Brion, 1961 Latour, 1982 Lafite, 2000 Margaux—if these wines don’t make you weak-kneed, maybe wine isn’t really your thing. The only one of the first growths that I have any reservations about is Mouton. It was not actually named a first growth in 1855; it was elevated to the top rung in 1973, after years of lobbying and arm-twisting by the château’s owner, the colorful, irrepressible Baron Philippe de Rothschild. Mouton has made a handful of epic wines in the past century, but it has also served up a lot of mediocrity. Château La Mission Haut-Brion (located across the street from Haut-Brion and owned by the same family), a wine that was left out of the 1855 rankings but that ought to be a first growth, has hit more high notes than Mouton and has certainly been more consistent. As for the other four first growths, I like them all, but I have a particular fondness for Haut-Brion; I find it the earthiest, most elegant, and most distinctive of the four.
NAMES TO KNOW IN BURGUNDY
• Domaine de la Romanée-Conti
• Domaine Leroy
• Domaine Dujac
• Domaine Armand Rousseau
• Domaine Fourrier
• Domaine Georges Roumier
• Domaine Mugnier
• Domaine Ponsot
• Domaine Marquis d’Angerville
• Domaine Michel Lafarge
• Domaine de Montille
• Domaine Comtes de Vogüé
• Domaine J.-F. Coche-Dury
• Domaine Guy Roulot
• Domaine des Comtes Lafon
• Domaine Leflaive
• Domaine Pierre-Yves Colin Morey
• Domaine Raveneau (Chablis)
• Domaine Vincent Dauvissat (Chablis)
8
Great White Hopes
IT IS OFTEN SAID that every white wine secretly wishes it were a red. Winemakers who specialize in white wines can turn a little green with red envy. Some years ago I asked Dominique Lafon, the great Burgundian winemaker whose whites are among the finest in the world, what vineyard in Burgundy he most coveted; without a moment’s hesitation, he answered “Musigny,” a grand cru vineyard that yields some of Burgundy’s most enthralling red wines. In addition to his glorious white wines, Lafon made excellent reds from Burgundy’s Volnay appellation. However, the wistful look in his eye as he said the word Musigny suggested a certain regret at the hand that fate had dealt him: being a master of white wines in a world in which red wines are king. And they are king. At almost any dinner involving both white and red wines, the whites precede the reds; however good the whites might be, they are forever relegated to being the warm-up act, the prelude to the main course.
In contrast to red wines, white wines suffer from what might be called a crisis of authority. With red wines, there is a clear hierarchy: Cabernet Sauvignon is at the top, Pinot Noir is one rung down (but fast gaining on Cabernet), then come Merlot, Syrah, and Grenache, followed by all the rest. While Cabernet and Pinot have their detractors, their continued preeminence is pretty much assured. Things are more fluid (forgive the pun) with white wines. The two most prevalent grapes are Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc, but they draw as much flak as they do praise. In the case of Sauvignon Blanc, the ubiquity is completely misleading. Even oenophiles who profess to like Sauvignon Blanc concede that it does not yield particularly profound wines, and more than a few seasoned drinkers despise it.
Possibly the most controversial piece I ever wrote for Slate was a column I did in 2006 in which I confessed my hatred of Sauvignon Blanc. “The grape is a dud,” I wrote,
producing chirpy little wines wholly devoid of complexity and depth, the very qualities that make wine interesting and worth savoring . . . Character and verve are two qualities most [Sauvignon Blancs] sorely lack. Sure, they tend to have distinctive bouquets, with heady aromas of grass, citrus, gooseberry, gunflint, and chalk—or some combination thereof. But the excitement is reserved for the nose; all the mouth gets is a limp, lemony liquid that grows progressively more boring with each sip. Sauvignon Blancs almost never evolve in the glass—they simply fill the space . . . Even a simple quaffer ought to be able to hold your interest for at least a few minutes. Sadly, most Sauvignon Blancs can’t even do that. In fact, the pleasure to be derived from the typical Sauvignon Blanc is inversely related to the amount of attention paid to the wine—the less you think about it, the more you’re apt to enjoy it. And spare me that old chestnut about versatility: it is hardly surprising, given their acute lack of personality, that these smiley-face wines can accommodate themselves to just about any dish. Water can, too.
Not surprisingly, the article elicited howls of outrage (though a number of readers expressed agreement), and it remains a sore point with some people even now, years later. All in all, it was a very successful rant. But then, it came from the heart: I really do despise Sauvignon Blanc. In fact, in the years since the Slate piece was published, I have periodically purchased Sauvignon Blancs to test if my feelings about the grape were softening or if perhaps I exaggerated how much I disliked it. I can truly say that time has done nothing to dull my hostility toward Sauvignon Blanc. I still consider it a complete dud of a grape. And if you disagree with me? Well, just think of it this way: more for you.
Although Chardonnay is the benchmark among white varietals, it generates almost as much antagonism as Sauvignon Blanc; indeed, it has even inspired a deeply unflattering abbreviation, ABC (anything but Chardonnay). Chardonnay hasn’t suffered a backlash like Merlot, but its position is shaky. Like Pinot Noir, Chardonnay reaches its apogee in Burgundy, and although the premature oxidation problem has given white Burgundies a bad name, no one would deny that Burgundy is capable of making wondrous Chardonnays. The same is true of the Champagne region to the north, where some of the greatest wines are blanc de blancs (
all-Chardonnay bubblies). So what made Chardonnay an object of derision for so many wine enthusiasts? In two words, California Chardonnay. That phrase has almost become a punch line in wine circles; just say “California Chardonnay” in the company of some wine sophisticates and watch as the snickering begins. But the snickering is justified: a lot of really bad Chardonnay is produced in California, including quite a bit of really expensive bad Chardonnay.
During the 1970s consumer interest in Chardonnay began to blossom and the California wine industry started devoting more space to it. In 1972, Jim Barrett, an oenophilic attorney from Southern California, bought Chateau Montelena, which hadn’t produced wine commercially since Prohibition, with the intention of turning out Cabernets to rival the best of Bordeaux. Barrett and his winemaker, Mike Grgich, decided to make Chardonnay simply as a way of generating some income while they waited for their newly planted Cabernet vines to bear sufficient fruit. But their Chardonnay did more than just generate some extra cash flow. Astonishingly, the 1973 Montelena Chardonnay, their second vintage, was the winning white wine in the 1976 Judgment of Paris, beating out a handful of famous white Burgundies. Barrett, however, insisted that the Paris result came as no surprise to him. “We’ve known for a long time that we could put our white Burgundies against anybody’s in the world and not take a back seat,” he told George Taber of Time magazine after the tasting.
California didn’t actually make white Burgundies, of course—only Burgundy made white Burgundies. But Barrett’s comment spoke to a larger truth: for most of those early Chardonnay producers, the goal was to craft wines in the Burgundian mold. One means to that end was to use French oak barrels to age the wines. James Zellerbach of Sonoma’s Hanzell Vineyards, was the pioneering figure on this front; he imported small barrels of Limousin oak, purchased from one of the top coopers in Burgundy, for his Chardonnays. Employed judiciously, oak aging imparts greater complexity to wines, and although Zellerbach’s neighbors were apparently dubious, the results he achieved were so impressive that the practice quickly caught on. The 1973 Montelena spent eight months maturing in French barrels before being bottled.
The Wine Savant: A Guide to the New Wine Culture Page 11
