Janisson-Baradon Ratafia Single Cask 2005

I had a terrific visit yesterday with Cyril Janisson of Champagne Janisson-Baradon et Fils in Epernay, and after tasting a delicious array of champagnes, we finished with his rare, vintage-dated, single-cask ratafia.

Ratafia is grape must that is blended with distilled alcohol, and it’s a very traditional beverage here in Champagne, used largely as an apéritif. The problem is, most of it is completely industrial, made by large, factory-like firms and tasting highly processed and thoroughly commercial. There are a few high-quality examples to be found from small growers, however, such as this fine version by Janisson-Baradon.

The must for this ratafia comes from the rebèche, the final pressing of champagne grapes after the cuvée (the first 2,050 liters) and the taille (the next 500 liters), but it’s made only with the first 100 liters pressed directly after the taille, which Janisson says is the remaining portion that contains the highest amount of sugar. It’s made exclusively of pinot noir and contains no added sugar, just the pressed juice and neutral alcohol. While some producers use marc (alcohol distilled from the pomace, like grappa) or fine (alcohol distilled from wine, like brandy) to make their ratafia, Janisson says, “I want an alcohol as neutral as possible so that it doesn’t mark the taste.” This spends 18 months in a three-year old, 225-liter barrique from Burgundy, and the selection of the “single cask” is something of a jest: “Tom Stevenson asked me, ‘Why did you choose this particular cask of ratafia?’” says Janisson. “I replied, ‘Because it was my only one!’”

This shows exuberant aromas of milk chocolate, dried Chinese plums, Demerara sugar and roasted coffee beans on the nose. The sweetness on the palate balances well against the alcohol and acidity, and the rich texture and depth of fragrance combine to give this a satisfying resonance and grip, finishing with floral, chocolatey length. It would make an excellent alternative to Banyuls or port.

Unfortunately it’s virtually impossible to obtain, as Janisson only made 300 bottles of it, but in 2006 he tripled his production to three whole barrels, so perhaps the next vintage will be a little more commercially viable. Janisson does sell his ratafia at the estate, however, so if you happen to be in Epernay you ought to drop by and buy a bottle.

The World’s Most Exclusive Camping Site

From the Department of Obscure Things: Quick, what’s the coolest little-known fact about Krug’s Clos du Mesnil?

It’s the source of Krug’s original single vineyard wine, first bottled in 1979? Yeah, everybody knows that. It’s in the middle of the village, surrounded by walls that create a special microclimate? Yawn. You probably read that in a book somewhere.

No, the coolest thing about Clos du Mesnil is the yurt. Yurts, actually, since there’s a big one for lounging in and a couple of smaller ones that serve as “bedrooms” of a sort.


They’re perched under a grove of trees at the edge of the vineyard itself, within those famous walls, and if you’re a really lucky friend of the house you might get to spend an evening out there, fixing up some barbecue and camping out in one of the world’s most famous vineyard sites. (Don’t feel bad, I haven’t done it either.)

I did, however, enjoy having coffee in the grand yurt last week with my friend Kurt after being treated to a splendid lunch involving plenty of Krug. Not to mention being able to drink the new vintage of Krug Clos du Mesnil while standing in the vineyard itself. As it won’t be released until this fall, my lips are sealed until then....

Dosage: Liqueur vs. MCR

The subject of dosage is a sensitive one, not only in terms of quantity, but even what sort of substance is used to dose a champagne. The standard practice of dosage is to make a liqueur d’expédition, dissolving either cane sugar or beet sugar in a quantity of wine and adding this to the bottle after disgorgement. Recently, however, many producers have switched to a product called MCR, which has sparked a bit of a controversy.

MCR stands for moût concentré rectifié, or concentrated and rectified grape must. The majority of MCR comes from the Languedoc, and sometimes from even farther away, but it’s processed to such a highly neutral state that I doubt that the region or even the grape variety makes a difference at all. Its neutrality, in fact, is the primary reason for using it, and many top growers are preferring it over traditional liqueur, including Larmandier-Bernier, Diebolt-Vallois and René Geoffroy. Geoffroy switched completely to MCR about four years ago, after extensive series of comparative blind tastings, and Jean-Baptiste Geoffroy is very pleased with the results, citing not only its neutrality but its superior freshness as primary factors. “The traditional liqueur has a tendency to oxidize more quickly,” says Geoffroy. “MCR is better at preserving the character of the original wine.”

Not everyone is convinced, however. To begin with, for some people the liqueur d’expédition is an important part of the “finishing” of a wine, especially for major houses such as Billecart-Salmon or Louis Roederer, both of whom put a great deal of care into aging the reserve wines used for their dosage. Also, some people contest the idea of MCR’s neutrality, saying that it contributes an unwelcome character. “MCR is a little syrupy,” says Raphael Bérèche, of Bérèche et Fils. “It’s [the European Union] that tells us to use MCR, in order to absorb all the excess wine.” An additional argument used by many partisans of liqueur is that employing wine from the Languedoc or elsewhere, even in a neutral and concentrated form, is contrary to the idea of terroir. On the other hand, those who favor MCR can point to the fact that the sugar in liqueur is even more foreign, as it doesn’t even come from grapes!

My verdict? I used to think that you couldn’t taste the difference one way or another, but I’ve found that you sometimes can, especially if the dosage is above extra brut levels. If the wine doesn’t have enough body, MCR does feel slightly syrupy on the palate, which is starting to bother me more and more. On the other hand, if the wine has depth and richness of fruit (think Diebolt or Geoffroy), or if the dosage is very low (think Larmandier-Bernier), MCR works out perfectly fine. I do think that it integrates with the wine in time, and the differences are usually pronounced only at the beginning, right after disgorgement. In fact, if you live overseas, by the time the wine gets sent to you across the ocean you probably won’t be able to tell one way or the other. But it’s an interesting argument nevertheless.

1976 Marc Hébrart

At the end of a tasting with Jean-Paul Hébrart of Champagne Marc Hébrart yesterday, he pulled out an old bottle for us to drink, which is always a pleasure. The burnished color of the wine indicated that it had some age, yet it was still bright and lively, both in its appearance and in the fragrant, expansive aroma on the nose. I was thinking that perhaps the wine could be around 25 to 30 years old, but the prominent acidity on the palate was keeping me puzzled as to the exact vintage. There was too much flesh for it to be from a vintage like 1980 or 1981, but it didn’t quite fit the opulent profile of 1982. The acidity was high, but not high enough to be 1979. 1975? Maybe. It had a harmony and balance more typical of 1985, but most ’85s are much more youthful, especially stored in the original cellars. I thought perhaps it could be 1983, with its combination of acidity and its mature aromas of exotic spice, preserved ginger, butter caramel and candied orange peel.

Needless to say, I was surprised when it turned out to be from 1976. One of the warmest years on record, ’76s are notable for their low acidity, high alcohol and ample, fat character. This wine had none of those things. Although there were creamy, rich flavors of toffee, mocha and dried Turkish apricot on the palate, they were kept in sharply kinetic focus by the firm structure, and the overall picture was one of finesse and harmony. It continued to develop more complexity and depth in the glass, with a subtle chalkiness growing increasingly more prominent on the finish.

Hébrart doesn’t have very many old bottles in his cellar, which made this even more of a special occasion. The ones that he does have, however, are stored sur pointe, on their original lees, and he’s wondering whether or not they ought to be disgorged. This one was disgorged back in February as an experiment — I’m glad he did it, of course, as that meant we could drink it!

Wine of the Week: Camille Savès Brut Rosé Grand Cru

The small, family-run estate of Camille Savès in Bouzy has been bottling estate champagnes for nearly 100 years. While they have vines in several villages in the area, their rosé is 100 percent Bouzy grand cru, even though the majority of it is actually chardonnay.

The current release is based on the 2004 vintage, with some reserve wine from 2003, and the final blend is 60 percent chardonnay, 28 percent pinot noir and 12 percent red wine, which is also pinot noir from the 2004 harvest. It’s very aromatic on the nose, with a burst of pungent, extroverted strawberry and redcurrant fruit. “Bouzy is a strong, vinous, full-bodied terroir,” says Hervé Savès, the fourth generation of his family to run the estate, and while this character is apparent here in the boldness of fruit on both nose and palate, this wine also demonstrates plenty of finesse as well, with a silky texture and subtle, finely-drawn finish.

Camille Savès is represented by champagne brokers Champagne et Villages, and imported into the United States by various distributors, including Polaner Selections, Mt. Kisco, NY, and Triage Wines, Seattle, WA. Polaner’s suggested retail price for the Brut Rosé is $68.

Disgorging Big Bottles

This morning at Champagne Gosset in Aÿ they were disgorging jeroboams. These are all disgorged in the traditional way, employing a process not all that different from how it’s been done for over a hundred years. The corks are loosened with a special machine (it looks like something out of Guantanamo, but it’s really just a giant corkscrew), then disgorged by hand, which requires considerable strength and skill. They’re topped up with the same wine, then the cork and cage are both affixed by hand as well. These guys have 2,000 of these things to do, which is no small feat: “The demand for big bottles has never been so high,” says Philippe Manfredini, export director for Gosset. “In the last three years, it’s been crazy.” Here are some photos of the process: