Besotted Ramblings and Other Drivel

The Old Vintages of Guy Vallois

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sat, 17 May 2008 13:59:00 +0000

Over the last few years, Diebolt-Vallois has put several old vintage wines onto the market: 1976, 1979 and 1985, which wear the gold vintage label, as well as a pure 1982 in a green label that is labeled Mise en Cave en 1983. They can be terrific wines, even if the package is a little misleading: these wines weren’t made by Jacques Diebolt, but rather by his father-in-law Guy Vallois, in the village of Cuis.

I’ve tasted all of the above wines on multiple occasions, but one that I’ve never seen is the 1973, which Richard Juhlin mentions in his book 4000 Champagnes. I’m particularly keen on champagnes from this year not only because it was a relatively decent vintage in the region, but also because it’s the year of my birth. On a visit to Diebolt this week, we were enjoying a bottle of 1997 Fleur de Passion and talking about all sorts of topics, from increased sulfur in non-malolactic wines to 17th-century tapestries (antiques are Jacques Diebolt’s grand passion), when the conversation turned to old champagne. Since I’ve been wanting to ask him for a while, I cheekily ventured the question of whether or not there were any more bottles of 1973 available. He admitted that there were a few left in the cellar, but warned that they are extremely variable, which is why he doesn’t sell them. “Perhaps one in six or eight is any good,” said Diebolt. “The problem is that they were stored sur pointe in a dirt cellar, not on cement, so many of the corks were attacked by mold.”

Nevertheless, after drinking the better part of that fabulous bottle of 1997 (which, by the way, is just beginning to come out of its shell and develop some real complexity), Diebolt asked, “Do you want to taste the ’73?” We returned to the cellar and fetched one of the 21 bottles remaining, bottled with a cork rather than with capsule for the secondary fermentation. He proceeded to disgorge it, and upon pouring a glass for himself to taste, he smiled and said, “You are very lucky. This is one of the best bottles of this wine that I have ever tasted.” We spent the next hour drinking the rest of the bottle, which continued to expand and develop with air, revealing crisp, energetic notes of citrus and almond under more mature aromas of praline, honeycomb, roasted coffee and black truffle. While it was clearly a mature wine, it was still astonishingly fresh and vibrant, much more so than any of the other Guy Vallois bottles that I had ever tasted.

It’s an experience that I am likely never to repeat, even if I am fortunate enough to partake of one of the 20 bottles that are left. However, other vintages are commercially available, and they are worth seeking out. As I write this I am drinking a bottle of the 1979, which is deliciously opulent, feeling creamy and rich even while demonstrating the forceful acidity of both the vintage and the village (like all of these old Vallois wines, this is 100 percent Cuis). I’ve had other bottles of this that have shown even more complexity, and overall this is my favorite (non-’73!) of these. The 1976 is even more luscious, although I’ve experienced greater bottle variation in that wine than in the ’79. When the ’76 is good, though, it’s very, very good, with an expansive complexity and surprising acidity for the vintage, thanks to being grown in Cuis. The 1985, like its siblings, is unusually rich for a Cuis wine, although it shows a more forceful structure, with the minerality very prominent, and doesn’t possess quite as much complexity. However, like all of these it also shows a higher than average amount of bottle variation, so it largely depends on your luck. As the famous quote goes, “There are no good wines, only good bottles.” Still, you’ll never know unless you give it a try. There are far worse things to gamble on than old Vallois wines.

Wine of the Week: H. Billiot Fils Brut Rosé

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Fri, 16 May 2008 15:21:00 +0000

I am a huge fan of the Henri Billiot estate in Ambonnay, and I find all of their wines to be well worth buying, from the richly expressive Brut Réserve to the vivid and complex Cuvée Laetitia. I have a particular fondness, however, for Billiot’s Brut Rosé, one of my favorite rosés in all of Champagne.

Billiot’s rosé is based on their Brut Réserve, although it’s released one year earlier. The Brut Réserve is usually about 75 to 80 percent pinot noir, with the rest chardonnay, and like all of Billiot’s wines, it’s 100 percent Ambonnay grand cru. To make the rosé, Billiot adds a small percentage of older red wine, aged in barrique: the exact proportion will vary from vintage to vintage, depending on the wine. “It’s a function of color,” explains Laetitia Billiot. “We usually add between four and eight percent of red wine, depending on how strong the color of the wine is in barrel.”

The most recent release of the rosé is based on 2004, with reserve wines from 2003 and 2002, and contains six percent of red wine from 1999. Everything about this wine is immediately alluring, from its delicate, pale salmon color to the fragrantly perfumed aromas of spiced plum, red cherry and fresh pear. On the palate it’s creamy and rich in texture, showing a concentrated burst of red fruit aroma that lingers through the long and ample finish. Its sleekly balanced acidity serves to both elongate and expand the flavors, and the overall feel is one of finesse, refinement and detail. My only complaint about this wine is that it really ought to be bottled in magnum only, as 750 milliliters disappears entirely too quickly!

By the way, you’ll find a lot number on the bottle (L 02, for example), but unlike with some other estates, this has nothing to do with vintages or bottling: it’s simply an indicator of the cuvée (Brut Réserve is L 01, Rosé is L 02, et cetera). Thus it’s not easy to predict what vintages are contained within the particular bottle that you’re drinking, although the bottles in the United States usually have a disgorgement date printed on them, which helps.

Henri Billiot is imported into the United States by Terry Theise Selections/Michael Skurnik Wines, Syosset, NY, and the suggested retail price for the Brut Rosé is $70.

Champagne Stoppers

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Thu, 15 May 2008 09:00:00 +0000

I’ve noticed that one reason people don’t buy more champagne or sparkling wine is that they often feel obligated to drink the entire bottle. With a still wine, you can just put the cork back in, but with sparkling wines, there are the bubbles to worry about.

There’s actually nothing to fear — all you need is a good champagne stopper. At home (alone, alas), I typically drink half a bottle of champagne a day (I’m not nearly as big a lush as some people believe), and save the other half for the next day. This is partly to moderate my consumption, but more importantly, I find that many young champagnes are actually more interesting after being opened for a day. Even when I owned a wine bar, I was never afraid to pour champagnes by the glass, as I found that young champagnes could easily last two or sometimes even three days if properly stoppered (although between the guests and the staff, they rarely lasted that long!)

There are several different types of inexpensive stoppers available. In the photo above, the big blue one at the top is the simplest model: you push it down and little teeth inside grasp the edge of the bottle. Going clockwise, the next one is slightly more sophisticated: you push it down and screw it shut, ensuring a better seal. Less aesthetically attractive but perhaps even more efficacious is the clamp model, with a hinged clip that grabs the neck of the bottle, keeping the whole thing firmly in place. (By the way, this is the only one that works on certain irregularly shaped bottles, such as Dom Pérignon or Comtes de Champagne. Not that, you know, we’re putting stoppers on those every day.) Then there’s the bright blue thing that looks like a UFO — it has two arms that swing down to grasp the bottle. My favorite one, however, and the one that I use most often, is the last, which has a tight, spring-loaded rubber seal and two little flanges on the hinged portions that grip the lip of the bottle. Plus it’s made of shiny metal and it’s pretty. You can find these at most wine stores or order them easily online.

Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Wed, 14 May 2008 09:00:00 +0000

Last week I was speaking with Caroline Milan, of Champagne Jean Milan, about her relatively new négociant status. While in the past this six-hectare estate was registered as an RM, or récoltant-manipulant, they made the decision several years ago to become an NM, or négociant-manipulant. The reason for this was that they wanted to grow in production, but also wanted their wines to remain exclusively from Oger. Vineyard land in a Côte des Blancs grand cru is simply not available for purchase, and even if it were, it would be incredibly expensive. (People in Champagne often estimate a price of between 1.2 and 1.5 million euros per hectare, although in today’s financial climate that seems suspiciously low to me.) The Milans had some family friends who owned very good land in Oger but who were selling their grapes to a co-operative, and a logical solution seemed to be to purchase those grapes for Milan champagne instead.

The change has worked out very well for the Milans, and the wine they’re making today is better than ever, but Caroline admits to having had some concerns in the beginning. The NM designation can be a sort of stigma, both here in the region and abroad, and the new designation meant that Milan had to leave the Syndicat Général des Vignerons, a major trade organization here in Champagne. Naturally the last thing the Milans wanted was to damage their reputation as an artisanal, family-run estate. “It made people talk,” she says. “Our friends would ask us, ‘Aren’t you afraid about your image?’” It did raise questions among some clients, although the overwhelming majority are satisfied with the explanations and continue to support the estate. And why not? It’s difficult to imagine Milan being any more artisanal than it already is. Caroline takes care of the business side of things, while her brother Jean-Charles works the cellar and vineyards. They have a few employees to help them with the estate’s operations, and while their parents are officially retired, they are still involved with the winery and continue to live on the property. Nothing has changed in the Milans’ outlook or their pursuit of quality simply because they buy a few hectares’ worth of grapes from their friends.

But really, is there anything significant about the designation NM or RM? An NM can refer to a huge array of vastly different operations, from small houses like Milan, who makes 85,000 bottles a year, to giants like Moët & Chandon, who produces, ahem... considerably more. Many young growers, in fact, are turning to the NM option, often to be able to work vines belonging to other members of the family due to inheritance laws, or else simply because, as the Milans found, vineyard land is extremely difficult to purchase.

Also, it’s hardly a meaningful designation in terms of ideas such as artisanality, expression or quality. I am a rabid fan of artisanal, site-expressive, handcrafted champagne, and I supported grower champagne well before it was fashionable to do so. Yet just because a champagne is estate-grown and -bottled doesn’t mean that it’s automatically of higher quality (or, in fact, that it’s any good at all). Nor do RMs have a monopoly on artisanality, even if many of the greatest artisanal-minded producers in Champagne are, in fact, registered as RM.

Jacquesson, for example, is highly artisanal in its outlook, isolating and bottling individual vineyards, separating parcels for vinification, preserving vintage identity in their brut sans année rather than seeking to dominate or erase the character of the year. There are plenty of récoltant-manipulants who don’t work nearly as diligently or as thoughtfully, and in fact, among Champagne’s 3,000 or so growers who produce wine under their own labels, you’ll find much wine that is indifferently made and carelessly grown. It’s true that in the United States and some other export markets the selection of grower champagne is of particularly exceptional quality, thanks to the discriminating palates of outstanding importers such as Terry Theise, Jon-David Headrick or Martine Saunier. That makes it fun, and relatively safe, to buy grower champagne. But it’s important to remember that the quality of these RM wines is due to the commitment and excellence of those particular growers, not to a couple of letters on a label. It’s inane to say, “RM on the label is a sign of quality,” or to proclaim, “I only drink RMs.” Look for the name of a producer that you know and trust — that’s the surest sign of quality that there is.

Quotations: St-Evremond

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Tue, 13 May 2008 09:00:00 +0000

“Do not spare any expense to get Champagne wines, even if you are at two hundred leagues from Paris. Those of Burgundy have lost their credit amongst men of taste, and barely retain a remnant of their former reputation amongst dealers. There is no province which furnishes excellent wines for all seasons but Champagne. It supplies us with the wines of Ay, Avenay, and Hautvillers, up to the spring; Taissy, Sillery, Verzenai, for the rest of the year.”

—St-Evremond, in a letter to his brother the Count d’Olonne in 1674

Bérèche et Fils, Craon de Ludes

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Mon, 12 May 2008 13:10:00 +0000

As with any wine region, one of the most exciting things about Champagne is watching a new generation of winemakers emerge. In the village of Craon de Ludes, the 26 year-old Raphaël Bérèche has been working alongside his father at their nine-hectare estate of Bérèche et Fils since 2004, and is slowly but increasingly putting his personal stamp on the domaine.

Bérèche owns vines in three different sectors of Champagne: the area around Ludes and Craon de Ludes; the eastern Montagne de Reims, around Trépail; and Mareuil-le-Port, on the rive gauche of the Vallée de la Marne. The viticulture has been steadily improving — they completely stopped using chemical herbicides in 2004 and have planted cover crops in all of the vineyards, and since 2007 a portion of the vineyard is being converted to biodynamics.

The range begins with the Brut Réserve, composed of roughly equal parts chardonnay, pinot noir and meunier, along with about 30 percent reserve wine from the previous three vintages. It typically shows full, fruity notes of citrus, apple and quince, and as with all of the estate’s wines, malolactic fermentation is avoided. The same wine is released with an additional year of lees aging as the Extra Brut Réserve, with about 1.5 grams per liter of dosage (the Brut is between seven and nine grams); the current release, 2004, is particularly vibrant and energetic, with a lovely, saline minerality.

In 1902, Raphaël’s great-grandfather planted some chardonnay vines in the Ludes vineyard of Les Beaux Regards, and today these are used to make the cuvée of the same name. (These vines are also used as a sélection massale for replanting the rest of the domaine’s chardonnay.) Unfortunately, since the parcel is too small this is no longer a single-vineyard wine, normally including about 30 percent of chardonnay from Mareuil-le-Port. Nevertheless, the resulting wine is always very focused and precise, remaining sleek and racy while showing the bold girth of chardonnay from outside of the Côte des Blancs. While the domaine is sold out of this wine at the moment, the 2005 will be released in October, and it will be the first time that this cuvée is released as a brut nature, having previously been around four grams or so.

There is a tiny quantity of vintage wine made, and the current vintage, 2002, is 40 percent chardonnay, 40 percent pinot noir and 20 percent meunier. It’s a bold, ample wine, with luscious and complex notes of clover honey, quince and dried peach. The previous vintage, 2000, is even creamier in texture, balanced by bright, orange-citrus acidity; the higher proportion of chardonnay (60 percent) keeps it feeling lively and balanced.

The most unusual wine in the cellar is the Reflet d’Antan, made from a solera started in 1990, stored in 600-liter demi-muids and bottled with cork for the second fermentation. Composed of equal parts of all three grapes, this shows a burnished, honeyed richness, its aromas of dried apple and citrus peel complicated by notes of sandalwood incense and exotic spice. There’s a texture and luster about this that gives it a feeling of opulence — I often think that it tastes the way a Peter Greenaway movie looks. Raphaël suggests a pairing with tuna rossini, which would be suitably decadent.

Bérèche et Fils is imported into the United States by Petit Pois Corp./Sussex Wine Merchants, in Moorestown, NJ.

A Tasting of 1998 Champagnes

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sat, 10 May 2008 13:55:00 +0000

Last night a friend of mine hosted a tasting of 1998s, an appropriate theme being that we’re now ten years on. The 1998 vintage is also one that I particularly like. Pundits have never been very keen on this vintage, coming after the utterly unique 1996 and the warm, accessible 1997, and forgotten in the shadow of 1999 and 2000, vintages that I think people have wanted very badly to like because of their numeric significance. Yet the vintage does have its supporters. Charles Philipponnat thinks that it could be the best Clos des Goisses of the decade, easily better than 1996; Terry Theise once wrote, “the sheer beauty of fruit of the [1998] chardonnays is nearly beyond belief.”

The 1998 vintage was a year of extreme weather, shocking at the time but sadly all too commonplace today. March temperatures fluctuated between -8 C and 23 C (18 to 73 F); in May, records show that it was 32 C on the 13th (90 F), yet there was frost on the 23rd! It’s almost a miracle that the fruit was able to set properly, without widespread incidence of either coulure or millerandage. The July sunshine, what little there was of it, was the lowest on record for that month since 1965, while in contrast, August was the hottest on record since 1961, with temperatures up to 40 C (104 F) across the region. September was wet, averaging 60 to 70 mm of rain (2.4 to 2.75 inches) over the first fifteen days. Despite all of this, the grapes were harvested in mid- to late September with a higher than average maturity, and the average yield of 12,926 kilograms per hectare was the largest since 1983 (15,012 kg/ha).

Of the dozen 1998s that we tasted, the wines of the night, for me, were Vilmart’s Cuvée Création, Pascal Doquet’s Le Mesnil Blanc de Blancs and Franck Pascal’s Equilibre Cuvée Prestige. Sometimes I think the 1998 might be the greatest Cuvée Création ever (although I can’t wait to see the 1999). Its subtle complexity and velvety texture make it feel sophisticated and elegant, a champagne for dinner jackets and evening gowns. Doquet’s Le Mesnil showed classic Mesnil chalkiness and the vivid, vibrant energy typical of 1998 chardonnay, while Franck Pascal’s Equilibre completely charmed me with its full-bodied yet finely harmonious aromas of persimmon, dried apple and spice.

Among the wines that disappointed me were the 1998s of Deutz and Taittinger, and surprisingly, Claude Cazals’s Clos Cazals. I had tasted the 1998 Clos Cazals once before and found it complex and expressive, but last night its floral perfume was almost overpowering, and its dosage awkwardly balanced. I expect it needs some time to sort itself out.

Additional time, in fact, seemed to be the theme across the board. Many of the wines seemed a little closed and reticent, and often I noted that fruit, alcohol and dosage were not currently well integrated. One of the things that struck me while tasting these was how ripe the fruit flavors actually were in many of the 1998s, which I don’t think of as being an overly ripe vintage. Having said that, however, in many wines the fruit was currently at an awkward midpoint, having shed the puppy fat of its youth but not yet having acquired the complexity and harmony of maturity. It’s a vintage I continue to have faith in, but I’m not going to open any more bottles for a while. I think I’ll go buy some more of that Vilmart while I still can, though.

Wine of the Week: Charles Heidsieck Brut Réserve

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Fri, 09 May 2008 16:38:00 +0000

Earlier this week I had the privilege of tasting a number of 2007 vins clairs with Thierry Roset, oenologist for Charles Heidsieck and Piper-Heidsieck. Naturally we broke open some bubbly wines afterwards, and as always I was particularly struck by the quality and character of the Charles Heidsieck Brut Réserve.

This has always been one of my favorite NVs among the major houses, thanks to former chef de cave Daniel Thibault, who developed it into a richly complex, reserve-heavy non-vintage wine. In 1997 it was re-branded with a Mis en Cave date indicating the year that it was bottled—a laudable and remarkable gesture of transparency in an industry that is too often overly secretive. Thibault’s successor Régis Camus has kept the Mis en Cave date on the label, moving it to the back, and prints the year of disgorgement as well, which is rare on a négociant brut NV.

The current release is Mis en Cave 2004, meaning that it’s based on the 2003 harvest. Showing rich and harmonious aromas ranging from pear compote and caramelized apple to praline and vanilla, this feels full and expansive, finishing with a subtle complexity and ample fragrance. Roset describes the Charles Heidsieck style as “a balance between complexity and generosity,” an idea that is well illustrated by this wine, and one surprising element here is that its complexity and character could easily make you believe that it’s been fermented or aged in oak, even though it’s made entirely in stainless steel.

Regarding varietal composition, it’s a little bit like a math question on the SAT: the Brut Réserve typically contains 60 percent of wine from the base year’s harvest, composed of equal parts chardonnay, pinot noir and meunier. To this blend, a proportion of reserve wine is added, in equal parts chardonnay and pinot noir, but then a small quantity of the previous year’s base blend is also included, usually about six to ten percent.

The reserve wine is clearly one of the biggest reasons for the Brut Réserve’s high quality. Forty percent of reserve wine is remarkably huge—there aren’t many bruts sans année in Champagne that contain such a high proportion of reserve wine. Even Krug doesn’t typically go that high. In addition, Roset says that the reserves usually include wines between four and eight years old, which is also admirably impressive. Considering all of that, at this price the Brut Réserve must surely be one of the best value champagnes on the market.

Charles Heidsieck is imported into the United States by Rémy Cointreau, USA, in New York, NY, and the suggested retail price for the Brut Réserve is $55.

The Vineyards of Rilly-la-Montagne, or, Vilmart & Cie., Redux

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Thu, 08 May 2008 15:22:00 +0000

Yesterday afternoon I was in the neighborhood of Rilly-la-Montagne, and stopped in at Vilmart to buy a bottle of wine for an upcoming tasting. Ever the generous host, Laurent Champs offered me a glass of the 2001 Grand Cellier d’Or, a wine that continues to impress me—the vintage might have been a difficult one, but this wine is sleek, creamy and complex, showing all the sophistication and finesse expected from this cuvée.

As Laurent was headed out to inspect the vines, and as it was also a gorgeous day (26°C), he invited me to tag along. The best vineyards of Rilly face south and southeast, arrayed on the gently rolling slopes just behind the village, and in this idyllic, sun-soaked environment, it’s easy to see why Rilly has been renowned for its wine production since medieval times. As you leave the village and drive north, the first of three top-class vineyard sites that you encounter is Grèves, lying on a chalky subsoil underneath a mix of clay, sand and limestone. Vilmart’s healthy, happily tilled rows of chardonnay grow on the upper slope, with pinot noir below, and as the vines here are “young”, a mere 25 to 30 years old, they are generally made in foudre for use in the Grand Cellier or Grand Cellier d’Or. In the adjacent vineyard of La Haye Barbette there is also a good deal of chardonnay grown, although at the moment a swath of young vegetation is conspicuously prominent—these used to be the oldest vines of the domaine, but they have been pulled up and the plot replanted last year.

Across the road to the east one finds the crown jewel of Vilmart’s vineyard holdings: their five-hectare parcel of Blanches Voies (meaning “white roads”), a vineyard used primarily for Coeur de Cuvée and Cuvée Création. “It’s called Blanches Voies simply because the voies are blanches—the soil here is very chalky,” says Laurent. “It’s the very best part of Rilly.” Five hectares in a prime lieu-dit is an enormous asset for a grower, and in the case of Vilmart this accounts for nearly half of their total vineyard area. Many of the chardonnay vines here are over 50 years old, and although the magnificent vines in this photo are pruned in a Chablis system, I noticed that much of the chardonnay employs the Cordon du Royat, a system more commonly used for pinot noir. Curious to understand why, I asked Laurent about it, but he just shrugged and said, “That’s how the old-timers did it.” Oh well. Clearly those old guys knew what they were doing.

Why Aren’t There More Soleras?

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Wed, 07 May 2008 10:51:00 +0000

People in Champagne, especially négociants, are always talking about blending for consistency—how many times have you heard that a non-vintage blend is designed to erase the effects of the millésime and provide a continuity in house style from year to year? Some brave people even go so far as to say that if you can see a difference in their non-vintage brut each year, they’re not doing their job correctly.

Here’s what I don’t get: many houses don’t have large enough stocks of reserve wines to be able to account for more than ten to 20 percent of the blend (and I’m being generous here). That means that at least 80 percent, and probably more, is from a single harvest. How is that supposed to provide a consistent product? Clearly it doesn’t, as there is a difference in a given house’s NV from year to year, no matter what anybody says. (No comment on anybody’s job performance.)

So I’ve been thinking, why don’t we see more soleras in Champagne? A solera would provide the ultimate blending solution—wine from this year is added to the first criadera, containing a blend of young wines, while a portion of that criadera is added to the next, slightly older one, and so on and so forth, until the solera that you draw from at the end is composed of a great number of vintages, providing as consistent a wine from year to year as you can possibly hope for. In addition, the longer you keep the solera the more consistent it becomes, as the fractions become increasingly smaller and the number of vintages involved more numerous.

In fact, there are a number of growers using soleras for selected cuvées, most notably Anselme Selosse, who started his solera for Substance (previously called Origine) in 1986; for Contraste, his pinot noir from La Côte Faron in Aÿ, he uses what he calls a “mini-solera” (no criaderas) that he began in 1994. Serge Billiot of H. Billiot Fils started the solera for Cuvée Laetitia in 1983; Bereche et Fils makes Le Reflet d’Antan from a solera begun in 1990.

Obviously a solera in Champagne would be terrifically expensive to initiate on a large scale. A solera is, in effect, all reserve wine, and wine held in reserve is wine that isn’t making you any money. But like these growers have done, it could be started on a small scale and slowly built up over time as a special cuvée. If you truly want to talk about “erasing” the effects of the vintage, why stop at a puny ten percent of reserves? Go all the way.

In Praise of Coteaux Champenois

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Tue, 06 May 2008 17:34:00 +0000

So unfortunately the vast majority of you have no chance at all of buying this wine, but I’m going to tell you about it anyway. It’s a Bouzy rouge from Georges Vesselle, the former mayor of Bouzy and probably the most highly regarded of all the producers named Vesselle in that village. Unfortunately for us, Georges has retired and apparently there are no heirs, as the estate has stopped producing and is now refusing to sell any wine. As they won’t even let me stop by for a visit, I have no real idea what’s going on, but by chance I was able to find a bottle of Bouzy rouge for sale the other day.

I like the still wines of Champagne quite a bit, although sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in the world who does. Sold under the appellation Coteaux Champenois, they exist in both red and white versions: red is by far the most common color, as well as the most successful. While there are producers making relatively rich, complex red wines here, such as René Geoffroy or Egly-Ouriet, the majority of wines are quite light in body and high in acidity. This wine by Georges Vesselle is particularly old-fashioned in character, with a pale, limpid color—I’ve had poulsard recently that’s been darker than this! It’s tart and brisk, its pungent aromas of red plum and sour cherry underlined by pleasant, fleeting hints of five-spice and Chinese medicinal herbs. Its texture is silky and alluring, and its lightness of body makes it go down easy—the label says 12 percent alcohol, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were closer to 11.5. While it’s a very particular wine, and certainly not to everyone’s taste, I find it delicious.

The problem with Coteaux Champenois is that it needs to be grown in the warmest places in order to attain sufficient ripeness, which is why the most famous examples are from villages such as Bouzy, Ambonnay, Aÿ or Cumières, all of which have sunny, south-facing slopes that see plenty of sunshine. This means that Coteaux Champenois is just as expensive, and in some cases even more expensive, than bubbly champagne, since it comes from the best vineyards. And while it’s delicious, even the best Coteaux Champenois isn’t anywhere near the level of quality of the sparkling stuff.

My Bouzy rouge, for example, cost me 18 euros, which in France is quite a bit of money to pay for a red wine. Is it worth it? Probably not. I can buy much better champagne, even champagne from Bouzy, for 18 euros. But it’s great to drink, and it offers an intriguing and alternate perspective on the region. In fact, if you ever find yourself in Champagne, it’s worth sampling a bottle or two of Coteaux Champenois from a good producer. You certainly won’t find much of it elsewhere.

Champagne Vilmart & Cie., Rilly-la-Montagne

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Mon, 05 May 2008 15:48:00 +0000

For me, Vilmart & Cie. is not only one of the greatest grower-estates in Champagne, but one of the finest champagne producers of any type in the region. The estate traces its history back to 1890, when it was founded by Désiré Vilmart, and from the beginning, Vilmart & Cie. has always been a récoltant-manipulant, making wine exclusively from estate-owned vines. Since 1989 the estate has been in the hands of Laurent Champs, the fifth generation of the family to take the helm of the house.

The majority of Vilmart’s 11 hectares of vines lie in Rilly-la-Montagne, although there are a few plots just over the border in the neighboring village of Villers-Allerand, and they are a member of Ampelos, an organization that promotes organic and sustainable viticulture. All of Vilmart’s wines are fermented and aged in oak: foudres for the non-vintage wines (casks ranging in size from 2,200 to 5,500 liters), and 600-liter or 225-liter barrels for vintage-dated ones. Some people say that Vilmart’s wines are too oaky, but I often think that this is because the wines are released very young. In addition, none of Vilmart’s wines go through malolactic, and so they can be very closed and slow to develop, especially as they contain a majority of chardonnay. Personally, I find the handling of wood here to be very sophisticated, and increasingly more so as Champs has continued to refine his methods. When tasting a Vilmart wine in maturity, there is rarely an imbalance of oak.

I’ve often noted confusion among consumers regarding Vilmart’s various wines, so I’ll detail them here. The Grande Réserve (which is not imported into the United States) is the basic brut sans année, and is the only Vilmart wine other than the rosés to contain a majority of pinot noir (70 percent). It’s aged for ten months in large oak foudres. The next step up in the range is the Grand Cellier, a special selection blended from 70 percent chardonnay and 30 percent pinot noir. The Grand Cellier is usually a blend of three different years, aged in foudre for about ten months, and like the vintage wines, it contains only the cuvée, or first pressing.

The vintage wine is the Grand Cellier d’Or, blended from 80 percent chardonnay and 20 percent pinot noir. In the past this was always aged in barrique, but since 1998 some vintages have been made in 600-liter demi-muids, which Champs thinks can sometimes be more harmonious for this wine. “The small barriques give you a vanilla and toast character, but sharp, like a small child,” he says. “The demi-muid is softer and rounder. It’s like the difference between bottles and magnums.”

Vilmart has two prestige cuvées, both vintage-dated and both made of 80 percent chardonnay and 20 percent pinot noir. The Cuvée Création comes from 40 year-old vines in two adjacent vineyards in Rilly, Blanches Voies and Basses Haye Barbettes. This used to be made with a high proportion of new barriques, but Champs prefers to use three to five year-old barrels now. (By the way, Laurent Champs’s father, René Champs, counts among his many talents the making of stained-glass windows, and the window depicted on the label of the Cuvée Création is one of his, which you can see if you visit Vilmart’s cellars.)

The Coeur de Cuvée has been one of Champagne’s elite cult wines ever since champagne expert Tom Stevenson pronounced the 1990 “one of the three greatest champagnes made in the last 25 years.” (He had similar praise for the 1996, his highest-scoring champagne from that remarkable vintage.) Sourced from a parcel of vines over 50 years old in the vineyard of Blanches Voies, this wine derives its name from being a special selection of the very heart of the cuvée—in Champagne, a 4,000 kilogram pressing yields 2,050 liters of juice in the cuvée, and Champs selects only the finest 800 liters from the middle of the pressing to make the Coeur de Cuvée. (Although not an exact comparison, think about the heads and the tails in the distilling of spirits.) It’s fermented and aged entirely in one to three year-old barriques.

Since the inaugural 1989 release, Champs has made the Coeur de Cuvée in every vintage except for 1994, which is a testament to the special character and quality of this site. Champs holds back magnums of the Coeur de Cuvée for late release, and the current offering is the magnificent 1993. I absolutely adored this wine when it was first released, and demonstrating my typical lack of self-control I drank through all of my 750s far too quickly. Naturally I was overjoyed to see the re-release in magnum, and in the larger, later-disgorged format it’s even more racy, vivid and complex than it was in bottle.

Finally, Vilmart produces two rosé champagnes. The Cuvée Rubis is the non-vintage rosé, containing 90 percent pinot noir and 10 percent chardonnnay, blended with ten to 15 percent of red wine. It’s usually made from two vintages (the current release is 2004 and 2005). The Grand Cellier Rubis is a vintage-dated rosé made by a saignée of pinot noir, deriving its color from skin contact rather than the addition of red wine. To this juice is added 40 percent chardonnay, as Champs values the character of the saignée but doesn’t want it to become too heavy. “You have more fruit and more expression with saignée,” he says. “I put in 40 percent of chardonnay just to give it more finesse and elegance.” The production of the Grand Cellier Rubis is small, normally only around 2,000 bottles, and it’s made only in vintages in which Champs feels that the pinot is exceptional: it was first made in 1990, but then not again until 1997; since then there has been a 1998, a 1999 and a 2000.

Vilmart is imported into the United States by Terry Theise Selections/Michael Skurnik Wines, in Syosset, NY.

When It’s Not Champagne

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sun, 04 May 2008 14:38:00 +0000

I’m enjoying a bottle of the honeyed, beeswax-y 2000 Huet Vouvray Pétillant, which is just about as perfectly slurpable a beverage as one could possibly imagine. I opened it because I recently drank a bottle of 2002 that I found astounding, with a perfect balance of ripe, summer fruit aromas, incisive acidity and scintillating chalkiness. It’s the sort of wine you could imagine aging gracefully for decades. While the two wines definitely show a familial resemblance, the comparison between the vintages is quite intriguing: where the 2002 is sleek and knife-like in its racy intensity, the 2000 feels bold and ample, with a mouthfilling presence and generous depth. I love them both.

Huet makes one of my favorite sparklers outside of Champagne—it’s a magical, intensely expressive wine, and ridiculously inexpensive for the quality. In the Loire, I also like the Montlouis Brut of François Chidaine, the Vouvray Pétillant L’Ancestrale of Vincent Carême and the Bulles by Jean-François Mérieau, all of which have very distinct personalities. I love the sparkling wines of Bründlmayer and Schloss Gobelsburg in Austria, which I think are two of the very best anywhere outside of Champagne (and better than many wines in Champagne as well). In the United States, Roederer Estate is my favorite sparkling wine, and when I’m in Catalunya I always look for the wines of Gramona. Georg Breuer has impressed me from Germany, a country which I don’t find very impressive when it comes to sparklers, although I’ll admit that I have a definite weakness for Maximin Grünhäuser Sekt (as I do for anything from that outstanding estate).

That’s only the tip of the iceberg, of course, and it seems that one can find good sparkling wines in every corner of the wine world. What are some of your favorites?

Leaves! And a Clos...

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sat, 03 May 2008 17:55:00 +0000

After a spell of dreary weather, it’s a splendidly balmy day here in Champagne. There’s been a lot of recent growth out in the vineyards, with leaves beginning to develop in earnest, and I took advantage of the sunshine to take a little walk in the Clos des Goisses to look at the vines and enjoy the views of the valley.

The steep, fully south-facing exposition of the Clos makes it a particularly warm site—Charles Philipponnat says that it averages 1.5 degrees (centigrade) higher than the surrounding vineyards in Mareuil. The above photo is of a relatively old pinot noir vine in Le Chalet, a particularly prime sub-parcel in the heart of the Clos; the one to the right is chardonnay, in a nearby plot to the east called Les Jolivets. Chardonnay is of course further along in its growth right now, as it buds first, and this plant demonstrates how warm the Clos really is—in the vineyards on the slope behind my house in Dizy, the chardonnay buds are only a small fraction of this size. From this alone it’s easy to see why the Clos des Goisses is such a special vineyard.

Wine of the Week: Leclerc-Briant Brut La Ravinne

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Fri, 02 May 2008 11:37:00 +0000

When it comes to single-vineyard champagnes, the house of Leclerc-Briant in Epernay has been well ahead of the curve: since 1990, they’ve been producing a series of three mono-parcelle wines from the village of Cumières—Les Chèvres Pierreuses, Les Crayères and Clos des Champions. As of last year, they’ve added a single-vineyard meunier as well, from La Ravinne in Verneuil. I asked Pascal Leclerc why he chose to bottle a 100-percent meunier, which is quite unusual in Champagne. “We were looking for a wine that was more accessible,” he says, “something completely different from the other wines in our collection.” La Ravinne is a south-facing vineyard in the Marne Valley, composed mostly of clay and sand, with little chalk. Leclerc has two hectares of vines here that were planted in 1968, and the vineyard is currently being converted to biodynamics.

Leclerc tells this story about how the family came to acquire this vineyard, sometime in the mid-1950s: “At the time, my father’s vines were all around Cumières and Hautvillers, and it was difficult to expand the domaine because there weren’t a lot of vineyards for sale. So my father would drive around the region, taking picnic lunches and exploring the area. One day he went to Verneuil, and noticed some good vineyards there. He tasted some wines and they were good, so he started asking about land. It turned out that there was a grower there who wanted to sell some land, and my father purchased it almost on the spot. So really this wine is the result of a picnic.”

The first release of La Ravinne is pure 2004, although future releases will be blended from at least two different years. It’s full, fragrant and inviting, its broadly honeyed aromas of red plum, quince, lemon peel and kumquat backed by hints of tobacco leaf and brown spice. The texture is unusually fine for meunier, and the finish is anchored by a subtly earthy, clay-soil richness. An interesting thing about this wine is that the pressure accidentally wound up lower than usual, around four kilograms or so. Leclerc doesn’t really know why—perhaps it was a problem with fermentation—but he likes the result because he thinks it complements the forward, accessible character of meunier.

Leclerc-Briant is imported into the United States by K&L Wine Merchants in Redwood City, CA, and Baron François in New York, NY.

Champagne Blogs

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 17:58:00 +0000

It’s fine to read the drivel written by hacks like me, but to hear from people who really know what they’re talking about, check out some of the blogs written by the Champenois themselves.

Alexandre Chartogne, of Champagne Chartogne-Taillet, blogs in English. Alexandre recently finished a stage with Anselme Selosse, and has returned home to the family estate in Merfy. Constantly inquisitive, he’s seeking to take this already excellent estate to the next level, experimenting with ideas such as biodynamic viticulture and aging in barrique.

Jean-Baptiste Cristini, export manager for Champagne Salon and Champagne Delamotte, might not really be Champenois (he’s originally from South Africa), but he certainly knows the region. He’s particularly interested in wine and food pairing, and on his blog (posted in a mix of English and French) you’ll find comments on wonderful things that he gets to eat with his Salon, along with news about Salon and Delamotte.

Benoît Tarlant, of Champagne Tarlant, posts in both French and English. Tarlant is a family-run estate in the Vallée de la Marne west of Epernay, crafting rich, terroir-driven wines aged in oak barrels. Benoît posts some good photos and videos of happenings in the vineyard throughout the year.

Franck Pascal, of Champagne Franck Pascal, is a biodynamic grower in the Vallée de la Marne, and his champagnes are dry, intensely vinous and utterly superb. On his blog (entirely in French) he provides regular commentary on the growing season, as well as discussions on some of the technical elements of viticulture and vinification.

Last but not least, Francis Boulard, of Champagne Raymond Boulard, is yet another grower pursuing natural viticulture, and a portion of the estate is farmed biodynamically. His blog is the one updated the most frequently out of all of these, and here you’ll find regular discussion—exclusively in French—on all things Champenois.

Marc Hébrart Spécial Club and, well, something else...

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 17:19:00 +0000

I’ve gotten a sneak preview of a pair of future releases from Champagne Marc Hébrart—they won’t be on the market until sometime in 2009, but they’re interesting to compare anyway.

The 2004 Spécial Club is, as usual, 60 percent pinot noir from Mareuil-sur-Aÿ and 40 percent chardonnay from Chouilly and Oiry, all made in stainless steel. Jean-Paul Hébrart notes that it’s lighter in body than the 2002, due to the 2004 vintage’s higher yields and lighter concentration of fruit. It’s certainly much more open than the 2002 was at the same stage, with a forward, friendly fruitiness and broad richness of aroma, pinned down by zesty acidity. Succulently, invitingly delicious, it shows a fine and harmonious structure, and promises to develop well in the mid-term.

The second wine is a new cuvée from the 2004 vintage that will be released sometime next year, but Jean-Paul hasn’t found a name for it yet. (It’s surprising how difficult it can be to release a new cuvée in Champagne, amidst copyrights and litigation and people trademarking the color yellow and all.) This wine comes from the same parcels as the Club, the same old vines (averaging about 40 years or so) and it’s blended in the same proportion (60 pinot noir and 40 chardonnay), only it’s fermented entirely in wood. It’s very enlightening to taste the two alongside each other—this wine is not necessarily larger in body, but it’s deeper in tone, finer in texture and more complex, enlivened and enriched by the oak though not at all dominated by it. It’s at once more detailed in aroma and more tightly restrained, needing some air to demonstrate its real depth. I expect it will be more forthcoming after another year or so of age, and I’m looking forward to seeing the final results.

What’s In a Name?

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 14:58:00 +0000

Champagne is full of curious names. I live in the village of Dizy, the name of which might also describe the result of drinking too much of its wines. Bouzy certainly indicates a condition of too much champagne; Mutigny is what occurs when the champagne runs out. Moussy seems like an appropriate name for a champagne-producing village, while Billy-le-Grand, on the other hand, sounds more like the protagonist of a Western film, riding off into the sunset.

There’s a village named Ludes, although even there the drug of choice is generally champagne. Merfy could be the remnants of a forgotten attempt at colonization by the Irish. And driving along the N3 west of Epernay takes you through the little hamlet of La Pierre Qui Tourne, which is none other than “Rolling Rock”. I wonder if they’ll consider putting their champagne in pony bottles.

Champagne and Terroir: Jacques Selosse

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 17:21:00 +0000

There was a recent debate on Wine Therapy (link here, but you’ll need a password to access it) about, among other things, whether or not sparkling wine is intrinsically less terroir-expressive than still wine because of its process: i.e. does the méthode champenoise, as we used to call it, remove the wine farther from its terroir?

I was visiting Anselme Selosse yesterday afternoon with some folks from the Franciacorta winery of Uberti (Silvia Uberti, pictured in this photo, was a stagière here in 2003), and this same question was posed regarding still and sparkling wines. Selosse’s response was more or less identical to mine in Wine Therapy. “There is no answer to that question,” he said. “The minerality is clearly present in champagne; the terroir is obviously expressed. You can see it.”

Later, I thought about this idea again as we were tasting various wines. We had tasted a recently disgorged (3rd of March) version of Substance, which was forceful and almost severe in its soil expression, possessing a fierce, naked intensity of terroir that few wines made anywhere, of any type, can achieve. Substance comes from two vineyards in Avize—the shallow, clay-rich Chantereines and the steep, chalky Marvillannes—and the tremendous accomplishment of this wine was that both soil types were clearly and distinctly expressed, harmoniously intertwining yet not at all blurring each other.

Afterwards, Selosse poured me a sample of the solera that Substance is made from, which currently contains wines from 1986 through 2007 (the finished wine that we tasted was 1986-2001), and the curious thing was that as vin clair, this was so much quieter and less expressive than in bottle. The components were all present, but there was clearly something about the “champagnization” that amplified and completed the wine, expanding the aromas and bringing the elements into focus. Obviously I shouldn’t have been surprised, as vin clair is always less aromatic and less forthcoming than finished champagne, but to see the two together side by side was a striking comparison.

Now, I realize that this actually says nothing about whether a still or sparkling wine is more terroir-expressive. I do think, however, that in this region the champagne process makes a more complete wine, which is why it continues to be used, and in becoming more complete I believe that the wine has the potential to become more expressive. Champagne, at any rate, is obviously a terroir-expressive wine. All you have to do is taste.

Wine of the Week: Diebolt-Vallois Brut Blanc de Blancs Cuvée Prestige

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 18:23:00 +0000

While I love traveling, there's no denying that the first glass of champagne upon returning home again is extremely satisfying. Diebolt-Vallois is a producer that I am particularly fond of, and when I want to treat myself really well, it's often a Diebolt wine that I reach for in the cellar. This bottle of Cuvée Prestige is sheer joy, with rich aromas of ripe summer fruit and tropical citrus pinned down by the incisive chalkiness so typical of Cramant. It feels concentrated, harmonious and complete, its sense of minerality intensifying as it moves back on the palate. Although it's delicious now, I think I'll put away a few bottles of this tirage (LP05) to watch it develop more complexity and maturity—as the fruit settles down and the minerality emerges even more into the foreground, this should be very exciting.

The Cuvée Prestige is usually blended from three vintages, although very rarely it's two, and Diebolt has said that it can be up to four, although I don't ever remember a recent blend containing four years. (By the way, while this is a "non-vintage" wine, it shouldn't be mistaken for the basic brut sans année: the Cuvée Prestige is, along with the vintage-dated Fleur de Passion, one of the top wines of the cellar.) There is a lot number on the label indicating the mise en bouteille, so the current release, LP05, was bottled in 2005, meaning that it's based on the 2004 harvest, with reserves from 2003 and 2002. The base wine is fermented in cuve, while the reserve wines are aged in 40-hectoliter foudres: the proportion of reserve wine varies according to the base year, and can be anywhere from one-third to two-thirds of the blend.

Historically the Cuvée Prestige has been pure Cramant, and the heart of the blend is a selection of old vines in the lieu-dit of Les Pimonts, located in the sunny, east-facing amphitheater of prime vineyard land just south of the village itself. Future releases, however, will include a tiny drop of Chouilly (it's only a 20-are parcel just over the border), and, although I suppose this is still a secret and I shouldn't tell you, the LP07 will contain a splash of Le Mesnil for the first time ever. We won't see that for a couple more years, but I'm quite curious to taste it—the pairing of Jacques Diebolt and Le Mesnil sounds like a winner to me.

Diebolt-Vallois is imported into the United States by Martine's Wines, Novato, CA, and Petit Pois Corp./Sussex Wine Merchants, Moorestown, NJ. For the Cuvée Prestige, Martine's Wines suggests a retail price of $66.

Moving Away from Stainless Steel

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 10:46:00 +0000

Nearly ten years ago when he was first starting out, David Leclapart told me that he didn’t want any stainless steel in his cellar because the process of its manufacture creates a negative electromagnetic energy that affects the wines. (Leclapart ferments his champagnes in used barrels from Domaine Leflaive and blends them in an old steel tank that looks like a relic from World War I.)

This week in the Loire, I thought about this while visiting several cellars where growers expressed an aversion to stainless steel. (Admittedly, this has a lot to do with the sort of producers I choose to visit.) Fabrice Gasnier, in Cravant-les-Coteaux, makes pure and delicious Chinon from biodynamically-grown vines, fermented in large, unlined cement vats that his father built in the early 1970s. Gasnier doesn’t like stainless as it’s too reductive, noting that the porosity of cement allows for a slow, controlled oxygenation.

Bernard Baudry, arguably Chinon’s finest producer, also praises the virtues of cement. In 2005 he installed some unlined cement vats for fermentation, and has been so pleased with the results that he is now in the process of replacing all of his stainless steel with cement. Currently, his Chinon Les Granges is still vinified in stainless steel, although he ages it in cement for four to five months, and the other cuvées are all fermented in cement before being put into barrel for aging.

But perhaps Leclapart is right: beyond tradition, beyond character, beyond technical reasons for preferring other materials, there could be a property of stainless steel that inspires a negative reaction, however subtle. In Bourgueil, Yannick Amirault has recently built a new cellar where one wall is lined with stainless steel vats, which he uses to ferment his St-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil La Source and Bourgueil La Coudraye, and the other with a few cement tanks and large, conical wooden vats for fermenting the other wines. The cellar is very spacious, with plenty of room to maneuver, but Amirault admits to a subconscious gravitational tendency. “I always walk on this side of the room,” he says, indicating the side with the wooden vats, “and I never really want to walk on the other side. There’s something about the stainless steel tanks that feels very cold.”

Expression and Comprehension

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 09:08:00 +0000

I apologize for my absence—after leaving Spain I've spent the last few days in the wilds of the Loire Valley, roaming in Chinon and Bourgueil with my friend Patricio. While there are many fine things to eat and drink in the Loire, there is little opportunity to connect to the internet, alas.

I was sitting on a TGV a couple days ago reading Michael Schuster’s article on terroir in issue 18 of The World of Fine Wine. One of the ideas that he discusses is the method by which one gains an understanding of terroir, concluding that it is impossible to achieve unless one is able to taste and compare terroir-expressive wines in the company of someone who already knows and can articulate their qualities. “In this sense,” he says, “terroir is an oral tradition, one that needs to be passed on by people who have understood it, to be handed down from one generation to another.”

This made me think, a little obliquely, about an issue that Michel Bettane brought up last weekend at the WineCreator conference in Ronda, where much of the discussion revolved around ideas of authenticity, distinction and expression of character. At one point in the debate, Bettane drew a contrast between distinction of quality and distinction of character—that is, wines that are of high quality due to perfection in technical attributes (and in fact, “technical quality” might be a better descriptor) as opposed to wines that are of high quality due to an expression of an individuality and character of place. Naturally, the two are not mutually exclusive—a wine can be both expressive of character while being technically outstanding. However, one often tastes wines that, though smoothly harmonious, immaculately proportioned and luscious in their fruit flavors, lack any real distinction of character or sense of place. Some of these wines score very highly in the press, and some sell for a great deal of money, both of which naturally encourage and perpetuate their existence.

The problem is that not enough tasters, whether professional or amateur, are equipped to recognize distinction of character. One of the difficulties is that it’s far easier to identify technical quality than quality of character, and often I feel that many people are too easily satisfied with the former. Even the way that we taste is oriented largely towards the identification of technical quality: blind comparisons, sterile conditions, numerical scoring. On the other hand, we have not yet developed a system for identifying character, which is far more difficult. One could even say that the idea of character, while ultimately identifiable, defies the whole concept of systemization.

In another portion of Schuster’s article he talks about man as a key component in the expression of terroir: the winemaker, first of all, as the conduit, but also the consumer, who in order to receive the message must have the experience and capability to understand it. Unfortunately, unless we as tasters have properly cultivated ourselves, our tasting is blind in more ways than we imagine.

Wine of the Week: Moutard Père & Fils Brut Cuvée des 6 Cépages 2002

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 14:23:00 +0000

Ask most people how many grape varieties grow in Champagne and the knee-jerk response is likely to be three: pinot noir, chardonnay and meunier. There are, however, several more to be found, even if only in miniscule quantities.

One of the houses still growing some of the old, obscure varieties is Moutard-Diligent, located in the village of Buxeuil in the Aube. (Moutard Père & Fils is the main label under which they sell their champagne.) While they do make perfectly traditional champagnes, they’ve gained particular notoriety for two unusual wines: a champagne made entirely from old vines of arbanne, a white grape that produces rich, honeyed flavors (unusually, Moutard spells it “arbane”); and the Cuvée des 6 Cépages, which blends arbanne, petit meslier and pinot blanc with the three more familiar grapes of Champagne.

The Cuvée des 6 Cépages is vintage-dated, and the current release is the 2002. Aged on its lees for four years, it’s full in body but not weighty, supported by a fine streak of acidity. It’s unusually pungent in fragrance on both the nose and the palate, and while its texture and body make it feel obviously champenois, the array of flavors is anything but classic, ranging from exotic citrus and beeswax to apple jelly and quince marmalade. It’s delicious and quirky, offering a completely different perspective on the idea of champagne. Moutard Père & Fils is imported into the United States by Polaner Selections, Mount Kisco, NY, and the suggested retail price for the Cuvée des 6 Cépages is $56.

Eating in Ronda

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 21:21:00 +0000

This afternoon I left cold, sunny Paris and came to cold, sunny Ronda, in the south of Spain. Over the next couple of days I’ll be attending a conference called WineCreator, but in the meantime, since I’ve arrived I’ve been trying to eat as much as I possibly can.

I wanted to go to Tragabuches, where chef Sergio Lopez is creating quite a buzz, but I didn’t have a reservation, which of course made it impossible. They do have a small, modern tapas bar nearby called Traga Tapas, which I thoroughly enjoyed, especially for the patatas aliñadas, an elegant and tasty treatment of potatos, and superbly delicious setas con cebolla, a bowlful of umami if I’ve ever seen one. At La Leyenda around the corner, little slices of lomo on crusty wheat bread, topped with a sunnyside-up quail’s egg, proved a satisfying match with multiple glasses of cold fino. Across the beautiful and iconic bridge that highlights the geological wonder that is Ronda, I stopped at the Taberna de Santo Domingo for a hearty and pungent bowl of sopa de ajo and a plate of spicy rabo de toro, which has pretty much done me in for the night.

Andalucia is an amazing place. When I’m back out in the rest of the world I sometimes forget how amazing this place is, yet every time I come back, I wonder why I ever left.

In Praise of Cork?

noreply@blogger.com (Peter Liem) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 17:00:00 +0000

Last week, my neighbors Nicolas and Antoine Chiquet of Champagne Gaston Chiquet invited me over for a very intriguing tasting: a comparison of the same wine, from the same disgorgement, bottled under three different closures. As you may know, the Chiquets have chosen to bottle all of their wines with Cortex, a cork fitted with a silicone plug in an effort to prevent cork taint. They hardly consider the matter closed, however. (Unfortunately that pun was intended!) Back in 2005, they disgorged and set aside a number of bottles of the 2001 Brut Tradition, bottled with traditional cork, Cortex and crown capsule. Since then, they’ve done a comparative tasting every six months to judge how each stopper has affected the wine over time.

We tasted the three wines blind, of course. The first one was absolutely perfect, with a rich texture and honeyed aromas of baked apple and plum tart, feeling generous and expansive on the palate. It showed everything you would expect from a Chiquet Tradition three years after disgorgement. The second showed a similar set of aromas as the first bottle, but with less complexity and without the same sense of dimension. While it was delicious, it didn't have quite the impact of the first bottle, and seemed slightly more developed on the palate. The third bottle was the least aromatic and the least developed. On the nose there was a slight oxidation, but the palate showed fresh, primary notes of ripe summer fruits, although again without the complexity of the first bottle. It almost surprised me that this was the same wine and from the same disgorgement as the others.

All of us preferred the first bottle out of the three. I suspected that the first would be cork, the second Cortex and the third capsule, and in fact that’s exactly what they were. So did this prove that traditional cork was in fact the superior stopper? Maybe. “The problem with cork is that sometimes it’s very good and sometimes it’s not good at all,” said Antoine. Nicolas noted that these results were very different from previous tastings (saying that the cork was showing particularly well and that the capsule showed more oxidation than usual), and proposed that we taste another round of bottles.

In the second round the three bottles were much closer together in character, although differences were still discernable. I liked the first one the best, with its balanced richness and full, creamy fragrance, backed by hints of autumnal spice. The second one was less forthcoming and less aromatic, and I found it less harmonious; the third was strangely reductive on the nose yet ample and fragrantly stone-fruity on the palate. Here, none of us agreed: my bottle turned out to be Cortex; Nicolas preferred the second, which was capsule; and Antoine picked the third, in traditional cork. At least Antoine was consistent.

At any rate, Nicolas says that they’ve got enough wines to repeat this tasting every six months for another twenty years, so I suppose we can continue to debate this for quite a while. I’m looking forward to the next round.