Greenback Pauillac

In the old days, and those days weren’t so long ago, opening a first growth with a customer wasn’t a big deal.  Just over five years ago you could pick up a bottle of 1996 Latour for a couple of hundred quid, or a bottle of 1995 Haut-Brion for not much more than a hundred.  If you bought these wines in 2005 you will have done well.

Last week I opened a handful of decent clarets with a very long-standing customer: 2001 Leoville-Barton & Palmer, 1996 Gruaud-Larose & Montrose and 1996 Latour: my first first this year and my first in a while.

Latour notwithstanding the winners were 2001 Palmer and 1996 Montrose.  The former is just lovely: the Merlot really softens this out – like silky pillows, velvet cushions – and it’s just spot on now.  This is real Sunday Roast claret with massive charm though no shortage of depth underneath.  At £1200 a case in bond it’s what 1995 Haut-Brion would have set you back five years ago.

1996 Montrose has maybe a little more class.  It has a cool minerality to it, and this is a wine with character: it has that St Estephe austerity, but with cool pure fruit, and it’s finally lost that slightly dirty nose that I always found on it.  Top, top kit.  2001 Barton and 1996 Gruaud are perfectly good wines – the former wants more time, the latter spot on now, but on the day they were outclassed.

So, the Latour.  I am a Latour nut.  It’s the first growth that I know best and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s the silverback.  Latour is the King.  The bottle had to live up to this.

1996 Pichon-Lalande tasted a few weeks back seemed to be in a funny phase.  It was green, closed, unexceptional.  And this is a wine that I have in the past ranked as one that could almost pass for first-growth quality.  I mention this as 1996 Latour, or at least the bottle I opened last week, seemed to be a little quiet.  The class was there – no doubt about that.  The length alone was stunning – the wine still there on the tongue after minutes of discussion, but it was all a bit subdued.  You could taste the breeding – Latour is vinous royalty and knows it – but this bottle did not remove my socks, which is something a bottle of wine should do when it comes in at £650 or so.

And there’s something to add to this: 1996 Ch. Latour, Pauillac, arguably the best wine of an exceptional vintage for the Medoc (Lafite has more bells and whistles but it’s all make-up to me), and arguably one of Bordeaux’s finest wines ever, is a staple “investment wine” or, to use a description that I particularly like: “commodity Bordeaux”.  This, not its quality or rarity (this is not a rare wine by any measure – I’d bet that at least 20% or so of the crop is sitting in UK bonded warehouses), is why a case will set you back about the same as what my car is worth.  And this, maybe, added to the lack of fireworks crackling from the glass.  Money is pretty dirty stuff – you don’t know where it’s been – and maybe some of the dirt has rubbed off.

Or maybe, and this is why I love the whole shebang, it was a dog day for that particular bottle.

The rare commodity that is intelligence. Three bottles: Andrew Jefford

I read a lot of what other winey people write, and I obviously think that I could do all of it better.  There are some exceptions.  I’m still trying to put together a rather lengthy piece on the investment side of things (and here there really is no shortage of tosh written, much of it by people who really should know better) and it was this that led me to one of the most intelligent, considered and – to put it simply – “right” pieces I’d read.  You can see it here, and Mr Jefford wrote it (or rather spoke it).  I’ve been a fan ever since, and that he is a thoroughly good bloke to boot is simply gravy.

Herewith his answers, with the questions repeated for new players:

1) What was the first wine that got you into it?  (my answer is a couple of grand cru Chablis from Fevre tasted in 1996)

I think it would be ‘unidentified Beaujolais, circa 1977′.  I got into wine early but chiefly for effect — Colman’s ‘Charbonnier’ was pretty repellent, and my home-made wines weren’t much better.  The `71 Lafite I bought with almost my first pay packet as a gap-year nursing assistant at what was then called ‘Little Plumstead Hospital for the Mentally Subnormal’ was frankly a disappointment.  But between 1976 and 1979 I lodged (while at the University of Reading) with Brian Brindley, vicar then of Holy Trinity, Reading, and later the subject of Damian Thompson’s biographical book Loose Canon.  (The flamboyant ‘Father Brindley’ came to grief after a News of the World set-up.)  Brindley was a true gourmand, and meals at The Presbytery, for a very large and very loose ‘family’ of eccentrics and misfits like myself, were often elaborate affairs: course after course made with heart-stopping ingredients, and served on baroque china in the thickly carpeted, womb-like dining room.  (I used to do the washing up.)  In fact, though, Brindley wasn’t a great drinker; wine was there because it ought to be, but no one took much interest in it … except me.  And I particularly recall a Beaujolais which was so harmonious, so delicious, so magnificently balanced that it was very hard to stop drinking it.  I remember doing a silent double-take; and I never thought about wine in the same way afterwards.  But I don’t have any more detail than that.  (Brindley, by the way, had a most fitting end, dying of a heart attack between the dressed crab and the boeuf en daube at his own 70th birthday party at the Athenaeum.)

2) What was the first wine that took you closer to your maker? (2002 La Romanee, Liger-Belair)

The first one that I can remember was 1990 Cheval Blanc, tasted at Bibendum in Primrose Hill in 1994.  I had just come out of the Northern Line, with its scents of blown soot and urine, and the wine stunned me with its contrastive force.  I hadn’t realised ‘claret’ could be as good as that.  I would have loved to have been able to wolf the bottle.

3) What’s the best wine you’ve had this year? (93 Charmes-Chambertin, Bachelet or 96 Clos de la Barre Lafon)

Since you have an ‘or’ I’m going to claim one too.  Either the 2005 Remelluri Gran Reserva Rioja, or the 2009 Gigondas Le Claux from Louis Barruol at St Cosme.  In each case, I thought ‘this really couldn’t be any better than it is’, and both were very lovely, inspiring rapture in the drinker.

Thank you, Mr Jefford.  For more intelligent, considered and refreshingly ego-free writing go to www.decanter.com for his Monday blog, read The World of Fine Wine, or go to www.andrewjefford.com.

Domaine Etienne Sauzet: a 2010 Masterclass

Every year, in every region, there is always a star, always a property that just stands out, that has got the year right, made (with assistance from Him) something special.  Pontet-Canet in 2005 comes to mind, as does Cos d’Estournel in 2009.  I can write you a list.

The same goes for Burgundy, red and white, though we are talking white today and, if you know Burgundy, then you know that all Bordeaux just tastes the same anyway.  More on that later.

White Burgundy candidates that come to mind are Domaines Jean-Noel Gagnard in 2008 and Antoine Jobard in 2009.  And in 2010 I think we have a winner: the question that the merchants that ship Burgundy are asking each other is: “Did you taste at Sauzet?”.  And for good reason.

Domaine Sauzet is run by Gerard Boudot, son in law of the man who gave the estate his name.  My colleagues and I were met by his son in law Benoit, who summed the vintage up thus: “A difficult but beautiful vintage”.  He was spot on with the latter description.  Awesome wines.  Herewith a few notes:

Bourgogne Blanc

Clean if slight nose.  Just filtered and to be bottled later this month.  Very pleasant, all correct and I want to drink it right now.

Chassagne-Montrachet (from Les Enseignieres, I think)

Toasty nose.  Nicely done.  And again in the mouth though this needs to come together.  Compact and the toast is all over it.  Rather good if you like the style.  Good.  Balanced.

 Puligny-Montrachet

A little more delicate on the nose.  From 12 different parcels, principally Les Meix.  Nicely laid back.  Precise though delicate.  Very gentle.  Good.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, La Garenne (La Garenne is right at the top of the hill)

Some more on the nose and much more in the mouth.  Real steely intensity.  Power.  Weight.  All here.  Very intense.  Very good.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, Les Champ Gains (stony vineyard, just below la Garenne)

More purity on the nose.  More minerality.  Maybe a little more class.  And certainly more dimension in the mouth.  Back to the elegance of the village Puligny.  Very good.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, Les Referts

On the Meursault side, next to Les Charmes.  A lot of clay.  This is bouncing out of the glass.  These are starting to get seriously good.  The intensity is here but kept in check by the acidity.  This could be rather special.  Potentially outstanding.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, Les Perrieres

Something rather special on the nose here.  Lots of lift.  And minerality in the mouth; very Perrieres.  Much more laid back than the Referts but very beautiful in its delicacy.  Very good.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru Folatieres (not a homogenous vineyard.  Limestone at top, clay at bottom)

Very clean.  A hint of creaminess.  Initially very quiet then blossoms in the mouth, grows.  Quite excellent.  Floral.  Compact.  Excellent.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, Les Champs Canet

More power on the nose.  Some liminess. Intense.  All here.  These are impressive wines.  And this really grows in the mouth.  All here and dancing.  More citrus than flowers, and I prefer the Folatieres, but very very impressive.  Ripe.  Intense.

Puligny-Montrachet 1er cru, Les Combettes

This seems to be the most complete on the nose.  And in the mouth a perfect balance between, well, everything.  Minerals, flowers, all flashy and all here,  Silky intensity,  Multi-dimensional.  A firework of a wine in the way it explodes in the mouth.  Wow.

Batard-Montrachet

 This more closed on the nose.  But there is something big lurking underneath.  Very big.  And quite something in the mouth.  This is definitely grand cru.  Incredible weight, though this is neither top nor bottom-heavy.  Long, and staying packed shut for the moment, but there is an awful lot here,  Potentially outstanding.  “A V12” sez Clarethound

Chevalier-Montrachet

This again is a little shy, keeping its clothes on, though the suit is definitely silk.  And again in the mouth.  Very, very, very classy though showing no bare flesh today.  Silky and, yes, regal.  A flat 12?  Edge.  Gosh.

Le Montrachet

FMD (this is my equivalent of James Suckling’s UFB).  Toast on the nose with an incredible intensity of fruit coming through it.  Something very special.  Ditto in mouth.  Exceptional juice.  Pretty much flawless,  Outstanding.  Minerality coming through underneath the fruit.  Exceptional.  Long.  Perfect.

Fin:

My notes are for my reference.  I have the memory of a fish.  I look back and am occasionally surprised that they contradict my memory of a particular wine or tasting.  The flaw in these notes on the Sauzet wines is that they do not convey the sheer electric brilliance of the wines.  What is particularly notable is that there is no mention at all of any fault in any of the wines – faults are rather what I’m looking for when tasting young wines – and these notes are not salesmans’ notes edited for convenience.

Vertically challenged: 25 vintages of Angelus

St Emilion: the Lost Boy.  In that: what does St Emilion taste like?  What is the epitome?  Pauillac tastes like Lynch-Bages tastes like Batailley tastes like Pauillac.  Margaux tastes like Margaux tastes like Giscours tastes like Palmer.  And so on.  Cheval doesn’t taste like Ausone doesn’t taste like Angelus doesn’t taste like Clos Fourtet.  What does St Emilion taste like?  I think I’ve made my point.

Stephen Browett of Farr Vintners very kindly invited me to come and taste 25 vintages of Chateau Angelus from magnum.  These are my notes:

Flight one.

2009: A bit of bubble gum juicy ripeness here and very 09 in style.  Clearly some class underneath.  Sweet.  And again in the mouth,  The 09 ripeness is here but the tannins back it up and this is fat, not flabby.  A wine with a big coat on.  Richesse.  Long.  Balance is here.  Very good.

2008: Immediately less fat and more edge on the nose.  Smells like young wine rather than a cask sample (which the 09 still seems like).  Much purer on the nose if a little less content.  More weight in the mouth than the nose suggests.  There is some fat here and some creaminess too.  Not what I expected at all and seems better-focussed than the 09.  Long again.

2007:  The most attractive nose so far in a rather delicate and forward fashion.  Purity of fruit here.  And much more developed.  Lacks the weight of the 08 and 09 though the cleanliness is attractive.  Pure, though you can taste the vintage (you can taste the rain…) .  Ready to go now though I’d love to see where it goes with time.

2006: This is giving away very little on the nose.  Very tight.  A bit of minty medicine?  In the mouth this is very tightly packed and has that “shell” (think Smarties) that many 06s have.  Not entirely sure about this – I reckon this could just turn out to be a cracker in time – all depends where the pinch goes.

2005: This is again very tightly-packed on the nose.  Something hiding underneath.  I want to like it, which is a pain.  And all packed very, very tight in the mouth and very 05 in that it’s pretty much flawless.  The 06 does seem a little bit pinched when going back to it.  The clear winner of the flight for me though the 09 runs it close if you like the style.

Yer man Neal Martin then gave his appraisal of the flight, which was pretty much spot on – the vintage was all over the wines.  Indeed yer man Browett commented that you could probably have written the notes without tasting the wines, such was their correlation to the style of each vintage.  Neal’s pick was the 2006, I think; I do think he has a bee in his bonnet about 06s (as I do about 05s).

Flight two:

2004: Much more development than I expected.  Boy Wonder  says: “smells mature”, which it does, and very nice to boot.  A really inviting nose: come on, drink me.  And in the mouth this tastes much older than it does.  Very laid back, with some 04 “lift”.  Soft.  Balance all here.  Notwithstanding the fact that this might be a bottle that is ahead of itself this is very lovely though not perfect… I can’t help but feel that another bottle might be a little tighter.

2003: Tarty and tits-out on the nose.  Going back to it this is definitely 03.  Rich.  Choccamocha.  And the same in mouth.  Lots of ripeness and a tiny bit of Porty heat underneath.  Very fat.  Not entirely my bag.  A little too “New World” (though n.b. not necessarily Californian) though good for what it is.

2002: Some development here again and I much prefer the nose to the 03.  No great complexity but smells like wine.  And very lean in the mouth and developed again.  I rather like this if only for the style rather than technical quality.  A little simple, maybe, a little one-dimensional, but nicely mature and a wine with character.

2001: A step back up.  Energy on the nose.  Freshness after the 02.  And in the mouth this does have an air of completeness.  Ready to go now, though not in the slightly tired way of the 02, and this will go further.  Just on the pivot from youth to maturity.  Very good.

2000: Clearly more here on the nose.  More sweets, more bells and more whistles.   That mintiness.  And some very lovely 00 minerality in the mouth.  This is rather good, I think.  Nothing out of place and my wine of the flight.  These all do rather taste of the vintage.

Michael Schuster then stood up with his appraisal of the flight.  Which was pretty much in complete contradiction to mine.  Which reminds me that I must keep my bus-driving licence current.  Though to be fair he did allude to the use of oak, and its presence, on the wines, which I sort of agreed with.  Hubert de Bouard bit on this issue – and talked of his times working with Denis Mortet & Dominique Lafon.  The latter I would vote as the best winemaker on the planet, the former, sadly no longer with us, made what I would describe as “Angelus” Burgundy, in that it was quite, quite excellent in its fashion, though tasted more of the winemaker than of the terroir.

Flight three:

1999: (a very tough vintage for Angelus on account of pre-harvest hail).  About 40% of what is usually produced was produced.  Not a great deal going on here on the nose.  And again in the mouth.  Tastes like exactly what it is: a 99.  A little bit simple and a little bit short.  Average.

1998: A bit more here now.  A bit of ripe heat?  Some development, and some loose-knit fat and some mouthfeel.  Rather nice.  Slightly chocolatey, perhaps even oily finish and very impressive length.  Quality maybe accentuated by what preceded it.  Still going.  Very good.

1997: More open and clearly more developed on the nose.  Something here.  Lacks the richesse of the 98 – maybe a little slight – but what is here is rather attractive, if a little simple.  I could drink rather a lot of this.  Pleasantly surprising.

1996: Immediately more serious on the nose.  Much more here.  And again in the mouth there is more weight, more structure, more everything.  Very complete, if maybe a little raw.  This is actually rather good.

1995.  More subdued on the nose.  There is a definite character to all of these… they do taste of Angelus.  And I sort of take Schuster’s point on the oak.  There is a very dry finish to all of them.  This is more laid back than the 96 and easily my wine of the flight.  Really rather lovely, and just settling down.

Stephen Brook then appraised this flight, again in (almost) complete contrast to what I thought.  I’ve sent my licence back to DVLA.

Flight four:

At the top of my notes reads: “I’ve just worked out how Rodenstock did the fakes”.  A small eureka moment.  It’s to do with spittoons.  And a very, very tricky flight.  Making good Bordeaux in the early 1990s was like, well, I’m thinking fogged up windscreens, no heater, no wipers, bald tyres and the M25 on a dark morning.

1994:  Lots here.  Flashy.  All open and something here.  The lights are on.  And again in the mouth.  This has some lift and energy.  Maybe a little simple in the finish but this wine is having its day right here right now.  Showing very well, if maybe lacking a little depth.  Good.

1993; Back to the vintage.  A long time since I’ve had a 93 but this is it (in that the memory comes back very quickly).  Something slightly damp on the nose.  Though surprisingly pleasing and clean in the mouth.  The lack of complexity compensated by maturity though a little pinched at the end.  Really not very nice in the finish and perhaps even slightly dirty.

1992: Development but not much underneath.  A tiny bit of bounce in the mouth.  Some life and a hint of freshness, though pretty simple.  Decent enough for what it is; still that tuppence piece taste lingering, though that could be the 93…

1991: Nothing here.  Garden shed on the nose.  Not entirely sure I want to put it in my mouth.  Some fruit, though a pinch all over it.  Questionable.  (Palate fatigue had well and truly set in by this stage).

1990: Back to something on the nose.  Back to some weight and richesse in the mouth.  This is nicely ripe.  Not sure if it will go much further.  Definitely some complexity here.  Better going back to it.  Still not entirely sure, though.  This would have shown better in a more appropriate flight.

Jancis summed this flight up very well, if in a slightly non-committal fashion (i.e. she was polite).  Her genius comment on the 1991 was that it “smells like a struggle”.  This is more of a compliment than it sounds, and was spot on.

Flight five:

To quote Tone Loc: 88 was great but 89 is mine.  These wines were made whilst I was in my teens.  This is part of the beauty of the whole shebang.

1989: Back to something very appealing.  Nicely ripe on the nose.  Some sweetness.  And again in the mouth and more poise than the 90.  More edge, and I prefer it.  “Extremely fine” says Boy Wonder and I agree.  This is rather serious hooch.  Boy Wonder correct.  Getting better.  Length, delicacy, and a great deal here.  Easily the wine of the day.

1988: A cool freshness on the nose.  Pure.  Not as seductive in the mouth as the 89, indeed a little austere, but this is really very good, “proper”, St Emilion and very much to my taste.

1987:  Clearly very light.  Slightly funky on the nose.  Not unpleasant but something a little weird (a couple of tasters far better than me spotted the chaptalisation).  Very light and simple in the mouth but a hint of fruit trying to shine through.  Good for what it is and my pick of the tricky vintages.

1986:  Not getting much here.  A little bit of dirt?  Fatigue setting in again.  Some initial lift and a bit of gamey ripeness.  Even a sense of youth?  But fairly simple though this does go on some in the finish.  Light and lifted.  More serious going back to it.  And some depth.  I don’t think I’ve been fair on this.

1985:  More here.  Galloway’s on the nose (remember that?).  Wide open.  And complete and lots of layers but I think there’s a tiny bit of taint in the mouth.  Getting better but I still don’t think it’s quite right.  Getting better and this is rather good – laid back.  All here and really ready to go.  Slightly confused by a touch of (perceived, on my part) taint.

Steven Spurrier gave his appraisal on these, which was thankfully in confluence with mine.  For my “proper” on the 88, Spurrier said “Figeac-like”.  Different lingo but same thought.

Fin:

Publishing or sharing your notes is a little like taking your clothes off, and I salute anybody who does so even if I disagree with the comments themselves.  Going back to mine, I liked these wines more than I thought.

A 25 vintage vertical is hard work.  Blind would have been harder, but I would have loved to have done it this way.

And Angelus, whilst occasionally tasting like St Emilion, tastes more like Angelus than anything else.

Thank you Mr Browett. 2-0 to the Palace rounded the evening off nicely.

Three bottles: Neal Martin

From December 2002 to December 2004 I worked on the other side of St James’s Street.  The side that traffic now goes up on.  I learned a great deal about Burgundy, the Upper Classes and, ironically enough, how to speak corporate lingo (park up those ideas; let me show you the organogram).  At the same time I developed a very strong view on men who wear red cords and, more to the point, I met/discovered Neal Martin, both the man and the nascent wine-journal.

Critics, journos, whatever you want to call them, tend to provoke fairly strong comments from those in the trade.  Mister Parker is the most obvious: regaled and derided in equal measure (I’m not on the fence here; I’m in the former camp).  Jancis the same.  James Suckling: Marmite.  And Neal too, though not quite so in extremis as Mr Suckling.  But how many ENGLISH people can you name who review serious wine?  Jancis Robinson and Neal Martin are the only two English names that customers mention at en-primeur time.

I’m asked at least once a month: “what happens when Parker retires?”.  The long answer is simply too long.  The short answer is the answer to the short question: “Who’s next?”.  And  I’d have some money on Neal.

So, the answers:

1) What was the first wine that got you into it?

Chateau Montrose 1982 at a lunch at Corney & Barrow. That is the wine when I thought: “Hmm…this beats insurance as a career.”

2) What was the first wine that took you closer to your maker?

I have had a few obvious ones, but perhaps the Grands Echezeaux 1962 from DRC. Severely ullaged so bought with a nice discount, opened with Mrs. M and a friend who was doing the design for my old website in the kitchen of my rabbit hutch/flat in West Norwood. No expectations and it was just mind-blowing.

3) What’s the best wine you’ve had this year?

There’s two wines that bought to mind the word: “Perfection”, namely the Hermitage La Chapelle 1949 from Jaboulet, which is probably the best Rhône I have ever tasted. Secondly, a magnum of Château l’Eglise-Clinet 1955, the last remaining bottle that was in Denis Durantou’s family cellar. The Château Gruaud Larose 1831 was a bit nifty as well given its age and the VCC 1948 last Thursday once again, reminded me that this beats insurance as a career.

I thank Neal for his answers.  The current incarnation of Wine Journal is here.

Three bottles III. Clive Coates.

I miss Clive Coates.  Or rather I miss his publication “The Vine”.

There has only ever been one “critic” whose palate has really chimed with mine.  I admire Robert Parker, for example, and read his notes, but I know that he likes a bit more sweetness and power than I do.  And I don’t think he does Burgundy the way I do either.  Others?  Neal Martin is still on trial, I’m often miles away from Jancis and, whilst I’m very much pro the wine media Marmite that is James Suckling, there’s no great confluence of taste/opinion/whathaveyou.

This is not confined to the wine media.  Colleagues and friends too: I totally understand, I think, Clarethound’s palate (and trust it too), but this is a man that still rates Ch. ——  ——, which is just silly.  Likewise Big Phil, whose taste is fairly similar to mine, and whose palate I trust more than most – but he just can’t stand fruit in a wine.  If my tastes are “old-fashioned” then Big Phil’s are B.C..

Back to the point, and the subject.  Clive Coates (M.W.).  In the days of The Vine I couldn’t wait for the reviews of the latest Burgundy vintage to see how they fell in with mine.  They invariably did.  At the time this was honey for my ego; looking back it’s just what it is: confluence of taste.

What I really miss about Coates (n.b. his notes; he’s alive and well) was the style.  Concise, no frills and I understood them.  Others may have wanted more “honeysuckle and acacia notes” etc, etc but I understood what he wrote, plain and simple.  And there was something very English about them.  Herewith Clive Coates vs Mike D. on 1991 Nuits St Georges, Clos de l’Arlot.  For those that don’t know, Mike D. is one of the Beastie Boys.  You can tell which one is which, I think:

“Good colour.  Lovely soft, quite intense fruit on the nose.  This has plenty of depth.  A fat, ripe wine.  Very good grip.  Seems just about ready at first, but there is a backbone here, a reserve which needs to soften.  Very finely balanced.  Long.  Here I prefer the 1993.  It is more elegant.  The tannins are finer.  Very good plus.”  Now-2005.

“This is the real, real, booty unk, unk funk. We’re talking the sole of Isaac Hayes’ shoes while recording Hot Buttered Soul with the Bar-Kays in 1971 at Stax studios. This is just a magical point in time on this wine’s arc. This is that elusive experience in taste that us Burg freaks live for. While 1991 La Tache might need another two decades, this has all the pleasure right now, minus a little weight of a grand cru. But in terms of purity and expression of fruit and terroir, this shit is money! Light in color, so exquisitely balanced, earth, horse, fruit, and FUNK!!! Bring it. 96-97 points.”

I think the fatness and ripeness that Mr Coates alludes to might be what has so seduced Mike D..

So – I thank Mr Coates for his answers.  As concise as one would expect:

1) What was the first wine that got you into it?

Can’t remember as it was so long ago, but perhaps a Palmer or a Ducru of the early 1950s. Certainly a top (not First Growth) Bordeaux.

2) What was the first wine that took you closer to your maker?

Same.

3) What’s the best wine you’ve had this year?

1983 Le Musigny from De Vogüé thanks to (sadly now the late) Norman Kinsey in Shreveport USA.

As I say, I really miss Clive Coates, and thank him again.

2003 Echezeaux, Domaine de la Romanee-Conti

Last week I did something very rare.  Rare indeed, even for those that work in the trade that I do.  Something I haven’t done in a decade.  Something most, including those that work in/with wine, will never do.  I drank a bottle of wine produced by the Domaine de la Romanee-Conti.  The victim/star/culprit was a bottle of 2003 Echezeaux.  A minter of a bottle, purchased from the UK agents in 2006, when it was merely very expensive, as opposed to ridiculously so (buy a bottle today and you’d be looking at £750 or so; £150 of which would be tax – another story entirely).

Preludes to this bottle:

2002 Pierre Peters, Les Chetillons.  Impossibly good Champagne that would no doubt be dismissed by 95% on account of it not having a name (though Peter Peters is quite a good one…).  Take off your labels and appreciate what is the best.

2005 Puligny-Montrachet, 1er cru, les Referts times two.  One from Jean-Philippe Fichet, one from Arnaud Ente.  Both growers better known for Meursault, both under the radar.  Fichet’s candidate the fuller of the two and the more developed.  A slightly oxidative character that many might view as a fault but I thought part of the package, and a good part too.  Ente’s wine was as tight as a drum and ready to pounce like a cobra.  Edgy.  Still coiled.  Very good.  Indeed, very good plus or very good plus indeed.

And served next to this bottle:

2003 Volnay 1er cru, Clos des Chenes, Michel Lafarge.  On another day (most likely one ten years or so from now), this would have maybe been the bottle of the day.  And didn’t taste like an 03 at all – it was fresh and, at seven or so years old it was still very “primary”.  Which in wine-speak means underdeveloped; too young; still showing its primary youth.  It tasted like it was a couple of years old (whereas most 2003 Burgundies will taste older than they are or, if not that, will taste slutty rather than prim).  This was like looking at Einstein in a nappy: clearly a lot of potential here – just needs to stop putting his feet in his mouth.

2003 Barolo, Cru Monprivato, Giuseppe Mascarello.

I’m going to get back to this one.

So: the Echezeaux, the DRC.  Just having the bottle open is a statement.  It says to my guests that they are special (and they are).  There are 4.67 hectares of this, approximately 1,300 cases per year, much less in the freak that was 2003.  And those that know – those that really know – know that 2003 DRCs are rather special.  Aubert de Villaine – the man that made them, or at least made them what they are – reckons that rather than the wines being freaks, the wines are genius.

2003 Echezeaux, Domaine de La Romanee-Conti is pretty much flawless.  Incredible juicy fruit.  A balance that is nowhere else in the vintage.  Nothing out of step, nothing at all.  What is most impressive is that the jammy fruit isn’t jammy; the intensity isn’t intense.  No lack of acidity at all, and no hotness.  The domaine is one of a handful that didn’t acidify its wines in 2003 though tastes fresher than anything else I’ve tasted from the same year (with the exception of Mr Lafarge’s infant Clos des Chenes).  This is a wine that is very hard to knock, and one that lives up to its reputation.  The label-drinkers are satisfied, and so are those that know what they’re doing.

But, it’s £750 a bottle, and not on account of its quality.  It’s £750 a bottle on account of speculators and label drinkers which, given that two of my guests were just that – speculators – I had a slightly dirty taste in my mouth: the price tag.  I couldn’t completely peel it off, if that makes sense.  It stuck.

If the theme of the day had been decadence things might have worked better.  We could have dripped the DRC over a naked lady and thrown a few fifty quid notes out of the window (I was thinking about doing the same with one of the speculators), then smoked pre-Castro cigars before diving off to some lap-bar somewhere.  This is the posh equivalent of tying one on.  But my theme of the day was wine, and the point of the Echezeaux was the wine itself, not the message, not the label, not the price tag.  The wine.  The juice.  The moment.

So wine three, or red three, comes into play and wins the day for me.

Monprivato is arguably one of Barolo’s best vineyards owned, in its entirety, by the Mascarellos, a family who have been making wine here for a couple of centuries plus.  And you can buy a bottle for £60.

To write a note on this wine is like herding cats: it is constantly changing in your glass.  Rotten vegetables butterfly into silky pearls then to rose petals then to herbs which blossom to flowers into cherries then ripening into syrup back to vegetables, etc, etc:  it’s non-stop.  It’s like a child growing up.  And it’s an experience in itself.  “What did you do on the weekend?” – “I drank a bottle of 2003 Monprivato”.  It’s like reading a novel with a changing plot.  And I have a feeling that each bottle is different in its own Tardis-like way.

On reflection, and technically speaking, the DRC was probably the best wine on the table.  But it didn’t please me.  Herewith the tenuous analogy:

Kiera Knightley comes to lunch with pretty girl next door.  Kiera costs a million quid and knows it.  Girl next door comes for the food and the fun.  Kiera sits, says nothing, looks beautiful, flicks hair a lot.  Girl next door tells jokes, turns out she knows your mate Dean, gives you a recipe for chorizo and agrees to meet you next week to see the film that no one else wants to go see with you.  She turns out to be rather good on the piano and she sings like an angel.  Her Granny lives in Sydenham and she can name the Crystal Palace team of 1989/90.  She doesn’t mind that the food is a bit poncey, laughs when her truffle fritter explodes, and gives you a lift home.

Kiera looks into the distance silently, striking the pose.  I’ve just proven that she’s not out of my league, but she’s probably fed up with being just a label.

Three bottles, Episode II: Jancis Robinson

Unknown would-be wine writer drops incredibly well-known wine writer an email.  Asking a favour.  Unknown would-be then burps son, eats curry, drinks half a bottle of Corbieres and retires.  Checks email in morning.  A reply, in the positive.

Jancis Robinson MW, OBE.  She doesn’t need an introduction.  I am tempted to fawn but will resist.  That said, if you are going to own one wine book, then it should be the Oxford Companion to Wine.  If you are going to read one wine column in the papers, then it’s hers in the FT.  I used to tell aged relatives about dropping samples off at Buckingham Palace (and they loved it).  Jancis tasted them FOR Buckingham Palace (and maybe AT Buckingham Palace – I’m not sure).  This rather puts things into perspective.

The questions remain the same.

1) What was the first wine that got you into it?

A Chambolle Les Amoureuses 1959 drunk over dinner while at Oxford in 1970 lit the flame for me.  I didn’t know then you were supposed to take note of the producer but it was probably a de Vogüé according to John Avery because Averys supplied the restaurant, The Rose Revived. From the first glorious sniff I just knew there was so much more than what I was immediately swooning over in there – history, geography, psychology, etc etc

2) What was the first wine that took you closer to your maker?

The bottom of a magnum of ’47 Cheval enjoyed in Burgundy when I dashed in at the tail end of a dinner organised by Henry Tang of Hong Kong. One of your other respondents was also there. I’ve been lucky enough to taste this wine, or wines purporting to be this wine, quite a few times and this magnum, plus a bottle provided by Phillip Schofield many years later, were the best for me.

3) What’s the best wine you’ve had this year?

Oooo. I am thoroughly spoilt.  I’ve been lucky enough to have at least two great bottles of Latour 1961, one at the chateau and one in Bern, Switzerland.  Mind you, Grange 1953 in Paris wasn’t bad at all – even better than the double magnum of Esclans 2009 last night in Chiang Mai….

No fawning – but thank you very much to Jancis for this.

www.jancisrobinson.com