Gaia Gaja on Barbaresco

Gaia Gaja may be the world’s greatest ambassador for Barbaresco, Italy, the Piedmontese region renowned for its elegant wines made from one hundred percent nebbiolo grapes. Born and raised in the region, she is the fifth generation of her family to work at Gaja, the family’s celebrated estate. Tasting Barbaresco with her opened our eyes to what makes the wines so beguiling.

“For people who love Barbaresco, a lot of the enjoyment comes from forming a relationship with the wine while it is still in the glass. Nebbiolo (from Barbaresco) possesses ethereal perfumes. You can swirl the wine it and make it talk,” Gaia explains.

“When it is young, you can smell aromas of citrus zest -- oranges, tangerines, and bergamot. You can also detect aromas of plant roots. You will find hints of rhubarb, quinine and bitter herbs.”

Gaia emphasizes the special quality of the wine’s texture. “On the palate, Barbaresco is discreet in taste and bigger in texture,” she says. “There is this dryness that sweeps across your tongue and cleans everything up. It is best to pair Barbaresco with fatty foods. Most of the time we serve it with meat, but my favorite dinner when I go home and don't want to cook is Barbaresco and a cheese platter. In Japan, I like Barbaresco with sushi. The wine is delicate and does not overpower the fish, especially toro (fatty tuna belly), which is almost like raw meat.”

Wine and Meditation

What does it mean to know a fine wine? Too often we only see what we have been taught to perceive. We measure wines against established categories and personal prejudices about what defines quality. What would happen if instead of rushing to identify or critique, we put aside the reductive methods championed in most wine education classes and afforded wines the necessary time and attention to unfold and reveal themselves naturally. What if we began to value presence over mastery?

I came around to this way of thinking after writing a profile on the Swedish rare wine merchant Peter Thustrup. Peter is a classicist who specializes in Bordeaux and Burgundy.  He advises private collectors and arranges esoteric tastings of hard-to-source vintages. He is also an autodidact who learned by tasting, taking notes and studying his own responses. I first interviewed Peter on the veranda of the Maidstone Arms in East Hampton after he had sold his eponymous Paris shop and spent the five years of his non-compete curating a deep and idiosyncratic personal collection. During one of our follow up conversations, he confessed to meditating on wines. This detail did not fit into my initial story; a profile in seven hundred words is a form of haiku, fleshing out the impulse to drink alone in silence is a story unto itself. 

The idea took root in my imagination. What if instead of writing a technical note using a controlled set of descriptors, you let the wine speak for itself? Not all bottles are worthy of such lavish consideration, but for a wine with something to say, silence and presence could set the stage for eloquence. I decided to give it a try. I blocked off two hours on a Tuesday afternoon and looked in my storage unit for a bottle that was up to the challenge. Many were appealing, but none were right for the job.  How could I trust the results if I were to meditate on a wine I knew well, or one that fit too neatly in my comfort zone?  Then I recalled the La Clarté de Haut-Brion, a sémillon-based blend from Pessac-Leognan produced with fruit from the Haut-Brion and La Mission Haut-Brion vineyards, which serves as a second white wine for both chateaux. I had only encountered it once, as part of an overview of the Haut-Brion portfolio, but the way its delicate floral aromas were contained within a structure that was at once firm and transparent, evoking a bed of wildflowers within a formal garden, had left an indelible memory.  

La Clarté was not a wine I could pick up in my neighborhood shop. Only a thousand cases are made each year and most are sold through retailers that do robust business in blue-chip Bordeaux.  I ordered a bottle through Sherry-Lehmann and was pleased to discover that it goes for one-tenth the price of its more celebrated cousins. When the hour of the tasting  approached, I took out a Zalto Universal glass, a corkscrew and a favorite silk scarf. Freelance writers do a lot of odd things when their children go to school and their spouses go to the office, but I have never felt quite so self-conscious as when I tied the silk scarf around my forehead and pulled out the cork.  I checked to make sure the wine was in good condition and etched out a preliminary technical note, which confirmed my earlier experience. Then I sat on the floor with my back to the wall, slid the blindfold over my eyes and pulled the knot tight. 

I took a few breaths to relax and immediately my attention focused on the delicacy of the stemware and the weight of the wine in the glass.  Lifting the bulb to my nose, I took in the the wine's warm honey tones.  Over time, like the reflection in a kaleidoscope, its dominant aromas shifted from raw honey, to ripe melon to white flowers to wet stones.  I took a small sip and felt the impression of saline waves crashing on the sides of my tongue.   The next time I sniffed, it was as if I were inhaling sea air tinged with apricot and hints of burnt caramel. Even though this is a bone-dry wine, the aromatics were reminiscent of Sauternes, the sémillon-based sweet wine made from grapes concentrated by the noble rot botrytis in vineyards an hour south of Haut-Brion.   

Finally, I took in a generous mouthful.  A rush of acid declared the wine’s youth, registering in the quickening of my heartbeat. For all its grace, the 2009 La Clarté wanted me to know it was still a baby with loads of drive and freshness. I have consumed enough bottles to see down the road. In five years or so, the wine will soften and communicate in more nuance and leveled tones.

Beneath the blindfold, I closed my eyes and tried to paint a mental picture of the wine to remember it by.  I saw a woman standing on the roof of a grand chateau looking over the pine forest to a melon stand alongside a honeysuckle bush near an ocean dune, perhaps the Great Dune of Pilate in Arcachon, the beach that lies directly to the west of Pessac-Leognan.  The image was a reminder that terroir is not just the dirt beneath your feet, but the spirit of a locale, and that the innate formality of the finest wines in  Bordeaux are balanced with a refined  attunement to the natural world.  

La Co(o)rniche, Pyla-sur-mer

The La Clarté is not an aperitif wine.  It begged for food that is at once bright and toothsome -- roasted oysters bathed in salted butter, seafood cassoulet, rotisserie game bird.  That night I served it a with lentil and sweet sausage soup, which was delicious on its own yet when paired with the La Clarté utterly masked the wine's charm: dimming what made it fresh and floral, calling attention to its weight on the palate.  La Clarté means clarity, with the soup I experienced only obfuscation. I put the bottle away.

The next evening I made a dish inspired by a Norwegian schoolteacher named Gro Bygdevoll, who turns her home on the island of Myken into a restaurant called Karenstua Café for six weeks each summer to celebrate the midnight sun.  There is only one item on her menu, snapper in herbed butter.  It's my favorite kind of recipe, adaptable, delicious and easily understood in a paragraph, which I have included below the story. This time the meal and the wine were in balance.  Each was delicate and rich, of the earth and of the sea, fragrant and satisfying, contemplative and vivacious. We call this a pairing, but really its more of a lively dialogue, two dynamic personalities drawing each other out.  

This exercise may seem frivolous, but after two days with the La Clarté I grew conscious of the distinctions between knowing and observing; judging and receiving; interacting and sharing.  The practice of presence removed the pressure to perform, to show what you know and put the focus squarely on the wine itself. I found myself wishing I had stayed in the reflective state a bit longer, wondering what would have happened if I had summoned more patience.   

I've listed 9 more wines worthy of the blindfold  below the recipe for the Red Snapper Karenstua. Most cost far less than the La Clarté.  All exhibit depth, typicity, grace and interest.

Red Snapper Karenstua: On a clean plate, season both sides of two 8-ounce snapper filets with salt and pepper. Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a cast-iron skillet or heavy nonstick sauté pan over medium-high heat. Lay the snapper skin-side down and cook for three minutes, until the skin has contracted and the fish appears to float. Using a fish spatula, gently turn the snapper fillets. Add a clove of  minced garlic to the pan and cook for three more minutes, until the fish flakes when pierced with a fork. Sprinkle 3 tablespoons of mixed minced fresh herbs -- dill, oregano and parsley are a winning combination -- on the skin of the fish. Spoon the melted butter over the herbs and serve the snapper directly from the skillet.

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10 Wines for Meditation

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La Clarté de Haute Brion, Graves, 2013, $99

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Hatzidakis, Santorini, 2014, $21

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Château Thivin, Côte de Brouilly, 2013, $24

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Clos Cibonne, Rosé Tradition, Côtes de Provence, 2013, $31

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La Rioja Alta, Viña Ardanza Reserva, 2004, $34

Denis Dubourdieu on Drinkability as an Essential Characteristic of Dry White Bordeaux

Denis Dubourdieu is the leading authority on the white wines of Bordeaux. Beyond being the Director of General Oenology at the University of Bordeaux, he manages four family estates, including Doisy-Daëne and Clos Floridéne, and consults with wineries such as Château Cheval Blanc and Château d’Yquem. Here, he guides us through Bordeaux’s distinctive white wines.

Sophie Menin: What are the hallmarks of a great dry white Bordeaux?

Denis Dubourdieu:  Drinkability is the most important quality of a Bordeaux Blanc. They should be fresh and fruity without too much alcohol. A good one will quench your thirst.

SM: What distinguishes the region’s sauvignon blanc and sémillon, the two grapes that make up most white Bordeaux?

DD: Our sauvignon blanc is a wine of the Atlantic coast. It is more delicate than the intensely grassy and tropical wines you find in New Zealand and less flinty than sauvignon blanc from Sancerre and Pouilly Fumé. At its best, it exhibits flavors of grapefruit and white peach.

Bordeaux is at the northern limit of where sémillon can be cultivated and it does very well here. It is our chardonnay. The finest examples are grown on limestone. Bordeaux wines made from sémillon smell of hazelnut, almonds and brioche. After a few years, they develop aromas of fresh apricot or orange. 

SM: How has dry white Bordeaux changed since you started making wine?

DD: Bordeaux Blanc as we know it did not exist thirty years ago. Our dry white wines used to smell like oxidized sweet wines. Things started to change in the mid nineteen eighties when I was directing white wine research in the enology department of the University of Bordeaux and we began to understand which molecules were involved in creating the characteristic aromas of sauvignon blanc and the role of the yeast in protecting wines from oxidation.

When we applied this knowledge to Bordeaux’s two main white grape varieties, sauvignon blanc and sémillon, we discovered their fruity taste and how well they complement each other in a dry white blend.

SM: Could you describe the sweet white Bordeaux known as Sauternes for us?

DD: Sauternes caresses the mouth. There is a quality of softness. You don’t sense any corners. No matter how long the wine has aged, you always encounter aromas of fresh fruit, not just jam and honey. Last month I opened a bottle of our 1934 Doisy-Daëne, a sweet white made next door to Sauternes in the commune of Barsac. It was a complex bomb of orange, smoke, chocolate, ginger and apricot.

SM: When do you drink Sauternes? 

DD: I like young Sauternes as an aperitif and old Sauternes at the end of the meal. 

 

The Halmarks of a Classic Rosé de Provence

Rosé de Provence is the kind of wine that fulfills a longing for a particular time and place. Its pale salmon hue, fresh fruit aroma and tumbling minerality evoke seaside lunches and sunset aperitifs. Typically made from grenache, cinsault, syrah and mourvèdre, the classic style is light and refreshingly dry. When the weather begins to warm, Americans have an insatiable appetite for Rosé de Provence. For eight consecutive years this bottled essence of Southern France has experienced double-digit sales growth here. As such, today we have access to more rosés from a greater variety of Provençal producers than ever before.

Achieving the elegant simplicity of a well-crafted rosé requires gentle handling of mature fruit. Corners cut in the vineyard lead to thin wines with an aftertaste that can be green or medicinal, wines that are the bad oysters of summer drinks. Good rosés should be light-bodied with mouthwatering acidity and taste of white flowers, seashells and just-picked berries. A few bottles that fulfill this tall order are Château de Pourcieux,  Domaine de Saint-Ser, Château la Calisse, AIX and Domaine de l'’Abbeye Clos Beylesse.   

Rosé de Provence is not a wine to be sipped slowly and pondered. It is meant to disappear quickly, by the magnum if possible, and its charming way of capturing the spirit of Mediterranean idyll should be delivered to the consumer without emptying their wallet.

Stephen Carrier on Harmony in Mature Red Bordeaux

Few people understand what distinguishes the red wines of Bordeaux from their New World counterparts better than Stephen Carrier, the winemaker at Château de Fieuzal in Pessac-Léognan. The son of grape growers from Champagne, Stephen began his career as the winemaker for Newton Vineyard in the Napa Valley before honing his skills crafting Bordeaux blends at Château Lynch-Bages in Pauillac. Here he shares his passion for mature red Bordeaux.

Sophie Menin:  What makes for a great red Bordeaux?

Stephen Carrier:  In one word? Time.

SM:  We’re surprised you didn’t say vintage or terroir.

SC:  Bordeaux has sixty appellations each with a distinctive terroir. Every year the potential exists for great wines to come from the Medoc where the presence of clay gives the wines the potential to be bold and lush, or the exacting gravelly soils of Pessac-Léognan, or the merlot based wines of St-Émilion and Pomerol. But in all these regions, the young and old wines taste very different.

SM:  How so?

SC: Young Bordeaux is like a bright child in need of a good education. It is alive with aromas of fresh fruit and spice. If you hold your nose to the glass, you will experience the heady scents of blackberries, red currants, tobacco and vanilla. I assure you that you will want to drink this wine, but I don’t recommend it. All you will taste are the building blocks of a wine that has not yet reached its potential. A wave of fruit will be followed by the drying sensation of tannins on your tongue and gums. 

SM:  What changes over time?

SC:  With time the fruit flavor grows deeper, the tannins become silky and aromas of spice and earth begin to dominate the wine’s perfume. This experience of depth, harmony and balance is what great Bordeaux is all about. Depending on the vintage, this transformation can happen after five, ten or twenty years in the bottle. 

Many wines go through an intermediate stage when the tannins have softened and integrated into a wine that still possesses the expressive bloom of fresh fruit. I like these wines very much as well.

SM:  What do you drink when you are waiting for the wines to mature?

SC:   In France we drink the less celebrated vintages while we are waiting for the great ones to come around. Many of the less celebrated years produce wines with more delicate fruit. These wines are less tannic and mature earlier. Right now, the 2007s are very good!

Challenging Conventions in Bordeaux

At 41, Stephen Carrier of Château de Fieuzal may be among the youngest head winemakers at a Bordeaux Cru Classé winery, but that has not stopped him from challenging the conventions of the historic appellation. The son of grape growers from Champagne, Carrier’s first job as an oenologist was at Newton Vineyard on Spring Mountain in the Napa Valley. Napa made an enormous impression on Carrier, who internalized the local habit of always questioning whether it is possible to make a better wine.

He fine-tuned his skills crafting Bordeaux blends at Château Lynch Bages in the Bordeaux commune of Pauillac. A few years later, Carrier took the reigns at Château de Fieuzal in the commune of Pessac-Léognan, where, rather than stick to a prescribed recipe, he makes wines that reflect the character of the vintage. In a warm year, like 2009, he uses mostly cabernet sauvignon. In a cool year, like 2010, he accesses a wider palate, adding cabernet franc, petite verdot and merlot. The wines are vinified in a new 40,000 sq. ft. facility equipped with oak, cement and stainless steel tanks of varying sizes. Carrier calls the new wine making facility his “kitchen” because it offers numerous tools for being responsive to the specific nature of each harvest.

The wines of Château de Fieuzal, both red and white, are value wines and a first-rate gateway to the pleasures of Bordeaux, a region that can be difficult to penetrate given the stratospheric prices of the top five chateau known as First Growths. The Fieuzal Rouge is opulent with firm tannins and aromas of blackberries, lilacs and woodlands. The Fiuezal Blanc is an age-worthy blend of sauvignon blanc and sémillon that exudes citrus and mineral flavors.

Originally puplished by Bottlenotes

Reducing the Carbon Footprint in Bordeaux

Few economic sectors see the effects of global warming as clearly as winemakers, for whom the words “weather” and “vintage” are synonymous. In Bordeaux, decades of records show that the harvests are occurring earlier and the wines tend to be less acidic and higher in alcohol. While these changes are not entirely linked to climate change -- technical improvements and new vineyard management regimes have made it easier to grow ripe healthy grapes -- the Bordelaise know it is a fact of life.

Aware that wine regions must implement strategies to preserve vineyards for generations to come, in 2008 the Conseil Interprofessionnel du Vin de Bordeaux (CIVB) commissioned a study to measure the Bordeaux wine industry’s greenhouse gas emissions. The study pointed to incoming goods, particularly glass bottles, as being the leading contributor to the region’s carbon footprint, followed by wine transport and energy use in the vineyard and cellar.

The CIVB responded to the study by launching The Bordeaux Wine 2020 Climate Plan with the goal of reducing the region’s total emissions by 20% by the end of the decade, while increasing its energy and water conservation 20% during the same period. For wineries seeking to reduce greenhouse emissions, here are a few lessons from the Bordeaux study worth considering:

Use Lighter Bottles: Move to bottles that retain the same physical properties and appearance as conventional bottles, but are lighter and made with fewer materials.
Collect Empty Packaging: In 2012, Bordeaux was able to collect and recycled 17.5 tons of empty packaging, which was used to produce alternative energy for cement manufacturing.
Study and Alter Wine Shipment Methodologies: Bordeaux plans to increase its use of maritime shipping, which generates 5.5 % less CO2 than ground transport.
Consider Groups and Support Networks: Collective efforts allow winemakers to share both the startup costs linked to setting up an environmental protection process and strategies for continued improvements.

Graves and Entre-deux-Mer

Bordeaux’s dry white wines are too often overlooked for those of Burgundy and the Loire. Perhaps because the region’s signature white blend -- sémillon and sauvignon blanc -- lacks a clear new world reference like chardonnay from the Napa Valley or sauvignon blanc from New Zealand. Perhaps because the wines struggle for airtime, given Bordeaux’s identification with collectible cabernet sauvignon and merlot. Still, the category begs for discovery. There is very good dry white Bordeaux at every price point. Given its reputation for soaring prices, the region may be the world’s least expected source of value wines. 

Dry white Bordeaux comes from three appellations: Pessac-Léognan, Graves and Entre-Deux-Mers, with the most exalted examples, such as Domaine Chevalier and Laville Haut-Brion, coming from Pessac-Léognan. But it is in Entre-Deux-Mers and Graves that the unexpected treasures are found. Gems from Entre-Deux-Mers, the area between the Dordogne and Garonne rivers, tend to be simple and well priced. At $12 Château Fonfroide, a blend of sauvignon blanc, sémillon and muscadelle, is as refreshing as it is pleasing, offering hints of white peach and honey on the nose and a soft yet lively expression on the palate.

In Graves, the appellation directly south of Pessac-Léognan, each wine tells its own story about why bright and herbaceous sauvignon blanc should be blended with fleshy honeyed sémillon. At $16, the award winning Château Les Clauzots, speaks generously of citrus and tropical fruit anchored by a firm mineral backbone. At $29.99 the Vieux Château Gaubert is a tightly coiled double helix of seashells, honeysuckle and lemon pith, suggesting a wine with true aging potential. Tuck it away for three or four years in the back of your closet and witness the transformation. You are likely to be rewarded with a textured wine possessing aromas of honeyed almonds that is supple and broad on the palate. 

A helpful place to continue exploring Bordeaux’s value wines is Today’s Bordeaux, which features 100 wines from the region priced between $9 and $55.