Underground Wine and the Fête de Ploussard in Pupillin

This weekend, several wine growers in Pupillin are opening their doors to the public in celebration of both their local specialty — Ploussard (aka, Poulsard) — and the 40th anniversary of Arbois Pupillin as an officially AOC-recognized sub-district of the Arbois.

Image courtesy of affaire-de-gout.com.

Wishing I were there to aid in the festivities aside — and heck, even wishing I had a bottle of Pupillin Ploussard in the cellar with which to celebrate from afar — I thought I'd at least share a video clip from today's proceedings for your viewing enjoyment.

It seems that eight years ago, a group of those very same vignerons buried a cache of their Ploussards underground as an experiment in aging. Today, up came those bottles and out came the corks. Aside from a complete lack of convenience, I've often thought this would be the ideal solution for long-term cellaring. Why have all that wine you don't want to open for, say, eight or more years taking up space in your modest wine fridge? All you'd really need is a spot in the ground, a metal box and some plastic wrap to protect the bottles, and a shovel (not to mention a strong back and plenty of time), though a backhoe would certainly appear to make the job easier.


The video is not embeddable, so you'll have to visit Info Franche-Comté at France3.fr to check out the clip. Aside from footage of excavating the buried treasures, the video includes interviews with Pierre Overnoy and Jean-Michel Petit, among others. (Thanks to Wink Lorch for the heads-up.) The commentary is in French without subtitles, but even without any grasp of French it should be relatively easy to follow along and get the gist of things. Enjoy the view, and bonne fête!

Intro only...

TDF 2010 Stage 7: Tournus to Station des Rousses

I received the following cryptic memo, penned in blood, last night. How the author managed to attach digital photographs I'm still not sure. Through exhaustive research, I was able to attribute this text to none other than Cory Cartwright (Signor Saignée), and the seemingly mystical photographs to Guilhaume Gerard (fka, The Wine Digger). A hearty thank you to them both. Don't forget to follow Cory's 32 Days of Natural Wine (now with even more stages than Le Tour!).

---

From this chart it appears the riders have a series of impossible 50% and higher grade climbs, followed by whiplash roller coaster style drops. If anyone makes it through this gauntlet alive i would put good money on them winning this whole thing.

i feel sorry for the riders during this stage. Not because there's hills or whatever, i figure they signed up for this act of masochism themselves not out of some desire to win or having to atone for the sins of a past life, but because they won't be able to sample the cuisine of the Jura.

To the south of the course you can clearly see Bourg-en-Bresse, the home of the famed poulet that has its own AOC, and to the north you have the home of comte, the giant cheesewheels that are worth the trip on their own, not to mention the other varieties of sausages and cheeses and so on and so forth. Basically if you like to eat (and i mean serious meat/potatoes/cheese eating, not flavored pop rocks or what the hell ever) this is your kind of place.


And then there is the wine.

The Jura is Terroir Country™. And not the small scale "this hill is turned .000001 degree this way so we charge 400 more dollars than that terroir and if you don't like it talk to that critic or look at this pricing sheet did we mention we're a first growth? thanks again for your business" terroir (although they have some prime sites). This is the all-encompassing terroir of food/wine/people/culture. Sure they grow some pinot noir and chardonnay, which the world knows about, but the grapes most grown are savagnin, trousseau and poulsard, rather extreme examples of "local" grapes. While the world has slowly woken to the oxidized savagnins, the ultralight poulsards, and the more serious trousseaus, and the legendary Vin Jaunes, the local market still rules, with the fortified macvin du Jura and sparkling crémant du Jura.

High on Pupillin.

It's a place where both the beautifully baroque modernism of the French natural wine movement (perhaps exemplified best by Pierre Overnoy and Emmanuel Houillon who make wines of stunning purity from methods partly adopted from Jules Chauvet through his disciple Jacques Neauport) stand side by side with staunch traditionalists such as Michel Gahier and Jacques Puffeney who are getting back to the continuity of Jura winemaking.

Jacques Puffeney

Emmanuel Houillon

When i visited we went to meet a young naturalist vigneron who perhaps exemplifies this push and pull that is making the Jura what i believe to be the most interesting wine region in the world. When we went he was brimming with ideas about wine, he had experiments going of all sorts, and more ideas of experiments he wanted to do than his small winery could possibly hold. But back in one corner was his pride and joy. It wasn't some carbonically macerated poulsard brimming with VA and barely distinguishable from a badly made gamay or grenache that represents the genre for so many these days. It was his first Château-Chalon, that staid, once great vin jaune (it was once listed with Meursault, Coulée de Serrant, Château Grillet and Château d'Yquem as one of the five great wine wine terroirs of France). Its reputation has since slipped, partly due to a change in tastes and partly due to, well, there just aren't any good producers anymore but there are a tiny number of producers trying to take it back. But here he was, in the midst of all this chaos, showing off his connection to hundreds of years of winemaking tradition and beaming over it.

Note: All that was a metaphor for bicycling.

Next up: Into the mountains and up to New York.

Intro only...

Notes from a Sunday: A Wicked Pair of 2005s

Just some thoughts on a couple of great reds for today, enjoyed among friends with supper on a recent Sunday.

Arbois Pupillin (Ploussard), Maison Pierre Overnoy (Emmanuel Houillon) 2005
~$35. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.
There are a good deal of differing opinions in the thread on this one at Wine Disorder (no surprise there), with some finding Houillon's '05 Poulsard spot on, others too young, and yet others oxidized or simply not happening. The winemaker himself was apparently less than thrilled with the 2005 vintage for his red, which went through an uncommonly long fermentation (don't know exactly how long). Even so, it sounds to me like there's a rash of bottle variation and/or poorly handled bottles floating around.

On the night in question, this particular bottle was a pure joy to drink. Insanely direct, tangy and full of mouthwatering red sour patch fruit. This is not about complexity at the moment; rather, it's all about the moment itself. Shining its usual, beautiful green-tinged rose petal color, I could have drunk it all night and been very happy. There were other things waiting, though...

Morey Saint Denis "Vieilles Vignes," Jacky Truchot 2005
~$45 on release. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Weygandt-Metzler, Unionville, PA
This was rich by Truchot's standards of delicacy and transparency, showing the concentration of the 2005 vintage as well as plenty of promise. Here, though, was the painful youth. It was hard not to like, with its finely detailed fruit and balance, but this one's really needing and deserving several more years of cool, dark slumber. Luckily (for him and occasionally for me), my friend Bill seems to have a near endless stash of Truchot lurking about his various wine nooks. And no, I won't tell you where he lives.

Intro only...

Chaptalization's Not In It

Since I know everyone's been on tenterhooks, trying to figure out just what exactly it was that I drank last Friday, I figured I'd cut right to the chase and open with a little photographic evidence.


Just in case it's still not entirely clear, it was the 2000 Arbois Pupillin Savagnin, from Maison Pierre Overnoy and its current winemaker, Emmanuel ("Manu") Houillon. Intensely oxidative and nutty on the nose, it could easily have passed for Sherry, at least until it passed the lips, when the razor's edge acidity and piercing minerality, ummistakable, of Savagnin took over. Deliverer of as much pain as pleasure, it's not a wine I'd conceive of drinking every day but is unquestionably something that will leave an indelible impression on the sensory memory of anyone who has the chance to try it.

Friday was one of those tough days. Writing about it five days later, I can't really put my finger on what made it so tough. It was just one of those days when, at some point in the action, I decided something special needed to be opened that night. Something that might take me out of the negative space, not through alcohol delivery but rather through the act of thoughtful wine drinking.

Step back. Experience. Contemplate. Enjoy.

---

If you're wondering what the title of today's post has to do with this, let's all take a step back.... The inspiration to which I alluded in Friday's "Name That Wine" post had been delivered by something I'd read that day: Cory Cartwright's post on his visit with Manu Houillon at Maison Overnoy. Its partner post from Guilhaume Gerard (I'd forgotten how funny it is), taken from an earlier trip to see Houillon, didn't hurt either. What made me pick this wine was the sense of respect and reverence that came through in Cory's post, along with the sense of joy (however snidely presented) in Guilhaume's, and, finally, my own realization that I don't get to drink these wines nearly as often as I'd like.

What stuck with me, though, even longer than the finish of that Pupillin, was Cory's revelation that Houillon sometimes chaptalizes his wines. That's just how it came across to me: as a revelation both in terms of Manu sharing the information in the first place and of the impact that information had on my friend Cory.

---

Perhaps another step back is in order.... For those of you who aren't familiar with the wines of Overnoy/Houillon, they hail from Eastern France, from a sub-Alpine subdistrict of the Arbois known as Pupillin. In the last few years, the wines have become increasingly hard to come by, as they're coveted heavily here in the States, back in France, and most recently, word has it, in Japan as well. The wines are always compelling, almost always delicious, and very often cited, by very many people, as bastions on the short list of flagships within the natural wine movement.

This picture of Manu Houillon was stolen brazenly and without permission
from The Wine Digger.

Chaptalization, quite simply, is the practice of adding sugar to grape must before or during fermentation in order to raise the alcohol level in the finished wine (not to create a sweet wine). It's a process that's been used for centuries, starting long before it was fully scientifically understood, codified and promoted by French chemist Jean-Antoine Chaptal.

Chaptalization has long been a useful tool in cool climate areas, in regions where it's often difficult to achieve ideal ripeness levels on the vine. In Bordeaux, before the advent of global warming, reverse osmosis, must concentrators and ultra-late picking, chaptalization was necessary in most vintages just to achieve the once standard 12.5% alcohol level. It's still used commonly in Burgundy, in the Beaujolais, for non-Pradikat wines in Germany.... And I've little doubt that it's also used in plenty of warmer climes too, in places where it's supposedly forbidden, as a little (or a lot of) sugar is quite useful in making up for the dilute nature of the extremely high crop levels necessary for the production of the global supply of bulk wine. Yes, it can be a useful tool, but it can also be a crutch.

What's struck me for quite some time now is the lack of reference made to chaptalization when discussing the ins and outs of natural wine. The big buzz words are yeast, sulfur, enzymes. There's plenty of discussion of engineering tricks in the winery, and of course about farming practices, herbicides, pesticides, etc. But hardly anyone ever mentions chaptalization. Alice doesn't, at least not in her core definition of natural wine. Cory expressed shock when Manu admitted to its use. I've never found the inspiration to write about it until now....

My point is not to point fingers at anyone as being right or wrong but rather to ask questions, to hope everyone will step back and think about it.

Think about Cory's interpretation of Houillon's words:

"He doesn’t like doing it [chaptalizing], but he freely admits to it when the year is thin and the wine isn’t going to amount to much.... He understands chaptalising wines (a common, accepted and traditional practice in many appellations) and feels he can get better wines in certain vintages by the addition of sugar."

And ask yourself the following question. Is it most important to make wines in a totally unadulterated manner, or to make the best wine you can from what nature has given you?

There are so many ways to interpret the above question that its answers are near endless.

When it comes to chaptalization, I appreciate the answer posited by Guilhaume, who does address it in laying out his own natural wine dogma, saying, "Sugar is definitely the least important [no-no] as it's not harmful. Still, if we are talking about natural wines i think chaptalisation should be banned."

For me, though, there's at least a little shade of gray. No chaptalization ever? That's natural to the extreme. (I can't help but think back to Alice's distinction between softcore and hardcore natural in the context of additive SO2 use.) Chaptalization in small amounts, only when truly necessary to find balance in an unfriendly vintage, never as a crutch to make up for poor farming, never in extreme quantities.... I'm okay with that, as long as it doesn't show itself as a detriment to the finished wine. But I do prefer to taste nature in its full, naked glory.

Intro only...

Bornard, Reynard and Discipline

When last I was in the borough of Manhattan, after ramen, after doughnuts, after wines from the Cher, after meeting Kermit, finally there was time to get down to more serious business (aka, more wine and food) at The Ten Bells.

Over the course of the night, there was much talk of the Arbois wines of Annie and Philippe Bornard. I'd first tried one of the Bornards' wines in the same spot, not more than a few months earlier, and I enjoyed it, very much as a part of the moment rather than via any kind of deep, analytical dissection (though that wine seems to perform relatively well in a more clinical scenario, too). In any case, the two guys in the photo at top-right were up in arms as to the relative merits of the Bornard wines. Hell, it was all I could do to tear them apart. Seriously though, after only a couple of encounters, I'm hardly set yet to pronounce upon Bornard — not that I'm taken to that kind of thing in the first place. But so far, so good. The wines may not have the elegance of Puffeney's or the profundity of those from Houillon/Overnoy, but those I've tried thus far are at least savory and enjoyable.

Arbois Pupillin Trousseau "Le Ginglet," Annie et Philippe Bornard 2006
$27. 13% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Savio Soares Selections, Manhasset, New York.

If my linguistics research is correct, "le ginglet" is the nominative singular form of an archaic French word, "ginglar," used to describe a wine that's at least a little sour. It's an apt if somewhat overstated term in this case, as the wine does offer up a core of tart cherry fruit. It pours the pale color of dried rose petals in the glass, a tone echoed by the tea-like feel of the wine on the palate — very light yet firmly tannic, even slightly astringent. On the nose, wild cherries again dominate, backed up by the scent of persimmons and a sense of twigginess. Even though there's not much here in the way of screaming fruit, the wine has a freshness and appeal that balances its slight austerity. In spite of its initially firm spine, this is really defined primarily by its delicacy. It's more serious-seeming than the Ploussard "Point Barre" I drank during my last bout at The Ten Bells, yet it's still well suited to casual enjoyment.

With time in the glass, out came more aromas and nuance: sweet earth, orange oil, even a light dusting of bitter cocoa powder. "Le Ginglet" even held up quite well into its third day, softening up yet simultaneously taking on a darker, spicier and warmer feel, the aromas of orange oil becoming even more apparent than on D1.

* * *

So, on top of all that night's Bornard wine diatribe and duologue (which even trickled over into a very much less animated brunch session at Blaue Gans the following day), there's the question of the Bornards' label design. At first glance or two, I didn't like it; the simple, naive design made me think of a youngster's first awkward attempts at graphic design.

The fact that the fox on the label is almost certainly meant to be Reynard, the omnipresent trickster figure, managed to escape me until much later. Excusable, you say? Not so much in my mind, especially given the amount of time I spent in Chaucer seminars through my undergrad and grad school years. I expect that Philippe Bornard (or perhaps it was Annie?) selected that design with an eye to satire, a constant in the tales in which Reynard the Fox figures as an anthropomorphic player. Wisdom, resourcefulness and playfulness all probably figure in to the design decision, too. Given that Reynard's satiric edge was almost always pointed at the aristocracy and/or the clergy, the foxy critter has even been considered by some interpreters to be a hero of the working class. A final gesture to the winegrowers' intention that their produce be enjoyed by all rather than worshiped by the few, perhaps. And, of course, it can't hurt that Reynard rhymes with Bornard....

Whatever the case, my take on the label has now changed. The more I look at it, the more I like it — both for all that literary innuendo and for its almost garish simplicity.

* * *

As Reynard snuck up on me, so the following song crept into the back of my mind as I wrote the words above. Warning: if you're not a fan of over-the-top drum solos, you may want to fast-forward to about the 3:20 point.


On the other hand, if that was only enough to whet your whistle, check out the following clip from the classic but far too short-lived sketch comedy/variety show, Fridays. The show may have been meant to compete with Saturday Night Live but was really most memorable for the quality of its musical acts. I still remember seeing this when it originally aired in December 1981. Definite shock and awe.

(As always, subscribers may need to click through to the blog in order to view the video clips.)

Intro only...

The Ten Bells

The Ten Bells is mysterious.

Not having done a photo study before my first visit to The Ten Bells, I walked back and forth on the short block of Broome Street that runs between Orchard and Ludlow with nary a sign of the place. Literally, that is… no sign. Not even a number to signify the address I’d scribbled on a piece of scrap paper in the wee hours of the morning before taking the early train up to New York. It was only after narrowing down the options then spotting an empty Dard & Ribo bottle as I peered through one of the few unobscured window panes at the spot where I’d stopped that I knew I was in the right place.

The Ten Bells is dark.

It’s one of the few gripes I’d heard about the place. It’s so dark you can barely see what you’re drinking. It’s so dark that I didn’t even bother trying to take my own pictures. (The first two shots here are borrowed, with thanks, from Melissa Hom’s shoot for New York Magazine.)

The Ten Bells is dangerous.

Or at least it would be were it in my neighborhood. If you can squint hard enough to read the wine list, scrawled and crammed onto the chalkboards that flank the east and west walls in The Ten Bells, you’ll find a tremendous array of natural wines from artisan growers, priced fairly and chosen with care by Fifi, Jorge and the rest of the Ten Bells crew.

The stemware may be too tiny to show off the full charms of those wines – about the only other common gripe I’ve heard (or could imagine) – but that makes sense given the marble bars and tight quarters that would wreak havoc on larger, more fragile glasses. It’s also befitting of The Ten Bells vibe. There’s nothing precious about the place. And while there’s a wild wine list, it’s a real neighborhood bar first, a “wine bar” second. The staff behind that bar seemed just as happy to serve up cold beers and shuck oysters on a hot August night as they were to pour glasses of Alice and Olivier De Moor’s 2007 Sauvignon St. Bris from magnum.

My cohort Wolfgang and I agreed that we could drink wines like these – the Burgundy from De Moor and Philippe Bornard’s 2007 Arbois-Pupillin Ploussard “Point Barre” – every day. That Ploussard from Bornard, in particular, was a joy to drink. So brightly hued it could have been fresh-pressed juice; pure, lively and focused, with nothing to weigh down the mind, body or palate.

The food’s no afterthought, either. A lightly smoky, barbecue glazed octopus and potato dish was a standout. Sherry-laced sautéed wild mushrooms, a comfortingly simple dish of brandade, and a generously heaping plate of sliced Serrano ham rounded out a more than satisfying meal, pieced together from The Ten Bell’s small plate menu.

Definitely a dangerous place…. The joint may get crowded as the night wears on, but it’s a good buzz. And as long as they’re serving it up like this, I’ll keep heading back.

The Ten Bells
247 Broome Street [map]
New York, NY 10002
(212) 228-4450

Intro only...

Out of the Alps, Contre le Montre

It’s been an exciting trip through the Alps. The first half of the final week of the 2009 Tour de France has seen the riders cross borders, scale peaks and stake their claims. It’s seen them suffer. It’s seen many riders implode, with pre-race contenders such as Carlos Sastre (last year’s champ) and Cadel Evans dropping by the wayside, perhaps weighed down both mentally and physically by the huge time deficits they incurred way back in the Stage 4 team time trial. It’s seen others live up to or far exceed expectations. If anyone had told me before the Tour started that Bradley Wiggins would still be in the top six after the Alps, I’d have called them crazy. The Schleck brothers have ridden stupendously, too, especially Frank. The image of them crossing the line in yesterday’s stage, finishing first and third, both with arms raised high, will be one of the classic memories from this year’s Tour, no matter where they figure in the final outcome.

Image courtesy of Roberto Bettini.
Of course, the biggest drama of the week was the ongoing question as to who would finally prove themselves strongest, the team leader of Astana: Armstrong or Contador. It’s played out just as I’d expected, and the team has played up the drama with serious panache and fine tactical sense. There’s little doubt now, barring misfortune, that Alberto Contador will finish the Tour on the top step of the podium. Even with today’s time trial and Saturday’s finish atop Mont Ventoux on the horizon, I think he’s got it locked.

Armstrong himself has been incredibly impressive, coming right back to the top of the sport after three years of retirement. I wasn’t sure he had it in him – not the performance but rather the teamsmanship. He may be struggling a tad more in the high mountains than he did in years past but only a tad. What he’s really been doing is riding in strong support of Contador’s position, watching Alberto go up the road, discouraging other riders from chasing him down by setting a tough tempo, and then managing to drop them to defend his own position in the general classification. The Schlecks may have bumped him down to 4th place after yesterday’s stage. But with today’s time trial and Saturday’s finish atop Mont Ventoux (sound familiar?), don’t count him out of the top three come Sunday’s ride into Paris. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him scratch his way back past one if not both of the Luxembourgian brothers.


Today’s post, though, is dedicated to Jens Voigt. The video above may focus upon Armstrong’s Stage 16 exploits but I like it most because it shows Jens, always the immaculate professional, riding way above his comfort zone in support of his teammates. That’s him about half way through the video, the big guy in the white and black kit of Team Saxobank, leading the group from which Armstrong had been dropped. These are the high Alps, mind you, not the rolling hills where Voigt usually launches his breakaway escapades. Regrettably, Jens crashed out of the Tour later in the same stage, wiping out horrifically during a high speed descent. Luckily, he came through it okay. His crash has been the scariest of the Tour thus far – let’s hope it stays that way. And while his crash is likely to be the image that will be remembered, I prefer to think of him leading the charge up the hill, sacrificing himself for the good of his team.

* * *
It may seem anti-climactic to bring wine into the picture at this point. But I did half-promise, half-threaten to follow the wine trail along the route of this year’s Tour, so here goes. The last few days, as I mentioned above, have seen the riders crossing not just the Alps but also borders, from France into Switzerland into Italy and back again to France. I had no wine in my cellar from the Swiss Valais or from France’s Haute-Savoie, and I didn’t manage to open anything from Italy’s Valle d’Aosta. So I opted for something from right in the midst of it all – the Jura.


Arbois Pupillin Chardonnay, Emmanuel Houillon 2006
$25. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.

When last I drank Houillon’s 2006 Chardonnay, my notes brought its importer Joe Dressner out of the wings. The wine was extremely reductive; not so, this time.

This was definitely a great bottle – subtly funky on the nose and electrically alive in the mouth, with no signs of reduction. What is it about the aromas of so many Jura wines that makes me think of the beach? These are mountain wines after all, not coastal produce. But Houillon’s Chardonnay showed a pungent nose of sandy minerality tied to scents of lemon meringue pie crust that, yep, brought to mind the seashore. It’s full of lees-y high notes in the mouth, in that respect consistent with the last bottle, which made me think of sake. This time around, it was the respective citric and wild yeastiness of witbier and geuze that came to mind. A joy to drink and a great food wine, too. Its combo of mouthwatering acidity, minerality and lemony fruit paired amazingly well with a simple summer dinner of grilled chicken and feta sausages, arugula dressed with good olive oil, and my wife’s latest rendition of potato salad, made with green olives and preserved lemons. I’m quite sure this was the wine Joe D. had in mind.

The "Contre le Montre" part of today's posting title? That's the rather more poetic French for time trial. And a reference to my goal to actually write this and get it posted before today's Stage 18 race against the clock comes to an end. Mission accomplished, I think.

Intro only...

French, Italian and Cajun

Another fairly impromptu get-together provided all the inspiration necessary for today’s post. Carryout from Cajun Kate’s, a few interesting things to taste and a little conversation with friends…. Definitely not a bad way to spend an evening.

Touraine Sauvignon “Le Petiot,” Domaine Ricard (Vincent Ricard) 2007
$15. 12.5% alcohol. Composite cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
After reading about the 2008 version of “Le Petiot” at Jim’s Loire a little while back, I figured it was high time to sit down with a bottle of the 2007, which is the current release on American shores. There’s no mistaking this for anything other than a vibrantly pure expression of Sauvignon, from its first aromatic blast of pink grapefruit and spring flowers right down to the tongue twisting, cleansing acidity on the wine’s finish. In between, there’s fine interplay between ripe, peachy fruit, lively citrus overtones and a wee undercurrent of light minerality. A perfect kick-starter of an aperitif, and not too shabby with Cajun Kate’s fried oyster po’ boy.

Venezia Giulia IGT Bianco “Vino Degli Orti,” Terčič (Matijaž Terčič) 2006
$32. 14% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
A 50/50 blend of Tocai Friulano and Malvasia Istriana vinified and aged in tank. Regrettably this was a flawed bottle, robbed of its fruit by either a very low level of TCA (I’m pretty sensitive to cork taint and didn’t pick it up) or some combination of heat/oxygen ingress. Too bad, as the first bottle I’d tasted a couple of weeks earlier (sorry, no note) was quite good.


Collio Sauvignon, Terčič (Matijaž Terčič) 2007
$32. 14% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
That’s more like it… two bad bottles from the same producer and same shipment would have been a bad sign. This was not only very good but also stood in stark, provocative contrast to the style of Ricard’s Touraine Sauvignon. Terčič’s Sauvignon was just as energetic on the palate but much richer and denser in texture, and darker in its minerality. It’s also far less aromatically potent, expressing itself more through feel, structure and depth than high toned fruit and flowers. Like “Vino Degli Orti,” this is done in tank; if I didn’t know that, though, I’d have guessed neutral wood. There’s plenty of stuffing here for richer food pairings.


Moulin-à-Vent “Cuvée Vieilles Vignes,” Domaine Diochon 2006
$19. 13% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Kermit Lynch, Berkeley, CA.
This might just be the ideal choice to pour for someone who still needs to be convinced that Beaujolais can be serious – and seriously good – wine. It’s got great fruit but also that classic granitic, brooding sensation that seems more common in Moulin-à-Vent than in any of the other Beaujolais Crus. This has great feel and fine balance and delivers waves of crunchy, dark fruit. The nose leads with black raspberries and chalk, follows with white pepper and a sense of black minerals, and ends with scents of ginger and molasses. Lively acid and grip bring it all home. Not too shabby with smoked brisket gumbo, either.


Arbois Pupillin Poulsard, Emmanuel Houillon (Pierre Overnoy) 2007
$32. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.
Dinner was over at this point but we all felt like tasting something else. The choice was driven, I expect, as much by anticipated pleasure as it was by a wish for redemption after a rather awkward showing from another Houillon wine a couple of weeks earlier. There was no awkwardness this time around.

Though typical in shade for Arbois Poulard (aka, Ploussard), this might startle many with its pale iridescence in the glass, reflecting hues of green olive and orange peel when held to the light. It’s almost spritzy in its liveliness on the palate, like a winey rendition of raspberry lime seltzer. The aromas were just intoxicating. Scents of pine needle, rose petal potpourri, watermelon, lime and eucalyptus jumped out of the glass, one after the other, seemingly alternating between associations of the mountains and the shore. On the palate, it’s all about freshness of fruit and completely unmuddled flavors. Full of refreshing acidity, devoid of tannic interference and laced with rock-sucking sensations, this was just a joy to drink.

Intro only...

For No Particular Reason

Ever have one of those nights when you just feel like getting together with friends and opening up a few interesting bottles?

Rheinhessen Riesling trocken “Von der Fels,” Keller 2002
$20 on release. 12% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
I’m pretty sure 2002 was the first release of Keller’s “Von der Fels” (“From the Rocks”). Even though I have only a couple of bottles, I felt it was about time to check in on one. I’m glad I did as it’s in a really good place right now, just starting to bridge into the development of some tertiary characteristics. Very fresh and prickly, still showing some residual carbon dioxide when first opened. It quickly rounded out and took on depth and richness with aeration. White peaches laced with lime zest, orange oil and honeysuckle hit the front palate, while a touch of oiliness and salinity follow. This is bone dry but completely physiologically ripe Riesling, loaded with palate staining fruit that shoots sparks across your tongue. With yet more air, rainier cherry fruit and intensely concentrated, almost sour minerality develop. Tremendous length. Lovely wine.


Arbois Pupillin Chardonnay, Emmanuel Houillon (Pierre Overnoy) 2006
$28. 12.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.
This showed big time sulfur/struck match aromas when first opened. After a quick and vigorous decant, it became clear that the wine was in a pretty severely reduced state. It showed much better on the palate, though, where I initially found flavors of apple cider and an element that reminded me of Junmai Daiginjo sake. Coming back to it fifteen minutes later, the nose was still full of totally reductive funk. But the wine had gotten even tastier, showing ripe red apple fruit and notes of cinnamon dusted pastry dough. I still had a hard time getting past its nose. Maybe it’s just too young yet, or needs a few hours (or days?) in the decanter.

In the context of my recent posting on wine naming conventions, how does one handle Houillon’s wines? All the bottles name Monsieur Houillon, while one bottle makes no mention of Overnoy, one names Pierre Overnoy and another is labeled as Maison Pierre Overnoy. Meanwhile, there is no visible differentiation in appellation or wine name from bottling to bottling; technically they are all just called Arbois Pupillin. Only different colors of sealing wax (not pictured), used in place of capsules, seem to differentiate one cuvée from the next: pale yellow for the Chardonnay, marigold for the Savagnin and red for the Poulsard.


The de rigueur shot of orange wine, sharing the counter with a Baltimore icon.

We never quite got around to opening Houillon’s Poulsard. But his 2004 Savagnin (the orange wine in the above photo), which had already been open for at least three or four days, was still quite interesting, offering up a nose full of Manzanilla and candy corn aromatics, finished off with tongue-twisting, gripping acidity.


Nahe Monzinger Frühlingsplätzchen Riesling Kabinett trocken, Emrich-Schönleber 2001
$15 on release. 11.5% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
Our brief detour into the Arbois didn’t prevent us from taking pleasure in trying this alongside the Keller. The eye alone, given its deeper golden appearance, was enough to show that this has traveled further along its path of development. But it still has plenty of stuffing and potential. Can there be such a thing as hedonistic Kabinett trocken? This would seem to suggest so, as it offered up voluptuous scents and flavors of clove-poached pears, fresh baked apple pie a la mode and peach cobbler. Did I mention that this is completely dry? And that it paired seamlessly with saba (mackerel sushi)?

This bottling doesn’t exist in the Schönlebers’ lineup any longer, replaced along with their other dry Kabinetts by the non-Pradikat “Mineral.” And wines at the quality level of this and “Von der Fels” no longer exist at these price points ($15 and $20, respectively). Can you hear that? It’s the sound of my teardrops hitting the floor.


Barolo “Cerretta,” Germano Ettore (Sergio Germano) 2000
$50. 14% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Petit Pois, Moorestown, NJ.
Though showing just the slightest hint of its alcohol on the nose, this is nonetheless in a fine place right now. It’s still quite youthful in the fruit department but is soft, round, exotically spicy and sweetly scented. Enjoyably pondering a glass, I was struck with the thought that I’m not sure there’s any vine that takes to oak quite so well as does Nebbiolo. I find the aromatic fireworks that result when it’s done right really hard to beat. Here, it results in classic oak-derived spiciness and warm red floral aromas and scents of rooibos tea intertwined with red licorice and sassafras. The 2000 may lack the acid/tannin profile of a more classic Piedmontese vintage but firm, well-balanced grip still presents itself on the finish.

Ever think of pairing Barolo with chocolate? Don't. On the other hand, this worked surprisingly well with Peking duck, perhaps helped along by the rich fruit and soft texture typical to the 2000 vintage.


Gevrey-Chambertin, Sylvie Esmonin 2005
$60. 13% alcohol. Cork. Importer: Louis/Dressner, New York, NY.
A bit clumsy right out of the gate, the sweet red fruit immediacy of Sylvie Esmonin’s Gevrey was marred at first by slightly disjointed alcohol. It didn’t take long for its grace to emerge, though. Definitely lots of red fruit, both fresh and caramelized. A campfire set in a forest clearing on a nippy fall day comes to mind, not through any overtly reductive characteristics, just through the wine’s overall expression of brambly fruit and energy. Esmonin gets her knocks from some quarters for the concentrated, forward nature of her wines but I dig them. This has a wonderfully barky, sinewy character that helps to back up its boisterous, spicy red fruit. It’s slightly lean yet sappy and generous all at once, topped off with a beguiling nose of sandalwood. I would have guessed, as did Bill Nanson at Burgundy Report, this sees some stems in the vat but Dressner’s page on Esmonin says not.

Intro only...