Eden Mylunsch
Eden Mylunsch
I came up in the wine biz in an era where Domaine Tempier was the be-all, end-all benchmark of what Bandol was supposed to taste like. The fact that the wines tended to have more than a hint of brettanomyces wasn't a problem, because the wines were supposed to taste like that and if you didn't like "that", you'd buy something other than Bandol. Sure, there were other producers available in the US market (Pradeaux and Pibarnon spring to mind) but they were as funky/stinky as Tempier and we'd buy the wines and put them in the cellar for 10 years and drink them with seafood and aioli and chant "they're supposed to taste like that, goddammit!" as we inducted new acolytes into the cult of the Bandolistas.
And then Daniel Ravier came along and fucked everything up by making wine at Tempier that was complex and interesting and fruity and decidedly unfunky and we all took off our robes and decided that maybe Bandol didn't have to smell like a wet dog sitting in a cardboard box in an alley after the rain had stopped. All was well with the world, because we discovered what Mourvedre was supposed to taste like and it was good and a new day dawned and we walked in awe into the light. It's a much more expensive light these days, but Bandol (even Tempier, but not by much) has probably been underpriced for a long, long time so I don't feel bad about buying the occasional bottle instead of the occasional half-case, as I once was wont to do. I've got too much wine in the cellar anyway, y'know?
Tonight while watching Marx Bros and Laurel & Hardy on the TV I was in the mood for something different so popped a bottle of 2004 Le Galantin Bandol AOC (an Eric Stauffenegger Selection, and Eric is more traditional than even Hiram Simon as regards his wine predilections).
Wow. As the kids say, who let the dogs in?
The brett in evidence here is not the "good" kind, the one people wax rhapsodic about when they mistake brett for "terroir. I like a little funk in my wine but maybe not this much. This is the tongue-coating, fuzzy/furry kind of brett, the kind that takes your breath away while on first sip it takes away your ability to taste anything. Fortunately, it's not exactly terminal, because with air a little fruit emerges on the palate and cherries pop up in the glass, much in the way mushrooms rise from a cow pie after a nice rain. Ever the optimist, I made some pasta with garlic (the new 2010 crop coming out of Gilroy is the best in recent memory) along with a diced heirloom tomato (not such a good vintage) from the Santa Monica Farmers Market and some homegrown basil. It made the brett not-so-obnoxious, but it still stood out like say, if Bootsy Collins was sitting in with Gordon Lightfoot or Cat Stevens. Intellectually it was interesting but not exactly unnoticeable to anyone not on heavy medication. Which brings up the fact that this bottle is 14.5% alcohol so I've copped a nice buzz while I've been cooking dinner. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't recall getting this dizzy while sipping the 2004 Terrabrune, Bastide Blanche, Tempier, or Gros Nor Bandols. Perhaps it was the context, maybe it's just Le Galantin.
-Eden (the brett inoculation I received back in the late 90s must be wearing off, because my tolerance for this wine "idiosyncrasy appears to be diminishing)
And then Daniel Ravier came along and fucked everything up by making wine at Tempier that was complex and interesting and fruity and decidedly unfunky and we all took off our robes and decided that maybe Bandol didn't have to smell like a wet dog sitting in a cardboard box in an alley after the rain had stopped. All was well with the world, because we discovered what Mourvedre was supposed to taste like and it was good and a new day dawned and we walked in awe into the light. It's a much more expensive light these days, but Bandol (even Tempier, but not by much) has probably been underpriced for a long, long time so I don't feel bad about buying the occasional bottle instead of the occasional half-case, as I once was wont to do. I've got too much wine in the cellar anyway, y'know?
Tonight while watching Marx Bros and Laurel & Hardy on the TV I was in the mood for something different so popped a bottle of 2004 Le Galantin Bandol AOC (an Eric Stauffenegger Selection, and Eric is more traditional than even Hiram Simon as regards his wine predilections).
Wow. As the kids say, who let the dogs in?
The brett in evidence here is not the "good" kind, the one people wax rhapsodic about when they mistake brett for "terroir. I like a little funk in my wine but maybe not this much. This is the tongue-coating, fuzzy/furry kind of brett, the kind that takes your breath away while on first sip it takes away your ability to taste anything. Fortunately, it's not exactly terminal, because with air a little fruit emerges on the palate and cherries pop up in the glass, much in the way mushrooms rise from a cow pie after a nice rain. Ever the optimist, I made some pasta with garlic (the new 2010 crop coming out of Gilroy is the best in recent memory) along with a diced heirloom tomato (not such a good vintage) from the Santa Monica Farmers Market and some homegrown basil. It made the brett not-so-obnoxious, but it still stood out like say, if Bootsy Collins was sitting in with Gordon Lightfoot or Cat Stevens. Intellectually it was interesting but not exactly unnoticeable to anyone not on heavy medication. Which brings up the fact that this bottle is 14.5% alcohol so I've copped a nice buzz while I've been cooking dinner. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't recall getting this dizzy while sipping the 2004 Terrabrune, Bastide Blanche, Tempier, or Gros Nor Bandols. Perhaps it was the context, maybe it's just Le Galantin.
-Eden (the brett inoculation I received back in the late 90s must be wearing off, because my tolerance for this wine "idiosyncrasy appears to be diminishing)