Sharon Bowman
Sharon Bowman
So, it was a mere 180° turn, and there was a spread of fine bubble on long tables.
I have tasted the champagnes of Françoise Bedel several times in the past few years, and while I want to like them, I sometimes find them exaggeratedly oxidative/oxidized and problematic. Biodynamic since 1998, she is in the far west of Champagne—that is, almost abutting the Paris region. She works with Meunier, mostly (to the tune of 80%).
The dosage of her wines falls at 6-7 g/l. I have to say that this time, the vinous quality of the first two wines won out for me. I was charmed by Cuvée Origin’elle, and found the hazelnutty yet poised tenor of Dis Vin Secret charming rather than alarming. (We must admit that it’s alarming when a wine seems like it will turn to Madeira in the cellar in a year or two, the wine enthusiast’s dark fairy tale.)
Entre Ciel et Terre was interestingly leaner, fresher, more minerally, but wore its dosage a bit more, was perhaps a bit notably sweet.
Lastly, a lower dosaged (vintage oblige) 2003 Millésimé bore nonetheless the curse of the vintage. However, the first two in the lineup were some of the more exciting grower champagnes I have had in the past weeks.
But the excitement was amped up at the neighboring table. With any sense, the direction to taste would have been opposite, but sometimes these mistakes happen. David Léclapart has vines, mostly Chardonnay, in Trépail, which is on the southeast side of the Montagne de Reims, near Bouzy—traditionally Pinot Noir country. But he works in the white grape. And he has an approach. He’s lucky, in that the vines were acquired by his family in 1946, and the first tractors hit the sector in the ‘60s, so his have never had. He also has an approach to the wines that seems counterintuitive, but which proves more than compelling in the glass. That is: never dosage. Always malolactic fermentation. (The cuve vs. barrel subject is suppler.)
One quibble is his not-easy-to-recall nomenclature, all nouns starting in “A.”
2006 L’Amateur: the first cuvée. How fine this is. I have had earlier versions of it that I deemed almost too angrily lean with no dosage, but this one was perfectly balanced, sharp, teasing, gorgeous. I would drink this very many times.
2005 L’Artiste: slightly older vines, more sapidity, but it was served a little too warm and I felt that that made it a little less sharp, though it had good depth.
2005 L’Apôtre: barrel-aged. More of more of more of more. Softer, deeper, you have to like that style, but if you do, it is successful in it. I am wary of such, of the large-handed Ozymandias offering of the type, but this one does it.
2007 L’Alchimiste: here you go, foot-stomped rosé de macération. Distinguished from rosé de saignée by its longer maceration time. This had crazy cherry notes on the nose and an expansive, tannic, ripe, anguish-filled (I add some Antonioni notes here) taste on the palate. I liked and didn’t like, and wanted more.
2009 Trépail Rouge: a still red with a nose that was more pleasing and beguiling than an earlier-tasted Burgundy. Somewhat acidic on the palate, but who’s to throw a rock through the window?
Now, having hit the bull’s-eye of France (well, for some; your M may V), all angles broke loose.
Domaine Pierre Morey. Here was back to some pleasing Burgundy, and a shaking finger at those who decry it. A 2009 Bourgogne Aligoté was far livelier than the Lafarge, mentioned in the previous post. The following 2009 Meursault Tessons was a happy thing in the mouth. I will leave that, as though I were a non-native speaker with a happy mouth. By which I mean that it was elegant, a bit in the style (oak and perhaps a minor twirl of batonnage), but elegant as such. 2008 Meursault 1er Perrières was also just one’s backyard hammock Meursault, when butler brings you a lobster pot pie to go with. 2009 Monthélie was tannic and young and sprightly and delightful. 2008 Pommard Grands Epenots was hard and waiting.
But this was a happy return to Burgundian soil. Which was fled right away, and then...
Grab-bag follows:
André and Mireille Tissot: making separate parcels for vin jaune is compelling. 2005s are great. Most recent Trousseau to glug. A pleasure.
Cotar: a new find. I love their skin-contact Vitovska and Malvasia, per winemaker this is nothing new, it’s been this way for centuries. More, please.
Movia: Great range, from Pinot Grigio (yes!) to Sauvignon Blanc to all kinds of madness, including the cloudy orange Lunar, which is a moving wine. And fine Pinot Nero.
Foradori: Anfora isn’t always the answer. I find these wines flawed (Nosiola) and/or reticent (Sgarzon, Morei).
Back to France:
Hauvette: quite worthy of note. I had no time for notes for them, but I can only say that they were more than elegant. Each was surprising in a quite pleasurable way. I come back to you, Hauvette.
The end is nigh. There is so much more, so much more that is left, and I run back to the Loire:
C. & P. Breton: Those wines are lovely. 2011 Avis de Vin Fort full asail with its carbonic pleasure. 2010 Franc de Pied, savory, deep into its 12% abv. And 2010 Nuits d’Ivresse, with beautiful texture. Others, Perrières, Beaumont, Saint-Louand, each, but the aforementioned quite compelling.
And last, I feel a tug at my sleeve. A knowledgable friend. The lights are flickering and the bells chime to chase us all away. Glasses are collected from hands.
My friend says, “You haven’t tried the Grolleau, have you?”
And so I am led, glassless, to be lent a glass, to Pascal Lambert of Chinon. Who has not one but two sparkling Grolleaus.
And some whites... and some reds... and the angry security guards come, and my notes go away, and lastly I am standing in line waiting for the coat check.
But those were some good Chinons.
I have tasted the champagnes of Françoise Bedel several times in the past few years, and while I want to like them, I sometimes find them exaggeratedly oxidative/oxidized and problematic. Biodynamic since 1998, she is in the far west of Champagne—that is, almost abutting the Paris region. She works with Meunier, mostly (to the tune of 80%).
The dosage of her wines falls at 6-7 g/l. I have to say that this time, the vinous quality of the first two wines won out for me. I was charmed by Cuvée Origin’elle, and found the hazelnutty yet poised tenor of Dis Vin Secret charming rather than alarming. (We must admit that it’s alarming when a wine seems like it will turn to Madeira in the cellar in a year or two, the wine enthusiast’s dark fairy tale.)
Entre Ciel et Terre was interestingly leaner, fresher, more minerally, but wore its dosage a bit more, was perhaps a bit notably sweet.
Lastly, a lower dosaged (vintage oblige) 2003 Millésimé bore nonetheless the curse of the vintage. However, the first two in the lineup were some of the more exciting grower champagnes I have had in the past weeks.
But the excitement was amped up at the neighboring table. With any sense, the direction to taste would have been opposite, but sometimes these mistakes happen. David Léclapart has vines, mostly Chardonnay, in Trépail, which is on the southeast side of the Montagne de Reims, near Bouzy—traditionally Pinot Noir country. But he works in the white grape. And he has an approach. He’s lucky, in that the vines were acquired by his family in 1946, and the first tractors hit the sector in the ‘60s, so his have never had. He also has an approach to the wines that seems counterintuitive, but which proves more than compelling in the glass. That is: never dosage. Always malolactic fermentation. (The cuve vs. barrel subject is suppler.)
One quibble is his not-easy-to-recall nomenclature, all nouns starting in “A.”
2006 L’Amateur: the first cuvée. How fine this is. I have had earlier versions of it that I deemed almost too angrily lean with no dosage, but this one was perfectly balanced, sharp, teasing, gorgeous. I would drink this very many times.
2005 L’Artiste: slightly older vines, more sapidity, but it was served a little too warm and I felt that that made it a little less sharp, though it had good depth.
2005 L’Apôtre: barrel-aged. More of more of more of more. Softer, deeper, you have to like that style, but if you do, it is successful in it. I am wary of such, of the large-handed Ozymandias offering of the type, but this one does it.
2007 L’Alchimiste: here you go, foot-stomped rosé de macération. Distinguished from rosé de saignée by its longer maceration time. This had crazy cherry notes on the nose and an expansive, tannic, ripe, anguish-filled (I add some Antonioni notes here) taste on the palate. I liked and didn’t like, and wanted more.
2009 Trépail Rouge: a still red with a nose that was more pleasing and beguiling than an earlier-tasted Burgundy. Somewhat acidic on the palate, but who’s to throw a rock through the window?
Now, having hit the bull’s-eye of France (well, for some; your M may V), all angles broke loose.
Domaine Pierre Morey. Here was back to some pleasing Burgundy, and a shaking finger at those who decry it. A 2009 Bourgogne Aligoté was far livelier than the Lafarge, mentioned in the previous post. The following 2009 Meursault Tessons was a happy thing in the mouth. I will leave that, as though I were a non-native speaker with a happy mouth. By which I mean that it was elegant, a bit in the style (oak and perhaps a minor twirl of batonnage), but elegant as such. 2008 Meursault 1er Perrières was also just one’s backyard hammock Meursault, when butler brings you a lobster pot pie to go with. 2009 Monthélie was tannic and young and sprightly and delightful. 2008 Pommard Grands Epenots was hard and waiting.
But this was a happy return to Burgundian soil. Which was fled right away, and then...
Grab-bag follows:
André and Mireille Tissot: making separate parcels for vin jaune is compelling. 2005s are great. Most recent Trousseau to glug. A pleasure.
Cotar: a new find. I love their skin-contact Vitovska and Malvasia, per winemaker this is nothing new, it’s been this way for centuries. More, please.
Movia: Great range, from Pinot Grigio (yes!) to Sauvignon Blanc to all kinds of madness, including the cloudy orange Lunar, which is a moving wine. And fine Pinot Nero.
Foradori: Anfora isn’t always the answer. I find these wines flawed (Nosiola) and/or reticent (Sgarzon, Morei).
Back to France:
Hauvette: quite worthy of note. I had no time for notes for them, but I can only say that they were more than elegant. Each was surprising in a quite pleasurable way. I come back to you, Hauvette.
The end is nigh. There is so much more, so much more that is left, and I run back to the Loire:
C. & P. Breton: Those wines are lovely. 2011 Avis de Vin Fort full asail with its carbonic pleasure. 2010 Franc de Pied, savory, deep into its 12% abv. And 2010 Nuits d’Ivresse, with beautiful texture. Others, Perrières, Beaumont, Saint-Louand, each, but the aforementioned quite compelling.
And last, I feel a tug at my sleeve. A knowledgable friend. The lights are flickering and the bells chime to chase us all away. Glasses are collected from hands.
My friend says, “You haven’t tried the Grolleau, have you?”
And so I am led, glassless, to be lent a glass, to Pascal Lambert of Chinon. Who has not one but two sparkling Grolleaus.
And some whites... and some reds... and the angry security guards come, and my notes go away, and lastly I am standing in line waiting for the coat check.
But those were some good Chinons.
