Chris Coad
Chris Coad
So the Irrepressible Bradley Kane, Esq., presses ever onwards in his quest for Theme Tastings. Tonight it's the wines of Claude and François Pinon, and this is enough of a draw for me to drag my jet-lagged ass under the East River and over to his palatial east side eyrie for an evening's bibulous diversion from the cares of the day.
I'm hauling a bag full of my hastily-assembled Very Popular Chopped Veggie Salad that took longer to make than it should have, so when Lisa and I arrive in our non-prompt fashion there's already one empty, some kind of fizz. I make a dash for the other mostly-empty bottle, and manage to snag a pour of François Pinon Vouvray Brut NV before it's drained. Come to me, my pretty, mmmm, yes. Very fine bead, kind of aromatically quiet, light hints of lemon and chalk, touch of yeastiness, shy. Tastes nervy and bright and clean, on the light-bodied side, simple and fresh-tasting, a good tonic to wash away the road-dust.
Okay, wine secured, now there's people. I wave at "Good ol'" SFJoe and Loire guru Don Rice, who's brought along a friend I don't know, is it Dan? I hope we don't scare him. And there's Cliff Rosenberg and Jeff Grossman and Jay Miller, and of course our gentle host, mostly freed from his usual kitchen bustlings by the fine potluckerie on hand. SFJoe and Jeff are having some kind of debate about the term "bruise."
"So I had a sommelier tell me once that I shouldn't decant a wine because I might 'bruise' it. What does that even mean?" asks Jeff.
"Old Burgundy?"
"Young Oregon pinot noir."
Joe considers this. "Well, you might bruise it, but it would only turn more purple."
*rimshot*
While admiring what passes for sparkling badinage in these latter days I find myself a nice hefty pour of François Pinon Vouvray 'Silex Noir' 2009. I stick my nose in the glass, and get quiet hints of lemon and quinine, paraffin and chalk, gentle minerality, rather reticent. A sip, and it's nervy and gentle and very young, playing its cards very close to its chest. Rather neutral at first impression, it gently unfolds just a skosh with air and time, but just a little. Mostly potential at this point, but plenty of it.
Whoops a brother to the Silex Noir, the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2009 is corked.
Happily, we have an alternate bottle. So here's the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2009, and it's a little more broad than its cousin, more aromatically open and richer to sip at in the middle, but less composed and delicate. My impression is mostly of a happy young Vouvray with a bumptious side, gently sweet, more open, more approachable, maybe less thoughtful. It seems a bit broader, a bit clumsier to me, but I wouldn't kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers.
Good heavens, I haven't had the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 1999 in ages. My last note on it, from eleven years ago: Light and clean and minerally-smelling, like a freshly-scrubbed quartz doorstop that your relatives gave you and you have to put out when they come to visit even though you stub your toe on the damn thing every time you walk past it. Tastes quiet and smooth, less dense than in the past few years, the usual hint of sweetness. A small, quiet wine without a lot of density that sips smoothly.
What has happened to you in the last eleven years, old friend? What have we here? Hm, a touch of light honey that wasn't there before, a light honeysuckle/whitefloral note that I don't remember, but there's the same minerality, and in the piehole it's much the same, racy and on the lean side, very little fat here, only the subtlest hint of sweetness. This was never a particular standout among the Traditions I've tasted, but damn, it's holding up really well.
Ah, now, here's one of the great wine bargains of the past century, a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 1997. I stick my nose in the glass and start giggling like Christoph Waltz, "Hahaha, what fun!" Lightly tropical, pineapple mixed with chalk and chamomile, still very youthful. Racy, balanced and ripe, really pleasant to drink, just a great mouthful of off-dry chenin blanc. I could drink this all night and all day until the end of time.
Brad points out that he urged us all to buy a lot of the '97 Tradition. I point out that he also urged us to buy boatloads of the '96 Finca Villacreces, the last bottles of which I have going belly-up in my sister's basement in Connecticut. I urge him to help me drink it up, in tribute to his clairvoyance.
A François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2002 is corked. Phooey.
Here's something from Claude Pinon's era, a Domaine des Douveliers Vouvray Demisec 1983. Very pale straw color. Smells a bit firecrackery-sulfurous right off the bat, with a quiet rainwatery semi-neutral tone under that. Not getting much in the way of aromatics, swirl though I may. A sip, and SPIKES, SPIKES ARE BEING THRUST UNDER MY TONGUE. Holy cats, that's some severe acidity, it's like drinking a fifty-fifty blend of rainwater and lime juice. There may be something going on besides shrillness, but I'm not terribly interested in lingering longer to find out.
Don mentions that he'd had a choice between buying this '83 "demisec" and a '79 sec that was supposedly more severe. "Good call," several of us agree in unison.
Brad calls out "If anyone wants some whitefish, I deboned it!"
I sing back "Was it good for you?" It gets a laugh. Yes, I am twelve.
Okay, we've moving on to the Land of Sweetness, first inhabitant a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 'Cuvée Novembre' 2002. Mmm, here we go, richly aromatic, this has turned more towards the apricot-bergamot noseways, rather than the yellow-apple/pineapple of its infancy, but it's still quite young and fresh-smelling, not boisterous, but gentle and rich and layered, with that same flicker of quinine on the finish, inspires run-on sentences. Medium-plus sweet and rather small-framed, but if it's gentle and oddly delicate it's also quite complete and polished, a pretty little orchid of a wine.
Next up is another old friend, a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1997. Upon first nosing it's not terribly different than the Novembre, calm bergamot-apricot-chalk smellies that are perhaps one notch up in volume. But in the piehole it's much more muscular, honey-mineral, a bit sweeter, a bit more unctuous, a bit more acidity, a bit more of everything. A big, boisterous, brawny youngster, not much budged from the days of its youth. May we all age so well. SFJoe seems confused by this wine: "Where is it getting its acidity??" he wonders aloud. No one is sure. "Grapefruit?" is suggested, and this seems to settle him down. "Of course, of course secret Pinon family recipe."
Here's the older brother-in-arms, a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1ere Trie 1996. All ripe apricots in my nose, much more developed than I remember from a decade ago, gently beeswaxy, touch of almond. Still oddly lean and racy for a 1ere trie, not terribly sweet, but quite focused and nervy, pit-fruity at the core, turning very lime-rind and quinine on the finish, almost gin & tonicky. Delightful wine, a living thing, moving in interesting directions.
Jay passes around his whipped-cream-dosed strawberry soup. I immediately demand to know the soil type of the strawberries in question. How can I put the soup in context if I don't know the provenance?
Moving into sweeter realms yet with a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1ere Trie 1989. I love this wine, but this bottle is a bit shy at first. Apricots, lemon and orange rind, pomander spice smellies, but quiet, demure, where in the past they've been vibrant. In fact, this bottle seems younger, less developed than some I've had. Medium-plus sweetness, zippy acidity with plenty of richness in the middle and a long tickly finish. Lovely, but playing in a minor key this evening.
Ratcheting things up further with the François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux "Goutte d'Or" 1990. Striking amber-topaz color, much darker than any previous wine. And the smellies! So different! Vanilla bean, brown sugar, molasses, apricot jam, this smells like sixty-year-old Vouvray, quite delightful but odd in such a young wine. A sip, and the illusion continues: very sweet, loads of caramel and amber-honey flavors, very round in the piehole, viscous and sugary, the sweetest wine yet but with a firm core of vibrant acidity. Some rough tannins on the finish are a quibble, as this is a broad-beamed kind of wonder that seems to exist on its own terms. You wonder at it, but it's impossible to resist. What to make of a twenty-year-old wine that presents as a sixty-year-old wine? Where will it be in forty years? Who knows? Jay throws up his hands, "We need Callahan to come explain this wine to us!" Word, Mr. Miller, word.
Brad announces dessert: "There's a pear tart!"
SFJoe is not impressed. "If I have any more sugar, I'll have some kind of seizure."
Lisa pipes up "I can handle that! I'm a neurologist, you know!"
He's having none of it. "Or at least diagnose it. All seizures stop eventually, no?"
"Eventually they all do. You know how it goes: air goes in and out, blood goes round and round; any variation on this is a problem."
And yet there are more sweeties to be had, namely a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Botrytis 2005, which, oh my goodness, is supple and gentle-smelling and pretty. I wasn't expecting this to be so delicate, but there you are, the aromatics are oddly subtle, light botrytis and lemon-quince notes, smells very young and gently expressive. A sip, and it's sweet, but not as sweet as you'd think, not nearly as sweet as the '90 Goutte d'Or. Very poised and interestingly delicate, with a great deal of focus at the core but not a lot of muscle or brawn. A pretty little music-box dancer of a wine, utterly charming.
One more, a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Botrytis 1997, and sweet fancy Moses, here's the blowout to end the evening: wildly aromatic, just a salad bowl of ripe peach-pineapple-apricot fruit laced with two fistfuls of spicy-hay botrytis. Hugely sweet, bracingly crisp, packed with all kinds of wacky goings-on that defy description. Still possessed of babyfat, a wonderful freak of a wine that draws gasps. I have none of it in my cellar, but if I did I might want to mark it as Deathbed Wine.
One thing that puzzles Kane is the fact that no one seemed to have a lot of the recent vintages on hand to bring. Like, no one had the '05s through the 08s. The answer, we decide, is fairly simple: we can't keep our hands off them, we just drink them until they're gone and say "Whoops, should've squirreled some away. Ah well, next year I will." And then we do the same thing next year.
I suspect this pattern would not entirely displease M. Pinon.
I'm hauling a bag full of my hastily-assembled Very Popular Chopped Veggie Salad that took longer to make than it should have, so when Lisa and I arrive in our non-prompt fashion there's already one empty, some kind of fizz. I make a dash for the other mostly-empty bottle, and manage to snag a pour of François Pinon Vouvray Brut NV before it's drained. Come to me, my pretty, mmmm, yes. Very fine bead, kind of aromatically quiet, light hints of lemon and chalk, touch of yeastiness, shy. Tastes nervy and bright and clean, on the light-bodied side, simple and fresh-tasting, a good tonic to wash away the road-dust.
Okay, wine secured, now there's people. I wave at "Good ol'" SFJoe and Loire guru Don Rice, who's brought along a friend I don't know, is it Dan? I hope we don't scare him. And there's Cliff Rosenberg and Jeff Grossman and Jay Miller, and of course our gentle host, mostly freed from his usual kitchen bustlings by the fine potluckerie on hand. SFJoe and Jeff are having some kind of debate about the term "bruise."
"So I had a sommelier tell me once that I shouldn't decant a wine because I might 'bruise' it. What does that even mean?" asks Jeff.
"Old Burgundy?"
"Young Oregon pinot noir."
Joe considers this. "Well, you might bruise it, but it would only turn more purple."
*rimshot*
While admiring what passes for sparkling badinage in these latter days I find myself a nice hefty pour of François Pinon Vouvray 'Silex Noir' 2009. I stick my nose in the glass, and get quiet hints of lemon and quinine, paraffin and chalk, gentle minerality, rather reticent. A sip, and it's nervy and gentle and very young, playing its cards very close to its chest. Rather neutral at first impression, it gently unfolds just a skosh with air and time, but just a little. Mostly potential at this point, but plenty of it.
Whoops a brother to the Silex Noir, the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2009 is corked.
Happily, we have an alternate bottle. So here's the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2009, and it's a little more broad than its cousin, more aromatically open and richer to sip at in the middle, but less composed and delicate. My impression is mostly of a happy young Vouvray with a bumptious side, gently sweet, more open, more approachable, maybe less thoughtful. It seems a bit broader, a bit clumsier to me, but I wouldn't kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers.
Good heavens, I haven't had the François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 1999 in ages. My last note on it, from eleven years ago: Light and clean and minerally-smelling, like a freshly-scrubbed quartz doorstop that your relatives gave you and you have to put out when they come to visit even though you stub your toe on the damn thing every time you walk past it. Tastes quiet and smooth, less dense than in the past few years, the usual hint of sweetness. A small, quiet wine without a lot of density that sips smoothly.
What has happened to you in the last eleven years, old friend? What have we here? Hm, a touch of light honey that wasn't there before, a light honeysuckle/whitefloral note that I don't remember, but there's the same minerality, and in the piehole it's much the same, racy and on the lean side, very little fat here, only the subtlest hint of sweetness. This was never a particular standout among the Traditions I've tasted, but damn, it's holding up really well.
Ah, now, here's one of the great wine bargains of the past century, a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 1997. I stick my nose in the glass and start giggling like Christoph Waltz, "Hahaha, what fun!" Lightly tropical, pineapple mixed with chalk and chamomile, still very youthful. Racy, balanced and ripe, really pleasant to drink, just a great mouthful of off-dry chenin blanc. I could drink this all night and all day until the end of time.
Brad points out that he urged us all to buy a lot of the '97 Tradition. I point out that he also urged us to buy boatloads of the '96 Finca Villacreces, the last bottles of which I have going belly-up in my sister's basement in Connecticut. I urge him to help me drink it up, in tribute to his clairvoyance.
A François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Tradition 2002 is corked. Phooey.
Here's something from Claude Pinon's era, a Domaine des Douveliers Vouvray Demisec 1983. Very pale straw color. Smells a bit firecrackery-sulfurous right off the bat, with a quiet rainwatery semi-neutral tone under that. Not getting much in the way of aromatics, swirl though I may. A sip, and SPIKES, SPIKES ARE BEING THRUST UNDER MY TONGUE. Holy cats, that's some severe acidity, it's like drinking a fifty-fifty blend of rainwater and lime juice. There may be something going on besides shrillness, but I'm not terribly interested in lingering longer to find out.
Don mentions that he'd had a choice between buying this '83 "demisec" and a '79 sec that was supposedly more severe. "Good call," several of us agree in unison.
Brad calls out "If anyone wants some whitefish, I deboned it!"
I sing back "Was it good for you?" It gets a laugh. Yes, I am twelve.
Okay, we've moving on to the Land of Sweetness, first inhabitant a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 'Cuvée Novembre' 2002. Mmm, here we go, richly aromatic, this has turned more towards the apricot-bergamot noseways, rather than the yellow-apple/pineapple of its infancy, but it's still quite young and fresh-smelling, not boisterous, but gentle and rich and layered, with that same flicker of quinine on the finish, inspires run-on sentences. Medium-plus sweet and rather small-framed, but if it's gentle and oddly delicate it's also quite complete and polished, a pretty little orchid of a wine.
Next up is another old friend, a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1997. Upon first nosing it's not terribly different than the Novembre, calm bergamot-apricot-chalk smellies that are perhaps one notch up in volume. But in the piehole it's much more muscular, honey-mineral, a bit sweeter, a bit more unctuous, a bit more acidity, a bit more of everything. A big, boisterous, brawny youngster, not much budged from the days of its youth. May we all age so well. SFJoe seems confused by this wine: "Where is it getting its acidity??" he wonders aloud. No one is sure. "Grapefruit?" is suggested, and this seems to settle him down. "Of course, of course secret Pinon family recipe."
Here's the older brother-in-arms, a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1ere Trie 1996. All ripe apricots in my nose, much more developed than I remember from a decade ago, gently beeswaxy, touch of almond. Still oddly lean and racy for a 1ere trie, not terribly sweet, but quite focused and nervy, pit-fruity at the core, turning very lime-rind and quinine on the finish, almost gin & tonicky. Delightful wine, a living thing, moving in interesting directions.
Jay passes around his whipped-cream-dosed strawberry soup. I immediately demand to know the soil type of the strawberries in question. How can I put the soup in context if I don't know the provenance?
Moving into sweeter realms yet with a François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux 1ere Trie 1989. I love this wine, but this bottle is a bit shy at first. Apricots, lemon and orange rind, pomander spice smellies, but quiet, demure, where in the past they've been vibrant. In fact, this bottle seems younger, less developed than some I've had. Medium-plus sweetness, zippy acidity with plenty of richness in the middle and a long tickly finish. Lovely, but playing in a minor key this evening.
Ratcheting things up further with the François Pinon Vouvray Moëlleux "Goutte d'Or" 1990. Striking amber-topaz color, much darker than any previous wine. And the smellies! So different! Vanilla bean, brown sugar, molasses, apricot jam, this smells like sixty-year-old Vouvray, quite delightful but odd in such a young wine. A sip, and the illusion continues: very sweet, loads of caramel and amber-honey flavors, very round in the piehole, viscous and sugary, the sweetest wine yet but with a firm core of vibrant acidity. Some rough tannins on the finish are a quibble, as this is a broad-beamed kind of wonder that seems to exist on its own terms. You wonder at it, but it's impossible to resist. What to make of a twenty-year-old wine that presents as a sixty-year-old wine? Where will it be in forty years? Who knows? Jay throws up his hands, "We need Callahan to come explain this wine to us!" Word, Mr. Miller, word.
Brad announces dessert: "There's a pear tart!"
SFJoe is not impressed. "If I have any more sugar, I'll have some kind of seizure."
Lisa pipes up "I can handle that! I'm a neurologist, you know!"
He's having none of it. "Or at least diagnose it. All seizures stop eventually, no?"
"Eventually they all do. You know how it goes: air goes in and out, blood goes round and round; any variation on this is a problem."
And yet there are more sweeties to be had, namely a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Botrytis 2005, which, oh my goodness, is supple and gentle-smelling and pretty. I wasn't expecting this to be so delicate, but there you are, the aromatics are oddly subtle, light botrytis and lemon-quince notes, smells very young and gently expressive. A sip, and it's sweet, but not as sweet as you'd think, not nearly as sweet as the '90 Goutte d'Or. Very poised and interestingly delicate, with a great deal of focus at the core but not a lot of muscle or brawn. A pretty little music-box dancer of a wine, utterly charming.
One more, a François Pinon Vouvray Cuvée Botrytis 1997, and sweet fancy Moses, here's the blowout to end the evening: wildly aromatic, just a salad bowl of ripe peach-pineapple-apricot fruit laced with two fistfuls of spicy-hay botrytis. Hugely sweet, bracingly crisp, packed with all kinds of wacky goings-on that defy description. Still possessed of babyfat, a wonderful freak of a wine that draws gasps. I have none of it in my cellar, but if I did I might want to mark it as Deathbed Wine.
One thing that puzzles Kane is the fact that no one seemed to have a lot of the recent vintages on hand to bring. Like, no one had the '05s through the 08s. The answer, we decide, is fairly simple: we can't keep our hands off them, we just drink them until they're gone and say "Whoops, should've squirreled some away. Ah well, next year I will." And then we do the same thing next year.
I suspect this pattern would not entirely displease M. Pinon.