Jean-Philippe Fichet in his cellar in Meursault (November 2009).
To my mind, one of the past decade’s most positive wine developments has been the world’s growing appreciation of “transparent” Chardonnay, whose crystalline clarity magnifies the minerality of the soil in which it is grown.
Such Chardonnays have challenged many preconceptions about popular taste. They revel in their touch of austerity, not having been made from grapes stripped of acidity by climate, late harvest or deacidification. They’re slender of body, without the Rubenesque size we’re supposed to covet. And they lack the toasty new wood that, we’re told, no wine drinker can resist.
In fact, the magic of these wines is not easily found, but once discovered it will grip a wine lover’s soul and never let it go.
The Wellspring
A quarter century ago, about the only place you could find Chardonnay of great minerality was in France. There were pockets of such wine in the Côte d’Or, but opulence was still the cardinal virtue of a fine Côte d’Or white. You were far better off looking in Chablis, where a few old-fashioned producers were content to let the grape and soil speak with minimal translation.
Today, this philosophy is flourishing in Chablis, as more of its top producers strive for site expression unmasked by extract or the taste of wood. Such thinking is also spreading through the Côte d’Or, especially in Meursault, where a handful of growers are making some of the world’s most thrillingly complex, and profoundly mineral Chardonnay. These wines are made possible by a very low water table, which forces the vine roots deep underground, magnifying the intense stoniness of the village’s soils.
Not that long ago, growers in Meursault dared not emphasize their wines’ natural stoniness; they were more interested in making classic “buttery” Meursault. It wasn’t until the 1990s when–building on the earlier work of Coche-Dury and Comte Lafon–Jean-Marc Roulot perfected the idea of crafting intensely mineral Meursault. Ever since, Roulot’s wines have been benchmarks for those who love Chardonnay of blinding clarity, complex minerality and laser-guided acidity.
Jean-Philippe Fichet
Until recently, no lover of Roulot’s mineral style of Meursault would question that he makes the best examples. But with the emergence of the equally gifted Jean-Philippe Fichet, Roulot is no longer necessarily the clear leader.
Little-known outside Burgundy until recently, Fichet’s pedigree is well-established, with a track record of stunning Meursaults since the 2000 vintage. And he has achieved this primarily with village level lieu-dit (non-premier cru) vineyards. In fact, if I had to choose just one grower’s lieu-dit Meursaults to drink from the past decade, I would have a very hard time choosing between those of Roulot and Fichet. And if cost were a consideration, Fichet wins hands-down, since his wines can be had for about two-thirds the price of Roulot’s comparable cuvées (not to mention those of Lafon and Coche!).
The Glorious 2007s
As good as Fichet’s wines have been since 2000, the greatest measure of his talents can be found in his newly released 2007s. It’s a vintage made for his style of winemaking, and he took full advantage, producing wines that are breathtaking for their purity and the way they reveal the soil.
Next week you can find out for yourself, as Fichet’s 2007s are featured in The Rare Wine Co. newsletter. Showcased are his overachieving Bourgogne Blanc Vieilles Vignes, made from a high proportion of vines a stone’s throw from the premier cru Meursault-Charmes; his thrillingly diverse Meursault Tesson, Chevalières, Gruyaches and Meix Sous le Chateaulieux dits; and his lone Meursault premier cru, Genevrières, of which just two barrels were made.
Subscribers to our newsletter should receive their copies on Monday or Tuesday next week. But everyone can see the offer Monday night at www.rarewineco.com.
Video Feature
In the meantime, we’re delighted to share with you some footage from our recent vintage with Jean-Philippe, who talks with RWC’s Blake Murdock about his special parcel of Bourgogne Blanc Vieilles Vignes.
By Mannie Berk and Blake Murdock on November 23rd, 2009
Almost every wine aficionado knows about the divide between “modern” and “traditional” winemakers in Piedmont. But far less has been written about a similar clash of philosophies in the Northern Rhône. Both disputes date back to the 1980s; yet, the results have been very different.
In Piedmont, the modernists threw down the gauntlet; openly criticizing the traditionalists and boldly spelling out the transformation they would forge. This not only drew battle lines, it served to educate the world about the differences between the two schools of winemaking.
Today a majority of collectors understand what is meant by a “modern” or “traditional” Barolo or Barbaresco. Had modernism crept in quietly, traditionalism could be on life support today. But the stridency of the modernist manifesto had the opposite effect: to make the world aware of the beauty of the best old-style wines. And the great traditionally made wines of Giacomo Conterno, Giuseppe Mascarello and Bartolo Mascarello are even more sought–after today than they were at the birth of modernism.
But not in the Northern Rhône …
The Northern Rhône is in a completely different situation. In the late 1980s–the very moment when modernism was taking off in Piedmont–the Rhône was awakening from a century of domination by large négociants. The few domaine bottlers were mostly old-fashioned in their approach, fermenting in whole clusters, using relatively slow fermentations, and aging in old barrels. Among the giants of this school of winemaking were Marius Gentaz, Noël Verset, Auguste Clape and Raymond Trollat.
A view from La Landonne (Côte-Rôtie), overlooking the Rhône.
However, the late 1980s and early 1990s opened the door for many more Northern Rhône growers to become domaine bottlers. At most estates, the winemaking started out as traditional, but that lasted only a few years. Some domaines–like those of Gentaz and Trollat–had no younger generation to take over. At others, the winemaking was passed on to an enology-school-trained generation, which was influenced not only by the stunning success of Guigal and Chapoutier, but new developments in Europe, America and Australia.
Modernism moves in
Their eyes widened, the young vignerons soon filled their cellars with new barrels, slashed their yields, altered their fermentations to enhance color and extraction, and began to destem all their fruit in search of a softer palate. Today, the number of Northern Rhône domaines producing wine under their own labels has skyrocketed. But how many winemakers under the age of 40 make wine even remotely as their fathers and grandfathers did?
It can be argued, of course, that this is all for the good. The standard of small-domaine winemaking in the Northern Rhône 30 years ago was, in fact, well below that of the traditional winemakers in Piedmont. For every Gentaz or Clape who made magical wines, there were a dozen vignerons making overly tannic or unclean wines. Wasn’t winemaking in Northern Rhône in desperate need of the makeover it received?
When I first learned about Barolo in the 1970s, friends told me that you should open the wine a day in advance. It seemed like nonsense, but it corresponded to the then widely held view that Barolo is so inherently tannic that it never really loses its hard edge.
Of course, neither idea was true, but like many other myths, each was rooted in reality. The Barolos of that era were very tannic, needing decades to come around. And they did demand plenty of breathing, though perhaps not 24 hours worth.
As the years have gone by, I have come to the view that a well-cellared bottle of old, traditionally made Barolo should breathe for at least an hour or two before drinking. This applies especially to Barolos in their 30s, 40s and 50s. In my life, I have seen far too many old Barolos (and Barbarescos, too) uncorked, poured and drunk, without giving the wines a chance to express themselves.
This past Monday evening, a small group of friends and I had the chance to learn this lesson, not the hard way, but by witnessing a parade of legendary old Barolos blossom before our eyes. But if we hadn’t trusted the wines’ condition and potential, things might have worked out very differently. Read more…
Cama do Lobos' Caldeira subzone on Tuesday, under sunny skies, just before the rains arrived.
The pounding of the rain in the new Barbeito winery, with its metal roof, was deafening. I’ve been visiting Madeira for more than twenty years and have never seen, or heard, anything like it. A few clouds in the afternoon, and often some sprinkles, are normal in my experience, but nothing like this. I couldn’t help but think about the October 9, 1803, flood that ravaged the island, tearing houses from their foundations and sweeping countless victims out to sea.
Last Wednesday’s heavy rains apparently caused no loss of property or life, but it did bring this year’s grape harvest to an early close. In many vineyards, a sizable part of the crop will be left to rot, while what is still harvested will have less concentrated sugar than had it been picked just before the rain. Ironically, the island’s South Coast vineyards, which normally enjoy the sunniest weather, were hardest hit. As of this morning, the sun still hadn’t come out along the South Coast, while the North Coast was basking in sun.
Given the structure of the wine trade in Madeira, it’s not the producers who take the loss, but the small grape farmers, most of whom own much less than an acre of vines. The farmers suffer financially two ways: they get no income from the unharvested grapes and their income is reduced for the grapes they bring in after the rain. (Today, the shippers encourage the island’s farmers to produce better, riper fruit by paying for higher sugar levels.)
Madeira drinkers also have a lot to lose. Ever since the 1850s, when the vineyards were devastated by an Oidium epidemic, they have had a love-hate relationship with viticulture. The growing of grapes may be in their blood, and when everything goes well, it can be profitable. But even in Madeira’s generous climate, Mother Nature can step in at any time, robbing them of much-needed income.
The trend over the past century for the South Coast’s farmers has been to rip up their vineyards and replace them with, among other plants, banana trees—and the effects of Wednesday’s rain can’t help but hasten the process. Bananas are a more reliable crop, and they’re also more profitable, as farmers can get two crops of bananas a year. Today, one finds more banana trees than vines in famous areas—like Cama do Lobos and San Martinho—once blanketed by vineyards. A generation from now, who knows what we’ll find?
A report from Sunday’s Trimbach Cuvée Frédéric Emile dinner
at Absinthe in San Francisco.
Prejudices exist to be discredited, and one that’s particularly annoying is that white wines—particularly ones released at $50 or less—aren’t riveting enough for vertical tastings. Granted, most white wines aren’t worthy, but neither are most reds. It takes a wine that offers both real longevity and real complexity to be worth sitting down to a three-hour vertical.
Anyone who was at Absinthe on Sunday night certainly got the message. The outstanding menu provided a perfect backdrop for four flights of Trimbach’s Riesling Frédéric Emile dating back to 1979. True believers of Freddie Emile would anticipate a truly memorable evening. But we suspect that most wine lovers would not. After all, “The Fred” isn’t even Trimbach’s best Riesling (that honor goes to the iconic Clos Ste. Hune). And it’s too cheap (released in its normal cuvée at about fifty bucks) and too available (3000 cases in a good year). But that doesn’t keep it from being France’s second best Riesling and a wine that ages for decades, revealing stunning nuance and complexity.
From left to right: decanting by candlelight before the tasting; 1990 and 1982 Montestefano Riservas; and Prudottori's rare Barbaresco 'Centenario.'
It’s rare that anyone has the chance to taste twenty iconic Barbarescos spanning six of Piedmont’s greatest vintages. But in June, in connection with Produttori del Barbaresco’s 50th anniversary, I took part in The Rare Wine Co.’s retrospective tasting of a number of the cooperative’s most important wines: 19 single-cru Barbaresco Riservas and the legendary 1990 Barbaresco “Centenario.”
While a few of the bottles came from Produttori’s own cellar, most were painstakingly acquired by The Rare Wine Co. from private cellars, mostly in Europe, over the past several years. But regardless of provenance, the wines were consistently in remarkable condition for their age.
Some showed youthful berry flavors, others an earthy power, and still others the characteristic autumnal notes of mature Barbaresco. And what the older wines lacked in concentration, they made up for with their ethereal perfume. Every wine spoke of its vintage, place, and the cantina’s brilliantly “undercrafted” traditionalism. Indeed, the minimal wine-making style gives great transparency to both the vintages and the crus.
Having represented Pingus in America for more than a decade, I’ve long been aware of this iconic wine’s stature not only in Spain, but around the world.
But just how important Pingus, and its maker Peter Sisseck, have become was driven home to me in June when I looked at the list of 654 Spanish wines newly reviewed on erobertparker.com. There was Pingus again on top, owning for the fourth vintage in a row a perfect or nearly perfect score: 99, 99, 100, 96-100.
But the scores don’t really explain the extent of Pingus’ cult, which stretches around the globe and was born over a sixteen month period in 1996 and 1997.
The seed was planted in August 1996, when Robert Parker called Pingus’ first vintage (1995) “one of the greatest and most exciting young red wines I have ever tasted.” But the cult fully flowered in November, 1997, when a ship carrying the entire U.S. allocation of the 1995 broke up in high seas off the Azores. Much of the wine had been presold, forcing merchants into the market to make good on their sales. This drove prices up by several hundred percent.
Other new wines have had their moment of fame, but for Pingus, the allure only became stronger. It helped that Peter has never made more than 500 cases in a single vintage. But far more important, the wine’s quality continued to get better, reflecting Peter’s maturing ideas and skills as a winemaker. He has emerged as one of the intellectuals of winemaking in Europe, a student of Rudolf Steiner, and a firm believer in both organic and biodynamic viticulture.
For Peter, Pingus’ success has been a gift. He had the very good fortune to acquire some of the finest, oldest vineyards in Ribera del Duero when it was still possible to do so, and he used these vineyards to create one of the world’s iconic wines. The acclaim has made him a global celebrity as well as an idol for other winemakers in Spain.
In 2006, Peter decided to pay back the region that had been so good to him. Read more…
In June, I had the privilege of traveling to San Francisco to attend a once-in-a-lifetime retrospective of Produttori del Barbaresco, in honor of the cooperative cantina’s 50th anniversary.
We were joined by Aldo Vacca, Produttori’s direttore commerciale, who led us through twenty of the cantina’s legendary Barbarescos: nineteen single-cru riservas (1967-1990) and the rare 1990 “Centenario,” a blend of crus.
The Barbarescos featured at the luncheon represented different types of growing seasons—for example, 1990, which produced relatively rich, round wines, and 1982, a classically austere vintage. Nonetheless, I was impressed by the truthfulness of each wine, regardless of the type of vintage from which it came, as well as the extent to which the character of each cru came through consistently in the glass. (We tasted at least one wine from each of Produttori’s nine crus.)
The purity of these Barbarescos, at least for me, evoked the history and humble philosophy from which the cooperative cantina was born: Read more…
On June 10th, I posted my report on our historic Leacock Family Madeira tastings, held in San Francisco the previous weekend. And two of the weekend’s participants posted their thorough tasting notes: Richard Jennings (from the Saturday tasting) at http://www.cellartracker.com/event.asp?iEvent=7840and Roy Hersh (who was there on Sunday) for his subscribers at www.fortheloveofport.com. For those who are not subscribers, Roy has graciously allowed us to distribute the notes in .pdf form.
But a key member of our Sonoma staff, Greg Dolgushkin, had a perspective on the wines that no one else had: he opened and decanted all the bottles five to six days before. He did it so early because Madeiras that have been in bottle for a very long time often show off-aromas on opening. They can take several days in a decanter to fully express themselves.
The longer a Madeira has been in bottle, the more time it needs to recover. And the Leacock wines had all been in bottle for 60+ years. So we asked Greg not only to open and decant the Madeiras days ahead of time, but to record his impressions, giving us a unique insight into these historic wines.
Like a vinous Howard Carter—the archaeologist who first entered King Tut’s tomb—Greg was there when these wines were awakened after decades of slumber. We’re privileged to have his report.
—Mannie Berk
* * *
Greg Dolgushkin decanting the Leacock bottles in our Sonoma office.
Having been given the honor of opening the 28 bottles (two bottles of each wine), it would be an understatement to say that I understood the importance of my task. The wines were all very rare and irreplaceable, and a few were of great historical significance as well. And I was charged not only with cleanly removing 28 ancient, and possibly crumbling, corks, I had to calibrate the amount of air that the wines were given, so that six days after opening they would show at or near their best.
The wines had been in bottle a very long time—from 60 to 100 years—and every bottle, even when of the same wine, was a new experience. Unusually, most of these bottles had been binned on their sides, a risky practice as Madeira’s high acidity can destroy the cork, but in this case, it worked.
The cork in the first bottle, the anonymously stenciled “A” (which we now believe to be an aguardente) came out intact, compacted, short, deeply stained and unbranded. The contents were expressive and fresh on both nose and palate, high-toned, nutty and very dry. The second bottle of “A”had a similar cork and much the same flavor/aromatic profile, but deeper on the nose and fuller and more viscous on the palate.
Corks from the anonymously stenciled "A" bottles.
The equally mysterious 1825 Leacock Seco, again not varietally identified, also had a sound cork and great freshness, sweeter than the “A” and also more pungent with a note of quinine. And again the second bottle was rounder and sweeter than the first.
The next two wines, the 1890 Leacock Sercial and 1928 Leacock Verdelho, while also possessing sound corks couldn’t have been more different from the first pair. Read more…
