Champagne is just another wine with bubbles

THE PERSISTENT, spumy patter at a recent Champagne event in London, hosted by Perrier-Jouët and G.H. Mumm, was all about the economics of the luxury lifestyle market. The theme – Champagne: greater than the sum of its parts – admits bubbly is made of parts, but Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier and terroir were scarcely mentioned. In fact, you could’ve spent the whole day junketing with Champagne executives without uttering the ‘W’ word.

Because, after decades of being positioned as a luxury brand, it’s easy to forget Champagne is wine; hardly anyone thinks of a ‘Champagne House’ as a winery anymore; instead, Champagne is an aspirational accessory, gift-wrapped in the (frankly mawkish) myth of a blind monk, one Dom Pérignon. And since luxury goods of such venerable provenance are priced to impress, Bernard Arnault, CEO of Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy, is now the world’s third richest man.

So, pricey, ostentatious and consigned to being sprayed over newlyweds, new ships or Grand Prix champions, Champagne doesn’t play anything like the part other wines do in wine lovers’ lives. Who considers it, for instance, to go with food (for which it’s well-suited and versatile), or as an aperitif on a Tuesday?

Yet the lightest and driest Champagne, a Blanc de blancs (made from 100% Chardonnay) is a great aperitif and, with floral and citrus notes, roundly accompanies meals with simple flavours; a Blanc de noirs (made from berry-flavoured Pinot Noir and/or fruity and floral Pinot Meunier) goes with more robust dishes. Food pairing options are extended by Champagne’s wide range of styles: brut, sec, demi-sec, doux (from dry to sweet). It comes in pink, too.

However, the good news for wine lovers in France looking to bring sparkle into their wine lives is the many domestic rivals to over-priced Champagne. Almost every French wine region produces a forcefully bubbly Crémant or Mousseux made like Champagne, by the Méthode Traditionnelle – with a second fermentation in the bottle – and some are made with Champagne grapes. They are equally versatile with distinctive personalities from unique terroirs.

Arguably the best are the crisp and clean Crémants d’Alsace. The finest are floral, herbal and even spicy blends of Pinot Blanc, Pinot Noir, Riesling and Chardonnay. A ‘Top of the Pops’ should also include the Loire’s Chenin Blanc-based Vouvray Mousseux. The best are fresh, dry, complex and savoury, with telltale notes of apple and honey. Sadly, a fair amount of Vouvray is industrial and imperfect.

Still, the Loire produces France’s most famous other ‘Champagne’, Saumur d’Origine; and one that’s supposed to be better than all the Loire’s sparklers: Chardonnay and Cabernet Franc-based Crémant de Loire. Tourraine Mousseux is worthy, too. Choose carefully, there are excellent wines here.

Crémant de Bourgogne is high in the top 10. Made from Burgundy grapes, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Blanc, good examples have refreshing mineral dryness, austerity and balance reminiscent of Champagne. Aged 9 months before release (3 years for Champagne), they’re made exclusively from the first pressing.

‘Honourable mention’ goes to Crémant de Die, the crisp, clean and cheerfully unassuming Clairette-based Rhône Valley sparkler; and two Languedoc bubblies: the crisp, apple-scented, Mauzac-based Blanquette and the Chardonnay-based Crémant de Limoux. A ‘hardly ever mentioned’ category would include the delicate, pinkish bubbly from tiny Bugey and the ho-hum Crémants from the Jura and Bordeaux.

France also produces less frothy, lower alcohol Méthode Ancestrale wines (bottled before the first and only fermentation is over). There’s the naturally sweet and light Mauzac-based Ancestrale from Limoux; the semi-sweet, slightly herbal, anonymous Gaillac bubblies; the Rhône Valley’s somewhat grapey Clairette de Die; and tiny Clairette de Bellegarde from around Nîmes. But we are far from Champagne now.

Jancis Robinson says it’s hard to find a worse-value wine than cheap Champagne, as industrially-made versions are a dumping ground for unripe grapes and bulk wine. So, for the same money, buy a quality rival. Ultimately, of course, there is nothing finer than the tautness and grace of a quality Champagne. That’s what Dom Pérignon discovered when he exclaimed to his Hautvillers Abbey brothers, “I’m drinking stars.” 

Astronomical comparisons aside, though, let’s not forget Champagne is sparkling wine, and just enjoy it more!

First published in The Connexion (June, 2011)

Photograph of Daniel Elena celebrating victory at the 2005 Cyprus Rally by Leonid Mamchenko.

Why books and wine are natural bedfellows

THE VISION of golden light shining warmly through the upright pages of a Biblically-proportioned book, on a poster outside the Salle Polyvalente in Balma (near Toulouse) around Easter, seemed to suggest religious revival was the order of the weekend. A glass of red wine next to the book, softly diffusing the same golden light, appeared to affirm the promise of transubstantiation.

In fact, the oddly evangelical poster was promoting a book-and-wine fair – the 12th annual Rencontres du Livre et du Vin – a sort of ‘Hay-on-Wine’ transplanted from the Welsh-English border to the Midi-Pyrenees. This year’s event brought together 50 local and nationally-renowned authors, around 15 publishers, plus 10 winemakers from as many terroirs under a giant, orange, papier-mâché Baobab tree that dominated the interior of Balma’s multi-purpose hall.

It was children’s day when I visited. The exhibition in the entrance featured paintings of Balma done by local children and executed in Van Gogh’s style. Inside the hall, a class of 6-year-olds, cross-legged around the great Baobab’s trunk, were listening to a story. A few strays from the class were watching winemakers setting bottles, glasses and crachoirs (spittoons) on upended barrels. The authors were sitting quietly, or in quiet conversation with visitors, around the walls, behind trestle tables covered with their oeuvres.

Decorum reigned. This was no knees-up wine festival. Neither was it a hyped-up book fair. As advertised, it was a Rencontre – a convivial opportunity (unique in France) to meet winemakers and authors under the same roof.

Curiously, the event unites two activities that aren’t often associated: drinking wine and reading books. In Alberto Manguel’s comprehensive ‘A History of Reading’, wine isn’t mentioned once, though food comparisons abound (“devoured a good book, lately?”).

Proust’s cork-lined bedroom is discussed, but there’s no suggestion he constructed it from wine bottle closures. And not a piece of domestic furniture has ever been invented to reconcile the two activities, like a reading seat cum wine-bucket with wineglass retainer, since there’s never been demand for such an apparatus. So, why books and wine?

“They may not seem, at first, to be natural bedfellows,” admits veteran broadcaster and long-time editor of the Robert dictionaries, Alain Rey, one of this year’s event’s honorary Presidents, reflecting on wine’s capacity to stain both bed sheets and paper.

“But the event unites two products of French terroir that require passion and dedication to produce and to be appreciated. A wine has layers of aromatic complexity to be discovered by the sensitive palate; similarly, a book reveals its layers of plot and linguistic complexity to the devoted reader. Both activities are enhanced through connoisseurship. Both are civilising.

“The common goal of authors and winemakers at the Rencontres is to express their terroirs – their sense of place and time. Their works speak of local conditions and so have universal appeal. The authors aren’t producing Internet-inspired oeuvres with no sense of place, or globalised wines devoid of the taste of origin... they’re interested in quality, not quantity.”

Senegalese-born writer Fatou Diome, this year’s other honorary President and author of books about women’s experiences of clandestine immigration, expands on two ideas – imagination and place – central to the theme of this year’s event: ‘Imaginaires et territoires francophones’.

“The idea of ‘territoires francophones’ is immediately appetizing. It conjures up fertile domains of the imagination and an irresistible pleasure for words... plus the best crus from a thousand vineyards, all at the same banquet,” says Diome.

A more prosaic account of the Rencontres was offered by Marie-Hélène Chinisanas, Balma city counsellor and one of the event’s organisers: “The goal is to encourage reading. The wine element makes the event more festive.”

Organic/natural winemaker Anne-Marie Selle of Château Bouissel, Campsas, in the Fronton appellation, was there because she’s a bibliophile. Her delicious, violet and blackcurrant-scented 2009 La Négrette is made entirely from the eponymous local grape; her vineyard’s gravelly-silt terroir (between Toulouse and Montauban) contributes to the wine’s suppleness, she says. It’s quite unlike Grenache/Syrah-based wines from the Roussillon, my adopted department.

If wine festivals are your thing, now is a great time to indulge that passion, starting with La Fête de la Vigne et du Vin on June 4th (held annually on the Saturday following the Thursday of Ascension) with events across France (www.fetedelavigneetduvin.com).

Bordeaux hosts its annual Bordeaux Fête le Vin festival from June 28th to July 1st (www.bordeaux-fete-le-vin.com). While Saint Rémy de Provence is where to soak up Provencal sunshine, local produce and rosé wine from July 29th to 31st at La Fête du Vin et de l’Artisanat d’Art (www.fetesetsalons.com).

The streets of Châteauneuf-du-Pape go medieval from August 5th to 7th as the town celebrates its annual Fête de la Veraison with a festival of baroque music and the recreation/re-enactment of traditional winemaking-village life (www.chateauneuf.com). In Colmar, from August 5th to 15th, the Foire aux Vins d’Alsace combines wine fair and music festival with well-known French and international acts (www.foire-colmar.com).

Summer’s end is a busy time for winemakers, so wine festivals are not common in September and early October. But as soon as the harvest is in the fermentation tanks, Les Fêtes des Vendanges take place across winemaking regions. These are usually the best-attended events in the wine year.

There are competitions, too, like wine-basket-carrying and barrel-tossing bouts, which can give harvest festivals an ‘It’s a Knockout’ meets the ‘Highland Games’ spirit.

Then, almost before the coals (or vine stocks and shoots) of harvest barbeques have gone cold, winemakers are ready to celebrate the release of their first wines from the new vintage, with Vin Primeur events taking place in November. The most famously over-hyped is the launch of Beaujolais Nouveau.

However, most wine festivals, like Balma’s Rencontres, are about authentic, local French life, they’re about getting a taste of terroir – something hardly encountered if you’re too often in supermarkets, or on the Internet. And they’re free. There’s no special etiquette, or wine language, to master. Just show up with a thirst for culture.

First published in The Connexion (June, 2011)

Pass the cup of crimson wonder: biodynamic, organic or natural?

IF SKIPPING around Maypoles swigging wine from acorn cups is your thing, let me recommend as musical accompaniment Jethro Tull’s springtime ditty, Pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder, a celebration of mystical nature, ancient wisdom and wine.

Tull envokes the ‘Green Man’ and it is tempting to see him as one of the growing number of vignerons en Biodynamie (Biodynamic organic winemakers) in France who apply Rudolf Steiner’s occult horticultural tips to viticulture.

Apostles of Steiner’s Anthroposophy religion coordinate agriculture with lunar and planetary cycles. They eschew chemicals, applying plant and manure-based treatments: like organic winemakers with astrolabes. Occasionally, they stuff and inhume animal parts to make compost, or scatter the ashes of pests to avert them.

It’s easy to criticise Steiner’s total lack agricultural credentials. Nevertheless, do Biodynamic wines actually taste better than other wines? I’m agnostic when it comes to paganism, but I attended a Biodynamic wine tasting on a "leaf day" (propitious for aromatic expression, say acolytes). Some wines were terrific, others were having a bad "leaf day".

However, my palate doesn’t descry “cosmic forces” and I can’t judge if a wine’s complexity comes from “the influence of Sagittarius rising”, or if the universe really spirits “enabling information” (or whatever) into vineyard treatments via the silica in cow horns used in their preparation.

Ultimately, Biodynamic farming rituals make more sense as metaphors for Steiner’s spiritual vision than as horticultural precepts. Practicing them is really more about manifesting faith in his vision than winemaking. What’s most important with esoteric practices, like Chinese medicine or palm-reading, is the intuition of the individual practitioner, or winemaker.

The best wines came from talented, independent winemakers. The worst came from large producers cashing in on the premium prices Biodynamic wines command.

This pattern exists in the booming Agriculture Biologique (organic) wine sector in France, too. There are the conscientiously-made, artisanal AB wines and les vins bio industriels. Among the latter ranks an attractively-packaged, mass-market Cabernet Sauvignon called Autrement from Languedoc négotiant (merchant), Gérard Bertrand. It’s a thin, joyless, over-priced wine whose astonishing insipidness undermines the virtues of its AB label. Among the former rank the independent winemakers in any Carnet d’Adresses Bio (available from an Office de Tourisme).

This Beltane, my crimson wonder will be Volubile – a "natural" wine from Isabelle Frère’s Le Scarabée winery in Roussillon. "Natural" wines are highly popular in France just because they can’t be made industrially for the mass-market. In the absence of artificial treatments, they require utter dedication.

Curiously, labour-intensive "natural" winemaking is often described as "non-interventionist" yet, as New York Times wine critic Eric Asimov says, a truly non-interventionist winemaker would be “a successful producer of bird food”.

"Natural" wines are defined more by what winemakers don’t do, than what they do. They don’t: add sulphites to grapes (which kill ambient yeasts they rely on for fermentation); use industrial yeasts (designed to give specific flavours); use high-tech winemaking tools (to make cookie-cutter wines); add sugar, enzymes or acid (to compensate for what’s lacking); fine or filter; or use new barrels (which compromise a wine’s expression of grape and terroir).

Instead, they farm organically, plough and harvest manually, and select grapes fastidiously. They keep caves spotless to avoid having to add sulphites later on as a preservative. Consequently, their wines have a purity, delicacy and freshness that mass-market bottles can’t match.

Volubile isn’t cheap (10 Euros a bottle for a humble Vin de Table), but it’s the only cuvée Frère makes and it puts many more expensive, appellation wines to shame.

Maddeningly, ‘natural’ wines aren’t highly visible (the bottles aren’t canonized with a higher authority’s logo), but an artisanal label sometimes betrays a producer. If your caviste doesn’t stock any, menace him with your Maypole.

First published in The Connexion (May, 2011)