Posts Tagged ‘syrah’
it’s 3°C in Paris and once again I wish it would snow.
When we left Benjamin and the beautiful village of Caunes-Minervois, we headed to a completely different environment.
The last stop on our trip was Pézenas, near Béziers, where we spent a couple of days with Catherine, her wines and the 50 horses and ponies who share her daily surroundings. Catherine is a Parisian gone rogue. She used to work in politics and you can kind of sense that by the way she talks. She is continuously analyzing and commenting information, so much so that it sometimes feels like you’re talking to five people at once.
She took us up to her vineyard, she took us around to meet friends and family, she took us to her wine bar, she took us to the beach. We will remember especially fondly the night we drank and played on a swing in the garden of a huge house inhabited by several generations. If I remember correctly that was the only Barbecue dinner we had that summer. We will also remember the pony who walks around freely and steals food whenever she gets a chance.
As you may have noticed, I’m having a hard time writing this article… and it took me a long time to complete the series… This isn’t because of Catherine or anything like that. I had a fantastic time with her and was happy to meet her as a new friend, after all I had only met her once before. She welcomed us like family, and like all the winemakers on the trip shared her home, her kitchen, her life with us. The generosity and friendliness we encountered on this trip was beyond what I had expected and imagined, and I had expected quite a bit.
I’m having a hard time because from a personal point of view the vacation didn’t go quite as I had imagined it and it is taking me some time to digest that.
I’m having a hard time because in a sense, what we shared, what I lived, was so potent and fulfilling that most of it wants to stay nested deep inside of me.
And, to be blunt and honest, I should have written sooner and probably should have kept notes during the trip. Remember that post where I wrote I was too lazy to carry a notebook? Yeah, this is the time I come to regret that.
To go back to Leconte des Floris, their wines are expressive and typical of their origins. Rouge Nature is a blend of equal parts Grenache and Syrah and needs to be decanted so as to let oxygen chase the wildness of this wine elaborated naturally. Zero sulfites but a blast of spices, liquorice and ripe black fruit. It’s friendly and open and seems to be telling a bunch of stories at the same time… Not so different from Catherine.
it’s 13°C in Paris and my jaw has been blocked for twenty-four days.
When we woke up at Domaine Modat, it was after a windy and stormy night that brought us little rest but provided much needed water to the vines. We packed up our tent, took a last look around at the breath taking scenery, and after breakfast in Cassagnes headed South to catch some sun.
We decided to spend the day in Cadaques, Spain’s most eastern village made famous by Dali, Picasso, Marcel Duchamp. As we crossed the border, we were surrounded by devastation; miles and miles of burnt landscape, thousands of hectares having gone up in flames during wildfires a couple of weeks earlier.
Nearing Cadaques, it appeared obvious we weren’t the only ones there. It took a few hours of bumper to bumper procession to get into the village and park our car on the designated parking lot. We spent the day walking around, eating tapas, swimming in the sea, people-watching.
At the end of the day, we bought some ham and dry saussages near the border and drove to Leucate, where we were met by Pierre Mann who immediately took us up the cliff to one of his vineyard plots where he allowed us to camp for the next couple of nights. It was quickly getting darker so we had to hurry, but it was clear enought to see this was going to be yet another gorgeous stop on our trip.
The Leucate cliff. A light house, the scent of quintessential mediterranean maquis, rocks and almond trees. Beauty all around.
Mireille and Pierre are from Alsace, and yes, Albert Mann is a cousin. They ran a restaurant and loved wine. So, when the restaurant was up and running and they felt solid enough to pursue their dream, they started searching for a place to settle down. Initially they thought of Provence, and looked into buying vines there. But then they visited Leucate and, understandably, fell in love with the place.
Mireille and Pierre are the sweetest people you can imagine. They are bright and open and everything they are shines through in their wines. Their Alsacian origins translate into crystal cut precision. Their generosity finds its mirror in ample structure, their openness is found in the authenticity of their cuvées. And the fact that everyone thought they were crazy when they left the comfort of their established life is easy to grasp in the name they chose for their winery. Le Mas des Caprices is the only independant winery in Leucate, everyone else sells their grapes to the coopérative. It took two young, slightly crazy Alsacians to fall in love with Leucate in order to return to its terroir its lettres de noblesse.
After a first night on the cliff, we woke up to a dreamy landscape, the sun was low, the birds were quiet, nothing was quite awake yet. We walked down to a small creek that can be accessed either via the cliff or by sea, and the world was ours for the taking. We had bought a big piece of solid cloth, and with three vineyard stakes we built a tent against one of the big rocks that were scattered around the beach. The first people we saw that day were divers who came up to the beach from the sea to investigate their catch, some decently sized squid.
Then we spent the day hanging out at Leucate and at the winery, where in the evening we were joined by a Belgian importer and his friends who were vacationing in the area. We brought cold cuts, they brought oysters and home-made Kefta, the Mann popped a couple of corks, customers came in and out of the winery, conversation was fluid and the wines were good.
After a second night on the cliff, during which we were woken up by the surreal sounds of Sean Paul blasting somewhere down low, we descended into the cove to bid it farewell and joined Mireille and Pierre at the winery to help bottle retour Aux Sources 2011. The song of the bottling line, the magic of cases being stacked up to form pallets, Two years of hard work, from pruning to harvesting to that moment, and the wine that had been tended to so lovingly, finally being all grown up and ready to go out and meet the world, always a very special moment to witness.
Once bottling was complete, we sat down for lunch with the entire bottling team and Mireille and Pierre for a lunch of chicken, garden vegetables, cheese and wine. We opened a bottle of the wine that had just been bottled, and eventhough it suffered slightly from bottle shock, it was already surprisingly structured and lush.
Retour Aux Sources is made up of Syrah, Grenache and Carignan and is the domain’s flagship wine. Both representative of its origins and modern in style, it is not surprising that it was made by two outsiders to the region. Like every one of Mireille and Pierre’s wines, it has great acidity and fluidity. It’s a wine that invites to pleasure, to joy, to friendship.
Mireille and Pierre, merci.
il fait 20° à Paris et c’était parfait.
Suite à un imprévu médical, le voyage en Inde a du être annulé. Un peu à la dernière minute, nous avons donc réfléchi au plan B qui finalement s’est imposé de façon assez évidente.
Un voyage dont je rêvais depuis longtemps, une envie d’aller voir de plus près, un pèlerinage sur les lieux de naissance de tant de vins si bien aimés, ce voyage s’est intitulé “j’irai dormir dans vos vignes” et a fait appel à la générosité des vigneron(ne)s contacté(e)s à quelques jours seulement de notre arrivée. Et quelle générosité…! Les réactions enthousiastes de celles et ceux qui ont bien voulu partager avec nous leurs vignes, leurs vins, leurs tables et leur amitié ont fait de ce voyage un enchaînement d’instants magiques. Il y a eu ceux qui nous ont ouvert leur maison voire celle de leurs parents. Ceux qui n’étaient pas là mais nous ont quand même proposé de nous laisser les clés du domaine. Ceux qui nous ont montré le coin de vignes avec la plus belle vue. Ceux qui sont venus nous chercher, ceux qui nous ont déposés, ceux qui… Bref, sur ce blog dans les semaines à venir, des portraits d’instants, de terres, de vignes et de rires, des billets d’humeur et d’amour et de remerciement pour ce périple tellement magique et tellement trop court. Trois semaines qui nous ont menés de Belesta à Villemontais, huit étapes, des dizaines de terroirs, des paysages enchanteurs et partout des univers forts et uniques.
Commençons par Riberach, à Belesta. Un projet un peu fou de cinq copains, celui de transformer une ancienne cave coopérative en un haut lieu du gourmetourisme. Les cuves sont devenues chambres, le restaurant se niche entre la vue et les cuisines sur l’ancien quai de réception, à l’extérieur la piscine est ovoïdale et naturelle. La transformation est réussie et nous fait penser que le Sud de la France regorge de trésors de l’architecture industrielle du milieu du siècle dernier.
Guilhem Soulignac nous a accueillis dans sa maison au coeur du joli village Montner. Un vrai passionné de vins et de biodynamie, il nous a fait goûter non seulement les vins de son domaine, mais aussi un vin d’un ami qui nous a impressionnés, la cuvée Cashmere du Domaine de la Nouvelle Don(n)e. Il y a vraiment du joli monde dans cette région à et autour de Calce et le lendemain nous avons facilement pu comprendre pourquoi.
Quels terroirs…! Sublimes terrasses de vieilles vignes, superbes plantiers de vignes entourés de vues à couper le souffle, ce coin du Roussillon niché entre la mer et les montagnes revêt comme un air de paradis. La Tramontane soufflait et rendait supportables les 36° et le soleil ardent.
Après nous avoir rincé l’oeil parisien avec son environnement, Guilhem nous a emmenés à Belesta où se trouve le domaine Riberach. Il faisait chaud, il faisait beau, il faisait faim, nous avons pris place dans le restaurant du domaine. Dans ce cadre exceptionnel à la décoration simple et élégante nous nous sommes régalés de la créativité du chef et de la fraîcheur des mets. Créativité et fraîcheur que nous avons accompagnés d’une Antithèse 2006 convenablement carafée.
Au delà d’une syrah bien mûre, d’une structure souple et espiègle, Antithèse nous a parlé de son terroir. Issu des trois terroirs représentatifs du domaine, schiste, granite et calcaire, le vin rayonne de multiples couches minérales. A chaque gorgée, ce sont les strates géologiques qui s’offrent à nous, et nous plongent avec bonheur au plus profond des sols, là où les racines s’abreuvent, même lorsqu’il n’a pas plu depuis des mois. Incroyable équilibre de salinité et de roche humide, toujours cette note de tourbe que l’on retrouve dans toutes les cuvées du domaine, un vin grand qui nous transporte facilement, tout en humilité. Rien de pompeux, une écriture nette et précise… Quand il suffit de laisser parler le sol… Bravo Riberach et merci Guilhem.
it’s 6°C in Paris and this helps.
So it was one of those weekends. When you’ve looked forward to being off all week, to do tons of things, catch an exhibit at le 104, maybe see a movie in the theatre, brunch with friends, read the press, write a little. Then on friday, hours away from kicking off this fun-filled program, you start to sneeze. Oh well, just a little bout of allergy, you think, nothing serious. But once you leave work, the sneezing intensifies, and by evening you’ve already torn through a couple of boxes of tissue paper. Saturday, the sneezing has turned into relentless coughing. Sunday, you have a fever, and spend most of the day in bed. But you’re invited for dinner at that friend’s house, the one who always invites really interesting people and only serves outstanding food. So you go, and you drink, and you think you’re better. Come Monday, there’s more sneezing, more coughing, more fever. Ugh. You stay in bed again.
But Monday is your last chance of the week to cook a slow meal. Your final opportunity to decant a bottle of wine and patiently wait for everything to be ready to indulge. A final moment of rest, where you can hang out on the couch with last week’s news papers and magazines, stirring the pan from time to time, slowly sipping on a glass of that decanted wine.
So fever or no fever, you drag yourself out of bed, to the market, to the wine shop (which in itself is quite the expedition on a Monday in Paris), and to the kitchen to create that salvaging moment of joy that can only occur through home-made food.
You cut up onion and garlic, let them sweat in salty butter. Sip on wine, toss some red bell pepper and minced mushrooms in the pan. You add smoked speck and sliced Diot sausages. You let this take on a nice color and enjoy the fumes that by now fill the house. You add dried split peas and green lentils, and after quickly stirring everything together, you cover it all in chicken stock and add a couple of glasses of the red wine you’re drinking. There’s no good sauce made with bad wine in your opinion, which is why you got two bottles in the first place.
You return to the couch and to your reading, by now you’ve switched from newspapers to paperback, from news to fiction, and you’ve settled into that comfortable routine of sipping, reading, getting up from time to time to stir and smell and taste the contents of the cast-iron pan sizzling on the stove.
Once a lot of the liquid has evaporated, you open a can of white beans in tomato sauce, add them, as well as enough chicken stock to keep everything nicely moist. A dash of Hot Sauce, Cajun Seasoning, pepper from the mill has you done with cooking. You turn the heat down to a minimum, and spend the next couple of hours repeating aforementioned routine.
Day has turned into evening, light into dark, wet into cold, as you hear your neighbors come home one by one you feel cozy and warm knowing you still have the entire evening ahead of you. The wine has been a solid and joyous companion to your reading, your cooking, and it has somewhat nurtured you back to optimism. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.
A trip South can soothe away many an affliction, and Clot de l’Oum being in the Roussillon, its Compagnie des Papillons (Butterflies’ Company) makes you skinny dip in the Mediterranean. Like the wine, you feel free, an endless winding road ahead of you, the start of summer, life is good. You enjoy the smell of the scrubland, the salty breeze tying knots in your hair and untying those in your mind. You’ve gained altitude during the day, and in the evening, temperatures go down, you’re happy you kept an old plaid in the back of the car. You take out some bread, some cheese, some sun-ripened tomatoes, and let the last rays of sun light the memory you’re about to create.
You’re in good company. The Butterflies’ Company.
il fait 10° à Paris et ça commence très bien.
Parfois, il y a des lieux parfaits. Quelquefois, ce sont les lieux de nos souvenirs. De temps en temps, ce sont des lieux imaginaires. Il arrive que ce soit un lieu bien réel, qui réponde de façon incroyable à tout ce que vous attendez de lui.
Ce dernier existe. Il s’appelle La Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels et je ne comprends toujours pas pourquoi il m’a fallu cinq mois pour le découvrir. La CVS est le dernier-né de la clique du Curio Parlor, Prescription, etc, ça se sent dans la décoration chic, cosy, intemporelle mais contemporaine. Coup de coeur pour les banquettes custom made. Coup de coeur aussi pour Boris, une pièce rapportée comme moi, qui s’est installé aux commandes de ce joyeux navire à la suite d’un remplacement qui devait durer quelques jours.
Mesdemoiselles, ce lieu est l’endroit idéal, stratégique, rêvé pour un troisième rendez-vous avec ce garçon qui vous plaît. Je sais, j’ai testé pour vous. Idéal parce que ses lumières tamisées vous mettront en valeur, même un dimanche après 48 heures de fête, alors que vous portez vos baskets usées, votre jean flocon de neige teinture maison, votre immense pull blanc qui vous a coûté une fortune mais dont franchement ça ne se voit pas des masses. Stratégique parce que vous verrez rapidement comment votre potentiel cher et tendre réagit lorsque exposé au Graal, j’ai nommé le jambon blanc truffé et le vin sélectionné par Boris. Se goinfrera-t-il ou vous préparera-t-il des petites bouchées? Suspens. Rêvé parce que même si le rendez-vous ne se déroule pas aussi fluidement qu’un petit bain en altitude, vous aurez le jambon truffé et le vin choisi par Boris pour vous consoler.
Pour ma part, ce fût une réussite totale. Potentiel cher et tendre attentionné. Discussion passionnée et passionnante avec Boris, apporteur du Graal sous forme d’une bouteille de Château des Tours 2007, vin produit par le mythique et non moins Graalistique Château Rayas. Cinq mois pour découvrir la CVS, c’est long, mais alors figurez-vous que je n’avais jamais entendu parler de ces “autres” vins de la famille Reynaud! Grand moment inculte!
Le château des Tours est un assemblage Grenache, Cinsaut, Syrah, mais développe un spectre très Côte de Nuits… Passé en carafe, il est ample, suave, superbement équilibré. Surtout, et c’est pour cela qu’il était parfait pour ce rendez-vous, il est très charmeur sans être racolleur. Il nous a donné envie de parler, de partager, de prolonger le moment une fois la bouteille finie. Avec un verre de Silex pour moi et un Haute Côtes de Nuits de la DRC pour lui, c’était facilement fait, et nous sommes partis de la CVS ravis, enchantés, ensorcelés.
Longue Vie à la Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels !
it’s 8°C in Paris and I love the smell of Christmas.
This is it. We have entered the very last weeks of the year. For some they are filled with shopping. Others are planning parties and get-togethers. Many are working hard at rounding the year off successfully.
I wonder what next year will be made of… Will it be another year of economic hardship? Which parts of the planet shall be hit with earthquakes, tornadoes, revolutions? How will California gastronomy fare without Foie Gras? Come december 2012, will Ahmadinejad/Sarkozy/Obama still be head of their respective states?
How powerful will China, Russia, India be one year from now? What will be left of France, Germany, UK’s leverage on the geopolitical playing field? Will the professional, personal, economic outlook for my generation brighten up or become even grimmer?
The last time I drank Château Plaisance’s Thibaut de Plaisance was in 2008. I was living in Columbia, MD, working for an importer of french wines, doing lots of cooking and yoga (rarely simultaneously) and basically watching the global economy fall apart.
Three years later I’m living in Paris, have a job I love, do most of my cooking in my friends’ kitchens, am doing practically no yoga and watching the economy struggle to recover.
Even though I make the exact same amount of money now as I did then, live in a much smaller apartment now (hence the cooking at other people’s places) and my overall standards of comfort are much lower, I feel my life is a lot richer today.
It is richer through the people I have met, the friendships I have maintained, the men I have fallen in (and out of) love with. It is richer because I have had time to deepen my knowledge of wines, because I have tasted hundreds of wines, met many winemakers and made several trips to the vineyards.
It is richer because I have time to read a lot, time to write, because I feel stronger and more assured, because I have the support of people whose opinion I care for.
It is richer because these same people can rely on me, because I know my opinion and care and friendship and ideas matter to them.
It is richer because I know there’s a network of people I can rely on, because I feel part of something bigger, something that might be called a community.
Marc Penavayre descends from a long lineage of winemakers in Fronton. The winemaking philosophy is simple; good wine is made in the vineyard, not in the barrel. Labors, natural treatments and year-long attention allow for healthy and ripe fruit.
Thibaut de Plaisance was as comfortable now as it was three years ago. The beautifully expressive Négrette is blended with Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon, the low yields giving much depth and complexity to the wine. The nose is typical, it hints at violet and candied fruits. The mouth is very supple and open, lush fruit wrapped around silky tannins. Oak is blended in beautifully, giving just enough structure to underscore the wine’s minerality and refreshing acidity. I had it at La Maison de l’Aubrac, for a late night dinner with an old friend and a more recent one.
So I don’t know what next year will be made of, but it was good to have Thibaut de Plaisance make me stop and think about my life and how it has changed over the past couple of years. What I do know is that I am thankful not so much for what I have as for who I have in my life.
You know who you are, big up!
it’s 4°C in Paris and I love bread.
When I was a little girl, we used to spend Christmas in the Vosges. It would get very cold, yet we would make long mountain hikes that would last for most of the day. We would then come home to the hotel, change, and have dinner at the hotel’s restaurant or some other restaurant nearby. On Christmas eve, we would have the Christmas dinner offered by the hotel. Under the big tree we would find a box of chocolates for each family, which I would invariably eat much too quickly and throw up. Each year we went, there was a swan made of ice at the end of the dinner. Each year we went, my parents would dance and cause my brother and myself unforgettable embarrassment. Each year we went, I wore a beautiful dress with white stockings and black shoes, my hair neatly combed and held back with a bow. One year I shut myself in the restaurant’s washroom and panicked. I thought I would be there all night. I was rescued after about five minutes, of course.
This year, I don’t know where I’ll spend Christmas. There will be no throwing up of chocolates I hope, probably no ice swan, definitely no parental dancing (if there is I will have to leave the room, sorry mom). If I’m doing the cooking, the menu will probably consist of some form of Roast, either Rossini or with lobster. I may have an unofficial Christmas party with friends, like I have done for the past two years. Those of us who aren’t with our families, or who can get away from the family dinner early, meet up and celebrate.
This year I would love for that dinner to include my friend who was born on Christmas Eve, and whom I thus never actually get to see on her birthday.
She turned thirty last year, and my gift was a bottle of 2007 Domaine de Trevallon. I told her to stick it in her basement and forget about it for a couple of years.
Last saturday I went to her house to have lunch. When I showed up and suggested we go get some roasted chicken and potatoes from the market down her street, it turned out she had already prepared the meal. I had come empty-handed, so I suggested to go out and buy some wine. This is when she said “why don’t we drink the one you got me last year?”: BOOYAAAA! OK! Turns out she never got to bringing it down to her cellar and it had patiently been laying in one of her kitchen cabinets.
So, we pop the cork, open a pâté de Gilles (duck pâté with 50% foie gras), and start talking. We talk and talk and talk and talk, all the while sipping this lush and pretty, luminous wine.
Domaine de Trevallon is situated 25KM south of Avignon, on the North side of the Alpilles. 20 hectares of vines around a family house. 15 hectares make the red, 50% syrah and 50% cabernet sauvignon, the vines receive no herbicides, no pesticides, are tended to manually. They were planted in 1973 by Eloi Dürrbach who was then merely 23 years old… This domain is a rare example of one that makes outstanding wines on a plot that had never (as in never) seen vines before. Sticks of dynamite, blood, sweat and tears, were necessary to create the vineyard, and the choice of varietals was no coincidence either. Cabernet Sauvignon may seem strange on such a mediterranean terroir, but as it turns out, before Phylloxera did its thing, it was quite common for Provence winemakers to grow this varietal and to blend it with Syrah.
In the end, this wine has a much more northern feel than its origins would make you expect. It is fresh, supple, and extremely fluid. There’s a lot of character, but it’s not overpowering. My friend and I said a few times to each other how good we thought the wine was and how quickly the bottle was going down, but besides that it was just a very good companion to our conversation. I’m pretty sure there’s a better pairing than the carrot-coconut soup my friend had made for lunch that day, but oh well, it was her presence and the wine’s that made it a great moment.
it’s 17°C in Paris and tgif!
My friends are passionate people. Be it art, food, fashion, literature, cars , travel, sports or dental hygiene, they mean business. This can spur some interesting conversations as you can imagine. What’s fascinating, is that I find that people who are passionate about something are more likely to show interest in another’s subject of passion as well. Gather a bunch of specific-domain-geeks in a room and you’ll be sure to hear neurones popping. I would actually really like to know what started each person’s passion, was it an event that can be pin-pointed in time? Is there an actual physical object they can point out as the trigger? It’s wonderful to hear people compare their domains and brainstorm through their personal sets of knowledge and references to come up with hypotheses and answers to shared questionings.
My trigger was Côte Rôtie. There are wines that can induce passions. Here’s one. Nothing less, indeed. Here’s a wine that comes packed with emotion, accuracy, finesse, a wine that tells us a story we want to listen to, we want to taste, for a long time. Côte Rôtie (literally; roasted hill), most northern AOC of the Côtes du Rhône, carries this name because in the summer the sun shines so potently that it gets very hot there. Hence, the grapes mature beautifully, and concentrate themselves with sugar and ripe tannins. The soil offers a variety of terroirs, allowing for the vines to source a multitude of oligoelements. The result is an ample and dense wine which combines finesse and strength, structure and fluidity. A very great wine.
René Rostaing is a famous winemaker. His cuvées are much sought-after, and this particular one is a great introduction to the (much more expensive) La Blonde and La Landonne.
The wine is at first a bit marked by alcohol. It needs to breathe and opens up to be deceivingly simple. In fact the complexity hides behind great fluidity, and many levels of fruit, earthiness, character can be perceived. You want to linger on each sip but the bottle goes down very fast. Fantastic. The kind of wine that makes you want it to be chilly all year…
il fait 20° à Paris et 27° à Cannes.
Pendant que dans les salons et salles de restaurant l’on discute de politique, de grossesse présumée, d’agression et d’inculpation, de présomption d’innocence, de complot, de dissonance cognitive, de porno sur l’ordinateur du chef suprême d’une nébuleuse islamiste, et de tant d’autres sujets qui peuvent paraître de prime influence sur nos petites vies, dans les vignes de France l’on parle plutôt d’avance, de floraison, de stress hydrique et de grêle.
A Paris nous sommes ravis de ces mois d’avril et de mai qui ont été plus que cléments, les terrasses sont pleines et les picnics ce succèdent. Mais une vigne en avance, bien qu’offrant de beaux paysages, apporte son lot d’inquiétude aux vignerons. Tout d’abord il y avait les Saints de Glace, et maintenant il y a la crainte de la grêle et celle du stress hydrique. A priori le stress hydrique n’est pas une trop mauvaise chose, car plus la vigne doit travailler dur à l’élaboration de son fruit, plus ce fruit sera sucré et dense. Mais bon, faut pas déconner quand même, c’est une plante, elle a besoin d’eau. Et de l’eau cette année il n’y en a pas eu des masses pour l’instant.
La grêle, elle, est une crainte encore plus puissante, car c’est un évènement qui en trente secondes peut détruire le travail de toute une année. Ça s’est vu l’an dernier dans le Sud Ouest, à peu près à cette même période… mais ne parlons pas de malheurs. Espérons que la nature saura être clémente autant avec les vignerons qu’avec les citadins, et que les années 2010 continuent sur la lancée des années 2000 qui, il faut le dire, ont été assez extraordinaires d’un point de vue millésimes.
2007 par exemple, superbe millésime en Côtes du Rhône. Une maturation lente et constante, un état sanitaire parfait au moment des vendanges, du fruit, des tanins racés, de la souplesse…. Des vins à boire en Magnum (enfin à laisser vieillir encore surtout mais bon…) comme nous l’avons fait chez un ami la semaine dernière. Il nous avait préparé un crumble de légumes, très bon, et nous devions discuter de nos vacances à venir. Grèce? Chine? Inde? Maroc? Islande? Une discussion fournie et animée autour de ce magnum bu à trois.
La cuvée Trilogie de Louis Lefèbvre est un vrai vin de copains. Simple, gourmand, avec une jolie présence du grenache noir, il s’accorde parfaitement à toute cuisine méditerranéenne et a assez de caractère et de matière. Pour comparer, avec ce même ami nous avons bu un grenache-syrah de chez Chapoutier quelques jours plus tard, et nous nous sommes lassés du vin à la moitié de la bouteille. Une fois de plus, il y a une claire opposition entre les vins de vigneron et les vins technologique. Chapoutier fait des bons vins, c’est indéniable, mais ils manquent de personnalité. Des vins bien faits, il y en a plein. Des vins qui racontent une histoire, beaucoup moins. Et que ce soit dans la presse, dans les vacances, dans les amis, et dans la vigne, est-ce que ce ne sont pas justement les histoires qui nous intéressent? Ces discours de vie qui nous différencient et nous rapprochent? Qu’est-ce qu’un humain sans histoire(s)? Qu’est-ce qu’un vin sans histoire(s)?
Allez je vous laisse réfléchir à ça! :p