Friday October 27th. Los Angeles. Sunny. Warm. Morning. Breakfast. There it was. The Wall Street Journal. So, I did what anyone would do, I took it.
That morning, the WSJ dynamic duo of Dottie & John advised readers to avoid dropping the big ones on the Burgundy 2003 vintage. I don't love vintage either. In fact, I mostly avoid it but I have had enough terrific exceptions that I would be very careful about executing the entirety of the region's output.
They selected research specimens from both village and premier cru levels of Volnay and Gevrey-Chambertin. They called these "different regions of Burgundy." Different? I should say so. These areas, respectively Cote de Beaune and Cote de Nuits are perhaps 15 miles apart with different soils and different expressions. The little known Volnay, they wrote, is known for charm. Wow. I thought Volnay is pretty well known by anyone who knows Burgundy, it's not like Ladoix for God's sake.
Speaking of which, 2003 was a year for Burgundy's outer boroughs like Fixin, Ladoix, Maranges, Marsannay, Givry, Bouzeron, you know, the Red Hook-ish section of the appellation. If a grower worked well, the wines often were beautiful. Best of all, these wines are relative bargains because few consider Maranges or Givry sexy.
The same article repeated something I found depressingly irresponsible. "...after all, wines are made to be drunk soon after their release."
They didn't write; if you WSJ reader, were smart cookies, which of course you are, you devils, you would find and buy exquisite age-worthy wines, leaving the ready-to-drink commercial swill for the other chumps.
They have a large and devoted readership. Doesn't power come with responsibility as someone I adore, who lives in Burgundy for that matter, once mused about Mr. Parker?
Though other glitches in the article made me itch, the one that drove me to blog was their comment about Burgundy wines being loved for their funk.
Years ago I too thought that barnyard funk was real Burgundy. At a tasting early in my wine path, I met an elderly André Mussy. As he poured his wine into my glass I couldn't help but noticed his hard-worked hands. His were the first vigneron hands I saw. There was a definite barnyard quality to his wine, and I thought, yes this is the real shit. This is Burgundy. While I don't mind a touch of that funk, (otherwise known as brettanomyces) that element hasn't been around in Burgundy for at least a decade. Anyway, it came from the barrels, not from the soil.
This kind of funk stuff reminds me of those wine writers (many) who wrote Beaujolais smelled like bananas, not knowing that this was due to industrial yeast and not to the grape's character.
My Burgundy has varied nuances which can include cinnamon, a touch of ink, ground ivy and underneath (or above) it all, pure lovely rose petals. Funk? Don't think so.
The needle on truth keeps on spazzing but these days, when I look to Burgundy I sniff around Philippe Pacalet's wines. His Pommard has that floral Chanel #5 stuff that I love in my wine but not in the perfume. His Ruchottes-Chambertin was a staggeringly beautiful vehicle for minerality and structure. I can afford neither but that's fine. Tonight, at my wrist is the 2002 Domaine Bart Marsannay, Les Finottes. I'm crazy about this wine and hopefully there will be more of it ($18) when I go to Chambers Street Wine to buy it. It has a little earth and twig underneath a gorgeous pressed rose petal all in an elegant weight. It's attention getting. (SEE DOMAINE BART UPDATE BELOW)
But then, the point of their article was to avoid spending mega bucks on 2003 Burgundy. Any real collector would spend money on some of them to see how they perform down the road. But anyway, put the whole year in perspective: California would genuflect to the Gods if they could perform the way Burgundy did in 2003. Have you looked at the prices of domestic pinot?
No contest. Burgundy wins.
(DOMAINE BART UPDATE: This is October 2008. I've gone through my Bart 2005 and the 2006, and the oak and toast and wood bitterness on the wine is very disturbing. I cannot drink these anymore and I hope Martin comes to his senses)
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