With his tanned legs, (my legs should look so good) his worn hiking boots M. Pierre Overnoy, ushered us into his long table, the meal for workers just having been cleaned up. Even though he said the Overnoys came from Ireland as O'vernoy, he seems to me to look more derivative of my distant cousin I.B. Singer. Overnoy refers to himself as a bachelor. ("The man governs, but the woman commands," he said laughing. Still scratching my head on that one.) No matter what he says it is with enthusiasm and a twinkle. Here is an innocence not lost. He was kind enough to talk slow enough to make understanding him rather easy, even for my rustique French. When I asked him about M. Chauvet his eyes lit up and proceeded to talk about wine and sulfur. Unfortunately JUST as he was getting to the juicy bits, my FLIP froze. We tasted two wines. 2007 Chardonnay: The aromas are leapingly vibrant. Taste chalky. Long finish and sparks the tongue with gentle caramel and salt water. 2000 Savagnin: Salty, water and brine. A turkey being brined. Apple cider threads. Life and alive. Delicate on the finish, as if its brakes had just been tuned. Compelling aromas of roasted hazelnuts. With the Savagnin in our glass he insisted Russell (Becky's husband, who offered his company and chauffeur services for our day adventure, and he absolutely fell in love with Pierre) and I take our glasses outside to smell and taste. This, was the way Chauvet tasted, after all. Pedantically, Pierre instructed: "A taste is like a wave. You must capture the first sniff and watch the evolution. Look for not the wine's length but how pretty it is." So we stood in his overgrown yard, where all of the conflicting smells rushed into our glass and the wind whipped away the perfume. And yes, it was a sweet sentiment, but I'm not sure I agree. Nature can be very distracting when taking a tasting note. And he has the biggest egg I ever saw. A great big grey orb of concrete. He's loving it. Had no flash to snap away with. Sorry. But trust me.