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Chassagne to Beaune
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South of Nuits-Saint-Georges, the axis of the escarpment takes on a more
southwesterly heading. The change of course combined with variations in the
soil's composition make growing Chardonnay alongside the Pinot Noir a highly
successful option. The further south you travel along the Côte d'Or, the
more pronounced the limestone component of the soil becomes until eventually
the Chardonnay becomes King. To the north in the Côte de Nuits, the
limestone combines with a higher percentage of marl that caters to the
success of Pinot Noir.
Chassagne-Montrachet via Chagny by train is just a short ride. I bought two
poster-sized maps in Nuits-Saint-Georges for my cellar which also come in
handy on the train ride. The maps detail every vineyard in the Côte d'Or
wine region and traveling south I have a clear view of the mighty hill at
Aloxe-Corton and its surrounding Pinot and Chardonnay plots. This aggressive
change in the landscape is the most pronounced feature along the Côte d'Or
and I curiously watch as the trees perform a delicate balancing act at the
edge of the hill. The red and white wine made here are both highly sought
after for their structure and complexity but it is the grand cru
Corton-Charlemagne that gets the true Chardonnay enthusiast's heart beating.
I have a bottle of '05 in the cellar at home and as I marvel at the size of
this landmass, I am also working out a dinner menu to pair with the great
white.
The
town of Chagny is well outside the boundary of the vines that follow the
Côte d’Or. Rather than walk through town, across the highway, and up the
hill, I’d prefer to hire a taxi for a ride over to Chassagne-Montrachet. And
so at the taxi stand outside the train station I wait... and wait... and
wait some more. There is no phone to call, no cab in sight, and no one to
ask; it looks like I'm walking after all.
Fortunately a small pastry shop is open on a side street in town, and
through a combination of broken language, hand signals, and a picture or
two, the lovely lady behind the counter kindly arranges for a taxi to
Chassagne. I purchase two croissants - one with cheese and the other without
- plus a fizzy orange drink of some description. The total is 2,25 Euros but
I give her 10 for her trouble as her face lights up with a big smile. That
makes my day, though I hope she realizes that not every Canadian tips like
that. This one just needs to get the show on the road...
Chassagne-Montrachet has a similar layout and appearance to the villages
further north in the Côte de Nuits. And though each commune does a great job
of hiding it, I can't help but notice that hidden behind the historical
facade and/or rustic exterior walls is a network of modern technology and
winemaking equipment. I really can't say that I am surprised; even the great
Burgundy must keep up with the latest trends. Perhaps the old structures
also serve as a constant reminder to maintain an equalibrium between
technology and tradition.
The Pinot Noir vines to the north in the Côte de Nuits are rustic, historic,
and unassuming; they looked as though they did 200 years ago, I'm sure. By
comparison, I find the vineyards here in the Côte de Beaune strikingly
organized. The Chardonnay vines on the hills to the north Chassagne are
flawlessly kept. The scene reminds me of a picturesque park. I walk slowly
up the gentle incline on the outskirts of the village; I am in no hurry now.
Every aspect of this particular place exudes a greater degree of perfection
with each glance when suddenly a sign catches me off guard 'GRAND MONTRACHET'. I knew that I was
getting close but wow! This is it - no wonder the surroundings look
flawless, this is the place!
If Romanée-Conti is the King of Burgundy, then le Montrachet is its white
knight - and simply fantastic to see in person. The best part however,
unlike DRC's great vineyard, is that there was no
one else here. This minute point on the face of the Earth is completely
meaningless to 99.9% of the population. Yet to me, it represents so much
that is good. I came looking for the soul of Burgundy and even questioned
its existence. I'm not sure if my epiphany was the sign of the great
vineyard itself, the memory of tasting this wine, or the first blue sky I’d
seen in Burgundy reflecting off the stark white stone. Perhaps it was a
combination of all these factors, but as I pondered an array of thoughts
standing on that hillside, an hour passed by in what felt like a matter of
minutes.
Le Montrachet and I have met before on two separate occasions - once long ago and again more recently. The first time, I was
dazzled but unaware of the significance; that was in '97 at a celebratory
dinner for a friend. The second opportunity was at an auction in 2008; I
believe the wine acted as a stimulus causing those in attendance to spend
more money in return.
Stepping into the great vineyard, I close the iron gate behind. Am I allowed
to be in here? I'm not sure, yet as I walk up one of the rows, the level of
respect could not be any higher. Unlike the Pinot Noir vineyards, there is
very little Chardonnay left on the vines. I can't help but wonder if they
have made a second pass through. I'd like to taste the fruit but I can’t
find any to tempt me. In the next row the vines are equally bare and the one
after that is the same. I start to make my way back to the gate when a
healthy cluster appears tucked just under the leaves. Can I? No, I
shouldn't. But the birds will get them if I don't. I might, I must - and I
do...
My constant purpose in wine is to speak about the atmosphere in which you
enjoy your best bottles. I call it 'setting up the moment'. The synergy of
the meal, the wine, and the company intermingle to create a lasting memory.
The concept of vinous perfection hit me like a freight train on December
16th 1996 in Atlantic City, then again on January 28th 2010 over a 40year
old bottle from Spain, and now again here in Burgundy at le Montrachet...
and this time the fruit isn't even fermented!
The great Montrachet is flanked above and below by other spectacular
vineyards of note: Bâtard le Montrachet which is slightly lower on the hill
and the great Chevalier-Montrachet which overlooks both from its walled clos
and stone archway above. The first two are shared between the villages of
Chassagne to the south and the next village and AOC Puligny-Montrachet to
the north while Chevalier exists entirely in the commune of Puligny. I walk
to the top of the next hill that separates the grand cru vines from the
premier and commune plots beyond.
One of the more impressive aspects of this region is the close proximity of
one village to the next. Puligny-Montrachet is literally just beyond the
next hill. The style of the wine does not change drastically from one
commune to the next but rather it follows a gradual transition, and this is
the case all along the Côte d'Or. Furthermore, anyone who tells you that
they can taste the difference from one row of vines to the next (because
these people do exist) has a vivid imagination.
Beyond the crest of the hill, the vines above Puligny-Montrachet point
directly east and therefore forfeit a few precious hours of sun that the
grand cru vineyards take full advantage of during the growing season. In a
region where reputation is everything, the classification of the vines
unfortunately must pay the price in this situation.
The path takes me along the hillside above Puligny-Montrachet where the view
of the surrounding vineyards demonstrates the incredible power of Burgundy
and its ability to draw thousands of volunteers to the region each year.
They come here to become one with the land, if only for a day, to assist
with the harvest, and to say that they have touched the vines and
participated in the winemaking process. The Chardonnay made in
Puligny-Montrachet is generally regarded as the superior of the two
villages, though having enjoyed both on many occasions; I have mixed
feelings about that generalization and appreciate both for their subtle
differences.
I continue toward Meursault under a sunny sky.
Both red and white wine is made throughout the Côte de Beaune and
interestingly, all but one of the grand cru whites are located south of
Nuits-Saint-Georges. Only le Musigny, near Vougeot in the north can boast a
coveted white grand cru. The opposite can be said of the grand cru red of
Burgundy and with the exception of Corton in the south, all the best red
vineyards are found well to the north in the Côte de Nuits.
The path I am following is well travelled by cyclists and the occasional
car, though I'm not sure the cars are really meant to be on this
particular pathway. Either way, a 50-metre stretch of the road ahead is
flooded and I must walk along the top of the wall to find my way to the dry
ground on the other side. I leave a couple and their Citroen behind. It's a
puny little car, though I'm really not sure how he'll manage to turn it
around without getting stuck up to the axles - that'll teach him to drive on
the walking trails.
The span of vines here in the Côte de Beaune has a greater width than
further to the north. You can sense the magnitude of these vineyards and the
amount of work involved with harvesting these plots before the hail and
frost claim the fruit. That is the danger here in Burgundy. What is more
incredible is that short of a few clothing articles left behind during the
harvest near Chambertin and the ongoing fan club at Romanée-Conti, I have
not seen any amount of litter or vandalism whatsoever. Graffiti runs ramped
in Paris, but here in Burgundy, the land and architecture are truly proud
elements of French heritage. I can say with confidence that these vines mean
the world to the good people who tend to this land.
Reaching the next crest in the landscape, I pause for a moment to gaze upon
the village of Meursault. I am still a few kilometres away but the cathedral
stands proudly above the homes that surround the ancient church. The leaves
in the premier cru Les Genevrieres have turned a golden yellow as they cling
to the vines for a few more days. Autumn is finally here and workers are now
busy inside the villages crushing and fermenting the fruit that once
decorated these great vines.
The Chardonnay from Meursault is famous to wine connoisseurs throughout the
world. Typically the most oak influenced Chardonnay in the region, the wines
of Meursault remain a world away from the buttery wines of California. Less
famous but equally good is the Pinot Noir from Meursault and I'll enjoy a
glass of white and a half bottle of red from Domain Pierre Matrot with
dinner tonight.
The obvious question that many people ask is 'can you really taste the
difference between Burgundy and wine made from the same grapes elsewhere in
the world?' The short answer is a firm yes, but it is far more complicated
than that.
To a degree, it is the complexity of the explanation that makes Burgundy
intriguing. It has taken me almost 12,000 words over five separate posts to
convey the perplexity of this land and yet I feel as though I have only
given you the tip of the iceberg. The magic and uniqueness of Burgundy lies
within the region's vast history and the story that unfolds when you attempt
to explain it. Of the greatest importance must be the vintage conditions in
any given year. Certainly more so here than anywhere the climate is
consistent or they modify the composition of the wine by blending varieties
to compensate for lesser conditions. The land speaks to you in Burgundy; the
best plots or climats were chosen a thousand years ago and have produced the greatest
wine for centuries. And while ownership may transfer, rarely does the
classification of the land ever change. You cannot make great wine with
inferior fruit - that is a fact. Modern equipment and techniques allow for
mass production and the option of manipulation to appease the masses but it
will never be a substitute for terrior and a sense of place.
As
I reach the village of Meursault, I've now walked over 35km.
This is where my foot-tour of Burgundy will end. I have found what I was
looking for and due to a sudden change in the unpredictable world of airline
travel, I must leave France tomorrow or stay for another 4 days. In truth, I
could explore this land for another month and not see the same thing twice,
but there are little people at home who do not fully understand where I have
gone or why I am away - it is time to go.
As I enter the picturesque centre square at the centre of Meursault, I find
it alive with couples who are wandering in and out of the shops as they wait
for restaurants to open. There is a wedding at the cathedral today and the
sun is setting just beyond the hills to the west. It is beautiful here. I
did have a room booked in Meursault, but to catch the early morning train
back to the airport tomorrow, I will need to stay in Beaune tonight instead.
I manage to stretch the ten minute cab ride to Beaune into an hour-long
adventure by asking the driver who speaks perfect English (I've forgotten
her name) to take me through the village of Volnay and then Pommard. We stop
at several significant vineyards and landmarks along the way and she shares
her thoughts with me on the perception of wine in the French culture. Of
course I sample the grapes each time we stop. "Don't they all taste the
same?" she asks. “Yes, I think they're beginning to." I laugh. As we chat, I
learn that everyone here knows someone who works with the vines, and yet
very few people actually take the time to recognize the impact of this
region on a greater scale. I am convinced that my passion for Burgundy will
somehow benefit others, even if only to provide them with an escape from
reality for a few moments as they sip.
As we round the next corner a gas station and its neon sign cast a
reflection of the real world as Beaune quickly approaches. Suddenly the
vines cease to exist. I close my eyes for the rest of the ride...
Tyler Philp is a member of the Wine Writers' Circle of Canada Please direct inquires for writing services to: info@tylerphilp.com |
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