Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
generous and focused. When not farming his vineyards he could be found inventing viti-
cultural equipment for a German firm or renovating part of the house under the direction of
his very organised wife, Isabelle.
The magical scene was a horizontal tasting of the previous vintage. All the bottles were
covered with bags; the identity would only be disclosed at the end. We were handed paper
and pencils. I felt intimidated, having never done a professional tasting before. Sneaking a
glance at my neighbour's notes I took a swig of wine. A starburst of flavours exploded in
my mouth: orange peel, almond, pineapple, honey. I slurped the second: passion fruit. Then
the third: citrus and a hint of fennel. Almost effortlessly, writing filled the page in front of
me.
Grapes are unique; no other fruit can create such a rainbow of flavours depending on its
terroir. They offer a palette of polyphenols or aroma compounds that runs into the thou-
sands compared to normal fruits like oranges and apples that would only be a couple of
hundred.
Combining the great range of polyphenols of each grape type or varietal with the soil, the
climate and the grower gives a unique taste. This unique 'taste of place' is terroir, an emo-
tionally charged term that is deeply part of French culture. Blending the different results
from each vineyard and each varietal is a key part of taste of place. For the French it is this
complex notion of terroir that determines taste rather than the type of grape: a key differ-
ence with the New World. When you taste a mineral chardonnay from Chablis compared
to a hot climate chardonnay it is easy to see why: they may be the same grape but they are
worlds apart in flavour.
All I knew then was that I was tasting the same style of wines from the same small area
of Saussignac and yet they tasted different. Each one had its own nuance, its own secret
whisper about where it came from. When the tasting was over, each wine was debated, then
unveiled.
'What do you think of number eleven, Caro?' asked Thierry.
'Passion fruit and almonds. Delicious,' I said feeling nervous. Was I correct? Would I be
unmasked as the complete novice that I was? It was so expressive even I could describe it
and my comment was followed by approving nods around the table.
Next up was a wine that was cloudy and fizzy: I had marked it right down, not realising
still-fermenting wine was regularly presented at producer tastings.
'Slightly fizzy but good balanced flavour,' said the first commentator.
'Too woody.'
The sample was unveiled as Bernard Barse's, the wine we had helped pick with Aideen
and Barry a year before. I began to take the comments personally. It was an inkling of how
I would feel when Sean and I made our own wine.
Joel, the man who regularly intimidated me as part of the AOC police, was sporting beau-
tiful, long dreadlocks and bright coloured pants. That evening I realised that he was more
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