The Grand Passion of La Chablisienne

The nine bottles staggered across the table were reflected by the sated UNISG students strewn around the tasting room of La Chablisienne. Yet after an intense hour of comparative tasting, our host Hervé Tucki was just as eager to unveil his coup de grâce: a magnum of Montee de Tonnerre Chablis, 2004.

“Close your eyes”, he murmured, pouring the cool liquid into our much-swirled glasses, “what you see with your palate is more important. Chablis is not a sumo wine, it’s a subtle one.”

 

 

In existence since 1923, La Chablisienne in Burgundy is a cooperative of intimidating proportions. Nearly 300 winemakers strong, it not only represents 25% of the 4700 hectares in production, but produces every one of the twenty Chablis appellations. Founded in response to the economic uncertainty of the era, this cantina sociale relies on a similar structure to Barbaresco. Originally, the winegrowers brought their wines to the cooperative for blending and sales direct to brokers.

 

 

In the 1950s, however, the cooperative decided to personalise their wines and create a distinct identity. In order to do so, involvement spread not just into a new practice of bringing the must and juice to the cooperative, but also into the vineyard. While generally not single-vineyard but single appellation, this control enables the cooperative to adapt the wines from year to year, depending on the quality.

But with a strong respect for organic and biodynamic practices, regular analysis of the soils and wines are undertaken to ensure maximum quality and purity of terroir. Potential new members must approach the cooperative, signing a ten year contract that stipulates all production belongs to the group. If the arrangement is beneficial to all concerned, the contract is renewed.

Vineyards are carefully examined to ensure proper quality is maintained, but members also receive marketing advice, support and a vibrant network of passionate, like-minded producers.  And according to Hervé Tucki, this hands-on approach is one reason for La Chablisienne’s critical success. “More work in the vineyards equals less work in the cellar.”

But the true calling card of La Chablisienne? In a word, minerality. In a wine world whose palate dictates oaky Chardonnays as the key to market share, this cooperative refuses to abandon centuries of tradition. “The purity and dignity of the terroir needs to be preserved”, something that cannot be accomplished with oak aging.

And while this terroir is distinctive in each of the twenty appellations, it’s the unique Kimmeridgian soil of the region that lends this elusive new concept of minerality.  The soil of limestone rock mixed with clay and fossilized oysters, was created 150 million years ago when France was submerged by a tropical sea.

This unique combination of elements creates the aromas and tastes of flint, chalk, pencil shavings and steel to name just a few, which garner the cooperative consistently high ratings and reviews in publications such as Decanter and Wine Enthusiast.

La Chablisienne is not a producer to sit on its laurels; as an entity it continues to forge new paths while still respecting tradition. “We don’t care about being the best producer, but the right one . . . and that’s harder.”

Do I believe the hype? Ask me again in seven years. I have a bottle of 2008 Montee de Tonnerre waiting to be opened on my fortieth birthday…

A taste of terroir in Chablis: Jean-Marc Brocard

Chablis:  Snooty French chardonnay.  Expensive.  Minerally.  Distinctive.  And wine we were itching to try...

Our first stop was Jean-Marc Brocard in the commune of Prehy, with stunning vineyards blanketing the rolling hills around the 15th century Sainte-Claire Chapel.

A family-run winery, Jean-Marc Brocard has been producing only since 1973, but have expanded tremendously during their short years.  Their scale of production is massive in many respects, with a well-constructed educational cellar and a tasting room that looks out over vineyards as far as the eye can see.  However, the operation still manages to feel small, friendly and relatively innovative, another interesting factor being the biodynamic vineyards and wines, a passion of Julien, son of the owner.

Chateau Grenouille, queen of the Grand Cru Chablis
And yes, Grenouille means frog... and also the appellation/
vineyard these grapes come from.

Found in the vineyard at Jean-Marc Brocard

The soils of Burgundy, and where each wine is allowed to be produced

View from inside the tasting room

And the wines were lovely - the different soils and that elusive sense of terroir tangible in each sip.  I didn't fall for every wine, but it was fascinating to note the differences between the Crus.  The Petit Chablis (grown in less venerable vineyards on the flats) was crisp and affordable, and I fell in love with the Premier Cru Montmains.  There will be a bottle of this served at Christmas dinner this year.

Lunch was a quick prix-fixe menu in a quaint cellar in Chablis.  And as if there wasn't enough wine, next up on the agenda was the marathon of minerality at La Chablisienne . . .

Gettin' our wine faces on

Don't get me wrong - I love farm visits and eating well.  But c'mon - we're in Burgundy.  Home of the Nuits-St-Georges pinots that caused much tearing out of hair during my WSET exam last fall.  Home of Chablis.  Where's the wine?

Thursday morning, we pulled up at the family-run Domaine Chantal Lescure and into their barrel room of Cotes de Nuits and Meursault.  18 appellations are represented by their wines, and they aim for relationships with their buyers.  Certified organic, they hand-harvest their grapes in 25 kilogram cases, with four trained workers who select the best grapes by hand.  Their production of 70,000 bottles per year is mainly aimed at the French market for specialist cellars and restaurants - "for the good tables of France", although they do export 30% of their wines around Europe.

The tasting was a simple one, allowing us to ask questions and wander around the room, examining barrels and packaging.  We ended in the wine shop, where they have an excellent display of the entire wine-making process.  While I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of chatting with the sons about what drew them back into wine-making after years in the workforce as engineers (apparently the most often-abandoned career of French people everywhere, judging by the farmer and winemakers we met), I wasn't wowed enough to buy.  Ah, the discerning palate coupled with limited budget and the inability to cellar...

We had a lovely couple of hours in Beaune, a town I would love to go back and explore further.  It allowed time for a gorgeous prix fixe lunch outside, and an all-too-quick browse through a major wine paraphernalia shop, where I found the French cookbook series to end all cookbooks.

The afternoon was a rather strange one.  We had an appointment at the Fallot dijon mustard factory, except our guide was confused about our group and gave us the standard experience rather than the more personal one. 

Old mustard seed mill

We were clothed in the standard "food safety is sexy" cheesecloth coats and hats, which were completely un-necessary as we never entered the factory.  Instead, we were crammed into an elevator and then released in a strobe-light filled tunnel meant to simulate the journey of the mustard seed. 

Do YOU feel like a mustard seed?  Now?  Now?  How about now?

We walked along a hallway where we could see the factory machines and work, had strange video of us taken against the backdrop of a painted mustard jar, and then were able to sample the goods. 

It's excellent and spicy - one spoonful when you're sick will clear out your sinuses!  And I did learn that Canada is not only the largest market for dijon mustard, but also produces the most mustard seeds in the world.  Go Canada . . . I think.

Our class dinner that night was at another lovely hole-in-the-wall bistro where we finally got our boeuf bourguignon along with variations on that theme.  It was worth the wait.

Pain d'epi
We all got our Italian on and wiped up the sauce, shocking our French waiter

Poached eggs in burgundy sauce

Finally!

Glorious poached pears in red wine, sprinkled with toasted nuts

Barrels and Pigs: Not mutually exclusive Part 2

After the pork-induced coma, you'd think we'd be less than eager for another producer visit that afternoon.  Except that this one was Tonnellerie Freres Francois, and we were going to see barrel-making in action.  Despite the drizzle, we were ready.



Let's start at the very beginning . . .
Only 80 - 150 year old oak



The breakdown of the logs - only 20% can be used.
Small rings = fine grain which allows more oxygen,
crucial in the wine aging process.
French oak must be cut with the grain (right hand side),
while American oak doesn't need to be.

All is handsplit so the barrels won't leak

Wood is cut 27 mm thick . . .

and aged naturally outside for 2-3 years in the elements.
Water washes out the tannins.

Making the barrel

25 - 30 staves are needed for each barrel

All dressed up and no place to go . . .

Toasting the barrels to add characteristics to wine

All barrels are toasted for the same length of time,
the difference comes from the intensity of the fire.

The resulting product

Barrel heads before being cut to size

Finished barrel heads

Barrel heads have the winery logo burned on them by laser,
although they also burn winery logos on as well.

Wooden rings are a Burgundy tradition as the barrels
can then be rolled without damage to the rim.

I guess this is the point where you're asking why barrels and pigs aren't mutually exclusive.  Well, simply because we're a bit of a unique UNISG class.  We like pork meat, and we're not ashamed.  Many of our discussions revert back to how we can potentially roast a whole pig and feast on it.  And we do have some expertise in this matter.

So when we found out that we could buy old Burgundy-soaked barrels for 30 euros, an immediate collection was taken up to buy one of our very own.  Negotiations were entered into with the bus driver for permission to transport, and plans were made to store it in Momily's garage.

Then Rae received lessons in how to properly roll a barrel (prompting his best comment to date about everyone thinking he's straight now because of this manly gesture) and we popped it into the depths of the bus.

The plan continues to be debated and discussed - but we do know the cold-smoking of our pig will be flavoured by old Burgundy.