The flight out had been fine, but the decision to check out all BA's wines in the lounge and on the plane was unwise... but last week I had promised Rod Eddington (did I drop that name loudly enough?). Anyway, the subsequent mellowness got me through the not unfamiliar post midnight French hotel arrival scenario; 'Il y a un problème, Monsieur ... your room's not confirmed, sorry we are full". Wandering around streets forlornly in the early hours. But the 'Trois Couronnes' was a good find and ... I repeat ... the best view ever.
Now we go see Belgian Pierre.
The effect of low dawn sunlight behind newly sprouting vines is of a
million little green lamps across the landscape ... I just mention that. Often. Pierre has now rented us an old barn just outside Carcassonne for our barrels. Nothing beautiful and the roof is gracefully half-collapsed. But it costs nothing and is cold inside; so will do very nicely. We work with Pierre' s cellars 200 metres away to produce a Pinot Noir and a Syrah, both quite successful actually. But we now want to leave these wines a seriously long time in oak ... two years or so ... sort of treat them like Rioja. So we need somewhere inexpensive to keep all the casks. Hence the barn.
Pierre is bottling our Wilson's Chardonnay and has been doing so since six o'clock this morning. I go have a closer look at the machinery. There is a loud bang and everything stops. They have always said I am a bit of an albatross. We taste a dozen or so of Pierre's tanks of white and between the five of us manage to smash two glasses... and it is only 8 a.m. albatross going well.
Pierre de Groote was once the only Belgian oenologist in the world. That was in 1969. He then started a business rather like mine in Belgium going round giving wine tastings ... but the call of the vineyards, and Virginie, his future wife, was too strong so he returned here to the Midi and set up in business. A few years ago he got bored with his huge affair and sold out, putting the money into guess what ... vineyards. No change there then. We are old buddies. I think he should slow up a bit. He never will.
We drive south via Limoux into the gorges of the Pyreneean foothills. Slow and winding but lovely. Sadly, I fall asleep. Wake at Maury as we begin the climb up and over the ridge by the little fort of Queribus and down into the secret valley of Cucugnan. First came here to buy in the early seventies. The village - and its priest - feature in the short story 'Le Curé de Cucugnan' by Alphonse Daudet in his 'Lettres de Mon Moulin'. Am amazed to see that the village has in fact just restored its Moulin/windmill ... apparently it will actually be operational soon.
We go to see the Sichel boys. Heirs to one of the more famous names in wine, the brothers not only look after their family's interests in Bordeaux; Château Palmer, Château d'Angludet and others but this wild property which their late father, Peter, bought in Cucugnan. So I am not the only one to have fallen for this high, rocky place. Once, I would have bought a few vines here if I could've. Barbara and I came here the first time we attempted a holiday in our early years. Got one nice day in, pretending to catch trout, before an emergency phone call from the office had us hurtling home to avert (yet another) crisis.
This is about as high as the vineyards of Corbières go. 450 metres up ... so you do not get big rich wines here. You get wines like the terroir ... stony clean, lean, long-lasting ... and you need to pick your vintages with care ... but in a good vintage it is the best. Old bush vines on steep hillsides baking in the sun.
Went and took pics at the old/new Moulin then to the Auberge de Cucugnan (I have not eaten here for 20 years, but nothing has changed) for a Civet de Sanglier. It is the only thing to eat here. In fact it is almost compulsory ... the village is surrounded by growing hordes of wild boar and they are very partial to grapes which means war in a village that makes wine and nothing else ... except Civet de Sanglier of course. Phillippe Villa must be the grandson of the lady who first served us this thick, black, meaty dish back in the old days. They do say his Civet de Sanglier can vary a bit. Depends on the age of the pig they shot. But happily, today's was a young and tender one.
On down to the coast and then north up to Vinassan to try - and buy - amongst other things some wonderful new Muscat ... a very, very difficult wine to make really well, because it has to be the Petits Grains strain of the variety rather than the Alexandrian version; (the smaller the grapes the better) AND it must be picked at an optimum harvesting moment which is often only hours long ... is just so hugely flavourful ... you need to serve it brass monkey chilled ... almost solid.
We stay the night up in the Minervois at Siran ... pretty hotel, forget the name but there is only the one. All rooms named after flowers! Me ... I am a Lupin!
Rest of our team turns up ... two buyers, the big chief buyer, one writer/photographer. Tomorrow is a big day so early to bed. We have come for Andrée's grand annual tasting of the year's wines. Andrée is, and has been for decades, our 'woman in the Midi'. If you have enjoyed our Languedoc and Roussillon wines it is all thanks to Andrée. Next door to the hotel is La Maison du Minervois where she has taken over the conference hall. Ten tables, ten people sat at each with massed, masked bottles. Mostly the tasters are the growers and producers themselves, with a few oenologists, us Brits and Andrée and her sisters scuttling around replenishing.
It is a very good ploy to make winemakers taste their own wines 'blind'. Nothing so motivates them as to have suffered the ignominy of losing to neighbours ... particularly if they subsequently discover that it was they themselves who marked down their own beloved wine. That really hurts. They will work their socks off to win next year.We sit there for two solid hours tasting firstly a bunch of Sauvignons, then a bunch of 'cépages méridionaux' then AOC wines then ???? forgot ... pour, swirl, sniff, sip, gurgle, compute, spit, attempt to write and score. Score marks, that is. It takes some learning but becomes ingrained habit after 30 years or so. The trick is to be able to put all your attention on, into, through and around the wine in your glass ... the wine, the wine, nothing but the wine.
There is an excellent branch of yoga beguilingly called 'Viniyoga' that I took up fifteen or so years ago ... but which I found, sadly, had no actual connection with wine. However I still practise, as any form of yoga which helps to still the gibbering in the mind and to focus and enhance perception is very good for wine appreciation ... as it is for appreciation of anything.
The very worst thing for accurate tasting is the bloke next to you opining out loud. But at "Do's" like this influencing other tasters is frowned upon. There is quite a hush for the first hour. But human nature being what it is, and with alcohol's capacity to get into you somehow, no matter how hard you spit, things always do get noisier and matey-er towards the end. OK, so the accuracy goes a bit (only a bit ... we ARE professionals) but if it didn't most of us would probably leave the profession.
Anyway we vote, winners are announced and many wines do very well (which must be a good sign.... though as Andrée selects her wine producers with great care it is not surprising really). There is still a lake of downright dreadful wine made in the Midi but Chère Andrée ensures it never comes near enough to trouble us.Anyway we vote, winners are announced and many wines do very well (which must be a good sign.... though as Andrée selects her wine producers with great care it is not surprising really). There is still a lake of downright dreadful wine made in the Midi but Chère Andrée ensures it never comes near enough to trouble us.
Post tasting and lunch-comatose am bundled into car, to sleep 'til Toulouse, switched to another car for Denis to drive me home to Ste Colombe. In the old days I'd have driven myself ... is quite amazing am still alive.
Bordeaux in 28 degrees C and it is mid April. So vines are well ahead of themselves and everyone is praying for no late frosts.
The work on renovating Le Presbytère is not going to schedule because some of the ancient beams turned out, on closer inspection, to be riddled with beetle of some sort. As these beams will support ten or more barrels of our most precious wine, it's as well we find more solid beams.Anyway, the 12th Century building, having had all the grey cement rendering scraped off, the old stonework cleaned-off and re-jointed, looks absolutely fabulous from the outside. Pat on the back for Denis. The work has uncovered more of the strange carved stones we find inserted here and there in the walls amongst the rougher stone. No-one will convince me that these are not pieces scavenged from the Roman villa which once stood on this slope and the excavation of which was the original reason I first came to Ste Colombe in 1965. So when it is finished (June? absolutely no chance, but that's what they claim!) I shall say we now have a 'Part-Roman' winery.
Hang around for the weekend, talking to the vines and such. Monday meetings and market. Fly back to U.K.
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