Well, it's just a wine growing region in France. I'm focusing now on the southern reaches of the Côtes du Rhône. In the north reigns Syrah, but in the south it's primarily Grenache. This is the home of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, mostly Grenache but usually mixed with a variety of grapes. And so Gigondas, perhaps less well known, perhaps less iconographic as Chateauneuf, but in the same style and of the same land.
Last night, Tracy, Kristie and I tried a Gigondas and a regular Côtes du Rhône from nearby. In fact, these wines are from the same winemaker. They were:
2008 Domaine du Gour de Chaule Côtes du Rhône ($16)
2004 Domaine du Gour de Chaule Gigondas ($35)
I found both of these wines to be really satisfying and great, but in quite different ways. The first is friendly, warm, soft, and a little bit lush. It's an easy wine to drink, sunny and bright and approachable. The second, the Gigondas, is tight, dry, lithe, and canny. It's serious and noble. They're quite different wines, suitable for quite different moods. Like literary genres, neither style is, to me, inherently better than the other. Is a novella better than a renga? I may prefer reading rengas, but that doesn't mean they're better than novellas. It's just a matter of, er, taste.
And so the lesson from tonight: I think I'm learning that the French prize wine that's lean, light, tannic, serious, and restrained. Edgy wine. Wine with all its vertebrae intact. Wine with buttons and snaps. A wine in oils, not water colors. This is what counts as good in France. And maybe elsewhere, of course, though I feel like the French are taste-makers for the world of wine, or at least have been historically.
I find myself wondering if this hierarchy of taste really matters. I realize that the Gigondas is older, and probably represents a style of wine that's much more difficult to produce. These subtle, layered effects of the wry wine are simply more of a feat. It's hard to make, and less obviously announces its pleasures. And so, it's prized more highly. And yet, isn't that friendly Grenache the one I'd like to spend time with, too?
Côtes du Rhône
Soft, round, smooth, and balanced. Immediate pleasure. Flavorful without being juicy. An assertive tannic after-bite, mostly in the finish, which I feel in the front of the teeth and top of the palate. The body is lush and total, perhaps best described as a "wash" or "wall" (actually, the term "wash" is a water-color term; it refers to the effect of background layers of color that are evenly spread over the painted surface). It's a complete feeling to drink this wine. Tracy says this wine will braid your hair--I guess like a really good friend. I don't notice a lot of development on the palate over time--this wine is fairly stable, and doesn't really evolve in the glass as much as the Gigondas will . . .
Gigondas
This is developed wine. Have you ever had a friend who you liked because they taught you something? Someone you looked up to and respected? He is this wine. She is this wine. Or should I say, this wine is him? In any case, sizzling and light, dry and bouncy, this wine is lean with a lot of structure. What is structure? I take it to mean, here, that there is a burst of fruits--the typical dark fruits, which seem so characteristic of all these Rhone wines, plus the obvious berries--held in check by the brick-and-mortar of the tannins. Emerson called these quantities "power an form," both of which are necessary, both of which are present in any creative force. I notice that, over some time, the wine unwinds a little in the air and becomes rounder and smoother. The restraint, structure, leanness, and character of the initial sips is giving way to something more like the Côtes du Rhône--but not entirely. This wine keeps its coat on.
No comments:
Post a Comment