Deconstructing the Mystique of Champagne

Champagne has always been a drink for celebratory toasts or extravagant lifestyles. We aren’t inclined to pop some bubbly with our Monday night meatloaf, and enjoying champagne so regularly seems like it would be either really expensive (Veuve Clicquot) or gross (Cooks).

However, my recent day trip to the Champagne region of France dispelled all of these notions and taught me that champagne is really a drink for every day life, and—best of all—even people who earn less than P. Diddy can afford great champagne.

Driving through Champagne, I noticed two things: 1) Champagne is a great place to be from (rather than move to), and it’s not a place where I would like to have a party. Although the temperature had been 60 degrees when I left Paris, I hit a wall of fog driving east across the Marne River that chilled things down to a balmy 39 degrees. My guide explained that Champagne is on the same latitude with Quebec City and its cold, wet, and windy weather is the hallmark of its terroire. The Sleepy Hollow-esque climate creates very acidic grapes that are best for making—ironically—very light, dry and effervescent champagne.

While I thought I’d see grand chateaus littering the countryside, I was wrong. Most champagne in Champagne is actually produced by small houses in single-industry working class towns. Regulations forbid any sparkling wine from being labeled “champagne” unless it is actually produced in Champagne itself. Thus, making bubbly is the highest use of any property in the region, and no one stays there to do anything else. (As my guide put it: “If you live in Champagne and don’t make champagne, you slit your wrists.”) Houses are small and close together. Indeed, each one that I passed had a sign out front advertising champagne production.

I visited a village that boasted a population of 200 and toured a ‘typical’ small house, R.C. Lemaire. The tour guide was the winemaker himself, a very smiley, white-skinned young man, dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and Adidas. His fermenting tanks were in his garage, his storage cellar in his basement, and his tasting room was in the living room (complete with family photos). He served 3 different champagnes with pink tea biscuits (!). Champagne for this man was every day life, and the same had been true for his father and grandfathers—all the way back “to Napoleon.” He was proud and exuberant about his craft and his family's tradition in the industry. The passion shone through: his champagne was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. It was light, sparkly and had a level of freshness that I thought could only be experienced by biting into chilled fruit. The best part was that after buying 2 bottles, my pocket was only $48USD lighter. (American import rules aside, here is Lemaire's website!)

I did visit a ‘chateau,’ but the experience and the champagne was underwhelming at best. Moet & Chandon’s ‘chateau’ was noticeably its a corporate office. I had to buy a ticket to take a tour, wait 20 minutes for it to start, and then sit through a promotional video once it began. Every person I saw was in a suit and most of Moet’s 14-mile cellar was closed to visitors. The tasting room had one long minimalist bar and beautiful photographs of celebrities drinking Moet & Chandon. However, my Imperial Gold tasted stale, and 3 oz of anything better was much more expensive. The tour exited into a gift shop, which resembled a duty free store without any deals. Considering the atmosphere and my other experiences in Champagne, the image of luxury that Moet was going for just seemed lame. (However--they did have an amazing chandelier made of champagne glasses that I covet to this day.)

All of this culminated in a mental breakthrough for me regarding champagne and some important lessons:

1. First, I need to stop being a snob. Little guys make some of the best champagne out there, and labels/prices don’t fully convey the quality of the product. To get a sense of whether or not a champagne is good quality look for words like “grand cru” or “premier cru” (indicating the wine was made from the best grapes in the lot) and “prestige cuvee,” or “tete de cuvee” (these terms signify that the champagne was made from the first press of the grapes, which is the most flavorful).
2. Second, when considering wine and food pairings, I should not exclude champagne. During lunch, my guide explained that 3 different grapes grow in champagne (Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier). Champagne made from Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier or a blend (look for labels saying “Blanc de Noirs”) pairs well with food. Pinot Meunier particularly is the most flavorful, so can be paired with heavier, richer or more flavorful foods. Chardonnay champagne (labeled: “Blanc de Blanc”) is best for pre-dinner drinking and toasting. The high acidity wets the appetite, but it does not have much body to stand up to food.

Admittedly, it's still my dream to ring in the New Year some day with a Nebuchanezzer bottle of Veuve Cliquot. But until that day, I'll be on the lookout for bottles of bubbly from labels I've never heard of and enjoying them with my Rubio's Two-Dollar Tacos.

Say Cheese!

I've been told in France that wine and cheese are like PB&J, cupcakes & frosting, glitter & the color pink--without one, the other would not exist. Thus, my trip toward Vinetality would never be fulfilled if I were to neglect learning how to put together a proper cheese plate.

After concluding an extensive study here in Paris, involving a sample set of likely 100+ cheese plates, I have come to the following conclusions:

A well done cheese plate reflects balance and variety. At least 3 cheese are included, each from different types of milk (cow, goat, sheep). Options are:

1. A hard cheese such as Emmantaler or Swiss cheese
2. A flowery mild cheese, such as brie or camembert
3. A blue or roquefort cheese
4. A goat cheese

The cheese should be center stage. Whereas Americans include nuts, dried fruit and a huge bunches of grapes, the cheese plates I've encountered in France are largely unadorned. (One post-dinner plate was served with a little jar of honey.) As far as a palette for the cheese, there is not a cracker to be found in France. Rather, Parisians keept it simple by spreading their cheese on crusty slices of baguette.

Presentation is paramount. Each cheese should be placed around the platter in the best order to taste it. Usually, the cheese which is the strongest in flavor is last. Regardless of which cheese, garnishments or bread is served, in France everything must look--in the words of Borat--very nice. While I'm sad that I must throw out my Wal-mart 'dinner party' plastic ware when I get home, I am confident that the quality of my entertaining will improve.

Any wine will do. Each cheese should taste different enough to call for its own wine. However, that takes the pressure off because the cheese plate could be enjoyed with a variety of different wines (or beers, or ciders). Here in Ile-de-France, I have tasted two knockout pairings:

1. A savory appetizer cheese plate, paired with a chardonnay champagne (or sparkling wine)
2. A post-dinner plate, paired an egregiously sweet wine

Of course this post will be updated with any conclusions I am able to draw from my continuing research. But, in the meantime, Bon Appetite!

Lessons from the Wine Capitol of the World

This post comes by way of Paris, where I am enjoying a vacation. There is truly more wine here than water and coca cola company soft drinks combined. In this magical place, I have learned a few lessons worth sharing:

1. Never Bring a Bottle of Wine to Dinner. Bringing wine to dinner in the U.S., is a common and polite contribution to a shared meal experience. However, experts here have told me that this same gesture in France is a slap in the face to any host. The host selects his/her wine specifically selected to accompany the meal served. Thus, a guest’s bottle exhibits how he/she has zero confidence in the host’s wine selection. Tip: Bring macarons instead.
2. Understanding French Wine Requires More Knowledge of France than Grapes. Just when I got used to thinking of wines in terms of different grapes or as blends of different grapes, Paris struck. Here, wines are referenced not by their grape ingredients, but by the region (or “appellation”) whence they came. When confronted with a “vins” menu, I’m not much helped by my knowledge that merlot is mild and fruity while cabernet franc is like liquid black pepper. I need to know what is made in Rhone, Burgundy, Languedoc, and other regions that are embarrassing to pronounce. Actually, I need to know were these places are.
3. This is a Land of Welcoming Experts. Everybody in Paris has internalized the steps of wine tasting: evaluate the wine with your eyes, nose, then mouth (always take 2 sips before judging your observations). They have internalized all of the lessons I have to consciously recall from wine tasting class—probably because they have been drinking wine since elementary school. This nonchalant expertise scared me at first. The server who poured wine I'd ordered at a restaurant seemed to scrutinize me as he watched me taste it—was this a test? Would he correct me? But then, I realized that this scrutiny was actually eagerness. French people were interested to see my American reaction to their wines. (They probably knew I would be impressed and say something dumb.)
4. There is Such a Thing as Bad French Wine. After tasting genuinely admirable and inexpensive wines, I assumed that no French wine could be bad. In the small ‘super’-market, I marveled at the selection of wines, which took up about 40% of the store real estate. Amidst the bottles for 8, 10, and 20+ Euros, I saw a bottle for 1.69 Euros. A “deux buck Charles”! Could this even be? Turns out that the saying ‘you get what you pay for’ holds true overseas. My cheap little French wine was so acidic it tasted like alcoholic Vinegar. Letting it breath didn't help. Oxygen only seemed to give it the kind of strength you wish your food would not have. The lesson? “Stick to wines at least 6 Euros or more.” said my Parisian friend.

I'm sure there are more lessons yet to come. But for now, at least I know to never bring cheap French wine to a Parisian dinner party, question why the grapes aren't written on the bottles or ask for privacy when tasting wine at a restaurant.

If You Build [a Brand], They Will Come!

I recently went on a HalloWINE tour for my friend Melissa’s birthday. We rented a limousine (i.e. the only way to travel) and headed over the Golden Gate Bridge into Sonoma for some tasting. This was far from my first wine trip. I’ve been to Napa and Sonoma a few times (via limo, van and Prius), and also sampled wines around most places in Virginia. A vocal proponent of Virginia wine, I’ve always told people that wine tasting in the Commonwealth is an experience that can’t be beat. The wineries are more relaxing and welcoming than those in either of California’s notorious wine countries, and many of the wines are great.

Still, on this Sonoma trip, I noticed something that most Virginia wineries are currently lacking: a brand. Our limo-riding group tasted at 3 Sonoma wineries (Benzinger, Imagery, and Robledo). At each one, we tasted more than just wine—we guzzled Kool-aid, effectively spoon-fed to us by tasting room reps.

Benzinger presented itself as the ‘biodynamic’ winery—the winery with the ultimate respect for the earth and the grapes. They said they religiously followed a unique method of winemaking that freed their wine from any unnatural substances and drew out its flavor from the terroire. By the end of the tour I was so captivated by all of the steps involved with biodynamic farming and the reasoning behind each one that I was convinced Benzinger’s wine had to be objectively better than every other wine in the world. How could I miss out on a bottle?

At Imagery, the methods of farming were hardly discussed. Instead, I immediately noticed that every bottle of wine was essentially a work of art. For each bottle of wine, someone at Imagery designed a new label, which was really an original painting. The paintings/labels always incorporated a house with columns that sits on Imagery’s property, but in very different ways. In Imagery’s tasting room, huge canvasses of these past labels hung on every wall. It took me an extra 10 minutes to decide which bottle of Imagery wine to buy: the one with the pink floral Imagery label or the darker more Halloween like Imagery label. (I had forgotten what the wines tasted like, but…these were collector’s items.)

Finally, the Robledo Family Winery won my heart. As he poured our wine, a young gentleman described how his father had started his career as a migrant worker in the fields of Napa Valley. He worked and worked and dreamed that one day he would own a vineyard and a winery of his own. With this persistence, he made his American dream come true and it’s now a part of every bottle he sells. Robledo had a mini version of this story printed on its tasting menus and on plaques around their property. Everyone in the winemaker's family participated in growing business (like winemaking meets Everybody Loves Raymond). I left that tasting room feeling like Robledo wine was more American than the Fourth of July—how could I not take home a bottle?

Looking back on my Hallowine purchases, I couldn’t remember at all how each wine tasted. In contrast, just the thought of my favorite Virgnia wines makes my mouth water (shout out to Breaux Vineyards ‘Jennifer’s Jambalaya,’ Cardinal Point’s ‘Quattro,’ and Vertias’ Viognier.) My Hallowine purchases were all motivated by one thing: brand. Each winery had convinced me that it had a unique story, and that by buying its wine I would be part of it too. The messages were infused through multiple sensory experiences: the tasting room rep's storytelling, the winery's decore, and they way each bottle looked and felt in my hand. Consequently, to me, each bottle came to represent something important: respect for the earth, art, the American dream (respectively). I know that when I crack each bottle in the future, I’ll think back to the day I bought it and remember what it stands for.

The lesson here is clear: I am a gullible consumer. AND wineries need to capitalize on that by selling more than just good wine. They need to sell me their stories through multi-sensory messaging and tell me what makes them unique.