Day 3: St. Julien, Pauillac

Following a meal in which we were derided by a local waiter for trying to order a cru Beaujolais off of the menu instead of Bordeaux Blanc– actually, not so much derided but loudly told we were not allowed to order it– pop and I fell asleep for an early start the next morning. Apparently the logic that we had done nothing but drink a large number of Bordeaux Blanc mattered little to this jovial, parochial, waiter. When we got a corked glass of Sauternes with desert I did not even dare bring it up. A half-bottle of 2000 Haut-Marbuzet certainly raised the bar however.

The next morning we packed out of our lovely Hotel des 4 Soeurs, slid into the hatchback, and were off to the northern lands. After navigating the quai, working our way to the rocade, and exiting we found ourselves on the D9. Though there is faster way to head up the Medoc, the D9 is a must for anyone either visiting for the first time or had not seen the area in a long time like my father. Working your way north, one gets nearly dizzy from the sheer number of roundabouts to navigate before the road opens up a little just before hitting the commune of Margaux.

What is amazing about the D9 is that it really gives you a strong notion of how closely packed all the chateaux are to each other. Beginning with Margaux and ending 50 km north at the end of Saint-Estephe it is virtually impossible to NOT see atleast 2 or 3 chateaux looming over the landscape. In some cases, if one had a good pitchers arm, you could probably throw and ball between each of them. Palmer, to Rauzan-Segla, to Rauzan- Gassies (which were originally part of the same property a la the Leoville triplets). Though we did not stop anyplace in Margaux on this trip it should be noted that it is both the largest of the communes and perhaps the most diverse. Close to the river you have the sacred terroir of Ch. Margaux, and a little farther in Palmer. Then working back a touch on the plain you have the Rauzan properties. Then even further inland and a touch south you have all of the properties around Cantenac– many of which have dwindled in the sunset for a while but are making a quality comeback.

After passing out of the Margaux appellation and driving through several kilometers of low-lying lands better suited to other forms of agricultural pursuit and lesser vineyards of the Haut-Medoc one is greeted to Saint Julien by the pomp and enormity of Chateau Beychevelle. Driving north still, you pass Ducru-Beaucalliou to your right on the river side, and some smaller chateaux such as Gloria on your left. If one traveled farther inland still you would eventually reach Ch. Lagrange on the far-inland side of the commune. Our first visit for the day though lay ahead, at one of my very favorite chateau, Ch. Leoville-Barton.

The wine of Leoville and Langoa Barton are made in the cellars of the beautiful chateau of Langoa-Barton. It is in the chateaux that Sir Anthony Barton and his wife reside. That the family owning the chateau actually reside in it makes Langoa unique. That the Barton’s, of Irish extraction, are not French makes it double unique. That one does not feel violated when purchasing a bottle of the excellent Leoville and Langoa Barton wines makes the estate thrice-times unique.

That Sir Anthony gave us over two hours of his time to show us around the cellar and opened up a half-dozen bottles of older vintage Leoville and Langoa was, quite simply, beyond unique.

Joining us for the day was our good friend Robin Kelly O’Conner. Robin, who is president of the Society of Wine Educators in the United States, has also represented the region of Bordeaux in the states for nearly 15 years. There is practically no one who knows as much about, and knows as many people in, Bordeaux. To have him along was like having an encyclopedia one could turn to about any subject. I mean, the man can actually tell you the family tree of the Lurton family, which is frankly terrifying. My guess is he knows all of the illegitimate children too, but he has more class than to tell.

A few things stand out about the winemaking at the Barton chateaux. First, they are absolute strongholds for traditional, conservative winemaking. Stainless steel would be considered bling here. Fermentations go on in old oak fermenters using native yeasts. Wines receive pumpovers, the number of length determined by the wine and where it is in fermentation. Extended maceration takes place here just like everyplace else– typically 2-3 weeks on the skins. Wines are racked 4-5 times, fined with egg-yolks (”free range certainly does not mean free” the charming Sir Anthony states), are all aged in barrels made by Serge Maury, and bottled. This is not the land of concentrating machines, micro-ox, RO, etc. The wines are as honestly made as they taste. Sir Anthony points out that perhaps only “modern” thing they do is to pick the grapes a little bit later, but that is also because recent climate changes have allowed for this to take place.

After a nice tour of the cellar and grounds, Anthony and his flat-coated retriever, tasted us on the recent 2006 vintage and then on a number of older wines. The oldest, from the frost-stricken year of 1991, was a lovely wine. Not the powerhouse one would expect, but possessing remarkable fineness and perfume. The 1997, a much derided year, was in a similar vein. Elegant and pretty, showing some light shadows of secondary perfume. As Barton pointed out, the 1997’s got a terrible name because everyone tried to charge way too much for them. The wines were actually quite good, just not as good as what people wanted for them. Also tasted were the classic 2001 and the rockstar 2005 from Langoa, along with the 1999 Leoville. As always, the Leovilles showed a bit more power and density than the Langoa. That said, I am perhaps even more drawn to Langoa due to its prettiness and attractive price.

Upon bidding adieu to Sir Anthony, we sped up to Paulliac to have lunch at Cafe Lavinal in the village of Bages. The restaurant and cafe’ is one of the centerpieces of the beautiful village being built by the Cazes family. Also there is the Baba bakery, and the Bages Bazaar, where one can buy the many wines made in the Cazes empire. During harvest 2006 when I worked at Lynch-Bages I lived in a small room overlooking the square. Each morning I would fatten myself on the dangerously flaky and buttery delicacies coming from the ovens of the bakery while checking my email at the Cafe’. Robin, pop, and myself enjoyed a lovely meal prior to continuing the day.

Our next tour was at Lynch-Bages– which was certainly more for my pop’s edification than anything else. It was nice to show him where I had worked. They also have a museum cellar there– a cellar made up of how the chateau would have looked 100 years ago. It is a remarkable piece. The 2006 was showing quite well. The Lynch-Bages is one of the few chateau that seemed to make a bigger, denser, wine in 2006 than in 2005. I am not sure the reason for it, but the wine is remarkably good– particularly given the large amount of rain received just prior to harvest.

Following our quick tour there, we headed back south for our visit at Ch. Latour.

Latour was my grandfathers favorite wine, and it is the only chateau where I can guarantee that three generations have Peterson’s have gone to worship at its alter. The cellars are a grotto to stainless steel– with each lot in the vineyard having its own tank of equivalent size. The barrel rooms are perfect, and on two levels. Everything is gravity fed. The entire place is mood-lit. The production facility is a sexy as the wine. It drips with luxury. I could not help but love it.

The wines were, as expected, everything one could hope for. If only one could find it, the third wine of Latour, called simply “Pauillac,” is delicious. The second wine, Les Forts de Latour is in reality the quality equivalent of a second or third growth, and the top wine is some of the most delicious liquid on the face of the earth. We tasted the 2006 and 2005 “Pauillac,” and the 2005 Les Forts de Latour and Latour. The lattermost wine certainly competes for wine of the trip. With Latour, in its great years, one merely sticks the nose in the glass and all preconceived paradigms for understanding wine are shifted upward. To small and taste it is to go through a process similar to the steps taken with dealing with grief or falling in love. You never want to take your nose away from the glass, you finally decide you cannot take it any more and then you sip, you then realize that you have never tasted anything quite so good in your life, and then you realize that something else you missed the first time you smelled it is there now, so you taste again, and find another russian doll of taste hidden in the first, then you look at the glass and realize it is half-gone and you all-of-a-sudden feel your stomach drop into a maw of depression because there is no way, you realize, that you will ever have enough of this wine, but that the simple fact of the matter is, you only have two sips left. There is a song that goes “If you ever want to be happy for the rest of your life never make a pretty woman your wife.” If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never drink Latour.

As the light dwindled, and we forced ourselves into the car, looking back longingly like a golden retriever leaving its master, we took some small comfort in knowing that Ducru-Beaucillou was our last stop on the day.

There, we were met by the maitre de chai, who I think was certifiably crazy. Then again, if you rack thirty vintages of wine five times a year, something has to shift inside. Also, he spoke really, really, fast French so I picked out about 65% of the words and had to reconstruct roughly what he was saying to myself and then to dad and Robin. By which point I would have missed the next thing he said. Alas, I cannot recount as much about the winemaking as I would like. That said, the wines were lovely and reflected the renewed interest and money put into the chateau by the recent change in leadership within the Borie family.

Working our way through the night Pop and I returned to Pauillac, where we stayed along the quai.  I fell asleep thinking about how lucky this was.  Very few people get to do what we had done that day, and I am not sure if a group of people could have appreciated it more than we did.