Between Two Deep Blue Seas
Generally speaking, I’m not a fan of “Bordeaux” varietals — especially cabernet sauvignon (although I do love me some cabernet franc–Loire-style cabernet franc, that is — not the overripe, overwooded, generally over-the-top stuff that tries to be sauvignon). The monolithic monsters that wow the wine-by-numbers crowd by dint of shock and awe feel like an assault on the palate, while the old-school California-style cabs that actually have structure and a sense of place are pretty danged hard to find and usually prohibitively expensive when you do. And let’s not even getting started on Malbec, which is well on its way to being the new poster child for wine grape prostitution.
There is, of course Bordeaux (yes there is, isn’t there?). Shoulder shrug. Why spend time and bandwidth (and too often a pile of loot) on a handful of ubiquitous varieties when there are a gazillion other crazy, wonderful, unique, off-the-beaten-path flavors just waiting to be discovered?
Malepère, that’s why. And why is that? Location, location, location. Sitting just to the northwest of Carcassone at the Languedoc’s westernmost edge, the appellation sits astride the Mediterranean and Atlantic climates (yes, the wind doth blow, both ways). Encompassing barely a thousand acres of vineyard and 18 producers, it’s among the smallest and the least-known of all France’s AOCs, not to mention the most unique, in terms of character. Think Bordeaux and Southwest cépages, but with a pronounced Occitan, even Catalan accent.
Tristan Shout, bearing tidings from Agent MC, stopped by with a gorgeous, amazingly affordable bottle from Domaine Girard the other day. Just a few swirls and sips was all it took to tilt my interest meter from moderate intrigue to pure enchantment. Composed of cabernet franc and merlot, it shows that duo at their old-world best, with focused, crystalline, bright aromas and flavors of red fruits that shade to darkness around the edges. Think structure, balance and certain Bordelais sensibility — married with the a sauvage element that’s pure Langudeoc, elegance with an untamed streak — and a heady bouquet of all those crazy garrigue-y things that sing songs and tell tales in old Occitan.
Crazy good, and a lesson not to make sweeping generalizations, nor to let a jaded, been-there-done-that attitude get in the way of brand new deliciousness. That’ll show me.
Now, it’s just a matter of waiting until that boat from Marseille actually gets here. Can’t wait!