Some Local Flavor......
When Francine called, I had just returned from a three-hour drive, ready to call it a night. She’d booked a reservation for two at a unique gastronomical event and her date had backed out. Did I want to go? A top French sommelier would be there. We’d be served eight different wines from a famous ‘caviste,’ or cellar master. It would be a rare experience.
The restaurant was somber, exuding old world elegance with pressed tablecloths and napkins, and off-white walls, mingled with an aroma of saffron and delicate herbs. After introductions to the other guests, a tall and friendly bespectacled man named Remy invited Francine and I to sit at his table. I was soon to find out that Remy was a sommelier. The event organizer, Alain Ségelle, was named ‘best sommelier of France and best nose in Europe,’ and had authored several books on French wine. Imagine that, being the best ‘nose’ in Europe.
As a waiter served our first glass of wine, and placed a plate of puffy gougères before us, Remy pulled out an isotherm bag from which he extracted a wine glass. We already had three wine glasses in front of our place setting, so I wondered why he had brought his own. “It’s bohemian crystal,” he said, looking at it lovingly, “made of raw materials, the highest quality glass.” He handed it to me carefully. It was so light and so precious to him, I was afraid to break it. “It’s hand blown. Wine changes taste depending on the glass,” he said. “It’s about physics, the interaction of molecules.”
With each wine served, Rémi twirled his glass counter-clockwise, watching the color and movement of the wine, then settled his nose deep into the glass. He reached for his isotherm bag and pulled out a small flask of pale yellow liquid, took off the lid and sniffed. After a moment of solemnity, he explained that it was a sample of the world’s greatest wine, Le Montrachet de la Romanée Conti, worth 7,000€ a bottle for vintage year 2015. He wants to compare its bouquet with the wine we’d been served since they come from the same grape.
The waiter served us marinated raw cod over guacamole and a glass of Petit-Chablis. “The trick is to create the perfect balance between the food and the wine,” he said. “It’s like a marriage. Does this Petit-Chablis marry well with the cod tartar over guacamole? Notice how the avocado overpowers it.” I was starting to understand. “Neither are improved with each other. It’s all about alchemy, 1+1=3.”
The waiter brought us plates of white asparagus sprinkled with chopped shallots and a glass of 1997 Chassagne-Montrachet (Francine made sure I understood that it’s pronounced Mon-Rachet, saying that Americans always mispronounce it). We were also served a glass of chilled white Alsatian wine, a blend of Pinot Gris and Gewurztraminer. As we compared the aromatic Chassagne-Montrachet with the light, flowery Alsatian wine, we discussed at length their color and aromas, and whether they married well with the asparagus. Rémi said the Chassagne had a tertiary taste, meaning it was complex and needed something more than asparagus to balance it. “They have to enhance each other. These wines and asparagus don’t do it,” he said, shaking his head. “But the shallots go well with the Chassagne,” I suggested. Rémi agreed, then put his index finger to his mouth, and whispered “shhh,” as he disappeared into the kitchen. He came out with four chunks of Pont l’Eveque. He asked us to taste the Chassagne-Montrachet with the cheese. He was right. It was the perfect marriage. “See how the cheese and wine compete with each other on equal footing, they complement each other. It’s perfectly harmonious. Then he frowned and said, “Though this cheese is lacking in refinement. It’s not quite mature enough.”
Next came three red wines served with lamb en croute. Everyone in the room agreed the Rully 1er cru was incredible, and Rémi said it’s hard to believe it’s 100% Pinot Noir, which is usually lighter. Francine was sure that the Pessac-Léognan 2007 was corked, and thus began a discussion which spread throughout the room, everyone joining in with their opinions whether it was corked or not. Alain, the best ‘nose’ in Europe, said, no, it is not corked. It just needed to breathe more.
The dessert was a homemade chocolate éclair with raspberry bits, accompanied by a sweet Alsatian wine. “Sweet wines come from late harvesting,” Rémi explained. “Such freshness, such extraordinary acidity,” he said, admiring its color, twirling his glass. I was beginning to catch on. I said, “It’s like art, isn’t it.” “It’s sensorial poetry,” Rémi said, sticking his nose deep into the glass.
By Mary Thompson, our local Parisian
May 2019