Dre, Elke and Burgundy

Swing Down sweet chariot stop and let me ride
swing down sweet chariot stop and let me ride



"You mind DRE?"
"No DRE is cool by me"

"I'm sorry it's a little messy in here"
"Is all this stuff yours?"

"You mean the giant hairbrush and the aqua patent leather flats? No, those belong to my ex-girlfriend. This is my break-up car. When she split she said, keep the car, I said thank you."

"Why don't you give this stuff back?"
"She doesn't want that shit, would you? Besides, it keeps me grateful"

"About what?"
"She could have left nothing but the shoes"

"So where are we going exactly?"

"The Lenox Hotel, downtown Boston, for the Frederick Wildman 2007 Burgundy preview, last year's preview was the dopest wine show ever in the history of dope wine shows. The finest producers and vineyards, these will likely be the best wines you ever drink."

"So these are wines with like really big scores and great ratings and such?"

"Look, just because some jackass from Maryland created a language without art to describe wine, doesn't mean we have to employ such crude metaphors, such reductionistic thinking. I prefer prolonged intoxication and drunken diatribes, eventually we will get to the heart of the matter, even if it takes years. This is a life's work."


It's like this, and like that, and like this, and uh
It's like that, and like this, and like that, and uh
It's like this, and like that, and like this, and uh


"From what I remember, you don't drink a lot of California wines"

"No I don't, but I drink as much Burgundy as possible. California wines and that whole aesthetic...milieu, the high score wines, all that shit is predicated on massivity, dramatic ripeness and extraction, and the use of new oak as a primary element of flavor. Even the best of them, lack... mystery. Even when there are several distinct flavor events that take place at each sip, with say, a Stag's Leap or Spotteswoode, a Staglin, those events, that sequence of flavors, is fairly...predictable. Fruit, tannins, oak, rinse, repeat. Burgundy seems a little different.

With Burgundy the fruit plays the protagonist, but as with every great protagonist, it needs an antagonist to expresses itself, tannic and malic acid provide this foil. It is the dialectic between these two basic elements, fruit and acid, that informs the palate and creates a dynamic tension that pulls the wine open and allows us to see into it, through it, and if we are lucky, glimpse the vineyard below, the soil beneath the fruit. "


bitches relax while I get my proper swerve on
bumping like a motherfucker ready to get my serve on



"So if you can imagine the fruit and acidity plotted on an XY graph, realize that no matter how big those values are, we are still only dealing with two dimensions, and a two dimensional wine. It isn't until we add data on the Z axis that we get a three dimensional wine. That aspect of the wine, that Z axis, is spatial, it's place of origin, commonly know as terroir. Now add in the variations of vintage, and the vagaries of drinking an ever changing wine as it matures, and Oh Shit! We are drinking on a temporal plane now motherfucker, we are drinking in the fourth dimension. That's Burgundy. Get your mind around that"


Just to floss it like a motherfucker, clownin' an' shit
Got the Danas on the hooptie and your fly-ass bitch


"Jesus, you get paid for that? I'm glad I pulled a few tubes before we left, this is going to be a long ride"

"I try to imagine a wine's flavor in my mind's eye as a three dimensional shape like a hologram or like the wavelengths on an oscilloscope. It helps me remember the wine and approach it's flavor from different angles. But yeah, I get paid for this, amazing isn't it?

Just for instance, let's take Humbert Freres Gevrey Chambertain, this guy makes like 400 cases of that wine. I remember him last year at his table in overalls and muddy work boots, and no matter what he's wearing this year, I will choose to remember him the same way. This guy is a farmer.

Drink his wine and you have this rush of fresh red and black fruit, a touch of licorice, that slight note of new oak coming in behind your ear at three quarter palate, even the hint of strawberry greens. But the only thing I can think about is... you know that smell, when you go to the oven and you pull out a little aluminum foil pouch of beets that have been roasting. You're not sure if they're done so you slowly unwrap them and then that smell hits you, sweet and ripe and mineral. The smell of sweet hot earth, an aromatic minerality that is drawn up from the soil itself and magnified through the lens of the beet, or if you prefer, the grape. That's what this guy's wine smells like, raspberries and roasting beets."

"Behind your ear?"

"Yeah behind my ear, the taste of new oak isn't at the forefront, it's not at the tip of my tongue or on the sides. It doesn't rise up like tannins from the bottom of my mouth and swallow my tongue like an angry squid, nor does it cascade down onto my tongue from the roof of my mouth like that tart raspberry fruit. It comes in, it pokes its head in from behind my ear and sits for a moment on the back of my tongue, then disappears. That is a well made wine, oak in the supporting role."


Breaking all you suckaz off something real proper like
you know what I'm saying?



"Or take the wines of Armand Rousseau. Last year, I'm at the Rousseau table blithely drinking and I'm trying to find the wines on the price list and I'm looking and looking, can't find them. So finally, I say to the guy, 'this wine is not for sale is it?' He shakes his head as if I should know. Very famous, historic, storied estate. The wines have a prettiness, an obvious beauty. They are perhaps THE most beautiful wines in the world, I mean you could say that. In fact if history is any indication, a couple glasses of Gevery Chambertain and that is exactly what I'll be saying, and I'll mean it too.

There's an aristocracy, a pedigree there, and you can taste it. Think about Elke Sommer, and I don't mean some retro, harken back type of thing. I mean image that it's 1968 and we're standing right there in the Playboy mansion and Elke Sommers walks in buck naked in a pair of high heels. A perfect example of the feminine form. That's what Rousseau Burgundy is like to me, statuesque wines with broad feminine shoulders. Wines with a long neck and delicate collar bones, beneath a strong jaw and high cheek bones. Wines with a gentle slope of a supple breast and a nipple pointed upward indicating some place off in the distance, some place over the horizon that you can't imagine, but long for nonetheless"


And word to these hyped ass lyrics and dope beats that I hit you with, that I get you with,
As I cruz in my '4 on Dees hittin' switches.


"Still they're not my favorite wines.They're beautiful, but beauty is just another form of tyranny. I prefer the dark and brooding qualities of Domaine des Perdix Echezeaux. That wine is a thoroughbred through and through, and like a thoroughbred it's head strong and cagy. It provokes this sort of existential anxiety, and leaves you asking yourself, will I ever know wine? What do I taste? You can spend hours rolling that wine over your tongue, worrying each note with your palate like an old lady with rosary beads, passing them again and again between her fingers.

Like all great art, it's a mirror. It will tell you more about yourself than it will ever reveal about itself. Am I the type of person who needs the answer, or am I happier forever pursuing the question?"


"Hey, this is good, park here."
"Parking meters? I fucking hate parking meters. We should cut the heads off "

"We'd probably be arrested"
"True, but once we were in jail we could eat a hundred eggs"

"No man can eat a hundred eggs"
"Don't be so sure"

"I don't have any quarters"
"Me neither, but these people seem nice. Hey lady, you have a quarter? Buddy you got any quarters? Got a quarter, man?..."

"You realize that we've been reduced to begging on the streets of Boston?"
"I'd feel bad about that if it wasn't working so well, there's like eight dollars here, another half hour of this and we'll have dinner covered"

"We should get to the tasting"
"You're right, I'm not one to step up off a hot corner, but Grand Cru Burgundy awaits"


Swing down sweet chariot stop and let me ride
Hell, yeah...
Swing down sweet chariot stop and let me ride
and all the Bitchez say...
Swing down sweet chariot stop and let me ride.

2006 Burgundy preview

Above Pierre Damoy looks up the word "Charming" to describe his $625 Clos de Beze V.V.


"This is old school burgundy, a little brett, a little horse saddle," "That's why I'm here," I say and carefully navigate the teams of twenty-four year olds in their $500 suits, clamoring to write something insightful about every one's first peek at the 2006 Burgundies. I am not in a suit, and I know that pleasure needs no insight. Instead I'm wearing a pair of jeans that hopefully don't make me look fat and a sweater over a crisp white shirt. I am somewhat aware that I carry with me the stink of provincialism, coming as I do from New London. The alcohol washes away this feeling, as does the realization that they are all much shorter than me. I resume drinking, and for the next two hours speak to no one, except winemakers.

I had done a little reading before going to this show. Only a little as I think wine criticism tends to poison the mind. The consensus was that 2006 had been a challenging vintage, with hail and rain. People made great wine but, not everybody, and generally speaking white was better than red. I love white Burgundy, I practically bathe in the stuff, so this was fine by me. As it turned out Chassagne, Puligny, even Corton Charlemagne, all disappointed. I started to think it was me. I had been smoking like a second job the night before, and was it four or five double whiskies at the Oasis?

Frustrated, I decided to go right to the money shot, and started drinking Clos Vougeot from every producer that had one. And the scales fell from my eyes or palate. My notes from Domaine Meo-Camuzet 2006 Clos de Vougeot, "predictably fantastic, if a little heavy on the new oak, assiduously defended by a matronly french woman." Notes from Domaine Jacques Prieur 2006 Clos de Vougeot, "Perhaps the perfect Pinot Noir, like a tenor note from Pavarotti, full yet balanced, with the whole spectrum of Burgundy within."

At the Domaine des Perdix table I approached a very attractive and well dressed man (is that vintage Yves St. Laurent ?), and began consuming quantities of his 2006 Echezeaux. This was to become, for me the best wine in the room, and I told him as much in conspiratorial tones. "I can not say such a thing," he says, "but I am glad that you have." My Notes, "best wine in room, smoky soil, raspberry, tobacco, earth, perfect level of expression, perfect volume."

You have to remember that at an event like this, when you walk up to a winemaker, you are just another schmuck with a glass, in a room full of schmucks with glasses. Salespeople, Brand managers, journalists and fake journalists. And the fact that these guys are farmers makes this metropolitan setting hopelessly trite. These people are artists who work the land to create something ephemeral yet timeless. What is more fleeting and haunting than a sniff of Grand Cru Burgundy? Yet the vineyards themselves are hundreds of years old, and these people are stewards of a tradition that spans generations. I can't help feeling that my love for them, pouring across the table is not being returned. To remedy this I resort to shameless drunken flattery seldom seen outside a Prom limo.

I lumber up to Alain Burguet, and speak to a woman I assume to be his wife. "Tell him he is a genius, and he has made me very happy" I say about his 2006 Chambertin Clos de Beze. She translates and he says thank you. Not the effect I was looking for. "Tell him that to drink his wine, is to drink the finest Burgundy has to offer, the finest France has to offer" She translates and this gets his attention, and I see it, pride. He stops what he's doing and shakes my hand. "Tell him that when I drink his wine I feel as if I am a small child, stripped bare of all pretense and expectation, tell him I stand naked before him." She translates, and it's obvious I've overstayed my welcome.

On to Domaine Pierre Damoy where I drink Gevery-Charbertin "Clos Tamiset," a monopole, Chapelle-Chambertin and Chambertin Clos de Beze , three very well made wines. I start to rewrite in my mind, perhaps these are the best wines in the room, among the best I've ever had. Then I realize that I'm far to drunk to make such declarations, besides what does it matter. The wines are simply perfect, superlatives seem redundant. I try a different tact to get to the heart of the matter. How did you make this wine?
Pierre goes on to tell me that 2006 was a hard vintage in that there was serious hail in July causing extensive vine damage. In many cases 80%-90% of the yield was lost to hail. This was followed in August by rain, the enemy of good wine. Vines being plants, they suck up the water and the fruit becomes diluted. Then there are the issues of rot and fungus, both serious threats in 2006. September however was dry with persistent wind, drying out the vines and fruit. "It was a good year for those who waited," and he waited until October 9Th to harvest a small quantity of well ripened fruit. "Enormous Tirage" that is to say, severe sorting and careful selection of fruit. So that very little fruit was turned into even less wine, but that wine was extremely well made, with intense care. At this point I realize that I have accomplished what I came here to do, drink Grand Cru Burgundy and understand the 2006 vintage. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I leave and go to a restaurant to consume ducks.

A quick post script, I had purposely avoided any mention of filthy lucre, feeling it a violation of a sacrosanct, essentially religious experience. It wasn't until a few days later that I took a look. Meo-Camuzet Clos de Vougeot $275, Domaine Perdrix Echezeaux $255, Pierre Damoy Chambertin "Clos de Beze" $625.

More $1 Burgundy

I just opened the 1999 Michel-Colin-Deleger Marangeres 1er La Fussiere and it's yummy. It comes across a little simple for a 1er, but the tart cherry and mushroom Pinot Noir taste are definately there. There is plenty of structure and the finish goes on for quite a bit. Like the rest , it lacks a little power and heft of flavor. It drinks like a simple bourgogne rouge, but that's ok, it cost me a frickin' dollar. So some of it is going in the marinara, and the rest is going down my gullet, as I tune up for a night of whiskey drinking at the Oasis.

Pleased with myself and my Burgundy

White Burgundy

Vic "The Velvet Hammer" Vicari, my sales person for Winebow came in this week with an inventory reduction list. Every distributor in the state is discounting wine, trying to get rid of wine they didn't sell during the big season. Usually it's some shit that they overbought, and even after a thousand case stacks in a thousand A&P s, they still have too much of it . Sometimes it's good wine that I buy and I'm a little miffed to see it on sale when I just bought some last month. So mostly I avoid this type of thing, but I took a look.
It was titled "cooking wine" and was a list of several 2000 and 2001 1er Cru white Burgundies, $12 a case. I couldn't resist, I bought six cases, and I bought them even after they assured me that they hadn't completely lost their minds, the wines were in fact shot. Such is the nature of my hopeless romanticism, I figured how shot could they be?
The Michel Colin-Deleger & Fils Puligny-Montrachet La Truffiere 2001 was the first bottle I cracked. The fruit was there and so was the acidity. It was a little oxidized, and the wine sort of fell apart mid palate. I would have been disappointed at $50 or $60 , but at $1 it was hard to be too critical. Then there was the sheer joy of actually cooking with 1er Cru Montrachet, dumping it on shrimp and garlic, boiling it in a pan. So much fun.
The next wine was the Michel Colin-Deleger & Fils Chassagne-Montrachet Les Chenevottes, which was thoroughly shot. It tasted like old olive oil and looked like a urine sample from someone who is suffering from dehydration. To test just how shot, I gave a bottle to a few musicians I know, a bass player, a guitar player and a saxophone player. Even they, with their great and persistent thirst, were reluctant to drink it, they did, but they hesitated.
So I don't know what to do with stuff. I am seriously considering opening each bottle and dumping it into the bathtub. The next time someone asks me if I drink a lot of white Burgundy I can literally say I bathe in the stuff.
Next Michel-Colin-Deleger et Fils Chassagne-Montrachet 1er Cru Les Chaumes, which was pretty damn good, again missing a little penetration of flavor considering it's a 1er, but it tasted like something you might pay $30-$35 for.
So, two cases of drinking wine and one case of bath water for $36.