Marglin on Taste

“I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they’d stand behind me
When the game got rough”

Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues, Bob Dylan

I first became a “wine guy” when I learned how to tell good Burgundy from bad. Note that’s “Burgundy” with a capital B. At some point, in good ol’ English slang, the word “burgundy” became a [metonym] for wine. This may have been due to all those jug wines being labeled “burgundy”””both red and white jug wines, even though there was nary a trace of pinot noir nor chardonnay therein. Bob Dylan’s “burgundy” (or is that Tom Thumb’s burgundy?) which leads like a gateway drug to the “harder stuff”, is not the fine wine from the Burgundy region of France. Not so much.

Ironically, for a while at the outset of my “wining” experience, Burgundy, the Capital “B” wine from the hallowed eastern French region, literally was wine for me. True Burgundy is grown and produced only in that particular region, and there is no blending of varietals allowed: the reds are all pinot noir, the whites are all chardonnay. Many would say that both varietals reach their apex in this particular region, where soft power and great style meet and hang in harmony. The region itself is seen within the wine world as the sine qua non of the very concept of terroir.

Exemplars of pinot noir and chardonnay hail from Burgundy (and, some might add, for these varietals, only there). For a variety of arcane reasons, I was blessed to be drinking some of the Best Burgundies, with two capital Bs, really, at a time when a mere twenty dollar bill would be enough to buy you a very good bottle of red or white Burgundy. Now, you have to spend at least $30, and even then, that just enters you into Burgundy lottery: there lurks an awful lot of inconsistency in the wines produced in the land of Burgundy.

I owe the Burgundians. I first realized I had a decent palate and the ability to appreciate fine wine in Beaune, which is the beating and bleeding heart of Burgundy. There in Beaune sits the “Musée du Vin de Bourgogne,” which, I recall, was mildly interesting as a museum concerning wine, but eminently fascinating as a place to drink wine: they offered around 100 barrels of fabulous Burgundies from recent vintages, into which one could dip at will one’s tastevin (the small metal cup specifically used for tasting wines). As an 18-year old, let me tell you, that’s quite an adventure to be on, being in a place where one is able to taste, and retaste a hundred different quality wines. Yeah, I learned right then and there how to spit it out. And then, my friend Noah and his dad and I played the “which wine is this” game. And, being able to tell in a few guesses which wine was which…it felt like, man, I’m on to something with this tasting thing. Distinguishing: that’s what good wine writers and true tasters do.

Distinguish. To separate. To tell the difference. Great tasters not only have the ability to sense and recognize differences””they’re willing to take time to tell you the difference.

Today’s Times and last Friday’s Journal both coincidentally covered in their regular wine columns Burgundy (reds and whites respectively) of recent vintages. They drew the line at $70, but to their credit, both had a number of finds under fifty. Their takes were similar: lots of values, if you’re willing to spend the money. Power cloaked in velvety elegance. They said all the right words. Their similar passions “on their lips” and putting their “money” where their mouths are testament to the wonders we Burgundy lovers feel. Burgundy inspires passion. It seduces, says, as the Times tossed off””come hither.

Burgundy purists. From purist, it’s not a big leap to “elitist”. “Elite”, etymologically, is derived from the French verb “choose”. I have spent a wine lifetime trying to overcome the inherent elitism that comes with making choices, including a devoutness for purity. Pinot noir. Chardonnay. Ca suffit, as the French say. Dayenu, sayeth the Jew. We choose, we report our choices. Choice is what taste is all about.

Someone told me recently I need to own my elitism. In general, my preferences are on record for value wines: finding wines that have not been discovered, or have been discovered but for various reasons are nonetheless “undervalued” on the open market. In 1985, when I was dipping my new tastevin into those Burgundian barrels, red and white Burgundies could still be found at value prices. Seeking reaped some big rewards. Noah and his dad picked off some great cases at less than ten bucks a bottle back in the eighties. Now, that won’t even get you a wine with the regional “Bourgogne“ on it.

So, yes, my desire to tell the difference has led me to seek quality in many regions, and value above all. Fine wines that may be a stretch for many, but are eminently affordable. Burgundy by and large is not “real affordable”. And the ones that are””you risk being seduced by label and provenance into swill. Swill you will not denounce as such.

I seek quality, and over time, quality costs money. When people level the elitist charge, what they mean in the wine world is: you drink expensive stuff. Yes, over time, great wines will tend to become (more) expensive, because wine drinkers like me will pay bigger and bigger bucks for great quality wines. In seeking values, I am saving money, and discovering and learning. I am putting my tongue on the sharp, bleeding edge.

Still, I love my Burgundy wine. Despite the fine recommendations of wines from $35 to $50 of Asimov’s Pour panel and Gaither/Parker’s Tastings, it’s darned hard to find a lot of these winners. It’s just a lot harder to find values in Burgundy wines, because you are drinking the name. The problem is not the writing on the label, of course, but real estate.

Location, location, location. Burgundy locations are known: there’s no room for any new vineyards. Unlike other burgeoning wine regions, there will not be many new Burgundy sites any time soon. The good negociants are known, the deals are long-term, and the producers who get access to specific grapes from specific regions: all known, known, known. Values are found in “unknowns”. And less-knowns. We know too much about Burgundy for there to be too many values left to discover, even if the leading wine writers in the US would suggest otherwise.

Which means that, for the most part, I am not dropping dollars to feed my Burgundy fix. I let others buy the Burgundies, and I just enjoy them as they come. My money goes for a wide range of wines, nothing more than a $100, and even that seems like a lot for a drink, and a high ceiling as well (I feel much the same way about concert tickets…). Good wine comes from Burgundy are worth more simply owing to its point of origin. In short: Burgundy is, by and large, over-valued.

If, on occasion, the prevalence and popularity of chardonnay mystifies you, or if you want to comprehend why pinot noir appreciation is on the rise here in the US, look no further than the finesse and grace of Burgundy. (Sure, see Sideways””it’s a fine film about strong women and whiny men, and it helped pinot). Burgundy, for its varietals, remains, ultimately, the Archimedean point of reference. And Chardonnay is still by far the number one varietal consumed in this country.

One other factor that can dampen one’s enthusiasm for buying a lot of Burgundies is, moreso than any other wine, the succulent liquor doesn’t always travel well. So, you pay $100 or $200 for a bottle in a restaurant, and there may not be anything “wrong” with it, but it may not be great. It doesn’t “snap”. Because somewhere along the way, the journey has sapped your bottle of its magic.

If I could figure out some way of predicting which producers’ bottles traveled well, I could perhaps deliver some real value in terms of suggestions. But to date, it seems to me all red producers, and even some whites, have hit-and-miss qualities, pretty much across the board. And I chalk the misses up to the way the wine travels, and its reaction to the journey, more than faults in its production. I know for sure that most Burgundies taste better in and around Burgundy. But many things might account for that, aside from proximity and care. Still and all, Burgundies are quirky bottles.

Despite numerous misses, I still love my Burgundy. It takes me back.

Often, people ask me what my favorite wine is. What do they want to know? If they want to know my favorite varietal, well, it’s changed. Probably still pinot noir for red and chardonnay for whites. But, I know those two so well, having cut my wine teeth on them, so I’ve been off discovering the magic of shiraz loads of other white varietals like roussanne and chenin blanc and even Rieslings and gewurz. Sometimes, though, when people insist on my telling them “what’s the best wine I ever drank?” I know what I am going to tell them. Sometimes, I think what they are looking for is prospective: “what wine would you choose if you could choose just one, and you could pick anything in the world and have that bottle and only that bottle.” I think I am lucky in that my answer to those questions is the same.

I tell them: Le Montrachet. It is the pinnacle of chardonnay, and each sip of Le Montrachet has been precious to me. Memorable because it made to be so, and its soft power and elegant finesse has yet to disappoint me. Memorable because each sip rewards, with food or without. It is the Queen of wines, and I’ve always been the kind of guys who wants to court the Queen. I want to know what makes the best the best. What tells good from bad, better from good, and the best from all else.

As Lin Yutang asked: What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?

Well, my patriotism has a lot to do with the wines I imbibed when I was but a boy. I was born a Burgundy lover. I will go out of my way to drink fine Burgundy. Non-Burgundian pinots and chards may not always blow me away softly like great Burgundy does, but I love the true flavors of those varietals. Especially with edgy, spicier food, which I am also partial toward.

Being a connoisseur of fine wines, makes one’s life rough, I know…. But have some sympathy: one has created the expectation that one is always up on what’s new, knows what is hip, what people “should” be discovering and drinking. Well, we’re trying. But sometimes, it’s nice to come home.

I love having so many good folks standing behind me, when the tasting game gets rough. I am going to keep trying to find new and exciting wines, and values, for me and for you. But please, don’t hesitate to bring your big Burgundies when you come visit me….

A fine Burgundy to wash down the food I am eating. Or to sip on my deck at sunset. White or red, it makes no difference. Or it does, depending on what it is. But that good one will still hit the spot.

I want the tastes of my past, the things I have know were great. I think we all do. Taste can bring great pleasure, and drinking wines with excitement as much in the glass as in the history of how it got there””that’s why one devotes one’s life to helping others find pleasures.

After hundreds of years of making the best wines from the same perfect soil, with the same varietal and classy tradition, you expect them to be darded good, and plenty memorable. So I invite you, seeks values with me. But be willing to go back to what you know best, on occasion. Sometimes, the harder stuff can be made easy. And that, my friends, ain’t a bluff….