A Hedonist in the Cellar Read Online Free PDF

Dubourdieu. Dubourdieu invented a technique—rare for whites—that leaves the skins in contact with the juice. Besides his own properties, Clos Floridene and Reynon, Dubourdieu consults for many of the best white-wine producers, including Domaine de Chevalier. He was responsible for making de Fieuzal a collector’s favorite, beginning with the ′85 vintage, and for improving the supple and fragrant whites of the ancient domain of Car-bonnieux, the largest producer of white Graves. Dubourdieu’s son Jean-Philippe produces another fine white at Château d’Archambeau.
    Smith-Haut-Lafitte, one of Graves’ many underperformers over the years, has cleaned up its act since changing hands in 1990. Its white wine represents an extreme of the modern trend toward bright, sassy Sauvignons fermented in new oak, which are aimed at the international palate. Tasty as it is, I think the genius of the region is better reflected in a blend with a larger proportion of Sémillon and a lesser proportion of new oak—à la Dubourdieu. But this new style is certainly preferable to the oversulfured, fruit-deficient wines that were the norm fifteen years ago. It’s worth mentioning that the Cathiard family opened a luxurious modern spa on the property in 1999—a godsend for a region seriously underendowed with good hotels. Although, having not yet visited, I can’t begin to guess what “vinotherapy” might be. Bathing in wine?
    Some stars and rising stars: Chantegrive, Coubins-Lurton, La Louvière, Malartic-Lagravière, Pape-Clément, and La Tour Martillac. Outside of the Graves appellation there are a few whites worth seeking out, including those of the famed Châteaux Margaux and Lynch-Bages. Although not a great red-wine vintage, 2004 was a significantly better year for white Graves, and the 2005s should be at least as good. Either of these vintages will drink well over the next few years in conjunction with white fish, grilled chicken, or sheep’s milk and goat’s milk cheese. The Big Three usually taste delicious in youth and then go into hibernation for several years. If you should be lucky enough to find an older vintage, like an ′89 Chevalier or a ′94 Haut-Brion, treat it with all due respect—get some turbot or Dover sole and share it with someone whose gratitude you’d like to cultivate.

NO RESPECT
Soave
    The view from the exit ramp of the autostrada is emblematic of the problem with Soave. The first thing you see through your windshield is a huge lime-green warehouse with a batwing roofline that looks like some kind of retro-futuristic vision from the animators of the Powerpuff Girls. Off in the hazy distance, floating dreamlike above the big SOAVE BOLLA sign atop the warehouse, you can see the medieval ramparts of Soave castle perched on a distant hilltop. From the ridiculous to the sublime…
    They ought to post a CAVEAT EMPTOR sign beside the exit.
    Soave is the “the most maligned, misunderstood and polarized wine district in Italy,” according to Italophiles Joe Bastianich and David Lynch, authors of the indispensible
Vino Italiano.
Most of us think of Soave as the insipid white beverage of our ignorant youth. But there are a handful of stubborn idealists who produce exceptional wines from the native Garganega grapes in the rolling hills just east of Verona.
    It says a lot about the current situation in Soave that one of the two finest producers has recently divorced himself from the appellation, removing the Soave name from his labels. “It’s water,” he says of the average Soave. “No aroma, no taste.” Roberto Anselmi is a Porsche-driving, black-Prada-clad nativeof the region whose genial and gregarious nature keeps rubbing up against his fierce perfectionism. Shortly after he welcomes me into his sleek modernist suite of offices in the village of Monteforte, he throws a small tantrum about the faint ammoniac residue of some cleaning products in the tasting room and instructs his daughter to move our