A Hedonist in the Cellar_ Adventures in Wine - Jay McInerney [24]
The hyperactive Alain Dominique Perrin, former president of Cartier, who bought Château Lagrézette, with its impressive fifteenth-century château, in 1980, has become the Robert Mondavi of the region, the chief promoter and innovator of Cahors. Perrin seems to know nearly everyone of interest on the planet and has the photos in the château to prove it. His luxury cuvée Le Pigeonnier has set a new standard, with high ratings and a price to match. The superconcentration and 100 percent new oak treatment make this wine seem almost as international and polished as its proprietor, as if it were wearing a Cartier Panther watch around its neck; but in some ways I prefer the regular cuvée of Lagrézette, which seems more distinctively regional and less like something that could have come from Australia.
Alain Gayraud, the wildly enthusiastic proprietor of Lamartine, at the western edge of the appellation, still uses the cement fermentation tanks his grandfather built, and employs new oak barrels sparingly. His wines are among the most distinctive I encountered in my visit, muscular but a little reserved, requiring time to reveal their considerable charms and distinctive regional character. Gayraud makes three different cuvées, the lesser of which is more accessible on release, as does nearby Domaine Pineraie, where they’ve been making wine continuously since 1456. Among the domaines worth looking for are Châteaux du Cèdre, Clos Triguedina, Croix de Mayne, Haute-Serre, and Château Peche de Jammes, owned by Americans Sherry and Stephen Schechter.
As with Bordeaux, the vintages to seek out are the 2000, the 2003, and the 2005. Although these wines will be decidedly young and somewhat wild, they should behave well in the company of a cassoulet or a charred slab of prime beef.
MAJOR BARBERA
Giuseppe Rivetti, the proprietor of La Spinetta, describes Barbera as “the anti-Merlot”—which is as good a starting point as any other for a discussion of this provincial grape with multiple personalities. It’s easier to say what it isn’t than what it is. I take Rivetti’s comment to mean that Barbera is not the kind of mellow international beverage you order by the glass at the bar of a revolving cocktail lounge while listening to a pianist cover Billy Joel. Certainly Rivetti’s Barberas, with their rustic exuberance and feisty acidity, are more likely to evoke a noisy trattoria redolent of roasted goat.
The poor relation of noble Nebbiolo, Barbera had long been the workhorse of Piedmont, accounting for half of the region’s red-wine production. Barbera ripens earlier than the fussy Nebbiolo, the grape used in Barolo and Barbaresco, and was traditionally planted on cooler slopes and lesser sites. (The dirty little secret of Piedmont is that Barbera was—and, many say, still is—added to Barolo and Barbaresco to boost the color and add body.) Barbera typically produced a rustic plonk that was acidic enough to stand up to tomato sauce. Insofar as it was known outside the region, it was known as a pizza wine. Lacking in natural tannins—which extend the life of red wines—it was meant to be consumed young, and often.
A few wistful growers had Cinderella visions for this local grape. They wondered if, with the proper upbringing, it might not be capable of stardom. What if it was raised on prime real estate? What if it went to finishing school to learn French? Angelo Gaja, who revolutionized the treatment of Nebbiolo, told me recently that he was the first person to experiment with Barbera and French oak barrels back in 1969—the wood supplying the tannins that were missing from the grape itself. The idea was also proposed by French oenologist Émile Peynaud, who was consulting for a winery in Asti in the early 1970s. By most accounts, the man who actually placed the glass slipper on Cinderella’s foot was the late Giacomo Bologna, a motorcycle-riding, jazz-loving,