A limestone escarpment meanders south from Dijon. The product of prehistoric geological conflicts, it is now an arcadian idyll: the Côte-d’Or. Ducal Burgundy was one of the hauts-lieux of civilisation, and its resonances are all around you. But even before there was a duchy, Charlemagne enjoyed the wines of Burgundy, as had the Romans. That heritage is equally ubiquitous. In Gevrey-Chambertin, there is an unpretentious building, containing offices and a cellar: the headquarters of Pierre Bourée Fils, winemakers. When the cellars were excavated, Roman artefacts were found. The firm has only been in business for 150 years, but as its owners are well aware, they are part of a history almost as old as Europe.
The creation of great wine is a consecration of past and present. Any good winemaker will study the latest techniques and draw on academic viticulture. He will also know that he is standing on the shoulders of giants: the men who first hacked out the vineyards and nursed the vines. Winemaking is a Burkean coalition between the dead, the living and the yet unborn. Bernard Vallet, who now runs Pierre Bourée, takes all that for granted. His routine is a fusion of artisanship, science and tradition. Like Antaeus, all the best wine-makers take their strength from the soil, and Bernard is no exception. He has a further advantage. He loves his work. Happy the man who does exactly what he was put on earth to do.
The Bourée wines are worthy of joyous study. They are also long-lived. A year ago, Bernard’s ’76 Clos Saint-Jacques was in the prime of maturity, while his ’88 Chambertin gave rise to controversy, for it was still locked in itself. I thought it had latent greatness and was only waiting for the vinous equivalent of a fairy prince’s kiss to spring into glory. One or two experts in our party were pessimistic. In their view, it would remain marmoreally chaste until decay eventually set in.
The uncertainty adds spice. If it were possible to predict exactly how a wine would evolve, the pursuit would lose some of its pleasure. Wine is organic and organisms are fickle. A few years ago, everyone thought that the finer ’96 white Burgundies would be splendid drinking in this decade. Instead, many bottles have fallen victim to oxidisation. But there is no sign of that in the Bourée vintages. The Chambertin apart — and I remain an optimist — all Bernard’s other wines received unanimous approval, as gracious exemplars of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. Pinot Noir is the most feminine of grapes. Late into the bottle, or the next bottle, as the fancy runs free, it evokes those pale, delicate, wimpled ladies beloved of 15th-century painters or tapestry makers. A serious red Burgundy is a living link to the chivalry of the ducal court in the days of Jean sans Peur and Charles le Téméraire.
Returning to our less enchanted era, Bernard’s bottles are reasonably priced. As is customary in Burgundy, he makes a range of wines, drawing on his holdings in various vineyards. Inevitably, there are no bargains when the labels include the words ‘Chambertin’ or ‘Montrachet’ but it would be hard to find better value than Pierre Bourée offers. Although it would require a long wait before drinking, his ’08 Batard-Montrachet was not merely promising. It had majesty.
The house’s modest wines are also a delight. Drinking his ’08 Bourgogne Blanc in Bernard’s garden, I was moved to compare it to a girl dancing barefoot on a May morning, in a meadow filled with wild flowers, while larks were ascending. Although I cannot guarantee that every glass would deliver a similar onrush of sentiment, the wine has the authentic chardonnay notes: hay, lemon, flint melted in butter — and harmony, as befits the product of one harvest and 2,000 years.
Bernard Vallet is an Anglophile who likes his wines to go to a good home. If you are in search of good Burgundy, put his wines on your itinerary.
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