The paradox of Burgundy

I was trying to remember what I once knew about the theology of the Reformation and especially the various factions’ arguments about good works. Some of them thought that good works were a testimony to Grace. To others, they were a route to Grace. To the Calvinists, they were a mere irrelevance. All that mattered was the inexorable, terrifying verdict of predestination. That at least is my recollection. Choosing a via media, if not necessarily Anglicana, I prefer a phrase from the 1990s, ‘the active citizen’. Whatever its relationship to Divine Grace, that sounds a useful goal, and I occasionally try to pursue it, especially in relation to a club of which I am a member.

We spend a lot of time worrying about the problems of ageing. These can strike unexpectedly and have serious financial consequences. Oxidisation is an especial horror. Suddenly, a rack full of white Burgundy has degenerated into senility. Hundreds, thousands of pounds’ worth of stock has lost all value. So I and some friends are a vinous version of the emergency services: a St John’s Ambulance Brigade for the cellar. We started our mission of mercy with Simon Bize. That is a serious Burgundy producer, which I have already saluted in this column. But we were in for disillusion. The Bourgogne Blanc les Champlains 2011, the Savigny-lès-Beaune 2010 and 2011; although unoxidised, they were banal: weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. I would not wish to put readers off the Bize wines, for I have never hitherto had a bad one yet, that was a grave disappointment.

Plunged into gloom, prompted towards the most pessimistic interpretations of the human condition, we were rescued by that Florence Nightingale of vigneronnes, Nathalie Tollot, of Tollot-Beaut. Her oeuvre has also been extolled on this page, as has she.