If I’m honest there was a point in my life when I hated wine
My mother calls me a wino, but through the sarcasm I know she’s thinking alcoholic. Given I grew up in New Orleans, a city where people drink like fish, that’s a fair presumption, but if I’m honest there was a point in my life when I hated wine.
In 2015, I flew to Aix-en-Provence for a semester abroad, and quickly realized that the French drink wine at every meal, but breakfast. I tried to get behind it, but I really couldn’t see the appeal of rotten grapes. So, I did what anyone would do and took a wine class. After a few weeks I found a craving for something other than incredibly sweet, white wines that favor grape juice. I found my palette and continued to expand it over the years.
More recently, I find myself drinking less wine; perhaps it is the pandemic and the desire not to bottom out into a wine-filled pit of despair. That aside, I’ve had a craving to recommence my studies and dive headfirst into the bottle. First, a refresher; a quick tour around France to reacquaint myself with where my journey began.
A few weekends past, my sister directed me to a local wine shop, Spirit Wine, where the shopkeeper was super knowledgable. It was actually this visit that inspired me to get back into my craft, yet I digress. I immediately sought out a Malbec something fruity from Argentina, but my sister groaned. Looking to appease my company, I asked the merchant if he had a French Malbec, something more approachable, a bit drier and spicier, which led us to Clos La Coutale. A vignoble that predates the French Revolution, situated in Cahors, where the vines were planted by the Roman Empire in 92 A.D.
Throughout the Middle Ages, the Black Wine of Cahors was sipped in the halls of Aliénor d’Aquitaine and England’s Henry II, Avignon’s Pope John XXII, Russia’s Peter the Great, and beyond. It earned its title of “le Vin Noir,” due to it being the darkest, one of the strongest, and most tannic of its age. This popularity lasted until the mid-1880s, when the Great French Wine Blight, ravaged the vines with a phylloxera infestation. These parasites damaged over 40% of French vineyards and decimated Cahors. If that wasn’t enough, the winter of 1956 brought a lethal frost that required 99% of the vines to be replanted.
It wasn’t until 1971 that Cahors received it’s AOC (appellation d’origine contrôlée), which specifies the standard for wine from the region and in turn yields brand value. The Cahors AOC requires its wine to be made of at least 70% Malbec, known locally as Côt or Auxxerois, thus these vines were replanted alongside Merlot and Tannat.
Malbec is a thin-skinned, dark grape that is incredibly sensitive to climate. It’s prone to frost, pests, and rot; it needs sunshine but not too much and a dry clime to produce delicious, full-bodied wines. Clos La Coutale sits south-west facing on the Lot Valley, protected from the cold winds, in alluvial soil of gravel and limestone, which produces the calcium carbonate that rewards us with acidity and structure.
After six generations of refinement, Philippe Bernède’s current blend is 80% Malbec and 20% Merlot, followed by a one year nap in oak barrels. This deep rubied wine was sweeter than expected, reminiscent of chocolate and cherries. Though there is a balance as the dark fruit flavors, their tangy pits, and the mineral-rich soil crescendos into tannins. While I would have killed for a bowl of piping hot cassoulet with this glass, I was relegated to a roasted brussel, bok choy, and onion bowl topped with guac and a seared salmon filet. Given the buttery salmon and the pungent, chard veggies, the alcohol hitting the back of my throat was a welcomed accompaniment.