On Burgundy: From Maddening to Marvellous in 39 Tales

Jasper Morris MW

Introduction

The early 20th century writer on all things Burgundian, Henri Vincenot, described Burgundy as having a heart but no boundaries. My life has been fabulously enhanced by both halves of his dictum. Its heart, in the combination of emotional and intellectual depth to be discovered in the wines of the finer producers – who are much more than technicians – and the cultural richness of the region, as much true today as in the pageantry of medieval times. And a lack of bounds so apparant as Burgundy widens its borders to include Beaujolais and form an alliance with the Jura. Burgundians like to stretch themselves further afield, by working as interns in New World wine regions at the start of their careers, consulting at overseas wineries in their more mature years, and welcoming stagiares from all over the world to help them in the vineyards and at harvest. Thanks to this, I have made many new friends, Pinot disciples especially, from Oregon to New Zealand, China and Japan.

This anthology, the fourth in the series after On Bordeaux, On California and On Champagne, captures both Burgundy’s heart and breadth. Our book, so ably put together by Susan Keevil, comes to you in nine chapters and 59 tales, from contributors not quite ancient and modern. Its joy is that it brings together established authors and authorities, selecting some of their finest previously published pieces, with fresh articles and items, some from names which will resonate in the future. It’s a bit like the old English tradition for the bride on her wedding day: ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’, though happily only the first three apply here.

The depth of knowledge and writing skills are extraordinary. Contributors come from both sides of the Atlantic, and a few from further afield, and the gender mix is much better balanced than it might have been a generation ago. From among our contributors, you could certainly field more than a cricket or football XI, indeed nearly a rugby XV of Masters of Wine. And it is comforting to see that MW no longer stands, in the cruel words of the late Pamela Vandyke Price, for Mediocre Writer. Even so, few can hope to emulate the inimitable style of Hugh Johnson, his minimalist prose evoking maximal understanding.

Why Burgundy? Jay McInerney explains in compelling fashion at the start of this book why this wine is the one for him. For me, it is not just the wine but the whole region and the people who live in it. When, in my early months as a wine importer in 1981, I toured all the main wine regions of France at different times throughout the year, I found not just interesting wines from a classical region, but a spirit of much greater depth than that of the more agricultural parts of vinous France which I had visited, or the commercial impetus manifested in Bordeaux. The Burgundian vignerons went much further in trying to explain their wines – why each vineyard was different and what they had done to translate that potential into the glass in my hand. The person who helped me discover this wonderful region was Becky Wasserman, about whom Eric Asimov has contributed a fine memorial piece, in Chapter Eight of this book.

In the 40-plus years of my active wine trade and writing career Burgundy has changed almost unrecognizably without moving in any significant way from core principles. Plus ça change… plus c’est la même chose? A visitor from the past might be bemused by Biodynamics, drones, anti-frost wind turbines and high-trained vines, the occasional flash car or helicopter, but the basics remain the same – get out there and work your vines, grow your grapes, pick them and make the best wine that you can. The contours of the vineyards have barely changed, the accents of the vignerons only slightly, with fewer rolling ‘r’s and extended vowels than used to be the case as standardized French has replaced the local patois.

Here in Burgundy the local authorities want us to refer to Burgundy by its French name, Bourgogne, but, writing in English, we shall resist. For the wine, ‘burgundy’, and ‘Burgundy’ for the region, to make the distinction which can be applied in French by gender: Le Bourgogne is the wine to be found in the region of La Bourgogne.

The region has certainly become much richer. At a time when vignerons in other parts are struggling to sell their wines, reds especially, everything in Burgundy is selling out, and the leading appellations from the best producers are being sold in the secondary market at some ludicrous prices. It was not always thus. In the 1970s, the vineyards were suffering from an excess of chemicals, and too many producers were living on the glories of the past. There was little or nothing to challenge the supremacy of the long-established négociant houses (who bought up the wines of the smaller farmers, then blended, matured and sold them under their own labels) until the 1980s which saw the development of many more individual domaines growing, making and bottling their own wines, and bringing a fresh approach – they visited each other’s cellars and tasted each other’s wines in a way that earlier generations on the whole had not.

The 1990s saw the fruition of these efforts with much more interesting and now starting to be consistent red wines, though the whites were about to enter a difficult period. The négociants rose to the challenge posed by the fledgling domaines, upping their own qualitative game and reinforcing their credentials as the biggest vineyard owners in the region – while the successful domaines often added a small négociant business alongside their own wines. Post the second millennium, and especially after the glorious 2005 vintage, it became apparent that Burgundy was now being increasingly and even frenetically sought after throughout the world – with many new markets coming to the feast, especially from Asia – while pricing was becoming open to all through internet search engines. Hence secondary market inflation, and the temptation to fraud, as Douglas Barzelay discusses in Chapter Four.

There is so much to savour in this book. The complexities of terroir are explored in the first chapter. Long-accepted truths are there to be questioned, and none better for that task than Professor Alex Maltman, who assesses and sometimes challenges the role that limestone, the lodestone of Burgundy, can actually play in the character of a wine. Is limestone in itself part of the holy grail?

Discussing the grapes should be simpler than evaluating the soil, but maybe not… Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are the main courses spiced up by a side serving of the upwardly mobile Aligoté. These are discussed in Chapter Two, during which the intricacies to be found especially in Pinot Noir are discussed in depth. The interloper Gamay chimes in later in the book. Chapter Three is largely devoted to history, starting with a piece of my own tracing the first Burgundians; then Bart van Loo – a welcome and characterful addition to the literature on Burgundy – sets the scene as the first vines are planted. The hot topics of Climate Change and keeping Burgundy alive are addressed in Chapter Four.

Chapter Six introduces the writers who most brilliantly express the character of burgundy on a page (not easy!) and Seven celebrates the bounty of Burgundy beyond the Côte d’Or. For many, however, the fascination will come from the people involved, both the villains (Chapter Five) and the heroes (Chapter Eight), with the latter depicting the lives of several of the region’s most notable names. I have been privileged to meet most of them, and they have certainly enriched our lives.

This book adds another tasty morsel to the Burgundian feast.

Susan Keevil

Preface

From utmost ecstasy to the bitterest gnashing of teeth, burgundy kindles the strongest emotions. Which makes my task – the gathering of essays to shine a light on its best quirks and idiosyncrasies – all the easier. A legion of great writers have been compelled to set down their feelings in the most evocative of words and there is such a wealth to choose from that one can almost find as much pleasure in reading as in drinking…

Luckily for me, and anyone about to enjoy this book, the best of these brilliant authors have generously allowed us to share their words. I would like to thank each of them, but, in particular, Jasper Morris, Andrew Jefford and Raymond Blake who directed my search to the edges of the burgundy zone – into the realms of geology, gastronomy, economics and history – to bring this region’s story alive. I’d also like to single out Kermit Lynch and Rex Pickett for descriptive powers that capture this wine’s extremes, and Hugh Johnson, not only for his incredible writing but for his unstinting encouragement.

Sincerest thanks, too, go to John Winthrop and Douglas Barzelay of the Wine Education Council in California, and to Jean-Charles Boisset of the Boisset Collection, for enabling another volume in this series. (Read more from Doug as he unlocks the secrets of vintage burgundy – and unmasks the fraudulent stuff – at the core of On Burgundy.) My colleague Tim Foster, our talented art director at Académie du Vin Library, is also to be praised for making this book (and its fellow volumes, On Bordeaux, On California and On Champagne) as handsome as it is.

The difficulty with burgundy, of course, is knowing where to stop. While the wine in our glass may have limitations imposed by the depth of our pockets, explorations on the page can be enjoyably endless. Some questions along the way are hard to answer: Does soil erosion mean that a mid-slope grand cru will lose a little of its identity with every rainstorm? Can we use genetic engineering to prepare our Pinot Noir vines for climate change? Will the prevailing weather become a greater factor than terroir in our anticipation of the next vintage? Turn the pages and a deeper vision of burgundy will emerge…

Jay McInerney

Why Burgundy?

A WINE FOR LOVERS, LUNATICS AND POETS

Brillat-Savarin famously remarked: ‘Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you what you are.’ To which I retort: ‘Tell me what you drink and I will tell you who you are.’ You can learn a lot about character and taste by posing certain dichotomies: Plato or Aristotle? Tolstoy or Dostoevsky? Fitzgerald or Hemingway? Beatles or Stones? The archetypal great divide in the world of wine is between Bordeaux and Burgundy.

Bordeaux is cerebral, but congenial. If you know your vintages and your châteaux, you will get what you pay for in Bordeaux. It shows up on time and it puts out. Except in the very coolest vintages, it is full-bodied and generous. It keeps its promises and its fans appreciate that reliability. Your burgundy lover is apt to be more of a romantic, more of a risk taker, the Bordeaux man or woman more grounded and level-headed. Me, I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t mind risking disappointment, heartbreak and rejection in the pursuit of bliss, which is to say that I’m a burgundy lover. It’s a wine that speaks more to the heart than to the head, and while it sometimes speaks in the most seductive tones it can also be thin and acidic, shrill and nasty. One night you’re in heaven; the next night you get slapped in the face. Burgundy is like the girl with the curl: ‘When she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid.’ It’s a wine for lovers, lunatics and poets.

I started out as a Bordeaux man and I still drink it on occasion. Learning about the wines of Bordeaux is a relatively simple and satisfying experience, compared to Burgundy. Although it could stand some emendation, the 1855 Classification of the wines of Bordeaux’s Left Bank, based on the price history of the wines in preceding years, remains a useful guide to the qualitative hierarchy. Armed with this list, a vintage chart and a corkscrew, the aspiring oenophile can school himself in the wines of Bordeaux without undue frustration. Assuming that the wines he opens have been properly stored since release, he will find them consistent. The two predominant grapes of Bordeaux, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, are both hearty varieties with different ripening schedules and oenoleptic properties, which means that one can sometimes prop the other one up in a difficult year; vintage to vintage Bordeaux tends to be more consistent. It also tends to be bigger and bolder in flavour than burgundy, which is made from the thin-skinned, finicky Pinot Noir grape.

The stylistic differences in the wines are mirrored in the very different vibe of the two regions. Bordeaux is a region of vast estates fronted by big showcase châteaux. The owner, if he should happen to be in town rather than in Paris or Saint Barths, is likely to greet you wearing a tweed sport jacket from Savile Row and to speak in fluent English. When he shakes your hand, you will not feel any calluses. He is not the person who tends the vines, or the barrels in the cellar, though he is probably a good wing shot and a good rider. The Burgundian proprietor, on the other hand, is quite likely to drive up to the door of his winery on a tractor, slightly late for his appointment, wearing dirty jeans and rubber boots, having come from his vineyards. If he shakes your hand it is bound to be calloused and he will likely have dirt under his fingernails. And you may not want to get too close. The wines tend to be earthy, as well.

Bob Dylan claimed he started out on burgundy but soon hit the harder stuff; for many of us, however, burgundy is the destination, the final stop on a pilgrimage of hedonism that began perhaps in Napa or Tuscany. Burgundy is not a wine for dabblers; it attracts, and creates, obsessives. It is a wine for chronic romantics – those for whom hope triumphs over experience. Once you enjoy that epiphany, that sublime moment of sensory and aesthetic rapture, that glorious transport of your first sip of great burgundy – you will seek to recreate it, poring over wine lists and auction catalogues, offering bribes and sexual favours to wine merchants and sommeliers, travelling to the Côte d’Or and further afield to obscure, provincial restaurants in backwater towns reputed to have untapped and underpriced stashes of the good stuff, all in the hope of reliving that ecstasy. For me, that wine was a 1985 Ponsot Clos de la Roche from Morey-Saint-Denis, which I tasted in 1991. I was utterly transfixed, amazed. I felt like Keats encountering Chapman’s Homer – like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken. I didn’t realize at the time that I was tasting one of the greatest modern burgundies, a wine that – in the case of well-stored bottles – is still among the greatest red burgundies I have ever encountered. Unable to find that wine at the time, I started buying all the burgundy I could find, and my faith was often severely tested. But I persevered.

If you are a sensible person with a solid job and a family and a sound belief in cause and effect, you might want to stick with Bordeaux. It seldom disappoints. Although it can take years to shed its harsh tannins and flower into delectability, once it does so it will provide reliable satisfaction for years and even decades to come. Wines from the famous 1982 vintage are still delicious, and if you should be lucky enough to encounter a bottle of ’61 or ’59 you are likely in for a sublime experience. Burgundy also ages well, but less reliably, and the ratio of good bottles to bad bottles is much lower.

Complicating the quest for great burgundy is the fact that there are a hundred appellations in Burgundy and more than 1,200 climats – named vineyards delimited through centuries of observation, each of which was judged to produce wines with characteristics distinctive from its immediate neighbours. Burgundy is the homeland of the concept of terroir, of the idea that a wine is the product of a specific vineyard site, defined by its unique geology, topology, soil composition and mesoclimate. Nowhere on Earth do we find such fine distinctions between wines grown in such close proximity, which inspire geekiness in their devotees. The journey from burgundy novice to burgundy geek usually begins when one has the experience of tasting a wine from one part of a hillside in, say, Chambolle-Musigny, that tastes noticeably different from one made from a plot 20 or 30 yards away by the same producer. Parsing these differences, becoming familiar with the different terroirs, can become the mission of a lifetime, and if it sometimes seems arduous it’s also far more pleasurable than, say, differentiating species of fruit flies or collecting stamps: we are incrementally rewarded every time we sip a good one.

Bordeaux drinkers are a lot like Beatles fans. Who doesn’t love The Beatles? Even the B sides of the singles are catchy and beautifully crafted. The burgundy drinker is more like a Stones devotee who appreciates the grit, the lack of polish, the bluesiness of the music and who understands that you sometimes have to listen to ‘Loving Cup’ or ‘Mixed Emotions’ in order to get ‘Satisfaction’.

First published in The Wall Street Journal (2010); reproduced with kind permission of the author.

Hugh Johnson (2021/1992)

Village Life

Hugh Johnson takes a view of Burgundy from the air, savouring the rills and clefts of its patchwork hillsides and explaining how each of the famous villages nestling within its contours yields a wine of unique character.

If your hot-air balloon were to land you on the hill of Corton, or in the vineyards of Volnay or Chambertin, on a spring day 250 years ago, you would know exactly where you were – supposing, that is, that those hillsides are familiar to you now. You would rub your eyes at the strange dense tangle of vines without wires putting out green shoots around you. (The villagers would rub their eyes, too: the Montgolfier brothers, inventors of the ‘Aerostat’, had not yet produced their first model.) You would be surprised to see the panorama of vines broken up with so many hedges and walls.

But fundamentally, from the church spire in the cleft of the hills at Volnay to the beret of woodland on the brow of Corton, you would be looking at the same vineyards as today. And when you found your way to a cellar you would be offered, in your silver tastevin, a not very different wine. The rising mint-fresh scent of the Pinot Noir would tell you that this was indeed the Côte d’Or. The scent above all is the clue. In the words of Claude Arnoux, the priest who wrote La Situation de la Bourgogne in 1728, the wines of Burgundy have ‘sweet vapours’. They are drunk ‘in two ways, through the nose and through the mouth, either at the same time or separately’.

Burgundy, of course, is not just the Côte d’Or, and the balloon trip over the northern and southern extremes of the sprawling region would be much more confusing. In the north, in ‘Lower Burgundy’, where Chablis is now the only substantial vineyard area, your eye would travel over miles and miles of rolling vine and orchard country, interspersed with woods: perhaps 40,000 hectares of vines in the region of Auxerre and Tonnerre (Chablis included) whose produce – both red and white wines – was destined for the daily drinking of Paris.

A balloon flight over the vineyards of the Côte de Nuits – as experienced by Hugh Johnson 250 years ago (in his imagination), and, with equal pleasure, on a summer day more recently.

Drifting south, following what is now the Autoroute du Soleil, the same concentration of vines continued, with breaks, all the way down to Dijon. Châtillon-sur-Seine and Pouilly-en-Auxois were wine centres; Avallon had a wine press set up permanently in the town square for the use of small growers who had no access to any other. At Dijon, where the distinctive ridge of the Côte d’Or begins, the vineyards crowded round the town, then followed the ridge south, spreading out a mile or more into the plain at Gevrey, failing to reach the sprawling abbeys of Cîteaux and Mezières, hugging the hill at Beaune, invading the little valleys behind the ridge at Auxey near Meursault, and continuing over the natural gap at Chagny into more mixed cultivation through Mercurey, Rully and the villages running down to Chalon-sur-Saône.

On this spring-time journey the Saône is in spate, a river two miles wide; a great silver sash across the plain. Beyond, the distant hills of the Jura, still in Burgundy, are dappled, among their forests and pastures, with the yellow-green of the young vine leaves around Arbois, Château-Chalon and Poligny.

South again, you gaze down at the great grey roofs of the abbey of Cluny. The hills east of Mâcon, strange ramps rising to sudden precipitous drops like the dwindling rollers of a distant storm, are intensely and variously cultivated. Thomas Jefferson, riding through, said ‘this is the richest country I ever beheld…they have a method of mixing beautifully the culture of vines, trees and corn’. Others compared the Mâconnais to Provence; even Tuscany with its ‘cultiva promiscua’.

Finally, before leaving Burgundy and sailing over the grey-gold city of Lyon, clustered round the confluence of the Saône and the Rhône, we pass the softly contoured mountains of the Beaujolais. The slopes are more densely planted with vines: the tall plants of Gamay surround every village on the lower ground and reach up in patches here and there into the chestnut woods above. This and the hills of Mâcon are the newest parts of the Burgundy vineyard; a creation, largely, of the 17th century.

From end to end of Burgundy, from the borders of Champagne to the gates of Lyon, the vine has rarely been out of sight for long.

The heart of Burgundy is, of course, the Côte d’Or: the slender band of southeast-facing slopes running in a 30-mile line from Marsannay, on the southern outskirts of Dijon, down to Santenay in the south. The eight principal villages of the northern sector, ending at Prémeaux, are the Côte de Nuits. And the 20 villages running south from Aloxe-Corton are the Côte de Beaune. Within the villages, the most respected vineyards are awarded grand cru status (there are 32 of them in total) and the next tier (585 vineyards in all) are named as premiers crus. It is a conceit, I know, but I have always found the names of the villages of Burgundy a useful clue to the nature of their wines. Chambertin has a drum-roll sound, Chambolle-Musigny a lyrical note, Pommard sounds precisely right for its tough red wine and so does Volnay for its more silky produce… Here are the Côte de Nuits villages, their names and flavours listed from north to south.

Côte de Nuits

The Côte de Nuits is almost exclusively devoted to red wine – almost all Pinot Noir. On these steep, sharp slopes the most potently flavoured, concentrated, eventually smooth and perfumed wines are made.

1 Marsannay-la-Côte

Marsannay rouge: gamey, slightly earthy, a fine light red, gained its own appellation in 1987. Before that, it was famed for its superlative (but a rare sighting in these parts) Pinot Noir rosé.

2 Fixin

The premiers crus of Fixin are splendidly situated and capable of wines as good as those of Gevrey-Chambertin. Even the ‘village’ wines are stout-hearted and long-lived.

3 Gevrey-Chambertin

Chambertin and the Clos de Bèze are the acknowledged leaders of this constellation of grands crus; an extra charge of fiery concentration gives them the edge. But there is no questioning the grandeur of the seven others. They are all stern, essentially male wines that I cannot imagine even Astérix himself tossing back in bumpers! These others must always keep the ‘Chambertin’ after their names; Clos de Bèze may put it before, or indeed simply label itself Chambertin. French critics claim for Chambertin the delicacy of Musigny allied to the strength of a Corton, the velvet of a Romanée and the perfume of the Clos Vougeot. I have certainly tasted fabulous complexity, but delicacy is not a word I would choose. Great age is probably key.

4 Morey-St-Denis

The glorious wines of Morey are worth study, for authenticity and the chance of a bargain (this is the least known of the villages of the Côte de Nuits despite having four grands crus to its name). Clos de la Roche is capable of making wine with the martial tread of a Chambertin; Clos St-Denis marginally less so; Clos de Tart is savoury, spicy and grandiose.

5 Chambolle-Musigny

The lilt of the name is perfectly appropriate for the wines of this parish – and so is the apparent evocation of the muse. It is hard to restrain oneself from competing in similes with the much-quoted sages of Burgundy, but here it seems to me Gaston Roupnel has it precisely right. Musigny, he says, ‘has the scent of dewy garden…of the rose and the violet at dawn.’ Le Musigny is my favourite red burgundy, closely followed by the premiers crus Les Amoureuses and Les Charmes and grand cru, Les Bonnes Mares. A contributary reason is that some particularly good winemakers own this land.

6 Vougeot

Historically, the great vineyard of the Clos (de) Vougeot has the most resounding reputation in Burgundy. Built by the 14th-century monks of Cîteaux, these 125 acres within a single wall had a certain presence. Unquestionably, the land at the top of the slope, next to Musigny and Grands Echezeaux, is equal to the best in Burgundy. But with its present fragmented ownership (over 80 growers have parcels) it is rare to meet a bottle that answers this description. Classical references to it always stress its perfume. My impression is generally of a more meaty, extremely satisfying, but less exotic wine than those of its great neighbours.

7 Flagey-Echezeaux

Its wines can have all the flair and the persuasive depths of the greatest burgundy. But its lack of any readily spotted identity joined with its apparently unmanageable name means that it sells for a reasonable price. There is a lightness of touch, a gentle sweetness and airy fragrance about a good Echezeaux which make it less of a challenge than the biggest burgundies.

8 Vosne-Romanée

Out of the torrent of words that has poured around Vosne and its sacred ground over the centuries I would pick three: ‘fire’, ‘velvet’ and ‘balance’. Only the very rich and their guests have ever even tasted the wines of its finest vineyard, La Romanée-Conti. It’s sole owner, the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, casts its exotic aura equally over neighbouring grands crus La Tâche, Richebourg, Romanée-St-Vivant and Grands Echezeaux. The domaine’s wines are marked with a character that seems to be their own, rather than that of Vosne-Romanée as a whole. In the excitement of the grands crus, the premiers crus of Vosne-Romanée can be unwisely overlooked.

9 Nuits-St-Georges

Compared with the wines of Beaune, which they sometimes are, those of Nuits are tougher, less fruity and giving in their youth, and often for many years. It is hard to understand why they should be the favourite of Anglo-Saxon countries since 10 years is often needed to turn toughness to warmth of flavour. The best Nuits has marvellous reserves of elusive character that demand leisurely investigation.

In another way, too, it echoes Beaune: its long hill of vines produces highly prized and famous wine without a single peak. If Nuits had a grand cru it would be Les St-Georges, and possibly Les Vaucrains, Les Cailles and Les Porrets on the slope above and beside it. Until recently, none of the 36 vineyards had convinced the world that its wine rises consistently above the premier cru level; but discussions are now in hand for the promotion of St-Georges.

10 Prémeaux

The village to the south (whose name recalls the spring waters which are its other product) is part of the appellation Nuits-St-Georges and itself has a run of premiers crus of equal merit, squeezed on to a steep and narrow slope between the road and the woods.

11 Côte de Nuits-Villages

This appellation is a consolation prize for the parishes at either end of the main Côtes: Prissey, Comblanchien and Corgoloin on the road south, and Fixin, Brochon and Marsannay beyond Gevrey-Chambertin. Fixin and Marsannay have appellations of their own. For the others this is the highest aspiration.

Côte de Beaune

The Côte de Beaune, the southern half of the Côte d’Or, is home to the great white wines of Burgundy, some of the most persistently characterful, full-bodied and age-worthy whites in the world. From Pinot Noir, there are very fine reds too. The principal villages and wines are as follow:

1 The Hill of Corton

The Cote de Beaune starts with its most famous landmark, the oval dome of the hill of Corton. The dome wears a beret of woods but its south, east and west flanks are all vines, forming parts of three different parishes: Ladoix-Serrigny, Aloxe-Corton and Pernand-Vergelesses. The best vineyards of all three are those on the mid- and upper slopes of the hill, which share the appellation Corton Grand Cru (the only red grand cru of the Côte de Beaune) and in parts, for white wine, Corton-Charlemagne. True to their national inclinations, the French rate the red Corton the best wine of the hill, comparing it for sheer force of personality with Chambertin, whereas the British speak of Corton-Charlemagne in the same breath as Le Montrachet. It expresses great driving vigour, though with more spice, even earth, and correspondingly less of of the simple magic of ripe fruit. It is in the nature of Corton-Charlemagne to hide its qualities and show only its power, as red wines do, for as many as seven or eight years. Red Corton needs keeping as long as the grands crus of the Côte de Nuits.

2 Savigny-lès-Beaune

Its wines are in every way classic, red, apt to age, yet never ultra-chic. They need a good vintage to bring them up to their full strength. Savigny has a substantial château, a great number of good growers, and, best of all, a tendency to more moderate prices than its neighbours.

3 Beaune

Predominantly reds. Do not look to Beaune for the most stately or the most flighty wines. ‘Franc de goût’ is the classic description: ‘Franc’ signifies straight, candid, open, real, downright, forthright and upright. Not dull, though. Young Beaune is already good to drink; as it ages it softens and broadens its bouquet. If there is a pecking order among the premiers crus, the following are near the top: Les Grèves, Fèves, Cras and Clos des Mouches (which also produces a rare and excellent white wine). But nobody would claim to be able to distinguish them