Dreaming of Chassagne-Montrachet

Last night, I went to bed early... way too early. I was playing Call Of Duty: Black Ops when I started to feel a little hungry around 7pm. In between games, I scuttled back and forth to the kitchen, cut shallots, measured cups of rice, selected bay leaves, and opened chicken broth to whip up some rice pilaf. I had a USDA choice porterhouse steak in the fridge, and after the rice was done cooking, I took a break to make the steak. I planned on playing Call Of Duty for a few more hours, so I didn't open any wine (lest I dull my reflexes). Instead, I washed it all down with bottled water laced with Emergen-C powder.

Within an hour, I was feeling sluggish, then sleepy. I've noticed lately (ie the past couple of years) that eating a lot of rice makes me sleepy, and I suspect that it might be the precursor to diabetes. The heavy carb load overwhelms my system and I go into a food coma. I know some would say, "Well, dummy, if you know that, then why don't you just eat a smaller portion of rice?" Yeah, right. Instead, I fell asleep on my couch from 8:30pm to 3am. (So I guess when I say that I went "to bed" early," I mean "my couch.")


Most people find sleeping on my couch very comfortable, but I don't -- not compared to my pillow-top king-sized bed and down feather pillows. The initial discomfort lead to a weird dream: Danny Trejo, impersonating a police officer, pulled me over in a residential neighborhood for speeding. I had a suspicion that he wasn't really a cop because he was driving a Toyota Celica that had flashing red and blue lights on the dashboard. When he asked me for my licence and registration, I asked to see his badge. He quickly made some excuse, and then sent me on my way.

I woke up, uncomfortable because I couldn't splay out like I usually do in bed. But I was still sleepy enough that I couldn't be bothered to actually get up and go to my real bed. So I flipped over a couple of times, tucked my arm under my head, and got comfortable enough to fall back asleep. This led to my second dream.

Well, it wasn't so much a dream as it was a re-living of an evening from a few weeks ago.

Emily and I had just had dinner at the bar at Bottega in Yountville, and now we were back at my place sitting on the couch. I asked, "Red or white?" and she said, "White." I was delighted at the chance to open something white, because about 90% of the time, people opt for red wine. "Hey, is it okay if I open some white Burg?" I pulled my last bottle of 2003 "Tete de Cuvee" Chassagne-Monrachet from Verget.

I opened, poured, smelled, swirled, and then smelled again. From that moment, our little get together was instantly transformed into a memorable event.

"Oh, wow..." Emily said after deeply inhaling the wine.

She was sitting sideways at the end of the couch, snuggled into the corner pillows, with her legs tucked to the side. Her eyes closed for a few seconds after her first sip, searching for words, it seemed. But then her eyes opened and she just smiled. "Mmmmm," seemed to sum it all up.

"Oh my god," I said. "This is what chardonnay should be." Emily nodded.

My pronouncement, though, was more than a comment on the fact that I really liked this wine. I was expressing the fact that it was a seven year old chardonnay from Chassagne-Montrachet made in a style that, in my mind, is the antithesis of the California style.

When most Americans think of chardonnay, they think of young wines not more than a couple of years old. As a rule, we don't age chardonnay in this country. Indeed, most Americans don't even realize that chardonnay can be aged. I recall a day a few years ago when I was still working at the restaurant at Domaine Chandon, and one of the servers alerted me to a bottle of Chablis a guest had brought in and wanted me to open. "It's like three years old," the server said with a laugh. "You mean it's only three years old," I said, and she just gave me a confused look.

If you put my feet to the fire, I'll readily admit that Chassagne-Montrachet is my favorite region for chandonnay. Even though Puligny-Montrachet is considered more prestigious, I favor the fuller, more feminine style of Chassagne-Montrachet. This especially holds true when I compare the two regions through the lens of an older wine: I find that the bigger, more concentrated fruit in Chassagne-Montrachet helps to balance the acid in wines more than a few years old. (By the way, when I use the phrases "fuller style" or "bigger, more concentrated fruit," I'm not talking about anything approaching the California versions of those terms! I use those terms to describe the relative differences within white Burgundy.)

Anyway, back to this wine...

This 2003 Chassagne-Monrachet from Verget exhibited superb balance and elegance. Ripe (almost baked) apple, honey, almonds, and a touch of toast on the nose danced against the subtle minerality. The round acids in the background balanced freshness with maturity. The body was the perfect weight, the mouthfeel was the perfect silkiness sans unctousness.

So, yeah... that's what I dreamt about. This amazing wine was not only a beautful wine to end the year on, but it had the ability to enhance a wonderful evening. We sat, sipped on this Burgundy, talked for a few more hours by the light of my HD blu-ray fireplace, and before we knew it, it was 1am. I love that wines can be these magical potions with the power to transform a situation, and I only wish that it wasn't my last bottle of this wine.