By Bruce Neyers

Wednesday 4th December, 2024

Tasting Something New – A fresh approach to the world of wine

I first traveled to Corsica for Kermit in 1999, and looking back on that trip I recall being enthusiastic but a little befuddled. We had worked with only one Corsican property up to then and increasing it by one more didn’t seem to warrant the time and expense of adding a side trip to the ‘Île de Beauté’, as insiders referred to Napoleon’s birthplace. Given the fascination with Corsican wines today, along with my personal fondness for them, I missed that one badly! A dozen colleagues and I arrived at the Ajaccio Airport early in the morning and rented two vans. Then our host — a local winemaker — arrived, and we followed him for a 20-minute ride to a restaurant sitting on the Mediterranean only a few meters from the gently breaking waves. It was a chilly January day, the sky was clear, the water was a shocking blue, and we entered a warm but almost empty dining room. The owner was a friend, our companion explained, and the restaurant was open just for us. Several other producers were present with their wines, and the tasting was, simply put, startling. The oohs and aahs were comforting to me as we experienced a range of wines — all from a list of seemingly unpronounceable grape varieties. What a thrill. The best was yet to come when we finished the tasting, though. We were directed towards a grizzled, elderly man standing behind a table. He had on waist-high wading boots, an oil-smudged cap, and a heavy wool sweater. On his left hand was a thick glove; in his right was a small paring knife. Before him was a plastic tub filled with water. I was the first in line and approached this ancient mariner cautiously. He reached into the tub with his gloved hand, grabbed a round, spiny, black object about the size of a tennis ball, then slit the outside of the shell with his knife, carefully avoiding the sharp spines. This exposed some yellowish-orange flesh which he scraped on to my plate. One of my colleagues, a chef, remarked immediately — It’s Oursin, he said. We’re having Sea Urchin Roe for lunch. My plate full, I started to walk towards my seat, passing a baker who was slicing a crisp baguette, still warm from the oven. He placed a slice on my plate, then poured a generous dollop of olive oil on the side. I sat down, and enjoyed one of the most marvelous meals of my life. The winemaker and his wife circled the table, pouring each of us a generous glass of cold, white wine. It was from nearby Figari, he said, made from Vermentinu. The Sea Urchin, his wife reported, were harvested that morning from the inlet just outside the restaurant door. The olive oil was made by a producer from the other side of the island, and she was about to arrive with her wines. After 30 years in the wine business, I was drinking a French wine from a region I’d never heard of, made from a grape variety I had trouble pronouncing, served with a dish I was tasting for the first time. Seldom before had I felt so poorly educated.

Whenever I taste a glass of our Chardonnay ‘304′, I think back to that Corsican trip. I don’t know what motivated Tadeo when in 2008 he said we should make a wine with no oak contact, but it was a great idea. The Larson Chardonnay vineyard in southern Carneros would give us the high acid, low pH grapes needed for the wine, he said, and we had learned a lot from French producers about the benefits of extended lees contact. Among other lessons, my trip to Corsica taught me to be open-minded.

James Suckling, one of my favorite wine writers, wrote a recent review of our 2023 Chardonnay ‘304’:

“This steel-fermented wine offers good acidity and refreshing qualities without an excess of buttery, toasty elements from oak barrels. It was aged on the lees for a nuanced, toasty, minerally effect and is generous in tangy apple, pineapple and lime zest flavors. Drink now. 90 POINTS”- James Suckling