On foot, we followed her into a tunnel under the vineyard, into an old quarry that had provided much of the stone that built the town of Bourgueil. During World War II, the labyrinth sheltered Resistance fighters; Deschamps pointed out their anti-Nazi graffiti along one wall.
About 10 years ago, she explained, a group of vignerons had bought the quarry with the idea of using it to store wine and developing it into a tourist attraction. Some vineyard equipment had been placed in a few alcoves; here and there, vine roots from the vineyard above snaked through the ceiling in their quest for moisture. But mostly the cave showed evidence of its previous incarnation as a mushroom farm. There was fungus everywhere: dripping from the ceiling like stalactites, oozing from the walls and encrusting the stone table on which Deschamps had arranged our tasting, for which there were several glasses and a few bottles of wine.
“C’est champignons!” Deschamps said of her table covering. Nobody was tempted to pry some off for shaving onto our evening salads, however.
The Loire Valley is known primarily for its white wines: crisp sauvignon blanc or muscadet and luscious chenin blanc. Cabernet franc dominates the region’s reds, though gamay, pinot noir, cabernet sauvignon and malbec make cameo appearances. For years, the reds had a reputation of being underripe and astringent. Warmer vintages over the past decade have made the wines riper but not ponderous, and some importers have crisscrossed the region searching for the most talented producers. At their best, Loire reds are fresh and invigorating, tasting of black cherry spiced with white pepper. They often have a smoky, savory, leathery quality I call “Grandpop’s library.” Chinon is the best-known area, followed by Saumur, Bourgueil and Saint-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil.
Unfortunately, Loire reds are underappreciated in our market and therefore underrepresented here. But try to find them. Their medium weight makes them ideal reds for summer, and their robust flavors can stand up to hearty meats in any season.
They also appeal to wine explorers: those oenophiles who love delving into the intricacies of why wine tastes like it does. Bourgueil, for instance, is a small appellation, yet it contains three distinct terroirs, as Deschamps explained that day in her mushroomy alcove. (Visits with French winemakers often turn into geology lessons.) Those terroirs are marked by gravelly soil (gravier) near the Loire, clay mixed with flint (argilo-silex) on the slopes around the town, and chalky soil (tuffeau) on the plateau above the town, where we were standing. The wines progress accordingly from the gravier’s soft, supple and young-drinking wines to the tuffeau’s tannic, minerally wines with enough structure to last a decade.
Deschamps’s own wine, the La Fontaine aux Fougeres Myosotis 2008, was made from cabernet franc grown organically in the mid-level, argilo-silex, vineyards. It showed clean, spicy fruit flavors and minerality from the flint in the vineyard soil. A few months later, this wine became part of the Wine Traditions portfolio, along with one from another producer, Bruno Dufeu, grown on the Grand Mont vineyard above our heads. True to its terroir, Dufeu’s wine is powerful, structured and age-worthy.
As Deschamps led us from the maze of tunnels back into the sunlight, I realized that in a short time I had gained a substantial understanding of a small but enchanting French wine district, one well worth exploring.
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