Intertwined in the enduring history of agriculture, cuisine, and civilization is the fermented remains of something so alluring it is forever embedded in religion and folklore. It is the favourite gift, the perfect pairing, and the most decadent way to drown your sorrows. This is the world of wine, and no one knows it better than the French.
The origins of what we know as wine culture originated in the hard partying ways of Ancient Greece - minus the naked wine boys and the frenzied all-female orgies honouring Dionysus. In fact, if you believe in everything that’s good and decent about imbibing in the sprit of the gods, then you, at some point, would have crossed paths with the French.
Somewhere in the space between Ancient Greece and Roman expansion, Bordeaux started cultivating grapes. Now, there are over 287,000 acres of vineyards, 10,000 wine-producing chateaux, and 13,000 grape growers producing over 850 million bottles. If that’s not enough to make your head spin, then try this on for size: Some of the world’s most expensive wines are made in this region. Heck, were it not for Salut Wine Festival and the French Wine Connection events I probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to try any of the ones from the famously titled “Grand Cru” or “First Growth” wines. These are wines produced from a select clique of five-wineries known for their exquisite production of the most expensive wines in the world.
When scheduled to attend these events, I have a ritual. I tend to focus on my appearance because of my high insecurity in at my wine-tasting abilities - 95% look to 5% talk is the split. After approximately seven ounces of wine (rather, seven, one ounce pours) then the numbers shift to about 50/50, but trust me, I make up for my insecurity by thrusting my chest forward more than usual.
Listen, I’m no wine slut, I’m a food girl through and through. My knowledge of wine, up until four years ago, was based upon pretty labels and availability of Air Miles with purchase. It was only out of sheer duress I immersed myself into the culture, because, the assumption is, if you know food then you must know wine. I will admit that beginning education with Canadian wines might not have been the best bet. The unique “terroire” of our grapes can make for really young wines with high “minerality” and “tannins” – which, in laymen’s terms, means tastes like dirt and gives you cotton mouth.
Then there’s French wine. The aristocratie du vin. La crème de la crème. At Salut and the French Wine Connection you sip, precociously, at modest one ounce pours while men with French accents explain the virtues of a Beaujolais (the red wine that thinks it’s white) that smells like cotton candy and rolls down your throat like water on a hot day. Oh la la, what the French can do with grape juice in a barrel will make your head spin.
As a rule, you always start with the the “Devil’s Wine” or Champagnes and move on from there. The frothiness is called mousse, the effervescence will vary and unless you want to look like an amateur, you never swirl it. Champagne is to wine what Pop Rocks wishes it was to candy. But, sorry Pop Rocks, while you are effervescent and bubbly you probably won’t find Hip Hop stars willing to drop hundreds of dollars on you. That’s just the way it is.
From the champagne comes the whites, the reds, cognacs, and other spirits.
I didn’t really socialize a lot at the festival. I found my friends and kept close. I immersed myself in the wines in personal one-on-one relationship that offered me the security of tastes that reminded me of my favorite French foods. I was a lone warrior, a secret bon vivant, the babe with the nez, and come 10 ounces in, no one was going to come in between me and my Bordeaux…unless it was a hearty Cassoulet.
I swear, the French will make me fat.
Image courtesy stock.xchng.
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