In Praise of Beaujolais

Summer has hit New York, and this old man’s fancy has turned lightly to Beaujolais. For me, Beaujolais is the classic summer wine. Of course I’m aware you can drink it with pleasure all year round; nevertheless, for me, alongside summer cooking, Beaujolais really shines.

Beaujolais is customarily thought of as a light wine. Like most generalizations, that one is only more or less true. The Gamay grape from which it’s made isn’t a powerhouse variety like Syrah, for instance, or austere like Cabernet. It’s softer, more giving, with a really pretty strawberryish fruitfulness that shows through in all its manifestations. But like any respectable wine grape, Gamay is sensitive to the soils and climates in which it grows, and those differences do make perceptible differences in the finished wine. That is exactly why the tight, restricted area in which Beaujolais originates is divided into so many subzones: Beaujolais, Beaujolais Villages, Brouilly, Chénas, Chiroubles, Côte de Brouilly, Fleurie, Juliénas, Morgon, Moulin-à-Vent, Regnié, and Saint-Amour.
.

.
In any given growing year, all types of Beaujolais are will be lighter-bodied and less forceful that the great Burgundies to their north or the big Rhône wines to their south, so if that is all that is meant by calling it a light wine, well, OK. But that doesn’t mean Beaujolais is insignificant, especially in the light of the region’s recent decades’ general shift from producing lots of wine to fashioning quality wine, and especially in the named crus.

But I don’t want to be a snob about this. I love cru Beaujolais, but the simplest Beaujolais can give great pleasure. I’m sipping one right now, as I write this, a 2017 from Domaine Dupeuble Père et Fils. It’s medium-bodied, with a soft mouth feel, and intense dark-berry-and-strawberry fruit, persistent and pleasing. In fact, it’s making me hungry for some fresh bread, a slice of a good salami (rosette de Lyon, anyone?), and maybe a thin slice of spring onion or some soft cheese. Writing about wine is not a slimming profession.

By a process of very personal association, that brings me to Eric Asimov’s long article on wine writing in the June 19th New York Times. He questions, at some length, the value and intrinsic interest of tasting notes, and argues that at best, they offer a short-lived shopping guide. As regular readers of this blog know well, I think they amount to even less than that, being one person’s ephemeral perception frozen in print as if it were eternally true. Asimov goes on to make a plea for doing wine journalism another way, chiefly by somehow finding a means to convey one’s own passion and the sheer pleasure of wine. In my own way, that’s what I’ve tried to do in many of the posts of this blog – and it’s emphatically what I’m trying to do right now with Beaujolais.

It would be easy to go the full-connoisseur route and explain the differences between the crus and wax eloquent about why Chénas and Morgon are my favorites: In fact, I’ve done that before, here. But what I really want to convey today is the non-intellectual pleasure that a lightly chilled Beaujolais gives on a hot, humid summer day, the sensuous little shiver that first juicy sip causes, and then the sense of well-being that follows as you swallow and savor. Before and after all our critical ponderings and discriminations, that’s what wine is all about, and in its proper time and place the humblest Beaujolais does it as well as any wine can.

4 Responses to “In Praise of Beaujolais”

  1. Tablewine Says:

    Bravo! Like you, Tom, I’ve been a fan of Beaujolais, both cru and non-cru as wonderful wines that represent not only great values but perfect complements to a wide array of foods. So called light-bodied wines prove the maxim “less is more.”

  2. Ed McCarthy Says:

    Chiroubles is my favorite. At its best, the quintessential Beaujolais. fairly light, delicate, with a luscious aroma.

  3. Magda Gilewicz Says:

    Hello, Tom. Delightful post, perfect for a summer evening. And “Writing about wine is not a slimming profession” is a gem. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.