THIS ARTICLE isn't supposed to exist until November.
It's part of the wine-writer calendar, well-known to anyone who plies the trade: romantic wines in February, domestics for the Fourth of July, wines for grilling sometime over the summer, turkey pairings at Thanksgiving, and Champagne at the turn of the year. Every year, the same thing. Those of us in the oenogeek fraternity can probably write the copy in our sleep . . . which, admittedly, does help with deadlines.
And as close to the third Thursday in November as possible, it's time for the annual "Beaujolais is more than Nouveau" article. That's the night that light, crisp, often-insubstantial Nouveau makes its worldwide debut, and it's left to cynical writers and weary retailers to attempt to sell the rest of the region's output to a wary public.
But damn the convention, I'm writing this article now. Why? Because I didn't have a better idea. Simple: because by Thanksgiving, a whole lot of one of the more remarkable Beaujolais vintages of recent memory will be gone from local shelves. And it would be a shame to miss them.
It's not that 2005 is unquestionably "The Best Beaujolais Vintage Evah!" I don't deal in that sort of hyperbole (oh, who am I kidding?), and anyway there's no such thing as a great vintage, only great wines. But what 2005 has that many other fine vintages don't is a quality that will remind novice drinkers of the wines of other, more familiar regions: a firm structure and strong-willed fruit, two expressions that Beaujolais doesn't often possess. In other words, it's Beaujolais for non-Beaujolais drinkers. So what does that mean for the wines? Well, they're of a little less use in their youth than the typical Beaujolais, but they'll probably age longer.
"Longer? Beaujolais ages?" Well, yes it does. It's a myth that only massive bruisers age. Beaujolais - at least, some of it - has long been quite ageable, though mostly on a shorter schedule (five to 10 years) than, say, cabernet sauvignon or riesling. But to find the ageable stuff, one has to know where to look.
Nouveau is out. There's nothing wrong with Nouveau, but it's wine made before it's ready, then sped across the globe to be quaffed by the trough as soon as humanly possible. (Though, preferably, not all in one night.) Also, most wine simply labeled "Beaujolais" is for drinking soonish, though there is the occasional exception.
The real action, however, is in the villages. Or, more precisely, the Villages. There are 10 districts (most with a namesake town) that are historically deemed to produce the best wines of the region. Wines from those 10 villages, known as the crus (growths), are represented by their own names: Brouilly, Chénas, Chiroubles, Côte de Brouilly, Fleurie, Juliénas, Morgon, Moulin-à-Vent, Régnié, and St-Amour. Also, wine from a combination of those and/or 29 more villages is labeled Beaujolais-Villages, which inhabits a theoretically qualitative middle ground between Beaujolais and the 10 crus. The longest aging wines tend to come from Moulin-à-Vent, Morgon, Côte de Brouilly, and Fleurie, though the potential of others shouldn't be discounted. And, as anywhere else, the producer's commitment to quality matters more than the source of the grapes.
All Beaujolais reds are 100-percent gamay, a grape known for its aromatic fruit, delicate texture, and crisp acidity. There's a trickle of white, made from chardonnay. As for food, Beaujolais is probably best with lighter-bodied cuisine (roast chicken, other white meats, cooked vegetables, and nothing too spicy or dominated by accompaniments), but its acidity allows it to "cut through" heavier preparations, which can make it a lightening element in an otherwise heavy meal. The powerful structure of 2005 definitely enhances this quality.
See? Not so hard. And just think: you're getting a several-month jump on the teeming November masses. This sort of inside information can't be had just anywhere, you know. Now, go! Buy 2005 Beaujolais with wanton abandon, avoiding the overly confected beverages of Dubœuf. Here's a brief shopping list:
Brun "Terres Dorées" 2005 Beaujolais Blanc: sun-browned stone fruit, drying apricot skin, and complex Provençal gravel, with a throb of energy just beneath the surface. Finely formed, but not too refined.
I&B Perraud "Côtes de la Molière" 2005 Vin de Table: a declassified (or just-across-the-border, or something along those lines) cru Beaujolais, showing all the characteristics of one of the heavier exemplars of that appellation: keening acid-washed fruit, gray-toned granite, fresh-plucked oyster mushroom, and the buzzing energy of a life not yet lived. Immediately appealing, but with depths and complexities.
JM Burgaud "Château de Thulon" 2005 Beaujolais-Villages: sappy red berries with cedar, pine nuts, and buoyant acidity; this wine lives among sopranos, and though it sings quietly, it sings with appealing purity.
JM Burgaud 2005 Régnié "Vallières": a solid, almost beefy (though lighter than that; call it "veal-y"?) block of red fruit and structure. There are very mild floral notes, but they're distant and unapproachable. Needs age.
JM Burgaud 2005 Morgon Côte du Py "Vieilles Vignes": structure built upon structure, with only the blackest, night-shadowed hints of bitter chocolate cherries and blackberries peeking through the heavy metal bars in which they're encaged. Throbbing but forbidding, and in no mood to be opened anytime soon. @
Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.
