Burgundy With (Plenty Of) Age: 1865-1999

BY NEAL MARTIN | MAY 14, 2019

“No one that has drunk old wine wants new; for he says, “The old is nice” – Luke 5:39

Four Bottles That Taught Me

The first part of this article examined vintages that many Burgundy-lovers will be enjoying at the moment, either in restaurants or at home, or perhaps at organized merchant tastings or off-lines. Hopefully you excused my loose definition of "mature" in the expectation that this second part would broach bottles with plenty of age. You want hand-blown bottles with wonky necks mummified in thick crusts of dust and mold; bottles that have seen history; bottles that are history. This article takes a rare journey back through nearly every decade to 1865. It is a one-off article, since I have never spent so long accumulating observations in dog-eared, Pinot-splattered notebooks, the backs of folded-up menus and my beat-up laptop. Trust me when I say that I have no intention of repeating the exercise.

There is no theme except region, age and wonderment.

Friday night Burgundy when a friend visited from Hong Kong in early January.

Before I go on, allow me to recount four bottles that were catalysts for my appreciation and understanding of mature Burgundy. The first was a 1937 Richebourg from Bouchard Père & Fils. Until then, I had been indoctrinated by Bordeaux and naively assumed it constituted the zenith of wine. That Richebourg, served over lunch in an oak-paneled dining room in St. James’s Street, opened my senses to the longevity and profundity of mature Pinot Noir and revealed the heights it could achieve. Sadly, I lost the tasting note. Second is a 1962 Grands Echézeaux from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, from a bottle whose tatty label and alarming low ullage had discounted it into the realm of affordability. A computer-literate friend, who used to help code my fledgling website for remuneration in fine wine, came for dinner. Forewarning him that it was likely oxidized, but with nothing to lose, I delicately prized out the cork. Fragrant Pinot Noir filled my small kitchen. Time stopped. It was one of the most ethereal Burgundy wines I have ever tasted, and we still wax lyrical about it whenever we meet. Third is the 1990 Nuits Saint-Georges Clos de l’Arlot from Domaine de l’Arlot. It was my first trip to the region, in 1997, and I ordered it at Beaune institution Ma Cuisine. Like the aforementioned Richebourg, it articulated the beauty and purity of Pinot Noir and taught me that greatness was not exclusive to ancient bottles or Grand Crus. The Burgundy hierarchy is useful, but it is not the final word on quality. Case in point: the fourth illuminating bottle, a 1992 Grands Echézeaux from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, opened for an old school friend chez moi. It was preceded by all the pomp and ceremony I could muster, and I poured the bottle in hushed reverence... It was rubbish. Distastefully green and stalky, it was drinkable but certainly not pleasurable. I learned that even the most hallowed domaines and vineyards are no guarantee of greatness. Nobody is infallible.

Since those four game-changing bottles, I have been fortunate to taste more than my fair share of mature Burgundy. I am thankful that the early days of my career and my burgeoning interest overlapped with what I call the “twilight of affordability.” In the late 1990s, I regularly bought bottles from Sylvain Cathiard, Denis Bachelet, Jean Grivot, René Engel and even Armand Rousseau as part of my education. They were not too expensive and easily accessible. I vividly recall opening Rousseau’s 1996 Chambertin with my cousin to accompany my tomato pasta, not because I wanted to impress, but simply because she fancied a red and I thought it would be nice; I could always buy another. Burgundy was for those who could ill afford Bordeaux, a niche, cultish wine for nerds who could recite the five owners of Clos Saint-Jacques. In retrospect, those were innocent times, and I miss them. The turning point was 2005. This vintage alerted a wider audience to Burgundy. Gatecrashing the party of Burgundy anoraks was an influx of oenophiles, some with genuine passions but many who latched onto the rarity and collectibility of the top growers. The chase was on to secure allocations of coveted and elusive cuvées. Consequently it has become almost impossible to open a mature Burgundy without being cognizant of its value and irreplaceability. What would it cost to replicate a tasting of the 200-odd wines in this report alone? In fact, it’s probably impossible at any price, since some bottles may well represent the last survivors. Yet it’s worth remembering that a vast majority were sold cheaply at the time – unlike these days, when more and more growers conscientiously position their new releases at price points designed to demonstrate that the contents are worth it. Sometimes they are; sometimes they aren’t. I guess that is the raison d’être of this article.