Pinball Number Count: Bouchard Père 1923-2013

BY NEAL MARTIN | APRIL 16, 2025

“One two three four five, six seven eight nine ten, eleven twelve.”

These lyrics will be familiar to kids on both sides of the Atlantic who sat in front of the gogglebox to watch “Sesame Street.” Having never travelled to the United States, this seminal kids’ educational program, first aired in 1969 and going strong today, was my peephole into a fantastical land where I might go to the supermarket and meet the Six Million Dollar Man, Red Hand Gang or Eric and Ernie. The segment that is indelibly imprinted upon my malleable brain, both visually and audibly, is the “Pinball Number Count” that taught viewers numbers one to twelve. The surreal animated sequence of a shiny pinball ricocheting around the machine heightened anticipation until that episode’s number was revealed. I bet you never knew that the vocals for the show’s stone-cold killer, funky, jazz-tinged soundtrack were performed by the legendary Pointer Sisters long before “Jump” or “I’m So Excited.”

When we next congregate at Château de Beaune for a numerically themed dinner of Bouchard Père’s wines, I will recommend playing the “Pinball Number Count” theme. We could all join in and shout out the number. Last year, we learned about the number two courtesy of a 1952 Corton-Charlemagne, an 1892 Beaune and a dozen or so others. This year, the theme was, you guessed it, the magic number three.   

It was the same format. The two Frédérics, which sounds like a pair of tenors rather than Groupe Artémis CEO Frédéric Engerer and head winemaker Frédéric Weber, raided Bouchard Père’s treasure trove of back vintages that accreted over decades. All bottles were served blind and, as it turned out, not necessarily from Bouchard Père, since, unbeknownst to guests, Engerer smuggled in bottles from stablemates Domaine d’Eugénie and Clos de Tart. This is not a showcase for Bouchard Père, no greatest hits compilation. There is a higher cause: to intermix the greats with less trodden vineyards and, in particular, no-go vintages. An evening of contrast and consanguinity. This tasting is akin to a large family gathering, with long-lost relatives convening and looking each other up and down, from adolescents to great-grandparents, plus the odd grumpy uncle.

The evening was almost over before it began. Arriving later than other guests after a busy day at the proverbial “office,” I found the entry door locked. Standing on tiptoe, I could see dinner guests milling about the orangerie with pre-prandial glasses of Champagne, but the doorbell made no sound. Waving my arms like a lunatic in the dark street was in vain. I tried several other doors, all locked. In the end, I spotted a friend and sent an emergency text. Fortunately, his mobile was switched on.