Resurrecting the Mystery: Clos Joliette

BY NEAL MARTIN | JANUARY 28, 2020

Abbey Road, Dark Side of the Moon, Unknown Pleasures, London Calling and Screamadelica: albums whose cover art defined an artist as much as the music itself. Likewise, a wine label design can mold preconceptions of the wine. A handful of labels are iconic and act as irresistible, subliminal magnetic forces upon the inquisitive wine-lover. Think of the unmistakable black and white typeface of DRC, the eye-catching bold yellow and red of Figeac – and add to that list Clos Joliette. I have no inkling who designed the label; what I do know is that when I first laid eyes on it, with its distinctive, almost childlike italic capital lettering and, underneath, the simple drawing of a vineyard laborer looking over his vines with Pyrenean peaks in the background, it triggered a feeling of acute anticipation. There was something enigmatic about that label; a priori, the wine must surely be special. And so it proved, though over the years, bottles were rarely encountered. When I composed a Cellar Favorite for the 1978, information on this Jurançon icon was frustratingly negligible and vague. Trawling the Internet unearthed such sketchy historical details that I could not even verify whether Clos Joliette still existed. It appeared to be in a confusing state of limbo, a wine estate not confirmed dead but seemingly comatose.

This article fills in some gaps, including the current state of proprietorship and what may follow, plus a handful of tasting notes with respect to wines now coming onto the market. Expect answers to questions, but also more unanswered questions! Earlier this year, Lionel Osmin invited me to a private tasting of Joliette in London. I was unfamiliar with his name, and I’ll explain how he fits into the Joliette jigsaw puzzle later on. Let me first summarize the history of Clos Joliette.

History

Clos Joliette is regarded as the first producer in the Jurançon, in the southwest corner of France. In 1929, the Migne family cleared forest in a natural southeast-facing amphitheater to plant about a hectare of vines. Back then, the go-to grape variety was Gros Manseng but, intentionally or not, the Mignes went against received wisdom and cultivated Petit Manseng. Jurançon’s wines enjoyed local demand, though according to Osmin, a bottle would cost little more than two francs. Nevertheless, Clos Joliette gradually built a modest if niche reputation as the region’s leading producer, even if it never sold for much more than around 12 euros in today’s money. With limited income, investment was minimal. Maurice Migne was in charge of Clos Joliette in the Sixties and Seventies, and when he passed away, his widow Jeanne took over production for many years. Apparently she was the archetypal French paysan, always attired in her traditional black apron, under which she tied her leather satchel stuffed with wads of money. 

No records exist of how the Mignes farmed the land or made their wines, though ancient bottles now fetch hundreds of euros whenever they come up at auction. Clos Joliette was revered by some of the world’s best winemakers. Legend has it that the late Didier Dagueneau trespassed into the vineyard in the middle of the night to take cuttings to propagate for his own Jurançon estate, Les Jardins de Babylone. In 1989, Jeanne Migne passed away, and with nobody in the family interested in continuing the estate, the vineyard was auctioned off around 1990 or 1991. The Mignes’ son, who was in the car business, sold off the cellar of old vintages, which is why old bottles are as rare as hen’s teeth. There were a few interested parties, including fellow Jurançon winemaker Charles Hours and actor Gérard Depardieu, who had visited Joliette several times. Most predicted that Hours would buy the estate; however, the successful bidder was Parisian caviste Michel Renaud. It seems that Renaud treated Clos Joliette as a part-time hobby instead of devoting himself fully to the estate, using pickers from his Armagnac vineyard to conduct the harvest; leaving barrels for five years without racking and topping them up only if necessary; then selling only a fraction of the production to a few friends and cellaring the remainder. Renaud died in 2015, leaving a wife, a daughter and her half-brother, the former a trained oenologist. It became widely known that Clos Joliette was for sale, though despite its niche fame, this was no Bordeaux Grand Cru Classé and there was no queue of prospective buyers. French inheritance laws are complicated, and when Renaud’s widow passed away, there was still no outright buyer. Consequently, the estate entered a transitional period that continues to this day.