There’s a good article in the Wall St Journal about Paulée de New York, an annual Burgundy wine event modeled after a similar event founded in 1923 in Meursault.
Jay McInerney touches on the topic of the fickleness and more than occasional heartbreak of Burgundy. The wines of Burgundy have their share of corked or otherwise tainted bottles (especially the Chardonnay, which is a post for another day), but the pain of Burgundy is not necessarily due to a fault in the wine. Sometimes they are just flat, or unexciting, but at premium prices. Paying $100 for a bottle that doesn’t do much for me is, suffice it to say, a major bummer.
The crux of Burgundy is that occasionally the stars align and there’s a wine you’d pay hundreds of dollars just to sniff. After each sip whites doves fill the air, meteors shower the sky, Lez Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song blasts at eleven, and I can’t stand up in public due to my half chub.
Then there’s the even rarer evening where you try three or four wines like this, without a single dead soldier. These wines rocked my world. It was a fine night for Burgundy.
Photos by Rowdyfood.com
