The French Connection

Written by Mike Stepanovich

Poor sauvignon blanc. We just can’t seem to decide how this crisp white wine should taste.

I’m reminded of an old ditty by the comic British duo of Michael Flanders and Donald Swann called “Misalliance,” about a couple of plants whose offspring can’t figure out which way to grow: “Left, right, what a disgrace!

Or it may grow straight up and fall flat on its face.”

On the one hand—shall we say left?—is the school of thought that sauvignon blanc is naturally herbaceous, with freshly mown hay or cut grass as a dominant aroma. To be sure that’s a quality often found in sauvignon blanc.

On the other hand—let’s say the right—are those who prefer the bright, crisp citrus flavors: grapefruit and lemon. Sauvignon blanc with these aromas typically comes from warmer climates.

In the quarter century that I’ve been covering the wine industry I’ve seen the pendulum swing both ways. Back in the late 1960s and early ‘70s, sauvignon blanc was a tough sell. Not only was it herbaceous and “grassy,” but also marketing specialists theorized that the name was tough to say. It didn’t just roll off the tongue.

In 1968, Robert Mondavi called his sauvignon blanc “Fumé Blanc,” which sounded exotic (though it means simply “dry white”), and the stuff flew out the door.

In the 1980s, in an effort to get riper fruit flavors and tone down the herbaceousness, vintners began aggressively pulling leaves from around the grape clusters, exposing the fruit to more sunlight.

Sometime around 1990, Cain Cellars in the mountains just west of St. Helena in the Napa Valley, declared it had found the true sauvignon blanc, the Musque clone. This clone seems to have more tropical fruit undertones.

Then along came Geyser Peak’s sauvignon blanc, which had only the slightest hint of grassiness, and was bright and citrusy. The winery needed a wheelbarrow to haul off the gold medals it won for its sauvignon blanc, and the trend shifted again.

The advent of New Zealand sauvignon blanc marked another shift, with its green overtones and grassy flavors, pleasing those who had lamented the pendulum’s swing toward brighter wines. At wine competitions where I judge the New Zealand model became the standard for gold medals, purists insisting that that was the way sauvignon blanc should be made.

Throughout this shifting landscape of styles, one style remained true to form: the wines of Sancerre. (OK, you could argue that Bordeaux, where sauvignon blanc is often blended with semillon, also stayed true to its style, but that’s a story for another day.) This appellation at the eastern end of the Loire Valley has been consistently producing delicious wines in the same crisp, clean style for decades. And judging by the growing availability of Sancerre wines in Bakersfield, wine lovers here are beginning to notice.

Sancerre hews to a style that more resembles the brighter, riper flavors first advanced by California winemakers in the ‘80s and ‘90s, coupled with the intensity and acidity of New Zealand sauvignon blancs. It’s a style that is finding more and more fans, as evidenced by a recent communiqué from an East Coast retailer which said Sancerre sales are skyrocketing.

A class I teach at Bakersfield College provided anecdotal evidence. The class, which is offered through the college’s Levan Institute for Lifelong Learning, is titled The French Connection, and compares French and California wines made from grapes that originated in France. During a recent class meeting comparing a California sauvignon blanc with a Sancerre, the class preferred the Sancerre by a four-to-one margin.

I remember my first experience with Sancerre wines, and was instantly hooked. I loved the crispness, the intense citrus flavors, how well it went with food.

My wife, Carol, and I visited Sancerre earlier this year to learn firsthand what makes these wines so delightful.

A two-hour drive south from Paris brings you to Sancerre and the eastern Loire Valley. Sancerre is a town and an appellation. The town sits atop a hill overlooking the river. In ancient times the hill had strategic importance. It’s also been a wine region since Roman times.

The appellation spreads westward over gently rolling hills dotted with villages—Verdigny, Bué and Maimbray among them. The Sancerre appellation is a veritable carpet of vineyards, stretching for miles, under brilliant sunshine that ripens the fruit.

What gives Sancerre its distinctiveness is its soils. It has three distinct types, two of them calcareous: limestone-clay, chalky soil known as “Terres Blanches” (white soils); pebbly-limestone soils; and flint.

“It’s quite amazing,” said Amélie Chestier, a staffer at the Maison des Sancerre, a trade association to promote the wines of the area. “There are so many flavor combinations. You can go to one place, and perhaps the flavors are not good for you, then you go to another, and that’s your Sancerre. Really, there are so many soil combinations that the flavors are infinite.”

Sancerre’s quality is maintained by “a panel of winemakers that reviews each wine to judge what is expected of Sancerre,” she said. If the panel deems that a wine does not measure up, “you can’t sell it as a Sancerre. The wine has to uphold the standards of the appellation.”

While Sancerre blanc (sauvignon blanc) is the most recognized of the region’s wines, Sancerre rouge (pinot noir) is excellent as well, as is the rosé. Nearly 80 percent of the region’s production is sauvignon blanc, about 14 percent pinot noir, and the rest is rosé.

A visit with Ginnette Thomas of Domaine Thomas & Fils in Verdigny, illustrated how different the wines can be due to the diversity of the soils.

She poured three wines, a 2010 Le Pierrier, from grapes grown on pebbly-limestone soil; a 2009 Grand Chaille, from flint soils, and the 2010 Ultimus, from clay-limestone.

Le Pierrier is fresh and fruity, crisp, and forward. The Grand Chaille is minerally, more reserved with greater aging potential. The Ultimus reflects flavors of the first two, harmonious, balanced, and delicious.

A short drive to Maimbray brought me to Clement Raimbault’s winery, Domaine Remy. Clement earned a degree in enology and viticulture from the university in Burgundy, then worked at other estates and New Zealand before returning to the family’s winery.

His 2010 Sancerre Classic is a blend of grapes grown on the three Sancerre soil types, and has a wonderful fruity, minerally, complex flavor. His second wine was fermented using natural yeasts. “I want it to reflect the terroir,” he said. “So I didn’t use cultured yeasts.” It was an intensely flavored wine that reflected the terroir beautifully.

In Bué I met with Dominique Roger of Domaine du Carrou, whose family has been making wine in Sancerre since at least “the 17th century, perhaps before.” Family techniques passed down through the generations mark Dominique’s wines. “I use traditional methods,” he said. “I try to be gentle with the vineyards. Everything is natural, no pesticides; I leave the grasses to work back into the soil...I taste the grapes to determine ripeness.”

His 2010 was a “true Sancerre, 50 percent (grapes grown in) chalk, 30 percent in chalk and clay, and 20 percent in flint.” It was complex and splendid.

Perhaps Sancerre’s growing popularity is a reflection of its vintners’ attitudes. For one thing, their wines are affordable—in Bakersfield, $20, give or take a few bucks, will get you a Sancerre. For another, the vintners have the appellation’s best interests at heart.

Said Amélie: “Here, the winemakers are colleagues before they’re competitors.”

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Article appeared in our 28-5 Issue - December 2011