In tribute to vigneron Didier Dagueneau, who recently died at only age 52, we decided we would have a bottle of his 2005 Blanc Fume de Pouilly—at $74, the lower end of his internationally acclaimed line.
Once upon a time, we would have been silly enough to think 52 years represented a long life. We are aware now that this is not so. We are now aware that many, many lifetimes pass while a terroir acquires its character and definition. We are Big Picture guys, Aldo and me.
And so we allowed ourselves to enjoy this man’s wine—what finer memorial can a winemaker receive?
Aldo did the uncorking an hour or so before we were to begin drinking—he likes to do the uncorking, it gives him a gratifying sense of utility and ritual—and in the interim he finished preparing a dinner designed not to compete with the flavors we anticipated in the glass. We would be having broiled striped bass, rice and a rather solemn clump of stewed greens from the farmers’ market. It sounds a little like what the villagers ate in Babette’s Feast before Babette showed up with the transfigurative glories of French cuisine. But it was apt.
Meanwhile, I was at the computer googling to learn more about the fragment of musical scoring printed on the Dagueneau label—most likely a riff on a song by French composer-singer Georges Brassens: The miracle of YouTube brought up a string of video clips of Monsieur Brassens, singing in what to my ears was a very French voice—smooth, unforced, folksy with a light sophistication. I found myself wondering aloud if there were ever a French equivalent to as stolid an American pop star as Andy Williams or Glenn Campbell.
But he is dead, too, Monsieur Brassens. And what greater memorial can a composer-singer receive than to have new listeners who, if they hadn’t picked a particular wine, might never have known he existed?
Aldo wondered aloud whether Dagueneau —who was vigorously hirsute with an unkempt beard and (in some photos) dreadlocks—looked more like Jim Henson of the Muppets or Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead. (But, again, they too are dead.) The point was not meant with any disrespect—if anything, Aldo was simply acknowledging Dagueneau’s forceful iconoclastic presence in the world of wine. Of course, it will be some time until after the November elections that anyone is comfortable throwing around the word “maverick,” but he was: a biodynamic pioneer who ruthlessly curtailed yields to create wines typically described as luscious, structured, powerful, brilliant, unforgettable, on and on—a plethora of great, manly adjectives.
And the wine, yes, was all that. This sauvignon blanc nonpareil had a pale straw color flecked by hints of green. There was a strong aroma reminiscent of stone, chalk and apple. The palate had a taut but concentrated structure. A rich, acid backbone carried the lime, grapefruit and stone flavors, leading to a lingering finish, slightly cut short due to its youth. An austere wine, a delicious wine, an elegantly focused wine.
We ate the fish, finished the bottle, called it a night and were grateful that we have more bottles of Dagueneau in storage. Life goes on, and wine with it.
