A Vegas Christmas

Self-styled Sin City, Las Vegas may seem the last place to spend Christmas, but with cheap flights from one-plane Stockton airport and plenty of affordable accommodation in this city designed for tourists it was to Vegas that @kt_canfield and I flew on Christmas morning. A cross between Blackpool and a cruise ship, Las Vegas is a neverending, in-your-face performance of glitz and bling.

the hotel

We stayed at Planet Hollywood, just next to the mock Eiffel Tower halfway down the strip. The rooms were a very good price at around $140 a night including the unavoidable resort tax. We were given a first glimpse of Vegas's hectic, chaotic nature waiting to check in: a half-hour queue full of impatient, shouting tourists all demanding to be given priority. That's one thing every Vegas visitor shares: an insistent belief that nothing matters more than your own comfort and needs. As this Christmas trip was also doubling up as our delayed, de facto honeymoon, we were upgraded to a room with a view over the Strip, able to watch the Bellagio fountains perform every thirty minutes.

the Strip 

An endless array of casinos, shops, hotels, expensive restaurants, neon lights, parading tourists, slot machines, and traffic jams, its buildings towering into the night sky, the Strip represents everything Las Vegas is about. At one moment the Eiffel Tower rises majestically, the Arc de Triomphe small behind it, the next the Statue of Liberty stands next to the Empire State Building. Further down towards the airport, there's a little bit of Australia next to the Sphinx. Elsewhere, the canals of Venice offer gondola trips beneath a permanent blue sky.

The Strip can get a bit too much: a constant, chaotic call to action where it's almost impossible to move. In the crisp morning sunshine, @kt_canfield and I did what must be a rare thing: we carried on walking south down the Strip, away from the tourists, until we got to the "Town Square" three miles away: a complex with a park, shops, and a great bar called the Double Helix, offering a good selection of wine and whisky. To the north of the Strip lies Downtown, offering yet more casinos but in a more laid-back and approachable way - the minimum stakes here are a lot lower as well.

the tourists

Las Vegas is a fast-paced city which moves in slow motion. The tourists shuffle up and down the strip, taking photos on their iPads, distracted by the lights, the names, and the street performers - until they realise the performer is an actual, genuine homeless person. Pretty much the whole of the Middle East and a fair share of Japan was in town for the Christmas period, some of them getting in early for what I can only imagine is a terrifying New Year's Eve experience. As busy and hectic as Vegas was, many of the tourists were happy to shop, promenade, and enjoy the experience rather than merely gamble - the casinos weren't as unmanageably crowded as the strip itself.

the taxi drivers

For some reason, I thought Las Vegas would be quite self-contained and it would be possible to get to places without a car. As the permanent traffic jams demonstrated, everything in Las Vegas is spread out and with a lack of public transport you need a taxi or a car to escape the madness of the strip and discover what else the city has to offer. Our taxi drivers, few of them from Vegas itself, were a rather cynical bunch; one, a "Persian" in the process of applying to be a translator at the UN, bemoaned the emptiness that gambling brought on its guests and its inhabitants, making the city a desperate competition to survive. A sobering thought when being driven back from a casino.

the show

Not being a great one for shows, I opted for one called Absinthe. Located in a Spiegeltent outside Caesar's Palace, this was a riot. A series of spectacular acrobatics interspersed with very funny but extremely crude jokes, this was Vegas at its best: funny, irreverent, unforgettable, and plain bonkers.

the casinos

show me the money

It's impossible to avoid the casinos; they're all slightly different but they offer the same. Haggard faces on bodies slumped in front of slot machines that endlessly turn. Table after table of cards, roulette, and dice, some with dancing girls. Laughing voices, cheers, groans, sympathetic croupiers. You feel like you have to gamble, then wonder why.

We stuck to blackjack, simply because it's easier than poker. However, each table has slightly different rules, which you need to be aware of either to take advantage of or to ensure you don't get stung. Taking your time to measure up each table is definitely a good idea. Instead, on our way to the hotel room we spontaneously sat down at a table with a minimum stake of $15. Within ten minutes, we had lost $160; shellshocked, we crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep we hoped not to awaken from.

After collecting ourselves and coming up with game plan, we had much more luck the next night at the Golden Nugget, in downtown Las Vegas. More relaxed, with friendly, helpful croupiers and lower stakes, I actually came away with some money.

the cocktails

I had high hopes of tasting some great cocktails while in Vegas, but I was initially disappointed. While in search of the perfect Negroni - a classic gin-based cocktail - @kt_canfield had the following exchange with a bartender at Caesar's Palace:

"What's your favourite cocktail to make?"
"That depends on the base spirit."
"Gin."
"Oh, the problem with gin is that there aren't many things you can mix it with."
Silence.
"So can you make a Negroni?"
"Yes, I can do that."

Herbs and Rye cocktail menu

I think to have a truly good experience in Vegas you have to leave the Strip and so it was with cocktails. We took a taxi to Herbs and Rye, a sleazy looking roadside establishment but inside a beautifully and tastefully decorated 20s style cocktail bar. On offer was a wonderfully designed menu based on the history of the cocktail: the Gothic Age, for cocktails from the nineteenth century, the Dark Age for the mid-twentieth century. The bartender was chatty, helpful, and open to requests; when I asked for his favourite tequila-based cocktail, he recommended a Mezcal Negroni which @kt_canfield snapped up before I had chance to say anything. Herbs and Rye also serves food and it's worth reserving a table for its popular Happy Hour times.

Las Vegas is a brash city that takes some getting used to and working out. It's a large, disorderly, fun, chaotic, and superficial release from everyday realities. At its best when it doesn't take itself too seriously, Vegas embraces everything that is ridiculous and makes the ridiculous spectacular. I liked Las Vegas the most away from the glitzy glamour, when it felt more genuine and that's why I'd return - to discover more of what lies beyond the surface razzmatazz.

The Realities of Wine: Bottle Shock, Somm, and A Year in Burgundy

Jancis Robinson has written about the difficulties of transmitting the joys of wine to the screen, arguing that a TV show as successful as Oz and James's Big Wine Adventure only worked because it took on a reality format. I recently watched three films that followed Robinson's advice, recording real-life events to bring wine to life in very different ways.

Bottle Shock (2008)

The 1976 "Judgment of Paris" has entered wine folklore as the moment when Californian wine demonstrated that it was every bit as good as, if not better than, the great wines of France. Organised by Parisian wine shop owner and British ex-pat Steven Spurrier, the Judgment was a blind tasting of ten Burgundy whites and ten Bordeaux reds against their Californian equivalents, mostly from Napa. To the consternation and initial denial of the French, two American wines came out top - Chateau Montelena's 1973 Chardonnay and Stag's Leap's 1973 SLV Cabernet Sauvignon (from their first ever vintage).

That's the basis for Bottle Shock, a film which more than any other I've seen holds a casual, almost flippant, regard for historical facts. Alan Rickman plays Spurrier, who on watching must have thought, Oh my God, I'm being portrayed on film by Alan Rickman, and then must have shuddered, Oh my God, I'm being portrayed as an ignorant, dilettante snob, before understandably considering defamation action against the makers of the film. This film does not like the French - or anyone like Spurrier who likes the French - and presents a colorful glorification of everything related to Napa (ignoring the fact that three of the Californian wines were from Santa Cruz and Monterey).

Bo's wig

The film centres on Chateau Montelena, apparently on the verge of bankruptcy and whose monomaniacal owner, Jim Barrett, spends much of the time punching the wall and his hippy and bewigged son, Bo, who is involved in a bizarre love triangle with seasonal help Sam and colleague and wannabe winemaker Gustavo (none other than Gustavo Brambila, whom I visited in August). This tortured and tortuous to watch love affair results in the immortal line, "With hardship comes enlightenment," breathlessly whispered between surreptitious kisses among the vines. Jim (who is seen making the wine, omitting the role of the actual winemaker, Mike Grgich) takes an instant dislike to Spurrier/Rickman and refuses to allow his Chardonnay to be entered in the tasting, believing the French will not treat his wine fairly. Bo intervenes, sending the Chardonnay via another tortuous plot device to Paris, where, despite mysteriously turning brown two days before the tasting, the wine wins the whites.

There's so much ground to turn such an iconic, almost mythical moment as the Judgment of Paris into a great film, but Bottle Shock doesn't even try. The author of the book on which this film is very loosely based even appears as a monosyllabic wine heathen, a brushstroke characterisation typical of the film. It is fun to watch, but more often than not it's funny despite itself.

Somm (2013)

Somm is a documentary which follows a handful of young American men (the only women in this film are their wives) preparing to take the Master Sommelier exam. The film quotes several talking heads - mainly Master Sommeliers - saying this is the toughest exam in the world. But, rather like the Master of Wine exam which seems much harder and more thorough, this isn't an exam in the educational sense of the word; it's a test to join an exclusive men's club populated by testosterone-driven egos.

This beautifully shot film inspires us to laud the efforts of the would-be Master Sommeliers who sacrifice so much time, effort, and sanity to pass (or more likely fail) the exam (and thank goodness for their long-suffering, understanding wives without whom, etc.). Instead, I spent much of the film hoping they all failed - the arrogance of these men trying to outdo each other in their speed-tastings of expensive wines is insufferable.

Their efforts are presented uncritically, with little explanation of what tasting a wine involves. The job of a sommelier or wine educator should be to demystify wine, make it approachable and understandable, and get people to drink and experiment more; Somm, with its chosen sommeliers, instead underlines the stereotype of wine being an elitist, snobbish institution full of men congratulating themselves on their unerring taste using impenetrable language.

The most telling part of the film is when Ian - the most obsessive and unhinged of the students - misidentifies a Beringer Chardonnay (a decent, widely-available wine from Napa) as white Hermitage (one of the greatest and most exclusive of white wines, made from Marsanne and Roussanne), and refuses to admit his mistake. How on earth can anyone destined to be a Master Sommelier ever be wrong, even if they don't know how to pronounce Viognier correctly?

A Year in Burgundy (2013)

This film acts pretty much as a tourist promotion, taking us through the 2011 vintage from beginning to end. As unquestioning as it is to the inherent greatness of Burgundy's wines, it's a beautiful film which gives a leisurely insight into the working life of an old, mostly traditional region. Burgundy is all about the land - as winemaker after winemaker lines up to remind us - and the film gives a great feel for that sense of place which somehow ends up in a bottle of wine. Without trying to be something it's not, this film succeeds far better than the other two films.

 

Only the French would describe winemaking as "Cartesian"

Making a film or programme about wine is difficult, because there's only one way to appreciate the subject: by tasting it. Sharing a talent for cinematography that the makers of Jancis Robinson's Wine Course perhaps didn't have when she ventured into television in the 1980s, these three films take different approaches: a heavily fictionalised account of a famous event; a documentary insight into the lives of those who taste wine for a living; and a documentary guide to those who make wine. The last works best because I think, ultimately, that's what we want to see: how the glass of wine we're drinking as we watch the film got made and where it comes from. The personality of a wine comes not from a taster, but from its maker.

The Rhône

Driving down France from the cold, grey, almost English north through the gradually brighter Burgundy, all of the sudden the weather and the country change after Lyon. The sun is bright, constant, and warm; the land is vast and dramatic. You can sense that northern Europe has been left behind for good, and that the glamour of the Mediterranean is not too far away. These changes are reflected in the wines, which get bigger, bolder, and warmer as the Rhône, one of France's great rivers, winds it way down from Lyon to Avignon, city of Popes, and Arles, where van Gogh somehow lost an ear.

the regions

from winefolly.com

The Rhône is divided into four different wine-producing areas, the most significant of which are the northern and southern. The climate of the northern Rhône is still moderate, only just warm enough for Syrah to ripen fully. The south is hot, the sun baking the galet stones which retain heat in the cool nights. 

northern Rhône

This is France at its most dramatic and unforgettable, the grand river bending back and forth as huge, steep slopes rise from its banks. These slopes are home to some of the most famous, and expensive, vineyards in the world, including Côte Rôtie ("roasted slope") and Hermitage. These south-facing slopes allow enough sun and heat to hit them for Syrah to grow. The Syrah here is far removed from the Shiraz of Australia: meaty and gamey, with a restrained fruitness and several years of oak ageing, designed to be drunk at least five years after the vintage, and often much more.

There are also three appellations dedicated to white wine. Condrieu, next to Côte Rôtie in the north of the area, is all Viognier, heady, aromatic, and arguably overpriced. Within the appellation is another, France's smallest, called Château Grillet after its only producer. Right at the other end of the region is St-Péray, a small appellation dedicated to Marsanne and Roussanne, my two favourite white Rhône grapes.

Hermitage

southern Rhône

After a small break along the river where nothing much happens in wine terms (apart from sparkling wine production in Die, just east of the Rhône), the climate becomes startlingly hot and Mediterranean. A huge variety of wines are made in the southern Rhône, including the delicate fortified wines of Beaumes-de-Venise, but this area of France is known for its high-alcohol red blends based on Grenache.

The most famous appellation is without doubt Châteauneuf-du-Pape, so called because nearby Avignon was the home for the Papacy in the 1300s. Châteauneuf was the very first appellation to be created in France in order to counteract fraud, in 1923. The rules are quite broad - 18 different grapes are allowed for the production of both red and white wine - and standards have risen and fallen. There has also been a trend, led by demand in the American market, for high alcohol wines aged in lots of new oak, which can be too much for the more delicate palate.

the galets of Châteauneuf-du-Pape

More consistent, less fashionable, and better value is neighbouring Gigondas, which is very similar to Châteauneuf-du-Pape but more reserved. Next door to Gigondas is Vacqueryas, a more rustic, less hygienic, but appealing version of its two neighbours.

At the bottom end of the scale is Côtes du Rhône, a large area which takes in 42,000ha of land. The wines, often made using some carbonic maceration, are simple, straightforward, and fruity, but can offer good value at the entry level. The next level up is Côtes du Rhône-Villages, wine made in one of twenty villages that have the potential to become their own appellation one day. These wines can offer a very good value alternative to the more famous appellations.

There are plenty of other appellations in the area, including the interesting Costières de Nîmes on the western side of the Rhône, all offering local variants on the constant theme: wines with red fruit, highish alcohol, dusty tannins, a meaty depth, and some ageing potential. Not surprisingly, they pair well with the local food: rich, hearty, meaty dishes.

Far less common (2% of the Côtes du Rhône appellation; 7% of Châteauneuf-du-Pape) are whites. I love the rich, creamy, nutty textures of these wines, made from any combination of Roussanne, Marsanne, Viognier, Grenache Blanc, Picpoul, and the wonderfully named Bourboulenc. 

The Rhône also has an appellation solely for rosé, Tavel, which serves as a pink equivalent to Châteauneuf-du-Pape (where rosé is not allowed): full-bodied, fruity, and earthy. A distinguished appellation, but not one that is to everyone's taste.

the wines

Guigal Condrieu 2012 ($70)

From Côte Rôtie and Condrieu's most famous producer, this is a wine of beautiful floral and stone fruit aromas. The wine has also seen some oak giving it a light smokiness, and it has a dry, mineral finish. I personally thought this wine was outstanding, but the overall, and quite harsh, conclusion of the Diploma group I tasted this wine with was that its fruits lacked concentration and the finish wasn't long enough. It's hard to imagine a wine more delightfully aromatic than this, though I do prefer the rounder, creamier wines made from Roussanne and Marsanne elsewhere in the Rhône.  

Cave de Tavel Lauzeraies Rosé 2012 ($14)

Our Diploma tutor confessed that he wasn't a huge fan of the rosés of Tavel, but nevertheless it's a style which he have to appreciate and understand. Tavel produces full-bodied rosés far removed from both the sweetish blush wines of California and the pale rosés of nearby Provence. This wine had lots of red fruits which were a little too candied and juicy watermelon, together with a wet earthy feel. Full and fruity, but lacking complexity.

Château du Montfaucon Côtes du Rhône 2013 ($12)

This was a good, fruity example of Côtes du Rhône at an extremely reasonable price. No oak and quite simple, this is nevertheless a good entry level wine. The producer is from Lirac, one of the Rhône's many appellations.

Clos St. Jean Châteaufneuf-du-Pape 2011 ($35)

Tasting this wine with a group of American students was interesting. These students described the wine as well integrated and balanced; in contrast, I found the whopping 16% level of alcohol burning and out of control. The only non-fortified wines that reach this level of alcohol are Amarone and Zinfandel. The tannins weren't ripe or the fruit jammy enough to be a Zinfandel, and it was much closer to a modern, powerful Amarone, with its dry, dusty tannins and lots of new oak to try and integrate the excessive sugar of the fruits. If I wanted to make a wine with this high alcohol, I'd just make it fortified - at least then there'd be greater control over the nature of the alcohol.

Guigal Brune et Blonde Côte Rôtie 2010 ($70)

Back to the opposite end, and style, of the Rhône with another wine from Guigal. This is a blend of Côte Rôtie's two famous slopes; wines from the 'Blonde' slope are softer and more likely to be blended with Viognier (there was 4% Viognier in this wine), while those from the 'Brune' are firmer and age longer. I loved this wine, its fruits restrained and use of oak just about in balance. The subtle flavours slowly drew out, a savoury gameiness behind the black fruits and slightly coarse, drying tannins. This is still a young wine, however, the flavours needing plenty of time to develop and mature. One student complained that the finish wasn't long enough, but the lingering toasty, pepper finish is exactly what Syrah from a moderate climate should taste like.

Tasting these wines from the Rhône left me thirsty for more, and I had a blind tasting of three other wines to hone my Rhône recognition skills further.

Prat Sura Vacqueryas 2012 ($28)

The more rustic element of Vacqueryas was clear in this wine, with an earthy, homely appeal. The tannins were proper Rhône, dry, gripping, and teeth-staining, but with good red fruits to flesh the wine out. In true French mode, I later drank this with steak - a perfect match.

Torbreck Cuvée Juveniles Barossa 2011 ($20)

GSM is not a term used in France, but it refers to New World Rhône blends featuring Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvèdre. The latter doesn't get used much in the Rhône, more so in Provence and Spain (where it's called Monastrell), as well as in California and Australia (where it's called Mataro). This Australian GSM is surprisingly herbal, but its main difference from actual Rhône wines is that the fruits and tannins are much riper. There is enough structure to balance out those ripe fruits: one of those Australian wines that reveals unexpected layers with each taste.

Mas de Gourgonnier Les Baux de Provence ($20)

Les Baux is one of my favourite villages in Provence, a stony hilltop village with small chapels and shops to dip into to escape the beating sun. It also produces great wine, an appellation created in the early 1990s to incorporate Cabernet Sauvignon - a grape that traditionalists believed shouldn't flourish in the heat of the Provençal sun. This is a blend of Grenache, Syrah, Cabernet, and Carignan, but falls a bit short. The nose is disappointing and medicinal; the mouth, however, has good, dry tannins and red and black fruit, but the finish fades too quickly.

The most important thing to consider when tasting Rhône wines is the tannins. If the wines come from the Rhône rather than the New World, there is going to be a dry dustiness to the tannins, especially in the hotter south. These tannins give the wine great structure, making them perfect with robust food dishes. There is also a romanticism to the wines of the Rhône which I can't avoid falling for, even in the formal educational settings of a WSET Diploma course. The sunshine, the lifestyle, the river are all reflected in the wines: this is a place which gives and then gives some more.

Pouilly-Fuissé

Burgundy is the most terroir-driven of all winemaking regions, hundreds of small patches of land divided up into even smaller plots inherited over the generations by individual farmers. There are only four grapes grown in the region, though for the most part quality wine is made with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir (the other two grapes are Aligoté and Gamay). Although the two grapes are important to the taste of the wine, it's the many different soils, the location and aspect of the vineyard, the weather, and, of course, the influence of the winemaker that lend so much to the wine's eventual character.

Some of the most famous names in the world of wine lie in this land. The Côte d'Or - literally golden slopes, though the name may originally have been an abbreviation of Côte d'Orient, meaning east-facing slopes - stretches from Dijon, taking in the expensive red wines of Marsannay, Chambertin, Chambolle-Musigny, Vougeot, Vosne-Romanée, and Nuits-St-Georges, down to Beaune, more famous for its whites from Corton, Pommard, Volnay, Meursault, and Montrachet.

Another famous name is further south, in the Mâconnais area where the limestone soils which give Burgundy so much of its identity turn into the granite soils of Beaujolais. These soils end in the spectacular crags of Vergisson and Solutré, two of the four villages that form the Pouilly-Fuissé appellation. The soils here are the oldest of Burgundy, with a 100 million years' difference in age between the oldest and the youngest rocks.

the communes

From north to south, the first of the communes is Vergisson, which is dominated by a large crag. The west of the commune has east-facing slopes on granite soils, producing expressive wines, while the east of the village, with its west-facing slopes on rocky, limestone soils, is cooled by northern winds, producing more mineral and floral wines.

Next is Solutré-Pouilly. Solutré is dominated by the other of the two crags; to the back of this large rock, the wines are aromatic and complex. Pouilly is on limestone soils, producing complex, rich, ageworthy wines.

In Fuissé, the vineyards looking down on the village create rich, powerful wines, while those at the bottom of the village, on volcanic soil, are round, supple, fruity, and easy to drink.

The most southerly commune is Chaintré, on east-facing limestone slopes, whose wines are fruity and fresh with mineral qualities.

Solutré's rock

 

the appellation

The four communes got together in 1929 to create a single village, which was made into an appellation in 1936. Until the nineteeth century, Gamay was the dominant grape, but Chardonnay took over, particularly after phylloxera, and it is now the only grape permitted in the appellation. Unlike the Côte d'Or, the concept of Premier Cru and Grand Cru vineyards, which define each appellation's best sites, does not exist in Pouilly-Fuissé. This is changing, however, and the appellation's authorities are in the process of applying for Premier Cru status for several of its vineyards - or climats, meaning sites - including the vineyards behind the five wines I tasted below.

the wines

At the invitation of the Bourgogne Wine Board and @AnnetteHamani, I tasted five wines from Pouilly-Fuissé. These displayed the rich variety of styles produced in the village, due both to the divergent soils and production methods. Pouilly-Fuissé is known for its bigger style of wines; although these were still all quite full-bodied, there was a great deal of finesse and delicacy to them. Also surprising was the age of the vines, ranging from 40 to 90 years.

Domaine Pascale et Catherine Rollet, Clos de la Chapelle 2012

From a vineyard on marl, limestone, and clay soils in the centre of Pouilly, this was by far the oakiest, as well as the youngest, of the wines I tasted - fourteen months in 50% new oak and 50% two-year-old oak. From 90-year-old vines giving the wine extra concentration, there were strong earthy, smoky, and vanilla aromas to the nose, with white pepper and cinnamon. The oak did overpower the other aromas of apricot and hazelnut. A little obvious, but a wine with lots of appealing flavours wrapped in a smoky earthiness.

Domaine Dominique Cornin, Les Chevrières 2011

This wine was completely different, as it was only aged in old oak. The vineyard is also from a different part of the appellation, Chaintré, where the grapes are earlier ripening due to the south-facing slopes and protection from the northern winds. With the absence of new oak, the pear and apricot aromas were more apparent, with an almond nuttiness showing the wine's extra year of age. A delicate, balanced, yet still full-bodied wine.

Domaine Thibert Père & Fils, Les Vignes Blanches 2010

From the ampitheatre of vines that overlook the village of Fuissé, the name of the vineyard refers to its white, pebbled, limestone soil. A forward wine, with 20% new oak and 20 months of ageing (the final 9 months in stainless steel), with rich, creamy flavours of vanilla, quince, and banana. Likewise on the mouth, making the wine like a creamy mushroom sauce. This wine, showing well four years after the vintage, indicated that the full style of Pouilly-Fuissé would best be appreciated with rich creamy chicken or veal dishes.

Domaine Denis Bouchacourt, En Sevry 2010

Perhaps my favourite of the five wines, due to its mature aromas of orange peel and its mellow, delicate, yet complex feel. Ageing more quickly than the other wines - it hadn't been aged in oak at all - this was an indication of what Pouilly-Fuissé tastes like as it grows old. From near Solutré's rock, where the vines are protected from the cool air from the north and exposed to lots of sun, this wine felt the purest, most balanced expression of the appellation's soils, floral with a long nutmeg finish.

Château de Beauregard, La Maréchaude 2010

In the village of Vergisson between the two unavoidable crags, this wine comes from a vineyard with poor, stony soil. The relatively small amount of new oak (25%) still overpowers the stony, mineral flavours, with a rich, full, creamy texture of vanilla, smoke, and banana. An intense wine, but not the subtlest.

What surprised me most about tasting these five wines is that the two with the least amount of oak used in the maturation process were the most interesting, expressive, and complex. The use of old oak in the second wine and the complete absence of oak in the fourth allowed the character of the vineyard and the attitude of the winemaker to come through more clearly but also more subtly - which is what the wines of Burgundy should be about. The vineyards of Pouilly-Fuissé, protected from the cooler airs of the north and exposed to the warmer sunshine of the south, seem quite capable of producing expressive, full wines without too much intervention from the winemaker. If the producers of Pouilly-Fuissé wish their wines to be compared to those of the Côte d'Or, they should allow those wines to express most completely the character of the land they come from.