Despite what many American wine drinkers seem to think, Chablis is not a generic term for white wine, and Beaujolais is much more than the pretty but forgettable Nouveau that floods restaurants and shops every year in mid-November. In fact, Chablis (at the northern end of Burgundy) and Beaujolais (to the south) are well-established regions that make unique and delicious wines. Perhaps due in part to widespread misconceptions about the quality of the wines, they tend to be relative bargains, too. The weakness of the dollar against the euro means that good deals from Europe are increasingly hard to come by, but both these areas produce flavorful, stylish wines at very reasonable prices, particularly in the vintages currently on the market (2002 Chablis and 2003 Beaujolais).
In a study commissioned in 2002 by the trade group Bureau Interprofessionnel des Vins de Bourgogne, global consulting giant Ernst & Young determined that the U.S. is the world's top producer of “imitation Chablis.” The practice has clearly been going on for quite some time: A “California Chablis” won a gold medal at the Paris World's Fair ... in 1889. The continued production and sale of these wines is possible because U.S. regulations consider Chablis a “semi-generic” name.
But true Chablis is far from generic. Like the renowned white Burgundies that have always overshadowed it, Chablis is made from the Chardonnay grape. Unlike so many of the prestigious Chardonnays of California, most Chablis sees little or no new oak. Even some Australian winemakers—historically not shy about piling on the wood—seem recently to have come around to the unoaked, or at least only gently oaked, style of Chardonnay. And an increasing number of producers in California are doing the same. One California winery is even trying to out-Chablis the Chablisoisie: WineSmith makes an incredibly steely Chardonnay under the name Faux Chablis. I don't know whether Ernst & Young would approve of that name, but the wine is extraordinary.
Virtually all Beaujolais is red (made from the Gamay Noir grape), and it tends to be lighter, lower in alcohol, less tannic, and quite a bit more interesting than many of the overextracted red wines currently in favor with critics. You won't find Beaujolais with alcohol levels much above 13 percent, even among wines made in the record-setting heat of the 2003 vintage (the riper the grapes the higher the potential alcohol). Beaujolais is proof that winemakers can get ripe fruit flavors without high alcohol. A few North American wineries are also making restrained wines with Gamay Noir: Brick House from Willamette Valley, Oregon (13.5%); Andrew Lane from Napa (13.02%); and Edmunds St. John from El Dorado County (12.9%).
Beaujolais's best wines come from ten communes, or crus, in its upper section (from north to south): Saint-Amour, Juliénas, Chénas, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie, Chiroubles, Morgon, Régnié, Brouilly, and Côte de Brouilly. It's hard to find a cru Beaujolais for over $20. The word “Beaujolais” is rarely prominent on the label, presumably to distinguish it from Nouveau. (One hundred years ago, carts loaded with barrels of just-fermented Beaujolais would make their way to the nearby city of Lyon, where the wine would be served from pitchers and carafes in bistros and restaurants; such wine would not have been bottled. Like fashionisti affecting trucker garb, habitués of Paris bistros embraced the lowly Nouveau, and in no time at all a business opportunity was spotted. Bottles with flowery labels were secured, and today the arrival of the Nouveau is cause for great celebration, at least among the wine's marketers.)
Pinterest
