A Tale of Terroir

How deep is the red?

Abandon all attempts to fully appreciate French wine without understanding the untranslatable notion of terroir. I could explain that it refers to the characteristics of a specific geographical location, but would still fail to convey how the word resonates in the soul of every Frenchman louder than any church bells at mass. While the Catholic mass is ethereal and holy for some, le terroir is solid and sacred to all. 

Le terroir holds the key to what makes every French agricultural product special, wine being the most refined expression. It is the basis of the elaborate French system of AOC (Appellation d’Origine Controlée or designated protected origins), that tells the consumer exactly where the product comes from. Bordeaux is known to the entire world, not as a town but as a wine region. For French wines alone, there are over 300 officially listed origins, yet these only represent half of French wine production. 

The excellence of terroir products requires hommes et femmes de terroir, men and women with intimate knowledge and great respect for their unique parcel of earth. The French tend to hold these grounded persons in higher esteem than financial traders and investment bankers. If you were to ask an homme de terroir about his terroir, he might tell you a tale, or recite a poem as if it were about his beloved mother. A winemaker will fashion his wine according to his idea of the terroir. He is the conductor of a music that his terroir composes. 

Thycyclide, the Greek politician circa 400BC, is quoted as stating: 

“The vine and the olive tree delivered the peoples of the Mediterranean from their barbarian state.” 

Even before he spoke these words, there is evidence that wine was already being produced in the Western Languedoc region of France, on a terroir to the northeast of Carcassonne that bears the name of the Roman goddess Minerva (le Minervois). Roaming across this rugged land, we do not expect to meet a philosopher-poet-winemaker, but how else can you describe Borie de Maurel when he describes his terroir and his winemaking? 

The light that flows from above is potent and polyphonic. Its indigo is too intense and we only understand fragments of its message. When the north wind confronts the scalding south and the storm strikes the mountains, colors sweep over us like the sea at high tide. Clouds of flint and foaming gray, contours of violet and black current. The wine to come has already been conceived. 

Now stand still, listen and feel the vibration beneath your feet. There is both warmth and coolness, chaos and solidity. Sometimes, you want to take refuge in this earth, as you did in your beginning and as you will at your end. We are of the earth, and at every moment, in each of our acts, she is worthy of veneration. We must mold our activities to her rythmes, receiving her bounty rather than exploiting it. 

In a mystery, the sky joins with the earth, and begets from this union an enchanted fruit, suspended in perfect balance between them. Its leaves make the wind sing, and its roots dive deep into slopes of sandstone, shale, marble, and limestone. The vine will harness all of these to bear its fruits. 

We must, before all else, learn to be quiet and listen to the signs. Our mastery begins in humility. Nothing can be exacted from the earth. We cannot pull on the vine to accelerate growth, nor must we wage chemical warfare to avoid natural attrition. We must only remain attentive, with an eye on the moon, an ear to the earth, and our hands on the vines. The time will come. The world may prefer Merlot and Syrah, but here we grow Carignan and Morvedre, best suited to our terroir. We manually harvest at their moment of perfection. 

And when that time has come for the fermentation, we use no black magic, no quick tricks. We only seek with all our hearts to reveal the true nature of our terroir, like unto none other. Then, like the storm that shook the mountains, potent scents of liquorice, of violets, or even a touch of truffles, will burst from the glass. The wine will penetrate your being. Clothed in silk and velour, it carries the energy of heaven, earth, and man. Blending with your blood, this dear liquid friend will remind you that it has always been there within you.

Its message, a fragment from the sky, has always been this: you are the miracle. Let the mystery of this gift flow through your veins; you will not feel dulled but instead awakened to a state of ivresse! 

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Excerpt from EXQUISITE: Facets of my France, by Carsten Sprotte

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