Je Négrette Rien - part 3 - a wine post

Chateau St Louis, Fronton, 2007

The 12 days of Christmas in the Countrycreamtea household are usually excellent ones, normatively punctuated by attending a hunt or two, partaking of a pint or three of real ale after a walk in crisp winter sunshine, you get the picture.  This year, I regret to say, the whole scenario's been somewhat spoilt.  Firstly, the awful weather, secondly, the preposterous stories about Thatcher's cabinet papers (The Independent, for example, was reduced to devoting a whole story to how many hairdo's she had in one year), thirdly, lastly and by no means leastly, the latest Burgundy En Primeur prices for the 2012 vintage (I'm out this year).

The only thing that can possibly rectify such a frightful situation is a decent bottle of something a little out of the ordinary.  Both readers of this blog will be aware that we have something of a foible chez nous for the glories of the Négrette grape (written about here and here).

There it is - Chateau Saint Louis, Fronton, 2007.  Got this bad boy from France (I think from that nice wine shop in Le Touquet) for 6 euros.

And here's the crucial info from the back.

There we go. 70% Negrette, 20% Cabernet Franc, and 5 each of Gamay and Syrah.  Nice.  Not so nice is the tedious sermon about no chemicals. Yawn.

Now - knowing when to open a Negrette wine is tricky.  When drunk young it's tempting to think  - this could go for years, but while it does benefit from shortish to medium term cellaring, leaving it too late can screw it up too.  I reckon I cracked this one just in time.  You can just tell from the picture that it's gone a nice rubyish colour.  

And the nose?  Well rather than describe it - I'll help you recreate it.

Into a liquidizer put, 1 prune that's been soaking in cheaph(ish) armagnac for 3 years, half a fresh apricot, 3 victoria plum skins (ideally not quite ripe), a 1 inch pencil (nothing harder than a 3B ideally a pencil that's been on the garage floor for at least six months), 1/4 teaspoon rolling tobacco, half a peppercorn, and 3 mils petrol lighter fluid.  Wiz it for 30-40 seconds.  Remove lid and leave for 8 minutes. Now finely chop a sweet pea flower and a honeysuckle bud, fold into the mixture,  and take a niff.   That's it.  Glorious.  Nothing on earth smells like a glass of Fronton wine. And I mean nothing.  And you can't buy this nectar for love nor money in Blighty.

And in the mouth?  The fruit has faded a little, but still there; like a nice home made jam that's been left for a few too many months.  Good tanins, longish finish, tastes a bit boozier than its 12.5 %.

So if you're in the trade - get yourself acquainted with  http://www.chateausaintlouis.fr get down there, and ping me a tweet when you get back.  It's not difficult.  I'd happily part with £15 for this.

A serving suggestion.

Gesiers, croutons (cooked in Gesiers fat obviously), lardons etc.,  Feel those arteries tightening......

Je Négrette Rien - a wine post

I was recently lucky enough to be in Belgium for a few days on work purposes (yeah right!), during which I had a five minute supermarket sweep of an unassuming corner shop for a bit of choccie, waffles, and a quick butchers over the wine selection.  Only an imbecile or a lifetime subscriber to the London Review of Books would fail to have his eyes drawn to this

What a treat! (it was 5 euros if I remember correctly).  One of the great mysteries of the Universe is why is it that one sees a bottle with Négrette in 24 point capital letters all over the front label only marginally more often than a pile of rocking-horse pooh? Why oh why oh why?

Now - first up it's only right that one points out what Négrette isn't.  It isn't Pinot Noir, it isn't Cab Sauv or one of the other great varieties.  But - if anyone, and I mean anyone, tells me that the Négrette is an also ran, I will, and I mean will, challenge them to a duel, and they won't live to Négrette it. [I promise that's the last pun in this post]

The name is the great clue, it means black.  This is wine with ageing potential (medium term rather than long term I'm told).  As its name suggests, this is wine on the rather heavy side of medium bodied, and the great treat is that it is simply heavenly on the old Roman: wild flowers - sometimes honeysuckle bizzarely enough, and very ripe berries.  And, in this day and age where so many wines are nothing more than alcoholic grape juice, it has one of THE hallmarks of a great wine: Character.  It is very much like people from Toulouse itself; confident, attractive, they don't give a fig what's going on in the rest of the world because Toulouse is the centre of the cosmos and, finally, they just go on doing their own thing.  It's also, very importantly for a skinflint, reasonably priced.

So why can't we get this juice in Blighty?  Where to start. There are all sorts of stupid reasons which revolve around ignorance which I won't bother with.  There are also more serious reasons. People, unfortunately, do like characterless alcoholic grape juice that can be opened and drunk straightaway whereas 100% Négrette  really has to be opened in advance;  the above bottle was tighter than a Tory Budget for more than two hours after opening.    There's also a question of price; 5 euros on the continent always inexplicably and mysteriously turn into £9.99 in the UK, and however marvelous Négrette might be, an orange drinks voucher would be a bit borderline for this tipple.  But with the Euro rapidly collapsing surely here's an opening for a wine merchant with a bit of gumption.  Get in that white van, get down there, and tweet me when you get back.  It's not difficult.

Let's hope it happens.  It happened, praise the Lord, with Picpoul de Pinet (couldn't get if for love nor money in Blighty 15 years ago), let's get going with the Négrette, preferably before the next celebration of a British Monarch's Diamond Jubilee.