A Journey Through the Vineyards of Champagne
As a writer, I’ve always been fascinated by the world of wine, but my husband, a sommelier, has a unique perspective on the subject. When we planned our honeymoon to Antibes and Paris, I agreed to include a visit to Champagne, the birthplace of the famous sparkling wine. Our tour took us through the rolling hills of the region, where we learned about the history and production of Champagne.
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At Bérêche et Fils, a family-owned grower, we were treated to a tasting of five Champagnes. The sommelier asked us to describe the flavors we detected, but I found it challenging to put my thoughts into words. My husband, on the other hand, was able to evoke vivid descriptions of the wines, using his knowledge of flavors and aromas to paint a picture of the taste experience.
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As we continued our tour, we visited several wineries, including Champagne Bollinger, a house in existence since 1829. We tasted La Côte aux Enfants, a wine named after the hill where its grapes were grown. The host explained that the hill’s steep elevation made it difficult for adults to climb, but children were able to help with the harvest. We also visited Champagne Delamotte, founded in 1760, and its sister house Salon, known for a rare wine released only in certain years.
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One of the highlights of our tour was the visit to the wine caves, where we saw the barrels that held the wines. Many of the best Champagnes mature in barrels, often sourced from Burgundy, and some of which are a hundred years old. We met a cooper who manufactures and replaces the slats that have worn out over time.
While I was initially fascinated by the wine caves, I eventually found myself bored and fidgety. I was tired of being asked to conjure the memory of a stonefruit, and I could still taste nothing but the sparkle of excellent Champagne. My husband, on the other hand, was in his element, describing the flavors and aromas of each wine with ease.
After our time in Champagne, we returned to Paris, where we visited a Taiwanese coffee shop called Laïzé. The barista explained that the Taipei blend would be floral, while the Tainan blend would taste fermented, like wine. I ordered the latter, curious to see how coffee could taste like wine. As I sipped my coffee, I detected a clear sensation of stinky tofu, a dish my father loved.
My husband tried the coffee, but couldn’t locate the flavor I had detected. ‘It means that there’s something on your palate that I don’t have,’ he said. ‘It reminded you of something that I don’t know the same way.’
I had learned something unexpected on our trip: how to access an imagistic reach into the past. My husband’s question, ‘What does it remind you of?’ had sparked a memory that wasn’t static, but could be sparked and built upon.
As we sat in the coffee shop, holding our cups and looking out at the city, I realized that Champagne reminded me of the basement chill of the wine caves. The delicate electricity of the bubbles. And the two of us, holding wine glasses in the rain, just a couple of months into marriage, wavy hillsides all around.
