Judgement of Paris: French Wine Smackdown Postponed?

Back in the day, I was a very big fan of French wines, especially Beaujolais, but also of Burgundy and Bordeaux. I even drove across the middle of France from Lyon to Bordeaux to buy a few cases of 1970 Grand Crus which I drank well into the late 1980s with great pleasure. I remember very clearly the famous wine tasting in which California Wines bested some of France's finest crus in a blind taste-off in the mid '70s. Now comes a book which recounts the events of 1976 and links them---imagine this!---to smug French complacency, listlessness, and even cowardice in failing to recognize a challenge to their preconceived notions of their own superiority in all things vinous.

I actually love Stag's Leap, which was the "house wine" of Drexel Burnham Lambert during my short stint there in the late '80s. A Puligny-Montrachet was the wine served at a luncheon served by the prefet of Dijon I was privileged to attend as an honored guest while American Vice Consul in Lyon. It was also de rigueur at official Lyon municipal wassail-functions. But I still haven't tasted Australian Yellow-Tail, even though my brother has a home in Albany, way down in Southwest Australia near the wine country of that region. Note to self: Must visit and try wine on the spot. In the meantime, the French have their usual problems:

a large segment of the French wine industry is mired in crisis—a crisis that might have been mitigated had the French not ignored the message of the first Judgment of Paris. France is currently sitting on an ocean of unsold wine, a glut that has led to a collapse in prices at the cheaper end of the spectrum. According to the New York Times, some 100 million liters of Appellation d'Origine Controlee wine was distilled into ethanol last year. That's enough to fill 133 million bottles. Across France, hundreds of winemakers, and possibly thousands, are on the verge of bankruptcy; it has been suggested by some trade organizations that in the Languedoc, the hardest-hit region, 30 to 50 percent of wineries may ultimately be forced out of business. There have been a number of protests tied to the crisis, and several suicides, as well.

The proximate cause of all this unhappiness is that sales of French wines have been plummeting at home and overseas, especially at the lower price points. Domestic consumption has dropped by more than 40 percent over the last four decades. And France has been hemorrhaging market share abroad, particularly in the two fastest-growing markets, the United States and Britain. The French share of the American market for imported wines fell from 26 percent in 1994 to 14 percent in 2004. Inept marketing is one big reason for the decline, and this ineptitude can be put down to complacency and chauvinism.

Yes, the 2005 Bordeaux vintage is getting rave reviews rivalling the 1970 and 1945 successes. But the thought of all that Languedoc, a French table wine only slightly inferior to Cotes du Rhone, going into anti-freeze makes me want to do my bit to keep my palate wet with good table wine. "Lyon est une ville arrose par trois fleuves, Le Rhone, Le Saone, et Le Beaujolais." Lyon is watered by three rivers, the Rhone, the Saone, and the Beaujolais."

Back when I was in Lyon, I became seriously addicted to the local Beaujolais, which notoriously did not "travel" well as the grapes were still "alive" in the bottle and pined for their native terrasses. "Ca se boit frais," and the cool flowery bouquet would expand my neuron ruts at a riotous pace, causing a return to Lyon from the local vineyards 30 miles north to become an exercise in avoiding a demolition derby outcome. But I can attest that, exported to Paris, they lost their luster and sent to the USA, they are drab and tasteless in comparison to the pots fresh from the tonnoirs in the caves of the route de Beaujolais. But Beaujolais is a more recent poor cousin of the great Burgundies I learned to love as well. Which brings me to quote the article on the evolution of American wines:

And what about California pinot noir? It's generally considered an entirely different breed than its Burgundian cousin, but who knows what a blind tasting would have turned up.

Pinot noir is now my favorite among American reds, though Cabs are also right behind.

If only California could match Pouilly Fuisse, a white which drew me to its vineyards near Macon, I would seriously return to the sauce.