The self-inflicted curse of the French is their belief in terroir. With the notable exception of Alsace—which, despite their best intentions, the Germans couldn't manage to hang on to—noble French wines are not labeled by grape variety. "I make Meursault—not Chardonnay," multiple trophy-winning Burgundian winemaker Jean-Claude Boisset characteristically proclaimed at a recent tasting.
But he doesn't depend on his sales in O'briens or Tesco. Consumers follow the Australian model in their droves, steering a wide detour around any label that doesn't swear to be Cabernet, Shiraz or Merlot, should it happen to be adorning a bottle of red. And if it happens to have more than five words on it—you're on your own, boy: the bottles just don't sell themselves. They have to be minded.
Hence our Wine Region of the Month, where we hope to bring comfort, the promise of excitement, and a measure of understanding to those who don't have months to invest in getting to know the land, the politics and the appellations behind the label.
The purpose of this section is to come to the aid of the likes of monsieur Boisset's Alsation neighbour. "I make Riesling--but people still don't want to buy it," he wryly remarked in response. Even if one can read the label it doesn't mean you're going to buy the wine if you have no idea what to expect from Carmenère, say. No matter how much the Chileans would like you to.
So as not to alienate all and sundry, we will play it safe and start with Cabernet Sauvignon. Soon to be followed by my favourite white variety—perhaps the noblest of them all. I speak of Riesling, of course. Jancis agrees.*
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