Category: Featured Content

Another French sparkling wine

When thinking of sparkling wines two immediately come to mind: Champagne and prosecco. Champagne is typically reserved for celebratory events and prosecco has generated a following because it is light and not complex, to be enjoyed in an afternoon or with dessert, without the guilt of spending a lot of money. But if you want complexity derived from a blending of a variety of grapes, along with the added boost of notes of fresh bread, and possibly a sweetener, you must turn to a Champagne, a cava or a crémant. In this column we will discuss crémant, as the other sparkling wine from France.

Crémant, made in the same method as Champagne, can be produced in eight different wine regions of France, including Alsace, Bordeaux, Loire, Bourgogne and Jura. Sparkling wine labeled as Champagne can only come from the Champagne region of France. Both Champagne and crémant are produced from grapes that are hand-harvested and both require a second fermentation in the bottle, with the lees (sediment of yeast), which helps to give the wines their natural fizz. Both have a second dosage of sugar or wine before they are corked and both are aged for a minimum of 12 months before they can be sold. The regulations for Champagne are very strict, while the guidelines for crémant may be a little more relaxed; however, crémants can still have the great quality of Champagnes and are growing in popularity.

Crémant d’Alsace means the “Sparkling Wine from Alsace.” This region makes up approximately 45 percent of all crémant production, producing approximately 40 million bottles annually, making this the largest contributor toward the crémant production of France. Our first wine, a Cave de Ribeauvillé Crémant d’Alsace Brut Le Comte (originally priced at $49.99, reduced to $17.99 at the NH Liquor & Wine Outlets) has a pale yellow color with a slight citric nose. The bubbles rise consistently and do not fade in the glass. The first taste is of green apples and is slightly citric, but vanilla and the yeast of brioche comes through in a full creamy mouth feel.

Alsace, located on the Rhine River plain and the border of Germany and Switzerland, has alternated between French and German control over the centuries. Wines produced here tend to be influenced not only by the cooler climate but also by German tastes. Varietals grown include riesling, gewurztraminer, muscat and pinot gris. It is logically expected that riesling is the predominant grape of this crémant produced by Cave de Ribeauville, the oldest wine co-operative in France, originating in 1895 and containing over 650 acres of vineyards.

Our second crémant is from the Loire Valley, home to kings and castles. The river flows through central France and the valley is referred to as “the Garden of France” due to the abundance of vineyards, fruit orchards, and vegetable fields in its banks and hillsides. There are several wine regions producing muscadet on the Atlantic Coast, to Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé, southeast of Orleans that run along the course of the river. Comte de Saint Aignan Crémant de Loire Brut Première Étoile (originally priced at $28.99, reduced to $14.99 at the NH Liquor & Wine Outlets) produced by Fournier Père & Fils, is a blend of 60 percent chenin blanc, 35 percent chardonnay and 5 percent cabernet franc. The grapes for this sparkling wine come from the Crémant-de-Loire appellation of the Valley, including Anjou, Saumur and Touraine, in the heartland of the Loire Valley.

The color is light gold (almost clear) with persistent but sparse bubbles. The nose is slightly nutty with notes of dark honey. To the mouth, there are bold citric notes, leading one to think that sauvignon blanc is included in the blend, as it is in crémant blends of Bordeaux — but it isn’t. The nose and taste of the chardonnay in this blend is more pronounced than in a typical Champagne, which may influence the taste buds of some more than those of others. The finish is long, perhaps in part owing to the presence of the chardonnay.

Each of these wines can be enjoyed as an aperitif or served with fish and seafood, and perhaps enjoyed with fruit and cheese. They are versatile.

Featured photo: Photo by Fred Matuszewski.

This column is an intervention for my editor and her aversion to a certain liqueur.

We Americans don’t deal well with bitterness.

The taste of bitter things, that is. We are fine with it as a character trait, but bitter tastes have a steep acceptance curve for us. Other cultures are much more accommodating to it. The Chinese concept of candy is more likely to be bitter than sweet. The British brew beers and ales that would make an American face collapse in on itself. But offer one of us an oil-cured black olive (the best kind of olive, by the way), and most of us will shrink back in horror.

“But, but that tastes like … leather!”

Yes. Yes, it does.

And this aversion makes a certain amount of sense, evolutionarily speaking. Long ago, we developed the ability to taste bitter things to help us avoid toxins in the wild. If a new berry or caterpillar tasted astringent or bitter, our ancestors knew to spit it out. But that logic breaks down in our modern world. There are huge numbers of us — granted, not so much in New Hampshire — who challenge ourselves to eat the spiciest foods we can stand. Sweating and gasping until we feel light-headed from a literal pain response? Fine. Bitterness? “What? Are you CRAZY?”

Intellectually, we accept that delicious, well-nuanced foods need a mixture of basic flavors. Bake a batch of cookies without salt, and they will just taste wrong. We love sweet-and-sour pork and chocolate-covered pretzels. Bitterness has a place at the table.

Which brings us to Campari.

Campari is a bright red, extremely bitter liqueur from Italy. You have seen it at the liquor store, or behind the bar at most upscale joints, but probably don’t have any around your house. It is the dominant ingredient in a Negroni.

To be fair, it is not universally loved. Some cynical critics have referred to it as “The Raisins of Booze.” [Editor’s note: As in “Why are there raisins in this cookie? This did not need raisins,” but with an otherwise perfectly good cocktail and Campari.] And yet, the fact remains that it is one of the best complementary counterbalances to sweet juices or syrups in mixed drinks. It is a team player; nobody is going to drink a glass of the stuff.

Actually, hold that thought.

Sound of footsteps going into the kitchen, various bartendy sounds, a brief moment of silence, then a gasp of shock and the sound of a tiny glass hitting the floor. More footsteps returning.

Yeah. I can’t recommend that.

BUT, I stand by my assertion that Campari deserves the space on your shelf where you are keeping that bottle of Crystal Head vodka that you bought on a whim that time and can’t bring yourself to open. (Open it and drink it, already. It’s vodka. It tastes like vodka.)

A case in point is a classic drink — the Chestnut Club (sometimes known as the Chestnut Cup), a modern classic developed in a California restaurant of the same name. It balances sweetness in the form of orgeat (an almond-infused syrup pronounced “or-szott”, as in, “It is unclear at this time whether the victim was stabbed or shot”), astringency from gin, sourness from lemon juice, and, of course, bitterness from Campari.

Chestnut Club

2 ounces gin (lately I like Death’s Door, out of Wisconsin.)

2 ounces Campari (Yes. Do it. God hates a coward.)

2 ounces fresh squeezed lemon juice

1 ounce orgeat

1. Combine all ingredients with 4 or 5 ice cubes in a shaker.

2. Shake until it is very cold — at least until condensation forms on the outside of the shaker.

3. Pour, without straining, into a rocks glass.

4. Drink sincerely, without irony, and, if possible, while sitting in a leather chair in an oak-paneled library with a taxidermied tiger head on the wall.

This drink is delicious. The flavor comes in waves. You really can taste each individual ingredient. It implies fruitiness, without actually embracing a Tiki mandate. It feels as if it should be too sweet and frivolous to take seriously, but it’s not.

Do you know why?

Campari, people.

Featured photo: Chestnut Club. Photo by John Fladd.