Source: Becky Wasserman
BONNEAU DU MARTRAY
Burgundy, France
Bonneau du Martray’s Corton-Charlemagne is a difficult wine to describe. This is particularly true when it is young. It can take a decade before it will say something more than “Stony. Wait.” But even with age, it does not bloom in the same manner as the Montrachets do. In a way, it tastes like theoretical astronomy: we know that black matter exists. We can sense it, but we have no manifest proof of it. It’s a very beautiful agony.
In Making Sense of Burgundy, the best modern prose written about Burgundy, Matt Kramer is similarly cryptic: “Corton-Charlemagne is a wine of texture. It should give the sensation of heaviness without actually being heavy. Each mouthful is its own universe of flavor, never capable of being fully explored… Although Chardonnay has proven the ideal vehicle, one is not drinking Chardonnay with Corton-Charlemagne: One is drinking terroir.”
Even Jean-Charles, who has been at the domaine for every harvest but one since 1969, struggles to explain the mystery of his vineyard. “Something in Corton-Charlemagne fills your palate, but it changes very quickly into something impalpable. What is it made of? It’s difficult to qualify. It doesn’t saturate, it doesn’t blanket, nothing occupies a space of overt power, yet, at the same time, it is incredibly intense. It’s a very real sensation, but it doesn’t fit with the usual descriptions of wine… It is equally as impressive as the Montrachets. But it is of a different order.”
For lack of words, Jean-Charles has turned to painting: “Montrachet reminds me of Veronese: sumptuous, full, but at the same time, balanced. Rubens comes to mind for Bâtard-Montrachet: the sensuality. But when I think of Corton-Charlemagne I have to go to a very different place. I find that Vermeer expresses it perfectly. His subjects are modest, nothing really: a girl with a turban, a woman reading a letter. And what is revelatory is only the light. That’s what is happening, I think, in Corton-Charlemagne.”
There’s more to it than analogy. With its west-facing slopes, Corton-Charlemagne is actually —physically— a wine born of unusual light. “I don’t know what effect it has on the vines”, Jean-Charles says, “but they function by photosynthesis. If they are getting good light, there’s a good chance that they are responding sympathetically.”
Before Jean-Charles’ arrival, the domaine was harvested and vinified without detailed thought to vineyard blocks. It was one of the first things he changed. His Corton-Charlemagne is now separated into 15 blocks, all of which are vinified and aged separately until the second racking.
All fermentations at Bonneau du Martray are spontaneous. “I am violently opposed to the introduction of industrial yeasts” says Jean-Charles, “I would not be so presumptuous as to say that yeasts are a part of terroir, but they are, at the very least, a part of the vintage. I don’t see why one would want to erase that character. And I’m afraid of commercial yeasts. Has anyone had the temptation to introduce GMOs in them? We have no idea.”
His father used to vinify and age 25% of his whites in tank, but Jean-Charles says he wouldn’t be comfortable vinifying his whites in tank and that his father’s wines lost in the process some freshness despite aiming for the opposite. “It is funny how our approach differs”, says Jean-Charles. Well, not exactly. After twelve months in oak, he racks them with their lees into tanks for a further six months ageing. Though not exactly the same recipe, father and son certainly share the view that the influence of oak needs to be muzzled. Like his father, he is comfortable with 30% new wood.
“Bâtonnage must be a reasoned step”, says Jean-Charles. “I do not use it systematically. If I stir the lees, it is only on cuvées I believe would benefit from it. Then I stir only once and allow the wines to settle for at least two weeks so I can taste before deciding whether more stirring would be beneficial. Bâtonnage is a progression. It may take up to three months to obtain the desired effect. It is something one builds peu a peu (little by little).”
A second racking takes place in January to rid the wines of the lees and start the settling process. When there is need to, Jean-Charles will fine. But as with everything else, the process is reasoned, in fact, in this case, it is highly reasoned. “I test three types of fining for each cuvée. There are 15 cuvées. That is 45 fining trials plus 15 unfined wines. A total of 60 wines to taste and compare. One always has to taste.” After fining, or not, the wines are assembled together to allow them two months or more of resting time before bottling, which more often than not takes place in April. Prior to bottling, Jean-Charles believes in a filtration dégrossissante, a very light filtration.