When you stop to think about it, most of the world’s classic wines have French names:  Cabernet Sauvignon.  Merlot.  Chardonnay.  Pinot Noir.  Petit Verdot.  You almost can’t say them without sounding like Maurice Chevalier.  If you were starting a winery and trying to decide what style of wine to make, the first thing you’d ponder is how the French do it, and then you’d go from there.

 Of course, France makes wines out of dozens, even hundreds of grapes, most of which are used for blending.  For the Grand Tasting, we’ll be sampling the major (or “noble”) varietals.  I won’t inflict something like Tannat on you, or Bourboulenc, or Vaccarese.  But you certainly can expect fine examples of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot from Bordeaux, Syrah from the Rhone, and Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from Burgundy.

 This is not to say that we won’t throw in a nice Chardonnay from California or Australia, because you’ll definitely find those on the tasting tables, in styles that range from lean and racy to full and buttery.  But in the main, we’ll be concentrating on regions where each type of wine has its true home.

 The best thing about wine lovers is this:  they love to share.  Which is why, quite frankly, I try to cultivate friendships with people who have larger cellars than my own.  But as I review the possibilities for the Grand Tasting, I find my selections being driven more than somewhat by my own particular tastes and passions.  For instance, I’m a big fan of Chateauneuf du Pape.  In fact, I’m geeky enough to have memorized all thirteen of the grape varietals that can legally be used in the blend, and will recite them for you in punishing detail with practically no encouragement whatsoever.  As I review the suggestions from the various distributors, I do have an urge to include perhaps one or two more types of Chateauneuf du Pape than other kinds of wine.  I do this in the spirit of sharing something I truly enjoy with those who appreciate it.  That’s you.

 The science of ampellography uses DNA analysis to determine which modern grapes derive from what ancestors over time, and where they came from.  For example, there’s evidence that our beloved Zinfandel is descended from the Italian Primitivo grape, and that Primitivo originally came from someplace like Croatia.  So the Cabernet Sauvignon used in the soul-satisfying Bordeaux blends may originally hail from elsewhere, but the French have been stomping it into wine since Caesar divided Gaul into three parts, and have become pretty good at it.

Dinner in the Loire with winemaker Alphonse Mellot and French wine critic Isabelle Foret...very late in the evening

So Bordeaux will be one wine in the spotlight on the tasting tables, both the Cabernet-based blends from the left bank of the Gironde River, and the Merlot-based biggies from the right bank.  On top of that, there’s a good chance we’ll have excellent samples from the once-in–a-lifetime 2005 vintage, so you’ll be able to see what all the noise is about.

Then there’s the Rhone, divided into North and South, though there’s about 30 miles between the two sections.  In the North, in places like Cote Rotie, Syrah-based wines are predominant, and I hope to put some of those out for your pleasure.  In the South, the Grenache-Syrah-Mourvedre blend is more traditional, so I’m looking for a decent Hermitage or two. 

 Lest you think that, in my travels southward, I’ve completely ignored Burgundy, I assure you that this is not the case.  However, Burgundy is so special, and so dear to my heart, that it rates a wholly separate installment of this rant.  So stay tuned.

 France makes wines in most regions of the country, though not all.  There’s Provence, the Languedoc, Champagne, and dozens of much more obscure regions.  We can’t drink them all (though we’re trying really hard), but since more people have heard of Pauillac than Pic St. Loup, and since most of us are more familiar with Bordeaux than with Bourgueil, we’ll all find many familiar friends along with new discoveries on the tasting tables in February.

 See you there!

Barrels in a 500-year-old cellar in Sancerre.