Raymond Blake reviews The Wines of Beaujolais by Natasha Hughes MW.
The Wines of Beaujolais is a book that has been badly needed for years and is particularly well timed now, because after decades in the “cheap ’n’ cheerful” wilderness, Beaujolais—the proper stuff—is having a moment, finally getting a smidgin of attention from previously disdainful wine lovers. Yet that nascent spark of interest is just that, and right from the first line of the preface, Natasha Hughes shows herself duly cognizant of the mountain still to be climbed if Beaujolais is to be accorded its rightful place as a wine style worthy of serious interest: “For most people, Beaujolais is a region that is almost cartoonlike in its simplicity. ‘Beaujolais Nouveau!’ was pretty much what all my friends who don’t work in the wine trade said on hearing that I was writing a book on the region. Those who’ve undergone formal wine education have an understanding that is a little more nuanced, but nevertheless still largely simplistic. Even some of the most educated people in the wine world believe that Beaujolais is a wine that tastes of bubblegum and candied red berries, a wine that can only last a year in bottle before it gives up the ghost of any fruit it once had.”
Thus, The Wines of Beaujolais might almost be seen as a friendly “intervention,” as when a group of acquaintances, concerned for a mutual friend’s erratic behavior, forge a plan to get them back on the right track. In this case, the erratic behavior was the rampant success of Beaujolais Nouveau in the closing decades of the past century, which, at a stroke, sent the image sky-high while consigning the reputation to the gutter. Hence, this book has its work cut out if it is to gain for Beaujolais, good Beaujolais, a reputation commensurate with the quality of the wines—especially the cru wines—being produced today. I am pleased to note that it is up to the task.
Information and soothsaying
The book’s core consists of a chapter devoted to each cru (Brouilly and Côte de Brouilly share one), where a short introduction is followed by a series of producer profiles, seven for little Chiroubles’s 280ha (692 acres)—only Chénas is smaller with 220ha (544 acres)—and 16 for Fleurie (790ha [1,952 acres]). The latter may be the best known of all the crus, but it is for Chiroubles that Hughes has a special affection: “Chiroubles […] is one of the smallest of the crus. It’s definitely the steepest, with bush vines that perch precariously on vertiginous slopes […]. I feel dizzy with vertigo and breathless with exhaustion when I think about how hard it must be to hike up and down these hills in order to prune and harvest.” She continues by elaborating the myriad challenges facing the vignerons, including the frequent devastation wrought by savage hailstorms, and bemoaning the fact that these challenges are prompting some growers to abandon the hard-
to-work slopes. And yet, “the wines of Chiroubles are often stunningly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Those stony granite soils and high altitudes combine to lend the wines finesse, tension, and a heady perfume.”
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From little to large; Fleurie, most often name-checked of all the crus, is overlooked by the Chapel of the Madonna perched on one of the cru’s highest hills although “no one seems really sure why the chapel was built in the first place.” It might have something to do with seeking the Madonna’s assistance in warding off vine diseases, or expressing gratitude for saving the cru from the depredations of the Franco-Prussian war. Take your pick. Fleurie, apart from being well known, has also been in the news recently, for it is “leading the race to have some of its best terroirs recognized by INAO as premiers crus. Whether or not this application will be successful—and whether the apotheosis of its lieux-dits will be universally popular with local growers—remains to be seen. As ever in Beaujolais, c’est compliqué.” Earlier in the book, Hughes argues the case for and against the granting of premier cru status to the best lieux-dits, concluding, “Either way, premiers crus are almost certainly coming to Beaujolais, whether, on balance, we come down in favour of them or not. The true challenge will be in ensuring that the criteria on which they are selected, the constraints that are imposed on them, and the way producers use their premier cru status are truly relevant to enhancing the image of Beaujolais and its crus.”
Beyond the chapters on the crus, chapters four (“Viticulture”) and five (“Winemaking”) vie for the reader’s attention, each replete with easily assimilated detail. I found the former more engaging—in that it took me, armchair-traveler-like, to those slopes and hills north of Lyon, encouraging me to make a return visit to gain a greater understanding of one of the world’s most underrated wines. For those planning to visit the region, the “Sleep, Eat and Drink” chapter is essential reading, encompassing, as it does, oodles of insider information and tips to help you get the most out of your time spent there.
The Wines of Beaujolais concludes with three pages of thought-provoking soothsaying in which Hughes outlines three possible scenarios that might pertain 20 years hence in 2045. (That is not very far in the future—check how recent 2005 feels now.) The three might be termed upbeat, middling, and downbeat. Upbeat implies “the region more than holds its own in the company of appellations once considered to be far more prestigious, and warrants as much space on top restaurant lists and on the shelves of independent merchants as Bordeaux, Piemonte and the northern Rhône.” Meanwhile, in the middling scenario, the buying director for a major British retail chain has “decided against buying any more of the handful of premier cru wines produced in the region—they’re priced higher than ‘regular’ wines from the eight crus that remain in production, but don’t really offer a significant step up in quality. She reflects sadly on the fact that both Chiroubles and Chénas have effectively ceased to exist.” Finally, in the downbeat third scenario, “many of Beaujolais’s vineyards have been abandoned. The impact of climate change, coupled with the inability of the region’s growers to adapt their practices to the new normal, has meant that the cultivation of Gamay has become largely untenable.”
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While she unsurprisingly acknowledges her preference for the “upbeat” scenario, Hughes also admits that the other two are not beyond the bounds of possibility. Perhaps we will see a hybrid muddle of all three a score of years from now? I fear the latter, though muddle is not what Beaujolais needs right now.
This is a book for the Beaujolais lover, yes, for it fills a hitherto yawning gap in the canon of wine literature. Far more importantly, however, it is also for the Beaujolais skeptics—for those whose lips curl at the mention of the B-word and for whom, as Hughes puts it, “Beaujolais is a region that is almost cartoonlike in its simplicity.” It is another fine addition to the Académie du Vin’s Classic Wine Library, and if it can win over the naysayers, then it will be truly successful. There is still a mountain to climb. Let this be your guide.
The Wines of Beaujolais
Natasha Hughes MW
Published by Académie du Vin Library; 280 pages; $47.50 / £35 / €40.95
