Monsieur Weber outdoes himself the following day. After breakfast on our balcony, we jump on the bikes and head off. It’s worth noting that on this somewhat overcast, sultry day, I have chosen European Female biking attire: skirt, camisole, strappy sandals, and chignon. As we pedal off, I envision myself as “Burgundy Biker Babe.” Only an American on holiday can be so insufferably stupid.

Our destination: the legendary Chateau de Meursault (http://www.meursault.com/meursault/uk/chateau/historique.htm), approximately six miles away. Wilfred has traced our route on a map for us, and tells us that we can ride on a bicycle path most of the way. Though we’re nearly creamed by a high-speed train dragging our bikes down an embankment and up over the other side, this proves to be the case.
      The village of Meursault dates to the 14th Century
      
The village of Meursault dates to the 14th Century

Reaching the town of Meursault, we realize that our arrival has coincided with the traditional noontime closing of businesses. We could well have landed in a ghost-town, or on Mars: not a single soul is to be found anywhere, nor a shop or restaurant with an ouvert sign displayed. Feeling the beginnings of hunger-pangs (we’ve been pedaling for a while now), we opt to travel on to Puligny-Montrachet, an additional three kilometers down the road (and home to more of the world’s most famous wines).

As we make our way, the cloudy skies erupt in a light sprinkle. This soon turns into a full-on downpour; we laugh and make light of our “crazy American” appearance as cars and trucks hurtle past us with headlights and windshield wipers on. We arrive in Puligny, which also appears deserted. But we find a restaurant open for business, and gratefully fall into patio seats. After an elegant lunch (avocado soup topped with crème freche, prawn brochettes accompanied by stewed orange and grapefruit slices, and a glass of Ladoix white Burgundy), we head back to Meursault.
      
      

This time we make it into Chateau de Meursault for the self-guided tour of its extensive art collection and mind-boggling cellars, which house over 900,000 bottles of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. Following the tour, a staff-member leads us through a private tasting. Each of the four whites and three reds is poured in a successive underground chamber; we are almost delirious with the chance to sample vintages that are rarely within our budget on our side of the Atlantic.

We emerge in the lobby-level sales room, only to find that the weather has turned decidedly ugly. A full-on thunderstorm is in progress, with drenching rains and lightning promising an extremely uncomfortable bike-ride back to our hotel. We elect to wait out the deluge; after all, Gallic storms normally pass in twenty minutes or so, no? Er, no, not in this case.

After an hour the weather has become even more severe, with constant lightning and thunder strikes providing a display that pulls even the blasé staffers to the windows to gawk. Doug and I confer; he heads to the office to request that we store the bikes at the winery for the evening and call for a taxi. Moments later a staffer is on the phone with Wilfred, who offers to come rescue us. Fifteen minutes later he arrives, drenched and smiling, holding an umbrella over my head as he and Doug stow the bikes in the back of the van. We apologize profusely for inconveniencing him; he cheerfully waves away our concerns and steers the van back towards town.

Along the way he points out his favorite views and local points of interest; he includes a running commentary on which winemakers make the best wines (for the most reasonable prices). Then he tells us about a close friend, a farmer who’s still producing great wines just shy of his 70th birthday. We listen with great interest, and agree to a quick visit. Soon we are pulling into a driveway on the Rue du Chevrotin in Cote de Beaune. There we are greeted by Monsieur Pierre Taupenot, a great bear of a man in ancient jeans and sweater; he sports thick glasses featuring a spider-web of cracks in the right lens. Pierre speaks no English whatsoever, so Wilfred explains that Monsieur et Madame are wine-fans from America who have come to Mersault to do some tasting, but have been caught in the rain (at least we think that’s what he’s saying).

Moments later, we find ourselves crammed into Pierre’s tiny, wire-walled elevator, descending into his cellars. He and Wilfred chatter away in rapid French, occasionally looking our way. Doug and I smile uncertainly, not exactly sure what awaits us in the bowels of this establishment; we momentarily wonder if we’re about to become the next two victims of the Great Burgundy Serial Killer of 2007 (after all, no one knows we’re there; will our families ever discover our moldering corpses?). But if nothing else we are always ready for an adventure (and to buy some wine), so we try to let go of our fears.

We are astonished to find 92,000 bottles of wine of various vintages in the Saint-Romain et Auxey-Duresses cellar. In the tasting room, numerous gold- and silver-medal awards from various wine competitions festoon the walls, testament to Monsieur Taupenot’s winemaking expertise. Wilfred tells us that Pierre is a seventh-generation farmer and winemaker who maintains five hectares (approximately 13 acres) of vineyards, but recently has fallen on some difficult times. The competition for wine sales in the region is fierce, and Taupenot sells only at his winery. Without a distributor, or sales in the local hotels and restaurants (let alone eCommerce), Taupenot isn’t moving as much product as he’d like these days.
      M. and Mme. Taupenot.
      
M. and Mme. Taupenot.

Which, when we inhale the first sample, we decide is purely criminal. Pierre takes us through tastings of his 2003, 2001, and 1993 white burgundies, each one more glorious than the last. As a confirmed California Chardonnay fan, I’m used to (and normally love) the oaky, buttery excesses of our local vintners. But during my time in Burgundy, I’ve realized that the “purity” of the regional wines is something else entirely: as clean and earthy as they are, they are somehow more satisfying to me than their American brethren (my apologies to Napa and Sonoma growers; please don’t take it personally).

After exclaiming repeatedly about the quality of Taupenot’s whites, Doug and I are treated to his pinots. Madame Taupenot (an elementary school teacher who’s no taller than her students) makes an appearance as Pierre uncorks his 2003 and 2002 vintages. The wines exude abundant dark cherry and berry flavors; I’m tempted to just stuff my nose in the glass and stay there for the next hour. Each tastes is superb, with a mellow, long finish.

Then Monsieur Taupenot bestows an expected honor upon his guests: For the first time (according to an astonished Wilfred) he cracks open his 2005 bottling for us to sample. It is still a young wine and needs some softening, but its fruit is sublime and shows great promise; in four or five years it will be outstanding.

We are astounded to check our watches and find that we have been in the cellars for more than 90 minutes. Fearful that Mesdames Taupenot and Weber will not appreciate our lengthy visit, we discretely ask Wilfred if we should head home. But first we visit the bottling and labeling room (where Pierre fills and corks each bottle, one at a time), and purchase a trio of wines. Pierre presses fresh labels and brochures into our hands, and bids us adieu in rapid-fire French. Though we understand nary a word, as he and Madame Taupenot shake our hands we know we have made a pair of fast friends.

Later, we savor yet another exquisite meal, this time at Caveau des Arches (http://www.caveau-des-arches.com/ang/index2.html), a restaurant also suggested by Wilfred (who again serves as chauffeur). We share an appetizer of carpaccio with lemon, vinegar and chives, and then I demolish a white fish risotto finished with basil and herbs. After making quick work of his scallop fettucine with fines herbs, Doug digs into the dessert he dubs “Best of Trip”: a chocolate lava cake that oozes hot, fudgy pudding when stabbed with a fork; a drizzle of mango sauce adds a tangy counterpoint on the side. As we have been generously tasting all afternoon, we can only manage a demi-bouteille of 2005 Les Narvaux Meursault, but find it perfect with the fish courses.
      Doug and Marianne savor a moment in the cellar.
      
Doug and Marianne savor a moment in the cellar.

Throughout the meal, we keep shaking our heads at the events of the day. Had it not been for the horrific weather, we would have pedaled directly back from Chateau de Meursault, and missed meeting Monsieur Taupenot and his wife (not to mention tasting their sensational wines). It was one of those unplanned, unexpected, and unparalleled experiences that life tosses your way once in a while. Next time the skies cloud up, we just may head out for a ride.

To our very gracious hosts in France: We owe you, big-time. Look for us again when we celebrate anniversary number ten.

 

Editor’s note: The article above is the concluding segment of Marianne’s three-part “Taking a Chance: The Right Choice in Travel.” Parts One and Two are available via the links below:
(http://www.californiawineandfood.com/takingachance1.html) (http://www.californiawineandfood.com/takingachance2.html)


 

Marianne Lucchesi Hamilton has been a journalist for over 20 years, and writes regularly about food, wine, entertainment, and technology. She is also the owner of Los Gatos-based Lucchesi Communications, which provides marketing writing and editorial services. She can be reached at lucchesicomm@earthlink.net.