Interesting to be writing this note above the raging discussion concerning aging wine in a changing marketplace. Some of you may have read the thread regarding this bottle when I was considering buying a small lot of it; there was a lot of silence from the board, particularly, I imagine, because it was probably impossible to counsel me. I'm thinking a lot of you were going, well, dude, I'm not going to be the one to tell you to go and plop down $75 for this, but I hope you do, because I'd like to know how it is .
So here's how it was. Two bottles arrived two weeks ago and they looked very good on inspection: the fill was right to 1 1/2 cm below the cork, the colour was a bright, sunny yellow, and there wasn't a whole lot of sediment after thirty years. I could see the cork looked kind of sluicy around the neck, but most of it was hidden by the cap. I was a little worried about that.
I opened it at supper tonight to celebrate Mother's Day in France (and yes, it actually isn't Mother's Day in France today, but we always wait a week or two, or do it early, just to thumb our noses at Hallmark) with a pork roast, roasted whole baby potatoes, and spinach sautéed in garlic, lemon juice, and olive oil. The cork was a little mouldy on top, but it came out cleanly. I poured and smelled the wine: a little puff of something depressingly vinegary went up. We both tasted it and our faces fell: nothing special. It was a little sharp, like that piney quality some of the whites in our region have that I despise (Picpoul de Pinet came to mind) and that characteristic Sauternes taste was somewhat overwhelmed by an almost bileous acidity. The wine seemed to give up the ghost on our tongues. I shrugged: too bad, but at least we tried.
I left the bottle on the tabletop with the glasses 3/4 full and we tucked into the meal. I sipped from the glass desultorily. Then I realized I was enjoying it more, and it wasn't just the food: it had begun to settle down. I hadn't thought of decanting the wine, or leaving it to mellow in the glass a little because I didn't think white wines responded to air the way reds can. But lo and behold, this bottle began to unfold its not inconsiderable wonders. After half an hour, the Ygrec no longer seemed thin or strained: it had somehow magically thickened on the tongue. It was more velvetty, less aggressive. I began to taste lemon curd and gooseberry and the characteristic sweetness of the sauternes cepages. An hour later, it seemed even denser, and vanilla crept in, and a hint of grapefruit: for every sweet note, there was a higher, sharper note of citrus within it. I can't make a case for it being an actual revelation, but I must say, after thirty years, there was more to it than met the eye. I've never encountered a white that developed this much after pouring. I have to say, I was impressed by the result after a sad initial impression.
I went to my wife, who by now was reading a book and sipping the Y and asked her what she thought and she said it was like the wine had unmasked itself. I had to agree.
And now I don't feel do dumb buying it!