I must admit, for all that I love wine and spend lots of money drinking premium reds, I count the times I have actually drank real Champagne, as in the stuff they make in that region of France, rather than other sparkling ones, on one hand.
I probably should explain myself a little better.
In terms of my origins, my father was from Treviso, a province just north of Venice. I have been both to the walled medieval city from which the province draws its name, and to Cusignana, the actual village somewhere north of there where my father was born and raised til age 17.
It turns out that Cusignana is smack in the middle of one of the seven wine regions where Prosecco is made, according to the appellations for such matters common to Italy. Have a look at the map:
All around my father’s village, there are grape vines planted, mostly of the Prosecco grape. They are mostly owned by a local winery established by Canadian emigres who have returned home to the village:
That means, since I acquired a greater knowledge of my origins and my ancestral village, that I am going to have more than a slight leaning towards drinking wines from my ancestral village, if I am to drink sparkling wines at all. [Mind you, I do still drink wines called Prosecco even though they are made from that grape in Australia, and feel no guilt at all about letting down the home town team.]
I also, through my Uncle Mario who migrated to Turin after the War, have relatives who live in Asti, a town just south east of Turin where other famous and synonymous sparkling wines are made. I will drink that too, in honour of those kinfolk.
In childhood, going to the weddings of older cousins, I would be allowed a splash of sparkling wine in a glass, being Italian. We usually called that Champagne, but it was actually something really really cheap – mostly Stock Gala Spumante, a sparkling wine with a plastic cork wrapped in leopard spotted foil.
Getting older, when of lawful drinking age and going to parties and functions where sparkling wine was served, I think it mostly was Australian stuff, which might in the days before EU threats (ie in the early 1990s) have been still called Champagne, and later Methode Champagnoise, but which now is not allowed to be called Champagne at all.
The moral of the story, to borrow from the old Bacardi rum commercials, is that if you live in Australia, you probably drink sparkling wines which are anything but Champagne.
Which means that I have, at age 55, yet to try Moet Chandon (although I have drank the wines Chandon makes in the Yarra Valley), Bollinger, Pol Roger (ie Churchill’s favourite), Mumm’s, or Dom Peringnon.
Nor have I ever drank any Veuve Clicquot.
That is probably a huge gap in my wine appreciation education, for I have known the story of the Veuve for many years.
The Veuve (French for Widow) Clicquot is probably the most innovative figure in the history of Champagne making, if not the history of all wine making since the Babylonians discovered that yeast could turn grape juice into something joyous.
Amongst her innovations are the introduction of Champagne vintages, pink champagne, and the practice of removing the yeast plug from partly fermented bottles and topping the bottles up with wine and sugar. I think I read that the cages around the corks were also her idea.
Yesterday I went and saw the arthouse biopic Widow Clicquot, which is a fascinating account of her early struggles as a newly widowed businesswoman, seeking to keep her late husband’s wine business going, and succeeding against all the odds.
It is a great tribute to and celebration of someone who was truly a creative and formidable woman, who has done so much for wine making.
I also expect, after this film has been seen by enough people, that the price of a bottle of Veuve will spiral upwards, and that of a bottle of Moet will drop.
Hopefully at some point soon, my bottle club decides on Champagne as a theme, so I can buy a bottle of the Veuve and drink it in her honour.
Lost For Words! 