The effervescent allure of Champagne, France, extends far beyond its celebrated sparkling wines. For a newlywed couple with a shared passion for the intricate world of wine, a honeymoon journey to this iconic region became an exploration not just of taste, but of memory, sensory perception, and the unique language of flavor. What began as a simple question – "What does it remind you of?" – posed by a sommelier husband, evolved into a profound discovery of how deeply our personal histories are interwoven with the act of tasting and experiencing.
The adventure commenced with a train ride from Paris to Reims, the heart of the Champagne appellation. The couple’s destination was the esteemed family-owned estate of Bérèche et Fils, a grower producer dedicated to cultivating their own grapes, a distinction that sets them apart from the larger Champagne houses that often source fruit from external vignerons. Upon arrival, the air in the cellar was thick with the ripe, yeasty aroma of fermentation, a scent reminiscent of both fruit and uncooked dough. The gentle hiss of bubbles escaping from a barrel, a tangible manifestation of the winemaking process, underscored the dynamic nature of the cellar. A cautious approach, involving a gentle puff of air to disperse the carbon dioxide before sniffing, was necessary to appreciate the nascent aromas.
This immersive experience in the Bérèche et Fils cellar, following a harvest that had concluded only two weeks prior, set the stage for a tasting of five distinct Champagnes. While the quality of the wines was undeniably exceptional, even described by the author as potentially the "best Champagne I’d ever tasted," the challenge of articulating the nuanced sensory perceptions presented itself. This difficulty, even for a writer, highlighted the subjective and often elusive nature of wine appreciation.
The couple’s shared culinary journey began years earlier in the bustling restaurant scene of New York City. It was there, amidst late-night shifts and the vibrant atmosphere of West Village eateries, that their connection deepened over glasses of wine and plates of steak tartare. Restaurant work inherently fosters a heightened sensory awareness, a constant exercise in describing flavors. While the author’s palate was shaped by a preference for bold, assertive tastes – the tingle of Szechuan peppercorns or the sharp tang of adobo vinegar – her husband, Dan, possessed a sommelier’s gift for dissecting and articulating the subtlest of notes. His descriptions, often poetic and evocative, could transform a simple sip into a narrative, comparing a cocktail to "Froot Loops left in milk" or a wine to "ripe peach" or "cherries left in the sun."
This disparity in sensory interpretation became a recurring theme. While Dan’s expertise allowed him to delve into the intricate details of wine, the author often found herself processing the experience on a more fundamental level. Despite this difference, their shared adventures consistently catered to each other’s interests. Dan had accompanied the author on visits to significant literary landmarks, such as Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, Georgia, and Edith Wharton’s historic estate in Massachusetts. Therefore, when the honeymoon itinerary included a sojourn to Champagne, a region less than a hundred miles east of Paris, the author readily agreed.
The Champagne region itself presented a breathtaking panorama. Vast, verdant vineyards stretched across rolling hills, their neat rows a testament to centuries of dedicated viticulture. This undulating terrain is not merely aesthetic; it is intrinsically linked to the unique terroir that allows for the production of the world’s only sparkling wine legally permitted to bear the name "Champagne." This appellation, strictly regulated, ensures the authenticity and prestige of the product.
The couple’s exploration extended to other distinguished houses. A visit to Champagne Bollinger, established in 1829, included a tasting of their La Côte aux Enfants. The wine’s name pays homage to the steep hill where its grapes are cultivated, a slope historically so challenging that legend suggests children were recruited to aid in the grape harvest. The host’s lighthearted remark, "Not anymore," before opening a bottle amidst a gentle rain, added a touch of local charm to the tasting. Notes of hazelnut and tart strawberry were identified, with a hint of creaminess being a potentially detected characteristic for the author, though the overwhelming sensory experience was the "cinematic haze of the view."
The winery tours were often steeped in history, featuring miniature renderings of estate grounds, biographical sketches of founders, and displays of vintage bottle labels. At Champagne Delamotte, founded in 1760, and its sister house Salon, renowned for its rare, selectively released vintages, the couple encountered a display of historical menus, including one from the legendary Parisian restaurant Maxim’s in 1954. A common thread throughout these visits was the descent into the cool, stone cellars where the wines mature underground. Many of the finest Champagnes benefit from aging in barrels, often sourced from Burgundy. These barrels, some predating the current century, are meticulously maintained by dedicated coopers, specialists responsible for the intricate craft of barrel making and repair.
By the end of their time in the countryside, the author admitted to a growing fatigue with the intricacies of barrel production. Despite her efforts to remain engaged, a sense of boredom and a wine-induced headache began to set in. The constant prompts to identify elusive fruit notes became wearisome, and the distinct sparkle of excellent Champagne was the only sensory experience that truly registered.
Returning to Paris, the couple dined at Early June. Here, Dan encountered a glass of Viognier, describing its aroma as reminiscent of "white flowers." He offered the glass for the author to smell, but she declined, expressing her inability to discuss wine any further, despite Dan’s articulate observation. The remainder of their trip was dedicated to other Parisian delights: vintage shopping in Canal Saint-Martin, cultural immersion at the Musée d’Orsay, and the simple pleasure of savoring flaky pastries in cozy window seats.
The final day of their Parisian sojourn led them to Laïzé, a Taiwanese coffee shop. The barista explained that their Taipei blend offered floral notes, while the Tainan blend possessed a fermented character, akin to wine. Having experienced a sensory overload from Champagne tastings, the author opted for the Tainan blend, intrigued by the prospect of coffee tasting like wine. The cafe’s industrial, cream-colored stone interior provided a stark contrast to the opulent cellars of Champagne. Upon her first sip, a distinct sensation of stinky tofu, a flavor strongly associated with her Taiwanese father, filled her mouth. She quickly handed the cup to Dan, asking, "Do you taste that?" He confirmed a subtle note on the finish, but could not replicate her vivid association.
.PNG)
This moment proved to be a subtle revelation. The author had long felt a sense of shame for her aversion to stinky tofu. However, in this instance, the lingering taste of it in the coffee brought a sense of unexpected comfort. She realized that while she had felt like she was merely pretending during the Champagne tastings, trying to force connections between flavors, she had inadvertently learned something profound: how to access a deeper, imagistic connection to the past through sensory experiences. Dan’s initial question, "What does it remind you of?", framed not around direct taste but around memory, resonated deeply. Memory, she concluded, is not static but a dynamic force, capable of being both ignited and constructed.
Reflecting on her experience, the author muses on what Champagne now evokes for her. It is the cool, subterranean chill of the wine caves, the delicate effervescence of the bubbles, and the shared intimacy of holding wine glasses in the rain, a newly married couple surrounded by the gentle, undulating hillsides of Champagne. This honeymoon, initially a foray into the world of wine, ultimately became a journey into the very essence of memory and its profound connection to sensory perception. The ability to recall, to associate, and to build upon past experiences through taste proved to be a far more potent and personal revelation than simply identifying notes of peach or cherry. The true richness of Champagne, it seems, lies not just in its celebrated bubbles, but in its capacity to unlock the vibrant tapestry of our lives.
Related posts:
