Sunset at Montlaur
Benjamin and I
Today Christian and I are going on a road trip. We’re going to see Benjamin Schmerber’s race training circuit. Benjamin and Christian raced together in “cart” series racing. Hand now Benjamin has found a way to keep his passion for racing alive and trains interested people to drive his Subaru rally racing cars around a one of a kind dirt track. Now I like driving fast, there’s no doubt about that but training? Who needs training…you get that from the school of hard knocks or, as I like to call it, near death experience. But Benjamin makes a persuasive case. Its not about speed, its about control. Why do I feel a tortoise and hare story in the offing.
But first I wanted to get some basic work done to prepare for the arrival of my friend and part time business partner, Rob Davis. I’d missed his birthday party yesterday and I was looking forward to showing him all the improvements at the farm since the last time he was here. Such as toilets, sleeping quarters, actual running water and of course that thoroughly modern convenience, electricity! Wow! Have we made improvements here at Monte Lauro Vineyards in the beautiful “other” south of France.
And of course the well-stocked wine cellar would certainly meet with his approval. So I made like a French maid and cleaned and dusted all morning, set up his sleeping quarters and generally made ready to make him welcome. Before I knew it is was time to leave for St. Gilles, where Benjamin lives towards the eastern edge of Languedoc.
It was a pleasant drive over after the hard rain of the weekend but we were certain that the dirt track would be too wet to drive on. It was a shame since on arriving at the track you pull up a hill and park at the top. From there the view of the “petit Camargue”, an area made up part of the Rhone river delta and filled with canals and rice fields, was stunning. We toured, ie walked, around the track and I managed to edge out both of the experienced drivers at the very end with a burst of speed over the ditch and up the hill, although I’m not sure that they realized that in my mind I had been racing them all the way around. “Hah!” I exclaimed to myself, “Victory! Winner’s circle here I come!”
Afterwards we lounged in Benjamins “Clubhouse” a structure he has set up for race attendee’s to enjoy the races, replete with a bar and first class view of the circuit. From there it was on to visit Jean Piere Martin’s Chateau Aveylan for a wine tasting. Little did I know that the visit would change the course of the trip and the future of our own vineyard…but I’ll get to that.
Driving up to Chateau Aveylan I was struck by the same feeling I am almost always struck by when I visit a French winery, that is that the French don’t place much emphasis on marketing. We drove in past what appeared as a fairly industrial installation, old equipment adorning the foreyard, random bits of twitch grass growing from isolated crevices between concrete and pavement, adjoining walls and an array of boxes with dating indicating they were for a 2005 vintage.
Benjamin preceded us and while I was looking around, Jean Pierre arrived to greet us. He and Benjamin were personal friends and I had heard already a few good stories of the master of Chateau Aveylans. My first impression was that he was a right fine specimen of an English country gentleman, older and lanky in the way of squire who has lived the majority of his life out of doors. Of course I could not say this to him because ..well you don’t know how offended a Frenchman might be if he were told that he looked English, even though I thought of the resemblance in the best possible of ways. In any event I was afraid a scene from Monty Python was at risk of unfolding if I did say that so I muttered a greeting in my pathetic French.
After some niceties, and feeling rather parched from my victory lap at the track, I suggested that we proceed directly to the wine tasting. However, pleasantly, a tour of the whole facility and a discussion of capacity, hectares, investment and the like preceded our entry into the small salon where wine bottles stood here and there around the room and an array of literature, including Parkers impressively high ratings of Jean Pierre’s wines, layered the central table. After some effort to find four identical glasses, Jean Pierre suggested that we first try something straight from the cuivre. Excellent idea, I thought, as we made our way out to a set of outside tanks that reminded me of grain silos on the prairies. We made our way to a tank of some 25000 liters, whch was destined to be shipped in “flexi-tanks” to Vancouver the following week. Hah! I thought, I’ll be the first Canadian to try this one.
From a small tap inconspicuously located on the side of the tank he poured off our four glasses, a dark velvety purple liquid the very colour of which spelled promise. “100 per cent syrah!” he announced and the youngest in his brood of wines. I conspicuously grasped my glass by the base, swirled the contents and took the nose. I think you could have seen my eyebrows shoot up back at home had you been looking in my direction. If a butterfly’s wing flap in Asia could start at tornado in Kansas then my eyebrows might well be responsible for the late winter storm that hit Canada later that week.
“My God!” I said aloud, although not being a religious type what I really meant was Holy cow! If the taste that followed the nose was any indication, this was going to be good. It was! I judge a wine not by how good it tastes but by how bad it doesn’t. Many wines start out well, peak too early and then dive at the end. A few take the low road and come back at the end finishing strongly, although that’s a harder trick. But a wine that is fit to thoroughly enjoy (as opposed to just drink) crosses the palate with enough flavour to leave strong and positive sensory impressions and then, through the swallow and afterwards, those positive impressions linger. The best wine I have ever had echoed with positive sensory impressions for almost ten minutes…but that was $150 a bottle. This young little syrah was good for several minutes before I was compelled to taste again.
And that was the first wine. We returned to the small office and Jean Pierre selected several more wines of increasing complexity, largely syrah based but also a few syrah-grenache blends. I can only say that each one was a joy and the increasing complexity made the exercise both one of enjoyment and enthusiastic anticipation for the next. I bought a case of wine right there and paid my money…I’m not going to say how much because that I want you all to experience for yourself but let’s just say that my mother, who doesn’t drink, would consider it a good deal.
Benjamin suggested that Jean Pierre might be interested in finding an importer for his products and that he might be interested in coming to Montlaur to take a look at Monte Lauro Vineyards. We knew we needed to have some work done so I humbly asked if he might come and give us an opinion. He was effusive I think in his agreement and we set Friday as the day he would visit. I was very excited that we might possibly get the benefit of his experience and expertise for our stripling little vineyard and, perhaps flushed from the tasting, I spoke confidently in French that “I would be happy to receive him on Friday at Montlaur”. I’m not at all certain that that is what I said as he momentarily seemed confused but Benjamin smoothed everything over nicely and we left in very good spirits.
It was early evening and we made out way to Belle Garde to see the medieval tower there. Apparently they host concerts at the tower. It is a square-ish structure with three sides, the fourth obliterated in some long ago and forgotten battle. Simple really when compared to the ruin at Montlaur which is far more dramatic and encompasses much greater space and variety of buildings. His point was really, if they could hold a damn concert there then we could certainly hold one at the much better venue of the Chateau Montlaur. Of course we can, I thought, the wine still pulsing through my veins. We can do anything!
Then back to Benjamin’s place in St. Gilles for dinner. Benjamin hails from Alsace Lorraine, that great storehouse of culinary art and tradition. If you’ve not tried the Alsatian charcroute with a good Riesling, you’ve not truly lived. But he is a bachelor, not confirmed, but in his mid-fifties and deeply immersed in the world of auto racing. I daresay the right girl will have to foreswear being cooked for or, perhaps better, come to the table with her own restaurant.
I poke a little fun, the food Benjamin had procured from the Chinese restaurant down the street was excellent and certainly we had several bottles of good wine to mellow out the evening. We argued about politics and the economy and in the end I adjourned to bed leaving them to discuss the vicissitudes of racing. It was a remarkable day.
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