We Americans look enviously upon the accumulated wine wisdom of Europeans. Centuries of experience have taught them which grapes will grow successfully in various places. We, on the other hand, sigh longingly for such experience as we plant vineyards where no vine has gone before.

Yet the European tradition can be a burden, too. The most obvious element is complacency. The very sureness of knowledge, gleaned from a dozen or more generations working the same small site with the same (right) grape variety, easily leads to a kind of slack arrogance. Many top French wine districts suffer from just this ailment.

Actually, worse can happen. Too often, winegrowers in such zones fall into a funk. They unconsciously let their standards degrade, like the proverbial story of the frog in the slowly warming pot of water that is lulled and eventually boils to death. This happened in Chianti, for example, which practically rusted from lack of rigor. It took outsiders – Germans, Swiss, Brits, non-Tuscan Italians – to forcibly yank Chianti from its frog-in-the-pot stupor. That began about 20 years ago and is still ongoing.

The wines recommended this week are exemplars of the best of what might be called the “new modernity.” They refresh their ancient traditions, in the process creating finer wines from their respective regions than anything we’ve seen in decades in their categories.

HERE’S THE DEAL

BOURGOGNE CHARDONNAY “KIMMERIDGIEN” 2003, JEANMARC BROCARD

White wines, like Pinocchio, have the peculiar burden of being bad liars. You can always tell when they’ve been up to no good. Usually when white wines “lie” it’s by using too much oak, especially heavy-toast oak where the interior of the barrel is heavily charred. It provides a melange scent of vanilla and spices that tasters refer to as “toasty”.

Or there’s extended lees fermentation, where white wines are allowed to remain on the sediment of dead yeast cells in order to extract flavor from the enzymatic breakdown of the dead yeasts known as autolysis. The result is a taste and scent reminiscent of baking bread.

None of these, or other white winemaking techniques, is a bad thing. It’s all a matter of degree. But their use underscores just how rare it is to find sites where a white grape can acquire so much character from the site itself that it needs no “makeup.”

That’s the story of this exceptional white-wine deal from the Chablis-zone producer Jean-Marc Brocard. A large grower and shipper (which means he buys grapes and wines from others and owns his own vineyards), Mr. Brocard upholds an unusually high standard in the overly commercialized Chablis district.

Technically, this wine is not Chablis. It’s labeled simply as Bourgogne (Burgundy). This is a Burgundy designation that’s treacherous, as too many such wines are made from over cropped grapes grown in uninteresting sites.

Mr. Brocard’s Bourgogne “Kimmeridgien” is something else altogether. It is Chablis-like in its intense stony/mineral scent and taste, even though technically it does not come from the Chablis appellation. That minerality comes from the soil, in this case a type of clayey chalk called kimmeridgien which literally defines the Chablis appellation. (The name comes from the English town Kimmeridge, where the same soil is found; the geological term is now French as well as English.)

This is superb chardonnay, brimming with vineyard-derived character and taste, as well as surprisingly intense fruitiness. The acidity is crisp but not invasive. And there’s not a splinter of oak to be found. Very likely the wine came from just outside the Chablis boundary on soil just like what’s inside the Chablis district proper.

In this wine you’ll find what chardonnay itself really tastes like, infused with what can only be called a privilege for a white wine, what the French call a gout de terroir- a savor of site. The price is a steal for the quality: $16.

RIECINE CHIANTI CLASSICO 2001

No ancient European wine zone has had greater renown yet sunk to such mediocrity as Chianti. Before there was “Tuscany” (in the trendy sense, anyway) there was “Chianti.” It is, of course, only a section of the Tuscany region. There are, in fact, six districts authorized to use the Chianti appellation. The most famous – and incontestably the best – is Chianti Classico.

Chianti Classico is the motherhouse of the sangiovese grape. But only in the last decade or so has Tuscany in general, and Chianti Classico in particular, scrutinized sangiovese’s many clones or strains.

Too many vineyards, often planted as recently as the 1980s, contain what are now acknowledged as lesser clones of sangiovese. Too many Chianti producers, straining to keep up with modernity (or make up for their lackluster sangiovese clones) have resorted to legally blending cabernet sauvignon, syrah, merlot – or all three – into their native sangiovese.

One Chianti Classico producer that has shown what a great sangiovese can taste like is Riecine (pronounce ree-EH-chee-neh). Like so many of Chianti Classico’s best producers, Riecine was created by John Dunkley, a British advertising executive, along with his Italian wife, Palmina, in 1971.

Originally tiny, Riecine today is still small, with just 22 acres of vines. Dunkley died in 1998 and Riecine is now owned by Gary Baumann, an American who currently works in Milan. He retained Dunkley’s longtime winemaker (who was a co-owner with Dunkley), Sean O’Callaghan, who is a passionate sort committed to restoring Chianti Classico to its rightful, sangiovese-inspired, glory.

This wine proves it. The 2001 vintage in Chianti Classico was exceptionally good and the quality really shines in this dense, rich, flatout superb Chianti Classico. This is Chianti as it should be but so rarely is: clearly long-lived and redolent of the dusty/cherry scent of sangiovese. It’s more than drinkable now, but surely will improve with a few more years of age. Other Chiantis are cheaper but very few are as good as this. It’s well worth the $29.95 asking price.

Worth Noting: Riecine’s 2001 Riserva bottling – not cheap at $40 – really is spectacular. Unlike the regular 2001 bottling, the Riserva needs and deserves additional cellaring, upwards of five to 10 years. If you a serious Chianti lover, Riecine’s 2001 Riserva is a wine worthy of time in your cellar.