Thrill of the Chase
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

Many years ago I discovered something about wine lovers that surprised me.They’re sensitive souls.
Long ago, I once described Bordeaux lovers as “wacko.” Now, I happen to know some Bordeaux lovers. I don’t hang with them, if you know what I mean, but they’re all right. Like wine lovers everywhere, Bordeaux lovers are open-handed, generous souls who look for like-minded sorts with whom to crack open their precious bottles. (I’m not their first choice, I know, but they graciously don’t mention that.)
Anyway I once wrote about the lunacies of today’s Bordeaux market, what with prices reaching nosebleed levels (as much as $400 a bottle for First Growths that annually gush 20,000 cases a year or more). I asked, “You’re really wacko, aren’t you?”
I was prepared to take on those who are bullish about Bordeaux. I figured they’d fight for Bordeaux’s sacred honor, its fine traditions, its venerability and its worthy track record over centuries. Not a bit of it.
What brought ’em out of the woodwork, I discovered, was characterizing them as “wackos.” Bordeaux lovers see themselves as the deepest channel of the mainstream. Whatever they do, by definition, is the essence of common sense.
The reason I was so surprised is that if you call a Burgundy lover “wacko,” he or she would grin and say, “Yeah, sure.” Ditto for Zinfandel lovers and fanciers of Italian wines.We know we’re loony. Is there any other way? (Full disclosure: I wrote a book on Burgundy that was so nutty that it promptly went out of print and now sells for as much as $150 on Amazon.com.)
I met a self-declared Bordeaux lover who insisted – quite strenuously – that the attraction of Burgundy is in direct proportion to its unavailability; i.e., the harder a Burgundy is to locate, the more we lust after it.
“Well, of course,” I replied. “Everyone knows that’s the real appeal of Burgundy. We love the hunt as much as the critter itself.”
“Hah!” he crowed. “I always knew that was the real reason you guys are so nuts.”
This seemed self-evident to me, but he took it as a tremendous admission. I didn’t bother pointing out that it’s really no different with the best California or Italian wines, both of which require the tracking skills and perseverance of a Sioux warrior.
Steeped in this culture, I’ve always assumed that Bordeaux lovers, too, must know they’re wacko in their own way. What else can explain their devotion? They must know that for all the Bordelais’s talk about terroir, the classed growth designations (first through fifth) go with the chateau brand, not with the land, as elsewhere in France.
A word about this business of crus classes or classed growths. The short version is that in 1855, Napoleon III hosted a big Paris Exposition. The Bordeaux Chamber of Commerce was asked for a ranking of their best wines. They bungled the job. Their list, based on historical prices, was deemed fusty by the Paris organizers. The job fell to local Bordeaux wine brokers. They too looked at historical prices, but they did a tasting as well.
The Bordeaux syndicat of wine brokers came up with 60 estates in Bordeaux’s best red wine zone, the Medoc. (They also ranked Sauternes, but separately.) These properties were given orders of merit from first growth through fifth growth, with just four properties at the pinnacle (chateaux Lafite, Latour, Margaux, and Haut-Brion). Then trailed 14 second growths, 14 third growths, 10 fourth growths, and 18 fifth growths.
Somehow, this ranking – which was really only one of many over the centuries – has become Holy Writ. It has not changed, with the singular exception of the elevation of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild in 1973 from its original second-growth status to first growth.
Here’s the interesting part: If a classed growth property wants to expand – and most of them have – it’s no problem. Classed growths can purchase any vineyard they want in the same district or commune, regardless of vineyard quality, and voila. The acquired land automatically becomes a first growth, second growth, whatever.
This “Cinderella effect” doesn’t work in reverse, though. If a non-classed-growth estate buys vineyard land from a classed growth, the land reverts to the lowly status of its new owner.
Burgundy, on the other hand is all about the sanctity of the land, not the brand. A grand cru vineyard is grand cru no matter who owns it – and no matter how badly made the wine.
Then there are yields. Everyone who loves pinot noir knows that low yields are essential. If you get too much over 2 tons of grapes to the acre (30 hectoliters per hectare in European terms), you’re asking for mediocrity. Some of Burgundy’s greatest growers, such as Domaine Leroy, strive for half of that level. (And, yes, the wines are greater for it.)
But try raising the subject of yields with the Bordelais. The great American expert on Bordeaux, Robert Parker Jr., asked in his book “Bordeaux,” “Is it really possible to make great wines today from yields that are six times what they were in 1961 or 1959?” No prizes for guessing the Bordelais response.
Knowing this, I figured that Bordeaux lovers must be as wacko as the rest of us. I was wrong. They see themselves as the soul of sanity. If they pay $250 or $400 a bottle for the latest release of a winery selling 25,000 cases, well, that’s mainstream, fella.