If we were living in France, this upcoming Thursday would be known as Beaujolais Nouveau Day, the day when the 2009 vintage of the wine by that name hits the Parisian market. If the name of the wine doesn't ring a bell, for pete's sake do not ask your local wine snob. Any "right-thinking" oenophile will likely repress a shudder at its mere mention.
If you don't like red wine because of aspects like the hot alcohol taste or the bitterness of the tannins that can leave the insides of your cheeks feeling leathery, you won't find that in Beaujolais Nouveau. Partly because of its fermentation process and partly because it isn't aged in oak barrels, which is where most reds (and some whites, like many California Chardonnays) pick up that bitterness that ranges from piquant to did-I-just-lick-the-barrel?!
I like regular Beaujolais because it's sort of an oddball among wines, and I'll drink Beaujolais Nouveau because I admire its cheekiness in a snobbish industry. We'll get to the cheekiness in a bit, but first a little background: Currently, the Beaujolais region of France is considered to be part of Burgandy (which you'll no doubt recognize as expensive-sounding). Classic Burgundy wine is made from the Pinot Noir grape (which everybody of course knows from Sideways, riiiight?) The grape that goes into Beaujolais, however, is a varietal called Gamay. Gamay isn't fussy like Pinot Noir is. For that reason, once upon a time a lot of Gamay was planted in Burgandy, in the days when Beaujolais was just a neighbor. But in the year 1395, the Duke of Burgandy (Philip the Bold) ordered all the Gamay in his domains ripped up and replaced with Pinot Noir, which he deemed a better wine (which of course would fetch higher prices and greater tax revenues for him).
Gamay is sort of an outsider in another sense. Normally, red wine is produced by first crushing the grapes and allowing the whole mess to go through a primary fermentation. Then the solid parts are pressed to squeeze out (a.k.a. extract) the juice and tossed aside. The juice finishes its fermantation without the skins, stems, seeds, etc., often in oak barrels to add even more tannins than would be found naturally in the grape skins.
Beaujolais is made quite differently. By law, the grape must be picked by hand, specifically to avoid crushing the grapes (as mechanical harvesters would inevitably do). The grapes and any juice incidental to handling are dumped into tanks where the oxygen is replaced by carbon dioxide. The lack of exposure to oxygen means that the yeast have to rely on the oxygen within the flesh of the grapes themselves to ferment the wine, a process called carbonic maceration. The result is fruity, light, easy-drinking wines. There is a downside, however: The lack of tannins means that the wine will not keep for long. Red wines are normally prized for their longevity, so that's considered a huge knock.
The ethic of the industry also looks down on shortcuts, which runs completely counter to something that is good for the vintner--i.e. moving grapes to bottles on store shelves as quickly as possible. In the case of Beaujolais Nouveau, that's where marketing stepped in. The fundamental "weakness" of a nouveau (a.k.a. primeur) wine was transformed into its strength by confecting a great show of getting the wine to market as quickly as possible--making a race of it, in fact. Moreover, the wine's characteristic freshness typically comes an expiration date: Most labels are meant to be drunk within six to eight weeks of bottling. This of course, plays upon the "seasonal" appeal of the wine. And I have to tip my hat to all that, no matter how gimmicky.
Now, the race to market--while great for the vintner's cash flow--is not entirely guiltless. Rushing wine (a bulky commodity) to all parts of the world via airplane bears a carbon footprint that slower methods do not. Fortunately, we in the Upper Midwest have a way around that, assuming you're willing to make do with regional grapes. When I called The Wine Guyz yesterday, Don said that the only B.N. they're stocking this year comes from Wisconsin's own Wollersheim Wineries. Unfortunately, Don was a bit misinformed: Wollersheim does make a traditional Beaujolais from French grapes. But their "Ruby Nouveau," is made primarily from Wisconsin-grown Marechal Foch grapes, albeit via the carbonic maceration method. (Which is still very cool--don't get me wrong.) My husband and I have made a wine based on the Foch grape, and (in its heyday) it was more than serviceable. But it wasn't anything you'd hoard in the cellar for 20 years. Something I wish we'd understood before I popped one of the last few bottles a couple months back. Truth be told, it was pretty horrible. (I just hope the garbage disposal doesn't hold it against me.)
Whatever your sentiments about carbon footprints, picking BN up for eight or nine bucks a bottle and drinking it on its own terms is still like spitting in the eye of the self-appointed arbiters of taste. A habit I like to encourage, in myself as well as others. But I also believe that before you break the rules, you really should understand them...and when and why they can be broken. That's what tonight's post is really all about: Giving you, gentle reader, a free pass to drink a very friendly, breezy, approachable red wine--that IMO rocks with spaghetti, by the bye--without the worry of shriveling under the criticism of the Miles Raymonds of this world.
