The intricacies of noble rot

It was an early start this morning - (and the same most mornings for the next fortnight).  The car had been loaded the night before we set off but nevertheless we had to be down in the Sauternes ready to pick grapes by 8.30.  It was cold at 5.00 am and I silently and not so silently cursed Lesley and her bright ideas.  It had been a week previously after she had read an article in the English language French newspaper entitled “You too can take part in the vendange, despite your age”  I thought to myself as I activated the shower, I barely have enough energy to pull my dressing gown on let alone bend myself double for eight hours a day.  We are going to be paid the SMIC (the basic minimum wage) for the privilege, oh, and also “ni loges,  ni nourris” to boot.  Hopefully the gîte we have booked will be warm and comfortable and a good foil to a day in the field.

Tea break on the vendange

Later that same day - The picking was not straight forward;  indeed it was a bit of a science.  What one is looking for is grapes affected by “pourriture noble” or botrytis, otherwise known as noble rot, and it has to be the right level of rot on the right grapes.  The grapes are enveloped in their own warm microclimate produced by the early morning mists forming on the Ciron River.  This is the clue to the Sauternes.  It was not just a simple matter of snip, snip, snip.  It was rather a case of study, feel, smell, and then taste (one is looking for the acidity of vinegar at this point) before deciding which grapes to dismiss and which to select, before letting the secateurs loose.  This all has to be done in a smooth rapid motion moving quickly down the row.  We had had a brief lesson from the chef on how to recognise the grapes which were suitable for picking.  He had explained about the finer points of noble rot and we both thought that we had grasped the basics of doing the vendange Sauternes style.  Apparently we had not.  To say the chef lacked man management skills would be an understatement.  He constantly harangued Lesley and me.  The bellow would go out “trop vert, TROP VERT!”  He was referring to the amount of green grapes hidden in our baskets.  He has accused Lesley of destroying his whole recolte of 2010 and me of picking like a tourist, however tourists pick!  

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, and what a ranch, we were told by our very genial hosts that our gîte accommodation formed part of an old Edward II stronghold and the part forming our particular gîte is in what had once been the kitchens.  After a day under the cosh of the chef I began to see what Edward II was about.

View from our gîte window