When Coteaux du Layon Hits 40
When a ‘sticky’ isn’t just for dessert
The cork was pristine. In pristine condition after almost forty-three years.
Since 1981, it had all the while kept Moulin Touchais’ sweet, 100% Chenin Blanc safely sealed somewhere in Doué-La-Fontaine’s fifteen-kilometre subterranean cellar network. Doing what it did below the Coteaux du Layon appellation (Loire Valley) and in one of the largest and oldest collections of any winery anywhere in the world.
Such an immaculate, 40-plus-year-old bouchon bode well. Here it was, densely packed but still with that springiness and satiny sheen. Good cork says it all. And as does any that has managed a good degree of moisture, this one obliged me no effort. Gentle tug, zzzzzzhhhhhhyt… pop!
Gentle pour. In the glass, Chenin Blanc’s original lemon and pale gold hue is now a gorgeous, greenish amber, flickering with wee fire flies of luminous, burnt-golden-orange.
In goes the nose: red apple, bruised apple, toffee apple, fresh, vibrant clementine zest; notes of marmalade, hazelnut, nutmeg, cassia bark, oloroso, and, wierdly, a fleeting whiff of linoleum. In the good sense.
I’d have been happy enough to spend the rest of the day swooning thus.
But I caved. On the taste buds, zinging acidity bursting with juicy apple, honeyed apple, unctuous marmalade, zesty blood orange. Christmas spice, Christmas cake. More oloroso, more hazelnut. Such supreme balance and precision leading to an enduring finish, all driven by an interminable acidity.
And yet, despite the decent level of residual sugar, there on the finish was also a sense of dryness with a seemingly savoury character developing. Fascinating.
Suffice to say, what was promised in the cork was delivered on the palate.
But it was this perception of a savoury dryness in a ‘stickie’ that was most intriguing.
As the (French, would you believe?) guy at work who got me on to Moulin Touchais explained, this sensation of dryness in the wine owes to the acidity’s molecular chain gradually lengthening over the years. And that on the palate, this molecular accumulation offsets the wine’s otherwise generous level of residual sugar.
Or something like that. It sounded good to me, anyway.
Then tasted even better. A thrilling counterpoint to the unctuous, honeyed orchard fruit flavours and what other fabulous complexities were on show. Here was acidity brilliantly composed and doing what it was meant to.
Acidity. Not only does Chenin Blanc already have the natural potential for an abundance thereof, but Moulin Touchais’ distinctive grape-picking approach means that when they harvest a quarter of their slightly under-ripe crop 80 days after flowering, it preserves this acidity in the final blend. Into which go the much riper grapes later picked (sans botrytis), thus loading the cuvée with the desired level of residual sugar.
And two factors that ensure proper age-worthiness are good acidity and residual sugar.
It’s why any Moulin Touchais vintage is only ever released after it’s done a decade in bottle down in the cellars. Then, and beyond, is when said factors truly begin to drive complexity. When culinary pairing truly flourishes.
And whilst such a wine will happily meet a dish with corresponding sweetness, taking it 180 degrees is a far more dynamic experience. Sweet loves a salty, savoury contrast.
As do I even more now. Because given I was in Poland at the time of pulling that pristine cork, it turned out that 1981 Moulin Touchais when put with myśliwska krakus kiełbasa — cured pork sausage with nutmeg and pepper — is sensational.
But of course: Chenin Blanc’s appley character is already a natural complement to pork, with this sweeter version ever more harmonious with saltiness and spice. Where high acidity checks fattiness, then cleans up.
What I didn’t tell you was that this bottle of 1981 was only £40. If that seems a bit much to you (it normally is for me), try sniffing around for a higher-end Sauternes and see how far into four decades forty quid gets you.
Because when such craftsmanship and pedigree as this weighs in at a rate of a pound-a-year’s worth of cellaring, you take it.
This is what happens when a good Coteaux du Layon hits forty: an affordable opportunity to experience it in full maturity, to savour its culinary versatility and glimpse a sensual illustration of what wonderful, modestly priced discoveries regional France continues to offer.
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