For a complete reading, start here: Champagne. Between craftsmanship and prestige, a journey made of emotions and contrasts
The next day will be much simpler, I think. We decide to have a somewhat more relaxed day, with only one scheduled visit and the rest wandering around. We are going to De Sousa, in Avize, in the heart of the Côte des Blancs. Conceptually, we are halfway between the first two visits of the previous day: not a big house, but not a small vigneron either. The house is very beautiful, located in the main square of Avize. Which may sound like a big deal, but Avize is about the same size as Frittole, perhaps smaller.
In any case, they welcome us in the most classic way. Right away, a tasting in an elegant setting. Everything is correct; I appreciate the verticality of the chardonnays from these places, still a terroir, but above all a different concept of terroir. Here, the cuvée takes center stage once again. Everything unfolds according to the canons of a classic visit. Then, however, they take us to the cellar: we find a little man busy sticking labels on the bottles by hand, after checking each one with a contrasting light to uncover any defects. It seems incongruent with everything experienced up to that moment. They introduce us to biodynamics, to their deep respect for this practice sometimes considered pure "magic." They show us the room where the wines in fermentation undergo their process, the speakers playing Mozart. Astonishment. They tell us about studies conducted on the frequencies that emerge from his music, equal (they say) to the frequency of the Earth’s rotation. It is all so absolutely evocative! More slaps, slaps continuously.
But how, Champagne, the most "technical" wine that exists, produced under the beneficial effects of Mozart?
Incredible and at the same time beautiful. Sometimes we think that certain narratives, such as those about biodynamics, are simply marketing practices to hide products that are sometimes poorly made, with bad odors passed off as 'characteristic quality'. I would have you taste these Champagnes and then you would change your mind.
The third and final day in Champagne, I visited two small winemakers in the Vallee de la Marne. So far, the landscape, despite its variability, had always made one think of a widespread wealth and well-being. Here, however, the cards in play change again. Cross the Marne, travel a few kilometers, and it seems like entering a much humbler context: “The Marne Understatement”. First visit, Franck Pascal. Well organized, scheduled nicely, they even sent us a kind email to welcome us the next morning at 11 at their address. We arrive on time and find a simple gate, 1bis, not even a scrap of a sign, not even the name on the doorbell. We ring, but no one answers. We call: nothing. We start wandering around the village looking for help when, from a window, an Indian in a turban appears and invites us into his home, but we don't pay him much mind. We call again: nothing. We ring, still nothing. The Indian in the turban comes out again and insists, telling us he works for Franck, sees we are in trouble, and offers us hospitality. He opens some Pascal champagnes he had at his place. He treats us like royalty. We stay peacefully and serenely with him for about an hour and a half. We even forget that veil of sadness and disapproval that had caught us off guard. We understood that here, in the Marne Understatement, they are like this and we get along with it.
We did not perceive rudeness or lack of tact. More than anything, it is yet another slap in the face to our beliefs as tourists.
Just enough time to rest a bit, and we are at the last visit of our trip: Nowack. Flavien welcomes us with a beautiful and at times disorienting smile. Our conversations will be enjoyable, carefree, a mix of English and French, with some Italian words he learns from us and inserts into the conversation in a funny way. He introduces himself holding 7 bottles, all ready to be uncorked, not taken from a fridge but directly from the box. There is no fixation on the serving temperature, another thing I learned on this trip. I fear that these fixations are all our stuff, our mental constructs. Here, people are simpler, more direct. They tell you what they need to say and do it with disarming naturalness. Here too, we spend two wonderful hours; his champagnes are all perfect and distinct, different from those of others. Everyone here has their style, their touch. It's something clearly perceivable. At the end of an endless and gorgeous tasting, also here free of charge, I ask him if he can sell me something. He looks at me strangely and tells me that his wife said he can sell me only one bottle, that the others are finished. I look at him and smile. I respond, at that point, with the naturalness learned in those places: 'Of course you have!'. He laughs, we laugh. 'How many do you want?', he asks me. Two of each. 'My wife will cut off my head! But come on, that’s fine!'. He laughs, we laugh.
This time I was the one who gave the slap. In the end, perhaps, I finally learned something from this magical land. I also learned that one must know how to be attracted by beauty, by gravity. That there is nothing wrong with not knowing things, that if your soul is well disposed, gravity will always draw you towards beauty. That champagne is simple beauty that attracts by gravity, while the bubbles rise high, in the opposite direction.
