I knew that the Agapé Pinot Blanc, a versatile, food-friendly white with subtle fruit and the Latitude 50 Dornfelder, a soft, medium-bodied red with pomegranate and pleasantly leafy green flavors, would be hits — both offer lots of personality for less than $15. But I was pleasantly surprised to see much people liked the Brunet “Le Naturel” Vouvray. Fuller and less effervescent than champagne, it found some fans even among people who confessed they weren’t that into sparkling wine. (Some people just like fewer bubbles…who knew?) The 2005 Castell-Reynoard Bandol also found some love. One guy, after taking in the wine’s earthy, smoky nose, just smiled and said “wow, this is really me.” I loved that — loved that he took the time to smell the wine, loved that he knew exactly what he liked, and loved that he identified so closely with it. It was such a good reminder that when it comes to wine, people often know what they want — they just need to find the vocabulary to express it. And, of course, that’s where I come in … if this picture is any indicator, I’m so good at helping people learn about wine, I can do it with my eyes closed.

Thanks again to Heights Chateau, Savio Soares, Sarah Brysk Cohen, my dear husband Paul, the PWIP, and everyone else who showed up and helped. Check back for video, which I’ll be posting later in the week.

Despite whatever strain Julien might have been feeling, he was incredibly gracious, taking the time to explain how he and his family do what they do, and even introducing us to Cannelle (Cinnamon), the resident dog of the domaine.

Cannelle, chien in residence

He is also incredibly open and ambitious, two characteristics that will no doubt serve him well as he looks to raise the profile of Castell-Reynoard.

A committed Burgundy lover who spent some time in California, Julien is not afraid to experiment and look to other wine regions for inspiration. In fact, we caught him in the middle of checking on his new pet project for the property — a high-end bottling featuring fruit from the best of their plots. Right now, they just make one white, one rosé, and one red. Introducing a more prestigious line featuring the best grapes would be a big step up for Castell-Reynoard. He’s also experimenting with Tronçais oak, used in Burgundy, to see what kind of character it will impart on Bandol wines, which usually don’t have a strong affinity for oak. (More on that in my upcoming post on Château de Pibarnon.)

Julien let us take a peek at the fermenting mass of fruit. When he uncovered the barrel, the heady, tangy, yeasty smell made Paul rear back his head in surprise.

It’ll be a small experiment–around 300 bottles–although we made Julien promise to come to New York and bring us some. Of course, we’ll have to wait a few years. By law, Bandol needs to be aged at least 18 months in oak, and Julien’s cuvée will probably spend even more time in barrel. Winemaking strikes me as the ultimate in “hurry up and wait”: you bust your butt to harvest the grapes at exactly the right moment — ripe but not overripe — and then often have to wait years before you know what you’ve got. Yet another reason why winemaking as a business seems like folly. Of course, winemaking as a way of life, brutal hours under the sun notwithstanding, seems incredibly gratifying–especially when the wine is good. The 2007, the most recent vintage, and liked the blackberry-meets-new-leather-jacket aroma and flavors. This wine isn’t incredibly easy to find (and presumably Julien’s special bottling will be nearly impossible to to get), but you can contact the importer, Savio Soares Selections, for more information.

It’s also the town that gives its name to the white, rosé, and red wines that come from this region. The whites aren’t much to speak of, the rosés range from banal stuff aimed at unsuspecting tourists to some excellent (if pricey) wine, but it’s the reds that really shine. By law, they’re made from at least 50% Mourvèdre, a grape that can provide intensely flavored, full bodied wines that can age for 10 years or more. I had the chance to taste a bunch of them last week and two things struck me about these wines. First of all, at their best they’re incredibly aromatic: blackberries, dark cherries, leather, and a pleasantly gamey scent — like walking into a really good butcher shop (sorry, vegetarians). If you’ve had a lot of big Australian and Californian wines made from Mourvèdre or Syrah or Grenache, those aromas would be familiar to you. But here’s the second, and very cool, thing about Bandol: on the palate, these wines, while still packing a punch, have enough acidity and tannin to make them refreshing and structured. They’re also not over-the-top with alcohol, which, among other things, makes them a lot easier to taste at 11 in the morning on an 84-degree day.

And speaking of tasting, a great place to do that is at the Maison des Vins de Bandol. The very nice folks there will pour you some samples from several of the 52 properties that make up the Bandol appellation. Just make sure to get there before 1 pm, when  they close for their two-hour lunch break.

So what makes Bandol distinctive? It’s made from Mourvèdre, which produces high-alcohol, tannic wines that have a savory, almost meaty, character to them. I realize “meaty” isn’t the most appealing way to describe a wine, but it works. The night’s first wine, a 2006 Terre d’Ombre from Domaine de Terrebrune ($18.99), one of the vineyards I want to visit, smelled like fried pancetta sprinkled with balsamic vinegar and black pepper, with a few raspberries thrown in there for good measure. Despite the full-throttle nose, the palate wasn’t crazily intense, and the wine was only medium-bodied. The next red, a 2005 Castell-Reynoard ($22.99), had a more muted nose and a softer, velvety mouthfeel. Over the years I’ve created an idiosyncratic (OK, weird) shorthand that helps me associate wines with other sense memories I have. So for example, my favorite outfit in third grade was an impossibly soft lavender velour sweatsuit with a purple satin flower appliqued on the front. (Sadly, no pictures remain.) I can’t help but think of it whenever I have a plush, mouthfilling wines like this Castell-Reynoard.

We also tried a 2008 rosé from Castell-Reynoard ($19.99). The nose was intensely herbal – the wine would have been a great match for the tomato tart dusted with herbes de Provence had we not downed the bottle prior to dinner — and the color was a lovely, salmony hue. I liked it, but in my book $20 is a lot to pay for a pre-dinner rosé and I doubt I’d buy it again.

I’ve visited a bunch of wine regions (Alsace, Bordeaux, Loire, Sonoma, Napa, and, of course, Long Island) but I’ve never had the opportunity to check out a winery during harvest. I’m not sure what to expect, beyond lots of frenetic activity and harried-looking winemakers. (I’m also having visions of being stuck behind poky, grape-laden trucks on dusty, narrow country roads, but as my husband does the driving, I’m going to let him stress about that.) I’ve already emailed a few of the vineyards I’d like to visit — more on those in an upcoming post — asking if I need to make an appointment in advance as it will be such a busy time of year.  Many wineries in France, which aren’t as tourist-friendly as those in the US, require you to make a reservation, and I think it’s always a good idea to call ahead if you’re visiting a winery — you can ask about special events and find out what time of day is least crowded. (Word to the wise: wherever you are, do everything you can to avoid visiting a vineyard on a summer Saturday afternoon. )

I’ve already received some kind responses, including from one courtly winemaker (seriously — his dad is a Count) who thanked me for my “délicatesse.” Say what you want about the French, they certainly have a way with words…and wine, of course. Stay tuned for more on my vineyard trip planning, including tips to help you get more out of your own wine travels.