When planning my trip to Beaune last July, I had visions of living out my own 'Sideways' experience. Instead of wandering down to the Hitching Post each evening (as Miles and Jack do), my wife and I would repeatedly settle in at the most well known wine bar in Beaune, Ma Cuisine. On any given night, the bistro run by Pierre Escoffier and wife Fabienne is full of wine professionals, winemakers and wine loving consumers. I imagined myself hobnobbing with famous winewriters, in particular, Allen Meadows, a.k.a the 'Burghound.' Why Meadows and not one of the other dozen well known critics who cover Burgundy? Well, probably because I knew what Mr. Meadows looked like and could picture the senario playing out in my mind. I had spoken with him face to face a couple years ago in Manhattan after he had led a tasting at the Burgundy Wine Company. Unlike your typical wine intellectual, the self appointed Burghound had a crew cut and appeared to have just gotten out of basic training. Before this encounter, I had thought all Burgundy experts spoke with a British accent and wore reading glasses.
The sun was setting when my wife and I were greeted by Monsieur Escoffier at the bistro's front door. He escorted us to the raised seating area at the back of the restaurant. The only other table in this area was filled by two men and a woman. The carte de vin was presented to me and the stressful challenge of selecting the perfect wine began. Actually, it was not that hard. I knew that I wanted to drink something from Coche-Dury and we started with the 2004 Bourgogne blanc. The nose revealed a subtle dose of spicy oak, but I have been told that disappears after some years in the bottle. In the mouth, the Coche was very elegant and pure. A beautiful wine.
As our first course was served, I heard a familiar voice directly behind me. My spine froze and a tingling sensation shot across my scalp. "Meadows is behind me," I whispered to my wife.
"How do you know," she replied, glancing over my shoulder.
"I recognize his voice."
A trip to the toilette was in order. I rose from my seat and shot a quick glance to my right. Never before had I seen the gentleman on the right, but across the table was a man who bore some resemblance to Meadows. As I washed my hands, I analyzed the person in question. Allen Meadows had that very distinctive crew cut when we met in New York. I had assumed that he had worn his hair that way since high school, but the man at the table had a full, typical male cut. Maybe my desire for a 'Sideways' moment was causing me to hallucinate. I opened the door and headed towards the rear of the packed restaurant. Half drunk bottles of Burgundy with familiar labels sat atop each table and Mr. Escoffier was busy pulling the corks out of several more. The three small steps that led to the raised seating area suddenly seemed insurmountable. I felt like Rocky as he looked up at the stairs leading to the Philadelphia Art Museum . The gentleman turned towards me as I reached the top and our eyes locked. Time froze. A look of puzzlement washed over his face.
"Mr. Meadows, I met you last summer at......"
The gentleman acknowledged that I looked familiar and we began a slow dance of small talk. Indeed, this man was the 'Burghound'. I spent the next hour and a half trying not to embarrass myself, which became more difficult as we consumed our second bottle (a terrific 2000 Henri Gouges, Nuits-St.-Georges, 1er Cru, Les St-Georges). The hardest part about meeting someone you admire is acting like the encounter is no big deal. Combine that task with alcohol consumption and you had better have an Oscar under your belt. After washing down the last of the Gouges, my wife and I said goodbye and wandered back to the hotel. The 'Burghound' and I may never again meet face to face, but at least we will always have Beaune.
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