Digging deep in Champagne

I have been too busy to update this regularly, let alone daily, but I have many stories to share in good time. But first, the latest adventure -- my first day in Champagne on this trip:

"TASTE this dirt," said down-to-earth winemaker Bertrand Gautherot in the tiny Champagne village of Buxières-sur-Arce.

I was glad he offered it to my travelling companion Gavin first, a double handful of claggy clay from a neighbouring plot of vines. Despite protestations that his English was terrible, Bertrand can express himself very well in another tongue, but in this instance the word he was looking for was smell, not taste. It was a shame Gavin understood what he meant.

It's true, the dirt in his neighbour's vineyard not only looked pallid, it smelled awful in comparison to his own lovingly tended vineyard a few steps away. It was apparent from sight and smell that biodynamic practices produce healthier soil, and logically healthier vines and potentially better wine.

The proof was eventually in the tasting - of wine, still and sparkling, from bottle and barrel, rather than the dirt underfoot - that Bertrand is on the right track in his small plots in the southern region of Aube.

The story begins in World War I, when Bertrand's grandfather fought from start to finish and returned to this village one of the few surviving men. His land holdings soon increased from 30 hectares to 300, including 15ha of vines. Bertrand eventually inherited some of that land and has bought other small holdings to take his total to 5ha, although not all under vine.

Like most of the other growers still do in BSA, he contributed grapes to a co-operative until the mid-1990s, when he made a trip to Sancerre, Chablis and Alsace and became fascinated with biodynamic practices. He converted his vineyards in 1998, but kept selling to the co-op until the 2001 vintage, when it became apparent the two styles didn't mix. In fact, in that year the bulk of non-bio vineyards in the area could manage to get their grapes to a potential alcohol level of just 7.5% because of persistent rain, and tonnes of sugar were added to bring the wine to some level of drinkability.

Bertrand's grapes were much healthier and riper and, thanks to the insistence of Anselme Selosse, who Bertrand calls a biodynamic god, his own label was launched, Vouette et Sorbée. Bertrand had sought out the Avize champagne master to discuss biodynamic practices and said that after just a few days they had developed a special rapport. Selosse visited his estate and insisted Bertrand make his own wine. He jokes that he now has a dedicated telephone - a hotline to Selosse - if ever he has a problem. He has called just twice, and both times Selosse answered with a host of questions of his own to push his protege to figure out the answers for himself.

There are other disciples - notably Jerome Prevost and Olivier Collin - and Selosse insists it is their responsibility, along with others in the biodynamic forefront such as David Leclapart, Pierre Larmandier and Alexandre Chartogne, to pass on what they learn.

Bertrand's modus operandi is basically respect for the land. He allows grass and weeds to grow to contain vigour in the vines and to force the roots to go deeper; he sprays copper sulphate only when needed, as well as a biodynamic preparation; he raises his own cattle and mixes their manure with hay as a fertiliser (but happily admits to eating the herd's offspring); and he is preparing original American rootstock to accept cuttings because he doesn't like the way the nurseries do it.

The names of wines and vineyards all carry meaning: Fidele for fidelity/loyalty; Blanc d'Argile, a reference to the rocky soil; and the domaine name Vouette et Sorbee relates to natural features of the land, the narrow track up the side of one vineyard (a vouette), and the trees (sorbées) surrounding another. He's cheeky, too: we walked through a neighbouring vineyard to see more of his vines, and he called the climb "crossing Chernobyl". He's not far wrong: the soil looked pale and lifeless.

The soil in the area is the same as in Chablis, just 60km to the southwest, but the average temperature here is lower and the average annual rainfall 80mm higher.

OK, it's all well and good to cultivate healthy soil, crop at low levels and pick at optimal ripeness (the neighbours once knocked on his door, concerned that he had forgotten to harvest because they had finished and he had not started), but how did he get to the point in such a short time that demand for his wine exceeds supply?

First, the supply was so small: 3000 bottles in 2004 when he was selling the rest of his grapes to raise funds for much-needed infrastructural expansion, rising to a pre-allocated 15,000 in 2010, with an estimated increase to 30,000 in another three years and an ultimate cap of 40,000 bottles because he and his wife Helene have decided to preserve their lifestyle and not pursue more vineyards and a greater workload. You can tell that is going to be hard for Bertrand to stick to now that he has the bit between his teeth.

Second, the marketing plan was brilliant in its absence: He took some bottles to a quirky bistro in the nearby city of Troyes, where the staff decided the wine was fantastic and they would spread the word to Paris. Within two weeks he had received his first order from Japan - before he had even settled on a price list.

He's obviously not out to make millions: he has refused requests for stock for a couple of years to build up his cellar, and he says he wants just enough money to keep his wife and children happy. He also marks his labels with a code to ensure that if wine destined for one market turns up in another, he knows the guilty party. And he says fame is fleeting, and he wants his wine savoured by enthusiasts, not only by those with money and connections.

Bertrand chuckles when he thinks about how his wine has found its way to Italy, Scandinavia, the UK, US and Japan, and will soon be appearing in Australia. The first allocation for Eurocentric down under is just 60 bottles of 2006 Saignee de Sorbée, a rosé made from the smaller bunches of vines closest to the rootstock.

Next year the offer will likely be 180 bottles of Fidele Blanc de Noirs, 90 bottles of Blanc d'Argile (BdB) and 30 bottles of the saignee, all 2007 vintage. The BdN is likely to be around $120, the BdB about $150 and the rose should squeak in under $200. He will keep pushing the release date back until the wine is a full year older than it is on release now.

So, onto the tasting. We examined nine samples in the cuverie, from barrels of different sizes. The new crop from 2008 hadn't yet gone through their malolactic fermentation so were understandably acidic, showing plenty of grapefruit flavour and crisp minerality. The first was a pinot noir from Sorbée and Bertrand thought it a little heavy. The nose was very generous and I thought the palate elegant enough. But the second sample, from the "daughter" vineyard, Biaune, was leaner, showing more finesse and yet still citrus flavours. Bertrand explained that it was a cooler area, getting less sun exposure and facing the forest rather than the village. It was thought by others to be the worst plot but he feels it is fantastic. It is hard to argue. The third sample came from a tiny warmer vineyard and was noticeably softer and mellow. All three were from Kimmeridgian soil, the same in Chablis and the Cote Chalonnaise, where another Eurocentric producer, Stephane Aladame, crafts his subtle chardonnays.

The fourth sample was more chalky, coming from Portlandien soil, with green apples, some yellow fruit, oak spice and touches of cream. The fifth was an experiment with a yeast selection to see if he could get away with using less sulphur dioxide. Bertrand isn't happy with the result, so he will pursue the same goal through less oxidative winemaking techniques.

The sixth, the saignée, was a pretty soft pink, fragrant but showing less flavour at this stage, and was made using a brief carbonic maceration in a style that hails from Bertrand's childhood. He is looking for tannin here to help preserve the wine.

The chardonnay vineyard planted by his father produced the seventh sample, very floral and slightly creamy, while the eighth was from young vines and seemed tightly wound but at the same time remarkably complex.

We then tapped into one of his soleras - a huge oak vat of reserve wine that he adds to and draws off each year. Eventually he will have one each of pinot noir and chardonnay. This blend though was simply awesome, showing plenty of oak influence but great richness of fruit and length on the palate.

At last it was time to crack a bottle. This hadn't been a standard domaine visit: there's the winery, here's the wine, let's run through them. No, we had spent two hours in the vines, studying the soil and plants - in between throwing sticks for his indefatigable dog Chops - and then an hour in the cuverie before the first bottle was even produced.

It was a 2006 Blanc d'Argile, which seemed a contradiction: a very fine mousse, elegant, classy, delicate in a way, but packed with flavour and yet not heavy. Bertrand doesn't use much sugar for the secondary ferment and there is no filtration, so he explained that the wine would run out of fizz quite quickly, but I suspect the liquid will run out before the bubbles do.

The second bottle was still on lees, and Bertrand hand-disgorged it for us. There was no need for a dosage - none of his wines have one added - but it was still rich. The oak was prominent but not offensive, like a Krug on steroids, with cream, caramel, butter and popcorn flavours, and a soft, lingering finish. It was from his second vintage, a 2002 Fidele.

The man certainly can make wine but I sense he knows there is still much to be learned. His neighbours think he is crazy but all he cares about is the love of his family, the respect of his peers and spending time communing with his small corner of God's nature.

I promise to return soon, to talk more and to perhaps go for a motorbike ride together. He has three bikes - a Moto Guzzi, a trials bike and an enduro bike - so he insists I don't need to bring one. He likes to go wild though, he warns. "I must be strict in winemaking, so riding is my release, my chance to let the adrenaline flow." I get the feeling it never actually stops.

Vouette et Sorbee website