Tag Archive: Bordeaux

  1. Toad’s in France

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    It is Friday night here at La Plage, a Bordeaux nightclub boasting five separate dance floors. Clutching the hands of my travel companions, I squeeze through the thudding labyrinth. We press on into the Third Room (the Third Circle of Hell, perhaps), a cube that backs into a massive shrine to our god, the DJ.

    This deity chants “LADIES!” for reasons unknown, every seven seconds. Soon enough it blends into the background thump of his 2009 remixes, whose beats reverberate off the concrete walls and all the way through my fingertips.

    A birthday girl cradling a bottle of Grey Goose has hoisted herself atop the table in the “lounge” area. LADIES! A cluster of people is stationed directly in front of the DJ. Their ages range from 15 to 55; some bodies are wiry and spritely, others full and sumptuous. They do not speak. They have nothing in common; nothing, that is, but a true talent for line dancing. Together they bunch and spread, hips gesticulating. They do not smile. This is a Serious Matter. They close their eyes, grimace from the exertion. LADIES!

    Drawing from my wealth of international clubbing experience, I compare La Plage to a more familiar haunt: Toad’s Place. La Plage is in ~*Europe*~. La Plage offers us the choice of no less than five bars and five DJs, rather than “Stage, or sticky floor?” The good-looking Frenchman I’ve just met offers me a cigarette, rather than groping blindly at my hips. He invites me to an after-party at 5 a.m., when La Plage closes, a full four hours after the Woad’s DJ graces guests with “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

    Right now it’s 1:30, past Toads’ and my bedtime, and my ankles, perched precariously atop high heels, are starting to give way. I grasp the sweatered arm of the Frenchman. I admire his scruff and his clove-tinted scent. I’m starting to hate my dancing. I apologize. He’s starting to hate his non-fluent English. He apologizes.

    “Oh my God, no way,” I encourage him. “You are so good!”

    I hate my hollow response, an octave higher than my normal register, even more than my dancing. I’m tired of talking to him. I scan the room for my friends.

    And, just like that, La Plage may as well be Toad’s.

    There are a few clumps of males who aren’t yet intoxicated enough to approach the girls they want to approach. Their full cups touch their lips with twitching anxiety, emptying fast. There are several stiletto-girls. They move their hips, eyes darting all around, trying to meet someone else’s. There’s that one short old guy who’s alone. He slithers around the room, grabbing at everyone, spawning equal parts laughter and revulsion.

    And there’s me, somewhere in between the periphery and the vortex, searching for my security blanket — my friends — who have dispersed to pursue their own fleeting flirtations.

    It doesn’t matter whether the men smell like cigarettes or Natty Lite, or whether that drunk girl is draining Grey Goose or Dubra. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a five-room megaplex on a foreign continent or in a pregame in our common rooms. All of us — the dancers, the drinkers, the floaters, the clusterers, that old guy and me — we’re all here for the same reason.

    We’re at Toad’s and we’re at La Plage for that moment when our groping eyes meet another’s groping eyes and, for just that second, we’re assured that, yes, we are wanted. We’re there for that one song that plays halfway through the night; when, for three and a half minutes, our friends are all dancing at the same time and with the same abandon. For those three and a half minutes when we don’t doubt that we are someone who has friends. Best friends.

    I have one rule when it comes to places like Toad’s: Leave before the end of the last song. When I hear Bon Jovi start up, I roll out. Fast. I know that it’s superstitious and arbitrary. But I also know you won’t reach that transient euphoria during the last song (especially when that song is literally about clinging to a shred of hope). And you don’t want to be the one whose search was fruitless, who drilled the hope into the ground.

    Tonight, at La Plage, it’s not an issue. There’s no way I’ll make it to 5 a.m. I can’t even stand in heels anymore. So my friends and I leave behind all five pounding dance rooms and the sweatered Frenchman. We decided we did not love each other. As we walk out, our eyelids droop. Our makeup is muddled with sweat. Our hair is frazzled. I am barefoot. My feet try to stretch out, padding against concrete.

    It’s not the corner of Broadway and Elm, but it could be. The empty streets echo with our laughter. I am relieved because I do have my security blanket. It’s not love tonight, but I did find my friends and we are linking arms and I am not alone. “It was a good night.” We move like blood through a grey vein.

    Contact Caroline Wray at caroline.wray@yale.edu .

  2. A Glass of Cab to Keep Away the Cold

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    There are few things I enjoy more during these winter months than sitting next to my nonfunctioning fireplace and savoring a big glass of robust red wine. And for me, no wine screams snowy weather more than Cabernet Sauvignon. The driving force behind Bordeaux’s best, the king of Napa Valley, Cab reigns supreme, producing arguably the most complex, expressive (and expensive) wines in the world. 

    Cabernet Sauvignon in particular has extraordinary aging potential: The greatest Bordeaux evolve beautifully in the bottle for decades and decades after the grapes are harvested. When drunk young, Cab has a reputation for tasting a bit “tight,” meaning its flavors seem compacted or closed-off. One easy way to combat this problem is through aeration, a process that exposes the wine to oxygen, also known as allowing the wine to “breathe.” Aerating is easy and literally begins the second you uncork (or unscrew) the bottle. I will often pour red wine into a decanter — a special vase for wine — to reveal more surface area and speed things up. Decanters come in all shapes and sizes — some are truly works of art — and can add extra flair to the table next time you host a wine night. But if you’re a chronic procrastinator, a nifty (albeit somewhat controversial) device called an aerator will get the job done on the spot. Since I only have one decanter and two Cabs, tonight I’m using my Soirée aerator, a round glass bulb with spiky indentations that attaches to the end of the bottle, softening the wine as you pour.

    This evening, my friends and I are starting off with a bottle of Bordeaux before enjoying some Napa Cab. Situated on the southwestern French coast, Bordeaux is France’s largest wine region. Its chateaux collectively produce more than 700 million bottles a year, ranging from historically and internationally celebrated first-growths to food-friendly table wines. Whereas its rival region Burgundy creates single-varietal, hyper-terroir driven wines, Bordeaux firmly believes the greatest wines are created through blending a combination of five different grapes: Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Petit Verdot and Malbec. The Gironde River divides Bordeaux into the right and left banks. Traditionally, a left-bank Bordeaux will be primarily composed of Cabernet Sauvignon, while a right-bank will feature more Merlot. Although supplying a very similar flavor profile to Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot is often described as rounder and more velvety. Nevertheless, even wine experts have difficulty differentiating between Cab and Merlot in blind tastings. Cab Franc, the third most important varietal, notably contributes violet and spice notes.

    But, despite being from the left-bank, the Château Hanteillan 2010 I’m sampling has a pretty even split between Cab and Merlot. 2010 has been revered as one of the greatest vintages of all time for Bordeaux, and this bottle does not disappoint. A silky, luxurious Bordeaux, the Château Hanteillan exhibits a bouquet of blackberries and mocha, paving the way for an earthy experience on the palate. This wine will taste great today or after a few years in the cellar.

    The saying goes that “Cab is King” in Napa Valley. The most widely planted red grape in California, Cabernet Sauvignon is responsible for bringing international acclaim to the American wine industry. Napa winemakers will often make Bordeaux-style blends with California grapes, sometimes titled “Meritage,” but are more likely to offer a single-varietal wine. That said, American law states that for a wine to be labeled as a varietal, only 75% of the wine must be that grape. So, a lot of California Cabs are secretly blends as well. The Aviary Vineyards “Cabernet Sauvignon” 2011 that I’m drinking tonight is indeed 88% Cab, with hint of Merlot and Petite Sirah. In the Napa fashion, this Cab is more succulent and masculine than the Bordeaux. The wine boasts aromas of plum, currant, tobacco and pepper on the nose, all of which carry to taste. A powerful and classic California Cabernet, the wine demonstrates a long, lush finish.

    So when you buy your valentine a box of chocolates next Friday, consider picking up a bottle of Cab to go along. The traditional rule for pairing with dessert is never to have the food be sweeter than the wine. Doing so will cause the wine to taste unpleasantly bitter, even if that truly isn’t the case. Cab drinks beautifully alongside dark chocolate, and together they can provide all the right ingredients for a decadent and romantic Valentine’s Day for you and that special someone — or to warm you up during any chilly night in with your besties.

     

    Both the Château Hanteillan 2010 (Haut-Médoc, Bordeaux) $21 and the Aviary Vineyards “Cabernet Sauvignon” 2011 (Napa Valley, California) $20 are available for purchase at The Wine Thief (181 Crown St., New Haven).