THE FUSS ABOUT FIZZ 
(or, paying a lot but adding to the occasion)

Graham Blackshaw uses all five senses to raise and resolve some doubts about champagne

 We are all, I am told, blessed in some or other way at birth. Who would argue that those as diverse as Beethoven and Herschel Gibbs did not arrive with some inherent natural talent or ability that was duly allowed to blossom? It would take careful study to determine whether this writer was blessed in any particular way, and a view expressed all too often by colleagues and siblings is that I am, rather, the exception that proves the rule.

Certainly being born to temperate parents employed as Methodist clergy did not  suggest any talent would ever involve a critical appreciation of wine. Blessing there was, however, even though it was disguised as what has been called ‘an extra helping of nose’. Having a large gonk has not only proved a useful instrument for thrusting into wine glasses but has also allowed me to sniff out scam and humbug. And so to the point: this fuss about fizz.

Current exchange rates and new price increases mean a half-decent bottle of (proper) champagne costs some R400. So one would expect an exceptional drinking experience and certainly one to justify the difference between this price and the R50 to R70 price tag of local bubbly. On an international scale, R400 would buy you a bottle of good châteauneuf-du-pape, a premier cru burgundy from a decent vintage, some top-end juicy fruit Australian shiraz, and even a modestly good bordeaux (though not from the 2000 vintage).

Having admired the packaging and enjoyed the heart-lifting pop of the cork, why is it that one always feel a little bit disappointed with that first mouthful? Never mind, we say, this a wedding, birthday, anniversary, first date, first Tuesday of the week ... whatever – it is an occasion for a little champagne. So the taste might be a little bit disappointing and in one’s gut of guts one feels a little bit ripped off at paying R600 in a restaurant for something that has not exactly been life-changing. But what else could one possibly drink on an occasion such as this? Now herein lies the lesson: one of the greatest marketing con tricks since British royalty somehow convinced an otherwise intelligent population that they should be given vast sums of money to piss away. Champagne and the price that is paid for it has very little to do with the quality of the product itself and everything to do with clever marketing.

Yes, one can trot out a long list of adjectives such as yeasty, honeyed, delicate, racy, lemony, refreshing, etc, whilst clutching at something to say about the wine, but, in truth, no one sits down and says, ‘mmm.... I think I’ll have a nice bottle of champagne with my meal tonight’. Oh, you say, what of that great accompaniment, the oyster? Fair enough, they do go rather well together, but doesn’t reference to a raw mollusc smack more of desperation than of a convincing argument?

Whether created through centuries of hype or not, champagne undoubtedly adds to (or even makes) an occasion. Romance is there, deriving from showy packaging, a popping cork and fizzy bubbles. Even a teetotaller recognises that a special event demands something with a bubble. So you will find the Women’s Temperance Union giggling and gulping down glasses of sparkling grape juice on Mildred’s 70th birthday. Romance convinces the schoolboys who hide a bottle of Fifth Avenue Cold Duck behind the bicycle shed outside the matric dance hall, and the rest of us who trot out local bubbles to set the dinner party to a good start (while saving a bottle of the real stuff for that really special time).

Is this all a bad thing? Most definitely not! The price one pays for champagne is not justified by the taste, but it is justified by the occasion and the experience. It may well be the product of hype and conditioning, but champagne unquestionably adds something.

Romance is the key element. A few years ago I had the pleasure of a brief tour around the Champagne region. Two producers stood out, for entirely different reasons. The first was Salon, a pretty much hand-made blanc de blanc from five hectares of vineyards around the village of Mesnil sur-Oger on the Côte des Blancs. Salon will forever bear the cachet of being the house wine of Maxim’s in 1920s Paris. When we visited, we were shown around by the winemaker Max, who was friendly and exceedingly generous, while his wife and members of his family were labeling bottles by hand. This all for something that costs around about R1 000 a bottle.

Compare this with a visit to the producer Bruno Paillard in Reims who receives ever-increasing accolades and scores from the British and American wine journals. Key to enjoyment of this particular bubbly is never to visit the dreadful place in the industrial area of Reims where it is produced. Unlike the charming and beautiful Salon, where romance lives and breathes, this is a champagne factory that may serve its purpose but will never provide experience and occasion.

That great local champagne slut Allan Mullins (he really should apply for a role in Absolutely Fabulous) is fond of pointing out that one of the delights of champagne (or bubbly in general) is that it appeals to all five senses. He is right, and it is through the unlikely use of hearing that I have developed a clever little wheeze to determine the best champagne at a tasting. The moment the wine is poured, lift it to your ear and listen to those pin-prick explosions. The simple rule – the finer the bubble, the better the champagne. You don’t even have to taste the stuff. There’s a guaranteed 90% success rate in increasing people’s admiration of you as a connoisseur of all things fine. (Perhaps, after all, it is my ears rather than my nose that is my birth-blessing.)

In your moment of glory, however, remember that champagne certainly has its place, but also that you are paying for a lot more than a liquid with bubbles.

Graham Blackshaw is a lawyer and wine-drinker living in Cape Town.