In the Church of Wine ...

I had a religious experience

A haunted wine cellar … a parade of unicorns … claret from the year that Charles Dickens died. Not your usual SEO keywords. Shall I continue?

As Robert Parker is my witness, I need to testify.

A call came in from an important friend: “I need you. Curtain goes up Tuesday 6:30pm.” I had no idea what for, but when Commissioner Gordon sends up the Bat Signal, Bruce doesn't shrug it off.

To prepare for what lay ahead, I double caffeinated, triple hydrated, ran a 10k along the mighty James, climbed into a slick suit, strapped-on my Shinya Tasaki Laguiole, and hit the bricks in ostrich boots. An all-star Maître d’ / Sommelier, Moez Ben Achour, the gent who raised the signal, greeted me at the curb. Both rocking bespoke windowpane greys, we alighted to the private dining room and got straight to work.

Moez armed me with a magnum of Alain Robert Réserve Le Mesnil Blanc de Blancs Brut Champagne 1990. Flutes appeared as I turned the base with a firm right hand and unplugged the cork with a deft left. The technique is ingrained in me, in part, because of a Master Sommelier pal who failed her first attempt at the MS exam. She took her hand off the top to remove the cage. Automatic disqualification.

Another sure out is pouring too quickly, which leads to excessive mousse and having to top-off, slowing down service. With a thumb planted deep into the cuvée’s punt, I poured fifteen flutes. Clean, even, efficient. Boom, bottle empty. Servers passed canapés and glinting stems to French collectors, Japanese artists, international restaurateurs (one in Derby-vibe fascinator and bling), and a Pennsylvania coal-man whose wife’s insistence of “just a little bit” meant a lil more for the rest of us.

An old pal appeared around the corner and took a glass. One remained and he nodded for me to take it. We clinked and savored the kind of precise yet biscuity deee-lish that certain champagnes hold above Prosecco and Cava, juuust out of reach, like a big sister who won’t share her lollipop. Serious stuff and this was just the aperitif. Elegantly aged, yet fresh – it would be a leitmotif for the whole affair.

The server returned. He was two flutes short. Gulp.

I blanc de blanched and zipped to the bar where Moez had a second mag at the ready, along with a battalion of eye-catching handblown glass decanters that would please a Chihuly enthusiast. It dawned on me then that this was no ordinary extraordinary event.

And then Robert Parker walked in. It was an extra-extraordinary event and I hadn't even seen the menu yet.

Attendees caroused in the dining room as golden hour light pushed through long drapes. Just outside on Pennsylvania Avenue, DC traffic bleated and caucuses quarreled, but in here, the smog of mundanity gave way to a zephyr of conviviality, communion, and joyful anticipation. Dignitaries from the four corners assembled for this singular occasion of a Tuesday.

Guests found their place-cards, took seats, and introduced spouses to neighbors. Along the wall, we four somms huddled to assess glassware and suss out the wines. They came from the cellar not all at once, but two courses at a time – this one and next – to maintain proper serving temps and dramatic tension, each revealed bottle building toward an historic denouement.

Moez has many enough somms on speed-dial to staff wine happenings large and small. Sometimes we’re brought-in as specialists – Burgundy, bubbly, Barbaresco – to nerd-up and geek-out with chatty oenophiles. Sometimes we’re just a flock of chirpy suits murmerating around grand ballrooms to polish, place, and pour a thousand glasses. And sometimes we’re acolytes performing a Liturgy of the Eucharist, preparing gifts and the altar, bringing forward the bread and wine that will transfigure venue/menu/guestlist into ecstasy. It was for this purpose that we were summoned: an elite mission to Serve, Elevate, Anticipate, and Lubricate. For our venerable S.E.A.L. Team Vinx, it was go-time.

Forgive me if I skip past the other three 100-point Parker-rated wines (Chave L’Hermitage, Pegau Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Haut Brion) to acknowledge the 19th-century elephants in the room. Château Lafite 1864 & Château Lafite-Rothschild 1870 (Baron James de Rothschild purchased Ch. Lafite in 1868). I’ve enjoyed Lafite a number of times, including the vaunted 1982 thrice, most recently when I hosted a special tasting of all five 1er Cru Bordeaux on their 35th birthday. (Though, the first time I saw that famed label was because of The Jerk in 1979.)

Scotland’s Glamis Castle dates to 1372. Not a typo. It’s home to the Earls of Strathmore and Kinghorne and it’s where the late Queen Elizabeth’s own mum grew up. Glamis features into the mystical lore behind Shakespeare’s Macbeth and it features into this magical night at Marcel’s. In 1878, the 13th Earl of Strathmore bought a slew of Bordeaux in 1.5-L bottles. Amongst them, 48 magnums of 1870 Lafite left near untouched because the wines were deemed undrinkable at the time. A dive down the rabbit hole into UK newspapers – The Birmingham Daily Post (July 1873), The Daily Telegraph (June 1930), The Guardian (November 1962), The Birmingham Post (September 1971) – revealed much. First, while 1870 was heralded early on as a great Bordeaux vintage, the Lafite was an outlier with unusual characteristics: too dark, too tannic, too astringent, too ungenerous. Second, with the specter of worldwide viticultural disaster looming, 1870 marked one of the last great pre-phylloxera vintages. Third, once this wine was rediscovered – at the century mark and still tannic – the wine world quickly surmised that it wasn’t just a star, but a bonafide supernova.

While the 1870’s anomalies rendered it unapproachable in youth, those very traits engendered long-term beauty. Every red wine loses color, tannin, and astringency over time. The 1870 showed that if you amp-up a claret’s intensity enough, the wine’s narrative arc extends from generational to centennial.

Upon hearing about a discovery of 19th-century bottles, Sir Michael Broadbent, Wine Director at Christie’s Auction House, hurried to Glamis Castle to inspect a forgotten wine cellar. Some suggest it wasn’t so much forgotten as forsaken. Rumors of a haunted cellar even made the papers. Check out the image below. Broadbent found there 42 magnums – “It was an Aladdin’s Cave,” he said – all perfectly-preserved and with documented provenance. He secured the wine and brought it back to London. In June 1971, my birth year, he opened a bottle.

In short, at just over a century old, perfection. It had been risky, but other magnums tasted or heard about have also been flawless.

– Sir Michael Broadbent

Days later, the word went out. The wines were going up for sale:

Broadbent’s original listing from the auction catalog:

Château Lafite-Rothschild--Vintage 1870
Pauillac, 1er cru classé
Lot 748 level: into neck; originally Scottish bottled by Cuningham's; recorked, capsuled and labelled by the Château in 1992. Lot 749 levels: into neck; handwritten Christie's strip labels, believed to be 'Lafite 1870'
Provenance: Glamis Castle, sold by the Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne, at Christie's on 24 June 1971.

This was unquestionably one of the most famous and dependable of all pre-phylloxera clarets. The wine was purchased by the 13th Earl from his wine merchant, Coningham, and binned in the cellars beneath the raised courtyard of the castle in 1878.
Of the forty-eight magnums originally purchased, forty-two remained untouched until packed and removed prior to the sale. The reason for this extraordinary situation is that Lafite 1870 was an unusually tannic wine, virtually black in colour and so tough that it took a full fifty years to become drinkable, by which time subsequent members of the family had lost interest. Forty-one magnums were sold in lots of three and six, the first lot including the original bin label inscribed "1870 magnums Lafitte (sic) Coningham", with the meticulously maintained Glamis Castle cellarbook open for inspection.
One magnum was opened at a pre-sale dinner in Christie's boardroom early in June 1971 attended by a dozen of England's most erudite Bordeaux connoisseurs. The wine, happily, was perfect. My note made at the time : " perfect cork and level; remarkably deep and richly coloured; faultless - indeed exquisite - bouquet and flavour; beautifully balanced, mouthfilling, still tannic but velvety. Perfection". MB
1 magnum per lot

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An outlier in 1970.

Perfection in 1971.

What about 2023?

The story concludes in the next installment!

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I know, I know, it’s been a minute (ok, 1,222,041 mins) since you heard from me. And I’ll get into why in a forthcoming post. So, I leave you with a choice: opt out now and I won’t pester your inbox again. OR, chalk it up to COVID madness (there’s more, but that’s a start) and let’s give this another go.

Besides, don’t you want to know what the 1870 Lafite tasted like ???