Bandol 2004, Domaine Tempier
7th October 2007
Quite a few of my relatives are tight-fisted. This is a common disease throughout Britain, but it reaches epidemic levels in the North. My Lancastrian relations sweat with terror at the thought of parting with money, and will go to astonishing lengths to avoid doing so.
The worst of these – I must be careful not to identify him, as he would be happy to make a few extra pounds through a libel action – is a byword for stinginess throughout our family. Many years ago he took a brief holiday in the south of France. Before leaving he asked if there was anything I would like him to bring me back. I mentioned a wine I had been reading about, an interesting-sounding red called Bandol. He promised he would do his best.
On his return he told me that he had found the Bandol, but he hadn’t bought it, as it was far too expensive. “You wouldn’t want to throw your money away on stuff like that.”
“No,” I sighed. “I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
“Anyway, I found you something much better.”
“How lovely.”
“What would you say to a bottle of Château Lafite, eh?”
“I’d say ‘Hello, Château Lafite.’”
He peered at me. “You do know what it is, don’t you? I mean, I’m no wine buff, and even I’ve heard of Lafite.”
I said I knew what Château Lafite was. “But if you think Bandol is too pricey, then surely . . . ?”
He chuckled complacently . “Just a question of keeping your eyes open, laddie. I spotted this one in a tiny little grocer’s shop in Nice. Fifty francs!”
Even back then this was absurdly cheap, and I found it hard to envisage Lafite-Rothschild on sale in any grocer’s, large or small. (Mind you, I once came across a bottle of Château Petrus in a supermarket in Ecuador, but that is another story.)
I paid my relative the five pounds or so I owed him and left the bottle in its supermarket wrapping. Wishing to keep the eventual embarrassment to a minimum, I preferred to wait until I was home before discovering the catch, for catch there would undoubtedly be.
When I unwrapped the bottle, it turned out be something called Château Lafitte. This form of trickery, which I believe is known as “passing off”, is severely punished in the UK. The French seem to take a more relaxed attitude, perhaps in the belief that the only victims will be penny-pinching rosbifs.
Anyway, Château Lafitte tasted every bit as horrid as you would expect, a mixture of fountain-pen ink, goat’s blood and iron filings. I am reminded of it every time I see a bottle of Bandol, the wine I had asked for. This is a tragedy. Bandol is seriously good wine, and it does not deserve any sort of mental association with Château Lafitte or my appalling relative.
It comes from a small port on the coast of Provence, near Toulon, and it is the only French appellation made predominantly from the Mourvèdre grape. Domaine Tempier make theirs using a combination of modern techniques - pneumatic press, stainless steel vats - and traditional large oak barrels, in which the wine sits for a minimum of 18 months.
The result is a dark, ruby-coloured wine with violet highlights, a peppery nose and a massive, fleshy taste, faintly reminiscent of ladies’ knickers. The label says it contains between 11 and 14 per cent alcohol; I would put it very much nearer the 14 than the 11 end of the scale.
The most important thing to be said about the Tempier Bandol is that it is not boring. I have tasted far too many wines in this price range ($30 US, £18 UK) that are expertly made yet wholly without character or interest. The next day I have forgotten them completely, and even my own tasting notes will not revive their flavours in my mind. Tempier’s Bandol is most definitely not one of these. It is strong, distinctive, and each glass is a joy. Admittedly it is a good deal more expensive than Château Lafitte. But it is much, much cheaper than Château Lafite.
