It didn’t come as a surprise recently when I ran across more confusion
amongst the masses over the touchy subject of Chablis. Are we still in
the shadows of those dark days when everyone’s parents kept a jug of
“it” on hand for everyday use? Or have legions of new-world chardonnays
confused us even more; some just oozing with oak-induced and buttery
flavors, while other, newer styles are now touted as “naked,” the
latest hip term in ‘unoaked’ wine-speak?

Even with all this buzzing in the modern era of winemaking and
wine-consumption, vignerons in Chablis, France, have quietly been
making benchmark styles of chardonnay like they have done since the
year 1114, when Cistercian monks planted the first vineyards. The
climate is varied, with hot summers and cold winters, with the
possibility of harsh frosts. The vines cling to hillsides with
southwest exposures to achieve ripeness, growing in kimmeridgian soils
of limestone, clay and crushed oyster shells from an ancient sea-bed.
The wines produced were old world: layered fruits, richness, acidity
and minerality. They were very reflective of terroir. But Chablis was
always overshadowed by the wines of the Côte de Beaune, to the
southeast, in the heart of Burgundy. More importantly, in recent times,
between 1885 and 1960, the phylloxera louse nearly destroyed the
Chablis’ wine industry. And during this time, Americans saw the
invasion of the “Chablis Jug.” Now recovered, Chablis has only just
re-emerged onto the world market and thus is only vaguely known to all
as a reliable producer of chardonnay. With new vines and modern styles,
the region can almost be considered new world.

Just as it is paler in color than most new-world chardonnays, Chablis
consumption also pales greatly in comparison to those from California
and Australia. This is too bad. Chablis should really shine in the new
world because of its regional styles of unoaked or moderately oaked
wines. Most are fermented and aged in stainless steel, while some of
the premier and grand-cru wines are aged in select barrels. Naturally,
these are wines to match a growing consumer response toward light,
bright and refreshing unoaked wines. Savvy consumers on the search for
that perfect summer afternoon white should take note.

I’ve been drinking a fair amount of Chablis lately. They are pale,
crisp and light, with a requisite salty finish, from the seashell
deposits in the soil. They are classically paired with raw oysters
because of this saltiness, and their refreshing fruit flavors are good
companions for summer salads, seafoods and chicken. I like the snappy
Joseph Drouhin Chablis 2006. The Drouhin family made wine for centuries
in the nearby Côte de Beaune and set up their domaine on abandoned
property after the phylloxera blight. This wine sees no oak, resulting
in crisp citrus fruits, white peach and melon flavors, and a long
acidic and salty finish.

Another bottling I sipped on recently was the ultra-fine Domaine
LaRoche Chablis St. Martin 2006. It had a little more color, golden and
brilliant with a nose of key lime pie. Tangerine and grapefruit danced
on the palate and as it warmed slightly, it became more assertive.
Custard and sweet honeysuckle emerged on the finish. It was soft and
gently acidic, and there was a pinch of salt. This wine suggested the
loosening of boundaries and the opening of experiences to come.

I seared some chicken, fennel, bok choi and shitake mushrooms in the
wok and garnished the dish with sautéed grape tomatoes and ramps, which
are wild onions that just came into season. The tender bok choi burst
with flavor and the wine did too, exploding at different times during
the meal.

Pick out an inexpensive bottle of Chablis. It is getting to be the
season to tote a bottle of chardonnay out to your favorite picnic spot.
But as I write this it is snowing at my house. I guess I will have a
few more weeks to work on my wine and backcountry skiing columm.
Cheers! Remember, wine reveals truth.

Drew Stofflet is the sommelier for Ella, in Carbondale. Correspond with him at aspendrew@hotmail.com.