Blogged in Burgundy
When he was two, Yoda did Bordeaux.. He frolicked at Smith Haut Lafite, peed at Petrus was banned from Rothschild, and cadged some table scraps at the Chateau Pichon Longueville.
Ten years later, we took Yoda to Burgundy. This time the vineyards were forewarned. Yoda was in, or we were out. All the good ones agreed, though some told us that it was not safe to take him into the cellars when the fermentation was on. One of the perils of the good life.
Yoda was in his element in the much more casual, relaxed Burgundy estates. He was welcomed, admired, petted over, and made comfortable wherever he went. But his grandest moment came outside the vineyards of the Domaine Romanee Conti. It’s the only estate with a wall, and a sign warning visitors against entering the property. Oh, the pleasures and pains of producing wine that sells at $ 1000 a bottle. Japanese tour buses unload their hordes who come to genuflect at the wall. Faces filled with piety and wonder, as in the Sistine Chapel.
Our host Ronald had brought along a bottle of Burgundy, and we carried our glasses as we walked. Tasting with your feet, he called it. We stood beside the wall, sipping our wine, contemplating the sign, trying to screw up the courage to enter the vineyard, and scavenge just one fallen grape. Could we pull it off, or would the wine gods send a thunderbolt from above? Would we see the flashing lights of a French police car with the klaxons on at full blast? Inspector Clouiseau come to bring us to justice.
Yoda broke the ice. He strode up to the wall, and raised his leg. He then walked through the gap in the wall, surveyed the vineyard, sniffed at a grape, went up to a vine, and unleashed another golden stream.
With that one simple act he set us free. No more intimidation. No fear of the Gods of Burgundy. The gendarmes could go take a hike. I went up to the vines, picked up a grape from the ground, bit into it, and spit it out. The next time, I’d wait for it to be bottled. We then set Yoda up on the wall, placed our wine glasses around him, and got some wonderful pictures that Ronald posted on his blog captioned as “A dog’s life in Burgundy”.
A dog’s life in Burgundy
A veteran world traveler, Yoda seems to prefer the white grand cru, Bâtard Montrachet, to the red, Romanée-Conti. The well-behaved Shih-Tzu’s been with us in cellars, vineyards, tastings and restaurants all week, the lucky dog.
What we do is called “tasting with your feet.” Nothing imprints a wine’s characteristics on your memory like drinking it in the vineyard where it was grown.
The links to the blog went to all our friends. We got the usual reactions. “Awesome”.
“Cool”. “Yo Yoda”. They ran the entire gamut of one word emotions and emoticons –the vocabulary of the new millennium.
Santhini, a famous writer for children in Bombay had another take. She said “You must write a book about Yoda, and I will be happy to edit it for you”. The trouble with good ideas is that one feels inspired to act on them. It is far better to give good ideas, than to get them. Just like ulcers.
Here it is. Yoda’s story, and ours.
