Wot No Chablis…

I am never really sure whether it’s absence or infact distance that makes the heart grow fonder. But either way and recently, I have been pining for Chablis. Yes, Chablis (a little east of Auxerre in the Yonne), that steely white wine ‘Un goût de pierre à fusil‘ (gunflint flavour) that most of us began our vinous lives with back in the day of extremely good value Wine Society Chablis from the AOC Cooperative called La Chablisienne. They had a 1er Cru Fourchaume that even a poor little van driver like me could afford to drink. However, the recent Chablis-haunting started down here with me the other day, I put it down to the change of season (summer here now), with a dream that I had. In this dream I found myself standing in Sweetings (its been in Queen Victoria Street, The Square Mile for donkies), I do not know if dear reader you remember the place or not on the corner? or even if it’s still there or did it become a Colonel Saunders KFC* outlet? Anyway, in the dream I was propped up at the wooden wall-bar, hi-stools to perch on and no tables. I was with a chum, enjoying a plate of their quite excellent and historical fish pie and a bottle of chilled Petit-Chablis. Nothing special you may think, but when I awoke in the morning not only could I taste their crispy & potatoey Haddock fish pie, but I could also still taste the very drinkable chilled white that we where slurping on. I was taken right back to when I last visited the place which must have been around 1983 or 1984. So that’s 37 years ago! Ufffa!

The problem with this, and by the way I am really not complaining at all, is that where I live now there is no Chablis to be found, not a drop not even a smidgeon of the kimmeridgeon. NO CHABLIS! Even the local Mendocian Chardonnay that sometimes has notes of a cheap Puligny-Montrachet on the nose (only on the nose by the way) just doesn’t fit the bill. So craving away here like a mad dog I started to read Chablis notes in Jasper’s latest tome to get this fix over and done with. Alas, it’s actually had the opposite effect. I am now simply desperate to drink some Chablis. In a way it’s a great feeling, a little flagellant perhaps, but nothing wrong with that eh! it has now gotten to the stage where I don’t care who the grower is, I don’t care about the vintage or whether it’s Petit-C or a C or even 1er or Grand Cru C. It’s all becoming quite intolerable. As luck would have it, I was going through the wine selection in a local wine shop, downtown Buenos Aires, on Monday last and what did I find. Bianchi Chablis 2017. Bodega Bianchi is a largish family owned winery in San Rafael, southern Mendoza, famous for its Grand Cru red, Enzo Bianchi, which is quite fabulous by the way! So, I paid for this bottle on the shelf, equivalent to a fiver (GBP), of what they would pronounce down here as ChAbb-leesS, took it straight home and put said bottle in the freezer to chill up rapidly. Here is my tasting note: Vino de color amarillo verdoso de tonalidad leve, perfume frutal, toque de orina, equilibrada acidez suave, citrico, seco y fresco persistencia en boca.

To put it more bluntly, not great at all, it was no more drinkable than a cheap plonk that we can all find, probably, in a large supermarket, Appellation d’origine contrôlée style. Sure it was priced at a cheap plonk price, and quite correctly but can someone explain to me how on earth a wine in Argentina (the wine world!) is allowed to carry the name Chablis on its label. It is not from Chablis for goodness sake, it has no similarity to the wine we all know (or once knew in my case) as Chablis. It shouldn’t exist or be there and quite frankly has now put my Chablis (from the Yonne) craving into 4×4 territory. I am becoming a Chablisaholic monster. If you are still reading this, and understand a word of what I am banging on about, it is indeed a cry for help, please, can someone and maybe you dear reader, find a way of sending me a bottle or two of the real stuff, I am quite desperate.

Ain’t got no home, ain’t got no shoes
Ain’t got no money, ain’t got no class
Ain’t got no friends, ain’t got no schooling
Ain’t got no wear, ain’t got no job
Ain’t got no money, no place to stay
Ain’t got no father, ain’t got no mother
Ain’t got no children, ain’t got no sisters above
Ain’t got no earth, ain’t got no faith
Ain’t got no touch, ain’t got no god
Ain’t got no love
Ain’t got no Chablis, no cigarettes
Ain’t got no clothes, no country
No class, no schooling
No friends, no nothing
Ain’t got no god
Ain’t got one more
Ain’t got no earth, no ?
No food, no home
I said I ain’t got no clothes
No job, no nothing
Ain’t got long to live
And I ain’t got no love
But what have I got?
Let me tell ya what I’ve got
That nobody’s gonna take away
I got my hair on my head
I got my brains, I got my ears
I got my eyes, I got my nose
I dot my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, I got my chin
I got my neck, I got my boobies
I got my heart, I got my soul
I got my back, I got my sex
I got my arms, I got my hands
I got my fingers, got my legs
I got my feet, I got my toes
I got my liver, got my blood
Got life, I got my life.

Words by: N.Simone/Hillary C.H.