What Was Lost

Dear Reader,
With regret, I don't have any photos of glorious Carménère vines, deeply rooted in their soil on a rolling Chilean vineyard. I have not yet been to Chile, and therefore cannot supply an accompanying image to compliment my tale of this enduring grape. I live in Brooklyn, and the closest I can give you is a picture of a bottle of Carménère, taken at home - but that would be repetitive. And so instead, we will have to make due with photos taken from a recent winter's walk in my neighborhood, and perhaps glean from the stillness and beauty of trees and snow a sense of appreciation for nature's endurance.
I will share with you now, the story of my favorite grape; the legend of Carménère. If you like, and you certainly should, pour yourself a glass and get snug in your bed. Now close your eyes and I will begin.

Once upon a time, Carménère was the glory of France, being one of the six original noble grapes (the others are Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet franc, and Petit verdot). Aptly named after its beautiful crimson color, it grew in abundance in the Bordeaux region, and found itself quite at home there as a blending grape as well as a lone noble grape, fit for a noble imbiber. It was the grape of kings and conquerors, drunk by Napoleon Bonaparte himself as he rode through the French countryside on his valiant steed!
Well, that Napoleon bit might be a tiny dramatization on my part. But this is a bedtime story, and I'm creating images to incorporate into your dreams. Now, where was I?

Oh yes, the noble grape was once rightly so, crimson and beautiful to taste. When in full maturation it was filled with the flavors of bright cherries and chocolate; wood and leather and smoke. And the name! Carménère. Say it aloud. Car men AIR. Isn't it lovely in the mouth? It has a Nabokovian beauty, with the triplet of syllables unfolding on the tongue as does Lo li ta, but with more feminine curves. Full and womanly is our Carménère.


Crimson and leather, curves and literary allusions...it all seems so romantic. And it is! It is a romantic grape not because of its natural beauty, though, dear reader. It is because of its loss that is has grown beautiful. Loss, as in all great tales of romance and survival, is what compels us to go on. And now I've reached the sad part of the story. If you need to refill your glass, go ahead.

The abominable plague of 1867 that ravaged European vines, the dreadful phylloxera, blighted France and the rest of the continent, and doomed our poor grape along with the others. France was in despair, as you can imagine, with vineyards wiped off of the face of the country. Families were uprooted, the economy was in crisis, the land was left ravaged and vineless. The future appeared bleak, much like these barren Brooklyn trees you see, leafless in the stark February sun.

To add despair upon greater despair, our beautiful Carménère was particularly afflicted by the unrelenting pest, and by the end of this savage ordeal had completely been obliterated from France. It was a very sad time, indeed. But like all times of loss and despair, it eventually came to an end. Phylloxera was ultimately rid from Europe by way of a helping hand from America, whose rootstocks, when grafted onto European vines, rendered them resistant. (I won't go into detail on this matter, but it is a wonderful story of nature's wrath and bounty, so I encourage further reading on the subject.) The plague was over, and wine vines thrived once again! Well, all but one, that is. I needn't remind you which.

And so it was that France made it through a time of great hardship, but not without suffering the loss of our heroine. The country carried on, but our lady Carménère was quite forgotten. She was thought to be buried deep in the Earth's dark tombs for dead vines for many, many years.

Until, that is.....until ONE DAY!!

(at this point I've no doubt stirred you from your cozy pillow, so it would be a fine time to refill your glass again)

Okay, we're getting to the good part. We must journey into a foreign land! Quite far away from our native France, we arrive in the country of Chile. Why, French isn't even the national language, can you imagine? And yet, we will find something French here, after all. Something we thought buried and put away for a long, long time. Now, those of you who know this story, don't spoil the surprise. Just hold your horses.
There, in Chile, masquerading for 150 years as though a debutante at a very long ball, our Carménère is found alive! In the disguise of Merlot, at that! Of course, the Chileans hadn't noticed. Why should they recognize a French ghost, who happened to look almost identical to their well established Merlot grapes? And however did it get there?! It was quite a journey. In fact, not only had our precious grape been mistaken for Merlot in Chile, but she was later found hiding in Italy, too! She had found a way to survive. Of course, things like ships and men certainly helped, mind you. And the adequate growing conditions in these foreign climes, they also certainly played a role.


But what's important is that the sun had not set on our Carménère, after all. The promise of days to basque in the light and warmth, bearing fruit of the most succulent nature, was sound. What was once lost, had now been found.

Carménère is thriving in Chile to this day, and grows in a small part of Italy, too. Even a portion of France still boasts of some vines. And I can't promise anything, but it is whispered that it may be making something of a comeback in Bordeaux in the future. We shall see. For now, it is time to sip and dream, dream and sip. Take in the flavors and aromas of the most romantic grape, with the most romantic story of them all.

The end. Fin. El fin.

But wait! I wouldn't be a very good storyteller if I didn't give you something to think about for tomorrow. I suggest you savor these affordable Carménères while you ponder the loss, the rebirth, and the eternal....

Lan Zur, Concha y Toro, Terra Andina.