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SIPPING COS D'ESTOURNEL

IN PRAISE OF A SUPER SECOND | March 12th 2008

BillBl/Flickr

At a London tasting of Cos D'Estournel vintages, Bruce Palling considers the rare beauty of this Bordeaux "Super Second". Under-appreciated, perhaps, but it's hard to believe it when enjoying a glass with hints of cedar, spice and dried blood ...

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Angkor Wat is one of the most mysterious ruins on the planet. You expect it to be surrounded by either vultures or bats interlaced with peacock cries and slightly threatening tom toms. In person, the majesty of the entire Angkor complex in north-western Cambodia is may be rivalled only by Versailles or the Great Pyramids, such is its grandeur.

The first time I visited Angkor was in the early 1980s, when I was producing a TV documentary about the depressing conditions of post-Khmer Rouge Cambodia. It was a rare privilege to have the entire temple to ourselves, save a lone North Vietnamese officer standing guard. Many of the best Buddhas were still in situ (only later were they looted by Thai smugglers and sold around the world for a fraction of their true worth).

Much is written about Angkor's syncretic nature--basically it is a Hindu temple with Buddhist elements. But I treasure it especially because, with a bit of latitude, its silhouette could have inspired two of my favourite objects in the world: Umaid Bhavan Palace in Rajasthan and the chais or cellars of Chateau Cos d'Estournel in Bordeaux.

If ever there was a wine label I would like to have as a bookplate, this is it--three Orientalised towers on an otherwise classical building with vineyards in the foreground and fluffy clouds as a backdrop. In reality, the chateau is far more flamboyant, with doors from the Sultan of Zanzibar's palace, lots of carved beasts and birds, and the odd unicorn on the crenulations. I keep a pristine empty bottle of the awesome 1928 vintage within sight near my desk. 

Admittedly, the Angkor connection is tenuous, but Cos owes its Eastern influences to a 19th-century owner who went to Asia frequently. He even took to sending barrels of his wine out and back as it allegedly improved the product. The wine became famous in the late-19th century, and was favoured by Queen Victoria, the Tsar, and Napoleon III. Even Engels spoke of purchasing it in a letter to Karl Marx.

Cos was one of the first serious wines to ever grab my attention in Paris more than 30 years ago. Perhaps it was because it is famous, like Latour, for producing excellent wines in off vintages. Also they were the only ones I could afford at the time. I still recall a near-perfect 1962, which I had at the Tate Gallery restaurant in the late 1970s for the grand sum of £4.50. Perhaps it was the high Merlot content, but I still remember it smelling of deeply scented red roses.

The region of St Estèphe is famous for producing big blockbuster-style wines that last for decades. But Cos has one of the highest percentages' of Merlot in a left-bank Bordeaux, so it has an elegance that's rare among most St Estèphe wines. Nowadays, Cos is under the control of a Geneva-based property billionaire, but the estate is still managed by a member of the Prats family, which purchased it in the 1920s.

Jean-Guillaume Prats, the château's manager, personifies the Gallic preppy. He was the French national champion of real tennis, an aristocratic version of the sport that predates Wimbledon. Highly articulate, with impeccable English and a desire to elevate his wine's reputation (and price), he sometimes rubs British wine merchants the wrong way. But I like him a lot, and I admire the way he has pushed for more recognition for his wine and all the other "Super Seconds" (the handful of top Bordeaux usually just below the First Growths in quality but which are priced much lower).

It has long niggled Jean-Guillaume and other producers, such as Palmer, Pichon-Lalande and Léoville-Lascases, that their wines are consistently priced at a third of what is given for First Growths. This price-gap was more like 50% 30 or 40 years back, but the gulf has widened in the past decade with the entry of big spenders from Asia and Russia.

I still recall a 2005 dinner with Jean-Guillaume at Cap Ferret, Bordeaux's glorious seaside retreat. One of the more impressive things about the meal was that he served wonderful Bordeaux, but not his own--plus some exquisite Clos de Tart from Burgundy, a rare move for a Bordelaise. He had just returned from a serious drubbing by a leading London wine merchant. Jean-Guillaume had announced to them that he was going to raise opening prices to around half of the First Growths. They threatened to never buy his wine again, so he quietly shelved the plan. Such is the worldwide frenzy for the First Growths that they are now on average priced at seven times the cost of a Super Second.

So what about the tasting? It was arranged in London by Aiko and Linden Wilkie's Fine Wine Experience, who create the world's greatest public tastings for rare wine. It was an interesting line-up, framed by the raved-about 2003 and extending all the way back to 1928, one of the finest 20th-century vintages.

The 2003 was a supercharged affair, which smelt of stinking figs and Ribena--there was also a distinctive smell of oak on the nose and in the wine itself. Experts far more experienced than me say that this will be the greatest Cos for the past couple of decades. But for my taste, the best contemporary Cos was the '96--and at £720 a case half the price of the '03. Forgive the superlatives, but the rim reminded me of the crimson glow that awakens you when you are flying over the Outback of Australia. The flavour is full throttle, with cedar, a touch of spice and, I am afraid, dried blood. This will effortlessly last two decades at least. The 2001 and 2000 vintages were not as exciting for me; the former was quite delicate and just beginning to stretch its legs, while the 2000 was not as profound as I expected. It had a big-bang beginning but then ended rather abruptly. It probably needs another five or six years to show its best.

The 1990--another landmark vintage--had the colour of Madeira. It is gorgeous, and left plenty of tasters looking despairingly around the bare room for a rack of lamb to accompany it. I thought the fruit was a touch singed, and there was a slight lack of vivacity, but the wine is classy nonetheless. The 1986 is another revered vintage, but it did not have as much aftertaste as I had expected and the tannins dominated more than I would have liked. The 1985 was, by contrast, more open and generous, the way the entire vintage is. The fruit was going slightly mushroomy, but perhaps that was just the bottle. As for the 1982, another renowned wine, this particular bottle was a touch tired with nothing very profound about it. With its cedary nose and alcoholic ending, it was a bit rustic.

We eagerly awaited the last few wines--the '49, '45 and '28--three of the best vintages of the century. I had had a perfect bottle of '49 once at L'Arpege, a three-star restaurant in Paris. This one was slightly fragile without fading out of the picture. It had a beautiful sepia colour and a sweet raisiny toffee aftertaste. The '45, by contrast, had an ash, burnt nose. It was slightly madeirised and not terribly profound. (Alas, there is always a big risk of bottle variation once wines are at least half-a-century old.)

The '28, though, was a profound experience. It actually improved with time in the glass, and when I poured the last few drops from the bottle a few hours later, it was even more harmonious. It was slightly prickly but still had sweet fruit and a gentle aftertaste. I only hope I show as much style and potential for longevity when I am 80 years old.

(Bruce Palling spent 30 years as a foreign correspondent in Asia and Africa, including a posting as the first South Asia correspondent of The Independent. He lives now in London, where he writes about food, wine and travel, and is working on a history of regime change.)