In this entry to our 2024 wine writing competition, Beverley Bourdin writes about the bottle of Château Margaux that sparked her passion for wine. See the guide to our competition for the rest of this year's published entries.
Beverley Bourdin writes My name is Beverley Bourdin and I reside in Alberta, Canada. As a retired Registered Nurse, most of my career was in the operating room. Following my impactful wine encounter twenty years ago, I have completed International Sommelier Guild Level 2 (Advanced), WSET 3, certifications through Wine Scholar Guild (French Wine Scholar, Italian Wine Scholar, Rhone Masters, Certified Sherry Wine Specialist) and am an Italian Wine Ambassador from Vinitaly International Academy (VIA). My association with VIA has given me the opportunity to be a contributor to the book Italian Wine Unplugged 2.0 and interview wine producers for the Italian Wine Podcast. The impetus to write this story occurred in May 2024 when we were camping in the mountainous Waterton Lakes National Park in southern Alberta. The weather turned dreadfully cold at zero Celsius with strong wind gusts. My husband and I went to the Prince of Wales Hotel for lunch to escape the weather. On the wine list, was a Chateau Margaux. Memories and gratitude came flooding back to me of how I fell in love with all things wine and became a serious wine enthusiast. This is my story.
From trepidation to transformation
I was quite complacent in my life with beverage choices, since wine was an afterthought for celebrations and dinner parties. The 1.5 litre bottle of a somewhat passable white wine was a standard fixture at family Sunday dinners, regardless of the meal served. If fate had not intervened, I may have lived my years not knowing or tasting none the better. Until Nevers. Until Renee. Until Margaux.
My husband’s grandfather had emigrated from France to Canada as a young man. We had reconnected with relatives still living in the beautiful city of Nevers, along the Loire River. After some correspondence, we included that destination on a European vacation. A gracious host, cousin Renee opened her home, her heart and her sumptuous cooking to the Canadian relations from across the Atlantic.
Len (my husband), after offering preparatory dinner assistance, mentioned to Renee, “by the way, my wife Beverley is a vegetarian.” Renee was only diminutive in stature; all other attributes were larger than life. She responded by placing her hands on her aproned hips and giving me a top to bottom visual survey. “It is impossible to be a vegetarian in France. And I have already planned the menu.” She spun around on her heels and returned to the kitchen. Len, the meat lover, had a certain smugness with that response which he could not stifle.
I was awash with a sense of shame for imposing my dietary preferences to a wonderful woman who was immensely welcoming to strangers a generation removed from her town. My dinner destiny was sealed, I would accept gratefully whatever was presented.
The l’apertif savoured with champagne in the living room was an easy hurdle. Not at all like Andres Baby Canadian Sparkling. Salmon mousse followed as l’entrée with a Loire wine, astonishingly better than our mega bottle of wine. Renee explained with each dish by sharing with us where and why it was sourced. Escargot followed. I just ate snails. Large snails. I can survive this. And good heavens, these foods are even more enjoyable with the wines. It was as if each food course and new wine were intended to go together. The meal strategy was starting to reveal itself.
And then the leg of lamb was placed on mid table. I felt like I was in a vehicle whose brakes just locked up at high speed. The leg was upright, neatly severed tapered leg bone pointed upwards, the outside meat seared to a glistening deep brown. The wafting aroma of roasted lamb flesh and rosemary hit my nostrils. The first slice of the meat next to the bone initiated a trickle of blood and the juices pooling onto the plate. The room felt suddenly warm and closed in. Perspiration beaded above my lip. Dinner conversation dissolved into white noise. The tapping of Renee’s finger nails on a wine bottle snapped my out of my glazed over state. “This is a Chateau Margaux 1985. You will like it.” The bottle was empty, as it had been decanted prior to our arrival.
The portion of this red wine poured for me was more generous than my dinner companions and Renee served me a smaller slice of the lamb acknowledging my visceral anguish.
I swirled my wine imitating my host; breathing in the rich aromas. Red berries, blueberries? Had someone added a few drops of vanilla? She mentioned polished tannins which was a foreign term to me. What were tannins? Shoes and silverware get polished. My vocabulary at the time was devoid of wine sensory descriptors. I was an operating room nurse. It was profoundly intriguing, so many nuances of smells. My taste buds were then lavishly bathed in a liquid form of berry compote. Tiny forest strawberries, blackberries, dark cherries? Why can I still taste it after been swallowed? My Sunday value wine didn’t deliver the same taste pleasure. I deliberately sipped slowly, holding the wine in my mouth as an attempt to delay the inevitable bite of the poor lamb. Each sip raised my level of unfamiliar sensory euphoria. Nearing the bottom of my wine glass, I mustered the courage to take a bite of meat and quaffed more red wine. Time froze. Not horrible at all. What culinary alchemy do these French practice? It was an amazing synergy of complementary tastes. I paused, reflected and repeated. My vegetarian remorse was fading. A new existence of possibility opened before me. It was a surprisingly delicious wine and harmonious pairing. Magical, in fact. This mysterious red juice rather washed and cleansed the fat residue from my mouth. Did I taste some baking spices? My culinary dread was replaced by a sudden selfish desire to be left alone with the remaining inches of that Margaux. Keep talking people while I reach for the decanter. I felt the angels of wine had interceded, buffering me from a terrible meat consuming experience. In my slightly tipsy state, I tried to reconcile in my thoughts why I was drawn to this red wine which was outside my experience repertoire. I had no contextual knowledge of why this appealed to me. I want to know more about this wine. I need to. How could my husband’s family leave France with wine this wonderful? No more big bottles of insipid wine will land on our table at home. Things are going to change.
All of the dinner wines served in my naïve perspective were quite outstanding. However, it was the Chateau Margaux that had a profound impression on my senses and ignited a passion for wine and food that still excites me decades later. It was a pivotal tasting experience that has driven me as a wine lover, wine history geek and a student of all things wine. I am forever grateful to Renee for this transformational introduction to quality wine. Merci beaucoup.
(I hope heaven has an excellent wine cellar.
Renee Chambaut (nee Bourdin) 1925-2021)