Well, I declairet!

A kind seeming soul would like to sell you some wine.
Clairet is a French term that refers to a pale red (or depending on your inclination, a dark rosé—shake your head back and forth rapidly, and it’s both—but don’t do this for too long, or you may lose your lunch) Bordeaux wine. The word, possibly derived from the Medieval Latin “claratum” (clear), has a very long history in Bordeaux, dating back to the late middle ages when the Bordelaise had a taste for light-bodied red wines and had quite a lot of success with creating an export market for this style of wine, principally in England. To make Clairet, a Medieval vigneron would co-ferment both dark and light red grape varieties together (I suspect that white varieties were also employed) for just a few days, just enough to give a vinous beverage but one without much color or extract. In my reading on the subject, the Medieval Bordelaise grape varieties are either no longer cultivated, or their identity is unknown. Most of the grapes used in modern Bordeaux have a relatively recent history, e.g., Cabernet Sauvignon was not widely cultivated there until the 1600s. One fascinating speculation is that the unique and today somewhat marginal Pineau d’Aunis grape, now relegated to the small pockets in the Loire Valley, was one of the grapes that Bordeaux vigneron used to make Clairet, but I digress. By the 16th century, the British began to refer to the emerging early modern style of Bordeaux red wine as Claret, but this is a very different sort of Bordeaux than Clairet, produced through longer maceration, aging in new oak barrels, and favoring darkly pigmented grape varieties (with, it must be said, a good portion of the otherwise deprecated “black” wines of Cahors blended in). Today any sort of Bordeaux red wine may be a Claret—the term has degenerated to the point of being denuded of much significance. Today, the Bordelaise, who do not have a category for rosé, continue to use Clairet to refer to a lighter-bodied style of red wine, meant to drink young when it is fresh and alive, unlike the paragon of Bordeaux wines, first growth reds that are meant to drink when they have aged and developed senescent, tertiary glory. I like to believe or pretend that when I open a bottle of Clairet that I am opening a window into another place and time, and getting some picture, dim and attenuated as it may be, of the palate, foodways, and sensibility of days long gone by. The Spanish have their own sort of Clairet that they refer to as Clarete, and by my lights, the Italians too on the Adriatic coast have their Cerasuolo (“cherry”) to refer to a type of wine that again is either a light red or dark rosato, or perhaps neither or both but simply Cerasuolo. Anyhow, Clairet is just what the doctor ordered when it is warm out and you’re not in the mood for a white or orange wine, glou glou is so 2019, and red, other than perhaps Beaujolais or a Schiava, fuhgeddaboudit.

Château Massereau Bordeaux Clairet 2018 $24

Château Massereau is in Barsac, located at the southern tip of the Bordeaux appellation. Established in the 1500s, the estate is historic and storied as all Bordeaux domains seem to be, but the part of the story that interests us begins at the turn of this century when brothers Philippe and Jean-François Chaigneau purchased the property. The Chaigneau brothers decided to take a decidedly natural and uninflected approach to wine growing and winemaking and to try their hand at making the type of digestible, lithe old school Bordeaux that their grandparents would have recognized. In the vineyard, they abjure synthetic chemicals (rare to find a practicing organic estate in Bordeaux), harvest by hand, and cultivate with the assistance of horse-drawn plows. Their wines are made without added crap, and I have been smitten each wine I have tasted from the estate—we carry two or three of their wines at any given time. This time of year, it is the Chaigneau’s Clairet that works so beautifully, as it is light-to-medium bodied, low-tannin, and works brilliantly when served chilled. For their Clairet, they harvest the grapes early to maintain natural acidity and then ferment in older barrels. Get it!

Akilia “Lou” Clarete Bierzo 2018 $25

Mario's delicious Clarete.Mario Rovira has a sweet, laid-back mien, but do not let that fool you: behind the kindness lies a wine mind like a steel trap. He farms primarily in Bierzo (another small project is outside of his hometown of Barcelona; he also sources grapes and makes curious and savory flor-aged unfortified wine to the south in Jerez), from old plots of wizened, century-old vines, chiefly Mencia. His Mencia-based wines are earthy and full-bodied, but this time of year it is his Clarete that I cannot get enough of. I like it so much that this year, Mario asked if I’d like to have him put the name of my shop on the front of the bottle, and so of course, consummate narcissist that I am, I said yes. Mario’s Clarete is a blend of high-acid, neutral white Palomino and earthy, mineral-riven red Mencia, grown on a tiny, old, abandoned vineyard that Mario coaxed back to life. Organic farming, wild yeast fermentation in large barrels. Serve cool, if not chilled. Get it!

Francesco Cirelli “Anfora” Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo 2018 $33

Cirelli's anfora Cerasuolo has an outline of an amphora on the label.Cirelli makes two versions of this wine: he ferments one in stainless, and it is foursquare, fruity, and fresh (and sold out, alas); the other ferments in terracotta amphora, and is rustic, textured, and stony. Cirelli is a consummate farmer, and rather than follow the monocultural dictates of modern industrial farming, he grows legumes, grains, and vegetables in rotation to keep his soils alive. We often carry his stainless steel normale wines, but it is the amphora wines that are particularly compelling if twice the price of the normale. The low key, natural microoxygenation that amphoras afford, and their otherwise mute neutrality (he does not use beeswax-lined Georgian qvevri with slate slab tops, but unglazed terracotta with stainless steel lids) seem to bring out the best in his vines. Certified organically farmed, fermented, and aged in amphora. Medium-bodied, dry, subdued dried berries with a bit of raspy tannin. Get it!