Admission: I almost never buy Bordeaux, red or white. Like Hong Kong in 1997, I'm content to leave it to the Chinese.
But this is just a sneaky way of saying, 'I haven't yet become interested enough to educate myself.' White Bordeaux, however, holds a great deal of mystery for me, because I encounter it relatively rarely, and because when I do, I seem to dig the results. Typically derived from Semillon and Sauvignon, with diminishing proportions of Colombard, Ugni Blanc, and Muscadelle, among other minor grapes, the wines constitute a persuasive middle ground in great French white winemaking. More stolid and less exotic than Alsace, less luminescent than Burgundy, lacking the bite of Sancerre or the amorphous delicacy of Chenin, with neither the spicy exuberance of southwestern whites, nor necessarily the honied voluptuousness of those of the Rhone, Bordeaux blancs, like their red counterparts, seem to prize grace and gentility over strong personality. Only, not being red, they are continually overlooked, understocked, and underpriced.
The other day I dropped by 10ème natural cave La Contre-Etiquette, and left with two bottles of scandalously inexpensive white Bordeaux, which I intitially planned to keep in stock until some appropriately low-key occasion arose, such as a bad dinner party, or a risotto. I am no good at saving things, however. Later that evening my newly-bleached friend E came over, and we wound up polishing off both bottles in a state of happy incredulity, barely able to believe that such profound wines could be found so cheaply.
