Intro to Burgundy, the Wine World’s Most Complicated Region

Few regions in the wine world are as worshiped, and at the same time misunderstood, as Burgundy. The wines, Chardonnay for the whites and Pinot Noir for the reds, are certifiably wonderful, more so now than at any other time in the region’s long winemaking history.

Unfortunately, a substantial part of that long history has centered on indifferent winemaking that permitted mediocre practitioners to foist thin, insipid bottles on an adoring public, a public no doubt dazzled by place names so steeped in lore as to often mask poor vineyard and cellar practices.

Names like Chambertin, Pommard, Clos de Vougeot for reds, Montrachet, Puligny-Montrachet, Meursault for whites, to name a few better known ones, promised something that these justifiably hallowed grounds often could not deliver: ethereal Pinots and Chards with grace and subtle power.

The good news is that the days of laurel resting are long gone. Producers great and small are exploiting their fortunate geographic placement and making the best wines in the region’s history. Though consumers can feel safer about choosing a wine from an unknown producer now more than at any other time in the past, consumers will still be left dealing with Burgundy’s virtually incomprehensible classification system.

While it may be possible for a somewhat casual white Burgundy fan to identify a known commune like Meursault on a label, it’s unlikely that any of Meursault’s 18 or so premier cru sites will mean anything to that consumer when spotted on that label, other than the promise of a lighter wallet, that is.

Burgundy is a place of place names and these lieux dits (lee-ew dee) or climats (klee ma) are so numerous as to often confound even the most confident student of the region with names never before encountered.

And to make matters worse, Burgundy is the poster child for France’s inheritance laws gone wild. A family holding that at one time might have been sizable invariably ends up smaller and smaller with each successive generation’s heirs getting his or her piece.

The result, in addition to the vast majority of producers being essentially tiny, is a phone book that reads more like a collection of family reunion sign-ins. There are pères, there are fils, there are hyphenations, there are cousins, grandparents, and names so common as to be almost Smith-like in their ubiquity. That’s Burgundy.

All of this said, there is a way to make a bit of sense of the Burgundy hierarchy. As it stretches from Chablis in the north to the Mâconnais (that is, the area surrounding the charming town of Mâcon) in the south (technically, the vast, leafy vineyards of Beaujolais are considered part of Burgundy’s viticultural area, but it has long been treated separately) and particularly the Côte d’Or, comprised of the Côte de Nuits (in the north) and Côte de Beaune (south of Nuits), pedigree, thus esteem, quality (most of the time) and price, is directly related to vine placement on the ground.

Generally, the lower the vines in elevation, the less special they are. As vines work their way up from sea level toward the slopes, they get better and better. So, usually, vines on the ground floor, so to speak, will typically be accorded generic or regional designations like Bourgogne blanc and rouge, Mâcon, etc.

As the vines start to move up the slopes, and/or particularly if they are found in certain communes (essentially something roughly equivalent to a town and its immediate surrounding area), the resultant wines may be given more specific communal appellation monikers, such as Chablis, Meursault and Pommard.

As those vines move up a bit more, something that can easily be witnessed as a visitor drives down roads like the N-74, the finished wines may be given premier cru status.

And finally, for those privileged vines raised at or near the crest of certain slopes, a grand cru designation may be indicated. Bottles can then be proudly adorned with the name of the vineyard or other important place within a vineyard. For example, Gevrey-Chambertin is fairly well known as an excellent source of Pinot Noir.

So, a label that simply says “Gevrey-Chambertin” would mean that the bottle contained Pinot of a somewhat “basic” quality for that particular commune. (Of course, there is basic and there is basic, and certainly a Pinot from Gevrey-Chambertin should be expected to show more class than one from a lesser-regarded commune, such as Ladoix. There’s nothing wrong with Pinot from Ladoix, however, and in fact, it is an up-and-coming commune that is the source of very well-priced wines.)

If a label also included one of Gevrey-Chambertin’s authorized vineyard names or climats, such as for example, Champeaux, one of the best known of the commune’s 26 premier cru place names, you would expect the Pinot to be a pretty big step up in class from the “basic” Gevrey-Chambertin. You’d also pay a lot more for it. Sometimes winemakers choose to leave the climat off the label but still may label it premier cru.

This choice can be made for a number of reasons, including vintage variation and blending of grapes from more than one climat to name just two. And, by the way, you’ll never see a bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin with a grand cru designation on its label.

Confusingly, there is a grand cru called Chambertin that actually comes from the same commune of Gevrey-Chambertin, but the absence of "Gevrey" means the grapes came from a different place within the commune, one that has long been considered among the best in Burgundy for that grape.

Got it? All of this is very general, and there are so many exceptions that it often seems hardly worth trying to make sense of it. But after all, a general framework with many holes is better than none at all. Future posts will delve into white and red Burgundy separately but in more detail.