A FINE STORY OF GRANDS CRUS CLASSÉS...

Bernadette Thumerelle’s Book: A Delightful Blend of Humor and Wine

In her latest book, Bernadette Thumerelle brilliantly incorporates a plethora of French wine references into a humorous love story between a wine enthusiast and a character named Juliénas. Here’s a sneak peek into this charming narrative.

The Story of Great Vintages: A Wine Lover's Tale

“It’s a story I must share with you, if I may say, ‘the Primeur’! It all happened at the Nuit St Georges ball. I met Syrah, who couldn’t take her eyes off the wine catalog, and her cousin, the petite Juliénas—a real Gigondas, a splendid Meursault, well-structured, a grand cru classé, with a vermilion robe and subtle aromas of blackcurrant and wild strawberries.

We danced Anjou against Anjou on a fashionable Sylvaner, and when I suggested taking her to my Châteauneuf-du-Pape, she became quite Croze-Hermitage. As I placed a wool Chablis over her shoulders, tied a little Corton in her curly hair, and didn’t forget her small Barsac in hand, she climbed into my Banyuls in a Fleurie dress.

We drove all night through the Champagne region amidst vast Chambertin fields. By morning, we were too tired to haunt the numerous Châteaux lining the roads: Pétrus, Margaux, Mouton Rothschild, Latour, Lafitte Rothschild, Haut-Brion with its Frontonnais adorned with Vougeot angels. Yet we admired Beaujolais Moulin-à-Vent, which, like us, had wings.

Ah, what a beautiful day! I Fitou to please her. We played colin-Mayard among the Châteauneuf-du-Pape vines. We toured a Buzet, strolled Between-two-Seas, Vacqueyras on the beach, feet in Clairette water, Pouilly-Fuissé in the dunes. As the Mercurey was rising and she began to get Côte-Rôtie, I decided to head back.

But we ended up stuck in traffic. I began to Minervois seriously; soon, Juliénas and I started a Chinon scuffle, and we were Brouilly! She yelled, ‘Cahors!’; ‘I want to get out!’ I stopped. She slammed the Corbières of the Banyuls, which wasn’t a Cadillac, and disappeared.

She had Sauvignon before I could Sauternes her into a soft Lirac with satin sheets! Is this what it means to take a Rasteau? I was left like a Macon, a Pommard, a Condrieu! Nothing to Riesling, on the contrary, I Vouvray cried. But I must react; I must know how to leave my Bourgueil at the locker because Juliénas is the woman of my life. I Jurançon, I’m Tokay, I have her in the Pauillac. Ah! Limoux, always Limoux! And Saint-Pourçain that I ran through Lalande, Faugères, and Chardonnay to find her but Loupiac! No Juliénas! I was sad and very thirsty! I went into a village Cabernet and drank Quatourze glasses of grand crus.

I was Graves drunk but finally found my Banyuls! I slumped on the Blanquette and realized that even in Visan, I couldn’t continue the journey. I slept a long time and then resumed my search. I followed the Bordeaux of a canal and got lost in a dark Arbois, praying to Saint-Joseph and Saint-Estèphe. Behind an old Saumur of stones, I suddenly heard the Pétillant sound of Savoie. I finally found her!

She was there, in Gros-plant: ‘Ah, my Touraine, don’t be a Pomerol, and don’t leave me again, Gamay, I couldn’t bear it.’ She fell into my arms in Madiran as I had never been admired. ‘Don’t blame me,’ she said, ‘I just wanted proof that your Saint-Amour was truly Sancerre!’ Since then, no one knows if it’s cuités… and I de Vinsobres… But allow us, exceptionally, to raise a glass to your health!”