Month: January 2018

In Memory of Chard the Guard

Kathie-PhotoAlmost to the day 15 years ago, a coyote fatally attacked Kathie Lee’s beloved Chardonnay on the Gifford family’s suburban Connecticut estate. “Chard the Guard” (the family pet’s pet name, according to the New York Post) was patrolling the estate when the coyote snatched it, probably from a snow drift considering the time of year.

I had misremembered Kathie Lee’s dogs Chablis and Chardonnay as Labrador or Golden Retrievers because of the colors of those breeds’ coats. In reality, they were lily white Bichon Frises. [Comment: Why would someone name white dogs after something yellow and not after something white like a marshmallow or snowball? End Comment.]

27073279_10215463614133718_188022670492107424_nI’m taking a break from the Loire Valley to pay tribute to the late great Chard the Guard with another Chardonnay. Though not distinguished with the coveted AOC certification, this one is a veritable “Vay Day Pay,” a lower-than-AOC vin de pays country wine from the South of France. It’s 100 percent Chardonnay grape, but half of it’s been aged in oak, so I’m drinking from the left side of the glass only. More important, the octogenarian wine cooperative, Anne de Joyeuse has “joyful” in its name, so I can end this post on a cheerful note.

You say Voove-RAY-ah, I say Voove-RYE-ah

The timeless village of Vouvray is at the geographical center of the Loire Valley wine region and the Touraine subregion. [Comment: Timeless because it has grown by only 1,000 residents since the late 18th century. I hear they’re still wearing powdered wigs. End Comment.]

27072650_10215442056234784_7934158439321373344_n.jpgTo achieve the village’s coveted eponymous AOC certification for its eponymous Vouvray wine, local makers must make their (almost always unoaked) wines using only the Chenin Blanc grape.

The main church in Vouvray is dedicated to Saint Martin of nearby Tours, the patron saint of wine makers. And soldiers. And geese. His name is my saint name, but I have another connection to Vouvray. I distinctly remember my first encounter nearly 30 years ago with the not-grapefruity dry white wine as a wide-eyed American whipper-snapper in the City of Light that is Paris, France. Whereas I had ordered a voove-RAY, the waitress came back with a voove-RYE-ah, a sing-songy pronunciation that has stuck with me despite my better judgment and grasp of the language and the countless admonitions of countless francophones and countlesser French wine connoisseurs.

If I’ve learned anything from my complicated relationship with Vouvray over the last three decades, it’s never to take pronunciation cues from an uprooted peasant girl-turned-waitress from the Swiss Alps who doesn’t know the difference between speaking French and yodeling