Home > Wine Guides > Burgundy Wine Guide > Chablis: An Introduction

Chablis: An Introduction

Chablis, a name which for many conjures up images of little more than a dry white wine, is a word which has been for many years abused by New World producers keen to liken their own wines to those of this famous appellation. Chablis took on brand-status. Such practices are now largely in the past, but I still suspect that many new to wine are surprised to learn that Chablis is not a style, but a region, one that surrounds the town of the same name. The grape is Chardonnay, another fact with the potential to surprise those who more readily associate this grape with the super-ripe, warm-climate flavours of tropical fruits and, of course, overt oak flavours. But this is not the case in Chablis. This iconic wine transcends the variety from which it is made and owes much more to the soil and climate than the fruit.

The evidence that belies the importance of both these factors to Chablis becomes apparent upon taking just a short stroll in the vineyard. The relevance of the soil - the terroir - is perhaps not so obvious; one must stoop down and scrape around in the rocks a little to find the evidence, but the significance of climate can be seen everywhere - in spring at least.

Chablis: Climate

This far north, frost remains a problem well into spring, and low temperatures in March and April will wreak havoc with a season's new, tender growth if left unprotected. For many years the most common solution has been to light burners in the vineyard; when freezing temperatures are forecast the workers will pass amongst the vines, setting light to these small stoves, which are typically fuelled by oil. As I mentioned in my introduction I saw these mini-stoves being laid out in the vineyard when I visited in March 2009, although there are alternatives which I also spied during my visit. The first of these, which certainly seems counter-intuitive at first, is a sprinkler system; as the temperature falls below freezing point the sprinklers are switched on, coating the new growth in water which then freezes.

You might think this would damage the vine, but the continued sprinkling of water ensures there is a liquid-solid (water-ice) interface present at all times, so there is what physicists refer to as a phase change, where matter coexists in two states, in this case ice and water. In this situation the temperature remains constant at 0ºC, the point at which water turns to ice (and vice versa), known as the freezing point. This temperature is not low enough to damage the tender growth which is therefore protected. When the ambient temperature rises above the freezing point once more the system is switched off and the ice melts, and the vines beneath are unharmed.

Perhaps a less surprising system, the application of electrical heating is nevertheless quite a new one. It requires the provision of an electrical supply up to the vineyard (just as the sprinklers obviously require a water supply), so that when the temperature falls to a dangerously low point current can be run through electrical cables trained along the rows of vines. The resistance in the cable is such that it warms up, thus protecting the vines from the frost. Not yet widespread, the system was introduced in a joint project funded by Albert Bichot and William Fèvre, who together own huge swathes of the grand and premier cru vineyards. A typical control box, situated at the foot of the grand cru vineyard Vaudésir, is shown above; loops of cable at the end of each row can also be spotted.

Chablis: Terroir

As for terroir, if there was ever any doubt about its significance, one that couldn't be addressed by the symbiosis of Riesling and the slate vineyards of the Mosel, or by the dramatic differences seen in wines made from Cabernet Franc on sand, gravel or limestone, the three main soils of the vineyards of Chinon in the Loire, then surely the doubt can be put to bed in Chablis.

Unlike the vineyards of the Côte d'Or, which have largely been formed by land movement pushing the hallowed slope up above the surrounding territory, here the soils and slopes have been shaped largely by erosion, both by water and ice. The river in question is the Serein, which runs northwards through the town of Chablis from its origins in the Auxois hills near Arconcey, some way west of Dijon and the Côte d'Or, to where it drains into the Yonne, itself a tributary of the Seine, the great river of Paris. It is the Serein that has carved away much of the superficial soil, and which divides the vineyards up into left and right banks, the latter being where the grands crus are situated. Many of the surrounding valleys that provide the myriad of slopes suitable for viticulture - with those south-facing being of most interest to the committed vigneron - have been formed by ice movements during the last Ice Age, or by the flow of minor tributaries of the Serein.

It is not this that supports the terroir argument, however, but rather the exact soil type that is underfoot and how it relates to appellation and classification. All the best sites, those that are responsible for the ultimate expression of Chardonnay that is Chablis at its finest, feature Kimmeridgian limestone; largely composed of the fossilised remains of billions of tiny marine creatures (the region having once been underwater), it is not that unusual to find nice examples of such fossils by turning over a few stones in the vineyard. It is, incidentally, the same Kimmeridgian limestone that extends westward to the vineyards of Sancerre which is, remarkably, closer to Chablis than Chablis itself is to the Côte d'Or. So if you have ever noted flavour similarities between Chablis and Sancerre, a structure or minerality that seemingly transcends the difference between the two varieties responsible (Sancerre is Sauvignon Blanc territory), than that may well be the explanation.

There are a number of other soil types here, number two after Kimmeridgian being Portlandian, a less substantial soil with a different mineral composition. And whilst some producers make a feature of this, such as JM Brocard's interesting terroir cuvées, few would deny that the best examples of Chablis all originate from the Kimmeridgian soils.

Chablis: Controversy

Although combining some knowledge of climate and terroir gives the basis for a good overview of Chablis, there are more as yet unmentioned nuances to this famed appellation. Chablis is perhaps not so straightforward as its easily pronounceable name might suggest.

Perhaps the most vital controversy concerns the aforementioned terroir, specifically the dominance of Kimmeridgian over Portlandian soils, and defining which soil-types are entitled to the appellation. It was in 1938 that the INAO first laid down regulations concerning Chablis, defining the wine as any grown on Kimmeridgian soils from one of 20 communes including Chablis itself. Anything else (including the wines from Portlandian terroirs) were Petit Chablis. This sparked fierce debate between two camps, led principally by Jean Durup on one side and William Fèvre on the other. Durup maintained that the ruling ignored other vital aspects of terroir, such as aspect and altitude, and that there was a long history of viticulture on Portlandian soils which should therefore be entitled to the appellation. The dispute was not settled until the 1970s, and the decision was in Durup's favour; today the INAO regulations define Chablis without precise reference to soil type. Much of Durup's land, around the commune of Maligny, was as a result no longer Petit Chablis, enjoying a reclassification as Chablis. This decision today still draws some criticism; there are those who maintain that the appellation boundaries are far too extensive, and that they should be redrawn.

The boundary debate was polarising, and no less can be said of the other great Chablis controversy, the use of oak. There are two schools; one will argue that Chablis will only succeed with judicious use of oak, either for fermentation, for élevage, or for both. Others take the stand that the association of Chablis and oak is an abomination, the wood totally incongruous with the style of wine, which should be about steely, minerally definition rather than the richness of oak. No one viewpoint is right. Writing in Burgundy (Faber & Faber, revised second edition 1999), Anthony Hanson says of oak-derived aroma in Chablis "It makes them often very delicious indeed, or turns them into caricatures, depending on one's point of view". My own view is that there is a middle ground; an overtly oaky wine is not one that matches my personal expectations of Chablis, but I am content with those where the oak takes a backseat, allowing the terroir to shine. In addition it should be noted that with age, which the premier and grand cru wines demand if they are to show their best (and these are the wines most likely to have an élevage in oak), the styles of steel-fermented wines and those that have seen gentle and appropriate use of wood tend to converge and it can be very difficult to tell which is which. It should perhaps also be noted that the greatest names in Chablis, Raveneau and R&V Dauvissat, both have oak - although not new oak - in their cellars, rather like the one illustrated above - in this case complete with electric heater, to encourage the malolactic fermentation. I am sure that a debate of new oak versus old oak - highlighting the difference between oak that dominates and oak used as a seasoning - would be much more relevant to the quality and pleasure derived from Chablis than one that features oak versus steel.

Enough now of soil, of oak, of climate, of stone. It is time to look at the wines themselves in the next part of my guide.

• Part 5: The Wines of Chablis