Bordeaux 2025 Primeurs: Margaux
“I am pleased to see you are finally taking Margaux seriously,” intoned Taylor Swift, from Twingo’s back seat.
As she spoke, I caught sight of her in the rear view mirror. And next to her sat the BG-100, in the form of Björk. She was motionless, her head tilted delicately to one side, her eyes unmoving and unblinking, staring into the distance. The silver 100 on her forehead glistened in the bright April sunshine which streamed in through Twingo’s windows.
“I’m not sure that’s fair,” I replied, keen to defend my corner. “I’ve always taken Margaux seriously. Even while I have often I have a personal preference for Pauillac or St Julien in many vintages, I have always made time for Margaux. In some vintages, the appellation is really strong, 2010 and 2016 being good examples. I visit and taste here every year during the primeurs and also later on, when I come back to retaste the wines after bottling. But time is tight, and I have often not been able to make more than a handful of visits.”
“But not this year,” interjected Taylor.
Taylor was right. As with St Julien, my number of visits in Margaux has been climbing as the years have passed. Naturally I visited Château Margaux and Château Palmer to taste the 2025 vintage, but this year I also visited to taste with the teams at Château Lascombes, Château Rauzan-Ségla, Château Giscours, Château d’Issan, Château Brane-Cantenac and Château Marquis de Terme. Other wines of this appellation I tasted with the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux, or with négociants and consultants.
A mental list of the day’s appointments in Margaux cycled before my mind’s eye as Twingo turned into the walled car park at Château Margaux. We came to a halt and the three of us clambered out.
“Go taste,” commanded Taylor, giving me a less-than-helpful shove on the shoulder.
Meanwhile, the BG-100 stood scowling, slapping the business end of the baton in her hand with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“Hundrað stig, eða þjást af hundrað höggum,” she enunciated, each unintelligible syllable accompanied by a slap of the baton.
I gulped nervously; I could sense the menace, even if I did not have a clue what she had said.
“Her voice mode is still in Icelandic,” sighed Taylor. “I may have to reset her.” She lifted the hair at the back of Björk’s neck, and began fiddling with some hidden switches.
Please log in to continue reading: