Domaine des Cavarodes - Les Lumachelles 2021
From the Jura, we're drinking a Trousseau Les Lumachelles from Domaine des Cavarodes, vintage 2021.
For a while, I bought pretty much anything from the Jura that came across my path. And the faster you had to click, the better. With a few exceptions, at least, since the bigger names like the bigger wines from Ganevat, Miroirs, or Overnoy are simply outside, or even far outside, what I’d be willing to spend on such a click. But that still leaves plenty of estates on the list. One of these estates was Domaine des Cavarodes with their half-yellow labels. The domaine was founded in 2007 by Etienne Thiebaud in Cramans, north of Arbois. The basic facts are the same as so often in the Jura. Minimally invasive work, organic farming in the vineyard, hardly any intervention in the cellar, no fining, no filtering, and if sulfur, then as little as possible. Honestly, I’m not even sure whether the domaine still exists. The website is gone, the most recent vintage you can find around is 2023, and the information is otherwise sparse. Then again, in the Jura that’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Equally unremarkable in the Jura are autochthonous varieties. Strictly speaking, those are almost always Ploussard or Trousseau. Sure, the Jura is known for Savagnin or Chardonnay, sometimes aged oxidatively, which also sell out much faster than their red counterparts. It’s a shame that Ploussard and Trousseau fly so far under the radar. Especially here in our own region with our own light and at the same time heavily underrated Trollinger, Ploussard should really meet with deep understanding. And Trousseau, Trousseau can truly be great. Also, and especially, with a few years on its back. Unfortunately, part of the truth is that genius and madness, or rather greatness and complete falling apart, rarely sit as close together as with red Natural Jura. Today’s bottle comes from the Les Lumachelles parcel in the Côtes-du-Jura appellation.
After opening, the wine feels as if it still has plenty of fermentation CO2. But it doesn’t, because after the years in the bottle, of course there’s no fizz left at all. But somehow the acidity still does what carbonation does on the tongue. There’s this zing, not the zing of volatile acidity, but more the zing you get when slurping a wine spritzer. Carbonation, basically. Just without any bubbles. Fascinating. That alone has you catching yourself drinking it. I genuinely can’t remember a red wine ever feeling like this. It’s wild and clean at the same time, has red fruit, a touch of wood, a bit of tannin, and a few scrubby herbs. And the fact that there are only 11 percent alcohol in the bottle helps to make the big gulps feel pleasantly light.
A small bit of it survives to the second evening. I wonder what that is. Maybe the acidity, since by now even with refermentation and the like, the last bit of fermentation CO2 would be gone. Not that I’d actually believe anything had refermented or anything like that. The red fruit is still there, some tea, and lots of herbs. It actually reminds me of Bionade with a very bitter finish, of organic-store cola, without sweetness. Lemonade that tries hard to seem normal, but you just know it comes from the organic store. No hate, we’re organic-store ultras, but they do exist, those products you can tell by their origin. They try to taste normal, but also try to be healthier than their normal counterpart. Doesn’t matter anyway. I like the fruit, I like the acidity, I like the overall mouthfeel. And then, unfortunately, it begins. At first only when slurping, far back on the tongue, once the wine has already taken its leave. It begins to fall apart. The finish dries out so unpleasantly and pulls everything else down into the vortex with it. Red Natural. Genius and madness. When in doubt, these are simply wines for the first evening, for big gulps, because there it really was a lot of fun. It’s still an exciting wine now, but for how quickly this was often sold out, maybe it’s just not quite where it could be. Where it should be, perhaps. We had a Trousseau from Les Marnes Blanches a few weeks ago, much easier to buy, at least when I bought the bottle, and that one absolutely sang. Also on the second evening. And then the better is simply the enemy of the good. Sure, it could also just be bottle variance, but the little devil on my shoulder isn’t interested in that right now. Genius and madness, indeed.