Every so often a dinner runs long in the best possible way, and the wines stop being the point and start being the thread that holds the evening together. This was one of those nights. Not the trophies, though there were a couple in the wings, but three Burgundies that simply made the table happy.
The white, to begin
A white Burgundy to open is almost a reflex, and for good reason. Something with cut and stone and a little richness underneath, poured cold and then allowed to warm a touch in the glass, sets the tone for everything that follows. It woke the room up, got people talking, and quietly disappeared, which is exactly what a good opener should do.
The best bottle of the night is rarely the most expensive. It is the one that arrives at the right moment.
The red, for the middle of the night
Then a red with a few years on it: Pinot Noir at that lovely stage where the fruit has softened into something savoury and perfumed, forest floor and dried cherry, tannins gone to silk. It carried the main course without any effort at all, and refilled itself, as the good ones seem to.
And one surprise
The surprise was a bottle brought up almost as an afterthought, a village wine from a grower who over-delivers, drinking far above its station. It was the one everyone asked about. That, in the end, is the whole joy of Burgundy: the humble bottle that steals the night, and sends you back to the cellar list the very next morning.