White Burgundy: Smooth Sunlit Chardonnay

You would think — would you not? — that having been rendered temporarily, partially deaf would improve one’s ability to evaluate wine. Blindness, after all, makes the other senses more acute. Why not a faint pain and constant ringing of the ears.

I had occasion to ponder this on Thanksgiving, after attending the Young Wild Things concert with my daughter in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, the night before. They, the wild things, were Cute Is What We Aim For, Plain White T’s, Gym Class Heroes (whom I adore), and the smashingly loud yet strangely dirge-ish Fall Out Boy. The last, headline band was accompanied by popping bursts of fire, a la Whitesnake, which amused most of the 40- and 50-something parents in the audience — and there were, by the way, A LOT: so many that Travy from GCH dedicated one entire song to us.

Four hours. That’s how long we sat in the auditorium in C.R.

But it was all worth it when, as we drove away through a sprinkling of midnight snow, my daughter turned to me, huge brown eyes shining, and said, "It feels like something’s missing now that I don’t have that thumping in my chest."

The following day, Thanksgiving, I uncorked a Domaine de la Bongran Grand Vin de Borgogne, a white Burgundy from Clessé, France, 2002. I’d been saving the bottle, because it was expensive, highly-rated, and promised to be excellent. This, I decided, would be the perfect opportunity: my ears were wrecked, so surely my nose and tongue would be in top condition.

Not so. Perhaps because I’m a bit of a synesthete — all my senses intertwined like tentacles of computer wire — I was in my echoey state also olfactorily confused. I smelled lime at the outset, and that was right. But after that, I got a whiff of green onion that no one else at the table (and luckily, I’d invited some excellent tasters) could detect.

"You cut onions for the salad earlier," said one friend, tactfully. "Could that be it?" Indeed. It probably was.

Everyone agreed that the wine was smooth and dry and delicious in a not-quite-crisp sort of way. The first taste seemed whole, as solid and neatly planed as a jewel. But as this Burgundy warmed and softened and unfolded, it became more complex, with a warm, sunny apricot flavor that filled the mouth and a finish that contained a bit of flint.

Gradually, I figured out how to taste in my impaired state. This required intense concentration, and a palm pressed to my right ear in order to mute the dull throb inside. I got the spoke-like qualities of the Grand Vin de Borgogne, even if I couldn’t make the connection (as I might, under normal circumstances) between its flavor profile and a summer sunshower or a Sheryl Crow song.

I have it on good authority — both Robert Parker’s and my Thanksgiving guests’ — that the Bongran Grand Vin de Borgogne (a Chardonnay wine with 14% alcohol) is well worth all the accolades it’s received. But I probably need a couple more days, preferably in a stark, white room with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young playing in a continuous loop and at low volume, before I’ll be recovered enough to tell you on my own.