The real deal Chablis hits all the right spots

Chablis is one of those names — like Chateauneuf du Pape and Amarone — that everyone seems to know, even if they have never tasted the wines. Back in the days when the world of wine was much more lightly regulated, such names were often stuck on bottles containing stuff that had never been anywhere near Chablis or Chateauneuf.

There was a fair chance, as recently as the early 1970s, that such generics in reality came from Languedoc. Legend has it that in the 1960s a lot of ‘Muscadet’ sold in Dublin night clubs was made, from scratch, in a warehouse out by Clondalkin.

Anyway, there have been ructions in Chablis. If you have ever driven there from, say, Beaune, you will know that Chablis is very much on the margins of Burgundy. And recently there was an attempt to separate it legally from Burgundy or Bourgogne. The authorities pointed out that most producers just use the word Chablis on their labels and don’t refer to Bourgogne at all.

I first visited the area in the late 1980s with the late TP Whelehan, father of David, and I have a feeling that big strides have been made and that, overall, quality is way up.

So, of course, are prices, but that’s true of Burgundy in general, of which Chablis is the most northerly part and therefore the coolest.

There are two key elements to how Chablis tastes: soil and orientation. The top wines — grand cru and premier cru — are grown on Kimmeridgian limestone (essentially the remains of prehistoric sea creatures), facing south. Most straight Chablis and all Petit Chablis is grown on younger limestone soils with cooler orientation.

You can taste the difference. The top wines can have a richness that’s reminiscent of great white wines from the Côte d’Or, the lesser ones rely on their minerality for distinctiveness. But they all have a backbone of racy acidity and they all work brilliantly with seafood.

They all have a backbone of racy acidity