The real FOSSIL FUEL
In France’s Jura region — once a warm, tropical sea — dinosaurs have left a footprint on wine industry
On a warm summer evening 20 years ago, an eight-year-old boy made a discovery that would put his tiny French village on the map.
Thibault Mottet and his family were strolling around a construction site in Coisia, their town of about 200 people, checking out the progress of a local road expansion, when something on the newly exposed rock caught the boy ’s eye. “I recognized the form — a bit circular, imprinted onto the rock,” he explained over the phone.
These weren’t just rock formations. They were dinosaur footprints.
Thibault had always been wildly passionate about dinosaurs, and he was certain that what he saw “were old tracks, ... millions of years old,” he said. Although his parents dismissed his discovery as a childish fantasy, years later, the prints were verified by a scientist.
The Jura region — as in the Jurassic era — is home to the largest fossilized tracks in Plagne, in addition to others across Coisia and Loulle. On the train from Paris to Arbois, it’s easy to imagine Tyrannosaurus rex and pterodactyls in place of cows and sheep. But now, another group rules the region’s terroir: winemakers. And they are keenly aware of their antecedents. Those fossils affect their wine.
Françoise Ratte’s vines have travelled down her family for generations, after being originally cultivated by her great-grandparents. She works in various types of terroirs — the natural composition of the land in which wines are produced — each influencing the flavour profile of the final product. But in her case, we’re not just talking about limestone or clay.
“The fossils are still full of salt and iodine. That’s going to play a role in the taste of the wine, because they’re in contact with the roots,” she said. “They’re going to create some acidity and give a smoky taste, a flint stone taste.” The Chardonnay, for instance, is “very, very marked from the point of view of smokiness.”
Ratte pulled out a bowl of fossils that she’s found in her soil over the years. She mostly finds Gryphaea, ancestors of the oyster, but she also has ammonites, belemnites and sea lilies — all ancient sea dwellers. That’s because, about 150 million years ago, this region of the Jura — now characterized by its mountain ranges — was covered in water.
“In the Jurassic period, the Jura was on the edge of a hot, shallow tropical sea. It’s hard to imagine, but actually it was not mountainous at the time,” said Emmanuel Fara, a professor of paleontology at the University of Burgundy and director of the laboratory Biogeosciences. “So it’s normal that we find a huge amount of marine organisms.”
After examining the fossils, we hopped into Ratte’s truck and drove to her vineyards a few minutes up the road.
Upon arrival in Arbois, I had one mission: to drink.
On the central Place de la Liberté, arched passageways frame the square, the scent of burning wood wafting through the air against a mountainous backdrop. It appeared that my prayers had materialized in the form of a bar across the street, Les Archives. When I took a seat, the bartender asked whether I’d like a glass or a bottle.
I met another winemaker, Christine Villet of the Domaine Villet, who also has a fossil collection. A few steps away from Domaine Villet, Le Bistrot des Claquets commands the Rue de Faramand with its coral-red facade. The owner, Rachel Gariglio, greets patrons by name. I was having lunch — rare steak and crispy fries — with a winemaker I had met the night before. He pointed out another winemaker, Alice Bouvot of the Domaine de l’Octavin, who was walking outside.
On my last day in town, I set off to meet Bouvot. Her reputation precedes her; virtually everyone I met in town praised her work, complimenting her commitment to natural production methods. After popping inside, Bouvot emerged with a bottle called Ivre de Vivre: drunk on life. Sitting at a bright-blue table outside, she spoke softly, petting her dog, Pistache. While throwing pebbles for the dog to chase, she explained that she works biodynamically, paying attention to lunar cycles, and without additives or sulphur, to keep the wines “emotional and lively.” Besides the five traditional cépages of Jura, she also trades grapes with other winemakers to keep things playful.
“We have the right to have fun, too,” she said with a shrug, smiling. “It pushes our curiosity.”
When asked about how she sees the future of her craft, her piercing blue eyes gazed into the distance. She took a long pause before speaking.
“When you work 14-, 15-, 16hour days, we don’t always have the time — or we don’t take the time, maybe — to reflect,” she said. “It’s about opening our eyes. We speak a lot about wine, tastings and all of that. But the vines and our soil ... what do we want to leave for our children? Polluted rivers? Of course, you have to work to make a living. But you can work cleanly. That’s evident.”
On the train back to Paris, I envisioned the surrounding mountains flattening before my eyes and giving way to a warm sea and marine life splashing in the water. I wondered how this land, so cherished by the region’s winemakers, would change in the 150 million years to come. But maybe some traces of the Jurassic era — and today — would always remain. According to Fara, the paleontologist, the dinosaurs haven’t totally disappeared; their descendants still fly overhead.
“Today, if you want to go see dinosaurs in the Jura, you can observe the birds,” he said. “The dinosaurs are still there.”