The challenge of drinking and describing a 1929 Burgundy from the Doris Duke estate

Uncorked, published in The East Hampton Star

Wine From the Crypt

The estate of Doris Duke, who died in 1993, included not only one of the great American fortunes, but one of the greatest American wine cellars. When the collection was later put up for auction at Christie’s, it excited the attention of wine lovers both for its provenance—it had been stored impeccably since the 1930s—and its focus. It consisted almost entirely of grand cru Burgundies and other French first growths, with virtually no vintage later than 1934. No other European countries were represented, and forget about California and the rest of the New World. Someone at Christie’s described it as “a bit like unearthing a wine crypt.”

I tasted two 1929 Burgundies from the Duke collection at a dinner last weekend at the agaponack home of Paul and Linda Gridley. Mr. Gridley, a shipping executive in New York City, possesses certifiable bon vivant credentials: taste, intelligence, discernment, knowledge of the arts, and the ability to purchase the best. He also has a talent for making the most hedonistic of activities seem like another casual Friday night on the East End.

The evening began on the deck with hors d’oeuvres, champagne and a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet 1995. We were all anticipating the 1929s, to be served with the cheese course, but we were royally entertained along the way. A perfectly grilled filet mignon was accompanied by several mystery wines that had been decanted or had their labels covered. The guessing games began.

One of the guests, Jackie Quillen, a resident of Pondview Lane in East Hampton, was right on the money, as she usually is when friends gather for blind tastings. We knew that we were dealing with Bordeaux, and soon concluded that two of the wines were from the Pauillac region. Then came the fine-tuning of the chateau names.

What turned out to be a 1986 Chateau Pichon-Baron was smooth, enveloping and well integrated. The nose suggested cedar and tobacco. It was slightly herbaceous, which suits my taste, but is not for everyone. The feel was sensuous in the mouth, and the overall impression was that of a serious wine. We were all pleased. Another mystery wine turned out to be a 1955 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. It was fragrant and opulent, and as you might expect, regal. The fruit component was still strong although I sensed it might be starting to fade. It was definitely the correct age to savor now and not store any longer.

How do you describe a wine from 1929 that is, incredibly enough, still in its prime? I have no comparative basis. I’ve drunk some old brandies and ports, but this was the first time I experienced a dry wine that has been around for three quarters of a century. Let me plunge in and try to describe a Charmes-Chambertin 1929.

A certain Burgundy characteristic was quite apparent: the transcendent purity of a single grape, pinot noir. Perhaps a very fine, very old Bordeaux could offer the same depth and balance, but I imagine it would be heavier, more powerful, more masculine. The Charmes-Chambertin 1929 was profound and poised, and had a lightness, even a playfulness to it. It was like looking at an older person and suddenly capturing a spark of his or her youth in the eyes or the smile.

There was, however, no mistaking this freshness for the unbridled vigor of a young wine. Here it was encapsulated in the drinking experience, a smooth, enchanting background note in a harmonious and refined composition. The color was noticeably pale, a fragile, muted ruby. The aroma was vivid yet nuanced, suggesting strawberries, perhaps decaying wild strawberries in a field, and satiny cherries and mellow red fruits. The palate was nectarous: rich, fleshy, sweet and smooth. The succulent complexity did not fade. After a few sips, tenuous florals seemed to appear.

My job is to be analytical and descriptive about wines, even more so about rare or important wines. But the Charmes-Chambertin 1929 was a wine you could just sip and savor, and you’d still be quite sure something extraordinary was happening. The wine challenged me, and right to the end it remained as intellectual as it was sensory.

1929 is considered one of the most important French vintages of the twentieth century, arguably the greatest. I used to imagine that if I ever tasted it, it would be someplace in France or perhaps at some wine society dinner in this country. But nothing could have been more perfect than the way it actually happened: at a festive table with friends, just a few miles away in the newly incorporated village of Sagaponack.