Last summer, I published a story about Domaine Maestracci in northern Corsica’s AOC Corse Calvi appellation. I mentioned my interest in trying their Clos Reginu rosé that is sold in a five-liter box. That box is still in my wine cellar, waiting for weather more appropriate for drinking rosé.
But I still wanted to experiment with the bag-in-the box packaging. I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner (and sometimes even lunch, to be honest). Trouble is, my wife doesn’t always want to drink a glass of wine with her meal, and I’ve often had to toss the remaining wine in bottles that were open for too long (around five days seems to be the limit).
Bag-n-box wine, or fontaine à vin in French, is convenient (it fits easily on the refrigerator shelf), it’s environmental (no glass bottles to dispose of), and it’s economical (the four bottles of wine in the three-liter-size boxes that are sold at most supermarkets here cost about the same price as two regular bottles of wine). I left the Clos Reginu to age a little longer—at least until June when summer weather begins here in southwestern France, and I headed off to the nearest E. Leclerc Hypermarché.
You cannot tell a book by its cover, or a wine by its box.
I was immediately stymied by the large selection of 50 or 60 different red, white and rosé wines to choose from. I decided to start my experiment with a Burgundy Aligoté, both because I enjoy dry white wines, and because it happened to be the most expensive bag-n-box wine in the store. “Might as well try one of the best,” I told myself. But, “expensive” is relative here, as the three-liter box only cost €18 (around $24).
“Sweet,” I imagined, as I visualized myself enjoying a glass of dry white wine with many meals over the coming weeks. Unfortunately, my lack of bag-n-box-buying experience foiled that plan. It seems that one of the E. Leclerc employees had beaten me to this particular box. For those of you who, like me, are unfamiliar with this type of wine packaging, the container has a perforated, circular section on the side of the box that covers the spout. You remove this tab and then pull out the spout, which has a safety cap that also needs to be removed before you can pour a glass of wine.
While in the store, I somehow didn’t see that both the perforated tab and safety cap were not in place (hey, I’d never opened one of these before, and the instructions, which were in 7-pt. type and also in French, were of little help—“Enlever le cercle prédécoupé et soulever le rabat…”). Anyway, I poured out something that resembled rainwater that had been sitting in an empty flowerpot for a few weeks and that smelled like cat piss. “Mighty fragrant Aligoté,” I thought. “Maybe it needs to be refrigerated longer,” was my next thought—“like perhaps until the next ice age.”
The wine went back to Leclerc the next day, and although I tried mightily to explain to the woman at the refund desk that they had a entrepreneur among their sales crew that was helping him- or herself to the fontaine à vin, my limited French couldn’t make her understand that they needed to look for someone with a large, red, lit-up nose—probably someone on the night shift.
In spite of my failing this graduate level French lesson, she gave me a refund, and I returned home with two, less-pricy, but intact, bag-n-box wines—a Saint Mont red (chosen because I know that the Saint Mont cooperative is reputed to be one of the best coops in France) and a Touraine Sauvignon with a brand name, “Les Caractères,” worthy of a new cop television series; “With its robe aux tonalities or-blanc et son nez séducteur Les Caractères fight thirst wherever it may occur.”
I’m happy to report that my experience with these wines has been more pleasant than with that Aligoté, which actually came from a well-known Burgundy wine producer. He’ll remain nameless, as I can only blame myself for not having noticed that the bag-n-box had been tampered with. There is something to be said, I guess, for corks and foil seals, but this just may just be a case of bad karma. Years ago, while shopping as a child with my Mom in a supermarket, I dipped into a bag of Oreos that was ripped open and sitting on the shelf. I don’t think that she ever believed that it wasn’t me who had opened that package.
The Saint Mont, which I have just finished after five weeks of imbibing, was nothing special, but it accompanied admirably everything from fried pork chops to pizza. The Sauvignon is still fresh and fruity, with just the right acidity to make it an interesting aperitif or to accompany a salad or a nice goat cheese, and it even held up well to a spicy curry chicken. I’ve gotten a great deal of enjoyment from these two wines that only cost me a total of €30. They are unremarkable, lightweight wines, but both of them haven’t changed a bit from the first glass to the last. If I had bought four, three-euro bottles of Sauvignon (not that such a thing exists—even in France), I’m sure that the wine wouldn’t have been nearly as good, and I would have probably poured a good bit of it down the drain as it went bad.
The Clos Reginu rosé-in-a-box comes from a quality wine producer, so I have even higher hopes for it. Maybe I better go check the seal though.
