At the Table - Golden Secrets

As a wine area, the vineyards of Bergerac are seen by many as a bit of a “dabbler” - with some steady reds and winsome whites. They are all north of OK - but their sweetest secret is a little pocket of activity called Monbazillac. These relatively small parcels produce the most golden wines, hugged in autumn to a degree of ripeness known as “noble rot” - basically elegant mildew - that positively shine - showing up in tasting notes as honey, apricot, and spice; the Dordogne’s liquid sunlight captured in a glass.

Vastly overshadowed in price and prestige, by its illustrious neighbour Sauternes, Monbazillac remains humbler, happier, and far more affordable. It is a wine not for staring at, anticipating a slow, smug appreciation in quality and value, but for tables; poured with ease alongside blue cheese, foie gras, or a simple walnut tart from the village market.

There is a bit of a rebellion in having a bottle of Monbazillac in the fridge hese days. While the world chases skinny-but-recognisable whites, Monbazillac offers some honest generosity, sweetness without apology, and pleasure without pretence. These are possibly not wines to be measured in points or stashed away as trophies, but to be shared — poured with pals on long Sunday afternoons, when there is a decent reason for conversations to stretch and wander. A glass or two of Monbazillac has a way of softening the edges of the day, which - by the time you reach for it - has become pretty soft already.

Part of the appeal must lie in the vineyards themselves. They seem to have been draped across the hills south of Bergerac, like a sofa throw. The vines really seem to enjoy being where they are, basking in autumn mists that encourage the necessary over-ripeness that measures their sweetness. The result is grapes that look a bit shrivelled but their juice is very concentrated, their sugars deep and the whole thing transformed into something almost alchemical. Like most winemaking, waiting for the noble rot is an art of patience and trust - for mist, sun, and luck to converge, at the right time and the right place.

Monbazillac is without doubt a wine of the people, yet very much keeps its distance form the word "plonk" - which is most ceratinly not. It's a bit New Labour - having a youth about it which belies the fact that they have been making Monbazilllac here for 800 years. Choosing a Sauternes with your bread and pâté will demand reverence in return (and a significant dip into your wallet), but Monbazillac welcomes everyone. Bottles can often be found for under twenty euros, making it one of those rare things that feels luxurious but very affordable. Like bubble bath.

The history of Monbazillac stretches back to the 12th century, when monks dug in the first vines on these contoured hillsides. Over the centuries, it became a lucrative export, on tables from Amsterdam to Zagreb, celebrated for its richness and longevity. Today, while global tastes tilt toward drier whites that require little or no commentary, or fashionable bubbles that are all mouth and trousers, Monbazillac keeps quietly to its job, offering a reminder that sweetness, when paired with fresh, zesty sophistication, can knock the other fuddy-duddy pudding wines into a cocked hat.

Pair it with Roquefort or foie gras if you must, but don’t overlook the simpler joys: a slice of walnut tart, a plate of ripe pears, or even a drizzle over vanilla ice cream. Who knew?...