Identity crisis

Last November, the French town of Chablis was in the throes of a scandal. The German agent for Domaine des Malandes, a top estate in Chablis, had noticed a small ad in the paper. Chablis Domaine Malandes was being offered for sale by supermarket chain Lidl at less than DM6 (£2.50) a bottle.

What could this mean? He hadn't sold any Chablis to Lidl. Lidl informed him that it had bought 120,000 litres of the wine from Interwein in Landau, Germany, which had previously offered the 1992 vintage.

Interwein itself kept silent for a few days, finally issuing its own statement on 30 November: it had bought the wine in good faith from a company in Burg an der Mosel. The German agent for Domaine des Malandes issued an immediate injunction forcing Lidl to withdraw the imitation wine from sale. Lidl took action to recover damages from Interwein, and now Interwein has taken action against the so-far unnamed company in the Mosel.

What is it about Chablis that spawns so many imitations? At the beginning of the last century, the Auxerre region was one of the most productive in France and the wines ranked as highly as those of the Côte d'Or.

Chablis was one of the first wines to develop a reputation for being good with food; chiefly for its ability to partner oysters. Reports from those days describe Chablis as having a lively acidity and a pronounced "flinty" bouquet.

But Chablis has changed. In the 1970s, there was a move to fatten up the wine. This was achieved through 100% malo-lactic fermentation (the conversion of stronger malic acid naturally present in new wine into weaker lactic acid and carbon dioxide, calming down excess acidity and adding flavour and complexity) and the use of as much new oak as possible. In a hot year, the wines could be virtually indistinguishable from those of Meursault.

The identity of Chablis causes almost as many arguments in the reputably placid town as the number of unlicensed imitations. If the wine lay in cask all summer, they say, then at least a partial malo-lactic fermentation would have occurred in the small casks, or feuillettes. Chablis was always aged in oak, and in small oak too, for a feuillette contains only 132 litres. How could the wine have avoided having an oaky taste?

All this is true to some extent; but partial malo-lactic fermentation is not the whole story, and there is nothing to say that the feuillettes used in the past (they are all but extinct today) were new. It is hard to avoid the obvious conclusion that Chablis is made in a more commercial style today than it was in the past. Total malo-lactic fermentation creates a wine that is ready to drink younger than Chablis used to be, and new oak makes the wine more popular on the international market.

A few years ago there were more producers making these fatter wines than there are today. The pendulum has swung back. In the mid-1980s a producer such as Michel Laroche was coating his wines in new oak, now he uses it sparingly, and only on his grand crus.

The 1989 vintage was also a watershed. The summer was extremely hot and the acidity levels in the grapes dwindled to nothing before the Institut National des Apellations d'Origine gave the order to pick. Growers had got used to a total malo-lactic fermentation and had forgotten what it was to block the "malo" in order to retain as little acidity as there was. The result in many cases was a vintage of blubber-like fatness without the redemption of an acidic structure.

Growers have seen the error of their ways. The new oak is played down and there is more talk of acidity these days. A normal vintage such as the 1993 will yield a total acidity in the Chardonnay grapes of between 7-8g per litre. With full or partial malo-lactic fermentation this is brought down to between 4-5g. Incidentally, the imitation Domaine des Malandes wine had an acidity level of 4.5g without malo-lactic, so it came from southern Europe.

Chablis comes in four versions: grand cru, premier cru, Chablis and Petit Chablis. The grand cru wines come from the slopes to the north-east of the town which form a natural, south-west facing amphitheatre: Blanchot, Les Clos (with the Moreau-owned Clos des Hospices in the middle), Valmur, Grenouilles, Vaudésir, Les Preuses and Les Bouguerots.

The premiers crus are the main south-facing hillsides. Some of these, such as Fourchaume, Vaillons, Montmains or Montéc de Tonnerre are well known; others lurk in obscurity and are often marketed simply as "premier cru".

The best of the rest is Chablis, the worst is Petit Chablis. Recently, there has been a move to upgrade all Petit Chablis to Chablis. This was led by the house of Durup. For the time being at least, it seems the project has failed.

Well-made Chablis is still a subtle wine with none of the more blatant appeal of the Chardonnays of the Côte d'Or. In the hands of top growers such as Franáois and Jean-Marie Raveneau or René and Vincent Dauvissat, the wine has a subtle aroma and a long structure that is best savoured with food.

These days the "flinty" Chablis bouquet is hard to find. A good Chablis is said to smell of "mousseron" mushroom or a sharp fruit such as pineapple. The widespread use of malo-lactic fermentation adds a creamy element to the wine. In cases where new oak is used there is more vanilla. This is rarer than it was.

Meanwhile, the Chablis growers are once again discussing how to protect their own good name in a world of cheap imitations. The plan being mooted by their representative, Christian Moreau, is to limit bottling to the area of production.

Given the number of large Burgundian houses in Beaune and the Côte d'Or, which like to add a Chablis or two to their range of products, it is unlikely this will succeed unless the area is extended to include the whole of Burgundy. Nor will such a move prevent anyone from making Chablis and passing it off with a bogus label. Once again, the Chablisiens will have to accept that imitation is the price of fame.