At 11.30 a.m. last Sunday our trio arrived at Brisbane’s Bacchus Restaurant after a tense Uber ride where Mum had lost the back off her favourite earrings. Five hours later we sailed ecstatically into the late afternoon, survivors of the Veuve Clicquot luncheon—a bacchanalian feast that was some of the best fun I’ve had all year. Not only did we imbibe vast quantities of excellent champagne, eat ourselves silly and carouse with fellow gourmands, but in what was a coup for the Sunshine State we were also the first in Australia to taste Veuve’s hauntingly beautiful new creation, Extra Brut Extra Old.
If you’re wondering how Bris-Vegas scored this event over other eastern metropolises, it all comes down to a petite dynamo of a woman named Bernadette O’Shea. Bernadette, who has been awarded a knighthood by the French government for her services to champagne (there are worse ways to earn a living), is the lady you want to befriend if you are travelling to France and have your sights set on, say, a private tour of a house not open to the public such as Pol Roger. (In December of last year my family and I visited and it was wonderful). In between educating the grateful public and popping off to Champagne enviably often—she stays in the majestic Chateau les Crayères, where K and I spent three blissful days of our honeymoon—Bernadette hosts exclusive lunches and dinners in restaurants around Brisbane in association with The Wine Emporium. Each soiree is designed around the champagnes of a single house and attended by a family member or other luminary, with various hard-to-source bottles flown in from France especially.
Which brings me to the Veuve Clicquot lunch last Sunday. Hosted in the presence of the house’s Chef de Caves (chief winemaker) Dominique Demarville—an agreeable Frenchman with an unexpected flair for public speaking (“a magnum is a perfect size for two,” he trills, “especially when one doesn’t drink!”)—the lunch comprises six courses designed by chef Massimo Speroni matched to the same number of mostly vintage champagnes. The event kicks off with canapés and bubbly in the bar, an enjoyable mingly half hour where K and I, the youngest punters in the room by a good decade or so, chat with a lovely jewellery designer (her label, Wearing Memories, incorporates champagne caps into stunning necklaces and rings) and a fellow bon vivant whose zest for champagne stands out even among this wetted crowd.
Oh yes, the wine! Veuve’s non-vintage Yellow Label, served en magnum to accompany the rather too rich parmesan and mortadella toasts and saffron arancini, blends acidity and freshness (a result of the chalky soils and terroir of Champagne) with an intensity of flavour that is impressive for a NV. Thank you, a refill would be splendid.
It is time to take our seats in Bacchus’s elegant dining room. Amid the darkened wood, geometric shapes and burnished metals, four long tables are set with place cards and a heartening array of champagne flutes—two per person of average size and one epic giant that provides a tantalising whiff of where we are headed (towards the 1990 Rosé Reserve, to be precise). We embark on the first course, a beautifully light and refreshing tian of sand crab with avocado puree and a smear of basil pesto. It pairs well with the freshness of the current 2008 vintage, whose aromas of petals and citrus offset a gentle vanilla toastiness on the palate. (The previous vintage was ’04—a testament to the fact that these wines are made only in exceptional years).
But it is the 2008 rosé—a feminine delight of a champagne with a glorious creamy palate of strawberries and red fruits combined with a beguiling smokiness—that moves me almost to tears. At once rich and delicate, full-bodied and strikingly fresh, it is one of the most mesmerising champagnes I have ever tasted. Amid bites of teensy quail legs, I whip out the order form (you can buy each of these champagnes!) and place an order for two bottles. The quail dish is pleasantly savoury, but I’m so focused on the wine I don’t get a decent photo. This is a hazard of the job, actually—of attempting to document an event where each hour one gets progressively more sloshed.
But don’t feel too sorry for me, because next up we’re tasting the Extra Brut Extra Old. Veuve’s latest creation and a passion project of Demarville himself, this creamy yet spritely champagne (the house’s signature) is a blend of reserve wines from 2010, ’09, ’08, ’06, 1996 and 1988. Intense and fresh with charming tiny bubbles, it is the perfect foil to the rich tranches of pork that accompany it. The meat—cooked using various methods (sous vide, dry and wet brine) over twenty-four hours—is moist and tender, with an agreeable depth of flavour from those earthy mixed mushrooms.
It is officially becoming hard to concentrate. Veuve’s La Grande Dame 2006—their prestige cuvee named after Madame Clicquot herself—is a blend of eight Grand Crus and an opulent wine of finesse and elegance. Its striking salinity pairs beautifully with the generous fillet of Moreton Bay bug and its bisque sauce. Unfortunately, my tasting notes are so illegible they look as if they were scrawled by an enraged cat. What I can tell you is that the 2006 vintage has aromas of lime rind and wet stone, and on the palate a luscious butterscotchy richness. Note to self: take care to ensure I can read my own writing.
Finally, we are served magnums of the Veuve Clicquot Rosé Reserve 1990 (the Yellow Label NV from earlier accompanies the fig dessert). Its funky barnyard complexity is underscored by an iron backbone; K observes, rather wonderfully, that it is like licking metal. The champagne is masculine and delicious, with a host of tobacco, mushroom and mature cherry characters. An excellent expression of pinot noir, notes Demarville. Seventeen years after it was disgorged, it is still astonishingly young and fresh. Keen to discover whether it sings in another ten years? You can’t; there isn’t any available for sale (in a thrilling turn of events a week later, Demarville unearths sixteen magnums in the Veuve cellars and pledges them to Bernadette’s clients in Brisbane. Hurrah!)
And it is here we concludeth the lesson. If this lunch sounds very ‘bougie’ (Aussie slang for bourgeois) and wholly removed from the banalities of everyday life, then it absolutely is. K and I saved up for weeks to afford the tickets. But then events like this are the stuff of special occasions, the reason why we slog it out five days a week IRL in order to buy ourselves half a day of magic in this alternate realm. If you’re wondering whether the price of admission was worth it—if Veuve’s six swoon-worthy champagnes with matching dishes justified the expense—then I have been entirely too subtle in my message here. Hell yes it was worth it.
A G. H. Mumm dinner is coming up next. Time to start saving those pennies…
xo