René Gabriel
06: Dense, rich garnet-purple. Powerful, concentrated bouquet, still restrained; lots of red, peppery berries, followed by rose perfume, clove notes, fresh noble woods, a fine touch of beech, Dominican tobacco. Juicy palate, plenty of red berries in a thick, creamy extract; elderberry, coconut sweetness, light praline chocolates; a focused, extremely long finish driven by a refreshing, acid-fruit character.
In such a great vintage, the question naturally arises: what is the hierarchy among the Pomerols? Pétrus is certainly among the best, but it has never had so many competitors—either challenging its position or even overtaking it during the first 15 years. The hottest candidates for the podium are surely Gazin, Lafleur, Eglise-Clinet, Evangile, Certan de May. And then, perhaps even first and foremost, Trotanoy or Hosanna from the same stable. (19/20).
15: Very dark wine-red, purple toward the rim and almost black at the core. The nose is concentrated, closed, and yet somehow explosive! The opening is more spicy than fruity: lots of ground black pepper, delicate smoky notes. It feels shut down, but you sense its dramatic depth. You really have to meet the wine halfway and try to draw something out of its depths. After two minutes, the exorbitant fruit gradually pushes to the surface: blackcurrant, blackberry, mulberry, raspberry, strawberry, then ginger, coconut, praline, sandalwood. Everything is seamless, with dramatic intensity.
On the palate this absolute perfection continues; the tannins are incredibly noble, and the overall astringency is regal. The crazy thing: this dramatic Pomerol is still far too young, yet you immediately crave a second sip. Once the wine is gone, it’s enough to moisten your tongue again with saliva and it starts all over. The finish is like a roaring berry cocktail. I had not encountered this wine again since my—already thrilling—primeur sip back then. This was far more than just a happy reunion.
And then I had written this text, and someone commented on the flight; I listened for ten minutes, and the wine would not leave my palate—it simply stuck there with its gigantic aromatics. “Wine of the competition,” pardon “the wine of the evening!” 20/20 begin