The Art Of Champagne

Many people struggle to describe the sparkling wine in the same way they do other types. Our resident wine expert suggests turning for inspiration to the masters—of painting and sculpture

- Sarah Heller MW

Champagne is an unusual wine category in that most people like it, but few, even serious wine lovers, think deeply about what they like about it. It’s frothy and celebratory—plus expensive, which tends to make us like things more; sometimes it’s pink; and most people know they should get more excited if they’re handed a glass of Dom Pérignon than of Moët Brut Imperial. But beyond that, most of us are happy to assume that champagne is champagne.

The way champagne has historically been marketed bears some of the responsibility. Champagne bottles, labels and advertisements tend towards the beautiful, luxurious and atmospheric rather than the informative. However, if you’re willing to pay a little attention, there is easily as much variation among champagnes, even if you limit yourself to major brands, as among the wines of Bordeaux or Burgundy, and the gustatory rewards of learning to discern the differences are just as great.

One challenge with distinguishing champagnes is the relative dearth of apt vocabulary. Comparatively subtle in its flavours, champagne does not reward those who mainly look for descriptors in the fruit aisle. Instead, much of its charm lies in the ineffable aromas and textures that derive from extended contact with lees. Baked goods like toast or brioche are typical reference points, but how many times can you use them without flattening the wines’ delightful idiosyncrasies into a dull, biscuity sameness? Champagne’s winemaking process also introduces some less savoury-sounding aromas that, when subtle, can be utterly transformative: iodine, ozone, metal, burnt rubber, oyster shell, seaweed. This phenomenon, which I have previously described as “the crack”, is, in my view, the key to greatness.