A Puccini Pairing - La Bohème and the Wines of France

Back in March of this year, I discovered that Austrian film director Robert Dornhelm had made a movie adaptation of Giacomo Puccini’s La Bohème.

The best part: Rolando Villazon and Anna Netrebko (the 'Golden Couple' - pictured below) played the starring roles.

I watched the preview on YouTube, falling in love with my dear Anna all over again and nearly sobbing (you have to cry… it’s the most painful of love stories ... and I'm a big baby so that doesn't help either).

I searched on-line, I dropped in at Sikora's (I was living out west at the time), one of the greatest classical music stores in Vancouver (let alone Canada), trying to find out if I could get a copy. No dice.Unavailable for the time being.

Then, recently, after moving back to Ontario, Amazon sent me an email, letting me know it was available. I snapped it up and yesterday watched it for the first time.

The only problem: I forgot to bring the wine.

PUCCINI AND WINE

Puccini was Italian down to the bone. He loved his food, his women and his fast cars. But if you look at his most famous operas, most of them take place abroad. Turandot is set in China, Madame Butterfly in Japan with Madame Lescaut, La Bohème and Tabarro all taking place in France. Gianni Schicchi (famous for “Mio Babbino Caro”) and Tosca are perhaps the only ones that truly take place in Italy.

So how do you match wine with a Puccini opera?

In the case of La Bohème I decided to match the region with the opera’s setting, namely Paris. Like I did with my ‘'Verdi and the Wines of Veneto' entry, I am going to give you my best advice on how to pair wine with the scenes and arias of Puccini’s most prized and passionate opera. (Note: I've provided some links to certain arias and duets. These are not scenes from Dornhelm's film version,  however, but here to help give an idea of the music and beauty of Puccini's work. I've also tried to find the best videos featuring both Villazon and Netrebko.)

ACT I

Christmas Eve, Paris, the 1830s, the land of bohemians – poets, philosophers, paintings and writers. Rudolfo and Marcello are living in a garret with their friends, Schaunard and Colline. Rudolfo is trying to write a play while Marcello is painting the Red Sea, hoping the image of the desert will make him feel warm. They set the first few pages of Rudolfo’s play on fire, sizing Colline’s books up for potential fuel.

There’s no more fire in the fireplace, that is until Schaunard shows up with warm goodies, wine and logs to get them toasty again.

For the first half of Act I, I recommend an easy going Chinon or Bourgueil red wine from the Loire Valley. There are numerous ones to try. Cabernet Franc is the main grape (with some Cabernet Sauvignon thrown in for good measure in Chinon) and you can expect deep, delicious raspberries and herbal notes. Considering the first scene takes place in a garret around Christmas, the winter frost haunting the panes, chill your red to give you some impression of what nineteenth century room temperature wine must taste like.

It is also a wine to savour and sip for the best part of Act I:

WHEN MIMI MET RUDOLFO

There’s a knock at the door and who should be there, our tragic seamstress, Mimi. In the darkness, she misplaces her key. On their knees, searching, hands patting the floor, their hands meet.

Now you must prepare yourself. The next three pieces will warm your heart and hopefully, bring cathartic tears to your soul.

There’s Rudolfo’s Che gelida manina in which the poet comments on Mimi’s cold hand, his writing and his life. He tells her there are thieves in her eyes and she has stolen him.

Following this beautiful aria is Mimi’s reply, Si. Mi Chiamono Mimi .  “Yes, they call me Mimi but my real name is Lucia.” She talks about working as seamstress, working with embroidered flowers. When spring comes she’s alone (and when she says this, the music simply soars and as I write this, those cathartic tears are creeping out of my eyes).

Then the deal breaker – these two lonely souls, equally filled with longings and dreams sing together – O Soave fanciulla. Life is here to love and let’s love. Take my arm, come with me, he says. (In the film version, I like how Dornhelm takes them right into the bedroom after this scene – love and consummation at first sight, so to speak).

 Publicity poster for La Boheme - if you love opera, check out Opera Chic's blog

ACT II

Ah, the honey moon stage. Rudolfo introduces Mimi to his friends at Café Momus. The streets are alive. It’s Christmas. The toymaker is selling toys, the parade is on its way.

But poor Marcello. Who should walk into the café but Musetta, his former lover and her latest catch, another sugar daddy, the old codger Alcindoro. Musetta, to inspire jealousy but also to attract attention sings her famous waltz, Quando me'n vo. She tells the crowd of café patrons that she indulges in their furtive glances, she wants to feel empowered by the desires of men. Marcello, broken -hearted suffers silently in his seat.  But all is not lost. Musetta, feigning a foot injury sends Alcindoro off to buy her some new shoes. Marcello rises to the occasion and re-declares his love for her. As for the bill, well the Bohemians can't pay. Musetta tells the waiter to put it on Alcindoro's bill. 

This is a scene for Champagne. The Bohemian are celebrating, they have a little bit of money. Champagne is the great sparkling wine from Northern France, a blend of Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier and Chardonnay. The town of Rheims is the region’s centre.

There are many to chose from and each Champagne House has its different styles – there’s Veuve Cliquot, Mumm, Moët & Chandon and Krug to name the most famous. Considering this is an opera about love, I recommend a rosé Champagne from Moët & Chandon.

ACT III

From Café Momus to a tollgate outside Paris, we’re in the midst of the dark New Year. The holidays are over, the honey moon stage has passed and the two lovers are separated. They fell in love with the illusion of each other. They wanted something, they looked and found it but it wasn’t really enough. The beginning of the act will remind you of the garret of the first act so get a blanket.

Mimi comes looking for Marcello. She needs to talk. Rudolfo is here, he tells her but no, she can’t see him. Why? Well, Mimi explains, he’s afraid of my dying. I’m getting worse.

Mimi leaves, ducks around the corner and listens to Rudolfo and Marcello talk. Mimi gasps, coughs, Rudolfo sees her and the two have a difficult discussion, she wanting to leave, he wanting her to stay (Donde lieta usci).

But it all works out. They’ll love again, the spring is coming, she won’t be alone. Marcello and Musetta have a comical tiff which balances the scene.

Considering the scenery, the snow fall, the fading hope, the plight of these bohemians, I recommend a wine from the south of France. Perhaps a Fitou, a blend of Carignan, Grenache and Syrah or a Minervois (Grenache, Syrah and Mourvèdre). Southern France is right on the Mediterranean. The region gets plenty of sun and with such an ideal climate, the region has become a great ‘wine lake’. The wines tend to be fuller in body, spicy and rich but are also easier for the budget conscious. A nice comfortable alternative to expensive reds from Burgundy and Bordeaux and a reminder of sunnier days.

ACT IV

We’re back in Paris. Rudolfo and Marcello are both happy the spring is here but they don’t have anyone and sing a haunting tune (O Mimi, tu piu non torni). For some reason Mimi has gone off with a Japanese stock broker (it’s not really explained very well in the opera but that’s opera for you).

Colline and Schaunard come in and there’s some playful horsing around. But the joking doesn’t last. Musetta has brought Mimi to them. She isn’t doing well.

This is the end. Their final love duet – Sono andati? Rudolfo prepares for the worst, holding Mimi's cold hand. The friends give the former lovers time to themselves, pawning off possessions to get money for medicine and a doctor.

But it’s too late. Che ha ditto – Mimi’s death, a scene in opera that is incredibly moving but so simple. This isn’t Wagner’s Liebestod, this isn’t Violetta’s final flourish in La Traviata. Death comes in quietly, unnoticed, when Rudolfo’s back is turned. For a brief second we had hoped, we had prayed but this is opera, this is our modern cartharsis.

What wine to drink for such a scene?


I can’t think of any.


At this point I’ll take a glass of Cognac to calm my nerves. Cognac is the third largest vineyard region in France. The grapes are sold to distilleries, fermented into wine, then double-distilled into cognac. Ugni Blanc (Trebbiano) accounts for most of the wine used.

Following distillation, the Cognac is added in Tronçais or Limousin oak for a minimum of two years. The brandy (from the Dutch brandewijn—"burnt wine") mellows and softens and takes on flavours from the wood. You’ll find on Cognac labels the number of years the brandy has been aged - *** or VS (two years), VSOP (four years) and XO (six years).

I can’t think of a better way to recover from such a magnificent and heart-breaking work of genius. I’m going to watch this opera again soon – perhaps on Christmas and with the right wines. 

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Verdi and the Wines of Veneto – An Italian Pairing

I am not only passionate about Italian wine but Italian opera. One night I talked to a friend about my love of poetry and wine pairings. From our discussion, the idea of a wine and opera pairing was born.

GIUSEPPE VERDI (1813-1901)

There are three great names in opera: Mozart, Verdi and Wagner.

Verdi is the first big name after Mozart. His operas appeared in all the famous 19th century opera houses in Italy: Milan, Rome, Naples, Venice, Florence and Trieste. Born not too far from Parma, his father provided his son with a reasonable musical education. Throughout his life he composed music for 28 operas.

Verdi’s greatest contribution to musical history came in the shape of his three most famous operas: La Traviata, Rigoletto and Il Trovatore. In his book A Night at the Opera Sir Denis Foreman opined that each work has imparted something to our popular culture from the 'Brindisi' of Trav, to the Anvil Chorus of Trov and who can forget Pavarotti’s version of ‘'La donna mobile' (Rigoletto), a ditty so popular you’d have to be born in a convent not to know it. Check the links.

VERDI AND VENICE

When it comes to food, I prefer a pairing of wine with the region’s cuisine. In the case of opera, I’m going to be a little more lenient. Verdi is to Italy what Goethe is to Germany, or what Shakespeare is to England. Verdi was born near Parma but the wines of Veneto work perfectly, especially when paired with La Traviata, my very favourite of Verdi’s operas.

Based on Alexandre Dumas fils’ play and novel, La Dame aux camellias, La Traviata featuring the tragic Violetta first premiered in Venice on March 6, 1853. (You see how it all works out – Verdi – Veneto – Violetta…?)

The opera is in three acts and takes place in Paris.

Violetta is a popular courtesan for wealthy men. In the first act, we find ourselves at her home where there is much celebrating, toasting (the infamous Brindisi), drinking and laughing. The music is lively and bubbly, the songs about the fleeting joys of life. For this scene, I recommend a Prosecco, the ubiquitous spumante of Italy’s north made principally from the Prosecco grape. The wine maker uses the charmant method (which is unlike Champagne) to give it its light, green fruit flavour.. Whereas Champagne undergoes a second fermentation in the bottle (which gives us the bubbles), the wine of Prosecco undergoes a second fermentation in a pressurized tank.

Anna Netrebko as Violetta in the Salzburger Festspielen  production of La Traviata, 2005

Deutsche Grammophon - La Traviata

TOCAI AND ALFREDO

Alfredo is deeply in love with Violetta. While she is recuperating in her Paris home from an attack of tuberculosis he keeps a vigilant watch outside in the rain.

Un di felice is a lovely piece and when Violetta replies, the music sweeps you away into a mellow mood of heart-breaking tenderness and sweet, savage yearning. For this I recommend a Tocai Friulano. This white variety is not as popular in Veneto but you can find some excellent ones from regions in nearby Friuli-Venezia Giulia, considered part of the Tre Venezie (with Trentino-Aldige as the third). The wines are medium-bodied, some with a slight, viscous-creamy texture, a nice pairing with the love duet. Add to that some excellent Prosciutto, the famous ham meat from Friuli, (near the town of San Daniele) and Emilia-Romagna, (close to Parma and Verdi’s birthplace) – not bad for a little regional pairing.

ALFREDO AND VIOLETTA IN LOVE

By the time we get to the second act, the two have become lovers (Lunga da lei). Time for some Valpolicella. Like Beaujolais of southern Burgundy, the basic Valpolicella is a lighter wine, easy to drink, with soft cherry notes and candy. A blend of three red grapes (Molinara, Rondinella and Corvina), there are a few other styles to chose from.

Valpolicella Classico – with grapes sourced from the original region. (Throughout the years, many famous areas of Italy, such as Chianti, have grown grapes on older vineyards. They are now competing with the newer sites. These producers on the original sites feel their wines should be acknowledged – classico simply refers to the historic, long-established area.) These wines have a bit more body to offer.

Then, there’s Valpolicella Classico Superiore which must be aged a year before release. These wines have gorgeous licorice, smoky dried cherry components (highly suitable for the music of lovers swooning with love).

GERMONT AND VIOLETTA – “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE MY SON”

If your dad found out you were dating a prostitute, he’d be worried, wouldn’t he? Well Alfredo’s papa is very concerned. In the Paris of the 19th century, a courtesan was a high-end call girl but a call girl nonetheless.

The role of Germont is sung by a baritone, which is lower than a tenor (Alfredo). Baritones usually have the second-man-best-friend-paternal part to sing. Germont’s daughter is getting married and he needs Violetta to get out of the picture or else his daughter’s fiancé and family might not go through with the marriage (Pura siccome un angelo).

Violetta offers to lie low but that won’t do for the concerned father. You have to leave Alfredo, immediately and without explanation, I’m sorry.

This is when you pull out the Valpolicella ripassso. The wine is made by re-passing the newly fermented Valpolicella wine over the Amarone pomace (the pulp mound-mass of seeds and skins [i.e. leftovers] after an Amarone wine has fermented – we’ll get to that soon enough). The Vapolicella, in contact with this pomace, takes on a ‘jamminess’ as it picks up some additional colour, flavor, structure and tannins. Like a good California Zin, this is lush and pairs well with the moody but dramatic exchange between Germont and the pleading Violetta.

ANGRY ALFREDO, DYING VIOLETTA

Alfredo is upset. Violetta has left him, her motive for leaving concealed (she doesn’t want to get between father and son), and while out at party, he see his lady love with the Baron Douphol (a real cad). There is a heated argument and Alfredo, at the height of his rage throws all his gambling winnings at her. Germont comes in, flabbergasted at his son’s behavior.(Ogni suo aver tal femmina, Di sprezzo degno se stesso rende)

Things don’t really work out until it’s too late. By Act III Violetta is alone and dying of TB, coughing uncontrollably. Beside her is her maid, the loyal Annina (and a former courtesan) as the doctor attends her. But where’s Alfredo?

For the last part of Act II and Act III, you can choose one of two wines. Since these are emotionally charged scenes, you’ll need a big wine to get you through them. If you like drier style wines, I recommend an Amarone.

Like Valpolicella, Amarone is made with the same three grapes (sometimes with the addition of Negara) but closer to Verona. The main difference is that the grapes are left longer on the vine and when finally picked, are laid out in bunches on bamboo shelves or mats in drying lofts. There they are left to shrivel and this concentrates their flavours for three to four months.

When the grapes are finally pressed, they look more like raisins, having lost a third of their weight, mostly water. The resulting wine is a glorious, full-bodied red, higher in alcohol content (15 – 16%). Amarone, the name meaning ‘big, bitter one’ could well be the final ultimate pairing for this opera.

But if you like something sweet, I recommend a recioto della Valpolicella. This wine is made almost exactly the same as Amarone except when the grapes are fermenting, the process is soon stopped to retain the sweetness. Since all the sugar is not converted into alcohol, this leaves the wine supple, seductive and of all things, beautifully dolce.

Whether Violetta is singing Addio del passato or during the tear-driven finale and brief reconciliation between her and Alfredo, these great fuller-bodied wines of Veneto will compliment the heart-throbbing beauty of Verdi’s most painful and transcendent moments of opera.

Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon (as Alfredo) enact the painful finale.

Deutsche Grammophon - La Traviata

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French Wine, French Poetry - Pairings

As autumn approaches, the air will soon be laden with the quiet gravity of falling leaves and smoky evenings. The days will be crisp, the streets cooler, the lawns and parks shrouded in an amber-yellow collage of leaves. You can already feel the night getting longer, grayer, the brightness of dusk sharply fading.


For myself, autumn and winter are the times when I sit down to absorb more books. I want to slip away into myself, lock the doors, retire from the world and reach for a glass of wine and a book of poetry.


Some of my favourite wines are French and that goes for poetry, as well. The French are known for literature that exhibits a raw, decadent indulgence that is both delicious and disturbing. Uninhibited, passionate, their works are much more erotic and sensual than what I feel is the Olympian sterility and dryness of English writing. Even in translation (some day I hope to read the originals), the works of Baudelaire, Verlaine and Rimbaud give the reader a pleasure not unlike that of good French wine.


Here are some of my personal favourite wines paired with what I consider the most apropos of poets and their poetry.

Charles Baudelaire by Gustave Courbet

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE AND BURGUNDY

Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) is a great poet when it comes to French letters. His writing was heavily influenced by the Romantics such as Victor Hugo (famous for the novels Les Miserables and Notre Dame de Paris – aka The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and also his poetry) and the realist approach of Honore de Balzac (his story Fanfarlo has taken its realist ideas from the latter author).

Baudelaire lived in fascinating times. When he was nine years old, France experienced the July Revolution (1830) which saw the overthrow of the French Bourbon monarch, King Charles X, in favour of Louis Phillipe, his cousin (who would, himself, be overthrown some 18 years later). Raised by his mother and step-father, the youthful Baudelaire was highly rebellious. Though he was expelled from one school for his lack of discipline, he eventually straightened out enough to finish his bachelor’s degree.

While in Paris, he lived a dissolute life and ran through his father’s inheritance. His step-father, a French Captain, attempted to set the young man straight but Baudelaire wouldn’t have any of it. He founded the Hashish Club with his friends, visited the great Nadar, fell in love with Jeanne Duval, a mulatto actress at the theatre and contracted numerous debts throughout his life.

Writing and journalism made up his career. He wrote art criticism (he was friends with Gustave Courbet, the great realist painter and knew the works of Eugene Delacroix), some short prose poems, translated the works of Edgar Allan Poe into French and composed his famous Les Fleur du Mal (The Flowers of Evil), a work that continues to enthrall, dismay and intrigue readers today (he was taken to court for obscenity when the work was published in 1857).

Of wine, he wrote in his poem, ‘Poison’, it

can endure the lowest dive
with sudden luxury
and out of a red mist create
enchanted porticoes,
like sunset firing a sodden sky.
(translation by Richard Howard)

He wrote several poems about wine: ‘The Soul of the Wine’, ‘Ragpickers’ Wine’, ‘The Murderer’s Wine’, ‘The Solitary Wine’ and ‘Lovers’ Wine’. Many depicted the bleak existence of the lower classes in the company of what may have been wine from the south of France. (In the mid-19th century the railway made it possible for the wines of Languedoc and Roussillon to make it to Paris).

Despite Baudelaire’s compassion for the poorer Parisian souls, I am hesitant to recommend a wine from the south. But neither would I suggest a Bordeaux or a Champagne. Instead, I feel Burgundy to embody the erotic but brooding melancholic soul of Baudelaire’s writing. You could sample an elegantly sensual Volnay from the Côte de Beaune or if you want to splurge, a deep, exotic Clos du Vougeot from the Côte de Nuits. If not, a regular red Burgundy will do. There are five specific levels of Burgundy: regional ACs (i.e. Bourgogne), specific ACs taking in a whole group of villages (i.e. Côte de Nuits-Villages), AC wines that take a village name such as Pommard, Premier Crus which are relegated to several good vineyards sites and Grand Crus which are the best individual vineyard sites. Names to look out for: Joseph Drouhin, Louis Jadot, Maison Leroy.

When young, red Burgundy’s flavours range from strawberry and raspberry to deeper damson and dark cherries. When the wines have aged, especially in the Premier and Grand Crus, expect more Oriental spices, whiffs of forest mushrooms, sometimes an air of light tobacco, chocolate and truffles – a charismatic complement to some of Baudelaire’s more intoxicating poems such as ‘A Head of Hair’ and ‘Twilight: Evening’. But it also exerts a floral quality that should compliment Baudelaire’s fleurs. As Jay McInerney writes of Burgundy in his humorous but educational book, Bacchus and Me, “[If] it’s red, French, costs too much, and tastes like the water that’s left in the vase after the flower have died and rotted, it’s probably Burgundy.”

Rotting flowers, truffles and mushrooms. Baudelaire would most likely approve. Any of these wines can be drunk in the company of such lyrics that ask:

Are you the sovereign harvest of the fall?
Are you the savor of Happy Isles?
- Ultimate urn that bides its time for tears,
Caressing pillow, or narcotic rose?
(translation by Richard Howard)

PAUL VERLAINE AND ALSACE

Born in 1844, Paul Verlaine (1844-1896) was only 13 years old when Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal hit the Paris bookstands. Before his father relocated his family to Paris, his early childhood was spent in Metz, near Alsace. Of his hometown, Verlaine once wrote: “I lived there only a few years… but it was there that my mind and senses opened to life.” The boy was prone to melancholy but like his idol, Baudelaire, he exuded a dark, sensuous, Dionysian edge.

His family tried to point him toward a career in the civil service but his passion for writing brought him closer and closer to the literary landscape of Paris. As Martin Sorrell writes in his Introduction to his translation of Verlaine’s poetry, the poet “…spent his life facing in two directions at once.” He could write the most sensitive, tear-driven lyrics and yet be equally ‘gifted’ with the ability to compose bawdy, pornographic rhymes. He was also a brute, a terrible drunk who beat both his wife and mother yet strangely – or paradoxically - longed for a quiet family life.

When he hooked up with the young poet Arthur Rimbaud, the older poet left his wife, Matthilde and the two men became lovers and traveled throughout Europe. During a heated argument in 1873, the tempestuous Verlaine shot the young Arthur in the hand and served time in prison.

Considering Verlaine was born so close to the German border, and there is a Germanic spirit to some of his more pensive lyrics, I highly recommend an Alsatian Gewurztraminer. It is a suitable and perfect match. Pour yourself a golden glass from a chilled bottle. Open a copy of Verlaine’s poetry. Breathe in the lychees, the roses and grapefruit, then read ‘Il pleure dans mon coeur’

Il pleure dans mon Coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville
(It is raining in my heart
Like it rains on the town)

The wine is viscous, rich, and the poem is languorous, solemn. It seems to coat the palate of one’s mind and heart with a deep, satisfying intensity.

Take a sip and flip the pages to ‘Autumn Song’: “The long sobs of the violins of autumn lay waste my heart…” One can imagine the golden sunset streets of October in Paris by reading Verlaine’s work. With an Alsatian wine in hand, one can almost taste the dreamy, misted world of the poet’s imagination.

Notable producers include: Pierre Sparr, Hugel et Fils, Domaine Weinbach, Domaine Zind Humbrecht, Trimbach, and Domaines Schlumberger.

Paul Verlaine (left) and Arthur Rimbaud (centre) in a painting by Henri Fantin-Latour

ATHUR RIMBAUD AND THE LOIRE AND THE RHONE

If Charles Baudelaire and Paul Verlaine are less than worthy role models for a young man, let alone an aspiring poet, Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891) is the enfant terrible. Born in northeastern France in the Ardennes département, Rimbaud was raised in the middle class. His father was a Captain of the Infantry and spent much of his career in Algiers. He abandoned the young boy to his mother when he was six. Known for her severity (one of the reasons Rimbaud’s father may have flewn the coop), she would deprive her son meals if he failed to recite prescribed Latin verses.

Before writing his great poems and prose poems, not to mention his famous letters, the young student wrote “I will be a capitalist”, a prophecy that would, in many ways, come true.

He wrote poetry relatively early in his life. By the age of seventeen he had composed his most famous poem, ‘Le Bateau Ivre’ (The Drunken Boat) and met the poet, Paul Verlaine. The two became lovers and traveled from Paris to London via Brussels. It was in London that Verlaine shot his lover in the hand during a heated, drunken dispute. The older man served 18 months in prison for his ‘crime passionel’. By 1874, after completing his Une Saison en enfer, (A Season in Hell) Rimbaud turned his back on poetry and writing, leaving it for a world of adventure. Perfecting his English in London, he travelled to Germany, Switzerland and Italy studying German, Spanish, Arabic, Italian, Dutch and modern Greek. By the early 1880s he began to work in Ethiopia, eventually trying his hand at gun-running and slave-trading in Turkey and Arabia. In 1891, he contracted a tumor on his right knee. After an amputation, his recovery fraught with difficulty, Rimbaud returned Marseilles to seek out further treatment. His condition worsened and as a result, he died there at the age of 37.

What many men may have lived in many lifetimes, Rimbaud lived all in one. He is a dark monument, a legend, but still an artist. Whereas Baudelaire is the commanding figure in 19th century poetry (his work more than his life thrust him to the forefront of French literature), both Rimbaud’s persona and poetry have intoxicated generations of artists. This list is huge and includes Americans poets such as T.S. Eliot, Allen Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs; novelists Vladimir Nabokov, Henry Miller and Anais Nin. Musicians such as Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Jim Morrison and Patti Smith cite him as their songwriting muse. There is also a film, Total Eclipse with Leonardo Di Caprio portraying the young poet with Daniel Thewlis as Verlaine.

So what wine or wines would you drink in the company of Rimbaud’s poetry? Considering the poet was a traveler, and his poetry embodies his wild, ecstatic and dissolute vision of the world, with the sea and rivers as a feature in his influential ‘Le Bateau Ivre’, I’d recommend a sparkling wine, a Crémant de Loire. A Crémant is any sparkling wine made using the traditional Champagne method outside of Champagne (to be called Champagne it must be from the region). After Champagne, the Loire is the most famous of sparkling wine producers, especially around the town of Saumur where the three top Loire sparkling-wine producers (Bouvet-Ladubay, Gratien et Mayer and Langlois-Château – each in their own way related to a Champagne house) are located. While drinking the bubbly Chenin Blanc, read from ‘The Drunken Boat’

the storm made bliss of my sea-borne awakening
Lighter than a cork, I danced on the waves which men call eternal rollers
(translation by Oliver Bernard).

For his Une Saison en enfer, I would reach for a delicious, albeit decidedly decadent bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The history of the Popes have been known to include ‘some moments’ of hedonism (more than we know or can imagine I suspect). During the 14th century, there was a period between 1305 and 1378 when the popes reigned in Avignon. The period is called the ‘Avignon Papacy’ or ‘Babylonian Captivity’ when the French court had a certain influence on the papal court.

Châteauneuf-du-Pape or “New House of the Pope” is the vineyard area near Avignon and the most southern of major Rhone appellations. The vineyards are covered in ‘pudding’ stones, some small, some the size of pumpkins, remnants of ancient glaciers from the Alps.

The wines are made up of predominantly Grenache but the blend allows for 13 grape varieties in total, including Syrah, Mourvedre and Cinsault.

Rimbaud was a definite ‘capitalist’ in his adult life but there is also the lusty spirit of the provocative adolescent in his writings. Known for his Symbolist imagery, the prose poems with its Catholic influence might be just right for a glorious bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

Noteworthy and famous producers: Château Beaucastel, M. Chapoutier, Château Rayas, and Domaine de Beaurenard.

What better way to face the impending winter than with these poets and these wines.

Bibliography

Baudelaire, Charles, Les Fleurs du Mal (trans. Richard Howards). David R. Godine, Boston, 1983.

Clark, Oz, 2009 Pocket Wine Guide. Harcourt Publishing, Orlando, 2008.

MacNeil, Karen, The Wine Bible. Workman Publishing Company Inc. New York, 2001

Richardson, Joanna. Verlaine. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London, 1971.

Rickword, Edgell. Rimbaud: The Boy and the Poet. Haskell House Publishers, New York, 1971

Rimbaud, Arthur. Collected Poems (trans. Oliver Bernard). Penguin, London, 1997.

Robb, Graham. Rimbaud. W.W. Norton & Co., New York, 2001

Verlaine, Paul. Selected Poems (trans. Martin Sorrel). Oxford, 2009.

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A New Kind of Pairing: Wine and Poetry

I love wine and I love food. To be honest, my knowledge of wine is better than my knowledge of haute-cuisine. Fine dining is fine but so far my experience has been this: pay a lot of money to get a pretty little dish that despite its beauty, its taste, texture, etc… still leaves your stomach going ‘c’mon… that’s it?’

I know it is about taste, about presentation and yes, there is the snobby cachet of the celebrity chef who may or may not be yelling at his kitchen staff in the back. It seems when it comes to fine dining, you should eat before you go out.

But wine and food pairing is just one aspect of the greater pleasure of pairing. I’m thinking of the pleasures of the mind, the soul, the heart. I’m thinking: poetry.

I know what many English readers are thinking – groan, sigh…poetry. High school English class memories are not great to relive and I realize that poetry, and no offense - to American poets, to Canadian poets, to lovers of Shakespeare - but the English language is just not that passionate – most of the time. It is intellectual, beautiful but sometimes quite… pretentious.

Yeats, Housmann, Tennyson, Eliot, and Whitman are a few of my favourite English-speaking poets but aside from Whitman, the rest are not what I consider sensual. One can rarely associate sensuality with English lyricism. Images of pedantic university professors come to mind. Much too dry. Think ‘tweed blazers’.

So sadly, for me, the poets and poetry I love have come from far away, from other languages. The poets I love are translated. One day I would love to read the originals but for now I’ll contend with anglicized-European verse.

So for those who hated poetry but would love to give it a try, I recommend the pairings below. One must bear in mind that with wine and food, regional character plays a role. So if you are thinking Argentinean Beef, automatically you chose a Mendoza Malbec. New Zealand Lamb with Hawkes Bay Merlot. Etc… I apply the same principal in pairing poets with wine.

ITALY

Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) was one of the first poets of the Italian peninsula (you really couldn’t call it Italy because the country wasn’t unified until 1861) to use the language of the commoner, instead of Latin to write a work of great literature.

When it comes to his Nuova Vita (The New Life), a book about the poet’s awakening to love, written in prose and verse, I highly recommend a fun and innocent Chianti. Chianti is a blend of Sangiovese as the dominant grape with red Canaiolo and white Malvasia. It can be a rich wine with dollops of spice and yet there is a rustic, cherry tenderness. Dante wrote this famous work before exile, before taking on his famous work, the Comedia, often translated and famously known as The Divine Comedy.

In Nuova Vita he battles with the willful and stubborn god of Love after seeing his beloved, Beatrice, for the first time at the age of nine. The poetry is both intellectual and heartfelt, exploring the emotions, the embarrassment and qualms of falling in love. Drinking Chianti and reading this work, you will fully experience the blush of love, the soft but red-fruit melancholy of yearning and wonder. (Some good producers include Antinori, Frescobaldi, Ruffino, Ricasoli and Melini.)

Turning to the Iberian Peninsula, I highly recommend the poets Federic García Lorca (1898-1936) and the lesser-known Vicente Aleixandre (1898-1984). With Lorca, you can have any number of wines. For one, try an Olorosso Sherry with his famous collection, Romancero Gitano. Sherry from the region of Jerez is synonymous with the countryside of Andalucia. Lorca is the Spanish literary personification of the romantic Spanish past. His works exude sunburnt Moorish architecture, bullfights, flamenco and beautiful, almond-coloured Mediterranean women. Sherry is the wine of choice for bullfighters, a fortified wine with almond-fig flavours, not to mention the dark flesh tone of a beautiful senorita.

But I have to say, when reading “La casada infiel” (The Faithless Wife), I urge you to buy a beautiful bottle of a good Rioja Gran Reserva. This poem exudes the calm but ravenous darkness of the night, the sand, the far away moan of dogs, the rustle of rivers and the sensuality of sin. If you find the right bottle of Rioja, (great producers include Allende, Artadi, Marqués de Riscal, Montecillo, Muga, Marqués de Caceres and La Rioja Alta), you’ll experience a beautiful bouquet of cinnamon, strawberries, earth, leather and cedar.

A Gran Reserva, aged for 2 years in oak and three years in bottle is the perfect pairing. Smelling the leather of this wine you might smell the leather of the narrator’s gun belt and the earth of the lovers’ tryst. In my mind, I always imagine Penelope Cruz when I read this poem and in my mind, Rioja is the Penelope Cruz of wine – beautiful, complex and alluring. (If you can’t find a Rioja Gran Reserva, a tinta fino [tempranillo] from Ribera del Duero would be also perfect as the Tempranillo grape creates a deep, blackfruit rich wine with dusty spices.)

Vicente Aleixandre, too, was born in Andalucia in the south of Spain and belonged to the Generation of ’27. Whereas many of his peers either fled the country in the wake of the Spanish Civil War (Salinas, Cernuda, Guillen) or were killed (Lorca was executed by Franco’s troops, Hernandez died in prison), Aleixandre was apolitical and stayed in Spain. His poems are often regarded as ‘melancholic’ and sodden with desires.

My favourite is “Mano entegada” (Her Hand Given Over). The narrator examines his lover’s hands, how tender the skin feels but how impenetrable and truly frigid is the bone underneath the sensual surface. It is poem laden with layers of philosophy, longing and insight into relationships. I recommend a white wine from Rueda in northern Spain.

Why a white wine instead of a brooding red? Well, when I think of the poem, I think of Rueda, a plot of land that was once the frontier between the Christians and the Moors in the Middle Ages. There is a strange link between the narrator’s relationship to his lover and Rueda’s presence in the world of wine. The bone of the lover’s hand and the landscape of Rueda are both austere, impenetrable but what surrounds them, the beauty of the skin and wine brings us into a wonderful world of pleasure.

Verdejo, the grape of Rueda, was once used to make sherry-style wines. The grape naturally began to oxidize as soon as it was picked. Today, the grapes are rushed to a bodega under a layer of nitrate gas. The gas ensures freshness. Drinking a verdejo is drinking a moment of sunshine and reading this poem, one can feel the radiant beauty of the narrator’s lover.

GERMANY

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) and Mosel Riesling make a wondrous German pairing. Rilke was born in Prague, Czech Republic then known as Bohemia. He traveled widely, meeting Leo Tolstoy in Russia and worked as Auguste Rodin’s secretary in Paris. You can taste the ethereal, the dreaminess in his poetry. There is a heightened majesty to his verse, a pensive quality culminating in the German word for longing, sehnsucht. The beautiful imagery and the tactile in his works give you a sense of the immediate and the infinite, especially in the New Poems.

A great start to a wine and poem pairing, would be his lesser-known piece “Dum im Voraus” (You Who Never Arrived). There is a Teutonic splendor to the poem. Images of stone bridges, of country gardens and streets abound. The narrator describes the solemn frustration of not being able to meet his beloved. This ‘beloved’, whether a person or a God, is forever eluding the poet’s grasp. The lines that send the most chills down my spine:

And sometimes in a shop, the mirrors
Were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
My too-sudden image.

These words cause me to think of the steep, dizzying vineyard of the Mosel River in Western Germany. I think of far away towns, the taste of autumn, of golden fruit, apples hanging with limp wings of leaves waiting for harvest – this is what happens when I drink a Mosel Riesling. I love my Rieslings with that steely sweetness and Rilke’s poem is a perfect companion. (Look for wines from such towns as Piesport, Brauneberg, Bernkastel, Graach, Wehlen, Urzig and Erden. Usually they have an ‘-er’ at the end of their title on German wine labels. For instance, you may see “Brauneberger Juffer Riesling Kabinett” on the label which means the wine is sourced from the vineyard of Juffer in Brauneberg. Also it should say QmP on the label signifying it is of the highest quality.)

Rilke’s early poetry would also be a suitable match with Mosel Riesling. During the history of German wine, the monks played a huge role in cultivating the grapes. Rilke’s Book of Hours, poems with a distinctly religious theme, would be perfect, as would be The Book of Pictures (the poem “Autumn Day”: “Command the fruit to swell on tree and vine;…/and press/the final sweetness into the heavy wine”) not to mention his later Duino Elegies which embody the mystical isolation of a poet lost in the world. Riesling is such a wine. It is philosophical, as if you are drinking something from far away, dreamy, bright but subdued – Gothic, but sheltered in cool wet shadows and rain-soaked sunlight.

I get carried away by both poetry and wine. A beautiful poem needs a gorgeous wine. Dante is to Tuscany what Lorca and Aleixandre are to Spain, what Rilke is to German literature just as the wine paired with their works exemplifies the landscape of their origin. There is a national character to wine and great poets. Wine and food are great when you have a physical appetite but when your soul and heart are hungry, let these recommendations be your guide.

Rilke in his study

Recommended Works:

- New Life – Dante Alighieri. Hesperus Press, 2003.

Louis de Bernières, author of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin writes the introduction to this excellent translation of the medieval poet’s work of love.

- The Selected Poems of Federico Garcia Lorca. New Directions Publications, 2005

Introduced by W.S. Merwin and translated by a host of critically acclaimed poets, this is the best place to begin with Lorca.

- Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke, Modern Library, 1995. Stephen Mitchell is the penultimate translator of Rilke. This volume includes handsome selections of the poet’s greatest work.

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