DRC & Friends
July 12, 2025
M.Q. Burgheads | Magnolia, Seattle
The Prelude
I flew from San Jose to Seattle. A short flight to join a group of thirteen Burgundy collectors — a focused subset of the larger MQ society: mostly VCs, founders, and executives who love wine deeply and seriously. Each person brought treasures from their cellar for one epic night of some of the greatest and most interesting Burgundies on Earth.
For this, I would have flown anywhere.
In the Uber on the way to the event, anticipation building, time seemed to slow. It dawned on me that everything that had happened in my wine life up to this point had led me here to what was surely destined to be a once in a lifetime experience. I didn’t know how it would affect me, but I was sure it would.
I swallowed hard, almost gasping, knowing that in less than an hour I’d be swallowing some of the most coveted elixirs in the wine world. Goosebumps.
A friend once called it “wine-do” — as in ju-do, aiki-do, taekwon-do. A path. A discipline. A lifetime of learning.
On the seat next to me sat a carefully padded magnum of Krug Grande Cuvée, 162nd Edition, that had rested in my cellar for ten years. Built around the 2006 harvest and layered with reserve wines going back to 1990, it’s Krug’s attempt at a perfect Champagne rather than a vintage statement. In magnum, it’s even more epic.
A worthy opener for what lay ahead, even if destined to be overshadowed by Burgundy.
The Setting
The most picture-perfect dining room view I’ve ever seen. Magnolia, Seattle. Overlooking Puget Sound on a rare, crystal-clear summer day. Completely breathtaking.
The DRC Context
Before getting into individual bottles, it helps to zoom out — because once Domaine de la Romanée-Conti is on the table, geography stops being background and starts becoming the story.
DRC is, at its core, a Vosne-Romanée domaine. And more than any other producer, it defines how Vosne is understood. Vosne wines are rarely about a single attribute — not sheer power, not perfume alone, not austerity for its own sake. At their best, they express completeness: depth without heaviness, intensity without aggression, structure wrapped in finesse. When people talk about “nobility” in Burgundy, this is usually what they’re pointing to.
The domaine’s most important vineyards sit clustered together on the mid-slope, and tasting them side by side reveals that Vosne is not a single voice, but a family of closely related dialects.
At the center are the monopoles — a rarity in Burgundy, and crucial to understanding DRC. Romanée-Conti and La Tâche are both entirely controlled by the domaine. Romanée-Conti is the quietest expression: less about force than inevitability, defined by completeness and poise. La Tâche is its opposite — expansive, volatile, and often overwhelming when young, its scale impossible to miss even decades in. That played out vividly in the three vintages poured that night — 1999, 2006, and 2009 — all still coiled, intense, and very much works in progress.
Close by is Richebourg, broad-shouldered and authoritative, represented here by a DRC Richebourg 1993, which carried its weight naturally and without effort. Nearby as well is Romanée-Saint-Vivant, which tends to lean more toward perfume and finesse, often more immediately expressive, though still firmly Vosne in character.
One vineyard deserved special designation: La Romanée. Tucked between Romanée-Conti and La Tâche, it is the smallest grand cru in Burgundy and one of the rarest.
Although La Romanée is today a monopole of Domaine du Comte Liger-Belair, that has not always been the case in practice. For much of the late 20th century, the vineyard was owned by the Liger-Belair family but leased out, most notably to Bouchard Père & Fils, which produced La Romanée under its own label.
That arrangement ended in the mid-2000s, when Louis-Michel Liger-Belair resumed direct control and began bottling La Romanée himself, restoring it to true monopole production. As a result, older vintages like the 1995 Bouchard represent La Romanée as interpreted by a négociant-producer of the era, while newer vintages like the 2018 Liger-Belair show the vineyard under single-handed, estate control.
Tasting both side by side wasn’t redundancy — it was a rare look at how the same tiny vineyard can express itself differently depending on who is farming it, when, and under what philosophy, even as its core identity remains unmistakable.
Rather than volume, La Romanée speaks through concentration and inner detail. That night it appeared in two very different forms: a powerful, structured Bouchard Père & Fils La Romanée 1995, and a silkier, more immediately elegant Domaine du Comte Liger-Belair La Romanée 2018. Tasted side by side, they showed just how sensitive this vineyard is to both hand and era.
Just outside Vosne lies Flagey-Échezeaux, home to Échezeaux and Grands-Échezeaux. Though often discussed alongside Vosne, they are distinct. Échezeaux can be broader and more variable. Grands-Échezeaux tends to be more architectural — structured, composed, and serious. That distinction came through clearly in the Grands-Échezeaux 1988 and 2000 poured that night.
The map extended beyond Vosne. The Hill of Corton entered the picture twice: once through DRC Corton (red) 2009, and again later through DRC Corton-Charlemagne 2020, offering a rare chance to see how the same hill expresses itself through Pinot Noir and Chardonnay under the same philosophy.
On the white side, DRC’s selectivity is striking. The domaine makes only two white wines: Montrachet and Corton-Charlemagne. We didn’t taste Montrachet that night, but it remains the top white wine for both DRC and Domaine Leflaive, and notably the only white grand cru they share. That shared reference — even without being poured — became the lens through which Leflaive’s Bienvenue-Bâtard-Montrachet and DRC’s Corton-Charlemagne could be read, extrapolating house style through a common point of origin.
Other villages were represented by a haunting 1918 Chambolle, showed perfume and texture from another era. Les Suchots, through Prieuré Roch, added a very different Vosne accent — one rooted not in modern polish, but in a deliberately raw, low-intervention philosophy. Founded by Henry-Frédéric Roch, co-director of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti for decades, and a descendant of the Liger-Belair family, Prieuré Roch became known for old vines, minimal sulfur, and an unfiltered expression of site. In Les Suchots, that approach often yields wines that are darker, more brooding, and more textural than their neighbors — less about finesse, more about earth, depth, and energy. Together, these wines reminded us how tightly packed this part of Burgundy is — how small the distances are, and how meaningful the differences.
Seen this way, the wines on the table weren’t isolated trophies. They were coordinates. Closely spaced points on a very small map, each expressing a slightly different answer to the same question: what happens when place, restraint, and time align?
With that landscape in mind, the tasting notes that followed weren’t just about preference or ranking. They were about location — understanding where each wine was coming from, and why it spoke the way it did.
Tasting Champagne & Whites
Krug Grande Cuvée 162ème Édition — Magnum
Krug is different from everyone else, starting with what it considers its flagship wine. While the house produces rarer and more expensive cuvées — single-vineyard wines like Clos du Mesnil and Clos d’Ambonnay, and vintage-dated Krugs — Grande Cuvée is the wine Krug itself regards as its highest expression.
That’s because it isn’t tied to a single year. Grande Cuvée is rebuilt annually from dozens, sometimes hundreds, of component wines, designed to express Krug’s full house style rather than the character of a particular vintage. The 162ème Édition is built around the 2006 harvest, layered with reserve wines reaching back to 1990. Nearly half the blend comes from older vintages, which is where the depth comes from.
In magnum, it’s even more unfair.
Rich and expansive. Brioche right out of the gate, then caramel and ginger as it warmed. Broad, composed, architectural. Nothing flashy, nothing out of place.
Domaine Leflaive Bienvenue-Bâtard-Montrachet 1999 — Magnum
Leflaive is widely regarded as one of the reference producers of white Burgundy, and this bottle was a reminder that with wines at this level, understanding place matters as much as understanding age — especially when that place sits in the immediate orbit of Montrachet itself.
Montrachet is the axis around which everything here turns. It sits mid-slope, perfectly exposed, and historically sets the benchmark for balance — power and finesse in equal measure. The surrounding grands crus express variations on that theme depending on where they sit relative to it.
Above Montrachet is Chevalier-Montrachet — thinner soils, more limestone, cooler exposure. Chevalier’s power comes from tension and line. It can be muscular, but it’s chiseled and upright, emphasizing precision over volume.
Below Montrachet, the soils deepen and the wines broaden. This is the Bâtard family, where richness and texture start to dominate. Bâtard-Montrachet itself is the broadest and most overtly powerful, while Bienvenue-Bâtard-Montrachet sits just above it on the slope, acting as a bridge between Chevalier’s line and Bâtard’s mass.
Bienvenue is broader and more muscular than Chevalier, but more disciplined than straight Bâtard — still substantial, but with more structure and spine. Leflaive’s style sharpens that distinction rather than blurring it.
The 1999 vintage matters here as well. Generous, structured, and long-lived at the top estates.
That contextualized what was happening in the glass.
Gorgeous, viscous, oily mouthfeel. Sesame oil, chamomile, spiced peaches. Four hours later the wine shifted into crème brûlée and lobster-shell salinity, with hints of straw and wood. Even then it felt young. Five hours in it became almost chewy — white stone fruit, sour cream, massive extract, and no sense of urgency whatsoever.
In magnum, that impression only intensified. This wasn’t a wine trying to charm early or trade on aromatics. It was slow, dense, and quietly confident, revealing itself on its own schedule.
Even after 26 years, the wine was telling me it wants more time. Its aging potential appealed to my own sensibilities — complex already, but with the sense that the best is still ahead.
DRC Corton-Charlemagne 2020
This is not a delicate white. Corton-Charlemagne here showed authority — volume, extract, and length — with a structure that felt closer to a red wine than a typical white Burgundy.
It wasn’t trying to charm. It felt declarative.
We didn’t taste Montrachet that night, but it hovered over the table anyway. It’s the top white wine for both Domaine Leflaive and Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, and notably the only white grand cru they share. That makes it the natural reference point for understanding how these two houses think about Chardonnay, even when the wine in the glass comes from somewhere else.
At the very top of Montrachet, Leflaive and DRC are often mentioned together — arguably the two most serious and consistent interpreters of the vineyard. Others belong in the conversation as well — producers like Domaine des Comtes Lafon and Ramonet — but Leflaive and DRC tend to define the stylistic poles.
In simple terms, Leflaive reads Montrachet through line and clarity. Their wines emphasize structure, energy, and precision, with richness arriving slowly and deliberately. DRC reads Montrachet through scale and presence. Their wines feel broader, denser, and more authoritative, with an almost red-wine sense of extract and seriousness.
We didn’t need Montrachet in the glass to see that contrast — and it became especially useful in understanding what followed. With that shared reference in mind, DRC’s approach to Corton-Charlemagne came into much sharper focus.
Montrachet sits on the Puligny/Chassagne border, mid-slope, perfectly exposed, and has long defined balance in white Burgundy — power and finesse held in equilibrium. Even at its most muscular, Montrachet tends to feel complete, with aroma, mid-palate, and finish arriving together.
Corton-Charlemagne is something else entirely. It crowns the Hill of Corton, spanning the cooler, more windswept upper slopes above Aloxe-Corton and Pernand-Vergelesses. The soils are thinner, the limestone more exposed, and the conditions more demanding. Chardonnay here builds structure before it builds flesh. Historically, Corton-Charlemagne has been known for austerity, verticality, and longevity — a wine admired more for how it ages than how it performs young.
DRC is a recent arrival to this vineyard, first releasing Corton-Charlemagne in 2019, from parcels in Le Charlemagne on the Aloxe side and En Charlemagne above Pernand-Vergelesses, leased from the former Bonneau du Martray holdings.
The 2020 vintage complicates — and enriches — that picture. It was a generous year, even here, and the wine showed more weight than the classical Corton-Charlemagne stereotype might suggest.
Fresh, driven by a mineral pull and acidity more than aroma. Sweet, well-judged oak stayed in the frame. Honey and floral notes showed early, then with air it broadened into baked-grain / fresh-bread tones — almost waffle-like — feeling weighty and authoritative now, with edges that seem likely to sharpen over time.
Among benchmark Corton-Charlemagne producers — historically led by Bonneau du Martray, and joined by names like Coche-Dury and Domaine Leroy — DRC’s version sits comfortably in the serious camp. Not the most immediately incisive, but clearly aligned with wines built to evolve, where presently authority precedes charm.
Reds Begin
Pierre Léger (Négociant) — Chambolle-Musigny 1918
A World War I wine. That alone reframes everything.
Very little survives in the formal record about Pierre Léger, and that, in itself, is part of the story. Léger, based in Nuits-Saint-Georges, was one of many small early-20th-century Burgundy négociants operating before the modern AOC system, sourcing wines from respected growers and bottling them under his own name. In 1918, labels were often sparse, vineyard origins loosely defined, and élevage decisions guided more by tradition and necessity than by documentation.
That makes a surviving 1918 Chambolle-Musigny less a branded wine and more a historical artifact — a snapshot of site, season, and survival.
The 1918 vintage itself sits at a remarkable moment in Burgundy history. Harvest came at the very end of World War I, after years of depleted labor, material shortages, and disrupted vineyard work. Yields were low, methods were simple, and wines were made with restraint not by design, but by circumstance. The year is generally regarded as good rather than great — balanced, cool-leaning, and capable of longevity when vineyard quality and storage aligned.
Two bottles, slightly different. One more concentrated, one a touch more fragile. Both remarkable.
Cherry bark reduction on the nose. Cloudy in the glass. On the palate: a hint of acetone at first, then sweet spiced cherry, tomato leaf, astonishingly smooth texture — almost buttery — with a finish that just kept going.
With time: cured meat, plum skin, mushroom, dust, Chinese dried medicinal roots. This wasn’t about pleasure in the usual sense. It was about connection — to another era, another world, another idea of wine entirely.
The Mature Richebourg Flight
Richebourg is typically described as a broad-shouldered Vosne grand cru: richer and more opulent than it is airy, built around dark fruit, spice, savory depth, and a velvety, structured palate that rewards long aging.
How does that match the following three expressions?
- Remoissenet Père et Fils — Richebourg 1969
Pine-driven and savory: iodine, spice, leather. - P. Misserey & Fils Richebourg 1964
Brighter, more liqueur-tinged, with blood orange and lift. - Remoissenet Père et Fils — Richebourg 1959 (Late Release)
Dust on the nose, then sesame, refined leather, wood, and still real bite. Long, almost cookie-like richness.
Richebourg: background and interpretation
Richebourg occupies a distinctive place in Vosne-Romanée. It isn’t usually described as the most perfumed of the grands crus, nor the showiest. Instead, it is prized for textural depth, weight, and savory richness — qualities that make it not just serious, but genuinely delicious to drink.
The vineyard itself sits on deep, clay- and iron-rich soils in the heart of Vosne-Romanée, imparting wines with a sense of breadth and substance that comes through from the mid-palate and carries into the long finish. Richebourg doesn’t rush to impress on aromatics alone; it builds from the inside out, often rewarding patience with layers of spice, leather, pine, and savory complexity that continue to evolve.
That character was clear across the three bottles poured that evening.
The 1959 Remoissenet Richebourg felt fully formed and confident. From a warm, generous vintage, it showed savory, leathery depth and a long, composed finish with lingering presence rather than flair. Part of that sense of resolution comes from its history: this bottle was a true re-release, drawn from Remoissenet Père & Fils’ own cellars decades after the vintage. It carried the calm, settled character of a wine that had been allowed to age intentionally under producer control.
The 1964 Richebourg from P. Misserey & Fils came from a less highly regarded year and a négociant house whose name is less familiar today, but the wine was strikingly intact. It was brighter and more lifted — spice, a hint of blood orange, layers of nuanced texture — and achieved its depth through persistence rather than sheer volume.
The 1969 Remoissenet Richebourg, by contrast to the ‘59, was an original-era bottling that simply benefited from careful preservation. It felt firmer and darker, with pine, iodine, spice, and more visible structure — less resolved than the 1959, but still unmistakably Richebourg in posture. The contrast between the two was subtle but instructive: not just a difference of vintage, but of how time and handling shape maturity.
What unites all three is not flashiness, but composure with substance. These wines don’t demand attention; they invite it. The richness you taste isn’t about sweetness or flamboyance, but about mid-palate weight, savory texture, and finish that stays with you.
Where DRC fits — and who else belongs in the conversation
Within Richebourg, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti is widely regarded as the benchmark. DRC’s Richebourg exemplifies the vineyard’s natural authority with remarkable clarity — broad and powerful without heaviness, serious without austerity, a wine that grows in stature as it matures.
Alongside DRC, in my view, several producers are making noteworthy interpretations, each emphasizing a different facet of what Richebourg can offer:
- Domaine Leroy — pushes Richebourg toward intense extract and deep concentration, thrilling in youth and profound with age.
- Domaine Méo‑Camuzet — delivers muscular yet polished expressions that feel distinctly Vosne in feel.
- Domaine Anne Gros — notable for precision and textural balance, bringing a refined sensuality to the vineyard’s weight.
- Domaine Thibault Liger‑Belair — a relatively young but highly regarded domaine whose Richebourg land is worked organically, noted for richness, depth, and an impressive finish that highlights the vineyard’s density. Thibault Liger-Belair took over his family’s historic vineyard holdings in the early 2000s and now farms parcels that include Richebourg Grand Cru. These sites, often planted in the 1930s or earlier and worked organically, produce wines with substantial mid-palate density, spice, and structure — characteristics that echo Vosne’s best expressions, while still feeling uniquely his own
The Adolescents
This was one of the most instructive flights of the night.
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Grands-Échezeaux 2000
Rose petals on the nose — intoxicating aromatics, delicate at first glance, but clearly structured underneath. - Bouchard Père & Fils — La Romanée 1995
Smoke, firm tannin, coffee, blueberry, sheer power — almost painful in its intensity. - Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Richebourg 1993 showed the vineyard in a classical, tightly defined register. From a cooler, structured year, it opened with a strikingly expressive nose — sweet red fruit, rose petal, and Vosne spice — generous but controlled. On the palate, it was less about silk and more about shape: savory cherry and dark red fruit, hints of pine and bark, and a firm line of acidity giving the wine grip and focus.
There was no shortage of richness, but it was measured. Not fully silky yet, still carrying some tension, but with a beautiful inner-mouth perfume — white nectarine, rose, and spice lingering into a long, confident finish.
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Grands-Échezeaux 1988
A classic high-acid vintage beginning to soften. Tension first, sweetness slowly emerging.
None of these were fully resolved.
- Domaine du Comte Liger-Belair — La Romanée 2018
Sweet elegance wrapped around real richness, red and blue berries cushioning the wood, turning silky after half an hour. - Prieuré Roch — Vosne-Romanée 1er Cru Les Suchots 2015
Reduction on the nose — toasty, tight — clearly not in a hurry. - Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Romanée-Saint-Vivant 2014
Pure grace. Lifted, elegant, almost weightless aromatically. Feminine without being fragile. Stems added fragrance, not harshness. - Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Corton 2009
(Clos du Roi / Bressandes / Renardes)
Zesty small berries and a faint metallic edge — youthful, coiled, still sorting itself out.
The La Tâche Flight
La Tâche doesn’t arrive gradually. It arrives fully assembled — fruit, spice, stems, structure, and volume all turned up at the same time. Even by Vosne standards, La Tâche is a wine of scale, and when it’s young or not yet fully settled, that scale can feel relentless rather than seductive.
At Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, La Tâche is typically made with a significant proportion of whole clusters, and that shows clearly here. The stem character wasn’t a nuance — it was a feature — bringing spice, herbal notes, and a firm structural frame that dominated the experience across all three wines.
A bit of La Tâche context
La Tâche is one of Burgundy’s most revered grand crus, and it holds a special place not just for its power but for its history and exclusivity. The vineyard covers roughly 6.06 hectares in Vosne-Romanée and has been a monopole of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti for nearly a century — meaning all of its production is bottled under one estate and one style, a rarity among grands crus.
Its reputation was already well established by the time the modern AOC system was formalized in 1936, when La Tâche was classified among the very top tier of Burgundy’s vineyards. Over centuries, it has lived in the same neighborhood as Romanée-Conti, La Romanée, Richebourg, and Romanée-Saint-Vivant, yet it stands out for scale and intensity rather than sheer delicacy.
Style-wise, La Tâche is often described as powerful, deeply concentrated, and long-finishing, with layers of dark fruit, spice, and earth that take time to knit together. In strong years, it can show dark berries, exotic spice, and persistent structure that keep it from showing its full range for decades.
Because of this, most vintages generally don’t settle into their sweet spot until many years after release — often 20–30 years or more — and continue to evolve for decades beyond that. This patience is part of what makes La Tâche both challenging and supremely rewarding: it asks for time before its elements fully harmonize.
The 2009 La Tâche was the largest and most forceful. Hugely ripe, densely packed, and intensely stem-driven, it delivered waves of dark fruit and spice wrapped in fresh oak. The texture was thick and gripping, the finish long and almost aggressive. The cedar-plank impression was unmistakable. Everything felt compressed, powerful, and far from resolved, a wine asking for decades rather than air.
The 2006 La Tâche felt sharper and more angular. Milky, slightly cheesy notes showed early, followed quickly by intense stem spice. The fruit sat further back, and the structure was front and center. It felt raw and unapologetic — less about size than about firmness — with edges that haven’t yet had a chance to soften.
The 1999 La Tâche carried more familiarity, but not comfort. Medicinal, spice-laden, and still marked by wood, it showed immense scale and concentration. The components were all present, but not yet integrated. The wine didn’t feel tired or faded — it felt held, as if its energy was still locked inside the frame.
Taken together, the flight showed La Tâche exactly as it is at this stage: not coy, not subtle, and not yet accommodating. These wines don’t invite you in early. They state their case, then wait for time to do the rest.
There’s no doubt they will be extraordinary.
Dessert
Château d’Yquem 1990
Château d’Yquem sits alone at the top of Sauternes — literally and historically. It’s the only estate ever classified Premier Cru Supérieur, a distinction earned not by sweetness alone, but by consistency, selection, and longevity. Multiple passes through the vineyard, ruthless selection, and an ability to age for generations are what separate Yquem from even the best of its neighbors.
The 1990 vintage is widely regarded as one of Yquem’s greatest modern releases. A warm, generous year with ideal botrytis conditions, it produced a wine of enormous concentration without sacrificing balance — rich from the start, yet built to evolve slowly over decades.
In the glass, it was already deep into its secondary life. Dark orange marmalade, cavernous candied orange peel, and layered dark citrus dominated the nose. On the palate, the texture was pure silk — decadent but never heavy — with notes of molasses and dense marmalade unfolding calmly rather than loudly. Any overt vanilla or oak sweetness had long since receded, leaving depth and polish in its place.
This is where great Sauternes earns its reputation. Not just sweetness, but shape, texture, and persistence. Fully expressive now, yet clearly in no hurry, the wine felt settled but far from tired — the kind of bottle that reminds you why Yquem is often called the greatest sweet wine in the world.
I wanted aged Gouda immediately. And time.
Midnight Snapshot & Epilogue
By midnight, this is what stood on the the table in front of me:
- Château d’Yquem 1990
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — Corton-Charlemagne 2020
- Domaine Leflaive — Bienvenue-Bâtard-Montrachet 1999
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — La Tâche 1999
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — La Tâche 2006
- Domaine de la Romanée-Conti — La Tâche 2009
On paper, it looks almost absurd. A lineup that would normally anchor several separate dinners, now reduced to a single moment near the end of the night. Glasses half full, wines no longer introduced with ceremony, just sitting there — open, breathing, quietly asserting their presence.
What struck me wasn’t any one wine, but the compression of scale. Wines built for decades of contemplation were sharing the table at once, asking to be understood side by side, late in the evening, after everything else had already been said. At that point, the experience shifts. It stops being about analysis or hierarchy and becomes more observational — noticing how differently these wines carry their age, their weight, their confidence.
The whites still felt young. The La Tâches still felt coiled. Even the Yquem, fully mature, felt more composed than indulgent. Nothing felt resolved. Nothing felt tired.
And that, more than anything, set the tone for the end of the night. Not a sense of arrival, but of unfinished stories — wines at different points on very long arcs, briefly intersecting on one table before heading back into time.
By midnight, we were past the point of saturation. Glasses everywhere. Bottles lined up across the table.
What stood out wasn’t a single revelatory moment, but the accumulation. With this many benchmark wines open together, it becomes hard to fully absorb any one of them. Each bottle could have defined its own evening, unfolded at its own pace. Instead, they were experienced side by side, compressing decades of intent, patience, and evolution into a few hours.
That’s not a flaw. It’s simply what happens at this level.
What lingered was the quality and consistency of the wines themselves. Across producers, vintages, formats, and even centuries, there wasn’t a single bottle that felt compromised or out of place. Each wine carried its own authority, its own sense of purpose, even when tasted late and alongside peers of similar stature.
There was care in how the wines were opened, poured, and allowed to evolve — a quiet kind of ceremony, without spectacle. The focus stayed where it belonged: on what was in the glass, and on letting the wines reveal themselves in their own time.
Not life-changing. But unquestionably once in a lifetime.
If I had to single out a few wines that quietly anchored the night, it wouldn’t be because they were the most famous or the most powerful, but because they shaped how the evening unfolded.
The Domaine Leflaive Bienvenue-Bâtard-Montrachet 1999 (magnum) was the intellectual center of gravity. It was the wine I kept coming back to, the one that forced a recalibration of expectations. In magnum, from a serious vintage, it behaved exactly as great white Burgundy should: slow, stubborn, unapologetically unfinished. It wasn’t trying to impress in the moment. It was asking for patience. The longer it sat in the glass, the more it reframed how I was thinking about age, structure, and time.
The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Corton-Charlemagne 2020 mattered for a different reason. It clarified house style. In the midst of Vosne reds and Montrachet-adjacent whites, it asserted itself not through charm but through authority. Weight first, edges to come later. It wasn’t the most immediately expressive wine of the night, but it held its ground with quiet confidence, making clear how DRC reads Chardonnay when structure, not seduction, is the priority.
And then there was the outlier: the Pierre Léger Chambolle-Musigny 1918. On paper, it shouldn’t have competed with anything else on the table. In reality, it transcended comparison. Alive, expressive, texturally beautiful, and intellectually gripping, it connected the room to another era entirely. That kind of wine doesn’t just get tasted — it gets remembered.
The La Tâches were, of course, formidable. Intense, coiled, and unmistakably great. But they were still more promise than revelation. In another decade or two, one of them might dominate a night. Here, they served as reference points — reminders of scale and potential rather than emotional peaks.
Two other wines deserve explicit mention for how complete they already felt. The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Richebourg 1993 and the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Romanée-Saint-Vivant 2014 both came remarkably close to that rare intersection of promise and pleasure.
The DRC Richebourg 1993
This was one of the most complete red wines on the table.
If the older Richebourgs showed what time can do, and La Tâche showed what scale demands, the 1993 Richebourg showed equilibrium. Perfume, depth, structure, and clarity were all present and aligned. Nothing excessive. Nothing missing. It felt poised rather than dramatic — a wine very close to its ideal drinking window, even if still capable of further evolution.
In another lineup, or on another night, this could easily have been the wine. It didn’t shout or intimidate. It simply worked — and worked beautifully. That kind of near-perfection can be easy to overlook in the moment precisely because it doesn’t create friction.
Calling it one of the most technically complete wines of the evening would be entirely fair.
The DRC Romanée-Saint-Vivant 2014
This was arguably the purest wine of the night.
Where Richebourg spoke through structure and La Tâche through force, the 2014 Romanée-Saint-Vivant spoke through grace. Lifted and precise, aromatic without being fragile. The stems added fragrance rather than severity. The wine felt open and transparent, already expressive without feeling finished.
It was “nearly perfect” in a different way — not because it had everything, but because it had exactly enough. No excess weight. No drama. Just clarity and flow.
What this night ultimately offered wasn’t revelation, but perspective.
Tasted side by side, these wines stopped being legends and became coordinates — markers along different arcs of time. Some were still building. Some were settling. A few were briefly, beautifully aligned. None felt finished.
That’s the part that lingered. Not the scale, or the rarity, or the lineup itself — but the reminder that even the greatest wines aren’t static objects. They’re processes. Long conversations between place, restraint, and time.
For a few hours in Seattle, those conversations overlapped. And when it was over, there was no sense of closure — just the quiet understanding that these wines were never meant to resolve themselves in a single night. They revealed what they were willing to, then receded back into their longer trajectories, leaving behind impressions rather than answers.
That’s not frustration.
That’s the point.
Comments