OK, so Toquade isn't a "family." Rather Toquade is an ideal, one belonging to Christine Barbe, a bordelais who ended up making wine in Napa Valley. She came to my attention courtesy of Philippe Langner, my brilliant and humble cab producer. The irony of both my Napa Valley producers being French is not lost on me, and perhaps is just about right, given the style of wine and winemaking I like, and therefore look to buy and sell.
Before heading west to spend time with Langner last summer, he suggested that I meet his very good friend, one who happened to make a very nice sauvignon blanc, in his opinion. I figured that because his wines show a beautiful sense of restraint, hers probably did, too, or he wouldn't recommend her to me. He, of course, was spot on. Or should I say, she was.
We sat down to a nice, long lunch in Rutherford and she starting explaining what she was trying to do. She almost needn't have bothered. I took one whiff of her '08 SB and I immediately wiped away my poker face and said I'd buy it. And we hadn't even talked about price. Not the savviest way to do business, but it seems to have worked for me.
Barbe explained, "I make this kind of wine because I can't find it in California. There's too much malo, too much sugar." Though she's from Bordeaux, she doesn't make a Bordeaux-style sauvignon. That would, of course, require oak, and lots of it. Barbe's SB is fermented in stainless steel, and just as importantly, it ages in stainless steel, too. The body that slowly emerges as the wine warms up in the glass is thanks to weekly stirring of the lees (essentially all the yeasty goo after the fermentation process is finished).
I have likened Toquade to a sort of cross between the grassy vitality of Sancerre and the heftier Bordeaux Blanc. Which isn't really correct because of the absence of oak and sémillon, typically part of the white Bordeaux blend. Maybe Entre-Deux-Mers, that ocean of white wine seldom spoken about by Bordeaux fanatics that is actually part of Bordeaux, is closer. But not really, as much of those whites lack the nuance and body of Barbe's. Whatever.
The word "toquade" means "infatuation" in French. "I put all my life savings into it. People said I was crazy," she said. Or not so much. The grapes come from a small dry-farmed vineyard in Yountville. It's next to the river and is farmed organically. It's owned by the owners of the Napa Wine Co. "I make my white the same way they make their red," Barbe said. In other words, not too much fussing in the vineyard or cellar.
In addition to growing a dry-farmed wine (meaning the only water comes from Mother Nature), something that's pretty rare in Napa Valley, not to mention much of the New World generally, she also waits longer than most before bottling. "People bottle early for Wine Spectator. They have to have samples ready by April. I can't do that because the wine's not ready then," she explained.
As I work through the last of her 2008, I'm looking forward to the '09. Not in any hurry, though.
July 2010 UPDATE
Well, that didn't take long. I'm out of '08 (it can still be found at a few stores and restaurants). The 2009 will be in New York in about two weeks. Just in time.
March 2012 UPDATE
Time certainly does fly. As for the 2009 Toquade, that too is long gone. Actually, it wasn't that long ago, and there are still a few bottles around. But we are indeed onto the 2010, which, in many ways, very much resembles the 2009. The growing seasons were similar—meaning cool, long and damp—so the resulting wine is stylistically very similar. Vibrant, clean, and skewing back toward Sancerre. The primary difference is that I bought the 2010 much earlier than I got either of its predecessors. This means that the 2010, as of this writing, is far more green and lean than it will be in, say, three or four months. By then, we'll start getting mouthfuls of passionfruit to go with the citrusy minerals.