Lou Wine Shop

Grolleau is a red grape variety native to France’s Loire valley. One theory about the origin of the name is that it originates from the old French word “grolle,” which means crow, somehow indicated by the dark color of the variety’s skins (this seems wrongheaded, as it’s no darker than other varieties cultivated in the region); another theory, more satisfying, is that it’s variant spelling “groslot,” which means jackpot in French, is indicative of its productive nature. It’s a variety that was once extensively planted in the region between Tours and Anjou, and quite a lot of it was employed to make a very old-fashioned sort of rosé, a type of off-dry wine that recalls the embrace of my grandmother, redolent of Chantilly eau de toilette, faded potpourri, and Stella D’oro cookie crumbs. As our taste for these sorts of old-fashioned wines declined the popularity of Rosé d’Anjou tanked, and the fate of grolleau has too (in the late fifties, there were over 24,000 acres of it planted; today this number has dwindled to about 5,000 acres). The final nails in the coffin might have been the dismissive assertions of wine pundits such as Jancis Robinson’s “basic, bland,” and “it is to the benefit of wine drinkers that it is so systematically being replaced,” or worse, Robert Parker, bitching that it should be “ripped up and replaced.” I respect Robinson and have learned quite a lot from her and believe that Robert Parker has done more than most to fuck up modern wine, but both miss the boat with this grape. Grolleau is a grape that has been biding its time, patiently waiting for us, if only we’d listen to what it says.

It turns out that grolleau is a grape that as a dry red can make wines that many of us want to drink today. You might want to decode grolleau as you might decode gamay, as it shares gamay’s lithe profile, but the wines are often less fruity than savory and never seem to walk down the dark cherry path where gamay leads you. Grolleau is typically low in alcohol and tannins and high in mouthwatering fresh acidity, making grolleau a foil for a chilled glass of glou glou, but it has more up its sleeve than that. In a world where syrah bleats its loud horn grolleau softly hums a tune of its own making. It’s comfortable all alone, and we’re tasting two lovely examples of pure grolleau tonight, but equally lovely when alloyed with other grapes such as the color mutation grolleau gris, as well as other Loire varieties such as pineau d’aunis (we’re tasting two of these tonight as well).