A short tale of harvest in champagne

Last Sunday I was in Champagne just in time for some harvest adventure. A train ride through an ever-green august landscape, a quick sleepy walk through quiet Epernay and a car trip through muddy vineyards later, I was at Tarlant’s lair of bubbliness.

There we hand-picked grapes of chardonnay: they were firm and soft and full in our hands.

There, we poured bunches of grapes into the wine press: a heavy rain of pinot noir and pinot meunier and clouds of dust.

There we tasted powerfully aromatic old vintages and brainstormed for champagne names: we laughed until we cried and then we had to leave.

It was a beautiful day.