The best bottles of sancerre wine

The village on a hill is like something out of a fairy tale, both for its beauty, and in that nobody seems to know it’s there. Sancerre is gorgeous from every angle, but especially from a distance, rising out of the Loire plain like a dream or a cliché. It is a place but also a wine; one as simple, in terms of grape variety, as Burgundy – perhaps because Burgundy is just across the river. The red here, as there, is pinot noir, although Sancerre tends to be considerably cheaper, which is less about quality than about reputation. Despite being superb food wines (and there’s no need to take my word – the region has plenty of great restaurants), Sancerre and its neighbours Menetou-Salon and Pouilly-Fumé are puzzlingly underrated.

I still remember the first really good Sancerre pinot noir I tried, at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon in London, pre-pandemic. It was lighter than the best Burgundies but, nevertheless, had red fruit, earth, restraint… all the qualities I want in a pinot. If there is a phrase for the opposite of nominative determinism, it applies to the maker, Vincent Pinard; pinard is the French word for plonk.

The white grape is not chardonnay but sauvignon blanc, and a very different style from the grassy New Zealand version that has become so popular. Here, at the eastern end of the Loire Valley, the sauvignons are flinty, vibrant and pure… in part, perhaps, because there is actual flint in the ancient soils. The most dramatic of these are the Monts Damnés, named by monks who planted vines here in the 11th century, and who presumably felt that, after a lifetime tending these steep hillsides, their ascent to heaven was assured. Tasting the wines, I think I agree. The soils are Kimmeridgian marls that were once, millions of years ago, a tropical sea, and the wine has a richness and intensity that has something of the tropics about it. There is a terrific view of the Monts Damnés from the nearby village of Chavignol, one of the 14 that make up the Sancerre appellation but better known for its goat’s cheese, Crottin de Chavignol (literally, Chavignol Droppings). Unsurprisingly, the local wine is an ideal match, and in the Henri Bourgeois tasting room, there are several flinty enough to suit the most perfumed local fromage.

Menetou-Salon, to the west, is cherry-tree country, and the rosés in particular have a perfume of those juicy fruit. To the east of Sancerre is Pouilly-sur-Loire, where they only make white wines. This may be because this town, across the river on the old N7 road once known as the ‘Route des Vacances’, is actually in Burgundy, although I bet pinot noir would work beautifully. The wine is known as Pouilly-Fumé, and has a distinctive gunflint note, which may be where the name comes from, fumé meaning ‘smoky’. These are the whites with the most ageing potential, as well as great citrus purity: call it a wine to pair with droppings.

How will these wines claim the recognition they deserve? Sancerre has just got its first truly smart hotel, Les Hauts de Sancerre, which may help, as will the initiative shown by four winemakers, Vincent Pinard among them, who have clubbed together to open a wine shop in Sancerre – a display of collegiality unusual in France. But this is a new generation. Vincent, plus Yvon and Pascal Tabordet of Domaine Tabordet, Julien and Clement Raimbault at Domaine du Pré Semelé, and Jennifer and Thibault Denizot, a dynamic young couple making beautiful wines in Verdigny, understand that to fall in love with a region, people need choice. Wine love is not romantic love: monogamy is not rewarded. There are so many good wines in and around Sancerre that work with an array of flavours. The fairy-tale village has a magical bounty.