A good Burgundy can be completely transcendent

The wines of Burgundy would make a good subject for one of those pseudo-scientific personality tests that have been clogging up my Instagram feed since I made the mistake of absent-mindedly clicking on a “five questions to tell if you’re an introvert” post. My annoying “What Burgundy wine tells you about you” quiz would purport to measure how you feel about risk, reward and how you like your allotment of pleasure or happiness distributed in time. Are you the sort of person who would accept a deal that guaranteed long periods of disappointment and terrible plunging lows if they came with the possibility of occasional moments of sheer bliss you simply cannot find anywhere else? Or would you prefer a life of no alarms or surprises, an even keel of mild contentment and “this is quite nice”?

If it’s the former, then Burgundy, and especially its red wines, is the place for you. Red wines made from pinot noir in this part of eastern France (I’m thinking, most recently, of the astonishing Domaine Michel Lafarge Beaune-Grèves 2005 a generous friend shared with me) have been among the most sensual experiences I’ve had in my life – wines so ethereal, so gorgeous they make any attempt to describe their texture (exquisitely silky) and aromatic complexity (forest floor and forest fruit are the just the beginning; the best red burgundies have a kind of pheromone-like, beyond-rational pull) feel dismally inadequate.

Such bottles are by no means the norm, however, and certainly not at the sort of prices I’m comfortable paying. Even at its most expensive (and in recent years, the top tier has become very, very expensive) red Burgundy can be maddeningly inconsistent. Pinot noir, in both good and bad ways, is highly sensitive to the slightest changes in growing conditions – it’s only going to do its magic if the soil, winemaking and growing season is exactly to its liking.

All this was very much in mind as I dipped into the busy calendar of new-vintage Burgundy tastings that kicked off the wine trade’s tasting year in London in early January. This year, the new vintage in question – 2024 – was an historically difficult one, a year blighted by late-season frosts, hail and rampant mildew caused by the wet weather. The result is a red-wine vintage that is, in the words of one of the UK’s best Burgundy importers, Flint Wines, “tiny”, and from what I tasted, decidedly patchy.

If I wanted to service my red Burgundy vice, I’d supplement gems such as the good-value, graceful Domaine Georges Glantenay Bourgogne Côte d’Or Pinot Noir Maison Dieu 2024 (£205 for a case of 12 with wines in bond, Corney & Barrow) and the fragrant Domaine Sylvain Pataille Marsannay Rouge 2024 (£148 for a case of six in bond, Flint Wines) with wines from earlier vintages. The suavely seductive Domaine Christian Clerget Chambolle-Musigny 2019 (£65.50, Lea & Sandeman) if I was feeling flush; the simple but charming Les Vignes de la Croix Bourgogne Côte Chalonnaise Pinot Noir 2023 (£15, Tesco) if on a tighter budget.

I’d also be stocking up on Burgundy’s chardonnay whites, and the region’s increasingly excellent sparklings. Whether it’s a new-vintage stunners such as Domaine Gilbert Picq Chablis 2024 (£159 for 12 in bond, Flint Wine) and JM Brocard Bourgogne Chardonnay 2024 (£13.50, The Wine Society), the incisive Olivier Leflaive Bourgogne Blanc Les Sétilles 2022 (£28, The Wine Society); the nutty Fortnum’s Saint-Véran (£25, Fortnum & Mason); or the apple-tangy fizz of Cave de Lugny Crémant de Bourgogne NV (£13, Waitrose), these are wines that reliably thrill without any risk of disappointment.