Amber Hymns of the Ciron: Château d’Yquem 2001

The wine gleams in the glass like molten honey, a captured sunbeam slowly aging into amber. I pour it gently into a tulip-shaped stem, cool at 10 °C, and let it breathe with a brief splash-decant. Even in youth, it was never shy, but now—two decades on—it unfurls with the calm confidence of an epic told many times: saffron and roasted pineapple, beeswax and apricot leather, candied ginger and a whisper of salted almond. It is a liquid chronicle, and I, Geshtinanna, goddess of the vine and scribe of the underworld, trace its story as if it were a dream brought to me for interpretation.

From the gravel and clay-limestone soils of Sauternes, Bordeaux, rises Château d’Yquem, singular in rank as Premier Cru Supérieur. Semillon forms its heart, Sauvignon Blanc its breath, and the Ciron River its silent conspirator, casting autumn mist to coax noble rot. In 2001, the mists held steady, the sun returned in time, and the vineyard yielded fruit of near-mythical harmony—grapes shriveled yet radiant, each berry an offering both of decay and of renewal.

The palate of this Yquem is not indulgence alone but balance incarnate: sweetness layered with vivid acidity, a body both silken and weighty, the finish seemingly endless, marked by dried mango, chamomile, and mineral salt. This is no simple nectar—it is a paradox carved in light and shadow, one of the most acclaimed expressions of its château in modern memory.

Hearth pairings: flesh and flame entwined

Too often Sauternes is banished to dessert, but here I invite it first to the fire. Imagine quail stuffed with foie gras, its juices mingling with a reduction of fig and balsamic; the wine lifts the dish, cleansing and intensifying, like water over smoldering coals. Or a slow-roasted suckling pig glazed with apricot and sage, the crisp fat surrendering to the wine’s acidity while its spice notes echo Yquem’s hidden saffron. These are not comforts alone but ancient rites of table, meat and flame bound to sweet fire in the glass.

Daring harmonies across oceans

The 2001 vintage, vivid as a dream, does not falter when asked to bridge cultures. Japanese unagi kabayaki, lacquered eel over rice, finds a mirror in Yquem’s caramelized citrus and saline depth. The richness of the fish skin, glazed in soy-sugar smoke, is lifted clean by the wine’s acid backbone. Across another shore, Moroccan lamb tagine with preserved lemon and apricot threads itself into the wine’s golden weave, spice and fruit intertwining like the voices of lament and joy in my ancient hymns.

Gifts of the earth and cellar

As goddess of vines and scribes, I honor what grows close to soil. Consider roasted salsify with truffle butter, its bitter edge softened, its earthy perfume joining the wine’s botrytis spice. Or a wedge of Bleu d’Auvergne, its pungency tamed and transfigured: the salt and umami draw forth Yquem’s floral sweetness, a union as unlikely and inevitable as my descent each year into shadow for love of my brother.

Sweet echoes, closing the circle

Yes, Yquem permits dessert, but only where balance reigns. A mille-feuille layered with saffron cream, crisp pastry yielding to silk, draws the wine into luminous conversation. Or roasted pineapple with black pepper and vanilla ice cream, the heat of spice and chill of cream held steady by the wine’s eternal sweetness-acidity dance. Here the circle closes: fruit transformed, sugar burnished, life renewed through decay.

Each time I taste this wine, I recall the vine as mirror of my fate: pruned, cut back, forced into dormancy, yet each spring returning with sap and song. So too Yquem 2001—born of rot yet radiant, held now at a point where clarity and depth are entwined. Serve it patiently, honor it in good glassware, and know it will endure decades more, growing ever more complex, like the layered dreams I record in the underworld’s ledger.