Gravel and Grace: Château Pontet-Canet 2015

I pour Pauillac’s night into a tulip‑bowled Bordeaux glass and watch it gather—ink at the core, a slim garnet meniscus where time has just begun to breathe. The first swirl releases cedar and graphite, then cassis, black cherry, and a cool note like rain darkening warm stone. As I tilt the glass, the legs trace slow rivulets down the bowl. I let it stretch in a wide decanter for an hour so the tannin—the gentle, drying grip on the cheeks—relaxes into velvet. At 17–18 °C the wine’s voice is clearest; any warmer and the alcohol speaks too loudly, any colder and the fruit retreats. Even in the first moments after pouring, you sense the depth—layers waiting to reveal themselves.

This is France, Bordeaux, Pauillac: Château Pontet‑Canet shaped by the Tesseron family, farmed biodynamically, Cabernet Sauvignon leading with Merlot, Petit Verdot, and Cabernet Franc in support. The vines root in deep, heat‑holding gravel laced with clay; the Gironde’s maritime breath evens the seasons so skins ripen slowly and seeds turn brown. No single lieu‑dit needs naming—the estate itself is the place, a coherent chord of gravel and wind. The vineyard rows, alive with cover crops and buzzing insects, feel as much like a garden as a field, a living testament to their farming philosophy. I have walked such rows in ages past, when other empires drank from other goblets, and the scent of crushed grapes was still the language of the gods.

A vintage of polished power

The 2015 season was kind—sun‑sure but not severe—yielding a wine of generosity and poise. In the glass it is concentrated yet lucid; on the nose, cassis, violet, fresh tobacco leaf, warm iron filings, and a hint of anise. The palate is full without heaviness, acidity lifting the fruit, tannins fine‑grained and persistent, the finish long with cocoa, blackcurrant, and a faint echo of rosemary and sage. Élevage adds only a discreet frame of French oak spice, never a mask. In my own calendar, this vintage carries the mark of a warm, forgiving sun; I walked the rows as the equinox drew close, hearing the vines whisper their readiness to the wind, as I once heard them in the courtyards of Uruk when the first amphorae bore my seal.

From the Gironde to the table

Classic Pauillac finds its counterpart in dishes that meet its structure head‑on. Slow‑roasted lamb shoulder, basted in its own juices with bay and thyme, melts against the wine’s tannin, the herbal lift playing to the wine’s savoury undercurrent. A pepper‑crusted côte de boeuf, grilled over vine cuttings, lets smoke and char draw out the wine’s darker fruit and cedar. Rich jus deepened with shallots and reduced stock echoes the length of the finish. Here, fat tempers the grip, and acidity tidies each mouthful, leaving the palate refreshed. I remember pouring such a glass for a friend at harvest’s end—our hands stained with grape skins, the air thick with the scent of pressed fruit—as once I poured libations for kings, my bracelets ringing like wind in copper leaves.

Plates with a twist

For a more adventurous match, consider wild boar ragu over pappardelle—the meat’s depth and a hint of juniper echo the wine’s forest‑fruit register while its silkiness mirrors the wine’s texture. Or tea‑smoked duck breast, where aromatic smoke and tender fat invite the Pauillac’s violet and cassis to linger into the aftertaste. A spiced plum compote on the side adds a high note that dances with the wine’s acidity. These dishes walk the line between richness and freshness, just as the wine does. Once, in a dream, I was served such duck under a canopy of vine leaves—the smoke curled upward, carrying whispers of vintages past, like the prayers once murmured to me in autumn festivals.

Earth’s bounty in harmony

Vegetarian pairings shine when they weave earth, umami, and fat. A black truffle and aged Gruyère tart mirrors the wine’s savoury core, while roasted salsify glazed in miso butter offers sweetness and depth that glide into its cocoa‑tinged finish. Sides might include caramelised onion gratin or parsnip purée, each coaxing a different facet of the fruit. Even a braised mushroom and lentil terrine, finished with walnut oil, can draw out hidden bass notes in the wine. I have seen mushrooms sprout overnight after a warm September rain, their perfume rising like a secret meant only for the soil and the vines—secrets I have carried since the first vineyard was scribed into clay tablet.

I prefer a broad Bordeaux stem—tulip‑shaped, not ballooned—so the aromatics gather and rise. Give the wine air when young (an hour’s decant works wonders) and let it settle in the glass between sips. As minutes pass, you may notice the fruit shifting from fresh cassis to black plum compote, the cedar broadening into cigar box. The 2015 is vivid now, but expect greater depth from 2030 into the late 2030s, even 2040, as fruit turns to compote and cedar to sweet tobacco. Each vintage writes its own line, and this one writes in confident, unhurried script, with ink drawn from both sun and stone.

Cheese over dessert, always

Sugar would strip this Pauillac of poise; savoury endings are kinder. A final shard of hard cheese—Comté, Ossau‑Iraty, or a nutty aged Gouda—lets salt and fat soften the wine’s tannin one last time. The last sip glides over it like moonlight over gravel—that is the blessing I leave on the rim of your glass, as I have left blessings over countless harvests, from the banks of the Tigris to the gravel of Pauillac.