The Matchstick Oracle: Drink This Now Or Admit You Fear Pleasure

Some bottles don’t ask permission; they seize the room by the collar, tilt your chin up, and whisper, “Behave.” Coche-Dury’s Meursault Caillerets 2016 is one of those. It’s not cute or coy. It’s a white Burgundy with a switchblade in its garter—gleaming, precise, and unafraid to leave a mark. If you came looking for safe, you took a wrong turn. If you came looking for truth, pour a glass and keep your hands where I can see them. (Yes, I’m in a mood. I’m the god of wine; moods are a sacrament.)

Smoke And Light In A Limestone Chapel

In the glass, it shimmers pale gold with green flares at the rim, the kind of glow that makes candlelight jealous. The first inhale is flint struck in slow motion—sparks of gunpowder smoke, warm almond skin, and the cool breath of broken stone. Then the orchard pushes through: pear shaved thin, green apple peel, lemon oil rubbed between thumb and forefinger. A ghost of fennel pollen, a curl of sweet cream, and something marine—wet oyster shell after a wave. It’s both monastic and indecent. I approve.

The Blade Wrapped In Silk

On the palate, it steps like a dancer—point shoes on granite. Tension everywhere. The attack is citrus-etched (Meyer lemon, yuzu), immediately sluiced by a glossy mid-palate that reads like beurre blanc without the guilt. Texture? Think satin over chainmail: sleek as it moves, armored underneath. That famous Coche reduction plays conductor rather than soloist, keeping the band tight while hazelnut, white peach, and a salt-flecked mineral line riff through the middle. The acidity hums high and fine—laser not taser—drawing the finish into a long, echoing corridor of chalk, grapefruit pith, and warm pastry. You don’t drink this; you agree to be orchestrated.

Stones With Memories

Caillerets means little stones, but these aren’t just pebbles; they’re a choir. The site sits on a rubble of limestone and fractured rock that funnels precision straight into Chardonnay’s nervous system. In 2016, frost tried to kneecap Burgundy and mostly succeeded—yields were savage—but the survivors came in concentrated and alert, wearing their terroir like a perfectly tailored jacket. Coche’s approach—meticulous farming, fastidious sorting, élevage that toys with reduction just enough to sculpt without smothering—turns that raw mineral grip into line and lift. The result is paradox in a bottle: richness that refuses to sprawl, power that never shouts. We’re in my temple now, and the liturgy is balance.

How To Serve The Relic Without Committing Heresy

Chill it to 50–54°F (10–12°C); colder and you’ll handcuff the perfume. Give it a brief decant—10 to 20 minutes—to let the struck-match smoke uncoil and the citrus oils step forward. Zalto Universal or a high-shouldered Burgundy stem is your ally. Food? Roast poulet de Bresse with morels and vin jaune cream if you’re feeling loud. Otherwise, seared scallops with brown butter and capers, or a leek and Comté tart with a frill of chervil. If you insist on cheese, go for aged Beaufort or a nutty Ossau-Iraty, not a bloomy rind nuke war. I love chaos; not that kind.

Why Your Future Self Will Thank You

Scarcity here isn’t a marketing trick; it’s the natural consequence of tiny holdings, brutal 2016 yields, and a cult producer whose mailing lists are basically myth. The secondary market knows the name on the label and prices accordingly. But we’re not just flipping sneakers—this is a chassis built for evolution: high-wire acidity, stony extract, and fruit that feels coiled rather than cooked. If you can stand the suspense, buy three: one to open from now through 2028 for the neon-mineral thrill, one around 2030–2036 when hazelnut cream and beeswax fold into the edges, and one for 2037+ when the wine starts speaking in low, late-night baritone. The smart money? It drinks last, but it drinks best.

Final Word Before The Chorus Gets Loud

This is not an “if you like Chardonnay” bottle. This is an “if you like consequences” bottle. Pass on it if you must—just know you’re choosing forgettable over unforgettable. And there are only so many unforgettable nights left. Trust the hedonist. I know things. (Also trust the craft: we keep the voice intimate, direct, and worth your time.)