Silk under a Cool Moon: Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Romanée-Conti 2010

Steam curls from my crystal goblet like a whispered incantation as I coax the first scarlet thread of Romanée‑Conti 2010 into a waiting Burgundy bowl. Thirty quiet minutes of splash‑decanting have loosened the wine’s limbs; now, settled at a poised 15 °C, its robe shimmers translucent ruby, edging toward garnet. I lift the glass and breathe: rose petals pressed between antique pages, wild strawberries still warm from late‑August sun, a memory of forest floor after rain. One slow turn shows the texture—limpid, almost fragile, yet clinging in fine arcs to the crystal—an early promise of stamina.

A hillside of legend stands behind this pour. From Vosne‑Romanée, Côte de Nuits, in eastern France, my monopole vineyard Romanée‑Conti—barely 1.8 ha of limestone‑rich, friable marl—has been stewarded by Domaine de la Romanée‑Conti since 1869. Under the watchful eye of co‑gérant Aubert de Villaine, our biodynamic Pinot Noir vines, many over seventy years old, root deep into cool continental soils and breathe brisk downslope breezes. The 2010 season, its nervy spring and luminous September, yielded minute berries whose vivid acidity and silken tannins I now release drop by deliberate drop.

Silk Nerve, Limestone Pulse

On my tongue the wine moves like dusk light across limestone—swift yet unhurried. A current of red cherry and pomegranate glides first, chased by whispers of sandalwood, saffron, and crushed violet. Chalky tannin—the gentle drying grip—frames the fruit without muting it. Acidity sings, clear and mineral, drawing the flavours into a finish that lingers for minutes, not seconds: iron filings, sweet soil, leaf‑litter tea. Even after fifteen winters, the 2010 keeps its coiled energy to journey until at least 2045, deepening into truffle while never losing its aerial lift.

Truffle Steam & Cherry Smoke

Power here is quiet, and my table must echo nuance rather than drown it. I envision a Bresse chicken turning slowly until its skin crackles bronze. A veil of black‑truffle jus mirrors the wine’s forest murmur; delicate fat softens tannin, while savory drippings answer innate umami, letting cherry brightness pierce every bite. Equally magnetic is magret de canard seared to blush‑pink, finished with Morello‑cherry glaze and rosemary smoke—the fruit’s tartness reflects my own acidity, and the sweet‑savory flesh coaxes out Pinot’s inner orchid.

Yet the 2010 need not cling only to feathered game. For adventure I call on line‑caught turbot, pan‑roasted in beurre noisette beside porcini and fermented black garlic. Firm flakes give structure something graceful to press against, nutty butter braids with oak spice, and dark umami folds into aromas rising from the glass. Should the cook crave heat, a lacquered quail brushed with five‑spice and Sichuan pepper gambols with tension: spice flickers, sweetness tames, and my cool core stays luminous.

For green‑hearted revelers, a risotto of Carnaroli rice stirred with morels, aged Comté, and a sacrificial splash of the wine itself builds cream, nut, and earth to greet tannin and coax red‑berry perfume toward balsamic dusk. On colder nights, charcoal‑grilled maitake mushrooms over polenta enriched with brown butter echo barrel toast, while polenta’s hush steadies blood‑orange acidity.

A small indulgence belongs at the rim of the plate: pommes Anna, every wafer of potato kissed with thyme and clarified butter, its golden crust reflecting my subtle savory caramel; or a drizzle of beetroot‑reduction jus beside root‑roasted carrots, whose latent sugars ignite hidden cranberry sparks. Dessert I decline in favour of aged Époisses at cellar temperature—the washed‑rind cream envelopes residual youth, salt reins the cheese’s pungency, and harmony reigns.

Moonlit Patience

I hold the stem by its slender throat and watch colour shift as oxygen courts the rim—proof that even fabled bottles are living stories, not trophies. Patience is pleasure: a half‑hour decant whispers open petals; another hour in the bowl unveils autumn leaf and orange pekoe. Use the broadest glass you own, let the wine find its voice, and linger. Today the 2010 sings a clear soprano, but cellar it well and by 2035 a deeper contralto will carry dried rose, sous‑bois, and a hint of cacao into the twilight. When that hour arrives, call back roast bird, morels, silky risotto, and honour how vine and table hold memory, season after season.

I set down my quill. Outside, moonlight silvers the rows, roots dream beneath limestone, and somewhere a kitchen door clicks shut against the night. May your own threshold fill with those quiet aromas—truffle steam, cherry skin, damp stone—and may this Romanée‑Conti remind you that greatness is not volume but resonance, carried in the hush between sip and breath.