To serve a Vacherin Mont d’Or in December is understandable—this is its moment, when it is at its best. And it is indeed splendid on its own, with toasted wholemeal bread or fresh baguette. Even better, as on this occasion, baked and suffused with black truffle, then set off with the crisp textures and slight bitterness associated with both puntarelle and tardivo leaf salads. But its pungency apart, Vacherin’s glutinous texture so coats the palate and lining of the mouth and so clogs the taste buds as to render the perception of aromas and perception of the wine’s particularly delicious and delicate textures all but impossible.


La Romanée-Conti and Vacherin Mont d’Or are both pinnacles of their kind, each magnificent in its own right. And while I suspect that even Penfolds Grange might have its work cut out to partner a Vacherin, it is certainly utterly inimical to the exquisitely intense, yet diaphanous qualities of a Romanée-Conti.


Romanee-Conti is the most rarefied of the DRC wines. For all its intensity, there is a fragility to its power, and its myriad, subtle beauties are all too easily masked by food of practically any kind. An opportunity like tonight’s, to actually drink the wine, is likely to be almost unique for most people. Indeed, the vast majority of my wine-writing and wine-trade colleagues, worldwide, will never even have tasted it, let alone shared a bottle with friends. I myself have only drunk it in company on two occasions, the 1980 on the eve of my wedding to Monika in 1991, and this evening’s 2015—a production of all of 403 dozen (4,836 bottles). Not to maximize one’s enjoyment of every facet of what is available in your glass, on its own, would be a tragic, missed opportunity. Each drop should be contemplated and savored, partly in company, partly in a solipsistic reverie of rapture. This then, was the only mismatch, in my view, on an evening otherwise of marriages indeed made in heaven.


What are we to make of this? Events such as this are rare. To carry them off with aplomb, even rarer. For the combining of great wine and great food is not, as the French put it, evident. It was by no means a given that such a complex, high-stakes event would work successfully. High stakes not only because of the cost of the wines and food being served but also because, understandably, of sky-high expectations. That it did work successfully was remarkable. An all-round triumph. Great wines, simple food is the mantra. But Hélène Darroze demonstrated that this is emphatically not necessarily the case. You don’t have to have simple food; you have to have cuisine with aromas, flavors, and textures that are not too strong or dominant for the wine in question. A challenge, certainly, but Hélène and Marco, in the heat of the kitchen, more than rose to it. The wines and the food were sensational, individually and in combination. This was, in effect, a huge collective effort: two great creative teams working with natural ingredients—Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and Hélène’s kitchen brigade, choreographed in combination by a third joint team of Corney & Barrow and The Connaught staff. That it worked as well as it did is an achievement of extraordinary proportions when you consider the number of things that could have gone wrong, been less than perfect—but that didn’t, that weren’t.


The evening seemed in many ways symphonic, an array


of sensations within six vinous-culinary movements, with a thematic coherence of—an emphasis on—origin, be it wine or food. Between movements, between each course, there was a moment of stillness. A pause to allow the ringmasters, Hélène and Adam, to give an introduction, occasionally a retrospective, to what had been, or was about to be poured or set before us. A moment of quiet, with guidance as to origins, vocabulary, what to look out for, before the orchestral murmur of round-table discourse resumed. Exclamations of surprise, delight, appreciation, of astonishment. Pleasures, sensations, unimaginable, unimagined. Grasped by contemplation, enhanced by sharing. Effortless implementation was the hallmark of the evening. An inconspicuous, balletic fluency of service, where the opportunities for misstep were boundless, but no one faltered. There was a quiet, unobtrusive rhythm: clearing glasses, filling glasses, the next Zalto-cradled cru; clearing plates, fresh flatware, the next dish. The ensuing movement a fresh focus, the pleasure of rhythm and repetition with the embellishment of variation. You barely noticed the Connaught team in their pale


emerald-green suits, pouring, serving, ministering. Enablers with years of practice. Daniel Manetti the conductor, overall régisseur. This sort of perfection doesn’t happen by chance. It is born of a concept, a vision, a culture, and an investment in time and money that take years to develop, and that entail, above all, an infinite attention to detail. Fine dining as an art, and on this occasion almost operatic in scope, in its combining of disciplines.


But there was a measured beauty to tonight’s performance.


Extravagant of course, yet neither unduly abundant nor excessive. Each dish was beautiful but small. Over the four or so hours (we sat down at 7:15pm, rose at around 11:15), each of us had drunk barely three quarters of a bottle, but of exquisite quality, our senses caressed, never assaulted. It was a civilizing, elbow-to-elbow, attentively shared pleasure. Enriching, life-enhancing. Privileged, too, of course. Just as the food service was impeccable, so, too, was the service of wine. Crucial. All too rare. And another instance of exemplary attention to detail, in this case by the hotel’s head sommelier Lucas Reynot-Paligot. The red wines for the evening were stored in a small annex adjacent to the Maple Room, at 57°F (14°C), so that by the time the wine was in the glass, ready to sample, it would be around 61°F (16°C), ideal for red Burgundy to start with. And very much replicating what happens at the Domaine, where they bring the bottles up from the cellar just before the meal. No decanting—also reflecting Burgundian practice. The bottles had been standing up for some time; the relative youth of the vintages meant there was little deposit, and cautious, vigilant pouring took care of the rest. Expensive? Yes, luxuries are. Was there anyone present


who didn’t consider that they got value for money, in every respect? I doubt it. I was—we were—utterly spoiled, by the wines, the food, the service, and, indeed, the sense of occasion. It was an astonishing overall performance. Without the actual experience, I would not have believed it possible. It was unquestionably the most memorable wine and food occasion of my working life. 


THE WORLD OF FINE WINE | ISSUE 87 | 2025 | 141


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