Come for the values, stay (or leave) for the vintage

The plan was to use these three wines to talk about the array of good values that can be found in Bordeaux if you seek them out. This is just about always a worthy, counterintuitive subject, as Bordeaux’s reputation is that of a luxury world in which the prices and the egos are both vastly inflated.

Yet what was most striking about the three 2013 Bordeaux I suggested was not the good-value case they might have made. Instead, it was how the wines were so touched by the characteristics of the 2013 vintage, which by all accounts was a difficult one, at least for the growers, who battled frost, rain and rot.

It was no easier for the critics, who used phrases like “unlovable,” “modest to poor” and, as Hugh Johnson put it in his “Pocket Wine Book 2018,” the “worst vintage since 1992,” which is pretty damning considering the poor quality of Bordeaux in 1997 and 1993.

So why are we even drinking these wines?

Because it is important to understand both how to interpret vintage assessments and what Bordeaux tastes like in a difficult year like 2013. Moreover, wines from good producers are fascinating to try in every sort of vintage, simply to taste how the conditions are expressed and how wines can sometimes transcend them.

The three bottles I recommended were: Château Aney Haut-Médoc 2013, Château Moulin de Tricot Haut-Médoc 2013 and Château le Puy Emilien Francs Côte de Bordeaux 2013.

The two Haut-Médocs are from the Left Bank, the region to the west of the Garonne River encompassing the Médoc north of the city of Bordeaux and Graves to the south. The Emilien is from Francs Côte de Bordeaux on the Right Bank, the area north and east of the Dordogne River.

The Aney and Moulin de Tricot are both dominated by cabernet sauvignon, grown on gravel soils, supplemented by merlot. The le Puy, by contrast, is mostly merlot grown on clay and limestone, with some cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon.

One reader, NK of Washington, was perplexed by the choices.

“Why did you pick two Left Banks and one Right Bank?” he asked. “Seems like we would be comparing apples to oranges.”

Well, sort of. Except in this case we were talking about the larger entity of Bordeaux rather than the specific terroir of one appellation within that region. In addition, I’m thrilled that so many readers take the challenge of buying three bottles and comparing them. That adds another dimension to Wine School. But I don’t expect all readers to do that, and it is not necessary. All you need is one of the bottles to participate.

Now, many readers drank wines from other vintages, and found enjoyable wines, bearing out the original intent of the selections. But even those who drank the 2013s found some pleasure in the wines.

For me, the 2013s recalled Bordeaux I drank in the 1980s, resolutely dry, with flavors more herbal than fruity. Consumer tastes have evolved over the last 30 years, and many people would describe these wines as lean and weedy. Napa Valley, known for the opulent fruitiness of its wines, would fall to its knees and beg forgiveness if it produced bottles like these. But honestly, these wines are a lot easier to drink with food today than many highly praised Napa bottles.

The key element here is “with food.” I believe that wine is at its best as part of the synergy of food, wine and conversation, even if the conversation is simply an internal dialogue. And that, to me, is how these 2013s need to be enjoyed.

Without food, they were tart and somewhat cedary. More modern styles of Bordeaux, which you would see in vintages like 2012 or 2015, are rounder, fruitier and easier-going. You can enjoy a glass on its own, even though it would still improve with food. For me, the 2013s came alive with braised pork shoulder, fulfilling the bottom-line requirement of a wine, as is generally the case with classic Bordeaux, of simply being a good, fresh drink.

The Moulin de Tricot was herbal, straightforward and refreshing. The Aney seemed a bit riper and smoother, though also compact and refreshing. The le Puy had almost a menthol edge to its aroma. It seemed a trifle richer than the Haut-Médocs, and a little more tannic. It was pure and also refreshing.

None of these bottles really have the potential to age. They lack structure, and the tart flavors will not evolve in particularly attractive ways. Yet these wines have their uses. They are ready to drink now, and if they are on a restaurant wine list, a 2013 might be preferable to a wine from a better vintage that is not yet ready to drink. But I would not want to pay a lot of money for them.

Regardless of the particulars of these ‘13s, the question comes up: What priority should consumers place on vintages?

For many simple wines, like the vins de soifs we drank last summer, vintage will not be particularly important. But for wines that will evolve and develop nuance and complexity over time, vintage can be crucial to their personality — though not as important as the skill, intent and conscientiousness of the producer.

In my experience, when thinking about vintages, too much emphasis is placed on those years that critics have deemed great. These years often require many years of aging before they can be pleasurable.

Meanwhile, years that may not conform to certain definitions of great may still offer great pleasures, while being cheaper and ready to drink far sooner.

I have seen this in Burgundy, where people flocked to the ’99, ’02, ’05 and ’09 vintages. Many of these wines are still developing, while the ’00 and ’07 vintages, far less esteemed, have given plenty of pleasure in the interim. Even the 2004s, which have been roundly assailed as peculiarly green, can offer pleasure. I recently drank a gorgeous ’04 Chambolle-Musigny from Jacques-Frédéric Mugnier.

The same phenomenon occurs in Bordeaux. With all the millennial hype paid to the 2000 vintage, 2001, a very good year, was largely ignored. The 2011 vintage was completely overshadowed by the critically acclaimed 2009s and ‘10s. And in Napa Valley, you can find some awfully good 2011s, a vintage that was essentially dismissed as an ugly duckling.

I could go on and on with that sort of thing. But that does not mean the critics were wrong about the 2013 Bordeaux. Those wines are certainly drinkable, but if you have an opportunity, compare them with the 2014s, which, to my mind, is an absolutely delicious vintage. The ‘14s will offer far more pleasure, more nuance and complexity, and will evolve beautifully. Nonetheless, the critics prefer the 2015s, which are richer and rounder.

Some readers agreed with me that these wines required food. Dan Barron of New York described the ’13 Moulin de Tricot as a “reserved, elegant wallflower.”

“Before food, it was no one’s favorite,” he wrote. “It only shone — or let’s say ‘glowed’ — with the lamb, where its weight lent balance and dignity.”

And Joseph of Ile de France found a lot to like in the le Puy. With côte de boeuf and potatoes, he wrote, it showed “vibrancy and depth.”

Naturally, not everybody saw it as I did. Without food, George Erdle of Charlotte, North Carolina, found the Aney to be “a harmonious, light, friendly wine that showed a lot of vibrancy.” With beef tacos, he said, it was overwhelmed.

Not everybody will agree with my assessments of vintages, either. Compared with the ‘13s, Tom Lipton of Munich said, “The ‘12s were far better, and the ‘14s appear to be very tight, ungenerous.” Personally, I far prefer 2014s to 2012s.

Such differences of opinion are exactly why educated wine consumers need to go beyond critics to drink for themselves. Only by calibrating a sense of their own tastes can people develop a sense of whom to pay attention to and whom to ignore. The voice in your own head knows best.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.