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Jacques Puffeney Cuvée Les Berangères Arbois Trousseau 2014
Ratings on Delectable
Matt Perlman 
Sadly the last commercial vintage from the “pope of Arbois.” (I guess “Puff Daddy” was already taken). Excited to try some of the newer releases from Domaine du Pelican who acquired a lot of Puffeney’s holdings. As for this wine, it’s exceptionally beautiful and I’m just going to enjoy it rather than pick it apart. Elegant, vivacious, soulful, just really captivating and only gaining in intensity with time in the glass.
Sadly the last commercial vintage from the “pope of Arbois.” (I guess “Puff Daddy” was already taken). Excited to try some of the newer releases from Domaine du Pelican who acquired a lot of Puffeney’s holdings. As for this wine, it’s exceptionally beautiful and I’m just going to enjoy it rather than pick it apart. Elegant, vivacious, soulful, just really captivating and only gaining in intensity with time in the glass.
9.5
Al Shikoh
Jura Wine Tasting: very pale garnet with amber rim; tea, earth, cherry skins, cedar, florals, whiff of Brett; light bodied, 13% ABV, bit of tannic grip on the finish; $50 retail
Jura Wine Tasting: very pale garnet with amber rim; tea, earth, cherry skins, cedar, florals, whiff of Brett; light bodied, 13% ABV, bit of tannic grip on the finish; $50 retail
8.3
Sylvia Bednarz
A NIGHT part 2
A NIGHT part 2
9.9John McCarroll
Sales Rowan Imports
Clean, confident, v solid and pretty.
Clean, confident, v solid and pretty.
9.3
Lyle Fass
Founder Fass Selections
Very pretty red fruits, funk and earth. Palate is very pretty and elegant. Good concentration, balance and freshness. Very pure. Needs air to flesh out. Very juicy.
Very pretty red fruits, funk and earth. Palate is very pretty and elegant. Good concentration, balance and freshness. Very pure. Needs air to flesh out. Very juicy.
9.1Tom DeLorme
As good as any Puffeney Trousseau that I can remember...
As good as any Puffeney Trousseau that I can remember...
Wine ATL
Tart red fruits preserves. Floral, resinous, stemmy. Weightless. No noticeable wood. Chalky, gentle tannin.
Tart red fruits preserves. Floral, resinous, stemmy. Weightless. No noticeable wood. Chalky, gentle tannin.
9.0
Al Doyle
Delicate, intricate, wondrous. Sad he’s gone.
Delicate, intricate, wondrous. Sad he’s gone.
9.4
Stephen Osgood
Super pure!
Super pure!
9.3Lindsey King
How do I even begin to comment on the privilege of lapping up the last drops of a life's work? Puffeney's 52nd vintage, his final potion. The wine that made me aware of the Jura, that first sparked sensation of time and place, a wine that exists equally in bottle as it does in brain. When you find yourself paused mid-step on the walk home, paralyzed by the distant sound of a youthful pianist stretching their hands across blessed white and black keys. Recognizing the tension that folds over their shoulders in tandem with the all encompassing lightness of body that accompanies practice. There is something so real about the way they are playing, without too much fluidity, they stop and start again and somehow that's better than an unstopping song. There is no performance here. What is it about the walls, windows and air between you that deliver these wafts of sound in such a pleasurable way? How does the space aid the aesthetic? You keep standing there, basking in this auditory coat, and for a sliver of time you want nothing. You want no one. You have everything. This pianist will never meet you, nor you them, yet there is partnership, a unity, an offer and reception. An electrical circuit you have both worked to complete. You want to cling tightly to this moment and you find yourself searching for evidence to make you present. The sky was blue, the pavement was wet, I was just about there, I was happy. But all of this is already phrased in the past tense, the moment has already slid away from you. You pick up your forgotten step and continue forward, dizzy from experience, left with only a stamp in your mind that you can picture but never fully revisit. Little death.
How do I even begin to comment on the privilege of lapping up the last drops of a life's work? Puffeney's 52nd vintage, his final potion. The wine that made me aware of the Jura, that first sparked sensation of time and place, a wine that exists equally in bottle as it does in brain. When you find yourself paused mid-step on the walk home, paralyzed by the distant sound of a youthful pianist stretching their hands across blessed white and black keys. Recognizing the tension that folds over their shoulders in tandem with the all encompassing lightness of body that accompanies practice. There is something so real about the way they are playing, without too much fluidity, they stop and start again and somehow that's better than an unstopping song. There is no performance here. What is it about the walls, windows and air between you that deliver these wafts of sound in such a pleasurable way? How does the space aid the aesthetic? You keep standing there, basking in this auditory coat, and for a sliver of time you want nothing. You want no one. You have everything. This pianist will never meet you, nor you them, yet there is partnership, a unity, an offer and reception. An electrical circuit you have both worked to complete. You want to cling tightly to this moment and you find yourself searching for evidence to make you present. The sky was blue, the pavement was wet, I was just about there, I was happy. But all of this is already phrased in the past tense, the moment has already slid away from you. You pick up your forgotten step and continue forward, dizzy from experience, left with only a stamp in your mind that you can picture but never fully revisit. Little death.
9.4
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