Words by Andrea Goto
Photography by Chia Chong
Artwork by katherine sandoz
I was planning on a nice afternoon buzz. What I got was an existential lesson in wine tasting—minus the wine tasting.
Le Chai, a modest park-side galerie du vin at the southern-most edge of Savannah’s Historic District is the realization of Christian Depken’s dream that’s been 10 years in the making. It’s a single, airy room with a high ceiling and brick walls. Iridescent bottles present themselves neatly on their sides, lying evenly spaced on wooden tabletops arranged in rows throughout the room. The arrangement is unlike the heavily stocked beverage warehouse displays I’m accustomed to, but Le Chai’s limited stock is entirely intentional; it’s a carefully curated collection that meets Depken’s two criteria: the wine must be from Europe and he alone must like the taste.
Depken, who reminds me of Nicholas Cage from Raising Arizona without the creepy, is as unapologetic about his Eurocentric agenda as he is his subjectivity.
“Of course I buy by my own taste—how else would I buy?” he asks. “I simply refuse to buy into the points system. I don’t know what 93 points tastes like, and if we’re honest, you don’t either. Nobody does.”
Teaching the Gospel
The self-taught oenophile from Northwest Georgia may not be an academic by profession—he didn’t go to college, nor is he a classically trained sommelier (a title he equates to “knowing which end of the bottle to open”)—but it is in his nature. He reads, writes, researches and talks wine. His words are carefully chosen and his analogies are spot-on. At any given time, Depken can tell you the number of years a winery has been in operation, the name of the family that runs it, the varietals they produce and from which grapes, and the best year they’ve had. One wall of his office is lined by a small collection of books about the history of winemaking, and on the wall hangs framed maps of European regions, which he points to when he talks about the various vineyards from which he sources. I also learn about his heavy philosophical leanings when I breach the subject of terroir.
Anyone who knows Depken is familiar with his thoughts on terroir, and from the brief pause this line of questioning gives him, I know that he knows what I know about him.
The French term, as Depken describes it, is loosely translated to mean “the sum of Earth, vine, rain, wind, sun, man—all those things working in concert to create a unique and individual thing that is specific to that place.” This is why the proprietor sources exclusively from Europe, which causes some to write him off as a “wine snob.”
“I don’t consider myself a snob,” Depken explains, “but I do consider myself a purist. There’s a basic and fundamental difference between what we’re doing here in the U.S. and what happens in Europe.” In Europe, certain winemakers have been in production for more than 2,000 years, but America’s wine culture, by contrast, is “the infant at the dinner table,” considering we’ve only been mass producing wines for around 30 years, according to Depken.
“In another four- to five-hundred years, we’ll have a better understanding of what we’re doing in this country,” he allows.
These are fighting words. Some nonbelievers consider terroir as metaphysical bullshit constructed by the French. Like the person who sees the likeness of The Virgin Mary burnt into a slice of sourdough, perhaps Depken needs to taste terroir because without it, the foundation on which he’s built his dream is a sham.
I’ve never tasted terroir, but then again, I don’t drink wine like Depken does. “Drinking wine, to me, is not about getting wasted,” he says. “To me, wines are made to be consumed with food.”
His longtime drink of choice is Budweiser, which, to my relief, he “drinks too much of still.”
He tells me a rather long story about one of the few wines that changed his life. As he does, he reaches to a collection of about a dozen corked bottles to the left of his desk. I get excited, thinking he’s going to demonstrate his point by pouring terroir down my gullet. Instead, he uncorks a $700 bottle and instructs me to smell it. There’s only about a quarter-inch of fluid in the bottom, but I would’ve gladly imbibed, vinegar and sediments be damned. Surprisingly, the wine hasn’t turned, which makes me want it even more.
Maybe burnt toast can be divine.
Through Rosé-colored Glasses
Before I leave, I ask Depken to recommend a bottle in the $20 range, of which he has many.
“What will you be pairing it with?” he asks.
“A cheese plate,” I lie, and I think he knows it. I don’t cook and the closest thing I have to cheese is sour milk. I just want a damn drink.
“Well, what do you like?”
I blush and shrug my shoulders, afraid he’s imagining the box of wine that’s currently in my possession.
“You gotta give me something to work with,” he insists with a touch of annoyance.
“How about a rosé from Provence?”
Four years ago, I spent three life-changing winter months in the south of France, most of which was spent washing baguettes down with rosé I scored for 2 euros.
Depken lights up. He quickly selects a bottle, holds it to the light, waxes poetic about the winery, it’s history, and calls my attention to the wine’s sheer pink, coppery tones. It is, admittedly, gorgeous.
When I get home, I briefly chill the rosé then pour myself a very big glass. I sit in my favorite chair in the living room, put my feet up and take a sip. And there it is: Provence. I taste the dirt in which lavender and olive trees root. I taste the crisp air scented by smoke from a winter fire. I taste the memories of a place to which I long to return.
I taste terroir.
After listening to Depken’s stories, maybe I want to taste it. Maybe I need to taste it. Regardless, if a mere $20 can provide a transcendental experience, I’m a believer.
Christian Depken as seen through the eyes of artist katherine sandoz, 2002
We are BIG fans of Christian and if you’re in Savannah, or plan on visiting soon, please make a stop by Le Chai –galerie du vin and meet Christian and sample his wines (or not). Christian also takes 911 wine calls!
Le Chai –galerie du vin
15 East Park Avenue
Savannah, GA 31401
912.713.2229
wines@lechai.com
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