Memory Burn: Krug Champagne 1982
Seinfeld called it “Memory Burn”. The phenomenon of a moment so earth-shaking that it burns itself into your memory forever, enabling you to recall what you wore, what music was playing in the background and even what you smelt.
Not to be confused with nostalgia, something science has agreed is a rose-tinted, idealised view of something from the past. In the case of nostalgia the way we remember memories is constantly distorted. By recalling a memory of the past, you are remembering it as your brain has chosen to distort it, not by the actuality of its events. Thus we remember sitting on Santa’s knee as children, but not the long and tortuous queue in freezing temperatures beforehand. We remember fish and chips on the beach from that place that won all the awards, but not the dive bombing seagulls and sweltering heat. We remember the joy of a successful marriage proposal, but not the almost paralysing nerves beforehand.
Food and wine on occasion offer us real memory burn thanks to the olfactory nerve. Your ability to smell (and thus taste) comes from specialised sensory cells, called olfactory sensory neurons, which are found in a small patch of tissue high inside the nose. These cells connect directly to the brain, a sort of superhighway from your nose to your noggin. This nerve has been proven as one of the most effective triggers of memory in humans, explaining why taste and smell can transport us to hitherto unreachable moments through the sands of time: the smell of cloves at Christmas, the smell of gunpowder from fireworks, the particular smell of a loved one long since gone.
Why do I mention all this, like a Poundland neuroscientist? Wine. That stoppered stuff we all love to imbibe is the liquid embodiment of time and one of the few things that we as a species consume when it is years, even decades old. Grape juice is a vinous time capsule all on its own, a record of person, place and, yes, time. Because of the structure and layers in the best wines, they lend themselves as excellent milestones in the chronosphere. The most special wines stick in your brain like the earwormiest of musical ear worms, allowing you to transport yourself back in time to re-taste. To re-live.
It has become popular during the ongoing pandemic, for obvious reasons, for wine writers to talk about their hall of fame wine, a wine so magical and so entrancing that they’d give anything to try it again. And so, I offer my vinous memory burn: Krug Champagne 1982.
This is now a well-worn story, but all the best are, and you, dear reader, already know the punchline. But I’ll give you the setup anyway in the hope you might come to comprehend just how unlikely this story actually is.
For my first festive period with my now fiancée, I ventured to West Wales to spend time with her family over New Year’s Eve. Bereft of incisive conversational ability or basic charm I approached the stay as I crossed the Prince of Wales bridge as only I knew how: with a boot load full of wine. I’d bought a selection of champagnes, red wines, rosés and white burgundies - no expense spared for my potential future in-laws.
Upon arrival and safe deposit of the wine in a cool place, my future Mother-in-Law urged my then-girlfriend to “go and grab that bottle from the cupboard to show Dom”. I’m often asked about particular old bottles of wine and particularly what they might be worth. Never have I been introduced to a bottle with such a sorry backstory.
The bottle in question had apparently been given to my partner’s grandfather a few decades ago as thanks for his gardening efforts. The generous patron was some sort of financier and all I can say is that I’m handy with a lawnmower and would very much like to meet his acquaintance. As my partner’s grandfather has no interest in wine and is more a devotee of whiskey, the bottle was handed to my future Mother-in-Law and moved from house to house, from unsuitable storage place to even more unsuitable storage place. Several times it escaped being thrown in as fodder for a church tombola by virtue of its shabby exterior, with peeling label and dusty neck.
It was only when the word ‘brut’ was announced that I started to get a little more excited. Brut means dry and is commonly associated with champagne. Adrenaline started to pump. My interest piqued.
The bottle was bought in, dusty but with an unmistakable green bottle and dark brown label with gold embossed lettering which announced:
“Champagne Vintage 1982: Krug”.
The actual bottle in question. Now a monument to our vinous windfall.
Silence gripped the air, soon pierced by excited giggles. If I was quiet, slaw jacked, stunned, then surely this must be special? They were right.
1982 is one of the greatest vintages in wine. Great in France across a number of regions, not just Bordeaux but also Champagne.
Krug is one of the four finest producers of vintage champagne, along with Salon ‘Le Mesnil’, Louis Roederer ‘Cristal’ and Moët & Chandon ‘Dom Perignon’. The combination of the two was a heady mix. This was Lionel Messi and Barcelona. Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic. Tarantino and Ennio Morricone.
Hands glistening with sweat, heart rate in fat burn mode, and mind spinning, I started to do what any rational person does, or certainly any Spurs fan: downplay a potential windfall. This Wine had been kept upright in warm, bright spaces, for decades, there wasn’t a chance it would have kept well, I told myself and the assembled throng. I was asked how much it was worth? Well, it was priceless really. This is the sort of wine you have to sell a kidney to afford. This is the sort of wine you see on Instagram being drunk by the top critics in the world.
Krug 1982 is £600 a bottle in bond. That’s £725 out in the wild, so, not cheap.
It was decided that we should open our vinous windfall on New Year’s Eve, though I cautioned against us having it at midnight in the event it was, as I suspected, gone. My bottle of Laurent Perrier Rosé would have to do for Big Ben’s bongs.
Cut to the big night. After a day in the fridge chilling, the moment came: 10pm on New Year’s Eve, 2016. I played the wine down for everyone telling them that it was likely long gone but let them know what to look out for if it was still alive & kicking: very few bubbles, a deep golden colour, aromas of nuts and dried fruits.
The cork was tight and, unassisted by oodles of gaseous energy, needed coaxing from the bottle. As it left there was a distinct whoosh of latent air. A sign of life? Even better, a check for the cork showed no signs of cork taint. This wine had a pulse.
I poured a glass to smell. It was more than ok. It was triumphant, Its was Maradona (RIP) sashaying past flailing English limbs in 1986, Mark Rylance in his pomp mid-soliloquy at Shakespeare’s Globe, Nigella Lawson at her eyebrow-raising, finger sucking, flirtatious best.
Here begins my memory burn, my galactic wine. The nose was full of candied peel, toffee, nuts, and a touch of truffle. On the plate it was life-affirming. A wine of such incredible assuredness, history and complexity. It was like a rich, mature white Burgundy, with a rich buttery toast note, baked apple, orange and lemon peel, and yet it still had life in it. It was the West End stage star who had long since stopped treating the boards: the box step had long since gone but the glamour, pizzazz and ability to belt out a proper tune when called upon by an adoring crowd were are still intact.
Everyone there that night had the same reaction to the wine. Without knowing as much about vintage champagne as I they nevertheless could tell that this was special. This was a rare wine. As those notes of peel, nuts and nougat trickled down everyone’s throats, there was just a little glimpse of the divine, of the magic that stoppered grape juice, at its best, can provide.
Here is Antonio Galloni’s review of the wine, for which he awarded an astronomic 98 points.
“Both 1982 Champagnes are utterly spellbinding. It is amazing to taste these wines at 30 years of age and see that their signatures are all very much intact. Of course, the magnum format is so ideal for Champagne. The 1982 Krug Vintage is warm, toasty and totally expressive, with gorgeous exotic orange peel and white truffle overtones. This is one of my very favorite Krug vintages. Although fully mature, the 1982 is going to continue to develop at a glacial pace”
Not only was this wine a serendipitous find but it has burned itself (pleasingly) into my memory in a way only the greatest wines can. Thank you, Krug 1982, you we’re special. Long since gone but never to be forgotten.
Over to you: what is your memory burn wine?
A low quality video of this memory burn moment exists, but for now I shall keep it close to my chest…!