Imagine a cuvée where the sap of the miller, the soft strength and soul of the valley reign, powerful and enveloping, giving it a wide heart and its tender fruitiness. Its major waves, the master note. At its side the pinot noir brother of structure and mystery bringing the necessary gravity. It is the backbone that supports the dance. It instills in the wine a shiver of nobility, a promise of fulfillment. And then there is the chardonnay, the discreet spark, the high and chiseled note. A tear of purity that brightens the bottom of the assembly. It is the mineral freshness that refuses to go out.

Then came the time of the cellar—the long slumber on the lees that would last 36 months. In the darkness, the wine did not sleep; it dreamed. It fed on its own yeasts, the spirits of fermentation becoming the ink of its aromas. For three full years, without haste, it exchanged its bright fruit for the glow of gold: the song of the Meunier transformed into brioche and toasted bread, the backbone of the Pinot Noir melted into a creamy, supple texture. The spark of the Chardonnay was refined into a fine, integrated bubble. This long time is not a constraint, but a devotion. It is the winemaker who steps aside so that time can work its magic.