Sancerre is among the favorite wines of Christian Grey—the notorious main character of the steamy, erotic, sorta-BDSM romance novel, Fifty Shades of Grey—which he enjoys with his lover, Anastasia Steele. Perhaps you know this already. Perhaps you have read the original Fifty Shades trilogy, first published more than a dozen years ago, and which sold more than 150 million copies in 52 languages. Perhaps you have seen the movie, or listened to the Fifty Shades classical music album, or purchased the branded lingerie or handcuffs or riding crop.
Is Fifty Shades of Grey a relevant thing to bring into a conversation about Sancerre? Probably not. And yet. Maybe this is why you, or someone you know, first tasted a certain sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley.
How do people discover the wines they like, anyway? Deep in the wine bubble, we pretend to believe that critics or sommeliers or wine educators are the ones who stimulate the drinking public’s desires to try something new. But we know that’s not true, and Sancerre is a classic example.
No one in the wine bubble ever evangelized for Sancerre. It’s not a darling of the natural wine movement, or collectors, or influencers. Nor, to be fair, has it become a caricature or gained a vaguely trashy reputation, like pinot grigio or Prosecco. Sancerre just sort of exists. It’s generally crisp and refreshing and—as French words go—it’s relatively easy for Americans to pronounce. Normal people just like it.
As Sancerre was becoming popular—more than a decade ago, right around the time Fifty Shades of Grey blew up—Wall Street Journal wine columnist Lettie Teague endeavored to explain the appeal of what she called “wine’s Tom Hanks.” In a 2013 column, she quotes a sneering New York sommelier who derisively calls Sancerre “the salmon of wines” and vows not to offer it by the glass, because “Sancerre would outsell everything else.” The Sancerre discourse from those days still flashes in my mind as a chef’s-kiss example of how insecure some inside the wine bubble can be. A certain type of wine professional simply hates it when normal people find the wines they like on their own, without needing a sommelier’s help.
Well, if wine pros were irritated by Sancerre’s success a dozen years ago, I can only imagine how they feel about the ocean of sauvignon blanc that’s captured the current fancy of normal people. This would be the sauvignon blanc of New Zealand. The sauvignon blanc of “gooseberry” (aka cat pee) and “grassy,” or what Rebecca Gibb of Vinous calls “tropical, wear-a-grass-skirt flavors.” New Zealand sauvignon blanc is certainly not a new thing, but it’s been mind boggling to watch how massively it has grown over the past few years. New Zealand’s wines have moved into third place in exports by revenue to the U.S.—behind only Italy and France.
And yet, as with Sancerre, you’ll rarely hear wine professionals extolling the virtues of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Wine people reserve a special sneering attitude for what’s come to be known as Savvy B. I recently received this text from a wine friend: “omg sitting at this airport bar in ft myers not sure which is worse the bachelorette party pounding trulys or the guy next to me who ordered a…‘savvy b’ [vomit emoji].”
Well, since no one else seems to be taking up the case for high-quality Savvy B, I guess I will. I’m sure I will catch shit from certain wine people. During an editorial meeting while at my former employer, several people made it clear they wouldn’t be following me down a Savvy B path.
Let me start at the highest end. Not so long ago, at a birthday dinner, I was blown away by a transcendent Sancerre, Didier Dagueneau Le Mont Damné (made by the legendary winemaker’s son, Benjamin, who has run the estate since Didier’s death in 2008). Full of energy, tension, and depth it was one of those wines that almost defies tasting notes. Like an old song that hits you in a new way, I could not get this particular sauvignon blanc out of my head.
So that’s how I ended up making a visit to Sancerre. What I found is that it’s a critical time there. Like so many established regions, this is a matter of both climate change and the changing mindset of a new generation that wants to evolve the reigning, established style. I’ve written about similar shifts in places like Rioja and Priorat and elsewhere. In Sancerre, the shift is more subtle but no less profound.
A significant concern in Sancerre is climate. The 2024 harvest has been called “cataclysmic” by some, with hailstorms and mildew. The 2023 and 2022 vintages were mixed bags, and the vintages between 2019 and 2021 were a tumultuous mix of frost, hail, and humidity. In 2021, frost damage cost producers an estimated 60 percent of the crop, and some reported as much as 80 percent this past year. Alcohol levels are also rising, well above 14 percent abv in some cases. I’ve tasted some hovering around 15 percent. (Trust me: No one wants a 15 percent abv Sancerre.)
But if you stick to top estates, such as Domaine Vincent Pinard, François Cotat, Domaine Vacheron, Claude Riffault, Domaine Delaporte, or Isabelle Garrault, or seek out the higher end at larger estates like Henri Bourgeois, you will find great wines at all price points. You’ll see what old Savvy B can really be.
In the village of Bué, I met with Florent Pinard, who (with his brother Clément) is the 20th generation to make wine at Domaine Vincent Pinard. Pinard told a story of wild variations in harvests. In 2020, they harvested on August 28, which was eye opening. This was, by far, the earliest his father could remember in nearly 60 harvests, unthinkable even a decade ago. By comparison, subsequent harvests in the 2020s began in mid-to-late September. For Pinard, like others of his generation, the answer to this uncertainty is in changing winegrowing practices. The Pinards have been organic since 2004, and biodynamic for the past seven years. “There’s really great terroir in Sancerre, old terroir,” he says. “But too often, there is poor soil.”
“Sancerre, in the U.S., is an easy sell. But that means we have an obligation to set an example,” says Matthieu Delaporte, the winemaker at Domaine Delaporte, which he took over a decade ago, and converted the family’s 33 hectares from conventional to organic farming. “The soil was dead, and we were still selling really well,” Delaporte says. “I felt we had to change the reputation. I want to inspire people around here so they can see I was not crazy. I hope this new generation will change the image of Sancerre.”
Unlike in other legacy regions, there’s no movement of producers in Sancerre to leave the official appellation. Delaporte actually laughed at that suggestion. “No, no,” he said, “we have a big fucking opportunity with this name Sancerre that everyone knows. We have to find the solution together.”
I met Delaporte at his winery in Chavignol, a village of around 80 full-time residents, sitting a few kilometers from the hilltop village of Sancerre (a veritable metropolis with 1,400 residents). Chavignol is famous for two things, some of Sancerre’s most coveted vineyards (including Les Monts Damnés) and goat cheese, the famed Crottin de Chavignol in particular. “The match of Sancerre and goat cheese is one of the most perfect pairings you can find,” Delaporte said. This is 1000% true. Sauvignon blanc from Sancerre may be one of the more easily paired wines in the world, but it reaches its apogee when paired with pungent, earthy goat cheese.
In Chavignol’s tiny main square, I visited cheesemaker Romain Dubois, who had an array of Crottin de Chavignol, from a few days to five weeks old. When it’s young, it’s soft and white. As it ages, the rind gets harder and darker, and the taste stronger. I tried not to think too much of the cheese’s etymology—it had been originally named in Sancerrois dialect for a small clay oil lamp, but since crottin in French means “dung” and because of its resemblance to . . . well anyway, the name stuck.
The older man behind the counter took an aged cheese in his hand and said, “When the cheese is a little blue like this, you must eat it all, including the rind. It is very healthy for you.” I have no idea whether this advice is medically or nutritionally sound, and I don’t care.
Besides my cheese, he also sold me a saucisson (also in the crottin shape) and a cheese knife. With a stop at a boulangerie for a baguette, plastic cups from my Airbnb, and wine in tow, it was all perfect for a picnic in the town of Sancerre, which was recently named France’s favorite village by a French television network. In a hilltop park near Château de Sancerre, I unwrapped the Crottin de Chavignol, the sausage, tore hunks of bread, uncorked the wine, and watched the Loire drift lazily along in the valley below. I could not imagine a better lunch.
Likewise, much of the Sancerre I tasted during my days there left an impression. Honestly, having my perceptions scrambled is one of the primary joys of traveling to wine regions. Sancerre delivered.
For instance, consider the standard descriptors of sauvignon blanc: gooseberry (or again, is it cat pee?), grapefruit, herbal, pepper, and of course . . . grassy. When I mentioned the ubiquitous “grassy” note to Pinard, he laughed. “Well, there are two kinds of grassy,” he said. “There’s grassy when the maturing is bad. And then there is a grassy that’s vital and ripe.” That vital, ripe grassiness (more like a spring field filled with wildflowers) with great acidity, a bit of salinity, and a thrilling, underlying energy—sign me up.
The sweet spot seems to be a touch over $ 30 for something special that overdelivers. There are plenty of terrific examples between $ 30 and $ 50 that could stand up to whites from more prestigious regions at double the price. I seek them out often: one of the great advantages of Sancerre is that there are literally dozens of them available to try. These are not hard wines to find.
“Ten years ago, it was different,” Pinard said. “Now, you find Sancerre in all the best restaurants in the world. Now it’s not just popular, it’s serious. When you see Burgundy, the prices are crazy. But Sancerre is still affordable. Everyone can buy Sancerre.”
I don’t think many wine nerds are going to tell you to give Sancerre a try. But taste a few of the ones below and make up your own mind.
This piece originally appeared in The New Wine Review (now owned by Unicorn Auctions).
10 Serious Sancerre To Change Your Mind
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