Free Mayhem in Margaux by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen

to check it out.”
    Virgile remained quiet, his elbow and forearm resting on the open window, his eyes looking into the distance.
    “What’s on your mind?” Benjamin asked as he negotiated a curve in the road.
    “I’ve never really understood this appellation, boss. When you hear the name—Margaux—you think of feminine wines, supple and silky. And yet I’ve tasted all sorts. Some were too diluted, rather dull. Others were more robust and solid. And then there’s the terroir, which isn’t all that easy to identify on a map. Margaux has always seemed rather complicated.”
    “You’re telling me,” Benjamin said, looking over at him. “Defining Margaux in a few words is a real challenge.”
    Virgile shot his boss a nervous smile. At the mention of Margaux, he had unintentionally strayed onto slippery ground, the name lending itself to allusions and double meanings.
    But Benjamin had overcome his morning grouchiness and was feeling much more generous. He eased his assistant’s discomfort by summarizing the history of the appellation, which was spread over five townships: Margaux, Cantenac, Soussans, Labarde, and Arsac. He left out none of the well-known struggles and battles those townships had fought to be included in the Margaux appellation. The regulating body, the INAO, hadn’t delimited the area geographically until 1954, based on the geological homogeneity of the terroir. This appellation now extended over thirty-five hundred acres of gravelly slopes streaked with clay and sand. It reached as far as the shores of the estuary.
    The central diamond of the appellation was the prestigious Château Margaux. Set around it were more or less sizable jewels, some of which had attained brilliant reputations over the years. Benjamin reeled off the names of several grand crus, most of which belonged to the famed 1855 classification established on the recommendation of Napoleon III: Cantenac-Brown, Brane-Cantenac, Boyd-Cantenac, Pouget, Issan, Kirwan, Desmirail, Prieuré-Lichine, Dauzac, Giscours, Durfort-Vivens, Ferrière, Lascombes, Malescot-Saint-Exupéry, Marquis de Terme, Palmer, Rauzan-Gassies, Rauzan-Ségla, du Tertre, Marquis d’Alesme-Becker, and more.
    “Enough already, boss,” Virgile said. “The cup is full!”
    “Am I overwhelming you, boy? Despite a period of post-war decline, all Margaux wines are worthy, and I count some of them among the most delicate in the Médoc. But one would be wrong to expect them to be silky, supple, round, or lacy simply because of the appellation’s feminine name.”
    “It’s true that it’s the only terroir with a woman’s name,” Virgile said quietly, avoiding eye contact with his employer.
    “Certainly, the name Margaux connotes a certain nobility and has something of a regal aura. But in the sixteenth century, the word ‘Margot’ was used to describe a drunk, a girl who couldn’t hold her wine. I believe they still use the expression ‘you’ve got a margot’ in Lyon when you’ve tied one on.”
    Arriving in Cantenac, Benjamin parked under the shade of a billboard in a small square. They left the Peugeot without bothering to lock it and walked toward the town hall.
    “What’s the plan?” Virgile asked.
    “I think we’re supposed to look for sheep, right?”
    “Yes, indeed. And you think you’re going to find them at the town hall?”
    “Not really. We are going to consult the land registry.”
    A secretary led them to the registry without asking any questions. She knew the winemaker, as he had come to the office on several occasions to identify boundaries when land was being partitioned or old vineyards were being consolidated.
    “Take all the time you need, Mr. Cooker.”
    “We won’t be long, miss. Thank you.”
    Benjamin put on his reading glasses and meticulously examined the maps. The Gayraud-Valrose estate extended over some 175 acres, and more than 110 of them were vineyard. The maps contained a wealth of details, including the layout of