Gift set: Cépage Chenin blanc

Let us go back, way back: in 845, Charles the Bald donated two vineyards to the Saint-Maur de Glanfeuil abbey in Anjou. Legend has it that these were already Chenin, then called "plant d'Anjou"—but it is impossible to prove this formally, as evidence from this period is lacking.

The first truly solid mention dates to 1469: on January 3rd, Thomas Bohier purchased lands around Chenonceau and planted nine arpents of vines brought at great expense from Anjou, Orléans, Arbois, and Beaune. The famous white "plant d'Anjou" thus found its preferred terroir in Touraine, where it flourished so well that it is mentioned multiple times in the château's archives. Its current name is said to derive from Mont Chenin, or the abbey of Montchenin, which is thought to have contributed to its distribution throughout the Loire Valley.

The grape variety owes much to the local monks and lords, who shaped its reputation as early as the 16th century thanks to white wines renowned for their longevity and finesse.

But what makes Chenin fascinating is its ability to completely change its character depending on the soil in which it is grown. On the schists of the Armorican Massif, which extend into Anjou Noir and Savennières, it becomes taut, austere, and almost saline, with a sharp minerality that often requires several years to open up. On the tuffeau of the Saumur region, it takes on a lemony, floral purity that remains fresh even in the most generous vintages. In the Vouvray area, on that same tuffeau but under a more continental climate, it gains roundness and richness—that famous "honeyed sweetness" which established the reputation of demi-sec and sweet Vouvrays capable of aging for decades. And in Jasnières, a tiny appellation of barely 65 hectares on clay-limestone with flint, it delivers perhaps its most radical expression: refined, taut, almost austere in its youth, driven by a smoky minerality characteristic of flint.

One single grape variety, four faces in this collection: the best proof that Chenin never settles for just making wine; it translates a soil.