Very pale gold. Initially closed wet stone and menthol nose shows riper notes of pineapple, marzipan and toast as the wine opens in the glass. Then plush, broad and voluminous in the mouth, with the impression of oatmeal and marzipan ripeness repeating. I don't find quite the fruity treble notes that this wine showed in the early going; this is a bit blurry compared to the 2010, in a distinctly warmer, even slightly honeyed style.
What explains the Raveneau magic? Yields here aren't excessively high, but they're not the region's lowest. Fermentation at between 18 and 20 degrees centigrade in tank, followed by élevage on the lees in used barrels define the very elementary outlines of the winemaking process—a description that would equally apply to Vincent Dauvissat's stylistically different wines. The devil is, presumably, in the details. And it's a conundrum I'm content to ponder for the foreseeable future, as the Domaine Raveneau is undoubtedly the source of some of Chablis's greatest wines—and its most dependably long-lived. Isabelle Raveneau told me that the 2016s we tasted had been bottled in mid-April. In this vintage, yields were down 30% for the domaine as a whole, but yields varied considerably by location, from as little as 15 hectoliters per hectare in some sites to as much as 50 hectoliters per hectare in others. The wines vary in profile accordingly. At this early stage, the 2017s appear more homogeneous, classic but charming in style, marrying characteristically Chablisien cut and tension with a touch of sun-kissed generosity. I suspect they may end up resembling a hypothetical blend of the 2009 and 2010 vintages—but their quality and character will be more clear after more élevage. I'll try to retaste them again at the end of the year if I can.