We were in the middle of lunch at the long table, just past the swing that is a feature of Jérôme and Stéphanie Jouret’s living room. There was a tart. There were potatoes. There was plenty of wine. And Stéphanie showed us the new labels—small, tiny things. The domaine was getting an update.
“But we love the labels,” we said, almost in chorus.
Nevertheless, the new ones were beautiful, almost postage-stamp sized. And if memory serves it was hard to find the name Jouret on them.
“Really,” I said. “Your name needs to be more visible.”
Jérôme stammered, and then said, “I always thought that a name on the label was too narcissistic.” Then he backpedaled, it is fine for other people, it just made him feel uncomfortable.
No one who makes such beautiful wines or practices such thoughtful viticulture should feel that owning the work is egotistical. Perhaps that modesty is part of the Jouret terroir, and part of the reason the wines feel so completely of the man and the land.
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