Patrick Corbineau

upon hearing of Patrick's passing, I remember my visit with him

Parking the car in Candes-Saint-Martin, Pascaline and I walked to our appointment, carefully, trying not to slide out on the slick, stick-to-your-feet clay called pate aux pieds. Success was ours as we approached the importer, Camille Rivière and her pink-cheeked vigneron, the baker-gutted Patrick Corbineau. The winemaker (whose wines lately are on every New York wine list I care about) had just emerged from one of his three limestone caves. It is in that trio, tucked under hanging ivy, backing into a limestone quarry, that he finishes off the magic he starts in his nearby vines.