Where the cold little Ciron meets the warmer Garonne, autumn mornings breed mists that carry Botrytis cinerea — noble rot — through the Sémillon vines. The shrivelled berries are picked grape by grape in successive passes; a vine yields a glass, not a bottle. Dutch buyers built the trade in the seventeenth century; 1855 crowned it, placing Yquem above every red of the Médoc.
The wine is honey and apricot on a wire of acidity, and it effectively does not die — a century-old Sauternes is amber, saffron and still alive. Fashion has drifted from sweetness, acreage shrinks, and the greatest bargain in fine wine waits patiently in its golden robe.