Pineau des Charentes: Cognac’s Uncelebrated Cousin

In his classic book, In Praise of Wine and Certain Noble Spirits, Alec Waugh makes this passing comment about the French aperitif Pineau des Charentes: “It had a poor nose, but it was not unpalatable.” Fortunately, many of us who enjoy the adventure of trying new varieties of wine and spirits don’t share Waugh’s often-rarified tastes and precious palate. And even those who do possess Waugh’s high standards must consider the possibility that Waugh happened upon a bad bottle, or perhaps he was simply having an off day when he tried his first Pineau. Waugh’s ambivalent remarks about Pineau aside, this unheralded aperitif, made of fruity grape juices and fortified with cognac, is well worth the wine and spirits enthusiast’s effort to taste and to decide on its palatability. Visitors to France should have little difficulty finding Pineau des Charentes. However, many Americans might overlook this aperitif because they may simply have never heard of it. Understandably, Americans visiting Cognac, the heart of the Charentes region where Pineau is made, usually want to learn as much as they can about the various cognacs that have gained this small town its worldwide fame. The grand houses of Courvoisier, Martel, and Hennessy come to mind. However, visitors might also profit from the small pleasure of trying some Pineau while in the region. My own first encounter with Pineau happened on one of my first trips to France. My French wife and I were about to take a short vacation on Ile d’Oleron off the west coast of France. Because we were driving to the island from south-central France, friends and relatives knew that we had to drive through the Charente region. Nearly every French person who heard of our itinerary advised us to stop in Cognac for a tour of the distilleries and a degustation. We were also asked to bring back as much forty-year-old cognac as we could carry and afford. More reasonable friends suggested bringing them a good bottle of Pineau des Charentes. Although my wife was familiar with Pineau, I had to admit I had never heard of it before. As I was soon to find out, my life before Pineau had indeed been deprived. After the obligatory tours of the larger wineries in Cognac, we stopped at a small cooperative distillery, just outside the city limits, that made its Pineau under the Reynac label. While at Reynac’s reception room and tasting bar, I noticed a display offering Pineau des Charentes in elegant glass decanters. Nice gifts for the folks back home, I thought. But at what price? I asked the host if I could try some of the Pineau. He brought out a bottle that had been chilled (Pineau should always be served chilled, never iced) and gave me a generous sample of the light golden liquid in a brandy snifter. Testing the bouquet and finding it a bit like cognac or armangac, I was prepared for the full force and bite of the distilled alcohol on my tongue. Instead, I was treated to a splendidly sweet fruity flavor, much like a soft port. Glass in hand, I strolled over to the display to find out the Pineau’s price, decanter and all. Forty-five francs. That did it. I had my gifts, and I had an aperitif I would rarely fail to serve or request when possible. Here in the States, when I serve Pineau to uninitiated guests, I often watch for their reaction to the difference between its bouquet and taste. Mentioning that Pineau is a blend of grape juices and cognac also creates the expectation of warmth. But that first sip usually prompts a raise of the eyebrow, a smile, and a comment such as, “This isn’t at all what I expected. Not at all. This is so smooth. Are you sure there’s cognac in it?” A little lore goes well with that first sip of Pineau. What a wonderful accidental creation Pineau turned out to be. Pineau owes its existence–according to one of the local legends of the Charente region–to a grower mistakenly putting the juice of fresh grapes into a cask containing cognac. Years later, he tasted his mistake and found his error “not unpalatable.” Another theory about the origin of Pineau is a bit less romantic. Historically, the grapes in the Charente region were not very good for fine wines. One way the growers of these grapes found to market their grapes was to distill them and fortify them, thus the origins of the renowned cognacs. But in the 16th and 17th centuries these processes were often quite careless. Poor quality control we’d say today. So some speculate Pineau was simply another experiment in a line of many to find a way to sell the grapes grown in Charente’s chalky, marly, and stubborn soil. And because Pineau was inexpensive, yet drinkable, it soon developed into the region’s favorite “peasant” aperitif, and remained in this limited role for hundreds of years. But just as in matters of cuisine, we now know the “peasants” were enjoying hearty and rich pleasures more “sophisticated” people were missing. In France today, Pineau is a common item on well-stocked shelves of aperitifs. Here in the States, unless you live in an urban area or have a local wine merchant well versed in French spirits, you’ll usually get a blank stare when you ask for Pineau des Charentes. But it is possible to special order it in most states. However, be sure you place the order correctly, spelling out the details. The person taking your order might think you simply want a Pinot. There is also the confusion that might result if someone orders you Pineau de la Loire, which is actually Chenin Blanc. (I might mention here that Pineau is available in both red and white in France. I’ve seen only the white in the States.) So get your spelling and region correct, or you’ll be forced to drink your mistakes.