Day two in Burgundy begins with a walk around the vineyards that surround Chateau de Puligny-Montrachet. Michael heads out for a run, while Justin and I try to catch the serene morning light with our cameras. The thermometer reads 1° C. Mist hangs low over the grounds, and frost crunches beneath our feet. We giggle as we slide through the mud. It’s cold, wet, and very, very early--but there’s no place that I’d rather be. Our host, Etienne de Montille, has not yet returned from a jaunt to the Alps. For a brief few hours, it feels as if we have the run of the estate.

We drive over 100 miles to Chablis. This time, I am wide awake the whole way. I finally managed a sound night’s sleep, and I don’t want to miss a thing. As we head north, snow begins to fall.

Our first appointment is with Jean-Marc Brocard, who owns the Herve Azo and Domaine de la Boisseneuse brands, in addition to his eponymous label. Together, these entities annually produce a staggering three million bottles. They buy some fruit. The domaine vines (those directly owned by the company) total 200 hectares, and account for two million bottles. Michael works only with the Herve Azo line, the branch that focuses on smaller, single vineyard wines. Azo claims just 12.5 hectares, and produces about 80,000 bottles each year.

As in Champagne, the marginal climate and poor, limestone soils of Chablis yield minerally, racy whites that require decades of age to show their full potential. Winemaker Frederique Gueguen, Jean-Marc’s son-in-law, and Director Julien Brocard, his son, guide us through a tour and tasting of the young wines, some of which have yet to finish fermenting. At this stage, most are cloudy and extremely acidic. Both the 2007s and 2008s show similar acid levels, but wines from the latter vintage seem a bit more viscous and coated with fruit.

In an upstairs tasting room that overlooks the vineyards, Frederique and Julien pour us three wines from covered bottles; they want us to guess their ages. The first glass smells and tastes of the ocean air, crushed oyster shells, blanched almond and gunflint. The second shows bright, crisp pear notes, lemon rind and nervy acidity. The third seems the roundest of all, and coats my tongue with liquid minerality. Julien asks us to take a stab at the vintages, and Michael counters with a quote from late winemaker Didier Dagueneau: “One glimpse of the label is equal to twenty years of tasting experience.” Frederique reveals that we have just tasted 1993 and 1992 Cote de Lechet, as well as 1987 Vau de Vey.

We finish these wines (and a few others) over a traditional lunch of jambon de Chablis (ham braised in the local white wine), a terrine of pickled vegetable, roasted tomatoes and spinach souffle. Our lively conversation covers all topics forbidden at the American table: politics, religion and sex. Jean-Marc marvels at the older bottles, “Very few other wines can show this, the memory of the soil.” In spite of his company’s largess, he still finds inspiration in the products. He excuses himself before the chef serves dessert. He must attend the funeral of his friend, the father-figure that took him under wing when he first came to Chablis.

The next appointment takes us a few miles west, to the village of Saint-Bris-Le-Vineux. Upon our arrival at her cellars, Ghislaine Goisot provides us with an in-depth history of the appellation, which may be the oldest winemaking region in France. Romans planted vines here in the 2nd century A.D. Accounts from the 12th century praised the wines long before Bordeaux and the Côte d’Or achieved their fame. Unfortunately, 19th century Parisian thirst for vin ordinaire compelled growers to uproot the vines that built this area’s reputation, in favor of higher-yielding, lower-quality varieties.

Today, Ghislaine and her husband Jean-Hughes lead a resurgence of quality-minded vignerons in St.-Bris. Organic and biodynamic practices play a major role in their drive toward improvement. I remark that they have chosen a difficult path. Rot runs rampant in these cold, wet climes. She bites her lip, nods in agreement, and explains that Goisot may lose its certification from Demeter, an organization that monitors organic farming compliance. During two very wet winters, Goisot reluctantly sprayed copper in the vineyards. This heavy metal stays in the soil, and may have built up beyond the approved concentration (It does not carry over into the wines). She hopes that the European Union will come up with a less strict system that allows for flexibility according to each region’s specific growing conditions. In certain years, cooler regions may chaptalize, and warmer regions may acidify. The EU laws should allow St.-Bris to use natural anti-fungal treatment when conditions warrant. Until they can work within more reasonable guidelines, Goisot will likely drop the EU’s “Agricole Biologique” seal from their labels. Like countless other producers featured in our shop, Goisot will continue to produce organic, minimal-intervention wines independent of official certification.

In spite of political and climatic hurdles, Goisot’s dedication to excellence shines through in the wines. They make several from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, but they particularly pride themselves on their Sauvignon Blanc-based bottlings. Theirs is the only Burgundian village that permits this grape. She and her husband have just revived one of the region’s heritage varieties, an ancestor of Sauvingon Blanc known as Fié Gris. (Some refer to this grape as Pink, or Grey Sauvignon.) When kept from over-cropping, this grape produces delicate, complex, and balanced whites.

We spend the better part of the evening back in the Cote de Nuits, tasting over forty wines, from 2005 through 2008, at Domaine d’Ardhuy. Winemaker Carel Voorhuis charms us not only with his wines but his honest technical discussion. Carel de-stems almost all of his Pinot to obtain a rounder, more voluminous style. Although they may not last as long as wines made from whole clusters, he likes the intense fruit flavors and open textures, and extols the merits of mid-term drinking. He does not, he admits, want to wait twenty years for every red to reach maturity. He eschews enzymes and cold soaks, and uses almost no SO2. From village-level to grad cru, his wines display dense, dark cherry cores, vibrant acidity and silky tannins.

The day ends with veal blanquette and Epoisses ripened to perfect sweetness at Ma Cuisine, in Beaune. On a whim, Justin selects a 1966 Roger Chapelle Santenay from the list. (Michael’s uncle-in-law made this wine.) I roll my eyes in disapproval, declare that “this bottle will be way over the hill,” and prepare myself for disappointment. Much to our gang’s surprise, the wine shows amazing freshness. I eat crow, and Justin gains gloating rights for the next several days.