A Champagne Fit for Engagement
Champagne Stanisla Bonafe 07 Grand Cru 2012
Irish playwright Oscar Wilde is believed to have once remarked that “only the unimaginative can fail to find a reason for drinking Champagne.” Now, I would not consider myself unimaginative per se, but until very recently I had found it difficult to justify Champagne’s premium as the default centrepiece of celebration when my local wine region of Niagara offers such a dazzling array of high-quality traditional-method sparkling wines at considerably more democratic prices.
But having recently gotten engaged (I would avoid consulting Wilde too closely on that institution), it felt obligatory to venture into the deeper trenches of the vaunted cool-climate region of northern France, and splurge on something more regal than our reliable Cave Spring Blanc de Blancs — a bottle which, at 30% the price of Louis Roederer, delivers something like 80% of the experience. In most circumstances, this kind of math is persuasive. But if there was ever a need to spend the big bucks on Champagne, this was it.
Under such pretenses, I went searching for something more interesting than the generic offerings of the major Champagne houses and eventually settled on La Maison Stanislas Bonafé, a boutique, terroir-focused producer founded by the former French equestrian whose name appears on the label. Bonafé apprenticed at several Champagne houses before establishing his own maison in 2010, and the bottle I ended up with was his 07 Grand Cru Cuvée, from the 2012 vintage. A blend drawn from seven Grand Cru villages and one that more than lives up to the designation.
At fourteen years old, the wine arrives with considerable maturity, immediately apparent in the glass. The colour is pale to medium gold. The rear label indicates a 2012 harvest and a 2023 disgorgement, meaning the wine spent more than 11 years aging on its lees — ample time to develop a personality analogous to John Candy; it is generous and unmistakably eager to please.
On the nose, it bursts with pronounced aromatic intensity, exuding the classic autolytic and malolactic markers of serious bubbly. A gentle swirl evokes freshly buttered brioche toast. But where this bottle distinguishes itself from many of the Champagnes I have tried is in the more complex, mature register beneath the bread. Candied orange peel, beeswax, honey, dried fig, and hazelnut, all integrated gracefully into the wine’s broader profile.
On the palate, the Stanislas Bonafé is a palpable indulgence, with a creamy, persistent mousse and an opulent range of flavours: lemon, baked apple, peach, apricot, candied citrus peel, honey, dried fig, toast, brioche, and hazelnut. The texture is rich and rounded, but generous acidity keeps the wine lifted and elegant.
This is unmistakably outstanding Champagne, and not an experience easily replicated by the traditional-method sparkling wines from other regions I have explored. I remain a fervent advocate for Ontario sparkling wine, but this was a welcome confirmation that Champagne’s reputation rests on more than mere marketing and brand recognition.
It is drinking beautifully now and paired perfectly with my decadent assortment of Miss Vickie’s potato chips and creamy mac and cheese. On Champagne, Wilde may have been right after all…