The Caillards live in the manor’s adjoining house, and their meals are those that you see in French countryside cookbooks, arranged just so, and fulfilling. It’s with great anticipation that Xavier goes to his cellar – you don’t follow – and comes back with an unlabeled bottle of wine. He brought the 2001 this time, and I was as so ready to try it, fresh and direct here. I first tried this wine at the first iteration of my friend Edouard’s Entrée des Artistes in Paris. I was with Madlib and DOOM that day, and the night wore long, and was a waterfall of emotions. I recently reminded Edouard that I was crying quite a bit that night, and he remarked that I would have been, so heady was the experience. I took a photo of the bottle then, as I knew I had to feel more, and now, here at Xavier’s home, trying it again, is a revelation, and a slowly revealed one. Everything done around Xavier Caillard is deliberate, and he pours the wine in measured doses, with just a bit for his children to try. Everyone loves Xavier’s wine, as his questing expresses itself perfectly in the glass, an uplifting journey, the joy of its height made greater because of what took to get there. Xavier goes to his refrigerator and returns with a half-full bottle of red wine that has been opened for nearly four months. It’s finally ready to drink, Xavier says, and, somehow, he’s right. Four months exposed to that much air and this wine – half cabernet franc, half gamay - is finally showing itself. This is the patience that Xavier Caillard demands. A 2004 experimental blend, a sweeter version of his Genese Blanc, comes out alongside plate of cheeses. The space has gotten dark now. It’s close to midnight and the children aren’t yet sleepy. There are no lights outside and the stars are everywhere overhead.