Rarely have I been so glad to hear an Aussie accent.

There I was on day 2 of last month’s Grand Jours de Bourgogne 2026, feeling a little bogged down.

It wasn’t meant to be this way. I’d spent the morning at the Most exalted end of the Burgundian pyramid, knee deep in the fineries of Clos de Vogueot and Vosne fancy wine. I’d climbed to the highest peak of Pinot Noir on this planet. And to follow, I had the supreme promise of two big tastings devoted to the broader Côte de Nuits, featuring wines from famed French appellations like Gevrey-Chambertin, Bonnes Mares, Morey-Saint-Denis. It was going to be great!

Yet as soon as I wandered into the expansive Gevrey-Chambertin tasting hall, it immediately seemed like harder work.

What had happened? Was it the wines, or was it me? Maybe the frustration of the Taupenot-Merme pourer who desperately didn’t want to be there. Or the Russians who tried to steal my hard-won lunch spot? Why was I not feeling these wines?

And then I ran into Mark Haism.