The day started with a train ride from Paris and then to Pupillon and Chez Overnoy, directly outside to his garden, to where he has his own little nursery with baby ploussard, savignin and chardonnay. While late June, the yard had this tender spring green about it. The hour was 11 o'clock. Out came the glasses. A mystery wine was poured. We stood in the breeze, just where Pierre likes to taste, per instructions of his old mentor M. Jules Chauvet. No one had any intention of spitting. "Guess how old it is?" he asked. Jean Paul Rocher & Pierre Overnoy This was a tough one. I usually fail miserably at the games, though I love them. Keeps you sharp. Forces you to think. It was savignin. Got that. It's salty. It's got age. But how much age? It's saline heaven and full of freshness with the sweet sucked out of the caramel. It's long. It whistles. And then more salt. Pass the Maldon. I say 1999. Why? I have no idea why. I have no context for guessing the age of an oxidized wine with its sherried taste. I just don't have enough practice. Pierre gives us a hint...