In his History of the Franks, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594) wrote one of my favorite opening sentences: “A great many things keep happening, some of them good, some of them bad.” Who can disagree? Gregory’s works are full of interesting morsels. Writing about the miracles of St. Julian, for example, he notes that a cask of wine that was left half empty was found “overflowing and forming a rivulet of wine across the floor. Although drawn from repeatedly, the cask remained full until the next day.” A good fellow to have around, that Julian.
Gregory seems to have taken a keen interest in wine. He was one of the first people to opine about the wines of Burgundy. which he compared to storied Roman Falernian in 591. What do you suppose that wine was like? Was it made from pinot noir? Possibly. The grape was present in the area at least from the first century AD. But pinot noir, while very ancient, is also a notoriously fussy grape, susceptible to chills, drought and whatever the fruity version of flu is.
Perhaps the wine Gregory praised was made from gamay, a natural crossing of pinot noir and other local varieties. We know and love gamay from Beaujolais. Once upon a time, though, it was planted throughout Burgundy. It is more forgiving and higher-yielding than pinot noir. But Duke Philip the Bold, head of the house of Valois, decreed in 1395 that the “vile and disloyal gamay” be uprooted and replaced with pinot noir. If only he could have stuck around for the advent of La Tâche, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and their immediate neighbors.
The name pinot noir comes from the French words for “pine” and “black,” so named because its tight, dark clusters form a shape that is reminiscent of pine cones. Today, most of the red wine in Burgundy must be made exclusively from pinot noir. One exception is an appellation called Passetoutgrain (sometimes spelled “Passe-tout-grain”), which is a blend of pinot noir (minimum 30 percent) and gamay (minimum 15 percent).
Some translate the name as “toss it all in.” But I prefer the Cole Porterish “anything goes,” not least because the wines (there are rosés as well as red) make a jaunty, almost jazzy impression. They do not achieve the depth and power of the great Burgundies. But they are bright, aromatic, luscious potations, full of red fruit, elegant spiciness and long silky finishes. They also cost a small fraction of the price of the more serious Burgundies.
Passetoutgrain is made by several producers. Among the best is Domaine Michel Lafarge, a stalwart in Volnay since the 19th century. The vineyard is now in the hands of Frédéric and Chantal Lafarge, who have brought the appellation to new heights with their careful deployment of traditional viticultural techniques (indigenous yeasts, aging in neutral oak barrels). Their 2022 “L’Exception Anthologie” is very much worth pausing for. A special cuvée harvested from the oldest vines on the property (90 years or more), it is a blend of 50 percent pinot noir and 50 percent gamay. As one commentator noted, “This is Burgundy heritage in a glass – a cuvée that transforms the humble Passetoutgrain into something profound. It offers the Lafarge family’s hallmark elegance, minerality and depth at remarkable value.”
A magnum can be yours for just under $100. A standard bottle of the 2022 Lafarge Passetoutgrain “L’Exception” is about $40.
Other excellent producers of Passetoutgrain include Domaine Robert Chevillon (founded in the 19th century by the delightfully named Symphorien Chevillon). They make some delightful prémier cru pinot noir and also some excellent passetoutgrain. The 2022 vintage, a blend of one-third pinot noir and two-thirds gamay, is about $50. Slightly more expensive is the 2023 Passetoutgrain from Domaine Marquis a’Angerville, another excellent producer. Its 2023 Passetoutgrain from Volnay, again about 50/50 pinot noir and gamay, is around $65.
Passetoutgrain is not (yet) well known in this country. I predict that it soon will be. You will have gotten a head start with these three excellent producers.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 22, 2025 World edition.
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