
DATE: Sunday, August 24, 1997               TAG: 9708210050

SECTION: FLAVOR                  PAGE: F1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY JIM RAPER, CORRESPONDENT

                                            LENGTH:  138 lines

WINE FOR THE PEOPLE A FRENCH WINERY HAS SCORED AN INTERNATIONAL HIT WITH ITS UNPRETENTIOUS, $6-A-BOTTLE ``LE JAJA DE JAU,'' WHICH SOON WILL BE AVAILABLE IN FOUR STYLES.

I FIRST TASTED le jaja rouge a few years ago at Elizabeth's Cafe in the oceanside village of Duck, N.C. A group of us had tippled through a patrician collection of Champagnes, Californian and Italian chardonnays, and ageworthy Bordeaux when the cafe owner, Leonard Logan, came to the table with a fresh bottle.

Written in simple white script on the black label were these five words: le jaja de jau, Ben.

``Have you ever tasted this?'' Logan wanted to know.

``Never even seen it before.''

``Didn't think so, because I just got it in. It's all the rage in Paris.''

As I remember, the wine was well received at our table. To tell the truth I was surprised a bit by its quality, because to say that a wine is ``the rage'' in Paris is not an absolute endorsement.

For people who are willing to spend $300 for shoes and $35 for Johnny Hallyday CDs, Parisians are remarkably stingy when it comes to shelling out for wine.

The average Jacques seems happy enough to tote his wine home from the market in a plastic jug. He puts about as much ceremony - and money - into wine drinking as the American who opens the refrigerator and taps the spigot of his bladder-in-a-box for a glassful of ``pink chablis.''

When this Jacques finds himself athirst in a cafe or bar, he will not be persnickety about the shape of the serving glass or the pedigree of the wine. He'll just want the glass filled to the brim, usually with something red. One way to place this sort of order is to yell, ``le jaja!'' (Pronounced something like the name of the pugilistic Gabor sister.)

Those Parisians who could pass for yuppies in the U.S. have somewhat higher standards when it comes to wine drinking. They want their wine in a bottle, and with a label on it. They're willing to spend $5 or $6 for this bottle, if the wine tastes good enough. And last, but not least, they desire cachet.

Any wine that costs more than $25 in France will have cachet, sometimes traceable back to a favorable comment from one King Louis or another. (``This Chambertin is fit for a king!'')

But for a $5 bottle to acquire cachet requires clever marketing, or luck, or a combination of the two, because there are so many inexpensive, good-enough wines in France. A journalist might write during the rise in popularity of bistros that a Chinon or Saumur rouge from the Loire mates particularly well with bistro fare. Overnight these wines acquire cachet. Or an advertisement might promote the Cotes de Blaye as being virtually next door to Margaux, and the $5 Blaye rouges suddenly become ``the rage.''

Consider, then, the problem - or opportunity - faced by the Daure family, the owners of Chateau de Jau in the Roussillon region of southern France. The Daures make a dozen or so wines that qualify for the top category of French wines known as ``appellation controlee'' status, but they found themselves a few years back with the opportunity to exploit a humbler category of wines, the vins de pays d'Oc.

The family could produce these wines in great volume and sell them for low prices in domestic and foreign markets.

Just 15 years ago the vins de pays - country wines of France - were not usually of export quality and much too humble to acquire cachet in Paris. But changes in regulations and new practices by producers brought on a wave of better country wines, particularly those from the Languedoc-Roussillon region.

High quality and widely known grapes such as cabernet sauvignon, merlot, syrah and chardonnay began to replace lesser varieties in the vins de pays d'Oc wines, and late in the 1980s millions of bottles labeled as d'Oc began to flood world markets.

The Daures wanted to produce d'Oc rouges, roses and blancs, and they were confident theirs would be of high quality. But how could they get the attention of the marketplace when there were already hundreds of d'Oc labels on the store shelves?

This was the topic of discussion at a family Christmas dinner. The reserved and gentlemanly Bernard Daure was at the head of the table, typically contemplative. The more flamboyant matriarch, Sabine, and the couple's three grown children were brainstorming label names and marketing schemes.

Said daughter Estelle, now the manager of Chateau de Jau: ``We had this general feeling that wine was getting too precious. My God, they have galas in Paris to introduce wines in which top designers have designed dresses to wear with each wine, poets have written poems for each wine, maestros have composed songs for each wine, painters have painted paintings.

``It's too much. Wine is not a religion. Wine is for drinking.

``So my brother says, `Why not call it jaja?'

``My father says, `Never!'

``But jaja it was to be. We decided that the label should be simple. Someone suggested the writing be in the hand of a child. This reminded my mother of an artist she knows. He signs his work ``Ben.'' So Ben did the label and there you have it.

``People say today, `Of course, jaja is a success, but only after a long and expensive marketing study to make the name and the label.' But we tell them this is not true. It was not a long and expensive marketing study. It was a Christmas dinner.''

Perhaps it is the tangible egalitarianism of the French that causes a young Parisian professional to delight in drinking a bottle of le jaja from Chateau de Jau. By doing so, he or she throws a figurative arm over the shoulders of the bar-hugging laborer who calls for his ``le jaja'' at 8 in the morning.

Nevertheless, most of le jaja de jau is exported to countries such as the United States, Germany and England where consumers aren't familiar with Parisian slang.

These consumers might be influenced by the odd-looking label, which makes the bottles stand out on the shelves, but more likely it has been the consistent quality of the Daures' wines that has made them successful.

Beginning this year le jaja de jau comes in four styles, all vintage-dated with different background colors for the labels. All cost about $4 in France and about $6 in the United States.

Black label - a red wine made from syrah and grenache noir grapes. Expect abundant fresh berry fruit together with spice and licorice.

Blue label - a red wine made from cabernet sauvignon and merlot. Expect a wine that is somewhat thinner than the black label red, but offering the fine tartness of cabernet.

Deep red label - a rose wine made from syrah and grenache noir. Expect unabashed fruitiness and at least an impression of sweetness in the mouth, although this is not sweet like the blush wines of the United States.

Green label - a white wine made from grenache blanc and vermentino. The latter grape is also known as rolle and is often used as a blending grape in the white wines of Provence. There is nothing dainty about this white; it has a rustic strength that prevents it from withering when confronted with olive oil and garlic. (The blanc previously has had a red label.) MEMO: The jaja de jau wines have been available in Hampton Roads for

several years. Wines currently on the shelves may not have the same

label colors as noted in this article since they were labeled in

previous years. However, this year's bottling should be available in a

month or so. ILLUSTRATION: COLOR PHOTO COURTESY OF CHATEAU DE JAU

The idea of marketing le jaja de jau...

Color photo

This year's styles will include...

PHOTOS COURTESY OF CHATEAU DE JAU

Chateau de Jau in the Roussillon region of southern France is known

for its top-quality wines, but it also produces le jaja.

``We had this general feeling that wine was getting too precious,''

says manager Estelle Daure.