The best arises in unexpected places. Even a homemade distillation of the marc or grape pomace in Greece was a pale shadow of the Marc de Champagne, writes wine columnist RICHARD CALVER.

One of the best ways to finish a meal that I’ve experienced was in Rheims, France in the 1980s where, despite dining solo, I had the degustation menu.

The waiter recommended I finish with a glass of aged Moet & Chandon Marc de Champagne. 

It is similar to brandy but clear as water. The Marc de Champagne is in fact the distillation of the grapes already pressed to make champagne.

The grapes are de-stemmed, left to ferment and then distilled. The Moet & Chandon is matured in oak casks for several years. My strong recollection is that it tasted smooth and mouth filling, clean yet powerful. It was the perfect end to a meal.

Plus, this is a good way to use the remnants of wine making. It takes about 1.2 kilograms of grapes to produce a standard 750ml bottle of wine and after the grapes are processed, about 20 per cent of that weight remains in the form of grape skins, seeds and stems known as pomace.

On my recent trip to Greece, I came across a product that is also the result of distilling the marc or grape pomace. At an olive oil retailer in central Athens, where we tasted three different types of extra virgin olive oil, we were offered a small glass of tsipouro from Macedonia as a way to clean our palates at the end of the tasting session.

This is an un-aged brandy and is around 40 alcohol by volume, the same ABV as Marc de Champagne but often distilled twice. It was slightly bitter and fiery. The proprietor of the shop told us that it was usually made without additions, but sometimes aromatic plants are added or anise that gives it a similar flavour to ouzo. 

The next time we came across a brandy made from pomade was in Rethymno, Crete. At the end of a meal in a harbourside restaurant, we were offered, free, a small piece of strawberry cheesecake and a glass of what was referred to as raki.

Even though the locals called it raki, Turkey has trademarked that name and the official title is tsikoudia, which is once-distilled pomace compared with the usually twice-distilled tsipouro.

Again this distillation was 40 per cent ABV and it was a good way of cleaning the palate after the sticky cheesecake, although it was wobble making when departure from the restaurant was required. 

Part of the tour was a farm visit. We wended our way up narrow Cretan roads, thanking the heavens for the skill of the bus driver, and we visited a working farm where the farmer showed me and two others on the tour how to milk a goat.

With the newly made cheese from the goat I’d helped milk and rusk-like dried bread, the farmer’s mother produced a jug of dark orange-coloured liquid that she poured into small glasses. This was not orangeade. It was the farm-produced tsikoudia (which they and the translator called raki) infused with a plant that we were told was similar to the geranium but gave a sweet lingering flavour to the liquor and settled down the fire in the brandy and gave it a pleasant albeit slightly medicinal flavour.

It was the best of the drinks made from pomace that I tried on the tour. The best arises in unexpected places. But even this homemade effort was a pale shadow of the Marc de Champagne.