The Journal / Notes
From the heart of our cellars to the top of the charts: Lafite in song
Recipes
When Château Lafite Rothschild finds its way onto playlists across the globe.
Every edition of our Journal features a recipe — and to keep this tradition alive, we’ve slipped one into this story. Because sometimes, recipes are like songs. Some are written to endure; others are meant to surprise. And then there are those that are born from an unexpected riff, a spark from vine shoots, and a legendary vintage. Just like this burger, cooked at Château Lafite Rothschild. Part French terroir, part New York street vibes, this is a collaboration between a Bordeaux chef and a gourmet beatmaker. Here’s their composition.
From American rap superstars to indie pop via gritty Hungarian grunge, the name ‘Lafite’ turns up in lyrics as a symbol — of prestige, of escape, or of sheer indulgence.
One might think that Château Lafite Rothschild belongs only in hushed salons and among discerning connoisseurs who can identify a vintage by nose alone. And yet, its name travels far beyond our cellars. It’s found its way into hooks, verses, and beats — from New York to Mexico City, Berlin to Shanghai. Lafite weaves through genres like it ages in barrels: slowly, confidently, with flair.
Across continents, its role, tone and taste evolve. Because just as we don’t all drink the same Lafite, we certainly don’t all sing about it the same way.
From Lafite to the streets
If Lafite were to collaborate with a specific music genre, it would probably choose rap — the style that has captured its symbolism best. Jay-Z, Nas, Seth Gueko, Médine…all serve it up in their lyrics like an object of desire. (Rarely, it must be said, to go with cheese.)
But sometimes, the tone shifts. In ‘Bath Salts’, Queens legend Nas drops a line with the elegance of a sommelier in a tracksuit: ‘I ain’t a pastor, pass the Lafite.’
Pleasure over preaching.
French rap’s own punk poet, Seth Gueko, goes straight for the jugular. The wine’s no longer in a carafe — it’s coursing through his veins: ‘Régalez-vous les moustiques, mon sang c’est du Château Lafite.’ (‘Bon appétit, mosquitoes — my blood is Château Lafite.’)
Gueko isn’t the only one to mix blood and wine. Some narcocorridos — ballads from the Mexican drug world — have the same idea. Take the track ‘Koenigseeg’ as an example. Cheerful horns and sharp-edged guitars meet lyrics such as: ‘Soy de sangre colorada como ese vino Château Lafite.’ (My blood runs red like that Château Lafite wine.)
But the link between Lafite and rap goes deeper than the odd punchline. In an episode of the podcast Wine & Hip Hop, Saskia de Rothschild herself reflects on this unexpected dialogue between the Bronx and Bordeaux. She speaks of legacy, memory, and terroir — as if the Château, by showing up in lyrics, had found a new way to age: to the rhythm of the beat.
And then comes this improbable, almost surreal moment that seals the meeting of worlds: A cheeseburger served at Château Lafite Rothschild.
In the show Tasting Notes from the Streets, New York chef Jermaine Stone visits the estate for a high-energy pairing session — where street culture meets Bordeaux finesse.
But this time, it’s Château chef Jean-Michel who steps into the kitchen to reimagine the iconic burger in his own way.
Grilled over vine shoots, lamb steak, Ossau-Iraty sheep’s cheese…and in the glass, a 2011 Château Lafite Rothschild — a discreet vintage, but no late bloomer.* (*Recipe at the end of the article.)
‘The wine needs to stay alive,’ says Jean-Michel.
‘Pairing is about emotion, not just protocol.’
Jermaine sums up the day’s philosophy with a wide grin:
‘Softness in the wine, softness in the meat…it all works together. It’s comfy, it’s elevated. It’s hip-hop and heritage on the same plate.’
And that’s really what it’s all about: no culture clash — just an unexpected harmony.
A grand cru served with a burger, not for irony, not for provocation — simply for the pleasure of it.
After finding its way into international hip-hop and next to a reimagined cheeseburger, Lafite turns up elsewhere — in moods, silences, and lingering songs.
A different kind of pairing.
More elusive, more emotional.
Where wine no longer accompanies a dish, but a feeling.
Getting lost with Lafite
Far from the usual symbols of status or power, Lafite becomes the companion of long nights and lost souls.
In ‘Dark Vacay’ by Cigarettes After Sex, its mention is almost spectral: ‘Sipping Château Lafite Rothschild,’ murmurs the singer, his voice trailing off like smoke.
Here, Lafite is neither flashy nor formal.
It drifts through melancholy, bathed in blurred neon and late-night solitude.
The tone is languid, the pronunciation uncertain — as if the syllables themselves had surrendered to the slow haze of a mind under the influence.
In Berlin, the group BHZ raps: ‘Ist mir egal ob der Château Lafite kaltgestellt ist, denn / Oder vielleicht Korken hat.’
(I don’t care if the Château Lafite is chilled — or maybe corked.)
The wine is no longer precious. Even ruined, it’s met with indifference.
A mood pairing — disenchanted, but sincere.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. In ‘Goodbye Blue’, Lafite appears in a simple, almost mundane moment: pizza, a spontaneous dance, a song playing in the background.
There’s nothing ceremonial about it — it’s just there, no pretension, no fuss. One pleasure among others, within easy reach.
And then there’s Bob Seger — sipping Lafite on a moving train. A mechanic, cigar in mouth (a pairing Rieussec would surely approve of), letting the wine glide past the growl of the engine. No table, no decanter. The wine becomes a passenger: just a few stolen sips, laced with the rhythm of the rails.
Always Lafite, never the same
Lafite is always traveling. Its role and meaning is constantly evolving. From one country to another, one musical genre to the next, it becomes an object of desire, a memory, a caricature, or a background prop.
In German rap, it marks cold, elite detachment.
In Hungary, the band Junkies mixes it with Coca-Cola — a mocking gesture that reveals something telling: Lafite is famous enough to be made fun of.
In Turkey, Russia, Spain, and Portugal, it keeps reappearing. It’s sipped on yachts, raised in crystal glasses by wrists adorned with diamond-studded watches.
We could try to understand Château Lafite Rothschild’s relationship with culture, and why it turns up again and again in lyrics across the globe.
But a great wine, like a great song, defies explanation.
It’s heard. It’s tasted. And above all, it belongs to no one.
It leaves behind a trail of meanings, scattered across our imagination.
Note: Narcocorridos — not to be confused with poultry trafficking rings — are popular ballads that tell stories of drug trafficking and its protagonists.
The Burger Recipe
A cheeseburger à la Château Lafite Rothschild
A French twist on the classic burger — cooked over vine shoots and served with a first-growth wine.
By: Chef Jean-Michel (Château Lafite Rothschild)
Inspired by: Tasting Notes from the Streets with Jermaine Stone
Ingredients (for 2 burgers)
- 2 brioche buns (lightly sweetened)
- 2 milk-fed lamb patties (tender, pale meat from local lambs raised on milk only)
- Pyrenean sheep’s cheese (a soft, creamy alternative to cheddar)
- 2 tsp crème fraîche
- A handful of fresh lettuce
- 1 fresh tomato and a few pieces of sun-dried tomato
- 1 shallot or mild onion, finely sliced
- Salt and freshly ground pepper
- Dry vine shoots (for grilling — optional, but authentic)
Method
- Start the fire
Light a fire using vine shoots (or heat a plancha or skillet) to give the meat that signature vineyard aroma. - Grill the patties
Cook the lamb patties directly over the flames or in a hot pan. Keep them juicy and tender, with a slightly pink center. - Melt the cheese
Towards the end of cooking, place slices of sheep’s cheese on the patties. It should melt gently, adding creaminess and just the right hint of salt — without overpowering the meat. - Toast the buns
Lightly toast the brioche buns for a few seconds until warm and soft. - Assemble the burger
From bottom to top: bun, crème fraîche, fresh and sun-dried tomatoes, lamb patty with melted cheese, finely sliced shallot, bun. No extra toppings. The flavour comes from the fire — and from the ingredients themselves.
