Jaime Araujo’s surname is a familiar one to Napa collectors. Her parents Daphne and Bart purchased the famed Eisele Vineyard in Calistoga in 1990 and established their eponymous winery on the site shortly after. Jaime was enrolled in university at the time and wouldn’t join her parents in Napa for many years, instead spending over two decades studying and working in Europe, including a stint at Moët Hennessey. She arrived in Napa in 2012 to work alongside her parents as a business consultant, but the job was short-lived, when the winery and Eisele Vineyard was sold to Artémis Domaines (the parent company of Ch. Latour) in 2013.   While her parents went on to establish Accendo Cellars, with Jaime and her brother as partners, the itch to build a business of her own only grew stronger. “I always wanted to run a business as a force for good,” she recalls. She got her chance during the first vintage at Accendo in 2013, when she turned a Cabernet Sauvignon lot that didn’t quite fit in with any of the Accendo cuveés into her first 300 cases of Trois Noix wine. (The name – French for “three nuts” – is a cheeky reference to her two children, as well as her brother’s daughter, all quite young at the time.)   Despite her family’s legacy, and perhaps the temptation to enter the market at the top end, as many newcomers do, Jaime was intent to create wines that were approachable and embodied sustainability ideals. This included a pricing strategy that skewed heavily towards affordable options, ranging from $30-50 per bottle and the most expensive Cabernet Sauvignon topping out at $150. “I’m not in this to make billions,” she laughs. “It’s so important that Napa is accessible to as many people as possible. You have to be welcoming and make wines that appeal to everyone.”    Even before Jaime was developing her brand, Steve Matthiasson had been quietly establishing a reputation as one of Napa’s most respected organic winegrowing experts. After studying horticulture as a graduate student at the University of California Davis, he launched his wine career in 1995 as a viticultural consultant, going on to settle in Napa with his wife Jill Klein Matthiasson in 2002 and building an impressive client roster. Since 2007, Steve has worked closely with the Araujo family, first for Eisele vineyard – where he continues to consult – as well as at Accendo. Other current and past clients include Dalla Valle, Spottswoode and Chappellet.   The process of becoming a winemaker in addition to viticulturalist, however, has been a slow and steady process. Matthiasson says he learned about wine almost by osmosis over the years, sitting in on client tastings and by keen observation. In 2003, Steve and Jill produced just 120 cases under their name, but by 2017, they reached a major milestone with the purchase of a small winemaking facility and neighbouring vineyard in the Oak Knoll AVA – a massive accomplishment for two outsiders with little initial capital. Last year, their production reached 12,000 cases, stretched across 25 unique cuveés. Today, Steve farms most of the vineyards he makes wine from, including a small vineyard at his home, where he has planted rows of northern Italian varieties, including Refosco, Ribolla Gialla and Schioppettino.   Inside the compact Matthiasson winery, cosy by Napa standards, foudres line the walls and nearly every inch is occupied with equipment, case goods and barrels. In the corner, a stack of large glass jars filled with liquids of varying colours sits – the aromatics steeping in alcohol for vermouth, Steve explains, which he and his wife make along with olive oil and jam, as accompaniments to the unique lineup of wines Matthiasson produces, ranging from single-vineyard Cabernets to more esoteric fruit and wine co-ferments. While many collectors still may not have heard of Matthiasson, Steve says he is proud to be sought after by sommeliers and others in the wine trade: “We like to say we’re the musicians’ musician.”   Both Jaime and Steve believe strongly that their businesses must be both environmentally and socially responsible. “It’s so important to stand up for what you believe in,” Jaime emphasises. Today, Trois Noix boasts a range of sustainability initiatives, including B Corp status, a high-level sustainability certification which only two other wineries in Napa currently possess. Though not specific to wine or agriculture, B Corp certification is awarded after a rigorous assessment to prove a dedication to positive community impact alongside profit.   In the same vein, all of the vineyards Steve farms for Matthiasson are organic, which is the certification that is the most meaningful to him – and represents a full circle of sorts from his early days studying agriculture, when winemaking was not yet on the horizon. “Organic farming has become not just accepted but embraced since I’ve been here,” Steve says, saying that it’s becoming the norm rather than the exception, especially so for the most well-known cult Napa wineries. “And it’s not just for PR,” he adds, saying many don’t broadcast their farming practices. “They truly believe it makes better wine.” Steve believes the standard of farming has improved dramatically since he arrived in Napa and so has the quality of the resulting fruit. “As the years have gone by, our ability to do the right thing has increased,” he says.  The resulting wines that both Trois Noix and Matthiasson produce are crafted in a fresh style, with an emphasis on primary fruit and terroir-specific cuvées, as opposed to dominant oak or heavy extraction that have been the trend for fine wine in Napa. Araujo says she is trying to craft wines that are reminiscent of Napa 50 years ago, by using a light hand. “We started getting bigger and bolder in Napa, and that’s fine, but we can do this, too, and do it well.” Araujo describes her goal each vintage as crafting wines in a “sweet spot”, built to enjoy immediately but also with the structure and acidity to age for several years at a minimum.    At Matthiasson, pick dates are watched closely, and occur on the early side for Napa, so that alcohols remain low and acidity is naturally brisk. Other than a small amount of sulphur, no other additions are made. “We utilise traditional winemaking methods,” Steve says – quick to note, though, with a laugh, that there is a difference between “natural and natty”, explaining that his goal is to make fresh, clean wines from the healthiest fruit possible. Unlike other Napa wineries that employ optical sorters and tables lined with harvest workers examining every berry, Mathiasson does not sort the fruit prior to fermentation, trusting instead in the farming and meticulous picking over multiple passes.   “We’ve always been an agricultural community, and no one wanted to talk about that for a long time,” Jaime tells me. She believes the future of Napa will be a focus on not just high quality but also history, community and a reputation for doing the right thing. These will not be talking points for her brand only, however, as last year she was elected Board Chair of the Napa Valley Vintners. A nonprofit trade association founded in 1944, NVV acts as a voice for the wine business in Napa Valley, promoting, supporting and advocating for its over 500 members. “I’m a bridge between old and new because of my family and my experience,” Jaime says, explaining that she hopes to bring a fresh perspective on the future of Napa, one that emphasises a range of styles and price points, but most of all, is able to welcome a wider range of people than ever before, by showing the varied people and places of the region. Matthiasson voices a similar ethos. “The wine business has so much artifice, but we want to let people in.”  Matthiasson and Trois Noix collaborated on a special lot for Premiere Napa Valley last year – a lot that we purchased and will soon be releasing. Please contact your Account Manager to register interest. 

In a region where wine is often a byword for luxury, two producers are dedicated to reminding drinkers of Napa’s humble roots. Rachael Ryan – Senior Buyer for our US arm, Vinfolio – talks to Jaime Araujo and Steve Matthiasson about their philosophy, farming and approach to making wine 

Two Napa wine producers are championing economic, environmental and social sustainability: we talk to Trois Noix’s Jaime Araujo and Steve Matthiasson 

Farming for the future: Trois Noix and Matthiasson 

The grey horse stretches its neck out towards me, curling its lip towards my outreached palm, before nuzzling my pocket, in search perhaps of a potential snack. Its head is the size of my torso, its hooves the size of my head, with the entire beautiful beast weighing circa one ton, I’m told. You can sense the power of its immense muscled mass. Nearby, Adelaide Bonnefond, a petite 20-something is calling to the rest of her troupe of friendly giants. Balthazar – the aforementioned grey – is “a real lazybones”, Baudoin can be a bit fast and over-eager, while Olive is a horse of remarkable patience. “Each one has its own character,” Bonnefond says.  We’re in a field a stone’s throw from Ch. Pontet-Canet, where the property’s 10 horses spend their weekends and holidays. This Pauillac Fifth Growth is one of a handful of estates around the region, and indeed the world, that has returned to using horses in the vineyard – in lieu of modern machinery. Unusually, they have brought this operation in house – with their own stables and a five-strong team dedicated to grooming, handling and working the horses, led by Bonnefond.  “I have no idea,” says Mathieu Bessonet – the property’s Technical Director – when I ask how much it adds to their bills. “It’s not important for us… it’s a philosophy.” Herbicides were banned long ago at the estate, and they’ve been farming organically since 2004, certified organic and biodynamic from 2010 (the first Classed Growth to achieve the latter), with horses first introduced in 2008. They’re just one form of livestock you’ll find on the property. When I arrive, a drift of pigs is penned on the front lawn, tasked with munching on the invasive weed, common couch or quackgrass – but there are cattle and donkeys too. Collectively, they consume 60 tons of hay, three tons of barley and 600 kilos of lucerne (organic, of course) – much of which will end up back between the vines.  “A lot of money goes into taking good care of this place – what is in fact our tool for production,” says Bessonet. “The property is over 300 years old, so we’re just passing through. If I spend 20 years here, it’s a long time – but it’s only 3% of the history of Pontet-Canet. We have to take care of this place to be able to pass it on.” And working with horses is just one way in which they aim to do this, reducing soil compaction, allowing water, air and microbes to move through the soil. They can be more precise with their work and – most importantly – break fewer vines. A stunning number of vines are knocked out of place by tractors, something that is considered a natural consequence of modern farming – but not one that this estate is willing to accept.  “Wine, it’s made by the roots of the vines,” says Bessonet. As vines age, their roots creep further down into the soil and Pontet-Canet has some of the oldest vineyards in the Médoc, averaging 55 years in age. And it is the age of their vines, Bessonet feels, that “allows us to express the terroir”, as well as tempering climatic extremes (a growing concern with climate change). While it wasn’t a key reason for the shift back in 2008, using horses also allows them to reduce their carbon footprint – both by using fewer fossil fuels and increasing the carbon-holding capacity of their vineyards, something that is at the forefront of producers’ minds today.  The switch from tractor to horse has changed the way they farm more than can be measured in analytical results, however. “They are not little machines; working the vines with horses, we really become one with the vines,” says Bonnefond. The way you interact with an animal versus a machine is totally different, and she feels that as a result they are much more reactive, more aware of their work and able to stop at any moment. And, as Bessonet notes, even those that have worked at the property for 10 or 15 years can’t help but smile when the horses pass by. As any good manager knows, a happy team will pay endless dividends.  Back in 2008, they started with just two horses, but that number has grown to 10 today. They have a combination of breeds – Percheron and Comtois largely today, although they’ve had Bretons in the past. Percherons are larger, and they’ve been moving more towards Comtois, favouring the slightly smaller and even more gentle breed that hails from the Jura. All are draft horses, historically used in war and agriculture – weighing around double that of the daintier breeds you might see eventing or show-jumping.  Bessonet’s grandmother was, he tells me, almost insulted when he told her they were using horses – seeing it as a step backwards; but, as he and Bonnefond explain, the work is totally different to that of generations past. They might not be powered by electricity, but modern technology and know-how is being used to refine the way they work and the implements they use. Over the years, they’ve developed lots of tools themselves, and worked with a local business to craft others – a slow process that can only be tackled by those with a truly long-term vision.  They buy horses when they’re around three or four years old, so they’ve been broken in and have started their training but can be finished and finessed in-house (“They know the commands, but they’re still young so don’t necessarily listen,” explains Bessonet. “They’re teenagers!”). They’re unsurprisingly picky about the breeders they work with, and ensuring that the training received in their formative years is up to scratch. By the time the process is finished, the moment the plough touches the trunk of a vine, a horse will know to stop instantly, not even needing a human command, avoiding any significant damage. They have a mini faux vineyard with a handful of short rows lined with posts (but no vines) on the estate, a sort of school where they can train younger horses and use at the start of the season, spending half a day so the animals can get back to the pace of work.  Monday to Friday, the horses are at work, stabled next to the winery (with stalls crafted from old barrels). Each horse will work for half a day (sometimes longer if the tools they’re pulling are sufficiently light), before being walked back to the stables to allow for active recovery – evacuating lactic acid in their legs, something that is essential to maintain their health. With the time to groom, harness and unharness, wash down, muck out and feed the horses, each will work around three hours or so a day. Bonnefond’s team will take one horse out in the morning, before going back out with a different one in the afternoon. Alongside their work, the horses are lunged (moved in a circle around a handler, on a long lead rein) – working both on commands and their flexibility. “To change their minds too, seeing something other than the vines” explains Bonnefond.  There are around 10 passes per row a year, four or five to work the soils and around five others – spraying to protect pruning wounds (to prevent grapevine trunk diseases), making holes for planting new vines, spraying horsetail to control mildew pressure, as well as the 500 and 501 preparations (biodynamic sprays). Today, around half of the property’s 81 hectares is worked by horse – and the team is always working to do more, but Bessonet is unsure if 100% is a realistic goal. Copper sulphate – the main spray used in organic and biodynamic viticulture – is spread by tractor, not being something they’d want to expose the horses to (nor put gas masks on them, as was done during the Second World War).   The work is, inevitably, seasonal – and they’re turned out to pasture at weekends and during quiet periods, with lunging to keep them sharp. As soon as véraison takes place (the grapes changing in colour from green to red), “It’s holiday time for the horses,” says Bonnefond, laughing. At that point the grapes become too fragile and could be knocked by the horses, breaking the skins and damaging the fruit.   All being well, the horses work until they’re 18 or 20 years in age, and then Pontet-Canet finds them a home to live out their old age. Retirement can, in fact, be the hardest stage for these work-horses, explains Bonnefond. “They’re used to seeing everyone every day,” she says. One horse, Turbo, kept waiting at the gates, ready to go to work, for well over a month after he’d left the estate, struggling to adapt to his new, restful way of life.  Bonnefond had never worked in agriculture before arriving at Pontet-Canet, having been at an equestrian centre, and her team has similarly varied backgrounds (one used to train trotters and one worked with circus horses, for example). They’ve each got their favourites in Pontet-Canet’s herd, she confesses (hers is a handsome bay who is especially energetic), but they all work with each of the horses, to keep it interesting for the animals, and so that no horse gets too used to any particular handler.  It's certainly not light work – for Bonnefond and her team at least. Days are long and the work is physically demanding, but seeing Bonnefond in the field with the horses, her dainty frame at odds with the gigantic draft horses surrounding her, it’s clear that she loves it. Having a team like this in-house is something few estates can afford, but it’s reflective – as Bessonet says – of the philosophy at Pontet-Canet. Their special band of gravel terrace in the Médoc, shared with the likes of Mouton Rothschild, Lafite Rothschild and Cos d’Estournel – properties that represent the pinnacle of Cabernet Sauvignon around the world, deserves to be protected and preserved in every way possible.  Explore all current listings of Pontet-Canet or read more about Bordeaux  

Behind the winery at Ch. Pontet-Canet, you’ll find a row of stables. In the first of our series taking you behind the scenes in Bordeaux, we dive into how the beautiful draft horses that live here are key to the philosophy at the leading Pauillac estate

Horses are key to the philosophy at leading Bordeaux wine estate Pontet-Canet: we caught up with the team in Pauillac to find out more

Taking the reins at Ch. Pontet-Canet

Over two trips to the region, our team delved into the 2022 vintage – visiting, tasting with and talking to a range of producers up and down the Côte d’Or. Here we break down the year by producer, from north to south, with a summary of how each fared and our favourite wines from the tasting table

A run-down of the Burgundy 2022 vintage wines en primeur by producer: from Fourrier to Lamy via Bernstein, Lamarche, Lambrays, Duroche and Hudelot-Noellat

Burgundy 2022 – the vintage by producer

Burgundy 2022: by producer

“People seem to like it,” says Callie Louw in his thick Afrikaans accent. The winemaker behind Porseleinberg shrugs, casual about his wine’s success. Since its first vintage in 2010, this Swartland Syrah has rapidly become one of South Africa’s best and most sought-after, much to his bemusement, it seems.  The 173-hectare estate is rugged and wild, sitting atop the Porcelain Mountain (Porseleinberg in Afrikaans) in the Swartland. The first vines had been planted here in 1997, with wines previously marketed under the Schonenberg label. Louw first came across the site while at Rustenberg, who sourced fruit from there – the bunches and individual berries were so tiny that Louw thought at first that the owners weren’t giving them the best fruit (although he may not have put it so politely). But those miniscule bunches were all these rocky schist soils, with almost no topsoil, could muster. However small the yields, the quality and concentration was enough to convince Marc Kent (Managing Partner and Technical Director at Boekenhoutskloof) to buy the farm in 2009 – and he approached Louw, who was then working at Tulbagh Mountain Vineyards (now Fable Mountain Vineyards), to develop the property.  The team instantly set about a massive planting program and there are around 90 hectares under vine today. Most of the fruit was destined for Boekenhoutskloof’s flagship wine, The Chocolate Block, but with 4.5 hectares of older plots and a ramshackle shed-cum-winery, Louw – with Kent’s blessing – decided to do something different, and Porseleinberg was born.  “It’s a really special site,” Louw says, explaining how the vines sit on almost pure bedrock with just a skin of topsoil over the blue schist. “We’re effectively farming little bonsais here.” It tells you just how challenging this site is that only half the vines they planted in 2009 survived; but the results are clearly worth the effort. And they weren’t the first to recognise the site’s potential – as well as Rustenberg (where Adi Badenhorst was then winemaker), Eben Sadie had sourced fruit from the property for Columella in 2000 and 2001. While the wine came originally from just 4.5 hectares, today there are 14 dedicated to Porseleinberg, with the first of the younger vines coming on stream from 2013. When Louw arrived in 2009, the vines were dry-farmed – and he managed to get 3.5 tons/hectare of fruit in 2010. But the yield was a tiny two tons the following year; it was clear that dry-farming just wasn’t an option for this site, the soils too poor to hold onto the water – if the skies even gave any. “Schist is actually spelt wrong, it’s supposed to be s**t,” Louw says, laughing. Despite the need to irrigate, he’s well aware of the costs involved – particularly given any water they use needs to be pumped seven kilometres and up the mountain. During the drought between 2016 and 2018, the river they use for irrigation dried up, Louw’s house water ran out in May – and police were patrolling water sources. There’s no avoiding how precious a resource water is here.  The site had been farmed organically and Louw continued this, however in 2016, when they looked to plant another 45 hectares, he wanted to make sure that he gave these new plantings the best chance – and be able to farm organically in the long term. As of 2023, the property is once more certified organic, having been able to return to the process in 2020. And it is firmly in the vineyard that Louw focuses, feeling not just that quality comes from the vine – but from the soil, as he gradually looks to build the level of organic matter. “The only thing that I can do better is farm better,” he says.  The winemaking is relatively simple and hands-off (as Louw says, “I’m quite proudly lazy in the winery.”) – but has evolved over the years. Louw uses 100% whole-bunch, although the fruit is crushed lightly (previously by foot, now by being run through a pump) to avoid carbonic fermentation and its more confected aromas. The fermentations are all native, with alcohols generally sitting between 13.5 and 14%. Maturation is in a combination of foudre and concrete, and varied more over the first four vintages as Louw figured out what worked (with the 2010 and 2011 vintages aged in concrete only). While some of the early vintages spent up to two years in concrete and oak, he has reduced this to 12 months (from 2014), favouring more time in bottle prior to release instead.   Although the wines are decidedly fresh and balanced, the pHs are naturally high – between 3.7 and 4.1, with most vintages sitting at the higher end of that spectrum. Given the risks of bacterial spoilage that this brings, SO2 levels are relatively high (around 100ppm total) – something Louw feels is essential for wines that are absolutely built to age. And that’s something that has long set Porseleinberg apart.   “I’m still wearing the pants I bought in 2004 – I know nothing about style,” Louw jokes. There’s no shortage of brilliant new-wave South African wine, however most are built to be open and approachable in their youth – not necessarily glou-glou, but leaning into the lighter style of reds that has become fashionable. Porseleinberg was, at least at first, decidedly not. The earlier vintages are stern and serious, and need(ed) significant time to resolve and soften – it’s that style (whether Louw would describe it as such or not) that has earned the wine the moniker “Cape Cornas”, a style that is both thanks to the natural intensity of the low-yielding site and Louw’s love of old wine.  But the 2018 vintage brought a significant shift – one that has taken Porseleinberg to new heights. Louw visited a friend who was working at Domaine Jamet, and saw how rather than using punch-downs or pump-overs, they submerged the cap throughout the fermentation and maceration, allowing them to extract more gently. Most winemakers might have trialled the technique on a parcel, but not Louw – who says, frankly, “I put my chips all in.” He returned to the Swartland and set to work, making his own plates to hold the cap in place during fermentation. Fortunately for him, the gamble paid off.  The more recent vintages display more perfume, precision and finesse, without sacrificing the almost fearsome structure that makes them so age-worthy – and, as Louw says, it means he does even less work in the winery (“I fit about one more beer in a day,” he says, smiling). While earlier vintages were more about their tannic framework, the fruit, Louw suggests, is more present now – covering the tannins in the wines’ youth.  When I ask Louw if he wishes he’d used the submerged-cap technique from the start, his answer is no. “It’s amazing to grow up with the wine,” he says. And somehow that makes sense, for this is clearly a very personal project. Although Boekenhoutskloof might own Porseleinberg, it is run and managed totally separately. During our conversation and as we taste through a complete vertical, back to 2010 (the first time Louw has ever had the chance to do so), it is clear that this is not just a wine from this specific place, but also from this specific wine-grower. Over 12 vintages, the style evolves, the variation between years shining through, but the mineral backbone and structural imprint of this site remains. It’s a remarkable wine, and one that is only set to get even better as the vines age and Louw builds on his experience. Ignore it at your peril.  Tasting every vintage of Porseleinberg: 2010 to 2021 2010 Porseleinberg: From the original 4.5 hectares, the first vintage of Porseleinberg offers a savoury, bloody, iron-rich nose, with an edge of herbal, menthol notes and dried red fruit. The immense structure is still present, although the tannins have softened with over a decade in bottle. That structure is complemented by a bite of fresher, dark fruit and juicy acidity. Aged for 16 months in 65% foudre and 35% concrete.  2011 Porseleinberg: This wine still feels young, the nose brooding with dark fruit, leather and liquorice, the palate tightly packed with intense, black-berried fruit and a chalky grip of tannins. With the year’s conditions only two tons per hectare were harvested, the smallest crop ever from the site – and given the small volumes this was never released, with only 800 bottles made. Aged for 24 months in concrete egg.  2012 Porseleinberg: This is more supple and soft than the 2012, with a savoury and saline profile. There’s more elegance than the first two vintages, with dark, intense fruit yet with an appealing purity, complemented by notes of tobacco spice and liquorice allsorts. Only 2,760 bottles were made. Aged for 12 months in concrete egg.  2013 Porseleinberg: The fruit here is distinctly different – sweeter strawberry with a touch of herbal eucalyptus alongside savoury hints that point to the beginnings of tertiary development. It’s incredibly concentrated, structured and compact – a wine that is built for the long-haul. Aged for 24 months in 60% foudre and 40% concrete.  2014 Porseleinberg: The 2014 was one of the more open vintages in the line-up, from a particularly wet year and late harvest. The nose entices with an earthiness, a dusting of cocoa, deep red cherry and chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s a juicy purity to the palate with a chalky grip and savoury, smoky edge to the long finish. Aged for 12 months in 100% foudre.  2015 Porseleinberg: This is still a little reductive, and will benefit from additional time in bottle. As this reduction blows off, it reveals a fynbos-accented nose of dark fruit. From a cool vintage, the palate is a tight ball still – intensely mineral and chalky, with impressive purity, but it’s not yet revealing its potential. One to watch. Aged for 12 months in 90% foudre and 10% concrete egg.  2016 Porseleinberg: The 2016 vintage brought the driest winter in decades and another tiny crop. The wine is full of sweet red fruit, but there’s a firm, stony minerality to the nose, as well as floral and spicy tones that give it lift. There’s a fine-boned framework here and gorgeous freshness. Aged for 12 months in 70% foudre and 30% concrete egg.  2017 Porseleinberg: The 2017 vintage is sweet and concentrated; offering both a swarthy dark profile and a sweet, red-fruited intensity. It’s tight and bold, with an iron backbone, firm tannic structure and a powerful finish defined by its dark fruit and minerality. Aged for 12 months in 70% foudre and 30% concrete egg.  2018 Porseleinberg: The 2018 vintage is the first in which Louw used the submerged-cap technique – and there’s an instant shift in the style of the wine. It’s brighter, more aromatic with more intense herbal and spicy notes, while the palate is layered with juicier, crunchy red fruit that masks the tannins. The finish is long, spicy and mineral. Superb. Aged for 12 months in 90% foudre and 10% concrete egg.  2019 Porseleinberg: This vintage saw a break in the drought for South Africa, with rainfall around average and a relatively cool growing season. The nose here is dominated by herbs and spice – green peppercorn, dried rosemary and sage; leading on to a palate that offers pure red-berried fruit. There’s a mineral, chalky, furry grip of velvet tannins that frames the generous cherry fruit, with a saline mineral finish. Delicious. Aged for 12 months in 90% foudre and 10% concrete egg.  2020 Porseleinberg:  The 2020 vintage was warmer and the wine speaks to that – with richer and darker fruit character that dominates its profile. The warmer conditions have added a polish to the wine, with more open feel, despite the trademark structure that sits behind the fruit. The wine is a little reductive at this stage, and needs more time to unfurl. Aged for 12 months in 90% foudre and 10% concrete egg.  2021 Porseleinberg: The latest release of Porseleinberg is unsurprisingly impressive, but with a finesse that suggests it could be Callie Louw’s best vintage to date. A long, cool growing season with sufficient rainfall resulted in a leisurely harvest in 2021, allowing the team to take their time to pick. Since the shift to submerged cap in 2018, quality here has leapt ahead. The 2021 shows a spicy, mineral intensity – with the fruit more subdued, taking a backseat to the stony structure and texture of the wine. It’s supple, flowing across the palate like silk, yet with a super-fine grip of mineral tannins and the shy fruit that points to its immense age-worthiness. Savoury herbal tones mingle with the red fruit, while there’s a saline freshness and spicy pepper tones that linger on the long finish. Amazingly approachable now, it will only improve with a couple of years in bottle and continue to evolve over the next 15 years or so. Aged for 12 months in 95% foudre and 5% concrete.   Browse all current listings of Porseleinberg 

Porseleinberg has become one of South Africa’s most collectable wines. As the estate releases its 12th vintage, Sophie Thorpe tastes through a full vertical and talks to winemaker Callie Louw about what makes the site, and wine, so special

Porseleinberg is one of South Africa’s most collectable wines. We taste through a full vertical of the Swartland Syrah and talk to winemaker Callie Louw

An icon in the making – Porseleinberg

Porseleinberg: an icon in the making

In 1991, Jean-Luc Thunevin made the first vintage of Valandraud. In the workshop next to his house, he produced just 100 cases of wine from tiny yields, de-stemming and punching it down by hand and ageing it in 100% new French oak. Although it didn’t have a name yet, the garagiste movement had been born.  As the Super Tuscans had in Italy, these maverick bottlings, operating outside the official classification, rocked the world of wine – especially in the conservative heartland of Bordeaux. At the same time, the likes of Harlan and Colgin were starting to prove the power of Cabernet Sauvignon in Napa. Meanwhile on the East Coast, a lawyer called Robert Parker had already gathered a loyal following for his newsletter, offering independent advice and a novel scoring system. The internet was just getting started. Everything in the world of wine was changing.  “In the 1990s there was formidable energy and consumers who were ready to accept something new,” says Thunevin. But the Bordeaux wine trade was stuck in the Middle Ages, he says; it was aristocratic, closed – and one reason why the garagistes, a collection of outsiders, caused quite such a stir. Thunevin himself had been in banking, while Jonathan Maltus (Le Dôme) was a British businessman and Stephan von Neipperg (La Mondotte) a German interloper. With the challenging conditions of 1991, the first vintage of Valandraud had little impact. He made a tiny volume of red, and then a rosé de saignée that he gave away to friends. “L’histoire, c’est ’92,” Thunevin tells me, almost whimsically. The wine, a product of much more favourable growing conditions, put him on the map. “I created a revolution,” he says today. The 1991 Valandraud was released to négociants for 13€; the 2022 came out at 118€.  It was Michel Bettane who coined the term “vin de garage”, sneeringly suggesting that these new-fangled wines could be made in someone’s garage. But, as Jean-Luc Thunevin told me, “By talking about me, they made me exist.” Without such outrage from wine’s more traditional core, the garagistes likely wouldn’t have had the same success. Combine Bettane’s throwaway comment with the rise of garage music in the US and UK, and the movement gained an accidental cool-factor – but that’s all changed now.  “I don’t think anybody wants to admit they were a garagiste anymore,” Jonathan Maltus – the Englishman who created Le Dôme in 1996 – says. He looks back on the time with relative fondness, however. He’d arrived in Bordeaux in 1994, buying Ch. Teyssier, having sold his petrochemical business and decided after a stint in Cahors that he needed to be in the “Formula One” of wine, making for Bordeaux. It was an English wine merchant who told him how a single-vineyard Pomerol called Le Pin was causing a stir – one of a handful of “cuvée wines” that were becoming incredibly popular. As a canny businessman, he decided to give it a go himself.  “It was really exciting – and there was no budget,” Maltus says frankly, explaining how the movement rapidly became a game of one-upmanship. They would instantly snap up any new machinery or equipment, pushing their concepts further and further to out-do each other. Green-harvesting and picking only the ripest berries in multiple passes was de rigueur; the vines often stripped of their leaves to expose the fruit to the sunshine and maximise ripeness (something climate change has put paid to). Yields were consistently low, with over 30hl/ha considered too much to produce the requisite concentration. Maltus explains how the introduction of double-sorting and cold-soaking was radical – both expensive tools, with the latter requiring protective gas and the ability to chill tanks. He would put the wine into one set of new French oak barrels for malolactic fermentation, before transferring the wine to another batch of new oak for ageing. The resulting wines were bold, rich and lavish. “I like to think of it as a kind of Vivienne Westwood period,” Maltus says.  Ask any of the garagistes who inspired them and they’ll point to, among others, Le Pin. Although owner Jacques Thienpont firmly believes Le Pin is not – and never was – a garage wine; he feels that it is sometimes mistakenly seen as one because it was so successful at the time. Ironically, the wine was originally made in a garage, from just one hectare of vines. It was the sensuality of the wine that inspired Jean-Luc Thunevin, he tells me. He visited Le Pin several times and Thienpont told him that wine was all about the quality of the soil, rather than winemaking. “In the cellar, there are no secrets,” Thienpont says. Thienpont wasn’t Thunevin’s only advisor; Alain Vauthier of Ausone happened to be a school friend, and helped the amateur winemaker.  This tension between terroir and technique is at the heart of the garagiste movement. Jean-Luc Thunevin tells me how Valandraud was not a garage wine, but a “garden wine” – from 300 vines he planted on 0.6 hectares, a single site captured in 300 bottles. For Stephan von Neipperg, who made the first vintage of La Mondotte in 1996, from 4.5 hectares, “It’s a terroir… without an outstanding terroir, you cannot make an outstanding wine.” The garagistes, in his mind, by contrast were about “making the wine easier to understand – round, ripe, sometimes too ripe, extracted” – it’s a term he assigns to the likes of Ch. Gracia – first made in 1997, in a back-alley of Saint-Emilion.  Whether you are convinced these wines were true expressions of site or not, they were a direct contrast to the Médoc Classed Growths – where vast swathes of land were used to create a blend each year. Was it a reaction to the Left Bank’s dependence on blending, maybe even a complacency? Perhaps, but it was also a consequence of what each of them could afford; none of them, at first, had the cash to buy any more land. Thunevin’s methodology, for example, wasn’t idealistic; he had to do everything by hand because he didn’t have a tractor or any other equipment, splurging on new barrels alone, and turning a profit for the first time only in 1995.  It’s hard to untangle the movement from Parker’s influence – but few of the early renditions earned the big scores one expects and associates with these vins de garage. Le Dôme, for example, only earned 100 points in 2010 – long after Maltus had started reining in the style, La Mondotte in 2009. Although 1992 Valandraud kickstarted the movement, Parker only gave it 87-88 points when he first rated it in February 1994. Time blurs lines, inevitably – and, although it’s undeniable that Parker’s palate aligned with plush, polished styles, the truth around his influence is more complicated.   “We realised that the whole thing was just becoming a parody of itself,” Maltus says. He points to 2002 a real turning point, but it was only from 2008 that he stopped double oaking, reduced the proportion of new oak to 80%, and more recently started picking earlier. It’s the same across the spectrum, with many of these rebel estates now part of the formal classification system – absorbed into the establishment.  The instigator Jean-Luc Thunevin was branded Bordeaux’s “bad boy” for having challenged the status quo. It’s a reputation that he worked hard to keep – continually pushing forward (indeed, he even makes wine under the Bad Boy name today). Asking what prompted him to create Valandraud – and make it so differently, he says, “I have always been out of my mind. I always wanted to do things that were a bit shocking.”  Today, Bordeaux has more competitors than ever before, with a world of fine wine that is now truly global. Thunevin feels it’s a region in crisis – in need of another bad boy to take the baton. He was an outsider with nothing but a romantic dream of making wine. Whether you like what he did or not, he changed Bordeaux for good. “Les rêves sont nécessaires à notre équilibre,” he tells me – dreams are essential for our balance. The garage movement was just one chapter in Bordeaux’s lengthy history, but perhaps it’s time for another wave of disruptors – after all, they may just be the key to its long-term survival.  Browse all Bordeaux listings or read more about Bordeaux 

When it comes to wine, little has changed in Bordeaux for centuries – but in the 1990s a group of outsiders shook things up: the garagistes. Sophie Thorpe talks to three of the movement’s leading figures about its legacy – and what it means for Bordeaux today

Talking to Valandraud, Le Dome, La Mondotte and Le Pin about Bordeaux’s garagiste movement and what it means for Bordeaux today

The legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

Disrupt and disturb: the legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

It’s easy to sneer at Sauvignon Blanc. Its success has been its downfall. It’s one of the most popular varieties planted around the world – coming in just behind Airén (grown widely for distillation, rather than wine) and Chardonnay. In New Zealand alone – a nation that has fully tied its cart to Sauvignon Blanc – 26,559 of its 41,603 hectares of vines are dedicated to the grape (for context, the entirety of Burgundy represents a little over 28,000 hectares). It accounts for over 86% of the nation’s wine exports (the next most exported variety is Pinot Noir, at less than 4%). And yet, wine cognoscenti are inclined to dismiss it.  The variety’s historic heartland is the Loire, where it was first recorded in the 16th century, but has since spread rampantly around the globe, finding its way into almost every corner. Indeed, there’s even a remote stretch of Burgundy dedicated to the grape (Saint-Bris). It also gave us Cabernet Sauvignon, of which it is a parent, along with Cabernet Franc – which is some legacy.  In her benchmark Vines, Grapes & Wines, Jancis Robinson MW describes Sauvignon Blanc as “aggressively recognisable”. With descriptors such as cat’s pee, gooseberry, passionfruit, capsicum, grapefruit and cut-grass stereotypical, it’s hard to disagree – but there’s much more to the grape. Today, the distinctive variety is responsible for the flinty styles of Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé, more waxy, textured Bordeaux Blanc (where it is most often – but not always – blended with Semillon and aged in oak), the exuberantly pungent styles of Marlborough, richer, weightier northern Italian examples (not to mention many with extended skin contact) – and everything in between.  Ch. Margaux’s Pavillon Blanc is one of the most famous examples of Sauvignon Blanc – and rare in Bordeaux (at the top end of the category, at least) for not including any Semillon, which has never been planted on the site. Their archive has records back to the 18th century of a “vin de sauvignon” from the property. Tasting the wine, it’s always hard to believe it hasn’t been rounded out by its local partner – and this, Aurélien Valance, says is all to do with achieving the perfect level of ripeness.  “When [people] think Sauvignon Blanc, they think about unripe Sauvignon Blanc. When it is ripe, it can have very complex and floral perfume – but the problem is that it is very difficult to get it ripe and keep enough acidity,” the Deputy Managing Director explains. Working with old vines (around 50 years old), low yields and strict selection allows Ch. Margaux, however, to produce an exceptional, age-worthy white – one that “smells of Sauvignon Blanc – but not the Sauvignon Blanc that people are used to”. For Christian Patat – the winemaker behind L’Età Più Bella and Ronco del Gnemiz, who also worked at Miani – the perfect harvest date is key to giving Sauvignon “verticality”, especially in Friuli where the wines are naturally bigger and richer than those from the Loire. If you pick too late, it becomes all about the variety – rather than the site. For him, Sauvignon Blanc is an “amplifier of different soils”, which is why he has ended up making six different single-site expressions with his wife at Ronco del Gnemiz, all made the same way so that the terroir shines through in each. Omri Ram – of Société Civile du Ch. Lafleur – echoes this idea, feeling there’s a particularly narrow window for picking Sauvignon Blanc, before the variety becomes a caricature of itself. He argues there is a “valley between two aromatic peaks” in which Sauvignon Blanc must be harvested, a window that lasts maximum three days, but as little as 20 hours in a hot vintage – so it’s essential to watch your fruit carefully, and make sure it’s on the right soils (with clay to help retain freshness and avoid hydric stress).   Patat – like the team at Ch. Margaux – is fortunate to farm old Sauvignon vines, between 40 and 50 years in age. This is ancient for the variety, which is naturally vigorous and very susceptible to Eutypa and Esca (grapevine trunk diseases which slowly kill the vine), meaning finding vines above the age of 30 is increasingly rare. Marco Simonit – the man behind the Simonit & Sirch method and master pruner to the world’s leading producers – feels that vine age, however, is key to making a “vin de lieu” (a wine of place) – and therefore combatting the onset of disease is essential for crafting great Sauvignon Blanc. He notes how it’s not just that Sauvignon (referenced affectionately as “this guy” during our conversation) seems to be more inclined to develop Eutypa/Esca, but it suffers more when diseased – showing its symptoms much more than other vines, as is most clearly seen in Bordeaux where it is farmed side-by-side with Semillon.  “I think we need to reconsider the spacing and architecture of the vines,” Simonit says. He feels that these older vineyards have survived thanks to their wider spacing, allowing each vine more room to sprawl naturally. Robert Mondavi’s I Block is a prime example – the plot of Sauvignon Blanc in To Kalon planted in the mid-1940s. These untrellised, freestanding tree-like plants stand proud and sparse, producing wine that – in Mark de Vere MW’s words – offer “a different type of complexity, elegance”, yielding just half a ton an acre. Simonit is convinced that the increased vine density of the last 30 years has contributed to the higher incidence of grapevine trunk diseases, and this type of “dynamic” architecture, exemplified by the unfashionable California sprawl, may be the solution to Sauvignon Blanc’s short life-span, helping minimise pruning cuts and giving it the space it needs – but does need to be adapted to the individual site and climate.   Andy Erickson – winemaker at Favia and star consultant – now makes wine in To Kalon (under the To Kalon Vineyard Company label) – but has fond memories of I Block, as he would trespass to taste the Sauvignon Blanc at harvest time – loving the flavour of the grape just on the cusp of harvest. He was the one who suggested planting Sauvignon Blanc at Screaming Eagle – which produces a tiny amount (30-50 cases only) of incredibly sought-after Sauvignon. There was a tiny corner of the vineyard with more alluvial, clay soils – a site that wouldn’t produce a Screaming-Eagle-grade red, so he suggested it be used for Sauvignon Blanc and Musqué (an aromatic clone of the variety, also planted at Eisele Vineyard – where it represents 80% of the vineyard). “The challenge with Sauvignon Blanc is you really need to plant it on Cabernet Sauvignon ground to make the best wines, and so it takes someone who’s really passionate – or maybe a little crazy to do that,” Erickson says.  While the Loire’s top wines have always been accepted as fine wine, as with top white Bordeaux, Sauvignon Blanc under its own name didn’t make it big until the late 20th century. Robert Mondavi shifted perceptions in California – but only by rebranding the variety. In the late 1960s, at a time when most Sauvignon Blanc in America was low quality and sweet, he created Fumé Blanc – legally registering the term as a synonym for Sauvignon Blanc with the TTB (Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau). With its European feel (inspired of course by Pouilly-Fumé), he made dry, serious Sauvignon Blanc – and, at the top end, fermented the wine in oak. At the time, it was radical – and soon the wines earned international acclaim.  Meanwhile, something was going on Down Under. David Hohnen – who had just won a Jimmy Watson trophy for his Cabernet Sauvignon at Cape Mentelle, Margaret River – was visited by a handful of travelling Kiwi winemakers. They left him with a bottle of something new, a Sauvignon Blanc (which had only been planted for the first time in New Zealand in 1973). “He hadn’t tasted anything like it before,” Jim White, Cloudy Bay’s Technical Director, tells me. Hohnen happened to have a Kiwi cellar hand at the time, and asked him to bring back more Sauvignon when he went home for Christmas. In 1984, Hohnen went to New Zealand. He persuaded Kevin Judd – then winemaker at Selaks – to come make wine for him. They couldn’t find Sauvignon Blanc at first, so the first vintage in 1984 was a Marlborough Semillon. The following vintage, they bought a truckload of Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough, and ferried it all the way up to Gisborne to make the wine.  With such a small population, machine harvesting was the only option in New Zealand – and this, combined with the additional skin contact from the fruit’s minimum 12-hour journey to Gisborne, extracted more tannin than they’d wanted, but also thiol precursors – the compounds responsible for Sauvignon’s pungent aromas. Hohnen didn’t put “New Zealand” on the front label, feeling people wouldn’t take it seriously. By 1986, they had built their own winery (having persuaded an angling-loving Scot to stump up a million dollars to fund the project, on the basis that he’d have access to the best trout fishing in the world). The vineyards needed work – and Hohnen’s experience was key, bringing knowledge of canopy management, reducing water and nitrogen and reducing yields. The wines took off, and Cloudy Bay was born.  For White, vineyard location is the foundation of top Sauvignon Blanc – needing stony, free-draining soils to contain the variety’s natural vigour, hence why they prefer the heart of the Wairau Valley. Combine this with enough leaf plucking to allow for sufficient airflow, but avoid over-exposing the fruit, and this allows them to harvest ripe fruit that still has beautiful acidity – echoing Valance’s views at Ch. Margaux. The important thing for them is to avoid the “big green monster” – ensuring they have no methoxypyrazines (green compounds), which happen to be some of the most stable compounds during maturation, and don’t disappear with time in bottle.  In New Zealand, the variety has been a victim of its own success – shoehorned as crisp, fresh and nothing more. And while that style brings undeniable joy, there are an increasing number of wines being made with wild yeast and oak to produce a less exuberant and primary style – such as Dog Point’s Section 94 and Greywacke’s Wild Sauvignon. In the Loire, it seems to be increasingly common to see oak, while in Bordeaux, there’s a shift away from, or toward reducing the use of, wood. As Pierre-Olivier Clouet of Cheval Blanc told me, in the past white Bordeaux was “too green, too excessive, too much, too oaky, too fat… too boring” – he feels that the answer isn’t necessarily to reduce the proportion of new oak, but to increase the size of barrels and age the wine longer, so that the oak adds a silkiness, density and bitterness to the finish – but not to the aromatics.   A common accusation of Sauvignon Blanc is that it doesn’t age – something many feel is a prerequisite for “fine” wine. But that simply isn’t true. If you’ve never tasted old Marlborough Sauvignon, you’re missing out. I had a bottle of 1999 Cloudy Bay a few years ago – and it was extraordinary. White, who has tasted many more mature vintages from the iconic estate than me, describes it as a little like old Semillon or Loire Chenin – developing toasty, honeyed notes, yet it retains the overt freshness and expressiveness of the distinctive style. Ch. Margaux was recently reconditioning their stocks of Pavillon Blanc, and Valance had the opportunity to taste vintages back to 1926 – almost all of which he says were fabulous. He feels it ages at least 20-30 years, and more in top years.  Today, things have come full circle – Sauvignon Blanc is a brand of its own, and Robert Mondavi is even dropping the “Fumé Blanc” phrasing from its more entry-level bottlings of the variety. But, despite this and the undeniable quality of the wines, Sauvignon Blanc never quite seems to steal the limelight. “There’s a glass ceiling for Sauvignon Blanc,” White says. “It’s about 93 points.” The Cloudy Bay team was delighted when their oaked, limited-edition Te Koko cuvée earned 95 points in Decanter last year – but it’s the exception, rather than the rule. And even though they’ve had wines score higher than Pavillon Blanc, they’ll rarely be considered in the same category as either those, or the likes of the Loire’s Dagueneau and Vatan. “It’s too easy for people to understand, it makes it too enjoyable – and therefore it’s no longer the coveted thing that you have to have years of education to appreciate,” White says.  In an age of unicorn-hunting, “popular” can be the ultimate insult. And yet there’s a reason that so many people have fallen for the charms of Sauvignon Blanc. Don’t let its commercial success put you off – there’s much more to this grape than first meets the eye.  Keep an eye out for our pick of the best Sauvignon Blanc from around the world – or, in the meantime, read more Editorial 

Maligned by many, adored by more, Sauvignon Blanc divides wine-drinkers – and no more so than the wine-drinking elite. But why? Sophie Thorpe talks to the people behind some of the world’s best examples to explore the grape’s status today

Sauvignon Blanc divides wine-drinkers – and no more so than the wine-drinking elite. But why? Cloudy Bay, Ch. Margaux, Andy Erickson and others tell us more

Sauvignon Blanc – fashion victim

Fashion victim: Sauvignon Blanc

I’ve written this having just finished my second en primeur report for Decanter magazine. Four weeks of intensive tasting, two weeks of intensive writing – Primeurs is both the best and hardest period of the year, exhausting and rewarding. But, where one tasting finishes another one arises: tomorrow, I fly to Canada for a tasting of Bordeaux 1982 wines – with the legendary vintage showcased in 40 top bottles at a charity dinner in Vancouver. Sometimes my life feels like a dream.   Despite not having a background in wine before joining Decanter in 2011, and certainly no family cellar filled with dusty treasures, I became enthralled the moment I was handed my first glass of fine wine – at my desk, no less. “How is this a job?” I thought to myself. Many years of tastings and trips passed, meeting the world’s foremost winemakers and writing about wine in various ways, however the “critic” role (more of an American designation than British, I think) was never one I coveted – and certainly not one I expected to ever have.    The barrier to entry seemed so high, even though I was already working at Decanter, which understandably tended to only use “regional experts” and Masters of Wine, many with decades of experience and often living in their chosen region – something I now fully understand and would encourage any budding wine writer to do.   Skip forward a decade or so and I’m now responsible for Decanter Premium, overseeing the digital strategy for subscriptions and content behind the paywall on decanter.com – and now Bordeaux correspondent too, having taken over from long-time Decanter contributor Jane Anson in July 2021.   When Jane moved on, the question was who would fill the position. A combination of desire on my part and the lure of a challenge (who wouldn’t want this job?), happenstance (in that I had not long moved to live in Bordeaux city, placing me in the perfect location to take up the role), and a shortage of qualified candidates in the region, all seemed to work in my favour.  While Decanter authoritatively covers wines from all around the world (one of its biggest selling points for me), Bordeaux is what we call “heartland content” – and the stats don’t lie. It’s consistently the most-read and paid-for content we produce, by far. From Primeurs to livrable “in-bottle” tastings to estate verticals and incredibly old horizontals, there’s always something to taste, at every price point, in every conceivable style. And with around 7,000 estates, there’s no end of new cellars to see, new vineyards to walk into and new winemakers at the helm.   So there’s pressure, especially writing for the magazine with its expectation of quality and deep understanding. But, there’s also non-stop dynamism, and living here brings the action so much closer, something I never truly understood before. An hour each way from my home, I can be in Saint-Emilion, Sauternes or Saint-Julien.   The Decanter name is hugely respected in Bordeaux and I’m extremely fortunate to have been welcomed so generously and thoroughly. The last 22 months have been spent tasting and visiting estates as much as I can. I’ve done dozens of verticals that have yet to be published, spent weeks with winemakers in vineyards and cellars, talked to consultants about changing styles and négociants about market trends. I took part in my first harvest last year (thank you Cheval Blanc) and my first blending session this year (thank you Nicolas Glumineau, General Manager at Pichon Comtesse).   I've also been inducted into the Commanderie du Bontemps of the Médoc, Graves, Sauternes and Barsac, as well as the Hospitaliers de Pomerol (two historic brotherhoods, now modern-day societies that encourage, support and help promote the wines and winemakers of their respective regions). These are all enriching experiences that are the building blocks of my Bordeaux knowledge.  Somehow I thought having done the 2021 en primeur tastings and report last year (as well as two in-bottle reports since I started – all with around 900 wines sampled each time) the 2022 report would be easier – it wasn’t. Tasting is actually really tough – not only physically demanding and tiring, but mentally exhausting. It goes without saying that experience is helpful, comprehension and context are key for notes and scores, but passion is also a must. I’m building the first two, the latter I still have in abundance.   Despite sometimes pinching myself, looking back there’s a strange sense of destiny attached to my current role. My first ever work trip was to Bordeaux (and I ended up buying an apartment almost round the corner from the hotel I first stayed at). My first fine wine vertical was – amazingly –  of First Growth Ch. Mouton Rothschild with the then brilliant winemaker Philippe Dhalluin at Café Lavinal in Pauillac. My first article was about a Bordeaux panel tasting and I even had maps of Bordeaux vineyards on my bedroom wall in London, something I had forgotten until I came across some old photos recently.   An added bonus, my father only drinks Bordeaux wines so this job definitely earns me favourite child status.  As much as it’s serious and hard work, it’s also huge fun, interesting, glamorous and ever-changing. I think humility and gratitude are important, as well as a genuine enthusiasm to tell the stories of these wonderful wines and the people who make them.  Is the role of “critic” my true calling – above publishing, improvement strategies and brand building? I don’t know. What I do know; I love writing. I love Cabernet (Sauvignon and Franc)! I love mature Bordeaux (and am currently seeking out as much 2001 as possible). I love blind tasting the region’s wines to try and place them in their appellations (despite myriad differences in viticulture and vinification this is somehow still possible – the power of Pauillac, the prettiness of Margaux, the minerality of Saint-Estephe). I love the light in Saint-Emilion at dusk during the summer – is there a more romantic wine region?    But most of all, I love the joy and passion surrounding winemaking – not limited to Bordeaux, but the family histories, long-standing traditions, connection to gastronomy, focus on innovation and investment – they all give the region an extra glint in my eye.   What I don’t love, however, is my dentist telling me off and trying to find a place to store all my bottles... but there are worse problems, admittedly. (Speaking of which, if anyone wants to drive me round the region for next year’s Primeurs, applications open soon!)  For now, I'm excited to see how this year's Primeurs campaign goes. There's no doubt that many producers have created exceptional wines worth buying, but whether the market is sufficiently dynamised by the prices is another question. I'm eagerly awaiting a copy of this year's Bordeaux guide (on sale with the June issue of Decanter) filled with all the wonderful happenings in Bordeaux right now, as well as looking forward to discovering some of the hidden non-classified gems of Margaux. The sun looks set to appear for the first proper time this week, sending temperatures up and kickstarting the 2023 growing season – and, as with any vintage, there’s already so much to look forward to.  Read more about Bordeaux or browse all Bordeaux listings  Photography: Luke Carver

Georgie Hindle had big shoes to fill when she took over from Jane Anson as Decanter’s Bordeaux correspondent in 2021. Here she talks about how she fell for the region and what it’s really like working as a wine critic

Decanter’s Bordeaux correspondent Georgie Hindle takes us behind the scenes in Bordeaux, talking about life as a wine critic

Behind the scenes with Decanter’s Georgie Hindle

Earlier this month our team spent a week visiting producers, tasting and talking about Burgundy’s 2021s. Here we break down the vintage by producer, from north to south, with a summary of how each fared and our favourite wine from the tasting table.

A run-down of the Burgundy 2021 vintage en primeur by producer: from Fourrier to Lamy via Bernstein, Lamarche, Lambrays, Duroche and Hudelot-Noellat

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