It’s easy to make assumptions about William Kelley. In some ways, he seems like a caricature of the stereotypical wine writer: an excruciatingly RP English drawl, a doctorate in 19th century history from Oxford, a childhood divided between London’s Belsize Park and more rural Suffolk, and a cellar of seemingly endless depths (or so his Instagram suggests). And yet, there’s much more to the Wine Advocate’s Editor-in-Chief than meets the eye. Kelley sprung from anonymity rapidly. His mentor was Hugo Dunn-Meynell, a family friend who had been a protégé of André Simon and managed the Wine & Food Society for 15 years; organising Dunn-Meynell’s cellar formed Kelley’s early vinous education. He joined Oxford’s famous Wine Circle, acting as President for three years during his studies, which concluded with a PhD. “Education in the humanities is the only form of institutionalised punishment where you get extra time for good behaviour,” Kelley says with a chuckle. Academia wasn’t for him, but, as he tells me, with a casual shrug: “I kept getting scholarships and things, so I kept on doing it.” Wine, meanwhile, played an ever-growing role in his life – from pillaging his college’s cellars, helping the staff decant old vintage Ports, increasing involvement in the Wine Circle, and trips to visit producers. Kelley penned his first feature for Noble Rot in 2015, a spotlight on the late, elusive Henri Bonneau. He was published in Decanter the following year, where he soon secured the North American beat. He covered Burgundy’s 2015 and 2016 vintages for the magazine, before joining the Wine Advocate team in 2017 – just two years after he’d first started writing about wine. In March of this year (2024), he took over as Editor-in-Chief – arguably the biggest job in wine writing. That’s quite the trajectory for someone who fell into the job. “I always wanted to make wine,” Kelley says. “Writing about it sounded like a good idea to make some money, you know? I found the meaning afterwards.” And that meaning is what makes Kelley so interesting, both as a writer and an editor – one that is quietly leading a revolution at the Wine Advocate. I always wanted to make wine,” Kelley says. “Writing about it sounded like a good idea to make some money, you know?  “What we do can be amazingly useful in disrupting hierarchies and forcing critical reflection,” Kelley tells me. “I don’t think we do enough of those things currently – but this is something we’re going to do more of.” In his mind, the Wine Advocate’s purpose is “to keep everybody honest”. The publication was purchased by the Michelin Guide in 2019 (having held 40% since 2017), and Kelley’s been talking to the Michelin team – about how they choose which restaurants get reviewed, and the criteria on which they’re judged, looking for possible synergies. The difference between two and three stars, for example, is more subjective than whether or not an establishment makes it into the guide – and it’s similar with wine. Although there will always be an element of subjectivity, especially when it comes to the two- or three-star equivalents, Kelley is trying to bring more consistency to the way wines are scored. He’s brought in technical training for the entire reviewing team – looking at perceptive thresholds for faults such as brettanomyces and mouse, while also ensuring that they’re all using the same lexicon – that one person’s cinnamon isn’t another’s clove. He cites the world of perfume, where training is intensively scientific and perfumers have to pinpoint hundreds, if not thousands, of specific scents – strikingly different to the world of wine, where tasting is often just “free association”. The team even sends samples off to a laboratory for analysis. This is all part of how Kelley hopes to tackle the inflation, and compression, of scores (“a huge problem” he confesses) – which in turn is devaluing both ratings and the role of those that give them. Kelley is unusual in the critical sphere, for both making wine and reviewing it. He’s received criticism for this duality, although openly declares any interests in reviews (such as for Domaine Felettig, an estate from which he buys fruit). His experience in the vineyard and winery, however, gives him a unique perspective and allows him to engage with producers on a deeper level – something he wants to see more of across the team. What we do can be amazingly useful in disrupting hierarchies and forcing critical reflection When I ask how the publication determines what gets reviewed, Kelley explains how, for a long time, writers at the Wine Advocate had KPIs for the number of reviews published – trying to tackle as much as possible of the increasingly diverse world of fine wine in a bid for relevance. But he’s clear that needs to change: “We need to embrace the idea of reviewing fewer wines in more depth and following them more closely, because that reflects how people consume today,” he says. Part of that, for him, involves getting into vineyards and wineries to see how people are working, and spending enough time to fully understand it. He wants to put an end to gathering samples in anonymous tasting spaces; for him, the supposed neutrality of that experience is limiting. “How do you invest in the stock market if you know nothing about a company’s performance?” he says. “How do you define authenticity? For me, it’s about taking risks. It’s about exposure to negative consequences in pursuit of a goal, a conviction,” Kelley tells me – and it’s authenticity that he wants the Wine Advocate to be championing. “We’re in a period when winemaking conditions are more extreme, where traditional hierarchies of sites are being upended, and for the industry to digest all of that, we can be immensely useful voices.” He's clear that wine remains old-fashioned in many ways with an “aura of tradition” that consumers like, whether the family pedigree of certain estates (“We don’t want seventh-generation politicians, but suddenly we like nothing better than to buy a seventh-generation wine.”) or antiquated classifications (“Having a great classification is very nice – but it shouldn’t be a licence to print money. It should be an obligation to do better.”). The Wine Advocate, however, has the ability to champion young producers, shine a light on new names and question the current state of the industry. It can – in short – disrupt the status quo. One of the challenges with wine is that critics and writers are often dependent on producers for access, especially when it comes to the rarest and most sought-after wines. Truly impartial judgement is difficult when a low score or negative review risks not being invited back. (Kelley himself has been banned from estates – and sometimes later un-banned.) The industry is riddled with such conflicts of interest. But, for Kelley: “It’s not actually about avoiding [conflicts of interest], because you can’t… our business is about managing them; it’s about being very transparent.” We’re in a period when winemaking conditions are more extreme, where traditional hierarchies of sites are being upended While there are of course strict rules in place regarding hospitality and producers, the Wine Advocate’s expenses policy is generous enough, Kelley assures me, to allow writers to “engage with [producers] as an equal” – and ensure there’s no pay-to-play. Wine criticism isn’t renowned for its generous salaries, yet Kelley notes how important it is for reviewers “to be paid enough to buy the wines and have an independent relationship with [them]”. He highlights how it’s the bottles that he might have misjudged that have shaped him most professionally – lingering long in the memory as he tries to unravel how and why he might have misread a wine. Inevitably, Kelley is having to take a step back from reviewing to allow him to steer the ship. He’s expanding the team and plans to keep writing about Burgundy for now, but is keen to avoid “sitting on” any particular region (“I want to actually try to create new voices,” he says). When we talk, he hasn’t even hit six months in his role as Editor-in-Chief, and there is clearly more he wants to tackle, bringing further nuance to the way the Wine Advocate rates and reports on wines and producers. Wine writing was never the goal, however, and as he approaches a decade in his accidental career, his feet are getting itchy. He’s juggling his small project in the US (Beau Rivage) and his Burgundy label (largely négociant with two tiny parcels of his own, Beaune Premier Cru Les Chouacheaux and Côte de Beaune) alongside the job – and that’s where he wants to be. Once he’s finished his work reforming the Wine Advocate, he’ll be found among the vines in Burgundy. Wine is – and always will be – his life. “If it’s not an obsession, you’re not doing it right,” he says. It is this almost manic focus – a combination of true passion and intellectual curiosity – that is likely to define his work, both at the Wine Advocate and beyond.  Explore more Editorial

Earlier this year, William Kelley was named Editor-in-Chief of the Wine Advocate, taking over from his colleague Joe Czerwinski. We sat down with him to find out more about how he stumbled into writing, the role of critics today and why – for him – wine is much more than just a job    

The Wine Advocate’s new Editor-in-Chief, William Kelley, on stumbling into wine writing, the role of critics and why wine is much more than a job

Talking to the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley

Advocating for change: William Kelley

The air is cool and crisp, with the radiant blue skies that only late winter can provide. On the crest of the hill in front of me, a troupe is studiously pruning Ch. Lafite Rothschild’s oldest Cabernet Sauvignon vines, their roots sinking deep into the precious gravel soils that define the First Growth’s wines. Looking over a junior member of the team’s shoulder is Luís Pinto, making sure that no mistakes are being made as they shape the vines for the future, laying the groundwork for not just 2024, but the vintages beyond that. Sporting navy-blue Domaines Barons de Rothschild overalls (vintage, sadly out of production and unavailable for purchase – I asked), Pinto has been working at the estate for over 30 years, and now leads one of the vineyard teams. As you might guess given his name, his family is Portuguese, although he was born and raised in Bordeaux. In fact, his mother even worked the harvest at Lafite, and Pinto has pictures of himself as a child at the on-site nursery the château then had for workers’ offspring – perhaps sewing the first seeds of his future profession. As Louis Caillard, Vineyard Manager at Ch. Lafite Rothschild and Ch. Duhart-Milon, explains, Pinto isn’t an anomaly. Caillard heads up the 80-strong team which works across both properties (and are managed identically when it comes to the vines). The vast majority of this team are extremely local, coming from within a 20-kilometre radius of the château, and once they join the team, few ever leave. Much has changed over Pinto’s many years working these vines – offering an on-the-ground view of viticultural trends. He remembers a time when they would rip out hedges and trees to make room for vines, focused more on yield, now coming full-circle to reinstate the biodiversity that existed before. Today there’s more appreciation of the craft and calling of a vigneron, or vine-grower – a return to traditional vineyard management.  Looking at pruning, for example, Pinto explains how there are no set rules: “Each person prunes a vine as they wish,” he tells me. They respond to each vine, its needs, looking at the sap flow and thinking about its long-term future, rather than just the next season. It’s very Simonit&Sirch in approach – although Pinto is bemused by such a suggestion; for him, it’s how he learnt to understand vines. “All it is, effectively, is that we think,” says Caillard. “It’s always existed; it’s just that we had forgotten it a little.” The challenge is teaching this sort of instinctive approach to managing a vineyard. “I don’t follow a recipe anymore,” says Pinto. It’s not just knowledge he is trying to pass on to his team, but “a way of thinking”, he says, one that inevitably comes from experience, from making mistakes and learning from them. There’s a drastic difference between studying the theory from a book, and standing in front of a vine, secateurs in hand. Of course, the idea of making mistakes when the wine commands the reputation (and price) that Lafite does might seem daunting – but it’s this that sets top addresses apart. Lafite’s scrupulous approach to quality, declassifying any fruit that doesn’t meet its very high standards, is a luxury that not all producers can afford. For Pinto, it’s this dedication to quality and long-term view that has kept him at Lafite all these years. There are plenty of properties that will rip vines out once they reach a certain age, all in the name for better crop loads, but at Lafite, the philosophy is to see “how far we can take the vine”, nurturing parcels into old age. His work might be cyclic, following the vine’s yearly progression, but there are changes every year – an effort to constantly evolve and improve. This, perhaps, is what – for me – is most interesting about Lafite. It’s not just the finesse and elegance of its pinpoint Grand Vin that sets this estate apart, but the way in which it has quietly been changing the way Bordeaux works, pushing forward in its pursuit of excellence. For over a decade, they’ve had Manuela Brando leading their Research & Development; talking to her is fascinating, with trials on everything from biodynamics, rootstocks and treatments to umbrella-like covers as an alternative way to combat mildew. If successful, these trials are transferred to the wider vineyard – with training that means the team never stops learning. Just the other day, Pinto tells me, they had a session on agroforestry – something that he’s clearly fascinated by. Pinto seems relaxed, joking lightly with us, but is also quietly serious when it comes to his work, knowing that every decision they make in the vineyard is critical to the quality of the wine that eventually emerges from the cellar. “Every decision has an impact,” echoes Caillard – “and, in fact, nothing is simple.” Difficult it might be, but Pinto is pleased with the progression he has seen over the years. “You can feel the terroir a bit more again,” he says. The shift to organic, re-introduction of hedgerows and trees to the vineyard, which in turn has brought an array of fauna – butterflies and ladybirds, for example, has transformed the property. As an apiarist, he’s acutely aware of the wildflowers that now blossom and abundant bees they attract. At the end of the day, however, there’s no wizardry, he suggests, to what they do – it’s simple: “We respect the vines a bit more.” With the gloss of an estate like Lafite, a First Growth whose reputation is so immense, it’s easy to forget the work that happens behind the scenes. But, as Caillard knows all too well, “You cannot achieve anything technical without the people; people are key to everything we do.” People like Pinto, so clearly at one with their calling, the place and vines, are what make truly great wine – separating the excellent and exceptional. As our conversation draws to a close, Pinto returns back to his team, his stocky frame receding down the row of vines and weathered face turned once more to the bright sunshine, as deeply rooted in this terroir as the Cabernet Sauvignon that surrounds him. Browse all current listings of Ch. Lafite Rothschild, or read more about Bordeaux

As we continue to take you behind the scenes at Bordeaux’s top addresses, our latest feature shines a light on Ch. Lafite Rothschild. We caught up with one of its vineyard team, a vigneron who has dedicated over 30 years of his life to the First Growth’s vines

Taking you behind the scenes at Ch. Lafite Rothschild to talk to one of the Bordeaux First Growth’s vineyard workers

The call of the vine – Ch. Lafite Rothschild

The call of the vine: Ch. Lafite Rothschild

“It’s difficult when you don’t have vines, a winery, any equipment or money,” Stéphane Dief – co-owner and winemaker at Clos Manou – tells me. “You say you want to be a winemaker, but it is complicated. Our advantage, however, was being able to do exactly what we wanted.” Over the last 25 years, he and his wife Françoise have slowly grown their tiny estate in the northern reaches of the Médoc, beyond Saint-Estèphe, where they make wine that offers some of the best value in the region.  Saint-Christoly-Médoc – the miniscule village that is home to their domaine – is where Stéphane grew up, while Françoise is from less than 15km away. Although Françoise’s family had vines, neither she nor Stéphane were working in the production side of the business, but they fell in love with wine. Via his brothers-in-law – who worked at Ch. Mouton Rothschild and Ch. Rauzan-Sègla – Stéphane started tasting some special wines, buying older vintages at auction – and was soon determined to give it a go himself.  Together, the couple bought a mere 12 ares and produced their first vintage in 1998, 600 bottles that they labelled as Clos Manou – “Clos” because they felt it wasn’t grand enough to use “Château”, and “Manou”, Stéphane’s nickname. It was such a success that their hobby rapidly became a full-time gig and the duo left their day jobs in 2000.  In some ways it doesn’t sound like they were doing anything remarkable. They wanted to make attractive wines that reflected their site, and to do so with precision and care. Their ambitions were modest. And yet, for Bordeaux, their small-scale, hand-crafted approach was – and is – atypical.  They sought out specific parcels of old vines, those planted before clonal material became commonplace, favouring the natural complexity of massal selection. They chose to work only with high-density vineyards – around 10,000 vines per hectare, a point at which Stéphane feels the vines self-regulate, meaning there’s no need to green harvest and often less de-leafing required.  In principle, they are close to organic – however, in a bid to avoid dependency on copper, they use bio-controls that aren’t permitted under organics, specifically phosphonic acid. They don’t use any herbicides, insecticides or chemicals – but believe that copper, as a heavy metal that kills soil’s microbiome, is best used minimally, and they prefer to use something that doesn’t leave trace levels in the final wine.   Almost everything is done by hand, with 12 full-time employees working on the estate. There are no protocols or routines. “We do things by watching, observing our vines and drawing conclusions and echoing those conclusions the following year,” Stéphane says.  The 2003 vintage was a turning point. Robert Parker gave the wine 93 points – an incredible score for such a modest Médoc, writing that it was “better than many of the vintage’s ‘big’ names”, “drop-dead-gorgeous” and a “prodigious effort”. Given the critic was at his peak, his influence was significant – and suddenly Clos Manou was in enormous demand.  “C’est notre métier, mais notre passion aussi," Stéphane says – “It’s our profession, but it’s our passion too." That explains perhaps why, for 11 years, he didn’t take a day off. “My wife wasn’t very happy with me,” Stéphane tells me, laughing cheekily.   Today they have 18.5 hectares of vines, scattered between Saint-Christoly-Médoc and Couquèques, all within a three-kilometre radius. They sit across three different soil types – gravel over clay, limestone-clay and sand, with some sitting very close to the estuary itself. Stéphane thinks of them as three children – one of which, the gravel over clay, is naturally gifted. But just because the other two need a bit more work, doesn’t mean they are any lesser. There is, he says, no such thing as “un petit terroir”. One special parcel dates back to 1850. Planted before phylloxera swept through the region, it’s managed to survive thanks to its sandy soils. In certain vintages they make a special “Cuvée 1850” from the block.  Despite the vines averaging 45 years in age, the yields are generally good – sitting at around 50hl/ha. Stéphane emphasises that low yields don’t equate to better quality, necessarily – the balance of your vines is what matters most.  It’s undeniable that climate change has been a benefit here, beyond Saint-Estèphe, where once it was a struggle to ripen fruit. In 2018, Clos Manou had 15% alcohol – but, thanks to their clay soils, the pH was a vibrant 3.52, bringing great freshness to balance the wine. He’s still thinking about the long-term impact of the rising mercury, however, and experimenting with small portions of whole-bunch, inspired by the likes of Guillaume Pouthier at Les Carmes Haut-Brion. Stéphane feels that it can add tension and make the wines feel more dynamic, even on just 5% of the blend. “On est des vrais vignerons – comme il y a en Bourgogne," Stéphane tells me ("We are true vignerons – as there are in Burgundy"). Unlike larger properties where there are various directors who influence decisions – it’s just them deciding what to do. Despite looking further afield for their inspiration, he and Françoise don’t want to go against the grain of the region. “We want to be a bit unorthodox, but we are nevertheless Bordelais,” he says.  Clos Manou is, in essence, a family business. There’s nothing remarkable about their modest ways, but their freedom to start with a blank page has allowed them to create something that is no longer the norm. Inspired by the Bordeaux of yesteryear, everything is low-tech yet done with great precision. The wines are fresh and pure, yet distinctly savoury and earthy – with a natural intensity that points to their old vines. You can see the addition of larger oak and amphorae in more recent vintages, bringing more vibrancy. They are somehow rustic yet fine. Little has changed here since 1998; let’s hope that that remains the case, and the Dief family continue to craft humble expressions of Bordeaux that are very much extraordinary.  Browse all listings of Clos Manou or read more about Bordeaux 

At first glance, Clos Manou might seem run-of-the-mill. But this small estate in the Médoc is far from it. We sat down with Stéphane Dief to talk about how a hobby became his life, the freedom of a fresh start, and why his family’s wines are worth seeking out

We talk to Stephane Dief about his family estate in the Medoc, Clos Manou – one of Bordeaux’s best-value wines and best-kept secrets

Why Clos Manou is anything but ordinary

Anything but ordinary: Clos Manou

Juliette Couderc didn’t have the easiest start at Ch. l’Evangile. She arrived in September 2020, in the heart of the pandemic, and just in time for the 2021 growing season – a vintage that saw incredible mildew pressure and a return to the chaptalisation that was, pre-climate change, normal for the region.  But the 31-year-old isn’t one to shy away from a battle. The Sunday before I spoke to her, she’d broken a finger playing rugby – something about which she was particularly blasé (it was “very, very blue”, she told me). Indeed, she used to play fullback for Narbonne’s team in the Fédérale 1 league, and now represents the local Libourne squad. In a wine region that is dominated by the slick and suited, she’s a breath of fresh air.  Born in the Charente, Couderc studied winemaking in Bordeaux and Montpellier before travelling to opposite ends of the earth – Chile and then New Zealand – to learn her craft. But L’Evangile – one of Pomerol’s most respected names – is a far cry from the wineries she started in. Both Escudo Rojo (a Mouton Rothschild project) and Wairau River in Marlborough were big operations, giving her exposure to larger-scale winemaking. She returned to France and worked her way through Burgundy and the Rhône before settling in the Languedoc for several years, focusing on viticulture. It was here that she first met Olivier Trégoat, who was then Technical Director of Domaines Barons de Rothschild’s projects in Chile, China and the Languedoc. In 2017, he recruited her – then aged just 26 – to head up the vineyards for Long Dai, their winery in Shandong Province. She’d planned to only stay a year, but then she was made Technical Director, managing work in both the vineyards and winery. It was Covid’s arrival, along with China’s strict lockdowns, that saw her return home – and Olivier Trégoat, who had just taken the reins for L’Evangile and Rieussec gave the talented winemaker her next opportunity, as Chief Operating Officer at Ch. l’Evangile.  For the rest of the team – including a Cellar Master that had been there 20 years – she may not have been the obvious choice. Despite growing up just an hour away, the 29-year-old had never worked in Bordeaux, let alone one of the region’s top estates – one that is sibling to First Growth Ch. Lafite Rothschild.  “At the beginning, it was pretty stressful for me,” she confesses, “because I’m pretty young in comparison to the rest of the team.” But it didn’t take long for them to realise why she’d been chosen. She’s not the sort to sit behind a desk. She was instantly out in the vineyards and winery talking to the team, digging into the DNA of the estate – and gently starting to question why they did things this way and that.  Baron Eric de Rothschild bought shares in Ch. l’Evangile in 1990, taking full ownership in 1998. Significant investment and change followed, with a new winery completed in 2004, extensive replanting and an additional seven hectares bought to complement the original 15. Bearing in mind the Rothschild family has owned Lafite since 1868, L’Evangile is just a baby – but that hasn’t held them back. Robert Parker gave the 2009 vintage 100 points – and the estate has been a cult address ever since.  L'Evangile is big by Pomerol standards, with 22 hectares spread over various sites. Between four and five hectares sit on the appellation’s famous blue clay (shared by Pétrus), with the rest on sandy clay and gravel soils. It’s the Merlot from that blue clay that contributes the creaminess that is key to the property’s fingerprint – along with soft yet dense tannins. Couderc is looking to make sure that that fingerprint shines through in the wines, even with climate change.  Her appointment is part of an ongoing shift at Domaines Barons de Rothschild. Since Saskia de Rothschild took over in 2018, she’s been pushing for a new vision, putting Jean-Sébastien Philippe in place as her right-hand man, and a flurry of fresh faces throughout the company, with the hope to move from “aristocratic” to “up-to-date” – and certainly more approachable, breaking the fourth wall to talk to consumers. This is the new generation taking over at the highest level. The broader vision is enormous, with the cornerstone establishing an agricultural ecosystem. They are reintroducing corridors of vegetation, establishing ponds and natural waterways, and planting cover crops to improve biodiversity and soil health. They’re re-structuring the vineyards, breaking up plots into smaller parcels, reducing vineyard density, re-orienting vines and adjusting the trellising, working on massal selections and trial plantings of different varieties, as well as moving towards biodynamics – all with extensive trials and studies to ensure changes are for the long-term. Indeed L’Evangile has become a “laboratory” of sorts for the family, with many of these changes introduced at the smaller estate before they are implemented at Lafite. At L’Evangile, the aim has been to pull back – unmasking the terroir. Couderc is experimenting with ways to manage extremes – both drought conditions (as experienced in 2022) and mildew (as in 2021). One key from her point of view is managing the vineyard to retain freshness in the wines – reducing the canopy size and using cover crops, as well as farming both organically (certified since 2016) and biodynamically (certified since 2018).   When she first arrived, she plotted areas to harvest based on how the fruit tasted, planting flags to mark off areas, often stopping partway along a row. Although having done it “blind”, the final map matched up with the different soil types almost exactly. The differences between these parcels are particularly accentuated in hot years, with as much as a week between harvest dates for plots. And, as Couderc tells me, while once they might have waited a little, with warmer September days, finding exactly the right moment to pick has never been so important.   With each parcel harvested separately, it can be treated differently, Couderc explains – pushing the extraction of Merlot on the blue clay, for example, but being more careful for gravel-dominant sections which can bring overly “straight” tannins.  She’s also planting more Cabernet Franc, having seen the success of the variety on sandy plots. Naturally more resistant to mildew and bringing welcome freshness, she feels it will be key for the future – and aims to have it represent around 30% of the vineyards eventually (up from around 20% currently).   In the winery, élevage has been the focus – tweaking to find the right balance. She’s worked closely with Trégoat, Saskia de Rothschild and the cooper Taransaud to find the right oak profile, which has then been translated across three additional coopers (including the Rothschilds’ in-house operation) for barriques, as well as starting to use both foudres and amphorae. For Couderc, amphorae are tricky – with a risk of crude tannins, but the ability to emphasise tension and freshness which she likes, anticipating they will represent a small but important 8-15% of the final blend each vintage. Foudres were trialled on the second wine (Blason de l’Evangile) first, but will now also be used for the Grand Vin. With the natural generosity of Merlot, Couderc sees her job as “to keep the austerity, the freshness” of the wine – while also preserving the innate density of their terroir.  Tasting through a flight of vintages, it’s easy to see the transformation that is underway here. The 2015, for example, is one of the last “old-style” vintages, only enhanced by the generosity of the year. The wine is exotic, rich and ripe – a voluptuous, decadent wine that envelops you. By contrast, the 2019 and 2020 display a crunch and vibrancy, while not losing any of the property’s signature density. The 2022, meanwhile, manages to take the generosity of the year and contain it – with restrained precision and perfume, smooth but gravelly tannins and a seductively lighweight feel.  It's clear already that Couderc is set to be a star – and L’Evangile will only rise higher with her.   Browse all Ch. l’Evangile listings or read more about Bordeaux 

 One of the newest members of the team is Juliette Couderc – who took over as Chief Operating Officer at Ch. l’Evangile in 2020, aged just 29. Sophie Thorpe sat down with the vigneron to talk about Lafite’s Pomerol sibling and the evolution at this prestigious stable of estates

Sitting down with star vigneron Juliette Couderc, the Chief Operating Officer at Pomerol’s Ch. l’Evangile – owned by First Growth Ch. Lafite Rothschild

Talking to Juliette Couderc of Ch. l’Evangile

All change: evolution at Evangile

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW has caused quite the stir. In her Bordeaux 2021 en primeur report, her first for her new publication The Wine Independent, she scored some wines below 80 points – and just 20% made it above the 90-point mark. She’s a woman on a mission, determined to bring honour and integrity back to wine criticism. The Master of Wine and Robert Parker protégée stepped down as Editor-in-Chief of the Wine Advocate – the leading fine wine publication – last year. She was tired of what had become a corporate life. Michelin took over in 2019 and her time was increasingly spent in meetings, doing reporting, looking at corporate responsibility as well as managing her team and making sure everything was going to plan – a plan, she emphasises, that was not set by her. Most importantly, her senior position took her further away from what she really loved doing – writing about wine. “I love to sit down with winemakers and capture that story that is not on their website, that is not in their marketing material. Something that is real and raw. There is not enough of that,” she tells me. Her view is that it’s the story that makes wine “more than just a drink” – and that’s why people spend hundreds of pounds on a bottle. This storytelling is what she’s looking to do with her new, small outfit, The Wine Independent. Importantly she’s partnered with Johan Berglund – a professional photographer (whose beautiful images we've used here) – to bring those stories to life, with a modern platform that is a world away from most other critics’ sites (often “a wall of words”, she says). As the name of the new publication suggests, Perrotti-Brown is making a stand against publications that she feels no longer put the consumer first. Her inspiration is Robert Parker’s original operation – the Wine Advocate started as a small newsletter shared with friends. “Essentially a mom-and-pop shop”, she explains, getting back to basics, with minimal staff and no fancy office with big overheads. For her, the goal is simple: to publish timely – and honest – reports, allowing readers to search for wines easily and helping them to discover something new. She doesn’t hold back voicing her concerns about the state of wine criticism today. She’s damning, believing there’s a trend not just to overscore, but that it’s a strategy to gain influence, helping critics be quoted by retailers and wineries – and therefore benefitting from “free marketing”. “When you see people coming in one or two points above everyone else and they hang on and wait until other people’s reviews have come out… I mean, come on, it’s definitely happening,” she says. The compaction of scores, however, is what really riles her. Everything sits between 95 and 99 these days, she suggests. “Nobody dares to go to 100 and nobody dares to go below 90.” Perrotti-Brown is outspoken about critics for whom the tiny number of 100-point scores they hand out is a point of pride. “There are a lot of critics who are just too chicken-s**t to give 100 points,” she says. “If you know a wine is 100 points, it takes a lot of bravery to put it out there.” Some critics – such as James Molesworth of Wine Spectator – don’t believe that a perfect wine exists, and therefore never give 100 points. “Which is ridiculous!” says Perrotti-Brown. “Why use a 100-point scale, if you are not going to use the top?” Her fear is that scores will lose all relevance and meaning. Indeed, she notes that retailers don’t even reference who gave the score they quote. “You go into a shop these days and look at the shelf-toppers and it doesn’t even say whose score it is – it just says 97 points. Every wine is 97 points!”  Critics should be fighting for consumers, she argues, rather than ingratiating themselves with wineries. “I know it is difficult, because we are sat there right in front of the winemaker, listening to their stories and I think the impetus is to really feel for that person, but you can’t. You always have to see it from the consumer’s perspective – it’s what Bob [Robert Parker] always told me. You are working for them.”  Hence, therefore, the broad range of scores that she felt was inevitable for a vintage like 2021. It was, she admits, a difficult vintage to assess in the evolution of Bordeaux. She’s adamant that she hasn’t changed the way she scores: “It just happens to be the worst vintage Bordeaux has had for a very long time,” she explains. Perrotti-Brown refers back to Robert Parker’s original benchmark for 90 points – an “outstanding” wine, a wine that is complex and age-worthy. For her – tasting very widely across the region – the majority of 2021s don’t meet those criteria, but she’s quick to emphasise that wines scored in the upper 80s are very good wines. “I think there has become some stigma over the wines scoring in the 80s and I don’t know why,” she says. Again returning to Robert Parker’s original scoring crib-sheet, these are “good to very good” wines and that is where, she feels, the bulk of Bordeaux 2021 wines fall.  Looking back at Robert Parker’s own en primeur scores in trickier vintages (2007, 2013, 1996), he too was awarding many wines eighty-something points, sometimes less. While Perrotti-Brown accepts the technological advances in viticulture and vinification mean you would rarely see Classed Growth wines receiving less than 80 points today, it only emphasises just how challenging the 2021 vintage was in Bordeaux. Of course, the vintage also produced some surprises. Despite everything that happened climate-wise, there were a number of wineries that produced outstanding wines, even by Perrotti-Brown’s assessment. “Some wines were absolute trainwrecks and there are other wines that are wow… you can tell these people worked their tails off,” she says.  The critic was certainly surprised and disappointed by other reports on the vintage, particularly given she’d worked and trained some of the people behind them. “When I am looking at other peoples’ scores [for Bordeaux 2021], 60% or more of the wines scored 90 points and above and that is astonishing to me,” she says, both confused and outraged. “Some of these wines, they are giving the same score ranges as the 2018 and the 2019s – I mean how is that possible?” Her report is a statement of intent. Lower scores may mean The Wine Independent isn’t as widely quoted by the trade, but what matters to Perrotti-Brown is whether consumers trust the publication. It’s a long-term game. “Eventually I hope consumers will look at all these other scores and say, ‘But what did The Wine Independent say?’” Perrotti-Brown took a huge risk stepping down from what is undeniably the wine world’s most influential publication – but she is confident she’s made the right choice. Her need for autonomy was the impetus for her to set up on her own, and she’s found freedom on her own terms. It is still early days for The Wine Independent and, for now, Perrotti-Brown is their only reviewer – although she confirms an additional critic will be announced in the coming weeks. Competing against more established publications with an extensive database of tasting notes and scores isn’t easy – but Perrotti-Brown has established herself as a disruptor in the field. She’s lain down the gauntlet – daring her peers to put the consumer back at the heart of what they do. Read more Editorial

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW is making a stand. The ex Wine Advocate Editor-in-Chief, trained by Robert Parker, believes that critics are at risk of losing relevance – and for good reason. We talk to the wine writer about why she’s fed up of scoring strategies and set up The Wine Independent.

Why the wine critic left the *Wine Advocate* to go her own way, determined to bring honour and integrity back to wine criticism.

Lisa Perrotti-Brown on why she left Wine Advocate

The voice of independence: Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW

Quiet, even subdued, cautious, the Neal Martin on my screen is quite different to the garrulous character I’d imagined from his writing. On the page (or more often these days, the screen), Martin pokes fun at the wine industry, his articles often opening with satirical fiction that doesn’t hold back.  His reports and tasting notes are littered with music references (think Primal Scream and The Smiths rather than Wagner and Bach), and mentions that are sometimes pointedly popular – his first Bordeaux en primeur report for the Wine Advocate (taking over from Robert Parker) opened with a line from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. On our call, however, each word feels deliberate and considered, confident, but with a definite wariness that doesn’t quite fade.  Aged 50, the Vinous writer’s trajectory to wine stardom is unusual. Born in Essex, Martin grew up in a household that didn’t drink wine, so nor did he. In fact, he had no interest in it and blagged his way into the industry. In 1996, having lived in Japan, he applied for a role sourcing wines for a subsidiary of Japan Airlines: the only hitch that he didn’t know anything about wine at the time.  “I lied my way through the interview. I went to an off-licence the night before. Memorised some of the labels. I just reeled off a couple of names… [they] thought I was into wine and gave me the job,” he tells me, still rather bemused by their decision. Coincidentally Martin returned to the same shop last year, where unbeknown to him, his tale lives on as local offy legend – the famous wine taster that got his start right there in Leigh-on-Sea (with the owners even deeming him worthy of several selfies).  Unashamedly a terrible employee, he spent much of his time in his role for Japan Airlines starting his wine writing career (although it also sounds like there was a fair amount of lunching too). “I was kind of bored one lunchtime, bought a book on computer coding. I found I could make a webpage, and just kind of built the original wine-journal.com when I should have been working,” he says. From the novelty of creating a site, he started writing his own tasting notes. At that time the great wine writers were Michael Broadbent, Steven Spurrier and Hugh Johnson – English gentlemen, in short; charming, wonderful, but – for many – unrelatable, very “high culture”, as Martin puts it. He set out to be “more down-to-earth, funny, irreverent”.   “At the time, there was nobody else really doing that. There was this huge audience that liked to drink Bordeaux – but also liked Radiohead.” It struck a chord – and soon his self-built site was getting over 500,000 hits per month. No wonder therefore that in 2006 Robert Parker – then still at the height of his fame – approached the music-minded Englishman to join the Wine Advocate team.   Of course, Parker was renowned for not just the power of his palate and revolutionary points system, but for his personal tastes. Many argue that his preference for intensely ripe, high-octane, new-oak-aged styles shifted the entire world of wine – pushing producers to craft wines that would earn his favour. “Especially more to the end of his career, he had a certain palate… but people always forget that he reviewed German wines and Alsace and so on. So it becomes a little bit of a cliché,” Martin says of his once mentor.  The world of flavour is undeniably subjective, yet Parker was – by some – damned for just that, daring to express his personal preference. Total impartiality when it comes to the matter of taste seems impossible. After I ask whether or not he feels there’s room for bias in wine writing, Martin is clear: “I think a critic should stand up for what they believe in. Anyone can say the First Growths are great, DRC is great. I’d rather read someone who has a definite view on something, whether they like natural wines, or orange wines. Stand up for what you believe in. Then it’s up to the reader to decide.”  In fact, he goes as far to say, it’s potentially the lack of difference in views that has led to wine criticism becoming “a bit beige” in recent years – because now it’s a career, something upon which people depend for their livelihood. “It’s more of a risk if you say this famous name didn’t produce a great wine,” Martin notes. The danger of losing access to wines that are far beyond most critics’ budgets is a threat to the independence of wine writing, but also a massive obstacle to new voices in the industry. It’s an especial challenge given many of the wines Martin reviews – in particular older vintages – might only be pulled out at private dinners, hosted in producers’ homes. The very nature of wine – limited in production and fleeting in its consumption – leads to a reliance on the hospitality of its makers. Martin argues that for that exact reason the most independent “critics” are arguably those he describes as the “grands amateurs” – those who can afford to buy the world’s finest wines, and therefore say what they want.   Martin, however, feels there’s a line to be found where he can maintain distance yet be friendly – and, importantly, speak freely. He highlights Laurent Ponsot’s 2015s – which he gave relatively scathing scores – but, having known Laurent for many years, Martin was happy to tell the vigneron outright that he thought they were picked too late.  As for Martin, he had a lucky start with access to unbelievable wines in what he deems a “golden era” for fine wine in the 1990s, when top Burgundy and First Growths remained affordable for the many – and were poured freely by the trade. “I’ve never taken that for granted. Some of the wines I drink… they’re what my friends earn in three or four months. I never drink a wine and I’m blasé about it. But I’ve been around long enough to say what I think.”   Preserving his voice has always been of key importance to Martin – not willing to compromise on keeping his distinctively tongue-in-cheek tone, but also offer something more than just a tasting note. “When I joined Parker, it was an easy decision – he was a kind of god. But at the same time I wanted to make sure I could still write in the way I wrote,” he tells me. “Anyone can taste the wines and add a number, but for me it’s more interesting to create something that’s interesting, gives you insight… that’s the challenge: to write something people don’t expect,” Martin says. Does he feel he’s achieving that? His answer: “When my primeur report comes out, read the first three paragraphs and let me know.” [We spoke at the end of April, just before the report was published.]  For Martin, his love of music is integral to his work. Indeed, it seems that way – the record player and stacks of vinyl visible behind him on our Zoom call, his Instagram feed almost equally split between sleeve covers and labels – and he feels that it makes him a better writer. He looks back to Hugh Johnson (an avid gardener) or Michael Broadbent (pianist and art enthusiast) for precedent. “Wine can be a boring subject – but it’s when you put it with other things that it becomes more interesting,” he says.  Case in point is his recent article on Grand Mayne, he tells me: “It’s more about time, and parenthood, and… kind of sad in a way. To me, that’s the kind of counterbalance to the dryness about wine. It smells of strawberries and it’s 92 points. There’s the other side to the story – that’s the harder part to write, but for me it’s more satisfying.”  Indeed, he even self-published his book Pomerol (in 2012) to avoid the unwelcome interference of editors. In 2017, Martin made the leap to Vinous – joining fellow Wine Advocate alumnus Antonio Galloni’s new venture, and while he’s kept his voice, he’s also had to learn how to be edited “which was… quite a challenge for me at first,” he admits. “But actually now it’s something I really needed. I think they make better articles, it makes me think a bit more about writing.”  There have been a lot of bottles over the years (Vinous alone holds over 21,000 of his tasting notes), but it was a bottle of 1982 Montrose that started everything. “It wasn’t the best wine I’ve ever had by a long way… It’s a disappointing 1982,” he says. “Enjoy with modest expectations” reads his note from 2017 (88 points – upgraded to 91 points at his most recent tasting in 2018). Disappointing it may be, but it’s the bottle that made him sit up and take wine seriously, realising why people obsessed over it – although he’s clear that, for him, wine isn’t everything.  “Wine is my job – if it didn’t pay I couldn’t do it. I love wine, but I don’t think I’m obsessed with it. I don’t drink wine every day, and it doesn’t bother me if I don’t. If you think wine is everything, you’re missing something,” he says, frankly. I wonder how much this perspective has been shaped by Martin’s quadruple bypass surgery two years ago – a skirmish with the other side that has forced a visibly drastic lifestyle change, and about which he has been vocal.  In Martin’s own words, it’s a “bizarre set of circumstances” that set him on his wine-lined path, yet here he is, his pen and palate working in combination to make him one of the world’s most influential wine writers. While the golden era that allowed him to enter the industry might be over, he feels that – despite now being “very, very expensive” – in some ways wine is more accessible than ever.  “I meet so many more people from so many walks of life. I love it when you sit around the table and everyone’s from different countries. But as soon as you put a wine in front of them – everyone’s on the same level.” While one can’t argue that Martin champions the “everyman” reviewing the world’s finest wines, it’s remarkable in many ways that he hasn’t erred from his original purpose. Though the Essex-born critic doesn’t seem comfortable under the spotlight, on the page he’s at ease – free to fight against the pomposity of wine, with an irreverence and knowing self-ridicule that has put him front and centre in the industry – whether he likes it or not.  Read more Editorial 

Neal Martin – now of Vinous, previously the Wine Advocate – is one of the world’s leading wine writers. Sophie Thorpe talks to the determinedly off-beat critic about his path into wine and why there’s much more to life than brilliant bottles

Neal Martin – now of Vinous, previously the Wine Advocate – on his path into wine and why there’s much more to life than brilliant bottles

Neal Martin, striking a chord

Neal Martin: striking a chord

There are few people that get to taste Bordeaux as often or as thoroughly as the Wine Advocate Editor-in-Chief Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW. Based in Napa, her knowledge of how the Bordeaux varieties are managed – both in Bordeaux’s moderate climate and the hotter region of Napa – has become a huge asset in understanding and assessing Bordeaux in a warming climate. With such exposure to vintages past and present, being mentored by the world’s most influential critic Robert Parker, there’s no one better to consider what defines Bordeaux today.  Perrotti-Brown has a clear idea of how and why Bordeaux has changed so much in the last 20 years, while at the same time emphasising that there’s no “hard stop” to an era. An individual château’s period of change can be different to its neighbours. “It seems like every château has had its challenging period,” she says, “whether it be a dogmatic winemaker, recurring faults in the winery or even financial difficulties.” Each era of Bordeaux is not simply defined by set vintages, however – with the benefit of hindsight – she believes you can see clear, defining moments over the last two decades where the style of Bordeaux has changed. Like much of the wine world in the 1980s and ’90s, Bordeaux châteaux were still understanding the effects of faults in their wines – whether it be volatile acidity, dissolved oxygen or Brettanomyces. With increased emphasis on ripeness and new oak, these issues only increased. “Brett and other faults love new oak and higher alcohol, it was almost a perfect storm,” she explains. But as this became more of an issue in the region, it led to more research, bringing about a much better technical understanding of why these things were happening. It was this scientific awakening that Perrotti-Brown believes was the catalyst for the modern era. “Momentum for change has sped up in the last 20 years and there have been lots of triggers,” she says. “There is a better understanding of what ripeness is, precision viticulture and winemaking, the development of technology and of course there is climate change.” But outside this and perhaps the most important “trigger” behind this change, she believes, is money. “To run a château has become very expensive: 30 or 40 years ago many of these châteaux were simply operating as agriculturalists, now it is a multi-million-dollar business.” Big money has no doubt brought about big investment and Perrotti-Brown believes in many ways it has “levelled the playing field”. A lack of investment in the winery and vineyard is now a rare excuse for poor performance. “It has raised the standard throughout the region. Investment and greater precision has created a lot of diversity – more than we have ever seen before.” In terms of taste, the most positive developments in Bordeaux for Perrotti-Brown come from the vigneron’s better understanding of ripeness, both in terms of tannin ripeness and fruit concentration. “Hindsight is a beautiful thing,” she quips, “but we have seen dark periods on both sides of the spectrum in Bordeaux.” There were real issues with lack of ripeness through much of the 1970s and ’80s. High production levels saw diluted grapes harvested and simply chaptalized (sugar added) to bring up the alcohol, then at fermentation, the must was overworked to extract enough colour and tannins. Since top Bordeaux was known for its long ageing potential, this was necessary to create the structure to age – “Otherwise you were going to end up with a diluted, watery mess,” explains Perrotti-Brown. This extended maceration saw the extraction of very hard tannins – “the wrong sort of tannins that come at a later stage of extraction”. “It is better extraction techniques, only extracting quality tannins, that is a major reason behind the most recent improvements,” Perrotti-Brown explains. She points to the legendary 1982 vintage. “A lot of people at the time were saying the tannins of the ’82s were too soft, too juicy, too fruity and it just wasn’t true.” The vintage was warm, particularly for that era. “At harvest the vignerons were picking grapes with a natural ripeness to the tannins, which meant during extraction the tannins and colour came easily.” They didn’t have to overwork the grapes to extract the tannins, producing wines that were great in their youth and have since aged incredibly well. It was the quality, not quantity, of tannins that stood the 1982s in such good stead, a lesson that wasn’t necessarily learnt instantly. Overworking the musts and a lack of concentration continued to be commonplace throughout much of the ’80s and ’90s. Many wines were hugely extracted and required plenty of patience. “You compare that with now,” she says. “I was discussing the 2020 vintage with Ch. Margaux’s Philippe Bascaules – and he barely needed to touch the grapes during extraction.” At better ripeness levels (as seen in 2020), the colour and tannins extract themselves. In the mid-90s to early 2000s, however, there was “a chase for ripeness”, in Perrotti-Brown’s words. “It was the beginning of the garagiste era – with reductions in yield, later picking and an emphasis on power. You had super low yields, producing behemoth, impenetrable wines in their youth, 200% new oak etc – people were really pushing the boundaries.” It is a style that is seen by many as actively encouraged by Perrotti-Brown’s mentor Robert Parker, who at this point was arguably the most influential man in Bordeaux. The incredibly hot 2003 vintage marked a watershed moment for Bordeaux. “Bordeaux winemakers had never seen anything like it. Grapes were turning to raisins on the vine,” Perrotti-Brown says. Despite the year’s conditions which exposed the push toward ripeness, the emphasis on power continued up until the 2010 vintage. Despite the focus on ripeness and extraction, there were some exceptional vintages – but Perrotti-Brown questions how well these wines have since aged. This is, in her view, a key shift in the region. She compares tasting the 2005s en primeur, with tasting the vintages of today. While 2005 was clearly a fantastic vintage, tasting these wines so young was really difficult, with aggressive tannins. Many winemakers were, Perrotti-Brown says, “making wines by formula”. A high-quality vintage gave vignerons a free ride to push the extraction even more. The criticism often made of 2005 is that it has taken such a long time to come around. Similar issues are raised with the same vintage in Burgundy. The year was at the height of the trend for maximum ripeness and extraction, for both Bordeaux and Burgundy, and the resulting wines shut down for a long period. Perrotti-Brown accepts that people have different expectations on when to drink Bordeaux, but she loves to drink wine in its mid-life, when there is both primary fruit and tertiary development. The problem with the 2005s, she says, is that that window never really opened: the wines remained closed, only beginning to open up now, when there is little primary fruit left. “Many of the ’05s are, wow, exceptional now, but you miss that sweet fruit and it’s what I like about the modern vintages,” she says. Looking back, “Winemakers could have dealt with 2005 much more wisely.” The 2009 vintage provides an interesting contrast. Like the ’82s, the natural ripeness of the tannins meant the wines didn’t shut down in the same way the 2005s did. Of course, higher levels of alcohol also helped increase the potential tannin extraction. Alcohol is a solvent. Increased ripeness, which in turn leads to higher alcohol levels, can therefore lead to too much phenolic extraction. While this was a risk for many wines in the early 2000s, fortunately today’s winemakers know much more about how to handle riper fruit. The 2010 vintage might have been the last year of big, bold, extracted wines, it was nature rather than the Bordelais that dictated the change, Perrotti-Brown notes. The ’11, ’12, ’13 and ’14 vintages meant winemakers had to deal with cooler, more difficult vintages. It was not possible to produce bold wines in these vintages and retain balance. This was almost a period of introspection for Bordeaux and, for Perrotti-Brown, it led to a distinctive development where “the ethos of precision” took charge from the 2015 vintage. While there are of course exceptions, from 2015 Perrotti-Brown feels you started to see more plot-by-plot management of the vineyard, with picking times becoming much more accurate – picking plots and fermenting them separately, “rather than throwing everything together”. Extraction also became much more precise, focusing on only the quality tannins – a marked change from the previous era. This new ethos brought, in Perrotti-Brown’s view, a lot of “soul-searching” in the vineyard, with people like Alfred Tesseron spearheading a movement toward more sustainable practices. But overall, Perrotti-Brown notes, “There is so much creativity too and many people are doing different things. It has created a lot of diversity.” Amongst the creative changes happening in the winery and vineyard, developments in the wine’s élevage always seems to be a big talking point in Bordeaux. Oak is an integral part of the Bordeaux “recipe”, but – after an over-reliance in the 2000s – its use was becoming increasingly scrutinised. “Oak doesn’t ever go,” she says. “It settles down, integrates and evolves with the fruit, but it can push itself forward.” “Oak is absolutely necessary for giving shape and spice to the fruit, as well as tannic interest to the wine,” says Perrotti-Brown: for her, it’s about oak being used “smartly”. “Most people have pulled back on the new oak from the 2015 vintage onwards, but, like the tannins, it is not about more or less oak, but about using it more wisely. There is a much better understanding of oak today and much better quality of oak being used. What it lends to the tannin structure is a nice back up to the skin tannins and a spiciness in the background.” The new era – from 2015 onwards – is certainly contributing to Bordeaux being “on a good run”, in Perrotti-Brown’s words. But while there is great consistency today, she’s under no impression there won’t be problems ahead. “Warm, dry vintages have become the norm, but how warm and how dry before this becomes an issue? Bordeaux was lucky in 2020 that they got a bit of rain in August,” she says. While a lot has changed over the last 20 years in Bordeaux, there are no guarantees for the future. No matter the technology, Bordeaux’s fate lies in the hands of the shifting climate – and terroir, or more specifically the clay or limestone soils equipped to deal with hot, dry conditions, has never been so important. For now at least, though, Bordeaux is basking in its era of precision, with 2020 the third great vintage in a row. Let’s hope Mother Nature holds the region in her favour a little longer. Read our summary of Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW's report (including the wines she rated most highly) in our round-up of the critics’ verdict on the vintage Find out more about Bordeaux or read more Editorial 

No doubt that the style of Bordeaux has shifted over the past two decades. But what’s caused the change – and are the wines better? We sat down with one of the world’s most influential wine writers, Wine Advocate Editor-in-Chief Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW, to delve into what defines modern Bordeaux

The Wine Advocate’s Editor-in-Chief Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW on 20 years of change in Bordeaux – and what defines modern Bordeaux

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW on the Bordeaux evolution

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW on the evolution of Bordeaux

There’s little Graham Eunson hasn’t seen in his 30 years in the Scotch whisky industry. From pushing barrels at Scapa straight out of school to managing one of the biggest names, the Orcadian has worked in almost every production role at five Highland distilleries. Over the course of his career, the Tomatin Distillery Operations Director has been at the painful end of two consolidations and led the revival of a distillery lost for 22 years. For the past decade, he has had to pool all this knowledge and experience to bring a distillery that was once famed for mass production to single malt prominence. “I always say it’s the most fun I’ve had in the whisky industry,” he declares with a chuckle, “and I’ve loved every single one of the distilleries I’ve worked at.” Eunson talks with such fondness about the industry and all his colleagues that it’s easy to see why both his children have followed him into the profession. He refers to his route into the industry and progression through the ranks from mashman to stillman to brewer as the “old-fashioned way”. When Allied Distillers closed his first distillery during the 1990s whisky loch, Eunson faced a tough decision: leave his beloved Orkney or wave goodbye to a fledgling career he absolutely adored. His homeland lost that tug of war and Eunson moved his wife and one-year-old son to Aberdeenshire and Glendronach Distillery until that also closed its doors. Glenmorangie became Eunson’s third Highland distillery where he worked as Assistant Manager to Dr Bill Lumsden for two years before Head Office beckoned and he took over as Distillery Manager. After a decade in the role, the chance to reopen a ghosted distillery lured Eunson away. “My wife would argue I don’t have a romantic side to me at all, which is probably true, but when it comes to whisky I do – and the opportunity to re-open the distillery after such a length of closure was too much to resist.” On April Fool’s Day 2008, Eunson stood on the balcony in the Glenglassaugh still house looking at the rusted pipework where sections had been pilfered by thieves and seriously questioned if he’d made the right decision to leave the breathtakingly beautiful, not to mention functioning, Glenmorangie. “But I have to say, the sense of achievement on the day we first mashed in again, after about eight months of struggling to try and design everything to get it to work better… the sense of achievement was fantastic,” he says with real pride all these years later. The next call, to take on a newly created General Manager role at a distillery that was once the largest in Scotland and had fallen out of favour, came in 2011. If he accepted, Eunson would look after everything from the malt coming in, to the distillation, maturation and recipes for all the whiskies. “They sold it well to me,” he says with a wry smile. “Basically, the buck stops for everything with me.” Two years ago, Eunson was asked to choose his new title. After some thought, he suggested General Operations Director – “So GOD,” he laughs; in the end he had to settle for “DOD” – Distillery Operations Director. The beauty of working at Tomatin, according to Eunson, is that he and the 62-strong team are masters of their own destiny. “We have gone from being a distillery which made lots and lots of spirit to go into other peoples’ whiskies. To the complete opposite way round percentage wise,” Eunson says. In the 1970s, Tomatin produced 12.5 million litres of pure alcohol a year making it the largest in Scotland. Today, the Highland distillery produces less than two million litres a year. Of this number, 1.1 million goes into Tomatin in its various forms, roughly 400,000 litres are swapped with other distilleries in exchange for whiskies for their Antiquary, Talisman, Big T, Ancient Clan and other blends, and 100,000 litres is sold for cash. Apart from malting and bottling, every stage of the traditional production – milling, mashing, fermenting, distilling, ageing and blending – takes place on the 140-acre site. “It’s great to be in control of all that ourselves,” Eunson says. “In the last 12 to 15 years, we have had a complete change of tact. We’ve reduced the volumes we’re making and it’s all about quality over quantity.” The gear shift is clearly working. Since its rebrand in 2015, sales have soared by 83% and visitor numbers to the distillery are topping 50,000 a year (in non-pandemic times). Tomatin produces a range of unpeated single malts from the entry-level (£30 a bottle) to the 50-year-old-plus (£10k+ per bottle). In their vast warehouses, the team is sitting on almost 200,000 casks and Eunson oversees it all. “It is one of the few jobs I would have thought in the world that you can do for 30 years and still look forward to going into work,” he says. “My job is wide and varied and never the same two days running.” In his latest project, and the first “serious launch” since the rebrand, Eunson has sourced rare Monbazillac, Sauternes and Rivesaltes barrels to finish three parcels of nine-year-old single malt. In typically self-deprecating fashion, Eunson says: “The stars aligned basically. We had released our Sherry-cask finished Cuatro and were looking at alternatives and these wine casks became available. When the cooperage told me about them, I asked them to hold the casks and got straight on Google.” The cask finishing trend has been one of the biggest changes Eunson has witnessed in his career. He says: “It used to be, ‘Well if it was a tree at some point in its life then you can use it for maturing whisky’, whereas now there is so much more care and attention put into it. “Some of the companies I have worked for… Allied, no longer exist, so I can say what I want about them. They had codes on their stock system for seven-fill and eight-fill casks. By the time you’ve filled it seven or eight times, there’s not a lot of flavour going to come from the wood.” While Eunson says he’d never say the cask is the most important part of the process, he is not shy in professing it is the most influential. “What a lot of companies are doing now, ourselves included, is look at the raw materials – different barley varieties, different types of malt, different yeasts, different lengths of fermentation times, different cut points in the stills – you can play around with all of that but it is still only going to arguably contribute 25 to 35% of the final flavours. Seventy to 75%, even 80%, will come from the time spent in the cask during maturation. “So that is where we have to put the attention to detail because it’s going to have such an impact going forward onto the final character of the whisky we produce.” Computerisation is another huge change in the industry. And not one Eunson thinks is strictly positive. “It’s a good thing in that if you’ve got a computer and sensors running the pumps, setting the temperatures and suchlike, there is less room for human error and you get more consistency of spirit. So you know what your new-make spirit is going to be like but at the same time, that human error can sometimes lead to exceptionally unusual whiskies. You become almost a generic whisky, so we need to be careful to keep the individual characteristics there.” The Tomatin Distillery is semi-automated. It is still up to the Stillmen to decide when to make the cut and how fast to run the stills by controlling the steam valves. Whether it’s technology or trends, Eunson says the one constant in the Scotch whisky industry is change. “We are always changing and trying to be innovative and look at different ways of doing things while still trying to stick to the traditions that have been there and the rules and regulations as well." The industry might constantly be evolving but Eunson says the people within it are far more permanent. “We have a Head Warehouseman who’s been working with us since he was 18 and he’s now 67. He has more or less done the same job in the same distillery for 50 years. He is showing absolutely no intention of retiring and he’s probably the fittest guy we have on site in reality.” And how about Eunson? “I can’t see myself retiring at 60,” he says. “There is way too much that I want to do in the industry to even consider that. I’d probably think about retiring at 65… or maybe 66,” he quickly adds. We’ll believe it when we see it. Browse all Tomatin listings or read more Editorial 

After three decades in the whisky industry Tomatin’s Graham Eunson is more energised than ever. He tells Holly Motion why his latest role is the best yet

Tomatin’s Distillery Operations Director on the pace, and people, that keep him in the industry after more than 30 years working at the coalface.

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