About Académie du Vin Founded in Paris in 1973 by Steven Spurrier, the Académie du Vin was the first wine school in France open to the public. It has long been associated with thoughtful, independent wine scholarship and with bringing clarity, context, and critical insight to the world’s great wine regions. About this article This article presents the introduction to Côte d’Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy (2nd Edition) by Raymond Blake. In it, Blake sets the scene for Burgundy’s most revered stretch of vineyard, exploring the historical, cultural and human forces that shape the Côte d’Or. The introduction offers essential context on place, tradition and the vignerons themselves—laying the groundwork for a deeper understanding of Burgundy’s wines and the people behind them. Introduction The Côte d’Or, the Golden Slope, enjoys a reputation and exerts an influence in the wine world out of all proportion to its size. It possesses none of the grandeur of the Douro Valley, for instance, nor the picture-postcard beauty of South Africa’s winelands. It is not majestic; its beauty is serene, and what strikes the observer time and again is the tiny scale. From north to south it is about 50 kilometres long, is sometimes less than a kilometre wide, and can be driven in little more than an hour. At a push it could be walked in a day. Yet for a thousand or more years this favoured slope has yielded wines that have entranced and delighted wine lovers, with a fair measure of frustration and disappointment thrown in too. Avoiding hyperbole when writing about the Côte d’Or is a problem, for it has held people in thrall for centuries, frequently prompting poetic flights of prose: ‘The Pathetic Fallacy resounds in all our praise of wine … This Burgundy seemed to me, then, serene and triumphant … it whispered faintly, but in the same lapidary phrase, the same words of hope.’ Thus wrote Evelyn Waugh in Brideshead Revisited eighty years ago. Literary critics might cavil at such prolixity, and Waugh himself tamed it severely in later editions, but it was enough to intrigue me decades ago and engender a love for the region and its wines that has never waned. Greater Burgundy is a bigger, more geographically diverse, region than might first be supposed, stretching from Chablis, south-east of Paris, to Beaujolais, north of Lyon. The subject matter of this book, however, is Burgundy’s heart, the Côte d’Or. There is no more celebrated stretch of agricultural land on earth. It has been pored over and analysed, feted and cosseted, obsessed about and sought after for centuries and today, if anything, it exerts a greater pull on wine lovers than ever before. ‘Astronomical’ does not begin to describe the prices now being paid for prized patches of grand and premier cru vineyard, and for the wines produced from them by the top domaines. Such prices hog the headlines and paint a dazzling, though severely one-dimensional, picture of the Côte d’Or today. In the early years of the twenty-first century they are part of the story but they are not the only part. This book aims to get behind the dazzle and flesh out the story, to add some nuance and extra dimension. The Côte d’Or cannot be captured in a sound bite nor, it must be admitted, in a book of this scope – but my hope is that it may add another chapter to the ever-unfolding tale, setting it in the early years of the twenty-first century, a period that may come to be considered by future historians as a golden age for Burgundy but which has brought its own challenges in the shape of those ludicrous prices, the scandal of premature oxidation in the white wines, and the increasing challenge of dealing with extreme weather events such as hail and spring frost. The Côte d’Or has been the subject of forensic scrutiny for centuries, generating a library of books, so why another one now? For the simple reason that it is ever changing. Every year sees new names added to the producers’ roster and old ones slipping away, and thanks to this ongoing evolution the infant domaine of today can be the superstar of tomorrow. The core of the book comprises about a hundred producer profiles. Many fine domaines and négociants whose wines I am happy to purchase and drink have not found a place here. It is important to stress that they have not been included, rather than excluded, simply for reasons of space. The aim was to feature a representative collection of producers, not a top-down selection of the most celebrated names in descending order of renown. As a consequence this book is not, nor was it ever intended to be, a comprehensive A to Z of producers. I write as an amateur du vin, an enthusiast whose admiration for the wines of Burgundy stretches back over four decades, and who has been visiting the region and writing about the wines for some thirty years. I do not trade in wine. I try to see beyond the wine to get something of the backstory, the story of people and place that makes the Côte d’Or so fascinating. To examine the wines in isolation is to dislocate them from that, and not knowing something of the backstory precludes a full understanding of them. A broad lens must be brought to bear on the côte. Too narrow, and the wood will never be seen for the trees. I have learned much by coming across things serendipitously rather than dashing hither and thither, seeing a lot but noticing little. Without time for assimilation and reflection, subtlety and shade are missed. Finally, no gustatory experience can match the thrill of a great Côte d’Or red drunk at its peak. The colour, crimsoned by age; the heavenly scent, perfumed with notes of sweet decay; a sauvage edge, the palate lively and tingling, managing to be so many things at once, oscillating between fruit and spice and meat and game, a merry-go-round of flavour, spiralling on the palate, refusing to be pinned down by anything so prosaic as a tasting note. All the primary components melded by age and yielding up new ones, unsignalled when the wine was young. Everything cohesive and in harmony, like a great orchestra playing at its best. Above all, vital and living, endlessly enchanting and intriguing, engaging the palate and the spirit like no other wine. Learn more about Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd edition) Shop all books from the Académie du Vin Library Visit the Académie du Vin website

Explore Burgundy with the introduction from Raymond Blake's book: Côte d'Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy. Blake tells the whole story of this hugely influential region, painting a complete picture of life there: the history, landscape, climate, culture and people.

Discover Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd Edition): a deep dive into Burgundy's wines, winemakers, history, culture and the people behind this iconic region.

Raymond Blake on the Côte d'Or

I. Distractions In 1987, when I was 18 and a dollar was worth more than twice as much as it is today, I started reading magazines: M, Esquire, GQ. Nearby, in our somewhat cultured Texas town, a new bookstore opened in a cavernous space that had formerly housed the shag-carpeted roller skating rink of our childhood. Through the front windows, which had before been darkly tinted to give the place an alluring den-of-prepubescent-iniquity vibe, now streamed bright, clean light, showcasing a look and layout that would become the interior design gestalt of today’s national-chain, big-box book superstore. The rows upon rows of open, dustless shelving bearing a veritable warehouse of volumes; the ceiling hung with its industrial innards on display; the enfilade of check-out cubicles; and the wall – the great wall – that displayed a preposterous-to-behold assortment of glossies, quarterlies, journals, newsweeklies, fanzines, tabloids, almanacs, and all other flora and fauna of magazines arrayed upon a rack perhaps 50 feet long.  I went in there to look for a book. I liked books, and, one day, I was sure I wanted to write one. But I got distracted and bought a magazine instead – that August’s issue of GQ, which still stands out in my mind as a thing of formative significance. At that time, the zeitgeist was defined by a Walkman-wearing version of the American Renaissance Man – the highly-ambitious, status-obsessed, money-motivated, health-nut known as a Yuppie. No magazine positioned itself more authoritatively in defining this new sociological creature’s lifestyle than GQ, and it did it with whiter teeth, snappier suspenders, better accessories, bigger polka dots and more caffeine in the ink of its display copy.  I remember that issue less for the photos by Richard Avedon or Steven Meisel, the words of Martin Amis or Frederick Exley, than for this: Erzeugerabfüllung. It was one of the longest, strangest strings of letters from the Roman alphabet I had ever seen. Neither did it seem designed to come out of someone’s mouth. But there it was in Alan Richman’s Wine & Spirits column, accompanied by a lovely still-life photograph of his topic: two bottles of Riesling Kabinetts on a white, sun-dappled tablecloth. Richman’s main point – made almost 35 years ago – still holds true: estate-bottled, table-quality German wines remain some of the least expensive, most delicious wines in the world, chiefly because – then as now – the labels, as he wrote, “cannot be understood by anyone who is not a part-time oenophile, linguist and cartographer”. One US dollar in Richman’s pocket, as I have already said, bought what roughly two-dollars-and-fifty-cents does today; what he was on the hunt for was a good dry white in a range that would now cost somewhere between 12 and 30 bucks, and he easily accomplished that by finding a dealer in New York City who carried a good selection of wines from the Mosel and Rheingau. At the time, I didn’t know the meaning or significance of any of this, but it staked a claim in my brain. The only wine I had ever tasted was the one served at our Episcopal church during Eucharist on Sundays. The flavour it had was of a strange, super-concentrated jam that somehow warmed your upper body. Even as a young kid, I liked it. But the adjectives these German bottles were squeezing out of Richman – “citrus-like”, “honeyed”, “tart-sweet” – weren’t close to describing what was in that chalice, even if you believed in transubstantiation. Was it because Richman’s wine was white, and the parish’s was red? Perhaps, but both colours of grape juice bottled by Welch’s tasted pretty much the same to me. No, I sensed there was something – a lot – I had to learn, and, along with the romance and beauty of the labels, and the contextual air of well-bred taste and cultural with-it-ness featured on the other pages, this, I feel sure, was the decisive moment, the true origin point, when I came to believe that among the many extraordinary things that make life worth living, not just words but wine reigns at the top.  I warned you about distractions, didn’t I? Because that would be my excuse for now informing you, as a quite apropos footnote, that, yes, there was something unusual about our church’s Communion wine. It was, as I have confirmed with the church, actually port (Taylor’s Tawny, to be more accurate), cut, according to tradition, with water. There is a good and fascinating reason for this. In 1701, when the War of the Spanish Succession kicked off, France also became an enemy of England, and its wines, as a result, were no longer made available for import. The Anglican Church searched for and found a replacement, the fortified wines of its new ally, Portugal, and port continues to be an acceptable option to pair with the Host.  II. Distillations A satisfying story, not unlike a satisfying life, is one that surprises you with the mystery of its unfolding. A thing pulls in a certain direction long enough to reach the proximity of something else which then turns toward a new destination. I had actually gone into that bookstore, as I said, to look at books. But I came out, even though I didn’t yet know it, with a different compass point. Within a few years, shortly after graduating from college, in 1992, I got hired by The New Yorker, where I stayed for almost nine years. I then met my future wife, who wisely laughed at the thought we might be able to survive in New York City on my meagre salary, so I went to Vogue, and soon after became the founding editor of Men’s Vogue. After 23 issues, and four years, the financial crisis laid an axe to many magazines, including that one. Eventually, I took on the editorship of Town & Country. Then, finally, in 2016, I moved up to Esquire, the magazine, as it happens, that didn’t offer me a job when The New Yorker did, and became that storied magazine’s editor in chief, until – well, you best read about that in The New York Times.  As far as distractions go, magazines were a good one. They made me who I am, gave me a tremendously worldly education, honed my taste, introduced me to all manner of accomplished people, required me to build quite a wardrobe, and paid me pretty well to do all of this, often with a glass of wine not far out of the picture. There was really no other way I would have ever got to taste all the bottles I have (a lot of the big names people whisper about from Burgundy and Bordeaux, Champagne and also Piedmont, Tuscany and Napa). I built a modest cave à vin of my own by buying the Smith Haut Lafittes of the world way before hedge-fund hoi polloi ran up the prices, and by having access to rare offerings, like 12 bottles of Fiorano, the legendary white wine Alberico Boncompagni Ludovisi, prince of Venosa, made before ripping out all his vines. I smelled the musty perfume of Margaux in the cellar as I watched the workers rack the wine by candlelight. I lured Jay McInerney away from the Wall Street Journal to become my wine columnist; and I once stood in Bordeaux’s town square, tight on 2002 Pétrus, trying with great focus to commune with the statue of Michel de Montaigne while my French friend, a true oenophile, extolled the majesty of the Big Mac’s special sauce.  As the editor of a magazine, curiosity is your profession, even to the point of distraction. Editors – writers, too – are prone to it. It’s a hazard of the gift, and having a jumble of ideas, if you’re any good, is key to making a magazine of any real intellectual or creative daring. Now as a husband and father of three, working from home and trying to be ‘present’, and a still youngish former editor and occasional micro-influencer trying to stave off the solitude to fathom and plot the next phase of a fruitful future, this skill of mine, the strength of which became even more magnified over two decades, is something of a family project.  The way I most often hear the word ‘distraction’ now, for instance, is when it’s being hurled at me in verb form by my wife or daughters accusing me of being more of a phone-enslaved screen vegetable than they are. (I respectfully disagree.) But it’s a sore point for two reasons. One, what I did as an editor is, in a nutshell, now what a smartphone essentially does. Not very imaginatively, of course, and not with taste or charm or originality, but with a bloody, money-grubbing ruthlessness that stalks every step of our digital peregrinations and doesn’t give a twist if the algorithms that are its brain make us its slave by retrofitting our attention spans for kindergarten.  The smartphone – not the former me or any of my fellow kind still in the media biz – is now the true croupier of culture, dealing out a targeted shuffle of Pavlovian temptations to the point of daily mental exhaustion. And, though this thing is in many ways my personal nemesis, I am, against every fibre of my being, too often its obedient servant. Aiming not to live according to the famous line by T.S. Eliot – “distracted from distraction by distraction” – I recently decided to at least take a serious inventory of my favourite ones, both those of the pre-digital sort (tennis, The Walking Dead, checking the mailbox, my sock collection) and those of the post-digital sort (the any and everything I do because my phone wants me to). Then I caught myself watching tennis on my phone and realised this might be harder than I thought. It’s enough to drive a person to drink, thank god! With that in mind, I like to keep a special something for the occasion around, in this case – what else? – two bottles of Riesling Kabinett, for it had struck me as more than a little weird that I’ve probably tasted fewer than a handful of German wines in my entire life. Part of the reason is that those I had were bad, and, like a lot of other simpletons about this great wine region of the world, I’d come to think of Riesling as a cloying elixir equal parts green Jolly Rancher, apple cider vinegar, and hairspray. This, I knew, was wrong, not true and, in terms of wine equity and inclusion, on the wrong side of history. But, if you happen to live in a place like I do – a bourgie swathe of Connecticut bordering New York City where the shops cater heavily to Cali-Fran-Taly banker’s tastes – it might take you a few stops to find what Richman recommended, an erzeugerabfüllung (estate-bottled) Kabinett (wine made from grapes with a minimum must weight/sugar content) Riesling, and when you do it will probably be coated in a fine sift of years-old dust. I bought a green (Mosel) bottle for US$16 and a brown (Rhine) bottle for US$20, both handsomely labelled. I opened them a few minutes ago and took several investigative swigs. The words bright, invigorating and snappy came to mind. One is indeed sweeter, and, though not my usual jam, it is tamped by a pleasing peachy tartness, and the classic overtone of honey isn’t making my palate feel doused with syrup. The other example is, as Richman said so long ago, a very finely layered creature with mineral clarity and an echo of baked bread, something a gluten-free person like me finds particularly appealing. A rather obvious thought: why haven’t I been buying this instead of throwing a ton of endless money at affordably bad white Burgundy, which is mostly a product aimed at fulfilling a desired outcome, like White Claw hard seltzer? III. Words But don’t let me get distracted, again. A writer really has to be careful about such things. Just think about it. Unlike, say, a painter or musician or actor or photographer, the process of writing requires zero physical exertion, no chance to score an endorphin release while sitting staring anxiously at a blank page. Of the many things in life that vie against the counter intuitive impulse to be glued to a desk, Cyril Connolly, in Enemies of Promise, his classic study of the things that distracted him (and others) from becoming a great writer, names the temptations but does not say much about why they’re so deeply tempting to someone who would otherwise be sitting alone in an empty room. Praise, money, fame, social prominence, affairs and journalism are the most common boltholes, according to Connolly, who, as a famously late sleeper that married three times, might have also added the bliss of unconsciousness and excessive alimony. In 1938, the year the book was published, he would never have imagined how hard the task might get without a cigarette. Smoking is a death wish, I know, but when you want to off yourself for still having a hundred pages to go, being able to snap open a nice lighter, flick some ash, stub a butt and inhale some lungfuls of focus-enhancing nicotine must have been kind of helpful. Connolly also doesn’t have much to say about drink except that artists who drink to excess do so “out of the consciousness of wasted ability”. According to that, the 20th century’s most famous literary alcoholics – Dorothy Parker, Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Styron, Elizabeth Bishop, James Joyce, Raymond Chandler, William Faulkner – might have left behind even greater treasures than they did. Because Ernest Hemingway did almost everything with more gusto than any of his peers, including running up his bar tab, as a drinker he belongs in his own sentence. He is the novelist who most romanced a good drink or nice bottle of wine as one of life’s great pleasures. Who didn’t want to have a vermouth with Jake when reading The Sun Also Rises? (Don’t, it’s gross, at least if you order it at one of those kiosks in Montmartre where the bottles are hung upside down with spring-loaded dispensers.) Or, track down a bottle of Valdepeñas, Hemingway’s favourite variety of Spanish wine. Or, get a drink at the bar named after him at the Ritz, in Paris, and then go somewhere on the Left Bank to order “a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine”.  In the early work, he is not boastful about drinking so much as he is the possessor of an unusual appetite for a good buzz. He is also, like Connolly, aware of the need to keep writing separate from drinking, and drinking within his control. It is hard to read the first paragraph of A Moveable Feast, in which he describes an “evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness”, except as a kind of terrifying admonition to himself. It is tragic that he didn’t heed his own advice. Late in his life, Hemingway became fond of rum daiquiris at the Floridita, his favourite bar in Havana, which might explain his taste for a prose style that soon became too often cloying self-parody. In one of the most extraordinary drinking sessions ever committed to words, in the roman à clef Across the River and Into the Trees, a 50-year-old Hemingway, who was smitten with a teenage Italian countess from Venice, fictionalises his infatuation with a last muse. In one stretch (that covers an evening-to-dawn crawl from Harry’s Bar, the grill at the Gritti Palace, a gondola and a hotel room), one half or another of the couple imbibes: one scotch whisky and soda; six Montgomery Martinis (15 parts gin; 1 part vermouth), two of which are described in size as ‘super’; a bottle of Capri Bianco; two bottles of Valpolicella; two bottles of Roederer Brut ’42; and two bottles of Perrier-Jouët. That is, I suppose, one extreme, and, clearly, not one to be tried at home.  The other might have been espoused by Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great critic and lexicographer. As a young man, he’d drained “many a bottle of wine” but loved port especially. (Perhaps Johnson, a devout Anglican who was born in 1709, in the midst of England’s 14-year war with Spain, also first encountered port as a boy at the Communion altar.) He describes himself to friend and biographer James Boswell as having been “apt to go to excess in it”, adding that, “therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it”.  Boswell, who worried about his own dependence on alcohol, even keeping a journal of his intake in an attempt to enforce moderation, argued for a third way, which some of the Romantics later adopted. Wine, he claimed, “produces truth; in vino veritas”. Hoping to persuade Johnson of his point, Boswell once convinced the critic to come down off the wagon for just one glass of claret, so Johnson “might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation”. Boswell reports what happened after the glass was emptied: “Johnson shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men,’” adding, “‘A man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.’”  That actually reminds me of something I think I forgot to mention about Riesling Kabinetts – they’re also highly admired for their low percentage of alcohol. On that note, I think I’ll have another glass.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

Jay Fielden, former editor of Men’s Vogue, Town & Country and Esquire, recalls how a magazine column on wine, read in a Texas bookstore, shifted his ambitions beyond journalism and set him on the path to becoming a writer of books.

Former Esquire editor-in-chief Jay Fielden reflects on magazines, writing, Riesling Kabinett and the distractions that shaped a life in words and wine.

Jay Fielden on Wine, Words and Distraction

How one became another  

Steven Spurrier might be approaching 80, but his wit, quill and tongue are as sharp as ever. While – as is now the norm – we spoke on the phone, there is no doubt in my mind that the voice at the end of the line was immaculately dressed – with due attention paid to every detail. Spurrier has a critical eye, both precise and unfailingly honest in his assessment of whatever crosses his path. “People do go on about the Judgement of Paris,” he laments. “It’s stuck to my back. I can’t do anything about it.” Instantly, I feel grateful for the phoneline, as I blush, knowing that I will join the cohorts of pesky interviewers who can’t not ask about the 1976 tasting that flung both Spurrier and Californian wine into the limelight. The blind tasting – pitching the best Bordeaux and Burgundy against California’s finest – paved the way for the New World, challenging the fine wine status quo, and creating a template for almost every other region to follow as they looked to prove their worth.  It is this, Spurrier feels, that was the real mark left on the wine trade – opening people’s eyes to the power of blind tasting. “I just happened to put it on,” he says modestly of the event. Certainly, there is an element of coincidence that has ensured the tasting’s place in the history books: if journalist George Taber hadn’t attended – writing up the event for Time magazine with its now iconic Judgement of Paris title – and Spurrier’s wife Arabella hadn’t thought to take a few pictures, the occasion might have been remembered only by the few. At the time Spurrier was running a wine shop and school (L’Académie du Vin) in Paris, being
one of few Englishmen bold enough to try and teach the French about wine. He’d started his career just a few years earlier at Christopher’s – then London’s oldest wine merchant. Returning to the UK in 1988, he made the switch to writing and consulting on wine. The rest, as they say, is history: today he is one of the most famous names in the world of wine. That might be achievement enough for most people, but Spurrier isn’t most people – and he’s certainly not resting on his laurels.  In 2009 he and his wife Arabella planted their first vines on their Dorset property. Steven had long thought the chalky soils and the natural amphitheatre could make for a good vineyard, but it took a while for him to take the plunge. More than anyone, he knows how true the old adage is that the wine trade is the best way to make a small fortune – if, of course, you start out with a large one. Nevertheless he’d been fascinated by England’s sparkling potential – ever since he was served a glass of Nyetimber Blanc de Blancs blind in the mid-1990s. Soon after the first vines took root at Bride Valley, he was at a black tie dinner at Château Lafite-Rothschild, talking to Baron Eric de Rothschild, he mentioned that he had planted a vineyard. Baron Eric put an arm round him and said, “Welcome to the club.” At the time he felt he was being congratulated; now he knows it was an element of commiseration. He’s 100% over budget on the project but is confident things will turn out ok. And, on the upside he hasn’t had cause to buy a bottle of Champagne for five years. The wines are made by Ian Edwards (of nearby Furleigh Estate), with Spurrier involved at both blending and dosage. At
first the project was focused on sparkling only, but now they’re making still wines too – something about which he is very excited, particularly in the wake of the superb, warm 2018 vintage. A lot has changed since he joined the wine trade in the 1970s. Although he’s not necessarily enthused about everything (“I think natural wine gets away with a lot”), Spurrier thinks we’re in “a golden age for the wine drinker”, with a kaleidoscopic offering for today’s consumers. I ask him what of everything he’s tasted has stood out recently: like most people, he’s been spending a lot of time on Zoom – and one bottle from a recent online tasting stood out, 2017 Volnay Premier Cru Santenots from Faiveley, a close rival for the best Volnay he’s ever had (from Comtes Lafon).  But while wine might have filled his days, art seems to permeate every aspect of his life. It
is, he says, an “addictive passion”, ever since he bought his first Stubbs etching at Sotheby’s 63 years ago. “I’ve got about 3,000 bottles of wine in the cellar, and I’ve got a list of what’s there. I think about them in vague terms, what one might drink tonight and so on,” he tells me, “but they don’t play a part in my life.” His home is full of fine art – paintings, sculpture and sketches. Unlike wine, he feels that “art speaks to you,” he says. I ask whether he ever thinks about the path not taken – working in art, rather than wine. The answer – despite the fact that things have, at times, gone “exceedingly badly” – is, in short, no. “Life in the wine trade was so captivating, so encompassing, with the ups and the downs,” he says with a touch of nostalgia. “Although I would have lost less money in the art business,” he knowingly chuckles. Most importantly, he notes, “I’ve never been bored in the wine trade.”  This feature was originally published before Steven Spurrier's passing in March 2021 Read more Editorial  

Ahead of the publication of his memoirs in 2020, the wine merchant turned writer Steven Spurrier spoke to Sophie Thorpe about a life dedicated to wine and why he couldn't stop buying art 

Wine merchant turned writer Steven Spurrier on a life dedicated to wine and why he couldn't stop buying art 

Steven Spurrier's life in wine

Steven Spurrier: a life in wine

A prince’s kiss rouses the cursed princess from a century-long slumber in Sleeping Beauty
but the man responsible for Bordeaux’s long-overdue reawakening was not a prince (this being the French Republic after all) but Alain Juppé, France’s former Prime Minister.  Bordeaux had been comatose, earning it the nickname la belle endormie, but the indefatigable politician has given the city the kiss of life. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007, it is now the most desirable place to live in France and was voted “European Best Destination 2015’. Bordeaux's renaissance is a real-life fairytale. Bordeaux was a “melancholy, unwelcoming place” just 20 years ago but the arrival of Alan
Juppé as mayor in 1995 has transformed the city’s fortunes, making its centre as elegant as its wines. Blackened buildings and abandoned warehouses are now a thing of the past and, with the arrival of the high-speed rail link, connecting the city to Paris in just two hours, living in Bordeaux is as aspirational as drinking its first growths.” When Juppé was elected as mayor in 1995, Bordeaux was not the modern and vibrant place it is today. Deputy mayor Stephan Delaux, who worked alongside Juppé for more than two decades, admits: “Bordeaux had a reputation as a melancholy, unwelcoming town. The town wasn’t modern – that is to say that in the town centre, cars, trucks, buses, car parks dominated. The building fronts were black, the waterfront was a relic of a once-busy
port; the warehouses [on the waterfront] were empty. The people of the city no longer knew they lived by a river – there was no life there.” He paints a rather depressing picture but throughout its history, Bordeaux’s sons have
portrayed the city in a none-too-flattering light: the novels of Nobel-prize-winning writer François Mauriac (1885-1970) whose bust now stands in the leafy public gardens, depicted Bordeaux and the surrounding areas as a bleak and uptight place to live in the early 20th century. Similarly, one of Alfred Smith’s (1854-1932) best-known works ‘Le Tramway devant les Quinconces par temps de pluie’ depicts a grey, wet day on the banks of the Garonne, umbrellas up and those without hurrying, heads bowed. It’s not a place you would have aspired to live.  Things didn’t get much better during the 20th century: local tour guide Veronique Baggio recalls a ramshackle apartment she lived in in the 1980s. “The building’s bathroom was in the attic so I had to leave my apartment to use it.  At that time the city was trying to push locals to improve the inside of buildings [to improve living conditions].  It wasn’t until the late 1990s that they started to focus on cleaning up the outside of the buildings and the public places.” Today, the buildings are impeccable – a mass sandblasting effort has unveiled the natural caramel and blonde tones of the local limestone, which were long hidden. Here and there, a few reminders of the past can be seen along its narrow streets: a blackened façade, as if smeared with charcoal.  Yet the renaissance of Bordeaux required more than a spit and polish. The length of the city’s riverbank had long been hidden by a line of ugly warehouses designed to cater to the needs of a port city. Since the 19th century, sugar and spices from far-flung places were unloaded to be reloaded by local timber and wine. The commercial port moved away in the 1970s from the city centre but the warehouses remained, as did the businesses that catered for the all-male docking crews.  Charles Sichel, export director of Maison Sichel, a wine merchant in the Chartrons district since 1883, explains:  “20 years ago there were a few seedy bars [on the quais] and where the new bridge is [Pont Chaban-Delmas] there were working girls. It was interesting taking customers out to lunch when there were girls standing in the doorways waiting for business – it was quite something – but I can’t remember them ever saying anything!” How times change. The waterfront is now the playground of the Bordelais, filled with joggers,
cyclists and prams promenading along its length; a place for concerts, festivals and open-air markets.  It is a sunny day and a Viking cruise liner lounges at the edge of the city centre overlooking children skipping in the water mirror, a slick of water that, as its name implies, reflects the classical architecture of the Place de la Bourse (Stock Exchange Square). It has become Bordeaux’s iconic postcard picture (and an unwitting urban water park) and represents the new face of the city – clean, bright and, dare I say it, fun.  The reawakening of the city has been noticed far beyond the city’s ring road; it has become the most desirable place to live in France, according to a survey commissioned by the Observatoire du Bonheur in 2015. Asked in which French city they would most like
to live, nearly one in five respondents answered Bordeaux – ahead of Montpellier, Toulouse and streets ahead of Paris.  Just an hour’s drive from the beaches of the Atlantic and three hours to the ski slopes of the Pyrenees, Bordeaux is now within commuting distance of Paris. A high-speed rail link (TGV) cuts the travel time between the two cities from more than three hours to two hours and five minutes in July 2017.  The spruce-up now continues beyond the city centre. Gliding north along the quai past Sichel’s office in the Chartrons district, the tram has started to deposit an unprecedented number of tourists in the Bacalan district. It’s certainly not the prettiest of suburbs, home to run-down docks, abandoned factories and a huge concrete mass that was once a submarine base, but the Juppé magic dust is now being sprinkled here and the opening of the Cité du Vin in June 2016, a towering sphere of gold and silver in a Frank Gehry meets Zaha Hadid-construction, is a pivotal part of its future. Tourists  - and most locals -  have had no reason to come here but that’s changing with 421,000 visitors walking through its doors in 2018. La belle endormie has woken up but the city continues to dream big. Sichel is rightly proud of his hometown. “Now, every time my customers come here they all comment on how beautiful the area has become. Juppé has turned this city around.” Explore more Editorial

Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007, it is now the most desirable place to live in France and was voted “European Best Destination 2015’. We explore the renaissance of Bordeaux 

Exploring the renaissance of Bordeaux, from being named a UNESCO World Heritage site to being crowned the most desirable place to live in France 

Bordeaux revival - the city's transformation

Bordeaux revival: A reinvention of the city

From humble beginnings in Beaujolais in the 1980s, the natural wine movement has become a global force. But what influence has it had just north in Burgundy’s long-established, terroir-focused appellations? Simon J Woolf explores the blurred line between classical and natural winegrowing

From Beaujolais to Burgundy, how has the natural wine movement shaped a terroir-driven region? For FONDATA Simon J Woolf explores the changing landscape.

Natural Wine’s Influence on Burgundy

Nature vs. Nurture: The quest for Burgundy’s true identity

Xiao-Li Meng, Whipple V. N. Jones Professor of Statistics at Harvard and Founding Editor-in-Chief of Harvard Data Science Review, was inspired by a student to combine wine and statistics—leading to insights far beyond what they ever expected.

From wine tastings to data science, Xiao-Li Meng explores how statistics reveals simplicity in complexity – one glass, experiment, and insight at a time.

Wine, statistics & serendipity: A Harvard journey

Seeking simplicity in statistics, complexity in wine, and everything else in fortune cookies 

I was hesitant about meeting Ivan Massonnat. The man who created Domaine Belargus seemed to fill easy stereotypes. A background in private equity. Lived in Paris. A passion for wine – and a dream to make it himself. Big scores and some pretty punchy prices for a brand-new estate from the Loire. Reading between the lines, I feared there was a lot of cash and possibly too much polish. Thankfully, I was wrong.  Created in 2018 and based in Anjou, Domaine Belargus has rapidly become one of fine wine’s hottest new names. The first wines were released in 2021, in the midst of the global pandemic, but had already earned serious acclaim. Yohan Castaing wrote in Decanter, “Remember this name, as its production should meet with resounding critical success in the coming years.” The wines received glowing reviews in Wine Spectator and the Wine Advocate – where Stephan Reinhardt declared it “one of the most spectacular new entries in the history of [the publication]”, granting a coveted 100-point score for its 2018 Quarts de Chaume Ultra. But that was just the beginning. Ivan Massonnat is a man with big plans – both for his own wines, and the region as a whole.  Wine was a part of life for Massonnat from a young age – with his grandfather farming a small vineyard in their village in the Savoie. But, despite helping at harvest time each year, he didn’t end up drinking wine until he was 20, when he was “instantly hooked”, he says. He fell in love with Burgundy and the concept of “vin de lieu” – wine of place.  Massonnat made his money in private equity, based in Paris but travelling the world, where fine dining – and fine wine lists – only fed his terroir obsession. Two decades ago he was looking for a country house for his family, and – not having a car – settled on the Loire. “The more I was spending time there, the more I realised that the region was totally misunderstood,” he says. Prior to the upheaval of the French Revolution and the subsequent arrival of mildew and phylloxera, the Loire was one of France’s most prestigious wine regions – home to the nation’s kings, the fruit of its vines were the royal court’s natural choice. Post-phylloxera, however, quality was scrapped in favour of quantity. “Its image started to blur,” says Massonnat.  Combine the region’s history with its two great, native varieties – Chenin Blanc and Cabernet Franc – and Massonnat saw “an incredible diamond in the rough”. Wine had become an increasingly large part of his life – tasting widely and visiting producers as much as possible, especially in Burgundy where vignerons such as Philippe Pacalet and Thibault Liger-Belair friends and mentors. But it wasn’t just a hobby – Massonnat was starting to think this could be more, the adventure that lay beyond the world of finance.  As the adage goes, the world of wine is a brilliant way to make a small fortune – provided you start out with a large one. Massonnat, however, didn’t underestimate the challenges and set about getting to grips with the mechanics of the business. “It started really to become a project 10 years ago,” he says – talking to importers, consultants, journalists and merchants. And, perhaps unsurprisingly given his successful career, Massonnat wasn’t looking to make any wine – he was determined to create something exceptional.  After a failed attempt to buy a Chinon estate in 2015, he turned his attention to great Chenin Blanc sites in Anjou Noir, between the Layon and Loire rivers – low-yielding hillsides where producers were struggling to make money and consequently there was land to buy. More than just availability, it was here that Massonnat saw great potential. The area’s dark, schist soils (cause for the “noir” in the region’s name) were littered with tiny appellations, echoing those of Burgundy, with a much hillier landscape, and the only Premier and Grand Cru vineyards in the region.  Between 2016 and 2018, Massonnat started visiting every vineyard he could find – looking for the exceptional. Then the local winemaker Patrick Baudouin introduced him to Jo Pithon – a legend of the Loire. Pithon had been making wine since 1978, a pioneer of organic farming, crafting fine dry and sweet wines – but the talented vigneron was by no means a businessman. By the early 2000s, his lack of commercial knowhow lost him the rights to his name, along with the majority of his vineyards – all but one plot, the Coteau des Treilles.  Massonnat met Pithon at the Angers wine fair in 2018; they got on well enough and he arranged to see Pithon’s vineyards the following day. The next morning, it was snowing and he regretted his decision . But then, at 8.32am on 6th February 2018, “It’s as if I was struck by lightning,” Massonnat says. Pithon had brought him to Coteau des Treilles. Long farmed organically, it has slopes at a gradient of 70%, embedded in a natural reserve, with a Mediterranean microclimate – and Massonnat knew instantly it was what he had been looking for. He bought the Pithon-Paillé operation that Jo Pithon had created a decade earlier.  Luck continued to be on Massonnat’s side – and he bought two other vineyards over the next six months, adding to his collection of prime sites. He managed to buy a quarter of the Quarts de Chaume appellation – the only Grand Cru vineyards in the region – which amazingly had been on the market for 10 years. “Nobody wanted to buy it… They were looking at it as a sweet wine terroir. But actually, a great terroir is a great terroir… you will do dry wines that are quite exceptional,” Massonnat explains. Then he snapped up a parcel in Savennières – the only plot to have been sold in the last seven years.  He hired a young team and Pithon stayed on to consult – and the real work began. “Belargus is a 100-year project. Everything we do, we have that horizon,” Massonnat says. The vines are all organically certified, but they’re now working towards biodynamic accreditation. Yields are low, and they’re trying gradually to increase them to around 35hl/ha in a good vintage (currently the highest they’ve managed is 29hl/ha). “Our obsession is to have the right maturity,” Massonnat explains. To battle Chenin Blanc’s natural heterogeneity, they pick in multiple passes, minimum two or three but up to six, depending on the year – and that is just for the dry wines. The general approach is minimalist – with stainless steel and mainly larger, old oak, indigenous yeast, letting malolactic fermentation happen (or not), keeping wines on the lees and using only essential levels of sulphur. A new winery is being planned to take things to the next level, with, for example, a Coquard press (allowing especially gentle pressing, commonly used in Champagne).  The project is about expressing the different terroirs of this corner of Anjou Noir. The first release (which sold almost instantly given the hype from the critics, with 80% exported) consisted of 14 cuvées – nine dry wines and five sweet, focusing on nine specific plots across the estate’s vineyards. The dry wines are powerful, tightly wound and intense – as Massonnat says, “It’s not wine for every day,” comparing them to white Hermitage or Corton-Charlemagne, wines that need food and time. Although 90% of production is dry, Massonnat confesses, “We are obsessed with sweet wines.” These, he feels, are what will really set Anjou Noir on the world stage – if, perhaps, what he calls “the sugar pandemic” ever stops.   With Massonnat’s finance background comes a flexibility that few others have. He hopes to hold all the wines back four years eventually, but for now it is between three and four – and he was able to release the 2020s before the exceptional 2019s. It also allowed him to set prices unusually high compared to his neighbours. “I had the luxury to make that choice for the region,” he explains. “I wanted to break the glass ceiling.” And although he thought it would take time – his first release proved that there were plenty of people ready to snap up the value that these wines offered, including many of those now priced out of Burgundy.  And this is his real dream – for the Loire to be recognised as Burgundy is, as “a tier-one region which any collector needs to have in its cellar, that needs to be understood”. It’s easy to imagine other producers might have bristled at an outsider’s arrival, pitching their very first wines at unheard-of prices; but Massonnat is intent on leading the crusade for the entire region, not just Domaine Belargus. He volunteered to run the Paulée d’Anjou – a celebration of the region’s wines – in 2019, and made it bigger and better. In 2021, he became co-president of the Quarts de Chaume appellation, alongside Marie Guégniard from Domaine de la Bergerie. Together they are fighting for the appellation to permit both dry and sweet wines, as Savennières technically can, and Quarts de Chaume could until 1996. “Anjou was a dirty word. And look at the revolution now,” he says.  Like the precious blue butterfly that gives its name to the Belargus estate, Massonnat isn’t happy sitting still – and he’s already got another project – having had the chance to buy the Chinon estate he’d originally had his eye on in 2015. The best wine he ever tasted was a Chinon, a 1989 from Charles Joguet. “There was a whole civilisation in this wine,” he told me, trying to explain how moving the experience had been. There’s no doubt that Massonnat is a canny businessman, but his vision is extraordinary – and one that he seems set to realise.  Explore all current listings of Domaine Belargus or read more Editorial 

Since it was created in 2018, Domaine Belargus has become a name to watch. Sophie Thorpe sat down with Ivan Massonnat, the man behind the project, to find out more about the Anjou estate and his vision for the region

With top reviews for its first releases, Anjou estate Domaine Belargus has become a name to watch. We sat down with founder Ivan Massonnat to find out more

Talking to Domaine Belargus’s Ivan Massonnat

The archangel of Anjou: Ivan Massonnat

As we commented in our 2022 report, vintages in Napa are, it seems increasingly defined by extreme conditions. The 2023 harvest, however, was – as Neil Bernardi MW, COO at Colgin described it – “remarkably unremarkable”.  “It was a calm and collected vintage,” said winemaker Cathy Corison, who has been making wine under her eponymous label since 1987. “There was nothing that forced your hand. It wasn’t too cold, it wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t rainy. We had the luxury of time.” For Corison, it was an exemplary vintage, easily one of her favourites – although she’s not quite ready to declare it the best vintage of her career (yet, at least). Corison is not alone in such praise: throughout the valley, whispers about 2023 have been growing louder, with the vintage felt by many to be one of the best in recent history.   Weather during the year was unusually cool at times, but largely uneventful. Looking back to the months before the growing season kicked off, however, Northern California received historic levels of rainfall. With a classic Mediterranean climate, the winegrowing regions of California experience warm, dry summers, with most rain falling between October and April.  In the drought years of 2020 and 2021, Napa received a scant eight and 10 inches of rain respectively. The 2022 vintage brought welcome relief, with 26 inches of rain measured in Oakville – just about average as measured against the past 10 years. Records were smashed in 2023, however, with an astounding 58 inches of rain measured between the close of the 2022 and start of the 2023 harvest. Local reservoirs were filled to the point of overflowing, and many vineyards in lower-lying areas were under water at points during the winter.   The rain stretched into May, punctuated by heavy fog and, with soaked soils and overcast skies, budburst was delayed by about two weeks. Although most winemakers on the valley floor reported excellent fruit set, resulting in higher-than-average crop loads, this was not the case everywhere. Up on Spring Mountain at Philip Togni Vineyard, winemaker Lisa Togni explained that incoming rainstorms reach this part of Napa first, and heavy cloud cover often lingers at peak level. Humidity and wind can hinder pollination, lowering the number of berries on each cluster. Yields at Togni, while not historically low, were much lighter than average in 2023. In stark comparison, Sam Kaplan, winemaker for Arkenstone and Memento Mori, reported having to thin “aggressively” during the growing season, with higher-than-normal potential yields thanks to large, perfectly formed clusters.   Springtime temperatures were cooler than average, a trend which would continue through the summer. In June and July, temperatures never exceeded 90°F (32°C) – highly unusual compared to every vintage in the past decade, and, while August warmed up slightly, there were zero major heat events. “Bad things can happen in the first week of September,” noted winemaker and viticulturalist Steve Matthiasson. Most Napa winemakers collectively hold their breath around Labour Day weekend, now notorious for heatwaves and wildfires. In 2023, however, extreme weather never materialised. Moderate, slightly lower-than-average temperatures persisted throughout September, and as the weeks ticked by, the fruit remained on the vine, slowly and steadily accumulating sugar and flavours.   For many producers, the biggest challenge of 2023 was being patient. Given the heat spikes in recent years, Togni said she was fully prepared for harvest by 15th August. Twice she scheduled pick dates only to call them off at the last moment when additional sampling showed that the ripeness was still not at the desired level. Finally, harvest began at Togni on 2nd October – a huge difference from 2022, when harvest started on 23rd August.   As the harvest season stretched on and temperatures remained steady, the potential for rain became worrisome. With fruit projected to be hanging in mid-October and even later depending on site, the chance of rainfall increased. This also did not happen. “Everything was just perfect,” said Myriad winemaker Mike Smith, noting that while the vintage conditions were certainly unusual for recent history, in many ways, they were a return to an earlier version of normal. “No one under 40 has probably ever seen a vintage like this. They’re more used to heat and drought,” he explains.  Smith started harvesting for Myriad on 5th October, which is about three weeks later than recent vintages. He wonders, though, if perhaps other winemakers kicked off harvest too early, which is something Kaplan pondered as well, citing a lack of mid-palate density in some of the wines he’s tasted – perhaps a result of looking at the calendar too intently, especially given recent harvest trends in Napa. Picking was still underway in early November at some addresses. At Colgin, Bernardi says that their patience paid off. “When we harvested, we felt like each vine was at the absolute apex of what it could give,” he said. “The alignment of sugars and phenolics was phenomenal.” He added that, at Colgin, the vine leaves started yellowing almost immediately after harvest, confirming their hunch that the fruit was fully developed and the vines ready to go dormant.   There were no concerns over yield – the plentiful water and cooler growing season not reducing crop size, and most brought in an above-average yield, especially on the valley floor. The quality of the fruit once harvested was uniformly reported as healthy, with multiple winemakers citing fresh, natural acidity levels and ample tannins. Smith loves the colour and density of 2023, noting that extraction was quick and easy, and the fermentation smooth. For Kaplan, a challenge was maintaining the body of the wine – handling the ferments in the winery to extract enough fruit to match the structure of the wine.   Many winemakers also praised the aromatics of 2023. In a hotter vintage like 2022, many of the delicate notes can be “baked out” of the wines, explained winemaker Tony Biagi of Patria and Hourglass. In 2023, Biagi said, the combination of red and black fruit, along with floral notes, has created highly perfumed wines. In his view, the 2023s offer “spectacular power and finesse”, with all “the stuffing” to be “a superlative vintage” – producing wines that will age for at least 30 years.  What may set the 2023 wines apart is the high level of “finesse and elegance,” as described by Andy Erickson of Favia. While he believes that 2023 may not be the most Californian vintage — at least by modern standards – the wines have a lithesome quality on the palate, balancing power and grace. This was a sentiment echoed by Bernardi, who praised the “sense of weightlessness” of the wines produced at Colgin, something he says only the greatest vintages can achieve.  Comparing the vintage to any other proves challenging. More than a few, including Matthiasson, said the weather during the growing season was reminiscent of 2011 – that is, without the October rains that ultimately caused a difficult harvest that year. Lisa Togni feels 2023 is more of a classic Napa vintage with moderate conditions, seemingly cool perhaps only because of the severity of the heat in recent years. Kaplan believes that the purity of fruit in 2023 is comparable to 2018, but even more pronounced. “The wines just jump out of the glass,” he said, “They’re so perfumed and aromatic.” For Corison, the very high level of quality of 2023 is reminiscent of 2001, which she said was similarly elegant and continues to evolve gracefully.  But is 2023 the vintage of the century, as the rumours might have it? Overall, the quality in 2023 is very high. After tasting through dozens of barrel samples, it’s clear that 2023 is a vintage where it was likely more challenging to make bad wine than good wine.  While we’re already looking ahead to 2023, more than a few winemakers lamented the quick dismissal of other vintages – perhaps overlooked in a rush of quick generalisations and soundbites. Quintessa’s Wineburg believes 2023 is undeniably a great vintage, however 2022 was also great – each year has its own personality that will appeal to different palates. For Erickson, the nascent 2024 wines (a vintage he’s particularly excited about) are more typically Californian in style with density and power, while 2023 will be defined by its finesse and restraint.  The 2023 vintage is outstanding – and the wines will appeal particularly to those with a classic palate. Given the late and long, cool growing season, many – if not most – of the wines have a distinct Bordelais quality, balancing pure Californian fruit with fresh acidity and elegant, nimble body – with “a sense of weightlessness” as Bernardi put it. The tannins seem poised to integrate well into the finished wines, and there’s a sense of restraint to many of the wines that is reminiscent of older Napa. The quality in 2023 is far more homogenous – in a positive way – than in recent challenging vintages, where site specificity and the ability to make quick decisions widened the field between those that faltered and those that excelled. “We’ve seen so much awfulness,” said Togni, referencing the challenges of 2020 and 2022, “but this was a nice reminder that not every year will be difficult: 2023 was a classic, great vintage – a storybook vintage.”   Napa 2023: the vintage in brief   Heavy rain over winter and through to spring replenished water reserves, with a long, cool growing season and late harvest  Yields were generally higher than average, especially on the valley floor  Quality largely consistent across the region  Cooler season with extended hangtime produced wines of elegance and finesse  Wines combine perfumed aromatics, fresh acidity and fine tannins, with a classic style reminiscent of the Napa of yesteryear  A top vintage – one of, if not the best in recent history  Keep your eye out for the first releases of Napa’s 2023 vintage. In the meantime, read more about California or browse all current Napa 2023 listings 

Since the fruit came into the winery, Napa’s winemakers have been quietly confident about the 2023 vintage – with murmurs of greatness. Now, as the first wines from the year are released, we find out whether the vintage is as good as the rumours suggest 

Is 2023 the vintage of the century in Napa? We talk to Corison, Colgin, Arkenstone, Tony Biagi, Steve Matthiasson and more about the year and its wines 

Discover the wines of the 2023 vintage in Napa, California 

Napa 2023: vintage report   

Patris

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Before you request delivery, you can adjust the quantity for each item in your selection below.

* At time of sale a 15% trading fee will be deducted from the final sale price.

Total estimated value*'

The fixed custom price you wish to sell each item for.

Split into {caseSize} individual {bottleSize}cl bottles.

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shows all the items you currently store with us. These items can be sold.

Available for sale — items stored with {name} eligible to be listed on the marketplace.

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This item is at Vinfolio, available for storage or shipping. For more information on shipping and handling visit vinfolio.com/shipping

This item is at FINE+RARE HOME Hong Kong, available for delivery or local pickup. Most Hong Kong deliveries can be made within 3 working days, an exact date will be available when arranging delivery. International deliveries have longer lead-times, please contact us for details.

Wines sold en primeur will be released from the producer after bottling, typically 18 months after the so-called campaign ends. Upon arrival your wine will be stored at Vinfolio in our temperature-controlled warehouse until you decide to take delivery.

We will source this item at the guaranteed price from our network of suppliers and arrange expedited shipment to FINE+RARE.
 The lead-time depends on many variables, but 2-4 weeks is typical for expedited sourcing.
 Once your order is confirmed, we'll keep you updated on its ETA.
 Every item is checked on arrival by our expert team, with photographs available on request (please note that charges may apply).

When a wine is on "pre-arrival", it means that we have a confirmed order on the bottles from our supplier and we are simply waiting for the winery or distributor to ship the wine to us. The delivery timeframe for pre-arrival wines varies significantly, depending on where the wine is coming from. We will notify you once they arrive at our warehouse and, at that point, you can decide to arrange shipping or list them for sale.

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