Second wines are no longer à la mode. In Bordeaux, these junior siblings – traditionally made with declassified fruit from the Grand Vin – are being rebranded as alternate expressions of a château. While this has fast become a familiar trope among the region’s master marketeers (who wants to suggest that anything is lesser?), for the Guinaudeau family of Ch. Lafleur the idea has become a fundamental part of their philosophy.  “A new cuvée, a new label – that’s marketing,” says Omri Ram – the man at the helm of the Guinaudeau estates today. For the family (who are mentioned repeatedly in our conversation, their involvement and influence is much more than monetary), any new wines must be a new Cru. Literally meaning a “growth”, the term doesn’t translate particularly well, but it’s a wine that should be “from viticulture, terroir, ideology”, Ram says. The inspiration is Burgundy rather than Bordeaux, comparing to Amoureuses or Malconsorts, a site that offers a distinct expression, year in, year out. “A special cuvée that costs 300 bucks – no, thank you,” he laughs. It hasn’t always been the approach at Ch. Lafleur – or more accurately, the “Société Civile du Ch. Lafleur" (the name that encompasses all the Guinaudeau estates). Les Pensées was originally conceived as a second wine, used to ensure the consistency and top quality of the Grand Vin, primarily made with fruit from young vines. But that all shifted in 2000, when they decided to separate out a diagonal 0.7-hectare valley, a strip of clay within the otherwise gravel-dominated Lafleur vineyard. The concept was – and is – to take the same core DNA of Lafleur, their old-vine material – and translate it through the lens of different terroirs. Les Pensées was their first step towards this, but in the early 2000s the Guinaudeau family started thinking about another expression of Lafleur – one on limestone. Little did they know that it would take almost 20 years for this idea to come to fruition.  And so they started looking for a limestone site. But Pomerol is the only place on the Right Bank with absolutely no limestone, and a plot on Saint-Emilion’s plateau (the obvious choice for prime limestone terroir) was a pipedream. In the unlikely scenario that a plot came up for sale, the price would be astronomical (the buyer would, in Ram’s words, need to have “big, big, big, big pockets”, his eyes visibly boggling at the idea). And while Ch. Lafleur might be uttered in the same breath as the likes of Pétrus, Lafite and Margaux, it remains a small, family-run affair. With Saint-Emilion ruled out, the family turned closer to home.  A distant but direct ancestor of the Guinaudeau family established Ch. Grand Village in 1650, and Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau reclaimed the Fronsac estate in 1980. Five years later they took charge of Ch. Lafleur, marking the start of this illustrious property’s renaissance. While their reputation has been built on the Pomerol estate, Fronsac has always been home. In fact, Jacques and Sylvie still live at Grand Village today, while their children– and current custodians of the family business –Baptiste and Julie also live on the outskirts of the village.   Although Fronsac might be considered lowly today, in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, its wines commanded higher prices than those of either Saint-Emilion or Pomerol. The Médoc reigned supreme, with its affluence, proximity to the city of Bordeaux and access to transport via the Gironde – but Fronsac, bordered on one side by the Dordogne River and on the other by one of its subsidiaries, Isle, was not far behind. As nearby Libourne developed, this only helped Fronsac and its wines grow in importance. Back then, Ram explains: “You couldn’t cheat. If you didn’t have a great terroir, you wouldn’t be able to make great wine in nine out of 10 years.” Of course, the region fell from grace – and even today you can stumble across abandoned vineyards, no longer bringing in enough income for someone to bother to farm them. But the best wines speak for themselves – Ram and the Lafleur team have tasted bottles back through the 20th century and there are undoubtedly “great, great things” – even up until the 1980s, proving the potential of the region.  That history, combined with the familial ties and a dream of reviving Fronsac’s reputation of yore, made the region the obvious choice.   There were two elements key to creating a new Cru for the Guinaudeau family: firstly, the right site, but secondly having massal selections of their old vines. Lafleur has long championed its particular plantings of Bouchet (a historic name for Cabernet Franc) and Merlot that pre-date clonal selection.  They started a nursery for their heritage clones at Ch. Grand Village – taking cuttings of their most interesting old vines, grafting them onto American rootstocks and then repeating the process. The challenge was cultivating enough vine material for a new site. As this project got underway, the family continued their search for the perfect vineyards – but also decided they needed to test the theory, and see if their vines’ DNA would translate on limestone.  And so G Acte was born – a “beta testing” programme for what would become Les Perrières. They picked limestone-dominant plots at Ch. Grand Village for an experimental series, starting with the 2009 vintage – Acte 1. By Acte 6, 7 and 8 (the 2014, ’15 and ’16 vintages), Ram tells me, they knew that they were onto something special. At the same time, the team continued to search for the right site. Originally they looked to Burgundy for their inspiration, where the illustrious Grands Crus sit neither at the top or bottom of the hill – but in Fronsac the mid-slope only proffered overly rich, fertile soils dominated by clay. Each site they explored brought new disappointment – until they decided to forget about Burgundy. The best wines in Pomerol, Saint-Emilion and even the Médoc all come from a plateau – so they changed tack and started hunting for a site perched up high.  Talking to the region’s older vignerons, they discovered the plateau of Meyney – beneath which lies a warren of quarries, the source of the limestone that was used to build much of Libourne, and the châteaux across the Right Bank. The first soil-pit they dug offered instant promise – with a meagre 20cm or so of topsoil before you were scraping at the mother rock.   Almost a decade after their search had begun, in 2011, they bought the first vineyards – Les Canards and Les Poulains – just seven kilometres from Grand Village, then another parcel the following year. When Ram arrived at the estate in September 2013, he spent his first day working on one of those nascent vineyards. The work required was extensive. These sites had been conventionally farmed, planted with clones selected for quantity rather than quality, so they needed total rehabilitation. They uprooted the vines and rotated various cover crops (herbs, flowers, cereals) to revive the soils over four years – totally reconstituting them, returning organic matter and also, importantly, re-stabilising the soil structure. The whole process took four or five years for each plot, with the first of their new plantings only going in in 2016 (Les Canards). The focus was, at first, on Bouchet from Lafleur, with 20 different selections. In 2017, they planted Les Poulains, with around 25 Bouchet selections, then in 2018 they planted three more clay-rich parcels with Merlot, partly with their own heritage selections, as well as some carefully selected clones that passed muster.  In 2018, they harvested their first crop from 3.5 hectares of vines. The quality of the Bouchet from these “extreme limestone” soils was so distinct that – even when blended with Merlot parcels that had previously been used for G Acte – they bottled it under the new Cru’s name, Les Perrières.  Tasting it in a line-up alongside previous vintages of G Acte, the difference is as extreme as the soils. Later vintages of the experimental series offer a red-fruited crunch, vibrancy and transparency, but the 2018 Perrières shows an instant shift. There’s a step up in purity, precision, concentration and complexity, with a wilder, swarthier fruit character, yet it’s the mineral salinity that shines through, and is echoed in the 2019. These are serious wines that have a clear sense of place.  The 2020 vintage is the first that came exclusively from Perrières vineyards, with none of the G Acte parcels (these are now all being used for Grand Village). As they initially had more Bouchet plantings on these sites, the blend has shifted over time – with the 2020 having 70% Bouchet, 60% in 2021 and a return in 2022 to the 50/50 mix that is the norm for Lafleur and Pensées. While the aim isn’t always to have this varietal mix, the vineyards are planted so that Merlot and Bouchet can be equal – but the blend will be decided on taste.  Bouchet might be Lafleur’s trademark, but the Merlot is an essential component in Ram’s view. Alone, Bouchet is too linear, vertical, intellectual and even borderline austere. Merlot complements this, ensuring it not just makes you think, but leaves you reaching for another glass. “The greatest wines are not just for the mind, but for the heart and stomach too,” Ram says.   It’s still early days for Les Perrières – the soon-to-be-released 2022 will be only its fifth vintage. These vines are still babies by almost any standard, let alone those of Ch. Lafleur. Yet its potential – and path – is already clear. Ram anticipates it will take them around 20 years to get the wine to where they really want it to be, sitting as a true equal to Ch. Lafleur, but he’s confident that it’s just a matter of time.  It's amazing to see the work that has gone into this one wine – both on paper and in the glass. This isn’t just marketing, but a creed for the Société Civile du Ch. Lafleur – and one that it’s hard not to believe in. Your cheat sheet to the Lafleur stable: the Société Civile de Ch. Lafleur unpacked Ch. Lafleur – the property’s most famous wine, seen as the Grand Vin, an expression of the Lafleur DNA on gravel  Les Pensées – now an expression of the Lafleur DNA on clay. Up to and including the 1999 vintage, this was Ch. Lafleur’s second wine, made with fruit mainly from younger vines. From the 2000 vintage, the fruit comes exclusively from a diagonal strip of clay in the Lafleur vineyards, and is a different Cru. (It was labelled as Les Pensées de Lafleur prior to 2018, when the “de Lafleur” was officially dropped.)  Les Perrières – an expression of the Lafleur DNA on limestone, sourced from vineyards in Fronsac. The 2018 and 2019 vintages include some parcels at Ch. Grand Village, however from 2020 the fruit is sourced exclusively from separate sites in Fronsac, on extreme limestone soils on the plateau de Meyney.  Les Champs Libres – an expression of pure Sauvignon Blanc on limestone soils, from specific parcels in Fronsac. The first commercial release was the 2013 vintage.  Ch. Grand Village – a red and white are made under the Fronsac estate’s name, which is also the family home (Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau still live there today).  G Acte – made from 2009 to the 2017 vintages inclusive, an experimental series testing the concept of Lafleur on limestone while trying to find the right sites for Les Perrières, made using fruit from limestone-dominant parcels at Ch. Grand Village. The releases are numbered, with 2009 Acte 1 and so on.  Explore all Société Civile du Ch. Lafleur listings or read more about Bordeaux  

Ch. Lafleur is a Pomerol icon. Sophie Thorpe sat down with Omri Ram to talk about the philosophy that has driven the creation of its unique Crus – and the evolution of its newest project, Les Perrières

Sitting down with Lafleur winemaker Omri Ram to explore the philosophy behind the Pomerol property’s different Crus – and how G Acte became Les Perrières

How Lafleur created a new Cru with Les Perrières

From the ground up: the creed at Lafleur

I am too disorganised to call myself a collector, but I often find myself thinking about the multiple meanings of collecting. I have a room full of books left unread from one year to the next, whose mute reproach I feel every time I am in their presence. I have half a dozen radios, from Marco Zanuso and Richard Sapper’s folding Brionvega TS502 to a Danish-made Beolit 707 from Bang & Olufsen, with its slide rule tuning device. I have a manual typewriter.  Most of us accumulate such random clutter. These were never possessions that were primarily about being useful – the Brionvega and the Beolit have long since been supplanted by a bluetooth speaker and a smartphone. They represent my membership of the design tribe.  The books carry other layers of meaning. My five years at university are on one shelf. The traces of the eight years I have spent writing a just-completed biography of Boris Iofan – Josef Stalin’s preferred architect – are spelled out in the titles of the books on another shelf. The typewriter was inherited from my father and it serves to remind me of childhood. The closest that I come to having a collection that a serious collector might acknowledge is in my chairs: a Rover chair that Ron Arad salvaged from a car, a Gio Ponti Superlegera, an Eames Lounger, a Harry Bertoia, George Sowden’s Palace chair from the 1983 Memphis collection and a deconstructed armchair designed by Rei Kawakubo. On a larger or smaller scale, humans develop complex relationships with their possessions that can go from the professionalism of full-blown collecting, to the casual significance of a row of junk shop finds on a mantlepiece. They can tell us a lot about ourselves. Marina Warner’s guide to the house in Hampstead, now run as a museum, in which Sigmund Freud spent the last year of his life, offers an arresting insight into the significance that collecting had for him. She describes the ranks of ancient bronze, ceramic and marble figures parading across the desk that Freud brought with him to London from Vienna where he no longer felt safe due to Nazi occupation in 1938. Certainly, they are beautiful, and mostly they are precious. Thanks to their association with Freud, even the few that have been established as 20th-century forgeries will have become valuable. Some are almost 4,000 years old and reflect the religious and political practices of the distant past. Others, such as Freud’s art deco cigar case, come less freighted with history. But as Warner says, “they were also tools of thought, the kitchen utensils of his imagination”.   The batterie de cuisine of psychoanalysis included Egyptian coffin masks from the Roman period, Chinese jade and gold brooches, Roman glass, a 2,500-year-old sphinx, sarcophagus lids, Babylonian cylinder seals and Egyptian heart scarabs, as well as a 19th-century neck rest from New Guinea, modern metal porcupines, and Balinese figures. The pieces in pride of place on his desk, placed in apparently random order, were his special favourites, a tiny fraction of his collection that had become permanent fixtures. From time to time, Freud made space for a few new acquisitions to get a look in. “A collection to which there are no new additions is really dead,” he told his biographer Ernest Jones. After a short interval, most of the new things would be moved into the glass-fronted cabinets positioned around his study, where they were placed in more organised groups than those standing on his desk. Greek sculptures went on a shelf together. A cluster of representations of the Egyptian god Horus were grouped on another.  In Freud’s lifetime, the collection was continually changing. Before his move to London, he toured Vienna’s antiquities dealers almost every week on the look-out for new finds. He was ready to exchange pieces for items he could not afford to buy, and was generous in gifting pieces to friends and pupils he thought would appreciate them. Freud also had no qualms about buying items that came on the market in questionable circumstances, in particular, from the unofficial excavations (sometime after 1906) at a Roman fort in Hungary.   Despite the important part it played in his life, Freud wrote very little about collecting. The nearest that he came to spelling out what drove his interest in fragments of ancient sculpture, was when he compared his own exploration of the unconscious minds of his patients to an archaeological excavation of an ancient city. “The psychoanalyst, like the archaeologist, must uncover layer after layer of the patient’s psyche before coming to the deepest, most valuable treasures.”  Freud was known to share his dining table with choice specimens to act as companions during a meal. “I must always have an object to love”, he confessed to his colleague and rival Carl Jung. When he was writing his book The Interpretation of Dreams in 1895, Freud spent the summer at Schloss Bellevue outside Vienna. He took a selection of what he called “my old grubby gods who take part in the works as paperweights for the manuscripts” with him.  Before Freud left Austria for England in 1938, his desk, his consulting room, and his study at Berggasse 19 were photographed by Edmund Engelman. Engelman’s 150 images helped Freud’s architect son Ernst to transpose the desk and its contents from a dark back room in a Viennese apartment to a sunlit Hampstead villa.  Like most collectors, Freud could never limit himself to a single field. Ronald Lauder the former MoMA chairman, for example, is known for the collection of Viennese modernism that forms the basis for his own museum, the Neue Galerie in New York. He also collects (in depth) in 15 other fields with little apparent connection between them. Lauder is fascinated by the work of the Japanese designer Shiro Kuramata. He has a collection of arms and armour going back to The Crusades, and another of World War Two memorabilia. He owns some of Egon Schiele’s finest works, as well as various 18th-century French artworks. Fellow collector Rolf Fehlbaum (head of Vitra) has one of the largest collections of modern chairs in the world, and gave Frank Gehry his first European commission to design a gallery for it, but he is equally fascinated by toy robots manufactured in Japan since 1937. He calls them tiny kinetic sculptures. Where possible, he acquires their original packaging too. Perhaps the best way to understand the psychology of collecting is to see it as a spectrum. At one end, it is about order and control. In a messy and uncontrollable universe, a collection offers at least a semblance of certainty. A collection of this kind is based on provenance, completeness and authenticity. An over-restored vintage Bugatti is less desirable to a collector than one in original condition.  Every previous owner, every detail of its making forms part of its record. A red Olivetti typewriter designed by Ettore Sottsass that once belonged to David Bowie was sold at Sotheby’s for US$65,000. You can buy one (that hasn’t been owned by Bowie) for US$750, which is still a lot of money for a piece of obsolete technology. Some collectors attempt to make patterns from the things that they acquire or, like jigsaw puzzlers, set out to complete a picture by locating every piece of a set. Some try to document the evolution of a species whether the subject of their interest is biscuit tins or the eggs of a particular type of bird. Some forms of collecting require the active engagement of the collector. Wildflowers need to be picked and dried quickly before they are pressed into a book. Butterfly collectors used macabre methods such as poison jars, or squeezing the thorax, to dispatch their prey without causing so much distress that they risk damaging delicate wings. At the other end of the spectrum, the accumulation of stuff by people who die alone in homes overwhelmed by stacks of ancient newspapers and tins of cat food, is a kind of sickness. It’s a condition that can overwhelm even the most celebrated of artists. In the last 17 years of his life, Andy Warhol filled a succession of cardboard boxes with a seemingly random accumulation of objects: taxi receipts, a vinyl Ramones single signed by Joey Ramone, a piece of an ancient, mummified foot, pastel-coloured corsets and a selection of metal dentures. Every time he had a full box, it was sealed and shipped off to storage in a warehouse in New Jersey. A typical box has 400 objects in it, some have as many as 1,200. Items in them include a piece of Caroline Kennedy’s wedding cake – Warhol seems to have been a regular guest at Kennedy weddings. He showed up 20 minutes after the wedding ceremony for Maria Shriver and Arnold Schwarzenegger had started, in the company of Grace Jones. He was in black leather, and wearing two wigs; she had on a huge green fur hat.   Warhol’s boxes are a collection of the uncollectable and the uncontrollable, which, thanks to the resources of the Andy Warhol Foundation, has been tamed after six years of work by a dedicated group of archivists and cataloguers. The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh has aestheticised the cardboard boxes. They sit on back-lit shelves in the museum to suggest that this is not a random collection of trash that Warhol never looked at, but, in the view of the museum, is in fact a time-based art piece, comprising at least 500,000 objects that took 30 years to complete. It presents a considerably less impressive sight than British Regency period architect Sir John Soane’s museum. The architect of the Bank of England put as much effort into adapting his Lincoln’s Inn Fields house (and subsequently the two adjoining houses) to display his Hogarth paintings, a sarcophagus and his architectural models, as he did to accumulating the collection itself. The Nobel prize-winning Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk’s novel, The Museum of Innocence is an eloquent exploration of the hoarding end of the collecting spectrum. What initially appears to be an account of a doomed love affair, quickly reveals itself as an exploration of the meaning of collecting. The story’s main protagonist Kemal starts acquiring things when his relationship with his lover Füsun is going well. When she drops an earring, he finds it and puts it to one side. As Füsun falls out of love with him, Kemal begins an increasingly desperate accumulation of objects that record their relationship. He picks up each of the cigarettes that she smokes. When she has stopped seeing him altogether, Kemal starts hanging around at her parents’ house and stealing pieces of cutlery that she might have used.  What makes Pamuk’s book particularly remarkable is that he acquired a house in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district that had belonged to a Greek merchant in the Ottoman era, and transformed it into a physical Museum of Innocence. It is, of course, very far from innocent; everything inside it is a lovingly created fiction. The first thing that you see once you get inside, is a wall covered with 4,213 cigarette ends, each of them carefully annotated in Pamuk’s neat handwriting, with imaginary details of the time and place they were smoked. The rest of the house is full of equally carefully fabricated objects from cosmetics to movie posters that reflect Pamuk’s vision of the modernising Turkey of the 1970s. “I think getting attached to objects happens in traumatic times and love is a trauma,” Pamuk once said. “Perhaps when they are in trouble, people hoard things.”  When Pamuk gave me a tour of his museum, he told me about meeting Warhol’s archivist, and expressed his reservations about the significance of the boxes in Pittsburgh. “Hoarding objects reaches the level of collecting only when there is a story that unites them,” he said. But that is a novelist criticising another, less narrative art form. While Freud’s desk in Hampstead was always useable, if overcrowded, the desk in fashion designer Paul Smith’s office in Covent Garden is completely overwhelmed with a snowdrift of collected objects that sweeps over an office chair, down onto the floor, and back up to the shelves that line every wall. There are stacks of books and magazines, cameras and mountains of vintage cycling jerseys. There is an i-Mac computer, a gift from Jony Ive that Smith has never used. Computers aren’t Smith’s thing. In any case, it’s too late now, short of purging half the contents of the room: there is no way to get near it. There are toy tin cars, collections of bottles from Moroccan markets, a pink bicycle and a lot of rabbits. “I once said in an interview that seeing a rabbit brings me luck, and they haven’t stopped pouring in ever since,” explains Smith. Collecting began, as did so many things in Smith’s career, with his early enthusiasm for cycling. Growing up in Nottingham in the 1950s, there was a newsagent which occasionally had a copy of L’Equipe, which would portray the heroes of the Tour de France in their yellow jerseys in colour on the cover, but in sepia inside. He bought the magazine, fascinated by the images, even if he couldn’t read it. “I can remember once saying, ‘I really like Jacques Anquetil’ to my father, which baffled him, since none of our family had ever been abroad. I saved my pocket money so that I could upgrade the gears on my bike from Simplex to Campagnolo. The box it came in was as important to me as the gear itself.”  What attracted Smith to the Campagnolo box, along with stamps and matchboxes which he has in large numbers – not just in his office but at his Nottingham HQ where he has an archivist trying to make sense of it all – is the way that designers can say so much in such a tiny space. He showed me a Japanese book of matches produced for a Tokyo nightclub in the 1970s. “It so clearly says it’s ‘contemporary’. You can hear the jazz already.”  Despite the huge assortment of assembled objects, Smith is reluctant to describe himself as a collector. “I just have a large quantity of the same things,” he says, matter of factly. “In my head, a collector is someone who selects an item or a subject. They collect them because they know a lot about them. Maybe I have a little knowledge about cycling jerseys.  In the early 1980s, on my first trips to Japan and India, I just got a bit carried away. I bought lots of Japanese furniture. In India, for some reason, I bought 15 wardrobes, and a piece of furniture that doubled as a staircase with drawers.” Smith had them all sent home on the Trans-Siberian Express.  He suggests that his is a collection that has found him. “Things collect me,” he says. “For some reason I started to be sent things, and they still keep coming.” There is an individual who regularly sends Smith artefacts that come unwrapped but covered in postage stamps. Others send him letters, toys, books and even ancient packets of razor blades. One visitor took careful photographs of his office, and later sent him a precisely detailed model of his office, complete with its chaotic contents. Smith’s London home, where he lives with his wife Pauline, is much calmer. “The house is hers. I do have one room for my stuff, but it’s mostly at the office that I get to look at things.” In 1996, patron of the arts and barrister Jill Ritblat gave the V&A Museum the largest single donation of clothes in its history, more than 1,000 items. There are ski outfits in postmodern pastel shades from the 1980s, and challenging Japanese experiments from Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyake, as well as couture from Dior and Saint Laurent. There is work by Alexander McQueen, Biba, Mary Quant, and Christian Lacroix, Emanuel Ungaro and Victor Edelstein, and an evening outfit produced by a dressmaker based on an idea of Ritblat’s own design.  The early days of British fashion from the 1960s are represented by Foale and Tuffin, and Zandra Rhodes, and from the 1980s by Margaret Howell and Katharine Hamnett. There is tailoring from Tommy Nutter and work by Giorgio Armani. It is by no means a complete account of contemporary fashion, but it is certainly extensive, and like the personal wardrobe that it is, combines some very special pieces made for family occasions, with more everyday wear. The connecting thread of Ritblat’s collection is Ritblat herself. These were all pieces that she had bought to wear. They were not chosen like stamps, or old masters, or celadon vases to make a self-conscious collection, but were the result of a continuing sequence of choices over time. Taken together they are a reflection of her life as an English woman of a certain background, at a particular time in the country’s history. “I never saw it as a collection, it was more like my diary, though I have never had time to write a diary. Each piece brings back memories of when I wore it,” says Ritblat. She made her first donation to the V&A at the end of 1996, but kept back the things that she wanted to be able to go on using, and they formed the core of a donation to the Design Museum of another 400 items in 2013. Ritblat is ambivalent about fashion. As a child she was somewhat self-conscious about being dressed by her mother, who had studied fashion herself. She was relieved to be able to assume the camouflage of the complex uniform rituals of an English public school for girls in the 1950s. “I loved my school uniform at Roedean; we were expected to change our clothes four times a day, as chic as anything. Scratchy afternoon dresses, regulation school loafers, very nice blazers and pleated skirts.” As a student barrister, she found herself adopting the formal uniform of the legal profession, but then as a married woman began to build a wardrobe that reflected the life that she was leading. Later, when she was making her own choices, she was early to discover Miuccia Prada. “What you pick out is based on whether it suits you and on the zeitgeist,” she explains. Smith, Heseltine and Ritblat represent three very different approaches to collecting. For Smith, the unruly mountain of things in his office, is, like the collection on Sigmund Freud’s desk, part of the tools of his imagination, a source of imagery and ideas for his work as a designer. It’s also a means of establishing his personality. Heseltine’s garden is an investment of time, resources and creativity in the remaking of a place that speaks to the future using living organisms that will outlive us all. Ritblat’s clothes are a record of the full life of an individual. All of these collections provide insights into unique people, their lives and times. In their different ways all three reflect on the nature of collecting, and its ability to be a creative activity in itself. In a world in which technology threatens to abolish the material world altogether, objects have not lost their allure. Their physical condition marks the passing of time in ways that pixels and code cannot do. Collecting is the means all of us have to create histories of our times, and even more, of ourselves. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two. 

In order to explore the mindset of the collector, Deyan Sudjic shines a light on the collected objects of Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol, and speaks to three British collectors to better understand what it is that makes collecting such a vital part of the human experience.

Exploring the mindset of the collector and why the act is a vital part of the human experience, with a focus on Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol

FONDATA: Exploring the art of collecting 

 I Collect, Therefore I Am

Think of a cocktail. Is vermouth in it? If you’re thinking of a classic cocktail, there’s every chance it is. The Martini, Negroni, Manhattan – I could go on. And on. For whatever reason, vermouth has not always received the recognition it deserves for propping up so many exquisite mixed drinks. In fact, I’d hazard that a fair amount of cocktail lovers don’t know vermouth is in their glass at all, or, if they do, their knowledge of the liquid might be a little patchy. When it comes to vermouth, there are a few things you need to know. Vermouth is an aromatised wine which hails from Torino, Italy. It is generally accepted that vermouth – as we know it, not the kind prescribed by Hippocrates in 400BC for ailments – was invented in the 16th century. In 2019, a Geographical Indication was introduced to protect the style and quality of vermouth from its birthplace, Turin. Under these regulations, vermouth must be made with at least one Italian wine, wormwood must be the predominant flavour and the wormwood used must be grown in Piedmont. The final liquid must also be between 16% and 22% alcohol in order for it to be labelled “Vermouth di Torino”. The two most common styles of vermouth are sweet and dry. The former is red in colour and as such is often called Rosso. This is the style used in your Manhattan and Negroni. Dry vermouth is white (Bianco) in colour and will be used in your classic Martini. Four classic Vermouth-based cocktails The Negroni It might be hard to believe given the Negroni’s current notoriety, but this simple serve of equal parts vermouth, Campari and gin was incredibly slow to catch on. As is often true in cocktail lore, there are a couple of people credited with its invention. The most widely accepted is a Count named Camillo Negroni who asked a bartender at Caffè Casoni in Florence to make his Americano cocktail a touch stronger. They duly obliged and switched the soda water for gin. This is believed to have taken place in 1919. A smaller camp credits a man named General Pascal Oliver Comte de Negroni with the invention of the cocktail in Senegal between 1855 and 1865. Setting aside the inventor for the moment, the Negroni, unrefutably, became de rigueur in the early 20th century – requested across Europe and favoured for its bitterness and alcoholic strength. Orson Welles was a very high-profile fan, famously quoted in 1947 for saying: “The bitters are excellent for your liver, the gin is bad for you. They balance each other.” In the years that followed, the Negroni’s popularity waned when appetites became more saccharine in nature. In the early 2000s, things shifted again as the Negroni began to appear on cocktail menus at some of the best bars in the world. It wasn’t long before the recipe featured in cocktail books and drinks sections of influential titles, such as The New York Times. Fast forward to today and the Negroni is regularly named the most popular cocktail by patrons and bartenders alike. There are countless riffs on the original recipe and an entire week is dedicated to celebrating it. How to make a Negroni 30ml sweet vermouth 30ml Campari 30ml gin Ice Slice of orange (garnish) Pour all ingredients into a glass with ice and stir well. Add garnish. The Manhattan The Manhattan has assumed many guises over the years, making its exact origin a hotly contested subject. Some believe Sir Winston Churchill’s mother was served the first Manhattan cocktail at the eponymous club in New York in the early 1880s. Others question the validity of this claim as she was likely in the UK, pregnant with the future Prime Minister, around this time. Some believe a New York bartender by the name of Black invented the recipe at the Hoffman House. The earliest known record of the Manhattan, in which this name and the recognised recipe, appear is in The Sunday Morning Herald in September 1882. Unhelpfully, some referred to a very similar recipe as a Jockey Club or Turf Club Cocktail. The classic recipe consists of Rye or Bourbon, sweet vermouth and bitters. During Prohibition, it was not uncommon for people to use a different whiskey as the base ingredient. If you substitute American whiskey for Scotch whisky, you have a Rob Roy cocktail. How to make a Manhattan 50ml Bourbon 25ml vermouth 3 dashes of orange bitters Cocktail cherry (garnish) Add all ingredients into a glass filled with ice and stir. Strain into coupe or Martini glass and garnish. The Americano The Americano recipe was invented at Gaspare Campari's bar in Milan in the 1860s. The cocktail of equal parts Campari, vermouth and soda water, was originally named “Milano-Torino” after the principle ingredients’ home towns of Milan and Torino respectively. The simple serve was renamed in honour of its growing fanbase: American tourists. The Negroni recipe was based on the Americano and contains two of the three main ingredients – with the soda water switched for gin. While many associate James Bond with the Vesper cocktail or a Martini – shaken, not stirred – the first cocktail associated with 007 in Ian Fleming’s work was actually an Americano in Casino Royale. It is later written, in A View To Kill, “Bond always had the same thing – an Americano”. How to make an Americano 30ml sweet vermouth 30ml Campari Soda water Slice of orange (garnish) Fill glass with ice, add Campari and sweet vermouth. Top with soda water and stir gently. Garnish. The Adonis A slightly less well-known vermouth-based cocktail, the Adonis was invented in honour of its Broadway musical namesake. The musical, based on William Gill’s novel, first opened in Chicago in 1884 and went on to become the longest-running show of its era. As the name suggests, the story follows a beautiful male statue who comes to life and ultimately opts to return to stone. The first reference to the Adonis cocktail was written in 1887. How to make an Adonis 60ml Oloroso Sherry 30ml sweet vermouth 2 dashes of orange bitters Stir all ingredients with ice. Strain into chilled glass. Browse all spirits or read more Editorial 

No drinks trolley is complete without a bottle of vermouth. It’s required in countless classic cocktails and is a remarkable drink in its own right. Holly Motion charts vermouth’s rise to prominence and explores the history of four of the most famous vermouth-based cocktails

Alll about vermouth’s rise to prominence and explores the history of 4 of the most famous vermouth-based cocktails - The Negroni, The Manhattan, The Americano

How four vermouth-based cocktails became classics

The history of vermouth in cocktails: shaken not stirred

It’s never easy to pick a favourite vintage for drinking now. But producers’ eyes light up when asked, as they think back to the best bottles – and moments. Of course, it’s all a matter of taste. There are collectors who love very mature wines, while others are much more taken by younger vintages, still with a bit of primary fruit. Winemaking has also changed and – while most top Bordeaux is made for the long run – more modern vintages, with more precise viticulture and vinification, are much more approachable in their youth. 
The youngest vintages to enjoy now: 2017, 2013, 2009 + 2003 
Like many Pomerols, with their opulent fruit profile and rounded tannins, Ch. Lafleur can be enjoyed young, admits Lafleur’s cellarmaster Omri Ram. “But it’s like going to a Pink Floyd concert and leaving after the first 10 minutes. It is brilliant – but you miss so much,” he explains. Lafleur’s other Pomerol wine, Les Pensées, comes from clay soils and it is this that makes the wine that much more accessible at a younger age compared to Lafleur, from gravel soils. Ram believes, however, that the 2013 Lafleur is drinking beautifully now, despite its youth. 
Similarly, on the Left Bank, Léoville Barton’s Damien Sartorius believes that while some vintages are better with 30 years of age (2010 or 2016, say), most, especially the in-between, “off” years are best enjoyed younger – and can offer great value. “I’m very happy drinking a Lynch Bages or Poyferré from 2013 today – they’re lovely wines and it’s a lot cheaper,” he says. 
For Ducru-Beaucaillou’s Bruno Borie, choosing what vintage to drink depends on many factors: “When it’s sunny, I like to drink younger vintages. When it is cold and wintry, I prefer mature vintages, but temperature, air pressure, food, and company all plays a part in identifying what vintage to drink.” He believes even a Ducru as young as 2017 is beautiful to drink now. While he thinks the vintage was written off by the press, it is an elegant vintage and already offers great pleasure with food. Bigger vintages, such as 2010, on the other hand, still require ageing. 
Ch. Margaux, while distinctly elegant, has always been a wine built to last and winemaker Philippe Bascaules wouldn’t touch anything younger than 2009 – even the lighter 2011, ’12 and ’13 vintages, he believes, are too young. But 2009 bucks the trend in terms of its approachability: for Bascaules, it has always been enjoyable. It’s “a great wine with exceptional, very creamy texture, opulence, so powerful but not at all aggressive”, he explains. Ch. Rauzan-Ségla’s Nicolas Audebert’s pick of the younger vintages is 2003. “If 2003s are well done – as in not too much – it is extremely nice to drink. Good terroir combined with slow evolution means after 15 years in bottle it is now showing beautifully. Taste it blind and you wouldn’t think it was a such a warm year,” he suggests.
 
Under-rated and excellent now: 2014, 2012, 2011, 2004, 2001 + 1999 
Most agree that the 2001 vintage was underrated on release, drowned out by the fanfare surrounding both 2000 and 2003. “The 2001 is a very nice vintage to rediscover,” explains Audebert. “It disappeared after the hype of 2000, but it certainly has stood up well to the more celebrated vintages.” Similarly, he believes the 2011 shared a similar fate. “After the release of 2010, 2011 suffered, but it is a very nice, interesting vintage. Not showing off, but is very elegant, a very smart vintage and developing slowly.” 
Like many of the top wines of Bordeaux, you have to be patient with Ch. Lafite-Rothschild. “We make wine for the long run,” says the property’s International Director Jean-Sébastien Philippe. For him, a good vintage is a wine that seems to appear younger, the older it gets. Despite the long-term ageing potential of Lafite, the 2004 is a moderately young wine that he believes is great to enjoy now.  “It has always been very classic, but very closed and therefore underrated. With maturity, it has become an amazing wine to rediscover now,” he says. Bascaules also believes 2004 to be one of the more underrated vintages at Ch. Margaux, again because its sits between the two revered years, 2005 and 2003.  “But it’s much better than people think,” he says. “The tannins are now starting to be soft. It is very concentrated, the nose is very open. It’s very complex.” For Bascaules, the 1999 is another wine that has flown under the radar but is at its best now. “It was a very hot vintage, but not very concentrated. Therefore, the tannins are very ripe and soft, the texture is very resolved, yet the nose is still young,” he explains. 
Ram echoes Bascaules in singing 1999’s praises, with the Grand Vin at Lafleur at its peak. “It is drinking beautifully now, if you can find it, and you will get more pleasure drinking ’99 than the 2000 today. It shows beautiful balance, power versus elegance. Density versus lift. All these contradictions of fine wine show really well in the 1999. The 2000 still behaves like a juvenile in comparison.” 
He also loves 2014: “It’s an underappreciated vintage, but it is the last classical vintage in Bordeaux – charming, elegant, sophisticated.” The 2014 Ch. Canon is a perfect example, drinking beautifully now. He also highlights how successful Saint-Estèphe was that year, with lots of great wines to choose from and well-priced for the quality. For Sartorius, there is a lot of value to be found in 2012: “Léoville Las Cases, Ducru-Beaucaillou, at a very good price – they’re so good and deliver so much,” he says. 

At their peak: 2000, 1996, 1995, 1989, 1986, 1985 + 1983 
For Bascaules, Margaux at 20-30 years old is perfect. “1989 is probably drinking at its optimum today,” he says, “as is 1990. The 1985’s nose is tertiary but there is still fruit too. I like a bit of fruit still in the wine. The 1983 is a great wine and great to drink today.”
The 1983 was a classic vintage throughout the Margaux appellation, and much better than the more revered 1982, believes Audebert: “The 1983 in Margaux is much more interesting, whereas the 1982 is in danger of being over ripe.”  He explains that a ripe vintage and high volumes – at that time – was uncommon, and therefore often not something the era’s winemakers were equipped to handle. He argues that this has resulted in some 1982s from Margaux being a bit tired, producing “tapenade, metallic flavours”, and lacking vibrancy. 
Ram’s favourite vintage ever of Les Pensées has to be the 2000 – he explains it was “the first real blueprint” for the modern Les Pensées, when it switched from being a second wine to being an expression of the clay soils at Lafleur. Combine this with the fact that 2000 was a great vintage and you have a superb wine that is symbolic too. 
The 1986 is Lafite’s pick for drinking now. For Philippe, it shows what the estate is capable of: “It is the vintage that can help you really understand Lafite – the emotion and the precision,” he says. 
Wines for the ages: 1955 + 1964 Ch. Canon, 1916 Ch. Ducru-Beaucaillou 
While many Clarets will reach their 50th birthday, some vintages can last even longer. Nicolas Audebert recently tasted Ch. Canon from 1955 and ’64, two fantastic vintages for the château, which were both still drinking beautifully. Bruno Borie more recently enjoyed a 1916 Ducru-Beaucaillou that was still in form. It is a particularly interesting vintage since it was a wine made only by women, as the men were at war.  A lovely note from the cellar master of the time suggests that “the wine might be too powerful, rich and strong for the trade”. “I’m not sure if the trade would feel the same way these days,” laughs Borie. “At 104 years old, it proves it is important to make wines with sufficient structure to pass 100 years. Even today, the wine still has plenty of character.”


We spoke to some of the region’s leading names – from the likes of Chx Canon , Ducru-Beaucaillou , Lafite-Rothschild , Lafleur and Margaux – to find out which vintages they think are at their best right now.

Chx Canon, Ducru-Beaucaillou, Lafite-Rothschild, Lafleur and Margaux on which Bordeaux vintages are entering their drinking window

Bordeaux wine vintages ready to drink now

Bordeaux vintages to drink now

Dalmore, Mortlach and Macallan fetch tens of thousands of pounds at auction today – but they likely wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for an independent bottler. In times of great economic hardship, Gordon & MacPhail provided cash-strapped distilleries with much-needed capital when they secured new-make spirit to mature and bottle as a single malt, rather than a blend. “The world was so focused on blends in the 1970s that to get the financial return on the malts was really challenging,” Gordon & MacPhail’s Director of Prestige Stephen Rankin says. To put that into perspective, a bottle of 35-year-old Macallan from 1937 that would fetch approximately £32,000 in today’s market would sell for a mere £4.54 then. A top-end blend might sell for £2. Rankin says if it wasn’t for his forebears’ patience and foresight, 50-, 60-, and 70-year-old bottlings wouldn’t be available today. “It’s not just matching spirit with oak,” he explains. “It’s actually matching the spirit with the oak and then time and the patience.”   The Gordon & MacPhail name has endured where countless others have not. Today, the fourth generation can pull out samples dating back nine decades from more than 100 distilleries. “It’s that lineage that stands us apart,” Rankin says. “As a company we have had this incredible respect for whisky and depth of relationships forged from 1895.”   “Business was done on the strength of a handshake when my father started the company in the 1940s,” Fred Hamilton Laing – Douglas Laing & Co Chairman and second-generation family member – says. “And so many of our filling programmes still continue today because there was a trust given and a confidence that there would be no abuse of the stock.” If it wasn’t for the “fairly substantial” stocks Laing’s father had built up since the 1950s then the Scottish independent blenders and bottlers might not have survived the 1990s financial crash in Asia Pacific. “All of a sudden our blended business was made very difficult to continue. We were constantly adding to our stocks of grain and malt whisky for these blends, so it was a survival instinct that took us into the single cask business in the year 2000.” This business proved to be “very good” and steadied the ship. Laing says it was with great delight the company was able to come back into the blending business with Big Peat in 2009, much to the dismay of the “crusty old men in the industry”. This launch, looking at younger, slightly more rebellious whisky consumers heralded a new era for the company and brought them full circle. It was the filling programme’s breadth of stock and the relationships with the distilleries that allowed Douglas Laing to carry out the same process for Big Peat and Scallywag into the Scottish Highlands for Timorous Beastie, into the Lowlands with the Epicurean, into the Campbeltown area with the Gauldrons, onto the Island distilleries with Rock Island and introduce the Remarkable Regional Malts. “It’s a busy game,” Laing adds.  Fledgling in comparison, That Boutique-y Whisky Company stormed onto the independent bottling scene in 2012 with their 50cl illustrated bottles. “We are all about throwing fun back into whisky,” Head of Whisky Sam Simmons says. “We take the whisky very seriously, but we don’t take ourselves seriously.” The goal here is simple: curate delicious whiskies you would never see from an official bottling. This disruptive attitude has led to a cult-like following which Simmons readily acknowledges “doesn’t speak to everybody”. The Boutique-y whiskies might originate from around the world, but they are all bottled in the Scottish tradition – bought direct from the distiller or from brokers and other independent bottlers. The retail price is always calculated from the cost of the liquid rather than market value or cost. “The kind of whiskies we want to bottle may not be delicious to everybody, but they are the kind of whiskies that make you say: you got to try this,” Simmons adds. When it comes to bottling exquisite liquids, few ventures are as compelling as “curators of the most remarkable spirits”, The Last Drop Distillers. “I really love the word remarkable,” Managing Director Rebecca Jago says with a smile. “Because it is not saying it is the oldest or the best even, but that it is intrinsically delicious. If I gave you a glass of something from The Last Drop, I would want you to find it as delightful as someone who has been nosing spirits for 50 years.” The company started by Rebecca’s father Tom and his long-term friend James Espey OBE in 2008 is somewhat unique in that it crosses category. The two drinks industry icons initially set out to bottle single malts, but that all changed when they tasted a certain 47-year-old blended Scotch. From that day onwards, the two men – who had previously developed the likes of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and Chivas 18 – broadened their brief to seek out exceptional old parcels of any amazing spirit. By the time the company was sold to Sazerac in 2016, The Last Drop had released seven remarkable liquids and both Espey and Jago’s daughters (Beanie Geraedts-Espey and Rebecca Jago) had joined the business. In addition to being a source of great pride for the two founders, the acquisition also brought new freedoms and opportunities for the team. The US drinks group backing enabled The Last Drop to source stock for immediate release, granted them a greater ability to lay down stock and create their own libraries of future stock, and gave them the opportunity to venture into liquid creation. “I think finding treasure is not just about uncovering it,” Jago says. “It would be disingenuous to suggest that we’re Indiana Jones in Scotland, going and hunting out that barrel that is hidden at the back of the cellar because it is not,” Jago says. As romantic as the image might be, every single barrel of Scotch whisky of any age, of any sort, is known about by HMRC.  “We can talk about some of the lovely discoveries that we have genuinely been party to,” Jago adds. “Going back to the very first release of three unassuming barrels of an old blend. The treasure in that was the liquid inside. It had perhaps been discounted or forgotten about.” Or the “genuine discovery” of a Cognac barrel that had been lying untouched in an outhouse for over 70 years that was happened upon by a family member doing renovation work at the distillery. “I think that is the sort of ultimate Indiana Jones story,” Jago adds, “not by us, but we were fortunate enough to be there and I suppose our story of making the liquid the hero is sufficiently compelling that they are prepared to let us put it in a bottle.” All four bottlers, whether in their infancy or maturity, are bound by a sense of honour and wanting to do right by the liquid. And everyone benefits.   Browse all Scotch whisky or read more Editorial 

From traditional single malt Scotch to the weird-and-wonderful and everything in between, there’s every chance an independent bottler had a hand in bringing this liquid to your lips. Holly Motion spoke to four bottlers about the important role they play in the spirits world

Exploring the history of independent bottling with Gordon & MacPhail, Last Drop Distillers, That Boutique-y Whisky Company and Douglas Laing & Co,

Exploring the world of independent bottling 

Message in a bottle

Olivier Humbrecht was in London earlier this year giving a masterclass on single-vineyard Pinot Gris from Alsace. His motivation and his love for dry Pinot Gris evolves around the varietal being the greatest transmitter of terroir, much more so than its more famous sibling Riesling whose natural aromatics can conceal its terroir blueprint. Of course that was just the starting point of the masterclass and it quickly evolved into a much more in-depth conversation on the virtues of singular plots and the underpinning concepts of fine wine. We caught up with him to get further insight into his pioneering approach in viticulture which is being adopted by some of the finest wine producers in the world. The changing fortunes of Pinot Gris Humbrecht is a strong believer in the potential of Pinot Gris, a varietal that has ebbed and flowed in popularity through the last century. It is a varietal that due to its rather neutral primary attributes means it is perhaps more than any other grape, at the throes of its maker.  Styles vary greatly from the high-yielding neutral, phenolic, early picked and refreshing Pinot Grigio synonymous with northern Italy. At its worst, the variety produces a wine of almost no character and no sense of place. At its best, the dry, vibrant Pinot Grigio from Alto Adige can be fantastically intense, mineral and refreshing, whilst remaining fairly neutral on the palate. Pinot Grigio Romato styles in Friuli (a skin contact rose style) offer more flavor definition and
richness whilst at the same time being distinctly phenolic with vibrant acidity and a bitter bite keeping the wine refreshing and uniquely Italian in character.  The Pinot Gris of Alsace is typically later picked and completely different to the Italian style in its flavor profile, taking on a distinct honeysuckle, musk, smoky, toasty quality. Even within Alsace, this varietal has many faces. In the 1960s Olivier reminds us that Pinot Gris from Alsace was the most popular and most expensive wine in the region, but also the rarest and typically very sweet, as it is prone to noble rot resulting in intensely rich, opulent wines. In 1990 just 2% of the vineyards in Alsace were planted with Pinot Gris, today it is up to 15%. But Pinot Gris is not an easy grape to get right and whilst the early picked, neutral style of Northern Italy can crop at high levels with little issue, to make Pinot Gris with more aromatic character is much more difficult to get right and therefore becomes a much less reliable crop and accounts for the small amounts grown in Alsace. It is a varietal very prone to rot due to its thin skin. In ideal conditions, this makes it ideal for noble rot but in less than perfect conditions grey rot is more common making the grapes not suitable for fine wine. The rot will often result in aborted fermentation.  The varietal is also very quick to ripen. If not picked in a very small picking window, the alcohols could shoot up too high making a healthy fermentation very difficult and, more often than not, leading to high levels of residual sugar in the wine, whether you want it or not. Olivier outlines that just taking a weekend off during harvest could amount to a potential 1.5% abv increase when returning to the vines on Monday morning. In under a week, the potential alcohol could have gone up by 3% abv.  Picking the wines too early also has its problems. All the flavor and aromas in the varietal develop at the final stages of ripening, picking early will produce wines with little complexity and character. This tricky little grape is no doubt the reason why so little was planted in the region despite the popularity of the top Pinot Gris sweet wines. The recent increase in plantings in Alsace however has not been brilliantly successful. For Olivier too much Pinot Gris has been planted in inadequate sites and using higher yielding commercial clones. For Olivier, top Pinot Gris from Alsace must come from the traditional petit grains clone that is naturally low-yielding. Olivier likes each vine to produce just 2 clusters producing just 25-30 hectolitres per hectare. These cropping levels are necessary to produce fine wine examples from the grape. Olivier’s interest in Pinot Gris is down to its relatively neutral character making it a great transmitter of terroir, more so than Riesling whose natural aromatic presence can conceal terroir characters. Fairly neutral flavour characters also mean it remains very much a winemaker’s wine, as the vigneron can determine the style of the wine with lees work, oak maturation, and the retention of malolactic fermentation, providing the grapes come in clean, free of rot. Olivier believes élevage on full lees makes a very important difference to the flavor of the wine. The lees nourish the wine through ageing, producing a much more complex
flavour profile. It brings a smokiness and toasty character to the wine as well as a more reductive “mineral” character. Global warming It is rare to hear a vigneron say that global warming has improved the quality of their
wines, but Olivier honestly states that, for the moment, global warming has benefited his wines. What it has done is bring flowering forward, possibly up to three weeks earlier which shunts all the growing season forward, this means the all-important veraison period (sugar concentration in the grapes) is beginning to happen three weeks earlier.  Rather than waiting for grapes to ripen in September as the days are getting shorter and the weather much less reliable, veraison is now happening at the height of the summer enabling the wines to reach optimum ripeness quicker preventing the onset of rot – which in poorer weather becomes a lot more common.  Biodynamic since 1998, Olivier has seen a really positive effect in the vineyard. The grapes are able to ripen faster, reaching physiological ripeness quicker, which enables Olivier to make dry Pinot Gris packed with flavor. This, he believes, is because chemical applications shock the vines, causing them to shut down for a number of days following the application. If you continue to spray chemical applications throughout the growing season, each time this happens the vine shuts down and you lose valuable days of ripening.  Under biodynamic principles, the vines don’t go through these shock / shutting-down
phases. This allows Olivier to pick earlier and he is the first to harvest the Pinot Gris compared to his neighbours. This he believes is largely due to his grapes ripening faster, due to his viticultural techniques.  It means he can get his wines to reach aromatic complexity whilst still being able to bring them in early enough free of rot and therefore enabling a fermentation to dryness. The reason for Olivier's interest in producing dry styles of Pinot Gris is so he can show off the terroir characteristics of each of his sites without being concealed by sweetness. Tasting the different vineyards shows just how different each of the sites is and only further promotes Pinot Gris as the ultimate transmitter of terroir. A pioneer of modern-day viticulture Speaking with top viticulturalists all over the world, you realise a huge amount of their knowledge stems from Olivier Humbrecht, whose understanding of managing vine growth originated from a university lecture he attended in the 1980s, given not by a viticulturist, but a plant physiologist.  From this lecture, Olivier understood that modern-day hedging techniques in the vineyard were really detrimental to fruit production. Olivier explains the domesticated vine goes through two very different stages in its growth period. Stage one is the phase of cellular multiplication i.e. the growth of the vine – flowering, budding, leaf production etc. Stage two is the nourishment phase in which the vine stops growing and instead starts to nourish the pips in the grapes, to promote future cellular growth when the seeds are dispersed.  The problem with modern hedging techniques is that it disturbs stage one when the vine is
on the verge of moving to stage two, therefore encouraging the vine to carry out stage one and two at the same time, meaning the grape isn’t getting full nourishment at the period of veraison as some of the vine’s energy is going into vine growth. The key for Olivier is to get stage two to follow on from stage one rather than the vines trying to do both at the same time. Preventing canopy growth, however, requires a lot more manual work. Olivier states it
requires 20 men to tie up the vines manually compared to one tractor hedging the vines. One possible solution could be to hedge the vines earlier in the growth phase so as not to disrupt the vine later in the season switching from stage 1 to stage 2 but Olivier explains this is not a good approach. Tartaric acid is key to any white wine, and it is the necessary backbone to any wine.  Tartaric acid is produced by the leaves. Olivier emphasizes that many people wrongly
think leaves only create sugar through photosynthesis, but they are necessary for producing a whole array of essential nutrients, hormones and the all-important production of tartaric acid. The secret lies in extended canopy growth. I said to Olivier this sounds exactly what Lalou
Bize Leroy does in Burgundy and he admits that he visited her years ago and told her his ideas on canopy management and she clearly took his advice. Whilst it is incredibly high maintenance and an expensive operation, two of the world’s leading winemakers Humbrecht and Leroy are advocates of the system and that should be enough for any vigneron to at least consider the technique, despite the additional costs it entails.  The single vineyards Rotenburg The Rotenburg vineyard is a cooler north-facing slope facing the Vogues mountains. Made up of red marl on a limestone bedrock with very shallow brick colour soil (containing high iron content). All this amounts to slower ripening, naturally lower vigour and tiny yields. Olivier typically crops at 25 hectolitres per hectare. Olivier states what is great about this vineyard when made in the dry style, the effect of the limestone really comes through on the palate. Tasting through the 2017, ’16 and ’13 the wines share a wonderful aromatic complexity.
Easily the most floral and perfumed of the three vineyards. There is a wonderful chalky minerality to the wine, almost top quality Chablis but with a softer texture and more perfumed. With age, the aromas and flavours only further develop whilst retaining a wonderful intensity. The wine remains very clean despite its age, showing very little tertiary
development just lovely orange rind and honeysuckle notes. The chalky limestone
minerality brings sharp focus and intensity to the finish. Clos Windsbuhl The first vintage for Zind Humbrecht on this site was the 1988 vintage. Another limestone/
clay site overlooking the church of Sainte Hune (famous for the Trimbach’s Clos Sainte Hune cuvee). Facing south, south-east with a steep slope between 15 – 40% this is a high altitude site at 350 metres. A 6.5 hectares site planted mostly to Pinot Gris. Due to the
altitude and soil the grapes ripens very slowly, often on the precipice of reaching ripeness before the wine gets affected by noble rot.  Tasting through the ’17, ’16 and ’13 what is immediate in the comparison is how the wine
develops with age. At just three years of age, the wine remains compact, at seven years of age it is incredibly complex on the palate. The primary notes have retained their zesty vivacity but the flavours become broad from russet apple, manuka honey and sultanas and a wonderful salinity and stony minerality on the finish. The wine becomes more and more focused on the finish. Clearly, the wine is affected by vintage too. The ’16 is a more difficult vintage making the wine a lot less intense than the ’17 and the ’13 but throughout the lineup, the salinity and stony minerality comes through on the palate – a distinct characteristic
of the limestone soil. Rangen de Thann Unlike Rotenburg and Clos Windsbuhl, Rangen de Thann is made up of volcanic soil, very
dark basalt rock, rich in magnesium and potassium and low in calcium so lower acidity, higher pH. The slope is the steepest in Alsace with a 41-degree slope. The vineyard has an incredibly high vine density at 10,000 vines per hectare. It is in fact one of the warmer regions of Alsace therefore you would expect it to be one of the first to ripen, but the cold wind that flows through the valley slows the ripening making it the last vineyard Oliver harvests. This is typically the lowest-yielding site at Zind Humbrecht at 20 – 30 hectolitres per hectare. The volcanic soil offers a completely different blueprint to the wine. Texturally the wine is much more oily and rich. The flavours are more pumice stone, peppery, matcha tea and then this distinct Brazil nut flavor. There are no tropical notes at all in its youth and very much more savoury in style. With age the ’13 vintage shows more tropical notes, the texture becomes unctuous in its oiliness, it feels like there is sweetness despite being a dry wine. These wines lack the vibrancy from the limestone but offer more richness, texture and darker fruit and savoury flavour profile. Explore more Editorial

Meeting with Olivier Humbrecht is always an insightful experience. Not only is he incredibly
erudite in his approach to viticulture and winemaking but he has the rare talent of being able to communicate fairly complex ideas around the subject in a very clear and digestible manner. 

An insight into Olivier Humbrecht's pioneering biodynamic approach to viticulture that is now widely adopted by many of the world's fine wine producers 

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