Every now and then, the word ‘singularity’ is used to describe a particular wine that stands apart, for whatever reason, from other wines of its type. But just what is singularity, and how can wine express it? Wine writer Tamlyn Currin investigates.

What makes a wine truly singular? Tamlyn Currin explores the rare bottles that defy convention and challenge the rules of the wine world.

Searching for Singularity in wine

Searching for Singularity

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  

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

Sitting opposite us, the dark-suited, dark-haired figure waved an elegant hand at the bottle of white Burgundy which he’d just fished out of a carrier bag and planted on the table with the air of a conjuror at a party. “You’ll like this,” he said; it was a statement, not a suggestion, delivered in a faint accent with American overtones and a hint of gutturality. In this totally unremarkable West London pub, a bottle of Meursault looked as out of place as a KGB officer. Which he was. We did like it, of course, who wouldn’t? It made the greasy steak and chips almost bearable, and was one of the best wines I’d ever tasted at that point in my life. I was 33 that year, 1978, and as a newish BBC foreign correspondent I wasn’t particularly well paid. He’d brought the Meursault with him to show us how sophisticated he was, and to counter the blandness of the food. But why had he suggested The Mitre as a place for lunch? It was handy for the Soviet embassy up the road, certainly; but I realised that the real attraction for him was the high-backed seats that enclosed our table and kept our conversation private. Sergei was a major in the KGB, masquerading as a press attaché. The habit of secrecy was deeply ingrained in him. The Meursault started to work on my companion, a gossipy, amusing, slightly naïve BBC executive. It worked on me, too, but under the influence of alcohol I tend to go quiet and introverted. Not so Harry. He delivered the brief lecture about Soviet harassment of our Moscow correspondent which he’d been planning. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t make Sergei burst into tears. On the contrary. “Ah, yes, the famous Declan.” Sergei managed to put the accent on the second syllable. “Such good Russian. A pity he wastes his time hanging around those drop-outs and wastrels.” I was particularly impressed by ‘wastrels’. “I suppose you mean dissidents,” I said, pushing my glass across for more Meursault. The label read ‘1968’; the Soviet embassy must have had a superb cellar. Sergei laughed scornfully and poured. “I hear Declan’s marriage isn’t going so good now,” he said. “Ah, no, his wife left him for an airline pilot,” Harry replied, giggling. I kicked him sharply: you didn’t feed personal details about your colleagues to KGB officers. “What?” Harry said, looking at me. We saw the bottle out. Sometimes I think I can still taste that rich, green-gold collection of butter, almond, citrus and, could it have been, or is it just my imagination after more than 40 years, hints of bracken and mayflower. At the end, we stood up and shook hands. “So you’ll go easy on Declan from now on?” Harry said. “Well, Declan must stop creating bad propaganda against the Soviet Union.” He had a good ear: this time the accent was on the first syllable. Sergei turned in the direction of the embassy, and we headed back to Television Centre. “Bloody good wine those Russkies can afford,” Harry said, and gave his high-pitched laugh.For journalists and spies, booze is a famous lubricant, a fuel, even. I came from a teetotal background, yet when I started as a foreign correspondent I soon found myself ordering a glass of single malt as a means of self-protection, while someone I was trying to pump for information opened up and talked in a way he or she never would if I’d ordered a Britvic orange. Yet there were exceptions. In Belfast and Derry, where I started my reporting career, the leaders of the Provisional IRA were mostly ultra-Catholic and never drank a drop; and as I branched out and began reporting on the Middle East, I found that organisations like Hezbollah and the followers of the Ayatollah were as teetotal as I had once been. There were no bars to meet them in, either. Fortunately, though, cities like Cairo and Beirut were more sophisticated. I soon found that anywhere with a sizeable Christian population, Egypt and Lebanon, of course, but also Syria, Iraq and westernised countries like Turkey and Pakistan, made allowances for thirsty westerners and permitted them to drink, even if in cities like Peshawar you had to sign a big leather volume and register yourself as an alcoholic. The bar in the old Commodore Hotel in Beirut was a wonderful centre for professional alcoholics of this kind. I first went there in June 1982, when West Beirut was under hourly attack from Israeli planes and tanks, and there were no shelters to protect us. The presiding spirit of the place was a correspondent called Chris Drake, a hospitable soul who dispensed booze and information even-handedly. When the barrage was going on, it would have been suicidal to leave the Commodore, and the building shuddered to every nearby explosion. Chris Drake had a parrot, and when the bar was packed in the evening with journalists glad to still be alive, it would imitate the sound of a shell in flight with startling accuracy. Most of the people there, not me, thank God, had walked into the bar on their first night, heard the parrot’s hugely convincing whistle, and thrown themselves on the floor shouting “Incoming!”. There would be a roar of laughter, and someone would help them up and offer them a glass of arak, an infusion of grapes and the seeds of the anise plant. I acquired a real taste for arak at that time, and I still think of that slightly oily, metallic, liquorice-tasting liquid hitting the back of my throat and burning its way down. A few years later, during another upsurge of fighting, the Commodore was heavily shelled by the Syrian army. The building was destroyed, and no trace of the parrot was ever found. When peace was restored and there was money around, the Commodore was rebuilt, much bigger and more glitzy, but the architect designed a new bar precisely where the old one had once been. You can still see the space on the floor where many a famous journalist measured his length when the parrot did its party trick. I took my wife and 13-year-old son there a couple of years ago, and one afternoon, when the bar was empty, my son insisted on re-enacting the whole thing. In China, things were different. Meetings with underground figures usually took place at their homes or outdoors, given the fear of surveillance. I often chose Ritan Park in Beijing, where teahouses served pu-erh tea and offered a discreet place to talk. By contrast, official meetings required alcohol, specifically Maotai, a fierce baijiu distilled from sorghum at over 50% ABV. At one banquet, after being insulted by a local Party official, I tried to outdrink him. The plan failed, he had help, but we still ended the night collapsed together, singing in two languages. The next day, I was told this had enhanced British prestige. Countries where alcohol is banned present different challenges. In Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, I smuggled in a 27-year-old bottle of Laphroaig disguised as Fanta, only to pour it down the toilet when soldiers began searching rooms for alcohol. They never entered mine. After the fall of the Soviet Union, I tried to track Sergei down but never found him. Before that, though, I had taken my revenge by signing him up to every unwanted mailing list I could find, encyclopaedias, dubious magazines, and more inventive subscriptions besides. It made me feel very good.And yet, if I imagine meeting him again, I always picture the same thing: Sergei standing in the doorway, holding a superb bottle of Meursault. For that, at least, I’ve always been grateful. This article was written by John Simpson, who reflects on his experiences reporting across the world, and the role alcohol has played in the art of face-to-face reconnaissance. Illustrations by Natsko Seki. Originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

BBC world affairs editor John Simpson reflects on reporting from conflict zones, recalling memorable bars, encounters and the role alcohol plays in the subtle art of face-to-face reconnaissance.

BBC world affairs editor John Simpson on bars, encounters and how alcohol shapes reporting, trust and intelligence gathering worldwide.

John Simpson on bars, spies and the art of reporting

Refuge,  refreshment & reconnaissance

Alsace – Olivier Humbrecht Food and wine are taken very seriously indeed in Alsace and Olivier has provided a wealth of options to consider. Worth noting, Alsace has more Michelin-starred restaurants than anywhere else in France. Top recommendations for wine lists at reasonable prices in the region are Tavernes lsacienne in Ingersheim and Restaurant de la Gare in Guewenheim. The best for food /wine list combo would be Villa Lalique in Wingen sur Moder, Chambard in Kayserberg. Table du Gourmet (1 Michelin Star) in Riquewihr and Auberge Bouc Bleu in Beblenheim. For a special occasion, don’t miss Aub de l’Ill (€€€) in Illhausern, which is a 2 Michelin Star restaurant. It was in fact a 3 Michelin Star restaurant up until recently but for Olivier it still is very much a 3 Star and worth the visit. 
Burgundy - Christophe Roumier "If you consider Burgundy to be larger than only the Cote de Beaune and Cote de Nuits, then my favourite restaurant is certainly Aux Terrasses in Tournus, which although only one Michelin Star, has a lovely creative cuisine full of energy and based mainly around local produce. The wine list is just perfect, although, like many places, it's full of young vintages. I like this place a lot! Closer to Beaune, one of my favourite restaurants is Hostellerie de Levernois for the high level of its cuisine and its very accomplished wine list. But here the place is a little more fancy." Brunello di Montalcino – Gianlorenzo Neri The most authentic place in Montalcino area is Trattoria Il Pozzo or Il Leccio in Sant'Angelo in Colle (a village in south area of Montalcino). Inside Montalcino village do not miss Il Giglio, Alle Logge di Piazza, and Drogheria Franci. For special fine dining you must try Osticcio. The best wine lists in town are at Il Giglio (you can find very old and rare vintages of Brunello from great wineries) as well as Drogheria Franci (same ownership of Enoteca La Fortezza who have an extensive wine list to choose from). Do not miss "Pinci" with meat sauce or pecorino cheese and pepper (in italian "cacio e pepe"), it is the typical pasta of the area, or "Peposo" which is a braised beef meat cooked in
a Brunello sauce. Santa Barbara – Matt Dees (Jonata & The Hilt) For dinner I would recommend the El Encanto restaurant which has beautiful sweeping views across Santa Barbara city. The food is awesome too. Don’t forget to stop off at the Mercado Ice Cream Parlour too. This place has got to be making some of the best ice cream in California. The Lark is pretty awesome. My personal favourite is Ca’Dario, a sort of no thrills Italian restaurant - the food is really authentic. We also have some of the best Mexican food being made in the US. These restaurants really are some of the jewels of the city. I love El Bagio
but there are loads of great ones to choose from! 
Chablis – Olivier Bailly – Domaine Billaud Simon Too few people make the one hour drive from the Cote d’Or to Chablis; the region is an overlooked culinary hot spot that offers exceptional value compared to the Cote d’Or. Olivier Bailly’s favourite restaurant in Chablis is Au Fil du Zinc for "the precision" of the Japanese Chef. According to Olivier, "he produces very good French cooking with a Japanese influence". Le Syracuse is another restaurant he recommends for the quality-to-price
ratio: "it is excellent!" 
Burgundy - Veronique Drouhin Veronique Drouhin also recommends the Bistrot du Bord de L'Eau in the commune of Livernois (just outside of Beaune). She describes it as “delicious, fairly priced and a lovely location both indoors and outdoors if the weather suits". Another recommendation is the L'Hermitage de Corton, just outside of Beaune, on the way to Aloxe Corton. Again it offers "delicious food at a good price in a beautiful setting... plus
the owners are delightful". If you find yourself in the centre of Beaune, Drouhin recommends Le Carmin, “a one Michelin star restaurant, worthy of the star”. For 'bar and tapas' style evening with friends, her pick is the gastro-bar Maison du Colombier. Another recommendation in Beaune is Le Bistrot des Cocottes: “nice, fun, very good”.

For any true epicurean, a list of top restaurants requires serious deliberation. We asked some of our favourite winemakers from around the world to give their recommendations, including Olivier Humbrecht, Christophe Roumier, Gianlorenzo Neri and more…

Winemakers Olivier Humbrecht, Christophe Roumier, Gianlorenzo Neri and more name their top restaurants

Where winemakers eat, part one

Where winemakers eat: Part one

We explore the terroir and characteristics of Markus Molitor's top Grand Cru cuvees throughout the Mosel region. Markus Molitor talks us through the terroir profile and characteristics of his top single vineyard cuvees, plotting the wines on the map as we taste the latest vintages from each site.

Exploring the terroir and characteristics of Markus Molitor's top Grand Cru Riesling cuvees throughout the Mosel region in Germany.

Markus Molitor and mapping Mosel vineyards 

Markus Molitor: Mapping the Mosel

It all started, as the best things in life often do, with a glass of wine and something of an epiphany. Budding Shanghai-based chef, Alex Xu, was holidaying with his then-girlfriend (now his wife) in New Zealand in 2012. It was their first trip together, and the pair had decided to do some tastings at wineries in Central Otago and Marlborough. One particular Pinot Noir they encountered awoke something in Xu. He didn’t know it at the time, but this was the first in a series of wine-tasting experiences that would change the course of his life. “We were on a tastings tour,” recalls Xu of the seminal moment. “There was a group of us travelling from winery to winery on a bus, but when we got to Aurum in Cromwell, our last stop of the day, the owner, Brook Lawrence, came and really spent some time with us. He walked and talked us through the vineyards, we tasted out of a barrel, and he opened a few bottles to taste. He talked about – in a very straightforward way – why each wine tasted a bit different even though they were all from the same parcel, essentially. He spoke to us about how there were different approaches to making wine from using whole-cluster or de-stemmed grapes, to oak, to length in barrel.” Sipping the wine as Lawrence spoke about the various methodologies and decisions that contribute to its flavour, made Xu realise in that moment, that the way wine is made – grown, picked and then prepared and vinified – is similar to the way a chef works. “I remember thinking, ‘Oh, making wine is like farming and cooking, but maybe the cycle is a bit longer.’” How flavours and textures work to deliver deliciousness in food is something that Xu was increasingly fascinated by, but his experience at Aurum that afternoon in 2012, opened his mind to the complexity of winemaking and the different elements at play in the glass and on his palate. “It was so fascinating to me to taste a wine made using 100% whole cluster and then compare it to essentially the same wine made using de-stemmed grapes. It was probably the first time I tasted wine and was simultaneously aware of how it was made. We’d visited maybe three wineries before Aurum, and I really remember how the tannins were entirely different, texturally, from anything else we had tasted. Those whole-cluster wines were much more expressive and seductive to me – specifically Aurum’s Madeleine Pinot Noir. It was spiced, really floral, lifted and bright. I already knew that I loved Pinot Noir, but that was a real ‘wow’ moment.” Shortly afterwards, Xu signed up to WSET, not because he knew he wanted to be a wine professional, “but simply to understand better what I was tasting and why I was enjoying those things,” he explains. The principles and tasting techniques he started to adopt soon began to feed into his approach to cooking.  “It gave me a kind of mental grid to help evaluate wines – colour, aroma, flavours, acidity, alcohol, tannin, body, intensity, complexity, length,” he explains. “On one super fun R&D trip to Tokyo to learn as much as I could about ramen, I applied that kind of thinking and rigour to how I evaluated a whole bunch of different varieties.” His interest in wine, it would seem, was sharpening Xu’s critical faculties and improving his ability to identify and appraise different elements of flavour. In 2015, just as he was making the final preparations to open his restaurant, Baoism, in Shanghai, Xu became ill with mononucleosis (glandular fever). Locked in a fever for days, he decided to head to the countryside to recuperate. More specifically, to his family’s country retreat in Yuhu Village in the foothills of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in rural Yunnan. Yunnan is one of China’s most southwestern provinces, lying south of Sichuan and bordering Tibet to the northwest, Myanmar to the west, and Laos and Vietnam to the south. There’s no heavy industry, making Yunnan one of the least polluted corners of China. Instead, its 394,000 square kilometres encompass snow-capped mountains, rice terraces, lakes, forests and agricultural land.  Xu describes Yunnan as ‘China’s breadbasket’, explaining that the variation across the province in elevation and climate means that the region enjoys a long growing season, yielding all kinds of gastronomic wonders that are prized throughout the country and beyond. As well as the tea, coffee and tobacco of central Yunnan, the province is probably best known for the wide variety of mushrooms it produces. Wild morels, porcini, truffles and a mushroom called matsutake or ‘pine mushroom’ in Japanese. Yunnan still exports tonnes upon tonnes of them to Japan each year, although they’re also enjoyed locally, sliced very thin and dipped in soy sauce and wasabi. The food of Yunnan reflects many influences. “I’m Han Chinese and that’s the majority ethnic group,” explains Xu, “but we have, I think, 25 different ethnic minorities in Yunnan. There are Tibetans, Laotians, ethnic Thai, ethnic Leong – and that’s just the tip of the cultural diversity iceberg. And even though we’re pretty far from Vietnam and Laos here in the Northwest, we still have a lot of lime and mint here. In the summer, the sun is really intense because of the high UV radiation at the altitude, so we eat a lot of foods that are very fresh. Our cuisine puts a lot of value on nuance and delicate complexity, rather than power and spice.” Xu’s Shanghai-resident parents holidayed in Yunnan in the early 2000s and fell in love with Yuhu Village. On discovering there was no running water, they helped the villagers build a pipeline from a glacier atop the mountain, and as a show of thanks, the villagers gave them some land on which they built a house.  Despite the abundance of beautiful fresh produce grown elsewhere in the province, the landscape around Yuhu Village is almost completely devoid of agriculture due to the barrenness of the soil. But its wide-open spaces and fresh mountain air (at an elevation of 2,800 metres) were the perfect tonic for Xu’s mononucleosis recovery. Within two days, he shook off the blanket under which he had been shivering for weeks and, almost suddenly, was back to rude health and able to enjoy being out in the sunshine and open countryside. And that’s when he saw something he’d never seen before: a group of villagers digging melon-sized rocks out of the ground. “I asked my friend what was going on,” says Xu, “and he explained that the rocky soil is so poor and so bad at retaining water that nothing really grows. So instead of harvesting crops, the locals dig up rocks that can be used for building projects.” Sloping landscape, poor and rocky soil, cool climate – something clicked in the back of Xu’s mind. “I remember thinking ‘Maybe we could plant vineyards here.’ It’s weird because there are no vineyards in that part of Yunnan, and I had never considered planting vines or making wine until that very moment.” Two weeks later, Xu was back in Shanghai, busier than ever as the head chef and proprietor of his just-opened restaurant. But he had made some calls, reaching out to friends about his ‘crazy idea’. He was introduced to David Tyney, an Australian viticultural consultant who had been working in New Zealand for around 15 years. Over the next 12 months, also working with Simon Clark and Feng Liu, they collaborated to establish whether or not growing vines would be feasible – installing a weather station, analysing soil samples and, ultimately, identifying a small parcel of land outside Xu’s village that had potential. Xu planted vines in May 2017 knowing that, at some point, he’d have to choose between the restaurant and the vineyard project. When his landlord got in touch later in the year to say that he was upping the rent at Baoism, it made the decision easier than anticipated. Now able to focus solely on the vineyard, Xu asked his viticultural consultant the best and fastest way to learn about making wine. The answer came: “Work vintages”. The memory of the Pinot Noirs he had tasted at Aurum called him back to New Zealand, where husband and wife team Brook and Lucie Lawrence welcomed Xu’s request to come and work the 2017 harvest with them as their only additional help managing their four-hectare site. “I’d heard from my consultants that making wine is very much like working in a kitchen,” says Xu. “It’s mostly cleaning but I would be there to work hard, observe and absorb. I was already used to a world where cleaning and physical labour were very much part of the job, but what I found on my first vintage, working with Lucie and Brook, was that winemaking has this incredible combination of intellectual curiosity and satisfaction.  You’re constantly thinking about how and why, trialling different things here and there, understanding how different viticultural or vinification decisions affect what ends up in the glass. Plus, you have this real satisfaction from doing physical labour that you don’t get in a lot of work. It had a pace that was a little bit slower than restaurants – still very intense – but it felt more sustainable. And at Aurum I saw that when people are really good at what they do, they kind of glide around the winery, the way great chefs glide around their kitchens. It made me want to become better. I understood that that’s what I want to be like, and I understood how the work would appeal to me. I also learned that this was a real business – that I couldn’t just throw myself into it without giving it proper respect.” One of Xu’s big learnings at Aurum was about quality over quantity. “They’d been hit hard in the economic crisis of 2008 and had to shed 10 hectares of their site, leaving them with just four. So they were down to bare bones. What they were doing, if they got it right, would just about support them.” A sobering thought, but Xu was inspired.  Despite the pressure they were under to make it work, he admired the decisions Brook and Lucie made in the field, in the winery and beyond. For example, as part of their uncompromising focus on quality, they held on to bottles for the amount of time they felt was necessary before releasing them. “While I was there, one of their 2014 Pinots (they make three) won Best Pinot Noir in New Zealand,” says Xu. “It was a testament to how good they are as winemakers.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, Xu trusted his tastebuds to lead him to his next vintage experience. In 2015, he had attended a blind tasting event in Hong Kong hosted by Jancis Robinson MW. One wine stood out. “The theme of the event was to blind taste Chardonnay and Pinot Noir wines from across the world,” says Xu, “and I look up to Jancis immensely, so I felt I had to be there. As everyone does at some point or another, Jancis called one wine completely wrong. What she had called as ‘a great, great white Burgundy’, turned out to be a Quartz Chardonnay by Australian winery, Bindi. When it was revealed, Jancis wasn’t surprised: ‘It’s a Bindi? Of course, that makes sense,’ and she spoke about how serious the work is there and how great the winemakers are.” As Xu contemplated the delicious liquid in his glass, he found himself thinking what a triumph it was for New World wine; that it in the unprejudiced environment of a blind tasting event, the Jancis Robinson had put an Aussie Chardonnay in the same quality bracket as top white Burgundy.  Having sought out and enjoyed Bindi wines on several subsequent occasions, Xu applied to work the 2018 vintage with owner-winemaker Michael Dhillon. Though almost twice as big in size as Aurum’s, Bindi’s operation was still small enough for Xu to have a hand in everything during the vintage. And beyond the day-to-day harvest and winemaking work, Xu got to taste and discuss wines with Michael and his family in the evenings. “What was wonderful at Bindi was, because I was living with the family, I cooked a lot for them – almost every night – and they opened a lot of very special bottles. I found that so valuable; that they shared so many incredible wines with me, that we talked about them, and they were able to articulate why those wines appealed to them. And the wines weren’t all monolithic, there was quite a bit of variation in how the wines were built, structurally, even in the grape varieties, but you could see that Michael had a very clear idea of what he valued, of what mattered in wine to him. I realised that I needed to do that too, that my responsibility to my work, to my dream, wasn’t just about becoming a technician – simply knowing how to make wine – because that’s not enough. I needed to figure out what matters to me, to understand it and to be able to articulate it, and to evaluate wine from that vantage point.” Xu still speaks to Dhillon regularly, having gained a mentor as well as invaluable experience. He has also stayed in touch with Brook and Lucie at Aurum. In fact, when he mentioned to them that he was keen to do a vintage at Domaine Dujac in Burgundy, they told Xu that they knew the Seysses family personally, and would be happy to write a recommendation. They did, and Xu was offered a spot on Dujac’s 2018 harvest crew. “That was such a nice moment for me and a really great example of how people in the wine industry are much less directly competitive than people in restaurants,” says Xu. “There’s a much greater sense of sharing knowledge, and I love that. It’s still amazing to me, not just how much information the best winemakers in the world are willing to share about how they make their secret sauce, but also that they’re willing to go out of their way to help people like me find opportunities to learn and grow.” Xu’s winemaking learning curve and his palate education continued apace at Dujac under the tutelage of Jeremy Seysses and his wife Diana (who splits her time between Dujac and Napa where she is the winemaker at both her family vineyard, Snowden, and Ashes & Diamonds). Xu was one of just four stagiaires along with a sommelier from a 3-star Michelin restaurant in New York and a young but experienced Australian couple, who were all encouraged to take it in turns to choose four bottles from the cellars to open in the evenings after a hard day’s work.  “They would give us the inventory for the cellar and say ‘Ok, pick four wines and we’ll blind taste them.’ It was so much fun! We would taste and talk – and the really cool thing was that most of the wines we were trying were made by the family’s friends at neighbouring domaines. When you blind taste with people, you start to understand what they like, what they don’t like, and particularly how they think about wine. Because we were in the winery tasting the fermenting wines every day, and also out of barrels – when it came to tasting these amazing bottles every evening, we really got a sense of what Jeremy and his father Jacques valued in wine. It was such a privilege – so many wines I’ll never taste again but will remember forever.” Xu particularly remembers the wine he tasted on the evening of Jeremy’s birthday. Diana asked him to cook a special birthday meal (Chinese dumplings from scratch), while Jeremy brought up some very special bottles from the cellar. Two bottles of La Tâche – a 1966 and a ’72 – for starters, and Xu’s eyes glaze over at the memory of them. “Those wines were magical to me. First of all, the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti (DRC) bottles in the Dujac cellars are direct exchanges because the families are close. Aubert de Villaine is the godfather of Jeremy’s son – he came to lunch one day, and I think I was slack-jawed the entire time – but you know, those wines had entered the cellars in the 60s and not moved. Talk about pristine storage conditions – they’d travelled only a few kilometres to get there! The next thing to say is that these tasting experiences were my first with Pinot Noir that old – around 50 years.  Tasting them was mind-blowing as I had no concept of what it would look and taste like at that age, but simultaneously a validation of all the things that I love about Pinot Noir. 1966 was one of those years, a bit like 2017, where the vintage produced wines that people just drank straight out the gate as it was so delicious.  People didn’t really know if wine like that would fare well over time. But tasting it confirmed that the ’66 La Tâche had retained the balance it started with. Yes, it had gained all the savoury, leather and undergrowth characteristics, but all the purity of fruit and aromatic expressiveness and complexity still formed the core of the wine. But maybe the roses had gone from fresh to dried, and strawberries from fresh to gently baked – but the sweetness and succulence, the perfume and the spice, everything was still there. The ’72 was interesting too because, unlike the ’66, it was a really difficult vintage. And yet the wine had aged remarkably gracefully – all the elements were there, it was just a bit quieter perhaps, less intense than the ’66.” Xu also remembers Jeremy opening a magnum of 1964 Clos de la Pousse d’Or – the first vintage made by Gérard Potel whom Jeremy’s father, Jacques, had worked with and learned a lot from. “The magnum was pristine, and the wine exhibited all the things I love about Burgundy: perfume, texture, massive complexity and spice. You know that way that Pinot Noir can be weightless without being light or lacking intensity or energy? It had this weightless intensity and a savoury complexity that was just stunning. So beautiful.” Through the wines Xu was tasting, he wasn’t just building a vision for the kinds of wine he hopes to make in Yunnan, he was starting to understand something much more profound – the kind of life in wine he wants to make for himself. At the end of his season at Dujac, when Jeremy asked him if he wanted to visit some other Burgundy domaines to do some tasting and maybe think about where next to approach to do a vintage (as a result of the subsequent tastings – and Dujac’s influence – Xu worked the 2019 vintage with Pierre-Yves Colin-Morey), Xu had perhaps the biggest epiphany on his wine adventure to date. He knew that he didn’t just want to nurture fruit on the vine and turn it into wine, but also – like his own mentors – nurture and encourage like-minded people to follow their noses, awaken and educate their palates, and start their own wine adventures. With just under three hectares of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay vines planted on the south-facing slopes of his Miao Lu vineyard in Yunnan, Xu is fully committed to maintaining more than a flow of vinified grape juice in the coming years. The knowledge and passion that flows freely around the vigneron’s dinner table, and the convivial spirit of generosity Xu discovered at each world-class winery, are just as important to his vision for Miao Lu. Yes, making exquisite, thoughtful wine with love and care is vital – but so too is the culture of sharing, savouring and celebrating good wine in good company, and raising a well-nosed glass – as often as possible – to hard work, friendship, and the magic you simply can’t bottle. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

FONDATA’s Gavin Lucas speaks to the restaurateur-turned-winegrower Alex Xu about the series of epiphanic moments in the company of great winemakers that completely reshaped his future

Restaurateur-turned-winegrower Alex Xu shares the series of epiphanic moments with great winemakers that completely reshaped his future

FONDATA: Epiphany Wines

Epiphany Wines 

Markus Molitor has been working in the vineyards since he was ten years old, literally becoming his father’s right-hand man after his father Werner lost his arm in an accident, “He needed support and help in the vineyard and cellar – so I became his right hand. He taught me all about viticulture and vinification and I spent every free minute with him in cellar or vineyard. I did not only learn every single step of winegrowing and winemaking, but I also took over his passion and enthusiasm.  One day we stood on the foot of Zeltinger Sonnenuhr vineyard site and looked up. My father told me about the glorious times of Mosel Riesling at the beginning of 20th century. I understood that the vines in these parcels, which were approx. 100 years old, were still the same.  So I asked myself: What has happened? Why do the wines not have the same reputation when all the preconditions have not changed at all? And that was the moment of inspiration for me. Since then my ambition has been very clear: I want to try to help restore the wines of our Mosel valley to their former glory by producing unmistakable Riesling wines true to their individual vineyard identity.” Markus took over control of the estate in 1984, which at that time amounted to just 1.5 hectares of the vineyard site Wehlener Klosterberg. Since then he has enlarged the holdings to 120 hectares comprising of many of the top Grand Cru sites on the steep slopes of the Middle Mosel and further south in Saar region. Markus Molitor is now among the largest privately owned estates in Mosel. 90% of the 120 hectares are planted with Riesling and various Pinot varieties. The goal has always been to produce very distinct expressions of each of the vineyard sites dotted throughout the Mosel  - “We try to express each individual character of vineyard in combination with each quality level, style and vintage. Therefore we harvest all of the vineyards by hand only to have the possibility of selecting each single berry in its own category. This work and time-intensive process leads to approx. 80 to 90 different wines per vintage, but each one absolutely unique in its composition and taste.” The whole team of workers in cellar, vineyards, office, warehouse and sales consists of approx. 80 people.  But this increases close to 120 people during the work intense period during the early summer months. Mapping the vineyards 1980-1990s To fulfil Markus’ ambition to reinvigorate the reputation of the great vineyards of Mosel he first began to focus purchasing the Grand Cru Sites of the Middle Mosel area beginning in the 1980s gradually buying more and more selected sites right through the 1990s. “One needs to imagine that until that time, it had been nearly impossible to obtain any plots
in these famous steep slopes.  Families passed these on from one generation to another. But in the 1980s the Mosel wine industry was completely devastated due to the glycol crisis and the overriding reputation of the mass-produced off-dry wines (highlighted in my “History of Mosel” article).  Nobody wanted to work the steep vineyards anymore. So for the first time in history, people offered it for sale or rent. I took the chance given and enlarged the vineyard surface to approximately 20 hectares in these vineyard sites.“ Asked what is so special about the steeper slopes of Mosel and the effects this has on the final wines Markus explains – “There are several advantages of steep slopes in comparison to flat vineyards. First of all the sun exposure: if the steep slope is south-facing, the sun moves
around each single vine from morning to evening. Secondly, the aeration is better because the winds blow down the slopes – the risk of frost is minimised, the heat as well as the humidity are carried away.  During the Indian summer prior to harvest, the temperatures may be quite warm during the day. The valley is narrow, so the heat is trapped in the valley. During the nights, the cold winds from the Eifel and Hunsrueck hills above fall down the steep slopes. These changes of warm and cool air contribute a lot to the formation of the unique Mosel-aromas in the Rieslings. Depending on the steepness and therefore the angle of incidence, the sunlight is reflected by the river in the vineyard and afterwards stored by the slate soil. It is the combination of all these points that leads to the unique effects of the steep slopes in our valley along with the interaction of the slate soils with the old vines."
 2000-2020 From 2000 onwards Markus started to purchase vineyards further south in the Saar Ruwer district. “I rented the first parcels in the vineyard site Niedermenniger Herrenberg in
the Saar river valley. This region really has its own character. The Saar and the Ruwer represent special variations of the Mosel Riesling. The side valleys are located at a slightly higher altitude and they are not as narrow. The average temperature is therefore a bit lower than in the Mosel region.  Due to these facts the vegetation period takes a bit longer (approx. 7-10 days). All of these components lead to Riesling wines with higher acidity, a bit more intensity, and a sharp and clean mineral expression and lighter fruit flavours than in the Middle Mosel region." In 2012 Markus was able to also secure some parcels in the famous steep slopes of Saarburger Rausch and Ockfener Bockstein in the Saar-Ruwer part of Mosel. In 2016 Markus got the chance to buy the former Staatsdomaine of Serrig which was built in 1903 by the Prussians, one of their government-led quality-driven wineries. Markus explains:  "It was 25 hectares of vineyards in one go, a unique possibility that I could not resist." As you go further east along the Mosel river and enter what is called Middle Mosel (identified into two separate regions named after the main towns of Piesport and Bernkastel and it is here the wine character changes slightly.  Markus explains: “The wines coming from Middle Mosel area are “warmer“ in taste: the fruitiness which often reminds me of exotic tropical fruits is more in the foreground, the wines are lush and rich in body. They are a bit smoother in acidity and pretty round in taste. However, it is worth noting that the differences between the areas have gotten much smaller over the last two decades due to the climatic change we are all faced by.“ In 2013 Markus expanded his vineyards east and took over parcels in the Kinheim district, namely in Kinheimer Rosenberg and Kinheimer Hubertuslay. “For me these vineyards were completely underrated and underestimated, therefore I wanted to (and I still want to) show their quality and make them famous all around the world.” During the last five years, Markus took the chances to piece together what he describes as his “personal jigsaw” of Grand Crus sites in the Middle Mosel area including the legendary Bernkasteler Doctor, Brauneberger Juffer (and Juffer-Sonnenuhr) as well as Erdener Prälat.  
 After 35 years of buying up single plots all over the region I ask what vineyards have become his favourites, he states, “It is like asking a father: which one of your children do you favour? It is hard to say which are more special than others due to the uniqueness of every single site, microclimate, steepness, slate soil composition, sun exposure, vines etc. All I can say is I believe all of them are justified to belong to the best vineyards of Mosel, of Germany, some even of the world and everyone of them has its own character. 
 Single vineyard characteristics and what defines them Identifying what is specific about the different vineyards along the Mosel is not simply geographical. Whilst Saar Ruwer is quite geographically and climatically different to Middle Mosel, each of the villages dotted along the Middle Mosel don’t simply represent different
styles of Riesling, the type of slate is perhaps a stronger factor.  Markus goes on to explain: “The character of a wine does not only depend on the village or better the vineyard site where it comes from. There are many more aspects influencing the taste and structure of a wine. The particular type of slate is responsible for the mineral and aromatics, as well as the acidity structure of the wine.  "It is distinguished by very specific local mineral compositions (mainly blue, grey and red slates, but there are many forms in between). In addition to that it depends a lot on the microclimate of the single parcel, on the slope and the sun exposure of the site, and those effects on the slate soil composition. There is also the age of the vines as well as their clones – and last but not least, it all depends on the philosophy of the winemaker. In general, we manage all our vineyards the same way. The work in the vineyard is of central importance because here the foundations are laid for physiologically ripe grapes full of extract to express their specificity of location.”
 Slate soils 
 The Mosel wine region is defined by its slate soils. All of Molitor’s vineyard soils are composed of slate – in nearly infinite variations. The main difference is the colour: grey, blue and red. But there are huge variations from vineyard to vineyard. Markus goes on “slate is a
very smooth stone which means that it can be very weathered. The stones may be splintered by hand. The vines´ roots are able to grow through the stony soil down to ten to twelve metres deep. They can collect many minerals through the different layers and transport it into the grapes (and therefore in a second step into the wines). It is distinguished by very specific local composition.  The slate reflects the sun and stores the heat so that the day and night temperature difference, especially during harvest, is not as high as in vineyards with other soils and therefore grapes do not only have light and warmth from above, but also from down below. In combination with the microclimate in the single vineyard site, the vines and the winegrowing philosophy, the wines vary from plot to plot: you may always recognise them as Mosel Riesling, but there are infinite possibilities from light to heavy, from expressive in mineral to spicy fruitiness, from cool to warm characters.”  Ungrafted vines "The character of a Riesling does not only depend on the age of vines, but also on the genetics grown in the vineyard. There can be young vines producing wines as full of character as from old vines, but these are really rare. In our vineyards we only plant selection
massalle, old genetics, because not only the age of vine, but the combination of both is crucial." "The ungrafted old vines in Mosel are getting rarer every year due to land consolidations. The winemakers are not allowed to plant ungrafted vines any longer because of the risk of phylloxera. But one is allowed to keep the old stocks in old plots. The root system of old vines is unique, it cannot be imitated.  Roots grow down to twelve metres deep in the mineral soil. They may take a lot of minerals into the grapes. The proportion of wood in comparison to the leaves and fruits is very high. Therefore the yield of old vines is extremely low – but the concentration of extracts and minerals in the juice of every single berry is extremely high. All these points lead to an incomparable structure and great texture in the wine. The balance of all components, mineral, acidity, fruitiness and sweetness is always given and inimitable." Explore more Editorial 

Since 1984 Markus Molitor has been managing his estate in Wehlener at the heart of the Middle Mosel, buying up some of the region's finest Grand Cru sites. Molitor provides a fascinating insight into these widely differing vineyards and how they have such a profound effect on the wines produced.

Markus Molitor owns several hectares of top Grand Cru sites in Mosel and Saar Germany. We explore how he has restored Riesling to its former glory.

Markus Molitor interview

Markus Molitor on his special Mosel project

Liot

Sauternes

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groups every action by type - Purchase, Sale, Delivery, and Inbound Transfer - so it's clear at a glance what happened to each item.

History

shows all the items that are currently in transit to or from {shortName}.

In transit

Local delivery is free for orders over HK$1,800 (to a single location). For orders below this value, delivery is HK$150 for up to four cases and HK$50 per case thereafter.

Shipping starts from €15 within Italy and €45 to Switzerland and the rest of Europe for up to 48 bottles (75cl). Costs vary by destination. Larger shipments can be quoted on request.

The date shown below is when your order will ship from our local warehouse. Your final delivery date, along with full tracking details, will be provided once our team has processed your request.

You can arrange collection from our Retail store on 22nd Floor, 8 Wyndham Street, Central Hong Kong.
Collection times are between 9:30am-13:00 and 14:00-18:00pm, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

You can arranged collection from our warehouse STI INTERNAZIONALE SPA, on Viale del Lavoro, 57, 37051 Bovolone, Verona.
Pick-up hours are between 8:30 AM to 12:30 PM and 1:30 PM to 5:30 PM, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

This is the current estimated market value for this item.

Manually set prices will be overwritten. Already listed wines are not affected.

Updates all unlisted wines to current market price.

Set all at market

represents all the wines you currently have in your Portfolio that aren't stored with us. Press the

My cellar

Name

Net price

New portfolio available

New portfolio

You do not have any invoices at this time.

shows all the items from your Portfolio that are currently on the market.

On sale

shows all the items you currently have in your Portfolio. You can perform individual actions on them from this page.

Overview

shows any items that are currently awaiting user action.

Pending

This is the dynamic estimated value of the item with trading margin removed.

This is the amount of profit you will receive if your listing sells.

Pre-authorised payments enable automatic transactions on your behalf, ensuring seamless and hassle-free payments. This allows recurring charges, subscriptions, or scheduled payments to be processed without manual approval each time.

The number of cases you wish to place on sale

Your catalogue item will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your catalogue items will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

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.

Title

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.

Profile

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.

Liot

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