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

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

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

Talking to the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley

Advocating for change: William Kelley

William Lowe has achieved a great many things in his life. At the time of writing, he’s the only Master Distiller to also hold a Master of Wine title. At the age of 41, he already has countless letters after his name from various academic qualifications in psychology and philosophy, and is months away from embarking on a PhD in Chemical Engineering and Biotechnology. “I’m a serial studier,” he says with a boyish smirk and an infectious giggle. “I can’t help it. I think I’ve had 17 consecutive years of exams in one shape or another.” Somewhat surprisingly, given the laboratory behind him as we speak and the very scientific qualifications he has to his name, Lowe doesn’t come from a science background. He joined the wine and spirits world one day after he turned 18, working as a bartender. He says his “very academic” family thought his choice to bartend was a phase. But, at 18, Lowe took his grandfather’s words “if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well” to heart – something he still believes to this day. “I took that not just to mean if you’re going to do something, do it as best you can. But genuinely it’s a question of self value. Why waste your time doing something to a mediocre standard? There’s just no point. We’ve got a limited time on this planet, haven’t we? So I thought, if I’m going to be a bartender, I want to be really good at it.” After bartending internationally and mixing drinks for the Queen and celebrities, Lowe ran bars and restaurants for a time, before he went into distribution and then education, training more than 10,000 people worldwide. From here, the man with the voracious appetite for learning moved into production. In 2012, he set up Cambridge Distillery – which started life in his front room. Rather than use a traditional copper pot still, Lowe fashioned a vacuum still with rudimentary apparatus to distil his fresh, seasonal botanicals according to their individual needs. “The methods that we use here were literally laughed at a decade ago,” he explains. “And then they were thought a curiosity seven or eight years ago. And then a bit weird but quite interesting five years ago. To the point now where what we do here has resulted in gold medals for quality for literally every product that we have ever commercially released, and that gets some attention.” Over the past 10 years, Lowe has produced a series of world firsts. “There was no such thing as gin in Japan before I did that,” he says with pride. In order to explain to the world why it was a Japanese gin, Lowe told everybody what it was made from and now there are lots of Japanese gins. “Every single one of them is based on a recipe I created here in Cambridge,” he bristles. Lowe says a lesser man would find that very frustrating but cites a “wonderful quote that most people only know the first half of”. “You know they say imitation is the most sincerest form of flattery?” He continues, “… that mediocrity can pay to greatness”. “It’s damning with faint praise,” he adds. “We see a lot of these products come along. I made the world’s first gin out of insects. A lot of other people have tried that too. I made the world’s first gin out of truffles. A lot of other people have tried that too. But I don’t begrudge people following because that’s great – it means we’re doing things right and that is excellent. “And actually, if the whole world takes this approach of going quality-first and really aiming to make the best gin they can make, rather than the cheapest gin they can make with the best profit margins, well then we are in a good place. But, there are things I have worked really, really quite hard on in here that are outside of a patentable space, so we’ve got some very well-guarded secrets. “For example, our Truffle Gin is not just juniper and truffle. But there is only one other person in the world, other than me, who knows the full recipe for that and he’s my Head of Production.” Lowe then adds quite seriously: “and we never travel in the same car.” During our hour-long video call, Lowe sits in front of his laboratory-cum-distillery and periodically pulls props from beneath the bench upon which he sits. He jumps up to show me the oar from the Oxford/Cambridge Boat Race – coincidentally, the day Cambridge Gin officially launched in 2012, Oxford infamously broke an oar – and he repeatedly holds up A1 photographs of the distillery in its various stages of development, and his favourite prop: a miniature copper pot still. He also, much to my delight, takes me into the laboratory – with index finger to lips like a child sneaking into a room he’s not allowed to enter. The laboratory surface is lined with five small stills that look nothing like the copper pot still miniature he regularly and animatedly holds aloft. “Instead of having one big one, I’ve got lots of little ones,” he says with that smile. “One of the first things that people laughed at when we were talking about this [distillery], is they said well that’s great but you can’t scale it so it’s pointless. My point was fundamentally that actually, I wasn’t trying to prove you could scale it. I was trying to prove I could make a better gin. Well, I’ve done that. Next problem is scaling it. And, if you can't make a bigger one, just get LOADS – it’s fine,” he grins. Lowe can have five different botanicals running five different regimes at five different temperatures and five different pressures all at the same time. The resulting liquid isn’t gin, he tells me, but “lots of little threads that I have to weave together into the tapestry that becomes gin”. His, now trademarked, nine-step approach is called a novo-dimensional distillation matrix. Lowe will talk about pressure and temperature but he, for aforementioned reasons, will not discuss the other seven. He says his commercial and production team, on occasion, accuse him of having NPD Tourette’s – NPD being New Product Development. “Because I do go quickly,” he blurts out. “By the time you’ve seen a new release from us, I’m normally three or four projects further down the line.” He says they had to strike a deal because his flights of fancy are “so brilliantly fun” and he finds them “very, very engaging” – but there are commercial realities that underpin his work. For this reason, Lowe has created a triage system for new product ideas. As a general rule, if it already exists then he’s not interested – unless he thinks the product that’s out there isn’t good enough and he can improve it, in which case he’ll “just make it better and explain how it’s better and then people get to taste it for themselves”. If it’s a truly new idea, then he will ensure the new product has a purpose and reason to be. His Truffle Gin, for example, was born out of a desire to create a digestif gin – because a waiter at a Michelin-starred restaurant once remarked that there wasn’t a gin “good enough” for the digestif trolley. After months and months of reverse engineering the taste profile for a “good enough” digestif – think chocolate, tobacco, leather, tar, smoke and forest floor – Lowe released a gin that has since gone on to win countless awards. He didn’t say, but I’d hazard it also now graces that digestif trolley. Lowe is ambitious – doggedly so. He says Cambridge Distillery set out with a singular objective to be the world’s leading luxury gin producer and that his goal has always been to be the best. He’s the world’s first gin tailor, who sits with private clients for an afternoon and creates a gin based on their specification. And every product he releases wins at least a gold medal in tasting competitions. When asked how this is possible, he responds: “I taste for a living. It’s my job. I’m the best part of a quarter of a century doing this now. And, within that quarter of a century, I have been judging both wines and spirits internationally for over a decade, I’ve been teaching the Diploma at the WSET, which is the highest qualification offered by the world’s biggest wine and spirits school. I’ve also been called out by people like the IWSC and the WSET who named me one of their future 50. British Airways named me as one of their 100 modern Britons for my services to the food and drink industry. And, last year, I became the world’s first Master Distiller to also become a Master of Wine. “And I’m not just telling you this to seek the approval that I’m yet to receive from my father – the point here is that I’ve got a good palate. I’ve been working on it for a long time. And the system I use makes that palate more accurate by a factor of 10 to the power of four. And that’s why, when I release a gin, I know it will get a gold medal. Because if it isn’t a gold medal standard then I just don’t release it.” Lowe’s next qualification is a PhD in Chemical Engineering and Biotechnology on the intrinsic liquid properties of quality in wine and spirits and how they map to the extrinsic perception of quality in a range of novice, amateur and expert tasters. This, he says, could have sat in psychology, philosophy or chemistry. He chose the latter as a “challenge” because he’s “pretty strong” on the first two. “What I’m trying to do at the moment is focus my efforts,” he says. “And focus them on the things that I think are smart goals which are objectively measurable and achievable. And stretching and challenging – because I’m not interested if it’s not a challenge. “For example, let’s face it, the work that is part of that PhD is what I would be doing anyway. The PhD gives me the structure and it imposes a timeline and it brings me that focus. So it is absolutely part of my ecosystem and it works because it works. “There were times when I was trying to balance my WSET Diploma with a part-time Masters in Forensic Psychology – that was a lot harder. Very, very different subjects and I found the switch between them very stimulating. But this is absolutely all guns trained on the same target.” Lowe says he became a distiller to solve problems others hadn’t. While he is seemingly laser-focused on gin, one can’t help but feel there are problems in other spirits categories that a man of his tireless energy is just itching to solve. When the question is put to him, he says simply: “Never say never.” Thankfully, as is often the case with the Master Distiller, he elaborates: “My wife is the voice of wisdom and reason within the business. I remember once being sat at our dining room table and I had two application forms in front of me: one was for the Master of Wine and one was for the Iron Man that I was intending to do later that year. “I was looking at these two things and thinking this is going to be tough and my wife looked at me and said: ‘Will, there’s no shame in it. You can’t be elite at everything…’ and I was just about to say ‘I bet I can…’ and she finished her sentence with the words ‘at the same time’. And that was it.” When asked how he finds the time, and quite frankly, the energy, for the many things he is currently focusing on, he says: “Time isn’t something you find. It’s something that you utilise. We’ve all got 168 hours in the week and it requires discipline and prioritisation. That’s how you make your time.” And really, really good gin. Learn more about Cambridge Distillery or read more Editorial 

There are a lot of impressive people in the drinks industry, but you’d be hard pushed to find somebody quite as accomplished and personable as Master Distiller William Lowe MW. Holly Motion asks the man with the golden touch about his incredible career to date

William Lowe MW, the world’s first gin tailor, on turning the smallest distillery in the UK (Cambridge Distillery) into the golden goose.

William Lowe MW on his gold-medal Cambridge gins

William Lowe MW: the man with the Midas touch

Ardross is a new Scotch whisky distillery. You’d be forgiven for rolling your eyes about now. Over the past few years there’s been a spate of new distillery openings across the bucolic Scottish landscape and each espouses to be different from the last. Many have an impressive roster of whisky talent at the stills and little expense has been spared on the distillery itself and surrounding architecture. This is something Ardross Single Cask Society founder Barthélémy Brosseau is all too aware of. “I wouldn’t want us to be completely perceived as normal,” he says. “What I mean by that is that we have a great building, great location, great people, great quality spirit but everybody is claiming more or less the same.” As the name may suggest, Barthélémy – or Barth as he introduces himself – Brosseau was born in Bordeaux and is a very atypical Scotch whisky distillery founder. “You don’t see me wearing a suit and speaking very gravely about the Scotch whisky tradition with a Scottish accent, and there is a reason behind this,” the 32-year-old adds. As he is quick to point out, with a smile that rarely leaves his face during our one-hour call, when it comes to the whisky, he takes a giant step back. “Who am I as a Frenchman to tell them how to produce Scotch whisky?” This side of the business is very much driven by distilling legend Andrew Rankin of Bowmore fame. When we speak, the Ardross team is preparing to officially launch its Single Cask Society. A website is in development with an ever-nearing launch date (the designers require a “bit of a kick”), the existing 49 members are regularly in contact with Brosseau (he has most of them on WhatsApp), and he’s not getting quite as much sleep as he might like after the birth of his second daughter. With all these plates spinning, you’d forgive him for being a little flustered. Instead, he is cool personified. He seamlessly weaves the conversation from topics including, but by no means limited to, philosophy, travel and literature (Leo Tolstoy’s War & Peace is among his favourites). It is soon apparent why Brosseau is the butterfly in the company logo. With his tendency to flit from one subject area to the next and, to take his more philosophical approach, his current emergence from a chrysalis of sorts into the Scotch whisky world. Conversely, Rankin, with his near 50-year experience, is the steadfast, knowledgeable other animal in the logo. “Don’t tell Andrew he is the tortoise,” the Frenchman says with that smile. This symbiotic relationship in many ways is an unlikely one, but it’s key to Ardross’s current and future success. “Without Andrew, we would not be where we are today,” Brosseau says. “It would be an absolute mistake for me to say that I am driving this. Andrew is driving Ardross as a distillery and it is thanks to Andrew and his connections in Jerez, in Japan, in the US that we are where we are today. “I have all these crazy ideas and he is the wise guy who has the years and the knowledge and the erudition. And that is why it is interesting – sometimes we are completely at odds. And that’s normal. And from this friction, I think, that creativity ensues.” Ardross is the Scotch whisky arm of Greenwood Spirits Ltd, which is owned by Vevil International who boast London’s The Ned and The Wolseley in their impressive portfolio. Part of their modus operandi is faithfully restoring and renovating Grade 1 and 2 listed buildings and Ardross was no different. After seeing the opportunities that lay within the Scotch whisky sector, the team quickly recognised the need to partner with an industry icon for the project to succeed. After meeting Rankin, the team gave him a mandate to find the Scotch whisky with a big vision a new home. Rankin describes finding the beautiful dilapidated farm called Ardross as serendipitous. He recalls seeing the six- to- seven acre Loch Dubh and snow-covered pine trees, and falling in love right away. The 50-acre site with 19th century farmhouse buildings has since been restored brick by brick at the cost of £30 million and a new distillery built to produce a traditional, quality single malt with a slightly sweeter profile. Although expectations were high after such an investment and the assembly of a production team with a combined experience of over 150 years, few could scarcely have imagined the quality of the spirit after one run. Rankin says it was a “Eureka moment” when they realised the new-make spirit was 95% of the way there – this process typically takes two to three months. The reason for this success right off the bat? Extremely long fermentation times of 121 hours (compared to the industry standard of 60), one of the best, if not the best, production teams in the business, and a relentless pursuit of quality, according to Brosseau. The only thing left to create the Ardross single malt they’d all envisaged was the wood and time itself. For this, Rankin drew on his industry ties and sourced the highest-quality wood from Jerez, Kentucky and Japan. Even for seasoned professionals with decades upon decades of whisky distilling experience under their belts, the chance to work at a new distillery from day one represents a career first. Despite all their achievements, of which there are many in the case of this team, to a certain extent they have been following somebody else’s blueprint and colouring within the lines. Working at a distillery like Ardross, with all its financial backing, represents an opportunity for this illustrious team to create their own blueprint in a way that only 150 or so others ever have. And Ardross, arguably more than most, has the flexibility to dictate what this framework should look like. “We have the luxury of thinking about the future almost in generational terms,” Brosseau says. “We are insulated from the vagaries of short-termism.” Brosseau says the decision was made early on to remain an independent distiller and not team up with the “big boys” for investment or distribution deals. He doesn’t rule this out in the future but says this approach has given the team an opportunity to learn and get their own scars and will make their growth and achievements that much sweeter because they have “done it all themselves from the beginning”. In addition to the distillery, Ardross also owns its own bottling line and warehouse, so they’re not dependent on others. Where other distilleries might be burdened with lofty marketing and distribution costs, and fielding shareholders’ dividends demands, Brosseau says Ardross is “resolutely adopting a different stance”, will not rush to produce a non-age-statement and is under no pressure whatsoever to bottle whisky until the team is good and ready. “For us, Scotch whisky is about time. It is about the long term,” he adds. “The idea is that when you are entering Ardross as a member, you are with us for the long-term and the value proposition unfolds over time. “If you are in a rush and you want to buy your cask and sell the next day, we are not for you. And we are completely honest about it. Go elsewhere basically.” The French charm quickly returns and he says with a smile: “I mean, you will always be welcome of course – but what I am saying is you won’t potentially be happy.” While he is tightlipped about how this value proposition might unfold, Brosseau teases it won’t be via “necessarily classical routes”. “We are not putting everything in front of you all at one time,” he explains. “The idea is to make you discover, or enter our world, almost sequentially. It’s frustrating I think for people sometimes because we live in a world where everything is available straight away – one click and you have everything you want. “And we are quite contrarian in that regard. We are not building right now to enjoy the fruits right away. The idea is to build value and the ripeness of the fruits come over time.” For this reason, and many others, Brosseau says Ardross is “very reasonably priced”.  “You have lots of people today who are selling whisky casks that they don’t really own,” he adds. The Frenchman describes the cask investment trade as a “complicated one” and is very gallant in not wanting to discuss other schemes that are slightly less above-board. Instead, he says: “We are not trying to fool anyone. We know who we are and we know what we are doing quality-wise. “We’re not pretending to be Macallan or Dalmore or whomever. We have a world-class quality team with world-class expertise, among the best in the industry. But we don’t have 200 years of history.” Whereas other propositions might require an accountancy qualification to understand, Brosseau says Ardross is “doing something that is very simple”. “We have the credibility of the industry professionals in everything that is related to production. For the rest, we are out-of-the-box thinking professionals.” While he might not be willing to divulge the “special” things Ardross is doing at the end of this year and next, we can speculate it’ll be worth the wait. Few have the world-class library of casks, superlative new-make spirit and freedom to fly as high as this Scotch whisky distillery. Find out more about Ardross or read more Editorial

After years of painstaking renovation and restoration, the £30 million Ardross project is about to take off. Single Cask Society founder Barthélémy Brosseau tells Holly Motion all about the contrarian Northern Highlands distillery’s transformation and why this team is proud to be different

Exploring the story behind the fledgling Highland distillery with an amazing distilling pedigree, Ardross, and its exciting Single Cask Society.

The Ardross genesis story

Ardross: the butterfly effect

The red wines are simply brilliant: most of what I’ve tasted so far has been beautifully balanced, combining a seductive depth of fruit with very classical levels of acidity; and nor is there any coarseness or rusticity, even if the wines have the structure they need for the long haul. At this early stage, 2019 appears to number among the most compelling red Burgundy vintages of the millennium. The wines might be thought of as combining some of the depth and seriousness of the 2005 vintage with some of the generosity and charm of 2009; but I think site differences are more clearly defined than in either of those years, and that the wines are livelier and better defined. Another comparison would be with the depth and concentration of 2015 with the charm and perfume of 2017. If 2019 must clearly be numbered among what the French call "solaire"
vintages (ie those shaped by warm, sunny conditions), it also remains very classically Burgundian. For white Burgundy, 2019 is a vintage of concentration and maturity, along the lines of 2015, and some producers adapted to it better than others. While the wines are inherently rich and muscular, in many cases acidities are higher, and pHs lower, than in for example, the 2018 and 2015 vintages.  While some wines are almost exaggeratedly rich, I’m being impressed by how chiselled many 2019s remain despite their huge levels of concentration, and I suspect that those who pursue longer élevage will find that their wines gain in tension after a second winter on the lees. There’s certainly a stylistic contrast between these wines and the supple, open-knit, and sometimes somewhat dilute 2018s. Overall, the 2019 white wines will be more heterogenous than the red, but I’ve tasted some great bottles in the making. With the caveat that they’re more heterogenous, making analogies harder to draw, the white wines of the Côte de Beaune share some characteristics with 2015 – a muscular, powerful vintage with an important presence of dry extract from thick-skinned grapes – and even the 2012 vintage, which was also defined by low yields and produced textural, almost unctuously concentrated wines, albeit in a very different growing season. I’d venture that the whites are harder to read at this stage than the reds: many are still on their lees, some have been racked, and most received some sulphur dioxide before harvest. Revisiting them in bottle will thus be especially important. Spending half the year in Burgundy, William Kelley is the Wine Advocate’s Burgundy correspondent. His full Burgundy 2019 report, notes and scores will be published on the Wine Advocate in January 2021. Read more about the 2019 Burgundy vintage 

Ahead of the publication of his full report in January 2021, the Wine Advocate’s Burgundy critic William Kelley offers his initial thoughts on the 2019 vintage

The Wine Advocate's critic William Kelley on the Burgundy 2019 vintage 

William Kelley on the 2019 Burgundy vintage 

William Kelley has rapidly risen up the wine-writing ranks. He started writing for Decanter in 2015, covering the 2015 and 2016 Burgundy vintages, before joining the Wine Advocate in 2018, where he now looks after Burgundy, Champagne, Madeira and English Sparkling Wine. But it’s clear that Burgundy is his passion – spending half the year in the region’s cellars and vineyards. “It is a region that grabbed me the first time I visited (as a student, in winter 2008/2009),” he explains. “For all that it has changed over the last few years, it remains an immensely rich and individualistic wine culture, which never loses its capacity to surprise. Nothing is ever quite what it seems! That, combined with the fact that the Burgundian model has become in a sense the driving paradigm for contemporary wine culture, makes it a very exciting place to be.” As anyone following him on Instagram knows, he seemingly tastes and drinks more old Burgundy than most. But – since 2018 – he’s been doing much more than just drinking the wines, trying his hand at making wine himself, an experience that he feels has only helped him talk and write about the region. “There is no substitute for experiencing first-hand the stressful choice of when to pick; for handling and tasting the grapes at harvest; or for following their progress from must in a tank to wine in a barrel,” he explains. “In 2018, for example, I used very little press wine; but in 2019 I couldn’t get enough of it, the tannins were so velvety… Insights of this nature, in turn, make it much easier for me to discuss the vintage with producers.” In fact, one factor in his decision to start making wine was the rising prices in the region – something that he fears puts some wines “beyond the reach of a new generation of consumers”. However, he still feels that Burgundy can offer value – it’s simply about knowing where to look, and his advice is to look for the best farmers and winemakers working in “lesser” appellations.  “I have championed growers such as Mercurey’s Bruno Lorenzon, Rully’s Vincent Dureuil-Janthail, the Mâconnais’s Jean-Marie Guffens, and Santenay’s Jean-Marc Vincent in the pages of The Wine Advocate, and the results are indisputable when their wines are tasted blind in the company of others from grander appellations. Rather than looking for second-tier producers of the famed Premiers and Grands Crus of the Côte de Nuits and Côte de Beaune, the smart thing to do is to look for real vignerons like these, who are smashing the glass ceilings that have long been imposed by the appellation hierarchy.” As for 2019 in Burgundy, it’s the latest vintage in a growing trend for ever warmer, dryer years – something that he feels is, or should be, forcing vignerons to question the way they work both in the vineyard and winery, with conventional practices adapted to cooler, wetter conditions that are now a thing of the past. But he’s excited about the wines the warm, dry year produced: “The vines adapted to the conditions better than I think anyone could have hoped,” he says. The whites are proving harder to read at this stage, and therefore feels it’s going to be particularly important to revisit them in bottle. But he’s “impressed by how chiselled many 2019s remain, despite their huge levels of concentration” – there are, in his view, “some great bottles in the making”. As for the reds, they are, in his view, “simply brilliant”. For him, the vintage combines elements of 2005, 2009, 2015 and 2017: “If 2019 must clearly be numbered among what the French call ‘solaire’ vintages (ie those shaped by warm, sunny conditions), it also remains very classically Burgundian.” Explore all Burgundy or read more Editorial

As we focus on all-things Burgundy with the release of the 2019 wine vintage, we talk to the Wine Advocate’s Burgundy critic William Kelley about the region, why it is still so exciting and where to find value.

Wine Advocate critic William Kelley on Burgundy wines today, why it is still so exciting and where to find value.

Wine critic William Kelley on Burgundy

Sitting down with William Kelley

“Turbot,” Hugh Johnson says, the sense of satisfaction-to-come oozing down the phoneline. It’s a Friday morning and like any dedicated oenophile he’s already planned dinner, and – most importantly – what he’ll be drinking. I expected white Burgundy, something majestic drawn from a cavernous cellar, but Johnson – arguably the world’s most famous wine writer – is not nearly that traditional, or predictable. A Cambridge degree, a flawless RP accent, an air of good tailoring and tweed, and 60 years in the wine trade might lead you to think otherwise. But, throughout our conversation – even with a Covid-safe telephone call in lieu of a face-to-face – there’s an undeniable sense that there is forever a twinkle of mischief in his eye, and that Johnson is a man who enjoys being ever so slightly provocative. On the aforementioned Friday night, he was planning to uncork a bottle of Kit’s Coty Bacchus – “Giving it a good chance to show,” he says. Chapel Down’s single-vineyard bottling of England’s trademark grape comes from a chalky site on the North Downs, a spot that Hugh thinks is “a Grand Cru of the future”. He’s currently particularly excited about the prospects for England’s wine production – “Not just because I’m a patriotic citizen,” he reassures me.  “I’m passionate about the new school of English winemaking… wonderful characters and flavours are emerging from the south of England.” Gusbourne’s 2018 Pinot Noir “blew [his] socks off” and he’s keenly following low-dosage experiments such as Dermot Sugrue’s #ZODO. He wonders if perhaps the line of chalk between the North and South Downs could in fact be the Côte d’Or or Champagne of the future. It was an oft-quoted encounter with two Burgundies at university that set a young Johnson on the path to wine writing. I love the image of his university room-mate stumbling in a little too merrily, sloshing fine wine over the floor and Hugh’s undoubtedly immaculate notes, insisting that the serious and studious character sampled the two glasses in his unsteady hands. “One was magic and one was ordinary,” Hugh has said of the incident: he was instantly hooked. Cambridge’s Wine and Food Society laid the groundwork for his education, and he penned his first wine column for Vogue in 1960 – recommending a rather ambitious line-up that included 1955 Cheval Blanc and 1960 Ch. Margaux. There was a stint at House & Garden, then he took over from André Simon as editor of Wine & Food, joined The Sunday Times and started turning out a series of smash-hit books, starting with The World Atlas of Wine in 1971. His annual Pocket Wine Book – the world’s best-selling wine guide – has been solid stocking fodder for 44 years. The Story of Wine – first published in 1989, and a reprint of which is the cause for our conversation – is my personal favourite. It’s a book that captures exactly why I love wine: it literally seeps through our history, a liquid that links nations, cultures and generations. And Johnson’s passion for the topic drips off the page; writing that’s as intoxicating as the substance it describes. The oeuvre feels like it hasn’t aged a day since its initial publication, expertly tracing our ties to the vine and its fruit “from Noah to now”.   The copy I was gifted aged 21 is a hefty thing – an impractical hardback of coffee-table only proportions that precludes it being devoured the way it should be. I was delighted, therefore, to discover the latest edition is much more comfortably lap-sized – as Hugh describes it, “friendlier”. It’s a book that begs for an afternoon in the armchair. But it’s a book he never set out to write, and one that fell out of a foray onto the small screen. Much of the research was undertaken by a young history graduate Helen Bettinson, for a series aired the same year on Channel 4. “I learnt so much about history generally, never mind the wine part,” Hugh says. And that’s part of the joy of The Story of Wine – it’s not really a wine book; it’s just a great book, that happens to be about wine.  “When I started, there was very little knowledge around,” Hugh explains. “I saw my job as stirring up interest, encouraging people to enjoy wine in a very general kind of way.” The tricky thing, over the years, he says – has been avoiding the tendency to get closer to the subject, to focus on ever more detail – “sometimes a really boring amount of detail,” he chuckles. His heart sinks, he tells me, when someone asks him what the percentage of X grape is in a wine – “I’m not interested in percentages, yet the world is,” he laments. “To be frank, I sometimes think that journalists get into the nitty gritty because they have nothing better to say.” He’s a man tired of the state of wine writing (“glossy magazines full of incredibly boring photographs of vineyards”), and especially with winemaker profiles (“It’s pretty hard to engage the average consumer in the story of an Italian farmer: there are millions of them”). We should be, he feels, “getting the point of a wine” – but, most importantly, not the points. Johnson has long riled against scores. “My real beef against it is that it gives the impression that there’s something absolute going on,” Johnson says. He understands that for consumers it’s a short-cut (“you don’t have to read all the blurb”), but he’s fought long and hard to try and wean them off their numbers dependency. How something as varied and glorious as wine, something so dependent on “mood and moment” could be captured by mathematics – for Johnson – beggars belief. “The whole notion of a 100-point wine is unimaginable to me – how could it not be better?” For Johnson, a fine wine is a wine worth talking about – and that sums up rather neatly why scores are, for him, so offensive. As he says in the preface to the new edition of The Story of Wine, “If [wines] lack the power of speech they can still tell stories.” He’s sold 20 million books (and counting) filled with their stories, and his. But what’s next for the veteran wine writer? Well, proofs for his next gardening tome – the latest anthology of Trad’s Diary – are sitting on his desk awaiting attention. Then, of course, there’s that turbot – and a bottle of Bacchus hoping to tell its tale. The latest edition of The Story of Wine is available to purchase from Académie du Vin Library.  Read more Editorial

Since he started writing about wine in the 1960s, Hugh Johnson has sold 20 million books. As a new edition of The Story of Wine is published by Académie du Vin Library, Sophie Thorpe talks to the best-selling author about a lifetime spent telling – and selling – the stories behind every bottle

The best-selling author Hugh Johnson on a lifetime spent telling – and selling – the stories behind every bottle.

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