If you haven’t already heard about Baettig, we urge you to read some of our previous coverage of this rising-star producer. Conceived by Francisco Baettig (the winemaker behind Errázuriz, Seña and Chadwick) and Carlos de Carlos (previously Commercial Director at Errázuriz, he now works for Paul Hobbs) over dinner in London in 2010, Baettig is one of Chile’s most exciting projects – crafting site-driven wines from Malleco and the Maule.  The duo spent years seeking out the right site – realising that to find vineyards that met their standards, they’d have to plant them themselves. In 2013 they put their first vines in the ground, planting Burgundy clones of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in Traiguén, in the Malleco province. Both Francisco and Carlos had family ties to the region – making it seem like fate.  The site, however, wasn’t chosen purely for their emotional connection to the area, but with an eye on sustainability and quality. This is one of Chile’s southernmost wine regions, with red clay, clay loam and volcanic soils, cool conditions, 25% less sunshine than the Central Valley and – most importantly – plentiful rainfall, allowing them to dry-farm the vines and produce restrained, Burgundy-inspired Pinot Noir and Chardonnay with moderate alcohol levels, bright acidity and vibrant fruit. Francisco is clear that the quality of their vine material has been key to their success – as it is only relatively recently that Chile had access to high-quality, clean Burgundy clones.  While Baettig started with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, the producer has since added Cabernet Sauvignon from old vines in the Maule to the range, unsurprising given Francisco made his name making Chile’s icon wines.  Fourteen years after they first imagined their joint project, we welcomed Francisco to London to look back at the Baettig journey so far – tasting through a vertical and exploring how the project has developed and evolved.  About the Baettig range  There are currently two tiers to the Baettig range, with the idea that a top tier, single-vineyard offering that will be their “Grand Cru” of sorts, is likely to be added in the future. The current range comprises:  Vino de Viñedo: these wines are a vineyard selection designed for earlier drinking, effectively a “village” equivalent. The Chardonnay and Pinot Noir at this level go by the name of Los Parientes (“the relatives”, a reference to the closeness of the different parcels), while the Cabernet Sauvignon is called Los Compadres (“close friends” – a tribute to the growers with whom they’re working). Los Compadres is sourced from various dry-farmed, cool plots in the more coastal areas of the Maule, with the vines all over 30 years in age and some up to 150 years old, creating lively, juicy and intense expressions of Cabernet Sauvignon. The first vintage of the Los Parientes Pinot Noir and Chardonnay was 2019, while the first vintage of the Los Compadres was 2021. These may be the entry point to the Baettig range, and they are made to drink on release, but they also – like good village Burgundy – have capacity to evolve and will only benefit from an extra year or two in bottle.  Selección de Parcelas: their “Premier Cru” equivalent range, made in smaller volumes from specific parcels and built for longer ageing. These wines see a higher proportion of new oak and longer ageing prior to release. The Chardonnay and Pinot Noir are labelled under the Los Primos name (“the cousins”), while the Cabernet Sauvignon is named Los Padrinos (“the godparents”). The Pinot Noir comes from their El Primo, Chuir, and La Cuñada parcels, chosen for their elegance, structure and ageing potential; while the Chardonnay comes from the Triángulo and Llaima parcels, creating mineral, vertical wines that are all about tension. The first Los Primos Chardonnay and Pinot Noir were made in 2016, with the first wide release from 2017, and Los Padrinos was first made in 2022. Volumes of these wines are tiny, with just 300 to 350 cases made of each of the Selección de Parcelas.  About the winemaking The emphasis with Baettig is firmly on expressing site – and as such the winemaking is very “light touch”, allowing the sense of place to shine through in the wines. The style has evolved, with the use of oak reduced a little from the earliest vintages, generally shifting toward less time in barrel, larger casks and smaller portions of new wood. The fruit is all hand-picked and fermented with indigenous yeasts. The cooler sites, combined with the way Baettig farms and when they harvest, produces fruit with naturally low pH, allowing them to use minimal amounts of sulphur (although with sufficient doses to allow the wines to age and be shipped around the world).  For the Chardonnay, it is all whole-cluster pressed and cold-settled, prior to native ferment in old French barriques. Malolactic fermentation on the Chardonnay is left to happen or not, according to the vintage conditions (with often around a third going through). The élevage for all the wines varies according to the vintage, but the Los Parientes Chardonnay normally spends eight to 10 months in cask, with up to 15% new oak, while the Los Primos spends between 10-15 months in barrel with up to 35% new oak. The new oak for the Chardonnay is all larger 300- and 400-litre casks. A portion of the Pinot Noir is whole-bunch fermented (typically 10-20%), with the rest de-stemmed – with fermentation all in used oak. The Los Parientes stays in barrel for around eight to 10 months, with up to 15% new oak; for the Los Primos, it is 15-16 months, with up to 40% new wood – with the new oak all 300-litre barrels.  For the Cabernet Sauvignon, the fruit is all de-stemmed. Fermentation temperatures are low at around 24-28˚C, with maceration for a maximum 20 days, given the natural concentration and structure of the fruit. The Los Compadres is aged for 10 months in French oak (20% new), while the Los Padrinos spends 15 months in 65% new oak (including around a third in larger 300-litre barrels).  Tasting through the range, there is a clear stamp of style – a flinty restraint, with the emphasis on crunchy fruit and minerality, vibrant acidity, moderate alcohols. While some of the earlier vintages might have offered more overt oak in their youth, this has integrated with time in bottle – and the wines offer at most a subtle spicy complexity. They are beautifully judged, pure expressions of Traiguén.   About the vintages 2022: Generally speaking, 2022 was an outstanding vintage. In Malleco, the year was cooler than average. Winter was relatively dry, with little rain in spring and cool conditions including frost in September and October, leading to particularly low yields. Weather warmed up in February before cooling again in March and April, which also saw quite a lot of rain. This resulted in a late harvest of a small crop of fruit, with great intensity, concentration and excellent tension – with high acidity levels retained thanks to the cooler conditions. In the Maule, the season was moderately warm, producing a more generous yield than further south but similarly high quality. The weather here was warmer in December and temperatures close to average from January through to March. Moderate rainfall in March and April refreshed the season and eased the final stage of ripening, with the fruit offering good acidity, colour and aromatic intensity. The 2022s offer an up-front richness of fruit, with good backbone of acidity – in some ways a combination of 2020 and 2021.  2021: The 2021 vintage was a cooler year – producing wines where the emphasis was on elegance, finesse and tension, perfect for the Baettig style. The winter in Malleco was rainy, with 650mm of water over June and July, laying the groundwork for a good budbreak. Spring was dry and reasonably warm, although a late frost in September reduced yields. Summer was cool, with some rain over December and January (90 mm in total across the two months), allowing the fruit to ripen slowly ahead of a late harvest, developing great aromatic complexity and preserving the acidity levels. These should age particularly well.  2020: This was a warmer year versus 2021, producing richer-styled wines. There was plenty of rain in June and July, however this dried up in August, with little rain for the rest of the growing season. Temperatures rose and the hot, dry conditions allowed the grapes to ripen easily, although an early harvest was key to preserve freshness and tension to complement their natural intensity and generosity. Offering a little more flesh, particularly at this more youthful stage, versus the 2021s, the 2020s are juicy and open, yet with everything in balance. The one we’d pick for drinking now, although there is certainly no rush here.  2016: A rainy winter led on to a cool and rainy spring, with later-than-normal flowering and fruit set and a small crop. Summer was dry and largely warm, and the fruit was harvested early, producing wines that combine refreshing acidity and good density of fruit. The 2016 Los Primos Pinot Noir and Chardonnay were never released, the tiny volumes of Baettig’s first crop, so it was a real treat to taste these special bottles, offering a glimpse of the wines’ ageing potential – with both drinking beautifully.  The vertical: tasting Baettig Chardonnay 2022 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Chardonnay: This was really showing well, even though it has only just been released. It’s tight, full of energy, with a punch of minerality, bright taut citrus and crisp green apple. It’s lean and sleek, but with a fleshy, juiciness that makes it hard to resist now. A wine that’s singing. Aged for eight months in 15% new oak. Production: 7,254 bottles  2021 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Chardonnay: There’s a lick of lime curd on the nose here, with tightly wound greengage emerging with air. It’s pure and linear, driven with its intense, stony purity, but there’s a pleasing fatness to the fruit behind, with a mouth-wateringly juicy finish and long, saline tang to the finish. Aged for 10 months in only used oak. Production: 16,909 bottles  2020 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Chardonnay: The warmth of the 2020 vintage, combined with the cool climate of Traiguén and Baettig’s trademark flinty, lean style, has created a gorgeous Los Parientes in 2020. Now with a few years in bottle, it’s drinking beautifully. The wine remains taut – dominated by vibrant citrus that drives through its core, and the bright acidity brings incredible tension. Yet, there’s also a softness to the wine, with a suppleness to the palate and its ample riper stone fruit that flawlessly complements the mouthwatering zest of the long finish. Punches well above its weight. Aged for 10 months in 10% new oak. Production: 15,240 bottles  2021 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Chardonnay: The 2021 Los Primos is incredibly impressive – and the step up from Los Parientes clear. There’s a creamy, lactic note on the nose, working alongside lemon curd, honeysuckle and bright citrus and green fruit. There’s a lushness to the fruit, with gorgeous length and energy, outstanding tension and an everlasting finish, with stony, saline minerality that lingers long after the wine is gone. You can drink this now, but it will be even better if you can give it a couple of years in bottle. Aged for 15 months in 35% new oak. Production: 3,480 bottles  2020 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Chardonnay: Much more open now than the 2021, the 2020 Los Primos is rich and concentrated, with riper white peach fruit and honeyed complexity. There’s a softness to the wine, reminiscent of the suppleness of the 2020 Los Parientes, but additional depth here. It’s round and enticing, still with a backbone of taut acidity, and a long finish with just a touch of oak spice. Hard to resist now, drink this over the next five years. Aged for 15 months in 38% new oak. Production: 4,069 bottles  2016 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Chardonnay: The first vintage of Selección de Parcelas, with the very first fruit from the Baettig vines, and never released. The 2016 is showing some beautiful development, with honey, sweeter plump peach and nutty complexity. Cooked apple and dried mango sit alongside a zing of limey citrus, with a line of bright acidity that runs through the palate and brings lovely energy. Gorgeous. Aged for 16 months in only used oak. Production: 2,160 bottles  Pinot Noir  2022 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Pinot Noir: There is 10% whole-bunch in this vintage, and combined with the youth of the wine, it is shining on the nose – with overt pepper spice, floral perfume and stemmy complexity that makes it aromatically enticing. The palate is pure and bright, with juicy but concentrated mulberry and black cherry, with a saline edge and fresh, chalky purity. Incredibly moreish. Aged for eight months in 14% new oak. Production: 13,205 bottles 2021 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Pinot Noir: For this cooler vintage, Francisco opted to reduce the portion of whole-bunch fermentation a little. The wine is bright, crunchy and pure, with a lovely restraint from the extended growing season. Floral tones (rose, violet) sit alongside crunchy red fruit, leading to a palate of effortless purity and length. Vibrant, mouth-wateringly fresh with an earthy, saline finish and very fine tannins. Aged for 10 months in 10% new oak. Production: 13,400 bottles  2020 Vino de Viñedo Los Parientes Pinot Noir: This is in a lovely spot right now – sharing the supple texture of its Chardonnay sibling. It is beautifully elegant, with tealeaf aromatics, gentle spice and crunchy berry fruit. Structurally, it is fine-boned – the fine, chalky tannins adding a graceful outline to the mouth-watering fruit. Gloriously fresh, the finish is saline with the slightest hint of smoke. Dangerously drinkable and incredible value. Aged for 10 months in 10% new oak. Production: 15,180 bottles  2021 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Pinot Noir: This is such a baby at the moment – and clearly needs time to reveal its full potential. It’s much more savoury than the 2020. There’s some gunflint reduction, but beneath that smoky intensity and an earthiness, alongside the subtle florals, bright redcurrant and raspberry. There’s more grip to the tannin, a tightness to the fruit, but the structure and length offer great promise. A wine of tension. Made with 20% whole-bunch fermentation, aged for 16 months in 34% new oak. Production: 3,409 bottles 2020 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Pinot Noir: It’s immediately evident that this is Baettig’s Premier Cru – with notably more concentration and complexity. The warmer 2020 vintage produced a vibrant and intense wine, with vivid, juicy red cherry and raspberry fruit, complemented by more delicate floral notes. Alongside the impressive weight of fruit, there’s a pomegranate freshness and mineral line, with the slightest hint of smoke and spice, and a framework of superfine, supple tannins. Made with 20% whole-bunch fermentation, aged for 15 months in 38% new oak. Production: 4,102 bottles 2016 Selección de Parcelas Los Primos Pinot Noir: This was, for me, the star of the tasting. The nose was effortlessly complex, shifting between soft florals, spice, violets and crunchy red fruit, with a dried-earth note too. There was a glorious suppleness here, silken and flowing across the palate, with a fine, chalky texture to the tannin, juicy cherry and a subtle, savoury finish. Beautiful. Everything was destemmed in this vintage and the wine aged exclusively in used oak. Production: 1,440 bottles  Cabernet Sauvignon  2022 Vino de Viñedo Los Compadres Cabernet Sauvignon: This is a glorious expression of bright, modern Cabernet – pure and pristine with crunchy red and black fruit, vivid pencil shavings and an herbaceous green-pepper edge. There’s such intensity to the palate, with its tart red berry fruit, mouth-wateringly fresh and juicy. The abundant fruit is framed by graphite tannins, leading on to a spicy finish. Aged in 20% new French oak for 10 months. Production: 17,000 bottles  2022 Selección de Parcelas Los Padrinos Cabernet Sauvignon: The first vintage of Los Padrinos is only offering more since we first tasted it in February. It’s strikingly different to Los Compadres – a much darker, spicier and smokier expression. The two wines share their tension, with firm acidity that forms the backbone of this wine and drives the long finish, as well as gloriously crunchy and fresh fruit. The nose is savoury and brooding at first, but sweeter plum and cassis fruit lurks behind, while there’s a tart, bright bite to the palate. It still feels compact at this youthful stage, the power and gum-drying tannins needing time to unfurl. Aged for 15 months in 65% new French oak. Production: 1,800 bottles  Explore all current listings of Baettig or read more Editorial

Last month, we welcomed Francisco Baettig to London, guiding us through a vertical of his stunning Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and new Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile’s south. Here, we unpack the Baettig story, style and how each vintage of this exciting project is drinking right now

Tasting through a vertical of Baettig’s Chilean wines: Chardonnay and Pinot Noir from Traiguen, Malleco, and Cabernet Sauvignon from the Maule

Baettig vertical, tasting these top Chilean wines

The story so far: Baettig vertical

Maule is the engine room of Chile’s wine industry. With over 37,000 hectares of vines, it is by far the country’s largest wine region, churning out a quarter of the nation’s production. Although it has a long history, first planted in the 16th century, its modern reputation is for providing cheap fruit to bulk out the blends that have become synonymous with Chile’s supermarket standard-bearers. But a quiet revolution is underway, with a small group of producers championing the old-vine heritage of this region. And now Francisco Baettig is adding his name to the list, shining a light on the region.  Baettig – the man who built his reputation crafting the iconic wines of Errázuriz, Seña and Chadwick – started Vinos Baettig with his business partner Carlos de Carlos back in 2012, laying down literal roots in the little-known, cool-climate Traiguén district of Malleco, on the same latitude as Patagonia. They made their first commercial vintage of chiselled Chardonnay and vibrant Pinot Noir in 2018, but that was just the beginning for the duo.  They had, Baettig tells me, always planned to make Cabernet Sauvignon. And that’s no surprise given Baettig’s background, having studied in Bordeaux and made his name crafting Cabernet Sauvignon blends that rival those of the Médoc. They decided, however, to start with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in the south, where they already had family ties and land was more affordable, while they hunted down the right site for their Cabernet project.  For Baettig, working their own vineyards is integral to Vinos Baettig, as is dry-farming – and, for Cabernet Sauvignon, Baettig was particularly keen to have old vines, and that, he shrugs sadly, is not so easy to find. As well as being resilient enough to be dry-farmed, older Cabernet Sauvignon vines generally produce lower pyrazine levels (compounds which are responsible for a green character in wine), as well as lower sugar levels at phenolic and flavour ripeness – allowing him to produce wines with more moderate alcohol levels.  He had previously worked with a parcel of Cabernet Sauvignon in Maule and loved the fruit from these low-yielding vines, which retained acidity and offered great aromatics, colour and gravelly tannins that are, in his view, almost Saint-Estèphe in style. It was he felt, “Cabernet with a special personality.” And so, they looked to Maule, but avoiding the warmer areas that can produce bigger, riper styles – instead they headed south of Cauquenes, towards the Cordillera de la Costa, or coastal range.  It took them over a year, but eventually they found an old País vineyard – planted 120 years ago – where two hectares had been grafted over to Cabernet Sauvignon. The grower was charging only 15 cents per kilo for the fruit – but the Cabernet was being harvested alongside the Pais, chucked in together and sold for a pittance. Baettig asked if he could quadruple the price and get it harvested separately. The grower couldn’t believe his luck.  Baettig and Carlos found another few vineyards that showed promise, which together formed the basis for the first vintage of Los Compadres Cabernet Sauvignon. This is one of their Vinos de Viñedo, or village-equivalent wines, with the name “Los Compadres” (close friends) a tribute to the growers with which they’re working. Alongside their “village” wine, however, Baettig always crafts a single-site bottling, a Selección de Parcelas (parcel selection, literally) – and that only ever comes from vines they own.  Fortunately, perhaps, the grower behind the 120-year-old País vineyard was looking to sell, faced with its economic unsustainability and developers queuing up for the land. The duo managed to purchase five hectares, including the two that had already been grafted to Cabernet Sauvignon, saving the centenarian vines from being ripped out of the ground. They grafted over the three remaining hectares to Cabernet Sauvignon in 2023 (with the fruit set to be used from the 2025 vintage). This site is now the source for their single-parcel Los Padrinos (meaning “the godparents”).  There are swathes of ancient vines like this, all at risk of being torn out for more profitable options. And it’s easy to see why, these old bush vines are beautiful – but yield tiny volumes. Baettig gets a mere two tons per hectare – “in a good year”, he’s quick to clarify. They’re dry-farmed – something that is rare in Chile’s dry climate, but made feasible by the high average rainfall in the Maule (between 500 and 700mm per year, although 2023 brought 1,000mm – welcome sustenance for Baettig’s just-grafted plantings). There’s no way of mechanising such old vines so all the work has to be done by hand – and Baettig’s plots see little more than sulphur and other organic treatments. If like most growers in the area, you’re only able to sell your fruit to the local co-op for cheap box wine, it’s easy to see why such efforts simply don’t make financial sense.  Alongside these parcels of old vines, there are vast, younger vineyards belonging to the likes of Concha y Toro and Santa Rita, yielding up to seven times as much fruit as their gnarly neighbours. Land here remains significantly cheaper than the more famous Maipo, Aconcagua or Colchagua (hence its appeal to the country’s biggest players) – but it’s the region’s distinct style of Cabernet that drew the Baettig team here.  For Baettig, towards the coastal range you find a totally different microclimate, producing wines of impressive tension and bright acidity. With the old País roots, the vines reach deep into the soil and produce limited yields of concentrated berries. The tannins have a particular imprint, less polished than those of Maipo, and given the fruit’s natural concentration and structure, it’s important to manage extraction carefully – with cooler temperatures, shorter maceration times and reduced pump-overs. Quite simply, Baettig says, they are “wines that you can age”. Fresh and verging on austere in youth, it’s easy to see the potential – and Baettig suggests the Compadres should age a good decade, while Los Padrinos will continue evolving far beyond that.   Baettig has already made waves with its Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, and – given the nature of these special vineyards – their Cabernet Sauvignon is guaranteed to do the same. But it’s not just the quality here that will make a difference. These sprawling plants, knotted, thick-trunked and twisted, have survived in spite of the economics. Having such a prestigious name invest in the Maule and its wealth of centenarian bush vines will help guarantee that this viticultural heritage isn’t lost for good.  Explore the full range from Baettig, including the first vintages of their Cabernet Sauvignon 

Baettig has pioneered Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from Malleco – but now they’ve released their first Cabernet Sauvignon. Sophie Thorpe caught up with Francisco Baettig to find out more about the project 

From Malleco to Maule: as Chile’s Baettig releases their first Cabernet Sauvignon wine, we caught up with winemaker Francisco Baettig to find out more

Discovering Baettig’s Maule Cabernet Sauvignon

The Maule mission: Baettig’s new Cabernet Sauvignon

“I can die happy now,” Jon Bonné chuckles to me. The writer spent almost a decade as the wine guy at The San Francisco Chronicle, and is now Managing Editor at Resy, having spent time at Punch, writing for Noble Rot, Decanter and many more in between. His latest book, The New French Wine, was released earlier this year and The New York Times wine critic Eric Asimov dedicated an entire column to singing its praises – something he almost never does.  The hefty, two-part tome has been a long time in the making – almost a decade, in fact. The idea was a frivolous suggestion, casually agreed to over one too many drinks (“unsulphured Gamay in Oakland – as one does”) with his editor in 2014, soon after the publication of his seminal The New California Wine. But what was conceived as part of his quest for “the next thing”, to build on the momentum of his first book, rapidly spiralled.  “It's very hard to see a bigger picture of French wine because it is so overwhelming,” Bonné tells me over Zoom. Initially he’d envisaged a few trips, a project that would take a couple of years – but it “kept growing and growing and growing”.  “There was this much bigger story that I was sort of stumbling into,” the writer says. He gradually realised that there was an “enormous meta transformation” taking place across France – and this is what the book wrestles with. As he writes in the book’s introduction, “I imagined the new French wine would be about the undiscovered country – the cracks between known places.” But as he soon discovered, the new French wine was everywhere – and it took him nine years to piece it all together.   The work is split into two separate books – The Narrative and The Producers, the former the story behind the reference guide that forms the latter. The Narrative is a deep dive into the face of France and its winegrowing today, broken down by region, with break-out essays on topics such as natural wine, farming and the appellation system. It’s a rich tapestry of stories, interjected with the frank and striking photography of Susannah Ireland and occasional illustrated map by Francesco Bongiorni, reminiscent of Art Deco postcards.  For Bonné, the “new France” is about postmodernism, about “wilful rejections of the b******t of the past”. It’s about a (re)focus on site, about producers seizing their destiny and hunting for a more sustainable approach – in the vineyard, winery and beyond – although it’s far from that simple. “To understand French wine and to love it, you simply have to embrace its messy, self-contradictory, and, yes, complicated postmodern reality,” he writes. He points to Muscadet and Beaujolais as two of the most exciting and representative regions of this movement – both having entirely reinvented themselves within a generation. Producers here, he tells me, are “doing the work and focusing on terroir and technique and farming”, while Champagne “has completely transformed its vision of what its wine should be”.  Change is most importantly, however, “an inclusive force” – and looking at who did (and didn’t) make it into The Producers, Bonné’s definitive gazetteer of the nation’s movers and shakers, shines a light on this. It’s not a list of the vignerons he loves, it’s a pain-staking selection of those he deems significant and meaningful in the context of the movement – encompassing both more traditional names and those on the fringes. Take the Bordeaux chapter; you’ll find Pétrus, Lafleur and Pontet-Canet, as well as many less conventional, smaller and often natural-leaning properties such as Clos 19 Bis or Ch. Julia – with “Benchmarks” and the more up-and-coming “Names to Know” highlighted.  It’s fascinating – and fun – to see these two, seemingly opposing strands of France’s wine scene woven together. When I queried the inclusion of these elder statesmen of French wine, he highlighted how, for him, Pontet-Canet perfectly exemplifies the change in France today, with the forward-thinking Tesseron family handing the keys to previous cellar master Jean-Michel Comme to do “radical, radical s**t”.  Bonné deliberately chooses to champion those who have revved the engine of broader revolution – and those who reflect that revolution’s values. When it comes to Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, for example, he describes how they “upheld the moral pillars of Burgundy and winemaking” and “use their power for good”; whereas one top Pauillac estate he vehemently tells me is “perpetuating the worst practices of the Bordeaux trade”. For him, “wine is a consumable” and, as 21st-century consumers, “people have a right to explore the values of producers”.   While Bonné certainly likes natural wine – and many of the movement’s figureheads feature in the book, he is far from an evangelist. When he first started thinking about the book, natural wine was different; “It hadn’t quite catalysed into this very specific cultural beast,” he says, a cultural beast born in Hackney, Bushwick or Paris’s 11th. He talks about the movement’s “sense of tragic fashion” and how, with its clique-y nature, it has “baked in its own expiration date”. There were, he tells me, producers that didn’t make the cut – those who act as a “cautionary tale” for natural wine. “There are wines that can be delicate to being transported. And then there are wines that are just f***ed up at the source,” he says frankly.   His outlook is broadly positive for France, the nation’s ongoing revolution and its vignerons, but the book also acts as a call to arms of sorts, for: “The enforcers of the old ways will be forced to adapt, or they will perish,” he writes.  It’s not a perfect book. With a work of this size (over 860 pages and 600,000 words), it is almost inevitably slightly out of date by the time it is printed – especially with the pace of change today. Lafleur’s entry, for example, talks of Acte but not Les Perrières. I’d also have loved to have captions for each of Susannah Ireland’s images, knowing where – and of whom – they were taken. But these are quibbles.   I can’t pretend to be unbiased. Bonné is one of my favourite wine writers. There’s a lightness to his phrasing, with dry humour and a palate that I tend to identify with – although I’d argue he’s become a little more funk-friendly over the years. His writing is intelligent without being arduous. Perhaps it’s because, like Andrew Jefford, he was and is a journalist first. What really fills his writing is a sense of joy, of almost gluttony – it’s still filled with the excitement that so many wine writers seem to lose, as they tire of bottle after bottle of exceptional wine. He’s still easily absorbed by the stories that make each one different. For me, he doesn’t fit neatly into the critic box, even though it’s a term he uses to describe himself repeatedly in our conversation. “The notion of a critic has devolved to a place where you are simply handing out numbers,” he explains, but to him his work is about “criticism at a deeper level”. It’s about “being able to dive into the culture and come away with the insights and interpretation, and explain why certain wines really do matter”.  And it is this that makes The New French Wine stand apart. It isn’t just a wine book; wine is the lens through which Bonné observes a broader cultural shift. Whether you agree with everything he says or not, it’s a joy to read, hold and look at. It’s a book that will prompt conversation, prompt you to uncork bottles, prompt you to consider quite how complicated – and endlessly fascinating – France’s wine scene is. And is there anything more French than that?  The New French Wine: Redefining the World’s Greatest Wine Culture (Ten Speed Press) is out now.  Read more Editorial 

Ten years after The New California Wine was published, Jon Bonné has published a new book – an epic tale of France’s revolution. Sophie Thorpe caught up with the author to talk about his ambitious project to capture The New French Wine

We sit down with Jon Bonne, the wine writer and author of The New French Wine, to find out more about his second book

Writer Jon Bonne on The New French Wine

Facing up to The New French Wine: Jon Bonné

The 2022 vintage broke records in France for its hot, dry conditions – but the wines it produced are far from solar. Fresh from a week spent digging into the vintage with producers and tasting the wines, Sophie Thorpe reports on the remarkable year and the wines it produced

On the back of our deep-dive into Bordeaux’s 2022 vintage, tasting and talking, here’s everything you need to know about the year’s remarkable wines

Bordeaux 2022 vintage overview

Bordeaux 2022: vintage overview

In recent years, Chablis has faced hot, dry summers that have challenged the classic, cool, steely, linear-styled Chardonnay for which it’s renowned. But 2021 bucked the trend, with moderate temperatures and plenty of wet weather. The crop was small, but the best wines have laser-like acidity, refreshing mineral salinity and delicate floral tones.  Following an extremely warm start to the growing season (with almost summer-like 25˚C temperatures in March), budburst was two weeks earlier than normal. A warm early spring, as is more and more commonplace in Chablis’s warming climate, put viticulturalists on high alert. With early budding shoots, frost was a major concern, and it wasn’t long before their worst fears were realised.  For 10 days straight in early April, temperatures at night dropped well below freezing. Thanks to a mass of cold air coming down from Northern Europe, temperatures were consistently dropping as low as -8˚C. The real devastation happened on the nights of 6th and 7th April – where rainfall just prior to dusk increased humidity levels, allowing moisture to get inside the buds. The water droplets froze, expanding and effectively exploding the buds, totally destroying them. At such low temperatures, smudge pots and wind turbines can do little to protect the vines. Between 80 and 90% of Chablis’s first buds were destroyed. Vignerons therefore had to rely on secondary and tertiary buds if they were to produce any wine this year. But producers already knew production would be decimated, since these secondary shoots produce far fewer bunches – typically just a bunch per vine. Barely had the season started and the vignerons were looking at losses of up to 80%. While the rest of April and May were a quiet time in the vineyards, it was the calm before the storm. Lots of rain and a significant increase in temperature in June saw the canopy expand rapidly. These storms meant vignerons had to be quick to fight the onset of mildew – not so easily managed with so much rain, particularly for organic growers who have to spray the vines after every episode if they were to sufficiently protect them. The stormy wet weather continued into July and it was viticulturally challenging to keep the vines in a good state. With the wet weather, it was difficult to get tractors into the vineyards to spray; organic producers were further limited by restrictions on copper applications. August was drier, but – like June and July – remained cold and the grapes only started to go through véraison (changing colour, representing the shift of the vine’s energy to ripening fruit rather than growing leaves and shoots) at the beginning of September. Even then, the ripening of the grapes was very heterogeneous and under-ripeness was starting to be a concern. As a potential harvest date grew near, another storm arrived, with substantial rainfall on the 17th, 18th and 19th September. Vignerons were forced to gamble, holding off picking until after the storm, despite the substantial threat of botrytis; or to pick before and risk under-ripeness. Most opted for the former, having to wait a few days for the dilution of the grapes that followed the rainstorms to pass before harvesting. It was then a race to get the grapes in before the onset of botrytis. Most started to pick from 20th September onwards. Vignerons had to identify which vineyards were most at risk and quickly get that fruit in before tackling other sites. Typically, the Grands Crus and Premiers Crus – with their elevation and aeration – were less affected, but no site was without risk. With such heterogeneous ripening, and the risk of both botrytis and under-ripeness, sorting was essential to produce quality wine in 2021. Any botrytis would make the must prone to oxidation and darken the colour, but most notably diminish the purity and minerality that defines Chablis. Hand-picking, protecting the fruit in small baskets and whole-bunch pressing the grapes were all key to preserving quality. The style of the vintage is defined by its relative coolness. The wines are taut, with powerful, energising acidity, putting the wines alongside 2011, 2012 and 2014. They aren’t as full as those of 2014 and 2012, yet have similarly vibrant acidity levels. Unlike the recent warm vintages of 2018, 2019 and 2020; 2021 is not a fruit-driven vintage, but more floral (white flower), herbal (a charming herbaceousness) matched by powerful energy from the acidity. With the cool conditions, warmer Premier and Grand Cru vineyards tended to fare better, with producers suggesting that Les Clos performed particularly well. The sunny site has naturally lower acidity, a rounder texture and huge natural density, playing to the leaner, acid-driven style of the vintage. Vignerons’ work in the cellar will also play more of a role in the finished wines. Domaine Long-Depaquit, for example, extended the lees contact and carried out more bâtonnage to create more body in the wine, helping better integrate the high acidities. With yields decimated by as much as 80%, only tiny volumes will be available, and the wines will prove particularly difficult to find after their initial release. Although the vintage was by no means easy, the best wines are classically styled with a backbone of vibrant acidity – offering a distinct change to the solar 2018s, 2019s and 2020s. Huge thanks as ever to Matthieu Mangenot of Domain Long-Depaquit for his detailed insight on the vintage. Discover all current Chablis listings or read more Editorial 

The 2021 vintage was difficult everywhere in France, with viticulturalists facing challenging weather throughout the season – but perhaps nowhere was hit quite as hard as Chablis. But the region’s winemakers are no stranger to adversity. Gavin Smith digs into the vintage

Find out everything you need to know about Chablis 2021 – a challenging vintage that produced a small crop of steely and classic Chardonnay

Chablis 2021 vintage report

Chablis 2021: a steely year for the region

Chile is already well-known for producing top-quality Chardonnay and, to a lesser extent, Pinot Noir. But the wines tend to translate the intense solar energy synonymous with the region – producing fat, juicy, candied-fruit wines that lack the tension and minerality that the world’s very top examples exude. Baettig, however, is a notable exception – something that was highlighted by a recent vertical of the young estate’s first three vintages. The project came out of Francisco Baettig’s obsession with finding the right place for these finickity grapes in Chile. Following his own experiences growing Pinot Noir and Chardonnay elsewhere, he knew what he had to avoid. He was adamant that he wouldn’t rely on irrigation, which leads to shallow root growth and therefore, in his view, less terroir expression. Secondly, he wanted better clonal material. Baettig went to the very best to source his vines – his Pinot Noir vines come from a top vine nursery in Gevrey-Chambertin. He also needed a cooler climate where he wouldn’t have to rely on thick canopy growth to protect the grapes from the sun – something which Baettig believes can lead to overt green flavours. High-intensity sunshine also leads to thicker-skinned berries, but – for Baettig – thinner-skinned berries produce fresher wines and more ethereal tannins, both elements he seeks in his Pinot Noir. A cooler climate would also mean lower alcohol and fresher fruit profiles. With all these components in mind, it took Francisco Baettig (of Errázuriz, Seña and Chadwick) and his business partner Carlos de Carlos two years to find what they felt was the best place for this project. Fortunately, for Baettig and Carlos, it was familiar territory. The remote Traiguén district of Malleco in Patagonia is close to where both Francisco and Carlos’s families are from. On the 38th parallel south, the region has enough annual rainfall to allow dry-farming, the solar intensity is 25% lower than in central Chile (allowing for lighter canopies and thinner skins), and the volcanic bedrock on top of clay soils is poor enough to produce naturally low-yielding, high-intensity fruit. They planted vines in 2012 and their first experimental vintage was 2016, making a tiny amount of wine for family and friends. After all that time and effort, it was only then that they found out if this place was as good as they hoped. “It was a nervous time,” chuckles Carlos. But the wines quickly brought a sense of relief – it was early days, but they could sense the promise and they could already feel the elusive tension present in the wines. It would be another four years before they launched their first commercial vintage in 2020. The wines were from 2019 – and it proved not the easiest vintage to launch a new wine. Baettig always wanted vintage variation, a region on the margins where the vintage leaves its stamp. But 2019 was a very hot vintage in central Chile and, though Baettig’s wines suffered a lot less in the cooler south, they were still affected. Now with three commercial vintages under their belt, the critics that have managed to taste the wines have been more than impressed. From the outset, their 2019 releases were met with much fanfare. James Suckling described them as “compelling… rare gems that make you contemplate Burgundy”. The 2020 Baettig Vino de Viñedos Los Parientes Pinot Noir was selected among the top 10 Chilean Pinot Noirs by a Decanter tasting panel and Joaquin Hidalgo from Vinous wrote that Baettig’s “ wines leave behind a trail of tension that is the stuff of drinkers’ dreams”. Francisco Baettig is no stranger to such accolades. He is already one of Chile’s most celebrated winemakers. Awarded Chile’s winemaker of the year in 2018 by Tim Atkin thanks to his work at Viña Errázuriz, he was instrumental in establishing the winery both in the fine wine world with Seña and Chadwick, but also amongst everyday drinkers with their consistent quality at lower price points. While Viña Errázuriz has become a hugely successful business with production amounting to over five million bottles every year, Baettig’s Traiguén project is tiny. Entirely self-funded, it is a real labour of love and production today is just 55,000 bottles per year.  These early years have not been without difficulty. Being able to dry-farm was important, but this came at a cost. While the rainfall should be sufficient to dry farm and protect them from potential drought in the early days, Baettig still chose to irrigate half the vineyard and left the rest without water. In the 10 years since they first planted, the unirrigated young vines suffered terribly and only the irrigated part of the vineyard grew strong. Once established these vines can now survive without irrigation. Since then, Baettig has replanted where the vines suffered most and irrigated the young vines before weening them off their water supply once established. It was a costly mistake that saw their production reduced by almost half. The quality of tannins in their Pinot Noir has also not been straightforward. Vine age, Baettig believes, is essential to create the quality tannins he is looking for. At the moment the Pinot Noir vines are too young to provide the texture he is ultimately seeking. He is using whole-bunch fermentation (up to 15%) to add texture, as well as more herbal spice aromas. He is also using new oak (at varying levels) to provide a bit more structure and backbone to the Pinot Noir. As the vines mature and the tannins become more present, he hopes he can taper his use of oak and whole-bunch to find the perfect balance. If the wines are already this good with such young vines, the future here is tantalising. The Chardonnay production has been more straightforward, and the wines are outstanding. The taut mineral expression, salinity and richly fruited body belie their modest price tags. Tasted blind you would never guess they were from Chile – but the early success of these wines is no doubt setting the benchmark for Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in Chile, as well as changing our expectations of the flavour profiles in the region.  Beattig and Carlos remain convinced about the region, and today the results speak for themselves. With so much going for it, you can’t help but feel this remote region will transform in the next few years as more and more vignerons realise its potential. 
 Vertical tasting of Baettig’s wines from 2019 to 2021 
2019 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Chardonnay: The 2019 Los Parientes Chardonnay is starting to show the first signs of development with honeyed, citrus aromas and dried fruit tones. The palate remains clean and taut, very fresh with lime fruit flavours and structurally vertical in style. There is a contrasting mix of sweet, honeyed fruit and sharp acidity on the finish. 2020 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Chardonnay: Compared to the 2019, the ripe citrus fruit is better integrated with the acidity. A cool vintage for the region produced a wine with lovely contrasting lemon and orchard fruit flavours with more savoury, earthy, lightly smoky, mineral tones. The wine has great tautness, and the vibrancy really lends persistence to the palate. Again, it has a very vertical Chablis-esque style that is beautifully balanced and refreshing. 2021 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Chardonnay: The 2021 vintage in Traiguén is looking very special based on these early bottlings of Vino de Viñedos (the more premium Selección de Parcelas will be released next year). The nose is complex, with green herbal tones allied to chalky, briny, mineral notes. The palate retains that distinct vertical, Chablis-esque character, but also has a lovely, rich mid-palate. The tautness brings great energy to the wine. The wine has all you want in an acid-driven Chardonnay – varietal expression, verticality, salinity and a long, refreshing finish. This is exceptional value at under £20. 2019 Baettig, Selección de Parcelas, Los Primos Chardonnay: The Selección de Parcelas are the top bottlings from Baettig. The wine is barrel-fermented and aged for 14-15 months in oak. Compared to Los Parientes, at three years of age, the wine shows less development in bottle. The peppery spice from the oak along with the textural layering on the palate gives the wine a great mouthfeel. It is rich and concentrated, but still has plenty of tension and a refreshing mineral salinity on the finish. 2020 Baettig, Selección de Parcelas, Los Primos Chardonnay: The 2020 Los Primos Chardonnay is much more reductive on the nose than the 2019 tasted alongside. The mineral, struck-match reductive tone eases with air followed by lovely honey and delicate white-flower aromas – bringing beautiful lift to the wine. The textural quality is outstanding, and the oak ageing gives the wine a textural layering that is rich, concentrated and juicy. The orchard fruit and pepper spice from high-quality oak are all beautifully integrated. The refreshing saline notes come through on the finish and leave the palate feeling super fresh. 2019 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Pinot Noir: The 2019 Pinot Noir has just 7% whole-bunch fermentation, but it adds complexity, bringing lovely grilled, herbal, savoury notes to the wine as well as a bit of texture. The savoury tones gel nicely with earthy, wild strawberry and a touch of menthol. The inclusion of whole-bunch here is quite noticeable and dictates the character of the wine. 2020 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Pinot Noir: The 2020 is noticeably richer and full-bodied compared to the lighter-styled 2019. The whole-bunch, grilled, herbal, stemmy tones again add complexity but seem better integrated and balanced with the rich blackberry and plum fruit. Despite having a higher percentage of whole-bunch than in 2019, the vintage’s riper fruit and tannins are better able to balance out the additional complexity.  2021 Baettig, Vino de Viñedos, Los Parientes Pinot Noir: The 2021 Los Parientes is easily the best Pinot Noir Baettig has made at the estate so far and a real jump up in quality from 2020 and 2019. The nose has great fruit clarity with rich, ripe black cherry and blackberry fruit aromas. The grilled herbal notes sit beautifully in the background, adding depth and complexity to the aromas. The whole-bunch is also better integrated on the palate, bringing lots of texture, matched by vibrant acidity and saline notes on the finish. It reminds me of a village Morey-Saint-Denis from a ripe vintage in its fruit profile with earthy, blackberry coulis fruit. The wine certainly has a more European/cool-climate edge to it. 2019 Baettig, Selección de Parcelas, Los Primos Pinot Noir: Like the 2019 Selección de Parcelas Chardonnay, the 2019 Pinot Noir has handled the warmer vintage conditions much better, but the warmth of the vintage shines through in the sweet, candy-like blackberry fruit. This is more New World in style – full-bodied, rich, ripe and full of juicy fruit. The herbal tones from a proportion of whole-bunch comes through nicely on the finish, adding savoury complexity. 2020 Baettig, Selección de Parcelas, Los Primos Pinot Noir: The 2020 has a very dark, deep purple colour and some charry, smoky and peppery tones from high-quality oak that is well balanced by fresher, grilled, herbal notes from the portion of whole-bunch fermentation. The wine is very rich, ripe and juicy, with textural tannins adding lots of structure. Browse all listings from Baettig or read more Editorial

Francisco Baettig’s new project in Chile’s volcanic south is wowing critics. Tasting through the first three vintages reveals a fascinating evolution. We caught up with founders Francisco Baettig and Carlos de Carlos to find out more 

Francisco Baettig (of Errázuriz, Seña and Chadwick) on how his new Pinot Noir and Chardonnay project in Chile’s volcanic south is wowing wine critics

Baettig, the rising star in Chile

Baettig: the rising star of Traiguén

Oak barrels have been used in winemaking for thousands of years. While initially their purpose was simply as a holding vessel, today it is much more than this. As we have learnt about wine production at a molecular level, we have discovered the unique interaction between oak and wine – adding flavour, textural complexity and increased ageing potential. These intrinsic qualities have seen oak at the forefront of fine wine’s greatest success stories – but also some of its greatest failures. The use of oak to improve a wine requires great skill and finding that balance has shaped the modern history of fine wine.  What is rather beautiful about winemaking, particularly in fine wine circles, is that despite the input from developments in science and technology, production remains an artisan craft, relying both on tradition and technology. The barrel-maker is a perfect example of this partnership and no one understands this better than François Frères. This lauded Burgundy cooper’s ties to the world’s greatest wines make it one of a very small number that have lived through the development and fashions within fine wine.  Today, business has never been better for François Frères; they produce 30,000 barrels a year and export to every major wine region in the world. The secret to the François Frères barrels historically, Gigandet believes, is their consistency, while the all-important signature toasting is paramount. To keep up with the ever-growing world of fine wine, François Frères produces tailor-made barrels that fit the varying climates and varying styles of each winemaker, meeting the standards set by today’s precision-led winemaking. Despite the growth of the business in recent years, François Frères still remains intrinsically linked to its homeland in Burgundy and the specific microclimate of Saint-Romain that is so important for the seasoning of their oak – another key factor behind the company’s success. “The microclimate of Saint-Romain, in a windy and pollution-free environment is ideal for the seasoning and drying of the oak. This oxidation of phenolic compounds under the influence of fungi, releases enzymes that hydrolyse the phenolic compounds, reducing the wood’s astringency, producing oak of the finest quality for wine production,” Gigandet tells me. The art of the cooper is much more than just sawing and toasting – it’s about sourcing, traceability, control of drying time and heating, hygiene, temperature control, sorting and more. With increased knowledge, the quality of the barrels, like that of the wines, has greatly improved. Even just a few years ago, Gigandet admits that in colder Burgundy vintages, sometimes their barrels jarred with the wine – they “brought too much tension and could sometimes seem too austere”. But now they have a better understanding of the qualities their barrels can bring to Burgundy: “François Frères barrels remain attractive to winemakers because they are great at retaining freshness and minerality.” Perhaps most importantly, François Frères wants its barrels to amplify a wine’s intrinsic qualities. “It wants to accentuate the beautiful tannic structure of a wine, contribute to its flavour but without excess of sweetness from the toasting, as well as amplifying the wine's tension and minerality, helping retain its freshness and its fruit,” Gigandet says. As technology has developed, so has François Frères. It is what Gigandet aptly calls “the evolution of taste” – “the cask has evolved considerably over the last few decades along with the quality of the wines. Today, the barrel is much more specific, manufacturing almost tailor-made barrels for each customer’s needs.” The business was founded by Joseph François in the early 1900s, never imagining that being a cooper would become a full-time job. Back then, Gigandet reminds us, “It took several trades to live.” But the next generation, Robert and Henri François, saw the demand for oak casks rise, at that time mainly used to transport wines. They took the operation full-time, creating the François Frères brand in 1942. In those days, as Gigandet points out, “The tradition of maturing wines in barrels was reserved only for the very top red and white wines of Burgundy and the great Bordeaux châeaux.” Even within these regions, barrels were a luxury, re-used year after year given their expense, therefore keeping the demand for new barrels low. By the 1960s the brothers were met by the development of stainless steel and plastic containers. The barrel quickly lost it supremacy as the preferred vessel for transportation and demand plummeted. It was only the top producers that helped keep the cooperage going. By the 1970s François Frères was producing barrels for one of the world’s most famous estates, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti – a partnership that would be instrumental in the continuation of the business through a difficult period. The next generation – Robert's son, Jean – was confronted by the economic downturn of the early 1970s and turned to export to save the family business. Fortuitously at this time, oenologists in the United States started to highlight how ageing wines in new oak barrels brought complementary flavours and complexity to the wines. In the 1980s, the French market caught onto the idea and both export and domestic markets grew. The oak barrel was entering an era where it would become the star of the show – and a must for all top producers. François Frères’s reputation for working with the best saw it perfectly placed to capitalise on this new-found love for the barrel. But according to Gigandet, it wasn’t just the fashion of using new oak in the 1980s and ’90s that saw such a huge increase in demand. This trend emerged just as wine exports exploded. What he calls “the democratisation of wine” saw the world of wine suddenly open up to the middle classes – and this increase in sales saw an ever-increasing need to maintain quality and improve consistency. Such demand prompted and funded a better scientific and technological understanding of wine production. More importantly for François Frères, it fuelled the need for a better understanding of what barrel-ageing does to wine – and why. It was already clear that contact with new oak changed wine profoundly. Most obviously the aromas and flavours of the wine develop, becoming more complex. These aromas and flavours are formed during the toasting of the barrels. “It is this toasting of the barrel that remains the signature of the cooper,” explains Gigandet. But the oak didn’t just impact the flavour, they came to understand that, being porous, oak allowed the wine to undergo “controlled oxygenation”. The exchange of air through the oak staves, in particular for red wines, helps stabilise the colour and polymerise the tannins. This polymerisation not only softens the wine, but brings a textural complexity, a millefeuille layering of mouth-feel brought about by the linking of long tannin chains, encouraged by the micro-oxygenation process that the wine goes through when aged in oak barrel. “François Frères barrels are ageing tools, which contribute to the textural improvement of wines, when used wisely,” Gigandet explains. As the wine world’s love of oak grew, François Frères’ main export customers went from little-known names to pioneers in their respective regions – with Robert Mondavi in the US, Angelo Gaja in Italy, Nicolas Catena in Argentina and Australia’s Rosemount winery. Each of these producers further cemented the cooper’s reputation, representing the very pinnacle of oak barrel production. Of course, like all fashions, the oak craze of the ’90s saw some extreme uses – 200% new oak ageing or an over-reliance on oak to provide flavour to wines that lacked the natural concentration to carry it. This saw many producers and consumers react strongly against its presence in wine at all. Even Gigandet admits that there are wines with “excess woodiness” to their detriment. Today, the barrel also has to compete with new trends in wine maturation – concrete eggs and clay amphorae, for instance. But while these new vessels have captured the imagination of the world’s top winemakers, it is not necessarily at the expense of the barrel. “The barrel has an important oenological role in the development of wines from certain grape varieties,” states Gigandet – notably Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah and Pinot Noir. But he also outlines how different ageing vessels combined can also benefit a wine’s potential for complexity. This is certainly the case amongst some leading producers in Bordeaux and Burgundy that are using both oak barrels and alternative ageing vessels. Coopers like François Frères have weathered the changing relationship wine has had with the barrel; with shifting views of critics and drinkers over the last century. Fortunately for fine wine lovers, there’s little sign of oak fading into the background. Oak remains a vital ingredient in many of the world’s greatest wines, adding to its flavour, textural complexity and – of course – ageing potential. Today oak has never been so deftly handled, bringing so much to a wine, while retaining the grapes’ natural expression. The art of the cooper lives on. Read more Editorial 

Oak has played a vital role in the changing history of fine wine. In 2021 we spoke to Max Gigandet – Managing Director of leading Burgundy cooper François Frères – to explore the power of a good barrel and why oak isn’t going anywhere

Exploring the vital role oak has played in the changing history of fine wine and the power of a good barrel with François Frères

François Frères on the art of the cooper

Finding the balance: the art of the cooper

Wine, though the most intimate of pleasures, lends itself to the most expansive of texts. We drink wine most often – tastings aside – in pairings of two, or in lonesome but agreeable solitude, and, its narcotic pleasure being felt internally, we feel its effects as we feel a fever: almost secretly, in shivers. Though wine is like sex in its intimacy, unlike sex, the form in which we fetishise wine – our vine erotica – is not hushed and illicit but encyclopedic. On the shelves of any wine drinker, there are likely to be catalogues, dictionaries organised by region, old Parker buying guides some 600 pages long that somehow, though dated, can’t be discarded.  Wine seems singular among human pleasures in this. We don’t, as a rule, rush from reading a poem to great anthologies of poetry, or add to the savour of seeing a play by reading a big atlas of dramatic literature – not, at least, after we graduate from school. Sports fans, it’s true, like big books of statistics, but then sports-watching is a social act in the first instance – the more people in the stands, the merrier the occasion. With wine, we like the macro with our micro: with a solitary glass in hand, we look, in print, over the next hill, or the current vintage, at the vineyard across the way, or the vintage yet to come. It’s part of the pleasure the glass provides. The reasons for this micro and macro turn are, on reflection, commercial and artisanal as much as aesthetic. The business of wine needs a big picture of its domain, its resources, and its potential market – scale sets the stage for commerce. The makers of wine like to place themselves on a broader map of where wine is and what it’s made with. The great Bordeaux classification of 1855 is not just the noblest public monument to a beverage ever attempted, but a model of market-making and even market price-fixing. Once a hierarchy of growths has been established, it is easy to slot in the price tags. But there is a truth of taste beneath the ordering of value. With wine, we know that what we are experiencing is, however singular, still an intersection of opposed forces – as the peerless wine writer Jancis Robinson MW says of her first glass of Chambolle-Musigny 1959; “I knew at once that there was something in the glass that was sensually delicious but that it was also made, produced, and therefore suggested a history of intellect and discernment.” The pleasure of wine is the crossing of a place, a grape and a people; and so, we turn to the big books to frame the small pleasures.  What distinguishes wine from even a good glass of ale or a local brew is the specificity of the pleasure set against the scale of the system that made it – one that historically embraces the planet. It’s a First Growth, or a domaine Burgundy, or a Ridge Zinfandel or a New Zealand Pinot Noir made to a Burgundy model by American wine makers … the more we know, the more we’re free to feel. Most sensory pleasures are specific to the point of being illicit – aside from the bemused fetishist, romance is a spontaneous pleasure, often aided, to be sure, by a systematic wine. Wine is premeditated; we choose a bottle, let it ripen, and break it open. Even casual table drinking has a tale to tell, a journey to trace on a map. These thoughts are brought to mind in contemplation of Wine Grapes, the monosyllabically titled but unprecedentedly expansive dictionary of grape varieties grown to be crushed and fermented on this green planet. Authored by Robinson, along with Julia Harding MW and the geneticist Dr José Vouillamoz, it marks an epoch – several epochs – in our understanding of wine, from both a professional planet-straddling and an amateur glass-in-hand perspective. A book of its time (published in 2012), it was made possible, in part, by a revolution in the DNA analysis of wine grapes to help discover their origins and histories.  The DNA profiling of wine grapes only began in 1993, and the first ‘paternity test’ successfully concluded in 1997 – a mere few days ago by historical perspective – with specialists, Dr Vouillamoz among them, drawing astonishing Darwinian lines among seemingly unrelated grapes. Zinfandel, it has been discovered in the last 40 years, is not only the Siamese twin of Primitivo, but its Croatian Siamese twin. In proper Darwinian fashion, the book tells us, “It looks increasingly as though an enormous proportion of the grapes we know today are members of a few key families.”  The leading families of wine, Pinot and Nebbiolo and the rest, like the leading houses of Westeros, jostle and engage in incestuous inter-breeding as they move towards dominance. As Jancis Robinson admits, the quest for the origins of grapes can become surprisingly emotional. “The Zin quest is so … heated. There was a Zinfandel conference in Croatia, with all the great Zin makers, even Joel ‘King of Zin’ Peterson from Ravenswood, and we all had to present our various things about Zinfandel. There was a small cohort of people from Montenegro who reckoned that their variety – whose name is unpronounceable – was the true progenitor of modern Zinfandel, not the Croatian one. It became so … Balkan! And you know what? They may be right!” Wine Grapes is of its time in another sense as well, marking the moment when we have started to think of wine not solely in terms of region, but much more in terms of variety, with the semi-mystical term ‘terroir’ acting as a kind of Holy Spirit between them. Thinking ‘grape’ more than ‘place’ releases our imaginations. The wholesome instructive pleasures of the book, to which we’ll come, shrink beside the unwholesome, guilty pleasures of turning the pages to meet the failures among grapes – the near-misses, the long-forgotten and forlorn lost toys – which please more than the patterns of primacy. The pleasure of reading about the grapes whose juice we do drink is nothing compared to reading about those we don’t. In dictionaries, oddities and parentheses fascinate us more than the major entries. No one turns to the dictionary to study ‘and’; we go to study ‘antediluvian’. So, turning these pages, flipping through the P’s on our way to encounter the great Pinot families, we come upon the lesser gods, even the little misshapen gnomes and dwarves of the wine world, and we delight in meeting them. (A fascination added to by the forthright sub-heads the editors provide.) On our way to Burgundy and Pinot Noir, we also meet Pinotin, a ‘recent obscure Swiss hybrid’ which edges into Pionnier, ‘a minor but complex, cold-hardy American hybrid used in blends in Québec’, and, of course, Pinotage ‘South Africa’s very own cross, both loved and despised’, which leads us on to Pugnitello and even Pukhliakovsky (a Russian variety ‘with erratic yields producing light wines’) and even unto Pules – ‘a minor Albanian white’. Radiating out from five pages on the major Merlot, we bump into Merseguera, ‘an uninspiring variety’ from Spain, and Merzifon Karasi, and Merzling, dismissed as a ‘very minor disease-resistant German hybrid’. Why these lost or obscure kinds of grapes bring so much delight with them is a fascinating question. It has in part to do with our general appetite for oddities and obscurities, which once produced ‘freak shows’ and still makes us fascinated with archaic musical instruments: we are curious to hear the sackbut because we want to know what led to the trombone. It is also the virtuous case that variety is the safeguard of continuity. In an age of ever-decreasing biodiversity with just a few varieties taking the place of many possibilities, one Quixotic California winemaker, driving through the fields of Cabernet and Chardonnay, dismissed them all – with a wave of the hand – as “chocolate and vanilla, chocolate and vanilla”.  The health of the planet is safeguarded by the persistence of so many kinds. It is also because the existence of these minor yet still thriving varieties gives us a satisfying picture of adaptation, the central biological act. Each of these grapes has found a home in the world. It may not be much of a home, but then neither, face the facts, is ours. We identify with the unknown grape. We are all more like a very minor disease-resistant German, or a cold-hardy Québec hybrid, than we are something noble and complicated. Few of us are bottles of Burgundy; we can all identify as minor Albanian whites. In conversation, Jancis Robinson, sheltering at home near Kings Cross in London, a home with a view of a graveyard (though a cheerful one she assures an interviewer) – talks of the wine almanac with the blunt enthusiasm that marks her writing. Robinson, in addition to her obvious honours and credentials, is a rare thing in the wine world, or any world: a writer who writes with equal parts brio and expertise. She explains the origins of Wine Grapes. “What happened was that one of the co-authors, Dr José Vouillamoz, who had been at University of California, Davis, felt that he needed to earn more of a living, and came back to Switzerland and got a job working on Alpine botanicals. But he didn’t want to lose his relationship with wine, and he came to me and said that he’d like to collaborate on a book about grape varieties. I’d already written one in 1986, based on our very fractional knowledge then.  Over lunch, I took along Julia Harding, a wine writer who works on my website. She’s extremely punctilious.” (Robinson, punctilious herself, says this with such emphasis that the listener feels that, with Harding, we must be talking about new frontiers, not to say dimensions, in punctiliousness.) “She had exactly the right sort of brain for a project like this. José suggested that we focus on the 10 or 12 most planted grape varieties to help simplify it. I thought that that book didn’t sound interesting enough. I waited until we were quite far down a bottle of Valpolicella and said, ‘I think our book should be about every single grape variety we can find.’ He gulped and said, ‘Then that’s what we shall do!’” The idea of creating a ‘perfect map’ of a subject is one of the itches that govern modern life. John James Audubon set out to describe not the major but every bird and beast in North America, and that’s what he did. Similar ‘almanacs of everything’ fill our botanical and anthropological shelves. It is an ambition so tied to modernity that in the mid-19th century, Lewis Carroll perfectly satirised it in his novel, Sylvie & Bruno, where two mad professors talk about their dream of making a map that would be on a one-to-one relation to the actual world – utterly perfect, if impossible to unroll. “I loved the scale of the thing,” Robinson says of her perfect map. “So, we carved things up: José did all the DNA stuff and history because he had good access to it, Julia, bless her, did the footwork – how much of each grape is planted where – while trying to taste as many as possible, too! And I wrote the entries on the best-known varieties, and the introduction and read every single word.  As with any dictionary, we used what came before: we went through appellation lists, with all of the varieties allowed, some of them almost extinct. A nice little detail of the book is that we persuaded the publisher that it should have some colour plates, and we were particularly keen to include the plates from the world’s first oenological book, L’Ampélographie: Traité Général de Viticulture, of 1901 … just out of copyright!” She pauses. “Of course,” she adds reflectively, “it was José, naturally, who discovered that Pinot and Syrah are related.” The offhand nature of her mention can’t conceal the significance of the remark. Of all the discoveries offered in the book, this is perhaps, for the amateur wine drinker, the most exemplary and astonishing. Painstakingly tracing the DNA heritage of the varieties, these two noble houses, Syrah and Pinot – the grapes of the Rhône Valley and those of Burgundy, the heart of Côte-Rôtie and the soul of Chambertin – are unified as cousins. This happened not through willed cultivation but in the natural evolutionary way: through variation and adaptation. Initially, the elegance of Pinot Noir was transformed through the usual evolutionary pressures of place and mutations, into the earthy pleasures of Syrah.  Chance mutation and lucky planting turned one grape into its near opposite. (‘Cross-fertilisation’, we’re told, ‘was common until the early 20th century because several grape varieties were often intermixed in the vineyards, facilitating natural crossings between distinct grape varieties’.) The phylloxera epidemic in France from the 1860s on – though it did not destroy as much as is sometimes thought – acted as a kind of sieve or filter of grape varieties, a sort of extinction event in large-scale natural history, forcing hard choices and making obscure varieties less desirable to save by root grafting with New World vines.   One virtue of the book is to propose, in effect, a new order of wines by celebrating ‘secondary’ grape varieties. “For me, among the obscure wines, something about as well-known as Cinsault stands out – it can make such lovely wines,” Robinson says. “There’s been such a sea change as the century turned. Everybody once wanted to make fruit bombs to one of three standard recipes. Then in this century, higher acidity, lighter wines are finally revaluing, and so Cinsault comes into its own. “Sometimes I come across a grape that isn’t well known but that’s so obviously superior. There’s Aglianico – the name suggests it’s Greek, though no Greek variety has ever been found and you only get it in Southern Italy. Perfect for late ripeness, and not for cool climates – and now it has travelled to Australia, where they’re desperate for hot weather varieties.  The whole array of Portuguese and Greek grape varieties are so fantastic! And so individual. And I love that after a dalliance with international varieties, both countries are now celebrating their own. There’s another white grape, an Iberian variety that’s stunning, and, again, I’m not sure it’s yet been planted much: Godello! It’s a bit crass to say it makes wines that taste like Montrachet, if a little more terroir-y and mineral … but it does. I could drink Cinsault for red and Godello for white into the next century. “There’s such a gap nowadays,” Robinson goes on, “between the Napa Cab thing, and these young people who are buying unknown grape varieties that sell for a fraction of the price, that are really good. Such a lot has happened in the field of recuperating old vines, some so obscure that they don’t even have a name. Miguel Torres, the scion of that great company in northeast Spain became very interested in grapes.  At first, he said, ‘Hey Dad, we need the posh varieties, Cabernet and Chardonnay’ – and made all these wines which did well in the Judgement of Paris. But, with time, he realised that it made more sense to concentrate on the indigenous varieties. He’s been engaged for 30 years, putting classified ads in the local press – ‘If you know of a wine grape that you can’t identify, let us know of it, and – if we think we can propagate out – we’ll do micro-vinification.’ He’s actually rescued Catalan varieties that were on the brink of disappearing; I think he found 30 varieties, and recuperated eight for micro-vinification with sufficient character to give them a new lease of life. And much the same thing has been happening all over Italy. If we published the book today, we’d be up to at least 1,500 kinds of grapes.” The great sorting question of our time, of course, is the question of climate change and its effects on wine cultivation. Robinson is cautiously hopeful about Burgundy. “I was lucky enough to go there and spend some time. The 2020 harvest is the earliest ever, at least since the 14th century. But, whereas the 2003 vintage, that legendary hot summer in France, produced wines that were pretty bizarre, the 2019s seem as fresh as a daisy, with pure fruit. I’m no plant biologist, but the vines seem to be getting used to the conditions … or the winemakers are. They’re not extracting as heavily, but, given that, there’s no sign of added acidity (it’s routinely added in the southern hemisphere), the acidity is coming from the grapes as well. Even some real old Burgundy hands, when you ask why the wines are so fresh, say, ‘I really don’t know.’” About the Southern Rhône, though, she is more pessimistic. “They’re not helping themselves in the Southern Rhône: too many are trying to make concentrated, high alcohol, 16% wines. And maybe consultants are too powerful down there – one consultant can be responsible for 20 or 30 labels, and so you’re going to have 20 or 30 wines that reflect that.” It’s here, though, that the knowledge of grapes, and our possession of this specialist dictionary, seems particularly valuable. If wine is to save itself from the vagaries of climate change, it will probably be through the introduction and new use of ‘marginal’ or forgotten ‘heirloom’ grapes. Only recently, France’s Institut National de l’Origine et de la Qualité (INAO) officially approved six new varieties: four red grapes – Arinarnoa, Castes, Marselan, and Touriga Nacional; and two whites – Alvarinho and Liliorila – all described as ‘well-adapted to alleviate hydric stress associated with temperature increases and shorter growing cycles’, potential saviours of the region against the villain of global warming. All of them, of course, are charted and explicated in Wine Grapes.

In the end, the great strange truth of wine is the truth of life: a thousand vectors press down on us at once – place, history, time, temperature, luck and breeding – and somehow in the intersection we find, or make, our pleasures. The question of type and variation was very different before Darwin who wrote, oddly (or perhaps not so oddly) almost simultaneously with the great classification of Bordeaux, publishing On the Origin of Species in 1859.  (Oddly because his theory would have been true in any other time; not so oddly because the urge to map the world, for the ‘almanac of everything’, was typical of mid-19th century confidence, as Carroll’s satire suggests.) Before Darwin, who loved wine, the fundamental view of the world was that the superintending categories, species and varieties, were the fixed things in the world. Everyone took it for granted that the ‘kind’ the ‘essence’, was the real thing and all the little variants merely particular shades away from it. A grape was a better or worse instance of its variety. Grapes, like apes, were of one fixed sort. Darwin’s great overriding insight was that only particulars exist, and that species and superintending categories are the labile and ever-changing kinds. Every kind of living thing came from somewhere weird and is on its way to somewhere weirder, with a brief stopover at being the thing it is now. The elegance of Pinot Noir is a close cousin of the earthiness of Syrah, one state is simply a moment in the life of the other, and each are moments in the life of the surging, unfixable whole. Wine, braiding through the planet and only coming to rest on a name for a moment in one place, is a bit of scientific epistemology in your glass, the truth of the particular made potable. It’s a fine destiny for a simple pleasure. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One Photography by Gavin Bond; floral set design by Studio Lupine

Essayist and author Adam Gopnik takes a look at the world of wine through the lens of seminal wine-lover’s bible, Wine Grapes, and talks to one of its three co-authors, Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

Adam Gopnik talks to Wine Grapes co-author Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

Francis Ford Coppola

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