When Alain Hudelot retired in 2008, it was his grandson who stepped up to take over the family estate, Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat. Charles van Canneyt – then just 20 years old and fresh from his wine studies – suddenly found himself managing 10 hectares of vines and running a winery. But he wasn’t any 20-year-old.  Gradually modernising the estate’s equipment and tweaking the winemaking (particularly toning down the extraction), he transformed the reputation of the domaine. Rapidly he became known as one of Burgundy’s rising stars, with Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat soon among the region’s most revered names. Not one to be complacent, he started a négoce label in 2012 – offering another avenue for Burgundy-lovers to get access to his winemaking talent.   Now he has – along with his wife Anne-Sophie – taken on a new challenge, having purchased a new estate: Domaine des Chézeaux. It’s unlikely you’ll know the name of this Gevrey-Chambertin property, but you’ll almost certainly know its vineyards.  This history of Domaine des Chézeaux  Domaine des Chézeaux was created by François Mercier in 1982, although the family has had vines in the village of Gevrey-Chambertin since 1928. The estate’s name comes from the Clos des Chézeaux, the walled vineyard next to the domaine. The family were land-owners rather than winemakers, so all their vines were leased out – en métayage – to other producers. This arrangement is common in Burgundy: the vignerons renting the vineyards manage them year-round and make the wine, giving a portion of their production (often around a third) to the vineyard-owner by way of rent.  This historic estate grew from its original holdings and – as of 1994 – consisted of around four hectares. The vines were split between three producers: Domaine Ponsot (and later Laurent Ponsot), René Leclerc and Domaine Berthaut (later Domaine Berthaut-Gerbet).  Ponsot rented the property’s original 0.89-hectare plot of Griotte-Chambertin, as well as Domaine des Chézeaux’s parcels of Clos Saint-Denis*, Chambertin and Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru Les Charmes. Domaine Berthaut leased the two Gevrey-Chambertin Premiers Crus (Les Cazetiers and Lavaux-Saint-Jacques) as well as the property’s village parcels, including the Clos des Chézaux. While technically the latter is a monopole, because Berthaut didn’t own the land it couldn’t be called as such.  Ahead of the 1994 vintage, the Mercier family purchased another parcel of Griotte-Chambertin, an additional 0.68 hectares that had been owned by Suzanne Thomas of Thomas Bassot, giving them the largest holding of this Grand Cru. The Esmonin family had been farming the vines in this parcel, selling some fruit to Jadot, and the Mercier family then leased it to René Leclerc (although the Esmonin family also continued to bottle the wine, with vintages of Frédéric Esmonin Griotte-Chambertin up to and including 1999 available). A portion of each of the finished wines was bottled under the Domaine des Chézeaux label, but was identical to that under the Ponsot, Leclerc or Berthaut labels – often at a fraction of the price.  Domaine des Chézeaux today In 2021, Charles van Canneyt managed to buy the estate and its enviable vineyard holdings. With all the vines under métayage contracts, the next challenge was to reclaim the vines – negotiating with each producer. By 2022 he had secured the monopole Clos des Chézeaux and Premier Cru Les Cazetiers, but sold the fruit. In 2023, having regained a parcel of Griotte-Chambertin, he made his first wines from the property.  By the time 2024 came around, he had managed to recover all the vineyards – adding Chambertin, Clos Saint-Denis and Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru Les Charmes. As part of the extensive negotiations, the Lavaux-Saint-Jacques parcel, some Gevrey-Chambertin village vines and two small sections of Griotte-Chambertin were sold.  The vines are generally old across the property, and the farming and winemaking is identical to that at Hudelot-Noëllat, with the fruit entirely de-stemmed and seeing very gentle extraction. The first vintages were vinified at Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat (but are being aged in the cellars at Domaine des Chézeaux), and work has started on a new winery that is set to be finished later this year (2025). Interestingly Van Canneyt has already seen the wines maturing differently at Chézeaux, with the particularly cool, humid cellar meaning the wines develop more slowly during élevage and need topping up less. He therefore anticipates ageing the wines slightly longer than those of Hudelot-Noëllat. The estate is retaining its historic name, but with new labels – helping differentiate from older bottlings made prior to Van Canneyt’s arrival. The name has the same origin as Echezeaux: chesaux – plural of chesal (which comes from the Latin, casellum or casalis) – meaning a stone house or building.   The Domaine des Chézeaux holdings   The estate now has around three hectares of vines, over half of which is Grand Cru, spread across six appellations:  Gevrey-Chambertin Clos des Chézeaux: This monopole vineyard covers half a hectare, with some of the vines almost 100 years in age (planted in 1929). Mid-slope and facing southeast, the village site has deep, clay-rich soils with gravel, sitting just below Premier Cru Cazetiers and neighbouring another monopole village site, Clos du Château, farmed and produced by Armand Rousseau.  Gevrey-Chambertin Premier Cru Les Cazetiers: Chézeaux has 0.216 hectares of this Premier Cru split over two parcels: one of 0.1615 hectares in the northern section and 0.045 hectares in the south.  Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru Les Charmes: Van Canneyt farms around 0.6 hectares in this Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru, which he also has a parcel of under Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat.  Clos Saint-Denis Grand Cru: There is a plot of 0.3776 hectares in Clos Saint-Denis, which will briefly be appearing in the range for 2024 (with just one barrel), but is now being replanted and out of action until 2029 at least.  Chambertin Grand Cru: A parcel (combining one tiny plot that sits next to their main plot) in the heart of this Grand Cru represents 0.143 hectares.  Griotte-Chambertin Grand Cru: Chézeaux is the largest vineyard holder in this Grand Cru, with an impressive 1.264 hectares of vines, a parcel in the heart of this tiny appellation.  Spotlight on Griotte-Chambertin  Griotte-Chambertin, also known as En Griotte, is the smallest of the Chambertin Grands Crus, totalling 2.69 hectares (and is among the smallest Grands Crus in the Côte d’Or, along with La Romanée, La Romanée-Conti and La Grande Rue for Pinot Noir). It sits below Clos de Bèze on the slope, just below the Route des Grands Crus and sandwiched between Chapelle-Chambertin and Charmes-Chambertin, facing northeast. This aspect is important, allowing the vines here to ripen more slowly, not receiving as much morning sun. The wines made here tend to be more delicate, aromatic and perfumed, less muscular than is perhaps typical for the village of Gevrey-Chambertin, and therefore highly prized. Pebble-rich, chalky topsoil sits over deep, limestone bedrock, with more clay the further down the slope you go.  Domaine des Chézeaux is the largest owner of the site, with 1.246 hectares – almost half of the vineyard. Other producers who own vines here are: Joseph Drouhin (0.53 hectares), Fourrier (0.26 hectares), Claude Dugat (0.15 hectares), Marchand Frères (0.13 hectares), Joseph Roty (0.08 hectares) and Duroché (0.02 hectares), as well as now Laurent Ponsot (0.11 hectares) and an investor who has leased his small portion of the Grand Cru to Cécile Tremblay (circa 0.2 hectares). The origin of the vineyard’s name is disputed. Some argue that it comes directly from “griotte”, the word for morello cherry – tied either to trees that were once planted in the site, or as a reference to the character of wine it typically produces. Most, however, now suggest it comes from “criotte”, the diminutive of “crais”, referring to the chalky pebbles that are found in its soils.    Insider knowledge: Domaine des Chézeaux Griotte-Chambertin Historic bottlings of Domaine des Chézeaux Griotte-Chambertin have been something of an insider’s secret, as some are Ponsot Griotte-Chambertin under a different label. Some were the wine made by René Leclerc, and it’s not always possible to know which.  1982 to 1993 vintages inclusive: Domaine des Chézeaux only had their original parcel of Griotte-Chambertin during this time, and it was leased to Domaine Ponsot  1994: Reportedly, only one wine was produced under the Domaine des Chézeaux label in 1994 – the first vintage in which Chézeaux had their second parcel of Griotte, which was leased to René Leclerc. The wine from both parcels was blended together for the Domaine des Chézeaux bottling.   1995 to 2001 vintages inclusive: Two identical Domaine des Chézeaux bottlings of Griotte-Chambertin were produced during these years, with nothing on the label to indicate which producer made them.  2002 onwards: The producer of the Griotte-Chambertin is detailed on the Domaine des Chézeaux labels from the 2002 vintage. While there continued to be two bottlings up to and including 2004, from 2005 onwards, René Leclerc’s Griotte was only occasionally bottled by Domaine des Chézeaux, with the wine more often sold off in bulk. (The 2010 and 2011 vintages are the exception, with the Leclerc bottling returning to the Chézeaux line-up, but with the producer name detailed on the label still.)   The Ponsot wines also have the Ponsot name embossed on the bottom of the bottles. Laurent Ponsot retained the lease for the vineyard when he left the family domaine, 2017 onwards.   The future of Domaine des Chézeaux  While Domaine des Chézeaux has a surprisingly deep history for such a modern estate, it’s surely only the beginning. With a talented vigneron like Charles van Canneyt at the helm and such enviable vineyard holdings, quality at this address is only going in one direction – and we’ve no doubt the wines will soon be as hard to secure as anything else he produces.  Domaine des Chézeaux’s 2023s 2023 Gevrey-Chambertin, Clos des Chézeaux: This monopole vineyard covers half a hectare, with some of the vines almost 100 years in age (planted in 1929). Mid-slope and facing southeast, the village site has deep, clay-rich soils with gravel, sitting just below Premier Cru Cazetiers and neighbouring another monopole village site, Clos du Château, farmed and produced by Armand Rousseau. Charles van Canneyt noted how managing the surrounding woodland (in particular removing some trees) had totally changed the site – bringing better airflow and more sunlight to the vineyard. His first vintage is scented, with bright and lush dark red-berry fruit, alongside iris and violet florals. The palate is vibrant and juicy, but with a fine-grained grip – nubuck-like tannins that frame the fruit, while there’s a savoury, saline note on the long finish. 2023 Gevrey-Chambertin, Premier Cru, Les Cazetiers: The vines in the Domaine des Chézeaux parcel of Cazetiers are very old, lending additional intensity to this brilliant Premier Cru. The wine is delicate, with chalky minerality and delicate floral perfume that entices on the nose. The palate has an earthy minerality, but that’s complemented by beautifully transparent dark berry fruit. It’s firm in texture, with savoury mineral tannins that balance the wine’s natural juiciness. Effortlessly balanced, long and impressive. Five barrels were produced in 2023. 2023 Griotte-Chambertin, Grand Cru: Griotte-Chambertin is the jewel in Domaine des Chézeaux’s crown, with the largest holding of this small Grand Cru site – renowned for producing gloriously aromatic and elegant wines. Charles van Canneyt’s first vintage is seductive, with sweet spice and just the lightest touch of toast sitting alongside waves of supple red cherry fruit. The wine is bright – offering an instant intensity and fullness, plush and voluptuous, yet with effortless elegance. It’s tight at this nascent stage, but you can see how much more it has to offer, with a structure that deserves time. Smoky tones linger on the long finish. A superb début. *This wine is famously the one that got fraudster Rudy Kurniawan caught, after he was found selling older vintages of Domaine Ponsot Clos Saint-Denis, although the property didn’t produce the Grand Cru prior to taking on the Chézeaux holding in 1982.  Keep an eye out for the first wines from the new Domaine des Chézeaux, which will be released soon; in the meantime, read more about Burgundy 

In 2021, Charles van Canneyt – of Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat – purchased the little-known Domaine des Chézeaux. Ahead of the release of his first vintage, we dive into the backstory of this Gevrey-Chambertin property – one that is set to be one of the Côte de Nuits’s most exciting new addresses 

Everything you need to know about this Gevrey-Chambertin wine estate, now owned by Charles van Canneyt of Domaine Hudelot-Noellat  

The new Domaine des Chezeaux, Gevrey-Chambertin 

The new Domaine des Chézeaux       

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

FONDATA: Pleasure in the detail

Pleasure in the detail

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As a result of the quantity requested for delivery, we recommend using Third Party Shipping. If you proceed with our Shipping, you will not be able to define a ship date, and we will get in touch with you to arrange delivery.

Your order request will be cancelled. Are you sure you want to proceed?

Due to the quantity requested for collection, there may be a delay in meeting your requested collection date.

Due to the quantity requested for collection, it is not possible to define a collection date at this stage. Our team will liaise with the warehouse and contact you directly to confirm a suitable pick-up date.

For orders with a high value, we recommend shipping with a third party carrier. Items shipped with third parties will remain in banded OWCs.

Due to the quantity requested, you won’t be able to select a collection date. Please submit your request, and we will liaise with our warehouse and confirm the collection date with you directly.

Due to the quantity requested, you won’t be able to select a shipping date at checkout. Please submit your request, and we will liaise with our warehouse and confirm the delivery date with you directly.

For up to 499 bottles in storage, the rate is 39¢/bottle per month or a $50 minimum monthly charge (this covers up to 142 bottles). For over 500 bottles, the storage rate is 35¢/bottle per month.

Standard storage rate

By selecting third-party shipping, you will take full responsibility for all aspects of legal compliance and authorize Vinfolio to transfer the items to the party specified in your instructions. Items shipped via third parties will remain in their original packaging.

Collection times are between 8:30am - 12pm & 1:30pm - 4:30pm, Monday to Friday. Wines at Will Call, that are not picked up within 10 business days, will be transferred to storage and subject to a $1.50 per bottle stocking fee.

Items to be sourced and shipped to our state-of-the-art fine wine storage facility for the best possible safe-keeping where you can arrange collection from our warehouse address in Napa.

Will Call (Napa)

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We're in the final stages of upgrading to our brand-new trading platform. As part of this transition, we're currently migrating all customer-owned inventory to ensure a smooth and seamless experience.

Our new and improved platform will be ready for you on Friday, April 4.

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The lowest price you're willing to sell at.

shows all the items that you have pre-ordered, including en primeur wines, and all the items on your watchlist.

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Local delivery is free for orders over HK$5,000 (to a single location). For orders below this value, delivery is HK$300 for up to four cases and HK$50 per case thereafter.

Puoi organizzare il ritiro presso il nostro negozio al 22º piano, 8 Wyndham Street, Central Hong Kong.
Gli orari di ritiro sono dalle 9:30 alle 13:00 e dalle 14:00 alle 18:00, dal lunedì al venerdì. Siamo chiusi nei giorni festivi.

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

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

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

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

Mercier

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