I’m sitting opposite Rino Fontana, an Italian wine collector that Antonio Galloni named his Wine Personality of the Year in 2023. Fontana looks unassuming – like any other septuagenarian that you might find, cigarette in hand, knocking back an espresso in a sunny piazza. Sunglasses hang on a string around his neck, and occasionally he rifles through scraps of paper that seem to operate as a calendar and/or journal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was perhaps someone a little more, well, suave. Fontana has been collecting wine since the 1980s and is renowned for his cellar, a treasure trove of remarkable vintages from Piedmont’s top producers. Indeed, Galloni has dubbed him “Il Professore” for his extensive knowledge of Italian wine – despite never having worked in the industry. As Fontana scrolls through pictures on his phone, recalling recent dinners, he rolls off names and vintages that would leave any wine-lover speechless. He grew up in the Oltrepò Pavese, where his father was a stonemason, but would buy grapes and make a little wine for the family. Fontana was sent to school in Valenza, a town known for its gold industry – and he started working in a gold factory in his late teens. Aged 24, he and his best friend opened their own jewellery workshop. It was the owner of a local restaurant in nearby Mortara who introduced Fontana to the real pleasures of wine, and a bottle of Conterno’s Monfortino that made him fall head over heels for Nebbiolo – the 1958 vintage, in fact. Since that first taste, he’s opened over 150 bottles (yes, really) of the 1958 Monfortino. It was that wine that prompted Fontana to start visiting producers – an adventure in self-education. At the time, people weren’t buying wine, and Italy’s winemakers were far from fashionable. He became friends with the likes of Giuseppe Rinaldi, Bruno Giacosa and Gianfranco Soldera, rapidly securing significant allocations of their wines when few others were showing interest. Producers, in turn, suggested he had a gift – unique in his ability to understand wines in barrel and foretell their future. Today, he covers around 80,000km a year visiting producers – but the vast majority of that mileage is in Piedmont, for Fontana drinks – and collects – little other than Nebbiolo. This one grape represents around 95% of his consumption, he says, with Barolo and/or Barbaresco on the menu every day. He always has the latest releases on hand in the fridge – even some basic Langhe Nebbiolo, but at least twice a week he’ll uncork something special from the 1960s or ’80s with wine-loving friends or producers. While Nebbiolo is one of many grapes to be declared “the king of wines”, for Fontana it really does reign supreme. When I ask why, marvelling at how he could drink so much of just one variety, he shrugs: “Nebbiolo is Nebbiolo.” When I push him, he says he loves its ageability, structure and elegance – something he feels you can’t find in Pinot Noir. He recalls a recent dinner with Galloni at Il Centro in Priocca, sharing a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti’s 2004 La Tâche alongside a 1947 Borgogno Barolo and 1989 Vigna Rionda from Giacosa. Both the Barolos, he says, grew over the dinner – while the La Tâche faded slowly. For him, Burgundy (even the world’s most sought-after bottles) is no match for Nebbiolo. That’s a controversial opinion – but Fontana is not a man short of views. He dismisses the wines of Cappellano and Accomasso, while he has firm beliefs on how Nebbiolo should be made, favouring traditional winemaking with old oak – not wanting to feel the wood in the wine. He argues that too many young producers are going to Burgundy and trying to echo that style in their wines, losing their Piedmontese identity. The resulting wines are, he feels, too technical, too clean. “Great wine can’t be perfect,” he says – suggesting that those imperfections are partly what makes wine feel alive. While the most established and famous producers dominate his collection, he also likes the wines from newer names such as Trediberri, Crissante and Cascina Baricchi. Beyond Nebbiolo, he’ll dabble in certain labels of Sangiovese – Soldera, for example will pass muster, as well as SanCarlo (a producer he feels rivals the former). Montevertine’s Le Pergole Torte would previously have been a prime choice, but now he’d choose Le Boncie’s Le Trame instead. He likes Valentini and Emidio Pepe, and used to buy Gravner but feels the style changed in 2004 so stopped. He sold his jewellery business in 2000 – dedicating his time entirely to wine – visiting producers, building his collection and selling to select parties (of which FINE+RARE is lucky enough to be one). Fontana has around 9,000 bottles in his collection today. He shows us a video of his cellar – intriguingly with many of the wines stored upright. Anything post 1990 is kept on its side, but older wines stand proud in his cellar – something which he argues is better once they reach a certain age, with the cork and humidity of the cellar more important in their preservation. It’s a remarkable collection, with incredible verticals of many wines. His access seems unparalleled – receiving larger allocations than many importers, given his historical ties. He is the only individual, for example, to receive an allocation of Rinaldi’s Brunate Cru – a wine that is otherwise kept exclusively for the family. Some of his most prized bottles are Giacosa’s 1964 Santo Stefano and magnums of 1970 Monfortino (“amazing” – he says), while he has a soft spot for the youthful 2015 Soldera. Now aged 73, Fontana seems just as enchanted by wine as when he first tasted that 1958 Monfortino. I ask him if there’s a wine he is still desperate to taste, a unicorn that he’s still hunting: the answer is no. He’s been able to try every vintage from the producers he loves. It’s a rare answer for a wine lover – but “Il Professore” isn’t your average wine collector. – Photography of Rino Fontana at Il Centro by Dan Deibel Explore a selection of top verticals from Fontana’s cellar, all Italian listings or read more Editorial

Friends with Vinous founder and critic Antonio Galloni, and with a cellar that will turn you green with envy, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector. We sat down with the man himself to find out more about his journey into wine, incredible collection and obsession with one grape  

Antonio Galloni’s Wine Personality of the Year 2023, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector – we met the man to talk about his cellar

Rino Fontana – the wine collector like no other

Rino Fontana: a collector like no other

Last year the Chianti Classico governing body of producers (the Consorzio) banned the use of international varieties in wines bearing the top Gran Selezione classification. The decision has caused an outcry among some of the region’s top producers. Many claim that Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot were not only instrumental in raising the quality and consistency of the region but have since become an important part of the region’s identity today. Some producers claim that the Consorzio, in the name of authenticity, is limiting the vigneron’s creativity when instead they should be focusing on upholding quality. As far as appellations in Italy go, Chianti is one of the oldest, dating back to the early 1700s. Quality, even back then, was an important factor for the top producers. Castello di Ama discovered records from 1773 which showed their estate was exporting wines to England and producing wines with exclusively red grapes designed for ageing – something that became a rarity in the region during the 20th century.  With few exceptions, Chianti production up until the 1990s was focused on quantity. Vineyards were mixed, typically with three Sangiovese vines for every white vine, either Malvasia or Trebbiano. “The white grapes were part of the culture here”, says Castello di Ama’s Lorenza Sebasti. “The white and red grapes were made together, to make a wine for everyday – it was part of the meal and needed to be as light as possible. It was safer to drink than water. And it gave you energy.” Under the Chianti appellation, the wines had to include white varieties (Malvasia or Trebbiano) alongside Sangiovese.  With a focus on quantity, the quality of the Sangiovese clones planted at this time was generally poor. As such, Sangiovese struggled to reach full maturity, resulting in aggressive tannins – typically mellowed by the blending of white varieties. From a quality perspective, it was impossible to make a 100% Sangiovese wine of any quality. The 1970s marked the beginning of a fascinating creative and experimental winemaking period in Tuscany. Piero Antinori and Giacomo Tachis were instrumental in replanting programs focused on quality. New clones of Sangiovese would eventually help, but international varieties were an essential component in quickly raising the quality of the region’s wines, as well as their ageing potential – another important attribute of fine wine. As well as working in Bolgheri creating the first Super Tuscan with Sassicaia, Tachis and Antinori produced their first vintage of Tignanello from their top vineyard in Chianti Classico in 1971. This first vintage was made only from red grapes (Sangiovese and other local varieties) and matured in oak barriques (the first wine of the region to be made in such a way).  With mixed results, they went back to the drawing board. After much discussion, and no doubt buoyed by their results at Sassicaia, they believed Cabernet Sauvignon was the solution. It wasn’t until 1975 that they produced the next vintage of Tignanello, this time a blend of 80% Sangiovese and 20% Cabernet Sauvignon – a blend that has remained the same ever since. The addition of Cabernet Sauvignon and maturation in barriques meant it broke the appellation rules and had to be declassified to a table wine. But it was the quality of this wine that spurred a new generation of winemakers that was to reshape the Tuscan landscape. More and more quality-led producers in Chianti Classico started experimenting with different varieties. Lorenza Sebasti describes Castello di Ama at this time as a “workshop of experiments”.  “When we started introducing varieties from France, we did many experiments – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Sauvignon Blanc… Our greatest success turned out to be Merlot.” Although the Consorzio eventually caught up with these pioneering producers and allowed up to 20% international varieties to be included in Chianti Classico blends, wine made from 100% Sangiovese was still not permitted. As better, lower-yielding Sangiovese clones started to appear, other Chianti Classico producers such as Fontodi, Montevertine and San Giusto a Rentennano broke the rules and started to produce 100% Sangiovese wines – again forcing them to declassify them. It wasn’t until 1996 that the Consorzio allowed Chianti Classico to be made from 100% Sangiovese. For Stefano Carpaneto, Tignanello’s winemaker since 2002, the presence of Cabernet was absolutely fundamental in Tignanello’s success. In the early days, Sangiovese was still lacking consistency and suffered with aggressive tannins if not blended. “Sangiovese was also difficult to manage in vinification and during the élevage in barrels,” he says. For him, the introduction of Cabernet gave balance to the Sangiovese at vinification and provided a tannin structure that allows the wine to age. It also guaranteed consistency year after year, which was paramount if Tignanello was going to compete with other fine wines around the world. At Castello di Ama, Merlot not only became an essential component in their top single-vineyard Chianti Classico wines but was so good in its own right that they created L’Apparita – a 100% Merlot wine that today competes with the finest Merlots in the world. “Merlot in Tuscany has its own personality,” says Sebasti. “The aim was to make a very good Chianti Classico. But the Merlot stood out with its personality, we took it as a gift. It was part of our research, but it was also a discovery.” Sabasti explains how Tuscan Merlot is totally different to the Californian style, or Pomerol. “Somehow,” she says, “it has depth, but is not with fat and remains very vertical.” Tignanello, L’Apparita, Fontodi’s Flaccianello, Percarlo and Le Pergole Torte are some of the region's very top wines, responsible for raising its profile, yet all were forced at one time or another to declassify their wines. The Consorzio has caught up and now allows barrique ageing, 100% Sangiovese and the use of international varieties in Chianti Classico. But at a time when quality has never been higher, they have again been criticised for their recent decision to ban international varieties from the top Chianti Classico Gran Selezione classification. Castello di Ama’s Sebasti is not happy. She is a big believer in what she calls “renaissance thinking” – where quality-led winemaking should be about creativity and discovery, not rules. After all, it was the rulebreakers in Chianti Classico that brought quality to the region. Sebasti recalls how Robert Mondavi who, despite his position of power in Napa, stood up against imposing rules that would restrict young, up-and-coming winemakers to produce wines in a region where it was becoming too expensive to own land. Many other producers wanted to allow only bricks-and-mortar wineries to become members of Napa Valley Vintners, but Mondavi believed this would stifle creativity in the region. Sebasti echoes Mondavi, “We need the energy, the creativity, the new challenge of young winemakers and rulebreakers to continue to make our wines the best.”  Despite Antinori’s reputation largely being built on the success of international varieties, they are in favour of the banning of international varieties in Gran Selezione and voted for the change. “While the international varieties were absolutely necessary to transition the region from quantity to quality, they can now be put to one side,” says Carpaneto. For Carpaneto, the changing of the rules will help create a clearer identity for the region. He believes being able to taste 100% Sangiovese wines from different villages within Chianti Classico will help the critic and consumer compare the differences. “The international varieties can influence the wine too much,” he says. “A variety like Merlot can go over the terroir, it can cover the terroir.”  Sebasti, on the other hand, is yet to be convinced. She understands the allure of making Chianti Classico from 100% Sangiovese. She regularly tastes her own vats of Sangiovese and, while they can be great, for her, the magic touch for her terroir is a soupçon of Merlot added to the Sangiovese that makes her wine better – she is more interested in that than the classification. “They go for monotony,” claims Sebasti. “They say authenticity is 100% Sangiovese and this is historically incorrect […] It is not a political choice, it should be a vigneron’s choice.” If forced, Castello di Ama will leave the appellation.  While Antinori approved the decision for the ban, they have no intention to change the blend of Tignanello, or Solaia for that matter. “We cannot touch the Super Tuscans,” says Carpaneto. Their reputation is bigger than any classification. Regularly compared to the top wines of the world Carpeneto believes they have earned their place in history.  Among these top producers their wines do not need to rely on the classifications, however it is interesting that the top wines in Antinori’s portfolio, for example, are wines that rely on a blend of both Sangiovese and international varieties. In 2002 (a terrible vintage for Sangiovese), Solaia was made entirely from Cabernet Sauvignon. Carpeneto says they would never do this again. “the wine doesn’t taste like Solaia,” he says. “If we had the same vintage conditions again, we just wouldn’t make it.” As at Castello di Ama, it is the special relationship between the international variety and Sangiovese that makes their top wines so special.  Tuscany’s rapid rise in quality could not have happened with Sangiovese alone. It has the international varieties of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Syrah, at least in part, to thank for that. They were instrumental in Tuscany’s transition from an industrial-led wine-producing region to a qualitative one. The decision to ban their inclusion in the Gran Selezione classification will cause ruptures in the appellation – though the region is no stranger to controversy. Each vigneron will need to decide for themselves whether it compromises quality. Either way, the mavericks that have helped build Chianti’s reputation are not likely to let rules get in their way. Browse all Italian wine listings or read more Editorial

Despite a long history of growing native Tuscan varieties, Chianti’s reputation is tied to the Bordeaux varieties. We talk to leading producers about their role in the region – and why the Consorzio is trying to ban them from its top wines

Exploring why the Consorzio is trying to ban Bordeaux varieties after they have been so instrumental to Chianti’s success. 

Chianti Gran Selezione classification in crisis

Looking beyond Sangiovese: Chianti

2018 Ch. Mauvesin Barton (in jeroboam) + Champagne Elise Bougy, Le Mesnil – chosen by Damien Barton-Sartorius  “To me, a meal is always about a moment. Sometimes very important ones such as announcing a baby, sometimes it’s more casual as would be a meetup with friends. I like to think that the bottle should never be more important than the moment. It should not frustrate the generous person who wanted to share a special bottle that becomes overlooked – or even worse steals the show... Unless it is the show! The special bottle then becomes a moment of its own. It is an interesting thing (and sometimes fun!) to taste great labels blind, judge them on their value/pleasure. But it tears away what wine should be: excitement. If I am going to drink a Mouton Rothschild 1945, I honestly don’t really care if it’s good or not. It’s a piece of history in a bottle that I will be sharing with friends and I would really like to know this ahead of time so I can be excited about it for as long as possible. Just like planning holidays ahead!  “Christmas is an important moment but the moment is family, not the wine that will be put on the table. I want a wine that will trigger some chat. Briefly – before enjoying the wine as a lovely drink, fuel of diverse conversations. There should be enough of it to spend some time with it. Aim for large format. We all know that even a magnum can be short…  “To be very personal here, I just got married and I will spend my first Christmas Eve with my wife’s family. A bit of home, some volume to enjoy and share: Ch. Mauvesin Barton 2018 in jeroboam is my choice for dinner. Oh but what would Christmas be without Champagne… a sneaky bottle to share only with my wife before the dinner: Elise Bougy Le Mesnil. Now I am excited for Christmas!”  Damien Barton-Sartorius is the 10th generation of his family to run the Bartons’ Saint-Julien Classed Growth estates (Ch. Langoa Barton and Ch. Léoville Barton), while his sister Mélanie is at the helm of Ch. Mauvesin Barton, together continuing their grandfather Anthony’s and mother Lilian’s legacy. 2010 Ch. Latour, Pauillac – chosen by Jonathan Maltus  “We’re drinking Ch. Latour 2010. There are 10 of us – all family – two grandparents, four parents and the rest kids. As a family we don’t enjoy turkey so we have beef Wellington – which I’m hoping this will go well with.” Jonathan Maltus is the man behind the Saint-Emilion property Le Dôme, one of Bordeaux’s original garagistes. 2001 Richebourg, Grand Cru. Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat – chosen by Charles van Canneyt “For dinner, a Richebourg 2001. Perfect to drink now and taking full advantage of the complexity and power of a Richebourg – with a good capon! We had Suchots 2017 – all about the fruit – when we put up the tree, a vintage that’s approachable young and very enjoyable!”  Charles van Canneyt is one of Burgundy’s most talented winemakers. The young vigneron is at the helm of Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat, based in Chambolle-Musigny, and also has a négociant label under his own name.  2015 Ch. Haut-Bailly + 2019 Meursault, Les Vireuils, Domaine Roulot – chosen by Véronique Sanders “It’s so very difficult to choose just one bottle… while many people start their celebration with Champagne I always love to start (and finish) with a glass of Sauternes or Barsac. Right now I am loving Ch. Haut-Bailly 2015 which is so charming and is pure pleasure! Of course I also love wines outside of Bordeaux – white Burgundy being my weakness… I have my eye on a bottle of Domaine Roulot Meursault Les Vireuils to share with the family this year.”  Véronique Sanders is the powerhouse at the helm of Ch. Haut-Bailly, the leading Pessac-Léognan estate.  2018 Paul Cluver Estate Chardonnay, Elgin, South Africa – chosen by Spencer Fondaumiere  “I grew up in Nairobi at a time when the wine scene was not nearly as advanced as it is now. My mother enjoyed her wine. My dad was a beer man through and through. What was regularly available was wine sold in five-litre boxes labelled as ‘late harvest’, with just enough sweetness to interest you to get to the bottom of the bottle – or more accurately the last dredges of the cask. I have now lived in Cape Town for the last 11 years and my wine appreciation has grown a little bit beyond the voluminous late harvest on tap.  “Christmas is a time for family and my mom and dad will be spending the holidays with me and my family. Since I last saw her, Mom has developed an appreciation for cool-climate Chardonnay and I am quite keen to crack open this bottle that has a bit of age on it. I am hoping it will be like nothing she has ever tasted before and I am hoping even more that she will like it. Dad, on the other hand, remains partial to beer, but every Christmas I optimistically open a bottle and hope that this will be the wine that converts him into a wine lover. That being said, there is not too much 2018 Chardonnay hanging about so it may not be the worst thing if this doesn't turn out to be the one.”  Spencer Fondaumiere is one of the most exciting names on Africa’s wine scene. The Kenyan chef-turned-sommelier and serial entrepreneur is now Chairman of the South African Sommelier Association and has two businesses – using his expertise to advise wine-drinkers, restaurants and producers via Slowgold and Wineyard East Africa. A trio of Bouchard’s best – chosen by Frédéric Weber  “For Christmas with my family, I have planned a 2016 Meursault Genevrières to accompany the foie gras that my sister makes herself every year. I like the combination because our Genevrières has just the right freshness and delicacy, especially in 2016, to awaken the tastes and accompany the sweetness of foie gras seasoned with a touch of Sichuan pepper and a hint of fleur de sel, a great match! With the duck, of course a Beaune Grèves Vigne de l’Enfant Jésus 2003. Two-thousand-and-three was my first vintage in the house [at Bouchard], 20 years ago already, great memory of this harvest and Baby Jesus is a nice wink for Christmas Eve! And then a Corton 2013, my mum loves Le Corton and we don't refuse her anything.”  Frédéric Weber is the detail-oriented Head Winemaker at Bouchard, one of Burgundy’s leading, quality-focused producers and négociants. He has been at the company since 2002, taking over fully from his predecessor Philippe Prost from the 2014 vintage.  Champagne Corbon, Brut d'Autrefois, Avize (and a couple of back-up bottles) – chosen by Chris Gaither MS  “Christmas is always a special time of the year for my family. My wife, Rebecca (also a Master Sommelier), who is Jewish, always looks forward to the combo of Hanukkah and Christmas celebrations back-to-back, especially with our young daughters. We tend to favour multiple evenings of delicious food and drink that we can enjoy, albeit with moderation. And she and I rarely finish a bottle when drinking together at dinner, if it's only the two of us sipping. Surprised? It’s partially because we have two kids and run two businesses (Ungrafted and GluGlu), so work doesn’t stop even after dinner! So, on Christmas evening we'll be having a low-key 'Jewish' Christmas dinner, with a few other Jewish families. We are going to order Chinese food from one of our favourite restaurants in Millbrae (Wonderful is the name if you'd like to know), and chow down on some tasty dishes with a few of our favourite bottlings from producers we admire.  “Rebecca and I are huge fans of Champagne, and most times if you ever see us sipping on something together, it's usually just that. Champagne Corbon is a tiny grower based in the Vallée de la Marne (run by Agnès Corbon – ladies rule!), but they sell a good portion of their fruit from their vineyards there. They own two hectares of vineyards in Avize, of which they use to produce most of their wines. The Brut d'Autrefois is based on a 35-plus-year-old perpetual reserve (or solera) that is roughly based on 90% Chardonnay and 10% Pinot Noir. The solera consists of a single neutral oak vat that is 50% drained each year for bottlings of D'Autrefois, and then refreshed with a new year's vintage. Delicious, exuding a bit of richness, with nice texture, and loads of complexity. We were fortunate enough to get a few bottles of these, and I think we'll be drinking the last one we have... for now... The other bottles are ‘just in case’ bottles that we love.  “2018 Domaine Weinbach, Riesling Schlossberg, Grand Cru, Alsace: Who doesn't like Riesling? Any sommelier with street cred will tell you to drink more Riesling – it's routinely underappreciated in the world of wine, and you can get fantastic examples that are made with the same care as Grand Cru wines in other regions, but at less than half the price. Weinbach is one of our favourite domaines within Alsace, and it is currently run by Catherine Faller (again, shoutout to all the ladies making the magic happen in wine!) and her sons, Eddy and Theo. This Riesling is coming from their holdings in Schlossberg, the first Grand Cru to be ratified in Alsace in 1975. The wine almost always has a deftly balanced touch of botrytis, with lovely bruised apple and peach, with a very noticeable meyer lemon twang on the finish.   “2011 Fixin, Premier Cru, Clos de la Perrière, Domaine Joliet Père & Fils: This particular vineyard is a monopole within the village of Fixin, and this bottling is 100% Pinot Noir. It is run by Bénigne Joliet, who purchased the vineyard from his other family members in 2004, with the goal of making the Clos de la Perrière one of the more famous vineyards in the Côte de Nuits in Burgundy. Rebecca had the opportunity to visit the estate and meet Bénigne back in 2014 on a visit. She purchased the bottle of 2011 Clos de la Perrière on this trip. I’m super excited to drink it with her! She’s great at putting bottles away and not touching them!”  Chris Gaither MS was born in Atlanta and started working in hospitality to help pay the bills while at college. He gradually fell into the wine side, becoming hooked and – after a stage at The French Laundry in 2008 – launched into San Francisco’s wine scene, working at top restaurants and earning various awards. He became the fourth black person to pass the Master Sommelier exam when he passed in 2022. Married to a fellow Master Sommelier, Rebecca Fineman, together they own and run two restaurant/wine bars, Ungrafted and Glu Glu, in San Francisco. 2003 Chinon, Les Roches, Domaine Alain & Jérôme Lenoir – chosen by Ivan Massonat  “Of the (many) bottles I intend to open, one is high on my expectation scale: a 2003 Chinon from Domaine Lenoir. It’s a bare bottle, without any label nor cap, that I bought from Jérôme [Lenoir] a couple of years ago, after a few hours of tasting down in his ‘cellar of wonders’. After tasting several decades, 2003 had struck me as super fresh and elegant, like magically untouched by the famous 2003 summer heatwave in France. I would like to open it for New Year’s Eve, with one my best friends from high school who’s also a wine lover – and not a label drinker!” Ivan Massonat is the ex-financier that created Domaine Belargus, the Anjou estate that has fast become one of the Loire’s most famous, shining a light on its varied terroir through a single grape – Chenin Blanc. Stellar Spanish and South American bottles – chosen by Carlos de Carlos  “This year we have some cousins from the USA that will come home for Christmas evening and dinner. As they come to try some good South American wines, I will drive them around some of my all-time favourites for dinner. So the selection will be: Baettig Los Primos Chardonnay 2021 for the aperitivo. A wine that shows the very best of the south of Chile with a finesse and minerality that I love. Then Viña Cobos Chanares Malbec 2018 – one of my favourite wines in Argentina coming from Los Arboles in Tunuyán, Valle de Uco. Really special vintage from a really unique vineyard! And the grand finale will be Vega Sicilia Unico Reserva Especial 2008-2009-2010 [the 2020 release] – not only because the wine itself, but also because it was a very special present for my birthday that a very close friend gave me… and will be tasted alongside my favourite dish, Spanish paella.” The charming Carlos de Carlos is one of the founders of Baettig, along with winemaker Francisco Baettig, a Chilean producer that is one of our favourites. A flight of Champagne, Burgundy and Bordeaux – chosen by Blandine de Brier Manoncourt  “This Christmas my family will begin with a fabulous Champagne, Laurent Perrier’s Grand Siècle Itération No. 26, which we will enjoy as an apéritif around the tree. At the table, our dinner will begin with Corton-Charlemagne from our dear friend Stéphane Follin-Arbelet, the 2008 vintage, which will pair perfectly with a lobster dish. Next is, of course, Figeac! First the 2010 vintage of Ch. Figeac – it is magnificent right now, and goes very well with truffled capon. Finally we will enjoy our favourite vintage of Ch. Figeac, the 1990. We wish everyone a very happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year!”  Blandine de Brier Manoncourt is daughter of the iconic Thierry Manoncourt who established Figeac’s modern reputation. Having studied at Sciences Po Bordeaux, she is Co-owner and General Secretary, especially involved in managing the property’s heritage.  2001 Ch. Figeac – chosen by Frédéric Faye  “My family is very excited this year to serve one of my favourite vintages of Ch. Figeac at our Christmas dinner, the 2001. This is a vintage in its full maturity, a vintage which sadly is often overlooked by wine-lovers but is in fact one of the great references of the property. Fresh, elegant, with a beautiful concentration… it will pair perfectly with ris de veau in a sauce à la morille. Wishing a happy Christmas and New Year to you and your families!”  Frédéric Faye is Managing Director of Ch. Figeac, where he has been working for over two decades, having arrived as an intern in 2002. Blanquette de Limoux, Antech, Brut Nature – chosen by Christina Stanley  “I share a holiday tradition of sipping bubbles with my mum while cooking, before any guests or family arrive. My dad suffered a stroke back in 2014, and she is his caretaker. Last year, when she tasted Varnier-Fannière Blanc de Blancs, she said, “This tastes like every good time I have ever had,” but Champagne is not what we drink while cooking. You know what’s great with a splash of orange juice? Antech Blanquette de Limoux Brut Nature. It has delightfully bright, lemony acidity, an abundance of chalky minerality, and it’s inexpensive. The main grape is Mauzac, locally known as ‘Blanquette’. Wonderful as a versatile aperitif and perfect as a Mimosa base, Blanquette de Limoux plays a starring role in any holiday gathering.”  Christina Stanley is an Advanced Sommelier and the Wine Director at The Slanted Door Napa – an outpost of Charles Phan’s group of legendary restaurants that are a reference point for fine dining and modern Vietnamese food. 2008 Merlot, Miani, Colli Orientali del Friuli – chosen by Michele Dal Forno  “I think I would pick a Merlot from Miani. Enzo, the owner, is truly the ‘last of Mohicans’ of vignerons in Italy, as he is seriously devoted to his vines and the wines he makes are a pure expression of each varietal he grows. I was lucky enough to taste many of his wines last summer with himself and some other friends and I was shocked by the genuineness of them all. In particular the Merlot 2008 was so fresh and rich that I was literally blown away when I tasted it. If you want to understand how an authentic Merlot should taste, Miani is the one.”  Michele Dal Forno is one of Romano Dal Forno’s sons, founder of the legendary eponymous Valpolicella estate  1988 Ch. Montelena, Napa – chosen by Maya Dalla Valle   “After a fantastic 2023 harvest, we are relaxing and celebrating this holiday season. At our most recent team holiday dinner we decided to open a magnum of 1988 Ch. Montelena to commemorate the successes of the 2023 growing season and vintage. With the recent passing of Mike Grgich, it was also an homage to one of the great winemakers of Napa. The wine was stunning, and well appreciated by all of us as red wine producers.”  Having travelled and made wine around the world, Maya Dalla Valle returned to Napa in 2017 to make wine with her mother Naoko at Dalla Valle, as well as embarking on a new project in collaboration with Ornellaia, DVO. 2016 Champagne Henriot, L’Inattendue – chosen by Stefan Neumann MS  “Expect the ‘unexpected’! Henriot’s single expression of Avize called L’Inattendue (translating literally as ‘the unexpected’) from the 2016 vintage is something I look forward to sharing with my family on Christmas Day. Full of energy, this pure Chardonnay gives me on the one hand the comforting softness of spiced pear and golden apple, but on the other hand the razor-sharp freshness of lemon and orange peel. This, in front of the family’s Kachelofen (tiled ceramic stove), paired with a freshly cured trout, might sound simple yet is heaven to me. If life has taught me one thing – you can’t beat an old-time classic.”  Austrian-born Master Sommelier Stefan Neumann cut his teeth at restaurants in Vienna and Salzburg before moving to the UK. He’s worked at many of Britain’s most illustrious establishments, most recently on the floor at The Fat Duck. Today he works as a consultant, using his extensive expertise to advise clients and companies. Explore more Editorial 

There’s no better time than Christmas to crack open a bottle of something special. We asked some of the biggest names in the industry – from top sommeliers to superstar winemakers – to tell us what they’re uncorking this year, and why

We asked some of the biggest names in the wine industry – from top sommeliers to superstar winemakers – to tell us what they’re uncorking this year, and why 

What the wine world is drinking this Christmas 

What those in the industry are drinking this Christmas

One hundred years ago, two men, inspired by the Scottish distilling tradition, produced the first Japanese whisky. In the years that have followed, the category’s fortunes – much like its founders’ relationship – have been turbulent.    The story begins in 1923 when pharmaceutical wholesaler turned Spanish wine importer Shinjiro Torii invested his family fortune in building the Yamazaki distillery, against their advice. Torii enlisted the help of wet-behind-the-ears chemist Masataka Taketsuru – who had spent time learning his craft in Scotland – to lead production on their first whisky, Suntory Shirofuda, which was released in 1929. The two men did not see eye to eye and parted ways following the dismal reception of Shirofuda. Taketsuru famously went on to found the other great Japanese whisky producer, Nikka, and their fierce rivalry persisted. This is one of the reasons Japanese distilleries, to this day, blend in-house rather than trade liquid. Despite this rocky start, the Japanese domestic whisky market looked bullish by the late 1930s – Yamazaki’s next whisky (Suntory Kakubin, released in 1937) was more warmly received and Taketsuru successfully re-entered the scene with his first whisky, Nikka Yoichi, in 1940.  Fast forward to the early 1980s and the category was in fine fettle – Suntory and Nikka had both released their first single malt expressions and there was plenty of cause for optimism. But this prosperity sadly did not last as a steep decline in consumption caused the Japanese whisky market to splutter and almost entirely stall, resulting in many distilleries, including Karuizawa, being forced to close their doors. Both Yamazaki and Nikka managed to stay afloat but their output was significantly reduced as the economy and category stagnated, marking a bleak 25-year chapter in Japanese whisky’s history.   When demand was reignited around the mid-to-late 2000s, it largely came from Europe. A perfect storm caused this spike in interest, including wider interest in Japan (think Bill Murray in Lost in Translation), the resurgence of the Highball cocktail (circa 2007) and Suntory’s Yamazaki Single Malt Sherry Cask 2013 being named the world’s best in 2014 – a first for the category. Around this time, the world was also introduced to Ichiro Akuto’s highly collectable Card Series and the lost distilling icon, Karuizawa. “The mad scramble for crumbs on the Japanese whisky scene is something nobody could have predicted,” acclaimed Japanese whisky writer and Ghost Series independent bottler Stefan Van Eycken tells me. “In the space of 10 years, the situation went from being able to buy a whole range of single-cask Japanese whiskies at a big electronics chain for peanuts to bottles not even reaching the shelves of liquor stores anymore. “Even I, who had been exploring the Japanese whisky scene in the ‘dark ages’, couldn’t have predicted that,” he says matter-of-factly. “If I could have, I would have rented a van, bought up all the bottlings that were available for purchase and I could have retired by now.” Yumi Yoshikawa joined the team at Chichibu in 2013 after a two-year stint in Scotland, first working in the Highlander Inn in Craigellachie – which will require little introduction for spirits journalists or enthusiasts – and at the Bruichladdich Distillery on Islay. “People didn’t know the value of aged [Japanese] whisky back then,” Yoshikawa tells me. “Or that Japan had a long whisky history,” she adds. Somebody who was instrumental in educating the world on these two points is Marcin Miller, a man whose fortitude dragged Karuizawa out of obscurity. The genteel and thoroughly entertaining former Whisky Magazine Editor turned drinks entrepreneur, recalls the landscape when he and business partner David Croll first tasted those fateful Karuizawa single casks in the early 2000s.  “The most common complaint [from whisky enthusiasts] at the time would seem to be that it's all very well for me tasting this stuff but we never get to see any where we are in Western Europe or Northern America,” he recalls. So the two men set about changing this by buying the remaining stock from the then-lost Karuizawa, bottling it, and making it available to the masses – with resounding success. It’s a gross misapprehension – held by many – that the duo meandered into a meeting room, tasted a parcel of Karuizawa, bought it on the spot, and bottled it shortly after, grinning like Cheshire cats as the coffers swelled. In truth, it was four and a half years of negotiation and countless sleepless nights during the process. When pallets of casks from the ghost distillery in a nascent whisky market were finally shipped to them, there was no guarantee the wider whisky world would be interested. “Whatever anyone says, it really was not easy…” He trails off, transported to that time, and all the challenges the pair transversed when bringing the mature Japanese whisky from a then-unknown producer to its now almost mythic status.  Miller talks of the “extraordinary, phenomenal effect” Karuizawa had on him. Croll, Miller and acclaimed drinks writer Dave Broom – who has since quite literally written the book on Japanese whisky – initially tasted 69 single-cask Karuizawa samples. “I would have bottled any of those casks,” Miller says, a fond smile warming his face. If it hadn’t been for Croll, who had lived in Japan for 30 years and owned a successful drinks business, Miller says they likely never would have got a foot in the door at Karuizawa – or secured the exclusive distribution rights of the much-lauded Chichibu and Hanyu. “I dare say Karuizawa would have been blended away into big plastic five-litre tubs of supermarket whisky,” Miller says reticently. When Van Eycken moved to Japan around the same time as Miller and Co were negotiating the Karuizawa deal, he hadn’t even realised whisky was being produced there. Japanese whisky consumption and production were at an all-time low and the general feeling, he says, was that the whisky made in Japan was “cheap and good for getting a buzz when going out, but that the good stuff – that you would savour – was Scotch, and Bourbon, to a lesser extent”. The intrepid Van Eycken was taken aback by the quality of the long-aged liquids he sampled on his travels and couldn’t understand why this sentiment wasn’t shared domestically or further afield. When Japanese whisky’s popularity did finally begin to soar, he was perfectly placed to fill the knowledge chasm with his widely acclaimed Nonjatta website and, later, his seminal work Whisky Rising – a fully updated second edition of which came out earlier this year.  “When I wrote the original edition in 2016, there were 14 active distilleries in Japan,” he says. “Fast forward to mid-2022 and there were 41 active distilleries (and even more in the progress of getting ready to distil),” Van Eycken tells me. All of the new distilleries, he says, are attempting to follow the so-called “craft model” with a single pair of pot stills and fairly limited production. The inspiration, of course, being Ichiro Akuto and his incredible accomplishments over the past 15 years at Chichibu. “But not everyone can be an Ichiro – though most new distillers are certainly hoping to be equally successful, if not more, than Ichiro,” he adds. Several of these new distilleries are located in and around the town of Karuizawa. “My personal feeling is that it doesn’t make a lot of sense to try and compete with the legend that is the (old) Karuizawa distillery,” Van Eycken is quick to add. “The liquid that was made there turned out to be something very special, and not only by design. I have had the dubious pleasure of tasting the new-make from the old Karuizawa distillery and it was absolutely foul.  “But during the maturation process, over 20, 30, 40 years, something magical happened. Some of this can be explained, but most of it is a hermetic mystery. We simply cannot know why decades later this harsh spirit transformed into a sublime whisky (in most cases). Even if you wanted to replicate this whisky – or aspects of it – you couldn’t.  “And hoping to match the quality of the (original) Karuizawa whisky… well, it’s good to aim high but it's a bit like naming your kid Roger Federer in the hope that he would turn into a tennis player of the same calibre. Why would you want to put that sort of pressure on the kid?”  Miller is humility personified and doesn’t want to come across as a wizened cynic or, in his words, “boring old fart”, but he’s not confident that all the country’s new distilleries are set for success. “I think people are now trying to replicate the business success but without the foundation of the liquid. They are selling Japanese whisky futures but who knows what the liquid is going to be like because it's not just A + B = C.” There is a cautionary tale in the annals of Scottish whisky distilling that Japanese producers might be wise to heed. Scotch has famously fallen victim to its own success – with booms and busts resulting in whisky lakes, or lochs, that have crippled the industry and forced mass distillery closures. In so faithfully replicating Scotch, there is a real danger Japan will find itself back in the 1980s when the likes of Karuizawa were shuttered. This time, however, there would be many more casualties.      “For the time being, the Japanese whisky scene continues to be marked by an unbridled optimism,” Van Eycken adds. “Distillers price their (invariably young) whiskies very high (compared with similarly established whisky markets around the world) and consumers snap up the bottles regardless of the (sometimes unjustifiably) high prices.”  This price war is one of the reasons Miller et al sold their remaining stock of Karuizawa, which had initially been priced fairly but wasn’t the case when they left the scene. The 1960 Karuizawa, for example, which yielded 41 bottles was released circa 2014 for £12,500. Within a decade, those same bottles were easily reaching $375,000. “That's not a bad return in 10 years,” Miller says caustically. “But that's not why we did it. If that had been our motivation, we'd have just held on to it and had 41 times that.” For those still in the industry – and disciples of it – there is a real push to protect the integrity of Japanese whisky and futureproof it. Yoshikawa picks up the point, outlining that the few have muddied the water for the many: “The rapid publicity and the reputation of Japanese whisky have led to its use of excessive PR strategies, even when this is not in line with the facts of the product.” For these reasons, she is an advocate of more stringent regulations, like the ones announced by the Japan Spirits and Liqueurs Makers Association in 2021 which aims to restrict certain practices – like labelling whisky that isn’t actually from Japan as Japanese whisky – akin to those enshrined and strongly policed in Scotland. But she, like many, thinks these could go further and believe it is important to continue scrutinising the practices of the small and larger players, ensuring there is greater transparency and less “skullduggery”, as Van Eycken puts it. As the ink dries on the past 100 years of Japanese whisky, no one knows what the next century might entail – but there's plenty of excitement. The landscape will undoubtedly change once more, and new giants and legends will likely emerge. For whisky enthusiasts, the challenge – as always – will be pre-empting the plot twists and securing bottles before they become little more than folklore.  Browse all Japanese whisky or read more editorial

As Japanese whisky enters its 100th year, producers are in a mad scramble to build the next legend. Holly Motion assesses whether previous fairytale endings can be repeated – and ponders if those individuals attempting to stand on the shoulders of giants might have a great fall

Exploring the epic story of Japanese whisky – from its genesis, to rebirth and future – as it celebrates its centenary.

100 years of Japanese whisky

A modern epic: 100 years of Japanese whisky

It is hard to write the history of the future, but I hope that I am on safe ground when I say that the global pandemic of 2020 will be the defining event of the early 21st century. I say ‘hope’ because God help the human race if there is anything more defining waiting around the corner. By saying as much, I do not in any way diminish the other spectres that have haunted the dawning decades of the third millennium: among them mankind’s age-old companions, intolerance, religious fundamentalism and greed. Nevertheless, the pandemic has humbled humanity in a new and special way, combining our oldest foe, disease, with swift, easy, international travel – until recently one of the most central aspects of our technical and cultural advancement. Death and destruction, like everything else in life, are neither evenly nor democratically apportioned. Nevertheless, there can be few, if any, people on the planet whose lives have been untouched. Maybe there is a tribe of rainforest-dwelling Pygmies, cut off from what we hubristically call civilisation and which continues to exist in a state of prelapsarian Stone-Age ignorance. But the rest of us have been simultaneously confronted by our mortality, the fragility of our lives and, in many cases, the vacuity of our dreams. We reacted in different ways, retreating into what we found comforting. Some (yes, you, David Geffen) used social media to let the world know that they were safe on their yachts. Others explored the restorative powers of one of the most fundamental and symbolically domestic of rituals: baking bread. My own reaction was somewhere between these two poles. Within just a few days of the pandemic being declared in the UK, I had taken to the virtual airwaves with films – exquisitely directed by my younger son – of me smoking cigars with my elder son and dilating on the joys of the fragrant blue smoke of Havana cigars. Trivial perhaps, superfluous almost definitely, but to me immensely significant. It is hard to express the emotional impact of this activity without resorting to cliché, but then clichés tend to be clichés because there is an element of truth in them. And while the term ‘intergenerational male bonding’ is an arid form of words that traduces the emotional value of the experience, it also begins to explain its worth. But more than just finding a new way of communicating with my children, I like to feel that I am passing on something from which they can derive satisfaction; I was first inculcated into the world of the cigar by my stepfather-in-law – who splendidly encapsulated the appeal as being “the feeling of well-being” derived from learning how to wield this refined instrument of pleasure. Pleasure and well-being are the inspirations of these broadcasts (as I rather self-consciously, antediluvially, call them), and to my surprise they established a moderate but relatively enthusiastic following. Given that I am old enough to have children in their 20s, I am also old enough to regard the idea of using a telephone to make a home movie that has no actual physical presence, and that can be viewed via another intangible medium, as being pretty close to witchcraft. I find it remarkable that as many as 15,000 people – most of whom I have never met, living I know not where – tuned in to watch two men in slightly extravagant clothes (we wore safari suits, cowboy outfits, boating blazers, dinner jackets, business suits and tweeds) set fire to tubes of tobacco and try and convey a sense of the flavours they were tasting. But more than a degustatory sensation to be relayed, it was, in its way, an act of cultural transmission that in its essence is not very different to the role of say, indigent troubadours that wandered the courts of 12th and 13th century Provence, or the griots of the Mali empire of the 14th century, telling stories of noble exploits of the past. As we sat amongst its fragrant swirling wisps and gossamer tendrils; the sacred smoke of the cigar would unlock the past and liberate fragments of memory from wherever it is that memories are imprisoned and presumed forgotten. As we shared the flavour and the experience, recollections of my visits to Havana over the last quarter-century would be summoned unbidden – oxymoronic though that may sound. I remembered names of rollers, long conversations with factory directors and days spent in the fields of the plantations. I recalled meeting an ancient torcedor who had started work as a child and he remembered rolling cigars for Winston Churchill. I was reminded of a long afternoon spent on the terrace of the simple home of the late Alejandro Robaina, the Cuban tobacco farmer, whose time-furrowed face would give the pachydermic features of W.H. Auden stiff competition. He sat in his rocking chair and retrieved his own memories of how the climate had changed over the course of a generation, and of the taste of his first cigar, enjoyed before the age of 10 during the 1920s. However imperfectly, I was able to transmit these memories to my children in a setting and an atmosphere that made those memories theirs too. It is the associative power of the cigar to stimulate memory that raises it beyond the mere intake of nicotine, and instead elevates it to the level of a cultural activity. Proust had his madeleine and I have my cigar. I pick the cigar because it has been a personal comfort during a difficult time, but the same can be said to be true of any skill-laden and ritual-rich activity that is passed from generation to generation. I enjoy traditionally made clothes and I find the idea appealing that many hands contribute to the making of a single garment. It may be better-made than its ready-to-wear counterpart, it is likely to last longer and fit better – but these are only the tangible aspects. At the risk of sounding pretentious, there is what one might call a spiritual element to having clothes made. There is something uniquely appealing about clothes that have been made only for you and it is an appeal to which I succumbed almost 40 years ago. I first got into having clothes made for me long before I could afford it, when, as an undergraduate at Oxford, I fell under the spell of a charming old tailor called Stamp, Mr Stamp to his friends. He was a fabulous old boy with a shop on Broad Street, or The Broad as I believe we were encouraged to call it at the time, just down from Castell where he had started as an apprentice half a century earlier during the 1930s. He made me a pair of trousers, a blazer and few other items including several remarkable waistcoats. One of the best moments came when I took in a 50-year-old, double-breasted waistcoat for him to copy. He looked at it, examined a label sewn into the underside of the backstrap, peered at the stitching around the buttonholes, and then told me that the garment had been made for a well-known Spitfire test pilot, gave me the price of the fabric per yard in 1936 and – most impressive of all – informed me of the name of the man who had stitched the buttonholes.  My first shoemaker Eric Cook also beguiled me when he took a look at a pair of Lobb correspondent shoes, turned them over and was able to identify the man who had finished them because of the slightly elliptical curvature of the heel and the spacing of the nails.  For me, such knowledge is just as impressive as that of the connoisseur who can identify a long-lost masterpiece by examining the brushstrokes and the state of the canvas or wooden panel on which the paint was laid. But, unlike the admiration of an acknowledged masterpiece by a globally renowned artistic genius, the quality of such pleasures is more personal and, arguably, more meaningful. It was Franz Liszt who said, “A good Cuban cigar closes the door to the vulgarities of life,” but the same is true of the contemplation of a well-sewn buttonhole, or the anglage of a well-finished watch movement. Such pleasures may be only fleetingly experienced, but I would argue they are all the more precious for their intimacy: watches and clothes are worn on the body, the cigar is consumed – becoming in some way part of the body and stimulating the mind. These are things that ornament life, that raise the quotidian to the memorable and that transcend the disagreeable nature of too much of life today. I suppose that this is what is meant by ‘luxury’. I had been hoping to get to Paris to catch an exhibition, at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, devoted to the controversial subject of luxury, mounted under the aegis of my friend Pierre-Alexis Dumas, creative director of Hermès, who understands the field better than most. “While the luxury object resists definition by any single concept, drawing instead on shifting, eclectic visions, we might nonetheless agree that it possesses one distinctive characteristic above all others,” he told me. It is, he believes, “an object we keep, respect and cherish, one that archaeological discoveries across the globe reveal as speaking timelessly to us, its human power undimmed, resonant with distant emotions. Today, at a time when luxury seems to hold omnipresent status, in the media and in social networks, it is perhaps pertinent to recall that the luxury object is precisely one that is preserved and passed on – a magnificent, enduring conduit of culture and knowledge, bearing witness to human ingenuity.” The overuse of the word ‘luxury’ has led to its trivialisation, but there is a sense in which the pandemic has helped me transmit to my children something of my view of its true meaning. In a world of ever abbreviated communication, the chance to spend time in contemplation of what I love with those I love has been a gift – and the suspension of the ceaseless restless turmoil that we regard as normality, has shorn many so-called luxury items of their status-conferring function, allowing us to see them for what they are, to winnow the impostor from the authentic. I hope that I have conveyed, however clumsily, what it is that I appreciate, and uncovered something of the culture and values that make them important to me. My sons are fascinating people, their company is genuinely instructive for me, I see things anew through their eyes and this in turn has added further richness to life’s pleasures: not just appreciating the intrinsic qualities of, say a cigar or a suit, but in enhancing that appreciation by seeing it reflected in my children. It is a powerful combination of culture, emotion and enjoyment. Whether a vessel of personal memory, a conduit for the great values of humanity, or a bulwark against the deadening combination of fear and tedium of recent months: the superfluous, to misquote Voltaire ever so slightly, has seldom been so necessary. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

Writer and author Nicholas Foulkes considers the notion of transmitting cultural knowledge and enthusiasms from one generation to the next – and how finding joy in the seemingly trivial details of the objects he values has brought him closer to his sons. 

Photography by Julian Broad.

Nicholas Foulkes considers the notion of transmitting cultural knowledge and enthusiasms from one generation to the next.

FONDATA: Foulkes & Sons 

Foulkes & Sons  

Rome’s Baths of Caracalla fell into ruin in the 6th century. This illustrated reconstruction appeared in Hutchinson’s History of the Nations, published in 1915. Credit: Classic Images (Alamy Stock Photo). It took a shock to the system on the scale of the Covid-19 pandemic to demonstrate how much our lives can be reshaped by the humblest of objects. When restaurants, hotels, cafés and night clubs have all been closed for months on end – and when we are excluded even from each other’s homes – then park benches and patio heaters become stand-ins for the more elaborate architecture of everyday life that usually enable the interactions we depend on to function as social beings. For much of 2020, only the most rudimentary tools for conviviality were left to us. This works better at some times, than others. On a warm sunny day, all it takes to create an instant convivial space is a bench. This simple structure is the means for people to meet, share a view, a conversation, and perhaps a picnic. Add a back, arms, and a USB charger plus a Wi-Fi connection to the bench, and the proposition grows layers of complexity. It has become a people-attractor and a conversation starter too. This last year has helped us to understand better how to appreciate, through their absence, the things that make us the most human: being together, sharing food, drink and conversation, and marking the key moments in life. While we were forced into isolation, our attempts to replicate some of these experiences, with the use of a screen and a fitful broadband connection, showed us how inadequate they inevitably are. The experience suggests that social change, when it comes, is about an acceleration of what already exists – more than it is about a complete reinvention. Buying more online than we ever did in department stores is going to be a permanent shift. Some of us are less likely to fly to Australia for 24 hours for a business meeting than we were in 2019. But there are other things that will not change. We will still want to celebrate birthdays and weddings in the company of others. We will always want to meet our friends and look for chances to make new ones. And we enjoy doing all those things in the kind of spaces and places that make the most of the moment, which can make the seemingly routine into an occasion. Even at the basic level of the park bench, there are nuances to deal with. Chatting side by side is not the same experience as a face-to-face conversation. However, for some people, direct eye contact is as aggressive as an all-caps text message. It is why a walk in the park can be the best way to share a secret, and why Sigmund Freud conducted his consultations from behind the back of his couch. What we sit on is as significant as how we sit. In the average western living room in the 1960s, the armchair was the seat of power, occupied by family patriarchs. The matriarch, if she was lucky, got a slightly smaller version to herself. The sofa was designed in the same style, just large enough for two, and was for the use of supplicant sons-in-law. As the domestic world has expanded, so the sofa has taken on the dominant role over every other piece of domestic furniture. Sofas have been getting bigger for some time and are now reaching the size of lifeboats. They’re expected to cope with everything from conversation to work, assuming multiple roles as stand-in dining table, desk and bed. Social spaces, from the most intimate scale to the grandest, form an essential part of both our personal domestic worlds – in which we share our privacy with a selected group of friends and family – and the public one that we all share. It is a scaled sequence that runs all the way from a candlelit interior with a couple of chairs, a plain wooden table with two wine glasses, to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan, which, with its heroic iron-roofed arcade, has a strong claim to be regarded as the mother of all shopping malls. When it opened in 1877, the newly empowered bourgeoisie (in their straw boaters and stiff detachable collars) took to it as the setting for their daily promenades on the way to and from the Duomo, Milan’s cathedral, where they celebrated Mass, or en route to a performance of a Verdi opera at La Scala. Stopping to take coffee and pastries, they would meet each other for an aperitif at Biffi or dinner at Savini, and explore the exotic wares that the shops in the Galleria had to offer. As futurist artist Umberto Boccioni demonstrated in his painting from 1910, Riot in the Galleria, there was a darker side to such spaces. He portrayed the agitated response of a turbulent crowd of well-dressed spectators to the sudden violence of a fight between two women – sex workers perhaps. The disturbing scene, depicted in pointilliste style (and based on an incident that actually took place), is bathed in lurid electric light, evoking the frenzied atmosphere of this giant outdoor room and its extraordinary impact on the behaviour of a mass society. An unintended consequence of the lockdown has been the enforcement of the monogamy-based model of the nuclear family. It made the year particularly difficult for all those who don’t subscribe to it. We will need places we can dress up for again, places we can show off in, even places in which we can behave badly. The painting is, in some senses, a reminder that urban life is essentially about tolerance. Complex spaces have always been a vital part of urban life. Almost 2,000 years ago, the Romans built the Baths of Caracalla on a lavish scale, with three separate pools, libraries and gymnasia – and gardens large enough to accommodate 1,600 people at a time in comfort. Its mosaic and marble floors, its frescoes and sculptures made it one of Rome’s essential landmarks, not only as a monument to the glory of the emperor who built it – though it certainly was that – but also as a place to be used by people, day and night. Its magnificence, and the sense of the joy of a great shared civic space, inspired the American architect Charles McKim when he designed New York’s Pennsylvania Station, one the most sublime railway stations ever built. The central waiting room, barbarously destroyed 50 years after it opened, was a convincing recreation of the baths of Caracalla that lifted the spirits of anyone who passed through it. The months of isolation have taught us how important shared spaces of all kinds are to the way that we live. They are the places in which we meet each other to celebrate the important rituals of life, as well as to pursue the seemingly trivial (actually essential) compulsion to gossip about one another. As an essentially self-conscious species, we need alibis to give ourselves permission to be convivial. We construct reasons to meet each other, like the 19th century clubs of Pall Mall, or their democratic paraphrase – with its provision of gender segregation, and games room, and its mix of intimacy and ceremony – the Victorian pub full of mirrors and cut glass. Or in today’s context, a bowling alley configured to allow players and their friends to sit at a table, order food and drinks, and watch each other play, and to hear each other converse. Some public spaces do better at conviviality than others. The Las Vegas casino, for example, is designed to be the opposite of convivial. Slot machines on an industrial scale obviate the need for any form of human interaction. With its glass dome, and 25 miles of bookshelves, the old round reading room at the British Museum is certainly a very special space, although it has now lost its intellectual raison d’être and has become a dead monument. In its day, a reader’s ticket conferred membership of an exclusive club that included Oscar Wilde, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, and George Orwell. But as the museum’s insistence on silence suggests – beyond unspoken flirtation over the book stacks – it was not a place that was fundamentally about conviviality. The Berghain Club, the raw, concrete world capital of techno music based in a redundant power station in Friedrichshain, in what was once East Berlin, is another very different kind of public space, and – in its own way – an equally spectacular social space. It has a pickier door policy than the British Museum but a similarly committed membership. In this case, the limit on conviviality is not silence, but the sheer volume of sound that makes the 18-metre-high main spaces vibrate, and which makes conversation inconceivable. A truly convivial space needs to work on multiple levels, to offer a variety of zones, some of which can encourage concentration, and others that can be distracting. Some may be more intimate than others. It’s a drive that is leading to an interesting range of cross-fertilisation. Cinemas that serve food more ambitious than popcorn and hot dogs are being equipped with sofas instead of tip-up seats. Health spas come with restaurants. However, not all convivial spaces encourage multiple uses. Orchestration and control are part of the experience at those English clubs that frown on members showing any signs of working, to the extent of asking them to put away notebook and pencil – never mind laptops – over lunch. Some aspects of what we have learned from the last year will colour life well into the future. The private dining room is a long-standing restaurant tradition, which has been given a new lease of life. We can also expect to see signs of change in the workplace. The Silicon Valley model has aspired to look as domestic as possible, furnished with sofas and kitchen tables, surrounded by vintage and deliberately non-matching chairs. A year of working at home is likely to encourage a more formal environment. But while we continually try to find new tools to make conviviality possible, the objectives remain the same. In a year in which all our assumptions about how we live together have been turned upside down, the world’s designers and architects have had to face the challenge of how to deal with the impact of the pandemic on our homes and our cities. As city centres empty out, and people avoid crowds, how can we find ways to socialise? 
Deyan Sudjic asked four leading designers and architects to explore the future directions that conviviality can take for FONDATA. John Pawson Architect John Pawson has always focused on the idea of designing the architecture of conviviality. In his recently released Home Farm Cooking book, produced with his wife Catherine and published by Phaidon, we see what matters most. Every Pawson interior is designed with how it will feel to use it in mind – is it to be enjoyed by somebody on their own, or with others? He takes away the distractions and lets us focus on how we use and feel in a room. He makes some spaces in which to read and to concentrate, others in which to share the preparation of a meal, and yet another to enjoy the result in company. Intrinsic in his philosophy is the importance of creating a setting where one can appreciate light at different times of the day – whether it is the shades of white as revealed by degrees of sunlight or the warming effect of firelight by night. johnpawson.com AB Rogers Ab Rogers was inspired by the spontaneous street life of the neighbourhood in 
East London in which he lives and works to come up with a range of furniturelike structures to give social spontaneity a helping hand. “Whether it’s planned 
or serendipitous, we wanted to design a set of colourful pieces that could help 
to turn a momentary catch-up on the street into an impromptu drinks party, 
anchored by a tuned-up bollard. Or make a surprise anniversary dinner possible 
under a street lamp … or make a breath of fresh air turn into a long lunch with 
new friends at a long table under the trees.”  abrogers.com Paloma Strelitz Paloma Strelitz, an architect, and co-founder of the Turner Prize winning 
collective Assemble, took an overview of how shopping streets might recover 
from lockdown, to generate new life: “convivial, accessible, sustainable and 
enjoyable for all”. The experience of negotiating streets in which precautions 
against the pandemic had caused restaurants and food shops to migrate to 
the pavement, made her think about ways to make this a permanent quality.
“It’s an opportunity to empower local business. Shops could open their 
facades to the street, creating an expanded space of public interaction, and 
daily theatre.” She would keep the car in its place, with priority for pedestrians and bikes, 
and banned altogether at weekends. What were once parking places would 
become green borders, combining play space, raised planters, flower beds 
and trees, allowing the street to become a promenade. Meanwhile the street 
would be animated not just by cafés, but studios and workshops putting the 
making process on show. Oh, and a mobile bar too.  assemblestudio.co.uk Jon Marshall  Jon Marshall, an industrial design partner at Pentagram in London, found himself 
thinking about ways to bring together two very different kinds of object: a hamper, 
designed to carry utensils food and drink securely, and a shooting stick. “They 
aren’t really about shooting,” he explains. “The shooting stick is actually a very 
convenient way of carrying the means to sit anywhere with you.”  The hamper allows for the sense of anticipation that comes from preparing for 
a pleasurable occasion. The two objects have very different aesthetics – one is 
vaguely mechanical, the other has a kind and rustic quality. For Marshall, the idea 
of the shared walk – with the chance of stopping for a picnic – is the very essence 
of conviviality. pentagram.com/about/jon-marshall This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

The past year has seen a huge change in our ability to interact, and opportunities to be social. Deyan Sudjic considers the importance of conviviality for human beings – and the public spaces we design.

Deyan Sudjic considers the importance of conviviality for human beings – and the public spaces we design.

FONDATA: The Importance of Being Convivial

The Importance of Being Convivial  

Stefano Vegis

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