It’s 20 years since Eduardo Chadwick gathered some of Europe’s most famous wine writers for a blind tasting – one to rival the famous 1976 Judgement of Paris (when California proved its wines could compete with – and beat – France’s best). Chadwick was convinced that critics were underestimating Chilean wines – for no reason other than snobbery against the nation. The Berlin Tasting pitched Chadwick’s top wines (Viñedo Chadwick, Seña and Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve) against Bordeaux’s First Growths and a lone Super Tuscan (Antinori’s Solaia). Chadwick charged the late Steven Spurrier with running the event. “I never imagined that what happened was about to happen,” Chadwick tells me. To his and everyone else’s amazement, the 2000 Viñedo Chadwick took the top spot, followed by 2001 Seña, then 2000 Ch. Lafite Rothschild, and 2000 Ch. Margaux – tied equally in fourth place with 2000 Seña. Finally, there was proof that Chile’s wines deserved a place on the world stage.  But, for Chadwick, one watershed moment wasn’t enough. He repeated the tasting, first in São Paulo, then Tokyo – and onward, hosting the same blind tasting 22 times around the world, all with similarly spectacular results for his wines. It takes nerves of steel – and a certain amount of ego – to be willing to risk repeating such a tasting, and yet Chadwick was justly rewarded. His campaign is just one way in which he has forged a path for fine, Chilean wine – with a relentless, dogged determination.  Chadwick is the fifth generation of his family to make wine in Chile. Don Maximiano Errázuriz emigrated from the Basque country and was the first to plant vines in the Aconcagua Valley in 1870. He identified the location, 100km north of Santiago, with its cool ocean breezes, hot summers and rainy winters, as perfect for growing grapes. Operating under the motto of, “from the best land, the best wine”, he planted vines in this idyllic site, near Panquehue, and built a winery – that still stands today.  Gradually, the business grew – and it became the largest vineyard in the world owned by an individual, with 1,300 hectares under vine at its peak in the late 19th century. Despite this early prosperity, Chile’s wine industry didn’t continue to thrive. There was no export market and domestic consumption (which reached up to 80 litres per capita annually) was slashed by severe taxation, while political and economic turbulence, with communist then military rule, put not just the industry, but nation, in crisis. By the early 1980s, wine was cheaper than water and around half of the nation’s vines were ripped out.  It was onto this unstable scene that Eduardo Chadwick arrived. He had initially trained as an industrial engineer before deciding to focus on wine instead, going to study in Bordeaux under the legendary oenologist Emile Peynaud. His father bought the family winery back from the banks, and Chadwick started dusting away the cobwebs, re-opening Viña Errázuriz and – armed with new, technical knowledge – made the first vintage of Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve, the property’s flagship wine, in 1984. The operation was still rudimentary – with rauli vats (a native hardwood), no temperature control and pergola vines planted on the fertile flats – but it was an early indication of what was possible. Tasting the wine four decades later, it’s held up remarkably well – with surprising vibrancy on the nose and a chiselled, savoury profile of pure Cabernet Sauvignon.  Gradually, Chadwick invested in equipment – stainless steel tanks, modern presses and barrels – and started to plant vineyards on slopes with poorer soils. Alongside this shift, pivotal elections in 1989 saw Chile become a democracy once more – and key figures from the world of wine visited. Soon entry-level wines were being exported by the likes of Oddbins and Victoria Wine. The doors had opened for Chilean wine. Robert Mondavi visited Chadwick in 1991 – and the two men hit it off, sharing an unrelenting drive to push their industry forward, and Mondavi recognised in Chile the potential he had seen in Napa in the 1960s. He knew that his partnership with Ch. Mouton Rothschild (Opus One) had been key to changing Napa’s reputation – and the duo hoped that their own joint venture might do the same for Chile: Seña (literally meaning “signal”) was born. Bob’s son, Tim Mondavi worked with Chadwick on the project and suggested looking for a site closer to the coast in the Aconcagua Valley, in search of even greater finesse, producing the first vintage in 1995.  And Chadwick didn’t stop there. His father had purchased an estate in the Alto Maipo in 1945, home to a polo field (Eduardo’s father, Alfonso, had captained the Chilean team for years). In 1992, Chadwick convinced his father to let him transform the polo field – with its pure gravel soils and 15˚C diurnal swing – into a vineyard, feeling it was perfect for Cabernet Sauvignon. Alfonso died the following year, but the first vintage of this project – Viñedo Chadwick, named in honour of his father – was made in 1999.   Chadwick knew the wines were good – but convincing the world of that fact was the challenge. He’s clear that Chile made a major error in churning out great-value, entry-level wines – good, but not fine wines – a price-point that came to define the nation. “That’s why it was very difficult to convince the audience that we can also produce world-class wines,” says Chadwick. “Chile had no recognition. We had no ratings, no Parker points, no Suckling points.” And so he set about changing that with the Berlin Tasting.  With that event’s market-shifting results (then echoed around the world), he’d created momentum for change. A decade later, he went on to break through another boundary: the 2014 Viñedo Chadwick became the first Chilean wine to earn 100 points (from James Suckling). Just last year, the 2021 vintage was the first Chilean wine rated 100 points by the Wine Advocate. When I sat down with him March this year, it was at an event paying tribute to the two decades that have passed since the Berlin Tasting – featuring early vintages from each estate, and their greatest successes. The 1998 Seña was a particular standout – a cool vintage that today is perfumed, elegant, bright and effortlessly long. Any doubters of Chilean wine were instantly quieted. And, as with the Berlin tasting, the event was being replicated around the globe – the campaign to champion Chilean wine never ending.  When Chadwick started in 1983, Viña Errázuriz had just 10 hectares of vineyard. Today, across their estates, Chadwick farms 900 hectares of vines. He bought out his siblings years ago, when he found they were more interested in dividends than growing and investing in the business. Now three of his four daughters are working alongside him – excited by the potential of coastal sites (where they make the Las Pizarras wines) and a new sparkling project. There has been no shortage of challenges along the way, but they’ve only fuelled Chadwick’s relentless pursuit of recognition for Chile and its wines. “Where we are today is beyond my wildest dreams,” he tells me, and yet it’s only because of his tireless ambition that Chilean wine has made it to this point. Fortunately, it looks like his children have inherited his determination – ready to rule over the next chapter of this epic story.  Explore all listings of Viña Errázuriz, Seña and Viñedo Chadwick or read more about Chile 

In the last 40 years, Eduardo Chadwick has single-handedly forged a place for Chile in the fine wine arena. Two decades after the pivotal Berlin Tasting, Sophie Thorpe sat down with the man himself to explore his legacy – and what lies ahead 

20 years after the Berlin Tasting, we sit down with Eduardo Chadwick – the man that created Chile’s first icon wines, Sena, Vinedo Chadwick and Errazuriz

Championing Chile – Eduardo Chadwick

Championing Chile: Eduardo Chadwick

When Au Bon Climat founder Jim Clendenen unexpectedly passed away on 15th May 2021, aged just 68, there was an outpouring of sorrow. FONDATA’s Gavin Lucas considers how the one-of-a-kind bon vivant shaped Santa Barbara and California’s wine scene today

Gavin Lucas looks back on the life and times of Jim Clendenen, California’s original wild boy and a pioneer of fine Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in Santa Barbara

The legacy of Jim Clendenen – Au Bon Climat

The legacy of Au Bon Climat’s Jim Clendenen

In 1991, Jean-Luc Thunevin made the first vintage of Valandraud. In the workshop next to his house, he produced just 100 cases of wine from tiny yields, de-stemming and punching it down by hand and ageing it in 100% new French oak. Although it didn’t have a name yet, the garagiste movement had been born.  As the Super Tuscans had in Italy, these maverick bottlings, operating outside the official classification, rocked the world of wine – especially in the conservative heartland of Bordeaux. At the same time, the likes of Harlan and Colgin were starting to prove the power of Cabernet Sauvignon in Napa. Meanwhile on the East Coast, a lawyer called Robert Parker had already gathered a loyal following for his newsletter, offering independent advice and a novel scoring system. The internet was just getting started. Everything in the world of wine was changing.  “In the 1990s there was formidable energy and consumers who were ready to accept something new,” says Thunevin. But the Bordeaux wine trade was stuck in the Middle Ages, he says; it was aristocratic, closed – and one reason why the garagistes, a collection of outsiders, caused quite such a stir. Thunevin himself had been in banking, while Jonathan Maltus (Le Dôme) was a British businessman and Stephan von Neipperg (La Mondotte) a German interloper. With the challenging conditions of 1991, the first vintage of Valandraud had little impact. He made a tiny volume of red, and then a rosé de saignée that he gave away to friends. “L’histoire, c’est ’92,” Thunevin tells me, almost whimsically. The wine, a product of much more favourable growing conditions, put him on the map. “I created a revolution,” he says today. The 1991 Valandraud was released to négociants for 13€; the 2022 came out at 118€.  It was Michel Bettane who coined the term “vin de garage”, sneeringly suggesting that these new-fangled wines could be made in someone’s garage. But, as Jean-Luc Thunevin told me, “By talking about me, they made me exist.” Without such outrage from wine’s more traditional core, the garagistes likely wouldn’t have had the same success. Combine Bettane’s throwaway comment with the rise of garage music in the US and UK, and the movement gained an accidental cool-factor – but that’s all changed now.  “I don’t think anybody wants to admit they were a garagiste anymore,” Jonathan Maltus – the Englishman who created Le Dôme in 1996 – says. He looks back on the time with relative fondness, however. He’d arrived in Bordeaux in 1994, buying Ch. Teyssier, having sold his petrochemical business and decided after a stint in Cahors that he needed to be in the “Formula One” of wine, making for Bordeaux. It was an English wine merchant who told him how a single-vineyard Pomerol called Le Pin was causing a stir – one of a handful of “cuvée wines” that were becoming incredibly popular. As a canny businessman, he decided to give it a go himself.  “It was really exciting – and there was no budget,” Maltus says frankly, explaining how the movement rapidly became a game of one-upmanship. They would instantly snap up any new machinery or equipment, pushing their concepts further and further to out-do each other. Green-harvesting and picking only the ripest berries in multiple passes was de rigueur; the vines often stripped of their leaves to expose the fruit to the sunshine and maximise ripeness (something climate change has put paid to). Yields were consistently low, with over 30hl/ha considered too much to produce the requisite concentration. Maltus explains how the introduction of double-sorting and cold-soaking was radical – both expensive tools, with the latter requiring protective gas and the ability to chill tanks. He would put the wine into one set of new French oak barrels for malolactic fermentation, before transferring the wine to another batch of new oak for ageing. The resulting wines were bold, rich and lavish. “I like to think of it as a kind of Vivienne Westwood period,” Maltus says.  Ask any of the garagistes who inspired them and they’ll point to, among others, Le Pin. Although owner Jacques Thienpont firmly believes Le Pin is not – and never was – a garage wine; he feels that it is sometimes mistakenly seen as one because it was so successful at the time. Ironically, the wine was originally made in a garage, from just one hectare of vines. It was the sensuality of the wine that inspired Jean-Luc Thunevin, he tells me. He visited Le Pin several times and Thienpont told him that wine was all about the quality of the soil, rather than winemaking. “In the cellar, there are no secrets,” Thienpont says. Thienpont wasn’t Thunevin’s only advisor; Alain Vauthier of Ausone happened to be a school friend, and helped the amateur winemaker.  This tension between terroir and technique is at the heart of the garagiste movement. Jean-Luc Thunevin tells me how Valandraud was not a garage wine, but a “garden wine” – from 300 vines he planted on 0.6 hectares, a single site captured in 300 bottles. For Stephan von Neipperg, who made the first vintage of La Mondotte in 1996, from 4.5 hectares, “It’s a terroir… without an outstanding terroir, you cannot make an outstanding wine.” The garagistes, in his mind, by contrast were about “making the wine easier to understand – round, ripe, sometimes too ripe, extracted” – it’s a term he assigns to the likes of Ch. Gracia – first made in 1997, in a back-alley of Saint-Emilion.  Whether you are convinced these wines were true expressions of site or not, they were a direct contrast to the Médoc Classed Growths – where vast swathes of land were used to create a blend each year. Was it a reaction to the Left Bank’s dependence on blending, maybe even a complacency? Perhaps, but it was also a consequence of what each of them could afford; none of them, at first, had the cash to buy any more land. Thunevin’s methodology, for example, wasn’t idealistic; he had to do everything by hand because he didn’t have a tractor or any other equipment, splurging on new barrels alone, and turning a profit for the first time only in 1995.  It’s hard to untangle the movement from Parker’s influence – but few of the early renditions earned the big scores one expects and associates with these vins de garage. Le Dôme, for example, only earned 100 points in 2010 – long after Maltus had started reining in the style, La Mondotte in 2009. Although 1992 Valandraud kickstarted the movement, Parker only gave it 87-88 points when he first rated it in February 1994. Time blurs lines, inevitably – and, although it’s undeniable that Parker’s palate aligned with plush, polished styles, the truth around his influence is more complicated.   “We realised that the whole thing was just becoming a parody of itself,” Maltus says. He points to 2002 a real turning point, but it was only from 2008 that he stopped double oaking, reduced the proportion of new oak to 80%, and more recently started picking earlier. It’s the same across the spectrum, with many of these rebel estates now part of the formal classification system – absorbed into the establishment.  The instigator Jean-Luc Thunevin was branded Bordeaux’s “bad boy” for having challenged the status quo. It’s a reputation that he worked hard to keep – continually pushing forward (indeed, he even makes wine under the Bad Boy name today). Asking what prompted him to create Valandraud – and make it so differently, he says, “I have always been out of my mind. I always wanted to do things that were a bit shocking.”  Today, Bordeaux has more competitors than ever before, with a world of fine wine that is now truly global. Thunevin feels it’s a region in crisis – in need of another bad boy to take the baton. He was an outsider with nothing but a romantic dream of making wine. Whether you like what he did or not, he changed Bordeaux for good. “Les rêves sont nécessaires à notre équilibre,” he tells me – dreams are essential for our balance. The garage movement was just one chapter in Bordeaux’s lengthy history, but perhaps it’s time for another wave of disruptors – after all, they may just be the key to its long-term survival.  Browse all Bordeaux listings or read more about Bordeaux 

When it comes to wine, little has changed in Bordeaux for centuries – but in the 1990s a group of outsiders shook things up: the garagistes. Sophie Thorpe talks to three of the movement’s leading figures about its legacy – and what it means for Bordeaux today

Talking to Valandraud, Le Dome, La Mondotte and Le Pin about Bordeaux’s garagiste movement and what it means for Bordeaux today

The legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

Disrupt and disturb: the legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

Unlike many wine-lovers, I came across Occidental before Kistler. I worked for a company that imported some of its early vintages – and they were like nothing I’d ever tasted. These translucent Pinot Noirs glimmered, but their pastel-pale shade was nothing but a nudge and wink at the Burgundies that inspired them. Aromatics leapt from the glass – floral and febrile, but it was the vivid, intense, crystalline purity of the palate that I found so beguiling. Seeing where these wines are made – on the brink of the Pacific, where ocean breezes lash at the vines, and thick fog grasps the dramatic, undulating landscape – only made them all the more enchanting. Even today, 18 years after Steve Kistler first put down vines here, the region is sparsely planted – with Occidental one of a handful of pioneers of the outer reaches of the Sonoma Coast. The area was long deemed too cold to ripen fruit, with dairy the main industry – and fields of grazing cattle and sheep are still interspersed with plots of vines. Occidental’s vineyards – now 85 acres in total – now neighbour those of Platt, Littorai and Joseph Phelps’s Quarter Moon site, sitting at 500 feet above sea level – a modest altitude when you consider some of Napa’s mountain districts have parcels above 2,000 feet. But it’s their proximity to the ocean (which is just five miles away) that makes the climate here so cool – and damp. Leaf-pulling and spraying are key to managing disease pressure – unfortunately making organic farming almost impossible. “We want the purity of fruit to shine,” Catherine (Cate) Kistler says. She joined her father, Steve, six years ago, working as his Assistant Winemaker – just one element that makes the venture a true family business. Not in the way that Walmart or Ford are a family business, but in the hand-to-mouth, everyone-mucks-in, this-is-both-their-livelihood-and-legacy kind of way. It’s a “tight little universe” where they work, live and farm, Cate explains. This is one reason that Steve stepped away from the iconic winery that he’d created in 1978 – Kistler had shifted and grown, becoming something larger than he’d ever anticipated, or necessarily wanted.  Kistler had humble beginnings – with Steve making the wines in what was essentially a wooden shack, and living upstairs. That building – up in the Mayacamas – was consumed by the fires in 2020, and today Kistler works with around 300 acres (including their own vines and those farmed by growers for them). The investment of Bill Price (a man whose first major move in the wine industry was buying, and later selling, Beringer) has added further gloss to a winery that has become one of California’s cult names. If that makes it sound like there’s been wholesale change, that’s far from the truth – a clear succession plan has ensured only the gentlest of evolutions at Kistler, and ensured the producer maintains its position at the top. Jason Kesner – who describes himself as a “vine and yeast shepherd” – is the man at the helm today. He joined the team in 2008 (aged 40), working alongside Steve for close to a decade before taking the reins.  Although born on the East Coast, Kesner grew up around wine. He moved out to California aged eight, where his mother had taken a job as Head Microbiologist at Robert Mondavi, and his soon-to-be stepfather worked as VP of Vineyard Operations – the smells and sounds of a working winery firmly familiar. Despite his early initiation to the industry, he studied cultural anthropology and left both the area and industry. He was eventually lured back, working first for Francis Ford Coppola (the man behind Inglenook’s revival), but in a non-wine role – managing his special projects. Via Coppola’s poker games, Kesner connected with Pat Kuleto and ended up planting vineyards for him, before finding himself at Hudson (his “graduate school for Chardonnay production”). This prestigious name features on bottles from the likes of Aubert, Kongsgaard, Cakebread, Failla and Ramey – and Kesner got to work with all of them, growing top-tier fruit for 34 clients, including Steve Kistler. And Steve was different. He was, Kesner says, “very, very focused”, “hyper-intelligent, borderline genius” and – along with his business partner, the late Mark Bixler – thought about things on a different level. When the duo started Kistler in the 1970s, working with a single clone and single sites, no one else was doing it – with his unparalleled energy and intent, Steve created something profound. Although Kesner had already worked closely with Steve at Hudson, it was only when he arrived at Kistler in 2008 that he realised how differently Steve operated. “I had jumped into a different timeline and a different pace,” Kesner tells me. “Steve and I had conversations that, quite literally, spanned years.” These conversations would be picked up each vintage, just a handful of sentences on a topic expressed until the next season. For Kesner, this long-term vision was what set Kistler apart: “It’s not about the people who are doing it at the moment. It’s about everything that’s come before and it’s about everything that will come after.” The Kistler evolution has been slow, but it has happened – past their phase of “embracing the cocaine ’90s” (“If you weren’t, you weren’t paying attention,” Kesner says), with a shift toward earlier picking, native ferments and reduction in new oak (from 50% down to around 38% across the range today) – but without sacrificing the seductive, silken style that defines their Chardonnay. “Our job is to polish the jewel,” Kesner says. “The diamond doesn’t need to be re-cut.” The vines are also gradually gaining in age (currently averaging a spritely 35 years), which is only improving the wines further. Kesner is continuing Steve’s work and the philosophy remains true to the original concept. “The best and highest use of a given site is when you're guiding it, not driving it,” he says, pointing to Mother Nature (rather than Bill Price) as the ultimate boss. He loathes the title “winemaker” – fully aware that it’s an entire team behind Kistler. “There are 56 people who are dedicated to the production of these wines. They’re out there pruning in January and then they’re going to be out there picking for this year in October. And it’s because of that really powerful group of people that we’re able to do what we do.” Meanwhile, out on the coast, Steve is continuing his own quest for terroir. Occidental, Cate tells me, is all about exploring “what this ridge means”. The yields at Occidental, overlooking the Pacific, are tiny, maxing out at around two tons/acre. The work is painstaking, with careful canopy management and spraying to avoid mildews, and steep slopes that need to be hand-hoed to manage the weeds. And, as at Kistler, the Pinot Noirs here are all made identically – so it is the site, rather than hand of the maker, that shines through. Be that though it may, it takes exceptional talent to make wines like this. “[Steve] is yet again 30 years ahead of everybody in California,” Kesner says. “It might take the American palate a while to catch up with them, but I firmly believe those will be recognised as some of the best Pinot Noirs in the world. Hands down.” Steve’s an elusive character – and seems happiest tucked away in his remote corner of the Sonoma Coast, away from the limelight. “He’s not a man of many words,” Kesner says, although suggests that working with Cate has drawn him out of his shell a little. Cate talks about him unsurprisingly lovingly, but doesn’t shy away from admitting there are challenges to the “weird and wonderful world” of family business. Harvard-educated, she’s quick-witted and sharp, and has clearly inherited her father’s passion for wine. Not only is he clearly deeply embedded in everything Occidental, but his interest goes beyond vine-growing, with what I suspect is an enviable collection of his own, from the alluring line-ups of Grand Cru Burgundy that I’ve glimpsed on Cate’s Instagram. It takes something rather extraordinary to be willing to give up your name, to start from scratch, all over again, with a new winery and new vineyards. But there’s a reason that his longtime vineyard manager (Ruben Molinar) and cellar master (Raymundo Abarca) left Kistler with Steve in 2017; and it’s a tribute to the man. Now Molinar and Abarca’s children are working alongside Steve’s – and the family is growing. But Cate and Steve don’t want to create Kistler 2.0. They’re developing another ranch, but they don’t want the project to become so big that they’re no longer doing most of the work themselves (“We’ve seen that movie,” Cate jests). The first vintage of Occidental was only 2011, but the wines are already making their mark. Steve’s legacy at Kistler lives on, safely being shepherded by Kesner and his team, but it’s also being re-born at Occidental, and set to be carried forward by Cate. “Wine is my dad’s world,” Cate tells me. And it’s quite a world – one that anyone tasting his wines is fortunate to be part of. Browse all Occidental and Kistler listings, or read more about California

Kistler’s Chardonnays are the stuff of legend – but now Steve Kistler has a new project, Occidental, crafting Pinot Noir on the outer reaches of the Sonoma Coast. Sophie Thorpe explores the winemaker’s legacy and these two very special estates

Kistler Chardonnay is the stuff of legend – but now Steve has a new project, Occidental. We explore his legacy and the two special Sonoma wine estates today

Kistler & Occidental – site expression in Sonoma

In pursuit of Sonoma’s true identity: Kistler and Occidental

Much has been written about Promontory. The property was discovered by Bill Harlan in the 1980s, hidden behind a ridgeline in Oakville, and its story – one that almost feels mythical – has been told many times (including by us).   Those stories, however, don’t prepare you for standing in this vineyard. “The territory”, as the team refers to the estate itself, is totally hidden from view – a good 10-minute drive from the winery (which looks out over the Harlan Estate vineyards), tucked to the south, over the hills from Dominus, found via a warren of dirt-tracks that cut through the forest, until – suddenly – you’re there.  Perched at the top of just one of the various parcels of vines, Cory Empting (Managing Director of Winegrowing) stops the truck as our jaws drop. We scramble to get out, blinking in the peaceful sunshine that beats down on an enchanting, untamed idyll. “There’s a quality to the silence out here,” Empting says – breaking the quiet that we’ve been soaking in. As the crow flies, Promontory isn’t far from Harlan Estate – yet the difference is, in Empting’s words, “kinda scary”. Fault lines make for a unique mix of soil types – sedimentary, volcanic and, most importantly and rare for Napa, metamorphic. Plots of vines are sparsely scattered across the wild, forested mountains, the undulating, varied slopes offering an almost endless range of aspect and microclimate. (As one alum told me, laughing, “It’s beautiful – but a total b**** to farm.”) The elevation is higher than at Harlan Estate – with the lowest point at Promontory the equivalent altitude of the highest point at its sibling property – making it generally cooler. Harlan Estate is manicured, while Promontory has a rawness about it – a sense that it isn’t, and never will be, totally domesticated. It's taken a long time to get here. Bill Harlan’s quest to create a Californian rival to Bordeaux’s First Growths (started in the 1970s) had kept him hunting for land, enough that would allow him to produce the same volume as the Left Bank’s most grandiose addresses. He bought his first 40 acres in 1984, the founding stone for Harlan Estate, and has continued tracking down special vineyards ever since, first for Harlan, then BOND and Promontory.  Although he’d first identified the location for Promontory in the 1980s (while hiking through this part of the valley), the property was developed by Girard Winery in the meantime, and he didn’t have the chance to buy it until 2008. Bill got a call that it was going on the market – and that’s when he rang up Will (his son, now Managing Director for the Harlan family of wineries) and Empting. “Then the economy started tanking,” Empting says – and suddenly the property that had been a stretch became increasingly affordable as its price dropped. The decision to buy was easy. But there was no reference point for the project, no historic bottlings to judge against, just a feeling about the place, and its potential.  “It was the wild west when we got out here,” Empting explains. The vineyard was in terrible shape – trees had been cut down and left where they fell. There were weeds growing taller than the vines. It had been left to become truly feral. There were even end-posts suggesting a row of Pinot Noir that was clearly Cabernet Sauvignon, while there were Cabernet Sauvignon clones that looked like nothing they’d seen before.  They committed to farming the site for three years before changing anything, so they knew what they were dealing with. But it soon became clear that the soils had been destroyed, robbed of organic matter, the vines emaciated, producing truncated shoots.  To date, they have replanted half of the 80 acres of vines. And the redevelopment work has been substantive, including un-doing terracing. They worked with superstar consultant agronomists Claude and Lydia Bourguignon (the first in the US to do so) to help regenerate the soils. But the philosophy here is ultimately Fukuoka-inspired: “How can we do one thing less? … That’s our church,” says Empting.  Fifteen acres have been replanted, rather unconventionally for Cabernet Sauvignon, untrellised – goblet-trained. This is partly because the metamorphic rock is so fractal that a unified hedge just didn’t make sense. Air flows in all directions, the sun hits each vine differently, they’re resilient for dry-farming and it allows the team to pick and move in any direction in the vineyard. Even more unusually, they’re planting rootstocks by themselves, grafting only once they’re three or four years old – when deemed ready. “I’m a Montessori parent,” Empting jokes, referencing what he describes as his “mixed pace” vineyards, letting each vine develop at its own rate. And this sense of responding to and working with, rather than against, the vines is key.  In a move that’s incredibly rare for hillside or mountain sites in Napa, their goal is to dry-farm. While the inspiration might have been wine quality (looking for more concentrated, balanced fruit), it is now ultimately about long-term survival in a changing climate. “We’re not going to have the water,” Empting says frankly. Convention suggests that each vine in the ground acts like a straw, sucking water from the soils. But, as Promontory have proven through experiments, it is not that simple – relating to the number of leaves on the vine, as well as its age, among other things. In fact, they have found that higher density plantings are easier to dry-farm.  To help avoid irrigation, they focus on respecting the vine energy – that means they don’t hedge or leaf-pull, and will only green harvest if they absolutely must (when nature throws them a curveball) – pruning to what they want the vine to grow, avoiding wasting any inch of the plant’s efforts. The resulting clusters are tiny, with yields reaching a maximum 38hl/ha, but often a mere 20hl/ha.   Cover crops and permanent grass cover, as well as grazing, have been key to repairing the soils. They’re still having to use a little bit of compost in some areas, Empting confesses almost guiltily – something he considers “a sign of imbalance”. Animals are a key part of “holistic farming”, Empting says, and he’d love to have chickens in the vineyards – “If the coyotes didn’t see them as a free meal,” he jokes. They’ll bring sheep in to graze early in the season, so that the cover crop has time to grow back. The regrowth can then be trampled naturally by the vineyard team as they work – operating as a rustic form of crimping or rolling. This aids water retention, the natural layer of “thatch” keeping the soils cool and preventing evaporation. If it’s not already clear, this isn’t a standard vineyard or estate – or, more accurately, family of estates. This is all part of Bill Harlan’s original vision, a 200-year plan to create a wine dynasty to match those of the Old World. The level of detail, effort and expense that goes into BOND, Harlan and Promontory is remarkable. They have a team dedicated to Research & Development – ensuring that they are at the forefront of viticulture and vinification, pushing any and every boundary in the name of quality.  One key element of this is their Vine Masters program – elevating what might historically have been seen as blue collar work to the skilled profession it really is.  The large majority of vineyard workers in California are of Mexican origin (some statistics suggest as high as 95%). There’s reason for this, with a long history of seasonal-working that stretches back to 1917, yet there’s often a division between vineyard and winery – a division that the family is working hard to broach.  The Vine Master program was first introduced at Harlan. The principle is not alien – a “Vine Master” is dedicated to a specific block, giving a sense of ownership, yet also meaning they know that block inside out. But – and this is what sets Harlan apart – to earn that responsibility (and it is a significant responsibility when the wine sells for upwards of £800 a bottle), the Vine Master has to go through a modular education program (developed in-house), passing both theory and practical exams. The Vine Masters can then take ownership for a block, and have the freedom to do what is required for their plot of vines. In what feels distinctly Californian and ever-so-slightly hippy-inspired, they’re also encouraged to, for example, hike through the surrounding hills, helping them think laterally.  Empting explains how one of the Vine Masters was sitting in his block on a break, looking up at a tree, and realised that trees naturally find their balance by dividing the diameter of their trunk fairly at each divide – only if there is sufficient girth will it split. He took this concept and pruned his block accordingly, only leaving multiple shoots where the vine could handle it. In the dry 2020 vintage, his vines were the only ones that reached the top wire (of the trellis), with the others all struggling. His methodology was rapidly implemented throughout the vineyard. The vineyard supervisor is more like a coach than a manager, and the vineyard work is more integrated with the final product. For example, the pruning process starts with tasting the wine from the previous vintage, so they can align on the energy of the vines and any challenges, before taking their shears to the vine. “You can’t prune a vine without thinking what it tastes like,” Empting says – yet that is what many vineyard workers will have to do.  This responsibility isn’t something that everyone wants – but skilled labour is, along with water, key to the future in California.  Empting expects the valley floor to be entirely mechanised in the imminent future – and if that’s the case, the question is: “How are you going to retain the talent that you have – and gain more?” he says. While originally they didn’t want to give each Vine Master too much land, they’ve found they work almost 40% faster than a crew – able to work more efficiently, doing what is needed when it’s needed, saving on the transition time within plots.  There’s been a constant evolution in the winery as well, inevitable as they learn more about this remarkable place, and realise the potential of its terroir. The challenge is to tame the significant phenolics – and the shift here fits with that familiar pendulum swing, with a move towards elegance. As with the vineyard, the goal is to do less not more – something that isn’t always easy. “We wait all year to turn grapes into wine,” Empting explains – the excitement sometimes becoming overzealous.  While soil health was, as Empting describes it, “the first hurdle”, David Cilli (Winemaker at Promontory) had been doing much in the winery, gradually dialling in the extraction, with shorter macerations and cooler temperatures (with a maximum of just 26˚C), halving the number of pump-overs. The wine is now mainly fermented in concrete (all with indigenous yeast) and aged in Stockinger foudre – ranging in size from 10 to 60 hectolitres – for 30-36 months.  When they first made the wine, they thought that they’d want and need to separate out the different blocks – since they had such varied profiles. They decided they were willing to sacrifice as much volume as was needed to make the best wine possible for the first vintage, and set about making various micro-blends, as well as one that included everything. The whole was so much more – its harmony so much more appealing. “They need each other, in a weird way,” Empting explains.   Until now, the wine has been made exclusively with the old vines, those that were planted when they arrived, with the new vines not yet mature enough (the young-vine fruit has instead been used for The Mascot). The 2022 will be the first vintage to include some of their earliest replants, which are now 10 years old.  While shifts here have mainly been gradual, 2020 was a significant moment. The first wildfire took hold on 18th August, although it was across the valley – far enough away for there to be no urgent threat, but the team was (especially with 2017’s fires fresh in their memory) on edge. Empting recalls spending time driving up and down the valley watching what was happening. They grouped together and decided to start picking on 22nd August – a good two weeks earlier than normal. They weren’t certain it was the right decision, but also weren’t prepared to risk everything to wait. Two weeks after they finished, the Glass Fire swept through the valley. Anyone that hadn’t picked was at significant risk of smoke taint.  Nature might have forced their hand, but it was a push they needed. The resulting wine stunned them all. It’s a world away from the high-octane reds that Robert Parker favoured – and any Napa stereotype. This is a bright, pure and elegant expression of site that sits at around 13%. And while the team’s fear was that it might not have the tannic depth of a true “Grand Cru” – a wine destined to be cellared – that is simply not the case.  They realised they didn’t need those extra two weeks on the vine for phenolic ripeness. The dry growing season had meant the vine only had a small crop to ripen, helping them out, but the year totally shifted their perspective. In 2021, they picked on the same date. In 2022 – a noticeably hot and dry year – they picked even earlier.  Tasting the 2020 alongside the 2016, ’17 and ’18, the difference is drastic – although the progression is there in the earlier vintages. It marks a sea-change for the estate – one that may divide pundits. But the 2020 matches their vision of this place: while they think of Harlan as a wine of gravity, Promontory is a wine of “lift”.  The Harlan family’s wines don’t come cheap – but you aren’t just paying for good wine (and it is, undoubtedly, very good). Yes, it’s a smart winery, with the very best equipment. But the money isn’t going on new barrels and expensive consultants each year, it’s being invested in the people, place and practices that guarantee its legacy. The 2018 has only just been released, so the 2020 won’t hit the market until 2025. But like anything these visionaries do, it will be worth waiting for. Tasting Promontory 2016 Promontory Will Harlan describes the 2016 vintage as one of the first wines that they felt allowed them to compete on a global stage. Still incredibly youthful, it’s somehow almost approachable yet has significant structure behind. There’s a plush richness to the fruit, a firmness and depth to the tannins that needs time, yet a vibrancy too. It’s just starting to become more supple, yet the phenolics grip onto the finish, drying it out very slightly. The fruit is starting to mellow, mingling with savoury tones. Significantly more weight than the other vintages. 2017 Promontory Deeper and darker, the 2017 shows an intensity and firmness – its framework almost aggressive after the 2016. The structure is boxy, yet also refined, and starting to meld together with the bright, fresh fruit. With air the wine shifts from black to red fruit, relaxing into itself. Fruit reverberates on the mouth-watering finish. 2018 Promontory The 2018 confirms the direction of change. Although on paper the wine looks similar to 2016 (in terms of analytics), this is significantly different – offering a transparency and vibrancy. Empting describes it as “athletic” – a fitting way to describe a wine that feels lithe. The fruit sits on the red spectrum, with super-fine velvet tannins forming a chiselled, linear structure. There’s a lift and florality to the nose, complementing the long, pure palate. 2020 Promontory This is a wine of amazing precision and perfume. A pivotal vintage for the estate, picked two weeks earlier than normal and before fires swept through the valley, it’s a stunning wine. Extraction was gentler and the alcohol is around 13%. It’s a wine of brightness and texture – a fine, chalky, powdered grip of tannins that complements the seamless fruit. The nose shifts with florals and earthier minerality, a savoury, saline edge to the crunchy fruit and juicy acidity. There’s purity and delicacy, with a finesse that is truly remarkable. Find out more about Promontory, or read more Editorial

The Harlan family isn’t like other families. We spent time with Will Harlan and Managing Director of Winegrowing Cory Empting to talk about Promontory, the vision and philosophy behind it – and why the 2020 vintage is a pivotal moment in this special estate’s tale

How the Harlan family is creating Napa wine estates that are destined to become the stuff of myth: Promontory, Harlan and BOND

The Harlan legend and legacy – Promontory

Legend and legacy in Napa: the Harlan family and Promontory

It is hard to imagine The Balvenie without David Stewart MBE and vice versa. The story of each one is so entwined with the other that it’s nigh on impossible to unpick where one starts and the other ends. Since joining William Grant & Sons in 1962 as a whisky stocks clerk, Stewart has gone on to become of the most well-known and respected names in the Scotch whisky industry. He is, for many, the pioneer of cask finishing, and his achievements are far too numerous to list. When the incredibly humble man “hangs up his boots” after a 57-year-plus career, Kelsey McKechnie will become the youngest-ever female Malt Master. “Everyone always jokes and says do I feel the pressure and what does it feel like getting into a role like this. There definitely is an element of pressure around it but it’s funny, you really don’t feel it. I enjoy this role and I love being here. I’ve been very lucky, so I’m saying ‘let’s ride it out for as long as we can’,” the 29-year-old says with unfettered excitement. The Malt Master role is a very different one today than it was in the 1960s, something McKechnie and William Grant & Sons Master Blender Brian Kinsman continually rib Stewart about. “Obviously, way back in the ’60s we had very little to nose,” Stewart says in a flash. When he joined the family-owned business under Master Blender and Balvenie Malt Master Hamish Robertson, Glenfiddich and The Balvenie weren’t being bottled as single malts and Grant’s Standfast blend was the company’s bread and butter. Today, the triumvirate nose samples from Ailsa Bay, Girvan Distillery, Kininvie, Glenfiddich and The Balvenie. From the new-make spirit to mature samples, bottling runs to all the vat samples, everything produced at the William Grant distilleries in Scotland and Ireland passes under the noses of Kinsman, McKechnie and Stewart. This equates to approximately 40-50 Scotch, Irish whiskey, Bourbon and rum samples per day. There are a number of parallels in Stewart and McKechnie’s stories, which they don’t even seem to realise. Both started in very different roles and eyed an interesting opportunity to nose spirits. Through serendipity and, one suspects, a tremendous amount of inherent skill and hard graft, the two found their way into the nosing lab. And once faced with row upon row of whisky samples, the pair knew in an instant that they found their calling. “I always say I have been very lucky,” McKechnie says. “I’m such a firm believer in timing. I came into the team at a time when I had built up enough technical process skills to understand how whisky is produced and carry out analysis, and do all these different things and apply it to blending.” In 2018, Kinsman and Stewart approached 26-year-old McKechnie to ask if she would be interested in learning all things regarding Balvenie and eventually moving into the Malt Master role. She’d been with the company for almost four years at this time, working her way from the lab to the whisky stocks team, from the Lowlands to the beating heart of the business in Speyside. So, what does it take to become a Malt Master and what did the two whisky patriarchs see in the young female scientist at the infancy of her whisky career? According to Stewart, one of the biggest things is the nosing aspect. “We can identify what’s right and what’s not, just by nosing the whisky,” he says. “And that’s what takes the time to learn.” Stewart had already been through the process of training a successor with Brian Kinsman from 2001 to 2010. It might be hard for some to fathom why this apprenticeship takes the best part of a decade, but so much of the role is about instinct and the finest of margins. In the same way Robertson brought in samples for Stewart – albeit not quite as many – all those years before, Stewart to this day brings in spirit samples for Kinsman and McKechnie. “Really, it’s nosing together; pointing out things,” Stewart adds. “I bring in samples from different cask types and different ages. Brian just worked with me and gradually he took over and I was doing less and less.” When asked if she thinks she has a natural gift, McKechnie says it’s curiosity above anything else that’s required to be a good noser. “I think everybody just needs to be curious enough to want to nose. Most often – apart from a few people where it is genetic and there’s one reason or another that they don’t have a sense of smell – I actually think so many people will be fantastic nosers.” And the difference between Joe Bloggs and the youngest-ever female Malt Master? The word association piece, according to McKechnie. “So often we’ll see when people are starting up that they can nose something and they can say ‘this is different’. So we do difference nosing. We have one glass and we’re just nosing it against another and saying ‘pick up the difference or not’ – it’s often easy for people but they can’t put into play what they can pick up.” Like any other skill, McKechnie says it takes years of practice and fine tuning. “It’s like using a different language,” she says. “To remain fluent, you need to continually keep nosing and to be able to relate those words to what you’re picking up in nose and taste. I actually think everyone has a gift, if that’s what you want to call it, or the ability to do it. It’s just about really working out what flavour this is and what do we call it.” Sometimes tasting notes for spirits and wines can be a little, shall we say, creative. For this reason, at William Grant & Sons, free words are banned. “We’re really strict about what people can call the different spirits,” McKechnie explains. “It could be too easy for somebody to say ‘this smells like a walk in the park’ and we can find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.” When starting out, as a professional or merely an appreciator of spirits, this word association piece can be a barrier, according to McKechnie, but it shouldn’t be. “There is no need for whisky to be intimidating at all,” she says. “For me, I think it’s because people are so passionate about it. It gets everyone a little bit puffed up – I’m guilty of it as well. But there really is no need for it at all because it really is such an open area that there isn’t one strict answer so I’ll always say that to people – if you are new to it, make sure you get lots of water in there because whisky is just such a flavour bomb. I think people don’t really know what they’re nosing because there are 50-100 different flavours coming at you at once.” So, do the three professional nosers ever disagree? “Because I’ve only ever learned to nose and blend from David who has learned from Brian and vice versa, we don’t often butt heads or have a difference of opinion –  but it does happen,” McKechnie says with a coy smile. Rather than being daunted by the spectre of the longest-serving Malt Master and Kinsman – who has racked up a fairly daunting 24 years in role – McKechnie seems energised by the legacy and is visibly thrilled at the prospect of one day imparting this knowledge to her own apprentice. “I think it would be a massive compliment to be able to give someone the knowledge you have gained,” she says. “I really like the thought of actually one day being able to train someone.” When it comes to the future at The Balvenie, McKechnie says they have “many things bubbling away in the warehouses” and they have “a few more Balvenies tucked up our sleeves”. But, on a personal note, “it’s working with Brian and David day-in-day-out and gaining more of the understanding about what makes Balvenie so unique. Understanding more around the stock model and that 50-year horizon and ensuring that I’ve got the skills to make sure the next 50 years is looking good and that we’re not laying down all the wrong things.” The Balvenie maintains a lot of the traditional whisky-making traditions. It is the only Scotch whisky distillery to grow its own barley, use traditional floor maltings and keep coppersmiths and coopers on site. Rather than being gilded handcuffs, these ties to traditions allow the team to experiment at the point of distillation and Stewart has spearheaded a number of trials that have come from the maltings throughout his career. “I think if there is one thing that David has ever taught me, it’s about how important innovation is,” McKechnie says. “We always talk about the fact we’re the home of cask finishing. It was something that was second nature in David’s role until people started calling it innovation. “And it’s something that we always want to pass on. We’re constantly thinking about what’s next and how can we do something unique and what exciting things we have in the distillery that we could release and bring to everyone. “Obviously the Scotch Whisky Association is pretty strict, in a good way, so that no-one is going to mimic us, but we also like to push the boundaries a little bit and say, what can we really get away with here?” With a glint in her eye and an unmistakable enthusiasm in her voice, you can’t help but feel The Balvenie, when it comes to honouring tradition and driving innovation, is in very safe hands for the next 50 years and beyond. Browse all whisky or read more Editorial

David Stewart MBE is the longest-serving Malt Master. Kelsey McKechnie is the youngest female Malt Master Apprentice. Holly Motion speaks to the two Balvenie record-breakers about passing the baton, the weight of a legacy, and what it really means to lay down stocks for the next generation

Balvenie's longest-serving Malt Master David Stewart MBE and his successor Kelsey McKechnie on upholding tradition while driving innovation at the distillery.

The Balvenie, making of a master

The Balvenie: the making of a master

Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse clearly has some fantastic terroir. One of only a handful of top-rated Premier Grand Cru Classé B estates, it is beautifully positioned on the southwest-facing slopes of Saint-Emilion’s famous limestone plateau. The property gained notoriety with the release of its 1990 – a wine Robert Parker professed as being “the wine of the vintage” en primeur – in his view beating other legendary wines from the year, such as Margaux, Pétrus and Latour. After maturation in bottle, he went further and declared that it may be “one of the greatest wines made this century”. A legend was born. This historic estate has been in the Duffau-Lagarrosse family since 1847, but Joséphine’s recent take-over was far from straightforward. Prior to the sale, it was owned by 30 members of her family. With the majority wanting to sell the property. Determined for it to remain part of the Duffau-Lagarrosse legacy, the only option was to attempt to buy it herself – no small feat for the then 30-year-old. But this prime-positioned Saint-Emilion estate had plenty of bidders queuing to snap it up, undeterred by the €75 million price tag – a price far beyond Duffau-Lagarrosse’s means. Initially, it was a bidding war between neighbouring Ch. Angélus’s Stéphanie de Boüard and Clos Fourtet’s Matthieu Cuvelier. Then, however, the Courtin-Clarins family stepped in – and offered to partner with Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse. Joséphine met with Prisca Courtin-Clarins, Clarins CEO and the third generation to run her family’s cosmetic empire (which remains 100% family-owned). According to Duffau-Lagarrosse, they instantly hit it off and the synergy between them was obvious: two young, talented, ambitious French women. Duffau-Lagarrosse had all the technical know-how to make great wine, as well as a life-long experience of the estate.  Courtin-Clarins, meanwhile, had all the commercial experience and financial backing to help manage and develop the business side of the property. Joséphine invited Prisca to see the château and she loved it. Within a month of meeting, they had put in their own bid. With the family connection, their bid was favoured and the two of them became co-directors on 12th April 2021. Walking around the amazing labyrinth of limestone caves under the property (covering 650 square-metres), where Duffau-Lagarrosse now ages the wine, you can see how proud she is of her family estate and how excited she is for the future – now under her control. She admits that it all happened a bit quickly. After deciding to follow in her family’s oenological footsteps, she had deliberately stayed away from Bordeaux for as long as she could, knowing that her family ties would eventually pull her back. Born and raised in Pomerol after graduating, it wasn’t long before she was travelling around the world, learning to make wine in regions other than Bordeaux. Duffau-Lagarrosse has an impressive resumé, working under some of the world’s best winemakers. She worked with Ch. Margaux’s Phillipe Bascaules when he was at Inglenook in Napa Valley, before heading to Hawkes Bay in New Zealand to work on Bordeaux blends in a contrasting climate. Following her stint there, she went to Mexico to work on a project with famous Bordelais consultant Stéphane Derenoncourt, before returning to France and working in Burgundy with Maxime Cheurlin at Domaine Georges Noëllat – someone who had inherited an historic family estate at a similarly young age. Of all the vintages to take on such a legacy, however, 2021 was far from the easiest – a year that asked everything of its makers. “It was not easy,” she admits, a smile sneaking onto her face, “but I really enjoyed it.” As we tasted the 2021, we asked whether she’d had to chaptalise – a common practice in the year’s cool conditions. For a millennial born in the era of climate change, it was totally new to her, but she felt it was needed to round out the mid-palate. “So I called Burgundy,” she jests, a twinkle in her eye. Despite its challenges, Duffau-Lagarrosse is very pleased with her 2021 – the first full vintage under her lead – and as she should be. She certainly respects what previous winemaker, Nicolas Thienpont, had done with the estate over the last 12 years – consistently producing one of the top wines of the vintage. Without swerving away from his style, Duffau-Lagarrosse is still keen to put her own bent on the wine. Reducing the amount of new oak is perhaps the most obvious first step – although that is also understandable considering the vintage conditions in 2021. She is also keen to make sure extraction levels are very carefully monitored and this was particularly important in 2021. “We had to question everything,” says Duffau-Lagarrosse, but the challenges proved to be a fast-track for understanding the terroir she had inherited. And she wasn’t alone – hiring two of Bordeaux’s leading consultants, Axel Marchand (professor of oenology at Bordeaux University) and Julien Viaud (the co-owner of Michel Rolland’s consultancy, which according to Duffau-Lagarrosse, has a contrasting and complementary approach to Rolland’s philosophy of high extraction and high proportions of new oak). The new team is certainly one of the most exciting and positive developments in Saint-Emilion – especially given the recent tumult in the appellation. There is certainly a lovely balance to the Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse in 2021, and the wine has captured the beautiful, scented perfume of vintage’s top examples. It’s a wine that shows the promise of this vigneronne and address – one that is set to compete with the very best in the appellation. The legend is safe in the hands of its rightful owner. Browse all Editorial 

The 2021 vintage was a challenging year in Bordeaux – but at Saint-Emilion estate Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse, it was also the first with Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse at the helm. We visited the young vigneronne to find out what it means to take on such a legacy

1990 Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse was declared “a modern legend” by Robert Parker. Now Joséphine has taken over the family estate. We visited to find out more

Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse on her family legacy

Generation Y: Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse

Many believe Scotch blends are single malt whisky’s poor relation in price, quality and taste profile. In actuality, this could not be further from the truth. It takes great mastery to produce a blend. Some of the most exquisite single malts – that people pay handsomely for – are blended in perfect harmony by some of the most talented whisky makers in the world to create remarkable blended whiskies. And yet, this lesser label seemingly sticks to blended whisky – as it has for decades. The tide does, however, show signs of turning as more collectable and well-aged blended whiskies are appearing on the market. Few people know more about blended Scotch than Colin Scott and Dr Emma Walker. Scott held the title of Chivas Brothers Master Blender for 31 years and today, after a very short-lived retirement, produces superlative blends for remarkable spirits curators The Last Drop Distillers. Walker has also not long stepped into a new role, succeeding Dr Jim Beveridge as Johnnie Walker Master Blender. Dr Walker (no relation to Johnnie) and her trusty team of 12 highly skilled blenders preside over more than 10 million casks of whisky from 30 distilleries across the length and breath of Scotland to create all the Scotch in Diageo’s extensive portfolio. “Because it’s a blending operation, we just call it all blends,” Walker says – adding, with a chuckle, “just to confuse people.” The same team that looks after Diageo’s single malts looks after all its Scotch whisky, including the blends, new releases and highly collectable Cask of Distinction releases. At last count, there are 138 whisky distilleries in Scotland. Of these, 131 are malt distilleries and seven are grain, and Diageo by far and away owns the most at 30. It is Walker’s job to know these distilleries (28 malt and two grain) inside and out to produce all of Diageo’s Scotch whisky bottlings. “Our single malts are amazing. Our single grains are amazing. But so are the blended Scotch whiskies,” she says with unabashed excitement. Walker is three months into her new role at the helm of one of the world’s most formidable blending operations – and is clearly loving every minute, despite being “slightly terrified”. A chemist by trade, she is acutely aware of Johnnie Walker’s legacy as the world’s most foremost whisky blender and she carries this responsibility, that might weigh heavy on others, with a healthy dose of reverence and buckets of zeal. The ebullient Colin Scott has worked in the Scotch whisky industry for almost 50 years, blending some of the world’s most well-known and coveted whiskies for Chivas Brothers. There’s little he hasn’t seen and you sense he’s just as excited by the goings on today as he was as a young whippersnapper in the blending room half a century ago. “It’s interesting that everybody talks about [single] malts rather than blends,” Scott muses. “For the last 100 years, blends have actually dominated global sales – over 90% is blended Scotch and less than 10% is [single] malts.” Scott thinks the reason for this is simple: “People can understand a single malt because it comes from a single distillery. You can go to it, you can see it, you can touch it, and you can feel it. It’s a little bit more sexy than a blend because a blend has anything between three and a 100-plus whiskies in it.” But, what many fail to realise, according to Scott, is the skill required to create these blended whiskies – at all price points. “There is an art to blending. It’s quite a complicated art,” he says wistfully. And an ever-changing one at that. “A lot of people don’t understand that if you take a premium blend, it might have 50 whiskies in the blend one year, the next year it might have 60, the following year it might have 45, the next year might have 48 – so year on year, because of availability within the inventory, the actual number of whiskies in the blend will change. “And it is the art of the blender who brings and rebalances all of those flavours back so the taste experience remains consistent.” Walker picks up the point: “You take these individual great characters and you just bring them together. You’re not doing something that cheapens it. You’re not doing something where you’re trying to bulk things out, you’re trying to bring those different, individual characters together in the best way possible. You’re amplifying rather than cancelling each other out.” Walker is always trying to reach the golden ratio for the desired mouthfeel, texture, aroma, taste and length. When she achieves this, Walker says: “It’s just really exciting. To find these amazing individual things and bring them together, it’s heaven in a glass.” It takes years of experience and skill – passed down from one generation to the next – to achieve this divine state or you’d have to face the wrath of the loyal drinker who knows what should be in that bottle. “You’re always looking for that consistent quality,” Scott explains spiritedly. “Whether it’s standard, premium, super premium or ultra ultra premium. “Working at Chivas, you would use pretty much the same amount of time on a standard blend as a niche blend,” Scott says with great candour, “because you just don’t compromise on quality – it is not part of the game.” Scott has blended at all the levels during his career. His decision to join the Last Drop in 2021 was somewhat serendipitous. Scott and the late Last Drop co-founder Tom Jago were responsible for one of the most successful blends of all time: Chivas 18. The remarkable spirits curators have championed blended whisky since day dot. Founders Jago and long-time friend James Espey OBE initially set out to bottle single malts – because the demand was there at the higher end – but that all changed when the formidable duo were bewitched by a certain 1960 blended Scotch. This became the Last Drop’s inaugural release in 2008 and is said to have been the best whisky Jago ever tasted during his lifetime. Scott is the first to acknowledge that blended whiskies carrying an age statement are an easier sell than those without – his debut for the Last Drop was a very special 50-year-old signature blend. “If you’ve got an age on a product, people know exactly what they are dealing with,” he says matter-of-factly. While the Master Blender does feel there is a groundswell of appreciation for blended whiskies, helped by older bottlings and ever-increasing auction prices, he understands there is work to be done to remove this legacy inferiority association. “People have been drinking blends forever,” Scott explains. “But because it is usually the standard blend, they don’t really consider it special.” He continues: “Many think blends are inferior and the main reason for that was way back in the day, 30, 40, 50 years ago, people regarded grain whisky as an industrial spirit because a grain distillery, even today, makes 10 times the spirit than a malt whisky distillery makes. “Malt whisky distilleries are maybe now making 10 million or 20 million litres a year – the big ones – and a grain distillery produces over 100 million litres. I wouldn’t consider it a cheaper product, because once you have bought the cask and matured the product you’re pretty much talking the same value as a mature malt. “And this concept, that this ‘industrial’ grain spirit was added to the malt just to give volume in the actual blend is basically nonsense,” he says animatedly. Scott ardently believes grain whiskies have a very important role to play from a blender’s point of view because it has its own flavour and character. He explains: “When you taste the grain and add it with malts, it actually promotes and harmonises and brings those sort of heavier flavours of the malts together. “If you change the percentage of the grain in the blend, it will change the balance of the malts and the grains, and change the taste experience of the final blend. It’s not just a case of you just blend the malts and then add the grain for the sake of it to give you volume. You have to put it all together because if you don’t, you get a different product.” Walker seconds this. “Some of the best, most amazing [grain] whiskies I’ve got to try was when I was looking at making the John Walker 50-year-old Masters' Edition with Jim and Maureen and it was just phenomenal.” Her face lights up as she recalls that time and takes a moment to finish her train of thought. “Amazing, amazing grain whiskies,” she says with a smile. “And at those ages, when you taste them, they make your mouth water, they are so luscious, and fruity and it’s just astounding. But when you mix them together with these great individual casks of single malts, you have that lusciousness and that fruitiness but you also have these other flavours coming and mixing together.” A large part of Walker’s new role is extolling the virtues of all Scotch whiskies – grains, malts, blends, single malts and single casks – to the world. A lack of in-person events, which are slowly starting to pepper the calendar again, have presented an additional challenge but you’d be foolish to think anything can stop the new Johnnie Walker Master Blender from spreading the gospel. For Scott, it’s a case of once tasted, never forgotten. “I always feel like a great blend is the blend that has huge complexity but there is no individual flavour or character that dominates from the nose to taste to finish,” Scott tells me. “You take a sip and you smile and you put it down and it just invites you to have another one. Because you think wow, that is something I must taste it again.” With more remarkable blended whiskies to be found than ever before, you feel it won’t be long before the rest of the world is singing from the same hymn sheet. Browse all Scotch or read more Editorial 

Blended Scotch whisky doesn’t always get the respect it deserves. Part of this reason is legacy, part is misinformation. Holly Motion explores why blended whiskies are just as worthy of a place in your spirits collection as single malts

Johnnie Walker’s Dr Emma Walker and The Last Drop’s Colin Scott on why blended Scotch whiskies are as complex and beguiling as single malts.

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