The Langhe is unspeakably beautiful. You may have seen Allessandro Masnaghetti’s 3D maps – a painstaking project by this now-iconic cartographer to translate these terroirs to paper. Their textured surfaces speak of Barolo and Barbaresco’s complex geology – and yet they don’t fully convey its endless curves and corners, winding roads and intricate jigsaw of villages and vineyards, nestled in amongst each other. This is a landscape carved and sculpted by nature over 15 million years; the vines cling to precipitous slopes, sweeping down toward the valleys. Like the effortless lines of Michaelangelo’s marble, it’s a masterpiece.  We’ve just returned from a trip to Piedmont’s most prestigious vineyards, dipping a toe in the waters of this fascinating area over three days. With the layers of region, village (11 in Barolo, three in Barbaresco), its Crus (officially known as MGAs, Menzione Geografica Aggiuntiva) and individual vigne or vineyards, Barolo and Barbaresco are often compared to Burgundy. These layers of complexity and nuance are what wine-lovers thrive on, the detail that allows us to indulge new levels of geekery. Add to this the finesse and aromatic perfume of Nebbiolo, and it’s easy to see why Pinot Noir lovers fall for the region.   While wine has long been made in the Langhe (for at least 2,000 years), the first dry Barolo is thought to have been bottled in 1844, with wines before that often sweet or lightly sparkling. It’s only really in the 1960s that the region’s reputation started to be built. Wines were – as in Burgundy – mainly made by négociants until this point, when individual estates started making their own wine. Traditionally wines from across the region were blended to create an expression of Barolo as a whole, but this too started to change. Prunotto and Vietti were the first to identify and vinify individual plots in Barolo, following a trip to Burgundy in the 1950s and ’60s (read more about the birth of Barolo’s Crus here); while in Barbaresco, it was Angelo Gaja who started to make wine exclusively from vineyards the family owned (from 1961) and then bottled the single vineyard Sorì San Lorenzo separately for the first time in 1967.  Traditionally the wines were made with long maceration times (leaving the wine in contact with the skins for 50 or more days) and several years in large oak casks, to extract colour, tannin and flavour from the thin-skinned Nebbiolo. These wines were immensely age-worthy, but their rasping tannins often needed time to become approachable – in some cases the fruit would fade while waiting for the tannins to come round. Winemaking – as elsewhere – was rudimentary, and the late 20th century brought with it modern technology and better hygiene. But the 1980s also saw Barolo divided.  This was the period of Parker and Parkerization, with rich, voluptuous wines with sweet fruit and vanilla tones from new French oak all the rage. Barolo couldn’t be further from this style – and its winemakers were humble farmers, with little recognition (financial or otherwise) for their work. But then a group of producers, led by Elio Altare, embraced the barrique (the traditional 225-litre French oak barrel), looking to put Barolo and its wines on the world map. These modernists, sometimes known as the “Barolo boys”, used new oak, and shorter, more vigorous extractions to craft wines that were fruitier, darker and more immediate – and received instant acclaim. The traditionalists of the region, however, fiercely defended the Langhe’s historical ways, the use of long macerations and large, old botte casks. Bartolo Mascarello famously released a label stating “No Barrique, No Berlusconi” (adorning the 1998 and 1999 vintage), decrying the use of new oak and Berlusconi’s right-wing politics.   Modernisation was essential – and better hygiene, with the arrival of stainless steel, was revolutionary. Today, as more and more producers around the world turn to large oak casks, it’s unsurprising that many in Barolo and Barbaresco are returning to their botti, and new oak has generally fallen from favour (at least in high proportions), yet the barrel certainly lives on, even if still controversial.  “Barrique… it’s an ugly word here in the Langhe,” says Dave Fletcher, the Australian producer who left the Yarra to make wine in Piedmont over a decade ago (under Fletcher Wines and Cantina della Stazione). He avoids new wood, but prefers barrels for the ability to vinify plots separately – something he feels is important for quality. There are also  those who feel that the minimum ageing requirements (18 months in oak for Barbaresco and 24 months in oak for Barolo) are old-fashioned, forcing the production of wood-heavy wines that are removed from current tastes – even suggesting that there’s a movement for these minimum times in oak to be adjusted.  As in Burgundy, whole-bunch has become a divisive topic. Some wines have traditionally been made with whole-bunch fermentation (as with Burlotto’s Monvigliero), but now some producers feel a small percentage can help bring freshness in warmer vintages, while others feel it distracts from the terroir, and doesn’t suit Nebbiolo.  Climate change is seeing a shift in the most prized plots, with some producers now feeling south/southwest-facing sites (historically the most desirable) too warm, and north/northeasterly exposure better for the long term, or finding other ways to manage global warming. Land prices have been rising, and there’s an increasing amount of outside investment, as well an increasing number of producers arriving from beyond Piedmont – although there are still those, such as Vietti’s Eugenio Palumbo, Burlotto’s Alessandria or Gaja’s Gaia Gaja, who were born and bred here, and have been embedded in the industry, and often their family business, their entire lives. We dove into recent vintages, especially the very different yet both excellent 2020 and 2021s, the former open and approachable, the latter closed and needing time. We talked about clones and rootstocks, the persistence and suitability of Chardonnay in the Langhe, the pressure on the region’s biodiversity – and much, much more.  We’ll be publishing more in the coming weeks and months, as well as shining a light on the wines of the region – one that should be part of any collector’s cellar. But, as with the wines here, there is so much to consider. As Nicola Oberto of Trediberri told us, “It doesn’t need to be obvious – it needs to be interesting.” And that, the endless nuance and complexity, is what makes the region’s great Nebbiolo so enchanting.  Keep an eye out for more on Piedmont over the coming months or browse all current listings from the region 

Just returned from a whistlestop tour of Barolo and Barbaresco, Sophie Thorpe mulls the complexity that defines the Langhe, and makes it so endlessly appealing

Just returned from a tour of Barolo and Barbaresco, Sophie Thorpe mulls the complexity that defines the Langhe, and makes it so endlessly appealing

The allure of the Langhe’s Barolo and Barbaresco

The allure of the Langhe

Think of Bordeaux, and you probably don’t think of skateboarding and denim shirts. Damien Barton-Sartorius, however – Director of Château Langoa and Léoville Barton – manages somehow to combine millennial cool with an effortless suaveness that feels distinctly Bordelais. “When you’re one of these old families, the rest of Bordeaux looks at you in a different way,” he tells me. There have been Bartons in Bordeaux since the 18th century. One of the region’s “wine geese”, Irishman Thomas Barton arrived in 1722, and Hugh Barton bought Château Langoa in 1821, acquiring part of the Léoville estate in 1826. Since then, the empire has grown: alongside their Saint-Julien Classed Growth properties, there’s a Moulis estate (Mauvesin Barton) and a négoce operation. As if that wasn’t enough, Barton-Sartorius has two personal side-projects too: Initio and 225, the latter of which is his latest venture – a sustainability-led project, shipping wine in bulk and bottling in the destination market. He’s restless and enthusiastic, having taken over directing the Classed Growth estates (while his sister, Mélanie is in charge of Mauvesin) from his mother and Saint-Julien matriarch, Lillian Barton, in the last couple of years. This year sees the 200th anniversary of Langoa’s purchase – and when I ask him what has changed in that time, the answer is easy: “Not so much,” he shrugs. It’s the mark of a business like this, handed from generation to generation, that shifts are seamless and gradual, no one looking to make a mark – but preserve a unique heritage. Both Langoa and Léoville are classical Saint-Julien – a style often described as sitting between pinpoint Pauillac and sensual Margaux. For Barton-Sartorius, it’s “a bit like Vosne-Romanée in Burgundy, we have everything”. The Langoa estate is defined by its proximity to the river, the estuary’s constant movement helping to rid the vineyards of humidity and moderating the temperature – shielding it from extreme weather, rarely suffering from frosts (even in vintages like 2017) and allowing them to produce balanced wines in otherwise very warm vintages such as 2003, 2009 and 2018. It is, however, the soils that make Barton-Sartorius swoon. “The gravels are quite extraordinary,” he says, animated in his excitement. The gravels reach between three and six metres below the surface, giving the perfect level of drainage – but not too much, with a layer of clay beneath to hold essential water reserves. “The perfect balance,” Barton-Sartorius sighs. While it was once rare to hear the Bordelais talking about their terroir, there’s a definite shift underway. “For a long time Bordeaux was all about the brand – now they want to know what is behind the bottle,” he says. The shift, he feels, however, is not that the Bordelais are suddenly discovering their soils – but they’re talking about it. The region’s more monied estates have, however, been artful, managing to guarantee their place at the head of the fine wine table for over 150 years – and to do so, they’ve had to create stories. “There’s too much show – look at our new winery, our limited bottle....” Barton-Sartorius explains. Admittedly, he’s busily building a new cellar himself – although it is unlikely to be unveiled grandly with a row of new gleaming stainless steel tanks and the latest contraptions. Construction of the winery is already underway at Langoa (where both the Léoville and Langoa wines are made), set to be completed in 2022, the most recent update since his grandfather built it. Because of the sheer expense involved, they’ve only made tweaks over the years, but are now in a position to have been able to properly rethink it. The aim is for it to be more sustainable and functional, simplifying the process. Everything will be gravity operated, and the barrels will be stored two floors below ground so that less energy is required to keep them cool. Such concepts might seem standard elsewhere, however with Bordeaux’s high water table (remember that the Médoc was a swamp until the Dutch drained it in the 17th century), it’s difficult to build down rather than up. Winemaking at both Langoa and Léoville remains reassuringly traditional – “not by choice, but because it’s still the best”. There are exceptions, though, and where something is better done by machine, or it avoids a potential risk to workers’ health, they’ll do it – but there’s no compromising on quality to save a few cents. As just one example, they still rack everything by hand using a candle, because they feel it is a softer way to separate the wine from the lees, without exposing the wine to too much oxygen. “Details like this are very important,” Barton-Sartorius says. “But the wine is made in the vineyard.” He, like most vignerons, knows that it’s the quality of the fruit that matters most. “I like to think we’re good – but terroir is making 90% of the job,” he quips. The winery is, in his view, “more about a religion. You have to trust in something. You believe it or not.” It might be easy to be lulled into the sense that everything here is done by rote – simply following the recipe of their forebears, but that’s far from the case. “There’s a reason we do things the way we do – but we still like to challenge what we do,” Barton-Sartorius tells me, taking me through a ream of current and recent experiments, from pumps versus gravity (gravity won) to their decades’ worth of tests with organic vineyard sprays – looking not just at how they impact the cleanliness of fruit at harvest, but the wine’s final flavour. I ask him how he feels about Bordeaux’s status and relevancy today. “It feels like nobody knows it or people forgot about it,” he says. The region – in his view – remains one of the most exciting. He describes how the generation above are tired of people comparing the wines to how cheap they used to be – however is determined that they still offer great value. You can’t buy “Château Margaux as a lunch wine”, but Langoa Barton costs £30 – and “Napa is double, triple the price for the same quality”. And no one is able to hide their excitement when he gets an old bottle of Léoville Barton out the cellar. “We are lucky to have some of the best soils in the world – like Chambertin Grand Cru, the quality is the same – except instead of having two hectares, we have 80 hectares. We are lucky to produce 100,000 bottles of it.” That might make the wines, as he says, “a little less posh and fancy” – but it also means there’s more to go around. Is it a burden – a 200-year history and everything that comes with it? He instantly shakes his head, “It’s an honour – but a big pressure at the same time. I don’t want to be the generation that f***s up everything.” As Barton-Sartorius rushes off to meet the curfew in place under current Covid restrictions, it’s hard to reconcile his undeniable stature in Bordelais society with the down-to-earth character filling my screen. It’s that very lack of pomp and circumstance, an understated modesty, that will likely guarantee that Langoa Barton survives another 200 years. Browse wines from Langoa Barton and Léoville Barton

As Château Langoa Barton marks its 200th anniversary, Sophie Thorpe caught up with Damien Barton-Sartorius – the 10th generation of the Barton family to run the estate – about tradition, terroir and why Bordeaux remains the most exciting wine region in the world 

Talking tradition, terroir and why Bordeaux remains the most exciting wine region in the world with Damien Barton-Sartorius of Langoa and Léoville Barton. 

Château Langoa-Barton

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