Maylis Marcenat does not fit the stereotype for a Bordeaux producer. Lively, down-to-earth and humble, she’s as unstuffy as they come. She is the fourth generation of her family to run Clos de Sarpe – a small Grand Cru Classé Saint-Emilion estate that has long gone under the radar.  The history of Clos de Sarpe  The Clos de Sarpe name first appeared in 1897, given by a Monsieur A. Ducarpe to his property on the Sarpe plateau. Baron Henri du Foussat de Bogeron bought the vineyard in 1905, merging it with the vines of nearby Badette to create Ch. Haut-Sarpe. Jean Beyney bought Clos de Sarpe in 1923 and revived the original name. His son, Yvan Beyney, took over in 1952, who in turn passed the property to his son Jean-Guy Beyney in 1986. Jean-Guy still owns the estate today but retired in 2021, handing it over to Marcenat, who is his niece. (Jean-Guy has a son, Charles, who gives his name to the property’s second wine and will inherit Clos de Sarpe eventually but isn’t interested in running it day to day.)  The style of the Clos de Sarpe wines through the ages  The style and winemaking have evolved over time – with each generation putting their own stamp on the wines. In the early days, the wine was all whole-bunch fermented, with long macerations (40 to 50 days) and spent several years in concrete tank before bottling. Indeed, under Yvan, this continued. He only sold wine to those who could store the wine properly, and as such some wines spent extended periods of time in tank – the 1966 was in concrete for 10 years, for example. Yvan looked for purity of fruit, picking comparatively late (he was always proud to say he picked at the same time as Figeac, Marcenat says) and didn’t ever use oak. The wines were hard in their youth, needing time to soften, yet having great stability from their long élevage.  Under Marcenat’s uncle, who arrived in 1986, things started to change – with the late 1990s a pivotal moment. Jean-Guy favours powerful wines and reduced the amount of time the wines spent in tank, introducing de-stemming (gradually, from 1997, at first all done by hand) and oak barrels – with the élevage shifting from all concrete to 100% new oak between 1997 and 1999. He hired Michel Rolland to consult from 1998, and reduced yields – cropping a maximum 25hl/ha.  In 2005, Jean-Guy introduced a mechanical destemmer and densimetric sorting  – both of which contributed to a significant shift in quality, and everything has been destemmed since 2010, to encourage a rounder tannin profile in youth. In 2012, the property was granted Grand Cru Classé status – recognising their efforts. Marcenat joined the team officially in 2014, bringing her own vision, pushing for further change from 2016 and finally taking full control in 2021.  Clos de Sarpe today  The Clos de Sarpe vineyards cover 3.68 hectares, all in one block on the Sarpe plateau and south/southeast facing, just a kilometre from the village of Saint-Emilion itself and close to both TrotteVieille and Troplong Mondot, as well as Sansonnet and Haut-Sarpe.  The topsoil is thin here – with just 20cm in places – and lies over limestone bedrock, which contributes to the very high acidity of the wines (normally with a low pH of 3.2-3.4). Over half of the vineyard is between 60 and 80 years old, with the oldest Cabernet Franc now over 100 years in age, planted by Marcenat’s great-great-uncle in 1923.   The vine age combines with the limestone bedrock to help this site weather hot, dry conditions – a particular boon as the climate shifts. The limestone acts like a sponge, holding water, and the roots reach deep into the bedrock, accessing these reserves. Yields are naturally low given the age of the vines, and recent vintages have seen some tiny yields but Marcenat aims for around 35hl/ha in a good year (more than under her uncle and the Rolland influence).  To preserve the age of the vineyard, Marcenat is gradually starting to replant the site. As part of this project, she has added a little more Cabernet Franc, as well as a tiny portion of Petit Verdot. Previously 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc, today the vineyard comprises 78% Merlot, 20% Cabernet Franc and 2% Petit Verdot.   The family has always worked organically, with no pesticides or herbicides ever used, but the vineyard has been officially certified since the 2020 vintage – something that is of particular importance to Marcenat. For her, the work is all done in the vineyard rather than the winery and the philosophy very Burgundian, with everything kept as simple as possible.  The team is tiny and Marcenat does almost everything herself, supported by Frank Bartolomucci. Today the fruit is all picked by hand, chilled overnight, destemmed and then density-sorted. Each parcel is vinified separately, with most fermented in the concrete tanks that have been used since the 1950s, however the oldest Cabernet Franc is fermented in a 600-litre new oak barrel. She only uses indigenous yeast so fermentations are slow, at least 10 days generally. Maceration times are long, with the wine normally spending around 40, and up to 50 days on the skins, depending on the vintage, but with very gentle extraction. Malolactic fermentation can be challenging with the low pH, so she routinely has to inoculate to force this through (malolactic is essential for wine stability, particularly for wine intended for long ageing).  The portion of new oak has been toned down, with Marcenat ageing the wine for a year in around 70% new oak, with the rest in second-fill barrels (and occasionally some concrete if required). It is then blended together and aged in concrete for around six months prior to bottling without filtration. The oak is all 228-litre Burgundian barrels (versus Bordeaux’s traditional 225 litres), largely Tronçais oak from the cooper Taransaud. Marcenat feels Burgundian barrels pair better with the wine, liking the thicker staves and longer seasoning (30 months versus the 24 that is the norm for Bordeaux).  The Clos de Sarpe wines today  Clos de Sarpe makes two wines: the eponymous Grand Vin and a second wine, Charles de Sarpe, which was introduced in 1997, named after Charles Beyney – Jean-Guy’s son and Marcenat’s cousin. Up to and including the 2015 vintage, the second wine was a saignée of the Grand Vin, used to increase the concentration of the Grand Vin. Since then, it has only been made in certain vintages when there is enough fruit to make a second wine – such as 2019 and 2023.  While most producers will talk about the freshness in their wines coming from the Cabernet Franc, for Marcenat it is the Merlot that brings the acidity, while the Cabernet Franc provides the wine’s structure.  Tasting Clos de Sarpe back to the 1960s, the site’s freshness shines through consistently, as well as a distinctive earthy minerality. The purity of a wine like the 1966 is extraordinary – and it’s holding up beautifully today. You can still see traces of the immense structure the 1975 and 1988 must have had in their youth – providing a gentle grip today alongside their savoury intensity. While the wines were significantly more powerful in style in the late 1990s and 2000s, that power feels balanced today, the 100% new oak integrated and unobtrusive – and the 2001 a particular standout. The 2010 and 2015 vintages of Charles de Sarpe are beautiful wines, with a softer feel and elegance – juice that would be worthy of many Grands Vins.   These wines might once have been known for their power and punch, but Marcenat has tweaked the style, leaning into the natural freshness of the site. She looks for silky tannins and a purity that makes the wines more approachable in youth. It is, she will tell you, very simply the wine she likes and wants to make. Tasting the wines en primeur since she took over suggests that only good things lie ahead here. With each vintage, Marcenat’s imprint on the wines feels clearer and quality belies the growing season’s conditions, testament to both her talent and the terroir.  A note on the Clos de Sarpe labels  As you can see in the line-up for this tasting (below), the labels have changed over the years. The oldest wines made under Yvan Beyney bear a very traditional label, which changed in 1986 to have a blue border when Jean-Guy (Marcenat’s uncle) took over. When the style of wine shifted in the 1990s, Jean-Guy changed the label again (from the 1998 vintage) to one with a gold foil border. The current label was introduced in 2012 when the property achieved Grand Cru Classé status.   The vertical tasting: Clos de Sarpe 1966-2015  2015 Charles de Sarpe: Maylis Marcenat recalls the 2015 harvest vividly – as it took place around the same time that she gave birth to her twin daughters. It was the last vintage in which the second wine was produced as a saignée of the Grand Vin, echoing its proportions of 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc, and effectively a less powerful version, aged in 50% new oak and 50% one-year-old oak. The wine is still lithe and vibrant, offering bright red berries on the nose. The palate displays more savoury tones, with macerated red plum and a fine chalky coating of tannins, cut by bright acidity that drives through to a mouthwatering finish. This is in a beautiful spot now.   2015 Clos de Sarpe: The typical blend of 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc (as with every vintage shown in this vertical), the 2015 Clos de Sarpe was aged in 100% new oak. As you might guess from the élevage and the power of the vintage, this is not a shy and retiring wine – yet Clos de Sarpe’s trademark acidity drives through its core and balances the wine’s intensity. It still feels youthful, packed with dark cherry fruit on the compact nose, that gradually offers sweeter, scented tones with time in the glass. There’s a solidity to the palate – with a mass of rich, concentrated fruit, yet there’s a juiciness here to that makes it mouthwatering, with a sweet plumpness. It’s round and full, with a firm grip of tannin on the finish. Decant to enjoy now, with plenty of air, but this will unfurl over the next decade and beyond.  2010 Charles de Sarpe: The 2010 vintage was the first in which the fruit was all destemmed at Clos de Sarpe. Tasting the second wine with winemaker Maylis Marcenat, she can’t help but wonder why her uncle didn’t put such gorgeous juice into the Grand Vin. It’s a supple, beautiful example of mature Saint-Emilion now – the nose subtle, shifting between sweet fruit, lifted florals and black truffle complexity. The palate is long and balanced, beautifully resolved, seamless and soft, still with mouthwatering freshness and an earthy mineral edge to the long finish. Lovely.  2001 Clos de Sarpe: This was a standout in our vertical – and a wine that holds a special place for Marcenat. As she told us, “For me, it’s better than 2000 – with more freshness, more balance, more everything.” The 100% new oak is integrated, with the nose now showing plenty of tertiary complexity: iron, sousbois and a subtle leafiness mingles with the still fresh, soft strawberry fruit. There’s a transparency here, yet still plenty of concentration – the palate still lithe with soft, plummy red fruit and high juicy acidity that supports the fruit and fills the long finish, complemented by an earthy note. Superb.  1998 Clos de Sarpe: This was one of the first vintages to be aged in oak, seeing 80% new wood for its élevage. It was a great vintage for the Right Bank – as is clear from this wine. The 1998 Clos de Sarpe is beautifully mature, with savoury, leathery aromas and darker bramble fruit versus the more red-fruited 2001 shown alongside. The palate has a savoury iron seam, the tannins still offering a satisfying chewy grip to frame the juicy hedgerow fruit. This blossomed in the glass, revealing further complexity and vibrancy. Long, balanced and very impressive.  1988 Clos de Sarpe: The 1988 vintage offered few challenges and is a fairly classic year. It comes from the era when Clos de Sarpe was all whole-bunch fermented and saw no oak (aged only in concrete) – as with the two vintages below. There was a slight mustiness to this wine at first, but gradually the wine revealed its true character, with sweet, dried fruit and intense, savoury notes – an umami richness reminiscent of marmite. There is still surprising structure and power here, although the wine isn’t quite as concentrated as the 1998, for example. The acidity keeps things fresh, with the scent of truffle and undergrowth lingering on the finish.  1975 Clos de Sarpe: This was recorked in 2020. The 1975 vintage produced some particularly tannic wines – and you can still feel the structure of the year here, with a phenolic grip that frames the palate. The nose is intensely savoury, appealing to lovers of old-school Bordeaux with barnyard and horse leather, gradually revealing a herbal lift – something almost menthol-like. Although this is firmly tertiary in profile, there’s still vibrancy to the palate, with soft waves of fruit and an iron-edged finish.  1966 Clos de Sarpe: Some older vintages of Clos de Sarpe spent extended periods of time in tank before bottling – as is the case with this 1966, which stayed in concrete for almost 10 years. It was recorked in 2019 and is an amazing wine that is singing today. The nose still offers surprising fruit purity – soft, cooked plum and deeper bramble fruit, as well as savoury sousbois and – with time in the glass – liquorice and an almost marmite intensity. It’s ripe and vibrant, with amazing freshness on the palate, the tannins are seamlessly integrated with the sweet fruit. Long, supple and balanced, a beautiful wine to drink now.     Explore all current listings of Clos de Sarpe or read more about Bordeaux 

Few people have heard of Ch. Clos de Sarpe – and even fewer have followed its evolution in recent years. We sat down with Maylis Marcenat – the fourth generation of her family to run the 3.7-hectare estate – to taste through a vertical and explore the site’s identity through the ages 

Exploring the evolution of this tiny Saint-Emilion estate through a six-decade vertical tasting of the wines with winemaker Maylis Marcenat 

Tasting through six decades of Ch. Clos de Sarpe 

Six decades of Clos de Sarpe 

Jaime Araujo’s surname is a familiar one to Napa collectors. Her parents Daphne and Bart purchased the famed Eisele Vineyard in Calistoga in 1990 and established their eponymous winery on the site shortly after. Jaime was enrolled in university at the time and wouldn’t join her parents in Napa for many years, instead spending over two decades studying and working in Europe, including a stint at Moët Hennessey. She arrived in Napa in 2012 to work alongside her parents as a business consultant, but the job was short-lived, when the winery and Eisele Vineyard was sold to Artémis Domaines (the parent company of Ch. Latour) in 2013.   While her parents went on to establish Accendo Cellars, with Jaime and her brother as partners, the itch to build a business of her own only grew stronger. “I always wanted to run a business as a force for good,” she recalls. She got her chance during the first vintage at Accendo in 2013, when she turned a Cabernet Sauvignon lot that didn’t quite fit in with any of the Accendo cuveés into her first 300 cases of Trois Noix wine. (The name – French for “three nuts” – is a cheeky reference to her two children, as well as her brother’s daughter, all quite young at the time.)   Despite her family’s legacy, and perhaps the temptation to enter the market at the top end, as many newcomers do, Jaime was intent to create wines that were approachable and embodied sustainability ideals. This included a pricing strategy that skewed heavily towards affordable options, ranging from $30-50 per bottle and the most expensive Cabernet Sauvignon topping out at $150. “I’m not in this to make billions,” she laughs. “It’s so important that Napa is accessible to as many people as possible. You have to be welcoming and make wines that appeal to everyone.”    Even before Jaime was developing her brand, Steve Matthiasson had been quietly establishing a reputation as one of Napa’s most respected organic winegrowing experts. After studying horticulture as a graduate student at the University of California Davis, he launched his wine career in 1995 as a viticultural consultant, going on to settle in Napa with his wife Jill Klein Matthiasson in 2002 and building an impressive client roster. Since 2007, Steve has worked closely with the Araujo family, first for Eisele vineyard – where he continues to consult – as well as at Accendo. Other current and past clients include Dalla Valle, Spottswoode and Chappellet.   The process of becoming a winemaker in addition to viticulturalist, however, has been a slow and steady process. Matthiasson says he learned about wine almost by osmosis over the years, sitting in on client tastings and by keen observation. In 2003, Steve and Jill produced just 120 cases under their name, but by 2017, they reached a major milestone with the purchase of a small winemaking facility and neighbouring vineyard in the Oak Knoll AVA – a massive accomplishment for two outsiders with little initial capital. Last year, their production reached 12,000 cases, stretched across 25 unique cuveés. Today, Steve farms most of the vineyards he makes wine from, including a small vineyard at his home, where he has planted rows of northern Italian varieties, including Refosco, Ribolla Gialla and Schioppettino.   Inside the compact Matthiasson winery, cosy by Napa standards, foudres line the walls and nearly every inch is occupied with equipment, case goods and barrels. In the corner, a stack of large glass jars filled with liquids of varying colours sits – the aromatics steeping in alcohol for vermouth, Steve explains, which he and his wife make along with olive oil and jam, as accompaniments to the unique lineup of wines Matthiasson produces, ranging from single-vineyard Cabernets to more esoteric fruit and wine co-ferments. While many collectors still may not have heard of Matthiasson, Steve says he is proud to be sought after by sommeliers and others in the wine trade: “We like to say we’re the musicians’ musician.”   Both Jaime and Steve believe strongly that their businesses must be both environmentally and socially responsible. “It’s so important to stand up for what you believe in,” Jaime emphasises. Today, Trois Noix boasts a range of sustainability initiatives, including B Corp status, a high-level sustainability certification which only two other wineries in Napa currently possess. Though not specific to wine or agriculture, B Corp certification is awarded after a rigorous assessment to prove a dedication to positive community impact alongside profit.   In the same vein, all of the vineyards Steve farms for Matthiasson are organic, which is the certification that is the most meaningful to him – and represents a full circle of sorts from his early days studying agriculture, when winemaking was not yet on the horizon. “Organic farming has become not just accepted but embraced since I’ve been here,” Steve says, saying that it’s becoming the norm rather than the exception, especially so for the most well-known cult Napa wineries. “And it’s not just for PR,” he adds, saying many don’t broadcast their farming practices. “They truly believe it makes better wine.” Steve believes the standard of farming has improved dramatically since he arrived in Napa and so has the quality of the resulting fruit. “As the years have gone by, our ability to do the right thing has increased,” he says.  The resulting wines that both Trois Noix and Matthiasson produce are crafted in a fresh style, with an emphasis on primary fruit and terroir-specific cuvées, as opposed to dominant oak or heavy extraction that have been the trend for fine wine in Napa. Araujo says she is trying to craft wines that are reminiscent of Napa 50 years ago, by using a light hand. “We started getting bigger and bolder in Napa, and that’s fine, but we can do this, too, and do it well.” Araujo describes her goal each vintage as crafting wines in a “sweet spot”, built to enjoy immediately but also with the structure and acidity to age for several years at a minimum.    At Matthiasson, pick dates are watched closely, and occur on the early side for Napa, so that alcohols remain low and acidity is naturally brisk. Other than a small amount of sulphur, no other additions are made. “We utilise traditional winemaking methods,” Steve says – quick to note, though, with a laugh, that there is a difference between “natural and natty”, explaining that his goal is to make fresh, clean wines from the healthiest fruit possible. Unlike other Napa wineries that employ optical sorters and tables lined with harvest workers examining every berry, Mathiasson does not sort the fruit prior to fermentation, trusting instead in the farming and meticulous picking over multiple passes.   “We’ve always been an agricultural community, and no one wanted to talk about that for a long time,” Jaime tells me. She believes the future of Napa will be a focus on not just high quality but also history, community and a reputation for doing the right thing. These will not be talking points for her brand only, however, as last year she was elected Board Chair of the Napa Valley Vintners. A nonprofit trade association founded in 1944, NVV acts as a voice for the wine business in Napa Valley, promoting, supporting and advocating for its over 500 members. “I’m a bridge between old and new because of my family and my experience,” Jaime says, explaining that she hopes to bring a fresh perspective on the future of Napa, one that emphasises a range of styles and price points, but most of all, is able to welcome a wider range of people than ever before, by showing the varied people and places of the region. Matthiasson voices a similar ethos. “The wine business has so much artifice, but we want to let people in.”  Matthiasson and Trois Noix collaborated on a special lot for Premiere Napa Valley last year – a lot that we purchased and will soon be releasing. Please contact your Account Manager to register interest. 

In a region where wine is often a byword for luxury, two producers are dedicated to reminding drinkers of Napa’s humble roots. Rachael Ryan – Senior Buyer for our US arm, Vinfolio – talks to Jaime Araujo and Steve Matthiasson about their philosophy, farming and approach to making wine 

Two Napa wine producers are championing economic, environmental and social sustainability: we talk to Trois Noix’s Jaime Araujo and Steve Matthiasson 

Farming for the future: Trois Noix and Matthiasson 

Matthew Fioretti is not everyone’s cup of tea. The man at the helm of Cerbaiona doesn’t mince his words – and he’s got firm views on, well, I suspect pretty much everything. But he’s also unwaveringly honest, with a frank approach that is enjoyably refreshing – and rather unusual in the fine wine arena. He’s got a vision and story, one that he wants to tell, but it’s not one that’s been spun by a PR agency; it’s his. Fioretti has long been involved in the world of wine, running an import business in the US (Summa Vitis), which focused largely on Italian wine. He moved to Italy in 2004, and shut down the Summa Vitis operation in 2009 as he set his sights on making wine himself. After a few false starts, he heard that Diego Molinari – the longtime owner of Cerbaiona – was looking to retire. Along with a group of investors (the most significant of which is the American collector Gary Rieschel), Fioretti purchased the property in 2015, reportedly for €5.8 million. Molinari was in his 80s and it was clear that – while the site itself was exceptional – the property was run down and needed work. As we reported a few years ago, he promptly embarked on a radical project to restore the property and unexpectedly decided to declassify the 2014 and 2015 vintages to Rosso di Montalcino, only releasing the first Fioretti-era Brunello in 2021, with the 2016 vintage – the first to be made entirely by the new team.  Now, almost a decade later, he’s starting to be able to realise his vision for the estate – as we discovered on a visit earlier this year, with problems that “aren’t easy to solve”. The challenge, he explains, has been evolving from an “artisan” to an “atelier”. Under Molinari, the property developed a legendary reputation, but the operation was rudimentary – a traditional, family business, doing things the way they had always been done. Fioretti wants to bring the estate into the modern era, elevating the terroir with technical precision to craft wines that continue the Cerbaiona legacy. It is, he says, “a transition I wasn’t expecting to make”, but one that he feels is essential to safeguard Cerbaiona’s future. The distinction between artisan and atelier is a nuanced one – but one that comes down to an emphasis on craft rather than art, with a commitment to consistency, for which precision and hygiene in the winery are key, as well as a high level of technical knowledge. He confesses that he had envisaged having a more hands-off approach in the winery, having imported a lot of natural wines in his previous career, but has rapidly realised that top-level winemaking is full of “necessary compromises” (diving into issues like the fault quercetin). As a craft, winemaking can’t just be subject to the “whims of the producer”, as he suggests is the artisanal way. “I prefer to work more meticulously,” he explains. The American talks at pace, flitting from TS Eliot and the concept of “the pure critic” to Albertolli and neoclassicism, in amongst technical detail about fining and filtering. The estate is closed to visitors, deliberately to avoid distraction from what Fioretti wants to be spending his time on – making wine. As he whizzes us round the winery, our heads spinning as we try to absorb every detail, he talks us through exactly how he’s bringing new exactitude to the operation. The vineyards have all been replanted and a steep-sloped olive grove replaced with vines, all with selected rootstocks and clones sourced from France’s Guillaume nursery, to give them the best possible raw material. Once seen as too labour-intensive to farm, he’s convinced the ex-olive grove might just be the best site on the property. The rustic old stables and granary that acted as the cellar and winery have been carefully renovated, with water and drainage installed throughout, and the equipment all updated. Importantly, Fioretti has added a full in-house laboratory – something that is exceedingly rare for a property of this size, let alone Italy where the high-tech approach is far from the norm. The fruit is now all chilled after harvest, de-stemmed and cold-soaked, using inert gas to protect the must. While he used upright wooden tanks for fermentation for his first five vintages, Fioretti switched to stainless steel to allow for better hygiene and temperature control (preferring a maximum 26̊C), as well as allowing him to programme them for automated punch-downs and pump-overs. He’s started co-inoculating for primary and malolactic fermentation, meaning the wines go into barrel very clean – and can be sulphured right away. These are tweaks, minor modernisations, but one of the most significant changes Foretti is making is the time the wine spends in wood. While Molinari favoured four-plus years in 500-litre tonneaux, Fioretti has gradually started bottling the wine earlier and uses a combination of 350-litre barrels and 15-hectolitre casks. “Even two years [the appellation minimum] in wood is too long,” he says – before quickly acknowledging that such a view is far from accepted, and he cannot legally reduce it any further. The various consorzios may not like it, but it’s a view that is increasingly common among younger producers in Italy, who are frustrated by minimum oak-ageing requirements and their contrast with the wines today’s consumers want to drink. As Fioretti says, however, “The notion of wood is very delicate.” And while he’d rather be able to age his wine in other vessels during their first two years of life, he acknowledges that élevage in oak has a beneficial impact on the chemistry of wine – aiding stability. With such a beloved wine, it might seem controversial to change anything – especially the way it’s made, but that hasn’t stopped Fioretti. Looking back at older vintages from the estate, even the legendary 100-point 2010, he is sometimes underwhelmed, feeling that there’s much greater potential. Part of his plan to reflect that potential is bottling earlier, allowing the fruit to shine through and give the wine better balance – something he feels is key for ageing potential. He’s also keen to make sure the wine is moderate in alcohol with maximum 14 or 14.2%, even in the warmest years. And most importantly, he says, good wine has to be delicious. Having tasted the 2019 and 2021 with Fioretti – the results so far really are. There’s a vibrancy and purity that makes them irresistible, while not sacrificing the structure that will allow these wines to go the distance. Alongside Cerbaiona, Fioretti has also created the M.L. Fioretti label, one he describes as “part garagiste, part petit château”. He was keen to explore indigenous grapes, which “are part of the family – but not all thoroughbreds”, as well as plots of Bordeaux varietals (grapes with undeniable pedigree) – provided they’re planted in the right place. The Casaglia Colorino is bright and spicy, while the San Vito (sadly the last vintage of which is 2021) is a beautifully lush and vibrant Merlot. These are fascinating wines that allow Fioretti to experiment more – outside the constrictions of the Brunello di Montalcino appellation. Controversially, Fioretti has declared Cerbaiona a “No Scores Zone”, echoing the sentiment of Teobaldo Cappellano that numerical ratings are divisive, at best – and don’t do justice to the craft of winemaking. In his notes on the 2018 vintage, Fioretti wrote: “This is another vintage for the connoisseur, that true lover of wine and the vine. So be it if the ‘collector’ misses out.” Feathers might be ruffled by such remarks, but the motivation here is clear: an earnest passion for wine. It’s something that shines through in our conversation – and in the wines he’s making. You won’t find ratings online for new vintages of Cerbaiona, but one thing’s for sure: you’ll want them in your cellar. Explore all current Cerbaiona and M.L. Fioretti listings, or read more about Italy

You won’t have seen any reviews for Cerbaiona since Matthew Fioretti took over the cult Montalcino address – and that’s for good reason. We caught up with the notorious American taking charge, and leading change, at the estate

It’s all change at the cult Brunello di Montalcino winery Cerbaiona since Matthew Fioretti took over in 2015. We sat down with him to find out more.

Change at Cerbaiona – Matthew Fioretti

Change at Cerbaiona: Matthew Fioretti

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

When it comes to whisky, the conversation has long been dominated by maturation – on how long the liquid spends slumbering in which cask, on how big the cask is and what it held before, whether a Sherry butt, wine barrique, first-fill Bourbon barrel or the fashionable mizunara. Recently, there’s been an increased focus on the base product, with producers such as Waterford’s Mark Reynier championing single-site, single-barley, terroir-driven whiskies (and rums, with his Renegade project). But, somehow, there’s a tendency to skip on by the magic that happens in between: distillation.  While grain whisky is column distilled, malt whisky is almost exclusively distilled in copper pot stills – indeed, it’s a legal requisite for Scotch whisky. Crafting these copper beauties is an art – and one that depends on a handful of specialists. Kentucky has Vendome, Germany has Kothe and CARL, Italy has Frilli and Scotland has Forsyths. The equipment these coppersmiths produce lays the foundation the DNA of its new-make.  To the untrained eye, these onion-shaped pieces of kit look almost identical, but the size and shape is distinct to each distillery – defining its style. As distilleries expand and increase production, they don’t buy a bigger still – but commission exact replicas of their existing still(s), with every dent and dimple carefully recreated. Macallan, famously, replaced all its stills when building its new state-of-the-art distillery in 2018, asking Forsyths to create 36 stills that were identical to those it had previously used.  Although there have been attempts to use other metals, copper has long been favoured for distilling – originally for its pliability, making it easy to work and shape. But by the early 20th century, it was apparent that copper had other benefits – stripping the spirit of impurities. As the vapour rises through the still, it reacts with the copper, capturing sulphur, cyanides, carbonates and acids, meaning the liquid that is eventually collected is purer. Coppersmiths play on this purifying effect to create a range of stills, for the longer the vapour spends in contact with the copper, the lighter the spirit you’ll produce. Take Glenmorangie’s tall, 17-feet-high stills which produce a very light spirit, and compare them to the small, squat stills and typically heavy spirit of the Macallan. Of course it’s not quite as simple as that. As well as the ratio of copper to liquid, the speed of distillation, the shape of the still, the size of the neck, the level of reflux, the angle of the lyne arm and venting of stills all have an impact.  Rothes-based Forsyths has been hammering copper into shape for Scotland’s leading distillers for over 150 years. Richard Forsyth OBE (who has now passed management of the business to his son, Richard Jr) was the third generation of his family to run the coppersmiths. The frank, self-effacing Scot remembers working in his father’s workshop aged 15, “I knew this is what I wanted to do… I found it fascinating.” And after 55 years, his eye still twinkles when he talks about the arch of a still’s swan neck, the art of wielding a planishing hammer and the characters that make the industry so interesting.   He joined the family business in 1967 – at what happened to be a pivotal moment for the industry. During the Second World War, the whisky business ground to a halt – and with it the need for stills. In the 1950s and ’60s, however, the industry grew rapidly – too rapidly, it turned out. What was a golden era turned into a whisky lake, with many distilleries soon mothballed. Forsyths – for whom 99% of its business was servicing the whisky industry – had to find something else to pay the bills, and it was up to Richard to find that something else. They branched out first into paper, then stainless steel and – by the late 1990s – oil and gas. Although coppersmithing remained the foundation and heart of the business, these other disciplines became the main money-makers until the early 2010s, when whisky’s current boomtime set in. Today, Forsyths maintains over half of the pot stills in Scotland. For a wash still (distilleries that double-distil have wash and spirits stills, first distilling the wash into “low wines” and then distilling the “low wines” into new-make spirit), the head, neck and condenser wears out in eight to 10 years, while the pot itself may last 25. Add to that developing new stills for the thriving industry – as well as their expansion into rum, Bourbon and tequila – and the company’s not short of work.   Although there is clear resistance to change with an industry that is entrenched in tradition, things have shifted, slowly but surely, over the years. And there have been two significant changes over the last century that have transformed the Scotch whisky world: the firing of stills and the nature of condensers.  When shell-and-tube condensers were invented in the 1880s, as an alternative to old-fashioned worm tubs, it took time for producers to be persuaded. Although shell-and-tube condensers are significantly more efficient and take up much less space, they are completely different – with the copper surface area at least 20 times larger, something which has a key impact on the spirit. To this day some producers (15 to be exact – including Craigellachie, Mortlach, Glen Elgin and Springbank, the latter only for their wash still) retain their worm tubs, valuing the heavier, richer, more complex (and in some instances, even meaty, savoury) spirit character.   Traditionally stills were direct-fired – heated by flames fed by peat, coal or gas. “It’s dirty, messy, difficult to handle – and to control,” Forsyth tells me. A push for safety and efficiency saw producers switch to using steam in the 1970s. But some argue that this shift wasn’t for the better. Fire created a less consistent heat, with hot spots that would burn the wash and promote Maillard reactions (the same reaction that takes place when you brown meat, or during the bottle-ageing of Champagne or other traditional-method sparkling wine) – adding nutty, roasted notes that build complexity, or so proponents would argue. Glenfarclas is known for having briefly dallied with steam before returning to direct-firing, along with the likes of Macallan, Glenfiddich and Springbank.  As the whiskies of this pre-modernisation era – Scotch’s so-called “golden age” – become increasingly coveted, distilleries (both new and old) are looking to recreate these practices. Along with traditional floor maltings, producers like Glen Garioch (owned by Suntory) and Dunphail are investing in direct-firing. (Although, with worm tubs no longer produced, new distilleries have little choice regarding shell-and-tube condensers.)  However they are fired, given their custom nature, copper pot stills don’t come cheap. Much of the work continues to be done by hand, hammering to strengthen and finish the copper. Stills can range from 5,000 to 50,000 litres in capacity, but an average 15,000-litre still and its condenser will require between 1,800 and 2,000 manhours, and set you back around £250,000. And that price has only increased recently, thanks to rising energy and material costs – with a copper shortage proving challenging for Forsyths, a business that is the UK’s second-biggest buyer of the metal.  With the distinct nature of stills and their impact on spirit, plenty of new producers will ask for copies of a particular distillery’s stills – wishing to emanate their style of spirit. Forsyth tells me how one Japanese customer requested a pair each of Macallan, Glenlivet and Glenrothes stills. While of course there are many problems with this imitation game, there’s also no guarantee – as Forsyth tells me – that the same equipment will have the same results, especially when not run with the same wash, in the same way, by the same people. And, of course, a company like Forsyths isn’t going to give away Macallan’s proprietary designs, for example. As such, they’ll recreate something similar, but ensure it’s tweaked so no two distilleries have exactly the same design.   But how much impact do stills really have on the final spirit? Despite his half-century in the trade, Forsyth is quick to suggest, “I don’t think a lowly coppersmith can talk too much about that.” He’s clear that you need good equipment to make good spirit, but it’s one factor in amongst everything else – the barley, water and fermentation times, for example. And how a still is used is as important as its shape or size, with both the speed of distillation and the all-important cuts – dividing the heart from the foreshots and feints. Forsyth firmly believes that good wood is “the single biggest effect in a bottle eight, 10 or 12 years later”. There’s little use having a good base spirit if it’s ruined by a decade in bad oak – but good oak also can’t salvage bad spirit.  Forsyth has seen it all during his 55 years in the whisky business – and has been forced to be as malleable as the metal his family has worked for generations to survive the booms and busts. Despite the challenges, the coppersmith is as enchanted by his trade as when he first picked up a hammer in his father’s workshop. The industry will doubtless continue to ebb and flow, but with a spirit that takes decades to produce, the pace of change is reassuringly gentle. “It almost goes as slow as the running of the spirit,” Forsyth says whimsically. The still room remains the beating heart of distilleries – the basis of a producer’s fingerprint, all thanks to the careful hammering of the artful coppersmith.  Browse all current Scotch whisky listings or read more about spirits  

There’s something romantic about the bulbous sheen of a copper pot still. These behemoths glimmer with the promise of fine spirit – but it’s rare that we talk about what happens within. Sophie Thorpe sat down with Richard Forsyth OBE of Scotland’s leading coppersmiths, Forsyths, to find out more 

Cult coppersmiths Forsyths on the art of crafting copper pot stills for the biggest names in Scotch whisky – and how they define a distillery’s spirit style

How copper pot stills define whisky styles

Copper craft: the art of the still

When people say they’ve put their blood, sweat and tears into something, more often than not, it’s a figure of speech. This is not the case for Bimber Distillery founder Dariusz Plazewski, who has put everything into the build of his dream Speyside distillery, Dunphail. The day before we speak, Plazewski was on the roof of one of his new distillery buildings, mucking in and making sure the mammoth project that was a lifetime in the making stays on track.   The Polish-born Plazewski is a third-generation distiller – or more accurately, moonshiner – who emigrated to London 20 years ago. After observing the English craft distilling boom from afar, the trained architect seized the opportunity to put his family’s legacy and knowhow to good use and set about building Bimber, a single malt whisky distillery based in West London. Bimber’s inaugural bottling, The First, sold out within three hours of release in 2019 – and demand has far outstripped supply ever since.    Fast forward three years and Plazewski is mere months away from realising his dream of producing a single malt Scotch whisky. But it hasn’t been easy.   “There are lots of challenges,” he tells me matter-of-factly. When we catch up, after two aborted attempts, the Master Distiller sounds ever-so-slightly weary – and it’s not hard to fathom why. Today, he is speaking from London, where he’s been “sorting out a few things” at Bimber. He’s boarding a flight back to Scotland in a couple of days and then he’s taking a much-needed holiday – where he confesses he will be on email constantly.   Rest is not in his nature. (Plazewski has been pinballing from one project to the next for decades. By the end of 2022, he says he will have “given up” his other business and solely focus on spirits.) Nor is adhering to the status quo.    Since founding Bimber in 2015, the Master Distiller has prided himself on being a bit of a renegade. Where others have embraced modern whisky-making practices, Plazewski has been staunchly traditional in his approach – and it has served him exceedingly well. “Whisky was always my passion and when I found out that there was a craft movement of whisky and gin distilling, I just started researching,” he tells me. “It took me a long time but I wanted to do something different. I wanted to always do something which was a bit old-fashioned.”  Plazewski’s father and grandfather before him (illegally) made wine, spirits and beer in his native Poland – Bimber translates as “moonshine” in Polish – and Plazewski was an eager protégé with a natural talent from a young age. I refrain from asking how young.   “The good thing is that I understand all the production, all the process, all the fermentation, and how to make alcohol,” he tells me. “Not only whisky but how to make any alcohol really. Sense of smell, touch, and all this just naturally comes to me.”   Plazewski says his fate was sealed the moment he travelled to Scotland and fell in love with Speyside single malts. Dunphail was always going to happen – he just didn’t know when. Starting his (legal) distilling career with Bimber was a shrewd decision. English whisky was then a relative unknown, so Plazewski used this scene as his sandbox to prove to himself and others that traditional whisky production should not be consigned to the history books.   Bimber was, and for the time being still is, a small-scale traditional whisky-making operation. Local barley is grown on a single farm in neighbouring Hampshire. It is floor-malted at Britain’s oldest maltster, Warminster Maltings, and hand-mashed. The two copper pot stills are direct-fired (with a flame, as the name suggests, rather than the more modern and efficient method of steam) and fermentation times are twice the industry average at seven days.  These practices are astoundingly rare in today’s modern whisky world. The majority of producers abandoned floor maltings (the method of malting grain by hand on large malting floors) in favour of industrial malting processes and did away with direct-firing stills (in favour of steam) decades ago, deeming them inefficient and costly. While it is possible to find distillers who adopt some of these techniques – notable examples being Laphroaig, Glenfarclas and Bowmore – it is incredibly rare to find a producer who is able or willing to apply all these labour-intensive and budget-zapping practices.   “I will never be a distiller without floor maltings,” he says physically baulking at the idea of producing whisky any other way. “Never. No. For me, it is crucial,” he adds.    With Dunphail, Plazewski is going one step further than Bimber and building his own traditional floor maltings on-site. This will put Dunphail in a highly exclusive group, and the move has received mixed responses from Plazewski’s peers.   “For me it is very important,” Plazewski says. “I know many people said, wow are you crazy because this is hard work, this is lots of involvement, why are you doing it?”  I can’t help asking him the same. To which he says: “Because nobody is doing this anymore and I want to continue this craft, I want people to see how the whisky was made before. I think it is going to be good fun and I think this is going to be a great feature for our distillery.”  In addition to floor maltings, Dunphail’s stills will also be direct-fired – Glenmorangie was the first to install steam-heated stills in 1887 and countless others followed until only a handful of direct-fired producers remained. Plazewski is the first to acknowledge the practice of heating stills in this traditional way is far less efficient and costly but for him it was non-negotiable and vital to produce the highest-quality Speyside whisky possible – fruit-forward, oily and medium-bodied. He is also in the minority sourcing Dunphail’s barley and peat locally. There are undoubtedly easier routes to produce whisky but the mere suggestion is sacrilege to Plazewski.  Steadfast on his goal, Plazewski set about finding the perfect location to produce traditional single malt Scotch whisky. After years of searching, he settled on a location in the heart of Speyside – a typically renegade move as the majority of new distilleries have been built outside this iconic region. He explains: “The location was really difficult and challenging as well to be honest.”  “I love Speyside – it’s my favourite part in Scotland. First of all, it is a great area because it has got microclimate, so it’s not too cold there and it’s not too rainy. And it’s pretty sunny.” Additionally, he says: “Speyside whiskies are my favourite.”  When asked if he feels the weight of this tradition or pressure to produce a stand-out Speyside whisky in one of the most densely populated whisky-making regions in the world, he says not.   “We are tiny. We’re not going to be competing with the big, established brands. Most of the new distilleries are not built in Speyside, they are mostly built in Fife area. And not many are really going the route we are with the floor maltings and old-fashioned techniques we are trying to apply.”  In addition to the many challenges that come with building a distillery to a blueprint that no longer exists, Plazewski has embattled with supply chain issues following Brexit, Covid and now the war in Ukraine. It’s a minor miracle – and a testament to the tenacity of Plazewski – that the Dunphail build is on schedule and production is set to begin, as planned, at the end of the year.   When asked how he feels, Plazewski pauses for a moment, takes a short intake of breath and hurriedly says: “It’s amazing. It’s hard work. I need a break. That’s why I need this holiday because it’s not only physical work, it’s the mental as well – planning everything.”  He pauses again. “It’s been a stressful and challenging time. But we are on schedule, we’ve planned this well.”  After Dunphail is up and running, and Plazewski has trained his dream team to the standard of Bimber, you wonder what’s next. You sense he won’t just stop after realising his Scottish dream, and that there will be a new North Star.    When asked, he responds to the question with a wry smile, indicating this is not the first time it has been posed to him by others, or even himself. “I would say yes, I’m done after this, but people I know and people around me are saying to me, you are never going to stop, you’re going to find something else.  “But I would say I think I’ve done my dream and when this [distillery] is going to be open, I’m thinking to really concentrate and not do anything more. I don’t think I will put too much pressure on myself and my family again.” A seed of doubt creeps in and then he says resolutely: “No, this is it, it’s going to be my dream, it’s going to be super exciting and I’m not going to go for anything else. I’m just going to enjoy the time and share the drams.” We’ll ask him again in five years’ time.   For the time being, at least, Plazewski (and the wider whisky world) is satiated with turning modern whisky-making on its head and bringing fiercely traditional practices back to one of the oldest and most prestigious whisky regions in the world.   Browse all Scotch whisky or read more Editorial

For the past seven years Dariusz Plazewski has led the vanguard of English whisky-making at Bimber. With his first Scotch distillery, Dunphail, months away from production, the indefatigable architect-cum-Master-Distiller tells Holly Motion how he and his distilleries were built to be different   

Bimber has become a whisky-making icon. Now Master Distiller Dariusz Plazewski has set his sights on Scotland with Dunphail. We explore the ethos behind both

How the brains behind Bimber built Dunphail  

Dariusz Plazewski: grand designs

Anyone who’s had the misfortune of tasting a de-alcoholised version knows that alcohol is key to wine. Take it away and it leaves a gaping void in the glass – stripping the liquid of body and flavour. Those attempting to craft alcohol-free alternatives look to make up for its absence with sugar or flavourings, but the results don’t come close to the real thing. And of course the very fermentation process is key to complexity – there’s a reason we aren’t collecting single-site examples of even the finest raw grape juice. But alcohol’s a hot topic – and not just because of any health considerations. Trends and shifts in climate have seen the average ABV (alcohol by volume) inch upwards. Indeed, a report last year from Liv-ex suggested the average alcohol level has leapt almost an entire 1% for both California and Bordeaux since the 1990s. While once 14 or 14.5% might have been the purview only of the New World, it’s rapidly become the norm in Bordeaux. Rising temperatures are one element, as indeed is technology and know-how – harvesting cleaner, riper fruit and more efficient winemaking. Then, of course, there’s the fashion factor – the pendulum swing, arguably driven by Robert Parker, for bold, ripe, sweet and inevitably high-alcohol wines. “He loved that weight, that impression of sweetness,” Paul Hobbs tells me. “We jumped on the wagon – but we didn’t know what we were jumping on.” A cult name, Hobbs crafts some of Napa’s highest-scoring and most expensive Cabernets; indeed, Parker named him his Wine Personality of the Year twice. Born in New York State, the Davis-trained winemaker founded his namesake estate in 1991. He’d started his career at Robert Mondavi (arriving in 1977), working at Opus One and Simi before setting up on his own, with a flurry of personal projects and list of consultancies that has grown ever since. He openly admits that he got caught up in “Parkerisation”, crafting big, bold wines – no great surprise given the scores, and sales, that followed for those who did. But he’s been pulling back in recent years, and has never quite fit the cookie-cutout for the cult Cabernet crew. Ever since he first started making his own wines in the 1990s, he’s championed native yeasts (relatively radical at the time), and no fining or filtering. While he embraces oak, he’s always been aware that it’s the quality of fruit in the vineyard, preserved by operating a flawlessly clean winery, that is key to producing fine wine. Make no mistake that Hobbs makes rich, plush wines – and the alcohol levels certainly don’t sit at 12.5% – but for him there is much more to alcohol than one number. “I didn’t give much thought to it in the beginning,” Hobbs says. “And there wasn’t really much reason to.” When he was at Mondavi, the wines tended to sit at 13.5% – but then they started to go up. “There was a time when 16% was normal,” he confesses with some amazement. “Some of these wines were difficult. They didn’t age. They would get tired,” Hobbs says. “But all that took us time to learn – no one had ever been in that domain before.” He notes that there was “a backlash” in the British press against wines that didn’t please the palates of “the Hugh Johnsons, the Jancis Robinsons and Anthony Roses”; a response he clearly feels was a little unjust. “It’s far more complex than a simple number,” he says. “15 isn’t always 15.” And it’s true – alcohol doesn’t feel the same. How many times have you looked at the label of a wine and been surprised – either for better or worse? Alcohol is one element working in tandem with a wine’s body, concentration and flavour complexity – and there’s no easy figure to tell you how it integrates with these other components. But there’s another key reason why the same alcohol level can seem so different: the nature of the alcohol. The main alcohol in wine is ethanol (a molecule with two carbons), however fermentation produces other types of alcohols – specifically superior or higher alcohols. Often known as fusel oils – from a German term “Fusel” which is colloquial for low-quality booze – these alcohols have three to six carbons in their molecular form and are significantly more viscous (hence “oils”).  While ethanol is pure and relatively neutral, these heavier superior alcohols can – in low volumes – bring flavour, texture and interest. “It’s what makes something more than vodka,” Hobbs explains. Hexanols can add herbaceous aromas; 2-phenylethanol gives a rose-like scent. But they’re also associated with headaches and hangovers. In the world of spirits, these fusel oils are what runs out of the still last – forming the “tails” of distillation, which are used to varying degrees depending on the type of spirit being produced. “Alcohol is alcohol? Well, yes and no,” says Hobbs. It's high numbers of these superior alcohols, he believes, that can make one 15% wine feel clumsy and lumbering, while another – with lower fusel oil levels – can carry the same ABV with ease. The production of these superior alcohols depends on many things – yeast strain, temperature, oxygen availability and acidity. In general, red grapes produce more of the compounds (which is partly why spirits tend to use white grapes as their base). But Hobbs thinks it ultimately comes back to the vineyard: he’s started noticing that if berries are heat-damaged, they produce more superior alcohols. “Our goal is to keep these superior alcohols as low as possible – and that’s just about harvesting not sun-damaged fruit,” Hobbs explains. Under the warmth of the Californian sun, it’s common to get sun damage early in the season, but shrivelled berries tend to fall off nascent clusters of their own accord; more concerning is fruit that can be damaged internally and then won’t go through véraison, which needs to be sorted out. Late in the season, Hobbs and his team look to walk through the vines and cut off any “shoulders” (the side cluster at the very top of a bunch of grapes) that have been exposed. With global warming, this is an increasing threat – and an element of climate change that is only now being considered. If grapes are sunburnt or shrivelled, they tend to struggle with fermentation, and the stressed yeasts produce more of the superior alcohols. “The wine is going to be fat and heavy on the palate,” says Hobbs. “You can lower the alcohol by adding water – but it doesn’t change its personality.” If the fruit is in good shape – he says – you simply don’t have that issue, even at 15.5%. And those wines, provided they’ve got the requisite balance, age amazingly. Rajat Parr (star sommelier turned winemaker) and Jasmine Hirsch (of Hirsch Vineyards) founded In Pursuit of Balance (IPOB) in 2011 to champion lighter wines that they felt “weren’t chasing after ratings from wine critics”. These “new California” wines (Jon Bonné published his book The New California Wine in 2013) tended to have lower alcohols and less oak – following the swing of the pendulum back the other way; an anti-Parker effort in many ways. I attended the last London IPOB tasting in 2016, catching the crest of the wave as the movement called it quits – feeling they’d achieved their aim of building the reputation of an alternative California. Paul Hobbs arguably sits at the opposite end of the California wine spectrum (“Should all wines be 13.5%?” he says to me, “Why is that the magic number?”) – but philosophically, they’re surprisingly aligned. It’s not about the number, it’s about the balance – and Hobbs, like any posterchild of the new California movement, will tell you that the secret lies in the vineyard. The challenge is to farm and pick the perfect fruit – to find the sweet spot between flavour, sugar and phenolic ripeness. As Hobbs says to me, “That’s the dance between man and nature.” Forget the maths; this is farming. A note on the numbers Strictly speaking, the alcohol level on any label isn’t exactly what’s in the bottle. For wines sold in the EU and UK (both those made here and imported), producers are given 0.5% leeway – meaning that what’s on the bottle is generally reflective of its contents. In the US and Australia, however, wines sold domestically can differ by as much as 1.5% from the label – meaning a wine labelled as 14% could be anything from 12.5 to 15.5%. Browse all Paul Hobbs listings or discover more Editorial

With climate change and the influence of Robert Parker, it’s undeniable that we’ve seen a rising tide of alcohol levels. But there’s much more to the conversation than a simple number – as we discovered tasting and talking with Paul Hobbs, one of Napa’s leading names

The Napa winemaker Paul Hobbs on how we perceive alcohol in wine and why the alcohol level on any label isn’t exactly what’s in the bottle. 

Paul Hobbs on alcohol in wine 

The nature of the numbers: Paul Hobbs on alcohol

Few people have been lucky enough to be as immersed in Burgundy’s finest wines as Martin Donatsch. His father bought a pallet of top Burgundy, including those of Domaine de la Romanée Conti (DRC) and Armand Rousseau, every year from the early 1970s onwards. Martin’s birth in 1978 – a fantastic vintage in Burgundy – only encouraged his father to buy more, and Martin, now in his early 40s, has been enjoying wines from the family collection ever since. Just last week, he uncorked a 1978 DRC Echézeaux. This immersion has provided him with an extraordinary understanding of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir – something that has doubtless helped him become one of the world’s great emerging winemaking talents. Donatsch is one of a small number of producers growing Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and the native Completer grape in Bündner Herrschaft in Switzerland. This tiny Swiss valley, for the time being, remains largely unknown – but, as Donatsch certainly believes, it may just be one of the world’s last great regions for fine wine production.The altitude (500 to 700 metres above sea-level) sees the vines flower a week later than is typical in Burgundy, yet picking dates are three to four weeks later. This provides a much longer growing season, allowing for complex flavours and aromas to develop in the grapes. Despite the altitude, the grapes reach good levels of ripeness thanks to the warm, dry wind – known locally as a “foehn”, that sweeps through the valley. Unlike Burgundy, autumns here are dry, so there is rarely pressure to pick before rain arrives, allowing for additional hang-time. The altitude keeps the acidity high, offsetting the naturally slightly higher alcohol (typically around 14%), meaning the wines never feel overly alcoholic. While Bündner Herrschaft has been home to Pinot Noir since the 15th century, Donatsch – now in the hands of the fifth generation – has pioneered the quality revolution in the region. Martin’s father Thomas Donatsch was not only the first to – then illegally – plant Chardonnay in 1975, but also the first to introduce French barriques to Switzerland, influenced by his vigneron friend André Noblet, the winemaker at Domaine de la Romanée-Conti from 1945 to 1986. In the early 1970s, Thomas – a young 20-year-old about to take on the family winery – set off to learn from the best. Obsessed with Burgundy from a young age, he knocked on the door unannounced at Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. In a fortuitous set of circumstances, Noblet had just returned from his first ever holiday (in Gran Canaria) and the first extended time away from his beloved wines. He had missed his wine cellar so much during the trip, he couldn’t wait to return. Finding the young Donatsch sitting by the door and desperate to reacquaint himself with his wines, Noblet invited Thomas to spend the afternoon with him tasting the different cuvées from barrel. Martin believes his dad gained Noblet’s trust by initially criticising DRC’s Montrachet 1968. Tasting the wine Donatsch reportedly said, “There is no way this wine could come from the great Montrachet!” A little precocious, perhaps: fortunately Noblet agreed it wasn’t his finest vintage, but the result of experiments in the winery. It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, with Donatsch returning to the DRC cellars every year. On each visit, Noblet would always pour him a glass of Montrachet 1968 and ask his opinion before tasting any of the other wines. It wasn’t long before Donatsch was buying a pallet of Grand Cru Burgundy every year (at that time a bottle of La Tâche was just over £35 a bottle). Noblet also started to help Donatsch improve his Pinot Noir – first by giving Thomas his first three French barriques. These weren’t just any old barrels though, they had previously held La Tâche and were made by François Frères – who at the time had just two customers, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and Henri Boillot. Donatsch took the barrels back to Switzerland, and the winery has been using François Frères barriques ever since. I asked Martin why the introduction of French barriques in Switzerland was such a revolution for the region. At the time, he says, the Swiss wine schools were obsessed with cleanliness – teaching the importance of filtering wines, using protective winemaking methods and using stainless steel tanks even for the red wines. The use of barrels was the opposite; it meant no additional filtering and a more oxidative environment. Donatsch believes the introduction of barriques around the world revolutionised fine wine. Angelo Gaja was the first to do it in Italy; Torres the first in Spain; Mondavi in the US; and Keller in Germany. But Thomas Donatsch was doing this 10 years before any of them, thanks to the influence of André Noblet, as well as Jean-Bernard Delmas – the winemaker at Château Haut-Brion, another of Thomas Donatsch’s influential friends.  Speaking with Martin Donatsch, you can’t help but feel he has got all his priorities in order. The small size of his winery means he can control every aspect of production, while benefitting from the variety that a life in wine can offer. Producing just 35,000 bottles a year means that when he is not in the vineyard tending his crop, he is in the winery, or fulfilling orders and redesigning his website (graphic design is another passion of his). Being one of the country’s most prestigious winemakers he sells his wine into the country’s top restaurants and luxury hotels, who can’t get enough of his wine. Donatsch’s annual release of wines sells out in just hours. While this is a great sign of his talents, it is also why many people outside of Switzerland have never heard of, let alone experienced, the world-class Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from the winery. Despite the demand for the Donatsch wines, there are no plans to expand: firstly because the authorities won’t allow it, but second because Martin loves the “human” size of the business and doesn’t want to lose that. Martin is, however, keen for more people outside of Switzerland to taste them. Beyond the tiny volumes that make it as far as export, to source these extraordinary wines you’ll have to (when one can) visit the winery yourself. You may just, knocking on the cellar door unannounced, receive a welcome as warm as young Thomas Donatsch did at Romanée-Conti.  Browse the latest releases from Domaine Donatsch or explore more Editorial

There is such domestic demand for the wines of Domaine Donatsch that they are rarely seen outside Switzerland. Tucked in amongst the Alps, this property makes world-class Pinot Noir and Chardonnay that gives Burgundy a run for its money. Gavin Smith explores the extraordinary site 

Winemaker and Domaine Donatsch owner Martin Donatsch on his world-class Swiss Pinot Noir and Chardonnay that give Burgundy a run for its money.

Exploring Donatsch's world-class Swiss wines

The high life: Martin Donatsch

Steven Kent

United States

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