There are times when you put a question to a winemaker and he puffs out his cheeks and rubs his chin and you know he’s thinking, ‘Journalists.’ When I ask Promontory’s David Cilli what exactly is meant by ‘interpretation of terroir’, he courteously describes the process of trying to get the wine to reflect the character of the land. But he gives the impression my question was like quizzing Monet on how he got his effects. If you don’t get it, you probably won’t. The character of Promontory, on the day I visit, is quite something. It’s early May and the rain, which has been falling steadily all night, has turned to a lashing downpour that has raindrops bouncing six inches off the windscreen. We’re in a jeep piloted by winegrowing director Cory Empting and since turning off the main road we’ve been climbing steadily through dripping stands of oak with pocket-handkerchief vineyards between them. ‘Shall we stay in the car?’ asks Empting. ‘If we could,’ Will Harlan suggests from the back seat. I’m here with Empting, Cilli and Harlan. Bill Harlan has appeared briefly but I don’t see him again until we sit down to taste. He formally handed over control of Harlan Estate, Promontory, Bond and The Mascot in 2021, appointing 37-year-old Will managing director. Cilli (44) arrived in 2012 and is in charge of vineyard and winemaking at Promontory. Promontory is an 840-acre fastness, a deep valley folded into the foothills of Mount Veeder, on the west side of the Napa Valley. From the highway, you think the looming ridge you’re looking at is the edge of Sonoma. But there’s another ridge beyond and between them this interesting domain. It’s remote, even by Napa standards (contrary to opinion, there are plenty of wild spaces in the county). The ultra-refined French Laundry is a couple of miles away but it might be in Wisconsin for all the relevance it has up here. Bill Harlan had come upon it hiking in the 1980s. ‘I used the Carmelite monastery [we’d passed it on the way up] as a base and just started climbing’. There were no vines but he was intrigued by its seclusion. It might be possible vineland for the Napa project he had in mind. In the end, Harlan Estate was founded less than a mile to the north but for 25 years Harlan kept the idea of that parcel tucked under his hat (he never mentioned it, Will says) before it came on the market in 2007 and he snapped it up. "Vineyards, some a mere half-acre, are etched into towering, wooded hillsides and drop down into cavernous combes dense with oak and fir" The owner – the Harlans don’t reveal who that is – had planted 80-odd acres of Cabernet Sauvignon. It was neglected, the vines overgrown. Trees had been felled and never collected. ‘It was a mess,’ Will says. ‘It looked like a logging operation.’ But it is magnificent. Vineyards, some a mere half-acre, are etched into towering, wooded hillsides and drop down into cavernous combes dense with oak and fir. The whole estate is thickly forested, the vines often shaded on three sides. An old drovers’ road, running through the woods, will suddenly open out on a wide vista of vineyard and scree. Everything is deeply, lushly green in the steadily falling spring rain. The geology of the land is unusual, in that it rests on two distinct fault lines and consists of all three soil types that are found in Napa: volcanic, sedimentary and metamorphic. ‘You get all three in the same soil pit,’ Cilli notes. This, combined with the wild variation in aspect and the microclimate of the valley-within-a-valley, gives credence to Harlan’s claims that this part of Napa is like nowhere else in California. When the celebrated soil scientists Claude and Lydia Bourguignon came, they found the experience ‘novel’. Cilli said he fell in love with Promontory at first sight. It reminded him, in part, of his native Tuscany, but it was the wildness that captivated him, ‘I love that character that you can see in the wines.’ He said it was probably ‘the only project that could keep me in the valley.’ You get the impression none of them can quite believe their luck. ‘It somehow redefined what looks beautiful,’ Will says. It also redefined their ideas of winemaking. He goes on: ‘We were used to control. Harlan in the 1990s was obsessed with organisation and uniformity but Promontory was wild.’ The theme of wildness recurs. Harvest times are key to ‘find a way for it to come through,’ Will says. Empting: ‘Pick too late and you lose the ruggedness.’ Ageing, in the magnificent Howard Backen-designed chai, is all in Stockinger Austrian oak barrels ranging in size from 10,000 to 46,000 litres, for up to 36 months. ‘The fine-yet-tight tannins required longer barrel-ageing but [we] didn’t want the wine to be overpowered by new oak’. It’s a constant process of refinement and improvement – ‘we learn something new each season’. Empting: ‘It has blown every expectation out of the water. We were excited and we were scared. We didn’t know what this beast would be. Our learning curve has been very steep, it remains very steep. At least now we’re starting to get our arms around it but at the beginning, it was like: God, we cannot figure this thing out.” "I found in the 2016 a moment where the various elements come together: the savoury nose, the fine tannins, the weight without heaviness" You have to remember we’re talking about winemaking here, not Wittgenstein. But ‘interpretation of terroir’, if it’s to mean anything at all, should be taken seriously. I’ve seen vineland all over the world – rock-strewn fields in the Andean foothills, rainless Spanish deserts – but I’ve never seen anything like Promontory. Were I to be tasked with bottling the soul of that vineyard, I’d reach for metaphor as well. And so we come to the missing shade of blue. This is the concept propounded by the 18th-century philosopher David Hume, that an idea can be formulated without a previous sensory impression to give rise to it. He asked, Could a shade of blue missing from a spectrum be imagined by an observer? Harlan says (with a smile – he does have a degree in philosophy) that Promontory is the missing shade of red. ‘Until you’ve seen and experienced it, you don’t know that it’s missing. And so for us this was that final piece. The piece that wasn’t there that we had the opportunity to understand and try to translate into the wine.’ The next morning, in gorgeous May sunshine, we gather to taste. It’s almost the same group, though smaller, that did the mighty vertical of Harlan estate from magnum in 2020. Bill Harlan is there (he sweetly thanks the team for allowing him to taste, saying it’s the first full vertical of Promontory he’s ever done), Will, Empting, Cilli and the journalist Elaine Brown. We wonder, at the end, if there is thread that runs through the wines. In my notes the words ‘deceptively light’ recur, as do ‘structure’ and ‘stone’. Reaching for metaphor again, Will Harlan compares the structure of the 2016 to cathedral stone, which has ‘both weight and lightness. It’s intricately carved and light filters through the windows.’ I found in the 2016 a moment where the various elements come together: the savoury nose, the fine tannins, the weight without heaviness. Will Harlan calls this vintage an ‘inflection point’ and notes how the tannins are the ‘main differentiators’. Yes, agrees Cilli, ‘and because of the character of levity and lift, we have to be precise with the tannins.’ The younger vintages have an astonishing latent energy, tannins under tight rein, aromas bursting, the fruit compacted. Brown and I were struck not by the sophistication of these wines but by their honesty. Brown WhatsApped me later. ‘Promontory is the most transparent to place. The wines are impressively well crafted and elegant while still offering an almost wild or primal complex of flavours.’ "The wines are unmistakeably Californian but they are also unlike anything I’ve tasted in Napa" ‘How do we take wine from a wilderness and have sophistication?’ Will asked. It’s a great question – with their resources, the Harlans could do anything they liked with Promontory. After all, they have to make a wine that will please their audience. But this was so unexpected. The tasting revealed a keen focus on the land and the vintage. The difference between the years was often marked – the challenge of 2015 for example showed in the wine – yet we could see that common thread running through, even as the wines increased in elegance. And what of Will’s quest for the missing shade of red? The wines are unmistakeably Californian – that splendid 2017 could come from nowhere else – but they are also unlike anything I’ve tasted in Napa, which is quite a claim, in the world’s most cultivated wine region. Perhaps the last word should go to Bill Harlan, who started the whole thing. He speaks hardly at all during the tasting, his Old Testament face giving little away. At the end of the morning, he talks of his fascination with the ‘ongoing discovery’ of the project. The wines have character, layers and depth, he says, and – by way of praising their authenticity – he notes, ‘You never know what’s coming next.’

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Adam Lechmere visits California to trace the evolution of Promontory, one of Napa’s most magnificent sites, with a vertical tasting of 14 vintages revealing the wild beauty, elegance and remarkable evolution of its wines.

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Adam Lechmere visits California to trace the evolution of Promontory, one of Napa’s most magnificent sites.

Wildness captured: tasting 14 vintages of Promontory

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

I. Distractions In 1987, when I was 18 and a dollar was worth more than twice as much as it is today, I started reading magazines: M, Esquire, GQ. Nearby, in our somewhat cultured Texas town, a new bookstore opened in a cavernous space that had formerly housed the shag-carpeted roller skating rink of our childhood. Through the front windows, which had before been darkly tinted to give the place an alluring den-of-prepubescent-iniquity vibe, now streamed bright, clean light, showcasing a look and layout that would become the interior design gestalt of today’s national-chain, big-box book superstore. The rows upon rows of open, dustless shelving bearing a veritable warehouse of volumes; the ceiling hung with its industrial innards on display; the enfilade of check-out cubicles; and the wall – the great wall – that displayed a preposterous-to-behold assortment of glossies, quarterlies, journals, newsweeklies, fanzines, tabloids, almanacs, and all other flora and fauna of magazines arrayed upon a rack perhaps 50 feet long.  I went in there to look for a book. I liked books, and, one day, I was sure I wanted to write one. But I got distracted and bought a magazine instead – that August’s issue of GQ, which still stands out in my mind as a thing of formative significance. At that time, the zeitgeist was defined by a Walkman-wearing version of the American Renaissance Man – the highly-ambitious, status-obsessed, money-motivated, health-nut known as a Yuppie. No magazine positioned itself more authoritatively in defining this new sociological creature’s lifestyle than GQ, and it did it with whiter teeth, snappier suspenders, better accessories, bigger polka dots and more caffeine in the ink of its display copy.  I remember that issue less for the photos by Richard Avedon or Steven Meisel, the words of Martin Amis or Frederick Exley, than for this: Erzeugerabfüllung. It was one of the longest, strangest strings of letters from the Roman alphabet I had ever seen. Neither did it seem designed to come out of someone’s mouth. But there it was in Alan Richman’s Wine & Spirits column, accompanied by a lovely still-life photograph of his topic: two bottles of Riesling Kabinetts on a white, sun-dappled tablecloth. Richman’s main point – made almost 35 years ago – still holds true: estate-bottled, table-quality German wines remain some of the least expensive, most delicious wines in the world, chiefly because – then as now – the labels, as he wrote, “cannot be understood by anyone who is not a part-time oenophile, linguist and cartographer”. One US dollar in Richman’s pocket, as I have already said, bought what roughly two-dollars-and-fifty-cents does today; what he was on the hunt for was a good dry white in a range that would now cost somewhere between 12 and 30 bucks, and he easily accomplished that by finding a dealer in New York City who carried a good selection of wines from the Mosel and Rheingau. At the time, I didn’t know the meaning or significance of any of this, but it staked a claim in my brain. The only wine I had ever tasted was the one served at our Episcopal church during Eucharist on Sundays. The flavour it had was of a strange, super-concentrated jam that somehow warmed your upper body. Even as a young kid, I liked it. But the adjectives these German bottles were squeezing out of Richman – “citrus-like”, “honeyed”, “tart-sweet” – weren’t close to describing what was in that chalice, even if you believed in transubstantiation. Was it because Richman’s wine was white, and the parish’s was red? Perhaps, but both colours of grape juice bottled by Welch’s tasted pretty much the same to me. No, I sensed there was something – a lot – I had to learn, and, along with the romance and beauty of the labels, and the contextual air of well-bred taste and cultural with-it-ness featured on the other pages, this, I feel sure, was the decisive moment, the true origin point, when I came to believe that among the many extraordinary things that make life worth living, not just words but wine reigns at the top.  I warned you about distractions, didn’t I? Because that would be my excuse for now informing you, as a quite apropos footnote, that, yes, there was something unusual about our church’s Communion wine. It was, as I have confirmed with the church, actually port (Taylor’s Tawny, to be more accurate), cut, according to tradition, with water. There is a good and fascinating reason for this. In 1701, when the War of the Spanish Succession kicked off, France also became an enemy of England, and its wines, as a result, were no longer made available for import. The Anglican Church searched for and found a replacement, the fortified wines of its new ally, Portugal, and port continues to be an acceptable option to pair with the Host.  II. Distillations A satisfying story, not unlike a satisfying life, is one that surprises you with the mystery of its unfolding. A thing pulls in a certain direction long enough to reach the proximity of something else which then turns toward a new destination. I had actually gone into that bookstore, as I said, to look at books. But I came out, even though I didn’t yet know it, with a different compass point. Within a few years, shortly after graduating from college, in 1992, I got hired by The New Yorker, where I stayed for almost nine years. I then met my future wife, who wisely laughed at the thought we might be able to survive in New York City on my meagre salary, so I went to Vogue, and soon after became the founding editor of Men’s Vogue. After 23 issues, and four years, the financial crisis laid an axe to many magazines, including that one. Eventually, I took on the editorship of Town & Country. Then, finally, in 2016, I moved up to Esquire, the magazine, as it happens, that didn’t offer me a job when The New Yorker did, and became that storied magazine’s editor in chief, until – well, you best read about that in The New York Times.  As far as distractions go, magazines were a good one. They made me who I am, gave me a tremendously worldly education, honed my taste, introduced me to all manner of accomplished people, required me to build quite a wardrobe, and paid me pretty well to do all of this, often with a glass of wine not far out of the picture. There was really no other way I would have ever got to taste all the bottles I have (a lot of the big names people whisper about from Burgundy and Bordeaux, Champagne and also Piedmont, Tuscany and Napa). I built a modest cave à vin of my own by buying the Smith Haut Lafittes of the world way before hedge-fund hoi polloi ran up the prices, and by having access to rare offerings, like 12 bottles of Fiorano, the legendary white wine Alberico Boncompagni Ludovisi, prince of Venosa, made before ripping out all his vines. I smelled the musty perfume of Margaux in the cellar as I watched the workers rack the wine by candlelight. I lured Jay McInerney away from the Wall Street Journal to become my wine columnist; and I once stood in Bordeaux’s town square, tight on 2002 Pétrus, trying with great focus to commune with the statue of Michel de Montaigne while my French friend, a true oenophile, extolled the majesty of the Big Mac’s special sauce.  As the editor of a magazine, curiosity is your profession, even to the point of distraction. Editors – writers, too – are prone to it. It’s a hazard of the gift, and having a jumble of ideas, if you’re any good, is key to making a magazine of any real intellectual or creative daring. Now as a husband and father of three, working from home and trying to be ‘present’, and a still youngish former editor and occasional micro-influencer trying to stave off the solitude to fathom and plot the next phase of a fruitful future, this skill of mine, the strength of which became even more magnified over two decades, is something of a family project.  The way I most often hear the word ‘distraction’ now, for instance, is when it’s being hurled at me in verb form by my wife or daughters accusing me of being more of a phone-enslaved screen vegetable than they are. (I respectfully disagree.) But it’s a sore point for two reasons. One, what I did as an editor is, in a nutshell, now what a smartphone essentially does. Not very imaginatively, of course, and not with taste or charm or originality, but with a bloody, money-grubbing ruthlessness that stalks every step of our digital peregrinations and doesn’t give a twist if the algorithms that are its brain make us its slave by retrofitting our attention spans for kindergarten.  The smartphone – not the former me or any of my fellow kind still in the media biz – is now the true croupier of culture, dealing out a targeted shuffle of Pavlovian temptations to the point of daily mental exhaustion. And, though this thing is in many ways my personal nemesis, I am, against every fibre of my being, too often its obedient servant. Aiming not to live according to the famous line by T.S. Eliot – “distracted from distraction by distraction” – I recently decided to at least take a serious inventory of my favourite ones, both those of the pre-digital sort (tennis, The Walking Dead, checking the mailbox, my sock collection) and those of the post-digital sort (the any and everything I do because my phone wants me to). Then I caught myself watching tennis on my phone and realised this might be harder than I thought. It’s enough to drive a person to drink, thank god! With that in mind, I like to keep a special something for the occasion around, in this case – what else? – two bottles of Riesling Kabinett, for it had struck me as more than a little weird that I’ve probably tasted fewer than a handful of German wines in my entire life. Part of the reason is that those I had were bad, and, like a lot of other simpletons about this great wine region of the world, I’d come to think of Riesling as a cloying elixir equal parts green Jolly Rancher, apple cider vinegar, and hairspray. This, I knew, was wrong, not true and, in terms of wine equity and inclusion, on the wrong side of history. But, if you happen to live in a place like I do – a bourgie swathe of Connecticut bordering New York City where the shops cater heavily to Cali-Fran-Taly banker’s tastes – it might take you a few stops to find what Richman recommended, an erzeugerabfüllung (estate-bottled) Kabinett (wine made from grapes with a minimum must weight/sugar content) Riesling, and when you do it will probably be coated in a fine sift of years-old dust. I bought a green (Mosel) bottle for US$16 and a brown (Rhine) bottle for US$20, both handsomely labelled. I opened them a few minutes ago and took several investigative swigs. The words bright, invigorating and snappy came to mind. One is indeed sweeter, and, though not my usual jam, it is tamped by a pleasing peachy tartness, and the classic overtone of honey isn’t making my palate feel doused with syrup. The other example is, as Richman said so long ago, a very finely layered creature with mineral clarity and an echo of baked bread, something a gluten-free person like me finds particularly appealing. A rather obvious thought: why haven’t I been buying this instead of throwing a ton of endless money at affordably bad white Burgundy, which is mostly a product aimed at fulfilling a desired outcome, like White Claw hard seltzer? III. Words But don’t let me get distracted, again. A writer really has to be careful about such things. Just think about it. Unlike, say, a painter or musician or actor or photographer, the process of writing requires zero physical exertion, no chance to score an endorphin release while sitting staring anxiously at a blank page. Of the many things in life that vie against the counter intuitive impulse to be glued to a desk, Cyril Connolly, in Enemies of Promise, his classic study of the things that distracted him (and others) from becoming a great writer, names the temptations but does not say much about why they’re so deeply tempting to someone who would otherwise be sitting alone in an empty room. Praise, money, fame, social prominence, affairs and journalism are the most common boltholes, according to Connolly, who, as a famously late sleeper that married three times, might have also added the bliss of unconsciousness and excessive alimony. In 1938, the year the book was published, he would never have imagined how hard the task might get without a cigarette. Smoking is a death wish, I know, but when you want to off yourself for still having a hundred pages to go, being able to snap open a nice lighter, flick some ash, stub a butt and inhale some lungfuls of focus-enhancing nicotine must have been kind of helpful. Connolly also doesn’t have much to say about drink except that artists who drink to excess do so “out of the consciousness of wasted ability”. According to that, the 20th century’s most famous literary alcoholics – Dorothy Parker, Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Styron, Elizabeth Bishop, James Joyce, Raymond Chandler, William Faulkner – might have left behind even greater treasures than they did. Because Ernest Hemingway did almost everything with more gusto than any of his peers, including running up his bar tab, as a drinker he belongs in his own sentence. He is the novelist who most romanced a good drink or nice bottle of wine as one of life’s great pleasures. Who didn’t want to have a vermouth with Jake when reading The Sun Also Rises? (Don’t, it’s gross, at least if you order it at one of those kiosks in Montmartre where the bottles are hung upside down with spring-loaded dispensers.) Or, track down a bottle of Valdepeñas, Hemingway’s favourite variety of Spanish wine. Or, get a drink at the bar named after him at the Ritz, in Paris, and then go somewhere on the Left Bank to order “a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine”.  In the early work, he is not boastful about drinking so much as he is the possessor of an unusual appetite for a good buzz. He is also, like Connolly, aware of the need to keep writing separate from drinking, and drinking within his control. It is hard to read the first paragraph of A Moveable Feast, in which he describes an “evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness”, except as a kind of terrifying admonition to himself. It is tragic that he didn’t heed his own advice. Late in his life, Hemingway became fond of rum daiquiris at the Floridita, his favourite bar in Havana, which might explain his taste for a prose style that soon became too often cloying self-parody. In one of the most extraordinary drinking sessions ever committed to words, in the roman à clef Across the River and Into the Trees, a 50-year-old Hemingway, who was smitten with a teenage Italian countess from Venice, fictionalises his infatuation with a last muse. In one stretch (that covers an evening-to-dawn crawl from Harry’s Bar, the grill at the Gritti Palace, a gondola and a hotel room), one half or another of the couple imbibes: one scotch whisky and soda; six Montgomery Martinis (15 parts gin; 1 part vermouth), two of which are described in size as ‘super’; a bottle of Capri Bianco; two bottles of Valpolicella; two bottles of Roederer Brut ’42; and two bottles of Perrier-Jouët. That is, I suppose, one extreme, and, clearly, not one to be tried at home.  The other might have been espoused by Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great critic and lexicographer. As a young man, he’d drained “many a bottle of wine” but loved port especially. (Perhaps Johnson, a devout Anglican who was born in 1709, in the midst of England’s 14-year war with Spain, also first encountered port as a boy at the Communion altar.) He describes himself to friend and biographer James Boswell as having been “apt to go to excess in it”, adding that, “therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it”.  Boswell, who worried about his own dependence on alcohol, even keeping a journal of his intake in an attempt to enforce moderation, argued for a third way, which some of the Romantics later adopted. Wine, he claimed, “produces truth; in vino veritas”. Hoping to persuade Johnson of his point, Boswell once convinced the critic to come down off the wagon for just one glass of claret, so Johnson “might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation”. Boswell reports what happened after the glass was emptied: “Johnson shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men,’” adding, “‘A man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.’”  That actually reminds me of something I think I forgot to mention about Riesling Kabinetts – they’re also highly admired for their low percentage of alcohol. On that note, I think I’ll have another glass.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

Jay Fielden, former editor of Men’s Vogue, Town & Country and Esquire, recalls how a magazine column on wine, read in a Texas bookstore, shifted his ambitions beyond journalism and set him on the path to becoming a writer of books.

Former Esquire editor-in-chief Jay Fielden reflects on magazines, writing, Riesling Kabinett and the distractions that shaped a life in words and wine.

Jay Fielden on Wine, Words and Distraction

How one became another  

Every now and then, the word ‘singularity’ is used to describe a particular wine that stands apart, for whatever reason, from other wines of its type. But just what is singularity, and how can wine express it? Wine writer Tamlyn Currin investigates.

What makes a wine truly singular? Tamlyn Currin explores the rare bottles that defy convention and challenge the rules of the wine world.

Searching for Singularity in wine

Searching for Singularity

Many factors come into play when tasting Chateau Musar vintages. Was it a warmer Cabernet year (1999, 2000, 2005)? Was it cooler, making Cinsault more influential in the blend as in 1998? Or was it a Carignan year like 2003? Will grape prominence be less relevant than the dodging of bullets across the Beka’a in a vintage we’re lucky to see the appearance of at all?  The tasting notes that follow shine a light on the vintage, the weather conditions, and the family events that helped shape the wines. There is also an insight into the mindset of the winemaker, Serge Hochar, as he became less influenced by his background in Bordeaux and increasingly confident in the wines emerging from his own terroir in Lebanon. Hochar family wines live for a long time and their flavours linger in the mouth and memory long after the bottle is drained. Some of these wines have been tasted à point, at the peak of perfection, but many have yet to reach this moment, and they are judged on their potential. Even more fascinating, perhaps, are the notes on wines that are perhaps just past their prime, but still delivering fascinating nuances that astound the taster – some of these wines elicit the most evocative tasting notes of all. For the Hochar family, a new wine, however shapely or pleasing, is always pregnant with promise for the future. Many of the notes below show the best that the wines can be – but they also underline the fact that for each taster Musar’s most sublime moment will be different. Although the Hochar family does not believe in the concept of defining a wine with numbers, ratings have been included to give some guidance.  Jancis Robinson MW, Bartholomew Broadbent and Steven Spurrier award marks out of 20 for each wine. Michael Broadbent prefers a five-star scoring system. All notes were taken in 2018/19 with the exception of Michael Broadbent’s. Chateau Musar: the reds One-third of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cinsault and Carignan, aged for a year in French Nevers oak. 2013 Chateau Musar  "Dense, deep red, still hints of purple at the core and little age on the rim. Marvellously warm Mediterranean fruits on the nose, autumnal in style but youthful in their rich, robust, vigorous presence. The essence of Lebanon in a glass, rich with spice and cooling breezes, the dry, herby fruit flows with energy over the palate before giving way to a finish that confirms the structure, fruit and tannins blending exuberantly with intriguing hints of much more to come in the next decade." Steven Spurrier, Score: 18/20, Drink: 2020-2040  2009 Chateau Musar  "Mid-crimson. Light, sweet start. For the moment it’s a little simple. Bright, ripe red fruit. Slightly burnt edge. Lots of tannins. Quite dry and youthful on the finish. Much longer bottle age needed. By far the most youthful wine in this vertical tasting." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 17+++/20, Drink: 2028-2050  "Deep ruby colour but light translucent rim. More primary sweet baked red fruit notes and a lovely bloody, cured meat Rhone character. This is a complex nose – sweet candied blackberry, raspberry, cardamom, tobacco – a very pure nose.  Dense tannins still not fully integrated but will get there and very well balanced with a vibrant line of acidity running through the palate. A real Italian flair to the wine but the tannins are so silky, beautifully handled. Still plenty of life in this wine." FINE+RARE 2008 Chateau Musar  "Heady and beguiling with a gamey note on the nose. Very sweet and young; well balanced on the palate. No hurry at all to drink this youthful ferment. Very tight, dry wine that is so much younger than any other vintage tasted. So much more youthful than a Bordeaux 2008!" Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 17.5+++/20, Drink: 2025-2045 "After blending, [Head Winemaker] Tarek [Sakr] was raving about this vintage. I asked him to add 0.5% of any wine he liked and we’d taste it again in two weeks. An act of faith or la folie? We tasted it again. He raved again; the wine had changed colour and bouquet." Serge Hochar "Dark, blood red. Really powerful nose with tonnes of young, juicy blue and red fruit. Behind this, layers of dried fruit emerge (prunes and raisins) and tobacco, generally a much darker and more brooding profile than the initially youthful nose suggested. Leather and smoked meat, as well as mineral graphite, but also fresh mint and liquorice. Complex and ever-changing in the glass that invites you to keep going back and discovering more. Again, fantastic acidity, plus velvety tannins." FINE+RARE 2003 Chateau Musar  "Mid-garnet. Quite a bit deeper and younger-looking than even the 2001. A little marine influence (oyster shells?) on the somewhat reticent nose. Rather different from many of these Musars. Sweet start and very vigorous and fun. If I had not tasted vintages back to 1961, I might have taken this for a fully mature wine. It already gives masses of pleasure with some milk-chocolate notes and quite a bit of light dry tannin on the end. Excellent drive. Long and dramatically big, but with good freshness on the finish." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2016-2035 "A vintage with high alcohol and acidity. Rainiest winter in 15 years, then not a drop of rain from April throughout a hot, sunny summer. Heatwave during flowering reduced the harvest by 30%." Tarek Sakr, Head Winemaker "Darker than more recent vintages, gun smoke, spice and hints of leather. Rich darker fruit, riper with dense, sweet mid-palate. Balanced though, with Cinsault contributing acid and vibrancy that is often absent in 2003s. Fruit profile is richer and darker and tannins riper and juicy, perhaps not as refined as the excellent 2008, but still with Musar DNA. Smoked meat and charcoal. Delicacy throughout. Fascinating and delicious." FINE+RARE
 2000 Chateau Musar  "Reasonably mature. Brick-red rim, autumnal faded red bowl. Mouthwatering acidity on the nose that can be smelt a foot away. Lovely aromas of damp autumn forests, decaying leaves and wood combine with a slightly chocolatey sweetness. A little spirit developed over the course of the evening: almost a Drambuie or Grand Marnier character. Slightly sweet on the palate with very long, classic autumnal Musar notes, soft, mature and Old World, braced by that lovely acidity. Still full flavoured and crisp on its long, lingering aftertaste, finishing with notes of liquorice and sherbet." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20   "A Cabernet Sauvignon year. One of my clients called it 'a lioness' of a wine." Serge Hochar "Bright ruby red with the start of some brick around the edges. Sweet fruit, baked strawberries, rosewater and pomegranate. Peppery spice. Some leather and petrichor. With more air, burning embers and deep, meaty fruit and spice. Lovely sweet tannins on entry. Elegant and fresh, but with an enveloping warmth and caressing softness, though it remains both light and structured thanks to the depth of flavour and superb acidity." FINE+RARE  1998 Chateau Musar  "Pale, jewel-bright garnet. Light, spicy, particularly well-integrated nose, already well developed. A sweet start on the palate; the opposite of heavy; a really lovely wine: fresh, sweet, with some very slight mintiness and a dry finish. Very long, and nicely mature: seems just right now. It will go beautifully with food. One of my favourite wines in this collection. Is it the Cinsault I like so much?" Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2012-2030 "Tarek said: 'Let’s bottle at the end of the second year. Let’s try!' We did 20,000 bottles like this, then the rest a year later, as usual. We tasted the wines four years later. Something was missing in the earlier-bottled wines. They had an obvious Chateau Musar character but were not necessarily better. Identity is permanently important. We went back to the original formula." Serge Hochar "Cool year, Cinsault dominated. Cold and rainy until June, with a sunny, dry summer. Harvest began on 9th September." Tarek Sakr, Head Winemaker  "Similar in style to the 1997 but with more fruit concentration, the aromas more earthy and
dried leather, but the lifted perfumed floral tone still dominates on the nose: dried roses, sweet licorice, candied cinnamon – lovely additional set of oak flavours that add aromatic complexity. Lovely texture – tannins are seamless – silky and long – provide structure but are sweet and resolved, backed by vibrant acidity keeping the wine fresh. Fruit is plump, rich, ripe, very much on the red fruit spectrum – raspberry, red cherry. Great acidity. Light fresh tobacco and light leather notes coming through on the finish. Great integration and drinking very well now. Difficult to pick between the '97 and '98 – the '97 is more ethereal – it tastes like quality aged Burgundy! '98 is plusher and more concentrated but less ethereal." FINE+RARE
 1997 Chateau Musar  "Very light in colour with maturity on the rim: salmon ruby. Surprisingly intense and concentrated nose with strong ash and autumnal smells; great acidity, damp leaves and old bonfires. On the palate, very sweet fruit and a long finish that goes through several evolutions (one developing old pomegranate flavours) in the longest aftertaste of any Musar. Full mouthfeel defies the lightness of the wine. Almost chewy in texture. Intense volatile acidity." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20  "We had two harvests – before and after a week of heavy rain – and made a big, big wine. Two years after bottling it changed direction and began to create heavy sediments. It was the biggest surprise in my life. This wine was behaving like a human going through an adolescent crisis. Which way is it heading now? The only thing I know is that I trust my wines. It is already an interesting wine, and starting to taste beautiful." Serge Hochar "Translucent Pinor Noir-esque colour with tremendous clean aromatics – lifted floral notes,
fresh aniseed, scented aromatic tea leaf, red cherry, strawberry, pomegranate, so perfumed. Seamless tannins, silky soft but there is a delicate framework and the fruit concentration provides lovely depth. Fruit remains very fleshy. Very clean considering the age, and lovely refreshing, vibrant acidity, remarkably stable at 24 years of age. Lovely, ethereal quality to this wine, reminds me of a great aged Burgundy with the acid and florality!" FINE+RARE 1979 Chateau Musar  "…misleadingly pale, fully mature; nose like squashed strawberries; sweet, long, delicious." Michael Broadbent "Vibrant red with a hint of mahogany but still red on the rim. Astoundingly young and vigorous with warm red summer fruits and a definite hint of roses on the nose; has the feel of a wine at least 20 years its junior. The sweetness of fruit continues on the palate with a backbone of tannin to firm it up – without losing the old-fashioned ‘burgundian’ richness and just the right level of acidity to refresh the palate for another glass. This must always have been an exceptional wine, as it remains today." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20 1974 Chateau Musar  "Good depth but still light, with a mature-looking, orangey rim. Very vibrant, sweet-fruited nose, alive and drawing attention to itself. Very old, elegant fruit on the palate, with a touch of cheese rind. Extraordinary texture: velvety and syrupy at the same time; deep, with high acidity and a very long finish. Biscuity flavours (‘Playbox’ biscuits: if you are English and of a certain age, you’ll remember licking the sugary coat off those). Although past its prime, it is fascinating, like an old man with many stories to tell. You can imagine the wartime conditions through which this wine has aged, enduring much and remaining strong, until now as it begins to lose its way." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 19/20 "My ’74 I wasn’t happy with. But it developed! In 2000 I tasted it again. Now I think it is nearly ready to drink." Serge Hochar 1970 Chateau Musar  "In 1983, richly coloured; pine needles and vanilla; soft, velvety, well-balanced, yet powerful and plump like Château Petrus. Labelled ‘Réserve Rouge. Grand Cru’, still deep and rich, complete." Michael Broadbent, Score: five stars  "Dark, shaded ruby; just the sort of colour I would expect from a 1970 red Bordeaux. Light, very Cabernet nose. If I were given this blind I would be tempted to head straight for Bordeaux, though it would have to be a comely château such as Palmer perhaps, and a fairly ripe vintage. Perhaps 1961? But then there is probably more sweetness and a bit more exoticism than one would find in a Bordeaux of this evident age... Mouth-filling and again that note of violets, candied this time. A little dusting of tannins on the end. Lovely wine." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18/20, Drink: 1985-2022 1964 Chateau Musar  "Mature rim but not for its age: still tons of vibrant life in its red colour. Very little sign of ageing. Nose is very big, more like a mature Châteauneuf-du-Pape or other big, structured Rhône wine. Very concentrated and deep with autumnal bonfire ash. Spectacularly good, huge on the palate: damp decaying leaves; great acidity; volatility balanced by brown sugar flavours; delicious, sweet, long on the finish. Hardly any age. A great classic wine." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20 "I had been in Bordeaux. I was 25. I prefer not to qualify the attitude of the French towards me, but no-one hurt me: they respected my oenological degree. However, I never took them a wine of my own. I was pretentious, my way! Was it as a reaction to this? I don’t know, but 1964 was my wild wine." Serge Hochar 1961 Chateau Musar  
"Slightly sludgy rust colour. Sweet, rich and thoroughly exotic. Old leather handbags? With some biscuit slurry (dunked, not-too-gingery ginger nuts?). Ethereal and lifted. Beautiful sweetness as it hits the palate then real freshness and super-clean, thoroughly mature aromas. Gloriously mature but not at all old. Does taste like a wine from a bygone age… Long and rich on the finish. Amazing to think that Cinsault can last this long. No variety imprints itself. Just a little chewiness on the end suggests a solid accompaniment would be wise." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20,  Drink: 1980-2028  1960 Chateau Musar  "Great depth for a wine of this age. Still very solid red with a touch of maturity on the rim. Looks about 15 years old. Classic nose: mature Bordeaux in character; signs of age and aromas reminiscent of very old cellars in France; lovely autumnal smells and meaty redcurrant fruit. Perfection on palate: full fruit and a great mouthfeel, with sweetness, length, great texture and perfect evolution; a little spicy and hot on the finish. Like an old Bordeaux but with better acidity, then a lovely aftertaste that conjures up the bonfire smells of autumn country walks. At its peak now. One of the best Musars I’ve ever tasted." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  "That summer I was invited to Château Langoa-Barton for an internship with Ronald Barton. What I saw, tasted and learned there affected me. If I had to describe myself, I was a civil engineer who made wine and who had started to discover the complexity of wine. I was trying to understand, to observe. I knew that nature will never repeat herself and for a while I thought I might change all the grape varieties that we were growing, but to plant grapes and make good wine takes 20 years, and what if I was wrong?  "However, I experimented a little with Grenache, Mourvèdre and Merlot. Looking back there were three stages to my winemaking. Between 1959 and 1964 I was making wines without an objective, with what we had at hand. From 1960 to 1970, having studied in Bordeaux and been influenced by Saint-Julien and Saint-Estèphe, I now realise that I was trying to produce wines in that style. Since 1970, I have been producing my wines, my way. Les vins du terroir Libanais." Serge Hochar 1959 Chateau Musar  "The oldest vintage presented by Serge Hochar in London in August 1979: fine, rich, mature; delicious bouquet; sweet, soft, fabulous. Twenty years later: orange-tinged; lovely old nose; still delicious. Last tasted at Musar in Beirut, Dec 1999." Michael Broadbent, Score: five stars Chateau Musar: the whites A blend of two local varieties, Merwah and Obaideh. Both grapes are partly fermented in oak
barriques (25% new each year) where they mature for a further nine months. They are then
blended, bottled and aged for a further six to eight years before release. 2012 Chateau Musar  "Fine fresh-looking lemon-yellow, but shows reassuring maturity. Dry honey and spices on the nose; a controlled richness of fruit on the palate that reminds me of Ygrec: complex, dry but with sweetness in its DNA before natural acidity lifts the exotic aftertaste. Lanolin smooth but not easy to assess (and not meant to be at this stage). Young white Musar that retains its mystery." Steven Spurrier, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2020-2035 2000 Chateau Musar  "Medium depth golden-yellow; no maturity showing. Still very closed on the nose, subdued, with a light floral nettle aroma. A bit astringent on the palate, but with mellow, soft textures and good acidity too. Needs time. By the next morning, the nose had come alive. The palate was beautiful, like a spicy Petite Suisse cheese, with great length. Nose continuing to develop on day three." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20 1992 Chateau Musar  
"Deep orange gold. On the nose, beginning to mature and open up. Good depth and concentration. Lovely flavours of old Cheddar and surprisingly high acidity. Very good length on the aftertaste. Will age for a long time. After an hour in the glass, the wine started to develop characteristic honey aromas that also revealed themselves on the palate alongside a beautiful vanilla and beeswax aroma. The next morning saw it develop a rich, sweet, cognac-like nose; bone dry, powerful yet elegant on the palate with pronounced alcohol and a long finish. By day three, the middle nose had developed even more." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18.5/20 "The weather was terrible. We had winter until June. Hail came. Biblical weather! I tried to make a Chateau Musar red, but two years later found it wasn’t up to standard, so we distilled it. The best grape that year was white Obaideh." Serge Hochar 1975 Chateau Musar  "Deep orangey gold; looks like a late harvest wine in colour. Nose; wow! Incredibly intense, concentrated, dry, very deep and austere: a combination of leather saddles, barnyard and old mahogany musky characters with mouthwatering citrus orange acidity. Astonishing complexity and intensity on the palate, with a syrupy texture. Massive, deep powerful, concentrated and long. Delicious flavours keep changing like a kaleidoscope in this mouth-filling but elegant wine. On day two it had aromas of sweet Australian ‘Tokay’ and a bite of cognac-like alcohol." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  1972 Chateau Musar  "Golden brass-yellow, very bright and alive. A superb nose with good depth and concentration, combining notes of apricot, brown sugar, cigar box and old charred wood. Unique. On the palate: a delicious, dry lean wine with a sweet finish and tremendous length. In perfect condition with a lovely lingering aftertaste. Very cerebral. Tastes of very old cellars. Day two saw an amazing development of the nose: very hard to describe but utterly riveting to the brain." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  [All extracts from 'Chateau Musar: The Story of a Wine Icon' have been published online with the kind permission of the Académie du Vin Library.] Read more Editorial 

The rise of Chateau Musar is legendary. We take a closer look at the vintages that have cemented the Lebanese estate's enviable reputation in the hearts and minds of critics and collectors alike.

Exploring the vintages that have made Chateau Musar such a fine wine icon – from 1972 to 2013 

Chateau Musar tasting notes year by year

2022 Vosne-Romanée, Premier Cru, Les Beaumonts, Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat This Premier Cru was an absolute standout of our tasting at Domaine Hudelot-Noëllat this year. The pretty nose combines star anise spice, floral lift and crushed rock. Powerfully mineral with such a suave, elegant palate, there is amazing delicacy to the almost smoky, savoury tannin structure, framing the pure, bright fruit. Pinpoint and precise, yet with a mouth-watering lushness, this is a very special wine in 2022. 2022 Vosne-Romanée, Premier Cru, Les Suchots, Nicole Lamarche Nicole Lamarche has 0.22 hectares at the southern end of this Premier Cru, close to Romanée Saint-Vivant, with vines that average 45 to 50 years in age. It is, as Nicole herself described it, “100% seduction”. The nose is sensuous, with sweet, plump berries, baking spice and iris florals, luring you in. On the palate, the delicacy and finesse is astounding. The bright acidity drives the wine, giving tension, yet there’s a luxurious nature the fruit that rolls around the mouth, a touch more generous than her other Vosne Premier Cru Les Chaumes. The tannins are rich, almost savoury, with a pure-rock character. Remarkable. 2022 Gevrey-Chambertin, Premier Cru, Lavaut Saint-Jacques, Domaine Duroché Duroché has 1.2 hectares of this cool, higher-altitude Premier Cru, with vines planted between 1923 and 1980, which is always the last to be picked. The 2022 is an absolute highlight of our tasting at this domaine, the cool site thriving in the warmth of the vintage. There’s instant gratification with an expressive nose layered with red and blue berry fruit and pepper spice. On the palate, it expands, bursting with juicy blueberries, smoky tones and black liquorice. It’s richly fruited, savoury and fresh, with a mineral line and chalky tannins that frame the mouth-watering fruit. Delicious. There’s around 15% whole-bunch this year. 2022 Chambertin, Grand Cru, Jean-Marie Fourrier As with Fourrier’s Latricières-Chambertin, this old-vine plot (a stately 70 years) is up against the Route des Grands Crus. The nose is instantly intoxicating with a violet perfume and depth of dark fruit that soars from the glass. The palate is concentrated, laden with sweet fruit, yet driven with remarkable finesse and freshness. Persistent and pure, with a weightless quality, this is another great wine from Jean-Marie.
 2022 Bâtard-Montrachet, Grand Cru, Domaine Faiveley Faiveley has a plot of 0.35 hectares here. The 2022 is an exceptional wine – with a nose that is waxy, chalky and creamy – but beneath these savoury and mineral aromas there is a wine of such density and fullness. There is layer upon layer of flavour here, working through from mineral tones, citrus and yellow-fleshed peach, grilled almonds, honeysuckle and creamy intensity. It flirts with fatness, the rich fruit rolling around the mouth luxuriously, yet there’s a pithy bite that brings it back from the edge – giving tension as the acidity drives on to a bright, sherbet-edged finish. 2022 Gevrey-Chambertin, Premier Cru, Les Goulots, Domaine Heresztyn-Mazzini This cool vineyard is at the top of the village, just north of Combe aux Moines and sitting above Champeaux. In 2022, it’s one of the most charming wines in Heresztyn-Mazzini’s line-up. They used 50% whole-bunch this year to bring more delicacy. It opens with sweet, ripe red fruit on the nose, but the palate is much more serious. The fruit is elegant and suave, with a brightness and transparency. The crushed raspberry and tart cherry is complemented by white-pepper spice and the fine-grained grip of chalky tannins. This site’s cooler position clearly thrived in 2022 – superb. 2022 Chambolle-Musigny, Premier Cru, Les Feusselottes, Maxime Cheurlin Noëllat This négoce bottling from Maxime Cheurlin (of Domaine Georges Noëllat) shone at our tasting – one of the finest Chambolles we tasted anywhere, in fact. The nose offers classic Chambolle perfume – a scented bouquet and bright, dainty, detailed berry fruit. On the palate, it manages to be both creamy and crunchy, with a sappy, mouth-watering freshness and intensely mineral backbone that drives on to the long, saline finish. Five barrels were produced. 2022 Marsannay, Au Champ Salomon, Domaine Charles Audoin Cyril Audoin and his father constantly debate which of Champ Salomon and Favières is the better plot in Marsannay. They’re both extremely impressive in 2022, although the Champ Salomon is offering more at this youthful stage. The nose is creamy, scented and sweet, enticing with plump strawberry and raspberry, then there’s a rush of juicy bright fruit that fills the palate – powerful, expansive, dark yet bright and crunchy berry fruit. There’s a pleasingly bitter, hickory-smoke edge, along with lifted peony and violet tones. Lush, juicy and hard to resist. 2022 Le Montrachet, Grand Cru, Remoissenet Père & Fils Remoissenet’s Montrachet is always a favourite of ours and it’s no different in 2022. The nose offers grilled almonds, acacia honey and gunflint – just hinting at what is to come. The palate is remarkably concentrated, layered with swathes of peachy fruit and lemon pith, with a zesty, flinty power. It’s immensely ripe and full, but still beautifully elegant, with freshness that balances the wine’s concentration. A wine that deserves time and will only get better in bottle. It’s all in one-year-old oak this year. 2022 Griotte Chambertin, Grand Cru, Charles van Canneyt From the smallest of the Chambertin Grands Crus, this is the pièce de resistance of Charles van Canneyt’s line-up in 2022. From a plot of vines that are over 80 years old, this is graceful, ethereal, sensual and persistent. It is absolutely complete, with notes of spice, bright red fruit, a touch of sweetness and something minty. There’s no doubt that this is a big wine – as a Grand Cru should be – but it’s medium-bodied, round and fresh with fine-grained tannins, and a long, suave finish full of raspberry and strawberry fruit. This is still young but what a wine – give it a decade before you crack a bottle, if you can resist. Four barrels were produced. 2022 Chablis, Grand Cru, Moutonne, Domaine Long-Depaquit, Albert Bichot In 2022, Domaine Long-Depaquit’s monopole Grand Cru captures the balance of the vintage. It is the most mineral-driven cuvée in the range, with an elegant nose than ranges from lemon zest to white blossom, over a layer of wet crushed rock. On the palate, the wine reveals superb concentration, and is much broader and richer structure than the nose suggests. A backbone of acidity drives towards a beautiful finish full of tension, with hints of salinity that makes you salivate. It will need a few years before it shows its potential. Unfortunately, a large part of the vineyard (the lowest part, neighbouring Fèvre) is being replanted and volumes this year are therefore smaller than we’d have liked. It is nonetheless a fantastic showing – and is undoubtedly our favourite Grand Cru from Long Depaquit in 2022. Drink 2028-2040. 2022 Puligny-Montrachet, La Rue aux Vaches, Alvina Pernot From a village parcel just below Les Pucelles and Clos des Meix, this is always so different to Clos des Noyers Brets – with fleshier fruit. It’s playful on the nose, with different facets and fruits emerging with air. It’s broader on the palate, revealing its proximity to Premier Cru territory. A fantastic showing, it’s the best edition of this wine to date. With only a barrel produced, it’s bottled exclusively in magnum.

The 2022 vintage in the Côte d’Or produced some wonderful wines – delicate, pretty and transparent Pinot Noir and concentrated, vibrant Chardonnay that will appeal to classic Burgundy-lovers. Of all the wines we’ve tasted so far, these are our favourites

Discover our top wines tasted from the Burgundy 2022 vintage so far – from up and down the Cote d’Or

Our favourite wines from Burgundy 2022

Burgundy 2022: our favourites

I first sat down with winemaker Chris Phelps almost two years ago, diving into his remarkable journey. Having worked at the likes of Dominus, Caymus and Inglenook, it was chance – or maybe fate – that led him to establish his own wine label, Ad Vivum, in 2007.  He was sitting above a tank of just-fermenting fruit when he was struck by a “coup de foudre” – falling instantly for Sleeping Lady Vineyard, a site farmed by his good friend Larry Bettinelli. He bought the half-fermented must, and has continued to do so every vintage since.  The specific blocks that filled that tank sat up against the Mayacamas at the very top of the vineyard, which is the southernmost site in Yountville. Here, the vines are shielded from the blaze of the afternoon sun, preserving acidity and aromatics in the fruit, while a flow of underground water allows the site to thrive in even the driest of years. Each year, from just 1.5 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon, Phelps crafts another expression of the site.  The exact parcels have shifted very slightly over time. In 2007, the vines were all Clone 191 – the clone he felt was best on the site, but the block needed replanting so they started using fruit from an adjacent plot, planted with Clone 7. After a “carefully thought-out dance” balancing the two plots, the 2024 vintage marks a return to using fruit only from the original plot, now replanted with Clone 191 (and known as Clone 34, which is genetically identical to 191).  Phelps left his day job (working for other wineries) at the end of 2023, finally able to focus exclusively on Ad Vivum, as well as a newer project with his son Josh (Coil Wines). Although we’d tasted the current releases before, earlier this month we were able to taste a trio of back-vintages for the first time. They reinforced how special this site is, as well as Phelps’s talent when it comes to capturing it in bottle.  The three vintages we tasted were 2016, 2017 and 2018 – three very different years in Napa. All three, however, manage to combine great freshness with Napa polish – creating wines that are surprisingly approachable already.  2016 Ad Vivum  In Phelps’s words, 2016 was “a classic Napa vintage”; the weather was warm at the end of June, allowing the vines to focus on fruit ripening, while autumn brought cooler weather. Phelps harvested from 7th October, fermenting in 21% new French oak (the rest in stainless steel), with a total of 19 days on skins prior to maturation for 18 months in 65% new French oak. It has always had “a seamlessness”, Phelps noted, and that’s certainly true tasting the wine.  The nose offers sweet, dark fruit, graphite purity and hints of lifted florals as well as an herbaceous edge. The palate is linear and pure, with mouthwatering acidity and a savoury core of ripe fruit, sweet cassis and ripe tannins that provide a drying grip on the finish. Although the oldest of this mini-vertical, it almost feels the youngest and will certainly benefit from additional time in bottle. A blend of 56% Clone 7 and 44% Clone 191 Cabernet Sauvignon.   2017 Ad Vivum  The 2017 vintage is one that will forever be remembered for its wildfires in Napa, although fortunately Ad Vivum wasn’t impacted by them. After an early budbreak, the growing season was marked by three heatwaves – in mid-June, at the end of August and in mid-September. Having a cooler site, shaded from afternoon sun and with sufficient water reserves was key for Phelps. He harvested from 5th October, bringing in 55% Clone 191 and 45% Clone 7 Cabernet. It was fermented in 25% new French oak, spending 20 days on skins in total (Phelps noted how easily colour and tannin came in this hot vintage), before being aged 17 months in 70% new French oak.  The nose here is bright and perfumed, combining sweet dark fruit – black cherries and blackcurrant – with floral lift and pencil lead. There’s a glorious purity to the fruit here, which follows through onto the dense yet fresh palate, displaying a juicy elegance. There’s a satisfying chew to the tannins, firm yet velvet-like, framing the waves of fruit that flow towards to the long, saline finish. Mouthwatering and moreish, this is hard to resist now.  2018 Ad Vivum  Although the 2018 vintage in Napa started with relatively late budbreak, cooler, even temperatures made for a long growing season, and producing relatively plentiful yields – yet without any dilution, thanks to the extended season. Phelps harvested from 17th October, with the blend moving back towards around two thirds Clone 191 Cabernet from the original block and a third Clone 7. Fermented in 25% new French oak, Phelps left the 2018 on skins for 23 days – slightly longer than other vintages, feeling structured fruit needed more time to reach its potential, echoed with its maturation in 75% new oak for 20 months. Phelps notes how generous this wine has been from the beginning, but has developed further opulence and depth in bottle.  This is a beautiful wine: the nose is intense, exuberant with dark fruit and a satisfying herbaceous edge. Although the blackcurrant and black plum fruit is beautifully ripe and smooth, there’s bright acidity that brings gorgeous freshness – making for a lithe and vibrant palate. The tannins are round and sleek, lending effortless structure, while there’s a saline, savoury edge to the long finish.    Explore all current Ad Vivum listings, including a mixed case of 2016, 2017 and 2018, or read more about California   

Since 2007, Chris Phelps has been working with just 1.5 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon in Sleeping Lady Vineyard in Yountville. The resulting wine is Ad Vivum, a beautiful expression of this special site. We sat down with Phelps to taste through a mini-vertical of the project 

Exploring Chris Phelps’s Ad Vivum Napa Cabernet Sauvignon wine from Yountville’s Sleeping Lady Vineyard through three vintages, 2016, 2017 and 2018 

Tasting Ad Vivum Napa Cabernet Sauvignon – 2016-2018 

Tasting Ad Vivum: 2016-2018  

About Académie du Vin Founded in Paris in 1973 by Steven Spurrier, the Académie du Vin was the first wine school in France open to the public. It has long been associated with thoughtful, independent wine scholarship and with bringing clarity, context, and critical insight to the world’s great wine regions. About this article This article presents the introduction to Côte d’Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy (2nd Edition) by Raymond Blake. In it, Blake sets the scene for Burgundy’s most revered stretch of vineyard, exploring the historical, cultural and human forces that shape the Côte d’Or. The introduction offers essential context on place, tradition and the vignerons themselves—laying the groundwork for a deeper understanding of Burgundy’s wines and the people behind them. Introduction The Côte d’Or, the Golden Slope, enjoys a reputation and exerts an influence in the wine world out of all proportion to its size. It possesses none of the grandeur of the Douro Valley, for instance, nor the picture-postcard beauty of South Africa’s winelands. It is not majestic; its beauty is serene, and what strikes the observer time and again is the tiny scale. From north to south it is about 50 kilometres long, is sometimes less than a kilometre wide, and can be driven in little more than an hour. At a push it could be walked in a day. Yet for a thousand or more years this favoured slope has yielded wines that have entranced and delighted wine lovers, with a fair measure of frustration and disappointment thrown in too. Avoiding hyperbole when writing about the Côte d’Or is a problem, for it has held people in thrall for centuries, frequently prompting poetic flights of prose: ‘The Pathetic Fallacy resounds in all our praise of wine … This Burgundy seemed to me, then, serene and triumphant … it whispered faintly, but in the same lapidary phrase, the same words of hope.’ Thus wrote Evelyn Waugh in Brideshead Revisited eighty years ago. Literary critics might cavil at such prolixity, and Waugh himself tamed it severely in later editions, but it was enough to intrigue me decades ago and engender a love for the region and its wines that has never waned. Greater Burgundy is a bigger, more geographically diverse, region than might first be supposed, stretching from Chablis, south-east of Paris, to Beaujolais, north of Lyon. The subject matter of this book, however, is Burgundy’s heart, the Côte d’Or. There is no more celebrated stretch of agricultural land on earth. It has been pored over and analysed, feted and cosseted, obsessed about and sought after for centuries and today, if anything, it exerts a greater pull on wine lovers than ever before. ‘Astronomical’ does not begin to describe the prices now being paid for prized patches of grand and premier cru vineyard, and for the wines produced from them by the top domaines. Such prices hog the headlines and paint a dazzling, though severely one-dimensional, picture of the Côte d’Or today. In the early years of the twenty-first century they are part of the story but they are not the only part. This book aims to get behind the dazzle and flesh out the story, to add some nuance and extra dimension. The Côte d’Or cannot be captured in a sound bite nor, it must be admitted, in a book of this scope – but my hope is that it may add another chapter to the ever-unfolding tale, setting it in the early years of the twenty-first century, a period that may come to be considered by future historians as a golden age for Burgundy but which has brought its own challenges in the shape of those ludicrous prices, the scandal of premature oxidation in the white wines, and the increasing challenge of dealing with extreme weather events such as hail and spring frost. The Côte d’Or has been the subject of forensic scrutiny for centuries, generating a library of books, so why another one now? For the simple reason that it is ever changing. Every year sees new names added to the producers’ roster and old ones slipping away, and thanks to this ongoing evolution the infant domaine of today can be the superstar of tomorrow. The core of the book comprises about a hundred producer profiles. Many fine domaines and négociants whose wines I am happy to purchase and drink have not found a place here. It is important to stress that they have not been included, rather than excluded, simply for reasons of space. The aim was to feature a representative collection of producers, not a top-down selection of the most celebrated names in descending order of renown. As a consequence this book is not, nor was it ever intended to be, a comprehensive A to Z of producers. I write as an amateur du vin, an enthusiast whose admiration for the wines of Burgundy stretches back over four decades, and who has been visiting the region and writing about the wines for some thirty years. I do not trade in wine. I try to see beyond the wine to get something of the backstory, the story of people and place that makes the Côte d’Or so fascinating. To examine the wines in isolation is to dislocate them from that, and not knowing something of the backstory precludes a full understanding of them. A broad lens must be brought to bear on the côte. Too narrow, and the wood will never be seen for the trees. I have learned much by coming across things serendipitously rather than dashing hither and thither, seeing a lot but noticing little. Without time for assimilation and reflection, subtlety and shade are missed. Finally, no gustatory experience can match the thrill of a great Côte d’Or red drunk at its peak. The colour, crimsoned by age; the heavenly scent, perfumed with notes of sweet decay; a sauvage edge, the palate lively and tingling, managing to be so many things at once, oscillating between fruit and spice and meat and game, a merry-go-round of flavour, spiralling on the palate, refusing to be pinned down by anything so prosaic as a tasting note. All the primary components melded by age and yielding up new ones, unsignalled when the wine was young. Everything cohesive and in harmony, like a great orchestra playing at its best. Above all, vital and living, endlessly enchanting and intriguing, engaging the palate and the spirit like no other wine. Learn more about Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd edition) Shop all books from the Académie du Vin Library Visit the Académie du Vin website

Explore Burgundy with the introduction from Raymond Blake's book: Côte d'Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy. Blake tells the whole story of this hugely influential region, painting a complete picture of life there: the history, landscape, climate, culture and people.

Discover Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd Edition): a deep dive into Burgundy's wines, winemakers, history, culture and the people behind this iconic region.

Raymond Blake on the Côte d'Or

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