It’s four centuries since the Giraud-Hémart family first began farming vines in Aÿ, writing the first chapters of an extraordinary legacy.   Although they started out as tenant farmers, the Church granted them a swathe of land in the 17th century – with François Hémart the first member of the family to be registered in the parish records. The modern history of the family, however, starts in the 20th century, when a soldier by the name of Léon Giraud was garrisoned in Aÿ and fell in love with Madeleine Hémart. The couple soon married and had a son, Henri Giraud, moving into the property that the family still lives in today.  At the time, vineyards across the region had been abandoned in the wake of phylloxera and Léon set about replanting three hectares of vines. For 300 years the family had been growing grapes and selling the fruit, but after Henri returned from the Second World War, he and his father decided to start making their own wine – establishing the Giraud-Hémart label. The business grew and evolved, especially after Claude Giraud (Henri’s second son) arrived in 1972, aged just 20. Working with his father over the 1970s and ’80s they rejigged the vineyard holdings and acquired additional holdings to make up the 10 hectares they own today, as well as changing the property’s name to Champagne Henri Giraud.   In 1990, they started buying in additional fruit to meet demand and made their first vintage of Fût de Chêne – the wine that became Argonne from the 2002 vintage. Although in the 1990s the family was ageing wine in oak, it is only in the 21st century that they started working exclusively with oak from the Argonne forest – now integral to the House’s identity.  The Argonne forest was historically the source for much of the wood used in Champagne, home to over 150 coopers, but was gradually abandoned, suffering from particular damage during the Second World War. Henri Giraud has made it a mission to restore and protect the forest, working with the French National Forest Office (ONF) on a replanting program (and have planted over 60,000 trees to date). The House feels Argonne oak is a key part of their terroir – indeed their top wine takes its name from the forest. The poor, dry soils of the forest mean oak trees grow particularly slowly, resulting in a particularly tight grain, creating a delicately flavoured wood to complement the delicate wines of Aÿ.  Today, the business remains a tightly knit family affair – with the 13th generation running the show. Emmanuelle Giraud is at the helm of the House, having taken over from her father Claude, who while not officially part of the business remains present and involved in key decisions. Emmanuelle’s sister Anne le Golvet-Giraud was drawn to therapeutic practices, launching the property’s trademark Craÿotherapy – chalk-based wellness program offered at their in-house hotel (they were one of the region’s first producers to welcome visitors for tastings and now to stay). It is Anne’s husband, Sébastien le Golvet, who is in charge of the winemaking.  “It’s very important to always be curious, to seek something better from the wine, from the grapes,” Giraud tells us. No one embodies this philosophy at Giraud more than Le Golvet, a force who, since he arrived in 2002, has pushed to experiment and innovate both in the vineyards and winery. Over the last two decades, he’s introduced residue-testing on their soils to confirm their triple-zero approach (zero pesticide, insecticide or fungal control spraying – something they feel is more impactful than organic certification and have long pioneered), banished stainless steel from the winery (using only terracotta and wood) and toasts every barrel the House uses himself. Constantly looking for new ways to elevate the wines further, he has recently created and started using custom barrels with sandstone heads. As Emmanuelle tells us, his philosophy is firmly that, “The best wine will be the next one.”  Henri Giraud manages to balance being at the cutting edge with the patience that traditional-method sparkling wine requires. As Emmanuelle explains, they have to make sure everything is perfect from the moment the grapes are harvested – for any mistakes will be discovered in a decade’s time. While she’s concerned with broader strategy and planning for the business, when it comes to harvest-time, you’ll find her on the winery floor, managing fruit receival, each and every year, seeing the culmination of the year’s work.  Being independent and family-owned allows them the luxury of a truly long-term vision. Each vintage they make trials, the results of which will only be revealed in 10 years’ time, but they’re investing far beyond that – planting 12,000 trees in the Argonne forest each year, making sure that Henri Giraud will still be able to use this special oak in two centuries’ time. The House’s extraordinary wines reflect this vision, testament to their relentless pursuit of quality and remarkable attention to detail. Who knows what the next 400 years will bring – but it will certainly be worth following.  Explore all current Champagne Henri Giraud listings, including the amazing MV10, disgorged in 2017, or read more about Champagne and sparkling wine  

The Giraud-Hémart family has grown vines in Aÿ for 13 generations – starting to make wine under their name in the 1950s. Today Champagne Henri Giraud is one of the region’s smallest houses – and one of the few to remain family-owned. Here, we dive into the property’s heritage with Emmanuelle Giraud 

The Giraud-Hemart family has been growing vines since 1625. Today the family’s descendants run Champagne Henri Giraud – we dive into their legacy and wines 

Celebrating 400 years of Champagne Henri Giraud 

Four centuries of Champagne Henri Giraud 

What springs to mind when you think of Bordeaux? Probably châteaux the size of medieval palaces, formal dinners, and rows and rows of pristine vines, neatly manicured rose bushes the only other signs of plant life. What you’re unlikely to be imagining are cow horns stuffed with manure buried in the ground, or horse-drawn ploughs churning through earthworm-rich soil. ‘In the past, in Bordeaux, you were scared to say you were growing biodynamically,’ says Corinne Comme, who manages 10ha of biodynamic vines at Château du Champ des Treilles in Entre-Deux-Mers with her husband Jean-Michel. ‘Now it’s trendy.’ An engineer and geologist, Jean-Michel Comme was behind the first transition of a grand cru classé estate on Bordeaux’s Left Bank to biodynamics. Although he and Corinne first came across the concept in the mid-1990s, he didn’t begin to advocate for the approach at Château Pontet-Canet in Pauillac until the early 2000s. ‘Corinne was scared,’ he recalls. ‘She thought they would fire me.’ "Behind the more esoteric elements is a series of principles that have been shown to improve soil health and vine strength" Originally laid out in a series of lectures by Austrian philosopher, scientist and social reformer Rudolf Steiner in 1924, biodynamic farming emerged as a holistic approach to agriculture before quickly evolving into formal certification movements. At its core, biodynamic farming centres on soil health and biodiversity; most distinctively, it operates according to the lunar calendar, with practitioners timing agricultural activities around specific ‘fruit days’, ‘root days’, ‘leaf days’ and ‘flower days’ to align with cosmic rhythms believed to influence plant growth and agricultural processes. For many in Bordeaux – Jean-Michel Comme included – this all sounded a bit wacky. ‘I was young, full of expectations about chemistry; the way biodynamics was presented was so remote that I felt it was crazy,’ Comme says. ‘But with experience, we did change our minds.’ Why? Because behind the more esoteric elements is a series of principles that have been shown to improve soil health and vine strength. In vineyards, biodynamic farming means specific practices such as hand-harvesting, using natural composts made with specific herbal and mineral preparations, avoiding chemical fertilisers and pesticides, and treating the entire vineyard as a self-sustaining ecosystem. In the cellar, there’s an emphasis on minimal intervention, using native yeasts, avoiding commercial additives, keeping sulphur use to under 70ppm, and employing gentle pressing and ageing techniques that respect the wine’s natural development. While biodynamics took root in regions like the Loire and Burgundy in the 1990s, biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux largely began in the new millennium, with just two early St-Emilion exceptions: Château Meylet, which has been practising it since 1987, and Château Fonroque, experimenting since 1995 with direction from Loire legend Nicolas Joly. This delay largely stemmed from two factors. First, Bordeaux’s humid maritime climate means that vines are especially vulnerable to both downy and powdery mildew, making the avoidance of synthetic fungicides a risky business. Second, large châteaux with multimillioneuro operations were reluctant to abandon the technological viticulture and winemaking that had built their global reputations in the first place. Comme, however, was convinced of the virtues of biodynamics. He began by seeking the assistance of François Bouchet. The Loire Valley winemaker was one of the first in France to pioneer biodynamics, also consulting for Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Domaine Leroy and Domaine Leflaive in Burgundy. Bouchet guided the transition to biodynamics at Comme’s Château du Champ des Treilles; then, he persuaded Château Pontet-Canet owner Alfred Tesseron of its merits. In 2004, it was trialled on 15ha (about 20% of the estate’s total growing area) of the fifth growth at which Comme was also technical director. A severe mildew outbreak in 2007 led to the use of pesticides, undoing three years of progress, but it then became a crucial lesson that strengthened their long-term commitment to biodynamics. ‘They believed the fruit had more expression, more brightness,’ says the current technical director at Pontet-Canet, Mathieu Bessonnet, who reveals that they converted the whole of the growing area soon after. ‘It’s obviously much more difficult, time-consuming and expensive, so it was very risky,’ he adds. Since then, biodynamic farming has become a significant and growing practice across different classed growths in the region, with some of the most prestigious estates – such as Château Latour and Château Palmer – adopting biodynamic methods (the latter certified). ‘The link between the wines and the place where the fruit came from had become less and less obvious,’ says Château Palmer’s technical director Thomas Duroux, commenting on the region’s turn to the trend. He notes that, since the noughties, many have adopted organic practices in a bid to reverse this perceived drop in terroir definition. ‘Biodynamics is, in a way, the same story as organic farming, but with a larger vision,’ he adds. This shared perspective has led to more cooperation between practitioners. Every spring, the Médoc branch of the Biodynamic Agriculture Movement gathers at Château Ferrière. After unearthing a thousand manure-filled cow horns and replacing them with silica-filled ones (a process reversed in autumn to produce preparations 500 and 501, required for Demeter certification), participants share wines and gardengrown salads. The humus removed from the cow horns is stored in a cold, damp facility and made available to members. ‘We do that for free,’ says Claire Lurton, owner of Château Ferrière. ‘It’s a community.’ Though ‘community’ might be too strong a word for some, these gatherings symbolise a deepening professional exchange that has emerged among estates of all sizes through the practice of biodynamic winemaking. In fact, the shift among the classed growths has happened at the same time as these practices have been adopted by smaller growers arriving in the region. Christophe Landry of Château des Graviers, for example, returned to Arsac in the 1990s and began practising biodynamics around the same time as Comme at Pontet-Canet. He’s consulted for the Lurton estates and other properties. Originally from Minervois in Languedoc, Michel Théron established Clos du Jaugueyron nearby and has been certified biodynamic since 2008, while Laurence Alias and Pascale Choime – who are both from southwest France – established Closerie des Moussis, a patchwork of sites across 2ha, including a 170-year-old pre-phylloxera plot leased from Théron. On the Right Bank, other producers began switching lanes even earlier. Le Puy, owned by the Amoreau family, began practising in 1998, with certification since 2013, and Château Gombaude-Guillot in Pomerol has been certified biodynamic since 2006. While larger estates like Latour and Palmer collaborate on issues like mildew, smaller producers tend to engage more with one another. Shared biodynamic practices, however, are definitely helping to break down barriers. For example, Château Haut-Bages Libéral maintains regular communication with its neighbours at Château Latour, and the son of Théron at Clos du Jaugueyron interned at Château Palmer for two months. Can we speak of a unity of praxis? Not exactly. There is considerable variation in which aspects of biodynamics winemakers emphasise, regardless of estate size. The primary aim across the board is achieving living soil with rich biodiversity to promote deep-rooted vines. In pursuit of this, some winemakers emphasise tree growing or cover cropping (like Haut-Bages Libéral, which also recently planted a variety of local and fruit trees). Others, such as Le Puy, let nature take its course, allowing a diverse array of plants and flowers to sprout from the earth. Whether certified or not, biodynamic practitioners throughout Bordeaux use homeopathic treatments like nettle teas for the vines – they are believed to stimulate soil health, enhance plant immunity and improve nutrient uptake. More important than any of this, however, is the concept of energy. How can the energy of the plant be retained as its raw material transforms into wine? Every winemaker I visited was at least intrigued by the concept – and most were captivated. After a few days in the sometimes eerily flat Médoc, I drive through the verdant hills of St-Emilion to Le Puy, arriving with a raised spirit. Standing before a 5,000-year-old Celtic cromlech, Harold Langlais, the estate’s director, tells me, ‘Le Puy is a place of energy and life,’ pointing to its deep history as an intersection of water springs. At modern-day Le Puy, this philosophy extends from the vines to the cellar. Indeed, many others I speak to express that, since adopting biodynamics, the most striking change in their wines has been an increase in ‘energy’. It’s a term without a precise definition, but according to Château Palmer’s makers, something shifted with the 2015 vintage, the second year after full conversion. ‘You cannot measure it,’ Thomas Duroux says. ‘You can just feel it.’ At Château Durfort-Vivens, where the vineyard was operating under biodynamic principles by 2013 (with full conversion by 2016), owner Gonzague Lurton recalls the 2014 vintage as ‘the first where you really feel the energy of biodynamics’. It’s tactile and warming, with a sophisticated grip and charm. ‘It’s what I love – the linearity of tannins, never weak from start to finish. With many of the estates I visited, their wines showed an immediate appeal, vibrant even in their youth. Is energy just another way of describing freshness? Laurence Alias at Closerie des Moussis trained as an agricultural engineer; for her, energy and vitality are tied to the physical properties of grapes grown biodynamically. ‘We have more acidity, that’s an analytic fact,’ she tells me, standing in front of a newly acquired plot of vines bordered by forest. It might be romantic to think of energy as something ineffable, but it’s also rooted in what remains within the grapes. ‘Our idea of energy is based more on Einstein than Steiner,’ Langlais later qualifies. ‘Energy is matter.’ Biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux: five to follow Château Pontet-Canet At the 55ha Pontet-Canet estate in Pauillac, an immensely smooth operation is palpable. Winemakers here have spent almost two decades honing their biodynamic craft, continually moving towards a goal of self-sufficiency for the estate. Sturdy Comtois horses, introduced in 2008, now work half the vineyard, preventing soil compaction. Vineyards are sprayed over a single day using compost and herbal teas produced from plants grown in and around the property and processed in the state-of-the-art infusion room. Biodiversity-boosting fruit trees and hedges have been planted. The estate even employs a carpenter who repurposes wood from vats used on the property. Ageing involves custom-made wooden eggs and qvevri-style amphorae, with no fining and minimal filtration. The result? A Pauillac with untypical levels of energy and minerality, and a plush, velvety texture. But it’s more than that – according to Bessonnet, thanks to a low-intervention approach across the board, ‘you can really feel the soil.’ Château Palmer Thomas Duroux’s conviction in biodynamics is based in what he calls a ‘holistic vision’. ‘We started to see the entire place as a living organism,’ he says of Château Palmer, one of the most storied and historically significant third-growth estates in Bordeaux. When converting (a process that started in 2009), the Margaux estate was initially guided by François Bouchet’s son Matthieu, but now it follows its own evolving philosophy, integrating cover crops, animals for fertilisation and estate-grown vegetables and meat. ‘It’s just going back to agricultural common sense,’ Duroux says. ‘That was the way to grow anything before World War II.’ This respect for nature results in wines that are deeply tied to their terroir. ‘If I had to describe the wines how they are today, compared to how they were before, I’ll just say that it’s not a revolution, but we have the feeling that the wines have a better identity,’ says Duroux. He likens biodynamics to restoring an old painting: ‘Suddenly, you see small details that you were not able to see because of the dust.’ The estate uses stainless-steel vats for fermentation and temperature-controlled rooms for barrel-ageing, combined with nativeyeast and low-sulphur winemaking, to produce its esteemed Alter Ego and Château Palmer cuvées; both have been increasingly celebrated among critics and drinkers since the turn to biodynamics. ‘We just think it does help to go a little bit further in the interpretation of the place,’ says Duroux. Château Durfort-Vivens Standing over a rustic sorting table explaining how it used to work, Gonzague Lurton is visibly passionate about the savoir-faire of the past. This sensibility is reflected in the current winemaking practices, too, and in the second-growth Margaux estate’s reputation (and critics’ scores) increasing year on year. The thing to emphasise is that what began with a biodynamic approach in the vineyards led to a series of domino effects that changed the character of the wines. In search of what Lurton calls greater ‘singularity’, the proportion of Cabernet Sauvignon had already risen to over 90% by 2014 (from around 75%); and with the use of indigenous yeasts during fermentation and the reduction of sulphur levels over time (initially sparked by Demeter’s upper limits of 70mg/l), the wines have become more aromatically complex and expressive. The introduction of amphorae by Italian producer Tava has allowed for microoxidation without overextraction, contributing to a more delicate balance of flavours, with the 2019 estate wine a blend aged one third in amphorae and the rest in barrel. ‘It’s not a big wine,’ says Lurton. ‘And it’s what I was looking for with biodynamics, in terms of style.’ Château des Graviers Christophe Landry’s pioneering status in Margaux stems from an instinct refined over decades at his own estate. He grows medicinal plants — horsetail, absinthe, calendula, chamomile — for vineyard treatments, as well as using the manure from his own cows. ‘What we need to remember is that biodynamics isn’t just a practice,’ he tells me. ‘It’s about finding your own path to self-sufficiency.’ His precision extends to the cellar, where he uses concrete tanks, amphorae and oak barrels (produced according to the biodynamic calendar) tailored to each of the five cépages’ oxygenation needs, then ages the wines for different lengths of time. Timing is everything, with harvest choices also following the biodynamic calendar. Obsessive care for the vines’ life cycles goes hand in hand with the level of precision in the cellar. The outcome is two phenomenal wines that are, as Landry puts it, ‘thirstquenching’. Château des Graviers and Quintessence — which contains a higher proportion of Petit Verdot and is aged longer in barrel and amphorae — are aromatically expressive, velvety and strikingly lively, with the latter offering more depth and an enveloping finish. Expanding to 18ha, Landry has also turned his focus to Clos Dufourg, cultivating vines on previously wild land nearby and hand-building a striking new cellar with cement tanks painted with clay from the surrounding earth. Le Puy For technical director Harold Langlais, the Le Puy estate’s significance lies in how it challenges Bordeaux’s conventional identity. Outside of the region’s traditional focus on appellations and classifications, Le Puy sits on a plateau near St-Emilion. The estate’s land is unusual, with no topsoil but a deep limestone bedrock beneath red-brown clay, which forces the vines to develop deep roots to access the earth’s natural water and nutrients. This is further supported by horse-ploughing and biodynamic sprays made from horsetail, buckthorn and nettles, which grow on the property. ‘Our approach focuses on rooting the vine deep,’ Langlais explains, ‘encouraging it to search out hidden nutrients.’ A vigorous wind circulates around the vines, and Langlais explains the effects of the elements. ‘The beauty of Le Puy is that it’s an acid factory. The whole place creates acidity in the berries.’ The biodynamic philosophy extends to the winemaking, with two different processes applied to their 100% Merlot cuvées. Cuvée Emilien uses a ‘decantation method’, or ‘fermentation by infusion’, while Barthélemy is produced with zero sulphites and a process of lees-stirring called ‘dynamisation’, which is done on fruit days and involves a specific motion to create a vortex in the old barrels it ages in. ‘Barthélemy is much more intense,’ Langlais says. ‘All the matter taken by the plant is in there.’

Written for Club Oenologique in 2025, Joel Hart visits Bordeaux to track the region’s belated embrace of biodynamic winemaking. While other French regions ploughed ahead, Bordeaux had its reasons for delayed adoption. Yet now the practice is booming, and Hart gauges its employment across estates.

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Joel Hart visits Bordeaux to track the region’s belated embrace of biodynamic winemaking. 

Taking root: the rise of biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux

While critics are mostly yet to publish their reports on Napa’s 2018, the early reviews are outstanding. Alder Yarrow describes it as “a complete knockout, with phenomenal potential” and “some of the best wines that Napa has seen in almost a decade”. Antonio Galloni has suggested the vintage offers “gorgeous, super-refined Napa Valley Cabernets that are quite a bit more understated than what we have seen in recent years”. Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW has just released her glowing report for the Wine Advocate – the top line that the wines are “packed with purity, vibrancy and energy”. The year was cooler than normal for the region, allowing the grapes to ripen long into the harvest; it was essentially an easy year for the growers that caused little stress. “We usually find the uneventful vintages to be the best years,” says Thomas Rivers Brown – the superstar winemaker behind dozens of California’s top wines, including those of Schrader Cellars. “After a particularly wild ride in 2017, it was nice to have a relatively calm, cool growing season with an abundant crop.” Will Harlan feels it’s a particularly important vintage for Promontory – and one that he’s excited to introduce to the world, although we won’t get to see the wines for a couple of years yet. Talking to him and Cory Empting, the Director of Winegrowing, they explained how it felt like everything had come together – a decade’s worth of work in the vineyard coming to fruition in the wines. Empting noted that it was a relatively dry year (with rainfall down around 30% on average), but the rain that they did get fell in late April and early May – just after budbreak and as the vines were gearing up towards flowering. This enabled them to dry-farm a larger percentage of the vineyards. Temperatures were steady, with the mercury not rising above 100˚F (38˚C) and only rarely above 90˚F (32˚C). The region’s trademark fog, one of the keys to the quality produced, was also a little bit different in 2018 – not burning off until midday, keeping temperatures lower than normal. The season ended with an Indian summer with no threat of rain; meaning a wide picking window for producers to work with. At Promontory, Empting felt there was a real energy in the fruit – he followed his gut, taking a gamble and they finished picking two weeks earlier than normal, long before many of their neighbours. Everyone I spoke to reiterated the joy of having a bit of volume to work with in 2018 (up around 20-30% according to Napa Valley Vintners) – and while the larger berries harvested could have created dilute wines, lower in tannin and colour, that was far from the case. As Brown explained, “Colour and concentration came quickly – mostly due to true ripeness, so it wasn’t necessary to really hammer on the ferments to get them where you wanted. If you did, you probably produced wines that were over-extracted, and focused on structure over flavour.” Mike Smith of Myriad Cellars described it as a “textbook” year – with everything falling into place. There were no heat spikes and the ample crop enabled him to drop fruit without worrying about his yields. The challenge for him with such generous volumes, however, was tank space – especially as he works out of a custom crush, where tanks need to be turned around for someone else to use. Nevertheless, he managed, taking advantage of some extra tanks of his own and the resulting wines have an amazing freshness and purity, yet also dark colour and textural richness.  Empting is similarly happy with the results – wines that he feels really demonstrate the character of the Promontory property. For him, they’re lithe – not having the baby fat you’d normally see, with tension, length and great acidity. “You’ve taken all the weight out of it,” he explains. “It has density – but the perfect amount that isn’t distracting you from the detail.” He’s one of several to highlight the suppleness of the tannins, making it an extremely transparent, crystalline vintage that will drink from the get-go, but has no doubt about the ageing potential given the balance in evidence. So how does it compare to recent vintages? Brown felt many would be tempted to compare the vintage to 2012 – having similar crop and berry sizes, but that the wines of 2018 are “far superior” that 2012's earlier-drinking style. “Though the wines are very charming right now and very drinkable, there is quite a bit of tannin lurking beneath the surface. I assume these wines will be very open for a year or so and then go dormant for a while. They should easily age two to three decades,” he explained. For Smith, they sit somewhere between 2013 and 2016 – the tannins of the former, but the polish of the latter.  No doubt we'll hear more in the coming months, but it's looking like an exciting vintage – one that offers an old-school style of Napa with elegance, balance and great cellaring potential. Browse Napa or read more about California

As Napa’s top names start to release their 2018s – with more to follow over the next couple of years, we talk to some of the valley’s top names to find out more about the vintage, a year that shows great promise

We talk to top Napa Valley wine estates Schrader Cellars and Promontory to find out more about the 2018 vintage that is tipped for greatness

2018 Napa vintage report

Napa 2018: a promising vintage

Walking into the cooperage at Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte is like stepping back in time, filled with the smell of seasoned wood, an open fire and the same tools that barrel-makers have used for centuries. Few estates have the luxury of an in-house cooper. While producers inevitably work closely with the tonnelleries (barrel-making firms, such as François Frères, Stockinger and more), having an artisan on-site, working alongside the winemaking team to craft casks exclusively for your specific terroir is different. “It’s very important for the precision of the wine,” explains Cellar Master Yann Laudeho.  Florence and Daniel Cathiard, owners of the Pessac-Léognan estate, built a cooperage on-site almost 30 years ago, in 1995, and their current cooper, Yann Dez, has been working here since 2021. The Bordeaux native’s father was a metal worker, and Dez fell into the world of barrel-making entirely by accident – having a friend who was a tonnelier, and a job opening at an opportune moment. Before he knew it, Dez had learnt the trade from some of the best coopers in the country (including one who now makes the barrels at Ch. Margaux), and spending 15 years working under Didier Fesil. Fesil was the Cathiard family’s first cooper back in 1995, who went on to create his own small tonnellerie (Tonnellerie Bordelaise), and has been named the nation’s best “Master Cooper” – twice. Indeed, Fesil is still very involved with the estate, helping choose the wood for barrels and advising on all things oak; and it was Fesil who put Dez forward for the role at Smith Haut Lafitte.  “There are no books,” Dez says, when I ask about the art of barrel-making. “It’s passed on from tonnelier to tonnelier." The first evidence of coopering as a trade dates back to 900BC – with the craft passed down the generations ever since. “I continue the tradition,” Dez says, clearly with a sense of pride in this ancient, artisanal skill. But with the dust, noise and physical labour involved, tonnellerie schools, Dez tells me, are struggling to recruit young people. It’s common for coopers to have issues with their shoulders and ears (from the non-stop hammering) – and Dez himself has broken an elbow.  In theory, the process can be mechanised – but Dez is clear on how important it is to work by hand, and not just to preserve this ancient art. “I hear the nose, I feel the resistance,” he says. Each barrel, he explains, is different – with a slightly different number of staves and slightly different shape, all adapted according to the wood he’s working with. Selecting the right wood is key – “reading” it, he explains, looking at the grain to see where potential weaknesses are, understanding where will take the most pressure and placing each stave accordingly, ensuring not a drop can seep from the finished barrel. “It’s a job that is both physical, and at the same time requires thinking,” says Dez – and this combination is much of its allure for him.  Hearing the way Dez talks about barrels is fascinating; for him, they each have a unique personality. When I ask Dez how he knows he’s made a really good barrel, he shrugs: “On le sent.” (“You feel it.”) As you toast a barrel, he tells me, the scent of the smoke changes, releasing different aromas – something I smell as he works in front of me. Knowing when it’s spent the perfect amount of time over the fire is the secret – and it’s about more than just the smell, it’s a gut instinct that he can’t quite explain.  Smith Haut Lafitte sources oak from a range of forests, and are always trialling wood from different forests, toasts and doing blind tastings, although – after over 25 years – they know what works for their wine, and terroir. Cellar Master Laudeho explains that, for him, Tronçais and Jupilles are the best – “diamonds” that flawlessly complement their site. And that balance is key; the wood works for the wine, not the other way around.  It seems like a lonely job, I comment, hammering away in his tower – but it’s not something that bothers him. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist,” he tells me. Having only himself to depend on, and knowing that he can ensure each barrel meets his exacting standards, suits him. Indeed, he doesn’t even settle for standard tools – making most himself, custom-designed to suit the way he works. He talks me through a specific hammer that he made, and how it allows him to work better and more precisely, the wooden handle almost silken from the hours of use, shaped to his hand.   The lone electronic technology to have earned a place here are noise-cancelling headphones and a Marshall speaker. He’s a musician in his spare time, and an additional perk of working alone is that he gets to spend all day listening to music. “All the barrels I’ve made,” he says, “are made with music.” He avoids anything too modern or electronic, favouring old jazz, with some reggae, ska jazz and funk in the mix, depending on the day. While he doesn’t feel the music he listens to influences his coopering, he suspects his mood does – and music is a big part of that.  Woodwork is much more than a job for Dez. I spy a beautiful chest alongside his speaker, and it’s one that he made. He has a workshop at home too, spending his free time making everything from guitar stands and toys to chandeliers – anything, he says, that isn’t straight, and therefore can’t really be done by a machine.  It’s amazing watching him work – in the same way as coopers have for centuries – with a natural intuition, ease and precision. There’s definitely something musical to it, a craft that has its own rhythm. He makes around 300 barrels a year, and they may not be soloists – but each one contributes their own note to that year’s symphony.  Explore all current listings of Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte or read more about Bordeaux 

Wooden barrels line most of the finest wine cellars around the world – and many are made by hand. Continuing our series taking you behind the scenes in Bordeaux, we ducked into the cooperage at Smith Haut Lafitte to find out more about this special craft

We visited Pessac-Leognan’s Smith Haut Lafitte to talk to the wine estate’s master cooper, Yann Dez – and find out all about the art of barrel-making

Meeting Smith Haut Lafitte’s Master Cooper

Working to the beat: Smith Haut Lafitte’s Master Cooper

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

Mosel and the Kingdom of Prussia At the Congress of Vienna in 1815 the Mosel region was assigned to the Kingdom of Prussia. Following this, the region went through a period of great change. Initially, the elimination of the domestic German customs borders brought high competitive pressure on Mosel from other big wine-growing areas (e.g. Pfalz, Baden, Württemberg) and prices decreased dramatically. In addition to this, bad weather conditions and the outbreak of new pests in the region, saw regular crop failures, leading to economic hardship for many winegrowers in the region.  Despite the initial deterioration of the region, the Prussian government saw Mosel as a wine region worth saving, deciding to invest heavily into the wine industry. During the 1850s the construction of the railway line along the river was completed providing faster and easier access to the German Reich´s main traffic routes and therefore hugely improving the logistics of moving wine around the country and beyond.  Additionally, government domaines were built for research purposes, further developing modern technologies that were being applied in the vineyard and wineries. The focus was set on the wine quality: winemakers should grow the Riesling grape variety, they should harvest late and be highly selective when picking the grapes to produce better quality, and the wines should be "natural“ (without any additives, without being chaptalized, etc.). In the 1880s several vintages were of outstanding quality, and the interest in Mosel Riesling grew around Europe.  By the 1890s Mosel was enjoying a golden era in which its reputation for fine wine production saw a boom in sales throughout the 1890s. Furthermore, the consumer´s understanding of taste changed from heavy red wines to light, refreshing whites, rich in aroma and acidity.  The boom led to tourism, many people from all over Europe came to the valley, including famous artists such as William Turner and poets such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Mosel Riesling was drunk by nearly all secular and ecclesiastical rulers of Europe – Berlin, St. Petersburg, London, etc. Kaiser Wilhelm II also visited the area several times. The wines were on the lists of all top restaurants around the world. Mosel was the world’s fine wine mecca.  
The wine styles of Mosel’s golden era 
By the beginning of 20th century, nearly all of the wines coming from the Mosel area were dry or maximum off-dry because there was no technical possibility to interrupt fermentation unnaturally. All of the Rieslings were fermented by natural yeasts only. They were kept in large "Fuder“-barrels – kept on their lees (sur lie – the dead yeast cells) for several months, sometimes even for more than a year, adding textural, aromatic and flavour complexity. The style of our dry and off-dry wines could be compared to the wines from 100 years ago. All of our wines ferment naturally, in the spirit of authenticity, vineyard character, complexity and longevity. No fining agents, enzymes or other additives are ever used. Most of the wines remain on their yeasts ("sur lie“) for months, gaining in mellowness and body.   During that time, winemakers did not have the technical possibility to stop fermentation earlier with a higher proportion of residual sugar. The machine needed for this procedure, containing a special filter which stabilises the wines by pulling yeasts and other solids out, only came into commercial use in the 1960s. An invention that would turn the style of the region’s wines on its head and damage its reputation as one of the world's leading fine wine regions.  In 1868 the Prussian tax authorities published the first official wine terroir classification in the world. This classification was used to set tax rates – the higher the quality of the single vineyard was rated, the higher the tax rates for the winegrowers (the darker red coloured the plots on the map – see map).  In addition, this map was an unprecedented tool for promoting wine by the Prussian government and proved a fantastically successful approach in identifying the nuances of each vineyard and was to be imitated by several other wine regions in Germany and beyond.  

Despite being 150 years ago, we think that this classification was very accurate in terms of identifying quality. The completely south-facing steep slopes are still the best to grow vines in our valley. Due to enlargements during 20th century some important vineyard sites are missing, in terms of our winery, it would be Wehlener Klosterberg vineyard which has proven to belong to the red or even dark red coloured surfaces on the map.  Due to climate change, we think that several vineyard sites which are located in side valleys or on a higher altitude have actually improved over the last decades. Nowadays they would also belong to the higher or highest-rated plots. But overall their assessment was petty accurate. The World War years
 The World Wars were obviously going to have a devastating effect on the region situated on the border of France and Luxembourg and this brought an end to the golden era. Whilst Riesling was the most planted and popular variety, Pinot Noir was also grown very successfully in the region until it was banned by the Nazis in 1933. The Nazis forbade the growing of French varieties and asked vignerons to focus on the prestigious "German“ Riesling in the Mosel wine-growing area which used to be the showpiece for them, being famous all over the world. The ban quite shockingly lasted until the end of the 1980s, therefore the tradition of red winemaking was nearly completely lost in the region. I was one of the “pioneers“ in the area to cultivate Pinot Noir again by planting the first vines in 1987 on the south-facing steep slope called Graacher Himmelreich. 
Mosel: the post-war period 
After WW II there was a huge request for fruity and light white wines and with the economic hardship that followed, a refocus towards quantity rather than quality. The Mosel Rieslings were swept up in this, predestined to produce high quantity, light, sweet wines. Winemakers
all along the river enlarged their vineyard surface, not only in the steep slopes but above all in the flat lands on the other side of the river.  Growing there was much easier and less time and work intense, and therefore also a lot cheaper. Mosel wines became famous as “sweet and cheap“ all over the world – markets were flooded. This concept based on quantity led to an enormous enlargement of vineyard area in the Mosel region from 7500 hectares to 12,300 hectares in the early 1990s. The glycol scandal (when antifreeze was discovered in bulk Austrian wine shipped to large German wineries in bulk and bottled under the German winery labels) only further enhanced the bad reputation of wines from our area.  
Mosel today: a 21st-century golden era Whilst nearly everything has changed over the last two decades the whole wine-growing area still suffers from the “Black Towers“ and “Blue Nuns“ sweet and cheap German wines that despite a drop in popularity still are made in vast quantities and exported all over the world. It is our aim to help restore the wines of our valley to their former glory, therefore we focus uncompromisingly on quality in every step of our daily work.  Luckily the understanding has changed – nearly all winemakers especially the young generation rely on the traditional ways of quality winemaking again and combine it with modern technology, new insights of research, as well as their passion for the famous steep slopes of our region. Wine lovers all over the world are recognising these changes as positive and we think we are back on the right track to regain the popularity and reputation garnered to the region during the golden era of the 1880s and 1890s. Explore more Editorial 

Markus Molitor shares the fascinating history of Mosel outlining the reasons behind the region's meteoric rise to glory at the end of the nineteenth century, its demise during the two World Wars and then its economic devastation in the 1980s.

Markus Molitor outlines the history of Mosel wines and winemaking from 1815 to 2020 – and the reasons behind the wine region's meteoric rise to glory

The history of Mosel wines and vineyards

The history of Mosel wines 1815-2020

Magical Merlot: Pétrus 
Our final event of 2022 and arguably the most impressive was a line-up of 20 vintages of Pétrus back to 1947. 
With special guest William Kelley to talk our guests through the wines, this was a momentous occasion, not only for the wines but also because it was the last ever event held in The Ritz’s historic William Kent Room, before this magnificent, iconic space underwent a two-year renovation. 
The last flight of the evening was remarkable – with arguably the greatest vintages of Pétrus ever produced, the 1989, 1990 and an unfathomably rare magnum of 1947. The 1990, 1989 and 1947 were the hottest vintages on record in Bordeaux at the time – and clearly proved beneficial for Pétrus – whose distinct terroir produced three wines of extraordinary complexity. Critic Robert Parker concluded – after tasting it on 11 different occasions – that the 1947 Pétrus is the “wine of the century”, quite some accolade. Despite the excitement around this trio, the top wines of the evening were the 2012, 2010, 2009 and 2006 which really stood out for their incredible depth, elegance and concentration. 
The wines, paired with seven sumptuous courses prepared by Executive Head Chef John Williams MBE made for an unforgettable end to 2022. 
Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV10, Grand Cru (in magnum) 1982 Puligny-Montrachet, Premier Cru, Clos de la Mouchère, Domaine Henri Boillot Pétrus vertical: 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001, 1990, 1989, 1947 (from magnum)
 Castello di Ama’s L’Apparita and La Ricolma versus Percarlo 
Pétrus was not the only iconic Merlot to feature in our events this year. Both L’Apparita (the 100% Merlot from Castello di Ama) and La Ricolma – (San Giusto a Rentennano’s equivalent) have both become wine icons in their own right and beautifully showcase the extraordinary complexity that this grape can achieve in the hills of Chianti. 
Both La Ricolma and L’Apparita started as experiments but, once each of these neighbouring estates (although at completely different altitudes) got a handle on this French import, the results were extraordinary. 
The Castello di Ama and San Guisto a Rentennano events both took place at London’s own Italian icon – The River Café. With Ruth Rogers and her team curating the perfect menu to partner these outstanding wines, it made for two very special evenings. 
For our L’Apparita event, we tasted a vertical back to 1985 – the first-ever vintage of the wine, and one of only six bottles remaining at the estate. Alongside this special wine (which it was a privilege to taste), highlights of the night included the 2018 and exceptional 1995. 
Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV10, Grand Cru (in magnum) 2020 Al Poggio Chardonnay di Toscana L’Apparita vertical: 2018, 2015, 2010, 2009, 2007, 2004, 2000, 1998, 1992, 1988, 1985 
 At our San Guisto a Rentennano dinner, La Ricolma was pitted against its Sangiovese sibling Percarlo, in a taste-off spanning 1998 to 2007. It was impossible to pick a winner, but it was the consistency of the wines that really shone through. They were all emotionally charged stunners – particularly 2007 La Ricolma and 2006 Percarlo. 
 Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV10, Grand Cru (in magnum) 2021 Fuori Misura Rosato, San Giusto a Rentennano, Tuscany Percarlo vertical: 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 1998 (all in magnum) La Ricolma vertical: 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004 (all in magnum) 1997 Vin San Giusto, Passito, San Giusto a Rentennano, Tuscany
 Exploring the Legend: Ch. Rayas 1990-2011 
The Rhône was well represented, with a once-in-a-lifetime vertical of Ch. Rayas – the mystical Châteaunuef-du-Pape estate that has few peers in the fine wine world. With William Kelley co-hosting, the tasting included 19 vintages of this rare, exotic beauty. 
Much to everyone’s surprise, it was the so-called “off-vintages”, years that might be deemed “lesser”, that were the most impressive – it was in these bottlings that the singularity of Rayas shone through, over-riding the character of the appellation or year. 
The 2008 (given “only” 93 points by Parker back in 2012, upgraded from its original 90 in 2010) was the wine of the night for most people. By contrast, the top-rated 2009 from a blockbuster vintage was impressive, yet the vintage ever so slightly masked the Rayas style – making the wine feel more like another (very good) Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Overall, the wines showed an effortless timelessness. 
Tasting through this line-up was an absolute privilege; for these rightly revered, rare wines are incredible. With no new oak, they are all about the purity and quality of fruit. They show exceptional longevity, an ethereality and easy grace that mesmerises. 
Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV10, Grand Cru (in magnum) Ch. Rayas Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc vertical: 1999, 2004, 2006 Ch. Rayas Châteauneuf-du-Pape vertical: 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001, 2000, 1999, 1998, 1997, 1996, 1995, 1994, 1990 
Harlan: Napa’s iconic Cabernet 
Another icon, this time from the other side of the pond was explored in our event with Napa’s Harlan, an estate that has led the charge when it comes to planting vineyards above the valley floor. 
When first established, Harlan took a substantial risk, buying uncultivated land at a higher altitude that had never been planted to vines. The hillsides of Napa are largely unsuitable for cultivation, either too steep or too rocky for vines to take root. Harlan’s vines commonly have less than a foot of topsoil to burrow into before hitting the bedrock. This combination of soils, multiple exposures, the drainage of these hillside plots and the altitude all help produce a wine of singular character.   
 Tasting 11 vintages of this extraordinary wine, from the early days through to the present, was an insightful journey into one of Napa’s most complex terroirs. The favourites of the night had to be the 2006 and 1994, but the landmark vintages such as 2018, 2013 and 2001 were unsurprisingly show-stopping. 
Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV10, Grand Cru (in magnum) 2018 Corton-Charlemagne, Grand Cru, Henri Boillot (in magnum) Harlan vertical: 2018, 2017, 2016, 2013, 2010, 2006, 2001, 1997, 1996, 1993 
Champagne takes centre stage: Henri Giraud’s Arg̈onne World-class Champagne producers were also well-serviced in our events in 2022. A vertical of Arg̈onne – Henri Giraud’s top cuvée – was a masterclass in oak-matured Champagne. 
Arg̈onne is named after the oak forest that defines the wine. Only made in exceptional vintages, it’s a particularly special, age-worthy Champagne that is 100% fermented and aged in Argonne oak that winemaker Sébastien le Golvet hand picks from the forest. Once transformed into a barrel he then custom toasts the barrels to suit the vintage characteristics. 
Sébastien le Golvet – son-in-law to founder Claude Giraud – is constantly experimenting. After making wine at Giraud for over 20 years, he believes the oak helps retain tension in the wines, allowing them to better express the Aÿ terroir. The talented winemaker believes that the toast level is integral to the wine’s resulting style. 
It was a fascinating tasting and the way this wine develops with age is extraordinary. The highlights of the evening were the 2008 Argonne for its depth, richness and balance, but also the 2011 Blanc de Blancs, which was pure precision, richness and controlled intensity. 
 Full line-up: Champagne Henri Giraud, MV07 2019 and 2009 Coteaux Champenois, Aÿ Blanc, Grand Cru, Henri Giraud 2011 and 2002 Champagne Henri Giraud, Blanc de Blancs 2012 Champagne Henri Giraud, Arg̈onne Rosé Arg̈onne vertical: 2014, 2008, 2004, 2002 Champagne Henri Giraud, Arg̈onne 2000 Champagne Henri Giraud, Fût de Chêne d'Arg̈onne 1995 Champagne Henri Giraud, Fût de Chêne Ratafia Champenois Solera 90-16, Henri Giraud (17%) 
Taittinger’s Comtes de Champagne 
Everyone who tries Taittinger’s Comtes de Champagne seems to be immediately seduced by it. We felt such a crowd-pleaser deserved centre stage at one of our events this year and we invited Taittinger’s Chef de Cave Alexandre Ponnavoy to London to explain the magic behind what is almost everyone’s favourite Blanc de Blancs.  
The Champagne is named after the 16th century Count of Champagne – Thibaud IV le Chansonnier – who, legend has it, returned from the Orient during the Crusades with both the Damask rose and the Chardonnay grape. Comtes de Champagne represents the top bottling in Taittinger’s range and the label features a portrait of Thibaud IV le Chansonnier.  
  All the grapes for Comtes de Champagne are sourced from the Côte des Blancs, a ridge running 30km north to south with east-facing vineyards, predominantly planted to Chardonnay (95%). The fruit is sourced from all five Grand Cru villages in the Côte des Blancs – Avize, Chouilly, Cramant, Mesnil-sur-Oger and Oger. This cuvée is made in only the top vintages exclusively from first-press juice only. A small percentage (5%) of the blend is aged in new oak barrels to create a delicate balance of toasted notes in the final wine.   Tasting vintages back to 1989 was fascinating to see, not only how the wine matures but also the change in style as the dosage has altered considerably over the years, becoming drier as drinkers’ tastes have changed.  All the wines showed beautifully. The evening started with the then yet-to-be-released 2012 – which our guests were the first in the world to taste – But it was the 1995 Blanc de Blancs and ‘85 Rosé that were the standout wines of the night. The rosé was in pristine condition despite its age, coming direct from the cellars of Taittinger. Full line-up:  Champagne Taittinger, Comtes de Champagne, Blanc de Blancs vertical: 2012, 2011, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2000, 1989, 1988, Champagne Taittinger, Comtes de Champagne, Rosé vertical: 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 1996 Montrachet Dinner with Domaine des Comtes Lafon Getting to taste a vertical of Montrachet from Comtes Lafon spanning 2017 to 2001 was an undeniable highlight of the year. This was a truly rare opportunity to explore this coveted and rare wine through the ages.  Treasured for its scarcity and revered for its quality, Lafon’s Montrachet comes from a miniscule plot (just 31.82 ares) in the Grand Cru – and, unsurprisingly, delivers excellence year after year. Secured by collectors immediately on release, this is the pinnacle of white Burgundy.  Critics speak of a herbal minerality, of crustacea, of vivacious florals and bittersweet nuttiness: these wines capture the true essence of complexity in each vintage – the wine is a masterclass in singularity. With an exquisite menu courtesy of world-renowned three-Michelin-starred chef Hélène Darroze at The Connaught, we were joined by Léa Lafon, fifth-generation member of the Lafon family and a custodian of the renowned Meursault-based domaine to talk us through this incredible vertical. Comtes Lafon makes one of the richest and most powerful Montrachets, possessing both great concentration, yet also amazing freshness that carries it through its long drinking window. Being fortunate enough to drink through 15 vintages really highlighted the wines’ capacity to age.  The top 2017, 2014 and 2010 vintages were a masterclass in Chardonnay perfected, but it was the supposedly “lesser” years such as 2006 or 2011 that showed the sheer class of both the site and the winemaking. Full line-up:  Champagne Henri Giraud, MV07 Montrachet, Grand Cru, Domaine des Comtes Lafon vertical: 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2017
 And much, much more We also explored a property that is a firm FINE+RARE favourite, tasting through all the vintages ever made of Venissa’s unique white. This wine is made from the Dorona di Venezia grape – a variety that was almost lost to history were it not for Gianluca Bisol’s heritage site on the island of Mazzorbo. Nothing tastes quite like it, and it was a privilege to explore its evolution with Matteo Bisol.  Full line-up:  Champagne Henri Giraud, MV07 Venissa Bianco vertical: 2017, 2016, 2014, 2013, 2011, 2010 Venissa Rosso vertical: 2016, 2015, 2012, 2011 Venissa Vermouth   We also hosted events outside London. Our Hong Kong team explored the wonderful Rieslings of the Mosel’s Markus Molitor paired with the finest Sichuan dishes from Jing Alley. It was an unforgettable culinary experience perfectly pairing Molitor’s precise razor-sharp Rieslings with Chengdu-style Sichuanese cuisine. In Europe, we held events in Portofino, Milan and Piedmont celebrating the great whites of France to a much-appreciative crowd of Italian Francophiles.  Looking into 2023  Last year’s line-up is going to be hard to beat but we are going to do everything we can to outdo ourselves in 2023. Next month we kick off with our first event in London with a vertical tasting of Ch. Ausone – one of Saint-Emilion’s finest estates. We will explore the vintages under the tenure of current owners, the Vauthier family, which has taken this property to new heights over the last 20 years. Later in the year, we will be celebrating the tenure of Bordeaux legend Paul Pontallier with a vertical of Ch. Margaux from his time at the estate, covering some of the finest vintages ever made at the First Growth, wines which are a lasting tribute to Pontallier’s legacy. And that’s only the beginning – with much, much more in the pipeline. We hope you can make it!   Find out more about our events + experiences 

While we’re in the midst of planning our full line-up of events for 2023, we look back at 2022’s dinners and tastings – with highlights including verticals of Pétrus, Rayas, Harlan and Comtes Lafon’s Montrachet

A round-up of some of the best events we hosted in 2022 – including verticals of Pétrus, Rayas, Comtes Lafon and more

Looking back at our wine events in 2022

Looking back at our 2022 events

If my wife and I are lolling around on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine and listening to jazz, I’ll sometimes ask, in tones combining the genial authority of a quizmaster with the tacit menace of a Stasi interrogator, “Who do you think is playing bass?” Or piano. Or drums. If she doesn’t know, I respond with appalled astonishment because it’s so obvious (you only need to hear a couple of notes) that it’s Charlie Haden. Or McCoy Tyner or Max Roach or whoever. When I was studying jazz in the 1980s (by studying I mean getting as stoned as possible with my friends) we’d play records for each other without revealing the identities of the musicians and, in this way, I built up an instinctive database of who sounded like whom. Of course, that’s not all I was doing, back then. I was also swilling gallons of beer and respectable quantities of wine, both of which I consumed with just as much pleasure as I listened to music. The difference is that with wine, I never paid any attention to what I was drinking, where what I was drinking had come from, or what grapes might have gone into it. Still don’t, actually. So, while my wife sometimes doesn’t know who she’s listening to, I rarely know what I’m drinking. Now, if my enjoyment of jazz is enhanced by knowing who I’m hearing, when an album was recorded, how a given version of a tune compares with other versions by different musicians and so on, does it follow that my enjoyment of wine is correspondingly diminished by ignorance and indifference as to its provenance and ingredients? Am I sitting around liking what I like while unable to tell whether what I’m liking is a bottle of Kenny G or vintage Sonny Rollins? To answer this question and address the larger issue, a bit of history is helpful (isn’t it always?). I grew up in a non-drinking household. We knew that other people drank wine with dinner but this was seen as an exotic, middle-class custom, as removed from our own potential experience as the tribal rites featured in National Geographic. No one we knew drank wine except the homemade kind – blackberry, pear, potato etc – that my parents made, stored in the cupboard under the stairs and offered to thirsty relatives who came to visit. Bearing no relation to wine as usually conceived, this beverage was more akin to a potent species of cider. Ah cider! As was the case for all boys of my generation, cider proved such an effective conduit to getting blind drunk that I’ve not been able to face even a sniff of the stuff since a horribly enjoyable first encounter. Same with Cinzano Bianco, but I’ve never turned my back on beer. As part of the general drift into all matters alcoholic, I drank a bit of Liebfraumilch (yum) but didn’t encounter anything like the notion of a ‘good’ wine until I was at Oxford. (The fact that I had to wait till then is a good indicator of the class status of wine in the UK back in the 1970s.) One day a fellow-student at my college offered to sell some bottles of what he pimped as “excellent red wine.” Three of us forked out for six between us. It was great. Sort of peppery tasting. We glugged the lot in one evening and I was violently sick, from my friend’s window, into the lane outside (a reversal of Charles Ryder’s first encounter, in Brideshead Revisited, with Sebastian Flyte who pukes into his room), but I was on my winey way. Most boozing took place in the pub (beer) but, as I gradually got used to drinking wine at dinners and at art openings, an unreliable and poorly projected map of wine awareness began to take shape.  In my early 30s, there was a Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon for which I developed a particular fondness. At three quid a bottle it seemed more appropriate, even then, to cut it down to three syllables: Bulg-Cab-Sauv. Then came the news that the contents of any bottle could be improved by being allowed to breathe. Sometime later, living in Paris, I got wind of a crude truth that you could tell a better wine by how far you could stick your finger in its bottom, in the whatever-it’s-called at the base of the bottle. The further the better was the rule of thumb, so to speak, though why this should be the case I never discovered. These were excellent, easy-to-implement tips but the bigger picture remained blurry. I knew there were regions, different kinds of grape, but I was never sure which was which (Burgundy always sounded like a type of brandy) and I knew enough to know that it wasn’t enough to know that you liked a Merlot, say; you also needed to know what was going on within that species of grape or region, that certain brands and years were better than others. Although a drawing of a château on the label could be a good sign, it was not an infallible one, especially when some high-quality wines began to feature labels that shared an aesthetic with edible marijuana products or t-shirt design. And over all this uncertainty hung a larger cloud of astonishment – a symptom of the world’s fathomless ability to defy logic – generated by the ‘fact’ (I still have trouble accepting it as such) that white wine is not necessarily made from white grapes, nor red from red. Even when we factor in the odd big Tuscan moment in Italy, or Pinot epiphany in New Zealand, my understanding has not advanced significantly in the last 20 years. I know what I like but, as with many things – learning German, for example – I feel I’ve left it too late. Any attempts I make are the equivalent of looking up the occasional word in an online Deutsch-English dictionary. One can often spend one’s way to an enhanced experience, but my natural skinflintery means I prefer my father-in-law’s model, whereby he had knowledged his way to improved enjoyment. He not only serves fantastic wine, without exception, on every occasion; he always serves wine that costs a fraction of how it tastes.  I like this approach but, to borrow the term from London’s taxi drivers, I’ve never done the knowledge. I’m like the new generation of Uber drivers who rely so passively on their phones’ navigation apps that, after years behind the wheel, they still have almost no idea where they’re going. My phone comes in handy too. If I drink a fantastic wine at a friend’s house, I’ll take a picture of the label and, if it’s in stock at a local store, will buy a case. It’s nice being able to repeat a pleasing experience but it’s rarely as nice as I remember it and often not nice in the way that I remembered it. Or, if it’s nice at first, it almost always seems less nice, months later, when I’m down to the last couple of bottles. There are as many moving parts in the world of wine appreciation as there are in and around the mouth.  We have moved, by a combination of association and anatomy, to the potential source of the difficulty, to language. Having failed to acquire home-grown expertise, I am at the mercy of advice from the people who work in wine stores. Overall, I would estimate that this has resulted in a 50% success rate at twice the necessary expenditure. Is this because of shortcomings in their expertise and counsel, or is it due to linguistic failure, to inadequate translations of their knowledge into my preferences? We are told there’s no accounting for taste, which is not true, but it seems there are multiple problems with recounting one’s tastes or satisfying other people’s desires. Compared with sex where you can easily get by with half a dozen verbs and nouns, saying either what you want from a wine – or what it will do for someone else – demands a linguistic dexterity that is almost Joycean. We have all sat entranced as a waiter’s attempts to do justice to the merits of a given wine begin to sound like a libationary remix of Chomsky’s “Colourless green ideas sleep furiously.” But even while allowing for scepticism, incomprehension and constant proximity to parody, I continue to wonder about the extent to which my experience of wine would be enhanced by becoming more articulate in la langue du raisin. ‘Smooth’ is generally considered a good quality (as opposed to ‘rough’) but Kenny G, a purveyor of ‘smooth jazz’, is tacitly at odds with ‘complexity’. I can sort of appreciate complexity in a wine, without any understanding of how that complexity is constituted but – a defining character flaw – am more often conscious of a lack of complexity.  The strange thing is that while wine appreciation is not like a foal’s ability to get up and running straight away, it does find its feet over time. Even if uninformed, un-cultivated and left to fend for itself without any supporting help, it seems one’s tastes in wine not only change; they improve of their own accord. This might be considered a welcome, accidentally ameliorative side-effect of getting older. Or would be were it not for the fact – one I have no trouble accepting – that this improvement manifests itself negatively, as a steadily increasing capacity for dissatisfaction. To put it simply, what might have seemed an excellent wine a few years earlier becomes merely tolerable because of a lack of what may or may not be complexity. The tolerable becomes unacceptable, and the unacceptable becomes vile. My tongue has become more responsive to taste while remaining tied; my discernment is entirely inarticulate. The product, above all else, of laziness, this manifests itself in several unattractive ways. Do women on a date prefer men who take control of the wine menu? (Could this be the civilised residue of what was once a more widespread assumption and acceptance of male domination?) My own dating history leads me to suspect that they might, though the belief that the evening gets off to a bad start – with my saying, “I don’t know anything about wine, you choose” – is more palatable than conceding that it might have more to do with the way it ends (with my saying, “Let’s split the check”) or, come to think of it, with the middle passage (constantly refilling my own glass while droning on, without interruption, about the musical complexity of Ornette Coleman). It’s not just laziness and tightness, there’s also the question of sophistication and refinement. I can eat with chopsticks – I really can! – but have never been able to master the knack of swirling wine round the glass and forensically nosing it. You can do it, I’m sure, but I always feel like I’m engaged in such a blatant affectation that the first flicker of an erotic bond starts to form between my date and the waiter because they can tell that I’m parroting the action without any idea of what I’m attempting to discover, that it’s obvious to anyone watching that my head is entirely filled with a single idea: keep the cost down. In this regard, price, I am pleased to report that limited progress has been made. In my mid-20s, in London, I was sometimes invited to the house of the writer Lisa Appignanesi who was at the centre of London’s intellectual and cultural life. Well-mannered enough not to arrive empty-handed, I’d stop off at the off-licence near her house and pick up the cheapest bottle of discounted plonk on offer. Lisa always accepted this shabby gift graciously (she did everything graciously), while making sure that it never darkened the table. It now seems one of the rudest things one can do, to show up at someone’s house with a crap bottle of wine, though where crapness begins or ends is anyone’s guess. A shitty bottle of wine is always over-priced, is always money wasted. At the opposite end of the scale, my limited experience of drinking very expensive wine has confirmed what I had always expected: that it’s wasted on me. I ooh and ah, naturally and gratefully, but even though I enjoy these $200 bottles I am thinking: well, it’s not 170 bucks better than a 30 dollar bottle. Perhaps from a certain point – $100 upwards? – you have to pay twice that for a tiny percentage improvement in experience. That makes sense. If this were not the case, then a $1,000 bottle would surely bear so little relation to wine that it wouldn’t be wine at all. We now have sufficient linguistic tools available to describe my ideal relationship with wine. When I think of wine, it’s never as a drink or a taste experience but always as part of an occasion, part of a narrative. What I love is going to a dinner at a restaurant with a non-clamorous acoustic (wood and carpet, not metal and concrete) and a limited menu (I hate choosing food), knowing that someone else will take care of ordering the wine which will flow without let or hindrance. The problem at my father-in-law’s is that although the wine is always excellent, there’s never an infinite amount of it. And what I want from wine, above all, is more. That’s the key word in all this. I love talk and the progression of conversation as the wine makes itself felt: the glow of friends’ eyes, the flow of chat. Red wine, reflections of the room and of candlelight in the glasses full of wine. Everything is held together by the wine, even though that wine is less important than the people, the subject, the jokes and laughter. The wonderful remarks become more wonderful as the evening unfolds, until nothing anybody says really makes any sense at all. In the morning I will not remember the details of the wine or the food. What I will remember is the warm glow, the happiness of it all.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine. Photography by Marcus Nilsso.

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine.

FONDATA: The Mirth of More

The Mirth of More

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