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  

In March this year, Opus One announced that they’d hired Meghan Zobeck as Director of Winemaking. It’s the first step in the transition as longtime winemaker Michael Silacci looks to step away from the business over the next five years. Silacci has been at Opus since 2001 and is a bonafide legend in the valley today – finding a suitable successor is no small task.  Zobeck wasn’t necessarily the obvious choice. She’s risen rapidly through the ranks of Napa’s winemaking elite – but only moved into the world of wine in 2012. That move was a leap of faith for Zobeck – an unlikely one for someone immersed in the world of NFL.  Zobeck grew up in Greeley, Colorado – “a cowtown” in her words, but one that happened to be where the Denver Broncos held their training camps each year. Throughout high school, she spent her summers working for the team – as many locals did. She went off to college (then pre-med), but kept working for the Broncos, moving to full-time while she studied for her MCATs.  In her senior year of college, she did an internship with the team, working with the scouts and sitting in the “war room” on draft day. “I loved the action, the fast pace of it,” she says. At around the same time, she realised that medicine wasn’t for her – instead she took a role negotiating player contracts for the Broncos, becoming one of only a handful of women in the job, and loved it.   It was a weekend trip to Los Olivos in the Santa Ynez Valley that sparked her interest in wine and – more specifically – winemaking. Back home, she found an ad in a local magazine for a homebrew shop – offering the chance to buy grapes during harvest. Soon she was experimenting, fermenting batches of wine in her basement and having bottling parties with friends. “I just saw how it really brought people together,” she says. She travelled to more wine regions and fell for the way wine combined science, creativity, history and community. The NFL had served her well, but it was time to take that leap and leave the Broncos behind.  She did her first vintage at Clos Apalta in 2012, and didn’t look back – doing harvests in Piedmont, Bordeaux and the Barossa, before zoning in on Napa – first at Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars and Screaming Eagle, then taking a job with star consultant Philippe Melka. Most recently, Zobeck was winemaker at Burgess Cellars – where she had free rein to shape the wines, from the vineyard through to the winery.  Zobeck first met Michael Silacci at Premiere Napa Valley – her first showing barrel samples from Burgess. Silacci came over to taste and then – in a clear display of approval – kept sending others her way. Zobeck was focusing on a fresher style of wine, a return to the Burgess of yesteryear, but was also working towards a regenerative approach in the vineyard – and soon discovered that the Opus One team was doing similar experiments. She and Kimberlee Marinelli – Assistant Winemaker & Viticulturist at Opus One – connected and started discussing everything from pollinators to native ferments. Zobeck was struck by the clear lack of complacency from a property that had no need to prove itself further. Little did she know that Silacci was observing what she was doing with particular interest – and decided she could be the heir to his throne.  “It’s a job you never, in a million years, think is going to become available,” says Zobeck of the moment she was approached about becoming Opus One’s Director of Winemaking. There was no way she was turning down such an opportunity – especially not when she would have the chance to work with Silacci for several years.  Zobeck will take on Silacci’s legacy at Opus One – an estate that has been constantly evolving during his tenure. Organic farming has been the norm at Opus for over two decades, although they only sought certification in 2021. For over a decade, Silacci trialled biodynamics but found the vines became too vigorous. He abandoned the approach before launching into regenerative farming from 2022. The estate now works with permanent cover crop between the vines, helping lower temperatures in the canopies, retain water in the soils and lengthen the ripening period, without increasing sugar levels. Silacci has been experimenting with dry farming since 2007 and reducing irrigation across the estate, although it remains essential for now. The team hopes, however, to be able to dry-farm a new site in Oakville once the vines are established. This work is all reflected in the wines being produced today.  “Opus One is not the stereotypical Napa of the early 2000s,” Zobeck emphasises. “It’s a fresh style, and to keep that we have to farm differently.” Silacci is famous for saying he doesn’t want his footprints in the vineyard or fingerprints on the glass, but Zobeck notes how you can see his influence on Opus One over the years, especially from 2004. From 2019, however, she feels the wine has evolved further – with greater transparency of the site. The 2023 has just been bottled at a modest 13.5% alcohol – indicative of the estate’s current approach, one that she intends to continue.  Silacci plans to stay for at least three years, working alongside Zobeck as Chief Winemaker. A transition period of this length is testament to Opus One’s long-term view – looking not just at the next vintage, but the next decade and beyond. Zobeck’s excitement for the role is clear – as well as her admiration for the existing team. As in the NFL, a good captain is key, but it takes more than one player to win a game – and Zobeck completes an already impressive line-up. It’s one hell of a hand-off.  The 2022 vintage of Opus One is released on 1st September 2025. Browse all current listings of Opus One or read more about California 

Originally a joint venture between Robert Mondavi and Ch. Mouton Rothschild, Opus One is one of Napa’s most famous estates – and it now has a new Director of Winemaking. We sat down with Meghan Zobeck to find out more about the ex-NFL powerhouse taking over from Michael Silacci

Meeting the new woman at the helm of Napa’s Opus One – Meghan Zobeck, who is taking over from Michael Silacci to make some of the valley’s most famous wines 

Opus One’s new Director of Winemaking: Meghan Zobeck 

Draft pick: Opus One’s Meghan Zobeck  

As perhaps befits a man on the brink of his 9th decade, Bill Harlan measures time not in weeks, months or even years, but decades, half-centuries, centuries. It seems natural, sitting as we are among the grand oak fermenters at Harlan, having finished a tasting of 27 vintages of this most renowned of wines, to look at the broad sweep of time both forward and back. 
Harlan, who turns 80 in September, has talked before about his “200-year plan” for the great Napa estate. “This is a work in progress. If you have a long-term plan it makes short-term decisions easier – is this the best decision for the long term? So we ask, how many times a century will we be replanting? Then interplanting of rows and vines – should that be every 40 years or every 50 years?” 
Longevity has always been the plan, ever since 1984, when Harlan, Ric Forman and David Abreu identified six acres of hillside above Oakville as land with the potential to make first-class wine. It was a heavily wooded parcel, chiefly volcanic and sedimentary soil bedrock, which over time would be expanded to the 100ha (240 acre) horse-shoe of ridge, shallow valley and mountainside, with aspects to all points of the compass, that the winery sits on today. To stand on the terrace and look east over Napa is to get a sense of the extraordinary vastness and beauty of the land. Harlan's goal is simple: “We need to know how better to express the character of the property.” The soil is key, of course, but there’s a certain poetry to this slight, grizzled adventurer (something of a daredevil in his youth, he founded the Pacific Union real estate company in 1984 and went on to develop upscale resort Meadowood and co-found Merryvale winery before realising his dream in Harlan Estate. He’s said to be a ferocious negotiator. “You wouldn’t want to get into a poker game with him,” one observer has noted). “Most of the estate is wild land. You still have the animals, the fresh smell of the air, the forest floor. All these things make up the character of the wines.” 
Harlan has no intention of expanding the 16ha (40 acres) vineyard, which produces an average 2,000 bottles a year – just making it “better, and stronger”. He considers that the period of “stabilising” is over, and they are now into a process of “establishing”. 
It’s a subtle difference, and when Harlan hands over full responsibility to his son Will and daughter Amanda later this year (“an 80-year-old oughtn’t to be running anything”), they will have decades of experience to draw on. Bob Levy, the director of winegrowing, joined full-time in 1990, winemaker Cory Empting has been there 20 years, estate director Don Weaver since 1986 – two generations of treading the dirt. This is not to mention the “vinemasters” – veteran vineyard workers who are given total responsibility for sections of vineyard, in order to “get to know each vine,” as Harlan puts it. “The continuity is understanding the land.” 
The tasting took place at a long table in the fermentation room at Harlan Estate in early March 2020. As well as Bill and Will Harlan, Levy, Empting and Weaver were present, Harlan educator Kelli White, Jamie Ritchie, head of Sotheby’s fine wine, Jim Walker (a long-standing Harlan collector) and critic Elaine Chukan Brown. The vintages were tasted young to old, 2016 to 1990, in three flights of nine wines. Harlan talked of a work in progress: this was to see it in operation, a clear progression as vines get older, the estate increases in size and parcel selection gets more targeted. Today a blending session comprises up to 150 wines, taken from multiple different vineyard samples, tanks and barrels. This was, without doubt, one of the signature tastings of my career. These are some of the most expensive and sought-after wines in the world, and to spend a day tasting them – out of magnum – was a remarkable experience. This is not to say that the wines were approached with undue reverence. Harlan, his longstanding team, and the few guests examined each flight with concentration but not awe. The Harlan style runs through the vintages, getting stronger towards the present. The finest wines are brightly perfumed in youth and mellowing to dried petals and dried herb as they age; there is earth, blue fruit ageing to dark, a certain savouriness and sometimes an animal tang (“most of the estate is wild land”).  Another hallmark is understated energy, a pure and clear line that runs through each wine and through the decades. The wines have weight and heft – you know where you are with them – but only once was alcohol, or over-ripeness, mentioned. There is marked vintage variation – the notoriously cool and wet 2011, or the famously warm 1997, for example, are unmistakable. From Bordeaux to Napa, wines of great renown are sometimes described as “smart”, which means they are in some way tailored; they may be delicious, but they are made with an audience in mind. Harlan Estate doesn’t give that impression: you rather understand that here is a winemaker and a team searching for an interpretation of a terroir that is not fixed but changing as the vines age. Bill Harlan returns to this theme again and again. He talks of having “captured” the land, of its protean nature – “as the roots go deeper, the shapes of your blocks move and evolve like amoebas. It’s organic – you don’t lay out the blocks for good, you learn how they change, by being out there in the field.” As the land changes so do its stewards. The official handover to the next generation is imminent and Harlan is happy. “Everything seems to be in place,” he says. “They’ve never done this before, and I’ve never done it before, but it’s working well.” Tasting notes NB: All wines are Bordeaux blends of approximately 15% alcohol, with an average 75% Cabernet Sauvignon plus varying proportions of Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Petit Verdot.
Published with the kind permission of luxury wine, spirits and lifestyle brand Club Oenologique - an exclusive community for those who enjoy the rarer pleasures of life.  Read more about Harlan 

Earlier this year, one of Napa’s starriest names put on a vertical tasting of its entire 27 vintages for luxury wine, spirits and lifestyle magazine, Club Oenologique. Adam Lechmere reflects on the wines and hears from Bill Harlan as he prepares to hand over the reins to his children

Napa’s starriest names put on a vertical tasting of 27 vintages and we hear from Bill Harlan as he prepares to hand over the reins to his children

Three decades of Napa's Harlan Wine Estate

Three decades of Napa's Harlan Estate

Deaver Vineyards

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About description for demonstration purposes

shows all the items you currently store with us. These items can be sold, delivered or transferred.

At {shortName}

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represents all the wines that are in your possession and have been consumed.

This is the price you paid for this item.

Cost price

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The lowest price you're willing to sell at.

shows all the items that you have pre-ordered, including en primeur wines, and all the items on your watchlist.

Futures

You can set a sell price on items you're selling based on a % of current unit net value.

You can set a market price on items you're selling based on a % of current unit net value.

shows all the actions that you have taken on items in your Portfolio.

groups every action by type - Purchase, Sale, Delivery, and Inbound Transfer - so it's clear at a glance what happened to each item.

History

shows all the items that are currently in transit to or from {shortName}.

In transit

Local delivery is free for orders over HK$1,800 (to a single location). For orders below this value, delivery is HK$150 for up to four cases and HK$50 per case thereafter.

Shipping starts from €15 within Italy and €45 to Switzerland and the rest of Europe for up to 48 bottles (75cl). Costs vary by destination. Larger shipments can be quoted on request.

The date shown below is when your order will ship from our local warehouse. Your final delivery date, along with full tracking details, will be provided once our team has processed your request.

You can arrange collection from our Retail store on 22nd Floor, 8 Wyndham Street, Central Hong Kong.
Collection times are between 9:30am-13:00 and 14:00-18:00pm, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

You can arranged collection from our warehouse STI INTERNAZIONALE SPA, on Viale del Lavoro, 57, 37051 Bovolone, Verona.
Pick-up hours are between 8:30 AM to 12:30 PM and 1:30 PM to 5:30 PM, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

This is the current estimated market value for this item.

Manually set prices will be overwritten. Already listed wines are not affected.

Updates all unlisted wines to current market price.

Set all at market

represents all the wines you currently have in your Portfolio that aren't stored with us. Press the

My cellar

Name

Net price

New portfolio available

New portfolio

You do not have any invoices at this time.

shows all the items from your Portfolio that are currently on the market.

On sale

shows all the items you currently have in your Portfolio. You can perform individual actions on them from this page.

Overview

shows any items that are currently awaiting user action.

Pending

This is the dynamic estimated value of the item with trading margin removed.

This is the amount of profit you will receive if your listing sells.

Pre-authorised payments enable automatic transactions on your behalf, ensuring seamless and hassle-free payments. This allows recurring charges, subscriptions, or scheduled payments to be processed without manual approval each time.

The number of cases you wish to place on sale

Your catalogue item will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your catalogue items will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

Before you request delivery, you can adjust the quantity for each item in your selection below.

* At time of sale a 15% trading fee will be deducted from the final sale price.

Total estimated value*'

The fixed custom price you wish to sell each item for.

Split into {caseSize} individual {bottleSize}cl bottles.

Title

shows all the items you currently store with us. These items can be sold.

Available for sale — items stored with {name} eligible to be listed on the marketplace.

Profile

This item is at Vinfolio, available for storage or shipping. For more information on shipping and handling visit vinfolio.com/shipping

This item is at FINE+RARE HOME Hong Kong, available for delivery or local pickup. Most Hong Kong deliveries can be made within 3 working days, an exact date will be available when arranging delivery. International deliveries have longer lead-times, please contact us for details.

Wines sold en primeur will be released from the producer after bottling, typically 18 months after the so-called campaign ends. Upon arrival your wine will be stored at Vinfolio in our temperature-controlled warehouse until you decide to take delivery.

We will source this item at the guaranteed price from our network of suppliers and arrange expedited shipment to FINE+RARE.
 The lead-time depends on many variables, but 2-4 weeks is typical for expedited sourcing.
 Once your order is confirmed, we'll keep you updated on its ETA.
 Every item is checked on arrival by our expert team, with photographs available on request (please note that charges may apply).

When a wine is on "pre-arrival", it means that we have a confirmed order on the bottles from our supplier and we are simply waiting for the winery or distributor to ship the wine to us. The delivery timeframe for pre-arrival wines varies significantly, depending on where the wine is coming from. We will notify you once they arrive at our warehouse and, at that point, you can decide to arrange shipping or list them for sale.

Deaver Vineyards

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