There are interviews, and there are conversations. And this meeting with Italian cashmere tycoon, Brunello Cucinelli, definitely falls into the category of the latter. Cucinelli has conquered the world with his products, his perception of style and beauty, and has published a book outlining his particular approach to doing business which he defines as “humanistic capitalism”.   This distinction between interview and conversation is a necessary contemplation; understanding the meaning behind the words, selecting them carefully, tasting each of them in a silent meditation. This is, in fact, the first step to allowing you into Cucinelli’s world, where external quality is just as important as inner quality. To him, as to late 18th century German philosopher Kant, beauty is a moral interest.   The word “interview” is composed of two parts: “inter”, which implies reciprocity, and “view”, which refers to sight; each looking at the other, trying to truly see. It is not a given that this is always successful.   A conversation, however, is different. The word derives from the Latin “conversari”, composed of “con” meaning “with” or “together”, and “versari”: to reside, to find oneself. It is a meeting – a graceful way of getting to know each other, or getting to know each other better. It is a way to agree upon certain behaviours and visions in order to truly share a physical place, as well as a state of being. In this conversation, we meet Brunello Cucinelli in Solomeo, Umbria, Italy. He reminisces that, The New York Times once published a map of must-see places in Italy – in which Solomeo was included along with Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples. Cucinelli states this with no small amount of pride.  Despite the lockdown, and an obligation to talk through a screen, encouraged by both the pandemic and by a sense of caution, Solomeo is truly the location of our meeting – and not just because Il Sogno di Solomeo (The Dream of Solomeo) is the title of his book, in which he recounts his life story, the roots of his success, and his vision as an “entrepreneurial custodian”. Solomeo enters through the window, breathing audibly in the background of the words and thoughts which define our conversation. It speaks through Cucinelli’s expressions, bringing to light a kind of organised peace within his sense of time, its horizons are centuries-old, and reside in diligent silence. It speaks of a knowledge acquired through generations passed, to be shared with generations to come.  We are in Umbria, just 15 minutes from Perugia and only one hour from Florence. Only 800 people live in Solomeo – a stunning, almost-abandoned medieval village brought back to life by skilful restoration work led by Cucinelli over the last 25 years. The village of Solomeo was revitalised as an allusion to Rome, the city of Emperor Hadrian’s soul, according to French novelist and essayist Marguerite Yourcenar. Creativity needs a “genius loci”, a safe space. Cucinelli restored a village that was “robust, useful, and beautiful”, as instructed by Vitruvius. Onora tutti gliuomini (“honour all men”) is the inscription displayed in Solomeo’s Piazza delleArti, and is also the motto which inspired Cucinelli’s humanistic capitalism. He believes gift-giving to be one of the kindest forms of the soul, and he loves to give presents of homemade oils and wines; believing that, in every gift, there is also a piece of Solomeo.   Cucinelli’s love of philosophy, and his habit of allowing the great minds of history to dictate his approach to beauty, is also a lesson Cucinelli learned in youth as a farmer, when he used to pull the ox plough and till the fields. In the evenings, his father would encourage him to admire the beauty of those ploughed fields, the neat ridges stretching over the hills.   His sensitivity to the idea of living in harmony with nature was born from this, as was his ability to recognise that there is greater value in that which is carried out with beauty in mind. His more practical attention to the selection of raw materials also stemmed from these roots – his respect for producers and collaborators, and his ability to think in terms of centuries, not years. All this has rendered Brunello Cucinelli one of the world’s most famous luxury brands.   Beauty is also a form of truth. As three Buddhist monks remarked to him, upon visiting him in Solomeo, there are three things which cannot remain hidden: the sun, the moon and truth. In order to live well, beauty requires you to take care of your soul, your mind and your body. This is why, at Cucinelli’s company, at half past five in the evening, the computers are switched off, the working day completed. The body, mind and soul need a life outside work, to be able to look themselves in the eye and overcome the “soul-ache” that creativity can also help to alleviate.  To him, beauty is also a business method; his humanistic capitalism was not cast aside even during the crisis sparked by Covid, during which time Cucinelli did not let a single employee go, or ask for any discounts from producers or suppliers. This is part of an ethical business vision which considers humanity as an end, and never as a means; it is defined by considering the businessman as a “custodian of creation”. Developing this idea of being a custodian, Cucinelli sees that luxe can be interpreted as an orchestrator of sustainable development.   Brunello Cucinelli smiles. He likes the words of 15th century Florentine Republic ruler, Lorenzo the Magnificent – “How beautiful is youth, / though quickly it does flee! / be happy if you want to: / for tomorrow may not come” – which recall an Italian sense of national pride. Although home to only 0.7% of the globe’s population, Italy boasts one of the the world’s top 10 economies; it excels at quality manufacturing and craftsmanship; it offers a welfare state which leaves no one trailing behind. He sees a great country and a golden era, in spite of the crisis. He does so with a pinch of the “Italiote”, as Plato called the people of Syracuse when he reached Sicily from Greece, “a population which feasts twice a day and never goes to bed alone”.  We are also like this, he says, before returning to consider the ideas of creativity and responsibility. “It really is possible to live in harmony with creation. And this makes us custodians, not consumers. I also think of my product as something to be desired, something to be inherited. That is why I chose cashmere. I wanted something that was already precious. I’ve learnt to transform it over time. I’ve made mistakes, had teachers and guardian angels that have helped me and taught me. But the principle was already clear to me, right from the beginning: to create beauty, you need to begin with something beautiful, from an exceptional raw material. And you also need to believe that it will last for centuries, not for years. Before it became fashionable, we had already opened a restyling and reusing department for our garments. Because, for a jumper to be beautiful and precious, it must also stand the test of time.”   “Verum factum”, as stated by 17th century Italian political philosopher Giambattista Vico: nothing is true unless it has been done. The humanistic capitalism in Solomeo is evident: an art of Renaissance-style trading which has taken over the world, yes. But it has done so with honour. It possesses a beauty which is markedly exclusive, moving against the crisis of civilisation. It is something that manages to make itself be considered as rare, something precious, only for you. It requires time, artisanal hard work and precision, fighting against the culture of impatience. In fact, Solomeo’s theatre is crafted from hand-cut stones, with walls built to endure. The company itself is located within a restored factory which opens out onto gardens and spaces where it is impossible not to inhale the surrounding beauty.  Most of the employees and managers within Cucinelli are young: this is because they are hard workers. It is also because beauty and fairness produce brilliance. Cucinelli is the one to engender this genius. “Oh, myesteemed men!” (O miei stimati uomini!) Cucinelli quotes Marcus Aurelius. It is from this statement that he has learnt to recognise value, to respect and admire, and to never rise above dignity. He applies the concept of remote working only when strictly necessary, because creativity dwindles and becomes degraded by a lack of human contact.   The story of humanistic capitalism is so long to recount (and so wonderful to hear) that Cucinelli has summarised it within his book, Il Sogno di Solomeo. These ideas, typically influenced by previous generations, took inspiration from the manual The Book of the Art of Trade by Benedetto Cotrugli – an Italian merchant during the Renaissance era – which speaks about “getting rich honourably”. One can choose whether to be “a seeker of work or a creator of work”: therefore, an entrepreneur is someone who creates development for themselves and for others. On one hand, there is the revaluation of the role of whoever decides to take this risk; on the other, there is the idea that they are doing so by enforcing a strong sense of ethic. A sort of return to business. An important lesson.  Cucinelli notes that, in Cotrugli’s story, this is fulfilled out of duty rather than pleasure. The death of his father in 1438 forced him to abandon his studies and take the reins of the family business. This was during a time when Italy was bestowing the Renaissance upon the world; and Cotrugli, who originated from Ragusa (currently known as Dubrovnik – which, at the time, was considered the fifth Italian Maritime Republic), was catapulted to Naples, in an environment where ethics and morals evidently left a lot to be desired. The family business, and by extension, he as the owner, “bought wool in Barcelona; turned it into cloth and thread in Florence and Prato, to then sell it on again in Constantinople and Venice”. Cotrugli travelled, visiting cities which formed the heart of that golden era. He breathed in the air of Florence, which was, at the time, Europe’s most powerful guild, and produced figures such as Donatello, Masaccio and Brunelleschi.   Among the 15 golden rules for “getting rich honourably” outlined within The Book of the Art of Trade, Cucinelli feels a “deep resonance” not only because of its modernity and its entrepreneurial insight, “but mostly for the system of values it imposes and passes on”, to “get rich honourably” by creating work and development with consistency. And he thinks back to the crisis, echoing the words of Roman statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero, as quoted by Cotrugli: we must not waver in the face of adversity or lose ourselves in our own prosperity. “Let’s talk about what this year has brought us, not what it has taken from us,” he states.   And this is the truest representation of a dedicated and kind businessman, who has spent half his time gazing up at the stars and loves to watch a fire flicker because it makes him “drunk on pleasant thoughts”. Life is blessed. We eat only what we must, so that there is enough for everyone. There was Seneca, there was Epicurus, and now there is the wonderful dream of Brunello Cucinelli and his beloved Solomeo. He spends his years contemplating centuries past and considering those to come. This, in itself, is a rare form of immortality.  In 2011, Cucinelli planted vines in the valley below Solomeo, and the first vintage of the wine made from this special site – 2018 Castello di Solomeo – is available from FINE+RARE. Read more about the project. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

As Brunello Cucinelli launches his new wine project – Castello di Solomeo – we dig into the philosophy of the designer behind Italy’s cashmere empire. Educator and business guru Germana di Falco sits down with the fashion icon to discuss his philosophy on business and life itself 

Italian cashmere tycoon and fashion designer Brunello Cucinelli on his new wine project Castello di Solomeo and his business philosophy 

Brunello Cucinelli – the fashion philosopher

Brunello Cucinelli: the fashion philosopher 

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

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

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

Raymond Blake on the Côte d'Or

With “freshness” and “structure” often the buzz words defining the best Bordeaux wines of recent warm vintages – the plush richness and suppleness brought by the Merlot variety often seems undersold compared to the role of the Cabernets in the blend.  Christian Moueix, Director at Petrus (1970-2008), Trotanoy and La Fleur-Petrus; John Kolasa of Chateau Rauzan Segla and Chateau Canon (1997-2015); Maylis Marcenat of Chateau Clos de Sarpe; as well as Pascal Baratie of Chateau Haut-Brion - the First Growth with the highest proportion of merlot in its blend - identify how global warming is affecting merlot and what this means for its long term future in the region.  We also discover why merlot became central to Bordeaux’s success and today remains much loved, providing it is grown in the right place and managed correctly. 
Managing rising alcohol levels There is no grape more synonymous with the region of Bordeaux than merlot, playing an extensive role in almost all wines of the region on both the Left and Right Banks. Whilst it plays second fiddle to the cabernet sauvignon dominant wines of Saint-Julien and Pauillac, everywhere else from Pessac to Pomerol it plays a significant role in the blend. But merlot in
recent years has become a concern for many in the region. With the rising climatic temperatures in Bordeaux, some vignerons are struggling to manage ever-rising alcohol levels, whilst trying to achieve full phenolic ripeness of the tannins in the skins and seeds.  Merlot is an earlier ripening variety than cabernet sauvignon and its sugar levels can increase quickly in hot temperatures, leaving an imbalance between sugar and tannin ripeness. The more steady the temperatures are through the summer, the more chance the sugar levels and phenolic ripeness will reach optimum levels at the same time. In a hot vintage, sugar levels rise too quickly forcing vignerons to pick the grapes before they have had time for the tannins to reach phenolic maturity, afraid that if the sugar levels become too high, there will be a drop in acidity, as well as causing serious problems at fermentation. For Pascal Baratie, vineyard manager at Chateau Haut-Brion the higher levels of alcohol have not however proved problematic for them, stating “since the 2000s, there has been a gap between phenolic maturity and technological maturity (measurement of sugar and acidity levels). Today, during the maturity checks in the vineyard before the harvest, when we taste the grapes at 13 degrees potential alcohol, we note that the tannins are still hard… so we need to wait to obtain more supple tannins and greater phenolic maturity.  The balance obtained today, is certainly different to pre-2000 levels, but we are fortunate to be on a great terroir, which produces balanced wines, with a good tannic potential even with high alcoholic degrees. The regularity of great vintages of the last 20 years lets us think that the supposed problem of alcoholic degrees is more in the head than in the glass.” However not all Chateaux are fortunate to share the same terroir as Haut-Brion. Drought in Bordeaux 
Higher alcohols are not the only concern with merlot. Drought is also becoming problematic when trying to plant young merlot vines in Bordeaux, particularly on gravel soils. Merlot requires moisture to grow and whilst the clay-rich soils of Saint-Estephe on the Left Bank and Pomerol and Saint-Emilion on the Right Bank naturally retain moisture; the gravel soils in Margaux, Saint Julien and Pauillac are becoming increasingly dry in the warming climate. John Kolasa states “this is becoming a real problem where there is deep gravel, like in Margaux.  Young merlot vines need years of root growth to break through the gravel and reach water reserves below, but in parts of Margaux where the gravel can be up to two metres deep, the roots take longer than three years to break through. Three years is the current allowance for
irrigating vines in the region. It is once this irrigation stops that these vines suffer and die. It is one of the reasons you see less merlot being planted in Margaux. If they can’t find a way for young merlot vines to survive in gravel soils, it will undoubtedly lead to a change in style over the coming years.”  Merlot's susceptibility to disease Global warming effects are not just an increase in temperatures but an increase in erratic weather episodes, leading to a heightened pressure of rot and mildew – something merlot is much more susceptible to than the cabernet varieties, due to its thinner skin.  “Merlot is a wonderful variety but it is more difficult to manage these days” states Maylis Marcenat from Saint-Emilion's Chateau Clos de Sarpe. “In 2018, our merlot suffered a lot from mildew. We lost around 40% of our production mostly on the merlot vines. The cabernet franc has a better resistance.  The weather is more uncertain these days, a lot of rain followed by a very dry season makes it difficult to predict.”  Rot is also a concern and certainly nothing new in the region, it plagued the merlot vines of the late sixties and seventies. So much so, that replanting of the variety was in fact banned in Pomerol following the disastrous 1968 vintage. Vignerons were instead strongly encouraged to plant cabernet sauvignon. Christian Moueix recalls, “I remember, of course, the terrible rot of 1968 and the desire of some researchers to find a varietal resistant to rot. I attended many meetings in 1970-1971 and protested against the banning of planting Merlot. It was a violent controversy and, in 1972, I refused to plant those new cabernets sauvignons in Pomerol.”  Moueix’s decision was justified. John Kolasa states following this ”it became very fashionable to grow cabernet sauvignon in the '60s and '70s on the wrong rootstocks!” Kolasa ended up pulling out all the cabernet sauvignon vines planted at Chateau Canon during this time, stating, “the damn things would never ripen”. The early '70s saw a bout of poor vintages for the region largely due to bad weather either just before or during harvest. The cabernet sauvignon at the time was unripe, incredibly green and it was the earlier ripening merlot that became the more reliable source. 

Kolasa outlines one theory behind the rot that plagued Merlot on the Right Bank at that time. “Much of the Right Bank back then was undeveloped, compared to the bigger estates on the Left Bank. The vineyards were also producing many other fruit and vegetables. When the vineyards were ploughed by horse and cart these fruit trees were not a problem, the horse
simply went around the tree, but with the introduction of tractors and machinery, many vignerons simply chopped down the tree.  The trouble is they killed the tree but left the roots in the ground. Similarly to roses, if you leave dead roots in the ground they become infected with fungi. These dead roots in the soil came to plague vineyards with rot at that time.” John recalls finding rotting roots all over the vineyards at Chateau Canon. His first year at the property in 1997, he made two separate cuvees, one from vines away from the tree roots and one nearby.  “I only had to put my nose in the glass of the two to know which one was which, the wine made by the affected vines smelt terrible. Following that experiment it was so clear to me. I took up all the vines affected. Pulling up old vines is never something one wants to do, knowing that it will takes decades for the new vines to reach maturity, but these vines were so infected I was left with no choice.”  Merlot as a more reliable source of ripe fruit found favour through the '70s and '80s. By the mid '90s, the influence of the American market enamoured by the plush, richness and soft texture the merlot provides in the blend, only saw more plantings of the variety.  For Christian Moueix the Americans love affair with Merlot stopped in 2005, with the release of the film Sideways which saw the main character famously state, "If anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving, I am NOT drinking any f**king merlot!”. It is worth noting his favourite wine in the film was Cheval Blanc, a merlot blend! The damaging effects of global warming have only further put merlot in the shadows as the cabernet varieties share the limelight, but these vignerons are confident of its future in Bordeaux. 
Merlot still remains essential to the Bordeaux psyche Christian Moueix states: “Global warming has been positive for Bordeaux as everybody would admit. The rising of alcohol is almost impossible to control since it comes not only from heat and sun but from the level of CO2 in the atmosphere”. For Moueix provided merlot is planted in the right soil he is confident in its prolonged future in the region.  “We still replant merlot in Pomerol and Saint-Emilion; this is the varietal best suited to our terroirs. To manage the climate, we have adapted the canopy to avoid the direct impact of sun. This is all we can do at this point unless the addition of water becomes legal.” Baratie from Chateau Haut Brion outlines the importance of balance that both the merlot and cabernet varietals still bring to the classic Bordeaux blend. “We do not want to part with Merlot because it is satisfactory today even in hot years and for the future we want to keep its current proportion. We have to keep a balanced planting to obtain maturity on plots of
merlot and cabernets whatever the weather conditions of the year. From time to time, we have cooler years and it is interesting to have matured Merlot, when the cabernet sauvignons are likely to be harder and herbaceous. In 2011, a very dry spring year, Chateau Haut-Brion was made up of only 35% merlot, while in 2012, a more classic climate year, it was made up of 65.5% merlot. Over two successive years, the climatic conditions were different and led us to select a different proportion of grape varieties in the wine. We can see that we cannot do without merlot in one vintage like the other. Merlot brings an interesting juice, as well as sweetness, fine and supple tannins which make it essential. It may be replaceable with another grape, but at the moment we do not have the knowledge.”  The importance of terroir Despite the risks of rot, drought, mildew and high sugar levels, fantastic merlot continues to be grown in Bordeaux providing the terroir is right. Speaking with these vignerons one thing they all agree on is that the soil remains the most fundamental aspect to its success - in the past, today and in the future. “Merlot grown on clay and limestone soil can still preserve freshness as well as minimal hydric stress in my terroir.  So why not use it?" states Maylis Marcenat from Chateau Clos de Sarpe. “The merlot is still an exceptional plant. The sweetness, the complexity is unique. I think in Saint Emilion, and especially on clay and limestone, all the merlot are more creamy, tasty, with a lot of juiciness.“ At Chateau Haut-Brion, Baratie agrees, “We tend to favour merlot on grounds that are relatively well supplied with water and to favour cabernet sauvignon on gravelly soils. But we have plots of merlot on gravelly soils, little supplied with water, which give very great wines every year and we do not plan to change the grape variety on these very qualitative plots. But
in addition, we are adapting later ripening and drought-resistant rootstocks.” Intra-plot vinification, precise technical understanding of viticulture, clonal development, replanting better-matched rootstocks, has all helped Bordeaux and Merlot in particular, cope with the changing climate. But the art of blending is still vital part of the wines of Bordeaux and today has become an important measure to reduce the alcohol in Merlot-dominant wines. Cabernet Franc to the rescue Many wineries up and down the Medoc are lowering the proportion of merlot in their blends, opting more for cabernet franc. John Kolasa outlines how cabernet franc can effectively lower the overall alcohol level in the blend of a wine. “Blending just 5% of cabernet franc in with merlot can be an effective method of lowering the alcohol, as well as adding freshness. It is something Petrus did with the 2019 vintage. Look at the success of Chateau Figeac in 2019 – a third cabernet franc, a third merlot and a third cabernet Sauvignon. This is a big increase of cabernet franc in the blend and is performing better in the warming climate”. 
The future of Merlot Despite the difficulties Merlot is facing, there seems plenty of ways vignerons in the region are adapting to manage Merlot differently in this warmer climate. Marcenat of Clos du Sarpe believes “the way of cultivating must change. Less green harvesting, we no longer need too much concentration in the grapes, we must be careful with the thinning of the canopy. Merlot needs more cover crops, it benefits from keeping as much grass as possible and we must choose the right organic fertiliser. With this in place, merlot has a future”. For Baratie “The balance of the wines obtained in recent years suits us, thanks to the contribution of merlot, cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon, so we are not worried about the future of merlot. However, thanks to our clonal selection initiated by Jean-Bernard Delmas, today we choose clones on a different criteria from those desired in the past. We currently favour two criteria: the Total Polyphenol Index (IPT) and yields that are not too low.” No doubt helping to modify concentration of alcohol and adding structural freshness
from the higher levels of tannins. Moueix too sees Merlot having a long future ahead in Bordeaux but at the same time would welcome new clones of Merlot that produce less alcohol. “Nevertheless,” states Christian, ”I dare to compare it to a vaccine: it would need a lot of experiments before taking the risk of replacing the present clones which produce wonderful wines.” Perhaps the biggest threat for the future of merlot therefore comes not from the clay-rich soils of the Right Bank but from the gravel-rich soils of the Medoc, where it remains a minority in the blend, but nevertheless an important element to the profile of these wines. If a solution cannot be found for growing young merlot vines on gravel soil, will we see alternatives varieties in the assemblage and a change in style? Browse all Bordeaux listings or explore more Editorial 

Merlot today remains the most-planted variety in Bordeaux but its dominance is waning somewhat in an ever warming climate. 

Merlot remains the most-planted grape variety in Bordeaux. We explore why it became central to Bordeaux’s success and remains so highly regarded

Merlot grapes and wines at the heart of Bordeaux 

Merlot: Part of the Bordeaux psyche

It’s no secret that Scotch whisky is dominated by two giants – Diageo and Pernod Ricard, who represent 60% of the market, with three other big players taking the next 20%. That leaves a mere 20% for those who have the wallets and mettle to fight over the rest – but that’s an increasing number of people. There are currently over 30 single malt distilleries at some stage of opening.  “I think it’s a bit of a worry to be honest,” Mark Reynier, Renegade Spirits founder and CEO, says. Reynier has been behind three of the most talked-about distillery projects in the past 20 years – the resurrection of Islay powerhouse Bruichladdich in 2000, the renovation of a former Diageo brewery into Irish single malt distillery Waterford in 2015 and the construction of Renegade rum distillery in Grenada from scratch in 2020. All three have a dogged focus on terroir and have not been without their struggles. “Superficially it does look easy - but it sure as hell isn’t,” he says. “With Bruichladdich we almost went bust twice. With the best will in the world and two-distillery experience I got it wrong with Renegade and almost went bust last September.”  In Reynier’s view, many of those opening distilleries are driven by romantic ideas and the desire to make a quick buck – from landowners looking to monetise estates to “crooks” who “promise fortunes to be made”. Few, however, have the knowledge, business nous or money to back up their ambitions.  Wolfcraig – a new distillery in Stirling – is one of the industry’s most interesting projects, largely thanks to the experience of the team involved. While neither of the founders Jamie Lunn or John Moore had worked in whisky before (coming, respectively, from construction and finance), Jamie Lunn’s father is former Whyte & Mackay chairman and chief executive Michael Lunn – and happened to be eager for a new project. It hasn’t been plain sailing though: the team had a false start with an ill-fated attempt to take a controlling stake of an existing distillery. Downhearted but not defeated, they made the decision to go it alone. Moore and Lunn have assembled a first-rate team with over 200 years’ experience. Master Blender Richard Paterson OBE was the most recent addition to the roster – which Jamie Lunn affectionately refers to as “the Harlem globetrotters of whisky” – including Dr Alan Rutherford OBE (former Production Director at Diageo, Master of the Quaich and previous President of the Malt Distillers Association of Scotland), Ian Macmillan (a Master Distiller, also a Master of the Quaich and a member of the Worshipful Company of Distillers) and Iain Lochhead (former UK Bacardi Operations Director, and another Master of the Quaich). But even with a team of such pedigree, it hasn’t been easy. “It was three and a half years of pain,” Moore says. Every decision has been driven by an unwavering mission to produce a truly special liquid, considerable industry experience and business acumen. Stirling, for example, was chosen not just for its infrastructure, but its accessibility – within an hour’s drive of 70% of the Scottish population. The team ensured they were fully funded and have consciously built a brand – and decided on the style of spirit they’ll be making – before physically breaking ground. “Out of all the new whisky distilleries,” Moore says, “very few of them are designing their own unique spirit and they have not put any thought into why they have a particular shape of still.” Wolfcraig, by contrast, is having their still handmade by Forsyths, with a distinctive double-ball design to produce a more muscular, full-bodied spirit. It’s not just new players and mavericks behind the trend though, with some of whisky’s most historic names being given a new lease of life. Halewood International, for example, is bringing malt whisky distilling back to the heart of the Scottish drinks industry in the Port of Leith, Edinburgh, for the first time in 100 years with the John Crabbie Distillery.  Today, the name John Crabbie might be synonymous with ginger wine, but he was an independent bottler, single malt producer and recognised blender in the 19th century. For the team here, creating something new brings great freedom. “One of the key parts of our distillery is its versatility,” Global Dark Spirits Manager Andy Wallace says. “Because of the type of distillery we have, we can change our new make spirit and we can be very adaptable. That flexibility, put in the hands of somebody who knows what they are doing, like our Master Blender Dr Kirstie McCallum – a chemist with an excellent palate – and we’re going to experiment.”   Experimentation with different casks is high on the agenda. In addition to PX and Oloroso casks, the team is looking at how Manzanilla might work and playing around with other wine cask finishes.   Prior to joining Halewood, Wallace spent six years at William Grant & Sons, the home of Balvenie and Glenfiddich since 1887. “They are beautiful, incredible distilleries in a beautiful part of the world,” Wallace says, “but they come with their own inherent limitations… some people will see them as being a bit aspirational and not for them.” In his view, building something from scratch – even with a history like Crabbie’s – means they don’t have to produce a certain type of product. “What we want to do is bring new people into the category and allow people to drink differently,” he explains. Free from the burden of a legacy, a new distillery can be more agile. This can, however, be a catch-22. In a quest to stand apart, rather than play the old boys at their centuries-perfected game, innovation – if not managed in a considered, well-financed, way – can end in tears. “A lot of people have got rather carried away with the romance and [they] don’t really understand the consequences and the costs, and the durability that you need,” Mark Reynier explains.  “And above all you need a unique proposition. Just to be another distillery isn’t enough. The distilling bit is the easy bit. I think this is what’s going to be the downfall for a lot of people. The maturation and the time and cost is the crunch. And then you have got to bring it to market.” Wallace agrees. “You must have a long-term plan for selling your product because you have got a several-year timeline before you can launch anything in the first place,” he says. “One of the big challenges for whisky companies is predicting demand. If you have to predict how much 12-year-old product you’re going to sell on day one, that is a really difficult challenge.”   This was one of the many reasons Wolfcraig was determined to be fully funded from the get-go. “A lot of new whisky distilleries are just living hand-to-mouth and raising money year-on-year and that is emotionally draining,” Moore says. “But, also more importantly, it takes time away from the business when you are constantly fundraising.” It’s no small amount of money required, either. While you might be able to start a gin distillery with £50,000, whisky is a different beast. “Even the small craft distilleries, you’re talking several million pounds to set up,” Moore explains. “Our overall investment will be close on £20million… So, it’s not something you go into lightly.” “Running a distillery is an expensive business,” Reynier adds. “Just when you most need the revenue to get into the market, that is when you are least likely to have it. You are building in a lag period. You have created this brand over a decade, but you don’t actually have enough stock maturing to satisfy the sales that you have created or are creating. So, you have got to plan forward.” Waterford is a distillation of everything Reynier got wrong at Bruichladdich and everything he felt he wasn’t able to do because of a “lack of resource, lack of desire perhaps, tradition getting in the way, and the lack of logistics”. “We had a war chest because we knew that to do it properly, we had to be able to insulate ourselves financially to be able to buy ourselves the time to do it properly, with proper, premium-quality barley, single-farm distillations for uniqueness and for complexity,” Reynier explains. “Practised at Bruichladdich, perfected here.” Ultimately, once you get past the business and branding, it’s the quality of the liquid that will sort the wheat from the chaff. “We need to achieve the same core things any distillery does,” Wallace says. “We want to make genuinely brilliant drams that people will enjoy in years to come.” Browse all Scotch whisky or read more Editorial 

As demand for single malt whisky continues to soar, the number of distilleries – big and small – preparing to fling open their doors increases at a bullish rate. Holly Motion talks to a few of the industry’s newest names to see if everything is as rosy as it seems

Investigating the sharp rise in the number of single malt whisky distilleries with Waterford, Wolfcraig and John Crabbie. 

Distilling dreams

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  

Xiao-Li Meng, Whipple V. N. Jones Professor of Statistics at Harvard and Founding Editor-in-Chief of Harvard Data Science Review, was inspired by a student to combine wine and statistics—leading to insights far beyond what they ever expected.

From wine tastings to data science, Xiao-Li Meng explores how statistics reveals simplicity in complexity – one glass, experiment, and insight at a time.

Wine, statistics & serendipity: A Harvard journey

Seeking simplicity in statistics, complexity in wine, and everything else in fortune cookies 

I’ve written this having just finished my second en primeur report for Decanter magazine. Four weeks of intensive tasting, two weeks of intensive writing – Primeurs is both the best and hardest period of the year, exhausting and rewarding. But, where one tasting finishes another one arises: tomorrow, I fly to Canada for a tasting of Bordeaux 1982 wines – with the legendary vintage showcased in 40 top bottles at a charity dinner in Vancouver. Sometimes my life feels like a dream.   Despite not having a background in wine before joining Decanter in 2011, and certainly no family cellar filled with dusty treasures, I became enthralled the moment I was handed my first glass of fine wine – at my desk, no less. “How is this a job?” I thought to myself. Many years of tastings and trips passed, meeting the world’s foremost winemakers and writing about wine in various ways, however the “critic” role (more of an American designation than British, I think) was never one I coveted – and certainly not one I expected to ever have.    The barrier to entry seemed so high, even though I was already working at Decanter, which understandably tended to only use “regional experts” and Masters of Wine, many with decades of experience and often living in their chosen region – something I now fully understand and would encourage any budding wine writer to do.   Skip forward a decade or so and I’m now responsible for Decanter Premium, overseeing the digital strategy for subscriptions and content behind the paywall on decanter.com – and now Bordeaux correspondent too, having taken over from long-time Decanter contributor Jane Anson in July 2021.   When Jane moved on, the question was who would fill the position. A combination of desire on my part and the lure of a challenge (who wouldn’t want this job?), happenstance (in that I had not long moved to live in Bordeaux city, placing me in the perfect location to take up the role), and a shortage of qualified candidates in the region, all seemed to work in my favour.  While Decanter authoritatively covers wines from all around the world (one of its biggest selling points for me), Bordeaux is what we call “heartland content” – and the stats don’t lie. It’s consistently the most-read and paid-for content we produce, by far. From Primeurs to livrable “in-bottle” tastings to estate verticals and incredibly old horizontals, there’s always something to taste, at every price point, in every conceivable style. And with around 7,000 estates, there’s no end of new cellars to see, new vineyards to walk into and new winemakers at the helm.   So there’s pressure, especially writing for the magazine with its expectation of quality and deep understanding. But, there’s also non-stop dynamism, and living here brings the action so much closer, something I never truly understood before. An hour each way from my home, I can be in Saint-Emilion, Sauternes or Saint-Julien.   The Decanter name is hugely respected in Bordeaux and I’m extremely fortunate to have been welcomed so generously and thoroughly. The last 22 months have been spent tasting and visiting estates as much as I can. I’ve done dozens of verticals that have yet to be published, spent weeks with winemakers in vineyards and cellars, talked to consultants about changing styles and négociants about market trends. I took part in my first harvest last year (thank you Cheval Blanc) and my first blending session this year (thank you Nicolas Glumineau, General Manager at Pichon Comtesse).   I've also been inducted into the Commanderie du Bontemps of the Médoc, Graves, Sauternes and Barsac, as well as the Hospitaliers de Pomerol (two historic brotherhoods, now modern-day societies that encourage, support and help promote the wines and winemakers of their respective regions). These are all enriching experiences that are the building blocks of my Bordeaux knowledge.  Somehow I thought having done the 2021 en primeur tastings and report last year (as well as two in-bottle reports since I started – all with around 900 wines sampled each time) the 2022 report would be easier – it wasn’t. Tasting is actually really tough – not only physically demanding and tiring, but mentally exhausting. It goes without saying that experience is helpful, comprehension and context are key for notes and scores, but passion is also a must. I’m building the first two, the latter I still have in abundance.   Despite sometimes pinching myself, looking back there’s a strange sense of destiny attached to my current role. My first ever work trip was to Bordeaux (and I ended up buying an apartment almost round the corner from the hotel I first stayed at). My first fine wine vertical was – amazingly –  of First Growth Ch. Mouton Rothschild with the then brilliant winemaker Philippe Dhalluin at Café Lavinal in Pauillac. My first article was about a Bordeaux panel tasting and I even had maps of Bordeaux vineyards on my bedroom wall in London, something I had forgotten until I came across some old photos recently.   An added bonus, my father only drinks Bordeaux wines so this job definitely earns me favourite child status.  As much as it’s serious and hard work, it’s also huge fun, interesting, glamorous and ever-changing. I think humility and gratitude are important, as well as a genuine enthusiasm to tell the stories of these wonderful wines and the people who make them.  Is the role of “critic” my true calling – above publishing, improvement strategies and brand building? I don’t know. What I do know; I love writing. I love Cabernet (Sauvignon and Franc)! I love mature Bordeaux (and am currently seeking out as much 2001 as possible). I love blind tasting the region’s wines to try and place them in their appellations (despite myriad differences in viticulture and vinification this is somehow still possible – the power of Pauillac, the prettiness of Margaux, the minerality of Saint-Estephe). I love the light in Saint-Emilion at dusk during the summer – is there a more romantic wine region?    But most of all, I love the joy and passion surrounding winemaking – not limited to Bordeaux, but the family histories, long-standing traditions, connection to gastronomy, focus on innovation and investment – they all give the region an extra glint in my eye.   What I don’t love, however, is my dentist telling me off and trying to find a place to store all my bottles... but there are worse problems, admittedly. (Speaking of which, if anyone wants to drive me round the region for next year’s Primeurs, applications open soon!)  For now, I'm excited to see how this year's Primeurs campaign goes. There's no doubt that many producers have created exceptional wines worth buying, but whether the market is sufficiently dynamised by the prices is another question. I'm eagerly awaiting a copy of this year's Bordeaux guide (on sale with the June issue of Decanter) filled with all the wonderful happenings in Bordeaux right now, as well as looking forward to discovering some of the hidden non-classified gems of Margaux. The sun looks set to appear for the first proper time this week, sending temperatures up and kickstarting the 2023 growing season – and, as with any vintage, there’s already so much to look forward to.  Read more about Bordeaux or browse all Bordeaux listings  Photography: Luke Carver

Georgie Hindle had big shoes to fill when she took over from Jane Anson as Decanter’s Bordeaux correspondent in 2021. Here she talks about how she fell for the region and what it’s really like working as a wine critic

Decanter’s Bordeaux correspondent Georgie Hindle takes us behind the scenes in Bordeaux, talking about life as a wine critic

Behind the scenes with Decanter’s Georgie Hindle

En primeur is the system of buying unfinished, young wine, essentially as “futures”. The wines are sold while still maturing in barrel, and shipped once bottled to wine-lovers around the world. Bordeaux pioneered the system, and it remains important in the region, although en primeur has now spread and wines from Burgundy, the Rhône, Italy, the US, Australia and beyond are now all sold in this way. But how did it start? 
While consumers have only been purchasing wine en primeur since the 1980s, wine has been sold “unfinished” to merchants for centuries. Traditionally wine was not bottled or sold by the châteaux; once the wine went into barrel it would be transferred to négociants who would age the wine in their warehouses in the Chartrons district of Bordeaux, and be responsible for their sale and distribution – an unseemly business that didn’t sit well with the noble château-owners. The wine would then either be bottled in Bordeaux or shipped on in barrel to markets like the UK, and bottled for sale to consumers there. 
While Bordeaux might seem glossy and polished today, with its grand châteaux, manicured lawns and immaculate wineries, the region’s wine industry has not always been so prosperous. In the mid-19th century, mildew arrived and devastated much of Europe’s vineyards, followed by the arrival of phylloxera, killing vines and forcing producers to, eventually, replant. When winegrowers had recovered from Mother Nature’s attacks, the First and Second World Wars arrived, bringing further economic challenges. Producers needed ways to finance their operation, while merchants were always on the lookout for a way to secure stock and the best price possible. 
As producers struggled, they resorted to selling grapes while still on the vine, “sur souche”, agreeing a price based on the previous vintage and gambling on the final quality of the crop. Sur souche sales continued into the 1960s – eventually waning after producers were burnt by the low-yielding, excellent and woefully undervalued 1961s. When times were particularly hard, châteaux – even the most fabled addresses – committed to selling their crop for up to 10 years at a fixed price to a merchant, tying themselves into an “abonnement”, guaranteeing a base level of income, but losing out on potential profits if or when prices rose. 
Up to this point, early sales of wine (or grapes) had only been to négociants in Bordeaux, but the 1973 oil crisis prompted a shift. The subsequent crash left producers, négociants and every layer of the wine trade in dire need of funds. Having struggled to sell the 1972 vintage, châteaux didn’t have the money to invest in the production of the challenging ’73 and ’74 vintages. The 1975 growing season arrived with more favourable conditions and the wines showed promise; samples were shipped to London for buyers to sample and sell.  
En primeur really took off, however, with Bordeaux’s 1982 vintage. Robert Parker had started writing his newsletter in 1978, introducing the world to his 100-point rating system for wine. He came out early with a firm endorsement of the 1982s, and urging consumers to buy them; when others were less convinced. Many, especially in the US, took the opportunity to buy up the wines en primeur – and were duly rewarded, with the vintage now considered legendary. 
The early sale of the wines eased cash-flow problems for producers and négociants, while merchants and consumers benefited from being able to secure stock of wines at a favourable price. As en primeur sales grew, properties became much more profitable businesses, able to funnel investment back into their vineyards and wineries. At the same time, ownership of estates was shifting. In 1981, inheritance taxes doubled, making it harder for families to keep châteaux and companies – from insurance to luxury goods and everything in between started buying up properties. While some corporations focused on quantity rather than quality, many arrived with the necessary finances to push quality forward. The 1990s saw many estates introduce second wines, allowing them to further elevate quality of their Grand Vin, and Parker’s influence continued to grow. All of these elements combined to see Bordeaux as a region and its wines evolving at pace – giving even more reason to secure a new vintage up front. 
For consumers, en primeur provided a way to secure the most sought-after wines at the best prices. In top vintages, the wines offered significant returns too – and speculation ensued. The wine market expanded, with new interest from Japanese and Chinese buyers. The market exploded when Hong Kong abolished tax on wine in 2008. The frenzy built and prices rose – with the top-rated 2009 and 2010 vintages hitting new, inflated highs. En primeur no longer offered the safe return it had. The bubble burst. 
Châteaux, merchants and collectors were all stung, and there is now greater awareness of potential inflation in the market. This consciousness and understanding has settled the market and made en primeur relevant once more, although fortunately without the speculation of previous vintages. 
In 2012, Ch. Latour announced it was abandoning the en primeur system – deciding instead to offer wines only when they are ready to drink, with 2011 the last vintage to be offered as futures. It was a significant blow for en primeur to see a First Growth abandon the system, but while there was a fear this step could open the floodgates, no one else has yet followed the First Growth. 
Today, en primeur remains significant for Bordeaux. In April of each year, the world’s wine trade descends on Bordeaux to taste the latest vintage (harvested the previous year). Organised by the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux, the “Primeurs” week is an impressive publicity machine, focusing attention on the region – and while the spotlight might be on the very top properties, there’s a clear halo effect for the entire region. 
There has been a move for estates to hold back a little more stock, some of which may be offered ex-château at a later date, but most Classed Growths still sell between 70 and 90% of their entire production en primeur.  
The benefits for Bordeaux and its châteaux are clear, but what is in it for those wanting to buy the wine? Many of the reasons to buy en primeur are unchanged. There are no guarantees that you’ll make a financial return with en primeur, but inevitably wines do become rarer with time; as wines enter their drinking window, they become more desirable (and often increase in value), and over time they become scarcer, as bottles are uncorked and the finite supply of a specific vintage dwindles. As such, en primeur can offer a useful way to secure stock of wines, particularly those from small, sought-after properties which can be near-impossible to obtain after release. 
Buying en primeur also offers flawless provenance. The wine will move from the estate to wherever you store your wine, and then once more when it is withdrawn for consumption, ensuring optimal maturation conditions, and retaining maximum value should you decide to sell rather than drink. An additional luxury of buying en primeur is being able to buy any format; as the wine isn’t yet bottled, you can purchase half-bottles, magnums, jeroboams, imperials or any other size you desire easily. 
While critic scores certainly still influence the sale of wines, no single voice has the power that Robert Parker had in his heyday. Today, there are more critics than ever before – with individual writers breaking away from larger publications like the Wine Advocate to create their own platform, each with their own tastes, offering different perspectives on the vintage – arguably giving consumers more information than ever before. 
It’s little surprise that other regions have adopted the system, with Burgundy in particular embracing en primeur. Opportunities undoubtedly remain – as a vintage like 2019, sold in the midst of 2020 and the Covid-19 pandemic shows. Faced with an uncertain market, producers dropped their prices and consumers flooded to buy Bordeaux’s wines. The vintage turned out to be spectacular, with buyers justly rewarded for investing in the wines. When a vintage is good, and the pricing right, there really is nothing like the palpable buzz and excitement that the Primeurs season brings to the world of wine.  
Find out more about en primeur, including how it works, or browse all wine currently available en primeur

Each year, key fine wine regions offer their wines en primeur, or as “wine futures”, but it hasn’t always worked this way. Sophie Thorpe dives into the origins and history of the system – and what it means for wine-lovers today

En primeur is the system of buying wine futures: we delve into its origins, history and what it means today for chateaux, negociants merchants and wine-lovers

What is en primeur? Explaining wine futures

What is en primeur: the origins of wine futures

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