Group CEO Patrick O’Connor reflects on Bordeaux 2025: a hot, dry and early vintage defined by small yields, precise viticulture, restrained winemaking and a new wave of estates delivering wines of real distinction.

Patrick O’Connor, Group CEO, explores Bordeaux 2025: a hot, dry, early vintage shaped by precision, small yields and standout wines.

Bordeaux 2025 en primeur: vintage overview      

Bordeaux 2025: vintage overview               

Albiera Antinori is the first woman to take the helm of the Antinori empire. And “empire” isn’t an exaggeration for a dynasty that rose to prominence in the late 13th century, making its fortune in the silk trade, and later banking. The family has been making wine since at least 1385, when Giovanni di Pietro Antinori registered with the winemakers’ guild in Florence. To put that in perspective, that was before the Gutenberg bible was printed, before the fall of Constantinople, before Christopher Columbus set sail for the Americas.   Now, over six centuries later, Marchesi Antinori owns almost 3,000 hectares of vines across 21 estates (plus additional land that is dedicated to forest, olive groves etc) spread across the globe, and is among the oldest family businesses in the world (sitting at number 10 globally). Once part of Italy’s aristocratic elite, the Medici family line may have faded into extinction, but the Antinoris – like the Ricasolis – still hold significant sway.  Looking at Albiera Antinori on my screen, however, it’s hard to tie this pedigree to the woman in front of me. Now aged 58, she – along with her two sisters – represents the 26th generation of the family. Olive-skinned, relaxed and with a gentle smile, she props her glasses back on her head once the inevitable technical issues are resolved, settling back into her chair for our Zoom call. She may be one of the most powerful figures in Italian wine, but you wouldn’t know it.   Harvest is just getting underway as we sit down to talk about her family and its legacy – a time that she remembers fondly as a child. She grew up in Florence, but spent weekends and holidays in Bolgheri or at Tenuta Tignanello in Chianti – and wine was simply part of life. Some of her earliest memories are of the harvest and sipping wine (diluted with a drop of water) over dinner at Tignanello, gathered around the table with her grandfather, Niccolò Antinori, and the rest of the family.  It was when Albiera finished school that wine moved into the foreground. She didn’t yet know what she wanted to do and – with harvest at Castello della Sala was set to start in a few weeks’ time – her father, Piero Antinori, suggested she work there, that way she’d at least be earning some money while she figured things out. “From then on, it’s been a kind of snowball,” she says, smiling. Once the fruit was in, the wines needed making, there were vineyards to be managed and planted, and soon she was travelling, telling the world about the wines her family made. She had fallen down the rabbit hole.  Has she ever wondered about the path not taken? No, is the short answer, she tells me – and she’s been able to combine her other passions with work for Antinori. Take architecture: she has overseen the construction of 12 wineries during her tenure, working closely with the team to develop the perfect building for each.   She officially took the reins of the business in 2017 – but, as the eldest, she almost fell into the role of CEO. She may be at the top of the figurative tree, but it’s a family business through and through. She works closely with her sisters, both of whom are Vice Presidents (Alessia oversees the winemaking and Allegra manages the company’s various restaurants). Their father Piero – now approaching 90 – is still in the office every day too.   The Antinori name has long been associated with boundary-pushing. Albiera’s grandfather Niccolò was one of the first to stir things up in Chianti. In 1924, he put Bordeaux varieties in the family’s Villa Antinori Chianti – a scandalous act at the time. Niccolò’s brother-in-law was Mario Incisa della Rocchetta, who planted Cabernet Sauvignon on his wife’s Tenuta San Guido estate in 1944. The wine was made for family and friends at first, but when Piero Antinori (Niccolò’s son and Albiera’s father) took over running the family business in 1966, he saw the potential. Giacomo Tachis, the Antinori winemaker, started making the wine and ageing it in new French oak. By 1971, Piero had persuaded his uncle to release the 1968 vintage commercially: Sassicaia – and the Super Tuscan movement – was born. It wasn’t long before Piero followed with his own offering, releasing the first vintage (1971) of Tignanello – a blend of Sangiovese and Cabernet from their eponymous estate in Chianti Classico – in 1978. Solaia soon followed (first made in 1978).  “The equilibrium between innovation and tradition is always something very delicate,” says Albiera. The family’s revolutionary spirit lives on, but she’s aware that their history, legacy and tradition is “a real asset” – one that shouldn’t be overlooked in today’s global wine market. While once they had to force the world to acknowledge the quality of Italian wine, now their focus on celebrating local varieties and creating wines that are true to their terroir. That remains true across their estates – no longer just in Tuscany, but from Puglia to Piedmont, as well as beyond – with properties in Chile and California (including Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars). At its core, however, their philosophy can be summed up in one word, she says: quality.  The next generation is already on board, with Albiera’s children Vittorio and Verdiana working alongside her. Their journey was totally different – going to university, taking master’s degrees and gaining experience at wineries around the world – a more conscious step into the family business. There was, however, no denying their fate.  Being an Antinori, Albiera says, “means a responsibility towards the people that work with us, towards the history that we have, and towards the land that we farm… a solid and constant commitment to doing things well, to doing things with intelligence, to do things that are long-lasting”. After six centuries in the business and a portfolio of estates around the world, that responsibility continues to grow – but it’s a duty the Antinoris seem uniquely suited to handling.  The new vintage of Solaia (2022) is now available  Explore all current Antinori listings or read more Editorial 

The Antinoris are one of Italy’s most famous families. As the new vintage of Solaia is released, we caught up with Albiera Antinori – the 26th-generation CEO and President of her family firm

Sitting down with Albiera Antinori – CEO of Marchesi Antinori, company that created Super Tuscan Tignanello to find out more about their wine dynasty 

Talking to Albiera Antinori about the family’s wine empire 

The Antinori empire 

“We take risks every day,” Vanessa Martin says to me. If you didn’t know we were standing in a winery, you might think Martin was a fighter pilot, a firewoman or perhaps a double agent. The two women standing in front of me, Martin and her colleague Chantal Uldry, aren’t necessarily the image of risk-takers – but through their hands have passed thousands of bottles of one of the world’s most precious wines: Ch. d’Yquem. It might not be life or death, but this liquid is so prized that it can seem it.  The lone Sauternes or Barsac estate to be declared a Premier Cru Supérieur in 1855, Ch. d’Yquem has a long history stretching back to the Middle Ages. The wine crafted from this property, at the highest point in Sauternes, has been lauded for centuries. It was savoured by the likes of Thomas Jefferson in the 1800s, while Jay-Z and Beyoncé visited late last year. The property and its wines are the stuff of legend, sought out by wine lovers and collectors around the world.  Production of this sweet nectar is painstaking – the vines cared for meticulously through the year, and the fruit only harvested if Mother Nature provides the right conditions for botrytis cinerea, aka “noble rot” to develop. If everything is in their favour, with just the right amount of moisture and heat at the right time, this fungus will work its way into the bunches of grapes, piercing the skin, concentrating the acid and sugar in the grapes, as well as lending its own distinctive spicy, marmalade aromas. Yquem’s team will pass through the vines up to six times, picking individual bunches and berries that are ready. Yields are miniscule, with approximately just one glass of wine made by each vine.  Once the fruit has made its way into the winery, been pressed, fermented and aged in barrel, with only the best selected for the final blend, the wine must be bottled and labelled – prepared for its début in the world. And this is where Martin and Uldry come in, part of the team who ensures that every bottle that leaves the premises is worthy of the Ch. d’Yquem name.   “We seek perfection,” Martin tells me. She has been working at the estate for two decades, having started out in the vineyards before moving into the winery, having worked with the property’s longtime winemaker Sandrine Garbay on the vinification as well as bottling and labelling, and now under the current Maître de Chai Toni El Khawand. Martin, like Uldry, is local – and wine is the region’s trade. Her parents worked amongst the vines, so she followed in their footsteps. But she didn’t love it, she found the yearly cycle repetitive – doing the same thing year in, year out – and asked to move. “This job, it changes every day,” she tells me, of her role in the winery. “I see different people every day; my work changes every day.” Watching the team work is remarkable. While much is mechanised today, everything is checked by a human member of the team. Martin takes a bottle off the line to check a label, whips out a tape measure and tuts before carefully peeling the back label off and reapplying it one millimetre further up the bottle. I watch one of their colleagues lining up a ruler against a double-magnum (all the large formats are still labelled by hand), re-applying a label five times to ensure it is just right. At another station, a woman delicately rolls each bottle in translucent tissue paper, wrapping each one with the same soft touch, before gently laying each one in a case.  Uldry was set to retire at the end of last year, after 23 years at Ch. d’Yquem. Like Martin, she’s seen much change at the estate, with its evolution under LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy), who have invested greatly since they purchased the property in 1999. She recalls how they used to wash the bottles by hand, and the machinery was much clunkier – whereas now it is a very slick operation, with standards higher than ever before.  There was a period when the château did a lot of reconditioning – old vintages would be sent back to them to be checked, authenticated, topped up and re-corked, as well as possibly re-labelled, before being sent back to a merchant or collector. As such, both Martin and Uldry have seen some extraordinarily old bottles, and – luckily for them – had the chance to taste some of them. Martin tasted 1921, while Uldry’s experience stretches back to the 1904 vintage – wines that they struggle to find words to describe. I recall Sandrine Garbay telling me about a bottle from the 19th century that was in a cellar in Spain, but was accidentally broken, and the sommelier team urgently called the château, cradling the bottle as they drove up to Bordeaux, desperate to save the precious wine.  “It's a source of pride that these bottles go all over the world,” Uldry says, when I ask about the ultimate destination of the wine that passes through their hands. They’re well aware of the value of the wine they’re handling, the impact of any breakage, and how crucial their role is. It is, after all, the final step for these bottles before they leave the estate, heading out into the world as ambassadors for the Yquem legacy. And many of the bottles, if not most, of the 2021 vintage (which has just been released) will outlive those that made it. As Martin says, their work isn’t about today – but tomorrow: “We’re leaving it for the generations that follow.” Explore all current listings of Ch. d’Yquem or read more about Bordeaux  

To craft world-class wine, every stage of production demands an obsessive attention to detail – and it’s just so at Ch. d’Yquem. In the latest instalment of our series taking you behind the scenes in Bordeaux, we talk to those who ensure every bottle of liquid gold is nothing less than perfect 

Exploring the art and craft of labelling each and every bottle of liquid gold from top Sauternes estate, Ch. d’Yquem – the world’s best sweet wine 

Gilding the future at Ch. d’Yquem

 Gilding the future: Ch. d’Yquem    

I am too disorganised to call myself a collector, but I often find myself thinking about the multiple meanings of collecting. I have a room full of books left unread from one year to the next, whose mute reproach I feel every time I am in their presence. I have half a dozen radios, from Marco Zanuso and Richard Sapper’s folding Brionvega TS502 to a Danish-made Beolit 707 from Bang & Olufsen, with its slide rule tuning device. I have a manual typewriter.  Most of us accumulate such random clutter. These were never possessions that were primarily about being useful – the Brionvega and the Beolit have long since been supplanted by a bluetooth speaker and a smartphone. They represent my membership of the design tribe.  The books carry other layers of meaning. My five years at university are on one shelf. The traces of the eight years I have spent writing a just-completed biography of Boris Iofan – Josef Stalin’s preferred architect – are spelled out in the titles of the books on another shelf. The typewriter was inherited from my father and it serves to remind me of childhood. The closest that I come to having a collection that a serious collector might acknowledge is in my chairs: a Rover chair that Ron Arad salvaged from a car, a Gio Ponti Superlegera, an Eames Lounger, a Harry Bertoia, George Sowden’s Palace chair from the 1983 Memphis collection and a deconstructed armchair designed by Rei Kawakubo. On a larger or smaller scale, humans develop complex relationships with their possessions that can go from the professionalism of full-blown collecting, to the casual significance of a row of junk shop finds on a mantlepiece. They can tell us a lot about ourselves. Marina Warner’s guide to the house in Hampstead, now run as a museum, in which Sigmund Freud spent the last year of his life, offers an arresting insight into the significance that collecting had for him. She describes the ranks of ancient bronze, ceramic and marble figures parading across the desk that Freud brought with him to London from Vienna where he no longer felt safe due to Nazi occupation in 1938. Certainly, they are beautiful, and mostly they are precious. Thanks to their association with Freud, even the few that have been established as 20th-century forgeries will have become valuable. Some are almost 4,000 years old and reflect the religious and political practices of the distant past. Others, such as Freud’s art deco cigar case, come less freighted with history. But as Warner says, “they were also tools of thought, the kitchen utensils of his imagination”.   The batterie de cuisine of psychoanalysis included Egyptian coffin masks from the Roman period, Chinese jade and gold brooches, Roman glass, a 2,500-year-old sphinx, sarcophagus lids, Babylonian cylinder seals and Egyptian heart scarabs, as well as a 19th-century neck rest from New Guinea, modern metal porcupines, and Balinese figures. The pieces in pride of place on his desk, placed in apparently random order, were his special favourites, a tiny fraction of his collection that had become permanent fixtures. From time to time, Freud made space for a few new acquisitions to get a look in. “A collection to which there are no new additions is really dead,” he told his biographer Ernest Jones. After a short interval, most of the new things would be moved into the glass-fronted cabinets positioned around his study, where they were placed in more organised groups than those standing on his desk. Greek sculptures went on a shelf together. A cluster of representations of the Egyptian god Horus were grouped on another.  In Freud’s lifetime, the collection was continually changing. Before his move to London, he toured Vienna’s antiquities dealers almost every week on the look-out for new finds. He was ready to exchange pieces for items he could not afford to buy, and was generous in gifting pieces to friends and pupils he thought would appreciate them. Freud also had no qualms about buying items that came on the market in questionable circumstances, in particular, from the unofficial excavations (sometime after 1906) at a Roman fort in Hungary.   Despite the important part it played in his life, Freud wrote very little about collecting. The nearest that he came to spelling out what drove his interest in fragments of ancient sculpture, was when he compared his own exploration of the unconscious minds of his patients to an archaeological excavation of an ancient city. “The psychoanalyst, like the archaeologist, must uncover layer after layer of the patient’s psyche before coming to the deepest, most valuable treasures.”  Freud was known to share his dining table with choice specimens to act as companions during a meal. “I must always have an object to love”, he confessed to his colleague and rival Carl Jung. When he was writing his book The Interpretation of Dreams in 1895, Freud spent the summer at Schloss Bellevue outside Vienna. He took a selection of what he called “my old grubby gods who take part in the works as paperweights for the manuscripts” with him.  Before Freud left Austria for England in 1938, his desk, his consulting room, and his study at Berggasse 19 were photographed by Edmund Engelman. Engelman’s 150 images helped Freud’s architect son Ernst to transpose the desk and its contents from a dark back room in a Viennese apartment to a sunlit Hampstead villa.  Like most collectors, Freud could never limit himself to a single field. Ronald Lauder the former MoMA chairman, for example, is known for the collection of Viennese modernism that forms the basis for his own museum, the Neue Galerie in New York. He also collects (in depth) in 15 other fields with little apparent connection between them. Lauder is fascinated by the work of the Japanese designer Shiro Kuramata. He has a collection of arms and armour going back to The Crusades, and another of World War Two memorabilia. He owns some of Egon Schiele’s finest works, as well as various 18th-century French artworks. Fellow collector Rolf Fehlbaum (head of Vitra) has one of the largest collections of modern chairs in the world, and gave Frank Gehry his first European commission to design a gallery for it, but he is equally fascinated by toy robots manufactured in Japan since 1937. He calls them tiny kinetic sculptures. Where possible, he acquires their original packaging too. Perhaps the best way to understand the psychology of collecting is to see it as a spectrum. At one end, it is about order and control. In a messy and uncontrollable universe, a collection offers at least a semblance of certainty. A collection of this kind is based on provenance, completeness and authenticity. An over-restored vintage Bugatti is less desirable to a collector than one in original condition.  Every previous owner, every detail of its making forms part of its record. A red Olivetti typewriter designed by Ettore Sottsass that once belonged to David Bowie was sold at Sotheby’s for US$65,000. You can buy one (that hasn’t been owned by Bowie) for US$750, which is still a lot of money for a piece of obsolete technology. Some collectors attempt to make patterns from the things that they acquire or, like jigsaw puzzlers, set out to complete a picture by locating every piece of a set. Some try to document the evolution of a species whether the subject of their interest is biscuit tins or the eggs of a particular type of bird. Some forms of collecting require the active engagement of the collector. Wildflowers need to be picked and dried quickly before they are pressed into a book. Butterfly collectors used macabre methods such as poison jars, or squeezing the thorax, to dispatch their prey without causing so much distress that they risk damaging delicate wings. At the other end of the spectrum, the accumulation of stuff by people who die alone in homes overwhelmed by stacks of ancient newspapers and tins of cat food, is a kind of sickness. It’s a condition that can overwhelm even the most celebrated of artists. In the last 17 years of his life, Andy Warhol filled a succession of cardboard boxes with a seemingly random accumulation of objects: taxi receipts, a vinyl Ramones single signed by Joey Ramone, a piece of an ancient, mummified foot, pastel-coloured corsets and a selection of metal dentures. Every time he had a full box, it was sealed and shipped off to storage in a warehouse in New Jersey. A typical box has 400 objects in it, some have as many as 1,200. Items in them include a piece of Caroline Kennedy’s wedding cake – Warhol seems to have been a regular guest at Kennedy weddings. He showed up 20 minutes after the wedding ceremony for Maria Shriver and Arnold Schwarzenegger had started, in the company of Grace Jones. He was in black leather, and wearing two wigs; she had on a huge green fur hat.   Warhol’s boxes are a collection of the uncollectable and the uncontrollable, which, thanks to the resources of the Andy Warhol Foundation, has been tamed after six years of work by a dedicated group of archivists and cataloguers. The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh has aestheticised the cardboard boxes. They sit on back-lit shelves in the museum to suggest that this is not a random collection of trash that Warhol never looked at, but, in the view of the museum, is in fact a time-based art piece, comprising at least 500,000 objects that took 30 years to complete. It presents a considerably less impressive sight than British Regency period architect Sir John Soane’s museum. The architect of the Bank of England put as much effort into adapting his Lincoln’s Inn Fields house (and subsequently the two adjoining houses) to display his Hogarth paintings, a sarcophagus and his architectural models, as he did to accumulating the collection itself. The Nobel prize-winning Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk’s novel, The Museum of Innocence is an eloquent exploration of the hoarding end of the collecting spectrum. What initially appears to be an account of a doomed love affair, quickly reveals itself as an exploration of the meaning of collecting. The story’s main protagonist Kemal starts acquiring things when his relationship with his lover Füsun is going well. When she drops an earring, he finds it and puts it to one side. As Füsun falls out of love with him, Kemal begins an increasingly desperate accumulation of objects that record their relationship. He picks up each of the cigarettes that she smokes. When she has stopped seeing him altogether, Kemal starts hanging around at her parents’ house and stealing pieces of cutlery that she might have used.  What makes Pamuk’s book particularly remarkable is that he acquired a house in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district that had belonged to a Greek merchant in the Ottoman era, and transformed it into a physical Museum of Innocence. It is, of course, very far from innocent; everything inside it is a lovingly created fiction. The first thing that you see once you get inside, is a wall covered with 4,213 cigarette ends, each of them carefully annotated in Pamuk’s neat handwriting, with imaginary details of the time and place they were smoked. The rest of the house is full of equally carefully fabricated objects from cosmetics to movie posters that reflect Pamuk’s vision of the modernising Turkey of the 1970s. “I think getting attached to objects happens in traumatic times and love is a trauma,” Pamuk once said. “Perhaps when they are in trouble, people hoard things.”  When Pamuk gave me a tour of his museum, he told me about meeting Warhol’s archivist, and expressed his reservations about the significance of the boxes in Pittsburgh. “Hoarding objects reaches the level of collecting only when there is a story that unites them,” he said. But that is a novelist criticising another, less narrative art form. While Freud’s desk in Hampstead was always useable, if overcrowded, the desk in fashion designer Paul Smith’s office in Covent Garden is completely overwhelmed with a snowdrift of collected objects that sweeps over an office chair, down onto the floor, and back up to the shelves that line every wall. There are stacks of books and magazines, cameras and mountains of vintage cycling jerseys. There is an i-Mac computer, a gift from Jony Ive that Smith has never used. Computers aren’t Smith’s thing. In any case, it’s too late now, short of purging half the contents of the room: there is no way to get near it. There are toy tin cars, collections of bottles from Moroccan markets, a pink bicycle and a lot of rabbits. “I once said in an interview that seeing a rabbit brings me luck, and they haven’t stopped pouring in ever since,” explains Smith. Collecting began, as did so many things in Smith’s career, with his early enthusiasm for cycling. Growing up in Nottingham in the 1950s, there was a newsagent which occasionally had a copy of L’Equipe, which would portray the heroes of the Tour de France in their yellow jerseys in colour on the cover, but in sepia inside. He bought the magazine, fascinated by the images, even if he couldn’t read it. “I can remember once saying, ‘I really like Jacques Anquetil’ to my father, which baffled him, since none of our family had ever been abroad. I saved my pocket money so that I could upgrade the gears on my bike from Simplex to Campagnolo. The box it came in was as important to me as the gear itself.”  What attracted Smith to the Campagnolo box, along with stamps and matchboxes which he has in large numbers – not just in his office but at his Nottingham HQ where he has an archivist trying to make sense of it all – is the way that designers can say so much in such a tiny space. He showed me a Japanese book of matches produced for a Tokyo nightclub in the 1970s. “It so clearly says it’s ‘contemporary’. You can hear the jazz already.”  Despite the huge assortment of assembled objects, Smith is reluctant to describe himself as a collector. “I just have a large quantity of the same things,” he says, matter of factly. “In my head, a collector is someone who selects an item or a subject. They collect them because they know a lot about them. Maybe I have a little knowledge about cycling jerseys.  In the early 1980s, on my first trips to Japan and India, I just got a bit carried away. I bought lots of Japanese furniture. In India, for some reason, I bought 15 wardrobes, and a piece of furniture that doubled as a staircase with drawers.” Smith had them all sent home on the Trans-Siberian Express.  He suggests that his is a collection that has found him. “Things collect me,” he says. “For some reason I started to be sent things, and they still keep coming.” There is an individual who regularly sends Smith artefacts that come unwrapped but covered in postage stamps. Others send him letters, toys, books and even ancient packets of razor blades. One visitor took careful photographs of his office, and later sent him a precisely detailed model of his office, complete with its chaotic contents. Smith’s London home, where he lives with his wife Pauline, is much calmer. “The house is hers. I do have one room for my stuff, but it’s mostly at the office that I get to look at things.” In 1996, patron of the arts and barrister Jill Ritblat gave the V&A Museum the largest single donation of clothes in its history, more than 1,000 items. There are ski outfits in postmodern pastel shades from the 1980s, and challenging Japanese experiments from Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyake, as well as couture from Dior and Saint Laurent. There is work by Alexander McQueen, Biba, Mary Quant, and Christian Lacroix, Emanuel Ungaro and Victor Edelstein, and an evening outfit produced by a dressmaker based on an idea of Ritblat’s own design.  The early days of British fashion from the 1960s are represented by Foale and Tuffin, and Zandra Rhodes, and from the 1980s by Margaret Howell and Katharine Hamnett. There is tailoring from Tommy Nutter and work by Giorgio Armani. It is by no means a complete account of contemporary fashion, but it is certainly extensive, and like the personal wardrobe that it is, combines some very special pieces made for family occasions, with more everyday wear. The connecting thread of Ritblat’s collection is Ritblat herself. These were all pieces that she had bought to wear. They were not chosen like stamps, or old masters, or celadon vases to make a self-conscious collection, but were the result of a continuing sequence of choices over time. Taken together they are a reflection of her life as an English woman of a certain background, at a particular time in the country’s history. “I never saw it as a collection, it was more like my diary, though I have never had time to write a diary. Each piece brings back memories of when I wore it,” says Ritblat. She made her first donation to the V&A at the end of 1996, but kept back the things that she wanted to be able to go on using, and they formed the core of a donation to the Design Museum of another 400 items in 2013. Ritblat is ambivalent about fashion. As a child she was somewhat self-conscious about being dressed by her mother, who had studied fashion herself. She was relieved to be able to assume the camouflage of the complex uniform rituals of an English public school for girls in the 1950s. “I loved my school uniform at Roedean; we were expected to change our clothes four times a day, as chic as anything. Scratchy afternoon dresses, regulation school loafers, very nice blazers and pleated skirts.” As a student barrister, she found herself adopting the formal uniform of the legal profession, but then as a married woman began to build a wardrobe that reflected the life that she was leading. Later, when she was making her own choices, she was early to discover Miuccia Prada. “What you pick out is based on whether it suits you and on the zeitgeist,” she explains. Smith, Heseltine and Ritblat represent three very different approaches to collecting. For Smith, the unruly mountain of things in his office, is, like the collection on Sigmund Freud’s desk, part of the tools of his imagination, a source of imagery and ideas for his work as a designer. It’s also a means of establishing his personality. Heseltine’s garden is an investment of time, resources and creativity in the remaking of a place that speaks to the future using living organisms that will outlive us all. Ritblat’s clothes are a record of the full life of an individual. All of these collections provide insights into unique people, their lives and times. In their different ways all three reflect on the nature of collecting, and its ability to be a creative activity in itself. In a world in which technology threatens to abolish the material world altogether, objects have not lost their allure. Their physical condition marks the passing of time in ways that pixels and code cannot do. Collecting is the means all of us have to create histories of our times, and even more, of ourselves. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two. 

In order to explore the mindset of the collector, Deyan Sudjic shines a light on the collected objects of Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol, and speaks to three British collectors to better understand what it is that makes collecting such a vital part of the human experience.

Exploring the mindset of the collector and why the act is a vital part of the human experience, with a focus on Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol

FONDATA: Exploring the art of collecting 

 I Collect, Therefore I Am

It’s a damp and foggy morning when I arrive once again in the very quiet streets of Auxey-Duresses for my annual pilgrimage to taste the new Maison Leroy Collection. Last year Madame Lalou Bize-Leroy was in Monaco, so I’m looking forward to seeing and tasting with her again – on what happens to be her daughter’s birthday. Two dogs rush out to greet me eagerly – the 13-year-old black poodle Nine and five-year-old Grand Basset Griffon Vendéen Olga, both quickly quietening down once appeased with some gentle pats. Madame, meanwhile, stands behind them, as elegant and unassuming as ever.   Talking briefly about the state of the market, she repeats how the most important thing is the happiness of our clients. It was at the forefront of her mind when she decided on the wines in this year’s collection, which is dominated by the 2017 and 2018 vintages, with the oldest wine from 2011. It’s good to mix things up, she tells me. After last year’s extensive library release with a flurry of back-vintages, this year she wanted to give the youngsters a chance to shine.  She describes 2018 as a more complete vintage, there is more wine, more matière than 2017; nonetheless 2017 is more refined and delicate, somehow more approachable. We talk about what makes a “grand vin” and she says: “La qualité, c’est les rendements.” (“Quality, it’s the yield.”) Taking Aligoté as an example, she explains that she’ll rarely make as much as 20hl/ha for the Domaine Leroy and Domaine d’Auvenay Aligoté – and for her that’s the limit for producing a high-quality wine. It is impossible to make a good Aligoté at 40hl/ha, she argues – and as she knows from tasting those watery, dilute wines. “I’d actually rather drink water,” she confesses. It’s no secret that her Aligoté is special: and Gilles Desprez (Bize-Leroy’s right-hand man) notes how he was once blown away by a bottle of 1999 D’Auvenay Aligoté served to him blind – a wine that those around the table all thought was a Grand Cru white.  There’s no better judge of a wine than blind tasting – as Bize-Leroy knows. To this day, she blind-tastes everything that makes its way into bottle under the Maison Leroy label. She was recently tasting some 2024s for the range and notes how it’s easy to find a great Nuits-Saint-Georges or Gevrey-Chambertin, but is too often disappointed with Vosne-Romanée and Chambolle-Musigny – struggling to uncover wines in these villages that are worthy of the Leroy seal of approval.  Our tasting begins with the reds this year, starting with an array of 2018s, sampled from south to north, “dans le sens de la Côte” (along the Côte), before moving through the 2017s to a 2016, 2015, 2012 and, finally, the oldest wine in this year’s collection, a 2011 Nuits-Saint-Georges.  The whites include an appellation that she rarely tastes and one that almost never makes it into the range: Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc. The 2018 in this year’s collection, however, is special – a wine that you wouldn’t be a fool to call Corton-Charlemagne blind, she tells me. And (of course) Bize-Leroy is right: it is sumptuous, with a level of richness and density that far surpasses that of a mere “village”.  With air, it develops further, offering impressive complexity. Madame looks at Gilles: “It’s unfortunate we don’t have any Corton here to compare,” she says. Gilles confirms there isn’t any to hand while she considers the wine in front of her, before insisting – “Are you sure we don’t have any here?” The message is understood: Gilles says there may be some in another building and sets off to find it.   We keep chatting, tasting the 2018 Auxey-Duresses, a little shy after the 2018 Bourgogne Blanc (in her words: “the best Bourgogne Blanc we ever had”) and the superb Savigny. I ask if there are any wines she buys every year – an idea she’s fast to reject: she doesn’t have any contracts, each wine is selected purely on its quality in that specific vintage. I clarify that I meant if there were specific vineyards that she particularly likes, and finds herself buying year in, year out – and says that both Meursault Gouttes d’Or and Chassagne-Montrachet Morgeot are certainly favourites, although it all comes down to how they taste.   Gilles comes back with an unmarked bottle, immediately recognisable by its shape as Domaine Leroy. He is out of breath (earning some teasing, but also having run up and down 200 stairs to retrieve the bottle in question). The wine – a 2018 Corton-Charlemagne from the property – is quickly opened and served. It is typical Leroy: the nose is slightly muted, with some reduction and the popcorn-like notes that you often find in Bize-Leroy’s whites. On the palate, this is what you call packed: I have rarely found such concentration in a Corton-Charlemagne, even in ripe vintages chez Leroy. Madame states that she thinks many would call this a red if served totally blind, given its “matière”. “This is a grand vin,” she says. She explains how special the plot is, at the top of the hill, above her Corton Renardes: “C’est un terroir à rouge.” (“It’s a red terroir.”)   Going back to the Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc seems like a pointless exercise after the Corton-Charlemagne – but is far from it. The Savigny has benefited from warming up and being open for an hour. In fact, it is far from ridiculous to compare it to its grander sibling. Indeed, Madame Bize-Leroy pauses over it, saying she finds the Savigny more balanced – the wine feeling beautifully layered, yet not heavy or dense. It is by far the best Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc I have had the chance to try and – as proven by this comparison – would rival most Corton-Charlemagne. Of course, the 2018 Domaine Leroy Corton-Charlemagne is a baby – a wine built to age that will need years before being approachable and Bize-Leroy herself confirms that it won’t be released anytime soon. It has everything to be an exceptional wine in the future, but the Savigny is the one to drink now.  This is my 10th year at FINE+RARE and it’s relationships like this one that define our business: having the chance to share a moment with one of Burgundy’s legendary winemakers, talking openly and honestly about two of her wines, is truly special. Some are fast to dismiss Maison Leroy as “just” Bize-Leroy’s négociant label, perhaps out of ignorance or lack of exposure to the range. I can’t pretend these wines are cheap, but I also can’t pretend that Madame Leroy is like other winemakers. Her nose is remarkable, her access far-reaching, and the resulting wines one-of-a-kind. I can only admire this 93-year-old woman, the way she describes her wines, her humbleness, not to mention the wines that carry her name.  Tasting the 2025 Maison Leroy Collection 2018 Bourgogne Blanc: Maison Leroy’s 2018 Bourgogne Blanc is extremely expressive. Almost exuberant on the nose, it shows concentration, toasted almonds, juicy blood orange and verbena. The palate is equally impressive – and I would be easy to mistake this for a very good Meursault blind. Similarly to its red counterpart, the wine has gained in depth on the palate since we last tasted it. It is lively and expressive, yet with a signature fatness that’s so enjoyable. Madame Lalou Bize-Leroy tells me she has rarely, if ever, had a Bourgogne Blanc of this calibre – and we can only agree at this stage! Drink 2025-2031. 2018 Meursault: The 2018 Meursault from Maison Leroy is less immediately expressive than the Bourgogne Blanc, tasted just before – but don’t let that deceive you. You can feel the tension and seriousness of this wine, with hints of flinty minerality on the nose. The palate is concentrated and refined, nicely balanced and nuanced, with a creamy complexity. Compared to its Bourgogne sibling, this is clearly of a different calibre – a more aristocratic wine with greater density. Although approachable now, it will benefit from another three to five years in the cellar to express its full potential. Drink 2027-2035. 2018 Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc: Maison Leroy’s 2018 Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc is packed on the nose. Lovely brioche notes are underwritten by bruised apple and brighter citrus fruit, with delicate touches of lemon blossom. As the wine aerates, it keeps building in density, with layer upon layer – making for a wine that is beautifully fleshy and inviting. On the palate, the wine is so immediately rich and profound – it would be impossible to call this a village wine blind. It has the signature richness of a Corton-Charlemagne, perfectly balanced between power and tension. This is by far the best Savigny-lès-Beaune Blanc I have ever tasted and would be head and shoulders above most Corton-Charlemagne you can find on the market. This is drinking beautifully now but has everything to age effortlessly. Drink 2025-2040. 2018 Auxey-Duresses: Coming from a terroir that can sometime be a bit too flamboyant or invasive, Maison Leroy’s 2018 Auxey-Duresses feels very discreet after the Savigny-lès-Beaune. With notes of fresh almonds and a hint of reduction on the nose, this feels a bit muted. On the palate, the wine clearly has the concentration of the vintage, yet is quite elegant and restrained with a hint of white pepper. This is lovely but will need a few more years to be approachable. Drink 2028-2035. 2018 Bourgogne Rouge: Last tasted in February 2022, Leroy’s 2018 Bourgogne Rouge still displays a very charming, delicately perfumed nose that oscillates between dried rose petals and little red berries, but it seems to have gained in weight and density. It retains beautiful acidity balancing the concentration of the vintage, the finish is clean and vibrant. This is one of our favourite renditions of the cuvée in recent years, youthful and drinking beautifully now, this should keep evolving positively for another seven to 10 years. Drink 2025-2035. 2018 Monthélie: On the nose Maison Leroy’s 2018 Monthélie has beautiful notes of violets wrapped up in a mix of red and black berries, especially blackcurrant. Those very pure and delicate floral aromas carry through to the palate, accompanied by tannins that are very subtle, almost with a hint of sucrosity that makes one salivate. This is a very complete wine that outperforms in this warmer vintage: a wonderful expression of this terroir that, for me, displays the elegance of Volnay with a weightless mouth-feel. Drink 2027-2037. 2018 Volnay: Served just after the 2018 Monthélie, Maison Leroy’s 2018 Volnay has a slightly more discreet nose. It’s perfumed and all about finesse yet a bit shy at this stage. On the palate, there is good concentration and precision, but it does not provide the crunch and freshness that you’d expect at this stage. This is surely elegant and refined, but lacks that little twist that will surely come with a few more years in the cellar. Drink 2028-2040. 2018 Savigny-lès-Beaune: As with its white sibling, Maison Leroy’s 2018 Savigny-lès-Beaune could be mistaken for a Corton blind. It has such a concentrated, solar nose with a darker fruit profile. There’s density on the palate too, the wine fleshy and rich, but not heavy. It’s nicely balanced, with delicate tannin structure and a precise finish. It’s as juicy as it is approachable. Drink 2027-2037. 2017 Gevrey-Chambertin: This was one of the highlights of the 2022 Maison Leroy Collection when it was first released. The wine has retained all its depth, complexity and power, but has shut down a little bit. It is packed with dense dark cherries, hints of sweet spice and forest floor. On the palate the wine offers an enjoyable, mouth-coating, generous and balanced structure, yet the wine feels a bit muted compared to where it was three years ago. This is nonetheless offering a very long finish with fresher note lingering. This is surely a grand village Gevrey that will simply need to be forgotten in the cellar for a few years! Drink 2030-2040. 2017 Pommard: Maison Leroy’s 2017 Pommard speaks of its terroir, combining rich, brooding, ripe blackberry, with hints of blackcurrant and a touch of rusticity, lifted by the freshness and precision of the vintage. On the palate, it has a firm but delicate structure with chewy tannins that are both muscular and velvety. Tasted right after a flight of 2018s, this seems much more approachable (as is often the case with 2017s). The refreshing backbone of acidity drives through the core of the wine, lending a beautiful sappiness to the long finish. Drink 2025-2035. 2016 Santenay, Premier Cru, La Comme: Immediately expressive, Maison Leroy’s 2016 Santenay Premier Cru La Comme comes from this underrated terroir, on the southern border of Chassagne-Montrachet. The charming, multifaceted nose oscillates between raspberry and juicy cherry with a hint of liquorice. The wine is mouth-coating; you can feel the substance here, with a lovely texture that remains delicate and refined. This clearly shows the concentration of the vintage and its tiny yields, but it is all wrapped in a very elegant mouth-feel – creating a wine of great balance. It’s in such a lovely spot now that this is hard to spit out! Drink 2025-2035. 2015 Chorey-lès-Beaune: Packed on the nose, Maison Leroy’s 2015 Chorey-lès-Beaune is quite shy at first, but with a bit of swirling you start to notice how dense and saturated this wine is, with aromas of ripe blueberries, blackberries and a hint of spice (cinnamon maybe?). On the palate, it is concentrated with mouth-coating tannins and layers of berry fruit – raspberry, strawberry and blueberry. This has a lot to say and offer, with an impressively persistent finish, but will benefit from a few more years’ cellaring to reveal its full potential. Drink 2028-2040. 2012 Côte de Nuits Villages: Made with fruit from around Nuits-Saint-Georges and Corgoloin, Leroy’s 2012 Côte de Nuits Villages is always a bit backward on the nose and slightly austere. But it’s also elegant and delicate, the floral notes combining with tertiary notes. On the palate, this feels like it is in a slightly awkward phase, very dense with soft, integrated tannins yet somehow disjointed between the rich dark fruit and a tertiary character. I would leave this for a few more years before revisiting. Drink 2030-2040. 2011 Nuits-Saint-Georges: Finely perfumed, Leroy’s 2011 Nuits-Saint-Georges offers a delicate nose of mixed red berries supported by more earthy notes, some pot-pourri and a hint of spice. On the palate, it’s concentrated and charming, but with air opens further and shows its density, still youthful for a 14-year-old village wine. There’s a hint of rusticity towards the finish that makes one salivate. This is far from the austere expectation one may have for this combination of vintage and appellation. It’s not reached its drinking plateau but is perfectly approachable now. Drink 2025-2040. The new Maison Leroy collection will be released soon: you can see all the wines in the 2025 collection here. Please contact your Account Manager to register interest. 

Each year, our Buying + Partner Director Corentin Margier visits Maison Leroy in Auxey-Duresses to sample the new releases. Here, he reports on his tasting with “Lalou”, the legendary matriarch of the Leroy empire  

Ahead of the release of the 2025 Maison Leroy Collection, we visit Lalou Bize-Leroy to taste with the legendary matriarch and winemaker 

Lalou Bize-Leroy: a living legend – Burgundy’s matriarch 

Lalou Bize-Leroy: a living legend 

Cerbaiona is widely recognised as one of the top estates in Montalcino, but has been a little elusive of late. Under Diego Molinari’s stewardship, the winery achieved cult status, but the property was sold in 2015, and hasn’t released any Brunello since. The new owner Matthew Fioretti has added to the radio silence, requesting critics not to score the wines, believing “a softer and more inquisitive form of journalism and criticism might be better than the score bazooka”.  Production is so small that Fioretti doesn’t need to rely on critics to promote the wines, but Cerbaiona has been noticeably absent from recent rave reports on the 2016 vintage from the likes of the Wine Advocate and Vinous. Our woman on the ground in Italy, Annalisa Florian, is one of the few people to have tasted the about-to-be-released 2016 Brunello, the first under Fioretti. Fioretti and his team have overhauled the estate. It’s a brave decision to make such a clear break from the past with a winery of such repute, and testament to their commitment to quality. Due to massive restructuring, Fioretti decided to declassify all the wine made in 2014 and 2015 to Rosso di Montalcino. As he points out, “Several aspects of this wine had formed before taking over the business.” Despite the obvious success of the 2015 vintage, Fioretti commendably didn’t want to rest on Cerbaiona’s reputation. All the vineyards are located on the Cerbaiona hill, just northeast of the town of Montalcino, and neighbouring another Brunello icon, Salvioni. The success of Sangiovese grown on this specific site long predates the Brunello appellation, with vineyards located here for hundreds of years and the wine historically produced known simply as Cerbaiona. The soil is a distinct limestone shale infused with sand and, according to Fioretti, “Almost by doing nothing, you can make an exceptional wine at Cerbaiona. Its vineyard location is that special and unique.” Fioretti, however, wasn’t happy with doing “nothing”. While praising Molinari’s legacy, he felt the estate desperately needed modernising – with serious work to be done in the vineyard and winery. He is very much inspired by what he calls a “tectonic shift” in winemaking in Italy (and elsewhere) over the last 30 years, with a move towards precision viticulture and a more hygienic approach to winemaking. Fioretti sees this as a shift from winemaking as an “art form” to winemaking as “craftmanship”.  In his mind, it was the pioneering efforts of producers like Romano dal Forno in Valpolicella and Luciano Sandrone in Barolo who have shown what can be achieved in Italy with such an approach. Just after taking over Cerbaiona, Romano dal Forno commented to Fioretti, “I’ll tell you what I told Molinari: you can’t make great wine in a barn.” Until recently, the sacristy of the small chapel was the fermentation cellar. The chapel itself was used for wine storage, while the granary and old animal stables acted as barrel cellars. “Hardly a precision and hygienic environment for winemaking,” Fioretti quips. As for the vineyards, “The rootstocks and clones of all the plantings at Cerbaiona were not selection massale nor specially selected material.  It was simply what the nurseries were selling at the time,” says Fioretti. “By 2010, the knowledge that had been gathered around Sangiovese was incomparable to what was understood in the 1970s and '80s.” Fioretti knew they needed replanting with better clones and rootstocks.  He retained and harvested the oldest vineyards for four harvests, working with top agronomists. “We made many attempts to overcome the shortcomings of these rootstocks and clones (which tended to produce enormous bunches, especially in wet years). But we all agreed: the sooner we replanted, the better off Cerbaiona would be.” As such, they’ve embarked on a six-year replanting program, making significant changes. The original three hectares (of which one hectare was dedicated to Bordeaux varieties) have been completely replanted to Sangiovese. An additional hectare of olive groves located on the steepest slope (and Fioretti believes the finest of the estate) has also been replaced with vines. Where possible, vines have been planted at a higher density and Fioretti has also converted the property to organic viticulture. Finally, with the release of the 2016, we find ourselves on the eve of the first Brunello release from Cerbaiona since the 2013 vintage. Fioretti believes 2016 to have been the “perfect” growing season. “The Sangiovese produced is captivating and sumptuous,” he tells me – the latter something he feels isn’t common for the variety. The moderate summer temperatures, the correctly timed rain and dry harvest conditions saw the Sangiovese thrive. The result, says Fioretti, is “a wine with fragrant aromas and a strong acidic shoulder – a guarantee of ageing”. It was in fact the latest harvest in the last five years at Cerbaiona. In Fioretti’s opinion, the 2016 is “not very far from” the 2010 – a vintage he feels is definitive for Montalcino – and comparable to other top modern Brunello vintages such as 2006 and 2007. There is tremendous excitement about the 2016 vintage, as well as the long-awaited return of this much-loved Montalcino estate. The 2016 Cerbaiona will no doubt be constantly compared to the wines made under Molinari, and it will be a fascinating comparison considering the effects of vine material, age of vines, viticultural techniques and winemaking practices versus overriding terroir.  What is clear is that Fioretti has no interest in resting on the laurels of this cult estate, nor simply following the footsteps of his predecessor. From what we’ve heard, it sounds like his labour-intensive approach both in the vineyards and winery is having the desired effect, and Cerbaiona’s legacy is safe. Whatever happens, Fioretti’s clear philosophy is set to mark a new and exciting era for the estate. Browse our range from Cerbaiona or read more about the 2016 vintage in Montalcino

There’s been a buzz about the cult Montalcino estate Cerbaiona since it changed hands in 2015. Ahead of the release of the 2016 Brunello – the first under Matthew Fioretti’s ownership – we caught up with the new owner to find out more about how and why he’s transforming the property

Cerbaiona is widely recognised as one of the top wine estates in Montalcino, and now Fioretti and his team have overhauled the estate. We find out more 

A new era of Cerbaiona

Cerbaiona: a new era

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW has caused quite the stir. In her Bordeaux 2021 en primeur report, her first for her new publication The Wine Independent, she scored some wines below 80 points – and just 20% made it above the 90-point mark. She’s a woman on a mission, determined to bring honour and integrity back to wine criticism. The Master of Wine and Robert Parker protégée stepped down as Editor-in-Chief of the Wine Advocate – the leading fine wine publication – last year. She was tired of what had become a corporate life. Michelin took over in 2019 and her time was increasingly spent in meetings, doing reporting, looking at corporate responsibility as well as managing her team and making sure everything was going to plan – a plan, she emphasises, that was not set by her. Most importantly, her senior position took her further away from what she really loved doing – writing about wine. “I love to sit down with winemakers and capture that story that is not on their website, that is not in their marketing material. Something that is real and raw. There is not enough of that,” she tells me. Her view is that it’s the story that makes wine “more than just a drink” – and that’s why people spend hundreds of pounds on a bottle. This storytelling is what she’s looking to do with her new, small outfit, The Wine Independent. Importantly she’s partnered with Johan Berglund – a professional photographer (whose beautiful images we've used here) – to bring those stories to life, with a modern platform that is a world away from most other critics’ sites (often “a wall of words”, she says). As the name of the new publication suggests, Perrotti-Brown is making a stand against publications that she feels no longer put the consumer first. Her inspiration is Robert Parker’s original operation – the Wine Advocate started as a small newsletter shared with friends. “Essentially a mom-and-pop shop”, she explains, getting back to basics, with minimal staff and no fancy office with big overheads. For her, the goal is simple: to publish timely – and honest – reports, allowing readers to search for wines easily and helping them to discover something new. She doesn’t hold back voicing her concerns about the state of wine criticism today. She’s damning, believing there’s a trend not just to overscore, but that it’s a strategy to gain influence, helping critics be quoted by retailers and wineries – and therefore benefitting from “free marketing”. “When you see people coming in one or two points above everyone else and they hang on and wait until other people’s reviews have come out… I mean, come on, it’s definitely happening,” she says. The compaction of scores, however, is what really riles her. Everything sits between 95 and 99 these days, she suggests. “Nobody dares to go to 100 and nobody dares to go below 90.” Perrotti-Brown is outspoken about critics for whom the tiny number of 100-point scores they hand out is a point of pride. “There are a lot of critics who are just too chicken-s**t to give 100 points,” she says. “If you know a wine is 100 points, it takes a lot of bravery to put it out there.” Some critics – such as James Molesworth of Wine Spectator – don’t believe that a perfect wine exists, and therefore never give 100 points. “Which is ridiculous!” says Perrotti-Brown. “Why use a 100-point scale, if you are not going to use the top?” Her fear is that scores will lose all relevance and meaning. Indeed, she notes that retailers don’t even reference who gave the score they quote. “You go into a shop these days and look at the shelf-toppers and it doesn’t even say whose score it is – it just says 97 points. Every wine is 97 points!”  Critics should be fighting for consumers, she argues, rather than ingratiating themselves with wineries. “I know it is difficult, because we are sat there right in front of the winemaker, listening to their stories and I think the impetus is to really feel for that person, but you can’t. You always have to see it from the consumer’s perspective – it’s what Bob [Robert Parker] always told me. You are working for them.”  Hence, therefore, the broad range of scores that she felt was inevitable for a vintage like 2021. It was, she admits, a difficult vintage to assess in the evolution of Bordeaux. She’s adamant that she hasn’t changed the way she scores: “It just happens to be the worst vintage Bordeaux has had for a very long time,” she explains. Perrotti-Brown refers back to Robert Parker’s original benchmark for 90 points – an “outstanding” wine, a wine that is complex and age-worthy. For her – tasting very widely across the region – the majority of 2021s don’t meet those criteria, but she’s quick to emphasise that wines scored in the upper 80s are very good wines. “I think there has become some stigma over the wines scoring in the 80s and I don’t know why,” she says. Again returning to Robert Parker’s original scoring crib-sheet, these are “good to very good” wines and that is where, she feels, the bulk of Bordeaux 2021 wines fall.  Looking back at Robert Parker’s own en primeur scores in trickier vintages (2007, 2013, 1996), he too was awarding many wines eighty-something points, sometimes less. While Perrotti-Brown accepts the technological advances in viticulture and vinification mean you would rarely see Classed Growth wines receiving less than 80 points today, it only emphasises just how challenging the 2021 vintage was in Bordeaux. Of course, the vintage also produced some surprises. Despite everything that happened climate-wise, there were a number of wineries that produced outstanding wines, even by Perrotti-Brown’s assessment. “Some wines were absolute trainwrecks and there are other wines that are wow… you can tell these people worked their tails off,” she says.  The critic was certainly surprised and disappointed by other reports on the vintage, particularly given she’d worked and trained some of the people behind them. “When I am looking at other peoples’ scores [for Bordeaux 2021], 60% or more of the wines scored 90 points and above and that is astonishing to me,” she says, both confused and outraged. “Some of these wines, they are giving the same score ranges as the 2018 and the 2019s – I mean how is that possible?” Her report is a statement of intent. Lower scores may mean The Wine Independent isn’t as widely quoted by the trade, but what matters to Perrotti-Brown is whether consumers trust the publication. It’s a long-term game. “Eventually I hope consumers will look at all these other scores and say, ‘But what did The Wine Independent say?’” Perrotti-Brown took a huge risk stepping down from what is undeniably the wine world’s most influential publication – but she is confident she’s made the right choice. Her need for autonomy was the impetus for her to set up on her own, and she’s found freedom on her own terms. It is still early days for The Wine Independent and, for now, Perrotti-Brown is their only reviewer – although she confirms an additional critic will be announced in the coming weeks. Competing against more established publications with an extensive database of tasting notes and scores isn’t easy – but Perrotti-Brown has established herself as a disruptor in the field. She’s lain down the gauntlet – daring her peers to put the consumer back at the heart of what they do. Read more Editorial

Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW is making a stand. The ex Wine Advocate Editor-in-Chief, trained by Robert Parker, believes that critics are at risk of losing relevance – and for good reason. We talk to the wine writer about why she’s fed up of scoring strategies and set up The Wine Independent.

Why the wine critic left the *Wine Advocate* to go her own way, determined to bring honour and integrity back to wine criticism.

Lisa Perrotti-Brown on why she left Wine Advocate

The voice of independence: Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW

It’s only April and he’s already traversed the globe hosting tastings, completed a harvest in Australia and now Egon Müller IV is finally home. His 18-year-old daughter is also back home in Wiltingen, unexpectedly: her A-level exams have been cancelled due to the Coronavirus pandemic and she has returned from her studies in London. It's uncertain times but the proximity to the border with France and Luxembourg has been a source of uncertainty for centuries. In fact, if it were not for the French army invading the region soon after the Revolution and taking the Left Bank of the Rhine river, the family estate would not have existed.  His great-great-great grandfather, Jean-Jacques Koch was a monk at a local monastery before the French came through in 1794, seized the church's property and auctioned it off. As a result, Koch bought his piece of the Scharzhof estate, met a woman, had seven children, whom he had to divide his land between thanks to Napoleon's law of inheritance, and the scene was set.  Whether the Scharzhofberg (Scharzhof hill) was considered as special as it is now when Koch made the acquisition is pure speculation. It was –and remains –an unusual site, as it has long been dedicated to vines whereas similar-sized properties were home to other crops and woods. Long ago, it was clear that the wines from the steep slate-rich soils of this high spot in the Saar were out of the ordinary, winning acclaim at international fairs including the 1900 Paris Exhibition and as far afield as St. Louis, USA.  However, the 20th century brought its troubles to the Müller's tranquil spot a few miles from the confluence of the Saar and Mosel rivers. Müller's father, Egon III, was born in 1919 and drafted into the German army for the duration of World War II, fighting as close to home as France and as far afield as Russia. His wife and her sister did their best to take care of the vineyard while he was away but when he returned for the 1945 vintage, they were able to make only 1200 litres of wine. "The weather was fantastic but there had been years of neglect: there were no workers, you couldn't buy sprays nor fertiliser,” says Müller IV.  Despite the challenges they faced, the family business was already 150 years into its existence and while all businesses face global uncertainty today, Müller says, "In terms of family businesses that have been going for many generations, we have a better chance than if you look at what's in your bank account.  In agriculture, you have to think about the long term."It's just as well the family has been so stoic in the face of adversity or the world would not have the thrill of its sweet, pure Riesling, whose sweetest wines leave even the most exacting of wine critics weak at the knees.  Neal Martin of Vinous described an unexpected encounter with the 1975 Scharzhofberger TBA: “Though the bottle is still on the other side of the room on its way to the dining table, I instantly register that it is a) exceedingly rare and extraordinarily expensive and b) already open for serving. The thought that goes through my head is: “Is that really what I think it is?” I was. The result. “It might well be the greatest Riesling that I have ever consumed.” Focusing on making tiny yields of botrytised wine on a steep slope was far removed from the main route Germany took in the last decades of the 20th century. The 1971 wine law classified quality on the basis of the sugar content of grapes rather than origin–and quality. "That law was probably the origin of German wine's misery," says Müller.  "The idea of terroir was disregarded...but now people are trying to bring back the [concept of] terroir -that's what the VDP classification is all about." A new generation of drinkers with no knowledge of Germany's wine law cock ups nor the 1985 glycol scandal gives Müller hope for the country's future and his one and only grape: Riesling. "When I took over the winery nobody wanted to drink it. It's becoming much better. That said, I still think Riesling is not like Chardonnay-something that everybody wants to drink – I don't see people going to a restaurant and saying 'I want a bottle of Riesling.'" The world's wine drinkers are hardly clamouring to fill their cellars with sweet wines either but this is a niche that Müller has nailed."The style of wine we make here is really unique and it’s quite impossible to make it anywhere else. When you have something so unique, you have to stick with it." However, Müller's wine has something over and beyond his fellow sweet wine producers.  "There are differences –there is nobody who is running the yields as low as we do. It’s not only because of old vines...you have a lot of small things that add up. The proof is in the glass: from QbA and Kabinett all the way up the fruit-sweetness scale Trockenbeerenauslese, the slatey Scharzhofberg offers a fine framework to carry any sweetness while the heavier soils of the four-hectare Braune Kupp vineyard, just north of the village, of Wiltingen makes a weightier, succulent style of Rieslings. "Inevitably there are better vintages than others but what makes a perfect season for him? “I have two kinds of perfect years: one is a classic no botrytis year like 2015 when everything is ripe and that’s very classic. But I also have the years when there’s botrytis like 2005 and 2010 and I’d say that the greatest wines come from those years.  When I was young there was always discussions between the proponents of 1971 vs 1972: ‘71 is non-botrytis, straight vintage, ‘72 is full-on botrytis. Ultimately it’s a personal preference.”When it comes to the more recent 2017 and 2018 vintages they too have their distinct personalities with the frost-bitten 2017 firm and austere; the warmth of the 2018 season shows through in its charm. The burning questions is how to get your hands on these gold-dust-like sweet wines? It’s an unusual route to market: a wine auction takes place in the city of Trier on the third weekend of September and individuals must register with an approved broker to bid for an allocation from the offered cask.  There are tiny quantities of his TBA available, sometimes the production volume is double digits of litres. However, Müller notes that global warming is increasing the quantity of botrytised wine: “We have had more success with these wines so we are producing slightly larger quantities and we are increasingly able to sell through ‘regular’ channels. ”The rarity value and the deserved aura that surrounds his wines means there will always be strong demand in the secondary market, which inevitably leads to articles about Müller’s Scharzhofberg TBA being the world’s most expensive Riesling. Greatness has never come cheap." Browse more Editorial 

Hailed as one of the world's finest Riesling producers with prices to match, the Müller family has never been afraid of a challenge from their first days as a vineyard owner under French occupation, through two World Wars and a wine system that awarded quantity over quality.

Egon Müller IV discusses family, the state of German wine and Riesling.

Egon Muller on Riesling wines

Egon Muller: The travails of Riesling royalty

Wyman

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