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  

Inside Burgundy – Jasper Morris MW  Côte de Beaune  Jasper Morris MW’s first assessment of Burgundy 2024 reveals a vintage of extreme adversity yet unexpected classical poise, particularly for whites. An “exceptionally wet year,” marked by poor flowering, mildew pressure, and limited sunshine, made 2024 one of the most challenging recent seasons. Conditions worsened moving north, with the Hill of Corton and northern Beaune hardest hit, while mid-slope vineyards benefited from better drainage and earlier flowering. Harvest was tightly compressed between 12–16 September.  Despite the difficulties, Morris calls 2024 “much more applicable” as a return to classic Burgundy than 2021, especially for whites, where quality is “relatively homogenous” and characterful. He found wines defined by citrus, fresh apple, and, at their best, “rapier-like acidity” and tension. These whites will be “accessible early,” though he warns buyers to avoid those lacking backbone and energy.  Reds are more mixed and occasionally fragile, yet the finest examples show charm and harmony. Morris highlights “aromatic pinots that could make you smile at first sniff,” with unusually refined tannins, aided by a return to a classical 100-day ripening cycle. Village wines and well-managed premiers crus represent the sweet spot of the vintage.  Chablis  Chablis faced the harshest conditions in 2024: floods, frost, hail, and relentless rain, with total rainfall reaching 634 mm and many organic producers harvesting below 10 hl/ha. Some, like Guillaume Vrignaud, “made hardly any wine and sold it off.” Morris expected “green… ugly and flawed” wines but found most were sound and “less fragile than their 2021 counterparts.” While few are truly great, many show classic Chablis character—crisp, defined, with “crushed oyster shell” notes. Best for short- to medium-term drinking, 2024 in Chablis demonstrates resilience and surprising drinkability after a punishing season.  Côte de Nuits  In the Côte de Nuits, Morris sees 2024 as a vintage of delicacy rather than power. Harvest ran 12–16 September, with Nuits-St-Georges hit hard by rain and further north affected by uneven conditions and hail. Losses came mostly from coulure rather than mildew, especially around Gevrey-Chambertin. Whole-bunch fermentation and reduced stem use were key, and while some wines need time to integrate, many show light, perfumed character. “If you like dark coloured powerful wines… there is nothing here for you,” notes Morris. Only 2% of wines achieve top accolades, making careful selection essential.  Explore Jasper Morris MW’s reports, notes and scores on his site (subscribers only)  Vinous – Neal Martin  Neal Martin portrays 2024 as a season of extremes, where relentless rain, frost, and mildew tested every winemaker. Flowering was uneven, yields sharply reduced (Pinot Noir suffered most) and frost damaged parcels from Marsannay to Clos de Vougeot. As one winemaker reflected, “Each day in the vineyard felt like a battle,” capturing the relentlessness of the season. Tiny harvests demanded meticulous vineyard work and careful vinification, with whole-bunch decisions critical: “2024 was not a vintage to play recklessly with stems.”  A sunny, warm August offered salvation, allowing grapes to reach phenolic ripeness. Martin notes it “enabled some to capture the brightness and freshness of vibrant red fruit where Pinot Noir reaches its apex” and lent Chardonnays “razor-sharp tension and delineation.” Whites show energy and mineral clarity, while reds are delicate, transparent, and expressive rather than powerful.  Despite the challenges, skill and perseverance triumphed. Careful vineyard management and thoughtful vinification produced wines of elegance, freshness, and charm. As Martin concludes, “The bottom line is that 2024 is an endlessly fascinating vintage that will enamour the small number who imbibe the fruits of much labour.”  Explore Neal Martin’s reports, notes and scores on the Vinous site (subscribers only)  Burghound – Allen Meadows  Allen Meadows’ Burghound report describes 2024 in the Côte de Nuits as a vintage of extreme difficulty and delicate character. Following “rain, rain, and yet more rain,” growers faced poor flowering, rampant mildew, and historically tiny yields, with clusters sometimes reduced to 15–20 berries. Meadows notes that “the variability in 2024 is that of 2023 squared,” making disease control, rigorous sorting, and careful vinification essential to preserving quality.  Despite the challenges, the best wines are “ultra-fresh, wonderfully energetic, impeccably well-balanced and the most transparent reds we’ve seen since 2010.” Alcohol levels are modest, around 12.5–13%, enhancing clarity and finesse rather than weight or power. Harvest ran from 16–21 September, slightly later than the traditional 100-day rule, allowing vines to achieve ripeness amid persistent rainfall.  Vinification emphasized restraint: light extraction, reduced stem use, and careful temperature control preserved purity and avoided harsh tannins. Minor faults, mostly reduction from copper or sulfur sprays or slight volatile acidity, rarely detract. Meadows notes some wines are “too skinny or too lean,” but the best display crystalline transparency that “puts the intrinsic terroir on parade.”  Most wines suit mid-term cellaring: villages and premiers crus are approachable in 4–8 years, while top grands crus can age 10–15. Stylistically, 2024 reds are elegant and energetic, rewarding careful selection in a year of extreme variability.  Explore Allen Meadows’ reports, notes and scores on the Burghound site (subscribers only) Jancis Robinson – Jancis Robinson Jancis Robinson MW sums up 2024 as “nightmare… misery… exhausting… unremittingly grim,” with “gruesome” final yields. Heavy rain and unusually low temperatures during flowering severely damaged Pinot Noir, particularly in the Côte d’Or, while Chardonnay fared slightly better. Many vignerons abandoned organic viticulture for systemic sprays to save their crops. Pierre-Yves Colin-Morey achieved “respectable, but most unusual for 2024” yields of 35–40 hl/ha only by switching early.  Losses were severe: reds down up to 80%, whites about 30%. Robinson notes that “the cool summer meant acidities were high, and successful reds could be described as pretty, but never concentrated,” with pale color and barely perceptible tannins. Late August brought some warmth, raising sugar levels, though many producers still had to chaptalise. She warns this is “a vintage to drink relatively early,” emphasizing elegance over opulence, fragility over power.  Cellar work was complicated by tiny harvests. Half-full tanks increased the risk of oxidation or stuck fermentations. Oak use was moderated, though some grands crus required up to 50% new barrels to fill them. Extraction and whole-bunch fermentation were carefully managed, with co-fermentation across parcels common.  Despite the challenges, Robinson highlights successful producers including Bertrand Bachelet, Yvon Clerget, Comte Armand, Philippe Colin, Sérafin, and Joseph Drouhin. Regions south of the Côte d’Or fared better, producing more generous, sophisticated wines. She frames 2024 as “a triumph of resilience over nature,” rewarding careful selection and precision in the cellar.  Explore Jancis Robinson's reports, notes and scores on her site (subscribers only) Jancis Robinson – Matthew Hayes  Matthew Hayes describes 2024 as a vintage “all over the shop,” marked by extreme scarcity, mildew pressure, and uneven quality across the Côte d’Or. Some estates, like the newly launched Domaine Henri Rebourseau, produced nothing, while others managed only tiny parcels. Yet Hayes notes, “producers actually had some wine; the second relief was that these had turned out better than feared.” Quality varies by village, vineyard, and even row, making careful selection essential.  The season was relentlessly difficult. Pinot Noir struggled with coulure, millerandage, and mildew, while Chardonnay fared slightly better thanks to earlier flowering. Organic producers faced doubled labor and costs, with some switching to synthetic sprays to save their harvests. Final yields were punishingly low, with red grape losses up to 85%. Harvest began in mid-September, balancing ripeness with botrytis and powdery mildew risks.  Winemaking focused on tiny lots, cautious extraction, and moderate oak. Reds are elegant, medium-bodied, and dominated by red fruit, while whites show precise acidity and finesse. Hayes notes, “This is not the Pinot Noir we have recently come to expect.”  Scarcity keeps prices high, yet the best wines are balanced and surprisingly drinkable. As Hayes concludes, “The bottom line is that 2024 is an endlessly fascinating vintage that will enamour the small number who imbibe the fruits of much labour.”  Explore Matthew Haye’s reports, notes and scores on the Jancis Robinson site (subscribers only) Decanter – Charles Curtis MW Pommard & Volnay 2024: Early-drinking Pinot Noir   Charles Curtis MW highlights Pommard and Volnay as the standouts in 2024, a vintage where Pinot Noir struggled across Burgundy. The northern Côte de Beaune largely avoided the worst rain and mildew, producing wines with the lush, supple fruit the region is known for. Pommard ranges from firm and tannic to approachable, while Volnay shows silky, expressive character.  Yields were exceptionally low: Paul Zinetti of Comte Armand recorded just 15 hl/ha, and Paul Négrerie of Château de Pommard 14 hl/ha. Careful extraction was key to avoid green tannins, producing wines of elegance over ripeness. Frédéric Lafarge notes that Volnay’s 2024 shows purity and terroir expression, comparing it favorably to 2021: “2024 showed more finesse and complexity due to the longer vegetative cycle.” Overall, the vintage is lighter than usual, suited to earlier drinking, though the best wines from top producers can age five to ten years.  Best Value Burgundy 2024 Wines   Finding value in 2024 requires a selective approach, as low prices rarely coincide with scarce wines. Curtis recommends starting with regional appellations, particularly the Hautes-Côtes of Nuits and Beaune, where top performers include Bourgogne Hautes-Côtes de Nuits Les Dames Huguette (Dufouleur) and Bourgogne Hautes-Côtes de Beaune blanc (Guiton).  Further south, the Côte Chalonnaise offers excellent options, with Maison Chanzy (Bouzeron), Domaine Belleville (Rully), Château de Chamirey (Mercurey), and Domaine du Cellier aux Moines and Domaine Stéphane Aladame (Givry/Montagny) standing out. Curtis also praises the Mâconnais for Chardonnay, noting “bright acidity, fresh fruit, and solid structure,” with Pouilly-Fuissé in particular shining.  In short, 2024 may be small in volume, but careful exploration of Pommard, Volnay, the Hautes-Côtes, southern Burgundy, and the Mâconnais reveals wines that combine quality, typicity, and attractive drinking windows.  Explore Charles Curtis MW’s reports, notes and scores on the Decanter site (subscribers only) Wine Advocate – Kristaps Karklins
 Kristaps Karklins portrays 2024 in Chablis as a season of extreme attrition, marked by frost, hail and what he calls “historic mildew pressure—among the highest ever recorded.” Yields dropped by “60% to 70% on average,” with some estates losing entire crus, including Dauvissat’s Séchet, Montée de Tonnerre and Les Clos. By late August, rainfall had reached “around 600 millimeters, compared with the average 380,” making healthy fruit scarce and rigorous sorting decisive. Growers who waited to harvest were rewarded with “greater texture and mid-palate amplitude,” while early picking risked under-ripeness and dilution.  Despite the hardships, barrel tastings reveal notable successes. The finest 2024s are “classical Chablis,” defined by tension, clarity and site transparency, and approachable earlier than most vintages. While they cannot rival the concentration of 2023 or 2022, Karklins suggests they may delight purists more than a random selection of riper years. “No one would call 2024 a historic vintage,” he concludes, yet among the best producers the wines are “unmistakably, even nostalgically Chablisien,” rewarding careful selection with freshness, character and authenticity.  Explore Kristaps Karklins reports on the Wine Advocate site (subscribers only) Wine Advocate – William Kelley In a shorter spotlight on Verget and Domaine Guffens-Heynen, William Kelley describes 2024 as wetter and more overcast season following the warmth of 2022 and 2023, though mercifully spared the frost damage that scarred 2021 and 2016. Volumes are reduced, but quality is “solid,” and some wines “transcend the vintage,” reaching levels of maturity that are unusual for such a challenging year. Jean-Marie Guffens likens the domaine’s 2024s to 1998, a vintage that performed better in the Mâconnais than in the Côte de Beaune.  The true stars for Domaine Guffens-Heynen, however, are the bottled 2023s. Kelley ranks 2023 alongside 2020 as one of the finest vintages for domaine in the last 10 to 15 years—and among the best of Guffens’s career. If the 2020s are “almost neoclassical” in style, the 2023s are more flamboyant, setting up a compelling contrast between two outstanding expressions of the domaine that will invite comparison for decades to come.  Explore William Kelley’s reports, notes and scores on the Wine Advocate site (subscribers only) Read the rest of our coverage of Burgundy 2024 here.

The critics are starting to declare their verdict on the 2024 vintage. Here’s your crib-sheet to what the leading names, including Jasper Morris MW, Neal Martin, Allen Meadows, Jancis Robinson, William Kelley and more are saying about the latest Burgundy vintage.

Discover expert insights on Burgundy’s 2024 vintage from the top industry critics. Your essential guide to the latest vintage verdicts.

Burgundy 2024 – what the critics are saying

Burgundy 2024: the critics’ verdict

If you journey to the northernmost prefecture of Japan you will find Hokkaidō. Venture deeper into the Japanese island’s stunning national parks and forests and you’ll find its native quercus crispula – the mystical mizunara. Measuring up to 30 metres in height, with long, curved branches and broad leaves, the Japanese oak tree is undeniably majestic. In recent years, this humble tree, favoured by luxury furniture makers, has become an incredibly highly sought-after commodity in the whisky world for the slightly unusual characteristics of sandalwood, coconut and incense it imparts. It is so desirable, in fact, that a single barrel can easily cost 10 times the amount you’d pay for a standard Sherry cask. If you can get your hands on one at all, that is. Mizunara hasn’t always been as desirable as it is today. In fact, track back 10 to 15 years and very few people had heard of it, let alone deigned to put their beautifully crafted whisky in it. Its popularity neatly coincides with the sudden rise of Japanese whisky and Suntory’s decision to release a whisky that had been aged, albeit fleetingly, in this Japanese oak. What many didn’t realise at the time, and arguably still don’t to this day, is how problematic the mystical mizunara is to cooper, source and use as a maturation vessel. It takes approximately 200 years before a mizunara tree reaches the desired diameter for a cask (70-80cm). It doesn’t grow in a straight line, which makes creating staves a bit of a logistical headache for coopers. It has an extremely high moisture content (mizunara literally translates as water oak), and contains more knots than other woods, which is an issue when trying to make a cask watertight. It is also porous and prone to leakage. It's fair to say that it’s not a natural choice, and historically it wasn’t used in this way. Japanese distillers traditionally used European or American oak to mature their whisky because they were heavily influenced by Scotch traditions. But a shortage of casks during and after World War II forced them to look closer to home, to their native oak tree. Fast forward to today and the number of mizunara-finished whiskies is at an all-time high. As a consequence, mizunara barrels have only become more difficult (and expensive) to source. Andrew Rankin has worked in the whisky industry for 47 years – what he doesn’t know about casks isn’t worth knowing and his connections are enviable. None more so than his relationship with one of the oldest independent cooperages in Japan, from whom he sources a steady supply of mizunara for his new Scottish Highlands distillery Ardross. He describes the Japanese oak as a “fairly recent phenomenon” that was kickstarted by Suntory – a company he knows exceptionally well from his 20-plus years at Morrison Bowmore – where they filled an “absolutely tiny percentage” of Yamazaki into mizunara a decade ago. In the years that have followed, Rankin has been watching the mizunara market closely and is sceptical as to whether there is enough supply to meet demand. “It took me years to persuade Suntory to give us some mizunara casks,” he says. “At that time, I think it was 2010, we got three used mizunara casks and we got three new mizunara casks – and that was it. And it was a one-off. We weren’t getting a regular supply of it.” Even with his connections, Rankin says he doesn’t get a committed volume of mizunara each year because it is dependent on the level of deforestation and the quality of the wood. “We were due to get 20 [barrels] in at the beginning of this year,” he says, “but we still haven’t got them because of selection problems with the wood and shipping problems.” He’s hopeful they’ll arrive before the year is out, but there’s no guarantee. From the people I have spoken to, this lengthy wait is par for the course. East Asia Whisky Company’s Christian Leusder says it takes “approximately three years before you receive a good-quality mizunara barrel”. When you’ve parted with a staggering £8,000 per cask – five times the cost of a standard European or American oak barrel – it can be galling when other producers punt for a mediocre cask, which is only partly made from mizunara or is made from multiple trees, and sell their whisky for a similar price. These, arguably, poorer imitations can be with the buyer within a month or two because they take far less time to cooper and ship. Leusder believes the “massive” difference in cask pricing and considerable delay is worth it to produce something that isn’t just “bandwagon [and] off-the-rack”. Another bone of contention regarding mizunara is the length of time the whisky has spent in barrel, and whether the cask is fully or only partly made from the Japanese oak. Suntory UK Brand Ambassador James Bowker says the Japanese whisky behemoth is “lucky” to have a “relatively consistent, quality supply chain” that has been established over many years. These relationships enable them to fully age whiskies in single casks rather than cask transferring or finishing. “You’ll see this practice across our portfolio where we use mizunara,” he says. “It gives a more rounded, complex, tertiary profile rather than a simple hit of the primary cask notes.” However, Bowker is quick to acknowledge this expensive process which requires a “significant” time investment is not always possible – financially or otherwise – for some producers. Rankin says he really doesn’t know where all these producers are sourcing mizunara casks from because they are, naturally, far more scarce today than they were a decade ago. He is also sceptical about how long some of these whiskies have spent in mizunara and believes it takes at least five years to get any influence from the wood. “At the moment, you could put your whisky in a mizunara cask, roll it about on the floor, and say it is mizunara-cask-finished,” the Master Blender says. “And you probably know, and I probably know, that it is going on.” The people who don’t know, Rankin says, are the end consumers because producers are not currently required to be transparent about this on the label. East Asia Whisky Company’s Leusder picks up the point. “If you look at what Chivas Regal are doing, they are producing a lot of mizunara single malt whiskies which are just finishes and they don’t actually have an age statement so you don’t know how long they’ve been in there,” he says. “And I personally can’t really taste the mizunara out of it.” He continues: “Finishes can be gimmicky. They can go wrong. And they do not always yield the best product.” This is one of the reasons East Asia Whisky Company dips their toe in the mizunara pool but has no intention of fully submerging its feet. Its current Macallan mizunara series stops after the third release. A mizunara-finished Springbank and Bowmore release will follow, and then Leusder says the team might try and get their hands on a younger vintage and decide to age it in mizunara until the 40-to 50-year mark, when it will no longer be a finish. Dr Bill Lumsden, the genius behind Glenmorangie and Ardbeg for the past 26 years, has pioneered experimentation on every aspect of whisky production. It is telling that he has never released a product with mizunara oak in it. He says it is the taste profile, rather than sourcing and porosity, that puts him off the Japanese oak. “If I was to take Glenmorangie new-make spirit – and I’m neither confirming nor denying that I have done this – and mature it in a new heavily-toasted mizunara oak cask for 12 years, at the end of the day, I would have something that would probably taste a little bit bizarre,” he says. Lumsden says he always recalls doing a tasting in conjunction with The Glenlivet Master Distiller Alan Winchester and Suntory Chief Blender Shinji Fukuyo in London when Fukuyo presented a fully mizunara-matured whisky. Lumsden struggles to remember if it was Yamazaki but remembers the taste profile with crystal-clear clarity. He describes it in just two words: “bewilderingly strange”. Coming from a man who invented the Russian-oak matured Ardbeg Kelpie, which he says has elements of “the smell of burning rubber when a car has screeched away”, this is quite the review. Casting an eye to the future, there is little doubt producers will continue to release mizunara-finished whiskies – certainly in the short to mid term. Leusder says he thinks it will always be popular simply because it’s so rare, but predicts there will be a larger and widening gap between high and low quality. “There will be less and less of the high and more and more of the low,” he says, “and the market will be more and more confused as to which is which.” When pushed, Suntory’s Bowker says he absolutely thinks the trend will continue and other categories will start using mizunara. But, he adds with trepidation, that he hopes producers will “respect this special wood and ensure that consumers get to experience it at its best rather than being tempted by more affordable shortcuts as you so often see in this industry”. For the time being, at least, it seems like the mystical mizunara is going to continue to enchant producers and drinkers alike. And, unless things drastically change, the onus will be on the whisky drinker to watch out for the sorcery and find the magical liquid that undoubtedly exists. Browse all spirits or read more Editorial 

Mizunara has everybody spellbound. The Japanese oak – once relatively unknown and troublesome – is now desperately sought-after. Holly Motion speaks to some of the biggest names in the cask industry about what they really think of the mystical wood

Exploring why the Japanese oak mizunara – once relatively unknown and troublesome – is now desperately sought-after in the whisky world

Investigating the rare Japanese oak, mizunara

The mystical mizunara

The Gin Renaissance, which kickstarted in 1999, showed the world that gin could be more than something that’s mixed with an insipid tonic and served at room temperature with a slice of lemon that has seen better days. For the next decade, the juniper-dominant spirit was unstoppable. At its peak in 2018, new gins were launching faster than you can say botanical and there was seemingly room for all. Until, like most trends, there wasn’t. Rather than the spectacular bubble burst many predicted, there has been a slowing down. There is still a thirst for gin – a whopping 83 million bottles were purchased in the UK alone in 2019 and the category is still in growth (24%), valued at £2.6 billion. But the tide is changing. Of the hundreds launched over the past decade, countless have fallen by the wayside. A handful  – often those with a true point of difference – have become household names.  This innovation has come in many forms and has largely focused on the addition of botanicals and distillates, neglecting the (copper-still-shaped) elephant in the room. “Gin has had a problem that went almost unnoticed for about 250 years,” Cambridge Distillery’s William Lowe MW animatedly tells me. With this declaration, the Master Distiller holds up a miniature replica of a copper pot still and says: “There are six key botanicals that will be in almost every gin you ever taste. And those are: juniper (obviously), coriander, liquorice, orris, citrus and angelica. And there’s a very simple reason for that: two and a half centuries has taught us that they operate really well in this.” He continues, pot still model in hand: “In order for that pot still to work, you have to boil the ethanol at 78.3°C. Water boils at 100°C; so, for distillation to be working, you have to operate between those two parameters. In practice, most of the time you are boiling a liquid around 90°C plus or minus 5°C. The problem with that, is it is really hot. “And if you think about the way a chef would deal with a whole array of different ingredients they have available, there’d be some things they would boil, some things they’d blanch, some things they’d grill, some things they’d cook in an oven at a low heat for a long time or a high heat for a short time, or sometimes a blow torch or sometimes a sous vide or sometimes they just pick, and place, with no heat whatsoever. “A distiller doesn’t have that choice. They have this...” [He holds up the still] “… which runs at around 90°C for an entire day.” When Lowe started the Cambridge Distillery in his front room with his wife Lucy and Labrador Darcy, in 2012, people wrote him off as a kook. His approach of distilling fresh, seasonal botanicals according to their individual needs, rather than all together at extreme temperature, was unheard of. The vacuum still he fashioned is worlds away from the copper pot still in his hand when we speak.  “I can bring the atmospheric pressure down in this unit,” he says with glee, “therefore bringing down the point at which water and ethanol and a combination of those two will boil […] I can literally boil liquids with no heat whatsoever, which starts to sound a bit mad scientist and actually it starts to look a lot more mad scientist. So, what we are able to do, is rather than putting everything into one pot at the same time, we will distil each individual item individually.” In the decade that has followed, Lowe has silenced all his critics. His gins are some of the most highly acclaimed and his distillery is a three-time recipient of the World’s Most Innovative title at the World Beverage Awards. “I’m not innovating here to be different,” he says, “I’ve got no interest in being different. We’re trying to just make things better. And if the optimal approach already existed I’d use it because it would save me a lot of time and energy. Instead, what we do, is we focus on things that have either never been done before or on approaches that have been overlooked by distillers.” These innovations have included the world’s first gin made using solely Japanese flavours, the world’s first gin made out of insects, and the world’s first gin made out of truffles. Lowe has created, and since trademarked, a nine-step approach called a novo-dimensional distillation matrix to extract maximum flavour from his chosen botanicals. He will say two of the variables are temperature and pressure, but the other seven are now a closely guarded secret after gins remarkably similar to his own – but not quite as good, he’s quick to point out – started to appear on the market. Over in Kenya, Procera is a small team adopting another radical approach to produce the first African juniper gin. Distilling legend Roger Jorgensen uses juniperus procera, the native African juniper, and distils it green – as opposed to dried – when it is bright, vegetal and alive. He also uses something other than a traditional copper pot still.  When he was introduced to the 230-litre Müller still, which he affectionately describes as the “Rolls Royce of stills” and his “baby”, Jorgensen says it changed the way he thought about distilling gin – which is quite the claim after a 27-year career in distillation. The Müller still has got infinite controls on it. Instead of a column with bubble plates on it to achieve separation, it’s got 10 metres of 600mm-wide copper plate that spirit and vapour pass over. The column, Jorgensen says, does the work of umpteen plates on another still and gives a seamless separation, driving back dense and heavy flavours, only allowing the brightest ones to come through. Namely, the African juniper.  “The juniper that is used in most gins is harvested and collected at a certain time of year but the highest-quality juniper doesn’t go into distilling,” Procera founder Guy Brennan tells me. “Distilleries are not paying the highest money. The best juniper in the world goes into food and grain stuff. And then you go down a few ranks until you get to the juniper that gets used for distilling.” Procera is the only company using the native African juniper, which Brennan says is “grade one” instead of the “grade three or four” in other gins. It is his hope that other distillers will follow suit and African juniper can become a cash crop like tea or coffee. “At the moment, African juniper has a zero dollar value, but it could be worth £100m in 10 years,” he says. “If Beefeater make an African juniper gin then there is £10m of juniper and the money goes straight to the people on the ground.” The idea to create the world’s first African juniper gin came to Brennan when he was sitting around drinking Bombay with friends. After taking a closer look at the bottle they’d held many times, Brennan and friends were struck by the irony that many of the botanicals, which hail from Africa, are shipped to London for somebody to distil and sent back to Africa as a finished product. Brennan then found Jorgensen – who he playfully calls the “distilling Yoda” – and both discovered juniperus procera. While botanicals are often the most talked about thing when it comes to gin – there’s almost a game of one-upmanship at times with who can use the most or the most extreme – few, if any, talk about the juniper, which legally has to be the prominent flavour. “We don’t want to speak negatively about other companies,” Brennan continues, “but you just don’t hear much about the juniper and there’s a reason: it all comes in 50kg bags from a commodity broker, rather than anyone having a true connection to it. Juniper makes up 90% of a gin and it should be that terroir, rather than a chilli or a citrus botanical, which defines the gin.” African juniper berries grow on a tree – rather than a bush – that is between 10-15 metres in height. The tree, which lives for hundreds of years, only grows at high altitudes (above 1,500 metres) around the equatorial zones. You can tell the juniper is in season, at the end of the short rains, when the baboons start eating it. It is earthier and nuttier than the more commonly used European juniper, juniperus communis. “If you think about it, the best juniper comes from the Mediterranean south, it doesn’t come from the Black Forest or even Scotland because it gets more sun,” Brennan says. “It’s like tomatoes from the Mediterranean: more sun, more flavour, more richness – it’s the same with juniper as well.” In addition to distilling the native juniper green, Jorgensen adopts a pillowcase technique. The Master Distiller finely grinds the botanicals and puts them into a pillowcase and soaks them in warm alcohol overnight. This “grown-up teabag” extracts the primary terroir flavours, and ensures they aren't lost during the distilling process. At Cambridge Distillery, Lowe is a staunch advocate for terroir – or as he terms it, typicity – in spirits. “The difference between the good and the great wines really is the notion of typicity and expressiveness and a sense of place and that’s universally true,” he explains. The Master Distiller points to Champagne, Burgundy and Bordeaux, and the rare whisky gems from Islay, Speyside, and more nuanced examples from Japan. “And then gin,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Well here’s a problem: juniper, coriander, liquorice, orris, citrus and angelica – there is no one place where all six of those things grow. And yet, if you just go and grab a bottle from the supermarket it will be made from juniper, coriander, liquorice, orris, citrus and angelica. Why?” He holds up the miniature copper still model. “So here we have a confirmation of our process and our philosophy. Our philosophy was simple: why can’t you make a gin that’s really from a place? And just because no-one had, it didn’t mean it couldn’t be done. It just meant no-one had done it yet.” The team at Procera is equally determined. “I’m an irreverent person,” Brennan says with a laugh. “Roger’s an irreverent person, and the team, we’re irreverent. We don’t just say let’s do things the way everyone is doing it. Because why would we use European juniper? Why do we use dry juniper? Green juniper is fundamentally better. Fresh products make better gin.” Brennan says he hopes others will adopt the same logic when they see the quality of the product and consumers’ willingness to pay more than the current glass ceiling of £40 per bottle. Something Lowe echoes: “This isn’t stuff that is being dreamt up around a boardroom. And we’ve never been in a position where we’re working down to a price point. We work up to a quality point and that’s it. “It does have the side effect that a lot of our products are more expensive than the contemporary set of gins that are out there but I’ve never been of a mind to dictate to people what’s too expensive. “I think that’s been what held these guys back for a really long time,” Lowe says with the pot still aloft. “If you ask everyone out there: are you making the best decision or are you making the most economically viable decision? They have got to be honest about it. “Flavour is a fashion. Quality is an enduring feature. And there will always be those who graduate out of these fashion cycles and come and seek quality. “I’m not in any way intimidated by what other people do around the gin industry. Either it will be part of the fashion trend, which is not our natural ecosystem, or they will join us on our mission to improve quality – and that’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it?” Browse our range of gins or read more Editorial 

After countless headlines prophesying the end of the gin boom, the category's growth has finally slowed. Holly Motion talks to two innovators who, through reimagining the distillation process, have produced gins that should stand the test of time

Exploring life after the gin craze with two innovators who are reimagining the distillation process, Procera and Cambridge Distillery 

Two mavericks rectifying gin's biggest problem

After the craze: reinventing gin

Montrachet, Chambertin, Richebourg: these names will send chills down the spine of any Burgundy lover. But many of the Côte d’Or’s most famous domaines are looking beyond these grand names, making wines from vineyards and appellations that might otherwise fly under the radar. With reputations at stake, the likes of Domaine d’Auvenay, Coche-Dury and Bizot put as much effort and care into these “lowly” wines as for their Grands Crus. Quality in these appellations is soaring – with better vine material, cooler sites that are benefitting from the warming climate, not to mention better winemaking and know-how all contributing. Here we offer a guide to just a handful of the treasures to be found in Burgundy if you look a bit further afield. Auxey-Duresses Right in the middle of the Côte de Beaune, Auxey-Duresses is a small, sleepy village situated above Meursault. Prior to AC regulations, the white wines of Auxey-Duresses were sold as Meursault and the Pinots sold as Pommard or Volnay. While probably better known for Pinot Noir production, some of its top wines are Chardonnays made in a specific part of the appellation directly bordering Meursault.  Here, high up on the hill, over the brow of Meursault’s highest vineyards you will find vineyards facing unusually north-west. While these vineyards are too cool to adequately ripen Pinot Noir, they have proven to be a great climate for Chardonnay, particularly in today’s warming climate. In a warm vintage, the whites can give the top Meursault vineyards a run for their money. Domaine Leroy, one of Burgundy’s most eminent estates run by Madam Lalou Bize-Leroy, has holdings in this part of Auxey-Duresses in Les Lavières, while Domaine d’Auvenay also regularly produces an Auxey-Duresses Blanc on this particular northwest-facing slope from the vineyards of La Macabrée and Les Boutonniers. Depending on volumes D’Auvenay can produce three separate Auxey-Duresses Blanc cuvées in one vintage or if volumes are down will blend into one. While these are expensive options, the quality is undoubtedly there and this is a great lesser-known spot in the Côte d’Or to source outstanding Chardonnay, particularly in warmer vintages.  Domaine Roulot, Olivier Leflaive and a Jasper Morris MW favourite Domaine Diconne (which has vines dating back to 1924) also produce excellent Auxey-Duresses Blanc on these slopes adjacent to Meursault. While stricter in style than their neighbours, they remain fantastic value. For reds, Domaine Comte Armand’s Premier Cru Auxey-Duresses is another great buy. Made from two complimentary Premier Cru sites – La Duresses (whose brown clay soil brings density and tannic structure) and Les Breterins (on lighter soil bringing fruitiness) combine to make a fabulous Auxey-Duresses well worth discovering. Monthélie Next door to Auxey-Duresses, sandwiched in between Meursault and Volnay, is another lesser-known appellation which has an impressive line-up of producers on its roster. Comtes Lafon, Coche-Dury, Philippe Pacalet, Domaine Roulot and Leroy all produce Pinot Noir from this little, oft-forgotten appellation.  Monthélie is actually one of Bize-Leroy’s favourite appellations for her Maison Leroy selection. Historically, Monthélie tended to produce Gamay more than Pinot Noir, but that is not the case today. While the village wines tend to be a little lean and err too far towards vegetal flavours, the Premiers Crus within the appellation deserve much more attention. Domaine Coche-Dury produces a Premier Cru Les Barbières, while Comtes Lafon’s Premier Cru is in Les Champs Fulliot.  Both have full south exposure, enabling the wines to ripen fully even at higher Hautes-Côtes-like altitudes. In the warmer vintages, you could be justly rewarded for sourcing wines from this under-appreciated little corner of Burgundy. Monthélie is also home to Domaine Potinet-Ampeau, whose collection of older bottlings can wow the senses, provides a fascinating and educational insight into mature Burgundy. Pernand-Vergelesses Few Chardonnay appellations in the Côte d’Or are as underrated as Pernand-Vergelesses. Proximity to Corton-Charlemagne makes this unsurprising. This winemaking enclave, tucked behind the hill of Corton, has long been a consistent appellation where you find outstanding quality at a fantastic price.  While consistent in quality, it is often inconsistent in quantity due to its position between two rising hills. The lay of the land produces natural airflow that attracts hailstorms and is also susceptible to frost as cold air sits in this natural pocket of vineyards. If the region escapes these climatic perils, the Chardonnays are linear and have a flinty, mineral character. The wines can age well, gaining richness as they mature. A top producer of particular note is Domaine Rapet – of whom Wine Advocate critic William Kelley recently noted, “It’s a mystery these wines are not better known or distributed.” Being the biggest landowner of Corton-Charlemagne, they are one of the region’s most consistent white wine producers. Domaine Chandon de Brailles (based in Savigny-lès-Beaune) is also widely recognised for producing the best Pinot Noir in the appellation.  Their Pernand-Vergelesses Premier Cru Ile de Vergelesses regularly competes with top Pinot Noirs made in the more famous appellations and is often described as one of Burgundy’s bargains given the quality. Other better-known producers such as Dugat-Py and a more recent purchase in 2012 by Domaine Jean-Claude Ramonet (one of the world’s top Chardonnay producers) – testify to the quality found here. Perennial FINE+RARE favourite, Domaine Jean-Marc & Hugues Pavelot, also produce outstanding Chardonnay from Pernand-Vergelesses. Morey-Saint-Denis While Morey-Saint-Denis can hardly be described as under the radar, it continues to be undervalued amongst its neighbours despite its obvious pedigree. Morey-Saint-Denis’s prime location in the Côte d’Or sandwiched between Gevrey-Chambertin and Chambolle-Musigny, for some reason – despite being home to five Grands Crus (Clos de la Roche, Clos de Tart, Bonnes Mares, Clos des Lambrays and Clos St Denis) – never gets the same limelight as either of its neighbours.  It’s possible to blame the autonomous nomenclature of its Grands Crus – with only Clos St Denis having a clear link to the village. It has meant that Morey-Saint-Denis as an appellation is seen as somewhat lesser in quality than its neighbours. Another reason might be that, like Auxey-Duresses, before the AC regulations came into play, the wines of Morey-Saint-Denis were either sold as Gevrey-Chambertin or Chambolle-Musigny.  Outside the Grands Crus, our excellent recent discovery is Domaine René Bouvier. Their  Morey-Saint-Denis En la Rue de Vergy is a simply stunning Pinot Noir no matter where it is from. While only classified as village, this vineyard is surrounded by Morey-Saint-Denis’s most illustrious Grands Crus – Clos des Lambrays, Clos de Tart and Bonnes-Mares – on the border with Chambolle-Musigny. In a sunny vintage, this cooler site has excelled and remains one of the great value-buys of 2019. Chassagne-Montrachet Rouge It is not simply lesser-known appellations that get missed. While its Chardonnays get all the attention today, Chassagne-Montrachet was historically a Pinot Noir appellation (as was Meursault). Today, Pinot Noir only represents about 20% of production within the Chassagne-Montrachet Premiers Crus, but until the 1960s, the appellation was dominated by the red grape. Some of the top Pinot Noir sites here were judged to be as good as Musigny, Clos de la Roche and Clos de Tart. Today Chardonnay is the better variety in the village, but there are still top examples of Pinot Noir to be found – often at a great price for the quality. The red wines from the Clos Saint Jean Premier Cru are often described as a unique expression of Pinot Noir – a wine of fantastic finesse, quite at odds with the appellation’s reputation for robust reds. It is arguably the finest site for red wine in Chassagne-Montrachet. Jean-Claude Ramonet produces a top example and Premier Cru La Boudriotte is also great, if not a little leaner in style. Marsannay Most Burgundy buyers rarely explore further north than Gevrey-Chambertin in search of the next big thing, but all indications point in that direction. Marsannay was only given appellation contrôlée status in 1987, encompassing three districts of Chenôve (on the outskirts of Dijon’s urban sprawl), Marsannay La Côte and Couchey.  Unique to the appellations of Burgundy, Marsannay can produce a rosé wine from Pinot Noir.  The foundation for the village’s reputation, many vineyards within the appellation are dedicated exclusively to rosé production. If a red wine is made in these vineyards, it must be declassified to Bourgogne Rouge). While Sylvain Pataille and René Bouvier make the most serious and age-worthy rosés in the appellation, the whites and reds are arguably the most exciting development in recent times. The village of Marsannay is arguably producing the best Pinot Noir for the money in the whole of Burgundy. Cult producers such as Domaine Bizot with Jean-Yves Bizot’s Marsannay Clos du Roy and his Bourgogne Le Chapitre, situated just south of Dijon, are already on aficionado's radars.  These wines are made in tiny quantities and has only further increased the collectability of these wines made in a distinct style (100% whole-bunch fermentations and zero sulphur additions). If sourcing Bizot wines is too painstaking and out of one’s budget, there are plenty of other exceptional growers in this region. Domaine Audoin is producing outstanding Premier Cru Marsannay that can compete with some of the top Gevrey bottlings and the wines still remain fantastic value. Domaine René Bouvier also makes exceptional wines from Marsannay. Côte Chalonnaise: Givry, Montagny and Rully Outside the Côte d’Or, to the south in the Côte Chalonnaise, Mercurey dominates the limelight compared to neighbouring appellations Rully, Montagny and Givry. When handled correctly, however, Givry, can produce fantastic, powerful Pinot Noir that also offers finesse. Rully and Montagny are also a great source of Chardonnay and remain outstanding value.  Montagny only produces Chardonnay – the top producers being Domaine Stéphane Aladame, Domaine Bruno Lorenzon and Domaine Maxime Cottenceau. Rully produces white and red, but the domaine's Chardonnay represents one of Burgundy’s best-value white wines. Producers worth looking out for include Domaine Jaeger-Defaix and Domaine Vincent Dureuil-Janthial. Domaine Joblot is the leading producer in Givry. Their wines consistently compete with those in the Côte d’Or, a beacon for the appellation’s reputation, yet remain sensibly priced. Of the estate’s 14 hectares, nine are Premier Cru, including some of the village’s finest plots such as Clos de la Servoisine and Cellier aux Moines.  L’Empreinte –  a blend of their four red Premier Cru sites (Clos de la Servoisine, Cellier  aux Moines,  Clos  Marole  and  Les Bois  Chevaux – is the property’s top wine. The white, Cuvée Mademoiselle, is a blend of  their  older-vine  Premier Cru  Chardonnay from  En  Veau  and  Clos de la  Servoisine. Joblot is rightfully praised by the likes of Clive Coates MW,  Robert Parker, Allen Meadows and Jasper Morris MW for being the leading address in Givry and one of the greatest estates in Burgundy. Hautes-Côtes de Nuits Situated over the brow of the main Côte d’Or slope and further to the west are the vineyards classified as the Hautes-Côtes (the higher slopes) of the Côte de Nuits. Typically around 100 metres higher in altitude, only the southwest and southeast slopes are warm enough to ripen grapes, but geologically parts of the region are identical to the Côte d’Or.  With warmer vintages, quality here is greatly improving and you can find some outstanding wines at a great price. Two top examples of this come from Vosne-Romanée’s Domaine Gros Frère & Sœur and Domaine David Duband. Both estates have invested heavily in the region believing in the potential of these cooler sites in a warming climate. Aubert de Villaine’s Domaine de la Romanée-Conti also produces an Hautes-Côtes de Nuits Blanc, from grapes grown on the slopes below the historic Abbaye de Saint Vivant. Browse all Burgundy listings or read more Editorial

While the Grands Crus and top villages steal the headlines, often with eye-watering pricing to match, there is so much more to discover in the Côte d’Or. We explore a few of the lesser-known appellations being exploited by some of Burgundy’s grandest producers

lesser-known, best vlue wine appellations of the Côte d’Or: Auxey-Duresses, Monthélie, Pernand-Vergelesses, Marsannay, Côte Chalonnaise: Givry, Montagny Rully

Wine discoveries off the beaten track in Burgundy

Off the beaten track in Burgundy

“We’re just sort of making it up as we go along,” Andy Erickson says to me on our transatlantic Zoom call, shrugging and smiling as we talk about his and his wife’s project, Favia. It’s not necessarily what you’d expect this star consultant winemaker to say – having helped craft the likes of Screaming Eagle, Harlan, Dalla Valle, Staglin, Mayacamas and more. It’s hard to believe that anything this man does is a fluke of fate. And yet this self-effacing tone is a thread that runs throughout my conversation with Erickson and his wife Annie Favia.  Favia brings her own, similarly enviable resume, having worked at Kongsgaard, Corison and for many years alongside cult viticulturist David Abreu, giving her unparalleled experience of Napa’s finest vineyards. She and Erickson met at a dinner party almost 30 years ago, instantly hit it off, and within six months were making their first barrel of wine together, tucked in the corner of their garage. That first experimental barrel of 1996 Russian River Pinot Noir (of which they still have a few bottles) was the start of something that grew as they and their family did, and the Favia label was born in 2001, although it was a couple of years before there was more than a barrel or two to sell.   The concept behind the brand is simple: “It’s our expression of what we think Napa Valley wine should be,” explains Erickson. But Favia has also been a project where they could experiment, push the envelope and play with the “pioneering freedom” (in Erickson’s words) that Napa offers. The flexibility to purchase grapes from different areas, pick and choose varietals, and work with no constraints in the winery is something they clearly savour.  The project focuses on Cabernet Sauvignon and Cabernet Franc – the latter in particular a grape they both love. Inspired by the likes of Ausone, Cheval Blanc, the reds of the Loire and Dalla Valle’s Maya (a wine that Erickson now makes), they were keen to play with the varietal, crafting two Cabernet Franc blends – Cerro Sur and La Magdalena. As Annie Favia explains, “[Cabernet Franc] allows you to make one kind of wine if you pick it at one time, and then a completely different wine if you pick it at another time.”  More than anything, however, Favia is about expressing a sense of place and connection to the land. “When I was growing up, my mom was an avid gardener and I spent a lot of time with her in the garden,” says Annie. “So it's always been really kind of home to me.” It’s unsurprising perhaps that their Coombsville property is far from just a vineyard and winery, but a homestead of sorts. “We really love to grow all kinds of things,” Annie says eagerly. While vines are the main crop, Annie also farms a range of other plants – largely for her loose-leaf tea company, ERDA, but also fruit and vegetables for the family table. “Growing different crops allows you to look at grapevines in a different way,” she explains.   For the Favia label, they work exclusively with fruit from Oakville and Coombsville, and while Oakville is arguably one of the most prestigious appellations in Napa, Coombsville is less well known. Fruit from the AVA has often been blended away into regional wines, but with its volcanic soils and proximity to the San Pablo Bay bringing cooling influences, they love its concentrated power, naturally fresh acidity and savoury quality, and more forward-focused tannins versus the broader profile of Oakville.   Although Erickson is increasingly focused on Favia, he still consults for a handful of carefully selected estates – something he can’t see giving up. “It’s a great outlet,” he tells me, explaining how different it is to channel a client’s vision for a project, versus craft your own wine exactly the way you want. Much like the various crops they farm, it’s another way for them to learn, experiment and develop. And yet, “Presenting something that you’ve made to people and getting a response…” Erickson says. “I love that part of what we do.”  Two decades after Favia was born, they’ve received significant investment from the Huneeus family (which owns Quintessa), along with a new 86-acre property in Oakville, where they’ll soon be starting work on a new winery, taking the project to the next level. “We’re going to be doing exactly what we’ve done for 20-plus years, but now have an even bigger farm and more fruit trees and more gardens and more wine to share with people. And it’s just really fun,” says Annie, the excitement clear in her expression. They’ll be bringing back Sauvignon Blanc, which they’ve made in the past, and are making their first wine with a tiny plot of Malbec they planted – a variety they’re considering with climate change.  On paper, Favia and Erickson are a formidable duo – with CVs that offer a roll-call of Napa icons – and yet they are entirely unassuming. Their absolute passion for the vine, for farming, the region and their craft shines through; and while they might be as down-to-earth as they come, it’s already clear that Favia is destined to reach great heights.  The latest releases of Favia are available now 

Annie Favia and Andy Erickson are Napa royalty. As the 2021 vintage of their personal project, Favia, is released via La Place, we caught up with the couple about their label, estate and vision for the region

Exploring the wines of Favia, Annie Favia and Andy Erickson’s Napa project, and how it’s growing after two decades

Annie Favia and Andy Erickson’s Favia 

Growing up: Favia

Our team spent several weeks exploring the 2023 vintage in Burgundy – visiting, tasting and talking to a range of producers up and down the Côte d’Or. Here, we offer a run-down of the year by producer, from north to south, reporting on how each fared and our pick of their range this year

A run-down of the Burgundy 2023 vintage wines en primeur by producer: from Fourrier to Lafon via Bernstein, Lamarche, Lambrays, Duroche and Hudelot-Noellat 

Burgundy 2023 vintage by producer 

Burgundy 2023: by producer

Old, low-yielding vines. I’ve written that phrase more times than I’d like to confess. But how much does it really mean when it comes to the quality of the wine in your glass? The 2023 vintage in Burgundy (read our full vintage report here) produced generous yields. In farming terms, that’s a good thing: a plentiful crop that restocks the cellars (and coffers). But the sheer volume of fruit (“a wall of grapes”, as Bouchard’s winemaker Frédéric Weber told us) posed its own challenge – and much of our time in the region’s cellars this year was spent diving into how they managed, or controlled, the yield. It seemed fitting, therefore, to address the topic in greater detail.  In the Old World, appellation rules will limit yields, with the yield generally decreasing as you move up the appellation system (see below a table detailing the maximum yields for Burgundy, for example). Of course, this indicates a relationship between yield and quality, implying less is better – and there is no doubt that excessive yields don’t produce fine wine. But how low is too low? There is a fashion for prizing vines that barely manage to ripen a bunch or two, but do they really make better wine than those producing a decent crop? Beyond our obsession with rarity, what are the consequences of less fruit per vine – and therefore, what does more entail? A note on measuring yield Before we get into the weeds of the matter, let’s address how we talk about yield. In the Old World, the most common measurement of yield is hectolitres per hectare (hl/ha), measuring the volume of juice or wine per hectare of vineyard area. In Champagne the standard measure is kilos per hectare and in Italy you may see reference to quintales per hectare (qt/ha or q/ha, with one quintal translating to 100kg), while in the US, producers are more likely to use tons per acre. We’ll dive further into the many variables here, but it’s worth highlighting that vine density isn’t taken into account by any of these measurements. Although a higher number of vines per hectare will generally mean a higher yield across the vineyard, the increased competition will also likely reduce the yield per vine. For this article, we have spoken to producers from a range of regions, but do note that yields are not comparable between varieties or region. Climate – with heat, sunlight and water availability, as well as the varying size of berries and clusters of any given variety, mean that there is no number that can be deemed a global average when it comes to yield. (Do look at this table compiled by the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley, comparing vine density, cluster weight and juice yields for various classic fine wine regions, to give you an idea of the differences between regions.) Given this, “high” and “low” yields aren’t equated to specific numbers here, but the concept discussed more broadly – and arguably more relevantly for those of us drinking wine rather than making it. Bearing all of this in mind, extremely approximate conversions can be made as follows: one tonne per hectare is approximately 7hl/ha, while one ton per acre is around 17.5hl/ha (Oxford Companion to Wine). Yields: how low is too low? “It’s not extreme mythology: low yields produce better quality,” Cerbaiona’s Matthew Fioretti tells me; for him, high yields risk dilution and sanitary problems – and at excessive levels, that is certainly true. But, as Myriad’s Mike Smith told me, the relationship is “not linear”. Mike Dunn (Dunn Vineyards) generally has low yields, but that’s not necessarily about concentration, he explains: it’s simply about how much they can ripen before winter hits. Up on Napa’s Howell Mountain, their poor soils and farming (avoiding irrigation and fertilisation where they can) naturally produce lower yields. He recently changed some of their Cabernet Sauvignon to cane (rather than cordon) pruning and, although they’re getting more fruit off the same vines, there’s been no loss in quality. “It’s all relative,” says Ivan Massonnat at Belargus in Anjou. He points to Saumur with its limestone soils, where producers can crop 45-50hl/ha without a problem, but on the schist soils that lie beneath his vineyards: “Forget about doing much more than 30-35hl/ha,” he says. And even that has proven challenging for him. In the seven vintages he’s produced at the estate, only two have come close to 30hl/ha, with the average around 15hl/ha, simply due to the challenges of each vintage. He’d have loved to crop more – but nature had other ideas, and vignerons have to adapt to the vintage. Massonnat explains how if you farm to produce yields that are overly low, you can end up with fruit that has high technical, or sugar, maturity, but isn’t yet phenolically ripe – leading to unbalanced wines. Smith echoes this, talking specifically about Beckstoffer Dr Crane, one of Napa’s legendary vineyards, which he finds likes to produce more – around five tons an acre (versus four in most of the vineyards he works with). He sees producers cropping to just three tons per acre there, and in warm vintages the fruit ripens too quickly for the phenolics to catch up. Philippe Bascaules – who was first appointed Estate Director at Ch. Margaux in 1990 – offers an interesting perspective, arguing that there’s no direct relationship between yield and quality. In Bordeaux in the 1970s, he tells me, yields were consistently low – 25-30hl/ha, with wines that were inconsistent. As the wines became more popular, with demand from the US in particular for the 1982 vintage, producers started aiming for significantly higher yields and chaptalizing much more. Soon, average yields had doubled to 50-60hl/ha – a level that was unsustainable, especially in challenging vintages such as 1992, ’93 and ’94. Gradually they implemented changes, introducing green-harvesting (in 1986 at Ch. Margaux) and reducing fertilisation levels in the 1990s. Today, he and his team aim for around 45hl/ha, “a good production” in his mind – but a level which also offers insurance against inclement conditions. Lowering yields is something that, for him, has brought greater consistency to both the estate and region across vintages – ensuring they can ripen the crop each year. Deliberately reducing the yield beyond this, however, wouldn’t offer any serious benefit, he says. Similarly, across the Durantou family’s estates on the Right Bank, including Ch. l’Eglise-Clinet, Noëmie Durantou Reilhac targets a yield of circa 42hl/ha. “The vine wants to produce fruit,” she says, “so if the yield is really, really low, something went wrong.” For her, it’s the balance that matters most. With very high yields, the resulting wines will lack concentration (“You cannot make in tanks what nature hasn’t done before,” she says), but equally if the berries are so small that there is barely any juice, you’ll have little but tannins left to work with. And, while hail or frost will reduce your yield, they won’t result in greater concentration. “I think it just comes down to stress,” Dunn tells me. And that’s a common thread for several producers, arguing that vines need to struggle to produce quality. As Sébastien le Golvet – of Champagne Henri Giraud, who works with the poor soils of Aÿ – says, “genii are born of suffering”. Suffering doesn’t always mean lower yields, however: arguably, Dunn says, in high-vigour sites, keeping higher yields will help increase stress, pushing the vine to work harder – and therefore produce higher quality. Elements impacting yield While it’s impossible for us to address every factor that influences yield, it’s worth – relatively briefly – highlighting a few additional influences beyond site (with poorer or richer soils), variety and vintage: Trellising: Trellising – the shape in which a vine is trained – can be used to control yield. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti emphasises how using alberello or bush vines is key to helping contain Sangiovese’s natural vigour. At Tiberio, Cristiana Tiberio’s oldest vines are pergola-trained, with a traditional Abruzzese system that encourages competition but also increases the canopy to aid photosynthesis and ripening. Vine material/rootstock: The material used in a vineyard is integral (as with Quinta do Noval’s Nacional vineyard, see below). Mike Dunn, for example, mentioned how one of his older vineyards was planted on St George rootstock, known for shatter and therefore limiting yields even further. Jean-Marie Fourrier (Domaine Fourrier) argues that the use of selected clones, rather than massal selection, has resulted in higher yields and the need to green harvest, something that he never does – aided further by the age of his vines (see below for more on this). Vine age: There’s no doubt that the element of vine age is conflated with yields and quality, with older vines often producing better fruit – but less of it. As Mike Dunn told me, the wines from his oldest vines are “more intriguing”, but at some point economics comes into play, and the level of production is financially unsustainable. It’s another non-linear relationship, however, as Durantou Reilhac explains: “Some 70-year-old grandmas can run and dance, and others are weaker.” Although most old vines will produce less fruit, she finds it’s far from uniform in her vineyards – and sometimes there will be young vines that produce less. Virus and millerandage: Virused vines will produce lower yields, and as with old vines, will reach a point where they are unsustainable. While on the surface virus is negative, certain producers do value the reduction in yield or slower ripening that is a result of disease – South Africa’s Hamilton Russell being one (with leafroll virus). Quinta do Noval persists with its own-rooted Nacional vineyard, suffering from phylloxera, with the vines slowly dying and yielding tiny volumes, to produce a particularly special and rare Vintage Port. Similarly, millerandage is a condition most commonly a consequence of poor weather at fruit-set, producing grape clusters with unevenly sized grapes, combining larger and smaller (or shot) berries – sometimes referenced as hen-and-chick. While this reduces yield, the phenomenon is sometimes valued for giving increased concentration to wine. Indeed, some particular clones – such as the Mendoza, Wente or Gingin clones of Chardonnay – are valued for their bunches with hen-and-chicks, and Bret Brothers, for example, even makes a special Cuvée Millerandée – with millerandée Chardonnay – from Les Quarts (a Pouilly-Vinzelles site recently awarded Premier Cru status). Cover crops: At Henri Giraud, Sébastien le Golvet feels that cover crops are essential to the quality of their fruit – and the yield. Sewn just before harvest, the cover crops provide competition up until flowering when they roll the grass mix, creating a bed that holds water and offers nitrogen to the soils, acting as a natural fertiliser – in a way both moderating then fuelling the vines’ growth. This is one hint at the extent to which the type of soils and level of organic matter, not to mention water availability, dictated by site and the farming methods, are all key. The previous vintage: There are two theories at play here. Firstly, conditions during what is known as the initiation phase of the vine cycle, which takes place alongside flowering, will dictate the yield of the following vintage. In 2023 in Burgundy for example, one of the factors in yield was that the spring of 2022 offered perfect conditions, laying the groundwork for 2023’s plentiful crop. As Sébastien le Golvet also explained, however, a large crop in one vintage can tire the vines, meaning they have less to give the following year. How wine producers manage yield The vine naturally wants to reproduce, to grow, ripen fruit and spread its seeds. Vignerons are tasked with taming the plant to focus its energies to develop fruit of concentration and complexity that will make fine wine. This is done in many ways, some of which include: Pruning: The first stage to set up the yield in an existing vineyard is pruning, leaving the appropriate number of buds per vine for the season ahead. The timing of this varies according to the producer, from December through to March, with later pruning helping delay the vine cycle, which is sometimes desirable. Alvina Pernot, for example, specifically pruned her vines shortly (ie to offer a lower crop) in 2023 to help the vines recover from the relatively high-yielding 2022 vintage. Lalou Bize-Leroy famously works with very low yields, and emphasises how important pruning is in this (Domaine Leroy harvested just under 30hl/ha in 2023, its highest ever yield – a number which would still be low by many producers’ standards). De-budding or suckering: In spring, producers will de-bud or sucker the vines, removing lateral shoots and providing further control of the potential yield, as well as the spacing and position of the crop. In 2023 in Burgundy, many producers emphasised how important this was. Hugues Pavelot described it as “drastic”, while Philippe Jouan passed through his vines twice. At Bouchard, Frédéric Weber explained how some of the buds produced two or three bunches in 2023 (rather than the normal one), meaning that even with extensive de-budding yields were very high. Green harvesting: Green-harvesting is the most discussed method of yield control, and one that divides producers. We spoke to several Burgundian vignerons who avoid it (Dominique Lafon, Jacques Devauges at Domaine des Lambrays, Philippe Jouan and Jean-Marie Fourrier, to name a few) – some of whom felt that they had no choice but to use the method in 2023, despite their best efforts. The reason against green-harvesting is that the vine will try to compensate, and that it can be avoided with managing the vineyard in other ways. That said, there are many top-tier producers that green-harvest, and feel it is key to the quality they produce (Ch. Margaux, Eglise-Clinet, Georges Noëllat and Olivier Bernstein, to name a few). And it’s not a decision that any take lightly, well aware that they are literally throwing away potential income. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti compares the vines to runners or cyclists – needing to carry as little weight as possible to get over the finish line. With Sangiovese, he finds it’s unavoidable, especially with the presence of “wings” or “shoulders” (smaller separate clusters that sit on the shoulder of the main bunch). The timing is key, and many producers emphasise the importance of green-harvesting early in the season. For Noëmie Durantou Reilhac, she aims to have this done prior to véraison to avoid twisting the stems (which would impact sap flow) and damaging the skins of the remaining bunches. She’ll do a final pass through her vineyards just before harvest, but this is a method of sorting rather than impacting the ripeness of the grapes on the vine. “There’s a certain point where you can reduce fruit, say a month away from picking, but it won’t do anything,” says Myriad’s Mike Smith. Like many producers, he favours green-harvesting mid-véraison to drop anything that is behind, helping even the ripeness of the crop – as Bascaules does at Ch. Margaux. In 2023, several Burgundy producers highlighted having to do multiple passes to reduce the crop – doing what was sometimes referred to as a “pink” or “blue” harvest on top of a green harvest. Canopy management: A vine’s leaves are its engine – responsible for photosynthesis. The larger the canopy, the larger the engine, therefore trimming the vine’s canopy can help lower its vigour, while keeping a larger leaf area can help encourage vigour. This needs to be considered alongside airflow (to avoid disease pressure) and shading of the bunches (which could delay ripening). If the canopy isn’t balanced with the volume of fruit, it can also negatively impact fruit composition – especially the acid make-up and development of colour and phenolics. Ivan Massonnat (Belargus) explained that in 2022 and 2023, for example, he used a high trellis, allowing a larger leaf area, to capture maximum light and photosynthesis to fuel the vines; but in 2022 he did the opposite, wanting to reduce the size of the “sugar machine”. It has, he notes, become common for large canopies to be used alongside low yields, especially by producers in Burgundy, something he feels has gone too far at certain addresses: “You can kill a wine with concentration,” he says. Some argue that trimming the canopy can encourage it to grow further, while others want to retain a large canopy to encourage root growth (Olivier Lamy feels that the vine has the same amount of growth above and below ground, therefore wanting to retain his canopy to the roots to drive deep into the soil). Lamy is one of a cohort of producers using “tressage”, or braiding, to tame the canopy – a technique pioneered by Lalou Bize-Leroy. For her the aim is to avoid cutting the apex (or growing tip) which would otherwise encourage the growth of lateral shoots. Producers such as Charles Lachaux have taken this even further, training vines to a single stake (more common on the steep slopes of Priorat, Côte-Rôtie or the Mosel) and weaving the shoots into distinctive arches.  The relationship between yield and quality is undoubtedly a tricky one – and one that every producer I spoke to feels is deeply complex. We couldn’t touch on everything here (the tiny yields for botrytised sweet wines, for example, or typically higher yields used for sparkling wine), but there’s plenty to consider. While it remains clear that excessive yields can produce dilute wines, with so many variables play, it’s also clear that less isn’t always better. Read more Editorial

Burgundy’s vignerons were blessed with quantity in 2023, but – when it comes to making fine wine – how much is too much? We spoke to a host of top producers to find out if low yields really do mean better quality

Do low yields really mean better quality when it comes to wine? We talk to Ch. Margaux, Cerbaiona, Eglise-Clinet, Belargus, Dunn, Myriad and more to find out

Understanding yield and quality in wine

Yield and quality: is less really more?

Rolly Gassmann

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

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

Rolly Gassmann

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