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

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

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

Taking root: the rise of biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux

Every now and then, the word ‘singularity’ is used to describe a particular wine that stands apart, for whatever reason, from other wines of its type. But just what is singularity, and how can wine express it? Wine writer Tamlyn Currin investigates.

What makes a wine truly singular? Tamlyn Currin explores the rare bottles that defy convention and challenge the rules of the wine world.

Searching for Singularity in wine

Searching for Singularity

Noel Verset is a true wine legend of Cornas. In fact, the fine wine region might not even have existed today were it not for his resilience and that of his compatriots Auguste Clape and Rene Balthazar.  Today, Cornas is widely recognised as one of the world's greatest sites for Syrah production and although the history of winemaking in this village dates back over a thousand years, just 50 years ago it was largely a forgotten backwater of the Rhone Valley. Even up until the 1990s Cornas' top producers did not share the gravitas of the more established nearby villages of Côte-Rôtie and Hermitage. But it is now common for Noel Verset’s wines to out-price top  Côte-Rôtie and Hermitage due to its rarity and historical importance. Like much of Europe’s viticultural regions, Cornas was left devastated by the Phylloxera outbreak in the late 1800s. The onset of World War I, The Great Depression and World War II only further damaged the region. Production levels were in continual decline and many vineyards were left abandoned. Despite its dwindling production, however, Cornas was awarded its appellation status in 1938. Noel Verset and his vigneron father witnessed much of this downfall. Born in Cornas (in 1919)  Verset was working with his father in the vineyards by the age of 12. Despite the region being on its knees at this time, Noel and his father continued to manage vines on the steepest, most difficult and low-yielding granite sites, which they knew produced the finest wines in the region.  In 1943, after marrying his wife Aline Balthazar (sister of Rene Balthazar, another godfather of Cornas), Noel stopped working with his father and set up his own business. Five years later, Noel Verset purchased Domaine del Sabarotte, a 1.3-hectare vineyard,  from Cornas négociant Delaygue. Verset continued to secure arguably the finest plots in the Cornas appellation, including the lieu-dits of Chaillots, Champelrose and Reynard which are all very steep granite sites. The industrialisation boom in the 1950s further depopulated the region making it a largely forgotten site for wine production. According to John Livingstone Learmonth’s book on Northern Rhone, Cornas remained in a time warp right through the 1970s. From 1968 to 1976 Verset, now in his mid-fifties, was forced to take on a second job in the town of Valence,
unpacking parcels from railway wagons, working evening shifts whilst managing his vineyards during the day.   However, the northern Rhône's star was starting to rise, as wine collectors from around the world started to look beyond Bordeaux and Burgundy. Neighbouring Hermitage and Côte Rôtie were starting to enjoy fame and although Cornas was playing catch up, quality improvements were taking place as growers started to bottle their own wine.  It was slow progress. Auguste Clape was the first to bottle his Cornas in 1955 and by the 1980s only 20 of the 60 growers, including Verset, had followed suit. However, the greatness of these low-yielding, estate-bottled expressions needed time to show its potential. Verset and Clape's benchmark style for Cornas was fiercely traditional, rugged Syrah, built for bottle maturation.   Cornas was brought back from the brink by the tireless efforts of Noel Verset, Auguste Clape and Rene Balthazar. Between the 1970s and 2005, the appellation had doubled in size to more than 100 hectares and there was growing demand for its vertiginous sites. In 2001, and nearing retirement at 82 years of age, the sale of his original Sabarotte vineyard to Auguste Clape and Laurent Courbis yielded four times more than it had been valued at just six years earlier. Finally, the vineyards of Cornas and Verset's wines had gained the recognition they deserved.  
In 2015, Verset passed away, aged 95, but his legend lives on in his wines, which often fetch prices exceeding the very best Côte Rôtie and Hermitage bottlings.  A number of the most prized 21st-century Cornas wines hail from the plots Verset nursed over eight decades. Thierry Allemand bought his Reynard vineyard and would go on to become the darling of the new generation of Cornas while his nephew Franck Balthazar took over the Chaillots vineyard in 2006 and has become a highly respected Cornas producer in his own right. The current custodians of these have inherited the Cornas earth and they have Verset to thank for it. Noel Verset also used to sell two barrels of wine to respected négociant Tardieu Laurent who were producing their top Cornas Vieilles Vignes cuvee made from Verset’s wine blended with another Cornas legend Robert Michel’s wine. On discovering the connection we couldn’t believe our luck when we were able to source the cuvee from the widely respected 1999 vintage retailing at under £40 a bottle. If you can even find a Verset bottle from this period it is retailing at well over £400 a bottle. Of course, it is not the same thing, but the interwoven web of wine production can sometimes lead you to some pretty magical discoveries. Whilst the odd case of Noel Verset’s Cornas comes up on the market every now and then, you might have more luck sourcing the Tardieu Laurent Cornas Vieilles Vignes which he contributed to, up until the 2006 vintage.  Explore more Editorial 

Noel Verset is one of the world’s great wine legends. During his 75-year winemaking career, the vigneron was instrumental in putting Cornas back on the fine wine map. We explore the legend's impact

Exploring winemaking legend Noel Verset's impact during his 75-year career which has included putting Cornas on the fine wine map.

A legend of Cornas winemaking

Noel Verset: A legend of Cornas

It’s easy to make assumptions about William Kelley. In some ways, he seems like a caricature of the stereotypical wine writer: an excruciatingly RP English drawl, a doctorate in 19th century history from Oxford, a childhood divided between London’s Belsize Park and more rural Suffolk, and a cellar of seemingly endless depths (or so his Instagram suggests). And yet, there’s much more to the Wine Advocate’s Editor-in-Chief than meets the eye. Kelley sprung from anonymity rapidly. His mentor was Hugo Dunn-Meynell, a family friend who had been a protégé of André Simon and managed the Wine & Food Society for 15 years; organising Dunn-Meynell’s cellar formed Kelley’s early vinous education. He joined Oxford’s famous Wine Circle, acting as President for three years during his studies, which concluded with a PhD. “Education in the humanities is the only form of institutionalised punishment where you get extra time for good behaviour,” Kelley says with a chuckle. Academia wasn’t for him, but, as he tells me, with a casual shrug: “I kept getting scholarships and things, so I kept on doing it.” Wine, meanwhile, played an ever-growing role in his life – from pillaging his college’s cellars, helping the staff decant old vintage Ports, increasing involvement in the Wine Circle, and trips to visit producers. Kelley penned his first feature for Noble Rot in 2015, a spotlight on the late, elusive Henri Bonneau. He was published in Decanter the following year, where he soon secured the North American beat. He covered Burgundy’s 2015 and 2016 vintages for the magazine, before joining the Wine Advocate team in 2017 – just two years after he’d first started writing about wine. In March of this year (2024), he took over as Editor-in-Chief – arguably the biggest job in wine writing. That’s quite the trajectory for someone who fell into the job. “I always wanted to make wine,” Kelley says. “Writing about it sounded like a good idea to make some money, you know? I found the meaning afterwards.” And that meaning is what makes Kelley so interesting, both as a writer and an editor – one that is quietly leading a revolution at the Wine Advocate. I always wanted to make wine,” Kelley says. “Writing about it sounded like a good idea to make some money, you know?  “What we do can be amazingly useful in disrupting hierarchies and forcing critical reflection,” Kelley tells me. “I don’t think we do enough of those things currently – but this is something we’re going to do more of.” In his mind, the Wine Advocate’s purpose is “to keep everybody honest”. The publication was purchased by the Michelin Guide in 2019 (having held 40% since 2017), and Kelley’s been talking to the Michelin team – about how they choose which restaurants get reviewed, and the criteria on which they’re judged, looking for possible synergies. The difference between two and three stars, for example, is more subjective than whether or not an establishment makes it into the guide – and it’s similar with wine. Although there will always be an element of subjectivity, especially when it comes to the two- or three-star equivalents, Kelley is trying to bring more consistency to the way wines are scored. He’s brought in technical training for the entire reviewing team – looking at perceptive thresholds for faults such as brettanomyces and mouse, while also ensuring that they’re all using the same lexicon – that one person’s cinnamon isn’t another’s clove. He cites the world of perfume, where training is intensively scientific and perfumers have to pinpoint hundreds, if not thousands, of specific scents – strikingly different to the world of wine, where tasting is often just “free association”. The team even sends samples off to a laboratory for analysis. This is all part of how Kelley hopes to tackle the inflation, and compression, of scores (“a huge problem” he confesses) – which in turn is devaluing both ratings and the role of those that give them. Kelley is unusual in the critical sphere, for both making wine and reviewing it. He’s received criticism for this duality, although openly declares any interests in reviews (such as for Domaine Felettig, an estate from which he buys fruit). His experience in the vineyard and winery, however, gives him a unique perspective and allows him to engage with producers on a deeper level – something he wants to see more of across the team. What we do can be amazingly useful in disrupting hierarchies and forcing critical reflection When I ask how the publication determines what gets reviewed, Kelley explains how, for a long time, writers at the Wine Advocate had KPIs for the number of reviews published – trying to tackle as much as possible of the increasingly diverse world of fine wine in a bid for relevance. But he’s clear that needs to change: “We need to embrace the idea of reviewing fewer wines in more depth and following them more closely, because that reflects how people consume today,” he says. Part of that, for him, involves getting into vineyards and wineries to see how people are working, and spending enough time to fully understand it. He wants to put an end to gathering samples in anonymous tasting spaces; for him, the supposed neutrality of that experience is limiting. “How do you invest in the stock market if you know nothing about a company’s performance?” he says. “How do you define authenticity? For me, it’s about taking risks. It’s about exposure to negative consequences in pursuit of a goal, a conviction,” Kelley tells me – and it’s authenticity that he wants the Wine Advocate to be championing. “We’re in a period when winemaking conditions are more extreme, where traditional hierarchies of sites are being upended, and for the industry to digest all of that, we can be immensely useful voices.” He's clear that wine remains old-fashioned in many ways with an “aura of tradition” that consumers like, whether the family pedigree of certain estates (“We don’t want seventh-generation politicians, but suddenly we like nothing better than to buy a seventh-generation wine.”) or antiquated classifications (“Having a great classification is very nice – but it shouldn’t be a licence to print money. It should be an obligation to do better.”). The Wine Advocate, however, has the ability to champion young producers, shine a light on new names and question the current state of the industry. It can – in short – disrupt the status quo. One of the challenges with wine is that critics and writers are often dependent on producers for access, especially when it comes to the rarest and most sought-after wines. Truly impartial judgement is difficult when a low score or negative review risks not being invited back. (Kelley himself has been banned from estates – and sometimes later un-banned.) The industry is riddled with such conflicts of interest. But, for Kelley: “It’s not actually about avoiding [conflicts of interest], because you can’t… our business is about managing them; it’s about being very transparent.” We’re in a period when winemaking conditions are more extreme, where traditional hierarchies of sites are being upended While there are of course strict rules in place regarding hospitality and producers, the Wine Advocate’s expenses policy is generous enough, Kelley assures me, to allow writers to “engage with [producers] as an equal” – and ensure there’s no pay-to-play. Wine criticism isn’t renowned for its generous salaries, yet Kelley notes how important it is for reviewers “to be paid enough to buy the wines and have an independent relationship with [them]”. He highlights how it’s the bottles that he might have misjudged that have shaped him most professionally – lingering long in the memory as he tries to unravel how and why he might have misread a wine. Inevitably, Kelley is having to take a step back from reviewing to allow him to steer the ship. He’s expanding the team and plans to keep writing about Burgundy for now, but is keen to avoid “sitting on” any particular region (“I want to actually try to create new voices,” he says). When we talk, he hasn’t even hit six months in his role as Editor-in-Chief, and there is clearly more he wants to tackle, bringing further nuance to the way the Wine Advocate rates and reports on wines and producers. Wine writing was never the goal, however, and as he approaches a decade in his accidental career, his feet are getting itchy. He’s juggling his small project in the US (Beau Rivage) and his Burgundy label (largely négociant with two tiny parcels of his own, Beaune Premier Cru Les Chouacheaux and Côte de Beaune) alongside the job – and that’s where he wants to be. Once he’s finished his work reforming the Wine Advocate, he’ll be found among the vines in Burgundy. Wine is – and always will be – his life. “If it’s not an obsession, you’re not doing it right,” he says. It is this almost manic focus – a combination of true passion and intellectual curiosity – that is likely to define his work, both at the Wine Advocate and beyond.  Explore more Editorial

Earlier this year, William Kelley was named Editor-in-Chief of the Wine Advocate, taking over from his colleague Joe Czerwinski. We sat down with him to find out more about how he stumbled into writing, the role of critics today and why – for him – wine is much more than just a job    

The Wine Advocate’s new Editor-in-Chief, William Kelley, on stumbling into wine writing, the role of critics and why wine is much more than a job

Talking to the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley

Advocating for change: William Kelley

Each September, the new vintages of an exclusive group of fine wines are released via La Place de Bordeaux. Amongst the new additions this year are three exciting wines from Australia and California – giving many consumers their first chance to buy these iconic names. Find out more about our pick of the new wines below. Beaulieu Vineyard's Georges de Latour Private Reserve: Napa’s original cult Cabernet Founded in 1900 by Georges de Latour and his wife Fernande, Beaulieu Vineyard is one of the most historically important wineries in Napa Valley. Not only is it one of the longest continuous-running wineries in California (as one of the few that ran throughout Prohibition), it was also home to the most legendary figure in California wine history, André Tchelistcheff, who made the wine here for 40 years. The property’s Georges de Latour Private Reserve is seen by many as Napa Valley’s first “cult Cabernet”. The wine was originally made exclusively for the family’s personal consumption, but when André Tchelistcheff arrived at the estate in 1938 and tasted the 1936 vintage, he insisted that it was bottled and sold as the winery’s flagship bottling. It was released in 1940, named in honour of Georges de Latour who had died earlier that year. It soon became one of the region’s most famous and desirable wines, recognised as an example of the quality that was possible in Napa and in particular Rutherford. Today Georges de Latour Private Reserve is made in its own dedicated winery. The fruit is selected from vineyards originally planted by Georges de Latour in the early 1900s, hand-picked and fermented in 50% new oak. This year the wine will for the first time be released via La Place, with the 2017 vintage – the 81st for this cuvée. Jim Barry The Armagh: a Clare Valley icon Jim Barry is one of Australia’s winemaking legends and a pioneer of the Clare Valley – a region now firmly recognised for its fine wine credentials. He was the valley’s first qualified winemaker, graduating from Roseworthy in 1947 and establishing Jim Barry Wines with his wife Nancy in 1959. Over the years the estate has been rightly widely praised, most recently being named James Halliday’s 2020 Winery of the Year. The Armagh is the property’s flagship cuvée, made with 100% Shiraz, first produced in 1985. Barry wanted to produce a wine that would compete with other Australian icons such as Wendouree (a neighbour and inspiration behind the wine), Penfolds Grange and Henschke’s Hill of Grace – which it undoubtedly does. It is one of the few wines classified as “Exceptional” by Langton’s – the definitive guide on fine Australian wine. Sourced from a single low-yielding vineyard planted in 1968, the fruit is hand-harvested in several passes. The wine is matured in a combination of French and American oak for 15 months, creating a wine that is plush and supple, with rich layers of fruit and great structure that prepares it for decades in the cellar. The 2016 made its début on La Place this year – a wine rated 99 points by James Suckling, who described it as “one of the most impressive releases to date”, while Joe Czerwinski of the Wine Advocate declared it “my pick of the recently bottled vintages”. It’s without a doubt one to watch. Wynns John Riddoch Cabernet Sauvignon: classic Coonawarra John Riddoch first planted vineyards in the Coonawarra’s famous terra rossa soils in 1891; today Wynns is the region’s most famous winery, and one of Australia’s best known. The attention to detail at this estate is exceptional, monitoring individual vines and studying the soils with a precision that places them firmly amongst an elite group of Australian wine producers. The resulting wines have remarkable balance and complexity. For over 20 years, the partnership of Sue Hodder and Sarah Pidgeon in the winery, and Allen Jenkins in the vineyards, has pushed quality even higher. Their flagship cuvée is the John Riddoch Cabernet Sauvignon, named after the region’s pioneer and first made in 1982. It is only produced in exceptional years, with a blend of the best Cabernet parcels that vintage – representing less than 1% of the estate’s top Cabernet grapes. It tends to spend between 16 and 20 months in oak (around 30% new, a combination of barrels and hogsheads). Like Jim Barry’s The Armagh, it is one of the few wines to be listed as “Exceptional” in Langton’s Classification. This year sees the release of the 2016 vintage via La Place – a wine that James Halliday describes as “a cabernet of the highest class”, awarding it 98 points. Read more about the rise of the September releases and how La Place works

The list of fine wines released via La Place de Bordeaux each September grows each year. Here, we introduce three of the most exciting wines joining the line-up in 2020: Beaulieu Vineyards Georges de Latour Private Reserve, Jim Barry The Armagh Shiraz and Wynns John Riddoch Cabernet Sauvignon.

New La Place de Bordeaux: Beaulieu Vineyard Georges de Latour Private Reserve, Jim Barry The Armagh Shiraz and Wynns John Riddoch Cabernet Sauvignon.

New La Place de Bordeaux wine releases

The growing season The winter was mild with plenty of rainfall to replenish water reserves. The mild winter, combined with a dry spring, led to early budbreak, followed by a cold snap in April and May with pockets of hail and frost, and late flowering. June brought a heatwave – kicking off a warm, dry summer. Between June and mid-September, seven in 10 days exceeded 30˚C. At Domaine Saint-Préfert, Isabel Ferrando saw the mercury rise as high as 44.3˚C on 28th June. Having sufficient canopy to shade the grapes sufficiently was key, with a risk of sunburnt grapes – something not everyone escaped. Stéphane Usseglio reported that June’s rainfall was the same as in 2017, putting it amongst the driest years since 2004.  While the spring frost and hail had caused little significant damage, a torrential hailstorm on June 15th caused serious damage in Crozes-Hermitage. Golf-ball-sized hailstones pounded vineyards for 20 minutes and some producers lost as much as 80% of their crop. Fortunately, it was a localised attack. The dry weather meant the fruit at harvest was disease-free, with picking starting in early September. Some rain arrived on 18th September (15mm), welcomed by producers such as Ferrando who felt it added additional balance to the grapes. The growing season’s dry conditions produced small berries that produced very little juice, meaning yields were down by up to 40% (or more in Crozes). The wine made, however, benefited from more concentration thanks to the high skin-to-juice ratio. The wines Much as with Burgundy 2019, producers were surprised by the level of acidity in the juice and wines, which offsets the ripeness and concentration of the warm conditions. Where producers picked at the right moment, the resulting wines are outstanding and have great balance. In general, the South fared better than the North, with Grenache and Mourvèdre better suited to handling the hot, dry conditions.  Stéphane Usseglio describes the 2019s as "rich, complex, profound and velvety, opulent as Châteauneuf-du-Pape can be, yet surprisingly fresh, given the nature of the vintage.” He felt that his biodynamic practices (certified since 2015) were key in countering the effects of warmer years like 2019; using a chamomile tea spray to reduce hydric stress, for example. He is also tweaking work in the winery, with fermentation temperatures in recent years now cooler – around 26˚C (previously 32˚C) – to preserve the wines’ fresh fruit character. His vineyards are divided equally between stony and sandy soils, but felt both produced different but excellent, concentrated and lush wines in 2019. It was, however, the old-vine Grenache on
La Crau that goes into his Cuvée Impériale that stands out, and he feels it is the finest rendition of the wine since 2010.  Isabel Ferrando also emphasised the balance of the wines – with a natural concentration and acidity that implies long ageing potential. She felt that her Colombis cuvée – sourced from sandy plots – really excelled, as did her plots of Cinsault and Clairette. Saint-Préfert’s old-vine Cinsault (planted in 1928) is now going into a varietal wine, F601 and it is “explosive, full of fruit” in 2019; while she found Clairette’s natural minerality and liveliness, meanwhile, really comes through in the vintage. Overall, she finds the wines “spectacular, deep and energetic”; it is undoubtedly, in her view, a great vintage. Perrin noted the balance, finesse and complexity of the year; while Chapoutier highlights the elegance of the reds and particular minerality of the whites. Claire Darnaud at Delas compares the vintage to 2009 in style, but with more minerality holding everything together – something she attributes to the granite in her vineyards. This mineral feel is what for her prevents the wines feeling overly ripe or plump. Usseglio compares the 2019s to the stunning 2016s, but with a little something extra. He considers it “a hybrid between the concentrated and muscular 2005, and the elegant 2006”. Others are comparing the year to 1990; but the ageing potential of the best wines is clear.  The critics’ view Not everyone’s reports on the vintage have been published but the year has so far been well reviewed. Wine Advocate’s Joe Czerwinski noted late last year that the few 2019s he’d tasted “the reds… show ample ripeness and concentration without any evidence of cooked fruit, while the 2019 whites as a group look excellent, particularly those from Clos des Papes and Domaine du Pegau.” Josh Reynolds (Vinous) describes 2019 as “a vintage of extremely high quality and… the fifth straight stellar year for the region”. He emphasises the freshness and detail in the wines – a surprising trait in a year with such hot, dry conditions – with “an uncanny blend of depth and vivacity”. Jeb Dunnuck (who will report fully on the wines once bottled) feels they are a step up from the 2018s, offering “more depth, concentration, and richness, all while showing considerable purity of fruit and elegance”. Like the producers, he notes the wines’ “focused and lively” style, with “impressive aromatics” and no sign of over-ripeness. He also highlights the beautiful tannins the warm conditions produced, feeling they are concentrated with “serious potential” and feeling it will be “near the top of the pyramid in modern-day vintages”. Browse all Rhône wines

The 2019 vintage has produced some stunning wines across France. As with Bordeaux and Burgundy, it has proven to be an excellent year for the Rhône – one in a series of stunning “nines” (joining the ranks of 1979, ’89, ’99 and 2009). We talk to some of the region’s leading producers

2019 Rhône vintage report on an excellent year that produced wines of concentration and balance


Rhône 2019 vintage report

Rhône 2019: vintage report

Wine, though the most intimate of pleasures, lends itself to the most expansive of texts. We drink wine most often – tastings aside – in pairings of two, or in lonesome but agreeable solitude, and, its narcotic pleasure being felt internally, we feel its effects as we feel a fever: almost secretly, in shivers. Though wine is like sex in its intimacy, unlike sex, the form in which we fetishise wine – our vine erotica – is not hushed and illicit but encyclopedic. On the shelves of any wine drinker, there are likely to be catalogues, dictionaries organised by region, old Parker buying guides some 600 pages long that somehow, though dated, can’t be discarded.  Wine seems singular among human pleasures in this. We don’t, as a rule, rush from reading a poem to great anthologies of poetry, or add to the savour of seeing a play by reading a big atlas of dramatic literature – not, at least, after we graduate from school. Sports fans, it’s true, like big books of statistics, but then sports-watching is a social act in the first instance – the more people in the stands, the merrier the occasion. With wine, we like the macro with our micro: with a solitary glass in hand, we look, in print, over the next hill, or the current vintage, at the vineyard across the way, or the vintage yet to come. It’s part of the pleasure the glass provides. The reasons for this micro and macro turn are, on reflection, commercial and artisanal as much as aesthetic. The business of wine needs a big picture of its domain, its resources, and its potential market – scale sets the stage for commerce. The makers of wine like to place themselves on a broader map of where wine is and what it’s made with. The great Bordeaux classification of 1855 is not just the noblest public monument to a beverage ever attempted, but a model of market-making and even market price-fixing. Once a hierarchy of growths has been established, it is easy to slot in the price tags. But there is a truth of taste beneath the ordering of value. With wine, we know that what we are experiencing is, however singular, still an intersection of opposed forces – as the peerless wine writer Jancis Robinson MW says of her first glass of Chambolle-Musigny 1959; “I knew at once that there was something in the glass that was sensually delicious but that it was also made, produced, and therefore suggested a history of intellect and discernment.” The pleasure of wine is the crossing of a place, a grape and a people; and so, we turn to the big books to frame the small pleasures.  What distinguishes wine from even a good glass of ale or a local brew is the specificity of the pleasure set against the scale of the system that made it – one that historically embraces the planet. It’s a First Growth, or a domaine Burgundy, or a Ridge Zinfandel or a New Zealand Pinot Noir made to a Burgundy model by American wine makers … the more we know, the more we’re free to feel. Most sensory pleasures are specific to the point of being illicit – aside from the bemused fetishist, romance is a spontaneous pleasure, often aided, to be sure, by a systematic wine. Wine is premeditated; we choose a bottle, let it ripen, and break it open. Even casual table drinking has a tale to tell, a journey to trace on a map. These thoughts are brought to mind in contemplation of Wine Grapes, the monosyllabically titled but unprecedentedly expansive dictionary of grape varieties grown to be crushed and fermented on this green planet. Authored by Robinson, along with Julia Harding MW and the geneticist Dr José Vouillamoz, it marks an epoch – several epochs – in our understanding of wine, from both a professional planet-straddling and an amateur glass-in-hand perspective. A book of its time (published in 2012), it was made possible, in part, by a revolution in the DNA analysis of wine grapes to help discover their origins and histories.  The DNA profiling of wine grapes only began in 1993, and the first ‘paternity test’ successfully concluded in 1997 – a mere few days ago by historical perspective – with specialists, Dr Vouillamoz among them, drawing astonishing Darwinian lines among seemingly unrelated grapes. Zinfandel, it has been discovered in the last 40 years, is not only the Siamese twin of Primitivo, but its Croatian Siamese twin. In proper Darwinian fashion, the book tells us, “It looks increasingly as though an enormous proportion of the grapes we know today are members of a few key families.”  The leading families of wine, Pinot and Nebbiolo and the rest, like the leading houses of Westeros, jostle and engage in incestuous inter-breeding as they move towards dominance. As Jancis Robinson admits, the quest for the origins of grapes can become surprisingly emotional. “The Zin quest is so … heated. There was a Zinfandel conference in Croatia, with all the great Zin makers, even Joel ‘King of Zin’ Peterson from Ravenswood, and we all had to present our various things about Zinfandel. There was a small cohort of people from Montenegro who reckoned that their variety – whose name is unpronounceable – was the true progenitor of modern Zinfandel, not the Croatian one. It became so … Balkan! And you know what? They may be right!” Wine Grapes is of its time in another sense as well, marking the moment when we have started to think of wine not solely in terms of region, but much more in terms of variety, with the semi-mystical term ‘terroir’ acting as a kind of Holy Spirit between them. Thinking ‘grape’ more than ‘place’ releases our imaginations. The wholesome instructive pleasures of the book, to which we’ll come, shrink beside the unwholesome, guilty pleasures of turning the pages to meet the failures among grapes – the near-misses, the long-forgotten and forlorn lost toys – which please more than the patterns of primacy. The pleasure of reading about the grapes whose juice we do drink is nothing compared to reading about those we don’t. In dictionaries, oddities and parentheses fascinate us more than the major entries. No one turns to the dictionary to study ‘and’; we go to study ‘antediluvian’. So, turning these pages, flipping through the P’s on our way to encounter the great Pinot families, we come upon the lesser gods, even the little misshapen gnomes and dwarves of the wine world, and we delight in meeting them. (A fascination added to by the forthright sub-heads the editors provide.) On our way to Burgundy and Pinot Noir, we also meet Pinotin, a ‘recent obscure Swiss hybrid’ which edges into Pionnier, ‘a minor but complex, cold-hardy American hybrid used in blends in Québec’, and, of course, Pinotage ‘South Africa’s very own cross, both loved and despised’, which leads us on to Pugnitello and even Pukhliakovsky (a Russian variety ‘with erratic yields producing light wines’) and even unto Pules – ‘a minor Albanian white’. Radiating out from five pages on the major Merlot, we bump into Merseguera, ‘an uninspiring variety’ from Spain, and Merzifon Karasi, and Merzling, dismissed as a ‘very minor disease-resistant German hybrid’. Why these lost or obscure kinds of grapes bring so much delight with them is a fascinating question. It has in part to do with our general appetite for oddities and obscurities, which once produced ‘freak shows’ and still makes us fascinated with archaic musical instruments: we are curious to hear the sackbut because we want to know what led to the trombone. It is also the virtuous case that variety is the safeguard of continuity. In an age of ever-decreasing biodiversity with just a few varieties taking the place of many possibilities, one Quixotic California winemaker, driving through the fields of Cabernet and Chardonnay, dismissed them all – with a wave of the hand – as “chocolate and vanilla, chocolate and vanilla”.  The health of the planet is safeguarded by the persistence of so many kinds. It is also because the existence of these minor yet still thriving varieties gives us a satisfying picture of adaptation, the central biological act. Each of these grapes has found a home in the world. It may not be much of a home, but then neither, face the facts, is ours. We identify with the unknown grape. We are all more like a very minor disease-resistant German, or a cold-hardy Québec hybrid, than we are something noble and complicated. Few of us are bottles of Burgundy; we can all identify as minor Albanian whites. In conversation, Jancis Robinson, sheltering at home near Kings Cross in London, a home with a view of a graveyard (though a cheerful one she assures an interviewer) – talks of the wine almanac with the blunt enthusiasm that marks her writing. Robinson, in addition to her obvious honours and credentials, is a rare thing in the wine world, or any world: a writer who writes with equal parts brio and expertise. She explains the origins of Wine Grapes. “What happened was that one of the co-authors, Dr José Vouillamoz, who had been at University of California, Davis, felt that he needed to earn more of a living, and came back to Switzerland and got a job working on Alpine botanicals. But he didn’t want to lose his relationship with wine, and he came to me and said that he’d like to collaborate on a book about grape varieties. I’d already written one in 1986, based on our very fractional knowledge then.  Over lunch, I took along Julia Harding, a wine writer who works on my website. She’s extremely punctilious.” (Robinson, punctilious herself, says this with such emphasis that the listener feels that, with Harding, we must be talking about new frontiers, not to say dimensions, in punctiliousness.) “She had exactly the right sort of brain for a project like this. José suggested that we focus on the 10 or 12 most planted grape varieties to help simplify it. I thought that that book didn’t sound interesting enough. I waited until we were quite far down a bottle of Valpolicella and said, ‘I think our book should be about every single grape variety we can find.’ He gulped and said, ‘Then that’s what we shall do!’” The idea of creating a ‘perfect map’ of a subject is one of the itches that govern modern life. John James Audubon set out to describe not the major but every bird and beast in North America, and that’s what he did. Similar ‘almanacs of everything’ fill our botanical and anthropological shelves. It is an ambition so tied to modernity that in the mid-19th century, Lewis Carroll perfectly satirised it in his novel, Sylvie & Bruno, where two mad professors talk about their dream of making a map that would be on a one-to-one relation to the actual world – utterly perfect, if impossible to unroll. “I loved the scale of the thing,” Robinson says of her perfect map. “So, we carved things up: José did all the DNA stuff and history because he had good access to it, Julia, bless her, did the footwork – how much of each grape is planted where – while trying to taste as many as possible, too! And I wrote the entries on the best-known varieties, and the introduction and read every single word.  As with any dictionary, we used what came before: we went through appellation lists, with all of the varieties allowed, some of them almost extinct. A nice little detail of the book is that we persuaded the publisher that it should have some colour plates, and we were particularly keen to include the plates from the world’s first oenological book, L’Ampélographie: Traité Général de Viticulture, of 1901 … just out of copyright!” She pauses. “Of course,” she adds reflectively, “it was José, naturally, who discovered that Pinot and Syrah are related.” The offhand nature of her mention can’t conceal the significance of the remark. Of all the discoveries offered in the book, this is perhaps, for the amateur wine drinker, the most exemplary and astonishing. Painstakingly tracing the DNA heritage of the varieties, these two noble houses, Syrah and Pinot – the grapes of the Rhône Valley and those of Burgundy, the heart of Côte-Rôtie and the soul of Chambertin – are unified as cousins. This happened not through willed cultivation but in the natural evolutionary way: through variation and adaptation. Initially, the elegance of Pinot Noir was transformed through the usual evolutionary pressures of place and mutations, into the earthy pleasures of Syrah.  Chance mutation and lucky planting turned one grape into its near opposite. (‘Cross-fertilisation’, we’re told, ‘was common until the early 20th century because several grape varieties were often intermixed in the vineyards, facilitating natural crossings between distinct grape varieties’.) The phylloxera epidemic in France from the 1860s on – though it did not destroy as much as is sometimes thought – acted as a kind of sieve or filter of grape varieties, a sort of extinction event in large-scale natural history, forcing hard choices and making obscure varieties less desirable to save by root grafting with New World vines.   One virtue of the book is to propose, in effect, a new order of wines by celebrating ‘secondary’ grape varieties. “For me, among the obscure wines, something about as well-known as Cinsault stands out – it can make such lovely wines,” Robinson says. “There’s been such a sea change as the century turned. Everybody once wanted to make fruit bombs to one of three standard recipes. Then in this century, higher acidity, lighter wines are finally revaluing, and so Cinsault comes into its own. “Sometimes I come across a grape that isn’t well known but that’s so obviously superior. There’s Aglianico – the name suggests it’s Greek, though no Greek variety has ever been found and you only get it in Southern Italy. Perfect for late ripeness, and not for cool climates – and now it has travelled to Australia, where they’re desperate for hot weather varieties.  The whole array of Portuguese and Greek grape varieties are so fantastic! And so individual. And I love that after a dalliance with international varieties, both countries are now celebrating their own. There’s another white grape, an Iberian variety that’s stunning, and, again, I’m not sure it’s yet been planted much: Godello! It’s a bit crass to say it makes wines that taste like Montrachet, if a little more terroir-y and mineral … but it does. I could drink Cinsault for red and Godello for white into the next century. “There’s such a gap nowadays,” Robinson goes on, “between the Napa Cab thing, and these young people who are buying unknown grape varieties that sell for a fraction of the price, that are really good. Such a lot has happened in the field of recuperating old vines, some so obscure that they don’t even have a name. Miguel Torres, the scion of that great company in northeast Spain became very interested in grapes.  At first, he said, ‘Hey Dad, we need the posh varieties, Cabernet and Chardonnay’ – and made all these wines which did well in the Judgement of Paris. But, with time, he realised that it made more sense to concentrate on the indigenous varieties. He’s been engaged for 30 years, putting classified ads in the local press – ‘If you know of a wine grape that you can’t identify, let us know of it, and – if we think we can propagate out – we’ll do micro-vinification.’ He’s actually rescued Catalan varieties that were on the brink of disappearing; I think he found 30 varieties, and recuperated eight for micro-vinification with sufficient character to give them a new lease of life. And much the same thing has been happening all over Italy. If we published the book today, we’d be up to at least 1,500 kinds of grapes.” The great sorting question of our time, of course, is the question of climate change and its effects on wine cultivation. Robinson is cautiously hopeful about Burgundy. “I was lucky enough to go there and spend some time. The 2020 harvest is the earliest ever, at least since the 14th century. But, whereas the 2003 vintage, that legendary hot summer in France, produced wines that were pretty bizarre, the 2019s seem as fresh as a daisy, with pure fruit. I’m no plant biologist, but the vines seem to be getting used to the conditions … or the winemakers are. They’re not extracting as heavily, but, given that, there’s no sign of added acidity (it’s routinely added in the southern hemisphere), the acidity is coming from the grapes as well. Even some real old Burgundy hands, when you ask why the wines are so fresh, say, ‘I really don’t know.’” About the Southern Rhône, though, she is more pessimistic. “They’re not helping themselves in the Southern Rhône: too many are trying to make concentrated, high alcohol, 16% wines. And maybe consultants are too powerful down there – one consultant can be responsible for 20 or 30 labels, and so you’re going to have 20 or 30 wines that reflect that.” It’s here, though, that the knowledge of grapes, and our possession of this specialist dictionary, seems particularly valuable. If wine is to save itself from the vagaries of climate change, it will probably be through the introduction and new use of ‘marginal’ or forgotten ‘heirloom’ grapes. Only recently, France’s Institut National de l’Origine et de la Qualité (INAO) officially approved six new varieties: four red grapes – Arinarnoa, Castes, Marselan, and Touriga Nacional; and two whites – Alvarinho and Liliorila – all described as ‘well-adapted to alleviate hydric stress associated with temperature increases and shorter growing cycles’, potential saviours of the region against the villain of global warming. All of them, of course, are charted and explicated in Wine Grapes.

In the end, the great strange truth of wine is the truth of life: a thousand vectors press down on us at once – place, history, time, temperature, luck and breeding – and somehow in the intersection we find, or make, our pleasures. The question of type and variation was very different before Darwin who wrote, oddly (or perhaps not so oddly) almost simultaneously with the great classification of Bordeaux, publishing On the Origin of Species in 1859.  (Oddly because his theory would have been true in any other time; not so oddly because the urge to map the world, for the ‘almanac of everything’, was typical of mid-19th century confidence, as Carroll’s satire suggests.) Before Darwin, who loved wine, the fundamental view of the world was that the superintending categories, species and varieties, were the fixed things in the world. Everyone took it for granted that the ‘kind’ the ‘essence’, was the real thing and all the little variants merely particular shades away from it. A grape was a better or worse instance of its variety. Grapes, like apes, were of one fixed sort. Darwin’s great overriding insight was that only particulars exist, and that species and superintending categories are the labile and ever-changing kinds. Every kind of living thing came from somewhere weird and is on its way to somewhere weirder, with a brief stopover at being the thing it is now. The elegance of Pinot Noir is a close cousin of the earthiness of Syrah, one state is simply a moment in the life of the other, and each are moments in the life of the surging, unfixable whole. Wine, braiding through the planet and only coming to rest on a name for a moment in one place, is a bit of scientific epistemology in your glass, the truth of the particular made potable. It’s a fine destiny for a simple pleasure. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One Photography by Gavin Bond; floral set design by Studio Lupine

Essayist and author Adam Gopnik takes a look at the world of wine through the lens of seminal wine-lover’s bible, Wine Grapes, and talks to one of its three co-authors, Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

Adam Gopnik talks to Wine Grapes co-author Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

FONDATA: Pleasure in the detail

Pleasure in the detail

Châteauneuf-du-Pape has a long history, becoming the new home for the Pope in the 14th century, but its prestige as a wine region is comparatively short. Although it is France’s oldest appellation (the first to be officially classified in 1923), the wines only really gained notoriety in the second half of the 20th century. More recently, its full-bodied, fruity style found appeal among American critics – namely Robert Parker, who helped increase its following across the Atlantic. But, despite the success of estates such as Ch. Rayas, there is little fanfare around the region. Isabel Ferrando’s dynamism, therefore, is a refreshing change. Her story is one of revolution rather than evolution. With every step in her career, she has made bold decisions – decisions that have brought significant attention, praise and a legion of fans. For her, such an approach aligns neatly with the philosophy of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. “The only limit is to respect the appellation. That is the only limit,” says Ferrando. With 13 permitted varieties (or 22 if you count both white and red grapes) and five very different, distinct soils, countless expressions of the appellation are possible – and, for her, this is why it’s a very modern appellation. Everyone is given the freedom to “paint their picture”. Although the region might be famous for its galets roulés (large round pebbles that reflect heat and add to ripeness), this is just one of its terroirs. “There are five different soils in Châteauneuf – chalk, limestone, clay, sand, galet stones that each have a strong influence on the appellation,” she explains. “There is one singularity,” she admits, “and that is a lot of fruit.” She feels that Châteauneuf is united by its “fruity but serious” profile – however, beyond that, there is incredible variety – from more floral to darker, more savoury styles. “The vines on clay produce a fatness in the wine. The sandy soils bring a silky texture and tenderness to the tannins. The chalk gives a sensation of powder,” she says, highlighting how each soil type contributes to the final wine – providing a palette for any winemaker to produce a wine that fits their sensibility. This freedom made the region a perfect fit for Ferrando – who decided to give up her job in banking to become a winemaker 20 years ago. Then a new mother, she initially thought that being her own boss would allow her to spend more time with her family. That didn’t actually happen, she admits, “But when you become a mother or father, you become someone else – you look at life differently. I wanted to go back to nature,” she says. “I didn’t want to raise my daughter in a city. I was born in the countryside, and I needed that for my daughter.” After training for a year in Gigondas under Dominique Ay (at Domaine Raspail-Ay) she found a domaine for sale in Châteauneuf-du-Pape and jumped at the opportunity. She might have been new to the region, a woman in a male-dominated industry with no background in winemaking, but that wasn’t going to put her off. Fortunately, she made some good friends – most notably the late legendary Châteauneuf-du-Pape producer Henri Bonneau who was instrumental in the establishment of Domaine Saint-Préfert. When she arrived, the vineyards were not in good shape, with many vines diseased and in need of replanting. Traditionally, producers in Châteauneuf-du-Pape blend plots together to capture the complexities of the different soils and varieties etc. But, if she was to make a wine of quality, this was not possible for Ferrando. So she identified the best plots and bottled those separately (as her Réserve Auguste Favier and Collection Charles Giraud cuvées), while she set about replanting the rest of the vineyards. The young fruit from her new vines was dedicated to her Cuvée Classique Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Single-vineyard bottlings were quite a radical move in the appellation – but such was the quality of these low-production, old-vine bottlings that Ferrando’s wines rapidly earned recognition. She went further to challenge convention in the region, crafting three varietal wines in a region that was built on blends. These cuvées – a Clairette (Cuvée Spéciale Vieilles Clairettes), Cinsault (Cuvée F601) and Grenache (Cuvée Colombis) bottling – are remarkable wines. There is no other 100% Cinsault produced in Châteauneuf-du-Pape.“The Cinsault is absolutely perfect in Saint-Préfert,”, says Ferrando. “Nowhere else in Châteauneuf-du-Pape do you get these floral aromas.” She describes the grape as the Pinot Noir of the Rhône. Production is tiny – limited to just 800 bottles a year – and it is not cheap at £500 a bottle. But, for those lucky enough to taste it, it is beguiling. The Wine Advocate’s Joe Czerwinski rated it as his top discovery of 2020. Her 100% Clairette is another oddity for Châteauneuf-du-Pape and almost as rare. Only bottled in magnums (800 a year) – this is a wine that Ferrando believes can age 50 years or more. “Clairette is my vision of white wine in the Southern Rhône.” She wants to counter the claim that white Châteauneuf-du-Pape is fat and fruity. “With Clairette, you can produce very fresh and deep wines,” she says, “it gives a lot of freshness, tension and salinity to the whites.” The wine was inspired by her mentor Henri Bonneau, who convinced Ferrando to bottle these 80-year-old vines separately. In the early days of Saint-Préfert, Ferrando invited Bonneau to a feast of tête de veau – and Bonneau arrived with a magnum of an unlabelled white wine. During the meal, Bonneau started to cry – he told Ferrando that the wine was the last bottle from the cellar made by his father – a 1947 100% Clairette – showing how well good Clairette could age. “It was a very special moment,” notes Ferrando. The wine was incredibly fresh and in perfect condition. He asked Ferrando again to create another 100% Clairette – like his father’s. The first vintage was 2009. Once the wine was picked and fermented Bonneau would come to the winery, taste the wine and insist she not bottle the wine yet. It was not ready. “It was risky,” says Ferrando, “but he insisted.” After 18 months she could hold off no longer and bottled it. Tasting the wine, she was amazed by its tension. It was special. The first magnum of every vintage was given to Bonneau as a thank you. After 20 years in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Ferrando is one of the appellation’s brightest stars. But she hasn’t stopped challenging the status quo. After building one of the most celebrated brands in the appellation, Ferrando overhauled her range in 2020 – discontinuing many wines and changing the estate’s name to Famille Isabel Ferrando. Few people would have the guts to take such a chance, but a meditative period over Covid-19, the death of her husband and the evolution of her vineyards all prompted her next radical change. “The resistance of people to change is apparent, it is comfortable to stay the same,” she admits. But, for Ferrando, she had to change. Over 20 years, she’d nurtured her vineyards back to health, her young vines had reached maturity and her biodynamic farming had brought biodiversity back into her vineyards. “The vineyards changed and so the wines had to change too,” she explains. Ferrando now had the quality of fruit to be able to produce a single, flagship Châteauneuf-du-Pape cuvée – a wine that represented her terroir and her winemaking style. While she still produces her Vieilles Clairettes, F601 Cinsault and Colombis cuvées, she has sacrificed her top-scoring Auguste Favier and Charles Giraud reds to produce what she feels is a true representation of her estate and sensibility. The wine captures her obsession with freshness, balanced with concentration – playing with the different textural qualities of her soils and varieties. With this refreshed focus from the 2020 vintage, Ferrando decided to bottle the wines under Famille Isabel Ferrando – trusting that her customers will follow the wines under this new name. Ferrando’s daughter seems to have inherited her mother’s revolutionary approach. At 22, she decided to abandon her business studies to tackle a degree in viticulture in Beaune – to the complete shock of her mother. While currently her daughter is learning about winemaking at some of the best estates around the world (including at the likes of Domaine Roulot, Eisele Vineyard, Mullineux and more), she has already had an influence at Saint-Préfert. It was under her guidance that Ferrando hired a young agronomist engineer who has been planting trees and cereal crops in the vineyards to improve biodiversity. Ferrando is clearly excited– still spurred on by change, despite her success. Tasting the new wines from Famille Isabel Ferrando is a wonderful experience. We were among the first to taste the 2021 vintage. The white Châteauneuf-du-Pape is divine – offering such beautiful freshness, salinity and depth, with a finesse that I can’t remember tasting from the region. And the reds, even at such a young age, already taste so balanced, pure and refined. Ferrando might be a radical and modern vigneron, but her wines are timeless. Browse all Famille Isabel Ferrando listings or read more Editorial

Isabel Ferrando is one of the stars of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. As she once more tears up the rulebook to relaunch her wines under Famille Isabel Ferrando, we discuss her journey so far, and why she believes Châteauneuf-du-Pape is one of the most exciting wine regions in the world today.

Over 20 years, Isabel Ferrando has been challenging convention in Chateauneuf-du-Pape – she explains why it’s so essential to never stop evolving

Talking to Chateauneuf-du-Pape’s Isabel Ferrando

The challenge to change: Isabel Ferrando

Joel Taluaua

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