Matthew Fioretti is not everyone’s cup of tea. The man at the helm of Cerbaiona doesn’t mince his words – and he’s got firm views on, well, I suspect pretty much everything. But he’s also unwaveringly honest, with a frank approach that is enjoyably refreshing – and rather unusual in the fine wine arena. He’s got a vision and story, one that he wants to tell, but it’s not one that’s been spun by a PR agency; it’s his. Fioretti has long been involved in the world of wine, running an import business in the US (Summa Vitis), which focused largely on Italian wine. He moved to Italy in 2004, and shut down the Summa Vitis operation in 2009 as he set his sights on making wine himself. After a few false starts, he heard that Diego Molinari – the longtime owner of Cerbaiona – was looking to retire. Along with a group of investors (the most significant of which is the American collector Gary Rieschel), Fioretti purchased the property in 2015, reportedly for €5.8 million. Molinari was in his 80s and it was clear that – while the site itself was exceptional – the property was run down and needed work. As we reported a few years ago, he promptly embarked on a radical project to restore the property and unexpectedly decided to declassify the 2014 and 2015 vintages to Rosso di Montalcino, only releasing the first Fioretti-era Brunello in 2021, with the 2016 vintage – the first to be made entirely by the new team.  Now, almost a decade later, he’s starting to be able to realise his vision for the estate – as we discovered on a visit earlier this year, with problems that “aren’t easy to solve”. The challenge, he explains, has been evolving from an “artisan” to an “atelier”. Under Molinari, the property developed a legendary reputation, but the operation was rudimentary – a traditional, family business, doing things the way they had always been done. Fioretti wants to bring the estate into the modern era, elevating the terroir with technical precision to craft wines that continue the Cerbaiona legacy. It is, he says, “a transition I wasn’t expecting to make”, but one that he feels is essential to safeguard Cerbaiona’s future. The distinction between artisan and atelier is a nuanced one – but one that comes down to an emphasis on craft rather than art, with a commitment to consistency, for which precision and hygiene in the winery are key, as well as a high level of technical knowledge. He confesses that he had envisaged having a more hands-off approach in the winery, having imported a lot of natural wines in his previous career, but has rapidly realised that top-level winemaking is full of “necessary compromises” (diving into issues like the fault quercetin). As a craft, winemaking can’t just be subject to the “whims of the producer”, as he suggests is the artisanal way. “I prefer to work more meticulously,” he explains. The American talks at pace, flitting from TS Eliot and the concept of “the pure critic” to Albertolli and neoclassicism, in amongst technical detail about fining and filtering. The estate is closed to visitors, deliberately to avoid distraction from what Fioretti wants to be spending his time on – making wine. As he whizzes us round the winery, our heads spinning as we try to absorb every detail, he talks us through exactly how he’s bringing new exactitude to the operation. The vineyards have all been replanted and a steep-sloped olive grove replaced with vines, all with selected rootstocks and clones sourced from France’s Guillaume nursery, to give them the best possible raw material. Once seen as too labour-intensive to farm, he’s convinced the ex-olive grove might just be the best site on the property. The rustic old stables and granary that acted as the cellar and winery have been carefully renovated, with water and drainage installed throughout, and the equipment all updated. Importantly, Fioretti has added a full in-house laboratory – something that is exceedingly rare for a property of this size, let alone Italy where the high-tech approach is far from the norm. The fruit is now all chilled after harvest, de-stemmed and cold-soaked, using inert gas to protect the must. While he used upright wooden tanks for fermentation for his first five vintages, Fioretti switched to stainless steel to allow for better hygiene and temperature control (preferring a maximum 26̊C), as well as allowing him to programme them for automated punch-downs and pump-overs. He’s started co-inoculating for primary and malolactic fermentation, meaning the wines go into barrel very clean – and can be sulphured right away. These are tweaks, minor modernisations, but one of the most significant changes Foretti is making is the time the wine spends in wood. While Molinari favoured four-plus years in 500-litre tonneaux, Fioretti has gradually started bottling the wine earlier and uses a combination of 350-litre barrels and 15-hectolitre casks. “Even two years [the appellation minimum] in wood is too long,” he says – before quickly acknowledging that such a view is far from accepted, and he cannot legally reduce it any further. The various consorzios may not like it, but it’s a view that is increasingly common among younger producers in Italy, who are frustrated by minimum oak-ageing requirements and their contrast with the wines today’s consumers want to drink. As Fioretti says, however, “The notion of wood is very delicate.” And while he’d rather be able to age his wine in other vessels during their first two years of life, he acknowledges that élevage in oak has a beneficial impact on the chemistry of wine – aiding stability. With such a beloved wine, it might seem controversial to change anything – especially the way it’s made, but that hasn’t stopped Fioretti. Looking back at older vintages from the estate, even the legendary 100-point 2010, he is sometimes underwhelmed, feeling that there’s much greater potential. Part of his plan to reflect that potential is bottling earlier, allowing the fruit to shine through and give the wine better balance – something he feels is key for ageing potential. He’s also keen to make sure the wine is moderate in alcohol with maximum 14 or 14.2%, even in the warmest years. And most importantly, he says, good wine has to be delicious. Having tasted the 2019 and 2021 with Fioretti – the results so far really are. There’s a vibrancy and purity that makes them irresistible, while not sacrificing the structure that will allow these wines to go the distance. Alongside Cerbaiona, Fioretti has also created the M.L. Fioretti label, one he describes as “part garagiste, part petit château”. He was keen to explore indigenous grapes, which “are part of the family – but not all thoroughbreds”, as well as plots of Bordeaux varietals (grapes with undeniable pedigree) – provided they’re planted in the right place. The Casaglia Colorino is bright and spicy, while the San Vito (sadly the last vintage of which is 2021) is a beautifully lush and vibrant Merlot. These are fascinating wines that allow Fioretti to experiment more – outside the constrictions of the Brunello di Montalcino appellation. Controversially, Fioretti has declared Cerbaiona a “No Scores Zone”, echoing the sentiment of Teobaldo Cappellano that numerical ratings are divisive, at best – and don’t do justice to the craft of winemaking. In his notes on the 2018 vintage, Fioretti wrote: “This is another vintage for the connoisseur, that true lover of wine and the vine. So be it if the ‘collector’ misses out.” Feathers might be ruffled by such remarks, but the motivation here is clear: an earnest passion for wine. It’s something that shines through in our conversation – and in the wines he’s making. You won’t find ratings online for new vintages of Cerbaiona, but one thing’s for sure: you’ll want them in your cellar. Explore all current Cerbaiona and M.L. Fioretti listings, or read more about Italy

Until now, you won’t have seen reviews for Cerbaiona under Matthew Fioretti. As the first scores appear for the latest releases, they are best kept in context: the focus remains firmly on craft and technical precision. In 2024, we spoke with the American leading change at the estate. 

It’s all change at the cult Brunello di Montalcino winery Cerbaiona since Matthew Fioretti took over in 2015. We sat down with him to find out more.

Change at Cerbaiona – Matthew Fioretti

Change at Cerbaiona: Matthew Fioretti

The 2019 vintage in Montalcino has been hotly anticipated – following on from two trickier years, 2017 and 2018 (although we found the latter to offer some very elegant wines), it’s a year that seemed set to receive critical acclaim to match the lauded 2016.  A wet winter replenished water reserves, with a damp spring and warm, dry summer. There were no serious extremes in the conditions, with rain showers arriving in September allowing for a harvest of juicy berries, with little disease pressure, from the middle of the month, finishing in early October. It delivered both quality and quantity, and from what we’ve tasted the wines are extremely impressive – combining power and elegance, offering approachable yet clearly age-worthy styles with effortless balance.  Vinous – Antonio Galloni  For Antonio Galloni, one of the defining features of the 2019 vintage is its consistency: “The entire region excelled, from southwest to east and northeast to west. Frankly stated, finding a 2019 that doesn’t show remarkable balance, vivid fruit and freshness is a difficult task,” he writes.   The stress-free growing season produced wines of “utter harmony”, “a blending of power and elegance in a way seldom seen”. He explains that many producers describe the wines as “crunchy”, something he feels is apt, and compares the wines to the 2016s, but with more energy and the aforementioned crunchy tannins. “This is a vintage of radiance and appeal,” he says of 2019, a vintage with wines that are aromatically expressive, offer sense of place and typicity – often earning descriptors such as “classic, racy, cool-toned, crunchy and sleek”, as well as being built for the cellar (maturing over the next 10-15 years or more). It is, he writes, “the vintage we’ve all been waiting for”.  He emphasises that it isn’t just the 2019s that are so enticing, but that the “high-energy and fruit-forward” 2021 Rossos that make for “an embarrassment of riches” with the current releases. The 2021 Rossos offer “charming, wildly aromatic, drink-me-now personalities” – and are, he says “an excellent choice for collectors”, he suggests, providing “open drinking windows and gobs of pleasure” while the 2019s mature in the cellar.  Antonio Galloni’s top 2019s: Canalicchio di Sopra Vigna La Casaccia, Il Marroneto Madonna delle Grazie, Le Potazzine, Pian dell’Orino Bassolino di Sopra, Valdicava Vigna Montosoli, Mastrojanni Vigna Schiena d’Asino, Canalicchio di Sopra Vigna Montosoli, Baricci, Le Ragnaie Casanovina Montosoli, Argiano Vigna del Suolo, Altesino Vigna Montosoli  Explore Antonio Galloni’s full report, notes and scores on Vinous (subscribers only)   Wine Advocate – Monica Larner  “Now is the time to take a closer look at this storied Tuscan appellation,” advises Monica Larner – who is clearly excited by the quality of the 2019 vintage in Montalcino.   For Larner, 2019 offers “good balance between acidity, concentration and tannins” – with the latter more elegant than those of the 2018s. The wines are concentrated and weighty, yet balanced and elegant, and therefore remind her of 2007 or 2015. As other critics note, the wines are likely to be approachable in youth yet have the acidity and structure to age. The season was “uniformly easy” in both the vineyard and winery, and she highlights the large number of wines scoring between 97 and 99 points.  While both Kerin O’Keefe and Antonio Galloni feel 2019 has the edge on 2016, Larner believes that “2016 remains superior in my view in terms of elegance and longevity”, although 2019 “ranks close”. For her, one of the reasons the vintage feels so significant is that it marks the beginning of what she perceives as a “new wave” for Montalcino, with a group of producers pushing quality forward, inspired by Burgundy and Barolo to make wines with “vibrant flavors, light and energy”.  Monica Larner’s top 2019s: Le Ragnaie V. V., Il Marroneto Madonna delle Grazie, Poggio di Sotto, Giodo, Salicutti Teatro, La Ragnaie Passo del Lume Spento, Canalicchio di Sopra Vigna Montosoli, Castello Romitorio Filo di Seta, Casanova di Neri Giovanni Neri, Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona Pianrosso, Pieve Santa Restituta Sugarille  Explore Monica Larner’s full report, notes and scores on the Wine Advocate (subscribers only)  Kerin O’Keefe  You may not be familiar with the name Kerin O’Keefe, but she is one of the leading Italian wine critics. She was the Italian Editor for Wine Enthusiast for almost a decade, before she set up her own platform, however she is perhaps best known for her most recent book, Barolo and Barbaresco: The King and Queen of Italian Wine, and also wrote a book on Brunello di Montalcino in 2012.  For O’Keefe, the 2019 vintage is clearly an excellent year for Montalcino. “I’ve never tasted so many drop-dead-gorgeous young Brunellos from a single vintage,” she writes. It “has definitely lived up to its lofty reputation” and “the 2019s are overall even better than the 2016s”, she says. The wines combine “intensity, exuberance and great fruit as well as balance”, with many estates making their best wines ever. The growing season was “ideal”, and most 2019s offer “vital energy and refined tannins that allow the wines to showcase their [terroir]”.  Of course, while “it’s hard to find any defects with the 2019s”, there are of course some “more densely concentrated wines with generous alcohol levels”. Most, however, are “incredibly fragrant”, “full-bodied”, with “great energy” and “taut but refined tannins”, with the best combining body and finesse. She anticipates the wines ageing beautifully over the next 20 or so years.  Kerin O’Keefe’s top 2019s: Conti Constanti, L’Aietta, Le Chiuse, Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona Pianrosso, Gianni Brunelli, Canalicchio di Sopra, Gorelli, La Gerla, Lisini, Mastrojanni Vigna Loreto, Podere Le Ripi Cielo d’Ulisse, Salicutti Sorgente, Talenti Piero, Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona  Explore Kerin O’Keefe’s full report, notes and scores on her site (subscribers only)  jancisrobinson.com – Walter Speller  The comparison between 2016 and 2019 continues in Walter Speller’s report and he highlights how divided producers are on which is better. All agree, however, that 2019 provided a growing season without extremes – something “which has become the definition of a great year”.  He draws comparisons between 2004 (which offered quantity and quality), as well as 2015. “I’m not entirely convinced 2019 has the same pedigree as 2016,” Speller writes. While there are some outstanding wines, he feels there are wines with stubborn tannins – and he doesn’t find it as consistent as other critics, but rather confirms that the best producers make fantastic wines year in, year out. He emphasises, as well, that quality is determined by producer rather than location in the region.   Walter Speller’s top 2019s: Il Marroneto Madonna delle Grazie, Canalicchio di Sopra Montosoli, Conti Constanti, Le Chiuse, Canalicchio di Sopra, Pieve Santa Restituta Sugarille, Le Ragnaie Casanovina Montosoli, Capanna, San Polino Helichrysum, Le Ragnaie V. V., Sesti, Fuligni  Explore Walter Speller’s full report, notes and scores on jancisrobinson.com (subscribers only)   James Suckling  James Suckling remarks that, as a growing season, 2019 was “a throwback to the late 1990s”, echoing other critics in saying that producers found it an easy year with no major challenges in the vineyard and winery. “I loved them,” he writes of the wines, enjoying a “crunchy and pure fruit character” in many. His two 100-point wines (Casanova di Neri Giovanni Neri and Valdicava Vigna Montosoli) have “incredible clarity of fruit and fine tannins as well as a transparency that takes them to their unique soils and locations on the hillsides surrounding Montalcino”.  Suckling also highlights how there is decreasing emphasis on new barriques, with old oak and larger casks increasingly favoured by producers in the region, as well as a growing number of single-site wines.  While he notes that producers compare the year to 2010, 2015 and 2016 (or some combination of those years), for him they are closest to 2004, 1997 or 1998 – having a “neoclassical character” thanks to their “agility and harmony”, and recommends giving them three to five years in bottle “to come into their own”. Whichever year you compare it to, however, Suckling is clear that “2019 is definitely a vintage to buy”.  James Suckling’s top 2019s: Casanova di Neri Giovanni Neri, Valdicava Vigna Montosoli, Giodo, Siro Pacenti Vecchie Vigne, Argiano Vigna del Suolo, Cerbaia, Fuligni, Tenuta Luce  Explore James Suckling’s full report, notes and scores on his site (subscribers only)  Jeb Dunnuck – Audrey Frick The latest report to be released on Montalcino is courtesy of Audrey Frick, Jeb Dunnuck’s Italian correspondent. She reports that 2019 wines are “exceptional and offer consistent greatness across the region”. She compares the wines to those of 2015 for their depth and concentration, 2016 for the vibrancy and tension, and 2010, saying that they offer “outstanding freshness, incredible balance of richness, and a great deal of complexity”. No matter your tastes, there is, she says “something for everyone regardless of style”. The easy growing season, with no major heat spikes or challenges, has resulted in a vintage that is defined by its “completeness” and advises “collectors are going to want to snatch up top bottles from across the region”. She highlights Poggio di Sotto and Il Marroneto Madonna delle Grazie in particular, identifying them as two, contrasting wines that “highlight the incredible potential of this vintage”. Audrey Frick’s top 2019s: Il Marroneto Madonna delle Grazie, Canalicchio di Sopra Vigna La Casaccia, Casanova di Neri Giovanni Neri, Gianni Brunelli, Giodo, Le Chiuse, Le Ragnaie V. V., Pieve Santa Restituta Rennina, Poggio di Sotto, Val di Suga Poggio al Granchio Explore Audrey Frick's full report, notes and scores on the Jeb Dunnuck site (subscribers only) Browse all current listings of 2019 Brunello di Montalcino or read more Editorial 

Following on the heels of 2017 and 2018, the 2019 vintage seems like a blessing for Montalcino – a year to rival 2016. As the Brunello di Montalcinos from the year are released, we provide a round-up of what the top critics are saying about the vintage – as well as their top-scoring wines

The leading critics’ views on 2019 Brunello di Montalcino as well as their top-scoring wines: Antonio Galloni, Monica Larner, Kerin O’Keefe and Walter Speller

Brunello di Montalcino 2019 – critics’ round-up 

Brunello di Montalcino 2019: what the critics are saying

“The only thing more fun than drinking wine is buying wine,” says Allan Frischman, our new Vice President of Global Client Reserves, arching an eyebrow and laughing. He should know – he’s been working in the wine business since the early 1990s, with the vast majority of that spent sourcing, studying, authenticating and selling fine wine collections for a leading auction house. As of this month, he’ll be working to develop our network of reservists and their portfolios – allowing our clients to both sell and buy even more than before, giving us – and you – access to the world’s finest (and deepest) cellars. Beyond this, he’ll be finessing local pricing for each market we work in and helping manage clients’ wine storage – a job for which he is uniquely qualified. Frischman grew up in New Jersey and never planned to get into wine – but he took a part-time job at college (“to pay for beer”, he confesses) in a wine shop. The shop’s storage system was divided by country and region, with a warren-like basement that he needed to navigate, finding the right bin for new stocks. Reading about the different appellations, and using his staff discount to buy the odd bottle, got him interested – but it was a bottle of 1975 Ch. Talbot, tasted at Mary Ewing-Mulligan MW’s International Wine Center that hooked him: “At that point, I knew that this is what I wanted to do.”  The economics graduate was working at Manhattan’s Morell & Co. when, in 1994, the laws changed. For the first time since Prohibition, wine auctions were permitted to take place in New York State. “I didn’t know anything at all about auctions,” says Frischman – but it didn’t stop him jumping headfirst into something new, organising the state’s first commercial wine auction since 1920. “I didn’t know if we were going to get 10 bidders or 1,000,” he tells me. He shouldn’t have worried, for that auction was met with such enthusiasm that he walked away from the event on cloud nine, confident that he had found his calling.  In the 30 years since, he’s seen the auction business transformed. The 1994 law change created a new hub for wine’s secondary market, with New York rapidly becoming a rival for its traditional heartland in London – and the Big Apple rapidly added its own signature. Until then, auctions were staid affairs, dominated by trade buyers with little action beyond the raising of paddles in muted crowds – in Frischman’s words, “something dreary that dragged on for 10 hours”.  But Zachys – one of the auction houses that popped up in New York – added American flair, a touch of Broadway jazz hands to turn auctions into events, gathering bidders at round tables with great food and wine. Traditionalists said it wouldn’t work – but they were wrong. No longer were auctions purely a way to buy wine, they became fun – they became a place for wine lovers to gather, eat, drink and be seen. Higher attendance meant more bids, higher hammer prices – and more consignments that in turn brought more business, and a shift from trade to individuals.  The late 2000s brought challenges. “The Dow Jones was tumbling and it looked like the world was about to collapse,” Frischman tells me, looking back at the worldwide recession. “It was terrifying and of course people stopped buying wine.” But as Frischman rapidly learnt, people were waiting for the bottom of the market – and then they started buying again. At the same time, Hong Kong abolished import duty on wine (initially halved in 2007 and removed entirely in 2008) – and, like New York in 1994, instantly became a new centre for the wine trade. “The Asian market evolved almost over days,” remarks Frischman. “It became extremely sophisticated very quickly.” American auction houses started opening offices in Hong Kong. “For a few years, Hong Kong was just chewing up all the wine and the big hammer prices were all [there].”  The most recent shift in the world of auctioneering has been the advent of real-time, online bidding – one forced by the Covid-19 pandemic. “There was a perception that it would discourage people to show up in the sale room and would also discourage people from leaving bids in advance,” Frischman says, explaining why the industry was perhaps a little slow to embrace the online sphere. Interestingly, however, he anticipates that before online bidding was introduced, maybe only 10% of lots went to bidders physically in the room. With consumers stranded at home, and the technology already up to scratch, online auctions rocketed – and opened the market to an even broader range of consumers, with bidding wars between wine lovers in Brazil, Singapore, London, New York, Hong Kong and beyond now the norm.  As auction houses realised that online auctions worked, the need for events and associated spend dropped – and the auction style established by Zachys in the 1990s has become significantly less common. You might argue that this also heralds the end of the auctioneer – but even online companies have retained the compère, the familiar patter still something that bidders want.   It isn’t just where and how wine was selling, but which wines were selling that has evolved. In the mid-1990s and early 2000s, Frischman notes how the US market centred on Napa’s cult Cabernets, along with wines from the likes Williams Selyem, Ravenswood and, of course, Bordeaux’s top names. “[There was] across the board demand for Bordeaux,” Frischman tells me, “but you couldn’t give Burgundy away.” Of course, that’s all changed now – and Burgundy, despite its extremely limited supply, has become the darling of the fine wine scene. As prices have soared for the Côte d’Or’s top wines, wine lovers have started looking elsewhere, to Italy (Barolo, Barbaresco and some Brunello), Madeira (especially older vintages) and the Northern Rhône (Côte-Rôtie, Cornas and Saint-Joseph) – but none have the liquidity of Bordeaux. “They [the Bordelais] don’t get enough credit for the sheer, mind-boggling amount of great wine they’re able to put out every year,” says Frischman.  Over the years, Frischman has become an expert authenticator – the sort of knowledge that can only be gained by handling immense volumes of fine wine, working closely with producers and getting up close and personal with the rarest bottles. In 2006, he went to check over some wines that had been sent to the auction house he then worked for by a young Asian collector. The consignment was significant, worth millions of dollars – but even from across the room, Frischman knew that the wines didn’t look right. Closer inspection only confirmed that the wines looked like fakes – and the auction house turned them away, sending them back to the collector, then a new name on the scene, Rudy Kurniawan. A couple of years later, he got a call from the FBI’s Jim Wynn, asking if he would be an expert witness in a wine fraud case against Kurniawan, who had – by that point – become prolific. “I inspected, I don’t know, 40 bankers boxes of stuff that they’d gotten from his home, stamps for corks, fake labels, fake import strips – all kinds of stuff,” he says. In a warehouse in Queens, he studied the evidence – “going through bottle after bottle after bottle and writing a report about why I thought that they were fake”. It was – and still is – the biggest wine forgery case to have ever taken place, and Frischman, along with fellow authentication expert Michael Egan, was essential to proving Kurniawan’s guilt.  Wine authentication has become an essential component of wine collecting, and a key reason to work with trusted merchants. There are people who suggest that as much as 10% of wine on the secondary market is fake, but – in Frischman’s view, having handled fine wine for over 30 years – “That’s a substantial overestimate.” Despite such claims, forgery has only become more sophisticated, and it’s important, he says, to work with someone who knows what they’re looking at. “You want someone who is experienced to look at the bottle and who is empowered to say, ‘I don’t like it – we’re not offering it.’” There’s a big difference, he explains, between being convinced something is fake, and being convinced something is real – and you always want the person checking wines you’re buying to be in the latter camp.  The wine business is a people business – and he’s been lucky to spend three decades getting to know the world’s foremost collectors, spending time rustling through cellars, lugging his fair share of cases in and out of vans, and cradling bottles of elusive vintages and cuvées. Beyond this privilege, he’s often found himself on the receiving end of collectors’ generosity – recognising a fellow enthusiast’s passion. When I ask him if there’s a bottle that stands out, beyond the 1975 Talbot that was his hook into the industry, his eyes mist over. It was, he tells me, on a trip to Tokyo, at a remarkable dinner that included some incredible wines, including the fabled 1947 Cheval Blanc. But it was a bottle of 1978 La Romanée-Conti from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti that stole the show: it was “breathtaking, magical”, he says. “I was practically brought to tears.” Until that moment, he’d never necessarily understood why collectors kept this prized cuvée, and didn’t sell it to fund their La Tâche or Romanée-Saint-Vivant – but this bottle made him realise just why people don’t. “This wine was perfect,” he says.  It’s easy, perhaps, to imagine the auctioneering world is over-run with wine investors, but that’s far from what Frischman has found. “The vast majority, regardless of what they say they’re doing, are buying to drink,” he says. On paper, that may not make sense – after all, who needs 30,000 bottles of wine? But that, as Frischman and any wine obsessive knows, is the collector’s mentality – and, deciding to sell, despite owning more wine than could possibly be consumed in a lifetime, is much harder than buying another case or 10.  When Frischman first started auctioning wine, he recalls talking to his father, who wondered if there was enough fine wine to sustain a career. The beauty, Frischman, now knows, is that there’s a new vintage every year – beyond that, and as he’s seen over the past 30 years, the wine world is constantly shifting, with an ever-expanding range of regions and producers. And he’s evolving with the industry, making a move of his own and bringing his expertise to FINE+RARE. We can’t wait to see what he’ll do. Whether you’re looking to buy, sell or anything else, contact Allan Frischman directly at allan.frischman@frw.co.uk

After two decades at one of the world’s leading auction houses, Allan Frischman has joined our team, as Vice President of Global Client Reserves. We caught up with him to dive into the world of auctioneering, his 30 years in the business and his new role

After two decades at one of the USA’s leading auction houses, auctioneer and wine authentication expert Allan Frischman has joined our team

Introducing Allan Frischman

Hammer time: Allan Frischman

William Kelley, Wine Advocate First out of the gate is William Kelley, who has taken over covering Bordeaux from Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW at Wine Advocate. He was keen to emphasise his methodology – having spent three weeks visiting over 250 châteaux throughout Bordeaux, tasting many of the wines on multiple occasions.  Kelley acknowledges the many challenges the vignerons faced in 2021 and while he admits 2021 is not a great vintage overall for the reds, it has “produced several genuinely great wines, as well as many good to excellent wines that will deliver immense pleasure”. He compares the lower levels of alcohol and concentration to vintages from the 1990s, while at the same time noting how the wines have greatly benefited from today’s “agronomic progress and technical savoir faire”: “Were the 2021s transposed to the decade of the 1990s,” he says, “they would be considered the product of a superb vintage.” The cooler growing season produced “a great vintage for whites” that he believes are the finest set of dry whites since 2017. Kelley’s highlights: Haut-Brion, Margaux, Ausone, Lafleur, Cheval Blanc, Lafite-Rothschild, Latour, Léoville Las Cases, Les Carmes Haut-Brion, Laroque, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc and Palmer Read William Kelley’s full report on the vintage on the Wine Advocate Antonio Galloni, Vinous First up from team Vinous is Antonio Galloni who clearly loved the best wines of 2021, which he declares “a striking combination of old-school classicism and modern-day precision”. “The top properties turned out gorgeous, classically built wines that will absolutely thrill readers who appreciate freshness and energy,” he says. Of course, he cautions that quality isn’t consistent and selection is essential in the vintage.  He notes that it was those who could afford the significant labour required who excelled, while producers also benefitted from the experience of 2017 (for frost) and 2018 (for mildew), and better equipment and know-how in the winery is also a factor. He highlights that élevage will be key for the wines. Galloni feels it’s neither firmly a Left or Right Bank vintage, although finds a little more consistency on the Left, but perhaps greater highs on the Right. He’s one of several to note that the best white wines are “absolutely riveting” – combining the richness of a warm vintage with the freshness of a cooler year, with tiny yields of “compelling” sweets as well.  Galloni’s highlights: Beau-Séjour Bécot, Calon Ségur, Cheval Blanc, La Conseillante, L’Extravagant de Doisy-Daëne, Ducru-Beaucaillou, La Gaffelière, Les Carmes Haut-Brion, Les Perrières, Pichon Comtesse, Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, Vieux Château Certan, Phélan Ségur, Léoville-Poyferré and Palmer Read Antonio Galloni’s full report on Vinous Jane Anson, Inside Bordeaux This is the first vintage for ex-Decanter critic and Bordeaux resident Jane Anson publishing on her own site, Inside Bordeaux. She highlights the variable success overall of the 2021 vintage, but notes that there remain a good number of estates that have produced excellent wines. From an appellation point of view, she feels Saint-Estèphe was “a high point”, noting the drier August helped with the “natural concentration” found in the wines there. She also notes that Saint-Emilion made “some of the best wines of the vintage”, with the clay limestone soils found in certain spots “probably the most well-placed terroir overall to resist the challenges of the year”. Her top wines however spread across all regions of Bordeaux. Ch. Haut-Brion Blanc garnered the highest score of 98 points, while Ch. La Mission Haut-Brion from Pessac-Léognan, Figeac from Saint-Emilion, Lafleur from Pomerol and Lafite from Pauillac all scored 97 points along with Ch. Margaux’s Pavillon Blanc. Anson has given earlier drinking windows than a normal year because, despite the high levels of tannins, she notes “the structure is delicate”, advising that “you need to start drinking these while the fruits are at their best”. Anson’s highlights: Haut-Brion Blanc, La Mission Haut-Brion, Pavillon Blanc du Ch. Margaux, Lafleur, Lafite-Rothschild, Latour, Figeac Read Jane Anson’s full report on Inside Bordeaux Neal Martin, Vinous In his detailed report, Neal Martin runs through a “complex and turbulent growing season” before laying out the consequences in the winery. He emphasises how stressful the season was for the region’s vignerons. Overall he feels it’s “a welcome return to a classic style of Bordeaux” – with lower alcohol and ripeness levels, with the finest wines that “transcend expectations”.  That said he notes that they are a result of their challenging growing season, and it’s not a year that will “rank with the greats”; he didn’t find perfection. He did, however, find wines that are “remarkable” given the year – “testament to the effort and skill of winemakers and vineyard teams”. He highlights “a bevy of outstanding dry whites” and that quality amongst the reds varies significantly between estates. While not declaring a drinking window firmly, he suggests the best “may well reward patience” – and will be “fascinating to watch evolve in bottle”. In distinct contrast to the warm years that preceded it, 2021 is, he says, “bejewelled with wines that will offer immense pleasure”. Martin’s highlights: Lafleur, Haut-Brion Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Cheval Blanc, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Lafaurie-Peyraguey, De Fargues, Lafite-Rothschild, Pétrus, Calon-Ségur, Haut-Brion, Vieux Château Certan, La Conseillante, Figeac Read Neal Martin’s full report on Vinous James Suckling After tasting the last 39 vintages in Bordeaux, James Suckling struggles to find comparable year to 2021, such are the anomalies of the vintage. He is struck by the “bright and fresh acidity and relatively low alcohol of the wines”, making them easy to read, while also having an “immediate drinkability”. While he notes 2021 is a very heterogeneous vintage – and has produced significantly less structured wines than 2018, 2109 and 2020 – there are some “delicious”, “acid-driven” reds. He has found more consistency in the whites and proposes, “the sweet wines of Bordeaux may be the miracle of the harvest”. Made in miniscule quantities, what little there is is sure to outlive the dry wines that he proposes will drink well young. His top-rated pick is the Sauternes estate of Ch. Lafaurie-Peyraguey, awarding the only potential 100-point score of the vintage. His other top wines all come from Pomerol and are the blue-chip stalwarts of Pétrus, Le Pin and Lafleur, all scoring 98-99 points. The only other wine awarded 98-99 is Domaine de Chevalier’s white. Suckling’s highlights: Lafleur, Le Pin, Pétrus, Laufaurie-Peyraguey, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc Read James Suckling’s full report on the vintage on his website Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW, The Wine Independent Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW's 2021 Bordeaux report is the first for her new publication, The Wine Independent, launched earlier this year. Overall, she is more scathing than other critics, with some noticeably low scores across a much larger range (something that is intended to be a point of difference for The Wine Independent).She found the 2021 wines to be “variable”, with “dilution” and “under-ripeness omnipresent” but at their best are “refreshing, elegant, savory wines with lower alcohol and light to medium-bodied" with "well-sustained mid-palates and finishes”. She notes that it's a significant shift from recent vintages, which “may well be just what you are seeking. Or not.” She suggests drinkers who prefer lower-alcohol wines of vintages past may enjoy the lighter style of the vintage. Most notably, she believes the wines’ ability to age is lower than recent vintages and that most wines will reach their peak within 10 years. Where quality is at its highest, she believes low yields played a big factor in 2021. When drawing comparisons to similarly styled vintages, she likens the 2021 wines to 2013.  Looking at her top-rated wines, there seems to be a preference to the Right Bank with Ch. Ausone, Ch. Cheval Blanc and Ch. Lafleur all in her top band of scores (95-97 points). The white wines of Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte, Ch. Haut-Brion and Domaine de Chevalier also score highly, although she remarks that there were only a handful of whites in 2021 that really wowed her. Ch. Margaux is the highest scoring Left Bank red wine (also awarded 95-97 points). Perrotti-Brown’s highlights: Ausone, Cheval Blanc, Haut Brion Blanc, Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, Margaux, Lafleur Read Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW's full report on The Wine Independent Georgie Hindle, Decanter This is Georgie Hindle’s first vintage as Decanter’s official Bordeaux correspondent, after Jane Anson vacated the role last year. Overall, Hindle classified 2021 as a 3.5/5 vintage for the red wines and 4.5/5 for the dry whites and sweets. The challenging growing season, she notes, produced red wines of variable, uneven quality, while the whites and sweet wines were better suited to the cooler conditions. Having said that, she notes there were some “incredible wines produced in 2021”. Her favourite wine from the Médoc was Ch. Lafite-Rothschild. She also praised Ch. Haut-Brion from Pessac-Léognan, Ch. Figeac from Saint-Emilion and Ch. Lafleur from Pomerol. Hindle awarded her highest scores of the vintage (97 points) to the white wines of Ch. Haut-Brion and Ch. Margaux’s Pavillon Blanc. She notes that the top red wines offer a “cool classicism” and are “refined, elegant and low alcohol”. While very different in character to recent modern vintages, she says the best red wines are “supremely balanced and pleasurable”. She adds that they are “characterful with crisp red fruits, refreshing acidities and silky, well-integrated tannins as well as expressive of terroir”. Georgie Hindle’s highlights: Ch. Haut-Brion, Ch. Lafleur, Ch. Lafite-Rothschild, Ch. Haut-Brion Blanc, and Pavillon Blanc du Ch. Margaux Read Georgie Hindle’s full report on Decanter's website Jeb Dunnuck Jeb Dunnuck’s 2021 Bordeaux en primeur report remains upbeat for the top wines of the vintage – declaring it a “challenging but good” vintage, although (besides 2013) he feels it “checks in substantially behind recent vintages”.  For Dunnuck, the top wines are elegant and “shine for their purity and finesse more than their power and richness”. He notes that the 2021s are “incredibly transparent and convey their terroir and winemaking clearly” – for better or worse. For Dunnuck, the Graves reds have a better mid-palate and a touch more density than other appellations, although he doesn’t feel one region outshone another. While he heard many winemakers compare the vintage to classic cooler vintages of the 1980s and ’90s, he finds these comparisons unhelpful, considering the changes in viticulture and winemaking over the last 20 years. While he struggles to find any modern comparison for the reds, he believes the vintage has similar weight and concentration to the likes of 2004, 2007, 2014 and 2017. Dunnuck declares it an excellent vintage for white and sweet wines and his top-rated wines include Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc,Domaine de Chevalier Blancand Pavillon Blanc du Ch. Margaux. Dunnuck’s highlights: Haut-Brion, Pavie, Margaux, Lafleur, Latour, Ducru Beaucaillou, Figeac, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Pavillon Blanc du Ch. Margaux and Les Champs Libres Read Jeb Dunnuck’s full report on the vintage Jeff Leve, The Wine Cellar Inside Jeff Leve’s Bordeaux report for The Wine Cellar Insider is largely positive – with the caveat that it is not a vintage for everyone. Lovers of classic Bordeaux (“classic in a good way”), he believes however, will find plenty to enjoy in the wines. He found many of the red wines to exude “freshness, salinity, crisp red fruits, refreshing acidities, and low alcohol levels”. While he found some of the wines “trail off in the middle” and had “dusty tannins”, the wines generally had great attack, and were not underripe but “crisp, fresh and often savoury”. He found 2021 to be a special vintage for white wines, describing them as “extraordinary”, with a “gorgeous sense of purity as well as crisp, biting acidities”. His top four wines were all whites, with Haut-Brion Blanc receiving his only 100-point score. Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc and la Mission Haut-Brion Blanc were awarded 98 points. His top reds were Ch. Ausone, Lafite, Lafleur, Latour, Cheval Blanc and Margaux, all receiving 97 points. Leve’s highlights: Haut-Brion Blanc, Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Margaux, Lafleur,  Latour, Ausone, Cheval Blanc and Lafite-Rothschild, Read The Wine Cellar Insider’s full report on the vintage Explore all Bordeaux 2021 listings or read more Editorial 

The world’s wine critics have been tasting and writing up notes for months, and are now offering their verdict on the 2021 vintage in Bordeaux. We offer a summary of what each of these prestigious palates has said about the vintage and the wines they rated most highly

The critics' verdict on the 2021 wine vintage in Bordeaux, with Jane Anson, Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW, William Kelley, Antonio Galloni and more

What the critics are saying about Bordeaux 2021

Bordeaux 2021: what the critics are saying

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

If my wife and I are lolling around on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine and listening to jazz, I’ll sometimes ask, in tones combining the genial authority of a quizmaster with the tacit menace of a Stasi interrogator, “Who do you think is playing bass?” Or piano. Or drums. If she doesn’t know, I respond with appalled astonishment because it’s so obvious (you only need to hear a couple of notes) that it’s Charlie Haden. Or McCoy Tyner or Max Roach or whoever. When I was studying jazz in the 1980s (by studying I mean getting as stoned as possible with my friends) we’d play records for each other without revealing the identities of the musicians and, in this way, I built up an instinctive database of who sounded like whom. Of course, that’s not all I was doing, back then. I was also swilling gallons of beer and respectable quantities of wine, both of which I consumed with just as much pleasure as I listened to music. The difference is that with wine, I never paid any attention to what I was drinking, where what I was drinking had come from, or what grapes might have gone into it. Still don’t, actually. So, while my wife sometimes doesn’t know who she’s listening to, I rarely know what I’m drinking. Now, if my enjoyment of jazz is enhanced by knowing who I’m hearing, when an album was recorded, how a given version of a tune compares with other versions by different musicians and so on, does it follow that my enjoyment of wine is correspondingly diminished by ignorance and indifference as to its provenance and ingredients? Am I sitting around liking what I like while unable to tell whether what I’m liking is a bottle of Kenny G or vintage Sonny Rollins? To answer this question and address the larger issue, a bit of history is helpful (isn’t it always?). I grew up in a non-drinking household. We knew that other people drank wine with dinner but this was seen as an exotic, middle-class custom, as removed from our own potential experience as the tribal rites featured in National Geographic. No one we knew drank wine except the homemade kind – blackberry, pear, potato etc – that my parents made, stored in the cupboard under the stairs and offered to thirsty relatives who came to visit. Bearing no relation to wine as usually conceived, this beverage was more akin to a potent species of cider. Ah cider! As was the case for all boys of my generation, cider proved such an effective conduit to getting blind drunk that I’ve not been able to face even a sniff of the stuff since a horribly enjoyable first encounter. Same with Cinzano Bianco, but I’ve never turned my back on beer. As part of the general drift into all matters alcoholic, I drank a bit of Liebfraumilch (yum) but didn’t encounter anything like the notion of a ‘good’ wine until I was at Oxford. (The fact that I had to wait till then is a good indicator of the class status of wine in the UK back in the 1970s.) One day a fellow-student at my college offered to sell some bottles of what he pimped as “excellent red wine.” Three of us forked out for six between us. It was great. Sort of peppery tasting. We glugged the lot in one evening and I was violently sick, from my friend’s window, into the lane outside (a reversal of Charles Ryder’s first encounter, in Brideshead Revisited, with Sebastian Flyte who pukes into his room), but I was on my winey way. Most boozing took place in the pub (beer) but, as I gradually got used to drinking wine at dinners and at art openings, an unreliable and poorly projected map of wine awareness began to take shape.  In my early 30s, there was a Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon for which I developed a particular fondness. At three quid a bottle it seemed more appropriate, even then, to cut it down to three syllables: Bulg-Cab-Sauv. Then came the news that the contents of any bottle could be improved by being allowed to breathe. Sometime later, living in Paris, I got wind of a crude truth that you could tell a better wine by how far you could stick your finger in its bottom, in the whatever-it’s-called at the base of the bottle. The further the better was the rule of thumb, so to speak, though why this should be the case I never discovered. These were excellent, easy-to-implement tips but the bigger picture remained blurry. I knew there were regions, different kinds of grape, but I was never sure which was which (Burgundy always sounded like a type of brandy) and I knew enough to know that it wasn’t enough to know that you liked a Merlot, say; you also needed to know what was going on within that species of grape or region, that certain brands and years were better than others. Although a drawing of a château on the label could be a good sign, it was not an infallible one, especially when some high-quality wines began to feature labels that shared an aesthetic with edible marijuana products or t-shirt design. And over all this uncertainty hung a larger cloud of astonishment – a symptom of the world’s fathomless ability to defy logic – generated by the ‘fact’ (I still have trouble accepting it as such) that white wine is not necessarily made from white grapes, nor red from red. Even when we factor in the odd big Tuscan moment in Italy, or Pinot epiphany in New Zealand, my understanding has not advanced significantly in the last 20 years. I know what I like but, as with many things – learning German, for example – I feel I’ve left it too late. Any attempts I make are the equivalent of looking up the occasional word in an online Deutsch-English dictionary. One can often spend one’s way to an enhanced experience, but my natural skinflintery means I prefer my father-in-law’s model, whereby he had knowledged his way to improved enjoyment. He not only serves fantastic wine, without exception, on every occasion; he always serves wine that costs a fraction of how it tastes.  I like this approach but, to borrow the term from London’s taxi drivers, I’ve never done the knowledge. I’m like the new generation of Uber drivers who rely so passively on their phones’ navigation apps that, after years behind the wheel, they still have almost no idea where they’re going. My phone comes in handy too. If I drink a fantastic wine at a friend’s house, I’ll take a picture of the label and, if it’s in stock at a local store, will buy a case. It’s nice being able to repeat a pleasing experience but it’s rarely as nice as I remember it and often not nice in the way that I remembered it. Or, if it’s nice at first, it almost always seems less nice, months later, when I’m down to the last couple of bottles. There are as many moving parts in the world of wine appreciation as there are in and around the mouth.  We have moved, by a combination of association and anatomy, to the potential source of the difficulty, to language. Having failed to acquire home-grown expertise, I am at the mercy of advice from the people who work in wine stores. Overall, I would estimate that this has resulted in a 50% success rate at twice the necessary expenditure. Is this because of shortcomings in their expertise and counsel, or is it due to linguistic failure, to inadequate translations of their knowledge into my preferences? We are told there’s no accounting for taste, which is not true, but it seems there are multiple problems with recounting one’s tastes or satisfying other people’s desires. Compared with sex where you can easily get by with half a dozen verbs and nouns, saying either what you want from a wine – or what it will do for someone else – demands a linguistic dexterity that is almost Joycean. We have all sat entranced as a waiter’s attempts to do justice to the merits of a given wine begin to sound like a libationary remix of Chomsky’s “Colourless green ideas sleep furiously.” But even while allowing for scepticism, incomprehension and constant proximity to parody, I continue to wonder about the extent to which my experience of wine would be enhanced by becoming more articulate in la langue du raisin. ‘Smooth’ is generally considered a good quality (as opposed to ‘rough’) but Kenny G, a purveyor of ‘smooth jazz’, is tacitly at odds with ‘complexity’. I can sort of appreciate complexity in a wine, without any understanding of how that complexity is constituted but – a defining character flaw – am more often conscious of a lack of complexity.  The strange thing is that while wine appreciation is not like a foal’s ability to get up and running straight away, it does find its feet over time. Even if uninformed, un-cultivated and left to fend for itself without any supporting help, it seems one’s tastes in wine not only change; they improve of their own accord. This might be considered a welcome, accidentally ameliorative side-effect of getting older. Or would be were it not for the fact – one I have no trouble accepting – that this improvement manifests itself negatively, as a steadily increasing capacity for dissatisfaction. To put it simply, what might have seemed an excellent wine a few years earlier becomes merely tolerable because of a lack of what may or may not be complexity. The tolerable becomes unacceptable, and the unacceptable becomes vile. My tongue has become more responsive to taste while remaining tied; my discernment is entirely inarticulate. The product, above all else, of laziness, this manifests itself in several unattractive ways. Do women on a date prefer men who take control of the wine menu? (Could this be the civilised residue of what was once a more widespread assumption and acceptance of male domination?) My own dating history leads me to suspect that they might, though the belief that the evening gets off to a bad start – with my saying, “I don’t know anything about wine, you choose” – is more palatable than conceding that it might have more to do with the way it ends (with my saying, “Let’s split the check”) or, come to think of it, with the middle passage (constantly refilling my own glass while droning on, without interruption, about the musical complexity of Ornette Coleman). It’s not just laziness and tightness, there’s also the question of sophistication and refinement. I can eat with chopsticks – I really can! – but have never been able to master the knack of swirling wine round the glass and forensically nosing it. You can do it, I’m sure, but I always feel like I’m engaged in such a blatant affectation that the first flicker of an erotic bond starts to form between my date and the waiter because they can tell that I’m parroting the action without any idea of what I’m attempting to discover, that it’s obvious to anyone watching that my head is entirely filled with a single idea: keep the cost down. In this regard, price, I am pleased to report that limited progress has been made. In my mid-20s, in London, I was sometimes invited to the house of the writer Lisa Appignanesi who was at the centre of London’s intellectual and cultural life. Well-mannered enough not to arrive empty-handed, I’d stop off at the off-licence near her house and pick up the cheapest bottle of discounted plonk on offer. Lisa always accepted this shabby gift graciously (she did everything graciously), while making sure that it never darkened the table. It now seems one of the rudest things one can do, to show up at someone’s house with a crap bottle of wine, though where crapness begins or ends is anyone’s guess. A shitty bottle of wine is always over-priced, is always money wasted. At the opposite end of the scale, my limited experience of drinking very expensive wine has confirmed what I had always expected: that it’s wasted on me. I ooh and ah, naturally and gratefully, but even though I enjoy these $200 bottles I am thinking: well, it’s not 170 bucks better than a 30 dollar bottle. Perhaps from a certain point – $100 upwards? – you have to pay twice that for a tiny percentage improvement in experience. That makes sense. If this were not the case, then a $1,000 bottle would surely bear so little relation to wine that it wouldn’t be wine at all. We now have sufficient linguistic tools available to describe my ideal relationship with wine. When I think of wine, it’s never as a drink or a taste experience but always as part of an occasion, part of a narrative. What I love is going to a dinner at a restaurant with a non-clamorous acoustic (wood and carpet, not metal and concrete) and a limited menu (I hate choosing food), knowing that someone else will take care of ordering the wine which will flow without let or hindrance. The problem at my father-in-law’s is that although the wine is always excellent, there’s never an infinite amount of it. And what I want from wine, above all, is more. That’s the key word in all this. I love talk and the progression of conversation as the wine makes itself felt: the glow of friends’ eyes, the flow of chat. Red wine, reflections of the room and of candlelight in the glasses full of wine. Everything is held together by the wine, even though that wine is less important than the people, the subject, the jokes and laughter. The wonderful remarks become more wonderful as the evening unfolds, until nothing anybody says really makes any sense at all. In the morning I will not remember the details of the wine or the food. What I will remember is the warm glow, the happiness of it all.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine. Photography by Marcus Nilsso.

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine.

FONDATA: The Mirth of More

The Mirth of More

Saint-Emilion has been hitting the headlines. And not in the way it would like to. In July, just after the region’s châteaux submitted applications for the 2022 classification, two of the region’s four Premier Cru Classé A estates – Chx Cheval Blanc and Ausone – announced that they would be withdrawing from the classification system. This week sees a dispute over the 2012 classification enter the courts – with accusations that the results were fixed. The Médoc’s leading names were ranked in 1855 – with but one change (Ch. Mouton Rothschild's promotion) in 1973. The classification was uncomplicated, with no fussing over terroir, tastings or winemaking talent; it was based purely on price. It’s hard to believe that it remains relevant today – but, while of course there are properties that stand out, it’s more or less accepted, and reflective. Across the river in Saint-Emilion, they wanted something different. Something fairer. A system that flexed with an estate’s waxing and waning. The ambition was – and is – laudable. The reality, well… The classification is overseen by the Institut National des Appellations d’Origine (INAO) – the body responsible for France’s appellation system. The concept was mooted in the 1950s, with the first list published in 1955. The idea was that it would be re-drawn every 10 years – both to be more democratic and provide an incentive for long-term quality. Unlike the Left Bank’s system, it would assess terroir and include a tasting of the wines. The aim was, and is – as a spokesperson for the INAO told me, to help consumers distinguish between the region’s many properties and help “maintain a level of excellence”. The classification is based on a scoring system out of 20, with the breakdown of scores different to qualify for Grand Cru Classé (requiring a minimum 14 points) versus Premier Grand Cru Classé (requiring a minimum 16). In 2012, the possible points for Premier Grand Cru Classé were broken down thus: 30% based on the quality of the wine – with a tasting of 15 vintages; 30% on the estate’s terroir; 35% on the property’s renown (both national and international), promotion and distribution; and the remaining 5% on viticulture, vinification and traceability. Even the first, 1955 list was disputed, changed just three years later, then again two months later, before settling on 63 Grands Crus Classés and 12 of the elite Premiers Grands Crus Classés. The very best of this latter group were named “Premier Grand Cru Classé A” (the rest Premier Grand Cru Classé B) – with just two making the cut, Chx Ausone and Cheval Blanc. Since 1958 the region’s wines have been re-classified regularly – if not quite on the 10-year cycle forecast, in 1969, 1986, 1996, 2006 and then 2012. But there has always been an undercurrent of discontent. In 2006, five properties filed lawsuits and the ruling was declared invalid, with the 1996 classification reinstated. For the 2012 classification, the INAO seemed determined to clean things up. The tastings and site inspections were, for the first time, outsourced by the INAO, with wine professionals from other regions (Burgundy, the Rhône, Champagne, the Loire and Provence) roped in – including Marcel Guigal and Robert Drouhin. A company called Qualisud was to handle the tastings, while Bureau Veritas would take on visiting the estates. These independent authorities would, they thought, make it indisputable. The result was two new Premiers Grands Crus Classés A estates – with Chx Angélus and Pavie; while Larcis Ducasse, La Mondotte, Pavie Macquin, Troplong Mondot and Valandraud all promoted to Premier Grand Cru Classé B, and significant changes to the Grands Crus Classés (with a new total of 64 estates). But of course that wasn’t the end of it. Enter Chx Corbin-Michotte, Croque-Michotte and La Tour du Pin Figeac. The latter two had applied for and hoped to be promoted to Grand Cru Classé, while Corbin-Michotte was demoted in the 2012 rankings. They argue that the decision against them was “incomprehensible”, challenging the criteria for classification and insisting that two individuals – Hubert de Boüard (of Ch. Angélus) and Philippe Castéja (of Ch. TrotteVieille) – had “undue influence” with their roles within the INAO. It’s alleged that de Boüard was “present at all stages of the process elaborating the 2012 classification” (with it implied he influenced the ranking not only of Angélus but seven properties for which he consulted), while Castéja “pulled strings” to guarantee TrotteVieille’s Premier Grand Cru Classé status. The case went to administrative court, however the plaintiffs lost in 2015. They appealed, but lost again in 2019. And now they’re taking it to the criminal courts, with jail time and a fine of up to €500,000 on the cards for the accused. When I asked Frédéric Castéja – Philippe’s son and General Director of Borie Manoux – about the accusations, he told me: “I can only tell you that the Attorney General has dropped all accusations against [my father] and stated that he was not concerned at all with this so-called ‘influence’.” “When it comes to a public ranking, the level of controversy is as high as the stakes,” the INAO told me. It’s unsurprising, perhaps, given the impact the classification can have on an estate’s bottom line. After their promotion in 2012, Chx Pavie and Angélus saw instant price hikes: 2012 Angélus was released at 30% more than the 2011 en primeur, while Pavie went up 58%. That’s big bucks. And beyond the actual wine, it’s the land prices that really rocket. It wasn’t just these three (relatively minor) properties that seemed dissatisfied. Rumour has it that each year, the Médoc’s First Growths, Cheval Blanc, Ausone and Pétrus (“the group of nine”) all meet to taste the latest vintage. After Pavie and Angélus became newly minted First Growths, the group reportedly preferred to restrict the group to the original set. And in 2012 Ch. Ausone quietly removed the classification from its labels – a hint at what was to come. Eric Morain – one of the lawyers representing the three disgruntled estates – has commented that the classification has become “a system that sells the brand and no longer the grape”. La Revue du Vin de France’s 2021 Man of the Year, the attorney is a specialist in the world of wine and has earned a reputation for standing up for the little guys. He was instrumental in establishing the Syndicat de Défense des Vins Naturels (which introduced the Vin Méthode Nature trademark last year – a formal definition for natural wine in France), and has defended several wronged natural wine producers, such as Olivier Cousin and Alexandre Bain. Morain’s latest crusade, however, is against two goliaths – with connections and deep pockets. “The classification was thought out and developed and judged by people who had a direct interest. The rules were not the same for everyone,” Morain said on email to me. De Boüard and Castéja should have recused themselves, he argues. For Chx Corbin-Michotte, Croque-Michotte and La Tour du Pin Figeac (“They aren’t notable, just winegrowers who do their job well,” Morain says), this isn’t about money. They just want someone to admit they were wronged, unfairly excluded from the ranking. “Will they be convicted?” Bordeaux expert Jane Anson pondered, “I would imagine not, but I guess we will all have to wait and see...” For her, the drama is an unnecessary distraction “from the excellence of the wines and the entire classification”. In the meantime, the process for the 2022 classification has been rumbling on, with applications submitted this summer. Some changes have been made, again trying to make the classification – once and for all – watertight. Independent third party Bureau Veritas is now in charge of both tastings and site inspections, and the weighting of the tasting element has been increased for the Premiers Grands Crus Classés (bringing it in line with the weighting for the Grands Crus Classés) – worth 50% of the score (previously 30%) – while the portion for a property’s terroir has been reduced to just 10% (previously 30%). The puzzle is why the criteria remain different for a Premier Grand Cru Classé versus a Grand Cru Classé – something for which I haven’t been able to find an answer. Given estates need to score 17 for the heralded Premier Grand Cru Classé A, 16 for Premier Grand Cru Classé B and 14 for Grand Cru Classé, why make things even more complicated and declare that, for example in 2022, the quality of terroir has more significance for a Grand Cru Classé than a Premier Grand Cru Classé estate (20% versus 10% for the latter)? To make it into the upper echelons of the Premiers Grands Crus Classés, reputation is considered key – and this is a sticking point for many. While reputation, promotion and distribution represents 20% for the Grands Crus Classés, it stands for 35% of a property’s score for Premier Grand Cru Classé status. Including elements such as wine tourism, social media, PR and the accessibility of an estate, it has prompted remarks that the size of a winery’s car park has more relevance than the quality of its soils. The INAO emphasises that the criteria are very similar to those of the original classification in the 1950s. Reputation has always been included, they argue – they are simply adapting this to the modern day. Either way, it’s a minor element, they assure me – with, for example, social media representing just 0.3 points, or 1.5% of the final score, while wine tourism makes up a mere 1%. This hasn’t soothed the worries of the region’s two original Premiers Grands Crus Classés A properties, Ausone and Cheval Blanc. News broke soon after applications for the classification closed on June 30th that the prestigious estates had not submitted anything. When I spoke to both estates ahead of en primeur (April this year), the responses were interesting. Pierre-Olivier Clouet, Technical Director at Ch. Cheval Blanc, noted it was “a touchy question” before he continued. “We believe it’s quite difficult in 2021 to classify the wine like in 1855. This is not the same period this is not the same price per hectare, it is not the same price per bottle… Producing an outstanding wine is difficult on paper,” he said. “We don’t produce wine for the critics, for the classification – we make wine for the wine lover. Premier Grand Cru Classé A, Premier Grand Cru Classé B, Grand Cru Classé… we are Cheval Blanc, that’s it.” When I enquired whether he felt a wine’s distribution should have as much weighting as its terroir, he shrugged and smiled: “The answer is in the question.” Pauline Vauthier of Ch. Ausone was less willing to broach the topic, not wanting to be embroiled in the debate. “What counts is the quality of the product,” she said – making very clear that that is where the estate’s focus lies. “There are many classifications and they’re difficult for the public to understand. Ausone prefers to communicate about the quality of its wine.” She added: “[The 2012 classification] created much controversy, and that will certainly be the case with 2022.” When the news broke in July that both estates were withdrawing (along with sibling estates, La Clotte and Quinault l’Enclos), Pierre Lurton (Director of Ch. Cheval Blanc) and Clouet told Terre de Vins that there wasn’t enough emphasis on “the terroir, the wine, the history”. Edouard Vauthier (Ch. Ausone) explained, “Since 2012, some criteria added are not linked into the wine itself anymore. Some people apply for the classification for economic reasons more than quality and the respect of the terroir.” He highlighted that many of their customers hadn’t even noticed that “Premier Grand Cru Classé A” was no longer on the label. Indeed, why would they? Interestingly, these estates agree with Eric Morain on this. For Morain, the tasting component should represent much more – and as long as it counts for so little, “the classification will mean nothing”. The two behemoths are their own brands – brands that are much stronger than that of Saint-Emilion Premier Grand Cru Classé A. The loser, sadly, is set to be the classification itself, and its top-tier properties – which will no longer benefit from Cheval Blanc and Ausone’s halo effect. Of course, the INAO was keen to emphasise that – whether classified or not – the two estates would always be closely associated with the region, and that there were plenty of other estates that eagerly submitted applications. “Ausone and Cheval Blanc have always been driving forces behind the appellation and I hope will remain so,” Frédéric Castéja told me. “The risk is that at the next occasion other top estates (meaning other First Growths) do the same, then if too many leading estates leave, the classification is meaningless.” Morain – unsurprisingly given his campaign against the classification – is damning about its fate. Ausone and Cheval Blanc’s departure is, for him, “a symptom of a system on its last legs”. So is the 2022 ranking set to be the Saint-Emilion classification’s swansong? Perhaps – the more important question is maybe if it matters. “Saint-Emilion has so many châteaux (by far the most of any of the prestigious appellations) that there is a definite benefit to have some way of distinguishing the best wines,” Jane Anson said. “I fully agree with the principles, in fact think the idea of a renewable classification is very much consumer-driven and provides an incentive to estates to keep investing etc, but I think it has become unworkable.” And that is the problem – the theory is excellent, but how can it be put into practice? While the classification sounds helpful in principle, for most people, I suspect it isn’t. There’s too much confusion with Grand Cru, Grand Cru Classé and Premier Grand Cru Classé A or B. Unlike the Médoc’s straightforward numbering of First to Fifth Growth, it is not – to the uninitiated – immediately clear which is meant to be better than the other. Price and branding of an individual estate will be the more important differentiator. Talking to other producers in the region, few have answers – and few wish to champion the system’s survival. I asked Noëmie Durantou Reilhac – of Denis Durantou estates – whether she’d ever wish to see something similar in Pomerol. The answer was a firm no (“definitely”). “What really saddens me is seeing some plots in Saint-Emilion Grand Cru that are truly devastated,” she tells me. When I ask Nicolas Glumineau at Pichon Comtesse in Pauillac – a producer with a little distance – about his thoughts on it, he’s quick to quip: “That’s why we have an 1855 [classification] that we never move.” More seriously, he thinks the decade cycle is problematic. “I have this feeling that one classification every 10 years is probably too fast, too frequent. Probably 25 years – one generation could be enough.” Of course applying for the classification is voluntary – and not everyone does. Ch. Tertre Rôteboeuf, notably, has never played the game – despite the high quality of its wines. (The property is also renowned for handling its own distribution, outside the négociant system.) Ch. Haut-Brion owner Prince Robert of Luxembourg recently highlighted a benefit to being outside the classification – announcing his plans to expand Quintus with vineyards from the recently bought Ch. Grand Pontet. And this really gets to the point of what could make the Saint-Emilion classification work. As Anson said to me, “Saint-Emilion is the only classification in Bordeaux that includes the notion of terroir (and in fact taste) and that is also linked to a specific piece of land.” A classified property can’t automatically include new vineyards – unlike estates on the Left Bank. The classification is admirable in many ways – but how can you really quantify excellence? Is it ever really possible to pin down the true quality of a wine, or estate, with such exactitude? Is the picture not more nebulous than points can ever paint? “All classifications are correct as long as all players clearly know the rules,” Frédéric Castéja noted. “One must remember that classifications are always the picture of the past, but of course confirm the potential of the estate.” For Saint-Emilion, even the past feels in flux – discussed and debated. What the future holds is hard to say – but, for now, we’ll wait to see what’s in store for the class of 2022. Read more about Editorial  Since this article was published, Hubert de Boüard was found guilty of having undue influence in the 2012 Saint-Emilion classification. He was fined €40,000 and has not appealed the charge. Two properties, Ch. Croix de Labrie and Ch. Tour Saint-Christophe, are taking the INAO to court over their applications for the 2022 classification. In January 2022, Ch. Angélus announced it too was leaving the Saint-Emilion classification, stating the system had become a "vecteur d'antagonisme et d'instabilité". This leaves Ch. Pavie as the only remaining Premier Grand Cru Classé A estate. September 2022: the new classification has been unveiled, with Ch. Figeac promoted to Premier Grand Cru Classé A, alongside Ch. Pavie.

Saint-Emilion’s classification is in crisis – embroiled in court cases and controversy. But why? And does it matter? Sophie Thorpe investigates

Saint-Emilion’s classification is in crisis after leading names abandoned the system. We talk to Ausone, Cheval Blanc, Angelus and more about the controversy

Investigating Saint-Emilion's classification

Class act: Saint-Emilion

Marilyn Remark

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About description for demonstration purposes

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

At {shortName}

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Your pre-order item will be deleted. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your delivery request will be cancelled. Are you sure you want to proceed?

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

This is the price you paid for this item.

Cost price

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The lowest price you're willing to sell at.

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

Futures

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

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

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

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

History

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

In transit

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

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

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

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

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

This is the current estimated market value for this item.

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

Updates all unlisted wines to current market price.

Set all at market

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

My cellar

Name

Net price

New portfolio available

New portfolio

You do not have any invoices at this time.

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

On sale

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

Overview

shows any items that are currently awaiting user action.

Pending

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

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

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

The number of cases you wish to place on sale

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

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

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

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

Total estimated value*'

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

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

Title

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

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

Profile

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

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

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

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

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

Marilyn Remark

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