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

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

Wine, statistics & serendipity: A Harvard journey

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

Many factors come into play when tasting Chateau Musar vintages. Was it a warmer Cabernet year (1999, 2000, 2005)? Was it cooler, making Cinsault more influential in the blend as in 1998? Or was it a Carignan year like 2003? Will grape prominence be less relevant than the dodging of bullets across the Beka’a in a vintage we’re lucky to see the appearance of at all?  The tasting notes that follow shine a light on the vintage, the weather conditions, and the family events that helped shape the wines. There is also an insight into the mindset of the winemaker, Serge Hochar, as he became less influenced by his background in Bordeaux and increasingly confident in the wines emerging from his own terroir in Lebanon. Hochar family wines live for a long time and their flavours linger in the mouth and memory long after the bottle is drained. Some of these wines have been tasted à point, at the peak of perfection, but many have yet to reach this moment, and they are judged on their potential. Even more fascinating, perhaps, are the notes on wines that are perhaps just past their prime, but still delivering fascinating nuances that astound the taster – some of these wines elicit the most evocative tasting notes of all. For the Hochar family, a new wine, however shapely or pleasing, is always pregnant with promise for the future. Many of the notes below show the best that the wines can be – but they also underline the fact that for each taster Musar’s most sublime moment will be different. Although the Hochar family does not believe in the concept of defining a wine with numbers, ratings have been included to give some guidance.  Jancis Robinson MW, Bartholomew Broadbent and Steven Spurrier award marks out of 20 for each wine. Michael Broadbent prefers a five-star scoring system. All notes were taken in 2018/19 with the exception of Michael Broadbent’s. Chateau Musar: the reds One-third of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cinsault and Carignan, aged for a year in French Nevers oak. 2013 Chateau Musar  "Dense, deep red, still hints of purple at the core and little age on the rim. Marvellously warm Mediterranean fruits on the nose, autumnal in style but youthful in their rich, robust, vigorous presence. The essence of Lebanon in a glass, rich with spice and cooling breezes, the dry, herby fruit flows with energy over the palate before giving way to a finish that confirms the structure, fruit and tannins blending exuberantly with intriguing hints of much more to come in the next decade." Steven Spurrier, Score: 18/20, Drink: 2020-2040  2009 Chateau Musar  "Mid-crimson. Light, sweet start. For the moment it’s a little simple. Bright, ripe red fruit. Slightly burnt edge. Lots of tannins. Quite dry and youthful on the finish. Much longer bottle age needed. By far the most youthful wine in this vertical tasting." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 17+++/20, Drink: 2028-2050  "Deep ruby colour but light translucent rim. More primary sweet baked red fruit notes and a lovely bloody, cured meat Rhone character. This is a complex nose – sweet candied blackberry, raspberry, cardamom, tobacco – a very pure nose.  Dense tannins still not fully integrated but will get there and very well balanced with a vibrant line of acidity running through the palate. A real Italian flair to the wine but the tannins are so silky, beautifully handled. Still plenty of life in this wine." FINE+RARE 2008 Chateau Musar  "Heady and beguiling with a gamey note on the nose. Very sweet and young; well balanced on the palate. No hurry at all to drink this youthful ferment. Very tight, dry wine that is so much younger than any other vintage tasted. So much more youthful than a Bordeaux 2008!" Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 17.5+++/20, Drink: 2025-2045 "After blending, [Head Winemaker] Tarek [Sakr] was raving about this vintage. I asked him to add 0.5% of any wine he liked and we’d taste it again in two weeks. An act of faith or la folie? We tasted it again. He raved again; the wine had changed colour and bouquet." Serge Hochar "Dark, blood red. Really powerful nose with tonnes of young, juicy blue and red fruit. Behind this, layers of dried fruit emerge (prunes and raisins) and tobacco, generally a much darker and more brooding profile than the initially youthful nose suggested. Leather and smoked meat, as well as mineral graphite, but also fresh mint and liquorice. Complex and ever-changing in the glass that invites you to keep going back and discovering more. Again, fantastic acidity, plus velvety tannins." FINE+RARE 2003 Chateau Musar  "Mid-garnet. Quite a bit deeper and younger-looking than even the 2001. A little marine influence (oyster shells?) on the somewhat reticent nose. Rather different from many of these Musars. Sweet start and very vigorous and fun. If I had not tasted vintages back to 1961, I might have taken this for a fully mature wine. It already gives masses of pleasure with some milk-chocolate notes and quite a bit of light dry tannin on the end. Excellent drive. Long and dramatically big, but with good freshness on the finish." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2016-2035 "A vintage with high alcohol and acidity. Rainiest winter in 15 years, then not a drop of rain from April throughout a hot, sunny summer. Heatwave during flowering reduced the harvest by 30%." Tarek Sakr, Head Winemaker "Darker than more recent vintages, gun smoke, spice and hints of leather. Rich darker fruit, riper with dense, sweet mid-palate. Balanced though, with Cinsault contributing acid and vibrancy that is often absent in 2003s. Fruit profile is richer and darker and tannins riper and juicy, perhaps not as refined as the excellent 2008, but still with Musar DNA. Smoked meat and charcoal. Delicacy throughout. Fascinating and delicious." FINE+RARE
 2000 Chateau Musar  "Reasonably mature. Brick-red rim, autumnal faded red bowl. Mouthwatering acidity on the nose that can be smelt a foot away. Lovely aromas of damp autumn forests, decaying leaves and wood combine with a slightly chocolatey sweetness. A little spirit developed over the course of the evening: almost a Drambuie or Grand Marnier character. Slightly sweet on the palate with very long, classic autumnal Musar notes, soft, mature and Old World, braced by that lovely acidity. Still full flavoured and crisp on its long, lingering aftertaste, finishing with notes of liquorice and sherbet." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20   "A Cabernet Sauvignon year. One of my clients called it 'a lioness' of a wine." Serge Hochar "Bright ruby red with the start of some brick around the edges. Sweet fruit, baked strawberries, rosewater and pomegranate. Peppery spice. Some leather and petrichor. With more air, burning embers and deep, meaty fruit and spice. Lovely sweet tannins on entry. Elegant and fresh, but with an enveloping warmth and caressing softness, though it remains both light and structured thanks to the depth of flavour and superb acidity." FINE+RARE  1998 Chateau Musar  "Pale, jewel-bright garnet. Light, spicy, particularly well-integrated nose, already well developed. A sweet start on the palate; the opposite of heavy; a really lovely wine: fresh, sweet, with some very slight mintiness and a dry finish. Very long, and nicely mature: seems just right now. It will go beautifully with food. One of my favourite wines in this collection. Is it the Cinsault I like so much?" Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2012-2030 "Tarek said: 'Let’s bottle at the end of the second year. Let’s try!' We did 20,000 bottles like this, then the rest a year later, as usual. We tasted the wines four years later. Something was missing in the earlier-bottled wines. They had an obvious Chateau Musar character but were not necessarily better. Identity is permanently important. We went back to the original formula." Serge Hochar "Cool year, Cinsault dominated. Cold and rainy until June, with a sunny, dry summer. Harvest began on 9th September." Tarek Sakr, Head Winemaker  "Similar in style to the 1997 but with more fruit concentration, the aromas more earthy and
dried leather, but the lifted perfumed floral tone still dominates on the nose: dried roses, sweet licorice, candied cinnamon – lovely additional set of oak flavours that add aromatic complexity. Lovely texture – tannins are seamless – silky and long – provide structure but are sweet and resolved, backed by vibrant acidity keeping the wine fresh. Fruit is plump, rich, ripe, very much on the red fruit spectrum – raspberry, red cherry. Great acidity. Light fresh tobacco and light leather notes coming through on the finish. Great integration and drinking very well now. Difficult to pick between the '97 and '98 – the '97 is more ethereal – it tastes like quality aged Burgundy! '98 is plusher and more concentrated but less ethereal." FINE+RARE
 1997 Chateau Musar  "Very light in colour with maturity on the rim: salmon ruby. Surprisingly intense and concentrated nose with strong ash and autumnal smells; great acidity, damp leaves and old bonfires. On the palate, very sweet fruit and a long finish that goes through several evolutions (one developing old pomegranate flavours) in the longest aftertaste of any Musar. Full mouthfeel defies the lightness of the wine. Almost chewy in texture. Intense volatile acidity." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20  "We had two harvests – before and after a week of heavy rain – and made a big, big wine. Two years after bottling it changed direction and began to create heavy sediments. It was the biggest surprise in my life. This wine was behaving like a human going through an adolescent crisis. Which way is it heading now? The only thing I know is that I trust my wines. It is already an interesting wine, and starting to taste beautiful." Serge Hochar "Translucent Pinor Noir-esque colour with tremendous clean aromatics – lifted floral notes,
fresh aniseed, scented aromatic tea leaf, red cherry, strawberry, pomegranate, so perfumed. Seamless tannins, silky soft but there is a delicate framework and the fruit concentration provides lovely depth. Fruit remains very fleshy. Very clean considering the age, and lovely refreshing, vibrant acidity, remarkably stable at 24 years of age. Lovely, ethereal quality to this wine, reminds me of a great aged Burgundy with the acid and florality!" FINE+RARE 1979 Chateau Musar  "…misleadingly pale, fully mature; nose like squashed strawberries; sweet, long, delicious." Michael Broadbent "Vibrant red with a hint of mahogany but still red on the rim. Astoundingly young and vigorous with warm red summer fruits and a definite hint of roses on the nose; has the feel of a wine at least 20 years its junior. The sweetness of fruit continues on the palate with a backbone of tannin to firm it up – without losing the old-fashioned ‘burgundian’ richness and just the right level of acidity to refresh the palate for another glass. This must always have been an exceptional wine, as it remains today." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20 1974 Chateau Musar  "Good depth but still light, with a mature-looking, orangey rim. Very vibrant, sweet-fruited nose, alive and drawing attention to itself. Very old, elegant fruit on the palate, with a touch of cheese rind. Extraordinary texture: velvety and syrupy at the same time; deep, with high acidity and a very long finish. Biscuity flavours (‘Playbox’ biscuits: if you are English and of a certain age, you’ll remember licking the sugary coat off those). Although past its prime, it is fascinating, like an old man with many stories to tell. You can imagine the wartime conditions through which this wine has aged, enduring much and remaining strong, until now as it begins to lose its way." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 19/20 "My ’74 I wasn’t happy with. But it developed! In 2000 I tasted it again. Now I think it is nearly ready to drink." Serge Hochar 1970 Chateau Musar  "In 1983, richly coloured; pine needles and vanilla; soft, velvety, well-balanced, yet powerful and plump like Château Petrus. Labelled ‘Réserve Rouge. Grand Cru’, still deep and rich, complete." Michael Broadbent, Score: five stars  "Dark, shaded ruby; just the sort of colour I would expect from a 1970 red Bordeaux. Light, very Cabernet nose. If I were given this blind I would be tempted to head straight for Bordeaux, though it would have to be a comely château such as Palmer perhaps, and a fairly ripe vintage. Perhaps 1961? But then there is probably more sweetness and a bit more exoticism than one would find in a Bordeaux of this evident age... Mouth-filling and again that note of violets, candied this time. A little dusting of tannins on the end. Lovely wine." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18/20, Drink: 1985-2022 1964 Chateau Musar  "Mature rim but not for its age: still tons of vibrant life in its red colour. Very little sign of ageing. Nose is very big, more like a mature Châteauneuf-du-Pape or other big, structured Rhône wine. Very concentrated and deep with autumnal bonfire ash. Spectacularly good, huge on the palate: damp decaying leaves; great acidity; volatility balanced by brown sugar flavours; delicious, sweet, long on the finish. Hardly any age. A great classic wine." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20 "I had been in Bordeaux. I was 25. I prefer not to qualify the attitude of the French towards me, but no-one hurt me: they respected my oenological degree. However, I never took them a wine of my own. I was pretentious, my way! Was it as a reaction to this? I don’t know, but 1964 was my wild wine." Serge Hochar 1961 Chateau Musar  
"Slightly sludgy rust colour. Sweet, rich and thoroughly exotic. Old leather handbags? With some biscuit slurry (dunked, not-too-gingery ginger nuts?). Ethereal and lifted. Beautiful sweetness as it hits the palate then real freshness and super-clean, thoroughly mature aromas. Gloriously mature but not at all old. Does taste like a wine from a bygone age… Long and rich on the finish. Amazing to think that Cinsault can last this long. No variety imprints itself. Just a little chewiness on the end suggests a solid accompaniment would be wise." Jancis Robinson MW, Score: 18.5/20,  Drink: 1980-2028  1960 Chateau Musar  "Great depth for a wine of this age. Still very solid red with a touch of maturity on the rim. Looks about 15 years old. Classic nose: mature Bordeaux in character; signs of age and aromas reminiscent of very old cellars in France; lovely autumnal smells and meaty redcurrant fruit. Perfection on palate: full fruit and a great mouthfeel, with sweetness, length, great texture and perfect evolution; a little spicy and hot on the finish. Like an old Bordeaux but with better acidity, then a lovely aftertaste that conjures up the bonfire smells of autumn country walks. At its peak now. One of the best Musars I’ve ever tasted." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  "That summer I was invited to Château Langoa-Barton for an internship with Ronald Barton. What I saw, tasted and learned there affected me. If I had to describe myself, I was a civil engineer who made wine and who had started to discover the complexity of wine. I was trying to understand, to observe. I knew that nature will never repeat herself and for a while I thought I might change all the grape varieties that we were growing, but to plant grapes and make good wine takes 20 years, and what if I was wrong?  "However, I experimented a little with Grenache, Mourvèdre and Merlot. Looking back there were three stages to my winemaking. Between 1959 and 1964 I was making wines without an objective, with what we had at hand. From 1960 to 1970, having studied in Bordeaux and been influenced by Saint-Julien and Saint-Estèphe, I now realise that I was trying to produce wines in that style. Since 1970, I have been producing my wines, my way. Les vins du terroir Libanais." Serge Hochar 1959 Chateau Musar  "The oldest vintage presented by Serge Hochar in London in August 1979: fine, rich, mature; delicious bouquet; sweet, soft, fabulous. Twenty years later: orange-tinged; lovely old nose; still delicious. Last tasted at Musar in Beirut, Dec 1999." Michael Broadbent, Score: five stars Chateau Musar: the whites A blend of two local varieties, Merwah and Obaideh. Both grapes are partly fermented in oak
barriques (25% new each year) where they mature for a further nine months. They are then
blended, bottled and aged for a further six to eight years before release. 2012 Chateau Musar  "Fine fresh-looking lemon-yellow, but shows reassuring maturity. Dry honey and spices on the nose; a controlled richness of fruit on the palate that reminds me of Ygrec: complex, dry but with sweetness in its DNA before natural acidity lifts the exotic aftertaste. Lanolin smooth but not easy to assess (and not meant to be at this stage). Young white Musar that retains its mystery." Steven Spurrier, Score: 18.5/20, Drink: 2020-2035 2000 Chateau Musar  "Medium depth golden-yellow; no maturity showing. Still very closed on the nose, subdued, with a light floral nettle aroma. A bit astringent on the palate, but with mellow, soft textures and good acidity too. Needs time. By the next morning, the nose had come alive. The palate was beautiful, like a spicy Petite Suisse cheese, with great length. Nose continuing to develop on day three." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18/20 1992 Chateau Musar  
"Deep orange gold. On the nose, beginning to mature and open up. Good depth and concentration. Lovely flavours of old Cheddar and surprisingly high acidity. Very good length on the aftertaste. Will age for a long time. After an hour in the glass, the wine started to develop characteristic honey aromas that also revealed themselves on the palate alongside a beautiful vanilla and beeswax aroma. The next morning saw it develop a rich, sweet, cognac-like nose; bone dry, powerful yet elegant on the palate with pronounced alcohol and a long finish. By day three, the middle nose had developed even more." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 18.5/20 "The weather was terrible. We had winter until June. Hail came. Biblical weather! I tried to make a Chateau Musar red, but two years later found it wasn’t up to standard, so we distilled it. The best grape that year was white Obaideh." Serge Hochar 1975 Chateau Musar  "Deep orangey gold; looks like a late harvest wine in colour. Nose; wow! Incredibly intense, concentrated, dry, very deep and austere: a combination of leather saddles, barnyard and old mahogany musky characters with mouthwatering citrus orange acidity. Astonishing complexity and intensity on the palate, with a syrupy texture. Massive, deep powerful, concentrated and long. Delicious flavours keep changing like a kaleidoscope in this mouth-filling but elegant wine. On day two it had aromas of sweet Australian ‘Tokay’ and a bite of cognac-like alcohol." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  1972 Chateau Musar  "Golden brass-yellow, very bright and alive. A superb nose with good depth and concentration, combining notes of apricot, brown sugar, cigar box and old charred wood. Unique. On the palate: a delicious, dry lean wine with a sweet finish and tremendous length. In perfect condition with a lovely lingering aftertaste. Very cerebral. Tastes of very old cellars. Day two saw an amazing development of the nose: very hard to describe but utterly riveting to the brain." Bartholomew Broadbent, Score: 20/20  [All extracts from 'Chateau Musar: The Story of a Wine Icon' have been published online with the kind permission of the Académie du Vin Library.] Read more Editorial 

The rise of Chateau Musar is legendary. We take a closer look at the vintages that have cemented the Lebanese estate's enviable reputation in the hearts and minds of critics and collectors alike.

Exploring the vintages that have made Chateau Musar such a fine wine icon – from 1972 to 2013 

Chateau Musar tasting notes year by year

Sitting plum in the middle of the Côte d’Or, the hill of Corton is hard to miss. Its wines, especially the whites, however, are all too often overlooked. We sat down with some of the region’s leading producers to explore the pedigree and potential of this site and its powerful, long-lasting wines

Discover the pedigree and potential of the hill of Corton’s whites – the fine Chardonnay from Corton-Charlemagne, Charlemagne and Corton Blanc 

Exploring Corton-Charlemagne, Charlemagne and Corton Blanc 

Corton-Charlemagne: the Grand Cru of the future?  

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

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

Searching for Singularity in wine

Searching for Singularity

Bordeaux 2020 is the third in a trilogy of outstanding vintages for the region – but, talking to producers, one thing is abundantly clear: the year was not easy. Covid-19 aside, the year’s unusual conditions demanded attention in the vineyard. “It was a marathon,” Noëmie Durantou Reilhac of Ch. l’Eglise Clinet told me. Nicolas Audebert of Chx Canon and Rauzan-Ségla was more frank: “It was a f***ing tough year.” “Extreme” is the word that comes up time and again. It was both wet and dry, mild and hot – a contradiction in terms throughout, demanding producers’ attention. As Jean-Sébastien Philippe at Lafite described it, 2020 was “un millésime de vigneron" (a winemaker’s vintage). The winter and spring were mild and wet, replenishing water reserves and kicking off the growing season early. It was so mild – with temperatures on average around 2˚C warmer than usual – that there were already signs of budbreak at L’Eglise Clinet on 4th February. Flowering was early and homogenous; at Ch. Margaux it was a full 15 days ahead of normal, Managing Director Philippe Bascaules noted, bringing the entire season forward. This early start led to fears of possible frosts, but (unlike in 2021) the temperature barely dropped and the threat to crops was minimal. Overall, 2020 saw more rain than any other year in the last decade – however it fell almost entirely over the winter and spring, with subsequent concentrated bursts in May and August. This relative downpour was essential for what was to come, for the summer was parchingly dry. As Pierre-Olivier Clouet of Cheval Blanc explained, the spring provided the vines with enough reserves to survive the long, dry summer.  But the damp also brought mildew pressure – a particular challenge for those working organically or biodynamically. “On 12th May we had to spray copper by hand over 25 hectares of vineyards, as it was too wet to put tractors in the vineyards,” said Thomas Duroux at Ch. Palmer. Justine Tesseron at Ch. Pontet-Canet explained how dry breaks in the weather helped them avoid the damage seen in 2018, allowing them to get into the vines and spray. The mildew seemed to impact the Right Bank less, although work was still essential to avoid losses. Then in mid-June, a switch flicked and the weather shifted dramatically, becoming warm and dry. “It’s like only having two seasons instead of four,” Nicolas Glumineau of Ch. Pichon Comtesse explained, something he fears is becoming the new normal with climate change. The warm dry conditions concentrated the berries and then, as the vines gradually started to
become more stressed in August, slowed the vines’ growth. This was, Noëmie Durantou Reilhac of Ch. l’Eglise Clinet noted, important – helping to slow the sugar accumulation, and allow the phenolics to catch up. But the vines were stressed. “Vines are living beings and we ask them to go through a lot. If you were drinking a gallon of water every hour for a month and then had no water for two months…” Noëmie Durantou Reilhac said. The team at Pichon Comtesse was starting to worry as the leaves started to turn yellow and the vines were visibly struggling. But relief arrived in mid-August, with rain on
the Left Bank (with the least falling on Saint-Julien) and Saint-Emilion, although Pomerol had to wait until 1st and 2nd September for the weather to break briefly and provide the water the vines sorely needed. “This really refreshed the grapes, diluting the sugar content, but early enough to allow for concentration to build up in the berries,” Bascaules at Margaux explained.  From the end of August to late September, the mercury rose even higher. At Pichon Comtesse, with temperatures reaching 40˚C, Glumineau started to become nervous about the wine they’d be able to make, visibly seeing the berries reduce in size each day during the last two weeks of September. Cool nights were key at this time, preserving acidity and aromatics, despite the heat of the day. The harvest itself was fast and furious. Thanks to the homogenous flowering, everything ripened at once – and quickly. The whole season remained 10 to 15 days earlier than normal, and picking of the whites kicked off in mid-August, while the Merlot started coming in from early September, then the Cabernet from the middle of the month. Everything was in before the close of the month. Timing were similar to 2003, 2015 or 2019. Nicolas Glumineau noted that rainfall at the very end of September – falling on 25th and 26th – was of particular importance, helping “polish the tannins” on the last few plots of Pichon Comtesse’s Cabernet Sauvignon.

“It was a textbook perfect vintage,” Damien Barton Sartorius, Director of Léoville and Langoa Barton said – the only thing that upsets him is the volume of wine produced. The dry conditions broadly led to smaller berries with thick skins, and therefore less juice. In general, yields are a little down on 2019 and 2018, around 10 to 25% in most places, with the smallest crops in Saint-Julien (down 20% at Léoville and Langoa Barton, 25% at Ch. Ducru-Beaucaillou), and Sauternes and Barsac.  “It was a crazy, crazy vintage,” said Omri Ram of Lafleur. Rushing through the growing season like this, it’s clear it was, but producers aren’t shy about the results, nor should they be. The wines are superb – more classical than those of 2018 or ’19, with some comparing them to the wines of 2016, ’15 or ’09. Read more about the vintage in our overview or commune-by-commune breakdown

The 2018 and 2019 vintages might be tough acts to follow, but Bordeaux 2020 seems to be more than up to the job. We spoke to producers about the year’s extreme conditions – and the stunning results it produced

Chx l’Eglise Clinet, Cheval Blanc, Pichon Comtesse and more on the extraordinary conditions that shaped the 2020 Bordeaux vintage

Exploring the Bordeaux 2020 growing season

Bordeaux wine vintage 2020: a tale of two halves

“Meet my girlfriends,” calls Telmo Rodríguez down the phone, laughing as he flips his camera to show two enormous shaggy-haired mutts. The skies are crisp and blue on the other side of the screen, the sun beating down on Remelluri, his family estate in Rioja Alavesa. The camera swings across the horizon as he introduces me to one of his team before rushing indoors to sit down for our call. There’s an almost frenetic energy to Rodríguez – and that energy is what in many ways defines the maverick winemaker, who has been one of the transformational forces in Spanish wine.  His parents purchased La Granja Nuestra Señora de Remelluri – a farm that has been home to vines since at least the 14th century – in 1967. Growing up on this special property, young Rodríguez went off to study winemaking in Bordeaux, then trained at properties including Cos d’Estournel, Domaine de Trévallon, Chave and more. He returned home inspired and excited to use his new-found knowledge on the family property in the early 1990s. But his father didn’t welcome Telmo’s ambition: the market didn’t want great or even good Rioja, he told his son – the market wanted cheap Rioja. Although he wasn’t allowed to make changes to the red, Rodríguez was given free rein to create the property’s first white wine. And that wine rocketed him to fame. White Rioja has always been niche (today just 9% of the vineyard area is planted to white grapes), but in the 1990s its future was looking uncertain – with the traditional, oxidised style of wines such as López de Heredia’s Tondonia Blanco fallen from grace, and many producers had given up on making these wines (as with CVNE’s Monopole Clásico, which has since been revived). Rodríguez wanted to create a wine of place, rather than a wine of style, and used complex field blends planted at higher altitudes to do so. Fermented and aged in a combination of tank and oak, Remelluri Blanco was unlike any other wine in the region. Robert Parker wrote of the 1996 vintage that it was “the finest white wine [he had] ever tasted from Spain”. The multi-variety blend doesn’t include the region’s trademark white, Viura, and is technically illegal – a fact that perhaps has only increased its appeal.  But Rodríguez was frustrated by his father, by the limitations put on him and his wines. Restless and with a rift in the family forming, he flew the coop to focus on his own project. In Bordeaux he had become friends with a fellow Spaniard, Pablo Eguzkiza, who had been working at Pétrus, and together they had already started making wine – beginning with an old-vine Garnacha from Navarra in 1994. With that wine, Compañía de Vinos Telmo Rodríguez was born.  Their vision was to make real Spanish wine – the wines that had been made before, as they saw it, France started to sway the industry. When the deadly louse phylloxera had swept through France in the late 19th century, killing its vineyards, the nation looked south, across the Pyrenees to Spain. Producers travelled there to make wine and feed demand, and Rioja in particular saw an influx of business and money – but this uplift also came with French influence. In Rodríguez’s view, this was the ruining of the trade – Rioja, which had once been a wine of site, became a wine of oak. And soon, across Spain, the variety that once defined its many regions was being over-written with international varieties. Spain became known for cheap wine – and producers were racing to the bottom.  “The worst are the British,” says Rodríguez. “They say they know Rioja and they know Sherry, but, in a certain way, the British market killed Sherry and killed Rioja because they are very happy to have a cheap Reserva for a few pounds.” The dominance of what he describes as “industrial brands”, the larger houses that buy in fruit from across the region, aged in American oak for “traditional” styles, and French for “modern”, is abhorrent to him.  “I’m sorry, you don’t know anything about Rioja. Tell me one village. Tell me one taste. Tell me one landscape. Tell me one mountain. Nobody knew anything,” he says. He explains how Labastida – a village neighbouring Remelluri – was once the Vosne-Romanée of Rioja, home to 330 different wine producers in 1680. But over the years, that history has been blended away.  Together, Rodríguez and Eguzkiza set out to uncover and reveal the Spain of yesteryear, working with old vines, native varieties and traditional methods to champion what they saw as the true Spanish wines. From their beginnings in Navarra, they looked to Arribes del Duero, to Rueda, to Málaga, to Aragon and back to Rioja, then Ribera, Toro and Sierra de Gredos.   “Now we are showing what is real,” Rodríguez tells me, with a sense of satisfaction. In Rioja, for example, they created Bodegas Lanzaga in 1998, looking to focus on the terroir around the town of Lanziego. The Consejo (regulatory body), however, didn’t allow them to use the name of a village on the label until 2017. For almost two decades they protested this rule, featuring the name on the label, but redacted (inspired in part by the art of Jenny Holzer). Today, there is a clear, and growing, movement of producers looking to focus on single-site expressions of Rioja’s best vineyards, shifting away from cross-regional blends and the dominance of oak. This echoes what is happening elsewhere in Spain, as producers focus on indigenous grapes and identifying what makes each of its varied regions unique. It’s a revolution – one that Rodríguez has been at the forefront of. It's easy to think of this rockstar duo as flying winemakers – having so many projects scattered around the country, only touching down briefly to sign off on blends before they’re off to their next event. While inevitably their schedule is intense, their focus is firmly in the vineyard and on reflecting each individual place and site – rather than crafting a range that speaks of their influence. “It’s a very honest approach to a place,” Rodríguez says. The references throughout our conversation only emphasise this: Burgundy, the ultimate “terroir” wine, is where he finds his inspiration; while the Super Tuscans are repeatedly scorned for their internationality.  Matallana is quite possibly Telmo Rodríguez’s most ambitious project to date. He and Eguzkiza first made wine in Ribera del Duero in 1998, and have slowly built up 21.5 hectares of vines around the region.  “My dream was to do a very good Vega Sicilia. I wanted to do the Vega Sicilia that I used to drink in the past,” explains Rodríguez, talking about bottles from the 1940s, ’50s or ’60s. Back then, he says, it wasn’t an estate wine but fruit was sourced from around the region. For him, Vega Sicilia is now too “Bordeaux-style”. He argues that while in Rioja the soils are quite consistent, Ribera del Duero is incredibly varied. They have chosen to work with a range of vineyards across five villages – Sotillo de la Ribera, Roa, Fuentecén, Fuentemolinos and Pardilla – ranging from quartz-rich or pebbly soils reminiscent of Châteauneuf-du-Pape to chalky albariza and clay-heavy sites. This diversity is what helps bring complexity to the wine, with each one producing a different expression of Tinto Fino.   The work involved in each of the Compañía de Vinos Telmo Rodríguez projects is painstaking, tracking down special parcels, reviving soils and replanting or grafting where necessary, working organically and biodynamically, to achieve the quality they’re looking for. For Bodegas Lanzaga, for example, it was over a decade before they produced the first vintage of their top wine, Las Beatas, from a 1.9-hectare plot of the same name (first made in 2011).  For Matallana, they wanted to track down the region’s very best, historic vineyards in each of the five villages. But it’s not been easy. All too often they’d been abandoned, some needed re-planting entirely, or otherwise re-grafting with massal selections, and serious work to bring the soils back to life. They wanted to work with unirrigated bush-vines and field blends – vineyards farmed as they might have been in the 19th century. And then there’s the complex ownership: to buy just six of their 21.5 hectares took seven years, purchasing tiny plots from 40 different families.  Although they’ve been making wine here since the 1999 vintage, it wasn’t ready until relatively recently – and Rodríguez considers the 2014 the first “real” vintage of the project. Before that point they had made three wines, a selection of fruit from the oldest vines that went into the “Grand Vin” Matallana, a second wine M2 and the unoaked Gazur from younger plots. “They were prototypes, we were learning,” explains Rodríguez. From 2014, there is only one wine, with a change in the label to reflect the shift.  As with the older vintages from Bodegas Lanzaga, the label shows a list of redacted vineyard names – which are still not permitted to feature on the labels in Ribera del Duero. “All those vineyards are the guarantee of the purity of our wines,” says Rodríguez. In fact, the label is embossed, so beneath the censored text, you can feel the names of these terroirs. He’s moved to reduce the oak, using some foudres and tinajas (amphorae), while also acknowledging that the wine needs movement and oxygen to polymerise the tannins. The result, however, is a more delicate wine. At the end of the day, he says, “We don’t care about the winery… our wine is the landscape, is the soils.” The difference between the “new” and “old” Matallana is striking. The 2020 is pure, vibrant – a mineral wine with crystalline fruit that speaks of place.  “I don’t want to be pretentious, but we want to create another iconic wine from Ribera del Duero,” says Rodríguez. There’s no shortage of ambition here – and they’re looking to increase production to around 40,000 bottles a year (up from around 25,000 currently). “It took us 25 years… but we knew we were doing something rare, different.” The latest move has been to partner with Jean-Guillaume Prats (currently of Ch. Léoville Las Cases, previously of Ch. Lafite Rothschild and Cos d’Estournel), and start distributing the wine via La Place de Bordeaux, to bring the wine to an even bigger audience.  Rodríguez is now 61 – but there’s no sign of him slowing down. “People say that I’m too old to plant vineyards,” he says, clearly finding such a thought absurd. He’s just planting three hectares he tells me – vineyards that will be amazing, he feels, maybe in 15 years’ time. On the day we talk, he had five local youths coming to meet his team, the children of local viticulturalists in Labastida; they’d be making wines together with the best 2,000 kilos from each of their family’s plots – a project that has been going four years. There’s no looking back from this vigneron, whose eyes are firmly on the horizon, as he continues to push boundaries and forge a future for those that will follow him.  Explore all wines from Telmo Rodríguez and Matallana or read more Editorial 

Telmo Rodríguez is one of Spain’s most famous names. Since the 1990s, he has been a controversial figure, fighting for the nation’s vinous heritage. We caught up with the relentless revolutionary to talk about his journey, the real Rioja and his most challenging project to date

Telmo Rodríguez is one of Spain’s most famous winemakers. We caught up with him to talk his journey and his most challenging project to date, Matallana

Telmo Rodriguez – the eternal battle

Telmo Rodríguez: the eternal battle

It was about this time last year we bumped into Giovanni Angeli, winemaker of one of Barolo’s top producers, Massolino. He was over in London to promote his latest 2015 releases. Despite the positivity surrounding the 2015s, Giovanni just couldn’t contain his excitement about the vintage that was to follow. At this time, the wines were still over a year away from being made available. Ever since we have been waiting eagerly for the first Barolo 2016s to be released and to taste for the first time this hugely anticipated vintage. Fortunately, that time is finally upon us, with the first handful of releases being made available over the next few weeks. I caught up again with Giovanni last week to find out exactly why the 2016 is so special and his thoughts on the wines now that they are in bottle. Ideal ambient conditions through the growing season The key points behind the success of the 2016s lie in the ambient weather conditions throughout the season, particularly favourable for the Nebbiolo varietal, which has always been a rather sensitive grape – hence why you see so little of it grown anywhere else in the world. Great Nebbiolo requires a long extended growing season to enable its structural
tannins to really reach phenolic maturity and mellow out.  Secondly, the varietal is distinct for its ethereal aromatic perfume and this only really
develops in the later part of the ripening period. Thirdly, the varietal is very susceptible to mildew and can really suffer if the weather is too humid, but thankfully the ideal weather conditions held right through to harvest. 2016: Longest growing season in modern times 2016 was one of the longest-growing seasons in modern times. Giovanni explains that the
winter between 2015 and 2016 was in fact fairly short and relatively warm (the second warmest in 59 years in Piedmont after the winter of 2006 and 2007). He goes on to explain that this warm winter generates an early recovery of vegetation growth, resulting in early budding.  The spring was then pretty regular – no frost but not too hot either - allowing the wines to operate regularly in perfect health. The summer remained very regular, again not too
hot and not too dry, making the vegetative cycle long and slow enabling a build-up of complex flavours. Giovanni states that the growing cycle in 2016 was at least 15 – 20 days longer than today’s average in Barolo, thanks to the early start and relatively late harvest. What is extraordinary is that this long vegetative cycle is something that is typically diminishing with climate change. As outlined in Burgundy in an interview last week with Benoit Stehly of Domaine Georges Lignier, the traditional notion that vignerons pick 100 days after flowering is today outdated, with the veraison period under a hotter climate getting shorter and shorter. Giovanni states the same is happening in Barolo, but in 2016, there really were 100 days plus between flowering and harvest.  In September, the month that really dictates the final quality of the vintage, the weather remained warm and steady but with big drops in temperature during the night helping the grapes retain their acidity as the fruits gained great complexity in flavor and outstanding phenolic ripeness. It was this moment in September that Giovanni believes had the greatest impact on the wine's final complexity. “In that moment we have the synthesis of the flavours and the refining of the tannins.”   The finished wines Giovanni describes the wines as deep, powerful and rich, with a great bouquet with lots
of fruit aromas. The quality of the tannins are really outstanding; fine, elegant and very complex and there is good acidity too, making the wines even more drinkable and enjoyable. Giovanni goes on to compare the vintage in terms of quality and style to the great 1996 vintage. Asked to compare with the 2015s, he states “2015 is a really good vintage for us with wines rich in aromas and with a great freshness, especially if you consider how warm the vintage was. But in 2016 the wines have something more. They are more concentrated with a great acidity. They have a juicy, crunchy fruit that makes the wine easy to drink, enjoyable with a great freshness and length in the mouth and a lovely quality of the tannins in terms of finesse.” The drinking window In a vintage where you find such phenolic ripeness, the wines are very approachable, and can be enjoyed at a younger age than is normally typical of Barolo. At the same time, the concentration, the good acidity and the finesse of the tannins mean that although you can drink and enjoy them now, the wines will see a fantastic evolution over 25-35 years and probably longer. Read more Editorial 

We speak to Giovanni Angeli, winemaker at Massolino, one of Barolo's top producers, on just how good the Barolo 2016 vintage is.

Barolo 2016 vintage insight

Barolo 2016: Early vintage insight

I. Distractions In 1987, when I was 18 and a dollar was worth more than twice as much as it is today, I started reading magazines: M, Esquire, GQ. Nearby, in our somewhat cultured Texas town, a new bookstore opened in a cavernous space that had formerly housed the shag-carpeted roller skating rink of our childhood. Through the front windows, which had before been darkly tinted to give the place an alluring den-of-prepubescent-iniquity vibe, now streamed bright, clean light, showcasing a look and layout that would become the interior design gestalt of today’s national-chain, big-box book superstore. The rows upon rows of open, dustless shelving bearing a veritable warehouse of volumes; the ceiling hung with its industrial innards on display; the enfilade of check-out cubicles; and the wall – the great wall – that displayed a preposterous-to-behold assortment of glossies, quarterlies, journals, newsweeklies, fanzines, tabloids, almanacs, and all other flora and fauna of magazines arrayed upon a rack perhaps 50 feet long.  I went in there to look for a book. I liked books, and, one day, I was sure I wanted to write one. But I got distracted and bought a magazine instead – that August’s issue of GQ, which still stands out in my mind as a thing of formative significance. At that time, the zeitgeist was defined by a Walkman-wearing version of the American Renaissance Man – the highly-ambitious, status-obsessed, money-motivated, health-nut known as a Yuppie. No magazine positioned itself more authoritatively in defining this new sociological creature’s lifestyle than GQ, and it did it with whiter teeth, snappier suspenders, better accessories, bigger polka dots and more caffeine in the ink of its display copy.  I remember that issue less for the photos by Richard Avedon or Steven Meisel, the words of Martin Amis or Frederick Exley, than for this: Erzeugerabfüllung. It was one of the longest, strangest strings of letters from the Roman alphabet I had ever seen. Neither did it seem designed to come out of someone’s mouth. But there it was in Alan Richman’s Wine & Spirits column, accompanied by a lovely still-life photograph of his topic: two bottles of Riesling Kabinetts on a white, sun-dappled tablecloth. Richman’s main point – made almost 35 years ago – still holds true: estate-bottled, table-quality German wines remain some of the least expensive, most delicious wines in the world, chiefly because – then as now – the labels, as he wrote, “cannot be understood by anyone who is not a part-time oenophile, linguist and cartographer”. One US dollar in Richman’s pocket, as I have already said, bought what roughly two-dollars-and-fifty-cents does today; what he was on the hunt for was a good dry white in a range that would now cost somewhere between 12 and 30 bucks, and he easily accomplished that by finding a dealer in New York City who carried a good selection of wines from the Mosel and Rheingau. At the time, I didn’t know the meaning or significance of any of this, but it staked a claim in my brain. The only wine I had ever tasted was the one served at our Episcopal church during Eucharist on Sundays. The flavour it had was of a strange, super-concentrated jam that somehow warmed your upper body. Even as a young kid, I liked it. But the adjectives these German bottles were squeezing out of Richman – “citrus-like”, “honeyed”, “tart-sweet” – weren’t close to describing what was in that chalice, even if you believed in transubstantiation. Was it because Richman’s wine was white, and the parish’s was red? Perhaps, but both colours of grape juice bottled by Welch’s tasted pretty much the same to me. No, I sensed there was something – a lot – I had to learn, and, along with the romance and beauty of the labels, and the contextual air of well-bred taste and cultural with-it-ness featured on the other pages, this, I feel sure, was the decisive moment, the true origin point, when I came to believe that among the many extraordinary things that make life worth living, not just words but wine reigns at the top.  I warned you about distractions, didn’t I? Because that would be my excuse for now informing you, as a quite apropos footnote, that, yes, there was something unusual about our church’s Communion wine. It was, as I have confirmed with the church, actually port (Taylor’s Tawny, to be more accurate), cut, according to tradition, with water. There is a good and fascinating reason for this. In 1701, when the War of the Spanish Succession kicked off, France also became an enemy of England, and its wines, as a result, were no longer made available for import. The Anglican Church searched for and found a replacement, the fortified wines of its new ally, Portugal, and port continues to be an acceptable option to pair with the Host.  II. Distillations A satisfying story, not unlike a satisfying life, is one that surprises you with the mystery of its unfolding. A thing pulls in a certain direction long enough to reach the proximity of something else which then turns toward a new destination. I had actually gone into that bookstore, as I said, to look at books. But I came out, even though I didn’t yet know it, with a different compass point. Within a few years, shortly after graduating from college, in 1992, I got hired by The New Yorker, where I stayed for almost nine years. I then met my future wife, who wisely laughed at the thought we might be able to survive in New York City on my meagre salary, so I went to Vogue, and soon after became the founding editor of Men’s Vogue. After 23 issues, and four years, the financial crisis laid an axe to many magazines, including that one. Eventually, I took on the editorship of Town & Country. Then, finally, in 2016, I moved up to Esquire, the magazine, as it happens, that didn’t offer me a job when The New Yorker did, and became that storied magazine’s editor in chief, until – well, you best read about that in The New York Times.  As far as distractions go, magazines were a good one. They made me who I am, gave me a tremendously worldly education, honed my taste, introduced me to all manner of accomplished people, required me to build quite a wardrobe, and paid me pretty well to do all of this, often with a glass of wine not far out of the picture. There was really no other way I would have ever got to taste all the bottles I have (a lot of the big names people whisper about from Burgundy and Bordeaux, Champagne and also Piedmont, Tuscany and Napa). I built a modest cave à vin of my own by buying the Smith Haut Lafittes of the world way before hedge-fund hoi polloi ran up the prices, and by having access to rare offerings, like 12 bottles of Fiorano, the legendary white wine Alberico Boncompagni Ludovisi, prince of Venosa, made before ripping out all his vines. I smelled the musty perfume of Margaux in the cellar as I watched the workers rack the wine by candlelight. I lured Jay McInerney away from the Wall Street Journal to become my wine columnist; and I once stood in Bordeaux’s town square, tight on 2002 Pétrus, trying with great focus to commune with the statue of Michel de Montaigne while my French friend, a true oenophile, extolled the majesty of the Big Mac’s special sauce.  As the editor of a magazine, curiosity is your profession, even to the point of distraction. Editors – writers, too – are prone to it. It’s a hazard of the gift, and having a jumble of ideas, if you’re any good, is key to making a magazine of any real intellectual or creative daring. Now as a husband and father of three, working from home and trying to be ‘present’, and a still youngish former editor and occasional micro-influencer trying to stave off the solitude to fathom and plot the next phase of a fruitful future, this skill of mine, the strength of which became even more magnified over two decades, is something of a family project.  The way I most often hear the word ‘distraction’ now, for instance, is when it’s being hurled at me in verb form by my wife or daughters accusing me of being more of a phone-enslaved screen vegetable than they are. (I respectfully disagree.) But it’s a sore point for two reasons. One, what I did as an editor is, in a nutshell, now what a smartphone essentially does. Not very imaginatively, of course, and not with taste or charm or originality, but with a bloody, money-grubbing ruthlessness that stalks every step of our digital peregrinations and doesn’t give a twist if the algorithms that are its brain make us its slave by retrofitting our attention spans for kindergarten.  The smartphone – not the former me or any of my fellow kind still in the media biz – is now the true croupier of culture, dealing out a targeted shuffle of Pavlovian temptations to the point of daily mental exhaustion. And, though this thing is in many ways my personal nemesis, I am, against every fibre of my being, too often its obedient servant. Aiming not to live according to the famous line by T.S. Eliot – “distracted from distraction by distraction” – I recently decided to at least take a serious inventory of my favourite ones, both those of the pre-digital sort (tennis, The Walking Dead, checking the mailbox, my sock collection) and those of the post-digital sort (the any and everything I do because my phone wants me to). Then I caught myself watching tennis on my phone and realised this might be harder than I thought. It’s enough to drive a person to drink, thank god! With that in mind, I like to keep a special something for the occasion around, in this case – what else? – two bottles of Riesling Kabinett, for it had struck me as more than a little weird that I’ve probably tasted fewer than a handful of German wines in my entire life. Part of the reason is that those I had were bad, and, like a lot of other simpletons about this great wine region of the world, I’d come to think of Riesling as a cloying elixir equal parts green Jolly Rancher, apple cider vinegar, and hairspray. This, I knew, was wrong, not true and, in terms of wine equity and inclusion, on the wrong side of history. But, if you happen to live in a place like I do – a bourgie swathe of Connecticut bordering New York City where the shops cater heavily to Cali-Fran-Taly banker’s tastes – it might take you a few stops to find what Richman recommended, an erzeugerabfüllung (estate-bottled) Kabinett (wine made from grapes with a minimum must weight/sugar content) Riesling, and when you do it will probably be coated in a fine sift of years-old dust. I bought a green (Mosel) bottle for US$16 and a brown (Rhine) bottle for US$20, both handsomely labelled. I opened them a few minutes ago and took several investigative swigs. The words bright, invigorating and snappy came to mind. One is indeed sweeter, and, though not my usual jam, it is tamped by a pleasing peachy tartness, and the classic overtone of honey isn’t making my palate feel doused with syrup. The other example is, as Richman said so long ago, a very finely layered creature with mineral clarity and an echo of baked bread, something a gluten-free person like me finds particularly appealing. A rather obvious thought: why haven’t I been buying this instead of throwing a ton of endless money at affordably bad white Burgundy, which is mostly a product aimed at fulfilling a desired outcome, like White Claw hard seltzer? III. Words But don’t let me get distracted, again. A writer really has to be careful about such things. Just think about it. Unlike, say, a painter or musician or actor or photographer, the process of writing requires zero physical exertion, no chance to score an endorphin release while sitting staring anxiously at a blank page. Of the many things in life that vie against the counter intuitive impulse to be glued to a desk, Cyril Connolly, in Enemies of Promise, his classic study of the things that distracted him (and others) from becoming a great writer, names the temptations but does not say much about why they’re so deeply tempting to someone who would otherwise be sitting alone in an empty room. Praise, money, fame, social prominence, affairs and journalism are the most common boltholes, according to Connolly, who, as a famously late sleeper that married three times, might have also added the bliss of unconsciousness and excessive alimony. In 1938, the year the book was published, he would never have imagined how hard the task might get without a cigarette. Smoking is a death wish, I know, but when you want to off yourself for still having a hundred pages to go, being able to snap open a nice lighter, flick some ash, stub a butt and inhale some lungfuls of focus-enhancing nicotine must have been kind of helpful. Connolly also doesn’t have much to say about drink except that artists who drink to excess do so “out of the consciousness of wasted ability”. According to that, the 20th century’s most famous literary alcoholics – Dorothy Parker, Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Styron, Elizabeth Bishop, James Joyce, Raymond Chandler, William Faulkner – might have left behind even greater treasures than they did. Because Ernest Hemingway did almost everything with more gusto than any of his peers, including running up his bar tab, as a drinker he belongs in his own sentence. He is the novelist who most romanced a good drink or nice bottle of wine as one of life’s great pleasures. Who didn’t want to have a vermouth with Jake when reading The Sun Also Rises? (Don’t, it’s gross, at least if you order it at one of those kiosks in Montmartre where the bottles are hung upside down with spring-loaded dispensers.) Or, track down a bottle of Valdepeñas, Hemingway’s favourite variety of Spanish wine. Or, get a drink at the bar named after him at the Ritz, in Paris, and then go somewhere on the Left Bank to order “a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine”.  In the early work, he is not boastful about drinking so much as he is the possessor of an unusual appetite for a good buzz. He is also, like Connolly, aware of the need to keep writing separate from drinking, and drinking within his control. It is hard to read the first paragraph of A Moveable Feast, in which he describes an “evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness”, except as a kind of terrifying admonition to himself. It is tragic that he didn’t heed his own advice. Late in his life, Hemingway became fond of rum daiquiris at the Floridita, his favourite bar in Havana, which might explain his taste for a prose style that soon became too often cloying self-parody. In one of the most extraordinary drinking sessions ever committed to words, in the roman à clef Across the River and Into the Trees, a 50-year-old Hemingway, who was smitten with a teenage Italian countess from Venice, fictionalises his infatuation with a last muse. In one stretch (that covers an evening-to-dawn crawl from Harry’s Bar, the grill at the Gritti Palace, a gondola and a hotel room), one half or another of the couple imbibes: one scotch whisky and soda; six Montgomery Martinis (15 parts gin; 1 part vermouth), two of which are described in size as ‘super’; a bottle of Capri Bianco; two bottles of Valpolicella; two bottles of Roederer Brut ’42; and two bottles of Perrier-Jouët. That is, I suppose, one extreme, and, clearly, not one to be tried at home.  The other might have been espoused by Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great critic and lexicographer. As a young man, he’d drained “many a bottle of wine” but loved port especially. (Perhaps Johnson, a devout Anglican who was born in 1709, in the midst of England’s 14-year war with Spain, also first encountered port as a boy at the Communion altar.) He describes himself to friend and biographer James Boswell as having been “apt to go to excess in it”, adding that, “therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it”.  Boswell, who worried about his own dependence on alcohol, even keeping a journal of his intake in an attempt to enforce moderation, argued for a third way, which some of the Romantics later adopted. Wine, he claimed, “produces truth; in vino veritas”. Hoping to persuade Johnson of his point, Boswell once convinced the critic to come down off the wagon for just one glass of claret, so Johnson “might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation”. Boswell reports what happened after the glass was emptied: “Johnson shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men,’” adding, “‘A man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.’”  That actually reminds me of something I think I forgot to mention about Riesling Kabinetts – they’re also highly admired for their low percentage of alcohol. On that note, I think I’ll have another glass.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

Jay Fielden, former editor of Men’s Vogue, Town & Country and Esquire, recalls how a magazine column on wine, read in a Texas bookstore, shifted his ambitions beyond journalism and set him on the path to becoming a writer of books.

Former Esquire editor-in-chief Jay Fielden reflects on magazines, writing, Riesling Kabinett and the distractions that shaped a life in words and wine.

Jay Fielden on Wine, Words and Distraction

How one became another  

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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

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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.

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