Long ago, we wrenched grapevines from their natural habitat. Enthusiastic creepers, their shoots and tendrils are designed to cling onto whatever they can as they grow; winding themselves around trees or other plants in the wild. But we dragged vines out of the forest and forced them into rigid trellises, taming their wayward growth to produce a crop that served our purpose. Now, however, there’s a movement to re-integrate trees and plants into viticulture.  Cheval Blanc is one of the most famous proponents of agroforestry, which is a key part of its manifesto on a modern approach to viticulture. Augustin Fromageot – who now works full time at Anjou’s Domaine Belargus – was one of the team involved in the project, planting over 4,000 trees at the estate in two years. Until then, Fromageot – a trained geologist – had been working in South America, largely in cocoa and coffee, but the vine was calling. The team converted the estate into a laboratory of sorts – experimenting with different ways to integrate trees, within rows, replacing rows, in copses and borders or any other way you can imagine planting them alongside vines, all set to be followed in scientific programmes to track what works and what doesn’t. Now he’s doing a similar thing at Belargus, managing their extensive nature reserve and working to increase biodiversity on the estate – working to manage the landscape, as he sees it.  It’s an oversimplification to suggest that vines have gone directly from wild creepers to industrialised monocultures. Historically, farming was poly-cultural, a smallholding contained everything a family needed – and vines often formed part of that. Pergola trellising, for example, allowed for other crops to be planted beneath, while trees being used as a living trellis was not uncommon – often referenced as married vines, the Roman method of arbusta (favoured by Pliny, for example) – and grown alongside each other, culture en hautain, cultura mista or joualle. It’s this latter method, favoured in southwest France a century or so ago, that Cheval Blanc has in part been trialling, with individual trees replacing vines within a row. It looks beautiful, however brings its own complications, limiting mechanisation. It is, as Fromageot, says, a “poetic” way to integrate trees. You’ll still find vines trained up trees in Bolivia, in the Cinti Valley (as for the Jardín Oculto project), although these are ancient examples – and few would plant vines like this today. It’s an impractical way to farm, at the end of the day, one that only worked on a very small scale, but it’s clear that industrialisation has pushed monocultures too far – and agroforestry is one way in which producers are trying to fix the damage done.  Trees are remarkable in many ways, but they can have a huge impact on a vineyard. Their physical presence can influence the microclimate – protecting a vineyard from frost, heat and wind, as well as acting as a physical barrier between neighbouring properties – preventing any unwanted sprays drifting into your vines. They increase biodiversity – providing a habitat for insects and animals, in particular bats, and they absorb carbon dioxide. They reduce soil erosion (with topsoil erosion a major threat to agriculture worldwide) and increase organic matter, which in turn increases soil’s water-holding capacity – a major plus in dry regions. For Fromageot, trees help to create a resilience in the vineyard, reinforcing the vines’ natural defences, and therefore reducing the number of treatments required.   It’s easy to look at such a list and understand the principles at play. Clearly there are benefits for the environment – but what does it mean for the wine in your glass? Well, a lot, potentially. As few as five trees will influence the microclimate in a 100-metre radius; they can reduce the temperature in a parcel by as much as 2-3°C, preserving acidity, lowering alcohol and retaining precision in the aromatics. And, shielding a vineyard from extreme frost or heat, as well as providing better water reserves in the soils, allows for a more consistent yield, all of which is beneficial with climate change – with both more extreme weather conditions and global warming.  Of course, it’s not quite as simple as it sounds. “It teaches us an immense humility,” Fromageot tells me, as I start asking him about the world of agroforestry, and more specifically vitiforestry. He’s more than aware that agroforestry has become a buzzword in wine – it's suddenly very trendy. But there’s a lot of work involved in planting and managing trees. For starters, deciding where and how to plant trees is key. Their ability to influence microclimate can be both good and bad – with the potential to create frost pockets, to increase humidity, reduce airflow and therefore disease pressure. “You need to read the landscape,” Fromageot explains.  You also have to decide what sort of tree to plant, as well as the rootstock, ensuring it will complement viticulture. The first thing Fromageot does when taking on a project is look at all the local nurseries to understand the native varieties. Fruit trees are common, but as he notes, you need to ensure it has a different harvest time to grapes to avoid any conflict – he looks to apples, pears and prunes, in particular, highlighting how challenging peaches and apricots can be. Otherwise, the likes of maple, ash, mulberry, black poplar, hornbeam and linden can all work – essentially trees that share the same type of mycorrhizae (the microorganisms that attach to roots) as vines. You want to avoid anything that might taint your wine, or anything that will inhibit growth – such as walnut trees, which produce a toxic compound, juglone.  Trees have significantly different requirements to vines, needing different equipment and expertise to thrive, with – for example – extensive fertilisation to establish trees, which need richer soils. Trees will – wherever they are planted – occupy space that could otherwise be used for vines, yielding additional crop. And it’s a slow process, with it taking around a decade for trees to start influencing viticulture in a meaningful way, says Fromageot. All of this costs time and money – making agroforestry a luxury that not all producers can afford, although Fromageot feels that trees can be integrated in a different way for producers working at scale.  Alain Canet – an agronomist and specialist in agroforestry – argues that re-introducing trees is crucial for agriculture. “For some soils it is already too late,” he writes. “But for most, we have time to act... In agroecological terms, the transition to trees is the transition to life.”  There are many scientific reasons to favour vitiforestry, but for Fromageot there is a more compelling reason: the landscape fixes people to a geography, to a place, and that – he argues – is essential for making fine wine. Beauty in the landscape you live and work in helps us “find sense in life”, he tells me. Romantic? Maybe. But with the science to back it up, it’s hard not to be persuaded that trees line the way to a more sustainable future – in wine, yes, but in wider agriculture too. 

Agroforestry is the latest trend to take over the world of fine wine – but why? We sat down with Domaine Belargus’s Augustin Fromageot to find out why trees might just be the key to sustainable viticulture 

Agroforestry is the latest trend to take over the world of fine wine – but why? We sat down with Domaine Belargus’s Augustin Fromageot to find out more

Trees and wine: exploring the world of vitiforestry

Putting down roots: the world of vitiforestry 

I’m sitting opposite Rino Fontana, an Italian wine collector that Antonio Galloni named his Wine Personality of the Year in 2023. Fontana looks unassuming – like any other septuagenarian that you might find, cigarette in hand, knocking back an espresso in a sunny piazza. Sunglasses hang on a string around his neck, and occasionally he rifles through scraps of paper that seem to operate as a calendar and/or journal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was perhaps someone a little more, well, suave. Fontana has been collecting wine since the 1980s and is renowned for his cellar, a treasure trove of remarkable vintages from Piedmont’s top producers. Indeed, Galloni has dubbed him “Il Professore” for his extensive knowledge of Italian wine – despite never having worked in the industry. As Fontana scrolls through pictures on his phone, recalling recent dinners, he rolls off names and vintages that would leave any wine-lover speechless. He grew up in the Oltrepò Pavese, where his father was a stonemason, but would buy grapes and make a little wine for the family. Fontana was sent to school in Valenza, a town known for its gold industry – and he started working in a gold factory in his late teens. Aged 24, he and his best friend opened their own jewellery workshop. It was the owner of a local restaurant in nearby Mortara who introduced Fontana to the real pleasures of wine, and a bottle of Conterno’s Monfortino that made him fall head over heels for Nebbiolo – the 1958 vintage, in fact. Since that first taste, he’s opened over 150 bottles (yes, really) of the 1958 Monfortino. It was that wine that prompted Fontana to start visiting producers – an adventure in self-education. At the time, people weren’t buying wine, and Italy’s winemakers were far from fashionable. He became friends with the likes of Giuseppe Rinaldi, Bruno Giacosa and Gianfranco Soldera, rapidly securing significant allocations of their wines when few others were showing interest. Producers, in turn, suggested he had a gift – unique in his ability to understand wines in barrel and foretell their future. Today, he covers around 80,000km a year visiting producers – but the vast majority of that mileage is in Piedmont, for Fontana drinks – and collects – little other than Nebbiolo. This one grape represents around 95% of his consumption, he says, with Barolo and/or Barbaresco on the menu every day. He always has the latest releases on hand in the fridge – even some basic Langhe Nebbiolo, but at least twice a week he’ll uncork something special from the 1960s or ’80s with wine-loving friends or producers. While Nebbiolo is one of many grapes to be declared “the king of wines”, for Fontana it really does reign supreme. When I ask why, marvelling at how he could drink so much of just one variety, he shrugs: “Nebbiolo is Nebbiolo.” When I push him, he says he loves its ageability, structure and elegance – something he feels you can’t find in Pinot Noir. He recalls a recent dinner with Galloni at Il Centro in Priocca, sharing a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti’s 2004 La Tâche alongside a 1947 Borgogno Barolo and 1989 Vigna Rionda from Giacosa. Both the Barolos, he says, grew over the dinner – while the La Tâche faded slowly. For him, Burgundy (even the world’s most sought-after bottles) is no match for Nebbiolo. That’s a controversial opinion – but Fontana is not a man short of views. He dismisses the wines of Cappellano and Accomasso, while he has firm beliefs on how Nebbiolo should be made, favouring traditional winemaking with old oak – not wanting to feel the wood in the wine. He argues that too many young producers are going to Burgundy and trying to echo that style in their wines, losing their Piedmontese identity. The resulting wines are, he feels, too technical, too clean. “Great wine can’t be perfect,” he says – suggesting that those imperfections are partly what makes wine feel alive. While the most established and famous producers dominate his collection, he also likes the wines from newer names such as Trediberri, Crissante and Cascina Baricchi. Beyond Nebbiolo, he’ll dabble in certain labels of Sangiovese – Soldera, for example will pass muster, as well as SanCarlo (a producer he feels rivals the former). Montevertine’s Le Pergole Torte would previously have been a prime choice, but now he’d choose Le Boncie’s Le Trame instead. He likes Valentini and Emidio Pepe, and used to buy Gravner but feels the style changed in 2004 so stopped. He sold his jewellery business in 2000 – dedicating his time entirely to wine – visiting producers, building his collection and selling to select parties (of which FINE+RARE is lucky enough to be one). Fontana has around 9,000 bottles in his collection today. He shows us a video of his cellar – intriguingly with many of the wines stored upright. Anything post 1990 is kept on its side, but older wines stand proud in his cellar – something which he argues is better once they reach a certain age, with the cork and humidity of the cellar more important in their preservation. It’s a remarkable collection, with incredible verticals of many wines. His access seems unparalleled – receiving larger allocations than many importers, given his historical ties. He is the only individual, for example, to receive an allocation of Rinaldi’s Brunate Cru – a wine that is otherwise kept exclusively for the family. Some of his most prized bottles are Giacosa’s 1964 Santo Stefano and magnums of 1970 Monfortino (“amazing” – he says), while he has a soft spot for the youthful 2015 Soldera. Now aged 73, Fontana seems just as enchanted by wine as when he first tasted that 1958 Monfortino. I ask him if there’s a wine he is still desperate to taste, a unicorn that he’s still hunting: the answer is no. He’s been able to try every vintage from the producers he loves. It’s a rare answer for a wine lover – but “Il Professore” isn’t your average wine collector. – Photography of Rino Fontana at Il Centro by Dan Deibel Explore a selection of top verticals from Fontana’s cellar, all Italian listings or read more Editorial

Friends with Vinous founder and critic Antonio Galloni, and with a cellar that will turn you green with envy, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector. We sat down with the man himself to find out more about his journey into wine, incredible collection and obsession with one grape  

Antonio Galloni’s Wine Personality of the Year 2023, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector – we met the man to talk about his cellar

Rino Fontana – the wine collector like no other

Rino Fontana: a collector like no other

Bordeaux has several different classification systems. While the Right Bank has only Saint-Emilion’s system (one that is a source of controversy), the Left Bank has a more complex web of rankings.   
The 1855 classification is the gold standard. The most famous and influential of them all, it lists the Left Bank’s very top estates. But beyond this crème de la crème, there are several other systems ranking properties – namely the Graves classification, the Crus Bourgeois and Crus Artisans.  
The Graves classification  
Almost 100 years after the famous 1855 classification, producers in the Graves decided to create their own equivalent. Other than Ch. Haut-Brion, the region’s properties had not been included in the 1855 classification. A draft of the classification was drawn up in 1953, then the official list ratified in 1958, with some changes in 1959.  
The Graves classification is much simpler than the 1855 classification. There is only one tier, with estates declared “Grand Cru Classé de Graves” for white wine, red wine, or both. Sixteen estates in total were defined as the region’s best. Couhins, Couhins-Lurton and Laville Haut-Brion were classified for only their white wines, while Fieuzal, Haut-Bailly, Haut-Brion, La Mission Haut-Brion, Pape-Clément, Smith Haut Lafitte and La Tour Haut-Brion were classified only for their reds.  
Interestingly,. Ch. Haut-Brion is only classified for red, however this is not because its white was not deemed worthy, but because it did not apply for classification, given production of the illustrious wine is so small. It remains one of the region’s highest-rated and most expensive whites. 
Although there have been no changes since 1959, some of the wines are no longer made under the same name. Both part of the Clarence Dillon family, Ch. Laville Haut-Brion is now bottled as Ch. la Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, while fruit from La Tour Haut-Brion is now used for the second wine of La Mission, La Chapelle de la Mission Haut-Brion (read more about the genealogy of the Haut-Brion estates here).  
The Pessac-Léognan appellation was only introduced in 1987, so some of the wines are bottled under this today.  1959 Graves classification  Ch. Bouscaut (red and white)  Ch. Carbonnieux (red and white)  Domaine de Chevalier (red and white)  Ch. Couhins (white only)  Ch. Couhins-Lurton (white only)  Ch. de Fieuzal (red only)  Ch. Haut-Bailly (red only)  Ch. Haut-Brion (red only, also part of the 1855 classification)  Ch. Latour-Martillac (red and white)  Ch. Laville-Haut-Brion (white only, now the white of La Mission Haut-Brion)  Ch. Malartic-Lagravière (red and white)  Ch. La Mission Haut-Brion (red only)  Ch. Olivier (red and white)  Ch. Pape-Clément (red only)  Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte (red only)  Ch. la Tour-Haut-Brion (red only)  The Crus Bourgeois  The term “Cru Bourgeois” has long been used casually, but it was introduced as a formal classification in 1932. There have been many changes to the classification over the years. There were 444 properties in the original group, many of whom used the term on their labels even though the classification was never officially ratified. In 2003, after three years of debate, the classification was updated and split into three tiers (with Cru Bourgeois Supérieur and Exceptionnel added), only to be annulled in 2007, with the term then banned from labels. In 2010, the Cru Bourgeois classification was re-introduced and assigned to wines rather than estates, with their status re-assessed each year, but this too was soon replaced.  
In 2020, a new version of the classification was unveiled, going back to the three tiers of Cru Bourgeois, Cru Bourgeois Supérieur and Cru Bourgeois Exceptionnel. The top rank of “Exceptionnel” includes just 14 estates, with 56 Crus Bourgeois Supérieurs and 179 Crus Bourgeois (adding up to a total 249 properties). The classification is only being assessed every five years, with the next iteration set to be announced in 2025.   
The classification is decided based on the quality and consistency of the wine (assessed via rigorous blind tasting), traceability and authentication, with sustainability encouraged and rewarded. While these wines are not as highly regarded or sought after as those in the 1855 classification, the wines generally offer good value, and all come from the Médoc, Haut-Médoc, Listrac, Moulis, Margaux, Saint-Julien, Pauillac and Saint-Estèphe. Find the full, current classification on the Crus Bourgeois website. 
The Crus Artisans  
The Left Bank also has the Cru Artisan classification, designed to highlight smaller operations where the manager/owner is involved in every stage of production. The term has been used for over 150 years, however its official meaning was introduced in 1989. The classification was launched in its current guise in 2006, open to estates in the Médoc, Haut-Médoc, Listrac, Moulis, Margaux, Saint-Julien, Pauillac and Saint-Estèphe. Generally family-owned, properties must grow their own grapes, then make and sell the wines.  
There were 44 Cru Artisan estates in 2006, but the latest classification (unveiled in 2018) included only 36 – with many addresses sold/absorbed by other producers, some retiring, as well as a handful of new names added. The classification is based on a visit to the estate and blind tasting of its wines. On average, Crus Artisans have just 10 hectares of vines. Find the full current classification on the Crus Artisans website. 
Read more about Bordeaux or browse all Bordeaux listings


While the 1855 classification is the most famous and influential classification on the Left Bank, there are several other classifications in operation today. Here’s everything you need to know about Bordeaux’s Graves classification, the Crus Bourgeois and Crus Artisans 

Looking beyond the 1855 classification in Bordeaux: discover everything you need to know about the 1959 Graves, Cru Bourgeois and Cru Artisan classifications

Graves, Cru Bourgeois and Cru Artisan in Bordeaux

Your guide to Bordeaux’s other classifications: Graves, Cru Bourgeois and Cru Artisan

When Jean-Marc Roulot wandered through the family estate’s cellars one, seemingly ordinary day, he happened upon something unexpected. The vigneron had walked the hallowed paths innumerable times during his legendary father Guy’s life and during the 15 years since his sudden passing in 1982. But there, in a long-forgotten corner of the cellars, lay 12 dusty bottles of apricot liqueur. Jean-Marc knew all about his father’s production of pear and apple brandy, and his family tradition of producing marc de Bourgogne and fine de Bourgogne. The still, which he used and remains in operation today, dates back to 1866 and used to be on wheels so the family could move from village to village. So well-known was this distillation heritage, in fact, that Jean-Marc’s mother used to joke that the still paid for their vineyards. What came as a surprise to the actor-cum-winemaker was the existence of L’Abricot. “I had never seen him make this liqueur,” the 65-year-old says. “It was absolutely delicious and I wanted to try to find this recipe.” This discovery in 2008 set Jean-Marc on a mission to reproduce the liqueur from instinct, as no recipe existed, and increase the estate’s staple of brandies, eaux de vie and liqueurs. In some instances, the winemaker was able to follow recipes and meet with fruit producers to reinstate his father’s relationships. For others, he had to forge his own path. “I wanted to reconnect with that [tradition],” he adds. Jean-Marc says he’s always had a passion for distillation, having learned the skill from his father, and feels it has influenced his winemaking. When distilling, Jean-Marc focuses on two things: purity and authenticity. When asked, he says it is of paramount importance that the end product tastes like the fruit. It seems obvious, perhaps, but this is not always the case with overly saccharine fruit-based liqueurs. In order to achieve these two things, Jean-Marc has reduced the sugar levels over time – from 180g/l sugar 10 years ago to 160g/l in the latest iterations. “Sugar is of course a flattering element in a liqueur, but it can also mask the fruit,” he says. “By lowering the sugar levels, I feel like I'm putting the fruit forward.” From more classic pear and raspberry to the most recent addition, lemon liqueur, Jean-Marc says the fruit choices have largely been emotive. “I chose to make a pear alcohol since my father already made this 40 years ago with fruits from the Hautes Côtes de Beaune,” he says. “He was doing the same thing in a much smaller amount with the raspberry than I am doing. For these two fruits in brandies, it is therefore a family tradition.” The pears are sourced from the same site in the Hautes Côtes de Beaune that his father used, while the apricots (previously from the orchards of Chave) come courtesy of Laurent Combier (of Domaine Combier) in the Rhône. While he used to be able to source them locally, raspberries are now hard to find – and these, along with his lemons, come from further afield (Bulgaria and Sicily, respectively). After finding the bottles of apricot liqueur and working with the fruit in that capacity, the idea occurred to Jean-Marc to ferment them to make brandy as well. He’s also turned his hand to lemon liqueur and doesn’t rule out further fruit experimentation, perhaps with grapefruit. When asked about these fruits in relation to terroir, Jean-Marc says he doesn’t think they can reflect their terroir “as well” or “as faithfully” as grapes. “Perhaps this is due to the size of the plant, the density of planting, the attention we pay to the work of the vineyard and all the care we take around the grape when it comes back to the winery,” he adds. “There is generally a ‘signature’ effect in grapes that I do not find in a fruit like pear for example.”  He does, however, think the distillation process has taught him a considerable amount. “As we are mainly winegrowers, we seem to think that our knowledge on this subject has influenced the work on the still, but I sincerely believe that the precision that distillation requires has influenced us in the other direction, towards our work as a winegrower.” One senses Jean-Marc’s discovery of those 12 unassuming bottles all those years ago had a much greater impact on him than merely influencing his production of superlative wines, and now, his fruit brandies, eaux de vie and liqueurs. Find out more about Domaine Roulot or read more Editorial

Meursault-based Domaine Roulot is one of the finest estates in the Côte de Beaune. But it’s not just grapes that cross the threshold at this domaine. Owner and winemaker Jean-Marc tells us about the family’s fruit-based spirits – and how they’ve influenced his winemaking

The famous Meursault vigneron Domaine Roulot on his family’s other project - the family’s fruit-based spirit

Domaine Roulot Meursault fruit-based spirits

A secret still: Domaine Roulot

Oak barrels have been used in winemaking for thousands of years. While initially their purpose was simply as a holding vessel, today it is much more than this. As we have learnt about wine production at a molecular level, we have discovered the unique interaction between oak and wine – adding flavour, textural complexity and increased ageing potential. These intrinsic qualities have seen oak at the forefront of fine wine’s greatest success stories – but also some of its greatest failures. The use of oak to improve a wine requires great skill and finding that balance has shaped the modern history of fine wine.  What is rather beautiful about winemaking, particularly in fine wine circles, is that despite the input from developments in science and technology, production remains an artisan craft, relying both on tradition and technology. The barrel-maker is a perfect example of this partnership and no one understands this better than François Frères. This lauded Burgundy cooper’s ties to the world’s greatest wines make it one of a very small number that have lived through the development and fashions within fine wine.  Today, business has never been better for François Frères; they produce 30,000 barrels a year and export to every major wine region in the world. The secret to the François Frères barrels historically, Gigandet believes, is their consistency, while the all-important signature toasting is paramount. To keep up with the ever-growing world of fine wine, François Frères produces tailor-made barrels that fit the varying climates and varying styles of each winemaker, meeting the standards set by today’s precision-led winemaking. Despite the growth of the business in recent years, François Frères still remains intrinsically linked to its homeland in Burgundy and the specific microclimate of Saint-Romain that is so important for the seasoning of their oak – another key factor behind the company’s success. “The microclimate of Saint-Romain, in a windy and pollution-free environment is ideal for the seasoning and drying of the oak. This oxidation of phenolic compounds under the influence of fungi, releases enzymes that hydrolyse the phenolic compounds, reducing the wood’s astringency, producing oak of the finest quality for wine production,” Gigandet tells me. The art of the cooper is much more than just sawing and toasting – it’s about sourcing, traceability, control of drying time and heating, hygiene, temperature control, sorting and more. With increased knowledge, the quality of the barrels, like that of the wines, has greatly improved. Even just a few years ago, Gigandet admits that in colder Burgundy vintages, sometimes their barrels jarred with the wine – they “brought too much tension and could sometimes seem too austere”. But now they have a better understanding of the qualities their barrels can bring to Burgundy: “François Frères barrels remain attractive to winemakers because they are great at retaining freshness and minerality.” Perhaps most importantly, François Frères wants its barrels to amplify a wine’s intrinsic qualities. “It wants to accentuate the beautiful tannic structure of a wine, contribute to its flavour but without excess of sweetness from the toasting, as well as amplifying the wine's tension and minerality, helping retain its freshness and its fruit,” Gigandet says. As technology has developed, so has François Frères. It is what Gigandet aptly calls “the evolution of taste” – “the cask has evolved considerably over the last few decades along with the quality of the wines. Today, the barrel is much more specific, manufacturing almost tailor-made barrels for each customer’s needs.” The business was founded by Joseph François in the early 1900s, never imagining that being a cooper would become a full-time job. Back then, Gigandet reminds us, “It took several trades to live.” But the next generation, Robert and Henri François, saw the demand for oak casks rise, at that time mainly used to transport wines. They took the operation full-time, creating the François Frères brand in 1942. In those days, as Gigandet points out, “The tradition of maturing wines in barrels was reserved only for the very top red and white wines of Burgundy and the great Bordeaux châeaux.” Even within these regions, barrels were a luxury, re-used year after year given their expense, therefore keeping the demand for new barrels low. By the 1960s the brothers were met by the development of stainless steel and plastic containers. The barrel quickly lost it supremacy as the preferred vessel for transportation and demand plummeted. It was only the top producers that helped keep the cooperage going. By the 1970s François Frères was producing barrels for one of the world’s most famous estates, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti – a partnership that would be instrumental in the continuation of the business through a difficult period. The next generation – Robert's son, Jean – was confronted by the economic downturn of the early 1970s and turned to export to save the family business. Fortuitously at this time, oenologists in the United States started to highlight how ageing wines in new oak barrels brought complementary flavours and complexity to the wines. In the 1980s, the French market caught onto the idea and both export and domestic markets grew. The oak barrel was entering an era where it would become the star of the show – and a must for all top producers. François Frères’s reputation for working with the best saw it perfectly placed to capitalise on this new-found love for the barrel. But according to Gigandet, it wasn’t just the fashion of using new oak in the 1980s and ’90s that saw such a huge increase in demand. This trend emerged just as wine exports exploded. What he calls “the democratisation of wine” saw the world of wine suddenly open up to the middle classes – and this increase in sales saw an ever-increasing need to maintain quality and improve consistency. Such demand prompted and funded a better scientific and technological understanding of wine production. More importantly for François Frères, it fuelled the need for a better understanding of what barrel-ageing does to wine – and why. It was already clear that contact with new oak changed wine profoundly. Most obviously the aromas and flavours of the wine develop, becoming more complex. These aromas and flavours are formed during the toasting of the barrels. “It is this toasting of the barrel that remains the signature of the cooper,” explains Gigandet. But the oak didn’t just impact the flavour, they came to understand that, being porous, oak allowed the wine to undergo “controlled oxygenation”. The exchange of air through the oak staves, in particular for red wines, helps stabilise the colour and polymerise the tannins. This polymerisation not only softens the wine, but brings a textural complexity, a millefeuille layering of mouth-feel brought about by the linking of long tannin chains, encouraged by the micro-oxygenation process that the wine goes through when aged in oak barrel. “François Frères barrels are ageing tools, which contribute to the textural improvement of wines, when used wisely,” Gigandet explains. As the wine world’s love of oak grew, François Frères’ main export customers went from little-known names to pioneers in their respective regions – with Robert Mondavi in the US, Angelo Gaja in Italy, Nicolas Catena in Argentina and Australia’s Rosemount winery. Each of these producers further cemented the cooper’s reputation, representing the very pinnacle of oak barrel production. Of course, like all fashions, the oak craze of the ’90s saw some extreme uses – 200% new oak ageing or an over-reliance on oak to provide flavour to wines that lacked the natural concentration to carry it. This saw many producers and consumers react strongly against its presence in wine at all. Even Gigandet admits that there are wines with “excess woodiness” to their detriment. Today, the barrel also has to compete with new trends in wine maturation – concrete eggs and clay amphorae, for instance. But while these new vessels have captured the imagination of the world’s top winemakers, it is not necessarily at the expense of the barrel. “The barrel has an important oenological role in the development of wines from certain grape varieties,” states Gigandet – notably Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah and Pinot Noir. But he also outlines how different ageing vessels combined can also benefit a wine’s potential for complexity. This is certainly the case amongst some leading producers in Bordeaux and Burgundy that are using both oak barrels and alternative ageing vessels. Coopers like François Frères have weathered the changing relationship wine has had with the barrel; with shifting views of critics and drinkers over the last century. Fortunately for fine wine lovers, there’s little sign of oak fading into the background. Oak remains a vital ingredient in many of the world’s greatest wines, adding to its flavour, textural complexity and – of course – ageing potential. Today oak has never been so deftly handled, bringing so much to a wine, while retaining the grapes’ natural expression. The art of the cooper lives on. Read more Editorial 

Oak has played a vital role in the changing history of fine wine. In 2021 we spoke to Max Gigandet – Managing Director of leading Burgundy cooper François Frères – to explore the power of a good barrel and why oak isn’t going anywhere

Exploring the vital role oak has played in the changing history of fine wine and the power of a good barrel with François Frères

François Frères on the art of the cooper

Finding the balance: the art of the cooper

Arvine: Switzerland’s hidden treasure Berry colour: white
 Arvine, pearl of the Alps The ultimate Swiss grape variety, Arvine can produce captivating, complex wines of international stature, from dry to sweet. It is native to the Valais, southern Switzerland, where it was mentioned for the first time in 1602. Since the late 19th century, it has often been called Petite Arvine to distinguish it from Grosse Arvine, a completely different and rare local variety. I have not so far been able to uncover Arvine’s parents by DNA testing. It is often said that Arvine was introduced to Switzerland by the Romans. Its name allegedly derived from helvola, a grape variety mentioned by Cato the Elder. I refute this claim for two very simple reasons: firstly, it is impossible to establish botanical identity between the vague descriptions of Latin authors and modern varieties, and secondly, helvola grapes were black-berried. I think instead that its name comes from the local dialect arvena, itself probably derived from the Latin advena, meaning ‘just arrived’. This name could have been given to the variety shortly after its birth (or arrival?) in the Valais. It is a late-ripening variety, with small berries and compact, small bunches. It is quite productive, but prone to wind damage and susceptible to fungal diseases. Arvine covers 218 hectares (539 acres), almost exclusively in the Valais, representing only 1.48% of the country’s vine-bearing area. It produces complex, lively wines that can age well, with aromas of citrus and rhubarb, and a firm structure, as well as a characteristic salinity on the finish. Champions of Arvine In the Valais, several outstanding producers make excellent varietal Arvine wines. For dry wines, I would recommend Cave Benoît Dorsaz in Fully, Valentina Andrei in Saillon, Didier Joris in Chamoson, Cave de l’Orpailleur in Uvrier and Domaine des Muses in Granges, among many others. For the sweet wines, produced from grapes that are naturally left to shrivel on the vine, the undisputed champion is Marie-Thérèse Chappaz in Fully. From her biodynamic vineyards, this icon of Swiss winegrowers crafts some of the best sweet wines in the world, especially from Arvine. Her Petite Arvine Grain Noble is highly sought after, and her otherworldly Arvine Grain par Grain, made exclusively from botrytised berries harvested by hand, berry by berry, is almost impossible to find. Arvine has rarely been planted outside Switzerland. In Italy, it was introduced to the neighbouring Aosta Valley in 1970. In 1992, Angelo Gaja, one of Italy’s most famous wine producers, planted 0.36 hectares in Serralunga (Piedmonte). The result was a disaster, in his words, mainly because of problems with coulure and wind damage. In France, some vine parcels exist in the Languedoc and in the Rhône Valley, where charismatic winemaker Michel Chapoutier planted half a hectare in Tain-l’Hermitage, but he was not convinced by the results and has now abandoned the experiment. Outside Europe, it is produced only in Mendocino, California, by one adventurous producer, Ernest Vineyards, which makes a varietal wine under the Edaphos label.

Dr José Vouillamoz
 
Areni: Armenia’s national treasure Berry colour: BLACK 
History in a bottle Areni is the most important red variety in Armenia. It most likely comes from the village of Areni in Vayots Dzor, at the southeastern end of the county, where the world’s oldest cellar (4000 BC) was discovered in a cave in 2011. Interestingly, the grape remains found at the bottom of the old karas (the traditional clay jars) buried in the cave look very similar to the pips of the modern Areni variety. DNA profiling has failed to identify Areni’s parents, making it an orphan Armenian variety, but it has shown that at least two distinct varieties share the name Areni: Areni Sev (sev means black), the ‘true’ one that has historically been grown in Vayots Dzor, and Areni Seyrak (seyrak means loose, referring to the bunches), sporadically found among Areni Sev vines in old mixed vineyards. Areni Sev is a late-ripening variety with oblong, sometimes ovate, thick-skinned berries. The bunches are medium-sized and dense. It shows good resistance to frost, which means it can be cultivated at high elevations (up to 1,600 metres in Armenia). It is moderately resistant to powdery mildew and susceptible to downy mildew. Areni is exclusively cultivated in Armenia, where it has traditionally been used to make high-quality, age-worthy wines with complex aromas of violets, wisteria, cherries and blackberries, silky tannins and refreshing acidity. Champions of Areni After my first visit to Areni village in 2003, and despite the rudimentary winemaking at the only local winery (Areni Winery, now Hin Winery), I was convinced that Areni was among the most promising grape varieties in the world. In 2012, I met Zorik Gharibian in Izmir (Turkey) at the European Wine Bloggers’ Conference. I was much impressed by his 2010 Karasi Areni Noir, Zorah Wines’ very first vintage after 10 years of trial and error. We became friends and I selfishly helped him find an importer in Switzerland, in order to secure my own supply of his wines, including the mind-blowing high-end cuvée Yeraz. Since then, Zorik and his wife Yeraz have relentlessly promoted Armenian wines all over the world, and Zorah Wines has become one of Armenia’s most respected flagships. Their wines, sourced from ungrafted vineyards between 1,300 and 1,600 metres altitude are partly made in karas, traditional clay jars partly buried underground, ‘cousins’ of the Georgian qvevri. The sad thing is that Armenian-born Eduardo Eurnekian, one of the wealthiest people in Argentina and owner of several airports, including that of Yerevan in Armenia, has founded a winery named Karas Wines, despite not using any karas in the winemaking process. In 2018, judges granted him the exclusive usage of the name Karas, disregarding 6,000 years of shared tradition. Zorik Gharibian has been determinedly fighting against this unfair judgement and he plans to appeal to the country’s Supreme Court. I strongly support him. And I predict that Armenia may well be the ‘next big thing’ in the wine world. Dr José Vouillamoz
 Kydonitsa: Rebirth of an extremely rare grape variety Berry colour: WHITE Rescued in the nick of time Kydonitsa is a survivor, an almost forgotten variety from Lakonía (Laconia) in the southern Pelopónnisos (Peloponnese) in Greece. According to local belief, it was widely cultivated in the medieval period when Lakonía formed part of the Byzantine Empire. It then flourished under brief periods of Venetian rule, before it was threatened with extinction under Ottoman rule, as a result of the bans on alcohol consumption. It had almost disappeared when it was saved from extinction by Yiannis Vatistas and Yorgos Tsimbidi (Monemvasia Winery) in the late 1990s. DNA profiling has not revealed any match or parentage with any other variety, making it a Greek orphan. The medium-sized bunches are relatively loose and elongated. The berries are small and turn golden yellow when ripe. In Greek, the word kυδωνίτσα (kydonitsa) means ‘little quince’, referring to the aroma of both the berry and the wine. The wine also shows notes of lemon, grapefruit, bergamot and mirabelle plum, as well as aromatic herbs. It is elegant, creamy, with crisp acidity and a slightly bitter, orange-peel finish, with a hint of iodine. Kydonitsa is grown exclusively in Lakonía, on the east coast of the Pelopónnisos, near the island of Monemvasia. Champions of Kydonitsa Yorgos Tsimbidi is a visionary. In 1997, while most wineries in the Pelopónnisos were busy planting so-called international grape varieties, he founded Monemvasia Winery in order to revive the historical Malvasia wine in its birthplace. The name Malvasia has been given to a wide range of genetically distinct white-, pink-, grey- and black-skinned varieties which are all particularly well suited to the production of sweet wines. The name is purported to be a corruption of Monemvasia, which means ‘single entrance’ and is the name of a small port situated on a rocky spur in Lakonía. It has been famous since ancient times for its sweet wine made from sun-dried grapes. The earliest mention of the sweet wines of Monemvasia dates back to 1214 in Éfesos (Ephesus, today in Turkey), and in 1278 the Venetians were already importing vinum de Malvasias. The exact identities of the grape varieties making up this sweet wine are still unknown, but Kydonitsa and the appropriately named Monemvasia were probably part of the blend. This is what drove Yorgos Tsimbidi to put all his time and energy into rescuing them, carrying out countless on-farm trials since 1997. He now produces dry varietal wines, as well as the sweet ‘Monemvasia – Malvasia’, a blend of Monemvasia, Kydonitsa, Assyrtiko and Asproudi grapes, dried for approximately two weeks under the sun, in order to revive the ancient tradition. Today, Yorgos runs the winery with his wife Elli and their daughters Marialena, Anastasia and Artemis. I was able to taste a mini-vertical of Kydonitsa during my visit in 2016, which convinced me of the exceptional quality and ageing potential of this resurrected variety. And the rest of the portfolio convinced me that Monemvasia Winery is one of the best in mainland Greece. Dr José Vouillamoz

 Baga: Northern Portuguese red with a simple name and a complex character Berry colour: black 
The rehabilitation of Baga The meaning of Baga may be simple (berry) but the variety is far from it. When it is good, it is breathtakingly beautiful and capable of long ageing. When it is abused, it is acid, mean and lean, with tough tannins. It requires commitment from growers and wine lovers. While it may have originated in Portugal's Dão region, it has found its home in neighbouring Bairrada, where it is the dominant red variety. In 2017 there were 8,258 hectares (20,406 acres), 4% of Portugal’s vineyard area. It’s found mainly in Bairrada but also in Dão, although there it is not authorised in DOP wines. Baga vines are also planted, though far less numerously, in Lisboa, the Tejo and the Douro. The cool, wet, Atlantic-influenced climate of Bairrada is particularly inconvenient for a late-ripening variety with thin skins and prone to botrytis. If its vigour and productivity are not controlled by careful viticulture or the natural balance achieved by older vines in poor soils, there is increased risk of under-ripeness or rot when the September rains arrive. Despite all this, those whose hearts have been captured by the variety have shown it to be as bewitching as Pinot Noir, and as hauntingly complex and long-lived as Nebbiolo. Champions of Baga The variety allows itself to be made in many styles, influenced strongly by the soil (limestone-clay and granite are both prized), the age of the vines and, not least, by the personalities of the winegrowers and their choices in the winery. The most restlessly experimental and determined is Luís Pato, who was prominent among a small group of quality-minded winegrowers who dragged Baga into the spotlight for fine wine after it had languished for so long as a source of bulk reds churned out by the state-controlled co-ops and négociants for much of the 20th century. While there are today, thankfully, too many good winegrowers to mention by name, the Baga Friends display the variety’s wonderful diversity: from the powerful styles aged in oak that become increasingly complex and perfumed with age that are produced by, for example, Luís Pato, Mário Sérgio Alves Nuno at Quinta das Bageiras, François Chasans at Quinta da Vacariça and Paulo Sousa at Sidónio de Sousa; to the lightly stepping, red-fruited, fresh and scented beauties of Filipa Pato and Douro incomer Dirk Niepoort at Quinta de Baixo. Baga can also make very good sparkling wines. Bussaco Palace Hotel has an astonishing collection of very old vintages, blending Baga from Bairrada with Touriga Nacional from Dão. Julia Harding MW 
Kisi: Recently resurrected and scented Georgian white Berry colour: WHITE The resurrection of Kisi Maybe it’s because thin-skinned Kisi is difficult to grow and sensitive to the climate that it was on the verge of extinction at the end of the 20th century, when David Maisuradze made a wine that put the variety firmly back in the spotlight. The highly respected winemaker, then with Telavi Wine Cellar, managed to find just four tonnes of the variety to make a wine, fermented in a stainless-steel tank, that stunned wine lovers with its pure, floral aromas and deep fruit flavours of citrus and pear, richly fruited but dry. This variety didn’t stand much chance in the Soviet era when only a very limited number of varieties were permitted in the interests of volume rather than quality. Kisi was not among them and it survived in family vineyards in just three villages in its homeland of Kakheti, in the Alazani Valley in eastern Georgia in the shadow of the Caucasus Mountains: mainly in Maghraani but also in Argokhi and Pichkhovani. There are currently about 500 hectares (1,235 acres) of Kisi in Georgia, all still in this region. There is currently no DNA evidence to reveal the variety’s parentage but it is not related to Mtsvane Kakhuri or Rkatsiteli, the latter a Soviet favourite. Champions of Kisi In Georgia, ‘classic’ white wines are made in a way familiar to most 21st-century wine drinkers – fermented without the skins, typically in temperature-controlled tanks, occasionally fermented or aged in oak. By contrast, so-called qvevri white wines, sometimes referred to as amber wines because of their typically deep colour, are those vinified in traditional Georgian qvevri, large clay vessels ranging from 700 to 2,000 litres, buried underground so that just the opening is visible. The lightly crushed whole berries, including the skins and seeds, and sometimes even the stems, are fermented together in a qvevri, thus producing a wine with firm, even chewy, tannic texture and a wonderful panoply of flavours derived both from the variety and the winemaking, often ranging from apricots to chamomile. Soon after the appearance of Maisuradze’s revelatory wine, Gogi Dakishvili, a master of these qvevri wines, was able to buy a small amount of Kisi and make a wine in this second style. The cat was out of the bag and growers, including Dakishvili, started to replant when they saw the potential.  Kisi made under both the Dakishvili Family and the Orgo labels reveal all the textural and aromatic complexity of scented varieties made in this way. They are utterly pure, full-bodied wines with intense aromas and flavours that have sufficient structure to be very versatile with food. Qvevri winemaking was recognised as a UNESCO intangible heritage in 2013. While this is the style I particularly enjoy, for anyone who is not a fan of amber wines, there are fine examples that reveal even more of Kisi’s aromatic potential and deep but fresh fruit intensity. These include those from Winiveria and Khareba, and a particularly good off-dry style from Koncho & Co. One of the finest, in this case with light oak influence, is made by Danieli Winery, from vines near Argokhi, one of the three villages which were key to Kisi’s renaissance. Julia Harding MW
 This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One.  Illustration by Sarah Jane Humphrey.

Wine Grapes co-authors, Julia Harding MW and Dr José Vouillamoz, champion five lesser-known grape varieties from the book – and the winemakers that are using them to notable effect.

Wine Grapes co-authors Julia Harding MW and Dr José Vouillamoz champion five lesser-known grape varieties – and the winemakers using them to notable effect

FONDATA: Raisins d'être

Raisins d'être

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

Few people have been lucky enough to be as immersed in Burgundy’s finest wines as Martin Donatsch. His father bought a pallet of top Burgundy, including those of Domaine de la Romanée Conti (DRC) and Armand Rousseau, every year from the early 1970s onwards. Martin’s birth in 1978 – a fantastic vintage in Burgundy – only encouraged his father to buy more, and Martin, now in his early 40s, has been enjoying wines from the family collection ever since. Just last week, he uncorked a 1978 DRC Echézeaux. This immersion has provided him with an extraordinary understanding of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir – something that has doubtless helped him become one of the world’s great emerging winemaking talents. Donatsch is one of a small number of producers growing Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and the native Completer grape in Bündner Herrschaft in Switzerland. This tiny Swiss valley, for the time being, remains largely unknown – but, as Donatsch certainly believes, it may just be one of the world’s last great regions for fine wine production.The altitude (500 to 700 metres above sea-level) sees the vines flower a week later than is typical in Burgundy, yet picking dates are three to four weeks later. This provides a much longer growing season, allowing for complex flavours and aromas to develop in the grapes. Despite the altitude, the grapes reach good levels of ripeness thanks to the warm, dry wind – known locally as a “foehn”, that sweeps through the valley. Unlike Burgundy, autumns here are dry, so there is rarely pressure to pick before rain arrives, allowing for additional hang-time. The altitude keeps the acidity high, offsetting the naturally slightly higher alcohol (typically around 14%), meaning the wines never feel overly alcoholic. While Bündner Herrschaft has been home to Pinot Noir since the 15th century, Donatsch – now in the hands of the fifth generation – has pioneered the quality revolution in the region. Martin’s father Thomas Donatsch was not only the first to – then illegally – plant Chardonnay in 1975, but also the first to introduce French barriques to Switzerland, influenced by his vigneron friend André Noblet, the winemaker at Domaine de la Romanée-Conti from 1945 to 1986. In the early 1970s, Thomas – a young 20-year-old about to take on the family winery – set off to learn from the best. Obsessed with Burgundy from a young age, he knocked on the door unannounced at Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. In a fortuitous set of circumstances, Noblet had just returned from his first ever holiday (in Gran Canaria) and the first extended time away from his beloved wines. He had missed his wine cellar so much during the trip, he couldn’t wait to return. Finding the young Donatsch sitting by the door and desperate to reacquaint himself with his wines, Noblet invited Thomas to spend the afternoon with him tasting the different cuvées from barrel. Martin believes his dad gained Noblet’s trust by initially criticising DRC’s Montrachet 1968. Tasting the wine Donatsch reportedly said, “There is no way this wine could come from the great Montrachet!” A little precocious, perhaps: fortunately Noblet agreed it wasn’t his finest vintage, but the result of experiments in the winery. It was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, with Donatsch returning to the DRC cellars every year. On each visit, Noblet would always pour him a glass of Montrachet 1968 and ask his opinion before tasting any of the other wines. It wasn’t long before Donatsch was buying a pallet of Grand Cru Burgundy every year (at that time a bottle of La Tâche was just over £35 a bottle). Noblet also started to help Donatsch improve his Pinot Noir – first by giving Thomas his first three French barriques. These weren’t just any old barrels though, they had previously held La Tâche and were made by François Frères – who at the time had just two customers, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and Henri Boillot. Donatsch took the barrels back to Switzerland, and the winery has been using François Frères barriques ever since. I asked Martin why the introduction of French barriques in Switzerland was such a revolution for the region. At the time, he says, the Swiss wine schools were obsessed with cleanliness – teaching the importance of filtering wines, using protective winemaking methods and using stainless steel tanks even for the red wines. The use of barrels was the opposite; it meant no additional filtering and a more oxidative environment. Donatsch believes the introduction of barriques around the world revolutionised fine wine. Angelo Gaja was the first to do it in Italy; Torres the first in Spain; Mondavi in the US; and Keller in Germany. But Thomas Donatsch was doing this 10 years before any of them, thanks to the influence of André Noblet, as well as Jean-Bernard Delmas – the winemaker at Château Haut-Brion, another of Thomas Donatsch’s influential friends.  Speaking with Martin Donatsch, you can’t help but feel he has got all his priorities in order. The small size of his winery means he can control every aspect of production, while benefitting from the variety that a life in wine can offer. Producing just 35,000 bottles a year means that when he is not in the vineyard tending his crop, he is in the winery, or fulfilling orders and redesigning his website (graphic design is another passion of his). Being one of the country’s most prestigious winemakers he sells his wine into the country’s top restaurants and luxury hotels, who can’t get enough of his wine. Donatsch’s annual release of wines sells out in just hours. While this is a great sign of his talents, it is also why many people outside of Switzerland have never heard of, let alone experienced, the world-class Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from the winery. Despite the demand for the Donatsch wines, there are no plans to expand: firstly because the authorities won’t allow it, but second because Martin loves the “human” size of the business and doesn’t want to lose that. Martin is, however, keen for more people outside of Switzerland to taste them. Beyond the tiny volumes that make it as far as export, to source these extraordinary wines you’ll have to (when one can) visit the winery yourself. You may just, knocking on the cellar door unannounced, receive a welcome as warm as young Thomas Donatsch did at Romanée-Conti.  Browse the latest releases from Domaine Donatsch or explore more Editorial

There is such domestic demand for the wines of Domaine Donatsch that they are rarely seen outside Switzerland. Tucked in amongst the Alps, this property makes world-class Pinot Noir and Chardonnay that gives Burgundy a run for its money. Gavin Smith explores the extraordinary site 

Winemaker and Domaine Donatsch owner Martin Donatsch on his world-class Swiss Pinot Noir and Chardonnay that give Burgundy a run for its money.

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