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 

Peat in whisky is divisive – both in terms of its intense flavour profile, but also its sustainability. It has long been used in Scotch whisky, adding complexity to the region’s spirits, but has – over the last two decades – been thrust into the limelight.  Essentially, peat is baby coal – decomposed organic matter, in particular sphagnum moss, that takes thousands of years to form. Historically, these peatlands – wetlands such as bogs and fens – were used for fuel, especially where other energy sources weren’t readily available. Slabs of peat, cut out of the ground and left to dry, were burnt, valued for their ability to (like coal) smoulder steadily. Peat would have originally been used to heat pot stills, giving off intensely scented smoke that distillers eventually looked to capture.  Today, energy sources are largely more sustainable, and peat is used in significantly smaller volumes in the kilning process. After the barley has been malted, it is kilned (essentially dried). For peated whiskies, this is done (at least in part) over a peat-fed fire, so that the barley picks up the flavours from the smoke. This barley is then milled, mashed, fermented and distilled to produce the whisky, with the peat smoke lending flavours that range from soot, smoke and asphalt to seaweed and iodine.   Peatlands have been put in the spotlight with climate change, given their incredible capacity to hold carbon – and release it. As a NatureScot report (2023) states, “Although peatlands cover less than 3% of the world’s surface, it is estimated that they store double the amount of carbon held in global forest biomass and more than 30% of the total global soil carbon store (Bonn et al., 2016). Peatlands make up some 9.5% of the UK’s land area with an estimated carbon store of over 3,200 million tonnes, of which 1,600 million tonnes are estimated to be in Scotland (Bonn et al., 2016).” But while they have an impressive ability to lock away carbon, once peatlands are damaged they release some of that carbon – and the same report estimates that degraded peatlands account for circa 13% of Scotland’s carbon emissions. (It’s worth noting that the same institution – then known as Scottish National Heritage – came under fire in 2020 for its agreement with Diageo, allowing for unlimited peat extraction on Islay.)  Peat accumulates at a mere 1mm a year, so it’s easy to see why peat extraction is a hot topic. Protecting and restoring Scotland’s peatlands are firmly on the national agenda, and in 2020, the Scottish government announced £20 million earmarked for restoration, with a commitment to invest more than £250 million by 2030. Unsurprisingly, it’s put Scotch whisky’s use of peat under the magnifying glass. In reality, a fraction (just 1%) of Scotland’s peat goes to the spirits industry – with horticulture the main culprit.  As Bruichladdich’s Head Distiller Adam Hannett says, however, it has provided “a great lens to look at what we’re doing with peatlands”. For him, “It’s about responsible extraction.” Bruichladdich’s production director is also looking at restoration projects with local farmers. In 2021, two giants of the industry announced significant projects – one from Diageo’s Johnnie Walker, partnering with the RSPB to repair wetlands, and a more ambitious pledge from Beam Suntory, with its Peatland Water Sanctuary Initiative. The project aims to restore twice the volume that the company harvests for use in whisky production, with $4 million invested by 2040. Some producers – such as Nc’nean – have sworn off peat totally, while others are moderating usage, or looking for alternatives.   In Sweden – where peatlands represent up to 20% of the entire land area, Mackmyra’s Blender Lii Johnson explains how there is strict regulation around their usage. They are one of a growing number of producers looking to use peat as another way to explore their terroir. As few producers malt and kiln their own barley today, often this is shipped from Scotland (in turn adding to distilleries’ carbon footprints). At Mackmyra, they instead use Karinmossen – local peat, harvested around 40km south of the distillery – seasoned with juniper twigs. She estimates they use a mere 0.1% of the peat bog, bringing in around 30 cubic metres per year.  Johnson feels that it is the juniper in the Karinmossen, along with the small twigs they add (picked from the woods around the distillery), which give a light citrus, almost medicinal note to their peated malts. In Seattle, Westland has pioneered using local peat, and a process with a backhoe to keep the bog intact and limit their carbon footprint. Co-Founder and Managing Director Matthew Hofmann feels the local peat brings Mezcal-like aromas to their peated whisky, Solum.   This quest for sustainability, combined with emphasis on the concept of terroir in whisky, has had interesting results at distilleries around the world. In Minnesota, Brother Justus sources peat from the Boreal Forest and has trademarked a cold-peating process to produce more delicate aromas. Tasmanian distillery Lark looks to Browns Marsh for its peat (around one cubic metre a year) and has had the International Mire Conservation Group confirm that it is having zero impact on the marsh. Others are looking to use alternatives – New Zealand’s Thomson Whisky uses manuka, while Archie Rose has looked to Australian hardwoods and, perhaps most distinctively, Iceland’s Eimverk sources sheep dung from local farms in lieu of peat.  As we’ve touched on, however, it’s not just what is used to peat malt – but how it’s used, that impacts the flavour of the final whisky. “Duration, in my opinion, is the key,” says Mackmyra’s Johnson, emphasising that it is how long the barley spends in contact with the peat smoke that influences the level of peatiness, while it is only the type of peat (or peat alternative) that will effect the nature of the peat flavour. She explains how whether the barley is peated pre- or post-break is also important: it’s most common to do pre-break, as if it is done post-break, when the barley is largely dry on the surface, it doesn’t pick up phenols – the compounds that produce peat’s smoky flavours. For Mackmyra’s peated barley, it is kilned for one day with peat and then for a second day just with hot air.  There are other factors too however – with fermentation times and cuts often a focus. While longer ferments are generally thought to engender complexity, shorter ferments preserve phenols. There are three factions to a still run – the foreshots, heart and feints. The foreshots and feints, the liquid that runs off first and last, are generally discarded, and the cuts between these determine the character of the heart. Phenols generally come late in the distillation process, so later cuts can be preferential when looking for peat character. For Mackmyra’s Extra Rok 2.0 – an extra-peated malt, they do shorter ferments and a later cut, to preserve the phenols.   It's become fashionable to talk about “ppm” in peated whisky – parts per million (perhaps familiar to wine lovers as the same term that is used for sulphur levels), to measure the level of total phenolic compounds. It’s perhaps unsurprising that the compounds are the same as those for smoke taint, including guaiacol and 4-methylguaiacol, for example, but while in the world of wine these are avoided, distillers of peated whiskies have competed to produce the spirit with the highest. This race to make the peatiest whisky possible was arguably inspired by Compass Box’s Peat Monster (first produced in 2003), building to and culminating with Bruichladdich’s Octomore 8.3 (released in 2017) – a whisky with a remarkable 309ppm, the highest level measured to date (compare this to the first Octomore release which had 131ppm). In this frenzied period, Ardbeg’s Dr Bill Lumsden even buried a barrel of peated whisky in a peat bog (which was released as an NFT in 2022, Ardbeg Fon Fhòid). But while one number is an easy way for whisky drinkers to grasp how peaty a spirit is, not everyone believes it’s helpful.  “We don’t like to talk about those numbers,” says Johnson. She explains how ppms are somewhat farcical, in her view. When the reading is taken varies from distillery to distillery, and therefore provides something that is almost impossible to compare. While most are taken at the mashbill stage, if you are later blending, it’s an estimate at best. Not only that, but the make-up of the phenolic compounds will influence how peaty one 100ppm whisky is versus another 100ppm whisky. For Mackmyra, their pure peated malt sits at around 300ppm, but the mashbill for their peated and extra peated whiskies are respectively around 70 and 140ppm, Johnson reluctantly tells me. The level of phenols can also vary significantly between batches of barley – and at Mackmyra they aim to combat this by doing one kilning a year, distilling all their peated whisky at once and blending the batches to create a consistent product.  It's almost for this exact reason that Bruichladdich created Octomore, Head Distiller Adam Hannett explains. The project’s numbered releases have significantly different levels of peatiness, and were a project inspired by their curiosity to see how far they could push the peat level, as well as their partnership with Bairds maltings, who had batches of barley with irregular phenol numbers.   Although peat is intrinsically associated with Islay’s malts, things aren’t as clear-cut today – and as Hannett says, “You can’t categorise flavour by region”. Islay-based Bruichladdich produces both peated and unpeated whiskies. Originally the distillery made heavily peated malts, switching to unpeated styles in the 1960s, and today makes both. Its Port Charlotte brand was first conceived to capture what Bruichladdich would have been like in the old days, as a heavily peated malt. Intriguingly, Bruichladdich briefly tried using Islay peat, however found that they couldn’t get the phenol levels as high. Hannett highlights that another element in phenol levels is the depth the peat is cut from – with lower levels having more vegetation and therefore more phenols.  For Bruichladdich, when they’re looking for an overtly peated spirit, the quality of the underlying spirit is key – working with the right barley and fermentation times, for example. While peated malts might be thought of as heavy, oily and medicinal, they try to avoid this character. He deliberately won’t delay making a cut in the name of phenols, with that decision based on quality – and the result, he feels, is that, “The essence of the peat smoke is light – it’s barbecued.” For him, it’s about the balance between the peat character and everything else.  For blending specialists, House of Hazelwood, peated whisky “is a tool in our arsenal we can use to build a complex blend”, says Eilidh Muir from their Whisky Blending Team. She emphasises that using peat doesn’t necessarily equate to a smoky whisky, but can contribute something to a blend that is much harder to pin down – but something you’d notice if it wasn’t there. “A whisky dominated by a single flavour is often too one-dimensional,” she says – they too are looking for that fine balance.  Peat is just one element that can be used to shape a spirit – and there remains a certain amount of mystery to its influence. The sustainability question isn’t going away, but – as Bruichladdich’s Hannett says, “I don’t know what the solution is at the moment… but we’re looking for one.” As producers look for an answer, they’re pushing boundaries – experimenting with local sources and alternatives – something that will only benefit whisky-lovers, and the environment.  Browse a range of peated whisky or read more about spirits 

Iodine, seaweed, soot and smoke: for some, peat’s trademark tasting notes are off-putting, for others they’re the pinnacle of fine whisky. Sophie Thorpe spoke to Bruichladdich, House of Hazelwood and Mackmyra about peat, ppms, its potential sustainability problem, and how it’s being used today

Bruichladdich, House of Hazelwood and Mackmyra on peat – how it’s used, whether it’s sustainable and the alternatives being employed in whisky today

How whisky distillers are using peat today

The big smoke: peat and whisky

The grey horse stretches its neck out towards me, curling its lip towards my outreached palm, before nuzzling my pocket, in search perhaps of a potential snack. Its head is the size of my torso, its hooves the size of my head, with the entire beautiful beast weighing circa one ton, I’m told. You can sense the power of its immense muscled mass. Nearby, Adelaide Bonnefond, a petite 20-something is calling to the rest of her troupe of friendly giants. Balthazar – the aforementioned grey – is “a real lazybones”, Baudoin can be a bit fast and over-eager, while Olive is a horse of remarkable patience. “Each one has its own character,” Bonnefond says.  We’re in a field a stone’s throw from Ch. Pontet-Canet, where the property’s 10 horses spend their weekends and holidays. This Pauillac Fifth Growth is one of a handful of estates around the region, and indeed the world, that has returned to using horses in the vineyard – in lieu of modern machinery. Unusually, they have brought this operation in house – with their own stables and a five-strong team dedicated to grooming, handling and working the horses, led by Bonnefond.  “I have no idea,” says Mathieu Bessonet – the property’s Technical Director – when I ask how much it adds to their bills. “It’s not important for us… it’s a philosophy.” Herbicides were banned long ago at the estate, and they’ve been farming organically since 2004, certified organic and biodynamic from 2010 (the first Classed Growth to achieve the latter), with horses first introduced in 2008. They’re just one form of livestock you’ll find on the property. When I arrive, a drift of pigs is penned on the front lawn, tasked with munching on the invasive weed, common couch or quackgrass – but there are cattle and donkeys too. Collectively, they consume 60 tons of hay, three tons of barley and 600 kilos of lucerne (organic, of course) – much of which will end up back between the vines.  “A lot of money goes into taking good care of this place – what is in fact our tool for production,” says Bessonet. “The property is over 300 years old, so we’re just passing through. If I spend 20 years here, it’s a long time – but it’s only 3% of the history of Pontet-Canet. We have to take care of this place to be able to pass it on.” And working with horses is just one way in which they aim to do this, reducing soil compaction, allowing water, air and microbes to move through the soil. They can be more precise with their work and – most importantly – break fewer vines. A stunning number of vines are knocked out of place by tractors, something that is considered a natural consequence of modern farming – but not one that this estate is willing to accept.  “Wine, it’s made by the roots of the vines,” says Bessonet. As vines age, their roots creep further down into the soil and Pontet-Canet has some of the oldest vineyards in the Médoc, averaging 55 years in age. And it is the age of their vines, Bessonet feels, that “allows us to express the terroir”, as well as tempering climatic extremes (a growing concern with climate change). While it wasn’t a key reason for the shift back in 2008, using horses also allows them to reduce their carbon footprint – both by using fewer fossil fuels and increasing the carbon-holding capacity of their vineyards, something that is at the forefront of producers’ minds today.  The switch from tractor to horse has changed the way they farm more than can be measured in analytical results, however. “They are not little machines; working the vines with horses, we really become one with the vines,” says Bonnefond. The way you interact with an animal versus a machine is totally different, and she feels that as a result they are much more reactive, more aware of their work and able to stop at any moment. And, as Bessonet notes, even those that have worked at the property for 10 or 15 years can’t help but smile when the horses pass by. As any good manager knows, a happy team will pay endless dividends.  Back in 2008, they started with just two horses, but that number has grown to 10 today. They have a combination of breeds – Percheron and Comtois largely today, although they’ve had Bretons in the past. Percherons are larger, and they’ve been moving more towards Comtois, favouring the slightly smaller and even more gentle breed that hails from the Jura. All are draft horses, historically used in war and agriculture – weighing around double that of the daintier breeds you might see eventing or show-jumping.  Bessonet’s grandmother was, he tells me, almost insulted when he told her they were using horses – seeing it as a step backwards; but, as he and Bonnefond explain, the work is totally different to that of generations past. They might not be powered by electricity, but modern technology and know-how is being used to refine the way they work and the implements they use. Over the years, they’ve developed lots of tools themselves, and worked with a local business to craft others – a slow process that can only be tackled by those with a truly long-term vision.  They buy horses when they’re around three or four years old, so they’ve been broken in and have started their training but can be finished and finessed in-house (“They know the commands, but they’re still young so don’t necessarily listen,” explains Bessonet. “They’re teenagers!”). They’re unsurprisingly picky about the breeders they work with, and ensuring that the training received in their formative years is up to scratch. By the time the process is finished, the moment the plough touches the trunk of a vine, a horse will know to stop instantly, not even needing a human command, avoiding any significant damage. They have a mini faux vineyard with a handful of short rows lined with posts (but no vines) on the estate, a sort of school where they can train younger horses and use at the start of the season, spending half a day so the animals can get back to the pace of work.  Monday to Friday, the horses are at work, stabled next to the winery (with stalls crafted from old barrels). Each horse will work for half a day (sometimes longer if the tools they’re pulling are sufficiently light), before being walked back to the stables to allow for active recovery – evacuating lactic acid in their legs, something that is essential to maintain their health. With the time to groom, harness and unharness, wash down, muck out and feed the horses, each will work around three hours or so a day. Bonnefond’s team will take one horse out in the morning, before going back out with a different one in the afternoon. Alongside their work, the horses are lunged (moved in a circle around a handler, on a long lead rein) – working both on commands and their flexibility. “To change their minds too, seeing something other than the vines” explains Bonnefond.  There are around 10 passes per row a year, four or five to work the soils and around five others – spraying to protect pruning wounds (to prevent grapevine trunk diseases), making holes for planting new vines, spraying horsetail to control mildew pressure, as well as the 500 and 501 preparations (biodynamic sprays). Today, around half of the property’s 81 hectares is worked by horse – and the team is always working to do more, but Bessonet is unsure if 100% is a realistic goal. Copper sulphate – the main spray used in organic and biodynamic viticulture – is spread by tractor, not being something they’d want to expose the horses to (nor put gas masks on them, as was done during the Second World War).   The work is, inevitably, seasonal – and they’re turned out to pasture at weekends and during quiet periods, with lunging to keep them sharp. As soon as véraison takes place (the grapes changing in colour from green to red), “It’s holiday time for the horses,” says Bonnefond, laughing. At that point the grapes become too fragile and could be knocked by the horses, breaking the skins and damaging the fruit.   All being well, the horses work until they’re 18 or 20 years in age, and then Pontet-Canet finds them a home to live out their old age. Retirement can, in fact, be the hardest stage for these work-horses, explains Bonnefond. “They’re used to seeing everyone every day,” she says. One horse, Turbo, kept waiting at the gates, ready to go to work, for well over a month after he’d left the estate, struggling to adapt to his new, restful way of life.  Bonnefond had never worked in agriculture before arriving at Pontet-Canet, having been at an equestrian centre, and her team has similarly varied backgrounds (one used to train trotters and one worked with circus horses, for example). They’ve each got their favourites in Pontet-Canet’s herd, she confesses (hers is a handsome bay who is especially energetic), but they all work with each of the horses, to keep it interesting for the animals, and so that no horse gets too used to any particular handler.  It's certainly not light work – for Bonnefond and her team at least. Days are long and the work is physically demanding, but seeing Bonnefond in the field with the horses, her dainty frame at odds with the gigantic draft horses surrounding her, it’s clear that she loves it. Having a team like this in-house is something few estates can afford, but it’s reflective – as Bessonet says – of the philosophy at Pontet-Canet. Their special band of gravel terrace in the Médoc, shared with the likes of Mouton Rothschild, Lafite Rothschild and Cos d’Estournel – properties that represent the pinnacle of Cabernet Sauvignon around the world, deserves to be protected and preserved in every way possible.  Explore all current listings of Pontet-Canet or read more about Bordeaux  

Behind the winery at Ch. Pontet-Canet, you’ll find a row of stables. In the first of our series taking you behind the scenes in Bordeaux, we dive into how the beautiful draft horses that live here are key to the philosophy at the leading Pauillac estate

Horses are key to the philosophy at leading Bordeaux wine estate Pontet-Canet: we caught up with the team in Pauillac to find out more

Taking the reins at Ch. Pontet-Canet

We caught up with the dynamic winemaker about how to define the undefinable – and why it’s determined to lead the appellation into a new era Saint-Emilion has always been difficult to define. Unlike other top terroirs of Bordeaux – Margaux with its silky tannins and aromatic flair, Pauillac with its graphite minerality and structure, and Pomerol’s opulent, rich palate – the profile of Saint-Emilion has never been so easy to identify. Beyond that, the wines can be frustratingly inconsistent in quality too, making it Bordeaux’s most idiosyncratic appellation. Beyond the variation in quality and flavour profile, a political splintering of the appellation in the last few months, resulting in three of the four Premier Grand Cru Classé A wineries (Cheval Blanc, Ausone and Angélus) withdrawing from the classification has brought further turmoil to this seemingly troubled appellation. “Perhaps,” Ch. Cheval Blanc’s Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet begins, “the many idiosyncrasies of Saint-Emilion are easier to understand, when you realise it is the largest appellation in France, consisting of over 800 growers on nearly 6,000 hectares of vineyards.” Put in context, the second largest commune in France, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, is almost half that area at 3,300 hectares. Given its large area, Saint-Emilion doesn’t have the same homogeneity of soil as Bordeaux’s other appellations and it is this, Clouet believes, that goes some way in accounting for the region’s variety. While many of the top estates are situated on the limestone plateau, on the outskirts of the historic town itself, the appellation’s borders stretch way beyond this most prevalent feature and cannot be accurately defined by limestone alone. This is no more evident than with Cheval Blanc – arguably the most atypical estate in Saint-Emilion. “If the DNA of Saint-Emilion is Merlot grown on limestone, it is bizarre that Cheval Blanc is in the appellation at all,” Clouet chuckles. “We grow Cabernet Franc on clay!” Cheval Blanc sits at the appellation’s limits, four kilometres away from the limestone plateau, bordering Pomerol. But Cheval Blanc is not such an easy fit with Pomerol either. “We should have a monopole appellation,” jokes Clouet. His point is serious, however, Cheval Blanc straddles both the Right Bank’s top terroirs, yet is not typical of either. It certainly makes Cheval Blanc more difficult to explain, admits Clouet, compared to the other great estates of Bordeaux that can be defined by their parity of variety and terroir. “Pétrus is Merlot on clay soils. Lafleur is Cabernet Franc on gravel. Ausone is Cabernet Franc on limestone. Latour is Cabernet Sauvignon on clay. But Cheval Blanc is impossible to know like that, because of its range of soils,” Clouet explains. For Clouet, this multi-faceted personality gives Cheval Blanc great flexibility and is a key reason for the estate’s success and consistency. “We think we are very lucky because we can play on the two parts of the Right Bank,” he says. “Every time it’s a vintage for Merlot, we blend for Merlot. When climatic conditions are better for clay, we play with clay, so we can play with the identity of the vintage.” Cheval Blanc has 53 plots on 10 different soil types – clay, sand, gravel in varying proportions – and grows Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. For Clouet, the DNA of Cheval Blanc is its diversity. “We are an orchestra, not a soloist. We need all our musicians to play the music.” Perhaps then, Cheval Blanc’s wide-ranging terroir makes it a fitting mascot for the heterogeneous nature of the Saint-Emilion appellation. Despite Cheval Blanc’s recent withdrawal from the classification system, Clouet is keen to emphasise that the Saint-Emilion appellation is important, and something they should continue to defend and invest time and money in. The wines of Saint-Emilion are all linked by the place – and this is much more important than variety or blend, which he feels other regions have wrongly placed emphasis on. “Each bottle of wine should tell the story of that place,” says Clouet. However varied Cheval Blanc’s terroir may be, it’s undeniable that the wine captures a distinct sense of this place. Indeed, beyond a small increase in its holdings in 2012 encapsulating a neighbouring vineyard, it is one of the few châteaux in Bordeaux whose perimeters have barely changed in 150 years. For Clouet, however, the appellation is about more than terroir, there is a “dynamic spirit” at the heart of Saint-Emilion. While not so easy to define, Clouet believes it is an appellation that has greater flexibility than others. It is often cited as the most Burgundian of the Bordeaux communes, due to the high number of small estates and the sheer number of vignerons, something which makes it a “dynamic place” in Clouet’s eyes. “It never stops thinking how to change,” he says. This, he believes, provides some great advantages. “Smaller estates have the capacity to move quickly. This is arguably the most vigneron-led place in Bordeaux.” Such dynamism in the past has certainly seen Saint-Emilion leading trends in the region, both good and bad – depending on your point of view. The garagiste movement in the early 2000s, for examples, is a fashion that continues to divide the region. But Clouet believes Saint-Emilion is an appellation ahead of its Bordeaux counterparts, leading in sustainability and the trend towards freshness and delicacy, and terroir-driven wines. That said, there’s no “recipe”, he says. “Each and every château has to find its own balance.” But, he warns: “We need to be careful and not go too far one way or the other. A new recipe is to pick too early, another is to use too little oak.” He quotes Coco Chanel, “fashion changes, style endures” – each producer should find their own identity, their own style and stay true to it. It’s essential to be opened minded, he says – but to never copy others, follow a recipe or chase trends. The current move in Saint-Emilion to plant more Cabernet Franc is a perfect example, for Clouet, where fashion is being followed foolishly. “Cabernet Franc today is probably the most trendy variety in the world. I don’t know any winemaker who doesn’t talk to us about Cabernet Franc. It seems to be the solution to global warming, but I think it is completely the opposite,” he says. For Clouet, Cabernet Franc has no capacity to adapt: in the right soil it produces top wine, but in average soil the results are terrible. The hot 2020 vintage, for Clouet, proves his point – with producers favouring Merlot over Cabernet Franc, even when the latter dominates their vineyards, pointing to Lafleur and Ausone, as well as Cheval Blanc. The warm, dry conditions didn’t favour the modish variety – and an overreliance on Cabernet Franc planted in the wrong place could prove disastrous in the face of climate change. For the already atypical estate, Cheval Blanc is looking instead at further diversifying. While Cabernet Franc is key to its identity, the estate has shifted from once having Merlot on gravel and Cabernet Franc on clay to have “everything, everywhere”. “We want to multiply the diversity,” Clouet explains. Diversification is at the heart of everything Cheval Blanc stands for today, laid out in their recently published manifesto – a clear statement of intent that unless Bordeaux moves away from monocultural farming, its future is at risk. “In the last 10 years agriculture was a problem,” says Clouet, “but I think agriculture could be the solution.” He gives carbon dioxide as an example: while there’s too much in the atmosphere, trees, vines and cover crops can be used to capture it. Clouet believes the manifesto is not just a piece of paper or marketing pamphlet, but a roadmap to show how a more sustainable approach is possible. “The biggest problem in the 20th century for agriculture was not just pesticides but monoculture.” While Cheval Blanc will continue to only earn money with their wines, admits Clouet, other crops and livestock will be used to provide “resilience, a capacity to decrease disease and problems in the vineyard”. Clouet goes on to explain how 50 years ago, trees were removed from vineyards to make it easier for tractors, but prior to this vines, trees and other plants co-existed. “Organic production is not enough today,” says Clouet, who does not want to simply return to the past. “We want to take the best of modernity.” Cheval Blanc is not organic because it believes that copper, permitted and widely used in organic viticulture to fight mildew, is more harmful than a synthetic alternative. “It’s common sense,” says Clouet. “When you use organic methods to tackle mildew you have to spray every week – it is nonsense. We try to think sensibly. The solution will be through science and research. We shouldn’t go just with philosophy. We need to be agronomic and practical to find a solution.” If the spirit of Saint-Emilion is about dynamic change, then it is fitting that the appellation’s most recognised estate is leading the charge to revolutionise the region’s approach to viticulture and safeguard its future. For Cheval Blanc, agriculture is at a crossroads. “Viticulture is at the mercy of climate change and the drastic reduction in biodiversity,” states Cheval Blanc in its manifesto. Over the last few years Cheval Blanc has been transforming its vineyards into permacultures – interplanting trees, plants, other fruits and vegetables, as well as introducing animal grazing, flower farming and beekeeping to the vineyard in an attempt to ensure soil fertility, promote diversity and capture carbon. Reading about the latest political spat over the current Grand Cru Classé system, the endless court cases and corruption charges, you would be forgiven for thinking that the spirit of Saint-Emilion is imploding. But it is the spirit of Saint-Emilion, according to Clouet, that unites this somewhat idiosyncratic appellation. Beyond the classification chaos lies a heterogenous band of vignerons, united by their diversity and dynamic approach. With the release of its manifesto, could Cheval Blanc unite the troubled appellation, with growers working together towards a fully sustainable, future-proof Bordeaux? Cheval Blanc certainly hopes so.

Saint-Emilion is arguably Bordeaux’s most idiosyncratic appellation. But, as Cheval Blanc’s Pierre-Olivier Clouet tells us, it’s the region’s heterogeneity that makes it so exciting.

Defining Saint-Emilion and the way forward for the appellation. Cheval Blanc’s Clouet tells us, it’s the region’s heterogeneity that makes it so exciting.

Strength in diversity: the winemaking at Cheval Blanc

Strength in diversity: Cheval Blanc

Historically peat was used as a fuel source. In recent history, it has been a source of great fervour and one-upmanship as whisky producers clambered to create the peatiest whisky on the market.  For the most part, this narrative and competition has played out on the remote and beguiling Hebridean isle of Islay and its nine malt distilleries. One even deciding the prefix “super” was required on the label because “heavily-peated” was no longer sufficient. But this could all be about to change as Seattle-based Westland Distillery finetunes an industry first: locally-peated American single malt whiskey.   “We are not trying to make it taste like Islay,” Co-Founder and Managing Director Matthew Hofmann says. “We want Solum to exhibit its own terroir and its own flavour influence so long as it tastes good.”   In the 10 years since it was founded, Westland has sought to challenge every stage of whisk(e)y-making convention from barley, casks and now peat. For the past five years the team has been encountering setbacks while they navigated the uncharted territory of producing peated malt in the United States. The first was the discovery that a peat malting company didn’t exist in America, despite Washington State boasting 50,000 acres of peat.   While Hofmann worked on options closer to home, Westland turned to the historic Glasgow-based malt producer Baird’s. But he knew he had struck on something and eventually started working with a start-up malting company, Skagit Valley Malting, to produce what the company believes is the first commercially produced batch of peated malts in America.   Pioneering a locally-peated whiskey created all sorts of headaches – or as Hofmann calls them “interesting challenges” – for the team. In one of the first blind tastings, peat flavour notes were entirely absent.   “When you are trying something new like this, there is an inherent amount of risk,” Hofmann says. “It’s very much an ongoing process and we are far from being finished. It’s more accurate to say we have barely begun on this project.”   Westland uses approximately two cubic yards of peat from a local 30-acre bog which equates to a month’s production and roughly 100 casks of whiskey a year. Whereas others typically cut and drain peat – which has a negative impact on carbon dioxide and methane release, and damages the ecology of the area – Westland uses a different process with a backhoe which keeps the bog intact apart from the small amount of peat they use.   “The stuff we have got out here is wild,” Hofmann says with unfettered excitement. “There’s 11 different species of stagnant mosses. There’s wild cranberries. There’s wild crab-apples. There’s a lot more woody materials – cedar – that end up making it into the bog itself because the area is still heavily wooded as well. So, the result on the peat and aroma is very different.”   Hofmann said Westland will release Solum – Latin for “soil” – in winter 2023 but admits he doesn’t know what the product will taste like yet. He says there is a Mezcal profile at this stage, with vegetal smokiness and spice, but cask impact factors are currently unknown.   “This has been one of the most difficult things we have worked on here at Westland,” he says. “Which is saying something because we have a habit of diving headfirst into things we know very little about.”  One of the main challenges, Hofmann says, is the lack of industry and by extension experts in the country. “Nobody understands the impact of peat and how to use it,” he explains. “That can be quite interesting because when you’re learning it from scratch and you have zero base line knowledge, you tend to approach things in a different way.”   This has led to further innovation in production with engineers at the helm of the project and meant sustainability has been high on the agenda in the notoriously eco-cognisant region.   “We don’t quite know yet what the path is with Solum,” he adds. “Is it going to be about the different areas of the bog and peat flavours you might get from that – kind of like Colere is with barley? Or is it going to be about a general Washington State peat flavour?”  The exact destination may be unknown, but it’s guaranteed to be an entirely new take on a very old tradition.   Browse all current whisky listings or read more Editorial 

It’s one of the oldest styles of whisky in the world and has been known to unite as much as it divides. So why is a Pacific Northwest distillery moving heaven and earth to produce the first batch of American peated malts? Holly Motion digs into it 

Digging into why Pacific Northwest distillery Westland is moving heaven and earth to produce the first batch of American peated malts. 

Digging into American peated malts

Breaking new ground

The knife is a descendant of the sword, that emblematic and destructive weapon of war. We learn to respect it from an early age. Though powerful and dangerous, this day-to-day working tool is the one item in the culinary arsenal used to cut flesh in the preparation of food. Fingal Ferguson of the renowned Gubbeen cheese family in Ireland, and maker of world-class knives, remembers his mother Giana in the early days of his parents’ farmhouse cheese revival in the 1970s, cutting the curds with her grandfather’s dressage sword on the side of the Aga. It was not, however, this splendid, dramatic rapier that triggered his passion for the craft, but a hobby that grew out of butchering. Ferguson’s handsome handcrafted knives, which he started making 20 years ago, come in all shapes and sizes from small paring knives to cleavers, and have acquired cult status at home and abroad. They are coveted by those who love cooking – from domestic cooks to celebrity chefs – and those who value craftsmanship and beauty, not to speak of functionality, in the tools they use. His collection, full of character, ranges from high quality satin hand-finished steel to the higher end Damascus patterned blades with handles carved from maple, beech, chestnut, bog oak, spalted poplar, alder, Micarta (a composite), carbon fibre, buffalo horn and, more unconventionally, compressed rock-hard Donegal tweed, and gemstone turquoise.  These knives are much in demand – at one point in 2017 he had 980 people on the waiting list. Francis Mallmann – the world-renowned Argentinian, Michelin-trained, Patagonia-loving chef famous for open fire cooking – declared Ferguson’s knives the best, and ordered a set of 22, one for each of the tasks in his kitchen. “He is one of my heroes as I love cooking with fire,” Ferguson reveals when we meet in his workshop on the family farm not far from the fishing village of Schull in west Cork, one sunny September morning. Located far out on the most south-westerly tip of Ireland, nestled beneath Mount Gabriel with breathtaking views across the Atlantic to Fastnet Lighthouse, Coney Island and Cape Clear, Gubbeen (which means little bite) is a 250-acre coastal farm with a 140-strong cheesemaking herd of Friesian, Holstein, Jersey and Kerry cows that graze peacefully in the surrounding fields. It is here Ferguson grew up and became in turn a farmer, cheesemaker, butcher, charcuterie-maker, knifemaker, husband and father.  “I was two and a half when mum and dad started making cheese, so I grew up with it. The farm is the backbone of everything we do, and you are either mucking about in the yard or putting on whites to clean the cheese,” he says with a smile. Tousle-haired, dressed in a bleu de travail workman’s jacket, followed by his border terrier, Mouche, he shows me around the farm where the cheesemaking is in progress, and to a barn piled high with straw bales at the entrance to his workshop. Flocks of geese and Barbary ducks patrol the yard, undisturbed. A nifty Jack Russell called Sunny makes an occasional appearance, checking out newcomers.   Grounded, thoughtful, practical and creative, Ferguson comes from pedigree stock on both sides of the family. His father Tom was in his twenties when he inherited the farm, run by four generations of resourceful Fergusons, including his great-grandfather who introduced an innovative and successful milking system in the 1880s that benefitted the whole area. Tom’s mother Mary was a founding member of the Irish Countrywomen’s Association and ran one of Ireland’s first farm guesthouses.  Tom met Giana Luke – then in her twenties, of Austro-Hungarian ancestry, and daughter of the playwright Peter Luke – when she was visiting an uncle, a writer living in Inish Beg beyond Baltimore. “I was drifting around with a dog and a tent,” she later recalled. The pair fell in love, married in 1975 and started their life together. “She was a dreamer with a fascinating culinary background, and he was a west Cork farmer and a doer. Opposites attract,” Fingal smiles, adding that his own marriage to Dubliner Ciara Rogerson, a high-powered, Oxford-educated consultant statistician, carries on the family tradition.   Giana’s grandfather, hugely influential in her love and appreciation of food, was the Eton-educated Sir Harry Luke who spent 40 years in the British Colonial Service and dined for England in far flung places like Aleppo, Tonga, Tbilisi, Sierra Leone, Transcaucasia (present day Georgia), Armenia and Azerbaijan. His 1954 book, The Tenth Muse: A Gourmet’s Compendium, is a tour de force of descriptions of the culinary cultures he encountered on his extensive travels. Fingal’s own name he attributes to his parents’ love of Oscar Wilde whose middle name was Fingal – indeed one of his own five children is called Oscar. Memories of growing up between west Cork and occasional trips to his grandfather’s house in Jimena de la Frontera, in Andalusía, Spain, were huge influences: “being immersed in Spanish food and those long tables and robust flavours and if there was no garlic, there was no menu. That Spanish influence led us to preserve food with nothing left to waste. Food preservation was logical – we either share, swap or preserve,” explains Fingal whose self-built smokehouse was a pioneering step in establishing the farm’s charcuterie business. A strong work ethic is part of the Ferguson dynamic. “I was never pushed or forced into farming,” he says. At the Quaker school in Newtown in Waterford where he was educated, “if you were crap at something you were allowed to fail, but you had to compensate somewhere else and I was drawn to hands-on learning like woodwork because I love making things and hate having nothing to do. I can take most machines apart and put them back together again.” Having become the farm’s butcher, he got into knives, and with a family connected to food, needed to learn how to sharpen the tool of his trade properly. After school, when he spent some time in New Zealand “milking 800 cows on the North Island”, he made his first knife, then did a knifemaking and bladesmith workshop with Owen Bush & Bushfire Forge in the UK. “But my real inspiration,” Ferguson reveals, “was the knifemaker Rory Conner up the road here in Ballylickey who had trained with Bob Loveless in the US, one of the world’s top knifemakers. We used to contact Rory for knives for special occasions, for wedding presents – he is a real craftsman. All this led to knifemaking becoming my hobby.” In the workshop furnished with machinery, grinders, belts and assorted tools, Ferguson gives me a lesson in knifemaking, explaining that it has two essential parts – the metallurgy “taking the steel to make a blade and how different steels make different things. And the second part is the handle which can be classic or crazy – we live our personalities in our things, so you can have a carbon steel knife with a jet-black bog oak handle sitting right next to a shiny Damascus steel knife with a vibrant multicoloured handle.” Strangely, most of the parts of the knife are named after parts of the body – the belly, the throat, the cheek, the heel and the spine. Sheets of steel of different types are stacked in a corner of the workshop. The painstaking method of making a knife begins, Ferguson carefully explains, when suitable steel is cut and drilled into the shape of the blade, and he shows me the design of the blade marked out on the steel. “It then goes into a kiln for a short specific period at temperatures as high as 1,080ºC depending on the type or process. It is at these temperatures where the magic of metallurgy takes place and we can transform it from soft into hard steel. It is then quenched or cooled rapidly as a key part of the process. After some little adventures with the tempering cycles which balance the hardness and makes the knife more useable, it is ready to become a blade, ready for more grinding and thinning out, defining the edge and then polishing ready for the handle.” Demanding skill and precision, “you could be hours making a knife – and the level of obsession will determine the outcome,” he adds. The level of workmanship in a knife can, in turn, inspire a reverence that affects how its owner wields it. Some of Ferguson’s knives are made from Damascus pattern welded steel which adds an eye-catching beauty when polished and etched – these steels can be outsourced or, as he explains, makers can go through the lengthy, highly skilled and more advanced process that involves more than 60 layers of lamination and that can take years to master. Japanese knifemakers, in particular, have embraced these skills, drawing on Japan’s great historical swordsmithing tradition; when the Samurai were forbidden to carry weapons, their swordmakers turned their craftsmanship to making cutlery instead. “One of the interesting psychological things about a Japanese-influenced knife, with its hidden tang design, is that you might treat the knife differently, use it differently,” says Ferguson. “Images will be conjured up of the precise, thoughtful and accurate knife skills of the Japanese.” In some of his work, he draws on such influences to make knives based around thinner edge geometry and around more precise use. “Western knives tend to be sturdier for more general use.”  Ferguson believes that “a knife is either practical or emotional. You can have a Damascus steel knife, beautiful to look at, but another with a broken handle may be your go-to knife. Knifemaking has to do with weight, balance, edge geometry and geometry. A knife goes through the ultimate form of abuse – every day it is wet and dry. It might be left on top of the cooker. There is a knife for every job in the world and that’s what makes our life so interesting. With all these different knives there is an element of creativity that allows for specialisation and so many elements that one can get obsessed about. One of the easiest knives for a cook to use, with an edge like a razor blade and a light handle, can be the first knife to break if used to cut up bones, so the boundaries and capabilities are endless.” His views on popular TV shows about knifemaking are interesting. “Forged in Fire is not aimed at knifemakers, just as MasterChef is not for chefs. These are shows for lay people that give you a little insight wrapped in drama, and help them learn about your world. The most important process is the attention to detail.”  He stores materials for the handles in a disused kiln and describes how they are attached to the blade with Loveless bolts. “These countersink nuts into the hole in the handle so as you tighten them, they become like a clamp. The bolster area is the most vulnerable area of the knife, so you are strengthening the bolt hole at its weakest point.” Back at his house – a beautiful building dressed in stone from Mount Gabriel, with mesmerising views of the sea – Ferguson keeps the finished knives in wooden boxes in an upstairs room away from the chaos of children’s toys and a busy kitchen downstairs. This is where orders are dispatched, packaged in heavy-duty canvas rolls, tied in a similar fashion to his charcuterie netting, and stamped with his logo: crossed knives that form the shape of a capital F. The appeal of Ferguson’s knives is stunningly obvious. But despite huge demand, his output isn’t set to increase any time soon. “After one of my knives became a viral sensation on social media, I had more than a thousand people wanting it, so I could spend the rest of my life making them. But the knifemaking side of the business has become a way in which I can channel my creativity.”  Ferguson invests a range of emotional energies into the knives he makes, each of which is a unique creation. “You can be gung-ho and vent if you are tired or emotional – or, if in a calm mood, you can be precise and careful. There is also a point where you can cut yourself or break the knife, so there is room and a role for every state of mind.” It is a delicate balance, and he feels blessed in that people want these knives, but they are not something that can be mass produced.  His profile has led to some odd demands. He has been asked for knives with handles made from the wood of a sentimental apple tree, or to be bejewelled with precious gems. He’s even been asked to work gold into the process of making a blade. “You can go to extreme lengths, and part of me wants the knives I make to go up on a wall and be displayed. You can have your haute couture of knives, and indeed the ones I’ve done now are very different; there is an evolution because I’m part of a community of knifemakers. Another part of me wants to see my knives on family tables being used every day.” While he is happy to work to specific requests from his clients, Ferguson is a man in tune with the fluidity of process, and the never-ending learning curve. “You can spend your life becoming a cheesemaker, gardener, farmer, making really good silage for the cows, but these are adaptable moving targets and as soon as you feel you know everything, you realise how much you don’t know – it is a process of continual learning and that’s how food led to the knives. The handmade knife is a tool that makes sense to a cook like a Mont Blanc pen to a writer. Carpenters respect their chisels. You don’t need to buy a handmade knife unless it is something that brings you pleasure. But you want people to enjoy the knife for what it is. Rory (Conner) always said that a good knife should be recognisable in the pitch dark – that you should know which way is up.” This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

Fashion editor and author Deirdre McQuillan meets Fingal Ferguson to find out how butchery inspired him to become a knifemaker.


FONDATA: A Descendant of the Sword

A Descendant of the Sword 

The headline for the latest Brunello vintage is that it was a challenging year. But don’t write it off. The vintage was an opportunity for the most sensitive and gifted vignerons to prove their mettle, producing a number of excellent wines that should not be missed. It is never easy for producers, or wine merchants for that matter, to promote the vintage following a classic. The 2016 vintage was a touchstone year for the region with a vast array of spectacular wines produced throughout the rich and varied appellation. The 2016 Riservas (also released this year) remind us again just how good the vintage was, and how it allowed both the character of the different terroirs and the style of each vigneron to strut their stuff. In comparison, 2017 was a lot less straightforward and Mother Nature threw a lot more curve balls. The beginning of the season saw some erratic temperature changes and the threat of frost on some early-budding vines.  There was drama in the town when Pietro Buffi (of Baricci) decided to lay damp hay bales around the perimeter of his vineyard; by setting fire to them, he created a smoke screen limiting the impact of the frost. The local fire brigade were called and there was much confusion, but no flames. It proved incredibly successful for him, at least. Unlike most producers, whose yields were drastically cut by the frost, Baricci lost just 10% of his normal crop. Yields for most producers are very low, not only due to the spring frost, but also the irregular weather at flowering, and the long drought and heatwave that marked the summer. For Matthew Fioretti at Cerbaiona, the elevation and exposure of his northeast-facing vineyards helped temper the hot conditions.  Even so, he admits that the 2017 Brunello was made almost entirely with his oldest vines, whose deep roots had better access to the limited water resources available. The clay-rich soils at Canalicchio di Sopra to the north eased the lack of rainfall, but no vigneron was immune to the vines shutting down at the height of summer. The concern was whether the grapes could reach full phenolic maturity by harvest. The cellars at Poggio di Sotto All the vignerons were in agreement that the arrival of rain in early September was a godsend. The rain brought the vines back to life and then it was a waiting game as the grapes pushed through to full phenolic maturity. Francesco Ripaccioli (Canalicchio di Sopra) is a strong believer that the last 20 days prior to harvest are the most crucial in determining the success or failure of a vintage.  In 2017, these last 20 days were, in his view, those of “a great vintage”, with mild temperatures during the day and substantial drops in temperature during the night, preserving acidity and aromatic complexity of the grapes. Favourable days were interrupted with a bit of rain, that was immediately dried up by the wind. Many producers we spoke to agreed – the final weeks in September brought plenty of character to the final wines. Thick skins and a nicely toasted fruit profile were, for many, positive attributes. The 2017 growing season remains fresh in the memory of Montalcino’s growers partly because the 2021 vintage was almost a carbon copy. Both vintages saw widespread frost followed by a hot and dry summer. In 2017, the drought meant that the berries were very small with high skin-to-pulp ratios, meaning lots of tannin.  The poorer examples are therefore quite dry as opposed to heavy. It is only where the grapes were resuscitated enough by rain to push through full phenolic maturity that producers could make balanced wines. For Fioretti, there were two options: either pick early and retain a bigger crop before more of the grapes’ juice evaporated, or hold out and see if the grapes took on more complexity left on the vine. He chose the latter starting on 19th September and finishing on 24th. Fioretti notes that while the fruit hadn’t reached full phenolic maturity, he was very satisfied with their ripeness in tank. With such huge variation in altitude across Poggio di Sotto’s different vineyards, the team spread their harvest over nearly a month, picking the warmer sites as early as 29th August and ending on 27th September. Although 2017 was one of the hottest and driest years ever, at Poggio di Sotto the wines have maintained excellent richness of fruit and acidity, due to rigorous selection and an elongated harvest. Based in the cooler northern district of Montalcino, Canalicchio di Sopra, another real success in 2017, picked even later, starting 25th September and finishing 6th October. It was the southern sections of Montalcino, however, that suffered the worst from the drought. The north received 300mm of rain between March and November, while the south saw just 160mm. Sangiovese is so sensitive to drought and the conditions were so drastic that parts of the south were even allowed to irrigate. The Montosoli vineyards at Canalicchio di Sopra Despite the challenges, a handful of top producers produced outstanding wine in 2017. The best examples have fully ripe tannins, a lovely crunch to the fruit and vibrant acidity. While not as fleshy as the 2016 Riservas tasted alongside, the top examples are not at all mean or lacking in concentration. Whereas in poorer examples the fruit aromas can be a little candied and sometimes a little meaty (suggesting possible issues with fermentation), others have a pleasing roasted fruit character, rather than raisined ripeness. At worst, the tannins can feel a little abrupt and hard-edged. Top producers, such as Casanova di Neri, Canalicchio di Sopra, Poggio di Sotto and Talenti have made great wines in the toughest of vintages, and their 2017s are no exception – they really are special. Wines selected wisely will give great short to mid-term drinking pleasure and should not be missed.

As the latest wines from Montalcino are released, we delve into the 2017 vintage. Talking to and tasting with leading producers at the annual Benvenuto Brunello event last November, here’s everything you need to know about a tricky year for the region’s growers

Why you shouldn’t dismiss the challenging Brunello di Montalcino 2017 vintage – and which wines are worth seeking out: Poggio di Sotto, Montosoli and more

2017 Brunello vintage report

Brunello 2017: vintage report

It was a small yellow aphid that disregarded national borders, wiping out the livelihood of every grape grower in its way and there was no known cure nor effective prevention in its first devastating years. Even when a cure was discovered, growers were reluctant – and often financially unable – to use it.  As a result, phylloxera vastatrix  – vastratix meaning ravager – continued to nibble on the roots of vines across western Europe, sucking the lifeblood from the vines and leaving wounds for any passing infection. By 1900, 2.5 million hectares of France's vineyard had been uprooted, causing production to slump, encouraging dodgy dealers to make fake wine, and leading to mass protests.  The story of phylloxera in Europe started as a well-intentioned gift. In 1862, an American grape grower sent some cuttings of native vines to his friend in the Rhône Valley who planted them, unaware of the damage it would inflict on his compatriots. Within a year, local growers were lamenting their sick vines. Phylloxera had wanderlust, sparing no French region; nor did it respect the country's finest terroirs or illustrious châteaux.  However, a concerted national response to the potential ruin of the country's national beverage was not forthcoming. The French government was too busy putting on International Exhibitions in Paris (1867), opening the Suez Canal (1869) and waging war on Prussia (1870-71). In 1870, the government acknowledged there might be an issue, offering a 20,000 Franc reward for a cure. Remedies were offered including burying living toads in the vineyard, adding volcanic ash from Pompeii to the soil or inviting a marching band to play to the vines. Unsurprisingly, the vines continued to die. In 1880, a solution was finally accepted: graft European varieties to the roots of American vines. However, grafting noble French varieties - vitis vinifera - to the roots of these lowly American varieties seemed like sacrilege to many growers. It was thought they would affect the nobility of their precious wines. There was also the issue of cost: uprooting your vineyard, replanting and then having to wait between three and five years for a crop did not feed a family and the concept of state aid was still a long way off.  As a result, many tried to limp on for as long as possible, injecting carbon bisulphide, an expensive and toxic solvent used to vulcanise rubber, into the soil to stave off the inevitable.  The producers in the south of France were the first to be hit in the 1860s and they replanted with high-yielding hybrids. By the turn of the century, the Languedoc was producing more wine than ever before. However, the region's unscrupulous merchants made up for the initial shortfall at peak phylloxera by bulking out grape juice with sugar and water while others made wines from raisins. These practices continued despite the replanted vineyards returning to full production, causing a huge oversupply and depressing prices.  Urged on by a growing labour movement, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets in 1907 to call for change. The Champagne Riots of 1911 The Champenois followed suit, rioting in the streets in 1911 and the root of their troubles also lay with phylloxera.  In 1892, the Marne was invaded by its first phylloxera aphid and, by 1910, 40% of the region had been affected. But this was no time for production to fall: Champagne sales were booming and to make up for the shortfall, dodgy merchants (and some of the seemingly reputable houses) brought in wines from the Loire and the south of France by the train-load. The wines were made sparkling in their cellars and the bottles emerged, as if by magic, as Champagne. Supply and demand economics suggested that the growers should have been earning more for their fruit as phylloxera affected supply and sales boomed, but fake Champagne kept prices low. Having borne the cost of replanting their vineyards, this was not how growers imagined they would be rewarded and protests ensued.  While most vineyards in Champagne and beyond are now planted on American rootstocks, there are some vines and vineyard owners that play wine roulette and grow vitis vinifera on their own roots. For example, three plots belonging to Bollinger were planted in 1960 in the traditional pre-phylloxera way. One has succumbed to the vine louse but the remaining two parcels are the source of Vieilles Vignes Françaises, a rare Pinot Noir-based Champagne that provides a taste of a bygone era.  We asked Denis Bunner, Bollinger’s Deputy Cellar Master, about the Aÿ-based Champagne House's rarest wine, Vieilles Vignes Françaises, which is produced on its own roots.  Why did Bollinger begin producing Vieilles Vignes Françaises in 1969?  An English journalist Cyril Ray proposed the initiative to Madame Bollinger following a visit in 1967 and this inspired Madame Bollinger to create a wine from the precious vines to commemorate her 70th birthday, which saw the first bottle produced in 1969. The wine was launched in 1974. Are the vines pre-phylloxera? If so, they must be more than a century old. No, the current plots in Aÿ were planted in the 1960s but it is impossible to give an age to the vines due to the perpetual renewal and the way the root system grow [the system is called provignage, which is like vine fostering when there is an empty space to fill. Take a cane from one vine, train it down into the soil and partially bury it with the end sticking out until it forms a separate vine. This is also done in the Nacional vineyard at Quinta do Noval]. There were three plots that weren't grafted but there are now only two. What happened? third plot succumb to phylloxera?  The third plot in Croix Rouge de Bouzy was attacked by phylloxera at the end of the 1990s – the vineyard didn't have protective walls around it. The last vintage was 2004 as we had to uproot it when it fell prey to the infestation. How many acres do the two remaining plots cover?  The Clos Saint-Jacques (Aÿ) covers just over half an acre while the Clos des Chaudes-Terres, which lies within the boundaries of Bollinger’s own lands, covers a little over a third of an acre. In total, they represent 0.36 hectares. Is there anything special about the soil of these two plots that means it resists phylloxera?  The soil is not remarkably different from that in the rest of Aÿ and as per the rest of Champagne it features chalk. Is this special cuvee made every year?  No. Only in declared vintages. What is the average production of Vieilles Vignes Françaises?  This varies by vintage, but falls within the range of 2,000 to 3,000 bottles. A total of 2,420 numbered bottles of the 2009 Vieilles Vignes Françaises vintage were produced. Read more Editorial

Following the release of Bollinger’s latest vintage of Vieilles Vignes Françaises, we talk to Denis Bunner, Bollinger’s Deputy Cellar Master about the Aÿ-based Champagne house's rarest wine, as well as delving into the archives to explore the history of the fatal vine louse.

Phylloxera and Bollinger’s Vieilles Vignes Françaises on the wine grown from vines planted on its own roots and thus vulnerable to attack by the louse.

Phylloxera and winemaking

Phylloxera: a vine pandemic

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