This year sees the release of the 20th vintage of Cheval des Andes – Cheval Blanc’s operation in Mendoza. Since the team from the legendary Saint-Emilion estate embarked on the venture with Terrazas de los Andes, 25 years ago, much has changed – and this is the start of a new era for the property. What was once a working concept has taken root.  “This is the beginning of our adult life,” says Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet. “We have a real identity today.” It’s taken a quarter-century for the property to shake off the uncertainty of youth and find firm footing – something that hasn’t necessarily been easy.  “We made mistakes,” Clouet confesses. Not having a historic reputation to rely on, the team at Cheval des Andes had sought out high scores, chasing points to prove their worth. But, in a still Parker-dominant era, that meant making wines with “ripe grapes, a lot of extraction, a high level of alcohol – you [had] to show the muscle to explain that you are a great wine”, explains Clouet. “For a long time, the recipe was in the cellar; nobody cared where the vines were.” Now, however, that’s all changed.  From 2011, the team started shifting focus to the vineyard, working more closely with their French counterparts and vice-versa. The arrival of Lorenzo Pasquini (now the man at the helm of Ch. d’Yquem) in 2015 was key to the transition, as Cheval des Andes started to focus on a shared vision of fine wine – one that is about freshness, balance and ageing potential, and one that defines Cheval Blanc.  Only with a few wrong turns, however, can you be sure you’re on the right path – and Clouet is clear that those first 16 years, figuring out what Cheval des Andes should and could be, has been “super important” in helping them build “something with real sincerity, real authenticity”. Most importantly, Cheval des Andes is not intended to be, nor is a copy of Cheval Blanc: “It is, in our mind, absolutely an Argentine wine,” says Clouet.  The original 31-hectare vineyard is in Las Compuertas in Luján de Cuyo, a subregion of Mendoza. It is on these clay-dominant soils at around 1,000 metres’ altitude that Pierre Lurton discovered a plot of ungrafted Malbec in 1998. Planted in 1929, the vine material pre-dates phylloxera, descended from a selection imported to Argentina in 1852 – back when the grape dominated Bordeaux. This selection is key to the DNA of Cheval des Andes and, along with the huge diurnal shift, produces Malbec that is fresh, precise, perfumed and delicately structured. For Clouet, the “true” Malbec is closer to Pinot Noir in style – more floral than fruit-led, vibrant and even ethereal.  In 2001, the team purchased an additional parcel in La Consulta in the Uco Valley, at higher altitude and with more gravel-driven soils, a cooler site that has an even more significant diurnal swing in temperature. While they once might have used only a fraction of the estate to produce the flagship wine, they have moved to using as much as they can – to create a pure expression of the entire property, declassifying only plots that don’t fit in the blend or meet their stringent quality standards.  All 50 hectares are farmed with the same philosophy as their vines in Saint-Emilion – employing extensive cover crops, trees scattered throughout the vineyard, and with the same incredible attention to detail and focus on sustainability. “We work with the same vision and the same conviction,” says Clouet. One key difference, of course, is that irrigation is essential in this part of Argentina – but, here again, they’ve changed tack over the last decade or so. Rather than traditional modern drip irrigation where necessary water would be eked out drop by drop over the season as needed (“too artificial”, Clouet tells me), they irrigate extensively over the winter to ensure the soils are replenished fully between seasons (as well as help protect ungrafted vines against phylloxera), then – on a plot by plot basis – when the vines are starting to suffer, they give the vines around 40mm of water (still via drip irrigation), over 24-48 hours, replicating a day or two of steady rainfall.  They’ve reduced the height of the canopy (the engine of the vine for sugar production), while using trees, cover crops and minimal leaf-pulling to avoid sunburn. They’ve started pruning each vine according to its vigour, and are now picking significantly earlier – as much as two months earlier than 15 years ago. With this detail in the vineyard, the challenge is simply to guide the fruit through the winery: “No mistakes is enough in the cellar,” says Clouet.  In some ways, the wine echoes Cheval Blanc. While the Saint-Emilion property blends Cabernet Franc and Merlot, Cheval des Andes focuses on Malbec and Cabernet Sauvignon – the Malbec bringing freshness and silkiness that complements the backbone of powerful Cabernet. And the Cheval Blanc style, one of restraint and precision, shines through in recent vintages of the wine – and especially the soon-to-be-released 2021. As Clouet tells me, “Our vision is absolutely delicacy, freshness, balance, ageing potential, complexity.” Unlike Cheval Blanc, however, which needs 10 years in bottle to start even hinting at its potential, Cheval des Andes offers an immediacy – something that Clouet is clear doesn’t inhibit its ability to last; the 2021, for example, can be drunk now, but will evolve over the next 25 years at least, he tells me.  Even the association with the Cheval Blanc name doesn’t make Cheval des Andes an easy sell to fine wine lovers; but that, says Clouet, is part of what makes it fun – a challenge for the team to be pushed. Even better, his team gets the chance to learn and make wine not just once a year, but twice, as well as gaining additional insight on how Cheval Blanc might adapt to climate change. But Cheval des Andes isn’t just an intellectual exercise (that is merely an added bonus), Clouet firmly believes in the potential of this site – something they’re now finally beginning to realise. Browse all current Cheval des Andes listings or read more Editorial 

For 25 years, Cheval Blanc – one of Saint-Emilion’s leading names – has been crafting wine in Argentina. We sat down with Pierre-Olivier Clouet to find out more about the project today, and why the 2021 vintage is the most exciting to date

Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet on the start of a new chapter at Cheval des Andes, the Argentinian wine project from Saint-Emilion’s Cheval Blanc

Turning the page at Cheval des Andes

It’s 20 years since Eduardo Chadwick gathered some of Europe’s most famous wine writers for a blind tasting – one to rival the famous 1976 Judgement of Paris (when California proved its wines could compete with – and beat – France’s best). Chadwick was convinced that critics were underestimating Chilean wines – for no reason other than snobbery against the nation. The Berlin Tasting pitched Chadwick’s top wines (Viñedo Chadwick, Seña and Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve) against Bordeaux’s First Growths and a lone Super Tuscan (Antinori’s Solaia). Chadwick charged the late Steven Spurrier with running the event. “I never imagined that what happened was about to happen,” Chadwick tells me. To his and everyone else’s amazement, the 2000 Viñedo Chadwick took the top spot, followed by 2001 Seña, then 2000 Ch. Lafite Rothschild, and 2000 Ch. Margaux – tied equally in fourth place with 2000 Seña. Finally, there was proof that Chile’s wines deserved a place on the world stage.  But, for Chadwick, one watershed moment wasn’t enough. He repeated the tasting, first in São Paulo, then Tokyo – and onward, hosting the same blind tasting 22 times around the world, all with similarly spectacular results for his wines. It takes nerves of steel – and a certain amount of ego – to be willing to risk repeating such a tasting, and yet Chadwick was justly rewarded. His campaign is just one way in which he has forged a path for fine, Chilean wine – with a relentless, dogged determination.  Chadwick is the fifth generation of his family to make wine in Chile. Don Maximiano Errázuriz emigrated from the Basque country and was the first to plant vines in the Aconcagua Valley in 1870. He identified the location, 100km north of Santiago, with its cool ocean breezes, hot summers and rainy winters, as perfect for growing grapes. Operating under the motto of, “from the best land, the best wine”, he planted vines in this idyllic site, near Panquehue, and built a winery – that still stands today.  Gradually, the business grew – and it became the largest vineyard in the world owned by an individual, with 1,300 hectares under vine at its peak in the late 19th century. Despite this early prosperity, Chile’s wine industry didn’t continue to thrive. There was no export market and domestic consumption (which reached up to 80 litres per capita annually) was slashed by severe taxation, while political and economic turbulence, with communist then military rule, put not just the industry, but nation, in crisis. By the early 1980s, wine was cheaper than water and around half of the nation’s vines were ripped out.  It was onto this unstable scene that Eduardo Chadwick arrived. He had initially trained as an industrial engineer before deciding to focus on wine instead, going to study in Bordeaux under the legendary oenologist Emile Peynaud. His father bought the family winery back from the banks, and Chadwick started dusting away the cobwebs, re-opening Viña Errázuriz and – armed with new, technical knowledge – made the first vintage of Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve, the property’s flagship wine, in 1984. The operation was still rudimentary – with rauli vats (a native hardwood), no temperature control and pergola vines planted on the fertile flats – but it was an early indication of what was possible. Tasting the wine four decades later, it’s held up remarkably well – with surprising vibrancy on the nose and a chiselled, savoury profile of pure Cabernet Sauvignon.  Gradually, Chadwick invested in equipment – stainless steel tanks, modern presses and barrels – and started to plant vineyards on slopes with poorer soils. Alongside this shift, pivotal elections in 1989 saw Chile become a democracy once more – and key figures from the world of wine visited. Soon entry-level wines were being exported by the likes of Oddbins and Victoria Wine. The doors had opened for Chilean wine. Robert Mondavi visited Chadwick in 1991 – and the two men hit it off, sharing an unrelenting drive to push their industry forward, and Mondavi recognised in Chile the potential he had seen in Napa in the 1960s. He knew that his partnership with Ch. Mouton Rothschild (Opus One) had been key to changing Napa’s reputation – and the duo hoped that their own joint venture might do the same for Chile: Seña (literally meaning “signal”) was born. Bob’s son, Tim Mondavi worked with Chadwick on the project and suggested looking for a site closer to the coast in the Aconcagua Valley, in search of even greater finesse, producing the first vintage in 1995.  And Chadwick didn’t stop there. His father had purchased an estate in the Alto Maipo in 1945, home to a polo field (Eduardo’s father, Alfonso, had captained the Chilean team for years). In 1992, Chadwick convinced his father to let him transform the polo field – with its pure gravel soils and 15˚C diurnal swing – into a vineyard, feeling it was perfect for Cabernet Sauvignon. Alfonso died the following year, but the first vintage of this project – Viñedo Chadwick, named in honour of his father – was made in 1999.   Chadwick knew the wines were good – but convincing the world of that fact was the challenge. He’s clear that Chile made a major error in churning out great-value, entry-level wines – good, but not fine wines – a price-point that came to define the nation. “That’s why it was very difficult to convince the audience that we can also produce world-class wines,” says Chadwick. “Chile had no recognition. We had no ratings, no Parker points, no Suckling points.” And so he set about changing that with the Berlin Tasting.  With that event’s market-shifting results (then echoed around the world), he’d created momentum for change. A decade later, he went on to break through another boundary: the 2014 Viñedo Chadwick became the first Chilean wine to earn 100 points (from James Suckling). Just last year, the 2021 vintage was the first Chilean wine rated 100 points by the Wine Advocate. When I sat down with him March this year, it was at an event paying tribute to the two decades that have passed since the Berlin Tasting – featuring early vintages from each estate, and their greatest successes. The 1998 Seña was a particular standout – a cool vintage that today is perfumed, elegant, bright and effortlessly long. Any doubters of Chilean wine were instantly quieted. And, as with the Berlin tasting, the event was being replicated around the globe – the campaign to champion Chilean wine never ending.  When Chadwick started in 1983, Viña Errázuriz had just 10 hectares of vineyard. Today, across their estates, Chadwick farms 900 hectares of vines. He bought out his siblings years ago, when he found they were more interested in dividends than growing and investing in the business. Now three of his four daughters are working alongside him – excited by the potential of coastal sites (where they make the Las Pizarras wines) and a new sparkling project. There has been no shortage of challenges along the way, but they’ve only fuelled Chadwick’s relentless pursuit of recognition for Chile and its wines. “Where we are today is beyond my wildest dreams,” he tells me, and yet it’s only because of his tireless ambition that Chilean wine has made it to this point. Fortunately, it looks like his children have inherited his determination – ready to rule over the next chapter of this epic story.  Explore all listings of Viña Errázuriz, Seña and Viñedo Chadwick or read more about Chile 

In the last 40 years, Eduardo Chadwick has single-handedly forged a place for Chile in the fine wine arena. Two decades after the pivotal Berlin Tasting, Sophie Thorpe sat down with the man himself to explore his legacy – and what lies ahead 

20 years after the Berlin Tasting, we sit down with Eduardo Chadwick – the man that created Chile’s first icon wines, Sena, Vinedo Chadwick and Errazuriz

Championing Chile – Eduardo Chadwick

Championing Chile: Eduardo Chadwick

The air is cool and crisp, with the radiant blue skies that only late winter can provide. On the crest of the hill in front of me, a troupe is studiously pruning Ch. Lafite Rothschild’s oldest Cabernet Sauvignon vines, their roots sinking deep into the precious gravel soils that define the First Growth’s wines. Looking over a junior member of the team’s shoulder is Luís Pinto, making sure that no mistakes are being made as they shape the vines for the future, laying the groundwork for not just 2024, but the vintages beyond that. Sporting navy-blue Domaines Barons de Rothschild overalls (vintage, sadly out of production and unavailable for purchase – I asked), Pinto has been working at the estate for over 30 years, and now leads one of the vineyard teams. As you might guess given his name, his family is Portuguese, although he was born and raised in Bordeaux. In fact, his mother even worked the harvest at Lafite, and Pinto has pictures of himself as a child at the on-site nursery the château then had for workers’ offspring – perhaps sewing the first seeds of his future profession. As Louis Caillard, Vineyard Manager at Ch. Lafite Rothschild and Ch. Duhart-Milon, explains, Pinto isn’t an anomaly. Caillard heads up the 80-strong team which works across both properties (and are managed identically when it comes to the vines). The vast majority of this team are extremely local, coming from within a 20-kilometre radius of the château, and once they join the team, few ever leave. Much has changed over Pinto’s many years working these vines – offering an on-the-ground view of viticultural trends. He remembers a time when they would rip out hedges and trees to make room for vines, focused more on yield, now coming full-circle to reinstate the biodiversity that existed before. Today there’s more appreciation of the craft and calling of a vigneron, or vine-grower – a return to traditional vineyard management.  Looking at pruning, for example, Pinto explains how there are no set rules: “Each person prunes a vine as they wish,” he tells me. They respond to each vine, its needs, looking at the sap flow and thinking about its long-term future, rather than just the next season. It’s very Simonit&Sirch in approach – although Pinto is bemused by such a suggestion; for him, it’s how he learnt to understand vines. “All it is, effectively, is that we think,” says Caillard. “It’s always existed; it’s just that we had forgotten it a little.” The challenge is teaching this sort of instinctive approach to managing a vineyard. “I don’t follow a recipe anymore,” says Pinto. It’s not just knowledge he is trying to pass on to his team, but “a way of thinking”, he says, one that inevitably comes from experience, from making mistakes and learning from them. There’s a drastic difference between studying the theory from a book, and standing in front of a vine, secateurs in hand. Of course, the idea of making mistakes when the wine commands the reputation (and price) that Lafite does might seem daunting – but it’s this that sets top addresses apart. Lafite’s scrupulous approach to quality, declassifying any fruit that doesn’t meet its very high standards, is a luxury that not all producers can afford. For Pinto, it’s this dedication to quality and long-term view that has kept him at Lafite all these years. There are plenty of properties that will rip vines out once they reach a certain age, all in the name for better crop loads, but at Lafite, the philosophy is to see “how far we can take the vine”, nurturing parcels into old age. His work might be cyclic, following the vine’s yearly progression, but there are changes every year – an effort to constantly evolve and improve. This, perhaps, is what – for me – is most interesting about Lafite. It’s not just the finesse and elegance of its pinpoint Grand Vin that sets this estate apart, but the way in which it has quietly been changing the way Bordeaux works, pushing forward in its pursuit of excellence. For over a decade, they’ve had Manuela Brando leading their Research & Development; talking to her is fascinating, with trials on everything from biodynamics, rootstocks and treatments to umbrella-like covers as an alternative way to combat mildew. If successful, these trials are transferred to the wider vineyard – with training that means the team never stops learning. Just the other day, Pinto tells me, they had a session on agroforestry – something that he’s clearly fascinated by. Pinto seems relaxed, joking lightly with us, but is also quietly serious when it comes to his work, knowing that every decision they make in the vineyard is critical to the quality of the wine that eventually emerges from the cellar. “Every decision has an impact,” echoes Caillard – “and, in fact, nothing is simple.” Difficult it might be, but Pinto is pleased with the progression he has seen over the years. “You can feel the terroir a bit more again,” he says. The shift to organic, re-introduction of hedgerows and trees to the vineyard, which in turn has brought an array of fauna – butterflies and ladybirds, for example, has transformed the property. As an apiarist, he’s acutely aware of the wildflowers that now blossom and abundant bees they attract. At the end of the day, however, there’s no wizardry, he suggests, to what they do – it’s simple: “We respect the vines a bit more.” With the gloss of an estate like Lafite, a First Growth whose reputation is so immense, it’s easy to forget the work that happens behind the scenes. But, as Caillard knows all too well, “You cannot achieve anything technical without the people; people are key to everything we do.” People like Pinto, so clearly at one with their calling, the place and vines, are what make truly great wine – separating the excellent and exceptional. As our conversation draws to a close, Pinto returns back to his team, his stocky frame receding down the row of vines and weathered face turned once more to the bright sunshine, as deeply rooted in this terroir as the Cabernet Sauvignon that surrounds him. Browse all current listings of Ch. Lafite Rothschild, or read more about Bordeaux

As we continue to take you behind the scenes at Bordeaux’s top addresses, our latest feature shines a light on Ch. Lafite Rothschild. We caught up with one of its vineyard team, a vigneron who has dedicated over 30 years of his life to the First Growth’s vines

Taking you behind the scenes at Ch. Lafite Rothschild to talk to one of the Bordeaux First Growth’s vineyard workers

The call of the vine – Ch. Lafite Rothschild

The call of the vine: Ch. Lafite Rothschild

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

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

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

Introducing Allan Frischman

Hammer time: Allan Frischman

Go into any winery in the world, and it’s now unusual not to find a glass wine globe or clay amphora lurking in the corner. Oak has long been the traditional ageing vessel for wine – light, easily transportable, the grain fine enough to allow micro-oxygenation (aiding the polymerisation of tannins, making the wine more supple), and, especially when new, the ability to add toasty, spicy complexity. But with technology and global warming, many winemakers are looking beyond oak – and Jean-Marie Fourrier is one of them.  “We noticed the barrels generating the most problems were new oak,” says Fourrier. He and his team had been monitoring each barrel during élevage, and started noticing a trend. They observed that the volatile acidity was 0.2-0.3% higher in first-fill barrels. To compensate for the higher volatility, Fourrier had to add more sulphur to those barrels, something that he’d like to avoid – feeling that higher sulphur additions can mask the terroir.  But why were the new barrels the most volatile? With climate change, trees – Fourrier argues – are growing more quickly, meaning that their trunks don’t have the same density, and this is responsible for the increased volatility. He’s not alone in paying attention to the density of wood; it’s something that Clos de Sarpe has started monitoring, weighing each barrel and noting how this impacts the wine during élevage. Fourrier also feels that climate change has impacted cork, as he told me in 2021 – noting how cork is harvested every seven to eight years versus the 20 of yesteryear. The corks are less dense and this leads to higher oxygen transfer – it’s one reason that he chooses to wax his wines (instead of metal capsules), to help counter the quality of the cork itself, something that Olivier Lamy also believes is important.  With the extremes of climate change, the size of harvests varies more significantly than ever before – from the lows of 2021 to the highs of 2023. The pHs of wines are higher, making winemaking all the more tricky – a more challenging environment for yeast and higher risks of bacterial spoilage. Producers need to handle their wines more carefully, as well as juggle the vessels required for such extreme yield variations. If barrels are left empty, they become a breeding ground for bacteria, especially brettanomyces – so having the right number of vessels for your wine each year is essential, not to mention retaining a balance of new and old wood, to keep both a consistent style and not over- or under-oak the wines. (Some producers also only keep barrels for a certain number of years, again to avoid bacterial spoilage.)  “How can I age wine, keeping freshness, keeping purity?” says Fourrier, “Is 100% oak the direction? I don’t think so, to be honest, I think it’s a balance.” There were two options for him: either increase the level of sulphur additions, purely for the “ideology of wood” – or to evolve.  For him, using amphorae and stainless steel barrels alleviates some of these pressures – offering lower volatility, almost no bacterial risks and the vessels can be stored empty and more easily cleaned, not to mention they don’t need replacing. While he notes he is not about to release a “Cuvée Amphora”, ageing 20% of his wines in these alternatives allows for lower volatility, lower total sulphites and, in his view, helps give the wines freshness, complexity and a sense of place.   The 2022 vintage is the latest to bring these challenges to the fore; a return to a year born of global warming after the tricky, cool 2021. While for once they escaped the threat of frost, conditions were hot – although, unlike in 2019 or 2020, they received enough water to allow for a more plentiful crop. Gevrey-Chambertin saw a massive storm in June, bringing with it 100mm of rain in just an hour or so, flooding the streets of the village. Although it seemed devastating at the time, it was exactly what the vines needed to survive the dry stretch to the end of August and harvest at the start of September.  Although harvest dates creep earlier and earlier, Fourrier feels that some are picking prematurely (“We don’t do a Crémant,” he jokes). “Terroir needs to be revealed by phenolic maturity,” he explains, saying that his team started in early September. With the warmth of the year, he used around 15-20% whole-bunch to help retain freshness and elegance, and, as we’ve seen elsewhere so far, the alcohols are modest – sitting between 12.8 and 13.5%. The wines combine some of the characteristics of 2009 and 2015, Fourrier feels, yet are fresher, with an approachability that – as we have found – will make them easy to drink in their youth, despite having the structure and weight to age.  But now Fourrier’s mind is occupied by the 2023s, the wines just in the cellar – absorbed by the potential of the next vintage. It's this slow and constant evolution, the change and challenges, year in, year out, that keep him interested. With only one shot every 12 months, this business is, he says, “an internship of 40 years”. And it’s that approach – a modesty in the face of everything despite his reputation, constantly pushing forward, studying everything and never complacent – that makes Fourrier one of the region’s leading names. We’ve no doubt that his 2022s will be another display of his mastery.  Browse all current listings from Jean-Marie Fourrier and Domaine Fourrier, or read more about Burgundy 2022

The 2022 vintage in Burgundy is a year of the modern era – one born of today’s shifting climate. As the first of his wines from the year are released, Sophie Thorpe spoke to Jean-Marie Fourrier about how he’s managing global warming in the cellar – and what he thinks of 2022

We talk to iconic Burgundian winemaker Jean-Marie Fourrier about how to handle climate change in the cellar – and what he thinks of the 2022 vintage

Jean-Marie Fourrier – student and master

Student and master: Jean-Marie Fourrier

“I can die happy now,” Jon Bonné chuckles to me. The writer spent almost a decade as the wine guy at The San Francisco Chronicle, and is now Managing Editor at Resy, having spent time at Punch, writing for Noble Rot, Decanter and many more in between. His latest book, The New French Wine, was released earlier this year and The New York Times wine critic Eric Asimov dedicated an entire column to singing its praises – something he almost never does.  The hefty, two-part tome has been a long time in the making – almost a decade, in fact. The idea was a frivolous suggestion, casually agreed to over one too many drinks (“unsulphured Gamay in Oakland – as one does”) with his editor in 2014, soon after the publication of his seminal The New California Wine. But what was conceived as part of his quest for “the next thing”, to build on the momentum of his first book, rapidly spiralled.  “It's very hard to see a bigger picture of French wine because it is so overwhelming,” Bonné tells me over Zoom. Initially he’d envisaged a few trips, a project that would take a couple of years – but it “kept growing and growing and growing”.  “There was this much bigger story that I was sort of stumbling into,” the writer says. He gradually realised that there was an “enormous meta transformation” taking place across France – and this is what the book wrestles with. As he writes in the book’s introduction, “I imagined the new French wine would be about the undiscovered country – the cracks between known places.” But as he soon discovered, the new French wine was everywhere – and it took him nine years to piece it all together.   The work is split into two separate books – The Narrative and The Producers, the former the story behind the reference guide that forms the latter. The Narrative is a deep dive into the face of France and its winegrowing today, broken down by region, with break-out essays on topics such as natural wine, farming and the appellation system. It’s a rich tapestry of stories, interjected with the frank and striking photography of Susannah Ireland and occasional illustrated map by Francesco Bongiorni, reminiscent of Art Deco postcards.  For Bonné, the “new France” is about postmodernism, about “wilful rejections of the b******t of the past”. It’s about a (re)focus on site, about producers seizing their destiny and hunting for a more sustainable approach – in the vineyard, winery and beyond – although it’s far from that simple. “To understand French wine and to love it, you simply have to embrace its messy, self-contradictory, and, yes, complicated postmodern reality,” he writes. He points to Muscadet and Beaujolais as two of the most exciting and representative regions of this movement – both having entirely reinvented themselves within a generation. Producers here, he tells me, are “doing the work and focusing on terroir and technique and farming”, while Champagne “has completely transformed its vision of what its wine should be”.  Change is most importantly, however, “an inclusive force” – and looking at who did (and didn’t) make it into The Producers, Bonné’s definitive gazetteer of the nation’s movers and shakers, shines a light on this. It’s not a list of the vignerons he loves, it’s a pain-staking selection of those he deems significant and meaningful in the context of the movement – encompassing both more traditional names and those on the fringes. Take the Bordeaux chapter; you’ll find Pétrus, Lafleur and Pontet-Canet, as well as many less conventional, smaller and often natural-leaning properties such as Clos 19 Bis or Ch. Julia – with “Benchmarks” and the more up-and-coming “Names to Know” highlighted.  It’s fascinating – and fun – to see these two, seemingly opposing strands of France’s wine scene woven together. When I queried the inclusion of these elder statesmen of French wine, he highlighted how, for him, Pontet-Canet perfectly exemplifies the change in France today, with the forward-thinking Tesseron family handing the keys to previous cellar master Jean-Michel Comme to do “radical, radical s**t”.  Bonné deliberately chooses to champion those who have revved the engine of broader revolution – and those who reflect that revolution’s values. When it comes to Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, for example, he describes how they “upheld the moral pillars of Burgundy and winemaking” and “use their power for good”; whereas one top Pauillac estate he vehemently tells me is “perpetuating the worst practices of the Bordeaux trade”. For him, “wine is a consumable” and, as 21st-century consumers, “people have a right to explore the values of producers”.   While Bonné certainly likes natural wine – and many of the movement’s figureheads feature in the book, he is far from an evangelist. When he first started thinking about the book, natural wine was different; “It hadn’t quite catalysed into this very specific cultural beast,” he says, a cultural beast born in Hackney, Bushwick or Paris’s 11th. He talks about the movement’s “sense of tragic fashion” and how, with its clique-y nature, it has “baked in its own expiration date”. There were, he tells me, producers that didn’t make the cut – those who act as a “cautionary tale” for natural wine. “There are wines that can be delicate to being transported. And then there are wines that are just f***ed up at the source,” he says frankly.   His outlook is broadly positive for France, the nation’s ongoing revolution and its vignerons, but the book also acts as a call to arms of sorts, for: “The enforcers of the old ways will be forced to adapt, or they will perish,” he writes.  It’s not a perfect book. With a work of this size (over 860 pages and 600,000 words), it is almost inevitably slightly out of date by the time it is printed – especially with the pace of change today. Lafleur’s entry, for example, talks of Acte but not Les Perrières. I’d also have loved to have captions for each of Susannah Ireland’s images, knowing where – and of whom – they were taken. But these are quibbles.   I can’t pretend to be unbiased. Bonné is one of my favourite wine writers. There’s a lightness to his phrasing, with dry humour and a palate that I tend to identify with – although I’d argue he’s become a little more funk-friendly over the years. His writing is intelligent without being arduous. Perhaps it’s because, like Andrew Jefford, he was and is a journalist first. What really fills his writing is a sense of joy, of almost gluttony – it’s still filled with the excitement that so many wine writers seem to lose, as they tire of bottle after bottle of exceptional wine. He’s still easily absorbed by the stories that make each one different. For me, he doesn’t fit neatly into the critic box, even though it’s a term he uses to describe himself repeatedly in our conversation. “The notion of a critic has devolved to a place where you are simply handing out numbers,” he explains, but to him his work is about “criticism at a deeper level”. It’s about “being able to dive into the culture and come away with the insights and interpretation, and explain why certain wines really do matter”.  And it is this that makes The New French Wine stand apart. It isn’t just a wine book; wine is the lens through which Bonné observes a broader cultural shift. Whether you agree with everything he says or not, it’s a joy to read, hold and look at. It’s a book that will prompt conversation, prompt you to uncork bottles, prompt you to consider quite how complicated – and endlessly fascinating – France’s wine scene is. And is there anything more French than that?  The New French Wine: Redefining the World’s Greatest Wine Culture (Ten Speed Press) is out now.  Read more Editorial 

Ten years after The New California Wine was published, Jon Bonné has published a new book – an epic tale of France’s revolution. Sophie Thorpe caught up with the author to talk about his ambitious project to capture The New French Wine

We sit down with Jon Bonne, the wine writer and author of The New French Wine, to find out more about his second book

Writer Jon Bonne on The New French Wine

Facing up to The New French Wine: Jon Bonné

One hundred years ago, two men, inspired by the Scottish distilling tradition, produced the first Japanese whisky. In the years that have followed, the category’s fortunes – much like its founders’ relationship – have been turbulent.    The story begins in 1923 when pharmaceutical wholesaler turned Spanish wine importer Shinjiro Torii invested his family fortune in building the Yamazaki distillery, against their advice. Torii enlisted the help of wet-behind-the-ears chemist Masataka Taketsuru – who had spent time learning his craft in Scotland – to lead production on their first whisky, Suntory Shirofuda, which was released in 1929. The two men did not see eye to eye and parted ways following the dismal reception of Shirofuda. Taketsuru famously went on to found the other great Japanese whisky producer, Nikka, and their fierce rivalry persisted. This is one of the reasons Japanese distilleries, to this day, blend in-house rather than trade liquid. Despite this rocky start, the Japanese domestic whisky market looked bullish by the late 1930s – Yamazaki’s next whisky (Suntory Kakubin, released in 1937) was more warmly received and Taketsuru successfully re-entered the scene with his first whisky, Nikka Yoichi, in 1940.  Fast forward to the early 1980s and the category was in fine fettle – Suntory and Nikka had both released their first single malt expressions and there was plenty of cause for optimism. But this prosperity sadly did not last as a steep decline in consumption caused the Japanese whisky market to splutter and almost entirely stall, resulting in many distilleries, including Karuizawa, being forced to close their doors. Both Yamazaki and Nikka managed to stay afloat but their output was significantly reduced as the economy and category stagnated, marking a bleak 25-year chapter in Japanese whisky’s history.   When demand was reignited around the mid-to-late 2000s, it largely came from Europe. A perfect storm caused this spike in interest, including wider interest in Japan (think Bill Murray in Lost in Translation), the resurgence of the Highball cocktail (circa 2007) and Suntory’s Yamazaki Single Malt Sherry Cask 2013 being named the world’s best in 2014 – a first for the category. Around this time, the world was also introduced to Ichiro Akuto’s highly collectable Card Series and the lost distilling icon, Karuizawa. “The mad scramble for crumbs on the Japanese whisky scene is something nobody could have predicted,” acclaimed Japanese whisky writer and Ghost Series independent bottler Stefan Van Eycken tells me. “In the space of 10 years, the situation went from being able to buy a whole range of single-cask Japanese whiskies at a big electronics chain for peanuts to bottles not even reaching the shelves of liquor stores anymore. “Even I, who had been exploring the Japanese whisky scene in the ‘dark ages’, couldn’t have predicted that,” he says matter-of-factly. “If I could have, I would have rented a van, bought up all the bottlings that were available for purchase and I could have retired by now.” Yumi Yoshikawa joined the team at Chichibu in 2013 after a two-year stint in Scotland, first working in the Highlander Inn in Craigellachie – which will require little introduction for spirits journalists or enthusiasts – and at the Bruichladdich Distillery on Islay. “People didn’t know the value of aged [Japanese] whisky back then,” Yoshikawa tells me. “Or that Japan had a long whisky history,” she adds. Somebody who was instrumental in educating the world on these two points is Marcin Miller, a man whose fortitude dragged Karuizawa out of obscurity. The genteel and thoroughly entertaining former Whisky Magazine Editor turned drinks entrepreneur, recalls the landscape when he and business partner David Croll first tasted those fateful Karuizawa single casks in the early 2000s.  “The most common complaint [from whisky enthusiasts] at the time would seem to be that it's all very well for me tasting this stuff but we never get to see any where we are in Western Europe or Northern America,” he recalls. So the two men set about changing this by buying the remaining stock from the then-lost Karuizawa, bottling it, and making it available to the masses – with resounding success. It’s a gross misapprehension – held by many – that the duo meandered into a meeting room, tasted a parcel of Karuizawa, bought it on the spot, and bottled it shortly after, grinning like Cheshire cats as the coffers swelled. In truth, it was four and a half years of negotiation and countless sleepless nights during the process. When pallets of casks from the ghost distillery in a nascent whisky market were finally shipped to them, there was no guarantee the wider whisky world would be interested. “Whatever anyone says, it really was not easy…” He trails off, transported to that time, and all the challenges the pair transversed when bringing the mature Japanese whisky from a then-unknown producer to its now almost mythic status.  Miller talks of the “extraordinary, phenomenal effect” Karuizawa had on him. Croll, Miller and acclaimed drinks writer Dave Broom – who has since quite literally written the book on Japanese whisky – initially tasted 69 single-cask Karuizawa samples. “I would have bottled any of those casks,” Miller says, a fond smile warming his face. If it hadn’t been for Croll, who had lived in Japan for 30 years and owned a successful drinks business, Miller says they likely never would have got a foot in the door at Karuizawa – or secured the exclusive distribution rights of the much-lauded Chichibu and Hanyu. “I dare say Karuizawa would have been blended away into big plastic five-litre tubs of supermarket whisky,” Miller says reticently. When Van Eycken moved to Japan around the same time as Miller and Co were negotiating the Karuizawa deal, he hadn’t even realised whisky was being produced there. Japanese whisky consumption and production were at an all-time low and the general feeling, he says, was that the whisky made in Japan was “cheap and good for getting a buzz when going out, but that the good stuff – that you would savour – was Scotch, and Bourbon, to a lesser extent”. The intrepid Van Eycken was taken aback by the quality of the long-aged liquids he sampled on his travels and couldn’t understand why this sentiment wasn’t shared domestically or further afield. When Japanese whisky’s popularity did finally begin to soar, he was perfectly placed to fill the knowledge chasm with his widely acclaimed Nonjatta website and, later, his seminal work Whisky Rising – a fully updated second edition of which came out earlier this year.  “When I wrote the original edition in 2016, there were 14 active distilleries in Japan,” he says. “Fast forward to mid-2022 and there were 41 active distilleries (and even more in the progress of getting ready to distil),” Van Eycken tells me. All of the new distilleries, he says, are attempting to follow the so-called “craft model” with a single pair of pot stills and fairly limited production. The inspiration, of course, being Ichiro Akuto and his incredible accomplishments over the past 15 years at Chichibu. “But not everyone can be an Ichiro – though most new distillers are certainly hoping to be equally successful, if not more, than Ichiro,” he adds. Several of these new distilleries are located in and around the town of Karuizawa. “My personal feeling is that it doesn’t make a lot of sense to try and compete with the legend that is the (old) Karuizawa distillery,” Van Eycken is quick to add. “The liquid that was made there turned out to be something very special, and not only by design. I have had the dubious pleasure of tasting the new-make from the old Karuizawa distillery and it was absolutely foul.  “But during the maturation process, over 20, 30, 40 years, something magical happened. Some of this can be explained, but most of it is a hermetic mystery. We simply cannot know why decades later this harsh spirit transformed into a sublime whisky (in most cases). Even if you wanted to replicate this whisky – or aspects of it – you couldn’t.  “And hoping to match the quality of the (original) Karuizawa whisky… well, it’s good to aim high but it's a bit like naming your kid Roger Federer in the hope that he would turn into a tennis player of the same calibre. Why would you want to put that sort of pressure on the kid?”  Miller is humility personified and doesn’t want to come across as a wizened cynic or, in his words, “boring old fart”, but he’s not confident that all the country’s new distilleries are set for success. “I think people are now trying to replicate the business success but without the foundation of the liquid. They are selling Japanese whisky futures but who knows what the liquid is going to be like because it's not just A + B = C.” There is a cautionary tale in the annals of Scottish whisky distilling that Japanese producers might be wise to heed. Scotch has famously fallen victim to its own success – with booms and busts resulting in whisky lakes, or lochs, that have crippled the industry and forced mass distillery closures. In so faithfully replicating Scotch, there is a real danger Japan will find itself back in the 1980s when the likes of Karuizawa were shuttered. This time, however, there would be many more casualties.      “For the time being, the Japanese whisky scene continues to be marked by an unbridled optimism,” Van Eycken adds. “Distillers price their (invariably young) whiskies very high (compared with similarly established whisky markets around the world) and consumers snap up the bottles regardless of the (sometimes unjustifiably) high prices.”  This price war is one of the reasons Miller et al sold their remaining stock of Karuizawa, which had initially been priced fairly but wasn’t the case when they left the scene. The 1960 Karuizawa, for example, which yielded 41 bottles was released circa 2014 for £12,500. Within a decade, those same bottles were easily reaching $375,000. “That's not a bad return in 10 years,” Miller says caustically. “But that's not why we did it. If that had been our motivation, we'd have just held on to it and had 41 times that.” For those still in the industry – and disciples of it – there is a real push to protect the integrity of Japanese whisky and futureproof it. Yoshikawa picks up the point, outlining that the few have muddied the water for the many: “The rapid publicity and the reputation of Japanese whisky have led to its use of excessive PR strategies, even when this is not in line with the facts of the product.” For these reasons, she is an advocate of more stringent regulations, like the ones announced by the Japan Spirits and Liqueurs Makers Association in 2021 which aims to restrict certain practices – like labelling whisky that isn’t actually from Japan as Japanese whisky – akin to those enshrined and strongly policed in Scotland. But she, like many, thinks these could go further and believe it is important to continue scrutinising the practices of the small and larger players, ensuring there is greater transparency and less “skullduggery”, as Van Eycken puts it. As the ink dries on the past 100 years of Japanese whisky, no one knows what the next century might entail – but there's plenty of excitement. The landscape will undoubtedly change once more, and new giants and legends will likely emerge. For whisky enthusiasts, the challenge – as always – will be pre-empting the plot twists and securing bottles before they become little more than folklore.  Browse all Japanese whisky or read more editorial

As Japanese whisky enters its 100th year, producers are in a mad scramble to build the next legend. Holly Motion assesses whether previous fairytale endings can be repeated – and ponders if those individuals attempting to stand on the shoulders of giants might have a great fall

Exploring the epic story of Japanese whisky – from its genesis, to rebirth and future – as it celebrates its centenary.

100 years of Japanese whisky

A modern epic: 100 years of Japanese whisky

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

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

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

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