Sitting opposite us, the dark-suited, dark-haired figure waved an elegant hand at the bottle of white Burgundy which he’d just fished out of a carrier bag and planted on the table with the air of a conjuror at a party. “You’ll like this,” he said; it was a statement, not a suggestion, delivered in a faint accent with American overtones and a hint of gutturality. In this totally unremarkable West London pub, a bottle of Meursault looked as out of place as a KGB officer. Which he was. We did like it, of course, who wouldn’t? It made the greasy steak and chips almost bearable, and was one of the best wines I’d ever tasted at that point in my life. I was 33 that year, 1978, and as a newish BBC foreign correspondent I wasn’t particularly well paid. He’d brought the Meursault with him to show us how sophisticated he was, and to counter the blandness of the food. But why had he suggested The Mitre as a place for lunch? It was handy for the Soviet embassy up the road, certainly; but I realised that the real attraction for him was the high-backed seats that enclosed our table and kept our conversation private. Sergei was a major in the KGB, masquerading as a press attaché. The habit of secrecy was deeply ingrained in him. The Meursault started to work on my companion, a gossipy, amusing, slightly naïve BBC executive. It worked on me, too, but under the influence of alcohol I tend to go quiet and introverted. Not so Harry. He delivered the brief lecture about Soviet harassment of our Moscow correspondent which he’d been planning. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t make Sergei burst into tears. On the contrary. “Ah, yes, the famous Declan.” Sergei managed to put the accent on the second syllable. “Such good Russian. A pity he wastes his time hanging around those drop-outs and wastrels.” I was particularly impressed by ‘wastrels’. “I suppose you mean dissidents,” I said, pushing my glass across for more Meursault. The label read ‘1968’; the Soviet embassy must have had a superb cellar. Sergei laughed scornfully and poured. “I hear Declan’s marriage isn’t going so good now,” he said. “Ah, no, his wife left him for an airline pilot,” Harry replied, giggling. I kicked him sharply: you didn’t feed personal details about your colleagues to KGB officers. “What?” Harry said, looking at me. We saw the bottle out. Sometimes I think I can still taste that rich, green-gold collection of butter, almond, citrus and, could it have been, or is it just my imagination after more than 40 years, hints of bracken and mayflower. At the end, we stood up and shook hands. “So you’ll go easy on Declan from now on?” Harry said. “Well, Declan must stop creating bad propaganda against the Soviet Union.” He had a good ear: this time the accent was on the first syllable. Sergei turned in the direction of the embassy, and we headed back to Television Centre. “Bloody good wine those Russkies can afford,” Harry said, and gave his high-pitched laugh.For journalists and spies, booze is a famous lubricant, a fuel, even. I came from a teetotal background, yet when I started as a foreign correspondent I soon found myself ordering a glass of single malt as a means of self-protection, while someone I was trying to pump for information opened up and talked in a way he or she never would if I’d ordered a Britvic orange. Yet there were exceptions. In Belfast and Derry, where I started my reporting career, the leaders of the Provisional IRA were mostly ultra-Catholic and never drank a drop; and as I branched out and began reporting on the Middle East, I found that organisations like Hezbollah and the followers of the Ayatollah were as teetotal as I had once been. There were no bars to meet them in, either. Fortunately, though, cities like Cairo and Beirut were more sophisticated. I soon found that anywhere with a sizeable Christian population, Egypt and Lebanon, of course, but also Syria, Iraq and westernised countries like Turkey and Pakistan, made allowances for thirsty westerners and permitted them to drink, even if in cities like Peshawar you had to sign a big leather volume and register yourself as an alcoholic. The bar in the old Commodore Hotel in Beirut was a wonderful centre for professional alcoholics of this kind. I first went there in June 1982, when West Beirut was under hourly attack from Israeli planes and tanks, and there were no shelters to protect us. The presiding spirit of the place was a correspondent called Chris Drake, a hospitable soul who dispensed booze and information even-handedly. When the barrage was going on, it would have been suicidal to leave the Commodore, and the building shuddered to every nearby explosion. Chris Drake had a parrot, and when the bar was packed in the evening with journalists glad to still be alive, it would imitate the sound of a shell in flight with startling accuracy. Most of the people there, not me, thank God, had walked into the bar on their first night, heard the parrot’s hugely convincing whistle, and thrown themselves on the floor shouting “Incoming!”. There would be a roar of laughter, and someone would help them up and offer them a glass of arak, an infusion of grapes and the seeds of the anise plant. I acquired a real taste for arak at that time, and I still think of that slightly oily, metallic, liquorice-tasting liquid hitting the back of my throat and burning its way down. A few years later, during another upsurge of fighting, the Commodore was heavily shelled by the Syrian army. The building was destroyed, and no trace of the parrot was ever found. When peace was restored and there was money around, the Commodore was rebuilt, much bigger and more glitzy, but the architect designed a new bar precisely where the old one had once been. You can still see the space on the floor where many a famous journalist measured his length when the parrot did its party trick. I took my wife and 13-year-old son there a couple of years ago, and one afternoon, when the bar was empty, my son insisted on re-enacting the whole thing. In China, things were different. Meetings with underground figures usually took place at their homes or outdoors, given the fear of surveillance. I often chose Ritan Park in Beijing, where teahouses served pu-erh tea and offered a discreet place to talk. By contrast, official meetings required alcohol, specifically Maotai, a fierce baijiu distilled from sorghum at over 50% ABV. At one banquet, after being insulted by a local Party official, I tried to outdrink him. The plan failed, he had help, but we still ended the night collapsed together, singing in two languages. The next day, I was told this had enhanced British prestige. Countries where alcohol is banned present different challenges. In Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, I smuggled in a 27-year-old bottle of Laphroaig disguised as Fanta, only to pour it down the toilet when soldiers began searching rooms for alcohol. They never entered mine. After the fall of the Soviet Union, I tried to track Sergei down but never found him. Before that, though, I had taken my revenge by signing him up to every unwanted mailing list I could find, encyclopaedias, dubious magazines, and more inventive subscriptions besides. It made me feel very good.And yet, if I imagine meeting him again, I always picture the same thing: Sergei standing in the doorway, holding a superb bottle of Meursault. For that, at least, I’ve always been grateful. This article was written by John Simpson, who reflects on his experiences reporting across the world, and the role alcohol has played in the art of face-to-face reconnaissance. Illustrations by Natsko Seki. Originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

BBC world affairs editor John Simpson reflects on reporting from conflict zones, recalling memorable bars, encounters and the role alcohol plays in the subtle art of face-to-face reconnaissance.

BBC world affairs editor John Simpson on bars, encounters and how alcohol shapes reporting, trust and intelligence gathering worldwide.

John Simpson on bars, spies and the art of reporting

Refuge,  refreshment & reconnaissance

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

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

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

Jay Fielden on Wine, Words and Distraction

How one became another  

Group CEO Patrick O’Connor reflects on Bordeaux 2025: a hot, dry and early vintage defined by small yields, precise viticulture, restrained winemaking and a new wave of estates delivering wines of real distinction.

Patrick O’Connor, Group CEO, explores Bordeaux 2025: a hot, dry, early vintage shaped by precision, small yields and standout wines.

Bordeaux 2025 en primeur: vintage overview      

Bordeaux 2025: vintage overview               

For Marelise Niemann, the lure of wine is the very thing that might frustrate less intuitive winegrowers. “You’re never in control: you’re always humbled,” she says – by the weather, by the baboons that eat your grapes, by nature. Humbling though it may be, Niemann has made Grenache her mission – crafting South Africa’s finest, most elegant expressions of this grape under her Momento label.  It's perhaps not surprising, given the style of her wines, that it was a vintage in Burgundy that provided her lightbulb moment. At the time, in the late noughties, South Africa was still focused on producing big wines: bold reds, extracted and heavily oaked, were seen as the best. Parker’s influence was lingering, and South Africa was still bouncing back from apartheid and the stifling monopoly of the KWV. But a stint working with Pinot Noir made Niemann realise the surprising and sometimes incongruous power of delicacy – in short, that bigger wasn’t always better.  And she was one of many on a similar journey. South Africa’s New Wave movement was gathering pace. Led by the likes of Eben Sadie, Adi Badenhorst, and Chris and Andrea Mullineux, these producers were crafting fresh and fine wines, reinventing South Africa’s vinous identity. What started in the Swartland soon swept across the nation, and Niemann was part of this groundswell.  It was farming that first drew her to wine, having spent time as a child on her grandparents’ farm in Stanford, a small village in the Overberg, getting up at the crack of dawn to help milk the cows or do whatever else needed doing. Although her parents both left agriculture behind, she wanted to work the land. Growing up in Elgin, dominated by apples but with a nascent grape industry, she decided to try viticulture. Late nights with many bottles at university in Stellenbosch convinced her that growing grapes wasn’t enough, and soon her degree had broadened to include winemaking.  After travelling the world and doing vintages in the Rhône and California, she got a job working alongside Sebastian Beaumont – who had just taken over his family’s estate, Beaumont Family Wines. It was here, she explains, that she could unlearn everything in the books. While there, she continued to travel and do vintages in the Northern Hemisphere – including the aforementioned stint in Burgundy.   Although Pinot Noir was her inspiration, it was the freshness and vibrancy that she was chasing, rather than Pinot itself – well aware that much of South Africa is simply too hot and dry for the variety. A trip to Terroir al Limit (the Priorat project created by Dominik Huber and Eben Sadie in 2001) in 2010 was pivotal. She fell instantly for the region’s beautiful old Garnacha vines, and the lighter styles that Huber and Sadie were producing.   She immediately returned and sought out a parcel of Grenache in the Western Cape. She bought two tonnes from a 50-year-old vineyard in the Swartland with Donovan Rall (of Rall Wines); he picked the fruit and trucked it down to Stellenbosch, where they stashed it illicitly in a university cold room overnight courtesy of a friend, and she then drove it down to Beaumont. The winemaking was minimal, in part because she was busy making the Beaumont wines, and she didn’t have any equipment – but also because it was what the vineyard gave her, leaning towards a lighter, more fragrant style. The first vintage of Momento Grenache was born. That was 2011, and before she’d even decided on a name or considered designing a label for the bottled product, it was chosen for the famous Young Guns tasting. (Her husband – an artist – sketched the vine you’ll see on the label today, with faces in the trunk, because for Niemann wine isn’t just the geeky stuff, but the people – both those who make it and those who enjoy it.)  Fast forward a decade, and Momento has earned quite the reputation. Niemann was named Tim Atkin MW’s Young Winemaker of the Year in his 2023 South Africa Report, and critics gush over the wines from this “Grenache-whisperer” (as dubbed by Malu Lambert, Decanter).  Although Niemann makes a Chenin Blanc/Verdelho blend and Tinta Barocca, Grenache is very much the core of the Momento range – with Grenache Gris and Blanc, as well as several different bottlings of Grenache Noir. It’s unsurprising given the beautifully fragrant, fine and fresh style of her wines that those she looks to for inspiration are Rayas (of course), but also those of Sierra de Gredos (such as Comando G), and finer, new-wave examples from Australia too – like Yangarra or S.C. Pannell. With the 2022 vintage, she introduced three additional single-site expressions of Grenache Noir, adding a bottling from Botrivier shale, Piekenierskloof sandstone and Riebeekberg schist, alongside her Paardeberg wine (previously labelled as Swartland, or Western Cape, all on granite). The idea is to show what Grenache can do in South Africa, speaking of their different soils, yet all retaining her trademark vibrancy and delicacy.  For Niemann, Grenache and the other varieties she works with aren’t an arbitrary choice, but those that are sustainable in the South African climate. Almost all the vineyards she works with are dry-farmed (with one that she’s weaning off its water-dependency). She points to the drought of 2015-2018 with its threat of Day Zero, when no one could irrigate their vines: she recalls how the Cabernet and Merlot in a neighbouring vineyard gave up, offering little to no crop, but it wasn’t the case with her Grenache, which “just carried on with life”. As she says, “There will be another day zero in South Africa. It will become hotter and drier. We need to farm varietals that don’t need to be irrigated.” Grapes like Grenache, Chenin and Verdelho, alongside Cinsault and Carignan are – for her – the answer. “It’s what our climate wants us to plant,” she says.  One thing’s for sure: if this is the future for South African wine, it’s incredibly exciting. Forget high-alcohol, soupy sweet Grenache; Niemann’s wines are fine-boned, fresh, textured, perfumed and pure – wines that speak of place. Allocations of her single-site bottlings vanished almost instantly on release – and I’m in no doubt that her star will only continue to rise. Snap these wines up while you can.  Explore the Momento range or read more about South Africa 

Named Tim Atkin MW’s Young Winemaker of the Year in 2023, Marelise Niemann is crafting some of South Africa’s most exciting wines. We sat down with the Momento winemaker to talk about her journey into wine, falling head-over-heels for Burgundy and why Grenache is the future for the Western Cape

Sitting down with Marlise Niemann, the winemaker behind Momento wines in Bot River, South Africa – Tim Atkin’s Young Winemaker of the Year 2023

Redefining Grenache: Marelise Niemann’s Momento wines

Redefining Grenache: Momento 

Overall, the 2024 crop was Bordeaux’s smallest since 1991 – with the region producing 332 million litres of wine. This is in part due to declining vineyard area, with the yield averaging 35hl/ha – slightly higher than that of the 2021, 2017 or 2013 vintages. Diving further into this, however, reveals a significant difference between the Left and Right Banks – with 34.4hl/ha in Saint-Emilion, Pomerol and Fronsac, versus 30.8hl/ha on average in the Médoc and Graves. It's a year where it is hard to generalise, even within each commune, for neighbouring estates produced drastically different results in the vintage. As David Suire of Ch. Laroque explained, there were such varying approaches to the year’s challenges, something that is echoed in the wines produced. RIGHT BANK This year, once again, the Right Bank offered more consistency than the Left. Although it was still heterogenous, the smaller size of estates lent itself to success – making it easier to treat and harvest in the narrow windows of dry weather. Wherever you were, however, it was a challenging year: as Christian Moueix said, “You cannot replace the sun.” Beyond the more overcast weather, hail hit Fronsac, Canon-Fronsac and Lalande-de-Pomerol in June, with some estates losing their entire crop, although Pomerol and Saint-Emilion largely escaped.  Pomerol For Noëmie Durantou (Ch. l’Eglise-Clinet), 2024 was a tough opponent – but one she knew they could win against, and looking back at it, what a game it was: as her wines certainly indicate. For her, there were several key elements to the growing season: the cloud cover that reduced diurnal variation (she recalls warm, sleepless nights), the late véraison, foggy mornings that increased botrytis pressure in the run-up to harvest, and the year’s humidity level – 80% in Pomerol, versus a more normal 50-60%. The hail that struck Lalande-de-Pomerol in June strayed a little into Pomerol, but most estates escaped any serious impact – with just a touch felt at Lafleur at Feytit-Clinet, for example. Treating the vines posed an additional challenge for the team at Clinet, who have to take into account the timetable of the neighbouring school, working around the presence of children and/or parents, on top of inclement conditions. Harvest began in Pomerol slightly earlier than in neighbouring Saint-Emilion, kicking off from as early as 16th September, but most starting to bring their Merlot in from 20th of the month, and the Cabernet finished by 4th October (although some producers had everything in the winery by the end of September). Yields varied significantly – from the second-smallest harvest since 1991 at Belle-Brise to the second-largest crop in the last 25 years at Lafleur.  Jeremy Chasseuil (Feytit-Clinet) emphasised how, for him, leaving the wine on lees for two months was key – helping to build texture, releasing polysaccharides that lend weight to the wine’s mid-palate. While 2024 did not produce the most opulent styles of Pomerol, the best retain a plush texture and exoticism to the aromatics that complements the naturally high acidity of the year. Although quality isn’t entirely consistent here, there are many highlights. Our favourites in Pomerol: Belle-Brise, Eglise-Clinet, Guillot Clauzel, La Conseillante, Lafleur, Le Pin, Vieux Château Certan Saint-Emilion There was a notable difference between Pomerol and Saint-Emilion – with Saint-Emilion seeing significantly more rain in April to June, with 278mm versus 199mm in Pomerol. Despite that, the region’s limestone plateau came into its own – allowing the water to drain away from the vines, despite hitting record levels (at Ausone, the level in their well was the highest-ever). August, however, was significantly drier on the Right Bank – with around half the normal rainfall.  Harvest started a little later here. Although some started as early as 17th September (Cheval Blanc, Canon, for example), most waited until 27th, and with several estates holding off until early October. Despite the year’s challenges (“It was a war,” said Cheval Blanc’s Pierre-Olivier Clouet), the yield across the appellation worked out as fairly average – although varied between estates. At Angélus, it was Hubert de Boüard de Laforest’s 40th vintage, and the bottle bears a cut-through of a tree-trunk with 40 rings as a tribute. At Ch. Beauséjour, it was the first vintage to be made in Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse’s new winery, something for which she was particularly appreciative, allowing her to divide the vineyard into smaller parcels and work with greater precision. Saint-Emilion is so large that there is inevitably a broad range of wines this year. Although there are some that can be overly tart, austere or astringent, there are some very impressive, textured, layered wines that retain tension yet also offer plentiful fruit and weight. Cheval Blanc, for example, is a very serious wine that will need time – a real contrast to many of the 2024s that are set to be approachable early. It’s worth highlighting Ch. Laroque, an estate that we have been watching for a while, and where David Suire continues to make wines that offer extraordinary value. Our favourites in Saint-Emilion: Ausone, Cheval Blanc, Clos de Sarpe, Figeac, L’If, Laroque, Tertre Roteboeuf LEFT BANK Yields on the Left Bank were – other than for the whites – generally lower than on the Right. It varies significantly between estates, however, with yields varying from the smallest-ever to normal. While there are years when lesser sites in the Médoc and Haut-Médoc excel, 2024 largely wasn’t – this was a vintage where the quality of terroir, as well as the means to make stringent selection were key. We found quality here was even more heterogenous than across the Gironde, however there are still some brilliant wines to be found.  Saint-Estèphe Quality in Saint-Estèphe is mixed in 2024. The commune’s cooler, northern position was not necessarily an advantage this year, nor were the more clay-rich soils – which have been such an advantage in recent warm and dry vintages. Estates with vines on free-draining gravels fared best, however there are many variables to the quality equation this year. While not every estate thrived, there are some serious highs here, with Montrose vying for wine of the vintage – offering a level of density and complexity that really stood out in our tastings. It’s the second rendition of their Grand Vin to come exclusively from Terrace Four (T4), a decision that is clearly being rewarded, and we also got our first taste of the not-yet-released wine made from T3, called “Terrasse 3” – a wine that will be worth looking out for. The team at Montrose emphasised how the appellation saw less rain between 1st August and 8th September compared to those further south, receiving just 50mm in this critical period (versus 80mm for Margaux and 120mm for Pessac-Léognan), something they felt was key to their success. Calon-Ségur was one of several estates that chose to abandon organics this year, using conventional sprays between budburst and flowering, before reverting to their normal regimen, allowing them to achieve the same yield as 2023 at 45hl/ha (versus 29hl/ha at Cos d’Estournel, who continued on their path to organic certification). Technical Director Vincent Millet – who is at the helm of Calon’s entire portfolio of estates, including Ch. le Prieuré in Saint-Emilion and Vray Croix de Gay in Pomerol – noted how the later-ripening Cabernet Sauvignon was particularly tricky this year, making the Left Bank more challenging than the Right in the vintage. Our favourites in Saint-Estèphe: Montrose Pauillac Pauillac had the lowest yield of any of the Left Bank communes this year, with the average across the appellation 29.5hl/ha (versus a 20-year average of 45.7hl/ha). Between estates, figures varied wildly – from the miniscule 11hl/ha made at Ch. Latour (a level more typical in Sauternes) to 33hl/ha at Ch. Lafite Rothschild, for example, looking at two estates working organically. June was drier here than elsewhere, meaning the vines started to suffer from hydric stress earlier – with some properties even saying they saw the vines’ development stall in August, with the first rains at the end of the month a welcome reprieve. Harvest here stretched through the first 10 days of October, with botrytis significantly impacting yields. Pichon Baron estimated they lost around 10hl/ha to rot – just one of the sacrifices that made 2024 such a costly vintage to produce. The resulting wines tend to have higher portions of Cabernet Sauvignon, and vary in both style and quality. Generally, these are lighter-styled Pauillacs, not having the firmness or power that this appellation can often offer. Although some don’t have sufficient concentration or structure, the best have trademark Pauillac graphite, complemented by more delicate florals, crunchy fruit, a saline quality and fine tannins. The vintage also marks 100 years of Batailley under the Borie-Castéja family, earning a commemorative label for this benchmark Claret, as well as a special Marie-Jeanne format. Our favourites in Pauillac: Batailley, Lafite Rothschild, Pichon Comtesse, Pontet-Canet Saint-Julien At Chx Léoville and Langoa Barton, Damien Barton Sartorius compared 2024 to running a marathon – tiring, but satisfying, and leaving you ready to sign up for another. The average yield for the appellation was a little bit higher than that of Pauillac, with 32.5hl/ha – still almost 25% down on the 30-year average. As with further north, however, the average is only an average: Beychevelle cropped at 43hl/ha, while selection took the yield down to 23.6hl/ha at Ducru-Beaucaillou (with the team throwing away almost 10hl/ha), and figures varied significantly between estates. At Beychevelle, Philippe Blanc explained how after just 4mm rain between 1st and 28th August, the rain recommenced and never stopped. Their Merlot was more impacted by mildew and therefore the blend is higher in Cabernet Sauvignon (55%) – something echoed elsewhere. The poor flowering and resulting coulure meant looser bunches, explained Barton Sartorius, something which he felt really helped them avoid significant botrytis pressure at the end of the season.  The smaller size of Saint-Julien means it is a little more consistent than Pauillac, however, it’s not entirely uniform. The fruit tends to be a little sweeter, while still on the red rather than black spectrum, the wines offering bright acidity and the best fine tannins and good balance, with the oak seamlessly integrated.  Our favourites in Saint-Julien: Ducru-Beaucaillou, Léoville Barton Margaux Although no appellation is consistent in 2024, Margaux produced some particularly impressive wines. Rainfall may have been higher here than further north, but the slightly warmer microclimate and shallow soils perhaps allowed the grapes to ripen earlier and more fully. There are still some light and tart wines, however the likes of Palmer, Margaux and Rauzan-Ségla produced wines that are among the best of the vintage. Ch. Margaux pointed to their early flowering as a significant advantage in the vintage – “a blessing”, in Aurélien Valance’s words. The 2024 vintage was meant to be the final year of organic conversion at Ch. Rauzan-Ségla, and as the mildew pressure hit, the team had a serious conversation about whether or not to persevere. With the owners’ endorsement, they decided that long-term it was the right decision to continue – knowing it would mean a sacrifice in yield (with a final crop of 30hl/ha), but it would also be their first organically certified wine. The Palmer team – long biodynamic – had to spray as many as 10 times by hand, unable to get their tractors into the vines. However you explain it, the results here speak for themselves – with wines that combine pretty, heady florals with sweet and supple fruit, as well as fine but persistent, powdered tannins: some serious wines that would deserve consideration in any vintage. This was also the one appellation where second wines – such as Alter Ego de Palmer and Pavillon Rouge – showed real quality. Our favourites in Margaux: Brane-Cantenac, Giscours, Palmer, Margaux, Rauzan-Ségla Graves + Pessac-Léognan Yields for the reds in Pessac-Léognan were – unusually for the year – average. The whites are discussed separately below, but the reds from Graves and Pessac-Léognan were as varied as elsewhere. There are, however, some charming wines, and some very impressive wines that defy the year’s reputation. This southerly region saw more rain in August, not benefitting perhaps from the hydric stress that was so key elsewhere – but the rain that month wasn’t excessive, just in line with the norm. At Smith Haut Lafitte, September saw more than three times the average rainfall (164mm versus 48mm), making the harvest far from easy. Although Carmes Haut-Brion picked 40hl/ha, they only vinified 24hl/ha – another example of the extreme selection that quality-focused estates put in place this year. Guillaume Pouthier – who always offers a unique perspective on a vintage – is doing something different with his ageing this year, reducing the temperature of the cellar from 16°C to 12°C over the two-year élevage, to preserve the fruit profile in the wine and encourage tartaric precipitation, thereby reducing the acidity level. Time will tell how this works, so it will be fascinating to retaste the wine in bottle. Domaine de Chevalier produced some particularly impressive wines this year, and although they have long worked organically and biodynamically, this year they made the difficult decision to use conventional treatments – something that has been rewarded, with both generous yields (48hl/ha) and very high quality. Our favourites in Graves + Pessac-Léognan: Les Carmes Haut-Brion, Domaine de Chevalier, La Mission Haut-Brion Dry whites Some people are raving about the dry whites in 2024 – and, while there are absolutely some brilliant whites, quality is far from uniform. The first Sauvignon Blanc grapes were harvested in Sauternes on 20th August, although most producers we spoke to picked from the very end of August/early September, with the last Semillon brought in on 23rd September. Yields were average to generous, with mildew much less of a problem – 30 hl/ha at Margaux, 32hl/ha at Smith Haut Lafitte, 38hl/ha for Haut-Brion and La Mission Haut-Brion, 48hl/ha at Domaine de Chevalier, for example, while on the Right Bank the Lafleur stable brought in around 40hl/ha and the Nicolas Thienpont team cropped 43hl/ha and 47hl/ha respectively at Alcée and Charmes-Godard. The cooler conditions preserved a backbone of acidity in the wines, with accordingly low pHs – analytically speaking, the wines have the highest acidity since 2014. The aromatics are precise, dominated by green rather than stone-fruit, and certainly not at the more tropical end of the spectrum. If anything, some of the wines can feel a little green or lean. As Smith Haut Lafitte’s Technical Director Fabien Teitgen explained, the challenge was to get ripeness that would cloak the acid of the vintage, the flesh to complement its skeleton. Owner Florence Cathiard feels the result is “one of [their] best whites”. Similarly at Ch. Margaux, they did a little more bâtonnage to give weight to Pavillon Blanc – and it’s one of the stars of the year. In some, you can feel the growing season’s excess of water – the generous yields resulting in wines that don’t have sufficient concentration. Sauvignon Blanc seemed to fare better than Semillon, which was more susceptible to rot and was more challenging to get phenolically ripe – and many of our favourites were pure Sauvignon, or heavily driven by the variety. Comparisons were varied – although 2021 was common for its acid backbone and cooler conditions. At Lafleur, Omri Ram is convinced that 2024 Les Champs Libres is one of their best, sitting comfortably alongside the 2023 and 2021. At Ch. Margaux, Aurélien Valance looked to a surprising vintage – the warm 2018 season, but in which the wine has a similar saline imprint to that found in 2024. Our favourites: Charmes-Godard, De Fieuzal Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Haut-Brion Blanc, Les Champs Libres and Grand Village Blanc, Pavillon Blanc du Ch. Margaux Sauternes + Barsac It’s easy to assume that because rain and rot threatened the crop in 2024, it was perfect for the sweet wines of Sauternes and Barsac: but very specific conditions are required for noble rot to set in, and if they aren’t met, you get grey rot – with both caused by the same fungus, botrytis cinerea. The first pass in Sauternes tended to take place at the end of September, with alternating wet and dry conditions encouraging the development of noble rot from the start of October. But teams had to battle grey and sour rot too – and a high degree of selection was key. At La Tour Blanche, they made just 3hl/ha for their Grand Vin, a tiny yield that matches that of 2021. The grapes that made it into the tank offered high acidity levels, precise aromatics, but not the luscious concentration of the very best vintages. Based on our tastings, the resulting wines are good to very good, if not quite exceptional, but may have particular appeal to consumers who prefer a lighter style of sweet wine – with brighter acidity and slightly lower residual sugar levels. They are vibrant and pure, with plenty of concentration, if not as hedonistic as more lauded years – and will be approachable at an earlier stage in life. Our favourites: Doisy Védrines, Guiraud, La Tour Blanche, Suduiraut Explore Bordeaux 2024 – including our full vintage overview

Following on from our full vintage overview, and as the Bordeaux 2024 en primeur releases continue, we explore how each subregion performed in the year, as well as identifying our favourite wines in each

Bordeaux 2024: a breakdown of the vintage by region, with top picks from Saint-Estephe, Pauillac, Margaux, Saint-Julien, Saint-Emilion and Pomerol

Bordeaux 2024 – breaking the year down by commune

Bordeaux 2024: the vintage by commune

The 2024 vintage in Bordeaux brought record rainfall – but there’s much more to the year than this. As the first wines are released, Sophie Thorpe reports on a complicated year and the wines it produced

Explore the 2024 vintage in Bordeaux and the wines it produced – looking at the growing season and style of the wines as they’re released en primeur

Bordeaux 2024 wines en primeur – vintage overview

Bordeaux 2024: vintage overview  

William Kelley + Yohan Castaing – Wine Advocate  Once again, the Wine Advocate’s Bordeaux en primeur coverage is shared by William Kelley and Yohan Castaing, with both providing scores, but Kelley writing the publication’s report. It’s telling that the highest potential score given for any of the 2024s is 94-96, with over half of the wines sitting below 90: in Kelley’s words, the year – which “tested growers’ limits” – “has produced few compelling wines”. Although there are some “notable successes”, the duo he feels that this is “clearly Bordeaux’s weakest vintage of the last decade”, with many wines that are “dilute, herbaceous and tart”.  The year is not homogenous, and Kelley attributes this simply to ripeness levels. He argues that those producers who “dared to wait” to harvest were rewarded. He is clear, however, that no particular variety or sub-region fared particularly better in 2024, with the year only able to be judged at a producer level. The best 2024s are, for Kelley, “intensely flavored middleweights with good structure and energy, exhibiting integrated acidity and ripe tannin”. Although the worst have acidity that can be “shrill”, with “astringent tannins and overt pyrazine character”, some – largely from early-ripening sites harvested late – “possess a density and mid-palate amplitude that transcends the year”. The vintage is, however, “a throwback”, closer to those of the 1990s than anything more recent. Elevage should help flesh out some of the wines, but Kelley is cautious of the wines’ fragility – and anticipates it “will only amplify the gap between the best and the rest”.  Kelley’s highlights: Cheval Blanc, La Conseillante, Pontet-Canet, Les Carmes Haut-Brion  Explore Kelley’s full report, notes and scores on the Wine Advocate (subscribers only)    Jane Anson – Inside Bordeaux  For Anson, 2024 exceeded her expectations: although there are, she acknowledges, "many disappointing bottles", the vintage is better than 2013 and – in the best cases – than 2021. She feels there are “more overall successes on the Right Bank than Left, simply because underripe Cabernet is very difficult to mask”, and generally speaking second wines don’t come recommended this year, with a notable step in quality. In the best reds, the acidity lends “juice, muscles and salinity”, with the Médoc offering linear, “floral, fragrant, nuanced” Claret. She highlights the quality of Saint-Julien in particular, and notes that there are “many excellent wines” in Pauillac, while Saint-Estèphe is more varied.  The Right Bank produced her wine of the vintage – Eglise-Clinet – but she notes how Pomerol is varied, with some successful wines that are “fabulous, lifted, aromatic, great quality” and some that are less successful, generally with the best hailing from the inner plateau. In Saint-Emilion, she notes how the limestone’s natural austerity needed to be managed – but “there are many tasty, successful if slim wines” in the appellation.  She emphasises the quality of the whites in the vintage, both sweet and dry, with “greater consistency and many excellent wines”. The dry whites offer great aromatics, but don’t have the density of the best wines, hence her ceiling on scores. She describes the sweet wines as “less luscious than the 2022s and 2023s”, but with “many balanced, delicious wines that are full of pleasure”.   Anson’s highlights: Eglise-Clinet, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Coutet, Pavillon Blanc, Les Champs Libres, Margaux, Léoville Poyferré, Brane-Cantenac, Ausone, Laroque, Couvent des Jacobins, La Prade, Vieux Château Saint André, L’If, Pagodes de Cos Blanc, Rieussec, Suduiraut, Clos Albus, Les Hauts de Smith Blanc, Les Charmes-Godard  Explore Anson’s full report, notes and scores on Inside Bordeaux (subscribers only)    Antonio Galloni – Vinous  Galloni is the first of the two Vinous writers to publish their report on 2024 Bordeaux. Although he admits the wines are “all over the place in terms of quality and style”, he also feels that “the very best wines have a lot to offer”. After all, “Weather is no longer the critical element in determining the quality of wines and therefore a vintage.”  He emphasises how key élevage will be in the wines’ development, expecting “a very high level of variability in the finished wines” – feeling, as per the title of his report, that many of the wines sit on a “razor’s edge”. Galloni describes the 2024s as aromatic, leaning towards red fruit, with the best “exud[ing] balance” – although some can be “excessively light”, making for a “frustratingly erratic vintage”. It is, however, “far from the total disaster” suggested. For him, it’s a year where the Left Bank and Cabernet thrived, highlighting the wines of Saint-Estèphe and Pauillac, and finding those of Pomerol and Pessac-Léognan the most variable.   He emphases the quality of the dry whites in 2024, which are “some of the finest” in the vintage and can be “truly exceptional”, while also offering relative value. As for the sweets, they are – for him – very good, but not outstanding, not having the “thrill factor of the very best years”.  Galloni’s highlights: Beychevelle, Clos Puy Arnaud, Cos d’Estournel, Jean Faure, Larcis-Ducasse, Lascombes, La Conseillante, Rauzan-Ségla  Explore Antonio Galloni’s full report, notes and scores on Vinous (subscribers only)    Neal Martin – Vinous    Following on from Galloni’s report (above), Neal Martin covers the growing season defined by its “biblical” amount of rain. He feels 2024 is “a good vintage with limitations”, noting that the wines are inconsistent and the “maleficent season… widens the divide between the haves and have-nots”. He emphasises that those who triumphed had not the best terroir, but “the deepest pockets and those who made the right decisions at the right times” – and even then, it is “a growing season that is impossible to transcend”.  He, like others, notes how different the vintage would have been just a couple of decades ago, noting that it is “unequivocally far superior” to the likes of 1984, 1992 or 2013. Although it is not consistent, he admits there are wines that “touch the sky”, and the best are “pretty” – offering “delineated and focused” aromatics, balanced wines in which a “spine of acidity lends poise”, with “ample freshness and sapidity”. They are, he writes, “ideal restaurant wines that will provide easy-drinking pleasure whilst you wait for the 2019 or 2022s to mature”.  Martin highlights the quality of the dry whites – with cool conditions producing “riveting, tensile Sauvignon Blanc/Sémillon-based wines that often trump their red counterparts”. As for Sauternes, he reports that they are very good, but not classically opulent, instead “full of freshness and purity”.  Neal Martin’s highlights: Vieux Château Certan, Lafleur, Eglise-Clinet, Lafite Rothschild, Margaux, Montrose, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Malartic-Lagravière Blanc, Le Blanc de Lafite, Les Champs Libres, Doisy-Daëne, Coutet, Guiraud, Suduiraut  Explore Neal Martin’s full report, notes and scores on Vinous (subscribers only)    James Suckling  For James Suckling, tasting 2024 was a nostalgic experience – reminding him of “modern renditions of years such as 1985 or 1995”. Although he feels it is among the most heterogenous vintages he’s tasted, he describes the top 2024s as having “fine tannins and a crunchy, bright character”, “linear and fresh” with “vivid acidity”, noting that they’ll be approachable early. The best, he believes, come from early-ripening sites with the large teams necessary to tackle the year. He feels the dry whites, meanwhile, are very good to excellent – with Haut-Brion Blanc and Pavillon Blanc both among his top-scoring wines.  Suckling’s highlights: Haut-Brion Blanc, Evangile, Lafleur, Latour, Pavillon Blanc, Angélus, Ausone, Cos d’Estournel, Haut-Brion, Eglise-Clinet, La Mission Haut-Brion, Léoville Las Cases, Les Carmes Haut-Brion, Margaux, Mouton Rothschild, Pétrus, Smith-Haut-Lafitte Blanc, Vieux Château Certan  Explore James Suckling’s full report, notes and scores on his website (subscribers only)    Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW – The Wine Independent  The headline for Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW is that the best reds in 2024 are “lighter-bodied, soft-textured, refreshing and perfumed”, while there are “many spectacular dry white wines and small quantities of excellent wines from Sauternes”. She notes how the wines generally have ripe tannins, but flavour ripeness was more challenging – and has resulted in “a lot of good, delicious, drinkable, if not awe-inspiring, reds” although “many don’t have the flavor layers or intensity of a truly great wine”.  One thing shines through for her: “Quality levels are all over the show.” She, like us, feels the Right Bank is more consistent and notes that “many elegant, bright, refreshing, soft-textured and perfumed wines” come from Saint-Emilion and Pomerol. On the Left Bank, she finds that quality drops away as you move away from the gravel terraces and the finest terroirs, although many Classed Growths produced wines “worthy of their status” if in a lighter style than recent years.  The dry whites are, for her, “the silver lining” of the vintage – noting their consistency and quality. She finds that many have “an effortless sense of harmony”, the aromatics and acidity preserved by the cooler conditions. She highlights a number of dry whites to look out for – noted below. Quality in Sauternes and Barsac is “excellent”, she writes, feeling the acid backbone injects “vivacity” into the wines, bringing greater balance versus warmer vintages. The best have “great flavor intensity, plenty of botrytis-instilled complexity, and racy backbones” – and are wines well worth seeking out.  Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW’s highlights: Figeac, Haut-Brion Blanc, Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Pavillon Blanc, Eglise-Clinet, Montrose, Trotte Vieille, Pape Clément Blanc, Domaine de Chevalier Blanc, Valandraud Blanc, D’Aiguilhe Blanc, Larrivet Haut-Brion Blanc, Suduiraut Pur Sémillon, Les Champs Libres, Cos d’Estournel Blanc, Lespault-Martillac Blanc  Explore Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW’s full report on The Wine Independent (subscribers only)    Georgie Hindle – Decanter  Decanter’s coverage is being gradually released, and so far includes a report on the growing season, as well as an early look at the styles the year produced. Georgie Hindle says it is closest in style to 2021, looking at recent vintages, however highlights the drier, warmer summer which differentiates it. She emphasises that the year is not uniform, and the wines are generally shaped by a “taut, mineral freshness” rather than fruit depth or opulence. She says the best “offer flashes of aromatic precision, elegant and refreshing clarity with structure and length” – they “achieve balance between fruit, acidity and tannins”. Many are weak or thin and – as we and others have emphasised – you cannot generalise this year – and it shouldn’t be one you write-off, she urges.   She doesn’t feel that the dry whites fared better than the reds, with results similarly mixed – but some successful wines that are aromatic and appealing. As for the region’s sweet wines, they offer “an easy drinkability” but don’t all have “the density and consistency of stronger vintages”.    Explore Georgie Hindle’s coverage on Decanter (subscribers only)     Colin Hay – The Drinks Business This is the first year we’re including The Drinks Business. A trade publication, it has been expanding its coverage of Bordeaux and relatively recently started scoring wines, all tackled by Colin Hay. Despite the challenging growing season, he argues that “those with both the resources – human and financial – and above all the acumen to respond to its trials and tribulations have triumphed”. Although at the lower end of the quality tree, he finds the wines disappointing and the vintage far from even, he writes that “at the top of the pyramid” there are “wines that transcend the challenges of the vintage” – “fully ripe, elegant, refined, highly aromatic, with soft, delicate, finely grained tannins and a succulence, clarity and brilliance that is rare indeed”. He finds them “remarkable” – even without the context of the year. Although they don’t reach the heights of 2019, 2020 or 2022, he feels the wines can be favourably compared to other recent vintages – indeed, he feels the best sit above wines from 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006. 2007, 2008, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2017 and 2018. He writes that although the wines are “likely to be highly accessible in their youth”, they “still have quite significant ageing potential”. He is another to feel the vintage is slightly stronger on the Right Bank, and rave about the whites (“unique and spectacular”, “an undoubted highlight of the vintage” that he puts on a par with 2017 and 2021) and the sweets (although he confesses these are less consistent). Although there are exceptions, Pauillac is “the least flattered by the vintage”, and can be austere. He found that estates in Saint-Estèphe seemed to embrace the vintage, finding several highlights – including Montrose, “a wine of staggering depth and originality, yet also of an ethereal and aerial beauty and profound aromatic complexity”. In Saint-Julien, he finds “a reassuring sweetness to the fruit and a nutty creaminess”, coping with the vintage better, as Margaux also did, offering much “charm and typicity”. He finds the reds of Pessac-Léognan and Graves especially heterogenous, although he feels people will remember the vintage for its whites.  On the Right Bank, Hay finds that the best of Pomerol “indicate nothing of the difficulties of the growing season”, with elevated proportions of Cabernet providing “additional aromatic lift and florality”. In Saint-Emilion, he also discovers many vintage-transcending wines, “far more homogenous” than expected, especially versus the Left Bank, and many of them sit within its classification system – suggesting it is “an impressive guarantor of quality to the consumer”.  Colin Hay’s highlights: Mouton Rothschild, Montrose, Cos d’Estournel, Gruaud Larose, Palmer, Lafleur, Le Pin, Petrus, Eglise-Clinet, Trotanoy, Bélair-Monange, Rocheyron, Cheval Blanc, Figeac, Angélus, Beauséjour, Larcis-Ducasse, Pavie, Les Carmes Haut-Brion, La Mission Haut-Brion Blanc, Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc, L’Extravagant de Doisy-Daëne, Lafaurie-Peyraguey, Suduiraut Explore Colin Hay’s full report, notes and scores on The Drinks Business Jeb Dunnuck Although 2024 was a difficult vintage, it produced “charming, mid-weight, forward, moderately concentrated wines”, writes Dunnuck. He compares quality to 2021 but with more “openness and suppleness”, feeling it is neither a Left or Right Bank year, but one that needs to be analysed by estate. He does feel, however, that Pessac is “a shining gem in the vintage”. The wines are about “approachability over density”, and the Merlot-driven wines of the Right Bank show their terroir well, while Pomerol is darker in style. On the Left Bank, similarly, they are not blockbusters, but – he says – they “will certainly appeal to those who pine for the yesteryears of the 1980s and 1990s”, and will “unquestionably offer ample drinking and longevity”. He suggests they may follow a similar trajectory to the 2001s, wines “drinking beautifully today” – and some “have a balance and harmony that might surprise”.  As for the whites, although there are “some brilliant whites”, it is not universal – a good rather than great vintage. And that is trye for the vintage across the board, in his mind, selective buying is advised, but there are some good wines worthy of attention. Jeb Dunnuck’s highlights: Figeac, Haut-Brion, La Conseillante, Lafaurie Peyraguey Coeur de Terroir, Pavillon Blanc, Mouton Rothschild, Pape Clément, Suduiraut, Suduiraut Pur Semillon, Valandraud Blanc    Explore Bordeaux 2024 

As the floodgates open for Bordeaux 2024 releases, the world’s leading wine critics are offering their thoughts on the vintage. Here you’ll find a round-up of what the Wine Advocate, Vinous and more are saying about the vintage so far – and the wines they rated most highly 

Your essential crib-sheet to what the world’s leading wine critics are saying about Bordeaux 2024 en primeur–including Wine Advocate, Vinous,Decanter and more

Bordeaux 2024 en primeur – what the critics are saying 

Bordeaux 2024: what the critics are saying 

Bordeaux is incredibly varied – with hugely different styles of wine produced across its appellations. Here, we run through everything you really need to know about each of the main subregions – and the best estates in each  

Explore Bordeaux, subregions, their wines and top estates – in Saint-Estephe, Pauillac, Saint-Julien, Margaux, Graves, Pessac-Leognan, Pomerol, Saint-Emilion 

Your guide to Bordeaux’s subregions, wines and top producers

Your guide to Bordeaux’s subregions   

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