In the conversation about terroir in spirits, rum arguably has a stronger position than most. There are numerous cane-to-bottle rums and many more with a credible claim to the dictionary definition of the term typically associated with wine. However, as is often true in the rum world, this isn’t an open and shut case. “Wherever unique spirits are found I think there is an opportunity to discuss the influence of terroir on the liquid,” Mitch Wilson, Black Tot Global Brand Ambassador, says. “How people interpret terroir in wine versus spirits is often different – wine terroir focuses on transmission of flavour from the land and the region into the final product. Spirits can be a much broader interpretation of terroir – here we often look at local ‘method’ and ’savoir-faire’ or know-how – how the local traditions together with production choices of the distiller and blender help to create a sense of identity in the final spirit.” Foursquare Master Distiller Richard Seale picks up the point: “Terroir is an interesting question in rum and you will get a different answer in different rum producing countries.” At the Barbados distillery, Seale ferments with added cultured yeasts in one section and pure cane juice natural fermentations in another. When it comes to the latter, Seale says “terroir in the traditional sense of the word is everything”. “The rum depends on the year of harvest, the time of harvest and the field from where it is harvested. It is 100% natural input. [There’s] not even a cultured yeast to give us some consistency or predictability,” he adds. Daniele Bondi, Export Manager at Hampden Estate's global distributor La Maison & Velier, is a staunch believer that terroir exists in rum and is perplexed by any arguments to the contrary. “I never understand when people think that spirits don’t preserve the characteristics of the fermented wash,” Bondi says. “Obviously, the terroir is respected and expressed only if the whole process of production is carefully preserved.” Wilson says sugarcane juice-based rums are undoubtedly the best examples of terroir in its “classical interpretation”. “Their flavour is almost entirely dependent on the local raw material used, and helps illustrate the vast array of differences between different genus of sugarcanes,” he explains. “Sugarcane juice is not easily transportable – when cane is crushed, the natural yeast on the outside of the cane is immediately brought into contact with the fermentable sugars in the juice, meaning fermentation happens spontaneously within a short period of time. This tends to encourage much more local distillation, often on the same estate where the cane is produced, allowing us to more easily focus on environmental terroir in these specific regions.” He says the fact rhum agricole, as well as their sugarcane-spirit cousins clairin and cachaça, are often found unaged means they are excellent examples of terroir. The purity of the raw material is preserved all the way through to distillation and ultimately glass. The climate of ageing has an enormous impact on terroir, according to Seale. He points to the fact a rum will age very differently in Martinique, which is approximately 140 miles away from his distillery in Barbados. Bondi says this crucial stage can negate terroir entirely. “If a product is aged far from the rest of the production, terroir doesn’t exist anymore.” This is something Dictador has played with in its 2 Masters series. Creative Director Ken Grier says rum, arguably, has a more diverse terroir influence than any other spirit category and this is about the influence of culture rather than soil. “Simplistically, the role of the original colonists has the biggest influence on rum production,” he explains. “The rhum agricole style found in ex-French colonies is derived from the juice of the sugarcane. In former British colonies like Jamaica the predominant style has been pot still, drawn from molasses. Ex-Spanish colonies have been more about column stills and finally Cuba is a tapestry of styles. Of any spirit, rum really reflects the history of the place where it is produced.” Sugarcane honey is used as the spirit base for Dictador. A blend of column and pot still rums are matured in oak casks on the coast by the Caribbean Sea. Grier says these factors all contribute to a particularly elegant, well-aged and complex rum. For the 2 Masters series, Dictador laid down between 10 and 20 casks with prestigious partners from the spirits and wine world. The rum was transported for maturation in the partners’ warehouses to benefit from their terroir, according to Grier. From there, the partners have the creative freedom to choose, in conversation with Dictador Master Blender Hernan Parra, which age and style of rum to use and what to do with it. These partners have included the likes of Glenfarclas, Royal Tokaji and Niepoort. The Royal Tokaji project, for example, took a 1977 rum and matured it in 12-year-old 300-litre Zemplen barrels for seven months in Hungary. These barrels had previously been used to age the producer’s 2016 Tokaji Aszu 6 Puttonyos.
 While there is a general consensus about ageing and sugarcane-juice rums, there is less accord when it comes to the role of molasses in the terroir conversation. “Molasses tends to be a fairly homogenous product,” Seale explains. “When discussing the contrasting styles of molasses rum from Barbados and Jamaica, the terroir element is more about the process and the know-how and less about the agricultural input. Much like a lot of Scotch whisky in that sense,” he explains. The decline of sugar production in many regions has understandably presented a problem when it comes to supply and demand. For this reason, many distilleries have resorted to importing their molasses. The same is true of grain in Scotch whisky production, which is often where the wheels come off in the debate around terroir in whisky. “It might be tempting to consider molasses-based rums as lacking a sense terroir (certainly in the wine sense), but this would be unfair,” Wilson says. “I’d be tempted to bet that given the opportunity to taste a line-up of single origin molasses from around the world that there would be enough variety to contribute to the idea of local terroir.” Ultimately, he says, it’s down to the producer at each stage of the production process to decide to what extent to allow the terroir to influence the final liquid. And, lest we forget: their savoir-faire. Explore all rum or read more Editorial 

The concept of terroir in spirits is a comparatively new one. And, in the case of rum, takes on a very different meaning to wine. Holly Motion explores

Exploring the comparatively new concept of terroir in spirits via the lens of rum – and how it takes on a very different meaning to wine. 

Exploring what terroir means in the rum world

Rum: the raw deal

Of all the misconceptions about rum – and there are many – the belief that there aren’t any rules is arguably the most rife. “There is not a lack of regulation in rum,” Mitch Wilson, Global Brand Ambassador for Black Tot, says. “Rum is an umbrella term for an entire category, it does not specify a particular locale like ‘Barbados Rum’, ‘Jamaican Rum', 'Guyanese Rum’ would. Just as there is no 'one rule' for all the different whiskies around the world, there is no one rule for all of the different rums either.” Industry legend Richard Seale picks up the point. “Rules do vary from country to country in rum but that is no different to any spirit. What is different about rum is that it is rarely protected in export markets with a generic rule applying to all origins. “For example, rhum Agricole is a protected term in the EU, but in the US, you can use the term agricole with impunity. Jamaica excise law has protected its rum from adulteration for as long as Scotch whisky [regulations have existed] but you can find Jamaican rum with added sugar for sale in the EU and there is nothing at the moment to stop it.” Herein lies one of rum’s greatest problems and a source of the most heated debates: abuse. “Many rum brands have got away with misleading age claims and egregiously adulterating their products,” Seale explains. “There is little impetus to regulate. I am quite sure if similar happened with whisky, the Scotch Whisky Association would be pressing authorities to act.” Instead, it’s been something of a people’s movement and Seale says consumers are demanding more transparency. “I think huge progress has been made at the level of enthusiasts and industry professionals,” he adds. “Of course, there are many duped consumers but they are typically at a level that they do not care, so we do not care. “We have a mantra: ‘drink what you like, know what you are drinking’. Simply put, make an informed choice.” Daniele Bondi, who works for Hampden Estate's global distributor La Maison & Velier, agrees and says it’s only fair that people are made aware of the content in their glass. He adds: “You can keep adding whatever you like but tell me please. If there is a lot of sugar in what you buy, you should at least know about it like other food categories.” There are countless examples of European entities buying rum in bulk and adding sugar before bottling. They are not lawfully required to declare this and can brandish the words “Jamaican rum” on the label. This, argues many, is deceitful and incredibly harmful. “It’s important to limit this sort of practice and preserve the rum style and not create confusion,” Bondi adds. The Export Director says people will taste a sweetened Jamaican rum and not realise the liquid isn’t true to Jamaican style or that it has been adulterated. The need to disclose these practices extends beyond the consumer’s welfare and is of vital importance to the preservation of rum heritage and production methods. While valiant efforts are being made, the vested interests of some, who wield great power, are thwarting progress. For this reason, the team at Foursquare has created #saveBarbadosRum and are working towards getting the EU to recognise a Geographical Indication (GI) for rum from Barbados and Jamaica. “This would protect our rums from the adulteration that currently happens,” Seale says. “While the US does not recognise GIs, we could communicate to consumers which are the certified rums.” Seale says this is not universally popular. “At the moment, a single foreign interest who bottles adulterated rums sourced from distilleries in which they have a financial interest is taking whatever action they can to effectively derail the process.” The campaign hopes to raise awareness of this and what he calls the “long-term threat to the integrity of our rums”. He continues: “The hubris of some European companies towards rum is astounding. They continue to have an extraordinary sense of entitlement notwithstanding Barbados and Jamaica are sovereign countries.” The ethos at Foursquare and many other distilleries, including Mount Gay in Barbados, is to produce unsweetened, unadulterated rum in the centuries old tradition. Beyond the skulduggery that occurs, rum has struggled with another image issue and this is largely due to classification. Wilson says an insistence on grouping all rums as the same thing, irrespective of who made them – and their local laws, know-how and traditions – perpetuates the myth and undoes a lot of hard work over the past five to 10 years. The only way for this to truly change is through better education. “Without a doubt rum’s greatest struggle is to catch up our education with that of the whisky category,” he says. “On one hand you have hundreds if not thousands of whisky aficionados able to rattle off dozens of distilleries and their corresponding nuances throughout each Scottish region and the rest of the whisky world, with well-established whisky shows and dozens and dozens of books on the subject. Meanwhile, most people still think of rum as ‘white, gold, dark, or spiced’ and have very little understanding of the various regions of rum, raw materials or the differences that lay within.” He says there are undoubtedly a brave few who bang the “rum drum”, but they are “vastly outnumbered”. Another key difference, he says, is the way the rum world is set up compared to the whisky world. There are considerably more whisky distilleries than rum producers, and the majority are owned by behemoths with deep pockets to fund whisky education on various styles and regions. By contrast, many rum distilleries are independent or government controlled. In the instances where big multinationals do own rum distilleries, Wilson says, they typically only own one or two and understandably finance education on their offerings rather than the wider rum world. For the most part, he says this different structure is a positive thing, resulting in a “fiercely independent style” from each region and act as a “great preventative against homogenisation in the industry”. But the cost is felt by others who have struggled to get their message to the masses. “It’s like wine,” Dictador Creative Director Ken Grier explains. “Pinot Noir from the New World tends to be lighter but with a higher abv. Those from Old World producers are often darker and lower strength. It’s the same in rum; you really need to look beyond the headlines on the label. We have to explain the differences between rums from different regions and the distinction between brands. “We need to educate about provenance (cultural influences, stories), production, maturation etc. They will all become key.” One way to educate consumers, in Wilson’s view, is through conversations about blends. “The very essence behind blending rum from different regions is because each distillery’s flavour profile can be so unique and so varied,” he says. “If we choose to tell the customer why we picked the rums we did, and why each region has its own unique flavour profile and is individually important, I think we can give people a great snapshot of the wider rum world, and at the very least give them a starting point as to where to look should they be interested in researching further.” During the pandemic, Black Tot has – via the medium of technology – hosted tastings to do just this. “Rather than just let them taste our finished blend, we also deconstruct the blend into its individual components, allowing people to try rum from Barbados, Guyana, Jamaica individually, and understand what each one brings flavour wise to our blend. I believe this is the future of blends, to not just look at the finished product, but to really celebrate the provenance of where the rum is coming from.” In a similar vein, Venezuela’s Diplomatico has championed alternative production methods with its Distillery Collection. “The concept behind the collection is to produce, in limited quantities, rums from a single distillation method that are subsequently aged for a certain number of years,” Maestro Ronero Nelson Hernandez says. “The objective is to offer the opportunity to connoisseurs and rum lovers to discover the very own character of each one of these rums, in a collection that reflects our distillery’s wealth.” It might sound simple but tasting the liquid and reading the label can be the difference between cutting this misconception off at source or continuing down the sticky road. Bondi says it is sometimes easier for him to speak with single malt drinkers rather than “rum drinkers” who are used to a lighter and sweeter liquid. He often gets them to try the Hampden 8 Year Old – the most approachable rum – and asks what they think, and if they thought rum could taste like this. The reaction is instantaneous and incredibly satisfying for the Export Director when he gets to explain that this style is rum, in the authentic sense. Historically, “global” rums have tended to be lighter and sweeter, and far removed from the authentic liquid that is recognisable to the rum purist. To satisfy the global market, sugar has been added to sweeten the taste and in many cases caramel to darken the colour. “The first conversation is always – no, this is rum and all the other sweeter stuff, what you think is rum, maybe is not. At least from a historical point of view,” Bondi adds. “If you speak with single malt experts, they are normally super happy because there is sort of a resistance among the single malt community because ‘rum is sweet’, so when you approach with something like this [Hampden] they say wow, this is something that I can easily recognise because it is dry, it’s full-bodied, it’s funky, it’s flavourful like all the single malts they like.” Bondi finds adopting his boss, Luca Gargano’s – the man responsible for the classification of the same name – production-driven terminology helpful when introducing people to real rum. In the same way whisky drinkers understand Scotch whisky has regional styles – Speyside, Highlands, Islay etc – rum can be communicated in the same way. “Like a different category within a category,” he adds. Hampden is famous for its funky, high ester style, that Bondi says appeals to the peated whisky fan. “It’s more for the adventurers”, he says. “They love this crazy taste of Lagavulin and Laphroaig and maybe they will love to try rum with a different, funky taste.” Undoubtedly, the conversations and appreciation for rum are maturing. The category is shedding its skin of these unhelpful labels that have besmirched its reputation and the right questions are now being asked. Thankfully, there’s a formidable cohort armed with the answers and willing to speak truth to power in order to protect something that is truly sacred. Explore rum or read more Editorial 

Rum isn’t regulated. It is either dark or white. It all comes from the Caribbean. It’s nowhere near as high quality as Scotch. These are just some of the misconceptions that hang around the category like a millstone. Holly Motion speaks to some of those fighting to be heard among all the mistruths

Exploring some of the greatest misconceptions that hang around rum like a millstone, including miscategorisation and questions concerning quality.

How sugarcane spirit mistruths are coming unstuck

Rum: the sticky issues

Rome’s Baths of Caracalla fell into ruin in the 6th century. This illustrated reconstruction appeared in Hutchinson’s History of the Nations, published in 1915. Credit: Classic Images (Alamy Stock Photo). It took a shock to the system on the scale of the Covid-19 pandemic to demonstrate how much our lives can be reshaped by the humblest of objects. When restaurants, hotels, cafés and night clubs have all been closed for months on end – and when we are excluded even from each other’s homes – then park benches and patio heaters become stand-ins for the more elaborate architecture of everyday life that usually enable the interactions we depend on to function as social beings. For much of 2020, only the most rudimentary tools for conviviality were left to us. This works better at some times, than others. On a warm sunny day, all it takes to create an instant convivial space is a bench. This simple structure is the means for people to meet, share a view, a conversation, and perhaps a picnic. Add a back, arms, and a USB charger plus a Wi-Fi connection to the bench, and the proposition grows layers of complexity. It has become a people-attractor and a conversation starter too. This last year has helped us to understand better how to appreciate, through their absence, the things that make us the most human: being together, sharing food, drink and conversation, and marking the key moments in life. While we were forced into isolation, our attempts to replicate some of these experiences, with the use of a screen and a fitful broadband connection, showed us how inadequate they inevitably are. The experience suggests that social change, when it comes, is about an acceleration of what already exists – more than it is about a complete reinvention. Buying more online than we ever did in department stores is going to be a permanent shift. Some of us are less likely to fly to Australia for 24 hours for a business meeting than we were in 2019. But there are other things that will not change. We will still want to celebrate birthdays and weddings in the company of others. We will always want to meet our friends and look for chances to make new ones. And we enjoy doing all those things in the kind of spaces and places that make the most of the moment, which can make the seemingly routine into an occasion. Even at the basic level of the park bench, there are nuances to deal with. Chatting side by side is not the same experience as a face-to-face conversation. However, for some people, direct eye contact is as aggressive as an all-caps text message. It is why a walk in the park can be the best way to share a secret, and why Sigmund Freud conducted his consultations from behind the back of his couch. What we sit on is as significant as how we sit. In the average western living room in the 1960s, the armchair was the seat of power, occupied by family patriarchs. The matriarch, if she was lucky, got a slightly smaller version to herself. The sofa was designed in the same style, just large enough for two, and was for the use of supplicant sons-in-law. As the domestic world has expanded, so the sofa has taken on the dominant role over every other piece of domestic furniture. Sofas have been getting bigger for some time and are now reaching the size of lifeboats. They’re expected to cope with everything from conversation to work, assuming multiple roles as stand-in dining table, desk and bed. Social spaces, from the most intimate scale to the grandest, form an essential part of both our personal domestic worlds – in which we share our privacy with a selected group of friends and family – and the public one that we all share. It is a scaled sequence that runs all the way from a candlelit interior with a couple of chairs, a plain wooden table with two wine glasses, to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan, which, with its heroic iron-roofed arcade, has a strong claim to be regarded as the mother of all shopping malls. When it opened in 1877, the newly empowered bourgeoisie (in their straw boaters and stiff detachable collars) took to it as the setting for their daily promenades on the way to and from the Duomo, Milan’s cathedral, where they celebrated Mass, or en route to a performance of a Verdi opera at La Scala. Stopping to take coffee and pastries, they would meet each other for an aperitif at Biffi or dinner at Savini, and explore the exotic wares that the shops in the Galleria had to offer. As futurist artist Umberto Boccioni demonstrated in his painting from 1910, Riot in the Galleria, there was a darker side to such spaces. He portrayed the agitated response of a turbulent crowd of well-dressed spectators to the sudden violence of a fight between two women – sex workers perhaps. The disturbing scene, depicted in pointilliste style (and based on an incident that actually took place), is bathed in lurid electric light, evoking the frenzied atmosphere of this giant outdoor room and its extraordinary impact on the behaviour of a mass society. An unintended consequence of the lockdown has been the enforcement of the monogamy-based model of the nuclear family. It made the year particularly difficult for all those who don’t subscribe to it. We will need places we can dress up for again, places we can show off in, even places in which we can behave badly. The painting is, in some senses, a reminder that urban life is essentially about tolerance. Complex spaces have always been a vital part of urban life. Almost 2,000 years ago, the Romans built the Baths of Caracalla on a lavish scale, with three separate pools, libraries and gymnasia – and gardens large enough to accommodate 1,600 people at a time in comfort. Its mosaic and marble floors, its frescoes and sculptures made it one of Rome’s essential landmarks, not only as a monument to the glory of the emperor who built it – though it certainly was that – but also as a place to be used by people, day and night. Its magnificence, and the sense of the joy of a great shared civic space, inspired the American architect Charles McKim when he designed New York’s Pennsylvania Station, one the most sublime railway stations ever built. The central waiting room, barbarously destroyed 50 years after it opened, was a convincing recreation of the baths of Caracalla that lifted the spirits of anyone who passed through it. The months of isolation have taught us how important shared spaces of all kinds are to the way that we live. They are the places in which we meet each other to celebrate the important rituals of life, as well as to pursue the seemingly trivial (actually essential) compulsion to gossip about one another. As an essentially self-conscious species, we need alibis to give ourselves permission to be convivial. We construct reasons to meet each other, like the 19th century clubs of Pall Mall, or their democratic paraphrase – with its provision of gender segregation, and games room, and its mix of intimacy and ceremony – the Victorian pub full of mirrors and cut glass. Or in today’s context, a bowling alley configured to allow players and their friends to sit at a table, order food and drinks, and watch each other play, and to hear each other converse. Some public spaces do better at conviviality than others. The Las Vegas casino, for example, is designed to be the opposite of convivial. Slot machines on an industrial scale obviate the need for any form of human interaction. With its glass dome, and 25 miles of bookshelves, the old round reading room at the British Museum is certainly a very special space, although it has now lost its intellectual raison d’être and has become a dead monument. In its day, a reader’s ticket conferred membership of an exclusive club that included Oscar Wilde, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, and George Orwell. But as the museum’s insistence on silence suggests – beyond unspoken flirtation over the book stacks – it was not a place that was fundamentally about conviviality. The Berghain Club, the raw, concrete world capital of techno music based in a redundant power station in Friedrichshain, in what was once East Berlin, is another very different kind of public space, and – in its own way – an equally spectacular social space. It has a pickier door policy than the British Museum but a similarly committed membership. In this case, the limit on conviviality is not silence, but the sheer volume of sound that makes the 18-metre-high main spaces vibrate, and which makes conversation inconceivable. A truly convivial space needs to work on multiple levels, to offer a variety of zones, some of which can encourage concentration, and others that can be distracting. Some may be more intimate than others. It’s a drive that is leading to an interesting range of cross-fertilisation. Cinemas that serve food more ambitious than popcorn and hot dogs are being equipped with sofas instead of tip-up seats. Health spas come with restaurants. However, not all convivial spaces encourage multiple uses. Orchestration and control are part of the experience at those English clubs that frown on members showing any signs of working, to the extent of asking them to put away notebook and pencil – never mind laptops – over lunch. Some aspects of what we have learned from the last year will colour life well into the future. The private dining room is a long-standing restaurant tradition, which has been given a new lease of life. We can also expect to see signs of change in the workplace. The Silicon Valley model has aspired to look as domestic as possible, furnished with sofas and kitchen tables, surrounded by vintage and deliberately non-matching chairs. A year of working at home is likely to encourage a more formal environment. But while we continually try to find new tools to make conviviality possible, the objectives remain the same. In a year in which all our assumptions about how we live together have been turned upside down, the world’s designers and architects have had to face the challenge of how to deal with the impact of the pandemic on our homes and our cities. As city centres empty out, and people avoid crowds, how can we find ways to socialise? 
Deyan Sudjic asked four leading designers and architects to explore the future directions that conviviality can take for FONDATA. John Pawson Architect John Pawson has always focused on the idea of designing the architecture of conviviality. In his recently released Home Farm Cooking book, produced with his wife Catherine and published by Phaidon, we see what matters most. Every Pawson interior is designed with how it will feel to use it in mind – is it to be enjoyed by somebody on their own, or with others? He takes away the distractions and lets us focus on how we use and feel in a room. He makes some spaces in which to read and to concentrate, others in which to share the preparation of a meal, and yet another to enjoy the result in company. Intrinsic in his philosophy is the importance of creating a setting where one can appreciate light at different times of the day – whether it is the shades of white as revealed by degrees of sunlight or the warming effect of firelight by night. johnpawson.com AB Rogers Ab Rogers was inspired by the spontaneous street life of the neighbourhood in 
East London in which he lives and works to come up with a range of furniturelike structures to give social spontaneity a helping hand. “Whether it’s planned 
or serendipitous, we wanted to design a set of colourful pieces that could help 
to turn a momentary catch-up on the street into an impromptu drinks party, 
anchored by a tuned-up bollard. Or make a surprise anniversary dinner possible 
under a street lamp … or make a breath of fresh air turn into a long lunch with 
new friends at a long table under the trees.”  abrogers.com Paloma Strelitz Paloma Strelitz, an architect, and co-founder of the Turner Prize winning 
collective Assemble, took an overview of how shopping streets might recover 
from lockdown, to generate new life: “convivial, accessible, sustainable and 
enjoyable for all”. The experience of negotiating streets in which precautions 
against the pandemic had caused restaurants and food shops to migrate to 
the pavement, made her think about ways to make this a permanent quality.
“It’s an opportunity to empower local business. Shops could open their 
facades to the street, creating an expanded space of public interaction, and 
daily theatre.” She would keep the car in its place, with priority for pedestrians and bikes, 
and banned altogether at weekends. What were once parking places would 
become green borders, combining play space, raised planters, flower beds 
and trees, allowing the street to become a promenade. Meanwhile the street 
would be animated not just by cafés, but studios and workshops putting the 
making process on show. Oh, and a mobile bar too.  assemblestudio.co.uk Jon Marshall  Jon Marshall, an industrial design partner at Pentagram in London, found himself 
thinking about ways to bring together two very different kinds of object: a hamper, 
designed to carry utensils food and drink securely, and a shooting stick. “They 
aren’t really about shooting,” he explains. “The shooting stick is actually a very 
convenient way of carrying the means to sit anywhere with you.”  The hamper allows for the sense of anticipation that comes from preparing for 
a pleasurable occasion. The two objects have very different aesthetics – one is 
vaguely mechanical, the other has a kind and rustic quality. For Marshall, the idea 
of the shared walk – with the chance of stopping for a picnic – is the very essence 
of conviviality. pentagram.com/about/jon-marshall This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

The past year has seen a huge change in our ability to interact, and opportunities to be social. Deyan Sudjic considers the importance of conviviality for human beings – and the public spaces we design.

Deyan Sudjic considers the importance of conviviality for human beings – and the public spaces we design.

FONDATA: The Importance of Being Convivial

The Importance of Being Convivial  

Rum has been positioned as the next big thing. The one to watch. The spirits category to steal market share from Scotch whisky and the sure-bet to clean up when that gin bubble finally bursts. These claims have been made for the past five years, if not longer. When you look at the figures, which don’t tell the whole story but are a good starting point, rum has been in rude health since 2018 when sales in the UK surpassed the £1 billion mark for the first time. This same year, a rum was named the best spirit at one of the most prestigious blind tasting competitions for the first time. Rum, for many, had finally arrived. “What has changed in the industry is what we can bring to market,” Master Distiller Richard Seale says, in a typically matter-of-fact and non-marketeer way. “So, it is not so much that we are changed in our rum making but today we can think to invest in very old rums, we can think to release cask strength rums, we can offer more specialised rums like pot still or pure cane juice rums and we can think about non-traditional markets – like the Far East. Twenty years ago the market for any of this was extremely limited.” Seale’s family-owned Foursquare Distillery in Barbados was the winner of the aforementioned 2018 blind tasting and the awards have continued to rain down on them since. While always destined to join the family business, Seale says that didn’t necessarily mean a career in rum, other than to sell. “What happened was the year I officially joined, my father made the biggest acquisition we had ever made in acquiring the Martin Doorly and Alleyne Arthur brands. This made for two big changes: one, we would have to invest in aged stocks as these were premium brands and two, we would start exporting. This naturally drew my focus.” Rum has been produced in the Caribbean for centuries. Historically, the new-make was sold to brokers and blenders in much the same way as Scotch whisky. Whereas Scotch distilleries started to bottle single malts from the 1970s, most rum producers wouldn’t have the epiphany to move away from a purely bulk model for another 20 years. It was from this time that rum brands as we know them began to appear in the European market. El Dorado from Guyana, for example, had been produced for centuries before it was marketed for the first time in the early 1990s. Similarly, Hampden Estate, which had been producing rum since 1753, only came to market in 2018. Legendary Trinidadian rum Caroni never actually saw the light of day as a brand in the traditional sense before it closed for good in 2003. “The rum category has changed out of all recognition,” Ken Grier, Creative Director at Colombian brand Dictador, says. “It has progressed from a white and dark mixable spirit to a premium spirit aged in good quality oak casks.” The reason for this progress is down to a multitude of factors – one of which is the realisation that rum has tremendous breadth and depth. “People have realised the rum world has a beautiful range of quality liquid to offer at the top end (rather than just the stock-standard ‘every bar has a bottle of this’ at the low end) and it has encouraged the rum-curious to be more adventurous,” Mitch Wilson, Black Tot Global Brand Ambassador, says. “We’re even starting to lead astray some of our more open-minded whisky brethren who are used to having to pay several times the price for a bottle of their favourite malts,” he adds. Wilson says better access to rums and rum makers have also contributed to this seed change. During the pandemic, the world in many ways got smaller and rum makers who had previously shied away from using technology were forced to embrace it (wifi permitting) to ensure their survival. He says thousands of people came together to discuss sugarcane spirits and meaningful connections were established between rum producers in the Caribbean and their ever-growing appreciators. Physical access to rums has also changed in recent years. Historically, French markets would predominantly sell rhum Agricole (made from sugarcane juice) from the likes of Martinique and Guadeloupe, and English speaking countries would typically sell rums from Barbados and other Caribbean islands, limiting the discovery of rums. As this has shifted, so too has the understanding and appreciation of rum. Similarly, social media has narrowed the gulf and empowered distilleries and rum enthusiasts to disseminate accurate information on rum and campaign against perceived wrongdoings. “In any spirits category there are many different levels of quality available,” Wilson explains. “I firmly believe that anyone who loves spirits but doesn’t love rum yet, just hasn’t tried the right rum for them. Perhaps their perceptions are skewed by some cheap bottle of rum they had when they were younger, or the fact that the average pub or supermarket might not offer a particularly premium selection (especially when considered next to the other spirits offerings).” Now things are changing, Wilson believes everybody has the chance to explore the very best of each spirits category and not just the “commercial rank and file” if they are willing to spend a little more on quality liquid. And rum is no different. “There are some exceptional rums that are of comparable quality to their favourite spirits,” he adds. In the same way whisky has its hard-core enthusiasts who are authorities on the subject in their own right, certain rums have developed a cult following which has driven up the cost of bottlings of certain styles from certain distilleries. High ester rums, for example, are a source of great fervour among rum fans. Jamaica is arguably the godfather of this style, with Réunion Island and a few other French territories also famed for this funky rum that in many cases wasn’t produced for consumption. Part of its appeal, according to Daniele Bondi from La Maison & Velier, is that high esters satiate in a way that whisky currently does not – on the matter of fermentation. “Historically, whisky has never spoken about raw materials or about the fermentation,” Bondi says. “Whisky normally speaks about the ageing, the master blender, and the magic. Here it is more a matter of raw materials so it is another point of view.” This point of difference and palate-altering taste is gaining in popularity. Bondi and others are quick to caution that it might be unwise to follow high ester count alone, in the same way whisky fans have pursued age statements. “It’s important not to chase the highest level of ester regardless the quality,” he says. “Esters are classified by quantity, and we know that connoisseurs love numbers on label, like for the ageing, where the worst mistake is the highest number equals the best. Also in ester amount this is a mistake: what is important is the balance of the product.” Another comparison that can be drawn with the whisky world and collectability is mothballed and closed distilleries. There have been several significant closures in the rum world – Caroni arguably being the most devastating to rum enthusiasts almost 20 years ago. Blends from closed distilleries, proprietary bottlings from a single distillery, and rums that have been produced via methods that have long since been lost have all become collectors’ items and driven scarcity in the category. While there is a market for these collectors’ items, Wilson feels true excitement towards rums that are currently flying under the radar. “You can get tremendous rums for incredible value and have something really enjoyable to explore,” he adds. “This may not always be the case though – we are already starting to see incredible demand for rums like Foursquare, Velier, and Caroni bottlings, all of which command multiple times their retail price at auction mere days after they are launched and sold out. “Even with the demand for rum going up, it is still incredible value when compared to liquid of a similar quality from the whisky categories.” For many reasons, we’re in the eye of a perfect storm for rum. Its high quality credentials, point of difference, and the tireless campaigning of certain individuals to put an end to the nefarious practices of some, ensure that rum is finally having its time in the sunshine. “If ever there was a time to build your rum collection, it was 10 years ago,” Wilson says. “The next best time is right now.” Explore rum or read more Editorial

Rum is one of the most misunderstood spirits categories. Burdened with less-than-premium associations of pirates and insipid cocktails, it’s taken a long time for the authentic, remarkable liquid to break through the malaise

Exploring how rum has grappled with misconceptions and finally started to be taken seriously for its authentic, remarkable liquid.

The evolution of rum

Vega Sicilia is undoubtedly Spain’s most famous winery; a true icon in fine wine with a history dating back to 1864. Its success in retaining such a reputation, and in almost complete isolation in the Ribera del Duero region of Spain, is testament to the quality and consistency of its production, although its history has not been without its challenges. Vega Sicilia claims to be one of the longest-aged and longest-lived red wines in the world, with its flagship Unico capable of maturing in bottle for well over sixty years under the right cellar conditions. Developing its style in such solitary conditions has created a wine distinct from any other and whilst the Ribera region has flourished with the establishment of wineries such as La Pesquera in the 1970s and more recently the cult wine of Pingus, Vega Sicilia today remains at the apex of the appellation.  We explore the history of Vega Sicilia, the secrets behind its success and the changes afoot as it attempts to retain the traditional methods it has become famous for whilst modernising the winery and updating its processes. We also explore the contrasting range of wines it produces from the Valbuena to the Unico Reserva Especial: Vega Sicilia’s nod to the traditional Spanish practice of producing multi-vintage premium blends. The history of the estate The estate that would become known as Vega Sicilia was founded in 1864 by Don Eloy Lecanda Y Chaves, a Spanish vigneron who inherited the property in 1859. After visiting Bordeaux he brought cuttings of the Bordeaux varietals of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Malbec and Carmenere, as well as Pinot Noir, and planted 18,000 vines at the estate in Ribera del Duero alongside the native varietal of Tinto Fino (Tempranillo). By 1882 he had planted 500,000 vines on the estate, at the time known as Bodegas Lecanda.  The introduction of Bordeaux varieties was perhaps not that unusual at the time, since the Bordelais were becoming more and more influential in Spain (most notably in Rioja) having disbanded their operations in Bordeaux following the phylloxera outbreak and were actively looking for alternative regions to grow their grapes.  However, in Rioja, the Bordeaux varieties were soon replaced by the native Tempranillo which proved a much more reliable and profitable choice. Whilst Don Eloy Lecanda Y Chaves initiated a winery that was to change the history of fine wine, he was initially using the grapes to make brandy rather than still wine. Although the brandy was well received amongst the aristocratic families (no doubt piquing the interest of the Herrero brothers), the estate struggled financially to make ends meet and he died in 1894 never to witness the success of his venture.  The property was bought by the Herrero brothers in the early 1900s who renamed it Vega Sicilia. As phylloxera eventually reached Rioja, the négociant Cosme Palacio was looking further afield to maintain supply for his customers. On discovering Vega Sicilia, he immediately rented the property from the Herrero brothers.  He brought with him winemaker Domingo Garramiola Txomin who introduced the Bordeaux techniques of ageing wine in barrique as well as extending the élevage. He also initiated bottling the wine on the estate (Cosme Palacio was previously shipping the wines in bulk to Rioja).  The Herrero Brothers were a well-connected upper-class family who were galvanised to produce a wine of exceptional quality no matter the cost, to sell to their aristocratic friends. This quest for quality combined with the skills of Domingo Garramiola Txomin, as well as the unique combination of Bordeaux varieties and Tinto Fino (thanks to Don Eloy Lacanda Y Chaves), was the perfect recipe for producing Spain’s first iconic wine – Vega Sicilia Unico. The first vintage of Unico was produced in 1915.  Thanks to the connections of the Herrero brothers, within two decades Vega Sicilia had become the most revered winery in Spain. Even at this time the wine had built up a reputation for its extraordinary ageing capacity. At Vega Sicilia the Bordeaux varieties became a key component to their flagship wine of Unico and have remained in the blend right through to the present day. Throughout this time, the property became almost a self-contained village, with a school and chapel on site and many of the families working at the winery and living on the estate. Despite the winery changing hands a number of times over the last century, Garramiola’s legacy has lived on through the winemakers that followed in his footsteps; figures like Martiniano Renedo, who was initially Garramiolo’s assistant, and especially Jesús Anadón, who was instrumental in maintaining the quality and reputation of the wine through the middle of the 20th century.  Amazingly there are workers on the estate today whose families have worked at the winery for generations. Today the master cooper at Vega Sicilia, along with his brother Jesus Yanez, is the fourth generation of his family to work at the property. The winemaker between 1968 and 1998, Mariano Garcia, was the son of one of the farm workers on the property.  Despite its global reputation, its exclusive allocation list and long history, the winery and vineyards went through bouts of dilapidation during the 1950s, through to the late '70s, whilst at the same time producing some of the most legendary vintages. On purchasing the property in 1982 the Álvarez family began to make huge investments into the estate, renovating the winery and carrying out an extensive replanting program in the vineyards. 1982 was also the year Ribera del Duero was awarded its DO appellation status and no doubt helped further promote Vega Sicilia as the historical icon of the region. The winery and the appellation has never looked back since.  In the vineyard Vega Sicilia is situated on what is known as the “golden mile”, a stretch of road between Pañafiel and Tudela de Duero, where the prestigious wineries of Vega Sicilia, Pingus and Pesquera are all situated. Driving through, it is a somewhat underwhelming sight as far as vineyard vistas go, so much so you could almost pass through it without noticing.  Being an altiplano there are no sweeping mountainous views, you only feel the altitude from the freshness of the air. In the higher vineyards of Soria at the edge of the Ribera appellation you are rewarded with more vistas, as well as a sense of history with evidence of prehistoric cave-like dwellings where farmers sheltered from the extreme climatic conditions of this largely desolate region.
 Whilst there are pre-phylloxera ungrafted vines dating back over 100 years dotted around the region, the vines at Vega Sicilia - with vineyards at 700 meters - average around 35 years of age. Vega Sicilia have an extensive replanting scheme in their vineyards preferring the quality of their fruit in their mid-life as opposed to old age, with typical vine age in Unico around 60-65 years old, with the younger vines going into the Valbuena cuvée. The high altitude and continental climate mean extreme conditions are at work in the vineyards. Winters can be very cold whereas the summers can be fierce. Most notably in regards to grape growing, due to the altitude, there is a huge diurnal shift in temperatures from day to night helping to retain the acidity and freshness in the grapes whilst reaching high levels of ripeness. The main grape in all Vega Sicila wines remains the Tinto Fino (the particular clone of Tempranillo) distinct to the region. The Tinto Fino is said to produce smaller berries with higher concentration of tannins compared with the Tempranillo grown in Rioja. The Unico also has a proportion of Cabernet Sauvignon in the blend (anything from 6-20% in more recent releases) with a higher proportion in older vintages. In the Valbuena, the majority of the blend is Tinta Fino with a small amount of Merlot (typically 5%) . The property is huge in scale with 200 hectares of estate-owned vines producing anything from 40,000 to 100,000 bottles of Unico each year depending on the vintage.  
In the winery
 Unico  The style of the flagship cuvée of the winery has remained virtually unchanged since its inception in terms of production, although assemblage has modernised. Élevage times have reduced and the influence and proportion of Bordeaux varieties has become less in more recent releases.  In the past, Unico was only made using huge 40,000-litre fermentation tanks (this was all that was available at the winery) therefore in a difficult vintage, if this sort of volume was not possible at the quality level they expected, then no Unico would be released that year. Since 2010 the winery has introduced smaller 8,000-litre tanks, enabling smaller micro-vinification of their wines and suggesting a release of Unico every year (in varying quantities) is more likely. The winery today operates at a spec similar to the top estates in Bordeaux. They have introduced 81 separate fermentation tanks allowing them to carry out intra-plot fermentation. They have introduced highly sophisticated sorting tables, there is more temperature control of the wine and the winery is now completely gravity fed enabling greater precision when it comes to winemaking.   Following fermentation, the wines destined for Unico are blended in small oak barriques (50% French oak / 50% American oak) for 12-24 months depending on the vintage. The French oak is 100% new whilst the American oak, coopered on site, tends to be one to four years old. Following barrique ageing, the wine is then transferred to large old oak casks where it typically matures for five years before being bottled and aged further prior to release. Unico is typically released at 10 years old. Valbuena 5° The Valbuena typically comes from the younger vines of the estate and is aged in oak in barriques for 12-18 months before being transferred to larger old oak casks for a further 18 months prior to bottling. It is then aged for two years in bottle. Valbuena is typically released at five years old. Unico “Reserva Especial” The Reserva Especial is the mythical bottling that initiated the Vega Sicilia legend. It is made up of choice parcels from a blend of vintages (in recent releases it tends to be select parcels from three vintages). Prior to the 2001 release, details of the blends of older bottlings are not very easy to come by. With only 15,000 bottles produced this is the rarest cuvée from Vega
Sicilia and a nod to the traditional multi-blend wines that were typical prior to vintage specific bottlings becoming more popular in the mid to late 1800s. Explore more Editorial

We explore the history of Vega Sicilia, the secrets behind its success and the changes afoot as it attempts to retain the traditional methods it has become famous for whilst modernising the winery and updating its processes. 

The history of Spain's Vega Sicilia iconic wine estate, the secrets behind its success, the contrasting styles from the Valbuena to the Unico Reserva Especial

Vega Sicilia, a Spanish wine icon

Vega Sicilia: a Spanish wine icon

If my wife and I are lolling around on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine and listening to jazz, I’ll sometimes ask, in tones combining the genial authority of a quizmaster with the tacit menace of a Stasi interrogator, “Who do you think is playing bass?” Or piano. Or drums. If she doesn’t know, I respond with appalled astonishment because it’s so obvious (you only need to hear a couple of notes) that it’s Charlie Haden. Or McCoy Tyner or Max Roach or whoever. When I was studying jazz in the 1980s (by studying I mean getting as stoned as possible with my friends) we’d play records for each other without revealing the identities of the musicians and, in this way, I built up an instinctive database of who sounded like whom. Of course, that’s not all I was doing, back then. I was also swilling gallons of beer and respectable quantities of wine, both of which I consumed with just as much pleasure as I listened to music. The difference is that with wine, I never paid any attention to what I was drinking, where what I was drinking had come from, or what grapes might have gone into it. Still don’t, actually. So, while my wife sometimes doesn’t know who she’s listening to, I rarely know what I’m drinking. Now, if my enjoyment of jazz is enhanced by knowing who I’m hearing, when an album was recorded, how a given version of a tune compares with other versions by different musicians and so on, does it follow that my enjoyment of wine is correspondingly diminished by ignorance and indifference as to its provenance and ingredients? Am I sitting around liking what I like while unable to tell whether what I’m liking is a bottle of Kenny G or vintage Sonny Rollins? To answer this question and address the larger issue, a bit of history is helpful (isn’t it always?). I grew up in a non-drinking household. We knew that other people drank wine with dinner but this was seen as an exotic, middle-class custom, as removed from our own potential experience as the tribal rites featured in National Geographic. No one we knew drank wine except the homemade kind – blackberry, pear, potato etc – that my parents made, stored in the cupboard under the stairs and offered to thirsty relatives who came to visit. Bearing no relation to wine as usually conceived, this beverage was more akin to a potent species of cider. Ah cider! As was the case for all boys of my generation, cider proved such an effective conduit to getting blind drunk that I’ve not been able to face even a sniff of the stuff since a horribly enjoyable first encounter. Same with Cinzano Bianco, but I’ve never turned my back on beer. As part of the general drift into all matters alcoholic, I drank a bit of Liebfraumilch (yum) but didn’t encounter anything like the notion of a ‘good’ wine until I was at Oxford. (The fact that I had to wait till then is a good indicator of the class status of wine in the UK back in the 1970s.) One day a fellow-student at my college offered to sell some bottles of what he pimped as “excellent red wine.” Three of us forked out for six between us. It was great. Sort of peppery tasting. We glugged the lot in one evening and I was violently sick, from my friend’s window, into the lane outside (a reversal of Charles Ryder’s first encounter, in Brideshead Revisited, with Sebastian Flyte who pukes into his room), but I was on my winey way. Most boozing took place in the pub (beer) but, as I gradually got used to drinking wine at dinners and at art openings, an unreliable and poorly projected map of wine awareness began to take shape.  In my early 30s, there was a Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon for which I developed a particular fondness. At three quid a bottle it seemed more appropriate, even then, to cut it down to three syllables: Bulg-Cab-Sauv. Then came the news that the contents of any bottle could be improved by being allowed to breathe. Sometime later, living in Paris, I got wind of a crude truth that you could tell a better wine by how far you could stick your finger in its bottom, in the whatever-it’s-called at the base of the bottle. The further the better was the rule of thumb, so to speak, though why this should be the case I never discovered. These were excellent, easy-to-implement tips but the bigger picture remained blurry. I knew there were regions, different kinds of grape, but I was never sure which was which (Burgundy always sounded like a type of brandy) and I knew enough to know that it wasn’t enough to know that you liked a Merlot, say; you also needed to know what was going on within that species of grape or region, that certain brands and years were better than others. Although a drawing of a château on the label could be a good sign, it was not an infallible one, especially when some high-quality wines began to feature labels that shared an aesthetic with edible marijuana products or t-shirt design. And over all this uncertainty hung a larger cloud of astonishment – a symptom of the world’s fathomless ability to defy logic – generated by the ‘fact’ (I still have trouble accepting it as such) that white wine is not necessarily made from white grapes, nor red from red. Even when we factor in the odd big Tuscan moment in Italy, or Pinot epiphany in New Zealand, my understanding has not advanced significantly in the last 20 years. I know what I like but, as with many things – learning German, for example – I feel I’ve left it too late. Any attempts I make are the equivalent of looking up the occasional word in an online Deutsch-English dictionary. One can often spend one’s way to an enhanced experience, but my natural skinflintery means I prefer my father-in-law’s model, whereby he had knowledged his way to improved enjoyment. He not only serves fantastic wine, without exception, on every occasion; he always serves wine that costs a fraction of how it tastes.  I like this approach but, to borrow the term from London’s taxi drivers, I’ve never done the knowledge. I’m like the new generation of Uber drivers who rely so passively on their phones’ navigation apps that, after years behind the wheel, they still have almost no idea where they’re going. My phone comes in handy too. If I drink a fantastic wine at a friend’s house, I’ll take a picture of the label and, if it’s in stock at a local store, will buy a case. It’s nice being able to repeat a pleasing experience but it’s rarely as nice as I remember it and often not nice in the way that I remembered it. Or, if it’s nice at first, it almost always seems less nice, months later, when I’m down to the last couple of bottles. There are as many moving parts in the world of wine appreciation as there are in and around the mouth.  We have moved, by a combination of association and anatomy, to the potential source of the difficulty, to language. Having failed to acquire home-grown expertise, I am at the mercy of advice from the people who work in wine stores. Overall, I would estimate that this has resulted in a 50% success rate at twice the necessary expenditure. Is this because of shortcomings in their expertise and counsel, or is it due to linguistic failure, to inadequate translations of their knowledge into my preferences? We are told there’s no accounting for taste, which is not true, but it seems there are multiple problems with recounting one’s tastes or satisfying other people’s desires. Compared with sex where you can easily get by with half a dozen verbs and nouns, saying either what you want from a wine – or what it will do for someone else – demands a linguistic dexterity that is almost Joycean. We have all sat entranced as a waiter’s attempts to do justice to the merits of a given wine begin to sound like a libationary remix of Chomsky’s “Colourless green ideas sleep furiously.” But even while allowing for scepticism, incomprehension and constant proximity to parody, I continue to wonder about the extent to which my experience of wine would be enhanced by becoming more articulate in la langue du raisin. ‘Smooth’ is generally considered a good quality (as opposed to ‘rough’) but Kenny G, a purveyor of ‘smooth jazz’, is tacitly at odds with ‘complexity’. I can sort of appreciate complexity in a wine, without any understanding of how that complexity is constituted but – a defining character flaw – am more often conscious of a lack of complexity.  The strange thing is that while wine appreciation is not like a foal’s ability to get up and running straight away, it does find its feet over time. Even if uninformed, un-cultivated and left to fend for itself without any supporting help, it seems one’s tastes in wine not only change; they improve of their own accord. This might be considered a welcome, accidentally ameliorative side-effect of getting older. Or would be were it not for the fact – one I have no trouble accepting – that this improvement manifests itself negatively, as a steadily increasing capacity for dissatisfaction. To put it simply, what might have seemed an excellent wine a few years earlier becomes merely tolerable because of a lack of what may or may not be complexity. The tolerable becomes unacceptable, and the unacceptable becomes vile. My tongue has become more responsive to taste while remaining tied; my discernment is entirely inarticulate. The product, above all else, of laziness, this manifests itself in several unattractive ways. Do women on a date prefer men who take control of the wine menu? (Could this be the civilised residue of what was once a more widespread assumption and acceptance of male domination?) My own dating history leads me to suspect that they might, though the belief that the evening gets off to a bad start – with my saying, “I don’t know anything about wine, you choose” – is more palatable than conceding that it might have more to do with the way it ends (with my saying, “Let’s split the check”) or, come to think of it, with the middle passage (constantly refilling my own glass while droning on, without interruption, about the musical complexity of Ornette Coleman). It’s not just laziness and tightness, there’s also the question of sophistication and refinement. I can eat with chopsticks – I really can! – but have never been able to master the knack of swirling wine round the glass and forensically nosing it. You can do it, I’m sure, but I always feel like I’m engaged in such a blatant affectation that the first flicker of an erotic bond starts to form between my date and the waiter because they can tell that I’m parroting the action without any idea of what I’m attempting to discover, that it’s obvious to anyone watching that my head is entirely filled with a single idea: keep the cost down. In this regard, price, I am pleased to report that limited progress has been made. In my mid-20s, in London, I was sometimes invited to the house of the writer Lisa Appignanesi who was at the centre of London’s intellectual and cultural life. Well-mannered enough not to arrive empty-handed, I’d stop off at the off-licence near her house and pick up the cheapest bottle of discounted plonk on offer. Lisa always accepted this shabby gift graciously (she did everything graciously), while making sure that it never darkened the table. It now seems one of the rudest things one can do, to show up at someone’s house with a crap bottle of wine, though where crapness begins or ends is anyone’s guess. A shitty bottle of wine is always over-priced, is always money wasted. At the opposite end of the scale, my limited experience of drinking very expensive wine has confirmed what I had always expected: that it’s wasted on me. I ooh and ah, naturally and gratefully, but even though I enjoy these $200 bottles I am thinking: well, it’s not 170 bucks better than a 30 dollar bottle. Perhaps from a certain point – $100 upwards? – you have to pay twice that for a tiny percentage improvement in experience. That makes sense. If this were not the case, then a $1,000 bottle would surely bear so little relation to wine that it wouldn’t be wine at all. We now have sufficient linguistic tools available to describe my ideal relationship with wine. When I think of wine, it’s never as a drink or a taste experience but always as part of an occasion, part of a narrative. What I love is going to a dinner at a restaurant with a non-clamorous acoustic (wood and carpet, not metal and concrete) and a limited menu (I hate choosing food), knowing that someone else will take care of ordering the wine which will flow without let or hindrance. The problem at my father-in-law’s is that although the wine is always excellent, there’s never an infinite amount of it. And what I want from wine, above all, is more. That’s the key word in all this. I love talk and the progression of conversation as the wine makes itself felt: the glow of friends’ eyes, the flow of chat. Red wine, reflections of the room and of candlelight in the glasses full of wine. Everything is held together by the wine, even though that wine is less important than the people, the subject, the jokes and laughter. The wonderful remarks become more wonderful as the evening unfolds, until nothing anybody says really makes any sense at all. In the morning I will not remember the details of the wine or the food. What I will remember is the warm glow, the happiness of it all.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine. Photography by Marcus Nilsso.

Writer and critic Geoff Dyer charts his slow journey towards an ever-increasing appreciation of – and reverence for – well-chosen wine.

FONDATA: The Mirth of More

The Mirth of More

Azienda Agricola Sofia

Italy

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The lowest price you're willing to sell at. If the net price goes below this value your listing will be removed.

shows all the items that you have pre-ordered, including en primeur wines, and all the items on your watchlist.

Futures

You can set a floor price on items you're selling based on a % of current unit net value.

You can set a market price on items you're selling based on a % of current unit net value.

shows all the actions that you have taken on items in your Portfolio.

groups every action by type - Purchase, Sale, Delivery, and Inbound Transfer - so it's clear at a glance what happened to each item.

History

shows all the items that are currently in transit to or from {shortName}.

In transit

Local delivery is free for orders over HK$1,800 (to a single location). For orders below this value, delivery is HK$150 for up to four cases and HK$50 per case thereafter.

Shipping starts from €15 within Italy and €45 to Switzerland and the rest of Europe for up to 48 bottles (75cl). Costs vary by destination. Larger shipments can be quoted on request.

The date shown below is when your order will ship from our local warehouse. Your final delivery date, along with full tracking details, will be provided once our team has processed your request.

You can arrange collection from our Retail store on 22nd Floor, 8 Wyndham Street, Central Hong Kong.
Collection times are between 9:30am-13:00 and 14:00-18:00pm, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

You can arranged collection from our warehouse STI INTERNAZIONALE SPA, on Viale del Lavoro, 57, 37051 Bovolone, Verona.
Pick-up hours are between 8:30 AM to 12:30 PM and 1:30 PM to 5:30 PM, Monday to Friday. We are closed on public holidays.

This is the current estimated market value for this item.

Manually set prices will be overwritten. Already listed wines are not affected.

Updates all unlisted wines to current market price.

Set all at market

represents all the wines you currently have in your Portfolio that aren't stored with us. Press the

My cellar

Name

Net price

New portfolio available

New portfolio

You do not have any invoices at this time.

shows all the items from your Portfolio that are currently on the market.

On sale

shows all the items you currently have in your Portfolio. You can perform individual actions on them from this page.

Overview

shows any items that are currently awaiting user action.

Pending

This is the dynamic market price of the item with trading margin removed.

This is the amount of profit you will receive if your listing sells.

Pre-authorised payments enable automatic transactions on your behalf, ensuring seamless and hassle-free payments. This allows recurring charges, subscriptions, or scheduled payments to be processed without manual approval each time.

The number of cases you wish to place on sale

Your catalogue item will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your catalogue items will be archived. Are you sure you want to continue?

Before you request delivery, you can adjust the quantity for each item in your selection below.

*Market price is dynamic and may change. At time of sale a 10% trading fee will be deducted from the final sale price.

Total market price*

The fixed custom price you wish to sell each item for.

Split into {caseSize} individual {bottleSize}cl bottles.

Title

shows all the items you currently store with us. These items can be sold.

Available for sale — items stored with {name} eligible to be listed on the marketplace.

Profile

This item is at FINE+RARE, available for storage, transfer or delivery.
 Most UK deliveries can be made within 3-5 working days, with next day delivery for London;
 an exact date will be available when arranging delivery.
 International deliveries have longer lead-times, please contact us for details.

This item is at FINE+RARE HOME Hong Kong, available for delivery or local pickup. Most Hong Kong deliveries can be made within 3 working days, an exact date will be available when arranging delivery. International deliveries have longer lead-times, please contact us for details.

Wines sold en primeur will be released from the producer after bottling, typically 18 months after the so-called campaign ends. Your wine will then be stored by FINE+RARE in a bonded warehouse until you decide to take delivery.

We will source this item at the guaranteed price from our network of suppliers and arrange expedited shipment to FINE+RARE.
 The lead-time depends on many variables, but 2-4 weeks is typical for expedited sourcing.
 Once your order is confirmed, we'll keep you updated on its ETA.
 Every item is checked on arrival by our expert team, with photographs available on request (please note that charges may apply).

We will source this item at the guaranteed price from our network of suppliers and arrange shipment to FINE+RARE.
 The lead-time depends on many variables, but 6-12 weeks is an average estimate.
 Once your order is confirmed, we'll keep you updated on its ETA.
 Every item is checked on arrival by our expert team, with photographs available on request (please note that charges may apply).

Azienda Agricola Sofia

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