What is Krug?  Krug is one of the most famous Champagne Houses in the world. It is unusual for making only prestige cuvées and is prized by fine wine lovers, seen by many as the pinnacle of fine Champagne – competing with the likes of Cristal and Dom Pérignon.  When was Krug first made?  Joseph Krug established Krug & Compagnie in 1843 with a wine merchant friend, Hyppolyte de Vivès. Born in Mainz in 1800, Johann-Joseph Krug was the son of a butcher. He dropped the Johann, moved to Paris in 1834 and worked as a bookkeeper at Champagne Jacquesson before starting to blend his first wines with De Vivès, trials for what would eventually become the Krug project.  Is Krug still owned by the Krug family?  No – although the family is still very much involved.  When Joseph passed away in 1866, his son Paul took over the business. In 1868 he moved the business to 5 Rue Coquebert in Reims, the address still occupied by Krug today and home to its historic cellars. The company passed to Paul’s son Joseph II in 1910, but his wife Jeanne took the reins when Joseph II became a prisoner of war during the First World War. Joseph II’s nephew Jean Seydoux became a joint manager after the war, with the business passing to Paul Krug II (Joseph II’s son) in 1959 and then to Henri and Rémi Krug, who joined the company in the 1960s and took over in 1977.  Brothers Henri and Rémi were pivotal in developing the House – expanding the range, building its international reputation and overseeing its sale to luxury goods conglomerate LVMH in 1999. Although they continued to manage the House, the financial backing of LVMH only allowed Krug to thrive. In 2009, Olivier Krug – the sixth generation of his family – took over as Director of the House and remains at the helm today.  What is the Krug style?  Often quite deep golden in colour, Krug is renowned for its use of oak, choosing to ferment all its base wines in old 205-litre oak barrels, allowing micro-oxygenation. This, combined with long lees ageing (minimum six years for non-vintage and 10 for vintage wines), produces a powerful, broad and richly autolytic style of wine, layered with bread, biscuit and brioche notes. The huge number of blending components used for Grande Cuvée makes a particularly complex non-vintage – or as they prefer to call it, multi-vintage – wine. The House also favours picking on the earlier side to retain freshness in the wines. Dosage here is average with the wines labelled Brut, and dosage normally sitting around 5-6g/l in modern releases.  It's interesting to note that Krug feels Meunier is an important element in their blends (sometimes viewed as a lesser grape by Champagne Houses), valuing the mid-palate generosity it brings to wines. Meunier often represents 15-25% of the House’s vintage blends.   What are the different Krug wines?  Joseph Krug had clear ideas about how to make the best Champagne and famously outlined these in his burgundy-coloured leather notebook (which is on display at the Krug family headquarters today). He declared that the House would only make two cuvées, intended to be of equal quality. Cuvée No 1 was a non-vintage wine, conceived to be “the fullest expression of Champagne every year” (embodied today by Grande Cuvée), while Cuvée No 2 would express each vintage. He also firmly believed in the importance of site, writing, “We cannot obtain good wines without using good elements and good terroirs.”  For many years, the House continued to produce just two wines, but the range has since expanded. Although the non-vintage and vintage wines were intended to be equal in quality, the vintage wines command higher prices today.  The Krug range consists of six wines:  Krug Grande Cuvée: Grande Cuvée is Krug’s flagship non-vintage, or multi-vintage (MV), wine, and the modern Cuvée No 1, and previously known as Private Cuvée (until 1978, see below for more on this). There are up to 200 components in each bottling of the wine, combining over 10 vintages (the youngest six years old, the oldest over 20 years old). While it is the House’s “entry-level” offering today, the House holds back many of its best wines from top vintages for the wine. It spends minimum seven years’ ageing on lees prior to disgorgement, with an additional year on cork prior to release. Unlike many non-vintage wines, the goal is not for the wine to be entirely consistent between releases, but to make “the fullest expression of Champagne”. From 2011, this was acknowledged officially when Krug added the Krug ID to every bottle (see more below). In 2016, the House took this further and decided to add an Edition number to each release, starting with Edition 163 (for which the base year was 2007). Some collectors seek out particular editions of Grande Cuvée, with 164 (base 2008) or 168 (base 2012) unsurprisingly lauded. Half-bottles don’t have the edition number on the label, so you need to use the Krug ID to identify the specific bottling.  Krug Rosé: The House’s other non-vintage wine, Krug Rosé was created by Henri and Rémi Krug in the 1970s, with the first release based on the 1976 vintage, released in 1983. The wine is a blend of white wines, with around 11% still red Pinot Noir blended in, combining anything between 20 and 70 different components from five vintages, spending minimum six years on its lees. As for Grande Cuvée, in 2016 Krug added an Edition number to the Rosé label, starting with Edition 21 (base 2008).   Krug Clos du Mesnil: Clos du Mesnil is a single-vineyard vintage Blanc de Blancs Champagne, and one of Krug’s top wines. Champagne expert Richard Juhlin describes it as “the best wine in the world”. Henri and Rémi Krug purchased six hectares of Chardonnay in Le Mesnil-sur-Oger in 1971 and when they went to inspect the vineyards they discovered it included a walled 1.84-hectare plot in the heart of the village. On the wall is inscribed, “In the year 1698, this wall was built by Claude Jannin and Pierre Dehée Metoen and in the same year the vines were planted by Gaspard Jannin, son of Claude.” They replanted the site and at first the fruit was blended into the House’s other wines, however they found that the warmer microclimate – surrounded by buildings – produced a distinctive wine, and they decided to bottle it separately. The first vintage was 1979, released in 1986 – at a time when a single variety, single site wine was pioneering. Aged for minimum a decade on its lees, it is only made in certain vintages where the quality allows.  To date, the vintages of Clos du Mesnil produced are: 1979, 1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1985, 1986, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1992, 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2008 and 2009.  Krug Clos d’Ambonnay: Pure Pinot Noir from a single 0.68-hectare plot, Clos d’Ambonnay is Krug’s other single-vineyard vintage wine. Henri and Rémi found this site on the edge of the village of Ambonnay, on the southeastern slope of the Montagne de Reims, in 1991, managing to purchase it in 1994. Like Clos du Mesnil, the site is a walled vineyard, with the walls dating back to 1766, although vines weren’t planted until the 20th century. The first vintage of the Blanc de Noirs was produced in 1995 and released in 2007. As with Clos du Mesnil, it sees long lees ageing (minimum a decade) and is only made where vintage conditions allow. Given the size of the vineyard, Clos d’Ambonnay is particularly rare.  To date, the vintages produced of Clos d’Ambonnay are: 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2002, 2006 and 2008.  Krug Clos d’Ambonnay Rosé: The first vintage of Krug’s Clos d’Ambonnay Rosé is set to be released in autumn 2025, the 2008 vintage. The first new cuvée since the House launched Clos d’Ambonnay, the wine is a rosé from the same single vineyard, including 15% still red wine in the blend.  Krug Vintage: The other wine conceived by founder Joseph Krug, Cuvée No 2, was a vintage wine that the House still produces today. It is only made in vintages deemed worthy by the House and spends over 10 years on its lees prior to disgorgement.  Recent vintages produced of Krug vintage are: 1988, 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2008 and 2011.  Krug Collection: In the 1980s, Krug introduced its Collection – a late-disgorged release of more mature wines, normally offered around 25 years after the vintage. These wines have been kept in the House’s cellars, ageing in perfect conditions. Releases to date include: 1981, 1982, 1985, 1988, 1989, 1990 and 1995.  What is Private Cuvée?  Private Cuvée was the previous name for Grande Cuvée, the House’s non-vintage wine, labelled as such from 1862 to 1978. Champagne expert Richard Juhlin notes that the style shifted with the name change, with Grande Cuvée a little lighter more Chardonnay-driven and more multi-faceted, however Private Cuvée was closer to a vintage wine in style with more weight. “The style from the 20’s to the 60’s is strikingly constant and if you find a bottle with a good level and with a price tag you can handle, it is a chance you must not miss,” he writes of Private Cuvée.  How much Krug Champagne is made?  Production for the House is kept firmly under wraps, however estimates suggest around 425,000 bottles are made each year.  What is Krug ID?  This six-digit code features on the back label of every bottle of Krug and allows the drinker to find out about their specific bottle of, with the first three digits indicating the quarter and year of disgorgement. You can look up the ID on the House’s website or app to find the blend, oldest and youngest wines, tasting notes, food and music pairing suggestions. The Krug ID was introduced in 2011, so only appears on bottles released after that date.  Does Krug own vineyards?  Krug’s expertise was historically winemaking and blending, and always operated as a négociant, as was the norm for the Grandes Marques in Champagne. Krug bought fruit from carefully selected sites to make their wines, but Henri and Rémi purchased the House’s first vineyards in 1971 – including the now famous Clos du Mesnil.  Today Krug owns 21 hectares of vines, representing around 20% of their production, supplementing this with purchased fruit. Krug sources its Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Meunier from the villages of Ambonnay, Aÿ, Le Mesnil-sur-Oger and Trépail. All their contracts are for specific parcels, many based on generations-long relationships, with their oldest contract dating back to 1876.  Krug has been increasingly focused on sustainability, not using any herbicides or pesticides in its own vineyards and the estate vineyards are certified organic as of the 2024 vintage.  Who makes Krug?  As with any winery, there is a large team involved in producing Krug – including the growers supplying fruit and those in the winery at Krug. Eric Lebel was the longtime cellarmaster, from 1999 to 2019, handing over to Julie Cavil who worked alongside Lebel for 13 years before taking the reins at the start of 2020.  When it comes to deciding on the blends, there is a tasting committee, led by Cavil and usually with Olivier Krug. The committee meets every day between the end of harvest and March, tasting 15 samples each day (a strict maximum to ensure their judgement isn’t impacted by palate fatigue). Over the period, they aim to taste all 400 samples two or three times in total. Each taster has to describe each sample with just a single word, which cannot be duplicated by any other taster – something that Cavil feels helps give a better overall picture of the wines.  How is Krug made?  As already mentioned, all Krug’s base wines are fermented in old oak. They use 205-litre barrels, averaging 20 years in age, often retired at around 40 years. They do not block malolactic fermentation but do not encourage it, so some wines do go through malolactic fermentation. Post fermentation, the wines are transferred to stainless steel tank (they are not aged in wood, as at Henri Giraud, for example). The blends are decided by the House’s Tasting Committee (led by Cellar Master Julie Cavil) between the end of harvest and April, before being bottled and spending minimum seven years on their lees (10 years for the vintage wines).  Where is Krug made?  For almost two centuries, the wines were made at Krug’s historic premises in Reims, however as of 2024 the winemaking has moved to its new Joseph winery, just next to Clos d’Ambonnay.   What’s the deal with Krug and Burning Man?  Krug caused some controversy when it shot a marketing campaign at the Burning Man festival at Black Rock in Nevada in 2011. The shoot and brand were denounced by the Burning Man organisation for not complying with its principles, commercialising the festival and community.  Why is Krug’s bottle shaped differently?  Krug’s distinctive narrow-necked bottle was introduced in 1978, at the same time as it changed the name of Private Cuvée to Grande Cuvée. The House previously used standard Champagne bottles. Beyond making Krug’s bottles even more distinctive, the narrow neck is intended to reduce oxygen exchange over the ageing process.  How does Krug age?  Krug is renowned for its ageing potential – with all the House’s wines, including the non-vintage cuvées, designed to evolve in bottle. Champagne expert Essi Avellan MW notes: “All Krugs benefit from ageing. Five years after release, they tend to have opened up beautifully, showing more expression and a beautifully harmonious nature. Grand Cuvées are a real delight some 10 to 15 years after release, often at the peak of their expression. The vintages are all long-lived; thereafter it depends on the vintage (and the individual bottle, of course) as to how they age. When well kept, all should age for at least 15 years post-release, and the best for several decades.”  Explore all Krug listings, including the new releases of Grande Cuvée and Rosé, or read more about Champagne and sparkling wine 

Krug is a name with reach far beyond wine lovers, the gold label and iconic bottle shape immediately recognisable. As the latest editions of Grande Cuvée and Rosé are released, we have compiled an insider’s guide to this legendary Champagne house and its wines

Everything you need to know about Krug Champagne – the luxury House and its iconic Grande Cuvee, Rose, Clos du Mesnil, Clos d’Ambonnay and vintage wines

Your essential guide to Krug Champagne 

Everything you need to know about Krug 

There are times when you put a question to a winemaker and he puffs out his cheeks and rubs his chin and you know he’s thinking, ‘Journalists.’ When I ask Promontory’s David Cilli what exactly is meant by ‘interpretation of terroir’, he courteously describes the process of trying to get the wine to reflect the character of the land. But he gives the impression my question was like quizzing Monet on how he got his effects. If you don’t get it, you probably won’t. The character of Promontory, on the day I visit, is quite something. It’s early May and the rain, which has been falling steadily all night, has turned to a lashing downpour that has raindrops bouncing six inches off the windscreen. We’re in a jeep piloted by winegrowing director Cory Empting and since turning off the main road we’ve been climbing steadily through dripping stands of oak with pocket-handkerchief vineyards between them. ‘Shall we stay in the car?’ asks Empting. ‘If we could,’ Will Harlan suggests from the back seat. I’m here with Empting, Cilli and Harlan. Bill Harlan has appeared briefly but I don’t see him again until we sit down to taste. He formally handed over control of Harlan Estate, Promontory, Bond and The Mascot in 2021, appointing 37-year-old Will managing director. Cilli (44) arrived in 2012 and is in charge of vineyard and winemaking at Promontory. Promontory is an 840-acre fastness, a deep valley folded into the foothills of Mount Veeder, on the west side of the Napa Valley. From the highway, you think the looming ridge you’re looking at is the edge of Sonoma. But there’s another ridge beyond and between them this interesting domain. It’s remote, even by Napa standards (contrary to opinion, there are plenty of wild spaces in the county). The ultra-refined French Laundry is a couple of miles away but it might be in Wisconsin for all the relevance it has up here. Bill Harlan had come upon it hiking in the 1980s. ‘I used the Carmelite monastery [we’d passed it on the way up] as a base and just started climbing’. There were no vines but he was intrigued by its seclusion. It might be possible vineland for the Napa project he had in mind. In the end, Harlan Estate was founded less than a mile to the north but for 25 years Harlan kept the idea of that parcel tucked under his hat (he never mentioned it, Will says) before it came on the market in 2007 and he snapped it up. "Vineyards, some a mere half-acre, are etched into towering, wooded hillsides and drop down into cavernous combes dense with oak and fir" The owner – the Harlans don’t reveal who that is – had planted 80-odd acres of Cabernet Sauvignon. It was neglected, the vines overgrown. Trees had been felled and never collected. ‘It was a mess,’ Will says. ‘It looked like a logging operation.’ But it is magnificent. Vineyards, some a mere half-acre, are etched into towering, wooded hillsides and drop down into cavernous combes dense with oak and fir. The whole estate is thickly forested, the vines often shaded on three sides. An old drovers’ road, running through the woods, will suddenly open out on a wide vista of vineyard and scree. Everything is deeply, lushly green in the steadily falling spring rain. The geology of the land is unusual, in that it rests on two distinct fault lines and consists of all three soil types that are found in Napa: volcanic, sedimentary and metamorphic. ‘You get all three in the same soil pit,’ Cilli notes. This, combined with the wild variation in aspect and the microclimate of the valley-within-a-valley, gives credence to Harlan’s claims that this part of Napa is like nowhere else in California. When the celebrated soil scientists Claude and Lydia Bourguignon came, they found the experience ‘novel’. Cilli said he fell in love with Promontory at first sight. It reminded him, in part, of his native Tuscany, but it was the wildness that captivated him, ‘I love that character that you can see in the wines.’ He said it was probably ‘the only project that could keep me in the valley.’ You get the impression none of them can quite believe their luck. ‘It somehow redefined what looks beautiful,’ Will says. It also redefined their ideas of winemaking. He goes on: ‘We were used to control. Harlan in the 1990s was obsessed with organisation and uniformity but Promontory was wild.’ The theme of wildness recurs. Harvest times are key to ‘find a way for it to come through,’ Will says. Empting: ‘Pick too late and you lose the ruggedness.’ Ageing, in the magnificent Howard Backen-designed chai, is all in Stockinger Austrian oak barrels ranging in size from 10,000 to 46,000 litres, for up to 36 months. ‘The fine-yet-tight tannins required longer barrel-ageing but [we] didn’t want the wine to be overpowered by new oak’. It’s a constant process of refinement and improvement – ‘we learn something new each season’. Empting: ‘It has blown every expectation out of the water. We were excited and we were scared. We didn’t know what this beast would be. Our learning curve has been very steep, it remains very steep. At least now we’re starting to get our arms around it but at the beginning, it was like: God, we cannot figure this thing out.” "I found in the 2016 a moment where the various elements come together: the savoury nose, the fine tannins, the weight without heaviness" You have to remember we’re talking about winemaking here, not Wittgenstein. But ‘interpretation of terroir’, if it’s to mean anything at all, should be taken seriously. I’ve seen vineland all over the world – rock-strewn fields in the Andean foothills, rainless Spanish deserts – but I’ve never seen anything like Promontory. Were I to be tasked with bottling the soul of that vineyard, I’d reach for metaphor as well. And so we come to the missing shade of blue. This is the concept propounded by the 18th-century philosopher David Hume, that an idea can be formulated without a previous sensory impression to give rise to it. He asked, Could a shade of blue missing from a spectrum be imagined by an observer? Harlan says (with a smile – he does have a degree in philosophy) that Promontory is the missing shade of red. ‘Until you’ve seen and experienced it, you don’t know that it’s missing. And so for us this was that final piece. The piece that wasn’t there that we had the opportunity to understand and try to translate into the wine.’ The next morning, in gorgeous May sunshine, we gather to taste. It’s almost the same group, though smaller, that did the mighty vertical of Harlan estate from magnum in 2020. Bill Harlan is there (he sweetly thanks the team for allowing him to taste, saying it’s the first full vertical of Promontory he’s ever done), Will, Empting, Cilli and the journalist Elaine Brown. We wonder, at the end, if there is thread that runs through the wines. In my notes the words ‘deceptively light’ recur, as do ‘structure’ and ‘stone’. Reaching for metaphor again, Will Harlan compares the structure of the 2016 to cathedral stone, which has ‘both weight and lightness. It’s intricately carved and light filters through the windows.’ I found in the 2016 a moment where the various elements come together: the savoury nose, the fine tannins, the weight without heaviness. Will Harlan calls this vintage an ‘inflection point’ and notes how the tannins are the ‘main differentiators’. Yes, agrees Cilli, ‘and because of the character of levity and lift, we have to be precise with the tannins.’ The younger vintages have an astonishing latent energy, tannins under tight rein, aromas bursting, the fruit compacted. Brown and I were struck not by the sophistication of these wines but by their honesty. Brown WhatsApped me later. ‘Promontory is the most transparent to place. The wines are impressively well crafted and elegant while still offering an almost wild or primal complex of flavours.’ "The wines are unmistakeably Californian but they are also unlike anything I’ve tasted in Napa" ‘How do we take wine from a wilderness and have sophistication?’ Will asked. It’s a great question – with their resources, the Harlans could do anything they liked with Promontory. After all, they have to make a wine that will please their audience. But this was so unexpected. The tasting revealed a keen focus on the land and the vintage. The difference between the years was often marked – the challenge of 2015 for example showed in the wine – yet we could see that common thread running through, even as the wines increased in elegance. And what of Will’s quest for the missing shade of red? The wines are unmistakeably Californian – that splendid 2017 could come from nowhere else – but they are also unlike anything I’ve tasted in Napa, which is quite a claim, in the world’s most cultivated wine region. Perhaps the last word should go to Bill Harlan, who started the whole thing. He speaks hardly at all during the tasting, his Old Testament face giving little away. At the end of the morning, he talks of his fascination with the ‘ongoing discovery’ of the project. The wines have character, layers and depth, he says, and – by way of praising their authenticity – he notes, ‘You never know what’s coming next.’

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Adam Lechmere visits California to trace the evolution of Promontory, one of Napa’s most magnificent sites, with a vertical tasting of 14 vintages revealing the wild beauty, elegance and remarkable evolution of its wines.

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Adam Lechmere visits California to trace the evolution of Promontory, one of Napa’s most magnificent sites.

Wildness captured: tasting 14 vintages of Promontory

What springs to mind when you think of Bordeaux? Probably châteaux the size of medieval palaces, formal dinners, and rows and rows of pristine vines, neatly manicured rose bushes the only other signs of plant life. What you’re unlikely to be imagining are cow horns stuffed with manure buried in the ground, or horse-drawn ploughs churning through earthworm-rich soil. ‘In the past, in Bordeaux, you were scared to say you were growing biodynamically,’ says Corinne Comme, who manages 10ha of biodynamic vines at Château du Champ des Treilles in Entre-Deux-Mers with her husband Jean-Michel. ‘Now it’s trendy.’ An engineer and geologist, Jean-Michel Comme was behind the first transition of a grand cru classé estate on Bordeaux’s Left Bank to biodynamics. Although he and Corinne first came across the concept in the mid-1990s, he didn’t begin to advocate for the approach at Château Pontet-Canet in Pauillac until the early 2000s. ‘Corinne was scared,’ he recalls. ‘She thought they would fire me.’ "Behind the more esoteric elements is a series of principles that have been shown to improve soil health and vine strength" Originally laid out in a series of lectures by Austrian philosopher, scientist and social reformer Rudolf Steiner in 1924, biodynamic farming emerged as a holistic approach to agriculture before quickly evolving into formal certification movements. At its core, biodynamic farming centres on soil health and biodiversity; most distinctively, it operates according to the lunar calendar, with practitioners timing agricultural activities around specific ‘fruit days’, ‘root days’, ‘leaf days’ and ‘flower days’ to align with cosmic rhythms believed to influence plant growth and agricultural processes. For many in Bordeaux – Jean-Michel Comme included – this all sounded a bit wacky. ‘I was young, full of expectations about chemistry; the way biodynamics was presented was so remote that I felt it was crazy,’ Comme says. ‘But with experience, we did change our minds.’ Why? Because behind the more esoteric elements is a series of principles that have been shown to improve soil health and vine strength. In vineyards, biodynamic farming means specific practices such as hand-harvesting, using natural composts made with specific herbal and mineral preparations, avoiding chemical fertilisers and pesticides, and treating the entire vineyard as a self-sustaining ecosystem. In the cellar, there’s an emphasis on minimal intervention, using native yeasts, avoiding commercial additives, keeping sulphur use to under 70ppm, and employing gentle pressing and ageing techniques that respect the wine’s natural development. While biodynamics took root in regions like the Loire and Burgundy in the 1990s, biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux largely began in the new millennium, with just two early St-Emilion exceptions: Château Meylet, which has been practising it since 1987, and Château Fonroque, experimenting since 1995 with direction from Loire legend Nicolas Joly. This delay largely stemmed from two factors. First, Bordeaux’s humid maritime climate means that vines are especially vulnerable to both downy and powdery mildew, making the avoidance of synthetic fungicides a risky business. Second, large châteaux with multimillioneuro operations were reluctant to abandon the technological viticulture and winemaking that had built their global reputations in the first place. Comme, however, was convinced of the virtues of biodynamics. He began by seeking the assistance of François Bouchet. The Loire Valley winemaker was one of the first in France to pioneer biodynamics, also consulting for Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Domaine Leroy and Domaine Leflaive in Burgundy. Bouchet guided the transition to biodynamics at Comme’s Château du Champ des Treilles; then, he persuaded Château Pontet-Canet owner Alfred Tesseron of its merits. In 2004, it was trialled on 15ha (about 20% of the estate’s total growing area) of the fifth growth at which Comme was also technical director. A severe mildew outbreak in 2007 led to the use of pesticides, undoing three years of progress, but it then became a crucial lesson that strengthened their long-term commitment to biodynamics. ‘They believed the fruit had more expression, more brightness,’ says the current technical director at Pontet-Canet, Mathieu Bessonnet, who reveals that they converted the whole of the growing area soon after. ‘It’s obviously much more difficult, time-consuming and expensive, so it was very risky,’ he adds. Since then, biodynamic farming has become a significant and growing practice across different classed growths in the region, with some of the most prestigious estates – such as Château Latour and Château Palmer – adopting biodynamic methods (the latter certified). ‘The link between the wines and the place where the fruit came from had become less and less obvious,’ says Château Palmer’s technical director Thomas Duroux, commenting on the region’s turn to the trend. He notes that, since the noughties, many have adopted organic practices in a bid to reverse this perceived drop in terroir definition. ‘Biodynamics is, in a way, the same story as organic farming, but with a larger vision,’ he adds. This shared perspective has led to more cooperation between practitioners. Every spring, the Médoc branch of the Biodynamic Agriculture Movement gathers at Château Ferrière. After unearthing a thousand manure-filled cow horns and replacing them with silica-filled ones (a process reversed in autumn to produce preparations 500 and 501, required for Demeter certification), participants share wines and gardengrown salads. The humus removed from the cow horns is stored in a cold, damp facility and made available to members. ‘We do that for free,’ says Claire Lurton, owner of Château Ferrière. ‘It’s a community.’ Though ‘community’ might be too strong a word for some, these gatherings symbolise a deepening professional exchange that has emerged among estates of all sizes through the practice of biodynamic winemaking. In fact, the shift among the classed growths has happened at the same time as these practices have been adopted by smaller growers arriving in the region. Christophe Landry of Château des Graviers, for example, returned to Arsac in the 1990s and began practising biodynamics around the same time as Comme at Pontet-Canet. He’s consulted for the Lurton estates and other properties. Originally from Minervois in Languedoc, Michel Théron established Clos du Jaugueyron nearby and has been certified biodynamic since 2008, while Laurence Alias and Pascale Choime – who are both from southwest France – established Closerie des Moussis, a patchwork of sites across 2ha, including a 170-year-old pre-phylloxera plot leased from Théron. On the Right Bank, other producers began switching lanes even earlier. Le Puy, owned by the Amoreau family, began practising in 1998, with certification since 2013, and Château Gombaude-Guillot in Pomerol has been certified biodynamic since 2006. While larger estates like Latour and Palmer collaborate on issues like mildew, smaller producers tend to engage more with one another. Shared biodynamic practices, however, are definitely helping to break down barriers. For example, Château Haut-Bages Libéral maintains regular communication with its neighbours at Château Latour, and the son of Théron at Clos du Jaugueyron interned at Château Palmer for two months. Can we speak of a unity of praxis? Not exactly. There is considerable variation in which aspects of biodynamics winemakers emphasise, regardless of estate size. The primary aim across the board is achieving living soil with rich biodiversity to promote deep-rooted vines. In pursuit of this, some winemakers emphasise tree growing or cover cropping (like Haut-Bages Libéral, which also recently planted a variety of local and fruit trees). Others, such as Le Puy, let nature take its course, allowing a diverse array of plants and flowers to sprout from the earth. Whether certified or not, biodynamic practitioners throughout Bordeaux use homeopathic treatments like nettle teas for the vines – they are believed to stimulate soil health, enhance plant immunity and improve nutrient uptake. More important than any of this, however, is the concept of energy. How can the energy of the plant be retained as its raw material transforms into wine? Every winemaker I visited was at least intrigued by the concept – and most were captivated. After a few days in the sometimes eerily flat Médoc, I drive through the verdant hills of St-Emilion to Le Puy, arriving with a raised spirit. Standing before a 5,000-year-old Celtic cromlech, Harold Langlais, the estate’s director, tells me, ‘Le Puy is a place of energy and life,’ pointing to its deep history as an intersection of water springs. At modern-day Le Puy, this philosophy extends from the vines to the cellar. Indeed, many others I speak to express that, since adopting biodynamics, the most striking change in their wines has been an increase in ‘energy’. It’s a term without a precise definition, but according to Château Palmer’s makers, something shifted with the 2015 vintage, the second year after full conversion. ‘You cannot measure it,’ Thomas Duroux says. ‘You can just feel it.’ At Château Durfort-Vivens, where the vineyard was operating under biodynamic principles by 2013 (with full conversion by 2016), owner Gonzague Lurton recalls the 2014 vintage as ‘the first where you really feel the energy of biodynamics’. It’s tactile and warming, with a sophisticated grip and charm. ‘It’s what I love – the linearity of tannins, never weak from start to finish. With many of the estates I visited, their wines showed an immediate appeal, vibrant even in their youth. Is energy just another way of describing freshness? Laurence Alias at Closerie des Moussis trained as an agricultural engineer; for her, energy and vitality are tied to the physical properties of grapes grown biodynamically. ‘We have more acidity, that’s an analytic fact,’ she tells me, standing in front of a newly acquired plot of vines bordered by forest. It might be romantic to think of energy as something ineffable, but it’s also rooted in what remains within the grapes. ‘Our idea of energy is based more on Einstein than Steiner,’ Langlais later qualifies. ‘Energy is matter.’ Biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux: five to follow Château Pontet-Canet At the 55ha Pontet-Canet estate in Pauillac, an immensely smooth operation is palpable. Winemakers here have spent almost two decades honing their biodynamic craft, continually moving towards a goal of self-sufficiency for the estate. Sturdy Comtois horses, introduced in 2008, now work half the vineyard, preventing soil compaction. Vineyards are sprayed over a single day using compost and herbal teas produced from plants grown in and around the property and processed in the state-of-the-art infusion room. Biodiversity-boosting fruit trees and hedges have been planted. The estate even employs a carpenter who repurposes wood from vats used on the property. Ageing involves custom-made wooden eggs and qvevri-style amphorae, with no fining and minimal filtration. The result? A Pauillac with untypical levels of energy and minerality, and a plush, velvety texture. But it’s more than that – according to Bessonnet, thanks to a low-intervention approach across the board, ‘you can really feel the soil.’ Château Palmer Thomas Duroux’s conviction in biodynamics is based in what he calls a ‘holistic vision’. ‘We started to see the entire place as a living organism,’ he says of Château Palmer, one of the most storied and historically significant third-growth estates in Bordeaux. When converting (a process that started in 2009), the Margaux estate was initially guided by François Bouchet’s son Matthieu, but now it follows its own evolving philosophy, integrating cover crops, animals for fertilisation and estate-grown vegetables and meat. ‘It’s just going back to agricultural common sense,’ Duroux says. ‘That was the way to grow anything before World War II.’ This respect for nature results in wines that are deeply tied to their terroir. ‘If I had to describe the wines how they are today, compared to how they were before, I’ll just say that it’s not a revolution, but we have the feeling that the wines have a better identity,’ says Duroux. He likens biodynamics to restoring an old painting: ‘Suddenly, you see small details that you were not able to see because of the dust.’ The estate uses stainless-steel vats for fermentation and temperature-controlled rooms for barrel-ageing, combined with nativeyeast and low-sulphur winemaking, to produce its esteemed Alter Ego and Château Palmer cuvées; both have been increasingly celebrated among critics and drinkers since the turn to biodynamics. ‘We just think it does help to go a little bit further in the interpretation of the place,’ says Duroux. Château Durfort-Vivens Standing over a rustic sorting table explaining how it used to work, Gonzague Lurton is visibly passionate about the savoir-faire of the past. This sensibility is reflected in the current winemaking practices, too, and in the second-growth Margaux estate’s reputation (and critics’ scores) increasing year on year. The thing to emphasise is that what began with a biodynamic approach in the vineyards led to a series of domino effects that changed the character of the wines. In search of what Lurton calls greater ‘singularity’, the proportion of Cabernet Sauvignon had already risen to over 90% by 2014 (from around 75%); and with the use of indigenous yeasts during fermentation and the reduction of sulphur levels over time (initially sparked by Demeter’s upper limits of 70mg/l), the wines have become more aromatically complex and expressive. The introduction of amphorae by Italian producer Tava has allowed for microoxidation without overextraction, contributing to a more delicate balance of flavours, with the 2019 estate wine a blend aged one third in amphorae and the rest in barrel. ‘It’s not a big wine,’ says Lurton. ‘And it’s what I was looking for with biodynamics, in terms of style.’ Château des Graviers Christophe Landry’s pioneering status in Margaux stems from an instinct refined over decades at his own estate. He grows medicinal plants — horsetail, absinthe, calendula, chamomile — for vineyard treatments, as well as using the manure from his own cows. ‘What we need to remember is that biodynamics isn’t just a practice,’ he tells me. ‘It’s about finding your own path to self-sufficiency.’ His precision extends to the cellar, where he uses concrete tanks, amphorae and oak barrels (produced according to the biodynamic calendar) tailored to each of the five cépages’ oxygenation needs, then ages the wines for different lengths of time. Timing is everything, with harvest choices also following the biodynamic calendar. Obsessive care for the vines’ life cycles goes hand in hand with the level of precision in the cellar. The outcome is two phenomenal wines that are, as Landry puts it, ‘thirstquenching’. Château des Graviers and Quintessence — which contains a higher proportion of Petit Verdot and is aged longer in barrel and amphorae — are aromatically expressive, velvety and strikingly lively, with the latter offering more depth and an enveloping finish. Expanding to 18ha, Landry has also turned his focus to Clos Dufourg, cultivating vines on previously wild land nearby and hand-building a striking new cellar with cement tanks painted with clay from the surrounding earth. Le Puy For technical director Harold Langlais, the Le Puy estate’s significance lies in how it challenges Bordeaux’s conventional identity. Outside of the region’s traditional focus on appellations and classifications, Le Puy sits on a plateau near St-Emilion. The estate’s land is unusual, with no topsoil but a deep limestone bedrock beneath red-brown clay, which forces the vines to develop deep roots to access the earth’s natural water and nutrients. This is further supported by horse-ploughing and biodynamic sprays made from horsetail, buckthorn and nettles, which grow on the property. ‘Our approach focuses on rooting the vine deep,’ Langlais explains, ‘encouraging it to search out hidden nutrients.’ A vigorous wind circulates around the vines, and Langlais explains the effects of the elements. ‘The beauty of Le Puy is that it’s an acid factory. The whole place creates acidity in the berries.’ The biodynamic philosophy extends to the winemaking, with two different processes applied to their 100% Merlot cuvées. Cuvée Emilien uses a ‘decantation method’, or ‘fermentation by infusion’, while Barthélemy is produced with zero sulphites and a process of lees-stirring called ‘dynamisation’, which is done on fruit days and involves a specific motion to create a vortex in the old barrels it ages in. ‘Barthélemy is much more intense,’ Langlais says. ‘All the matter taken by the plant is in there.’

Written for Club Oenologique in 2025, Joel Hart visits Bordeaux to track the region’s belated embrace of biodynamic winemaking. While other French regions ploughed ahead, Bordeaux had its reasons for delayed adoption. Yet now the practice is booming, and Hart gauges its employment across estates.

Written for Club Oenologique, contributor Joel Hart visits Bordeaux to track the region’s belated embrace of biodynamic winemaking. 

Taking root: the rise of biodynamic winemaking in Bordeaux

Wine journalists are jaded folk – spoilt by too many impressive tastings, lunches and dinners. But when Champagne Louis Roederer invites you to an event celebrating 50 years of Cristal Rosé, few refuse. Cristal Rosé is, as Chef de Cave Jean-Baptiste Lécaillon told us, still “a hidden gem” and the rarest cuvée Roederer produces. It’s not often shown, and even visitors to the estate don’t get to taste the wine.  While Cristal – Champagne’s first prestige cuvée – was created in 1876, its pink sibling was born almost a century later. It was Jean-Claude Rouzaud, current CEO Frédéric Rouzaud’s father, who created the wine, aged 32. He had been managing the company’s vineyards and took over the winemaking in 1974.  “His great vision was to put the vines back in the centre of the creative process,” explains seventh-generation Frédéric Rouzaud. For Roederer, site and farming have long been key to what they do (long operating both as a grower and négociant), but Jean-Claude’s move from vineyard to cellar pushed this further, allowing for – as Lécaillon put it – “a creative and constant dialogue between the vineyard and cellar”.  The same year that he started leading the cellar team, Jean-Claude decided to make a rosé version of Cristal. Almost all rosé Champagne was – and is – made by blending a still red wine in with the base white wines. Jean-Claude, however, wanted to use co-fermentation to keep the wine in the style of Cristal, a decision that Lécaillon says was key, making the wine more ethereal, precise and “Pinot-y”, with a juicier texture.  The wine was built around parcels of Pinot Noir in the Bonottes area of Aÿ, which Lécaillon describes as the “Musigny” of Champagne. In his mind, the Pinot Noir from these plots offers a “special tannic complexity” – tannins that are more saline, integrated and aromatic; the Pinot Noir here is, he says, “effortlessly perfect” and the heart of Cristal Rosé. These three vineyards (Bonotte Pierre Robert, Gargeotte and Côte du Moulin) had been used for Cristal since the 1870s, and more recently became the source for Pinot Noir material for their vine nursery – with 150 different massal selections taken from the plots – long recognised for their quality.  The three original Pinot Noir plots are now being replanted and – while the vines mature – another site in Aÿ, La Villers, a mid-slope parcel at higher altitude, is currently being used in the blend (from the 2018 vintage). It is set to form part of the wine long-term, its cooler position thought to be of particular benefit with climate change. Complementing the 55% Pinot Noir is Chardonnay from two sites – Pierre Vaudon in Avize (bringing more power and richness) and Montmartin in Le Mesnil (lending length, salinity and a chalky minerality).  The first two vintages (1974 and 1975) were more experimental, as Jean-Claude figured the wine and style out, but the third attempt in 1976 produced something special – with sufficient phenolic ripeness to produce a rosé truly worthy of the Cristal name. Even now, 48 years later, that wine is singing – combining savoury rye and brown miso notes with pear tarte tatin and an earthy power. While it had a flurry of three vintages at the start of its life, just 25 vintages of Cristal Rosé have been produced to date. The wine needs a year where not only the quality of fruit is outstanding, but the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay ripen at the same time – allowing for their co-fermentation – something that is relatively rare.  Only made with vines that are minimum 20 years old, yields are low for Champagne (at 35-40hl/ha).  The Pinot Noir is destemmed, crushed and left to macerate. Earlier vintages saw this happen over two to four days and at warmer temperatures, but the winemaking has evolved over the years, with a pivotal shift from the 2008 vintage. From 2008. Lécaillon started chilling the Pinot Noir down to -4̊C overnight, prior to de-stemming and crushing the fruit – something which he believes avoids extracting any green character.   The must is then left to cold-soak for between seven and 10 days, with no punch-downs or pump-overs – a true “infusion” (to avoid any microbial spoilage, they cover it with dry ice for the first four days, then use nitrogen). The must isn’t chilled during this time, and the temperature gradually rises to a maximum 8-9̊C. Moving to a cold-soak was inspired by an accident. In the warm 1989 vintage, Lécaillon’s first year at Roederer, they didn’t have a cooling system in the cellar, and the Pinot Noir was left in a reefer – undergoing an inadvertent cold-soak. The resulting wine was so good that it inspired Lécaillon.  Just as the fermentation starts, the must is racked off and blended with the Chardonnay which has been whole-bunch pressed pneumatically (Lécaillon argues the grape’s reductive nature needs a little skin contact to avoid being overly thiol-driven and Sauvignon-esque). Around 20% of the base wine sees oak. After secondary fermentation (under crown cap, something with Lécaillon argues helps preserve precision and terroir versus cork), the wine spends eight years on its lees, developing immense complexity.  “Since 1974, it has been our laboratory of farming, of winemaking,” says Jean-Baptise Lécaillon of the wine. Cristal Rosé was in fact the House’s first cuvée to be farmed biodynamically, and the first biodynamic prestige cuvée in Champagne, from the 2007 vintage. He explains that he is looking for phenolic ripeness, integrated with the salinity of Champagne, seamlessly combining the tannins and acidity; a wine complemented – but not dominated – by bubbles of salt.  The wine is undeniably remarkable. Tasting through a range of vintages from 1976 to the present day, all in magnum (find full tasting notes below), the vibrancy, purity and moreish, saline, minerality of these wines left me speechless. Their ability to age is effortless, with the 1989, for example, still tasting incredibly youthful. Talking about Cristal Rosé’s evolution, Lécaillon explains that he finds the first decade is all about fruit, but then the wines return to their site and soil, becoming wines of place. Conversation strays into weather Champagne today, with global warming, can still make wines that will age as beautifully.  “Champagne is not just about acid; it’s about freshness,” says Lécaillon. He points to the 1976 and 1989 vintages – both incredibly hot years, with the fruit picked at almost 12% potential alcohol and modest acidity levels – and yet the wines are full of freshness. Back then, producers were on holiday throughout August, and the fruit was picked in September (1st for the 1976 and from 5th for the 1989), but with such conditions today they would have harvested in mid-August. It is perhaps, he suggests, a lesson that the region is overreacting to warm conditions – with too many producers chasing acidity, rather than phenolic ripeness. For the skins are, he argues, the key to this sense of freshness, the dry extract that allows the wine to age.   The House has introduced a Cristal Rosé Vinothèque, or late release. To date, there have only been a handful of vintages – the 1995, 1996, 1999 and 2002. The maturation for this wine isn’t set and varies according to the vintage, normally spending longer on its lees, both sur latte (lying down) and sur pointe (upside down), the idea being to build umami complexity in the wine. The sur pointe ageing is unusual, something Lécaillon favours for its more reductive nature, keeping the wine aromatically fresh (the wine is still riddled four times a year in the same position, to agitate the lees and absorb any oxygen). Generally these releases are offered around 15-17 years after the vintage. The dosage is often lower than the original bottling, with the longer lees ageing lending balance without a higher sugar addition. Tasting the 2002 Vinothèque (a wine that feels infantile), Lécaillon says: “Is it better? I don’t know, but it’s another expression.”  I’ve written before about Lécaillon’s tireless approach to wine-growing – constantly looking to learn and evolve, and the week after our dive into Cristal Rosé he was flying to Japan to visit the Fukuoka farm (founded by Masanobu Fukuoka, the author of The One-Straw Revolution and a pioneer of permaculture or “natural” farming). His fight against the “banalisation” of taste continues, as he looks for ever-more ways to enrich the world of Louis Roederer. If the next 50 years of Cristal Rosé is nearly as good as the first, we’ve all got a lot to look forward to.  Five decades of Cristal Rosé: the tasting  2013 Cristal Rosé: A beautiful, late-ripening growing season that provided the last October harvest to date. A wine Chef de Cave Jean-Baptise Lécaillon describes as having “eternal youth” – something that is hard to disagree with after tasting the wine. This is a baby, the nose enticing with delicate floral aromas and bright citrus, not giving too much away. The palate is long and saline, tightly wound, but bursting with bright fruit on the mouthwatering finish, combining lush redcurrant and lemon. Gorgeous. Dosage 7g/l, tasted from magnum.  2012 Cristal Rosé: Lécaillon notes how 2012 was seen as an “easy” vintage on release, riper and richer with a little more Pinot Noir in the blend, but is now entering its second life, with reductive, chalky notes that bring it back to its soils. The wine is beautifully earthy and drastically different to the 2013, with power and intensity. It’s very savoury, a wine that is all about breadth and structure, with wild strawberry and raspberry notes mingling alongside a sea-spray freshness, driving on to a long, mineral finish. Dosage 8g/l, tasted from magnum.  2008 Cristal Rosé: This was the first fully organic vintage for the entire Roederer estate, and marks the start of a new era for Cristal Rosé with its cool “infusion” technique for the Pinot Noir. Paired with the 1995 vintage, the two wines are windows into two completely different worlds of Cristal. With the copper tone of a sunset, it’s a wine of muscle. It’s almost haughty, with length, power and elegance – showing off its flawless structure, with a zesty citrus drive complementing its austerity. The finish is long and saline. It will be incredible to taste this in 20 years’ time. Dosage 8g/l, tasted from magnum.  1995 Cristal Rosé: This vintage was one of the last to see the Pinot Noir soaked at 20-24̊C. It is, in Lécaillon’s mind, the “same terroir, but a different story” versus more modern iterations of the wine. The wine glows golden in the glass – the colour of the sun just as it breaks the horizon. It’s incredibly open, the aromatics constantly shifting to reveal new layers. There’s a touch of mushroom or truffle, but with layers of rich, almost tropical, fruit behind – think peach, mango, peach tea and the bite of pomegranate, with caramel sweetness, but still a saline twist to the finish. A wine of weight and depth. Dosage 12g/l, tasted from magnum.  1989 Cristal Rosé: This was a very warm vintage, harvested from 5th September, and the wine technically doesn’t have high acidity – yet is a wine of impressive freshness. Grilled hazelnuts edge a nose of candied orange peel and pomegranate, and a coffee note that emerges with air. There’s a liveliness to the palate here, even over three decades on, with a gorgeous freshness and creaminess to the mousse. The fruit on the palate is lush, with generous mouth-watering peach and a taut, mineral backbone. It’s amazing how young this tastes still. Dosage 12g/l, tasted from magnum.  1976 Cristal Rosé: Despite coming from another warm vintage (with a very hot, dry August – and harvested from 1st September), Jean-Baptiste Lécaillon notes the freshness on the 1976 vintage, and how it seems to have never become too evolved. It’s much more savoury than the 1976, with rye bread and brown miso sitting alongside caramelised pears, tarte tatin and a hint of Oloroso Sherry. The palate is a rush of fine bubbles, fresh and with a citrus bite but a savoury framework behind. A remarkable wine. Dosage 10g/l, tasted from magnum.  2002 Cristal Rosé Vinothèque: This was disgorged in 2019, spending 11 years on lees sur latte, and then another five sur pointe, followed by an additional four years’ post-disgorgement ageing prior to release. This wine is so tightly coiled, a wine not yet revealing everything it has to offer – although you can see the incredible structure. It’s so vibrant, with energy and a lushness as it drives toward a seemingly never-ending finish. It’s gorgeous, layered with mandarin, grapefruit pith, chalky minerality and smoked salt, lingering on the soft, saline tail of the mouthwatering finish. Dosage 8g/l, tasted from magnum.    The releases of Cristal Rosé to date: 1974, 1975, 1976, 1978, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1985, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1995, 1996, 1999, 2000, 2002, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2012, 2013 and 2014  Browse all current listings from Champagne Louis Roederer or read more Editorial 

This year marks the 50th birthday of Cristal Rosé, Champagne Louis Roederer’s rarest wine. Sophie Thorpe caught up with CEO Frédéric Rouzaud and Chef de Cave Jean-Baptiste Lécaillon about this very special prestige cuvée and tastes through five decades of the wine

As Champagne Louis Roederer celebrates the 50th birthday of Cristal Rose, we talk to Jean-Baptiste Lecaillon and Frederic Rouzaud 

Celebrating 50 years of Cristal Rose Champagne

Five decades of Cristal Rosé

Every now and then, the word ‘singularity’ is used to describe a particular wine that stands apart, for whatever reason, from other wines of its type. But just what is singularity, and how can wine express it? Wine writer Tamlyn Currin investigates.

What makes a wine truly singular? Tamlyn Currin explores the rare bottles that defy convention and challenge the rules of the wine world.

Searching for Singularity in wine

Searching for Singularity

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  

After the difficult conditions of 2024, Bordeaux has delivered a vintage that has surprised almost everyone. The 2025 growing season was among the hottest and driest of recent decades, with yields collapsing across much of the region. Yet rather than producing another 2022-style vintage of power and opulence, the wines have emerged with freshness, moderate alcohols and remarkable aromatic precision. Almost every major critic references the same paradox: a year that looked destined to produce massive wines instead yielded bottles of energy, balance and finesse. There is less agreement on where 2025 ultimately sits among Bordeaux's recent great vintages. Some critics compare it to 2016, others to 2019, 2020 or even 1961. What they largely agree on, however, is that the best wines are outstanding – and that this is a vintage where terroir, vineyard management and winemaking decisions matter enormously. William Kelley – Wine Advocate William Kelley sees 2025 as a vintage that reveals rather than conceals. He describes it as a "clarifier" rather than an amplifier, arguing that the wines expose differences in terroir, viticulture and winemaking with unusual transparency. Although the growing season was dominated by heat and drought, Kelley believes the resulting wines are fundamentally different from 2022. Cooler nights, lower alcohols and timely late-season rain produced wines that combine concentration, ripeness and freshness in a way that feels distinctive. He repeatedly returns to the notion that the best 2025s are classically proportioned despite their intensity. Unlike some critics, Kelley is reluctant to identify a single winning appellation. Instead, he sees success as highly estate-specific, with the finest wines distinguished by balance, precision and restraint rather than sheer power. Kelley's highlights: Larcis Ducasse, Jean Faure, Sociando-Mallet, Quinault l'Enclos, Le Pin Beausoleil Explore Kelley's full report, notes and scores on Wine Advocate (subscribers only). Jane Anson – Inside Bordeaux For Jane Anson, 2025 is "the paradox vintage". The best wines are immensely impressive, but she cautions strongly against broad-brush conclusions. Anson places the vintage comfortably ahead of 2017, 2021 and 2024, and broadly alongside 2015 and 2019 in terms of potential. Yet she repeatedly notes that this is not a year where collectors can buy indiscriminately. Low pH levels, high acidity and significant tannic structure mean some wines will require patience, while others may never fully resolve. She sees the strongest performances coming from Bordeaux's great water-regulating terroirs, particularly the limestone and clay soils of Saint-Émilion and the best parts of the Left Bank. Pomerol is more variable, with dramatic differences depending on soil type and water retention. Anson's wine of the vintage is Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse, while Canon, Petrus, Cheval Blanc and Château Margaux all feature prominently among her highest-rated wines. Anson's highlights: Ch. Haut Bailly, Mouton Rothschild, Margaux, Smith Haut Lafitte, Leoville Las Cases, Petrus, Beauséjour, Vieux Château Certan, Lafleur,  Tertre Roteboeuf, Haut-Brion Blanc, Les Champs Libres, Doisy-Daëne,  Aile d'Argent Blanc, Pavillon Blanc Read Jane Anson’s report on the Left Bank, Right Bank and white wine on Inside Bordeaux (subscribers only). Antonio Galloni – Vinous Antonio Galloni is one of the most enthusiastic commentators on the vintage, describing the finest wines as "nothing short of thrilling". What impresses him most is the combination of concentration and freshness. The summer heat delivered tiny berries and naturally low yields, yet many wines finished with surprisingly moderate alcohol levels and striking aromatic lift. Galloni believes modern viticulture played a critical role, allowing producers to navigate extreme conditions more successfully than would have been possible a generation ago. He identifies Margaux as the appellation of the vintage and describes Pauillac as "jam-packed with great wines". Saint-Émilion's clay-limestone plateau also impressed him enormously. Pomerol, meanwhile, is the region he found most inconsistent. Galloni also highlights several lesser-known estates that he believes overperformed in 2025, noting that some of the vintage's most exciting discoveries may come outside Bordeaux's traditional elite. Galloni's highlights: Beau-Séjour Bécot, Canon, La Gaffelière, Troplong Mondot, La Mission Haut-Brion, L'If, Margaux, Lafite Rothschild Explore Antonio Galloni's full report, notes and scores on Vinous (subscribers only). Neal Martin – Vinous Neal Martin describes 2025 as a vintage that constantly defies expectations. He argues that the late-August rain fundamentally changed the trajectory of the year, turning what appeared destined to become another 2022 into something altogether more nuanced. Martin calls it "a dialled-down and more precise 2010", a comparison that appears repeatedly throughout his report. He finds concentration and structure, but also freshness, restraint and remarkable aromatic detail. Like Galloni, he is highly enthusiastic about the Left Bank, particularly Pauillac, Saint-Julien and Saint-Estèphe. He also believes several of the greatest successes come from Saint-Émilion's limestone soils, while Pomerol shows more variation than many neighbouring appellations. Perhaps most notably, Martin sees 2025 as one of the strongest recent vintages for Sauternes, praising the purity and freshness of the best sweet wines. Martin's highlights: Montrose, Haut-Brion, Lafite Rothschild, Lafleur, Petrus, Latour Explore Neal Martin's full report, notes and scores on Vinous (subscribers only). James Suckling James Suckling describes 2025 as one of the most exciting Bordeaux vintages he has encountered in more than forty years of tasting barrel samples. He repeatedly returns to the contrast between expectation and reality. On paper, the growing season suggested another powerful, solar vintage. Instead, he found wines with what he calls "unique purity and tension", combining moderate alcohol, vibrant acidity and impressive concentration. For Suckling, 2025 is above all "a great vintage for great terroir". He argues that the region's finest vineyards adapted brilliantly to the challenges of the year, producing wines that are both intensely expressive and remarkably balanced. Although he acknowledges inconsistency across the region, he believes the best wines can stand alongside Bordeaux's leading modern vintages. Suckling's highlights: Château Margaux, Mouton Rothschild, Lafite Rothschild, Petrus, Le Pin, Ausone, Angélus, Les Carmes Haut-Brion Read part one and two of James Suckling’s report, along with his full notes and scores on JamesSuckling.com (subscribers only). Georgie Hindle – Decanter Georgie Hindle describes 2025 as both "paradoxical" and "miraculous", two words that neatly capture the mood of many critics tasting the vintage. She notes that almost everything about the growing season pointed towards a rich, powerful vintage. Yet the wines themselves display freshness, poise and balance rather than opulence. The crucial turning point, in her view, was the late-August rain that arrived after months of drought and completely reshaped the vintage's trajectory. Hindle argues that terroir and winemaking decisions were decisive. Producers who adapted extraction techniques and handled the naturally high tannin levels carefully were rewarded with wines of precision and elegance. Others were less successful. While she believes the best wines are exceptional, she is clear that 2025 lacks the broad consistency of 2022 and should be approached selectively. Hindle's highlights: Beauséjour, Cheval Blanc, Haut-Bailly, Haut-Brion, Margaux, Mouton Rothschild, Petrus, Vieux Château Certan Explore Georgie Hindle's coverage on Decanter (subscribers only). Jeb Dunnuck Jeb Dunnuck compares 2025 to a modern-day version of 1961, citing tiny yields, drought conditions and extraordinary concentration. Yet unlike the blockbuster vintages often associated with hot years, Dunnuck finds the wines surprisingly fresh and elegant. He repeatedly highlights the role of cooler nights and late-season rainfall in preserving balance and preventing overripeness. He sees Saint-Émilion as one of the stars of the vintage, while also praising the best wines of Pauillac, Saint-Julien and Pomerol. Like several critics, he believes value-conscious collectors should look closely at Castillon and Fronsac, where some producers delivered outstanding quality relative to price. Dunnuck's highlights: Margaux, Haut-Brion, Léoville Las Cases, Montrose, Le Pin, Ducru-Beaucaillou, Mouton Rothschild, Petrus, Figeac, Beauséjour Explore Jeb Dunnuck's full report, notes and scores on JebDunnuck.com (subscribers only). James Lawther MW – Jancis Robinson James Lawther sees 2025 as one of Bordeaux's most pleasant surprises. He notes that despite being one of the hottest vintages of the last thirty years, the wines possess freshness, moderate alcohol levels and considerable charm. The defining feature for Lawther is the combination of power and approachability — wines that have both concentration and an almost unexpected amiability. Cabernet Sauvignon particularly impressed him, especially in Pauillac and Saint-Estèphe, while Saint-Émilion's limestone-rich soils again proved highly resilient in drought conditions. Pomerol was less straightforward, producing some brilliant wines alongside more uneven results. Lawther is also highly positive about Sauternes, which he considers one of the vintage's major success stories. Lawther's highlights: Palmer, Pavie, Suduiraut, Mouton Rothschild, Cheval Blanc Explore James Lawther MW's full reports, notes and scores on JancisRobinson.com (subscribers only). Read James Lawther MW’s report on the Left Bank, Right Bank and white wine on Inside Bordeaux (subscribers only). Explore Bordeaux 2025

As the Bordeaux 2025 campaign draws to a close, we review the critics' verdicts on one of the decade's most intriguing vintages and the wines that emerged as their standout performers.

Your essential crib-sheet to what the world’s leading wine critics are saying about Bordeaux 2025 en primeur–including Wine Advocate, Vinous and more

Bordeaux 2025 en primeur – what the critics are saying 

Bordeaux 2025: what the critics are saying

A. Bergere Rose Champagne

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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

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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).

A. Bergere Rose Champagne

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