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  

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 plum in the middle of the Côte d’Or, the hill of Corton is hard to miss. Its wines, especially the whites, however, are all too often overlooked. We sat down with some of the region’s leading producers to explore the pedigree and potential of this site and its powerful, long-lasting wines

Discover the pedigree and potential of the hill of Corton’s whites – the fine Chardonnay from Corton-Charlemagne, Charlemagne and Corton Blanc 

Exploring Corton-Charlemagne, Charlemagne and Corton Blanc 

Corton-Charlemagne: the Grand Cru of the future?  

Maylis Marcenat does not fit the stereotype for a Bordeaux producer. Lively, down-to-earth and humble, she’s as unstuffy as they come. She is the fourth generation of her family to run Clos de Sarpe – a small Grand Cru Classé Saint-Emilion estate that has long gone under the radar.  The history of Clos de Sarpe  The Clos de Sarpe name first appeared in 1897, given by a Monsieur A. Ducarpe to his property on the Sarpe plateau. Baron Henri du Foussat de Bogeron bought the vineyard in 1905, merging it with the vines of nearby Badette to create Ch. Haut-Sarpe. Jean Beyney bought Clos de Sarpe in 1923 and revived the original name. His son, Yvan Beyney, took over in 1952, who in turn passed the property to his son Jean-Guy Beyney in 1986. Jean-Guy still owns the estate today but retired in 2021, handing it over to Marcenat, who is his niece. (Jean-Guy has a son, Charles, who gives his name to the property’s second wine and will inherit Clos de Sarpe eventually but isn’t interested in running it day to day.)  The style of the Clos de Sarpe wines through the ages  The style and winemaking have evolved over time – with each generation putting their own stamp on the wines. In the early days, the wine was all whole-bunch fermented, with long macerations (40 to 50 days) and spent several years in concrete tank before bottling. Indeed, under Yvan, this continued. He only sold wine to those who could store the wine properly, and as such some wines spent extended periods of time in tank – the 1966 was in concrete for 10 years, for example. Yvan looked for purity of fruit, picking comparatively late (he was always proud to say he picked at the same time as Figeac, Marcenat says) and didn’t ever use oak. The wines were hard in their youth, needing time to soften, yet having great stability from their long élevage.  Under Marcenat’s uncle, who arrived in 1986, things started to change – with the late 1990s a pivotal moment. Jean-Guy favours powerful wines and reduced the amount of time the wines spent in tank, introducing de-stemming (gradually, from 1997, at first all done by hand) and oak barrels – with the élevage shifting from all concrete to 100% new oak between 1997 and 1999. He hired Michel Rolland to consult from 1998, and reduced yields – cropping a maximum 25hl/ha.  In 2005, Jean-Guy introduced a mechanical destemmer and densimetric sorting  – both of which contributed to a significant shift in quality, and everything has been destemmed since 2010, to encourage a rounder tannin profile in youth. In 2012, the property was granted Grand Cru Classé status – recognising their efforts. Marcenat joined the team officially in 2014, bringing her own vision, pushing for further change from 2016 and finally taking full control in 2021.  Clos de Sarpe today  The Clos de Sarpe vineyards cover 3.68 hectares, all in one block on the Sarpe plateau and south/southeast facing, just a kilometre from the village of Saint-Emilion itself and close to both TrotteVieille and Troplong Mondot, as well as Sansonnet and Haut-Sarpe.  The topsoil is thin here – with just 20cm in places – and lies over limestone bedrock, which contributes to the very high acidity of the wines (normally with a low pH of 3.2-3.4). Over half of the vineyard is between 60 and 80 years old, with the oldest Cabernet Franc now over 100 years in age, planted by Marcenat’s great-great-uncle in 1923.   The vine age combines with the limestone bedrock to help this site weather hot, dry conditions – a particular boon as the climate shifts. The limestone acts like a sponge, holding water, and the roots reach deep into the bedrock, accessing these reserves. Yields are naturally low given the age of the vines, and recent vintages have seen some tiny yields but Marcenat aims for around 35hl/ha in a good year (more than under her uncle and the Rolland influence).  To preserve the age of the vineyard, Marcenat is gradually starting to replant the site. As part of this project, she has added a little more Cabernet Franc, as well as a tiny portion of Petit Verdot. Previously 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc, today the vineyard comprises 78% Merlot, 20% Cabernet Franc and 2% Petit Verdot.   The family has always worked organically, with no pesticides or herbicides ever used, but the vineyard has been officially certified since the 2020 vintage – something that is of particular importance to Marcenat. For her, the work is all done in the vineyard rather than the winery and the philosophy very Burgundian, with everything kept as simple as possible.  The team is tiny and Marcenat does almost everything herself, supported by Frank Bartolomucci. Today the fruit is all picked by hand, chilled overnight, destemmed and then density-sorted. Each parcel is vinified separately, with most fermented in the concrete tanks that have been used since the 1950s, however the oldest Cabernet Franc is fermented in a 600-litre new oak barrel. She only uses indigenous yeast so fermentations are slow, at least 10 days generally. Maceration times are long, with the wine normally spending around 40, and up to 50 days on the skins, depending on the vintage, but with very gentle extraction. Malolactic fermentation can be challenging with the low pH, so she routinely has to inoculate to force this through (malolactic is essential for wine stability, particularly for wine intended for long ageing).  The portion of new oak has been toned down, with Marcenat ageing the wine for a year in around 70% new oak, with the rest in second-fill barrels (and occasionally some concrete if required). It is then blended together and aged in concrete for around six months prior to bottling without filtration. The oak is all 228-litre Burgundian barrels (versus Bordeaux’s traditional 225 litres), largely Tronçais oak from the cooper Taransaud. Marcenat feels Burgundian barrels pair better with the wine, liking the thicker staves and longer seasoning (30 months versus the 24 that is the norm for Bordeaux).  The Clos de Sarpe wines today  Clos de Sarpe makes two wines: the eponymous Grand Vin and a second wine, Charles de Sarpe, which was introduced in 1997, named after Charles Beyney – Jean-Guy’s son and Marcenat’s cousin. Up to and including the 2015 vintage, the second wine was a saignée of the Grand Vin, used to increase the concentration of the Grand Vin. Since then, it has only been made in certain vintages when there is enough fruit to make a second wine – such as 2019 and 2023.  While most producers will talk about the freshness in their wines coming from the Cabernet Franc, for Marcenat it is the Merlot that brings the acidity, while the Cabernet Franc provides the wine’s structure.  Tasting Clos de Sarpe back to the 1960s, the site’s freshness shines through consistently, as well as a distinctive earthy minerality. The purity of a wine like the 1966 is extraordinary – and it’s holding up beautifully today. You can still see traces of the immense structure the 1975 and 1988 must have had in their youth – providing a gentle grip today alongside their savoury intensity. While the wines were significantly more powerful in style in the late 1990s and 2000s, that power feels balanced today, the 100% new oak integrated and unobtrusive – and the 2001 a particular standout. The 2010 and 2015 vintages of Charles de Sarpe are beautiful wines, with a softer feel and elegance – juice that would be worthy of many Grands Vins.   These wines might once have been known for their power and punch, but Marcenat has tweaked the style, leaning into the natural freshness of the site. She looks for silky tannins and a purity that makes the wines more approachable in youth. It is, she will tell you, very simply the wine she likes and wants to make. Tasting the wines en primeur since she took over suggests that only good things lie ahead here. With each vintage, Marcenat’s imprint on the wines feels clearer and quality belies the growing season’s conditions, testament to both her talent and the terroir.  A note on the Clos de Sarpe labels  As you can see in the line-up for this tasting (below), the labels have changed over the years. The oldest wines made under Yvan Beyney bear a very traditional label, which changed in 1986 to have a blue border when Jean-Guy (Marcenat’s uncle) took over. When the style of wine shifted in the 1990s, Jean-Guy changed the label again (from the 1998 vintage) to one with a gold foil border. The current label was introduced in 2012 when the property achieved Grand Cru Classé status.   The vertical tasting: Clos de Sarpe 1966-2015  2015 Charles de Sarpe: Maylis Marcenat recalls the 2015 harvest vividly – as it took place around the same time that she gave birth to her twin daughters. It was the last vintage in which the second wine was produced as a saignée of the Grand Vin, echoing its proportions of 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc, and effectively a less powerful version, aged in 50% new oak and 50% one-year-old oak. The wine is still lithe and vibrant, offering bright red berries on the nose. The palate displays more savoury tones, with macerated red plum and a fine chalky coating of tannins, cut by bright acidity that drives through to a mouthwatering finish. This is in a beautiful spot now.   2015 Clos de Sarpe: The typical blend of 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet Franc (as with every vintage shown in this vertical), the 2015 Clos de Sarpe was aged in 100% new oak. As you might guess from the élevage and the power of the vintage, this is not a shy and retiring wine – yet Clos de Sarpe’s trademark acidity drives through its core and balances the wine’s intensity. It still feels youthful, packed with dark cherry fruit on the compact nose, that gradually offers sweeter, scented tones with time in the glass. There’s a solidity to the palate – with a mass of rich, concentrated fruit, yet there’s a juiciness here to that makes it mouthwatering, with a sweet plumpness. It’s round and full, with a firm grip of tannin on the finish. Decant to enjoy now, with plenty of air, but this will unfurl over the next decade and beyond.  2010 Charles de Sarpe: The 2010 vintage was the first in which the fruit was all destemmed at Clos de Sarpe. Tasting the second wine with winemaker Maylis Marcenat, she can’t help but wonder why her uncle didn’t put such gorgeous juice into the Grand Vin. It’s a supple, beautiful example of mature Saint-Emilion now – the nose subtle, shifting between sweet fruit, lifted florals and black truffle complexity. The palate is long and balanced, beautifully resolved, seamless and soft, still with mouthwatering freshness and an earthy mineral edge to the long finish. Lovely.  2001 Clos de Sarpe: This was a standout in our vertical – and a wine that holds a special place for Marcenat. As she told us, “For me, it’s better than 2000 – with more freshness, more balance, more everything.” The 100% new oak is integrated, with the nose now showing plenty of tertiary complexity: iron, sousbois and a subtle leafiness mingles with the still fresh, soft strawberry fruit. There’s a transparency here, yet still plenty of concentration – the palate still lithe with soft, plummy red fruit and high juicy acidity that supports the fruit and fills the long finish, complemented by an earthy note. Superb.  1998 Clos de Sarpe: This was one of the first vintages to be aged in oak, seeing 80% new wood for its élevage. It was a great vintage for the Right Bank – as is clear from this wine. The 1998 Clos de Sarpe is beautifully mature, with savoury, leathery aromas and darker bramble fruit versus the more red-fruited 2001 shown alongside. The palate has a savoury iron seam, the tannins still offering a satisfying chewy grip to frame the juicy hedgerow fruit. This blossomed in the glass, revealing further complexity and vibrancy. Long, balanced and very impressive.  1988 Clos de Sarpe: The 1988 vintage offered few challenges and is a fairly classic year. It comes from the era when Clos de Sarpe was all whole-bunch fermented and saw no oak (aged only in concrete) – as with the two vintages below. There was a slight mustiness to this wine at first, but gradually the wine revealed its true character, with sweet, dried fruit and intense, savoury notes – an umami richness reminiscent of marmite. There is still surprising structure and power here, although the wine isn’t quite as concentrated as the 1998, for example. The acidity keeps things fresh, with the scent of truffle and undergrowth lingering on the finish.  1975 Clos de Sarpe: This was recorked in 2020. The 1975 vintage produced some particularly tannic wines – and you can still feel the structure of the year here, with a phenolic grip that frames the palate. The nose is intensely savoury, appealing to lovers of old-school Bordeaux with barnyard and horse leather, gradually revealing a herbal lift – something almost menthol-like. Although this is firmly tertiary in profile, there’s still vibrancy to the palate, with soft waves of fruit and an iron-edged finish.  1966 Clos de Sarpe: Some older vintages of Clos de Sarpe spent extended periods of time in tank before bottling – as is the case with this 1966, which stayed in concrete for almost 10 years. It was recorked in 2019 and is an amazing wine that is singing today. The nose still offers surprising fruit purity – soft, cooked plum and deeper bramble fruit, as well as savoury sousbois and – with time in the glass – liquorice and an almost marmite intensity. It’s ripe and vibrant, with amazing freshness on the palate, the tannins are seamlessly integrated with the sweet fruit. Long, supple and balanced, a beautiful wine to drink now.     Explore all current listings of Clos de Sarpe or read more about Bordeaux 

Few people have heard of Ch. Clos de Sarpe – and even fewer have followed its evolution in recent years. We sat down with Maylis Marcenat – the fourth generation of her family to run the 3.7-hectare estate – to taste through a vertical and explore the site’s identity through the ages 

Exploring the evolution of this tiny Saint-Emilion estate through a six-decade vertical tasting of the wines with winemaker Maylis Marcenat 

Tasting through six decades of Ch. Clos de Sarpe 

Six decades of Clos de Sarpe 

I first sat down with winemaker Chris Phelps almost two years ago, diving into his remarkable journey. Having worked at the likes of Dominus, Caymus and Inglenook, it was chance – or maybe fate – that led him to establish his own wine label, Ad Vivum, in 2007.  He was sitting above a tank of just-fermenting fruit when he was struck by a “coup de foudre” – falling instantly for Sleeping Lady Vineyard, a site farmed by his good friend Larry Bettinelli. He bought the half-fermented must, and has continued to do so every vintage since.  The specific blocks that filled that tank sat up against the Mayacamas at the very top of the vineyard, which is the southernmost site in Yountville. Here, the vines are shielded from the blaze of the afternoon sun, preserving acidity and aromatics in the fruit, while a flow of underground water allows the site to thrive in even the driest of years. Each year, from just 1.5 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon, Phelps crafts another expression of the site.  The exact parcels have shifted very slightly over time. In 2007, the vines were all Clone 191 – the clone he felt was best on the site, but the block needed replanting so they started using fruit from an adjacent plot, planted with Clone 7. After a “carefully thought-out dance” balancing the two plots, the 2024 vintage marks a return to using fruit only from the original plot, now replanted with Clone 191 (and known as Clone 34, which is genetically identical to 191).  Phelps left his day job (working for other wineries) at the end of 2023, finally able to focus exclusively on Ad Vivum, as well as a newer project with his son Josh (Coil Wines). Although we’d tasted the current releases before, earlier this month we were able to taste a trio of back-vintages for the first time. They reinforced how special this site is, as well as Phelps’s talent when it comes to capturing it in bottle.  The three vintages we tasted were 2016, 2017 and 2018 – three very different years in Napa. All three, however, manage to combine great freshness with Napa polish – creating wines that are surprisingly approachable already.  2016 Ad Vivum  In Phelps’s words, 2016 was “a classic Napa vintage”; the weather was warm at the end of June, allowing the vines to focus on fruit ripening, while autumn brought cooler weather. Phelps harvested from 7th October, fermenting in 21% new French oak (the rest in stainless steel), with a total of 19 days on skins prior to maturation for 18 months in 65% new French oak. It has always had “a seamlessness”, Phelps noted, and that’s certainly true tasting the wine.  The nose offers sweet, dark fruit, graphite purity and hints of lifted florals as well as an herbaceous edge. The palate is linear and pure, with mouthwatering acidity and a savoury core of ripe fruit, sweet cassis and ripe tannins that provide a drying grip on the finish. Although the oldest of this mini-vertical, it almost feels the youngest and will certainly benefit from additional time in bottle. A blend of 56% Clone 7 and 44% Clone 191 Cabernet Sauvignon.   2017 Ad Vivum  The 2017 vintage is one that will forever be remembered for its wildfires in Napa, although fortunately Ad Vivum wasn’t impacted by them. After an early budbreak, the growing season was marked by three heatwaves – in mid-June, at the end of August and in mid-September. Having a cooler site, shaded from afternoon sun and with sufficient water reserves was key for Phelps. He harvested from 5th October, bringing in 55% Clone 191 and 45% Clone 7 Cabernet. It was fermented in 25% new French oak, spending 20 days on skins in total (Phelps noted how easily colour and tannin came in this hot vintage), before being aged 17 months in 70% new French oak.  The nose here is bright and perfumed, combining sweet dark fruit – black cherries and blackcurrant – with floral lift and pencil lead. There’s a glorious purity to the fruit here, which follows through onto the dense yet fresh palate, displaying a juicy elegance. There’s a satisfying chew to the tannins, firm yet velvet-like, framing the waves of fruit that flow towards to the long, saline finish. Mouthwatering and moreish, this is hard to resist now.  2018 Ad Vivum  Although the 2018 vintage in Napa started with relatively late budbreak, cooler, even temperatures made for a long growing season, and producing relatively plentiful yields – yet without any dilution, thanks to the extended season. Phelps harvested from 17th October, with the blend moving back towards around two thirds Clone 191 Cabernet from the original block and a third Clone 7. Fermented in 25% new French oak, Phelps left the 2018 on skins for 23 days – slightly longer than other vintages, feeling structured fruit needed more time to reach its potential, echoed with its maturation in 75% new oak for 20 months. Phelps notes how generous this wine has been from the beginning, but has developed further opulence and depth in bottle.  This is a beautiful wine: the nose is intense, exuberant with dark fruit and a satisfying herbaceous edge. Although the blackcurrant and black plum fruit is beautifully ripe and smooth, there’s bright acidity that brings gorgeous freshness – making for a lithe and vibrant palate. The tannins are round and sleek, lending effortless structure, while there’s a saline, savoury edge to the long finish.    Explore all current Ad Vivum listings, including a mixed case of 2016, 2017 and 2018, or read more about California   

Since 2007, Chris Phelps has been working with just 1.5 acres of Cabernet Sauvignon in Sleeping Lady Vineyard in Yountville. The resulting wine is Ad Vivum, a beautiful expression of this special site. We sat down with Phelps to taste through a mini-vertical of the project 

Exploring Chris Phelps’s Ad Vivum Napa Cabernet Sauvignon wine from Yountville’s Sleeping Lady Vineyard through three vintages, 2016, 2017 and 2018 

Tasting Ad Vivum Napa Cabernet Sauvignon – 2016-2018 

Tasting Ad Vivum: 2016-2018  

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

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

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

How sugarcane spirit mistruths are coming unstuck

Rum: the sticky issues

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

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

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

Exploring what terroir means in the rum world

Rum: the raw deal

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

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

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

The evolution of rum

Bergweiler-Prum

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We're in the final stages of upgrading to our brand-new trading platform. As part of this transition, we're currently migrating all customer-owned inventory to ensure a smooth and seamless experience.

Our new and improved platform will be ready for you on Friday, April 4.

Thank you for your patience - we can't wait to show you what's next.

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Sign in to your {name} account to buy, store, value and sell fine wine and spirits, and track your order history and account details.

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Please note: delivery, duty and VAT charges may apply

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About description for demonstration purposes

shows all the items you currently store with us. These items can be sold, delivered or transferred.

At {shortName}

Your allocation will be cancelled. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your pre-order item will be deleted. Are you sure you want to continue?

Your delivery request will be cancelled. Are you sure you want to proceed?

represents all the wines that are in your possession and have been consumed.

This is the price you paid for this item.

Cost price

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

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

Futures

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

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

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

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

History

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

In transit

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

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

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

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

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

This is the current estimated market value for this item.

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

Updates all unlisted wines to current market price.

Set all at market

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

My cellar

Name

Net price

New portfolio available

New portfolio

You do not have any invoices at this time.

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

On sale

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

Overview

shows any items that are currently awaiting user action.

Pending

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

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

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

The number of cases you wish to place on sale

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

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

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

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

Total market price*

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

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

Title

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

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

Profile

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

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

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

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

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

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