Bordeaux 2024  Unsurprisingly, our coverage of the latest Bordeaux vintage once again dominated our most-read editorial in 2025. From our first impressions through to a full vintage overview, a detailed commune-by-commune breakdown and a comprehensive critics’ round-up, Bordeaux 2024 proved a vintage that demanded careful reading rather than sweeping conclusions. Our early coverage set the tone: a year shaped by climatic challenge rather than excess, producing wines of restraint, classical structure and freshness rather than sheer power. As the campaign unfolded, it became clear that success hinged on vineyard management, harvest decisions and precision in the cellar. The picture that emerged was a nuanced one, with standout performances varying markedly between Left and Right Bank, and site selection proving decisive. Critics were broadly aligned: Bordeaux 2024 is not a vintage of easy headlines, but one that rewards attention, discrimination and long-term perspective. Read all our coverage of the vintage here  Burgundy  The enduring pull of the Côte d’Or shows no sign of fading. Interest in Burgundy remained intense throughout 2025, with readers closely following our coverage of the 2024 vintage as it began to reveal its character. Our first impressions pointed to a year defined by energy and finesse, with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir expressing clarity and site definition. The subsequent vintage overview expanded on this picture, examining growing conditions, yields and stylistic trends, and highlighting where growers navigated challenges with particular success. Alongside this, our exploration of Corton-Charlemagne looked beyond the immediate vintage, positioning the Grand Cru as one of Burgundy’s most compelling long-term propositions – a wine of scale, longevity and growing critical confidence. Jasper Morris MW’s feature for FONDATA, The new Burgundians, examining eight domaines to watch in the region, also remained among our most widely read pieces throughout 2025. Read all Burgundy features Producer perspectives Our most-read interviews in 2025 reflected a strong appetite for depth, heritage and first-hand insight from the world’s leading estates. At Masseto, we explored the quiet evolution behind one of Italy’s most iconic wines — a reminder that even the most celebrated labels are shaped by continual refinement rather than stasis. Read more  A wide-ranging conversation with Antinori traced the scale and ambition of one of wine’s great dynasties, balancing centuries of tradition with a clear-eyed view of the future. Read more  In Champagne, our feature on Henri Giraud marked a landmark 400-year anniversary, using the occasion to reflect on legacy, oak, terroir and the house’s distinctive philosophical approach to winemaking. Read more  Finally, a deep dive beneath the surface at Château Montrose examined terraces, geology and long-term vineyard thinking — an object lesson in how great estates are built from the ground up, over generations. Read more  See what was popular last year or read more Editorial 

From in-depth vintage reports to interviews with the industry’s leading names, we’ve published a whole host of features over the course of 2025. Of it all, however, these were the stories that proved most popular

The most popular wine and spirits features we published in 2025 – as chosen by you, from detailed vintage reports to deep-dive interviews 

The biggest wine and spirits stories of 2025 

The biggest stories of 2025

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  

General impressions Feedback from clients and staff aligned around one key observation: 2023 is more approachable than expected. The vintage’s moderate alcohol, ripe Merlot, and fresh acidity make many wines accessible even at this young stage. While some still need time, the overall impression was of balance rather than power. The focus is medium-term drinking for maximum confidence and reward. The Right Bank was widely viewed as the stronger side, echoing early commentary from en primeur reports. Pomerol and Saint-Émilion wines displayed generous fruit and fine tannins, while Left Bank estates were more varied, producing both classic structured wines and some leaner examples. FINE+RARE’s en primeur analysis described 2023 as “a vintage defined by equilibrium.” The bottled wines seem to confirm that view: consistent, expressive, and shaped by freshness rather than extraction.  Right Bank highlights In Pomerol, Clinet and Gazin were among the most admired, showing ripe fruit and supple texture. In Saint-Émilion, Canon, Canon la Gaffelière, Clos Fourtet, Troplong Mondot, and Valandraud stood out. Valandraud, as expected, was the powerful wine of the night, while Canon and Fourtet impressed for their precision and length. Beau Séjour Bécot also received great feedback — a reassuring note for those who secured it en primeur. Left Bank highlights The Left Bank produced a number of notable successes, though with more variation across communes. Léoville Barton and Lynch Bages were two of the most consistently praised wines for their depth and classical balance.

Pichon Comtesse, which many had admired from barrel, was again among the favourites and considered by some to be even more complete in bottle. Other highlights included Pichon Baron, Rauzan Ségla, Les Carmes Haut Brion, Brane Cantenac, Duhart Milon, and Domaine de Chevalier.

Smith Haut Lafitte Blanc also earned strong reactions for its freshness and clarity. Sauternes and Barsac The sweet wines drew particular attention. Several tasters named them the stars of the evening, with Suduiraut widely described as exceptional – rich, poised, and long. Coutet also impressed for its balance of sweetness and acidity. The general view was that 2023 marks another successful year for Sauternes and Barsac, following two strong vintages. Conversations with producers A recurring theme in discussions with château representatives was comparison between recent years. Many cited 2022 as their standout vintage of the decade, particularly on the Right Bank, with 2016 also frequently mentioned. Summary For both clients and colleagues, the evening confirmed that 2023 is a vintage of clarity and balance, with Right Bank wines especially convincing. The Left Bank offers several strong classical examples, and Sauternes continues an excellent run. In short, 2023 should not be viewed as a blockbuster but as a measured, consistent, and thoughtful vintage – one that speaks more of balance and terroir than of scale. It will be interesting to see how these wines continue to settle in bottle over the next few years. FINE+RARE extends sincere thanks to the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux and all the participating producers and their representatives for sharing their remarkable wines. Our gratitude also goes to the event team from Otaria, and to Fromagerie, who supplied exceptional cheeses for all our attending guests and helped make the evening such a success. Read our full Bordeaux 2023 vintage report and browse all wines featured in the tasting.

This year’s UGCB tasting at Lindley Hall brought together Bordeaux’s leading estates and a record FINE+RARE audience. The atmosphere was vibrant, with engaged guests and wines that revealed both the highs and limits of the 2023 vintage across Left and Right Banks.  

Last week's UGCB tasting at Lindley Hall showcased Bordeaux 2023, revealing both the strengths and subtleties of the vintage across Left and Right Banks.

UGCB in London: Tasting Bordeaux 2023

About Académie du Vin Founded in Paris in 1973 by Steven Spurrier, the Académie du Vin grew out of a love of wine and a desire to share it with clarity and intelligence. What began as informal wine appreciation courses in 1970s Paris evolved into a publishing house dedicated to the finest wine writing of the past, present, and future. Today, the Académie du Vin Library maintains a deliberately small and carefully curated list, selecting books for their readability, authority and enduring insight into the world’s great wine regions – guided by the belief that fine wine writing, like wine itself, deepens with time. About this article This article presents the introduction to Côte d’Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy (2nd Edition) by Raymond Blake. In it, Blake sets the scene for Burgundy’s most revered stretch of vineyard, exploring the historical, cultural and human forces that shape the Côte d’Or. The introduction offers essential context on place, tradition and the vignerons themselves—laying the groundwork for a deeper understanding of Burgundy’s wines and the people behind them. Introduction The Côte d’Or, the Golden Slope, enjoys a reputation and exerts an influence in the wine world out of all proportion to its size. It possesses none of the grandeur of the Douro Valley, for instance, nor the picture-postcard beauty of South Africa’s winelands. It is not majestic; its beauty is serene, and what strikes the observer time and again is the tiny scale. From north to south it is about 50 kilometres long, is sometimes less than a kilometre wide, and can be driven in little more than an hour. At a push it could be walked in a day. Yet for a thousand or more years this favoured slope has yielded wines that have entranced and delighted wine lovers, with a fair measure of frustration and disappointment thrown in too. Avoiding hyperbole when writing about the Côte d’Or is a problem, for it has held people in thrall for centuries, frequently prompting poetic flights of prose: ‘The Pathetic Fallacy resounds in all our praise of wine … This Burgundy seemed to me, then, serene and triumphant … it whispered faintly, but in the same lapidary phrase, the same words of hope.’ Thus wrote Evelyn Waugh in Brideshead Revisited eighty years ago. Literary critics might cavil at such prolixity, and Waugh himself tamed it severely in later editions, but it was enough to intrigue me decades ago and engender a love for the region and its wines that has never waned. Greater Burgundy is a bigger, more geographically diverse, region than might first be supposed, stretching from Chablis, south-east of Paris, to Beaujolais, north of Lyon. The subject matter of this book, however, is Burgundy’s heart, the Côte d’Or. There is no more celebrated stretch of agricultural land on earth. It has been pored over and analysed, feted and cosseted, obsessed about and sought after for centuries and today, if anything, it exerts a greater pull on wine lovers than ever before. ‘Astronomical’ does not begin to describe the prices now being paid for prized patches of grand and premier cru vineyard, and for the wines produced from them by the top domaines. Such prices hog the headlines and paint a dazzling, though severely one-dimensional, picture of the Côte d’Or today. In the early years of the twenty-first century they are part of the story but they are not the only part. This book aims to get behind the dazzle and flesh out the story, to add some nuance and extra dimension. The Côte d’Or cannot be captured in a sound bite nor, it must be admitted, in a book of this scope – but my hope is that it may add another chapter to the ever-unfolding tale, setting it in the early years of the twenty-first century, a period that may come to be considered by future historians as a golden age for Burgundy but which has brought its own challenges in the shape of those ludicrous prices, the scandal of premature oxidation in the white wines, and the increasing challenge of dealing with extreme weather events such as hail and spring frost. The Côte d’Or has been the subject of forensic scrutiny for centuries, generating a library of books, so why another one now? For the simple reason that it is ever changing. Every year sees new names added to the producers’ roster and old ones slipping away, and thanks to this ongoing evolution the infant domaine of today can be the superstar of tomorrow. The core of the book comprises about a hundred producer profiles. Many fine domaines and négociants whose wines I am happy to purchase and drink have not found a place here. It is important to stress that they have not been included, rather than excluded, simply for reasons of space. The aim was to feature a representative collection of producers, not a top-down selection of the most celebrated names in descending order of renown. As a consequence this book is not, nor was it ever intended to be, a comprehensive A to Z of producers. I write as an amateur du vin, an enthusiast whose admiration for the wines of Burgundy stretches back over four decades, and who has been visiting the region and writing about the wines for some thirty years. I do not trade in wine. I try to see beyond the wine to get something of the backstory, the story of people and place that makes the Côte d’Or so fascinating. To examine the wines in isolation is to dislocate them from that, and not knowing something of the backstory precludes a full understanding of them. A broad lens must be brought to bear on the côte. Too narrow, and the wood will never be seen for the trees. I have learned much by coming across things serendipitously rather than dashing hither and thither, seeing a lot but noticing little. Without time for assimilation and reflection, subtlety and shade are missed. Finally, no gustatory experience can match the thrill of a great Côte d’Or red drunk at its peak. The colour, crimsoned by age; the heavenly scent, perfumed with notes of sweet decay; a sauvage edge, the palate lively and tingling, managing to be so many things at once, oscillating between fruit and spice and meat and game, a merry-go-round of flavour, spiralling on the palate, refusing to be pinned down by anything so prosaic as a tasting note. All the primary components melded by age and yielding up new ones, unsignalled when the wine was young. Everything cohesive and in harmony, like a great orchestra playing at its best. Above all, vital and living, endlessly enchanting and intriguing, engaging the palate and the spirit like no other wine. Learn more about Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd edition) Shop all books from the Académie du Vin Library Visit the Académie du Vin website Upcoming Event FINE+RARE & Académie du Vin Present: The Impossible Tasting FINE+RARE and Académie du Vin are delighted to present a rare and intimate exploration of the finest wines ever made. Wines of historical legend. Wines that are rarely seen, much less opened. Wines that should be impossible to bring together at one time. Lunch (April 29): River Restaurant, The Savoy Hotel Dinner (April 30): St James’s Room, 67 Pall Mall Club Learn more about the event here

Explore Burgundy with the introduction from Raymond Blake's book: Côte d'Or: The wines and winemakers of the heart of Burgundy. Blake tells the whole story of this hugely influential region, painting a complete picture of life there: the history, landscape, climate, culture and people.

Discover Raymond Blake's Côte d'Or (2nd Edition): a deep dive into Burgundy's wines, winemakers, history, culture and the people behind this iconic region.

Raymond Blake on the Côte d'Or

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

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

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

FONDATA: The Importance of Being Convivial

The Importance of Being Convivial  

In a report published in 2014 by the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organisation, under current rates of degradation, all the world’s topsoil could disappear within 60 years. With 95% of all food produced relying on these living soils, this pronouncement was a stark and terrifying warning of what lies ahead. Industrial farming and deforestation are the leading causes behind the degradation of soil. Grape growing and large parts of the wine industry remain very much part of that problem. France’s vineyards, as an example, are the country’s biggest consumers of chemical fungicides, insecticides and herbicides. These products can devastate the life in the soil and completely disrupt the biodiversity of a region. Although viticulture represents just 3% of France’s agricultural land, the sector spreads 20% of the country’s fungicides. Many vignerons have tried to reduce chemical inputs, either using them as a last resort or not at all. Some believe non-chemical additions of copper and sulphur typically used to treat fungal diseases (the biggest threat to yields) are more damaging to the environment than systemic chemical interventions. It is a complex picture. But there are vignerons committed to non-chemical approaches – growers who believe they can offer alternative methods that are both sustainable for the future and remain commercially viable. While there are various approaches, they all share the belief that protecting the health of the soil is fundamental to their vineyard’s long-term future, as well producing a farming system that is not only sustainable but regenerative, in that it sequesters more carbon dioxide in the soil than it takes out. Exactly how this is practised remains a contentious debate. Many of these growers are certified organic, many are not – certification itself is another controversial issue. Biodynamic farming is organic farming with a more holistic approach, trying to recreate a natural balancing ecosystem that allows nature to restore and rejuvenate itself, in rhythm with the lunar cycle. Others have gone even further and have allowed their vineyards to grow wild, believing that an undisturbed vineyard is the most sustainable and ecologically healthy. Organic and biodynamic farming practices are essentially a return to conventional farming methods carried out prior to the introduction of chemical farming 70 years ago. The more non-interventionist approach goes one step further, attempting to recreate an environment that pre-dates all commercial farming. It is an approach in which crops and other plant life coexist together, allowing the environment to dictate what grows where. Under the teachings of Masanobu Fukuoka, it was coined “natural farming”. Masanobu Fukuoka was a Japanese microbiologist and agricultural scientist who studied plant pathology. After nearly dying during a bout of pneumonia, he experienced what he described as a profound spiritual experience – leading him to begin to doubt modern agricultural science. He gave up his scientific post and returned to his family’s farm on the southern Japanese island of Shikoku. It was here that he developed his own non-intervention farming techniques, which involved no tilling or ploughing, and no fertilisation of the land. This was to protect the vital microorganic life in the soil, that he believed was essential to creating an ecologically balanced environment. The publication of his seminal book, The One-Straw Revolution, in 1975, went on to influence the permaculture movement (no till, no ploughing) in the west, and even more radical concepts. Alsace-based viticulturist Bruno Schloegel (of Domaine Lissner) is one such radical. He has a nine-hectare estate that, over the last 20 years, he has adapted to what he calls the “savage” approach to viticulture. For him, “savage” is a more accurate translation of Fukuoka’s methods. “I asked my Japanese friends to translate Fukuoka’s Japanese term,” says Schloegel, “and it translates as something between being free and alive. But not just the vines, the whole system of animals, insects, fungus. The key is not to disturb, as this will weaken the system.” For Schloegel it is a better translation than “natural” which today, he believes, no longer means anything. Despite adopting Fukuoka’s ideas, Schloegel was in fact practising the same approach before he was even aware of the Japanese farmer’s book. “I never knew about Fukuoka until a few years ago. I was given his book and it was amazing. Almost every page, we were totally linked.” Both former scientists, Schloegel too became frustrated by the scientific data available. “It is more complex than the techniques we have been taught,” he says. “Even when I was a student, I thought this. I am a scientist as he was. I studied in the ’70s. He studied in the ’60s. But our conclusions are the same. The answer is to not disturb.” Prior to Fukuoka, Schloegel was taken by the work of the eminent English scientist Dennis Noble, a pioneer of systems biology whose publication The Music of Life became a huge influence. Noble uses the analogy of life as many orchestras playing different scales, very small and very big. “Molecules, atoms, landscape, living beings as well as the vine – all are playing together and that is what we call life. We can listen to each scale of this living system, and you will find almost the same music, because it is totally coherent. Each scale is in harmony. It was very inspiring to me,” Schloegel explains. Like Fukuoka, Schloegel has a strong respect for spirituality as well as science and talks about how the human brain deciphers experiences differently. He uses music as an example, describing how listening to music creates an emotional reaction which the scientific part of your brain can’t explain. “Knowing you only have a small knowledge of this complexity, this complexity of nature, makes you humble. But spiritually you get pleasure from living with this complexity and not trying to control it. It’s just like a wave you are surfing on. This is the pleasure side.” As well as adopting a no-plough, no-till approach, unlike biodynamic farming, Schloegel does not sow seeds for cover crops, nor use any organic fertiliser, preparations or other inputs. He believes his vines’ roots not only root deeper, but are more resistant to disease and suffer less from stress. He also saves on the costs of such additions. So what does he do? He prunes the vines each year – very late in March/April just prior to the new buds forming – and he mows between the rows just prior to harvest. He does also use copper and sulphur, when necessary, to tackle disease but believes he can phase this out. Beyond that, the vineyard is left to its own devices. It is hard to keep up with Schloegel sometimes – his concepts are unconventional, but this holistic approach is highly considered. It is completely at odds with the commercial farming approaches and understandably has caused controversy. But he, along with a growing number of viticulturists around the world, is totally committed to the concept that permaculture is essential to the future long-term health of arable land. He believes he can not only produce an economically viable crop (up to 40hl/ha), but he can produce wines with greater complexity and terroir expression. He believes it takes between seven to 12 years of not disturbing the vineyards for them to find their balance. “At this point you are on the crest of the wave – it is very calm,” he says. But this is a long process and requires a lot of faith to commit to. Even Schloegel admits it gets worse before it gets better, as the vineyard adapts. “When you stop the herbicides, the mowing and the ploughing, you get the bad weeds. But these weeds prepare the soil for the next generation of plants,” he says. Poppies, lilies, thistles, wild orchids then start to appear and then fruit and vegetables and a huge variety of plant life and wild flowers begin to grow. His vineyards today have a huge variety of plant and wildlife species coexisting, with cherry, apricot, fig, almond trees and wild vegetables, flowers, fruits, and aromatic herbs all growing between the vines. What then happens seems incredible. Schloegel explains, once in equilibrium you see distinct plants continue to grow in the same place each year, depending on the terroir of that part of the vineyard. There is one part of his vineyard where 30 metres of wild strawberries appear every year, growing alongside the vines. In other parts there are leeks, other parts a particular herb. Schloegel outlines that even within a single vineyard, very little is exactly the same. The composition, altitude, slope, geological make-up are all different and, when left to adapt, one vineyard grows multitudes of plant species at different levels of concentration in different parts of the vineyard, depending on what adapts best to that particular spot. This is what Schloegel believes is real terroir in action: “A terroir is a full, complex living system – and a wine of this terroir is a response. In this totally free, rich, complex place. I know it is possible for natural systems to rebuild from themselves. But it cannot be fostered.” Fukuoka’s farm on the island of Shikoku in southern Japan was a rice and citrus fruit farm and, while he managed to produce commercial yields of both rice and fruits, the transference of his techniques to the vineyard is not quite as straightforward. The concepts are radical and while a few like Schloegel are convinced it’s possible – with his own yields varying from 10-40hl/ha, others remain sceptical. Schloegel’s Alsatian neighbour Olivier Humbrecht MW (of Domaine Zind-Humbrecht) does not believe a non-interventionist approach is a good idea – nor that it is necessary for making wine a sustainable crop for the future. While Humbrecht accepts there may be many good ideas in terms of regenerative methods that heighten biodiversity and increase the health of the soils, he is sceptical of its long-term future. Humbrecht’s fundamental criticism is that Schloegel’s approach is not as undisturbed as he claims.“A vine is a cultivated plant,” says Humbrecht. “You are cultivating something, disrupting something natural and making it not natural. It is not natural to plant vines one metre apart on a slope, in poor rocky soil, in a place where it doesn’t rain much. It’s not natural to force it to produce grapes every year. So you have to compensate this with something.” For him, permanent cover leads to soil compaction – with the shallow roots of these plants and the topsoil damaged when working in the vineyard – which has graver long-term effects than tilling or ploughing. These stresses on the vine, Humbrecht explains, are exactly why we have flavour in our wines. Each of these stresses, whether it be the nutrient stress from poor soils, the water stress from growing on a slope or well-drained soils, or nutrient stress from high density planting – these are all deliberate decisions made by vignerons who, over the last 2,000 years, have discovered the best places to cultivate and stress the plant in order to produce delicious fruit. This fruit is the vine’s attempt to escape, through tempting wildlife to eat it and disperse their seeds somewhere less inhospitable. “France would be a forest if untouched and I’m not sure you would not find one wild vine where we have the top vineyards today,” he says. Humbrecht remembers discovering the vines on his own Grand Cru vineyard Rangen de Thann. These vines had been abandoned since World War One. When he arrived 60 years later, most of them had disappeared. The vines that did survive and adapted were producing tiny, small clusters of grapes. Humbrecht believes non-intervention farming would have similar results. “If you don’t prune a vine for 10 years you will end of with tiny clusters, producing maybe 2-4hl/ha – a typical commercial yield in the region is closer to 80hl/ha. Humbrecht’s biggest concern centres around this approach’s commercial viability. And that is important if these methods are to be adopted more globally. If these vineyards’ crops are too small, the vineyard will fail and more likely be bought up by someone else who could return the vineyard to conventional, chemical farming. While there may be disagreements between Humbrecht’s biodynamic approach and Schloegel’s “savage” approach, the permaculture concept has led others to adapt their practices. Michel Chapoutier has been farming biodynamically for the last 30 years but has more recently adopted permaculture. “How I am managing my soil today is completely the opposite to how I managed them biodynamically 20 years ago,” he tells me. Chapoutier now believes the disturbance of the soil is more damaging than the removal of weeds and therefore has stopped ploughing his vineyards. For Humbrecht, light ploughing and resowing cover crops is a better solution. “There is no technique that is 100% good,” he explains. “You have to weigh up the options. What is better? Let the vine die from the competition of the plants growing in May, or disrupting the microorganisms in the soil by ploughing four inches into the soil (between May and June) – you have to choose. It is always a question of balance.” Another producer who has gone beyond organics and placed the development of biodiversity and regenerative practices at the heart of their operation is Gaja. The early success of Piedmont as a fine wine region in Italy saw areas such as Barbaresco and Barolo become dominated by vineyards. Forests were felled and biodiversity dropped. Gaja has since incorporated more trees, adopted permaculture methods in the vineyard and today produce their own organic fertiliser in their historic vineyards. The team has also recently purchased new land in Alta-Langhe where they are not just planting vines, but trees too, incorporating the trees and the vines together. “There is a growing sensibility towards the importance of biodiversity,” says Gaia Gaja, “therefore we are fine with sacrificing space suited for vineyards in favour of trees, we believe in the long run this decision will benefit the health of the vineyards.” Industrial farming is in ecological and financial crisis. More sustainable approaches have to be adopted if we are to survive the next generation, but, so far, those choices come at a cost. For many farmers struggling to make a living, the conventional, chemical farming approach has become the only way to financially survive, taking each year as it comes. These growers can ill afford to think much beyond that, despite the system’s long-term unsustainability. Many feel trapped and find more sustainable approaches economically unviable without better directed government subsidies that promote regenerative farming practices. Wine is hardly an essential food product, but it is the economic engine for entire communities that rely on it for subsistence. In certain wine regions where there is a reliance on water reserves and chemical inputs, it will have to adapt or die. Minimal intervention viticulture is no doubt a radical option, but truly regenerative viticultural approaches will be necessary in a future where food shortages become more widespread. Chapoutier and Zind-Humbrecht, even Schloegel, albeit blessed with great terroir, are paving the way, proving it is possible to produce wine at good volume, at all price points, with a regenerative approach. It is these pioneers that we must learn from, if we are to have a wine industry at all in 50 years‘ time. Browse the wines of Domaine Zind-Humbrecht or Michel Chapoutier or read more Editorial

Agriculture is in crisis. Wine producers are at the forefront of the challenges facing farmers around the world – but what can they do? We talk to Olivier Humbrecht MW, Bruno Schloegel, Michel Chapoutier and Gaia Gaja about rewilding, regenerative farming and the vine’s long-term viability

Olivier Humbrecht, Michel Chapoutier and more on rewilding, regenerative farming and the vine’s long-term viability in an agricultural crisis.

How viticulture can help the climate crisis

A return to the wild: beyond organics

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

Xiao-Li Meng, Whipple V. N. Jones Professor of Statistics at Harvard and Founding Editor-in-Chief of Harvard Data Science Review, was inspired by a student to combine wine and statistics—leading to insights far beyond what they ever expected.

From wine tastings to data science, Xiao-Li Meng explores how statistics reveals simplicity in complexity – one glass, experiment, and insight at a time.

Wine, statistics & serendipity: A Harvard journey

Seeking simplicity in statistics, complexity in wine, and everything else in fortune cookies 

Scali

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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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