The Burgundy buzz has reached fever pitch this weekend with all of the leading critics
publishing their thoughts and scores on the vintage, followed by the majority of Burgundy’s top producers showcasing the vintage in both London and Hong Kong.

Amongst all the chatter we spoke to winemaker and proprietor Chantal Tortochot whose
wines in 2018 offer fantastic value for the quality. If you are slightly blindsided by the volume of releases over the last few weeks, you won’t go wrong with Domaine Tortochot’s stunning Chambertin. A great buy of the vintage. Whilst Domaine Tortochot doesn’t carry the cachet of the very top domains in Gevrey Chambertin, it does offer some of the best value, producing wines with great terroir transparency in their top Premier Crus and Grand Crus and fabulous drinkability with their village wines. They are a domaine that truly excelled in 2018.  Their consistency in style is testament to the skills at work at the domaine. They have a distinct finesse and lightness of touch and the tannin profile remains incredibly elegant right through their portfolio of wines whilst the natural concentration of fruit and earthy minerality provide structure and intensity on the palate.  Celebrated winemaker in his own right Sylvain Pataille has been the consultant winemaker
at the domaine for the last 20 years alongside owner and winemaker Chantal Tortochot, who has a real energy and honesty to her approach. When we met, she spoke a million miles an hour as I tried to scribble down all her evident words of wisdom. Whilst the team have been working together for 20 years, in the last five years they have amended their winemaking to accommodate the obvious climatic changes they see affecting this new era of Burgundy. Whole-bunch and climate change 
Chantal has introduced 25% whole bunch grapes into their fermentations to counter the lower acidity brought about by the warmer climate. Initially, this might seem counter-productive as the stems contain lots of potassium, something that effectively lowers the acidity in the wine. But as Chantal explains, the stems bring three additional things to the wine – potassium, water and most importantly mineral salts.  These mineral salts produce a distinct salinity on the palate, which creates a similar effect to acid. Tasting the wines, the stemmy, herbal notes, sometimes more overt in higher proportions of whole bunch fermentation, is not at all evident in the wines of Tortochot, but the vibrant salinity on the finish certainly is, creating a lovely uplifting vibrancy to the wines. A reduction in new oak They have also greatly reduced the amount of new oak. With the fruit naturally riper and
the tannins more subtle in the warmer climate, they felt they can diminish the new oak allowing more fruit purity on the palate. Chantal talks about how over the last 20 years, she feels the climate has completely changed and for the moment, for the better. They now have no need to chapitalise (adding sugar at fermentation to raise the potential alcohol level), a traditional process carried out throughout Burgundy. Outside of France, the process is seen
by many as a manipulation of a wine, a process banned in many other fine wine
Pinot Noir growing regions. Rather than raising the alcohol levels through chapitalisation, Domaine Tortochot are
looking at ways to lower the natural alcohol levels. They are currently experimenting with special yeasts that effectively lower the alcohol through having less efficiency in converting sugars to alcohol whilst still fermenting to dryness.  The wines      Gevrey Chambertin 1er Cru - Lavaux St Jacques 2018, Domaine Tortochot This cooler site in Gevrey excelled in 2018 contrasting a wonderful mouth-watering freshness with viscous, dense, juicy fruit. There is deceptive power too underlying the raspberry, and fresh red cherry fruit. The wine retains a wonderful finesse with fine tannins, incredibly silky in texture, and an underlying earthy minerality adding nuance and a quiet intensity to the wine. Not as nervy as the 2017 tasted alongside, but much more concentration and textural richness.
  Charmes Chambertin Grand Cru 2018, Domaine Tortochot Out of the Grand Crus it was the less open at this stage and deceptively structural for Charmes. Despite this, the Tortochot style is here in spades with wonderful perfumed, pure, red berry fruit and very fine tannins. The structure on the back end of the wine combined with a sustained pure, perfumed fruit flavour is impressive. The balance and structure to this wine gives it a great ageing potential.  Mazis-Chambertin Grand Cru 2018, Domaine Tortochot Incredibly powerful Mazis Chambertin, whose structure just builds and builds on the palate. The tannins are dense, yet fine grained, providing a beautiful layering on the palate. The fruit profile remains firmly in the red berry spectrum and opulent in its character, providing fantastic breadth on the palate, the counter-pointing vibrant acidity creating lift too. This wine is both refined and powerful managing to balance the contrasting elements beautifully.  Chambertin Grand Cru 2018, Domaine Tortochot Just seven beautiful barrels of this made, of which we had the fortune to taste from two
separate barrels with similar notes. It was the highlight of the tasting at Tortochot and incredibly impressive. The wine is so dense and opulent yet nervy and energised, with both the gourmand structural power and the uplifting ethereal notes. The savoury, darker, brooding spice notes beautifully contrast with uplifting bright red berry fruits (red cherry, redcurrant). The wine is both viscous and refreshing with a fabulous purity, clarity and a long length.  Browse more Editorial

Domaine Tortochot is the top value pick from Gevrey Chambertin in 2018. We look at how the domaine has adapted as the climate in Burgundy has changed.

A portrait on Domaine Tortochot

Producer portrait: Domaine Tortochot

The rare whisky market is a competitive place. Across countless auctions houses, online retailers, and secondary trading groups, collectors the world over close deals each day. Well-aged, limited bottles are at the forefront of the rare whisky market, however, there is another branch of whisky to invest in and enjoy that remains quite undiscovered when compared to
bottles. We’re talking about casks, and luckily, most of the world hasn’t heard of them yet.  For some, the returns of cask ownership has been staggering. Record-breaking sales of privately owned Macallan casks are amongst the greatest success stories. For others, the appeal is selecting and owning your very own privately bottled cask.  Sales are often tailored to a private buyer so there is little visibility meaning even connoisseurs are not yet aware of the process and benefits of owning their own casks. But worry not, here’s a full guide to buying your first cask of whisky. Why casks? While not yet at the level of bottle trading, the cask trading market is expanding. Owning your very own cask of whisky, which is stored in a distillery or warehouse in Scotland, is hugely appealing and (usually more so than bottles) the potential returns are huge. The main
difference between buying a bottle and a cask is that a cask continues to mature. Looking at long-term investment, one can buy a newly filled cask of spirit today, and 10 years from now this will have become a 10-year-old cask of whisky, containing over 300 bottles. If bought at the right price, the potential profit is huge. A 50-year-old bottle of whisky bought today will still be a 50-year-old bottle years from now. Cask trading is also free of many hindrances found in bottle trading Shipping is not an issue, as the cask remains in the care of the distillery/warehouse staff where it is stored Personal storage isn’t needed.  For a very low fee (usually between £40-60 a year) the warehouse staff keep your cask safe in a perfect, monitored environment Unlike bottles, casks vary in quality and taste, so there’s not a one-price-fits-all policy. No longer will you be sent crazy auctions prices for a comparison  You have an excuse to head to Scotland, to visit and taste your casks How it works The process of purchasing a cask is also quite simple:  However, there are many small points that come into play, such as annual storage fees, insurance, bottling specifications for the cask, moving the cask to another warehouse if the buyer chooses. However, all this is easily managed if you follow one point, the most important one in the entire process:  Know who you are buying from Because of the lack of knowledge surrounding the category and the large profits to be made, there are countless cask traders out there who take advantage of new buyers, trade low-quality casks, hide information, and lack transparency. Countless buyers have been scammed, so be careful. Do not be fooled by sleek websites and salespeople. Ask around about the company you are buying from, look for reviews, and check their history. It’s an unpleasant
feeling to purchase a cask with a 10-year plan in mind, only to find the company you bought it from shut down a few years after your purchase. As we do here at F+R, you need to be given a full plan for your cask, not only encompassing the purchase but also the years ahead and the final exit strategy. Exit strategies explained We’ve discussed the benefits and steps to buying your first cask, but what of the steps that follow? In what ways can you profit from your cask after you’ve allowed it to mature?  Sell on: the first exit strategy is the simplest, re-sell your cask. This is where the company you bought from can help you find a new buyer or company to take on your casks. These can go to a new investor, collector, an independent bottling company that plans to make a release out of it, or to a number of bars. After a consultation, you’ll know what your cask portfolio’s new value is and the profit that stands to be made.  Bottle it: If you’re a company owner, bar owner, or do business in whisky you may choose to create your own bottle and label design, and bottle your cask. Once again – your supplier should help you with each step of this process, right down to the delivery of the bottles. This, again goes back to the company you initially choose to work with.  Risks Of course, as with any investment, there are certain risks to consider. Firstly, the product is a wooden container of liquid and is prone to leaking. This is monitored by the warehouse team, however, sometimes there may be loss. It’s not a common occurrence, but a possibility nonetheless. When moving the casks the may drop, or break, a number or situations can occur. Therefore, the contract must be full proof before signing.   As with other investments, the growth of casks is hard to monitor especially as more time passes. The brand buyers invest in may grow more or less popular, and this point falls into bottle as well. At the very least, brand aside, an older whisky will command a higher price that a younger one so your cask will rise in value no matter the state of the whisky market
when you decide to sell.  Beyond stocks and cryptocurrency, whisky is an investment to both enjoy and profit from. Purchasing a cask is, above all else, an exciting adventure.  Perhaps you’ve decided to support the cask-selling program of a brand new, up-and-coming distillery, and alongside the cask, you can follow them on their journey. Perhaps you managed to buy a cask from the distillery you’ve loved for years but never knew how to become a part of it until now. Maybe you want to open your own independent bottling brand or bar, and need some casks to make that a reality. Or, you simply want to make some investments you actually enjoy, and wouldn’t mind an annual trip to Scotland to sample the progress your cask portfolio is making. There are many reasons to enter the world of whisky casks, with countless benefits along the way. The important part is to be safe, deal with trustworthy sources, and educate yourself along the way.  Explore more Editorial 

Well-aged, limited-edition bottles are at the forefront of the rare whisky market, however, there is another branch of whisky to invest in and enjoy that remains quite undiscovered when compared to bottles. We’re talking about casks

Explore our guide to buying your first cask of whisky 

Guide to buying bespoke whisky casks

Domaine de Montille is one of the most historic estates in the Cote d’Or, founded in 1730 and family-run and owned ever since. Today Etienne de Montille is the ninth generation at the helm.  The De Montille story through the ages is a familiar one in Burgundy in which for a long period there was a dwindling of holdings as more and more of their prized vineyards were agonisingly sold off to make ends meet during the lean years of the early twentieth century. Etienne’s father, Hubert de Montille took over the estate in 1947, aged just 17, by this time the domaine had just 2.5 hectares to its name. Etienne’s father knew that he had to change tack if the domaine was to survive and worked both as a vigneron and a lawyer to finance returning the estate to its former glory. Like his father, Etienne used his earnings as a lawyer to build up the domaine’s acreage, including a novel acquisition approach that in 2005 saw him acquire one of the region's finest Premier Cru sites - Vosne-Romanee Premier Cru Les Malconsorts – neighbouring the Grand Cru of La Tache.  The estate now produces over 35 cuvées from appellations throughout the Cote d’Or. Etienne talks us through the De Montille’s bumpy history, its extensive vineyard acquisition in recent years, how he learnt to make white wine from his brother-in-law (who just so happened to be Jean-Marc Roulot), as well as mapping out the different flavour profiles of his favourite sites at the heart of the domaine in Volnay and neighbouring Pommard. 
The history of the domaine 
Based in Volnay, the De Montille estate has had its fair share of ups and down. It once had one of the finest portfolios of vineyards anywhere in the Cote d’Or (including Bonnes Mares, Musigny and Amoureuses), before these famed sites were sold off to make ends meet. Hubert de Montille on taking over the estate in 1947, brought renewed fame to the domaine, being one of the first in Burgundy to domaine bottle his wines and whose Volnay 1er crus quickly became some of the finest in the appellation. At this time, 90% of all Burgundy was made and bottled by the large négociant houses.  
Whilst historic estates such as Domaine de la Romanee Conti, Georges Roumier and Armand Rousseau were bottling their own wines, it was the Marquis d’Angerville of Volnay that no doubt set a trend in the Cote de Beaune by bottling his own wine, starting in the 1930s. Marquis d’Angerville chastised the exploitation of the main negociants at the time, who in response refused to bottle his wines, forcing him to bottle them himself.  As Etienne explains the Marquis d’Angerville was an important figure in Burgundy at the time, not only setting the trend of domaine bottling in the region but also becoming one of the main instigators behind developing the AOC framework of the Cote d’Or, mapping the official boundaries of the Grand Cru and Premier Cru sites, a process that began in 1935. 
The distinct influence of Hubert de Montille 
The De Montille estate became famed for Hubert’s single-minded approach of making wines how he wanted them, austere and built for long ageing, making them fairly unapproachable in their youth. He was also known for his minimal chapitalisation, a method which he discovered accidentally by miscalculating his sugar levels on one of his cuvees in the 1959 vintage. It was only a couple of years later that he discovered how much better this cuvee aged than his other wines of the 1959 vintage and therefore adopted this approach going forward.  
Whilst, as Etienne explains, chapitalisation (the addition of sugar to the grape juice prior to fermentation to increase alcohol levels) in top estates in the modern era is very rarely adopted, it certainly didn’t harm the estate’s reputation when critics in the '90s started to raise concerns over over-chapitalisation as a worrying trend in the region.  Whilst over-chapitalisaton is rare today, the process is still adopted in the wineries when necessary. Very rarely spoken about amongst vignerons, Etienne describes it as similar to the seasoning of food. Certain cuvees in certain vineyards may benefit from a light chapitalisation or even acidification if required; two processes that remain contentious outside of Burgundy. With De Montille famed for low chapitalisation and long ageing wines, the domaine's reputation continued to grow. 
Etienne takes on the domaine 
On taking over the domaine in 1998 (following a staggering 50-year stint by his father), Etienne de Montille was an early advocate of organic farming. He continued to grow the estate, incorporating more Chardonnay vineyards to what was previously exclusively a Pinot- Noir producing domaine. Their first white wine vineyard purchase was the 1er Cru Puligny Montrachet Le Caillerat bought by Hubert in 1993. Etienne learnt how to make white wine under the guidance of his brother-in-law, who just so happened to be Jean-Marc Roulot and only helped see the domaine’s reputation grow.  Etienne recounts how Jean-Marc Roulot had a similar route to winemaking in that they both had successful careers outside of wine before returning to their family estates. Jean Marc Roulot is an actor, and was based in Paris at the same time Etienne was working as a lawyer there. Having both a separate career and being a vigneron, Etienne believes, made them both very open-minded in their second profession as winemakers and Jean-Marc Roulot was happy to share his knowledge in white wine production as well as them both being more innovative with their methods.  
Having two professions was a tradition passed down from one generation to the next of the de Montille family, with one of the siblings always working in legal services either as judges or lawyers. Etienne explains how it was in fact Hubert de Montille’s work as a lawyer looking after the estates of Monsieur Chatron that led to the acquisition of De Montille’s first chardonnay vineyard – Puligny Montrachet 1er Cru Le Caillerets – one of the finest sites in Puligny neighbouring the Grand Cru of Montrachet.  
Hubert worked as his lawyer advising him on how to pay off his inheritance fees in order to pass down the estate to the next generation. To do this he had to sell off some vines and offered Hubert to buy the Le Cailleret vineyard in Puligny to thank him for his services. Although not an experienced white winemaker, with Jean Roulot recently marrying his daughter, it seemed to be the perfect opportunity to get him on board and teach the young Etienne his white wine philosophy. 
A novel acquisition approach  
Etienne’s experience as a lawyer gave him the confidence to incorporate a novel approach to acquiring vineyards in the Cote d’Or at a time when vineyard acquisition was and remains a contentious issue for vignerons in the region. It led to Etienne successfully buying up vineyards including one of the Cote d’Or’s greatest sites: Vosne Romanee 1er Cru Malconsorts, neighbouring the Grand Cru of La Tache. Etienne explains that although his father had successfully taken his 2.5 hectares estate to 10 hectares over a 50-year period, the land prices of Burgundy were becoming too expensive for this to continue.  With the Malconsorts vineyard along with the vineyards of the Thomas Moillard domaine put up for sale, Etienne thought the opportunity was too good to miss and approached the Seysses family (Domaine Dujac) to see if they would be interested in setting up a land company, buying the land together and using minority shareholders to finance the acquisition.  
These minority shareholders would then rent out their share of the land to the two estates and were often paid back in wine. Back then, Etienne states, it was the first time ever in Burgundy that two smaller family estates had bought a larger property. Etienne pioneered the legal structure to favour the vignerons with the controlling share and it became a popular method that was copied all over Burgundy by other vignerons following their success. Etienne states “this is unlikely to happen again, land in Burgundy between now and 2005 has gone up by almost 12 times the value”.  Despite this, Etienne successfully managed another huge acquisition following the financial crash of 2008 when he purchased Domaine de Puligny Montrachet. This estate was a property he had managed ever since he returned back to Burgundy from Paris in 2001. At that time it was owned by a bank and following financial pressures of the economic crash in 2008, viewed the estate as a non-performing asset and therefore put it up for sale. Due to Etienne’s connection, he was given first refusal.  Since taking over the property in 2009 an EU law that came into practice in 2017 banned the use of an appellation name to be part of a domaine name, so since 2017, the wines under the original Chateau de Puligny Montrachet have been incorporated into the De Montille domaine, increasing their holdings to a total of 37 hectares (20 in red; 17 in white) in 35 separate appellations. 
Etienne de Montille's winemaking philosophy 
But Etienne’s skills are not only in acquisition. He was an early advocate of organic farming, practising organic principles from 2003. He also changed the style of the De Montille wines making them less austere than his father’s with his influence coming through the wines from the 1998 vintage onwards. Etienne incorporates whole bunch fermentation but varies the quantity depending on the specific terroirs.  
Identifying the nuance of each site and how much whole cluster to use is the key to his red winemaking, ranging from 20% to 100% whole bunch depending on the site. He carries out no cold soak prior to fermentation which takes place at ambient temperatures with low-level extraction, punch downs are carried out only when necessary. All wine is aged in barrel between 5% to 60% new oak depending on the site and vintage conditions, followed by a long élevage prior to bottling. The approach to white wines, under the influence of Jean-Marc Roulot’s teachings, is to be very conscious of preserving the acidic backbone of the wine providing a precise length and expression of terroir. The wine is barrel fermented followed by long élevage (12 months in barrel) and aged further on the lees in tank - 2 to 6 months with one racking. The percentage of new oak again varies depending on the specific plots, ranging from 5% to 50% new oak barrel. 
Mapping Volnay and Pommard’s Premier Crus  
Etienne states that all the top Volnay Premier Cru sites are on the middle slopes of the appellation. Whilst slightly varying in topography and exposition, Etienne believes the flavour profiles of each of the vineyards is 80% to do with the geology and topsoil of the specific vineyard, with the winemaking of each producer, the vintage variation and the exposition of the vineyards combined making up the remaining 20%.  This highlights the overwhelming terroir influence of these Premier Crus.  Volnay 1er Cru Brouillards  "This is the most accessible of our Premier Crus and what is best described as 'very Volnay'. It has all the characteristics most closely associated with the appellation – pretty red fruit, very juicy, elegant light tannins and very approachable." Volnay 1er Cru Champans "The Champans is similar to Brouillard in its fruitiness and approachability, although the tannins are firmer and slightly more structured.  "But it is a very expressive and immediate, open-style Volnay. We use two-thirds whole cluster in this cuvee."  Volnay 1er Cru Mitans  "The Mitans is the most perfumed and fragrant of the Premier Crus in Volnay. And whilst the Champans is also very expressive, the aromas of Mitans are more serious, not just fruit but mineral too. Here we use 100% whole cluster fermentation." Volnay 1er Cru Taille Pieds "This is the flagship cuvee of our estate. It is the most mineral-driven wine in Volnay. Very spicy, very stony and lots of saline character. The wine has huge depth and a very long finish.  "It is however the least open and the less approachable requiring time in bottle to develop. Even at 40 – 60 years old the wine shows beautiful combination of rose petal, earth, morrel mushroom and truffle character. The wine has so many facets to it."  Pommard 1er Cru Rugiens Bas  "This wine is a planet on its own. It has the elegance and finesse of top Volnay site but with the depth and breadth and structure more akin to top Pommard vineyards. It is Grand Cru quality and the top site in Pommard."  Pommard 1er Cu Grands Epenots "The most classic Pommard in style. Deep clay soils give the wine huge structure, sometimes can be a bit rustic to start with. Tannic, big, powerful wine." 
Pommard 1er Cru Pezerolles "This is the most Volnay-like Pommard 1er cru in the appellation despite being the furthest site away from Volnay. It is the most elegant Premier Cru of Pommard."  Nuits Saints Georges 1er Cru Aux Thorey  Etienne describes how this single vineyard site was bought in the acquisition of the Thomas Moillard domaine, along with the Malconsorts vineyard. When identifying which vineyards to buy in the sharing of the estate Etienne heard that Sylvain Cathiard considered the Aux Thorey vineyard to be amongst the best terroirs in Nuits St Georges and that was enough to persuade him of its potential. The site is certainly more Vosne in profile than Nuits Saint Georges, with fine tannins, elegant structure and beautiful perfumes similar to the vineyards of the much admired La Damodes.
 Explore more Editorial 

Etienne de Montille talks us through the De Montille’s bumpy history, its huge growth in vineyard acquisition, how he learnt to make white wine from his brother-in-law, Jean Marc Roulot, as well as mapping out the different flavour profiles of his favourite sites in Volnay and neighbouring Pommard.

Domaine de Montille is the most historic Cote d’Or estate. Etienne de Montille talks about the Volnay wine estate's bumpy history and its huge recent growth.

The Genealogy of Domaine de Montille

Domaine de Montille: The genealogy of the estate

It’s often noted that Burgundians know nothing about Bordeaux and its wines – and vice versa. This is an exaggeration, though it retains a nugget of truth. These two great French wine regions are poles apart culturally. This is not a novel observation. Indeed, Jean-Robert Pitte, a professor at the Sorbonne, wrote an entire book, Bordeaux Bourgogne: Histoire d’une rivalité (2016), on this very theme. Just a couple of examples. In Bordeaux you will encounter people with names such as Basile, Vanessa, Diana or Jennifer – that would be inconceivable in Burgundy. This may be to do with the fact that Aquitaine was English-owned for centuries, or it may be that some Bordelais believe that an English name confers a certain cachet. At celebrations organized by the Chevaliers du Tastevin at Clos de Vougeot, and just about anywhere where Burgundy’s wines are praised and consumed, the ban bourguignon is an unavoidable part of the proceedings. It entails raising both arms in the air and twisting them in time to a raucous ditty with the words ‘Lala, lala, lalalala layla, lala, lala, la, la, la’. Can you imagine such a thing at Haut-Brion? Another striking difference is that Burgundy excludes, while Bordeaux includes, at least in terms of embracing those it considers helpful to its promotion, such as merchants, auctioneers and journalists. I have visited Burgundy and its growers every year for over three decades and can count on the fingers of two hands the number of times I have been invited to stay for lunch, let alone dinner. Without fail, a 10.30am appointment will come to an end at noon, and the visitor will be politely shown the door. Hungry after a morning of tastings? That’s your problem, monsieur. I used to find this irksome but soon came to understand that for the Burgundian, noon is the time when family members return to the homestead from pruning or tractoring or delivering bottles. It’s the sacred lunch hour, and outsiders have no place. You can taste from every barrel in the cellar, but that hospitality doesn’t extend to the dining room. It’s the exact opposite in Bordeaux, where it’s assumed that a visitor with a late-morning appointment will stay for lunch. Indeed, when researching one of my books in Saint-Emilion, I was amazed to find that my programme, organised with enthusiasm by the local syndicat, included lunch and dinner every day, weekends included. The Bordeaux proprietor will usually use the occasion not just to offer a fine meal, but to open some older vintages for the delectation of the visitor. The Burgundian really couldn’t care less. On one occasion, a grower with whom I spent a morning to research a profile for a magazine, had suggested, when I made the appointment, that I might like to stay for lunch. With pleasure, I responded, hoping that a mature Richebourg might be brought up from the cellar for my appreciation. But sur place, when I had completed my interview, it was clear that the owner had completely forgotten his offer. (However, after an embarrassing few minutes all around, his wife did rustle up a rather good meal.) Born to be hospitable Burgundy’s wine culture is about the nuances of terroir; Bordeaux is about selling wine that’s produced in far larger quantities than from patchwork Burgundy, and all those who can serve that purpose are corralled into a network of hospitality. A lunch will always take the same form. Coats and bags are deposited in the hallway of the château and one is led into a salon, where a small table supports a bottle of Champagne (often Pol Roger, sometimes Bollinger) and some glasses.  In comes the butler or maid (often on hire from the local traiteur, or caterer) with a plate of gougères or roundels of toast with foie gras to stimulate the appetite. Then the host rises to his (and occasionally her) feet and leads the way into the dining room. Lunch is invariably a butler-service event, so guests must calculate how much meat or veg to convey onto one’s plate without either appearing greedy or depriving others of their fair share. The dishes are always replenished, however, so seconds are in order. No need to panic. If the aim is to impress, it usually succeeds. In contrast, the Burgundians en fête are after a good time. Other than the rather forced jollity of the Chevaliers du Tastevin dinners, usually accompanied by indifferent wines, the highlight of the Burgundian wine calendar is the Paulée de Meursault (other paulées are available, but all agree that Meursault does it best). This is in effect a giant bottle party. Each producer, who may be accompanied by family or guests, will bring a basket stacked with a few bottles or magnums of a venerable or prized vintage. These will be poured and later circulated in the course of a five-hour lunch. Those lucky enough to attend can often taste spectacular rarities. This is not the Bordeaux way. At a formal dinner, for example during the en primeur tastings or Vinexpo, invited merchants or journalists will find themselves at a large round table in the company of two or three château owners or winemakers. They will have brought bottles – often very fine bottles – that will, in due course, be delivered to your table. There’s a certain amount of swapping with other tables to provide more variety, and certain journalists, towards the end of the evening, will be seen roving the room in search of wines to try on distant tables. (I plead guilty.) Here again, the aim is to impress. Brigades of waiters and waitresses, quite often students from a local catering college, will swoop in from the kitchen with such efficiency that a few hundred guests can be served almost simultaneously. Moreover, the food will usually be excellent, provided by one of the many highly professional traiteurs who flourish in Bordeaux. Access is the name of the game. The privileged guest, sipping Champagne or Sauternes during the prolonged apéritif hour before a grand Bordeaux dinner, will be in the company of dozens of château owners. Reach out a hand, even to someone you’ve never seen before but vaguely recognize, and it will instantly be shaken: ‘Bonsoir, monsieur.’ Everyone present is within the magic circle. You have been appointed, like it or not, as an ambassador for Bordeaux. Over 20 years ago I was present, along with 400 other guests, at the Fête des Vendanges, a great feast organized each year before the harvest by a leading château. I could see from the menu that 1985 Haut-Brion was to be the final wine of the evening, but what I hadn’t anticipated was that it was to be served in magnums only. Moreover, on a very warm evening each magnum had been lightly chilled before serving to ensure that it would retain
its freshness and digestibility in the glass. Other blandishments include guests of honour who are often prima donnas or celebrated actresses. Who wouldn’t want to be around when, as once happened, Gina Lollobrigida was escorted between the tables by the château owner? These feats of generosity, glamour and service are to be observed at all such events in Bordeaux. If you’re lucky enough to be present, it’s hard not to experience a wave of self-satisfaction. This warm embrace of the wine trade is not extended to mere consumers, of course. Although châteaux are more open to visitors than they were in the past, most wine tourists making their way up the roads that connect Margaux to Saint-Julien and Pauillac are confronted by closed gates or notices that read ‘by appointment only’. Some 25 years ago a delegation of Bordeaux worthies came to London to ask friendly journalists (over a good lunch, of course) what they could do improve the image of their region. ‘Try opening your gates,’ was my suggestion, and it did not go down particularly well. Fees, factotums and fixers Oeno-tourism has been slow to come to Bordeaux. Showcase châteaux such as Pavie, Smith Haut Lafitte or Lynch-Bages have become adept at offering tours and tastings, though at a price. A fee is understandable, as the cost of staffing the tours and the wines to be poured needs to be recouped. Napa does it differently. Visitors are courted, and the customary tasting fee will be refunded if you buy a bottle or two. In Australia, the ‘cellar door’ is always open for visitors to enjoy the wines and other merchandising. However, in Bordeaux, most prestigious châteaux make little effort to welcome visitors.  In Burgundy, top growers sell to a band of importers and perhaps a few private customers and restaurants. In Bordeaux, châteaux sell to négociants, who distribute their wines worldwide. Châteaux have no direct influence over who sells or buys their wines. That’s why it’s important to have influential writers and critics on their side. A high score from a wine guru may just persuade a group of merchants or consumers to buy Château X in preference to Château Y. And the other way around the following year. No wonder top châteaux treat the media with affection and respect. Consultants, too, form part of the hype machine. They are rarely present in Burgundy, where savoir-faire is passed down (not always successfully) from one generation to the next. But in regions such as Tuscany or Bordeaux, where estate owners are often rich and enthusiastic but short on expertise, the consultant is an essential member of the team. Nothing wrong with hiring good advice, of course. But choosing the right consultant also adds lustre to the estate. In Italy, take on Carlo Ferrini or Riccardo Cotarella and you can be certain, at the very least, of media attention. In Bordeaux, the consultant is more than an adviser on viticulture or vinification, suggesting how high your canopy should be or which coopers are best suited to your style of wine. They have influence too. Michel Rolland, notoriously, had the ear of Robert Parker for many years. This was perfectly understandable because, broadly speaking, they liked the same style of wine. I once asked a château owner with a group of properties why he had chosen a particular consultant rather than another of similar renown. ‘He’s good at what he does,’ was the reply, ‘but he also has a track record of getting his clients’ wines onto airline lists.’ Many of the older generation of consultants were invisible. In decades of visits to Bordeaux, I never encountered Jacques Boissenot, who advised most of the top estates of the Médoc, or Gilles Pauquet in Saint-Emilion. Others, such as Stéphane Derenoncourt, court importers and the press assiduously, with regular tastings that provide a showcase for all their clients. Wine writers like, for sound reasons, to be on close terms with consultants such as Derenoncourt, as they can be invaluable sources of information. Save time and score it? Admission to the magic circle of Bordeaux carries its own risks. I doubt there is much corruption as such – no wine writer of any importance would, I assume, be foolish enough to accept backhanders in exchange for favourable ratings – but what has happened is that independent assessment has been almost abandoned. And there are stories of bribes, often in the form of a few cases of wine, being offered. Newly minted bloggers would be particularly susceptible to a helping hand. Back in the 1980s or even 1990s revered critics such as Robert Parker would not hesitate to give a poor score to a wine he considered below standard. These days a poor score has become close to inconceivable. A score below 90 has become the equivalent of a smack in the face. In an article some years ago I predicted the scores that the major critics would give the 2014 vintage when, a few months later, the wines became available for tasting En Primeur.  My educated guesses, made without tasting a single wine, were alarmingly accurate. That, simply put, is because critics now score the brand and not the wine. No one is going to rate a first growth or scarce Pomerol at below 96; likewise, no obscure fifth growth or Côte de Bordeaux red, however fine, will ever be scored at 93 or higher. Bordeaux has succeeded in imposing its own self-valuations on its critics. Price has become equated with quality, as has been the case since the 18th century. This is why new owners of certain properties relentlessly push up their prices, because this is the best way to confer prestige on the wines. For Bordeaux as a whole, it may be a costly business organizing lavish dinners with superlative vintages, but it has paid off in establishing a group of wines as safely within the band of the world’s most appreciated and sought-after. For the wine critic, it’s a tricky balance. Without access, an article or vintage assessment becomes impossible. I am not immune. To research my own publications on Bordeaux, I have accepted offers to stay at comfortable châteaux for extended periods. I do my best not to let my judgment be swayed by this quid pro quo (which I disclose), but one can never be certain. Schmooze or you lose? It’s not only the wine press that is courted and pampered. Top châteaux will lay on lavish feasts for négociants and brokers too. Corinne Mentzelopoulos of Château Margaux once described such events as a way of thanking the Bordeaux wine trade for their success in selling her wines (not an arduous task, I would have thought). She intimated that it was also a way of keeping the trade on her side. Selling top claret in a great vintage is a doddle (except when grotesquely overpriced); selling the same label in a mediocre year such as 2013 is another matter. Maintaining brand loyalty – to Brand Bordeaux and individual châteaux – is crucial. By 2020 the region was having to face the threat of USA tariffs, the cold shoulder from China, the uncertainties of Brexit for the important British market, not to mention the growing climatic vagaries bringing drought, frost and hail in their wake.  Other challenges are stylistic rather than economic. A colleague who is involved in assessing the wine lists of top restaurants worldwide notes that there are a growing number of such lists that ostentatiously scorn Bordeaux in favour of, usually, ‘natural’ or other styles considered trendy. This is sommelier-driven, and Bordeaux producers and merchants are not always aware of how old-fashioned and stuffy their offerings appear to sommeliers (and their clients) in search of novelty rather than reliability. It’s hard for individual châteaux to promote their wines worldwide since they don’t know precisely who is buying their superb wines. In contrast, their Napa Valley equivalents stage auctions and other events targeted very precisely at super-rich clients and social media. Australia has its highly regarded agricultural shows, awarding medals that confer more prestige than most medals from wine competitions.  Bordeaux doesn’t have such marketing opportunities at its disposal, which is why generic marketing campaigns, prestigious tasting events, and the assiduous wooing of the media are such necessary tools. Whether they will continue to be effective as they have been in the past is undoubtedly open to question. On Bordeaux: Tales of the Unexpected from the World’s Greatest Wine Region – an anthology of writing on Bordeaux with a foreword by Jane Anson – is published by Académie du Vin Library and available now.  Explore more Editorial 

Bordeaux and Burgundy couldn’t be much more different. In this extract from Académie du Vin Library’s new publication On Bordeaux, Stephen Brook considers how the two regions market themselves – asking whether wooing the world’s press is enough to keep Bordeaux in pole position

Stephen Brook considers how the Bordeaux and Burgundy wine regions market themselves 

Bordeaux, Burgundy wines and building the hype

Bordeaux, Burgundy and building the hype

Wine, though the most intimate of pleasures, lends itself to the most expansive of texts. We drink wine most often – tastings aside – in pairings of two, or in lonesome but agreeable solitude, and, its narcotic pleasure being felt internally, we feel its effects as we feel a fever: almost secretly, in shivers. Though wine is like sex in its intimacy, unlike sex, the form in which we fetishise wine – our vine erotica – is not hushed and illicit but encyclopedic. On the shelves of any wine drinker, there are likely to be catalogues, dictionaries organised by region, old Parker buying guides some 600 pages long that somehow, though dated, can’t be discarded.  Wine seems singular among human pleasures in this. We don’t, as a rule, rush from reading a poem to great anthologies of poetry, or add to the savour of seeing a play by reading a big atlas of dramatic literature – not, at least, after we graduate from school. Sports fans, it’s true, like big books of statistics, but then sports-watching is a social act in the first instance – the more people in the stands, the merrier the occasion. With wine, we like the macro with our micro: with a solitary glass in hand, we look, in print, over the next hill, or the current vintage, at the vineyard across the way, or the vintage yet to come. It’s part of the pleasure the glass provides. The reasons for this micro and macro turn are, on reflection, commercial and artisanal as much as aesthetic. The business of wine needs a big picture of its domain, its resources, and its potential market – scale sets the stage for commerce. The makers of wine like to place themselves on a broader map of where wine is and what it’s made with. The great Bordeaux classification of 1855 is not just the noblest public monument to a beverage ever attempted, but a model of market-making and even market price-fixing. Once a hierarchy of growths has been established, it is easy to slot in the price tags. But there is a truth of taste beneath the ordering of value. With wine, we know that what we are experiencing is, however singular, still an intersection of opposed forces – as the peerless wine writer Jancis Robinson MW says of her first glass of Chambolle-Musigny 1959; “I knew at once that there was something in the glass that was sensually delicious but that it was also made, produced, and therefore suggested a history of intellect and discernment.” The pleasure of wine is the crossing of a place, a grape and a people; and so, we turn to the big books to frame the small pleasures.  What distinguishes wine from even a good glass of ale or a local brew is the specificity of the pleasure set against the scale of the system that made it – one that historically embraces the planet. It’s a First Growth, or a domaine Burgundy, or a Ridge Zinfandel or a New Zealand Pinot Noir made to a Burgundy model by American wine makers … the more we know, the more we’re free to feel. Most sensory pleasures are specific to the point of being illicit – aside from the bemused fetishist, romance is a spontaneous pleasure, often aided, to be sure, by a systematic wine. Wine is premeditated; we choose a bottle, let it ripen, and break it open. Even casual table drinking has a tale to tell, a journey to trace on a map. These thoughts are brought to mind in contemplation of Wine Grapes, the monosyllabically titled but unprecedentedly expansive dictionary of grape varieties grown to be crushed and fermented on this green planet. Authored by Robinson, along with Julia Harding MW and the geneticist Dr José Vouillamoz, it marks an epoch – several epochs – in our understanding of wine, from both a professional planet-straddling and an amateur glass-in-hand perspective. A book of its time (published in 2012), it was made possible, in part, by a revolution in the DNA analysis of wine grapes to help discover their origins and histories.  The DNA profiling of wine grapes only began in 1993, and the first ‘paternity test’ successfully concluded in 1997 – a mere few days ago by historical perspective – with specialists, Dr Vouillamoz among them, drawing astonishing Darwinian lines among seemingly unrelated grapes. Zinfandel, it has been discovered in the last 40 years, is not only the Siamese twin of Primitivo, but its Croatian Siamese twin. In proper Darwinian fashion, the book tells us, “It looks increasingly as though an enormous proportion of the grapes we know today are members of a few key families.”  The leading families of wine, Pinot and Nebbiolo and the rest, like the leading houses of Westeros, jostle and engage in incestuous inter-breeding as they move towards dominance. As Jancis Robinson admits, the quest for the origins of grapes can become surprisingly emotional. “The Zin quest is so … heated. There was a Zinfandel conference in Croatia, with all the great Zin makers, even Joel ‘King of Zin’ Peterson from Ravenswood, and we all had to present our various things about Zinfandel. There was a small cohort of people from Montenegro who reckoned that their variety – whose name is unpronounceable – was the true progenitor of modern Zinfandel, not the Croatian one. It became so … Balkan! And you know what? They may be right!” Wine Grapes is of its time in another sense as well, marking the moment when we have started to think of wine not solely in terms of region, but much more in terms of variety, with the semi-mystical term ‘terroir’ acting as a kind of Holy Spirit between them. Thinking ‘grape’ more than ‘place’ releases our imaginations. The wholesome instructive pleasures of the book, to which we’ll come, shrink beside the unwholesome, guilty pleasures of turning the pages to meet the failures among grapes – the near-misses, the long-forgotten and forlorn lost toys – which please more than the patterns of primacy. The pleasure of reading about the grapes whose juice we do drink is nothing compared to reading about those we don’t. In dictionaries, oddities and parentheses fascinate us more than the major entries. No one turns to the dictionary to study ‘and’; we go to study ‘antediluvian’. So, turning these pages, flipping through the P’s on our way to encounter the great Pinot families, we come upon the lesser gods, even the little misshapen gnomes and dwarves of the wine world, and we delight in meeting them. (A fascination added to by the forthright sub-heads the editors provide.) On our way to Burgundy and Pinot Noir, we also meet Pinotin, a ‘recent obscure Swiss hybrid’ which edges into Pionnier, ‘a minor but complex, cold-hardy American hybrid used in blends in Québec’, and, of course, Pinotage ‘South Africa’s very own cross, both loved and despised’, which leads us on to Pugnitello and even Pukhliakovsky (a Russian variety ‘with erratic yields producing light wines’) and even unto Pules – ‘a minor Albanian white’. Radiating out from five pages on the major Merlot, we bump into Merseguera, ‘an uninspiring variety’ from Spain, and Merzifon Karasi, and Merzling, dismissed as a ‘very minor disease-resistant German hybrid’. Why these lost or obscure kinds of grapes bring so much delight with them is a fascinating question. It has in part to do with our general appetite for oddities and obscurities, which once produced ‘freak shows’ and still makes us fascinated with archaic musical instruments: we are curious to hear the sackbut because we want to know what led to the trombone. It is also the virtuous case that variety is the safeguard of continuity. In an age of ever-decreasing biodiversity with just a few varieties taking the place of many possibilities, one Quixotic California winemaker, driving through the fields of Cabernet and Chardonnay, dismissed them all – with a wave of the hand – as “chocolate and vanilla, chocolate and vanilla”.  The health of the planet is safeguarded by the persistence of so many kinds. It is also because the existence of these minor yet still thriving varieties gives us a satisfying picture of adaptation, the central biological act. Each of these grapes has found a home in the world. It may not be much of a home, but then neither, face the facts, is ours. We identify with the unknown grape. We are all more like a very minor disease-resistant German, or a cold-hardy Québec hybrid, than we are something noble and complicated. Few of us are bottles of Burgundy; we can all identify as minor Albanian whites. In conversation, Jancis Robinson, sheltering at home near Kings Cross in London, a home with a view of a graveyard (though a cheerful one she assures an interviewer) – talks of the wine almanac with the blunt enthusiasm that marks her writing. Robinson, in addition to her obvious honours and credentials, is a rare thing in the wine world, or any world: a writer who writes with equal parts brio and expertise. She explains the origins of Wine Grapes. “What happened was that one of the co-authors, Dr José Vouillamoz, who had been at University of California, Davis, felt that he needed to earn more of a living, and came back to Switzerland and got a job working on Alpine botanicals. But he didn’t want to lose his relationship with wine, and he came to me and said that he’d like to collaborate on a book about grape varieties. I’d already written one in 1986, based on our very fractional knowledge then.  Over lunch, I took along Julia Harding, a wine writer who works on my website. She’s extremely punctilious.” (Robinson, punctilious herself, says this with such emphasis that the listener feels that, with Harding, we must be talking about new frontiers, not to say dimensions, in punctiliousness.) “She had exactly the right sort of brain for a project like this. José suggested that we focus on the 10 or 12 most planted grape varieties to help simplify it. I thought that that book didn’t sound interesting enough. I waited until we were quite far down a bottle of Valpolicella and said, ‘I think our book should be about every single grape variety we can find.’ He gulped and said, ‘Then that’s what we shall do!’” The idea of creating a ‘perfect map’ of a subject is one of the itches that govern modern life. John James Audubon set out to describe not the major but every bird and beast in North America, and that’s what he did. Similar ‘almanacs of everything’ fill our botanical and anthropological shelves. It is an ambition so tied to modernity that in the mid-19th century, Lewis Carroll perfectly satirised it in his novel, Sylvie & Bruno, where two mad professors talk about their dream of making a map that would be on a one-to-one relation to the actual world – utterly perfect, if impossible to unroll. “I loved the scale of the thing,” Robinson says of her perfect map. “So, we carved things up: José did all the DNA stuff and history because he had good access to it, Julia, bless her, did the footwork – how much of each grape is planted where – while trying to taste as many as possible, too! And I wrote the entries on the best-known varieties, and the introduction and read every single word.  As with any dictionary, we used what came before: we went through appellation lists, with all of the varieties allowed, some of them almost extinct. A nice little detail of the book is that we persuaded the publisher that it should have some colour plates, and we were particularly keen to include the plates from the world’s first oenological book, L’Ampélographie: Traité Général de Viticulture, of 1901 … just out of copyright!” She pauses. “Of course,” she adds reflectively, “it was José, naturally, who discovered that Pinot and Syrah are related.” The offhand nature of her mention can’t conceal the significance of the remark. Of all the discoveries offered in the book, this is perhaps, for the amateur wine drinker, the most exemplary and astonishing. Painstakingly tracing the DNA heritage of the varieties, these two noble houses, Syrah and Pinot – the grapes of the Rhône Valley and those of Burgundy, the heart of Côte-Rôtie and the soul of Chambertin – are unified as cousins. This happened not through willed cultivation but in the natural evolutionary way: through variation and adaptation. Initially, the elegance of Pinot Noir was transformed through the usual evolutionary pressures of place and mutations, into the earthy pleasures of Syrah.  Chance mutation and lucky planting turned one grape into its near opposite. (‘Cross-fertilisation’, we’re told, ‘was common until the early 20th century because several grape varieties were often intermixed in the vineyards, facilitating natural crossings between distinct grape varieties’.) The phylloxera epidemic in France from the 1860s on – though it did not destroy as much as is sometimes thought – acted as a kind of sieve or filter of grape varieties, a sort of extinction event in large-scale natural history, forcing hard choices and making obscure varieties less desirable to save by root grafting with New World vines.   One virtue of the book is to propose, in effect, a new order of wines by celebrating ‘secondary’ grape varieties. “For me, among the obscure wines, something about as well-known as Cinsault stands out – it can make such lovely wines,” Robinson says. “There’s been such a sea change as the century turned. Everybody once wanted to make fruit bombs to one of three standard recipes. Then in this century, higher acidity, lighter wines are finally revaluing, and so Cinsault comes into its own. “Sometimes I come across a grape that isn’t well known but that’s so obviously superior. There’s Aglianico – the name suggests it’s Greek, though no Greek variety has ever been found and you only get it in Southern Italy. Perfect for late ripeness, and not for cool climates – and now it has travelled to Australia, where they’re desperate for hot weather varieties.  The whole array of Portuguese and Greek grape varieties are so fantastic! And so individual. And I love that after a dalliance with international varieties, both countries are now celebrating their own. There’s another white grape, an Iberian variety that’s stunning, and, again, I’m not sure it’s yet been planted much: Godello! It’s a bit crass to say it makes wines that taste like Montrachet, if a little more terroir-y and mineral … but it does. I could drink Cinsault for red and Godello for white into the next century. “There’s such a gap nowadays,” Robinson goes on, “between the Napa Cab thing, and these young people who are buying unknown grape varieties that sell for a fraction of the price, that are really good. Such a lot has happened in the field of recuperating old vines, some so obscure that they don’t even have a name. Miguel Torres, the scion of that great company in northeast Spain became very interested in grapes.  At first, he said, ‘Hey Dad, we need the posh varieties, Cabernet and Chardonnay’ – and made all these wines which did well in the Judgement of Paris. But, with time, he realised that it made more sense to concentrate on the indigenous varieties. He’s been engaged for 30 years, putting classified ads in the local press – ‘If you know of a wine grape that you can’t identify, let us know of it, and – if we think we can propagate out – we’ll do micro-vinification.’ He’s actually rescued Catalan varieties that were on the brink of disappearing; I think he found 30 varieties, and recuperated eight for micro-vinification with sufficient character to give them a new lease of life. And much the same thing has been happening all over Italy. If we published the book today, we’d be up to at least 1,500 kinds of grapes.” The great sorting question of our time, of course, is the question of climate change and its effects on wine cultivation. Robinson is cautiously hopeful about Burgundy. “I was lucky enough to go there and spend some time. The 2020 harvest is the earliest ever, at least since the 14th century. But, whereas the 2003 vintage, that legendary hot summer in France, produced wines that were pretty bizarre, the 2019s seem as fresh as a daisy, with pure fruit. I’m no plant biologist, but the vines seem to be getting used to the conditions … or the winemakers are. They’re not extracting as heavily, but, given that, there’s no sign of added acidity (it’s routinely added in the southern hemisphere), the acidity is coming from the grapes as well. Even some real old Burgundy hands, when you ask why the wines are so fresh, say, ‘I really don’t know.’” About the Southern Rhône, though, she is more pessimistic. “They’re not helping themselves in the Southern Rhône: too many are trying to make concentrated, high alcohol, 16% wines. And maybe consultants are too powerful down there – one consultant can be responsible for 20 or 30 labels, and so you’re going to have 20 or 30 wines that reflect that.” It’s here, though, that the knowledge of grapes, and our possession of this specialist dictionary, seems particularly valuable. If wine is to save itself from the vagaries of climate change, it will probably be through the introduction and new use of ‘marginal’ or forgotten ‘heirloom’ grapes. Only recently, France’s Institut National de l’Origine et de la Qualité (INAO) officially approved six new varieties: four red grapes – Arinarnoa, Castes, Marselan, and Touriga Nacional; and two whites – Alvarinho and Liliorila – all described as ‘well-adapted to alleviate hydric stress associated with temperature increases and shorter growing cycles’, potential saviours of the region against the villain of global warming. All of them, of course, are charted and explicated in Wine Grapes.

In the end, the great strange truth of wine is the truth of life: a thousand vectors press down on us at once – place, history, time, temperature, luck and breeding – and somehow in the intersection we find, or make, our pleasures. The question of type and variation was very different before Darwin who wrote, oddly (or perhaps not so oddly) almost simultaneously with the great classification of Bordeaux, publishing On the Origin of Species in 1859.  (Oddly because his theory would have been true in any other time; not so oddly because the urge to map the world, for the ‘almanac of everything’, was typical of mid-19th century confidence, as Carroll’s satire suggests.) Before Darwin, who loved wine, the fundamental view of the world was that the superintending categories, species and varieties, were the fixed things in the world. Everyone took it for granted that the ‘kind’ the ‘essence’, was the real thing and all the little variants merely particular shades away from it. A grape was a better or worse instance of its variety. Grapes, like apes, were of one fixed sort. Darwin’s great overriding insight was that only particulars exist, and that species and superintending categories are the labile and ever-changing kinds. Every kind of living thing came from somewhere weird and is on its way to somewhere weirder, with a brief stopover at being the thing it is now. The elegance of Pinot Noir is a close cousin of the earthiness of Syrah, one state is simply a moment in the life of the other, and each are moments in the life of the surging, unfixable whole. Wine, braiding through the planet and only coming to rest on a name for a moment in one place, is a bit of scientific epistemology in your glass, the truth of the particular made potable. It’s a fine destiny for a simple pleasure. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One Photography by Gavin Bond; floral set design by Studio Lupine

Essayist and author Adam Gopnik takes a look at the world of wine through the lens of seminal wine-lover’s bible, Wine Grapes, and talks to one of its three co-authors, Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

Adam Gopnik talks to Wine Grapes co-author Jancis Robinson MW about the joy of discovering long-forgotten indigenous grape varieties

FONDATA: Pleasure in the detail

Pleasure in the detail

Les Fèves

Beaune Premier Cru

Beaune

Côte de Beaune

Burgundy

France

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

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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*

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

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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 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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