I’m sitting opposite Rino Fontana, an Italian wine collector that Antonio Galloni named his Wine Personality of the Year in 2023. Fontana looks unassuming – like any other septuagenarian that you might find, cigarette in hand, knocking back an espresso in a sunny piazza. Sunglasses hang on a string around his neck, and occasionally he rifles through scraps of paper that seem to operate as a calendar and/or journal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was perhaps someone a little more, well, suave. Fontana has been collecting wine since the 1980s and is renowned for his cellar, a treasure trove of remarkable vintages from Piedmont’s top producers. Indeed, Galloni has dubbed him “Il Professore” for his extensive knowledge of Italian wine – despite never having worked in the industry. As Fontana scrolls through pictures on his phone, recalling recent dinners, he rolls off names and vintages that would leave any wine-lover speechless. He grew up in the Oltrepò Pavese, where his father was a stonemason, but would buy grapes and make a little wine for the family. Fontana was sent to school in Valenza, a town known for its gold industry – and he started working in a gold factory in his late teens. Aged 24, he and his best friend opened their own jewellery workshop. It was the owner of a local restaurant in nearby Mortara who introduced Fontana to the real pleasures of wine, and a bottle of Conterno’s Monfortino that made him fall head over heels for Nebbiolo – the 1958 vintage, in fact. Since that first taste, he’s opened over 150 bottles (yes, really) of the 1958 Monfortino. It was that wine that prompted Fontana to start visiting producers – an adventure in self-education. At the time, people weren’t buying wine, and Italy’s winemakers were far from fashionable. He became friends with the likes of Giuseppe Rinaldi, Bruno Giacosa and Gianfranco Soldera, rapidly securing significant allocations of their wines when few others were showing interest. Producers, in turn, suggested he had a gift – unique in his ability to understand wines in barrel and foretell their future. Today, he covers around 80,000km a year visiting producers – but the vast majority of that mileage is in Piedmont, for Fontana drinks – and collects – little other than Nebbiolo. This one grape represents around 95% of his consumption, he says, with Barolo and/or Barbaresco on the menu every day. He always has the latest releases on hand in the fridge – even some basic Langhe Nebbiolo, but at least twice a week he’ll uncork something special from the 1960s or ’80s with wine-loving friends or producers. While Nebbiolo is one of many grapes to be declared “the king of wines”, for Fontana it really does reign supreme. When I ask why, marvelling at how he could drink so much of just one variety, he shrugs: “Nebbiolo is Nebbiolo.” When I push him, he says he loves its ageability, structure and elegance – something he feels you can’t find in Pinot Noir. He recalls a recent dinner with Galloni at Il Centro in Priocca, sharing a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti’s 2004 La Tâche alongside a 1947 Borgogno Barolo and 1989 Vigna Rionda from Giacosa. Both the Barolos, he says, grew over the dinner – while the La Tâche faded slowly. For him, Burgundy (even the world’s most sought-after bottles) is no match for Nebbiolo. That’s a controversial opinion – but Fontana is not a man short of views. He dismisses the wines of Cappellano and Accomasso, while he has firm beliefs on how Nebbiolo should be made, favouring traditional winemaking with old oak – not wanting to feel the wood in the wine. He argues that too many young producers are going to Burgundy and trying to echo that style in their wines, losing their Piedmontese identity. The resulting wines are, he feels, too technical, too clean. “Great wine can’t be perfect,” he says – suggesting that those imperfections are partly what makes wine feel alive. While the most established and famous producers dominate his collection, he also likes the wines from newer names such as Trediberri, Crissante and Cascina Baricchi. Beyond Nebbiolo, he’ll dabble in certain labels of Sangiovese – Soldera, for example will pass muster, as well as SanCarlo (a producer he feels rivals the former). Montevertine’s Le Pergole Torte would previously have been a prime choice, but now he’d choose Le Boncie’s Le Trame instead. He likes Valentini and Emidio Pepe, and used to buy Gravner but feels the style changed in 2004 so stopped. He sold his jewellery business in 2000 – dedicating his time entirely to wine – visiting producers, building his collection and selling to select parties (of which FINE+RARE is lucky enough to be one). Fontana has around 9,000 bottles in his collection today. He shows us a video of his cellar – intriguingly with many of the wines stored upright. Anything post 1990 is kept on its side, but older wines stand proud in his cellar – something which he argues is better once they reach a certain age, with the cork and humidity of the cellar more important in their preservation. It’s a remarkable collection, with incredible verticals of many wines. His access seems unparalleled – receiving larger allocations than many importers, given his historical ties. He is the only individual, for example, to receive an allocation of Rinaldi’s Brunate Cru – a wine that is otherwise kept exclusively for the family. Some of his most prized bottles are Giacosa’s 1964 Santo Stefano and magnums of 1970 Monfortino (“amazing” – he says), while he has a soft spot for the youthful 2015 Soldera. Now aged 73, Fontana seems just as enchanted by wine as when he first tasted that 1958 Monfortino. I ask him if there’s a wine he is still desperate to taste, a unicorn that he’s still hunting: the answer is no. He’s been able to try every vintage from the producers he loves. It’s a rare answer for a wine lover – but “Il Professore” isn’t your average wine collector. – Photography of Rino Fontana at Il Centro by Dan Deibel Explore a selection of top verticals from Fontana’s cellar, all Italian listings or read more Editorial

Friends with Vinous founder and critic Antonio Galloni, and with a cellar that will turn you green with envy, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector. We sat down with the man himself to find out more about his journey into wine, incredible collection and obsession with one grape  

Antonio Galloni’s Wine Personality of the Year 2023, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector – we met the man to talk about his cellar

Rino Fontana – the wine collector like no other

Rino Fontana: a collector like no other

Bordeaux is arguably the world’s most famous wine region – known for producing some of the finest wines in existence, with a long history stretching back to the Roman era. But the region is broadly divided in two – the Left and Right Bank. (Terms that you may also hear in reference to Paris, and – less frequently – Chablis.)  The region is defined by its waterways – a forked tongue that snakes southeast from the Atlantic. The Gironde estuary is fed by the Dordogne and Garonne rivers, with the Gironde flowing into the Atlantic. The south-eastern side of the Gironde and Garonne is the Left Bank, while the north-western side of the Gironde and Dordogne is the Right Bank. The section of land that sits between the fork of the Garonne and Dordogne is the intuitively named Entre-Deux-Mers (literally translating as “between two seas”), and is mostly home to more everyday, entry-level wine – although quality has certainly improved here with both climate change and technical advancements (such as Ch. Marjosse).  The Left and Right Banks, however, are where you’ll find Bordeaux’s most illustrious names. While both regions craft exceptional wines, they are extremely different in terms of terroir, the grapes grown, the estates themselves and how the wines are classified.  The Left Bank The Left Bank is the aristocratic and historic home of fine wine in Bordeaux, famous for the 1855 classification of the Médoc, a ranking of the top estates of the region which still stands today, including the fabled First Growths – Ch. Latour, Ch. Lafite Rothschild, Ch. Mouton Rothschild, Ch. Margaux and Ch. Haut-Brion.  It was Bordeaux’s ties to England that saw it rise to prominence – after Eleanor of Aquitaine married Henry Plantagenet in 1152. With Bordeaux under English rule, favourable tax rates saw the industry thrive. But the Médoc was, at that point in time, a marshland not worthy of wine-growing – with the best wines coming from Graves estates like Ch. Haut-Brion (where vines have been grown since at least the early 15th century).  It was only in the mid-17th century that the Dutch drained the marshy Médoc, creating the well-drained gravel soils that are now a haven for Cabernet Sauvignon. It was after this that most of the region’s grandest properties were established.  The aforementioned 1855 classification cemented the Médoc’s place in history, with the wines of Sauternes and Barsac categorised at the same time. The wines of the Graves were classified in 1959, while the Left Bank is also home to the Cru Bourgeois and Cru Artisan classifications.  The Left Bank encompasses, from north to south: the Médoc (which includes the prestigious communes of Saint-Estèphe, Pauillac, Saint-Julien, Margaux, as well as Listrac and Moulis), the Haut-Médoc, Pessac-Léognan and Graves, as well as Barsac and Sauternes. Although the area of course encompasses dry whites and sweets, stylistically “Left Bank” is used mainly in reference to the reds, which represent the vast majority of production.   The soils on this side of the Gironde are dominated by gravel, with the best sites sitting on deep gravels over clay subsoils. The vineyards are more spread out here, with patches of woodland and other agricultural land between the pockets of fine terroir, making distances and journey-times between estates longer. The gentle, barely undulating landscape masks significant differences in the soils, which determine the success of a site, with the mounds divided by streams known locally as “jalles”. Deeper gravel has historically been a significant advantage in the region’s maritime climate, avoiding water-logging and retaining heat that helps to ripen the grapes. Proximity to the Gironde and its moderating influence can also help shield vines from frosts, an increasing threat in the springtime.  Estates can be quite large on the Left Bank – for example, Ch. Cos d’Estournel comprises 100 hectares – allowing for higher production levels, which means the wines tend to be more widely available and can be found more easily on the secondary market, even at the highest quality level. The properties also tend to have picture-perfect châteaux, immaculate architectural displays of the wealth of the region.  Cabernet Sauvignon leads the way in terms of plantings, thriving in those warm gravel soils (and complemented by parcels of Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Petit Verdot, with some limited Malbec and Carménère). The variety produces small berries with thick skins, creating tannic, age-worthy reds.  The wine style varies between commune and estate, but generally speaking the wines of the Left Bank are dominated by graphite, cassis and blackcurrant leaf, full-bodied yet with a more linear structure that Cabernet Sauvignon provides. Historically the wines were austere in youth and needed time in the cellar, but wines today are made to be more approachable so that they have longer drinking windows. With age, the best wines develop beautiful complexity with notes of leather, cedar, tobacco and more.  The Right Bank The most famous wines of the Right Bank come from Saint-Emilion and Pomerol, however it is also home to: the Côtes de Blaye, Côtes de Bourg, Fronsac, Canon-Fronsac, Lalande-de-Pomerol, Côtes de Castillon, Côtes de Francs and the Saint-Emilion satellites – Lussac-Saint-Emilion, Montagne-Saint-Emilion, Saint-Georges-Saint-Emilion and Puisseguin-Saint-Emilion.  Although wine has long been made on the Right Bank, the wines – other than those of Ch. Cheval Blanc – were not known widely until relatively recently. The region’s modern history is tied to one man – the influential critic Robert Parker. He was one of the first to highlight the quality being produced at smaller Right Bank estates in the 1980s and 1990s, and put the wines on the international stage. His penchant for rich, ripe, concentrated styles prompted a wave of producers who did extensive green-harvesting, working with tiny yields, picking late, extracting heavily and ageing in new French oak, a style favoured by the far-reaching and famous consultant Michel Rolland.  Pomerol became home to the “garagistes”, after Jean-Luc Thunevin crafted his first vintage of Valandraud in his garage in 1991. These modern producers, who didn’t come with the land and smart châteaux found on the Left Bank, captured the imagination of consumers, and rapidly became highly sought-after.  Fashions have changed for the most part, and the wines produced today across the Right Bank are significantly more restrained – reflecting the general move toward freshness and aromatic finesse.   Of course, one reason that the wines of the Right Bank were less well-known was the smaller size of estates and therefore smaller volumes being produced – especially in Pomerol. Pétrus, for example, consists of 11.5 hectares, while Ch. Lafleur is a mere 4.5. In Saint-Emilion, Ch. Cheval Blanc and Angélus both have 39 hectares – a more generous vineyard area, but still relatively small in comparison to those in the Médoc. This means that the wines from the top estates are often strictly allocated and can be very hard to secure, with significantly less available on the secondary market.  The area feels very different to the Left Bank, with a more rolling landscape with more nooks and crannies, meaning you often can’t see what lies over the hill. The soils here are also significantly different, dominated by clay and limestone, with some sand and gravel. These soils stay cooler and retain more water, something that can be very helpful in hot, dry seasons (as in 2022). The finest wines come from the limestone plateau at the heart of Saint-Emilion and Pomerol plateau, with its pockets of rare blue clay. Limestone has an additional benefit of retaining freshness and acidity in the wines, with wines from limestone-dominant soils often having low pH.  Plantings are dominated by Merlot and Cabernet Franc (sometimes known locally as Bouchet), rather than Cabernet Sauvignon (which can struggle in the damp soils, although producers are planting a little more of the variety in response to climate change). Many wines from Pomerol are 100% Merlot (with estates such as Vieux Château Certan notable exceptions), while in Saint-Emilion the blends tend to include more Cabernet Franc. Merlot produces larger, thinner-skinned berries, and therefore Right Bank wines are generally softer, plusher, with a rounder texture, softer tannins, often floral with a redder fruit profile (cherry, plum), and can sometimes be exotic in perfume.   Unlike on the Left Bank, most of the wines are not classified formally, however Saint-Emilion introduced its own classification in the 1950s – one that has become a source of controversy.  Beyond Saint-Emilion and Pomerol, the other appellations can produce some fantastic wines, and – given the difficulty with buying additional land within these two illustrious areas – many of the Right Bank’s leading names have estates here (such as Ch. Lafleur’s Grand Village or Perrières, and LEglise-Clinet’s Montlandrie or Les Cruzelles). These can be a great source of value.  It’s worth noting that vintages are sometimes described as “Left Bank” or “Right Bank” years, and it is true that conditions can sometimes favour one side over the other, however the picture is often more complicated and results can vary according to individual estate, as well as commune.  Read more about Bordeaux or browse all Bordeaux listings 

Bordeaux is a fascinating and complex region. It is often divided in two – the Left and Right Bank. Here, we break down the differences between the two Banks – from terroir and grape varieties to the size of the estates and style of the wines

Talking about Bordeaux’s Left and Right Bank: exploring the differences between the regions, wines and estates on either side of the Gironde

Wines of Bordeaux’s Left Bank versus Right Bank

Bordeaux: the Left Bank versus the Right Bank

“I met Anselme Selosse when I was 13 and that really entered in my heart. He’s really a special person that changed the world of wine [for me],” Matteo Bisol tells me. It’s perhaps not what you’d expect of the young winemaker who represents the 21st generation of the Bisol family – a family that made their name with, and has become synonymous with, fine Prosecco.  Meeting the iconic Champagne producer – considered by many the pioneer behind the region’s grower movement – has stuck in Bisol’s mind, however. Partly, he believes, because he was at just the right age – partway between child and adult, his mind open to new ideas. “He was always talking about wine as a living thing, you know,” Bisol says. “I got it and I always thought it was very important.” He’s been immersed in the family business as long as he can remember. From the age of 10, he spent his summers working in the Bisol winery. “Once I arrived in the morning five minutes late and my father fired me. And then he hired me again because he didn’t want me to leave, being at home doing nothing,” says Bisol, laughing at the memory.  But Matteo Bisol has left the hills of Valdobbiadene behind, now in charge of his family’s very personal project: Venissa. It was Matteo’s father, Gianluca that embarked on the adventure over 15 years ago – but somewhat by accident. He was visiting the island of Torcello, which is home to one of the oldest churches in Venice – founded in 639 AD. “In front of the basilica, there’s a beautiful garden – a little bit hidden – but he saw some vine leaves,” Bisol explains. “He knocked on the door of the owner and introduced himself.” Gianluca spoke to the woman that owned the garden, who told him that a few of the vines were a local golden-skinned variety – Dorona. And down the rabbit hole, he went…  He started researching the grape and its history – discovering that viticulture had long been a part of life in the Venice Lagoon. For almost 2,500 years, vines had been grown on the islands – an integral element of the region’s culture. Before motors and speedboats, the islands were a three-hour journey from the mainland, so isolated that they had a totally different culture – “a culture based on nature, based on farming”, Bisol explains. Their isolation forced self-sufficiency, with every bit of space on each island used to grow something. With religion integral to Venice and indeed Italy’s history, wine – used for twice daily mass – was an essential part of life.   This history lives on in local nomenclature: one of the islands is called Le Vignole, one was known as Vigna Murata (now Lazzaretto Nuovo), San Francesco del Deserto was previously called Isola delle Due Vigne, a road on Murano is called Via della Vigne. Many islanders made wine, with presses for the fruit of the vines in their back garden or field. But as the islands of the lagoon became less distant, with the zip of an engine, many of the vineyards were pulled up, and those that remained were destroyed by the catastrophic floods of 1966.   After this initial discovery, Gianluca Bisol started seeking out Dorona vines – a quest that Matteo remembers vividly. “Really from the beginning, I was on the boat, with the bicycles on Sant’Erasmo looking for more Dorona grapes,” he says, describing their search for a variety that was – at the time – on the brink of extinction. It was a farmer, Gastone, on the island of Sant’Erasmo who really opened Gianluca’s eyes to working with Dorona. He was one of the last farmers in Venice to still make wine for personal consumption.   “A great person, a very beautiful person and very wise – he introduced us to the Dorona history and to the way he was making the wine in the past,” Bisol tells me. Thereafter, Gianluca hunted down cuttings and eventually –in 2006-2007 – planted 0.8 hectares of Dorona on the island of Mazzorbo.   It was tradition – rather than current fashions – that led them to make a white wine with extended skin contact. The wine had always been made with skin contact, and they decided to push it further, with a month of maceration, extracting as much flavour as possible from the unique variety. They also decided that the wines needed time to find their balance after such a long period of maceration. They considered barrel ageing, but didn’t want to change the profile of the wines with the flavour of oak, so instead opted for concrete – and two years’ élevage. The resulting wines have a fine phenolic grip and distinct mineral, even saline, freshness, with a nutty complexity that is reminiscent of mature white Hermitage, Burgundy or Jura Savagnin and Chardonnay – yet also unlike anything else. It’s this unique character that Bisol feels is why the wine is such a success. “We never tried to fit Venissa in any category… we just make the wine that we feel is the right thing for Venissa grapes,” he says  Since the first vintage in 2010, and when Matteo took over in 2013, they’ve learnt a huge amount. “There are parts of the vineyard – different parcels – that have a lower salt concentration in the soil,” Bisol explains. The more saline soils restrict the yield, producing smaller and even more concentrated berries. It was this discovery that led to the introduction of Venusa, a second wine that is made for earlier drinking, in 2017 and comes from the less saline plots. Of course, with two wines, it means that the already tiny volumes of the top white, Venissa Bianco, are even smaller – with just 2,000 bottles made a year. “It’s such a small vineyard that we know the plants one by one,” Bisol says, with an almost paternal fondness.  With each vintage, as well, they have pushed quality even further – learning how to get the most from the previously almost extinct Dorona. They’ve been making the wine for 20 years, but – as Bisol says – “Twenty years means you made it 20 times. Twenty times is nothing. Every year we see how the wine is responding, and we learn every year more things that allow us to make better and better wines.”  And making wine in this remarkable place, with its salt-soaked soils, is far from easy – something that the flood, or “acquaalta”, of November 2019 brought vividly to life. Although the vineyard is shielded by a wall, it couldn’t hold back the water – and once receded they had to wash the vines one by one with fresh water, and the soil as well, to try to remove the potentially catastrophically high salt content. It was only when the vines emerged from dormancy in the spring that they knew whether or not they’d done enough to save them.  “It also reminded us how resilient this grape variety is, which is actually the resilience of Venice – which has been a city or republic for more than 1,000 years,” Bisol says. The Dorona grape, like the region’s people, has adapted to its surroundings. Fortunately, with the introduction of MOSE in 2020, the city’s barrier system designed to shield it from high tides, flooding hasn’t threatened their crop – and vineyard – since.   It's clear talking to Bisol, that Venissa is much more than a wine. Not only is it a symbol of Venice’s resilience, but a project to preserve the city’s great traditions.The glass bottles come from the island of Murano, but it’s the labels that are particularly special. They work with Marino Menegazzo of Mario Berta Battiloro, the last goldbeater not just in Venice, but Europe – who hammers out a sheet of goldleaf for each and every bottle they produce, from the workshop that once was home to Titian. The design changes each year, with the leaf for each bottle very slightly different thanks to its hand-crafted nature. With Marino Menegazzo in his 70s, and no one to inherit the family business, this tradition – like the Dorona wines – is at risk.  “This part of the history of Venice, it’s an history that is very important and our role at Venissa is really to keep this history alive,” Bisol says. “For us, winemaking is really important, of course my family comes from winemaking, it has a history of 500 years in winemaking. But when we realised the history that was behind this city, behind agriculture and grape growing, and behind all these other handcrafting techniques, it became even more important for Venissa, as our role of preserving the heritage rather than just making a wine… We really believe that preserving our tradition is even more important than winemaking.”   While the family started with just 0.8 hectares on Mazzorbo, they soon started making a red from 2.75 hectares on Santa Cristina (with vines that were previously farmed by the Swarovski family). Now, they’ve planted Dorona on two more islands, harvesting the fruit for the first time this year. Under the Bisol family’s protective eye, it’s clear that this special Venetian tradition has found its guardian angel.  The Venissa wines are exclusively available from FINE+RARE in the UK; if you’d like to visit Venissa, please contact us. Browse all current listings and find out more about the estate here. 

Venissa is an estate like no other, crafting wine from the indigenous Dorona grape grown on islands in the Venice Lagoon. Sophie Thorpe spoke to Matteo Bisol about his family’s mission to preserve this unique Venetian tradition 

The Bisol family has made it their mission to save viticulture in the Venice Lagoon. We talk to Matteo Bisol about their island vineyards and making Dorona

Matteo Bisol of Venissa on making wine in Venice

Fighting the tide: Venissa’s quest to save Venice’s vineyards

Wine writer Tamlyn Currin is well known for her love of off-the-beaten track wines, in particular wines from Germany. FONDATA asked her to consider why it is that Riesling fans (of which she is most certainly one) are so much more zealous than fans of other grape varieties.

Examine Riesling's authenticity as a terroir ambassador and its varied styles. Dive into its global celebration and why it's cherished by enthusiasts. 


FONDATA: Exploring Riesling's popularity

Riesling, it’s a tribal thing

From January 2021, the Bordeaux and Bordeaux Supérieur appellations permit the use of several new varieties – Touriga Nacional, Marselan, Castets and Arinarnoa, as well as two white grapes, Alvarinho and Liliorila, the theory being they’ll help shield the region from the ever-growing threat of global warming. As the region heats up, or more importantly dries up, some of the Bordeaux mainstay varieties are suffering from rising alcohol levels, disease and water stress. The new varieties all possess properties that counter climate change – natural high acidities, resistance to mildew and later budburst to offset the risk of spring frosts. While the recent changes only affect wines under the more basic Bordeaux appellations, are they paving the way for a wider relaxation in the region’s rules? And does that mean the flavour profile and identity of Bordeaux’s top châteaux are about to change? For Pierre-Olivier Clouet at Ch. Cheval Blanc there is concern over the potential of the varietal blend (encépagement) changing. “We believe that the encépagement is part of the DNA and the identity of the estate,” says Clouet. “Planting some Touriga Nacional, Grenache, Syrah at Cheval Blanc… it seems ridiculous.” While plenty of winemakers up and down the Médoc are dismissive of the idea, the warming climate is not selective – and even the top terroirs are going to be affected. The 2020 vintage was the hottest on record when you look at the temperatures throughout the 12-month period. The summer was also one of the driest, with not a single drop of rain in some regions for over three months. Pomerol, according to Omri Ram of Ch. Lafleur, is into its fifth consecutive year of drought and these weather patterns are becoming the norm in the region. Clearly some terroirs are better prepared for climate change than others. The clay soils of Saint-Estèphe and the limestone bedrock of Saint-Emilion, for instance, survived 2020’s drought virtually unscathed. These water-retaining soils are adept at locking in moisture and slowly releasing it through the drier months. But the deep gravel soils of the Left Bank are putting vines in real danger during long periods of drought. Lorraine Watrin from Ch. Montrose outlined the huge difficulties faced at their other Saint-Estèphe estate Ch. Tronquoy-Lalande, where (unlike Montrose) the estate’s gravel soils go down a staggering 10 metres. The drainage is so good on these soils that when there is no rain, the vines really suffer. Montrose is more fortunate, having just 1.5 metres of gravel sitting on a bed of moisture-retaining clay. But ongoing droughts are going to pose real problems for deeper gravel vineyards in the future – and solutions need to be found. Despite the obvious threat of drought, speaking with top estates on the Left Bank, they remain fairly comfortable about their future, even though their best soils are on raised gravel beds. The reason why? Cabernet Sauvignon. As temperatures have increased and the level of rainfall has dropped, Cabernet Sauvignon has proved its mettle. The vine is incredibly resistant to disease and its long ripening cycle has seen the variety thrive in the longer, more intense summers. Nicolas Glumineau from Ch. Pichon Comtesse is a big fan of Cabernet Sauvignon and has continued to increase its role in his wines’ make-up over the last decade. “Even if the temperature increases, Cabernet Sauvignon will still be very adaptive to the Left Bank,” he says. In their 2020, the wine consisted of 77% Cabernet Sauvignon with a further 7% Cabernet Franc, Merlot representing just 17% of the blend. Glumineau is not alone, in fact amongst all the producers I spoke to, there was little to no concern over Cabernet Sauvignon’s future and its dominance in their blends in the long term. Being such a large wine-growing region and with plenty of investment, Bordeaux is a hotbed for change, but Ducru-Beaucaillou's Bruno Borie thinks the addition of new varieties is premature. He reminds us that Bordeaux is one of the more moderate climates in Europe. It wasn’t that long ago his father was forced to plant more Merlot to avoid having to chaptalise the wines (add sugar to the must) because the Cabernet Sauvignon wasn’t ripe enough. “Without being arrogant and with all sincerity, we benefit from having Cabernet Sauvignon riper much more often than in the past,” he says. “Bordeaux is the northern limit for ripening the grape and here there is no need to replace it.”  Merlot’s future is perhaps a little less assured on the Left Bank, as Borie admits – but he believes the alternative to Merlot is likely to be already permitted varieties, rather than new ones. “Petit Verdot and Cabernet Franc should keep us going another 50 to 70 years at least,” he says. Asked why not just switch to 100% Cabernet Sauvignon, Borie believes that however hot or dry it gets, the low-lying, clay riverbed vineyards would never ripen Cabernet. Despite concerns for Merlot’s future, grown in the right places the variety continues to thrive on the Left Bank. Just look at its success in 2020, a very hot vintage. Rainfall at just the right time helped retard alcohol levels in the Merlot. For those whose cooler Cabernet Sauvignon parcels didn’t fully mature, their Merlot replaced it and played a more significant role in the blend and saved the vintage. The grape is still fulfilling its role as the balancing variety in today’s Bordeaux blend. Despite Cabernet Sauvignon’s and Merlot’s impressive performances of late, plenty of experiments are going on, even at the very top estates. Ch. Lafite-Rothschild is already trialling massal selection of their own vines and new varieties including Touriga Nacional, Marselan and Malbec. For the moment it is too early for Lafite to draw any conclusions, but they’re keeping an open mind.  While the major estates aren’t switching up the blend yet, producers are looking at peripheral Bordeaux varieties as potential alternatives. On paper, Malbec seems a good option. Before phylloxera, Malbec was the most planted variety in Bordeaux, but never really made a comeback after the outbreak. But seeing Malbec’s success in the hotter, drier mountain valleys of Argentina, could it rise back to prominence with global warming? Nicolas Audebert – winemaker at Rauzan-Ségla and previously at Cheval des Andes in Mendoza – is not so sure. Malbec in French literally means ‘”bad beak” or “bad nose”, thanks to the negative reputation the variety had in Bordeaux, even when more dominant in the blend. “Prior to phylloxera, Malbec was used as a ‘filler‘ grape,” Audebert says, “used to balance out problems in the vineyard – namely providing more colour and ripeness to the wine.” Audebert compares it to Pinot Meunier in Champagne, whose role is similar. “Pinot Meunier is less sensitive to frost, so it is planted in the more frost-prevalent lower slopes, rather than the best terroirs. It never had the chance to reach the potential of Chardonnay or Pinot Noir. Malbec suffered the same issue.” Audebert has planted Malbec at Ch. Berliquet in Saint-Emilion. He believes Malbec on clay could be extremely interesting and is keen to see how it works in the blend. But Malbec has its problems: it’s very sensitive to coulure (flowers not developing into berries, therefore producing lower yields), as well as mildew. Of the Bordeaux varieties, it responded the least well to grafting – hence why it wasn’t replanted widely in Bordeaux after phylloxera. Audebert reminds us that Argentina didn’t have these problems: “Low humidity in Mendoza meant mildew was not a problem in spring and there was no grafting, as the region used flood irrigation to battle phylloxera.” Since these remain challenges for the variety in Bordeaux, he doesn’t see it becoming more dominant in the future. Many wineries up and down the Médoc are lowering the proportion of Merlot in their blends, opting instead for more Cabernet Franc. “Blending just 5% of Cabernet Franc in with Merlot can be an effective method of lowering the alcohol, as well as adding freshness,” says John Kolasa (ex Director of Ch. Canon ). “It is something Pétrus did with the 2019 vintage. Look at the success of Ch. Figeac in 2019 – a third Cabernet Franc, a third Merlot and a third Cabernet Sauvignon. This is a big increase of Cabernet Franc in the blend and is performing better in the warming climate.” There aren’t many wineries in Bordeaux not increasing the Cabernet Franc plantings in their vineyards, given its improved performance in a warming climate. Pichon Comtesse, L’Eglise Clinet and of course long-term believers Cheval Blanc and Lafleur are all confident of the variety’s future and its growing role in the Bordeaux blend, both on the Left and Right Bank. Petit Verdot is another late ripening variety that thrives in the hotter, drier conditions. Could this peripheral variety become a star performer in Bordeaux’s future? Unlike Cabernet Franc it has yet to become more prominent in blends, often because just a small amount can dominate the structure and flavour of the wine and overpowers the more nuanced characters of Cabernet. Nicolas Glumineau is unsure that the variety is a saving grace, however. “I have some difficulties with Petit Verdot, it is a very tricky grape to grow… it’s very fragile – to wind, to rain, to many things and finally you just can’t pick it absolutely ripe every year.” While the new appellation rules allow new varieties, is changing the blend really the best solution to the ongoing issues of global warming? Ch. Margaux’s Philippe Bascaules certainly doesn’t think so. For him, changing the grape varieties is far too extreme when there are other, more subtle changes that, he believes, would be much more effective. “Currently we are at 10,000 vines per hectare but we don’t have to be,” he says. “Changing the row orientation would also have good results. Good for changing the effect of sunburn on the grapes.” Ch Pontet Canet's Justine Tesseron is another advocate of making alterations in the vineyard, not changing varieties. She is happy with how the Cabernet performs on her gravel soils and feels that there’s simply no need to experiment with other grapes. For Tesseron, the way in which the vines are farmed is more important: “A biodynamic vineyard is better placed to cope with the extremes. We treat individual vines based on their individual needs – it is all about the small details.”  Pierre-Olivier Clouet at Cheval Blanc sees a change in varieties as a last resort. He and his team have long been thinking about how to tackle global warming. “We are sure that the answer is in the vineyard management,” he says. They are looking at rootstocks, the size of the canopy, the yield (“If we want to preserve freshness, it’s better to have a little more yield”), cover crops, ploughing or no-till farming and how polyculture can help. Clouet is another Bordeaux vigneron who sees the problems – but also plenty of potential answers. They experiment a lot at their other property, Ch. Quinault l’Enclos. “We try to always be very open minded,” he says. But he is clear also that “We should never forget who we are.”  Bordeaux is awash with a mix of cautious optimism, as well as open-minded experimentation. For the time being, it doesn’t look – at least amongst the more prestigious classified estates – like they will be adding new varieties to the blend any time soon. Until alternative approaches in viticultural and vinification fail, Bordeaux’s varietal DNA looks safe. Read more about Bordeaux or explore more Editorial

Climate change poses a serious threat to wine-growers around the world. Bordeaux has just allowed the use of new grape varieties to help its producers cope with the increasingly hot, dry conditions – but what does this mean for the region’s identity? We talk to the top winemakers about the future

Cheval Blanc, Margaux, Lafleur, Lafite, Ducru-Beaucaillou and more on climate change in Bordeaux

Is climate change threatening the Bordeaux blend?

When Jean-Marc Roulot wandered through the family estate’s cellars one, seemingly ordinary day, he happened upon something unexpected. The vigneron had walked the hallowed paths innumerable times during his legendary father Guy’s life and during the 15 years since his sudden passing in 1982. But there, in a long-forgotten corner of the cellars, lay 12 dusty bottles of apricot liqueur. Jean-Marc knew all about his father’s production of pear and apple brandy, and his family tradition of producing marc de Bourgogne and fine de Bourgogne. The still, which he used and remains in operation today, dates back to 1866 and used to be on wheels so the family could move from village to village. So well-known was this distillation heritage, in fact, that Jean-Marc’s mother used to joke that the still paid for their vineyards. What came as a surprise to the actor-cum-winemaker was the existence of L’Abricot. “I had never seen him make this liqueur,” the 65-year-old says. “It was absolutely delicious and I wanted to try to find this recipe.” This discovery in 2008 set Jean-Marc on a mission to reproduce the liqueur from instinct, as no recipe existed, and increase the estate’s staple of brandies, eaux de vie and liqueurs. In some instances, the winemaker was able to follow recipes and meet with fruit producers to reinstate his father’s relationships. For others, he had to forge his own path. “I wanted to reconnect with that [tradition],” he adds. Jean-Marc says he’s always had a passion for distillation, having learned the skill from his father, and feels it has influenced his winemaking. When distilling, Jean-Marc focuses on two things: purity and authenticity. When asked, he says it is of paramount importance that the end product tastes like the fruit. It seems obvious, perhaps, but this is not always the case with overly saccharine fruit-based liqueurs. In order to achieve these two things, Jean-Marc has reduced the sugar levels over time – from 180g/l sugar 10 years ago to 160g/l in the latest iterations. “Sugar is of course a flattering element in a liqueur, but it can also mask the fruit,” he says. “By lowering the sugar levels, I feel like I'm putting the fruit forward.” From more classic pear and raspberry to the most recent addition, lemon liqueur, Jean-Marc says the fruit choices have largely been emotive. “I chose to make a pear alcohol since my father already made this 40 years ago with fruits from the Hautes Côtes de Beaune,” he says. “He was doing the same thing in a much smaller amount with the raspberry than I am doing. For these two fruits in brandies, it is therefore a family tradition.” The pears are sourced from the same site in the Hautes Côtes de Beaune that his father used, while the apricots (previously from the orchards of Chave) come courtesy of Laurent Combier (of Domaine Combier) in the Rhône. While he used to be able to source them locally, raspberries are now hard to find – and these, along with his lemons, come from further afield (Bulgaria and Sicily, respectively). After finding the bottles of apricot liqueur and working with the fruit in that capacity, the idea occurred to Jean-Marc to ferment them to make brandy as well. He’s also turned his hand to lemon liqueur and doesn’t rule out further fruit experimentation, perhaps with grapefruit. When asked about these fruits in relation to terroir, Jean-Marc says he doesn’t think they can reflect their terroir “as well” or “as faithfully” as grapes. “Perhaps this is due to the size of the plant, the density of planting, the attention we pay to the work of the vineyard and all the care we take around the grape when it comes back to the winery,” he adds. “There is generally a ‘signature’ effect in grapes that I do not find in a fruit like pear for example.”  He does, however, think the distillation process has taught him a considerable amount. “As we are mainly winegrowers, we seem to think that our knowledge on this subject has influenced the work on the still, but I sincerely believe that the precision that distillation requires has influenced us in the other direction, towards our work as a winegrower.” One senses Jean-Marc’s discovery of those 12 unassuming bottles all those years ago had a much greater impact on him than merely influencing his production of superlative wines, and now, his fruit brandies, eaux de vie and liqueurs. Find out more about Domaine Roulot or read more Editorial

Meursault-based Domaine Roulot is one of the finest estates in the Côte de Beaune. But it’s not just grapes that cross the threshold at this domaine. Owner and winemaker Jean-Marc tells us about the family’s fruit-based spirits – and how they’ve influenced his winemaking

The famous Meursault vigneron Domaine Roulot on his family’s other project - the family’s fruit-based spirit

Domaine Roulot Meursault fruit-based spirits

A secret still: Domaine Roulot

Arvine: Switzerland’s hidden treasure Berry colour: white
 Arvine, pearl of the Alps The ultimate Swiss grape variety, Arvine can produce captivating, complex wines of international stature, from dry to sweet. It is native to the Valais, southern Switzerland, where it was mentioned for the first time in 1602. Since the late 19th century, it has often been called Petite Arvine to distinguish it from Grosse Arvine, a completely different and rare local variety. I have not so far been able to uncover Arvine’s parents by DNA testing. It is often said that Arvine was introduced to Switzerland by the Romans. Its name allegedly derived from helvola, a grape variety mentioned by Cato the Elder. I refute this claim for two very simple reasons: firstly, it is impossible to establish botanical identity between the vague descriptions of Latin authors and modern varieties, and secondly, helvola grapes were black-berried. I think instead that its name comes from the local dialect arvena, itself probably derived from the Latin advena, meaning ‘just arrived’. This name could have been given to the variety shortly after its birth (or arrival?) in the Valais. It is a late-ripening variety, with small berries and compact, small bunches. It is quite productive, but prone to wind damage and susceptible to fungal diseases. Arvine covers 218 hectares (539 acres), almost exclusively in the Valais, representing only 1.48% of the country’s vine-bearing area. It produces complex, lively wines that can age well, with aromas of citrus and rhubarb, and a firm structure, as well as a characteristic salinity on the finish. Champions of Arvine In the Valais, several outstanding producers make excellent varietal Arvine wines. For dry wines, I would recommend Cave Benoît Dorsaz in Fully, Valentina Andrei in Saillon, Didier Joris in Chamoson, Cave de l’Orpailleur in Uvrier and Domaine des Muses in Granges, among many others. For the sweet wines, produced from grapes that are naturally left to shrivel on the vine, the undisputed champion is Marie-Thérèse Chappaz in Fully. From her biodynamic vineyards, this icon of Swiss winegrowers crafts some of the best sweet wines in the world, especially from Arvine. Her Petite Arvine Grain Noble is highly sought after, and her otherworldly Arvine Grain par Grain, made exclusively from botrytised berries harvested by hand, berry by berry, is almost impossible to find. Arvine has rarely been planted outside Switzerland. In Italy, it was introduced to the neighbouring Aosta Valley in 1970. In 1992, Angelo Gaja, one of Italy’s most famous wine producers, planted 0.36 hectares in Serralunga (Piedmonte). The result was a disaster, in his words, mainly because of problems with coulure and wind damage. In France, some vine parcels exist in the Languedoc and in the Rhône Valley, where charismatic winemaker Michel Chapoutier planted half a hectare in Tain-l’Hermitage, but he was not convinced by the results and has now abandoned the experiment. Outside Europe, it is produced only in Mendocino, California, by one adventurous producer, Ernest Vineyards, which makes a varietal wine under the Edaphos label.

Dr José Vouillamoz
 
Areni: Armenia’s national treasure Berry colour: BLACK 
History in a bottle Areni is the most important red variety in Armenia. It most likely comes from the village of Areni in Vayots Dzor, at the southeastern end of the county, where the world’s oldest cellar (4000 BC) was discovered in a cave in 2011. Interestingly, the grape remains found at the bottom of the old karas (the traditional clay jars) buried in the cave look very similar to the pips of the modern Areni variety. DNA profiling has failed to identify Areni’s parents, making it an orphan Armenian variety, but it has shown that at least two distinct varieties share the name Areni: Areni Sev (sev means black), the ‘true’ one that has historically been grown in Vayots Dzor, and Areni Seyrak (seyrak means loose, referring to the bunches), sporadically found among Areni Sev vines in old mixed vineyards. Areni Sev is a late-ripening variety with oblong, sometimes ovate, thick-skinned berries. The bunches are medium-sized and dense. It shows good resistance to frost, which means it can be cultivated at high elevations (up to 1,600 metres in Armenia). It is moderately resistant to powdery mildew and susceptible to downy mildew. Areni is exclusively cultivated in Armenia, where it has traditionally been used to make high-quality, age-worthy wines with complex aromas of violets, wisteria, cherries and blackberries, silky tannins and refreshing acidity. Champions of Areni After my first visit to Areni village in 2003, and despite the rudimentary winemaking at the only local winery (Areni Winery, now Hin Winery), I was convinced that Areni was among the most promising grape varieties in the world. In 2012, I met Zorik Gharibian in Izmir (Turkey) at the European Wine Bloggers’ Conference. I was much impressed by his 2010 Karasi Areni Noir, Zorah Wines’ very first vintage after 10 years of trial and error. We became friends and I selfishly helped him find an importer in Switzerland, in order to secure my own supply of his wines, including the mind-blowing high-end cuvée Yeraz. Since then, Zorik and his wife Yeraz have relentlessly promoted Armenian wines all over the world, and Zorah Wines has become one of Armenia’s most respected flagships. Their wines, sourced from ungrafted vineyards between 1,300 and 1,600 metres altitude are partly made in karas, traditional clay jars partly buried underground, ‘cousins’ of the Georgian qvevri. The sad thing is that Armenian-born Eduardo Eurnekian, one of the wealthiest people in Argentina and owner of several airports, including that of Yerevan in Armenia, has founded a winery named Karas Wines, despite not using any karas in the winemaking process. In 2018, judges granted him the exclusive usage of the name Karas, disregarding 6,000 years of shared tradition. Zorik Gharibian has been determinedly fighting against this unfair judgement and he plans to appeal to the country’s Supreme Court. I strongly support him. And I predict that Armenia may well be the ‘next big thing’ in the wine world. Dr José Vouillamoz
 Kydonitsa: Rebirth of an extremely rare grape variety Berry colour: WHITE Rescued in the nick of time Kydonitsa is a survivor, an almost forgotten variety from Lakonía (Laconia) in the southern Pelopónnisos (Peloponnese) in Greece. According to local belief, it was widely cultivated in the medieval period when Lakonía formed part of the Byzantine Empire. It then flourished under brief periods of Venetian rule, before it was threatened with extinction under Ottoman rule, as a result of the bans on alcohol consumption. It had almost disappeared when it was saved from extinction by Yiannis Vatistas and Yorgos Tsimbidi (Monemvasia Winery) in the late 1990s. DNA profiling has not revealed any match or parentage with any other variety, making it a Greek orphan. The medium-sized bunches are relatively loose and elongated. The berries are small and turn golden yellow when ripe. In Greek, the word kυδωνίτσα (kydonitsa) means ‘little quince’, referring to the aroma of both the berry and the wine. The wine also shows notes of lemon, grapefruit, bergamot and mirabelle plum, as well as aromatic herbs. It is elegant, creamy, with crisp acidity and a slightly bitter, orange-peel finish, with a hint of iodine. Kydonitsa is grown exclusively in Lakonía, on the east coast of the Pelopónnisos, near the island of Monemvasia. Champions of Kydonitsa Yorgos Tsimbidi is a visionary. In 1997, while most wineries in the Pelopónnisos were busy planting so-called international grape varieties, he founded Monemvasia Winery in order to revive the historical Malvasia wine in its birthplace. The name Malvasia has been given to a wide range of genetically distinct white-, pink-, grey- and black-skinned varieties which are all particularly well suited to the production of sweet wines. The name is purported to be a corruption of Monemvasia, which means ‘single entrance’ and is the name of a small port situated on a rocky spur in Lakonía. It has been famous since ancient times for its sweet wine made from sun-dried grapes. The earliest mention of the sweet wines of Monemvasia dates back to 1214 in Éfesos (Ephesus, today in Turkey), and in 1278 the Venetians were already importing vinum de Malvasias. The exact identities of the grape varieties making up this sweet wine are still unknown, but Kydonitsa and the appropriately named Monemvasia were probably part of the blend. This is what drove Yorgos Tsimbidi to put all his time and energy into rescuing them, carrying out countless on-farm trials since 1997. He now produces dry varietal wines, as well as the sweet ‘Monemvasia – Malvasia’, a blend of Monemvasia, Kydonitsa, Assyrtiko and Asproudi grapes, dried for approximately two weeks under the sun, in order to revive the ancient tradition. Today, Yorgos runs the winery with his wife Elli and their daughters Marialena, Anastasia and Artemis. I was able to taste a mini-vertical of Kydonitsa during my visit in 2016, which convinced me of the exceptional quality and ageing potential of this resurrected variety. And the rest of the portfolio convinced me that Monemvasia Winery is one of the best in mainland Greece. Dr José Vouillamoz

 Baga: Northern Portuguese red with a simple name and a complex character Berry colour: black 
The rehabilitation of Baga The meaning of Baga may be simple (berry) but the variety is far from it. When it is good, it is breathtakingly beautiful and capable of long ageing. When it is abused, it is acid, mean and lean, with tough tannins. It requires commitment from growers and wine lovers. While it may have originated in Portugal's Dão region, it has found its home in neighbouring Bairrada, where it is the dominant red variety. In 2017 there were 8,258 hectares (20,406 acres), 4% of Portugal’s vineyard area. It’s found mainly in Bairrada but also in Dão, although there it is not authorised in DOP wines. Baga vines are also planted, though far less numerously, in Lisboa, the Tejo and the Douro. The cool, wet, Atlantic-influenced climate of Bairrada is particularly inconvenient for a late-ripening variety with thin skins and prone to botrytis. If its vigour and productivity are not controlled by careful viticulture or the natural balance achieved by older vines in poor soils, there is increased risk of under-ripeness or rot when the September rains arrive. Despite all this, those whose hearts have been captured by the variety have shown it to be as bewitching as Pinot Noir, and as hauntingly complex and long-lived as Nebbiolo. Champions of Baga The variety allows itself to be made in many styles, influenced strongly by the soil (limestone-clay and granite are both prized), the age of the vines and, not least, by the personalities of the winegrowers and their choices in the winery. The most restlessly experimental and determined is Luís Pato, who was prominent among a small group of quality-minded winegrowers who dragged Baga into the spotlight for fine wine after it had languished for so long as a source of bulk reds churned out by the state-controlled co-ops and négociants for much of the 20th century. While there are today, thankfully, too many good winegrowers to mention by name, the Baga Friends display the variety’s wonderful diversity: from the powerful styles aged in oak that become increasingly complex and perfumed with age that are produced by, for example, Luís Pato, Mário Sérgio Alves Nuno at Quinta das Bageiras, François Chasans at Quinta da Vacariça and Paulo Sousa at Sidónio de Sousa; to the lightly stepping, red-fruited, fresh and scented beauties of Filipa Pato and Douro incomer Dirk Niepoort at Quinta de Baixo. Baga can also make very good sparkling wines. Bussaco Palace Hotel has an astonishing collection of very old vintages, blending Baga from Bairrada with Touriga Nacional from Dão. Julia Harding MW 
Kisi: Recently resurrected and scented Georgian white Berry colour: WHITE The resurrection of Kisi Maybe it’s because thin-skinned Kisi is difficult to grow and sensitive to the climate that it was on the verge of extinction at the end of the 20th century, when David Maisuradze made a wine that put the variety firmly back in the spotlight. The highly respected winemaker, then with Telavi Wine Cellar, managed to find just four tonnes of the variety to make a wine, fermented in a stainless-steel tank, that stunned wine lovers with its pure, floral aromas and deep fruit flavours of citrus and pear, richly fruited but dry. This variety didn’t stand much chance in the Soviet era when only a very limited number of varieties were permitted in the interests of volume rather than quality. Kisi was not among them and it survived in family vineyards in just three villages in its homeland of Kakheti, in the Alazani Valley in eastern Georgia in the shadow of the Caucasus Mountains: mainly in Maghraani but also in Argokhi and Pichkhovani. There are currently about 500 hectares (1,235 acres) of Kisi in Georgia, all still in this region. There is currently no DNA evidence to reveal the variety’s parentage but it is not related to Mtsvane Kakhuri or Rkatsiteli, the latter a Soviet favourite. Champions of Kisi In Georgia, ‘classic’ white wines are made in a way familiar to most 21st-century wine drinkers – fermented without the skins, typically in temperature-controlled tanks, occasionally fermented or aged in oak. By contrast, so-called qvevri white wines, sometimes referred to as amber wines because of their typically deep colour, are those vinified in traditional Georgian qvevri, large clay vessels ranging from 700 to 2,000 litres, buried underground so that just the opening is visible. The lightly crushed whole berries, including the skins and seeds, and sometimes even the stems, are fermented together in a qvevri, thus producing a wine with firm, even chewy, tannic texture and a wonderful panoply of flavours derived both from the variety and the winemaking, often ranging from apricots to chamomile. Soon after the appearance of Maisuradze’s revelatory wine, Gogi Dakishvili, a master of these qvevri wines, was able to buy a small amount of Kisi and make a wine in this second style. The cat was out of the bag and growers, including Dakishvili, started to replant when they saw the potential.  Kisi made under both the Dakishvili Family and the Orgo labels reveal all the textural and aromatic complexity of scented varieties made in this way. They are utterly pure, full-bodied wines with intense aromas and flavours that have sufficient structure to be very versatile with food. Qvevri winemaking was recognised as a UNESCO intangible heritage in 2013. While this is the style I particularly enjoy, for anyone who is not a fan of amber wines, there are fine examples that reveal even more of Kisi’s aromatic potential and deep but fresh fruit intensity. These include those from Winiveria and Khareba, and a particularly good off-dry style from Koncho & Co. One of the finest, in this case with light oak influence, is made by Danieli Winery, from vines near Argokhi, one of the three villages which were key to Kisi’s renaissance. Julia Harding MW
 This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One.  Illustration by Sarah Jane Humphrey.

Wine Grapes co-authors, Julia Harding MW and Dr José Vouillamoz, champion five lesser-known grape varieties from the book – and the winemakers that are using them to notable effect.

Wine Grapes co-authors Julia Harding MW and Dr José Vouillamoz champion five lesser-known grape varieties – and the winemakers using them to notable effect

FONDATA: Raisins d'être

Raisins d'être

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

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