Burgundy expert Jasper Morris MW has had his finger on the region’s wine pulse for several decades. Especially for FONDATA, he profiles eight domaines to watch, producers that are bringing vital energy and fresh winemaking talent to the celebrated wine region 

Jasper Morris MW on eight of Burgundy’s most exciting domaines – including Eleni & Edouard Vocoret, Chantereves, Alvina Pernot and more 

The new Burgundians – Jasper Morris MW 

The new Burgundians

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

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

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

Celebrating 50 years of Cristal Rose Champagne

Five decades of Cristal Rosé

It’s 20 years since Eduardo Chadwick gathered some of Europe’s most famous wine writers for a blind tasting – one to rival the famous 1976 Judgement of Paris (when California proved its wines could compete with – and beat – France’s best). Chadwick was convinced that critics were underestimating Chilean wines – for no reason other than snobbery against the nation. The Berlin Tasting pitched Chadwick’s top wines (Viñedo Chadwick, Seña and Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve) against Bordeaux’s First Growths and a lone Super Tuscan (Antinori’s Solaia). Chadwick charged the late Steven Spurrier with running the event. “I never imagined that what happened was about to happen,” Chadwick tells me. To his and everyone else’s amazement, the 2000 Viñedo Chadwick took the top spot, followed by 2001 Seña, then 2000 Ch. Lafite Rothschild, and 2000 Ch. Margaux – tied equally in fourth place with 2000 Seña. Finally, there was proof that Chile’s wines deserved a place on the world stage.  But, for Chadwick, one watershed moment wasn’t enough. He repeated the tasting, first in São Paulo, then Tokyo – and onward, hosting the same blind tasting 22 times around the world, all with similarly spectacular results for his wines. It takes nerves of steel – and a certain amount of ego – to be willing to risk repeating such a tasting, and yet Chadwick was justly rewarded. His campaign is just one way in which he has forged a path for fine, Chilean wine – with a relentless, dogged determination.  Chadwick is the fifth generation of his family to make wine in Chile. Don Maximiano Errázuriz emigrated from the Basque country and was the first to plant vines in the Aconcagua Valley in 1870. He identified the location, 100km north of Santiago, with its cool ocean breezes, hot summers and rainy winters, as perfect for growing grapes. Operating under the motto of, “from the best land, the best wine”, he planted vines in this idyllic site, near Panquehue, and built a winery – that still stands today.  Gradually, the business grew – and it became the largest vineyard in the world owned by an individual, with 1,300 hectares under vine at its peak in the late 19th century. Despite this early prosperity, Chile’s wine industry didn’t continue to thrive. There was no export market and domestic consumption (which reached up to 80 litres per capita annually) was slashed by severe taxation, while political and economic turbulence, with communist then military rule, put not just the industry, but nation, in crisis. By the early 1980s, wine was cheaper than water and around half of the nation’s vines were ripped out.  It was onto this unstable scene that Eduardo Chadwick arrived. He had initially trained as an industrial engineer before deciding to focus on wine instead, going to study in Bordeaux under the legendary oenologist Emile Peynaud. His father bought the family winery back from the banks, and Chadwick started dusting away the cobwebs, re-opening Viña Errázuriz and – armed with new, technical knowledge – made the first vintage of Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve, the property’s flagship wine, in 1984. The operation was still rudimentary – with rauli vats (a native hardwood), no temperature control and pergola vines planted on the fertile flats – but it was an early indication of what was possible. Tasting the wine four decades later, it’s held up remarkably well – with surprising vibrancy on the nose and a chiselled, savoury profile of pure Cabernet Sauvignon.  Gradually, Chadwick invested in equipment – stainless steel tanks, modern presses and barrels – and started to plant vineyards on slopes with poorer soils. Alongside this shift, pivotal elections in 1989 saw Chile become a democracy once more – and key figures from the world of wine visited. Soon entry-level wines were being exported by the likes of Oddbins and Victoria Wine. The doors had opened for Chilean wine. Robert Mondavi visited Chadwick in 1991 – and the two men hit it off, sharing an unrelenting drive to push their industry forward, and Mondavi recognised in Chile the potential he had seen in Napa in the 1960s. He knew that his partnership with Ch. Mouton Rothschild (Opus One) had been key to changing Napa’s reputation – and the duo hoped that their own joint venture might do the same for Chile: Seña (literally meaning “signal”) was born. Bob’s son, Tim Mondavi worked with Chadwick on the project and suggested looking for a site closer to the coast in the Aconcagua Valley, in search of even greater finesse, producing the first vintage in 1995.  And Chadwick didn’t stop there. His father had purchased an estate in the Alto Maipo in 1945, home to a polo field (Eduardo’s father, Alfonso, had captained the Chilean team for years). In 1992, Chadwick convinced his father to let him transform the polo field – with its pure gravel soils and 15˚C diurnal swing – into a vineyard, feeling it was perfect for Cabernet Sauvignon. Alfonso died the following year, but the first vintage of this project – Viñedo Chadwick, named in honour of his father – was made in 1999.   Chadwick knew the wines were good – but convincing the world of that fact was the challenge. He’s clear that Chile made a major error in churning out great-value, entry-level wines – good, but not fine wines – a price-point that came to define the nation. “That’s why it was very difficult to convince the audience that we can also produce world-class wines,” says Chadwick. “Chile had no recognition. We had no ratings, no Parker points, no Suckling points.” And so he set about changing that with the Berlin Tasting.  With that event’s market-shifting results (then echoed around the world), he’d created momentum for change. A decade later, he went on to break through another boundary: the 2014 Viñedo Chadwick became the first Chilean wine to earn 100 points (from James Suckling). Just last year, the 2021 vintage was the first Chilean wine rated 100 points by the Wine Advocate. When I sat down with him March this year, it was at an event paying tribute to the two decades that have passed since the Berlin Tasting – featuring early vintages from each estate, and their greatest successes. The 1998 Seña was a particular standout – a cool vintage that today is perfumed, elegant, bright and effortlessly long. Any doubters of Chilean wine were instantly quieted. And, as with the Berlin tasting, the event was being replicated around the globe – the campaign to champion Chilean wine never ending.  When Chadwick started in 1983, Viña Errázuriz had just 10 hectares of vineyard. Today, across their estates, Chadwick farms 900 hectares of vines. He bought out his siblings years ago, when he found they were more interested in dividends than growing and investing in the business. Now three of his four daughters are working alongside him – excited by the potential of coastal sites (where they make the Las Pizarras wines) and a new sparkling project. There has been no shortage of challenges along the way, but they’ve only fuelled Chadwick’s relentless pursuit of recognition for Chile and its wines. “Where we are today is beyond my wildest dreams,” he tells me, and yet it’s only because of his tireless ambition that Chilean wine has made it to this point. Fortunately, it looks like his children have inherited his determination – ready to rule over the next chapter of this epic story.  Explore all listings of Viña Errázuriz, Seña and Viñedo Chadwick or read more about Chile 

In the last 40 years, Eduardo Chadwick has single-handedly forged a place for Chile in the fine wine arena. Two decades after the pivotal Berlin Tasting, Sophie Thorpe sat down with the man himself to explore his legacy – and what lies ahead 

20 years after the Berlin Tasting, we sit down with Eduardo Chadwick – the man that created Chile’s first icon wines, Sena, Vinedo Chadwick and Errazuriz

Championing Chile – Eduardo Chadwick

Championing Chile: Eduardo Chadwick

Many believe Scotch blends are single malt whisky’s poor relation in price, quality and taste profile. In actuality, this could not be further from the truth. It takes great mastery to produce a blend. Some of the most exquisite single malts – that people pay handsomely for – are blended in perfect harmony by some of the most talented whisky makers in the world to create remarkable blended whiskies. And yet, this lesser label seemingly sticks to blended whisky – as it has for decades. The tide does, however, show signs of turning as more collectable and well-aged blended whiskies are appearing on the market. Few people know more about blended Scotch than Colin Scott and Dr Emma Walker. Scott held the title of Chivas Brothers Master Blender for 31 years and today, after a very short-lived retirement, produces superlative blends for remarkable spirits curators The Last Drop Distillers. Walker has also not long stepped into a new role, succeeding Dr Jim Beveridge as Johnnie Walker Master Blender. Dr Walker (no relation to Johnnie) and her trusty team of 12 highly skilled blenders preside over more than 10 million casks of whisky from 30 distilleries across the length and breath of Scotland to create all the Scotch in Diageo’s extensive portfolio. “Because it’s a blending operation, we just call it all blends,” Walker says – adding, with a chuckle, “just to confuse people.” The same team that looks after Diageo’s single malts looks after all its Scotch whisky, including the blends, new releases and highly collectable Cask of Distinction releases. At last count, there are 138 whisky distilleries in Scotland. Of these, 131 are malt distilleries and seven are grain, and Diageo by far and away owns the most at 30. It is Walker’s job to know these distilleries (28 malt and two grain) inside and out to produce all of Diageo’s Scotch whisky bottlings. “Our single malts are amazing. Our single grains are amazing. But so are the blended Scotch whiskies,” she says with unabashed excitement. Walker is three months into her new role at the helm of one of the world’s most formidable blending operations – and is clearly loving every minute, despite being “slightly terrified”. A chemist by trade, she is acutely aware of Johnnie Walker’s legacy as the world’s most foremost whisky blender and she carries this responsibility, that might weigh heavy on others, with a healthy dose of reverence and buckets of zeal. The ebullient Colin Scott has worked in the Scotch whisky industry for almost 50 years, blending some of the world’s most well-known and coveted whiskies for Chivas Brothers. There’s little he hasn’t seen and you sense he’s just as excited by the goings on today as he was as a young whippersnapper in the blending room half a century ago. “It’s interesting that everybody talks about [single] malts rather than blends,” Scott muses. “For the last 100 years, blends have actually dominated global sales – over 90% is blended Scotch and less than 10% is [single] malts.” Scott thinks the reason for this is simple: “People can understand a single malt because it comes from a single distillery. You can go to it, you can see it, you can touch it, and you can feel it. It’s a little bit more sexy than a blend because a blend has anything between three and a 100-plus whiskies in it.” But, what many fail to realise, according to Scott, is the skill required to create these blended whiskies – at all price points. “There is an art to blending. It’s quite a complicated art,” he says wistfully. And an ever-changing one at that. “A lot of people don’t understand that if you take a premium blend, it might have 50 whiskies in the blend one year, the next year it might have 60, the following year it might have 45, the next year might have 48 – so year on year, because of availability within the inventory, the actual number of whiskies in the blend will change. “And it is the art of the blender who brings and rebalances all of those flavours back so the taste experience remains consistent.” Walker picks up the point: “You take these individual great characters and you just bring them together. You’re not doing something that cheapens it. You’re not doing something where you’re trying to bulk things out, you’re trying to bring those different, individual characters together in the best way possible. You’re amplifying rather than cancelling each other out.” Walker is always trying to reach the golden ratio for the desired mouthfeel, texture, aroma, taste and length. When she achieves this, Walker says: “It’s just really exciting. To find these amazing individual things and bring them together, it’s heaven in a glass.” It takes years of experience and skill – passed down from one generation to the next – to achieve this divine state or you’d have to face the wrath of the loyal drinker who knows what should be in that bottle. “You’re always looking for that consistent quality,” Scott explains spiritedly. “Whether it’s standard, premium, super premium or ultra ultra premium. “Working at Chivas, you would use pretty much the same amount of time on a standard blend as a niche blend,” Scott says with great candour, “because you just don’t compromise on quality – it is not part of the game.” Scott has blended at all the levels during his career. His decision to join the Last Drop in 2021 was somewhat serendipitous. Scott and the late Last Drop co-founder Tom Jago were responsible for one of the most successful blends of all time: Chivas 18. The remarkable spirits curators have championed blended whisky since day dot. Founders Jago and long-time friend James Espey OBE initially set out to bottle single malts – because the demand was there at the higher end – but that all changed when the formidable duo were bewitched by a certain 1960 blended Scotch. This became the Last Drop’s inaugural release in 2008 and is said to have been the best whisky Jago ever tasted during his lifetime. Scott is the first to acknowledge that blended whiskies carrying an age statement are an easier sell than those without – his debut for the Last Drop was a very special 50-year-old signature blend. “If you’ve got an age on a product, people know exactly what they are dealing with,” he says matter-of-factly. While the Master Blender does feel there is a groundswell of appreciation for blended whiskies, helped by older bottlings and ever-increasing auction prices, he understands there is work to be done to remove this legacy inferiority association. “People have been drinking blends forever,” Scott explains. “But because it is usually the standard blend, they don’t really consider it special.” He continues: “Many think blends are inferior and the main reason for that was way back in the day, 30, 40, 50 years ago, people regarded grain whisky as an industrial spirit because a grain distillery, even today, makes 10 times the spirit than a malt whisky distillery makes. “Malt whisky distilleries are maybe now making 10 million or 20 million litres a year – the big ones – and a grain distillery produces over 100 million litres. I wouldn’t consider it a cheaper product, because once you have bought the cask and matured the product you’re pretty much talking the same value as a mature malt. “And this concept, that this ‘industrial’ grain spirit was added to the malt just to give volume in the actual blend is basically nonsense,” he says animatedly. Scott ardently believes grain whiskies have a very important role to play from a blender’s point of view because it has its own flavour and character. He explains: “When you taste the grain and add it with malts, it actually promotes and harmonises and brings those sort of heavier flavours of the malts together. “If you change the percentage of the grain in the blend, it will change the balance of the malts and the grains, and change the taste experience of the final blend. It’s not just a case of you just blend the malts and then add the grain for the sake of it to give you volume. You have to put it all together because if you don’t, you get a different product.” Walker seconds this. “Some of the best, most amazing [grain] whiskies I’ve got to try was when I was looking at making the John Walker 50-year-old Masters' Edition with Jim and Maureen and it was just phenomenal.” Her face lights up as she recalls that time and takes a moment to finish her train of thought. “Amazing, amazing grain whiskies,” she says with a smile. “And at those ages, when you taste them, they make your mouth water, they are so luscious, and fruity and it’s just astounding. But when you mix them together with these great individual casks of single malts, you have that lusciousness and that fruitiness but you also have these other flavours coming and mixing together.” A large part of Walker’s new role is extolling the virtues of all Scotch whiskies – grains, malts, blends, single malts and single casks – to the world. A lack of in-person events, which are slowly starting to pepper the calendar again, have presented an additional challenge but you’d be foolish to think anything can stop the new Johnnie Walker Master Blender from spreading the gospel. For Scott, it’s a case of once tasted, never forgotten. “I always feel like a great blend is the blend that has huge complexity but there is no individual flavour or character that dominates from the nose to taste to finish,” Scott tells me. “You take a sip and you smile and you put it down and it just invites you to have another one. Because you think wow, that is something I must taste it again.” With more remarkable blended whiskies to be found than ever before, you feel it won’t be long before the rest of the world is singing from the same hymn sheet. Browse all Scotch or read more Editorial 

Blended Scotch whisky doesn’t always get the respect it deserves. Part of this reason is legacy, part is misinformation. Holly Motion explores why blended whiskies are just as worthy of a place in your spirits collection as single malts

Johnnie Walker’s Dr Emma Walker and The Last Drop’s Colin Scott on why blended Scotch whiskies are as complex and beguiling as single malts.

Exploring the brilliance of blended whisky

Blended whisky: a marriage made in heaven

I am too disorganised to call myself a collector, but I often find myself thinking about the multiple meanings of collecting. I have a room full of books left unread from one year to the next, whose mute reproach I feel every time I am in their presence. I have half a dozen radios, from Marco Zanuso and Richard Sapper’s folding Brionvega TS502 to a Danish-made Beolit 707 from Bang & Olufsen, with its slide rule tuning device. I have a manual typewriter.  Most of us accumulate such random clutter. These were never possessions that were primarily about being useful – the Brionvega and the Beolit have long since been supplanted by a bluetooth speaker and a smartphone. They represent my membership of the design tribe.  The books carry other layers of meaning. My five years at university are on one shelf. The traces of the eight years I have spent writing a just-completed biography of Boris Iofan – Josef Stalin’s preferred architect – are spelled out in the titles of the books on another shelf. The typewriter was inherited from my father and it serves to remind me of childhood. The closest that I come to having a collection that a serious collector might acknowledge is in my chairs: a Rover chair that Ron Arad salvaged from a car, a Gio Ponti Superlegera, an Eames Lounger, a Harry Bertoia, George Sowden’s Palace chair from the 1983 Memphis collection and a deconstructed armchair designed by Rei Kawakubo. On a larger or smaller scale, humans develop complex relationships with their possessions that can go from the professionalism of full-blown collecting, to the casual significance of a row of junk shop finds on a mantlepiece. They can tell us a lot about ourselves. Marina Warner’s guide to the house in Hampstead, now run as a museum, in which Sigmund Freud spent the last year of his life, offers an arresting insight into the significance that collecting had for him. She describes the ranks of ancient bronze, ceramic and marble figures parading across the desk that Freud brought with him to London from Vienna where he no longer felt safe due to Nazi occupation in 1938. Certainly, they are beautiful, and mostly they are precious. Thanks to their association with Freud, even the few that have been established as 20th-century forgeries will have become valuable. Some are almost 4,000 years old and reflect the religious and political practices of the distant past. Others, such as Freud’s art deco cigar case, come less freighted with history. But as Warner says, “they were also tools of thought, the kitchen utensils of his imagination”.   The batterie de cuisine of psychoanalysis included Egyptian coffin masks from the Roman period, Chinese jade and gold brooches, Roman glass, a 2,500-year-old sphinx, sarcophagus lids, Babylonian cylinder seals and Egyptian heart scarabs, as well as a 19th-century neck rest from New Guinea, modern metal porcupines, and Balinese figures. The pieces in pride of place on his desk, placed in apparently random order, were his special favourites, a tiny fraction of his collection that had become permanent fixtures. From time to time, Freud made space for a few new acquisitions to get a look in. “A collection to which there are no new additions is really dead,” he told his biographer Ernest Jones. After a short interval, most of the new things would be moved into the glass-fronted cabinets positioned around his study, where they were placed in more organised groups than those standing on his desk. Greek sculptures went on a shelf together. A cluster of representations of the Egyptian god Horus were grouped on another.  In Freud’s lifetime, the collection was continually changing. Before his move to London, he toured Vienna’s antiquities dealers almost every week on the look-out for new finds. He was ready to exchange pieces for items he could not afford to buy, and was generous in gifting pieces to friends and pupils he thought would appreciate them. Freud also had no qualms about buying items that came on the market in questionable circumstances, in particular, from the unofficial excavations (sometime after 1906) at a Roman fort in Hungary.   Despite the important part it played in his life, Freud wrote very little about collecting. The nearest that he came to spelling out what drove his interest in fragments of ancient sculpture, was when he compared his own exploration of the unconscious minds of his patients to an archaeological excavation of an ancient city. “The psychoanalyst, like the archaeologist, must uncover layer after layer of the patient’s psyche before coming to the deepest, most valuable treasures.”  Freud was known to share his dining table with choice specimens to act as companions during a meal. “I must always have an object to love”, he confessed to his colleague and rival Carl Jung. When he was writing his book The Interpretation of Dreams in 1895, Freud spent the summer at Schloss Bellevue outside Vienna. He took a selection of what he called “my old grubby gods who take part in the works as paperweights for the manuscripts” with him.  Before Freud left Austria for England in 1938, his desk, his consulting room, and his study at Berggasse 19 were photographed by Edmund Engelman. Engelman’s 150 images helped Freud’s architect son Ernst to transpose the desk and its contents from a dark back room in a Viennese apartment to a sunlit Hampstead villa.  Like most collectors, Freud could never limit himself to a single field. Ronald Lauder the former MoMA chairman, for example, is known for the collection of Viennese modernism that forms the basis for his own museum, the Neue Galerie in New York. He also collects (in depth) in 15 other fields with little apparent connection between them. Lauder is fascinated by the work of the Japanese designer Shiro Kuramata. He has a collection of arms and armour going back to The Crusades, and another of World War Two memorabilia. He owns some of Egon Schiele’s finest works, as well as various 18th-century French artworks. Fellow collector Rolf Fehlbaum (head of Vitra) has one of the largest collections of modern chairs in the world, and gave Frank Gehry his first European commission to design a gallery for it, but he is equally fascinated by toy robots manufactured in Japan since 1937. He calls them tiny kinetic sculptures. Where possible, he acquires their original packaging too. Perhaps the best way to understand the psychology of collecting is to see it as a spectrum. At one end, it is about order and control. In a messy and uncontrollable universe, a collection offers at least a semblance of certainty. A collection of this kind is based on provenance, completeness and authenticity. An over-restored vintage Bugatti is less desirable to a collector than one in original condition.  Every previous owner, every detail of its making forms part of its record. A red Olivetti typewriter designed by Ettore Sottsass that once belonged to David Bowie was sold at Sotheby’s for US$65,000. You can buy one (that hasn’t been owned by Bowie) for US$750, which is still a lot of money for a piece of obsolete technology. Some collectors attempt to make patterns from the things that they acquire or, like jigsaw puzzlers, set out to complete a picture by locating every piece of a set. Some try to document the evolution of a species whether the subject of their interest is biscuit tins or the eggs of a particular type of bird. Some forms of collecting require the active engagement of the collector. Wildflowers need to be picked and dried quickly before they are pressed into a book. Butterfly collectors used macabre methods such as poison jars, or squeezing the thorax, to dispatch their prey without causing so much distress that they risk damaging delicate wings. At the other end of the spectrum, the accumulation of stuff by people who die alone in homes overwhelmed by stacks of ancient newspapers and tins of cat food, is a kind of sickness. It’s a condition that can overwhelm even the most celebrated of artists. In the last 17 years of his life, Andy Warhol filled a succession of cardboard boxes with a seemingly random accumulation of objects: taxi receipts, a vinyl Ramones single signed by Joey Ramone, a piece of an ancient, mummified foot, pastel-coloured corsets and a selection of metal dentures. Every time he had a full box, it was sealed and shipped off to storage in a warehouse in New Jersey. A typical box has 400 objects in it, some have as many as 1,200. Items in them include a piece of Caroline Kennedy’s wedding cake – Warhol seems to have been a regular guest at Kennedy weddings. He showed up 20 minutes after the wedding ceremony for Maria Shriver and Arnold Schwarzenegger had started, in the company of Grace Jones. He was in black leather, and wearing two wigs; she had on a huge green fur hat.   Warhol’s boxes are a collection of the uncollectable and the uncontrollable, which, thanks to the resources of the Andy Warhol Foundation, has been tamed after six years of work by a dedicated group of archivists and cataloguers. The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh has aestheticised the cardboard boxes. They sit on back-lit shelves in the museum to suggest that this is not a random collection of trash that Warhol never looked at, but, in the view of the museum, is in fact a time-based art piece, comprising at least 500,000 objects that took 30 years to complete. It presents a considerably less impressive sight than British Regency period architect Sir John Soane’s museum. The architect of the Bank of England put as much effort into adapting his Lincoln’s Inn Fields house (and subsequently the two adjoining houses) to display his Hogarth paintings, a sarcophagus and his architectural models, as he did to accumulating the collection itself. The Nobel prize-winning Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk’s novel, The Museum of Innocence is an eloquent exploration of the hoarding end of the collecting spectrum. What initially appears to be an account of a doomed love affair, quickly reveals itself as an exploration of the meaning of collecting. The story’s main protagonist Kemal starts acquiring things when his relationship with his lover Füsun is going well. When she drops an earring, he finds it and puts it to one side. As Füsun falls out of love with him, Kemal begins an increasingly desperate accumulation of objects that record their relationship. He picks up each of the cigarettes that she smokes. When she has stopped seeing him altogether, Kemal starts hanging around at her parents’ house and stealing pieces of cutlery that she might have used.  What makes Pamuk’s book particularly remarkable is that he acquired a house in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district that had belonged to a Greek merchant in the Ottoman era, and transformed it into a physical Museum of Innocence. It is, of course, very far from innocent; everything inside it is a lovingly created fiction. The first thing that you see once you get inside, is a wall covered with 4,213 cigarette ends, each of them carefully annotated in Pamuk’s neat handwriting, with imaginary details of the time and place they were smoked. The rest of the house is full of equally carefully fabricated objects from cosmetics to movie posters that reflect Pamuk’s vision of the modernising Turkey of the 1970s. “I think getting attached to objects happens in traumatic times and love is a trauma,” Pamuk once said. “Perhaps when they are in trouble, people hoard things.”  When Pamuk gave me a tour of his museum, he told me about meeting Warhol’s archivist, and expressed his reservations about the significance of the boxes in Pittsburgh. “Hoarding objects reaches the level of collecting only when there is a story that unites them,” he said. But that is a novelist criticising another, less narrative art form. While Freud’s desk in Hampstead was always useable, if overcrowded, the desk in fashion designer Paul Smith’s office in Covent Garden is completely overwhelmed with a snowdrift of collected objects that sweeps over an office chair, down onto the floor, and back up to the shelves that line every wall. There are stacks of books and magazines, cameras and mountains of vintage cycling jerseys. There is an i-Mac computer, a gift from Jony Ive that Smith has never used. Computers aren’t Smith’s thing. In any case, it’s too late now, short of purging half the contents of the room: there is no way to get near it. There are toy tin cars, collections of bottles from Moroccan markets, a pink bicycle and a lot of rabbits. “I once said in an interview that seeing a rabbit brings me luck, and they haven’t stopped pouring in ever since,” explains Smith. Collecting began, as did so many things in Smith’s career, with his early enthusiasm for cycling. Growing up in Nottingham in the 1950s, there was a newsagent which occasionally had a copy of L’Equipe, which would portray the heroes of the Tour de France in their yellow jerseys in colour on the cover, but in sepia inside. He bought the magazine, fascinated by the images, even if he couldn’t read it. “I can remember once saying, ‘I really like Jacques Anquetil’ to my father, which baffled him, since none of our family had ever been abroad. I saved my pocket money so that I could upgrade the gears on my bike from Simplex to Campagnolo. The box it came in was as important to me as the gear itself.”  What attracted Smith to the Campagnolo box, along with stamps and matchboxes which he has in large numbers – not just in his office but at his Nottingham HQ where he has an archivist trying to make sense of it all – is the way that designers can say so much in such a tiny space. He showed me a Japanese book of matches produced for a Tokyo nightclub in the 1970s. “It so clearly says it’s ‘contemporary’. You can hear the jazz already.”  Despite the huge assortment of assembled objects, Smith is reluctant to describe himself as a collector. “I just have a large quantity of the same things,” he says, matter of factly. “In my head, a collector is someone who selects an item or a subject. They collect them because they know a lot about them. Maybe I have a little knowledge about cycling jerseys.  In the early 1980s, on my first trips to Japan and India, I just got a bit carried away. I bought lots of Japanese furniture. In India, for some reason, I bought 15 wardrobes, and a piece of furniture that doubled as a staircase with drawers.” Smith had them all sent home on the Trans-Siberian Express.  He suggests that his is a collection that has found him. “Things collect me,” he says. “For some reason I started to be sent things, and they still keep coming.” There is an individual who regularly sends Smith artefacts that come unwrapped but covered in postage stamps. Others send him letters, toys, books and even ancient packets of razor blades. One visitor took careful photographs of his office, and later sent him a precisely detailed model of his office, complete with its chaotic contents. Smith’s London home, where he lives with his wife Pauline, is much calmer. “The house is hers. I do have one room for my stuff, but it’s mostly at the office that I get to look at things.” In 1996, patron of the arts and barrister Jill Ritblat gave the V&A Museum the largest single donation of clothes in its history, more than 1,000 items. There are ski outfits in postmodern pastel shades from the 1980s, and challenging Japanese experiments from Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyake, as well as couture from Dior and Saint Laurent. There is work by Alexander McQueen, Biba, Mary Quant, and Christian Lacroix, Emanuel Ungaro and Victor Edelstein, and an evening outfit produced by a dressmaker based on an idea of Ritblat’s own design.  The early days of British fashion from the 1960s are represented by Foale and Tuffin, and Zandra Rhodes, and from the 1980s by Margaret Howell and Katharine Hamnett. There is tailoring from Tommy Nutter and work by Giorgio Armani. It is by no means a complete account of contemporary fashion, but it is certainly extensive, and like the personal wardrobe that it is, combines some very special pieces made for family occasions, with more everyday wear. The connecting thread of Ritblat’s collection is Ritblat herself. These were all pieces that she had bought to wear. They were not chosen like stamps, or old masters, or celadon vases to make a self-conscious collection, but were the result of a continuing sequence of choices over time. Taken together they are a reflection of her life as an English woman of a certain background, at a particular time in the country’s history. “I never saw it as a collection, it was more like my diary, though I have never had time to write a diary. Each piece brings back memories of when I wore it,” says Ritblat. She made her first donation to the V&A at the end of 1996, but kept back the things that she wanted to be able to go on using, and they formed the core of a donation to the Design Museum of another 400 items in 2013. Ritblat is ambivalent about fashion. As a child she was somewhat self-conscious about being dressed by her mother, who had studied fashion herself. She was relieved to be able to assume the camouflage of the complex uniform rituals of an English public school for girls in the 1950s. “I loved my school uniform at Roedean; we were expected to change our clothes four times a day, as chic as anything. Scratchy afternoon dresses, regulation school loafers, very nice blazers and pleated skirts.” As a student barrister, she found herself adopting the formal uniform of the legal profession, but then as a married woman began to build a wardrobe that reflected the life that she was leading. Later, when she was making her own choices, she was early to discover Miuccia Prada. “What you pick out is based on whether it suits you and on the zeitgeist,” she explains. Smith, Heseltine and Ritblat represent three very different approaches to collecting. For Smith, the unruly mountain of things in his office, is, like the collection on Sigmund Freud’s desk, part of the tools of his imagination, a source of imagery and ideas for his work as a designer. It’s also a means of establishing his personality. Heseltine’s garden is an investment of time, resources and creativity in the remaking of a place that speaks to the future using living organisms that will outlive us all. Ritblat’s clothes are a record of the full life of an individual. All of these collections provide insights into unique people, their lives and times. In their different ways all three reflect on the nature of collecting, and its ability to be a creative activity in itself. In a world in which technology threatens to abolish the material world altogether, objects have not lost their allure. Their physical condition marks the passing of time in ways that pixels and code cannot do. Collecting is the means all of us have to create histories of our times, and even more, of ourselves. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two. 

In order to explore the mindset of the collector, Deyan Sudjic shines a light on the collected objects of Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol, and speaks to three British collectors to better understand what it is that makes collecting such a vital part of the human experience.

Exploring the mindset of the collector and why the act is a vital part of the human experience, with a focus on Sigmund Freud and Andy Warhol

FONDATA: Exploring the art of collecting 

 I Collect, Therefore I Am

Champagne’s climate can be fickle. Of all the fine wine regions around the world it has to be the most unpredictable. Lucie Pereyre de Nonancourt chuckles as she recalls the countless times she has heard the latest vintage described as “unlike any they have seen in 50 years”. She explains: “We hear this all the time. No vintage in Champagne is the same!” It is the region’s capricious nature that dictates the thought process behind Laurent-Perrier’s prestige cuvée, Grand Siècle. A blend of three vintages, all with very different, complementary personalities, the idea is, that when blended together, they capture all the potential qualities a vintage in Champagne is capable of – but are rarely found in one. While Laurent-Perrier is widely recognised as one of the region’s great Champagne houses, Grand Siècle hasn’t necessarily garnered the same sort of attention as other prestige cuvées. Possibly one could argue this is because it is the only non-vintage Grande Marque prestige cuvée – but it is almost definitely because, up until recently, the vintages that made up each new release of Grand Siècle weren’t revealed. That all changed in April 2019 when the house first released Grand Siècle Itération No 24 in bottle and Itération No 22 in magnum – identifying the blend of vintages and what each brought to the blend. Fundamentally each vintage should bring one of the three elements that can typically define a great Champagne year – structure, freshness and elegance or acidity. There have been just 24 different iterations of Grand Siècle since its conception in 1959. Pereyre’s grandfather and Champagne legend Bernard de Nonancourt first had the idea for the cuvée. (It was Bernard who took Laurent-Perrier from a small Champagne house to one of the region’s most recognised brands.) The concept came to him “from observing nature”, says Pereyre. “Champagne has a difficult climate – every harvest is very different but quality is also very different.” The perfect year didn’t exist. For him, a great Champagne was one that has reached aromatic complexity, without losing any of its vivacity and freshness – and that was the aim with Grand Siècle. Bernard’s concept had three rules. Firstly, it should always be made up of three vintages. Secondly, it should always be Chardonnay-dominant – a signature of the Laurent-Perrier house. And thirdly, it must all come exclusively from the Grands Crus of the Côte des Blancs and Montagne de Reims. Speaking with Pereyre, it becomes clear just how much work and time goes into each Itération of Grand Siècle. Each release is 15 years in the making: once all three vintages have been selected, they are blended then spend at least 10 years on lees. The wines do not see any oak and are made as reductively as possible, another key to the cuvée’s freshness. The wine is only released when ready to drink, but Pereyre is confident each has the potential to age 20, 30, even 40 years without losing its vibrancy. As larger-format bottles evolve more slowly, magnums of each Itération are typically released a couple of years later. Pereyre has spent her life in Champagne. Baptised with Grand Siècle as a baby, it seems fitting that today she is charged with the prestige cuvée. Laurent-Perrier is one of the few Grandes Marques still under family ownership. Her mother and aunt took over from her grandfather in 2010, with Peyeyre joining the business in 2019.  Ever since she joined, Pereyre has been training under the watchful eye of Chef de Cave Michel Fauconnet, one of Champagne’s most experienced winemakers. Fauconnet has been working at Laurent-Perrier since 1974 and headed up the winemaking in 2004. He is also the winemaker of the illustrious Salon (also owned by Laurent-Perrier). Fauconnet has Pereyre studying how each parcel tastes, how it develops and how it works in the blend. While Grand Siècle always comes from 11 Grands Crus – Mailly, Ambonnay, Bouzy, Verzy, Verzenay, Tours-sur-Marne in Montagne de Reims, and Cramant, Oger, Mesnil-sur-Oger, Chouilly and Avize in the Côte des Blancs – the proportion in each Itération is different. “The top of the hill versus the bottom can bring very different expressions to each vintage,” says Pereyre. “All the hard work of Champagne is in the blending – every cellar master knows what they have in mind and what style they want to express. Ever since my grandfather created the first Grand Siècle, it has been the cellar master’s job to try to recreate this style – linear, taut, mineral, a lot of acidity, not too open aromatically – but not too acidic and to have some roundness.” It is still very early days for Pereyre, but she is tasting all the time – the only way to learn, and appreciates she is blessed with a great teacher. With the contents of each Itération now in the public domain, the wine is gaining huge scores from the region’s leading critics – perhaps unsurprising given the pedigree of the vineyards and cellar team. Grand Siècle is the greatest expression of Laurent-Perrier’s house style. Browse all Champagne Laurent-Perrier listings

Ahead of the long-awaited release of Grand Siècle Itération No 23 in magnum, we speak to Champagne Laurent-Perrier’s Lucie Pereyre de Nonancourt to find out what’s so special about their prestige cuvée 

We speak to Champagne Laurent-Perrier’s Lucie Pereyre de Nonancourt to find out what’s so special about their prestige cuvée Grand Siècle

Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle and the perfect year

Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle: recreating the perfect year

With “freshness” and “structure” often the buzz words defining the best Bordeaux wines of recent warm vintages – the plush richness and suppleness brought by the Merlot variety often seems undersold compared to the role of the Cabernets in the blend.  Christian Moueix, Director at Petrus (1970-2008), Trotanoy and La Fleur-Petrus; John Kolasa of Chateau Rauzan Segla and Chateau Canon (1997-2015); Maylis Marcenat of Chateau Clos de Sarpe; as well as Pascal Baratie of Chateau Haut-Brion - the First Growth with the highest proportion of merlot in its blend - identify how global warming is affecting merlot and what this means for its long term future in the region.  We also discover why merlot became central to Bordeaux’s success and today remains much loved, providing it is grown in the right place and managed correctly. 
Managing rising alcohol levels There is no grape more synonymous with the region of Bordeaux than merlot, playing an extensive role in almost all wines of the region on both the Left and Right Banks. Whilst it plays second fiddle to the cabernet sauvignon dominant wines of Saint-Julien and Pauillac, everywhere else from Pessac to Pomerol it plays a significant role in the blend. But merlot in
recent years has become a concern for many in the region. With the rising climatic temperatures in Bordeaux, some vignerons are struggling to manage ever-rising alcohol levels, whilst trying to achieve full phenolic ripeness of the tannins in the skins and seeds.  Merlot is an earlier ripening variety than cabernet sauvignon and its sugar levels can increase quickly in hot temperatures, leaving an imbalance between sugar and tannin ripeness. The more steady the temperatures are through the summer, the more chance the sugar levels and phenolic ripeness will reach optimum levels at the same time. In a hot vintage, sugar levels rise too quickly forcing vignerons to pick the grapes before they have had time for the tannins to reach phenolic maturity, afraid that if the sugar levels become too high, there will be a drop in acidity, as well as causing serious problems at fermentation. For Pascal Baratie, vineyard manager at Chateau Haut-Brion the higher levels of alcohol have not however proved problematic for them, stating “since the 2000s, there has been a gap between phenolic maturity and technological maturity (measurement of sugar and acidity levels). Today, during the maturity checks in the vineyard before the harvest, when we taste the grapes at 13 degrees potential alcohol, we note that the tannins are still hard… so we need to wait to obtain more supple tannins and greater phenolic maturity.  The balance obtained today, is certainly different to pre-2000 levels, but we are fortunate to be on a great terroir, which produces balanced wines, with a good tannic potential even with high alcoholic degrees. The regularity of great vintages of the last 20 years lets us think that the supposed problem of alcoholic degrees is more in the head than in the glass.” However not all Chateaux are fortunate to share the same terroir as Haut-Brion. Drought in Bordeaux 
Higher alcohols are not the only concern with merlot. Drought is also becoming problematic when trying to plant young merlot vines in Bordeaux, particularly on gravel soils. Merlot requires moisture to grow and whilst the clay-rich soils of Saint-Estephe on the Left Bank and Pomerol and Saint-Emilion on the Right Bank naturally retain moisture; the gravel soils in Margaux, Saint Julien and Pauillac are becoming increasingly dry in the warming climate. John Kolasa states “this is becoming a real problem where there is deep gravel, like in Margaux.  Young merlot vines need years of root growth to break through the gravel and reach water reserves below, but in parts of Margaux where the gravel can be up to two metres deep, the roots take longer than three years to break through. Three years is the current allowance for
irrigating vines in the region. It is once this irrigation stops that these vines suffer and die. It is one of the reasons you see less merlot being planted in Margaux. If they can’t find a way for young merlot vines to survive in gravel soils, it will undoubtedly lead to a change in style over the coming years.”  Merlot's susceptibility to disease Global warming effects are not just an increase in temperatures but an increase in erratic weather episodes, leading to a heightened pressure of rot and mildew – something merlot is much more susceptible to than the cabernet varieties, due to its thinner skin.  “Merlot is a wonderful variety but it is more difficult to manage these days” states Maylis Marcenat from Saint-Emilion's Chateau Clos de Sarpe. “In 2018, our merlot suffered a lot from mildew. We lost around 40% of our production mostly on the merlot vines. The cabernet franc has a better resistance.  The weather is more uncertain these days, a lot of rain followed by a very dry season makes it difficult to predict.”  Rot is also a concern and certainly nothing new in the region, it plagued the merlot vines of the late sixties and seventies. So much so, that replanting of the variety was in fact banned in Pomerol following the disastrous 1968 vintage. Vignerons were instead strongly encouraged to plant cabernet sauvignon. Christian Moueix recalls, “I remember, of course, the terrible rot of 1968 and the desire of some researchers to find a varietal resistant to rot. I attended many meetings in 1970-1971 and protested against the banning of planting Merlot. It was a violent controversy and, in 1972, I refused to plant those new cabernets sauvignons in Pomerol.”  Moueix’s decision was justified. John Kolasa states following this ”it became very fashionable to grow cabernet sauvignon in the '60s and '70s on the wrong rootstocks!” Kolasa ended up pulling out all the cabernet sauvignon vines planted at Chateau Canon during this time, stating, “the damn things would never ripen”. The early '70s saw a bout of poor vintages for the region largely due to bad weather either just before or during harvest. The cabernet sauvignon at the time was unripe, incredibly green and it was the earlier ripening merlot that became the more reliable source. 

Kolasa outlines one theory behind the rot that plagued Merlot on the Right Bank at that time. “Much of the Right Bank back then was undeveloped, compared to the bigger estates on the Left Bank. The vineyards were also producing many other fruit and vegetables. When the vineyards were ploughed by horse and cart these fruit trees were not a problem, the horse
simply went around the tree, but with the introduction of tractors and machinery, many vignerons simply chopped down the tree.  The trouble is they killed the tree but left the roots in the ground. Similarly to roses, if you leave dead roots in the ground they become infected with fungi. These dead roots in the soil came to plague vineyards with rot at that time.” John recalls finding rotting roots all over the vineyards at Chateau Canon. His first year at the property in 1997, he made two separate cuvees, one from vines away from the tree roots and one nearby.  “I only had to put my nose in the glass of the two to know which one was which, the wine made by the affected vines smelt terrible. Following that experiment it was so clear to me. I took up all the vines affected. Pulling up old vines is never something one wants to do, knowing that it will takes decades for the new vines to reach maturity, but these vines were so infected I was left with no choice.”  Merlot as a more reliable source of ripe fruit found favour through the '70s and '80s. By the mid '90s, the influence of the American market enamoured by the plush, richness and soft texture the merlot provides in the blend, only saw more plantings of the variety.  For Christian Moueix the Americans love affair with Merlot stopped in 2005, with the release of the film Sideways which saw the main character famously state, "If anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving, I am NOT drinking any f**king merlot!”. It is worth noting his favourite wine in the film was Cheval Blanc, a merlot blend! The damaging effects of global warming have only further put merlot in the shadows as the cabernet varieties share the limelight, but these vignerons are confident of its future in Bordeaux. 
Merlot still remains essential to the Bordeaux psyche Christian Moueix states: “Global warming has been positive for Bordeaux as everybody would admit. The rising of alcohol is almost impossible to control since it comes not only from heat and sun but from the level of CO2 in the atmosphere”. For Moueix provided merlot is planted in the right soil he is confident in its prolonged future in the region.  “We still replant merlot in Pomerol and Saint-Emilion; this is the varietal best suited to our terroirs. To manage the climate, we have adapted the canopy to avoid the direct impact of sun. This is all we can do at this point unless the addition of water becomes legal.” Baratie from Chateau Haut Brion outlines the importance of balance that both the merlot and cabernet varietals still bring to the classic Bordeaux blend. “We do not want to part with Merlot because it is satisfactory today even in hot years and for the future we want to keep its current proportion. We have to keep a balanced planting to obtain maturity on plots of
merlot and cabernets whatever the weather conditions of the year. From time to time, we have cooler years and it is interesting to have matured Merlot, when the cabernet sauvignons are likely to be harder and herbaceous. In 2011, a very dry spring year, Chateau Haut-Brion was made up of only 35% merlot, while in 2012, a more classic climate year, it was made up of 65.5% merlot. Over two successive years, the climatic conditions were different and led us to select a different proportion of grape varieties in the wine. We can see that we cannot do without merlot in one vintage like the other. Merlot brings an interesting juice, as well as sweetness, fine and supple tannins which make it essential. It may be replaceable with another grape, but at the moment we do not have the knowledge.”  The importance of terroir Despite the risks of rot, drought, mildew and high sugar levels, fantastic merlot continues to be grown in Bordeaux providing the terroir is right. Speaking with these vignerons one thing they all agree on is that the soil remains the most fundamental aspect to its success - in the past, today and in the future. “Merlot grown on clay and limestone soil can still preserve freshness as well as minimal hydric stress in my terroir.  So why not use it?" states Maylis Marcenat from Chateau Clos de Sarpe. “The merlot is still an exceptional plant. The sweetness, the complexity is unique. I think in Saint Emilion, and especially on clay and limestone, all the merlot are more creamy, tasty, with a lot of juiciness.“ At Chateau Haut-Brion, Baratie agrees, “We tend to favour merlot on grounds that are relatively well supplied with water and to favour cabernet sauvignon on gravelly soils. But we have plots of merlot on gravelly soils, little supplied with water, which give very great wines every year and we do not plan to change the grape variety on these very qualitative plots. But
in addition, we are adapting later ripening and drought-resistant rootstocks.” Intra-plot vinification, precise technical understanding of viticulture, clonal development, replanting better-matched rootstocks, has all helped Bordeaux and Merlot in particular, cope with the changing climate. But the art of blending is still vital part of the wines of Bordeaux and today has become an important measure to reduce the alcohol in Merlot-dominant wines. Cabernet Franc to the rescue Many wineries up and down the Medoc are lowering the proportion of merlot in their blends, opting more for cabernet franc. John Kolasa outlines how cabernet franc can effectively lower the overall alcohol level in the blend of a wine. “Blending just 5% of cabernet franc in with merlot can be an effective method of lowering the alcohol, as well as adding freshness. It is something Petrus did with the 2019 vintage. Look at the success of Chateau 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”. 
The future of Merlot Despite the difficulties Merlot is facing, there seems plenty of ways vignerons in the region are adapting to manage Merlot differently in this warmer climate. Marcenat of Clos du Sarpe believes “the way of cultivating must change. Less green harvesting, we no longer need too much concentration in the grapes, we must be careful with the thinning of the canopy. Merlot needs more cover crops, it benefits from keeping as much grass as possible and we must choose the right organic fertiliser. With this in place, merlot has a future”. For Baratie “The balance of the wines obtained in recent years suits us, thanks to the contribution of merlot, cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon, so we are not worried about the future of merlot. However, thanks to our clonal selection initiated by Jean-Bernard Delmas, today we choose clones on a different criteria from those desired in the past. We currently favour two criteria: the Total Polyphenol Index (IPT) and yields that are not too low.” No doubt helping to modify concentration of alcohol and adding structural freshness
from the higher levels of tannins. Moueix too sees Merlot having a long future ahead in Bordeaux but at the same time would welcome new clones of Merlot that produce less alcohol. “Nevertheless,” states Christian, ”I dare to compare it to a vaccine: it would need a lot of experiments before taking the risk of replacing the present clones which produce wonderful wines.” Perhaps the biggest threat for the future of merlot therefore comes not from the clay-rich soils of the Right Bank but from the gravel-rich soils of the Medoc, where it remains a minority in the blend, but nevertheless an important element to the profile of these wines. If a solution cannot be found for growing young merlot vines on gravel soil, will we see alternatives varieties in the assemblage and a change in style? Browse all Bordeaux listings or explore more Editorial 

Merlot today remains the most-planted variety in Bordeaux but its dominance is waning somewhat in an ever warming climate. 

Merlot remains the most-planted grape variety in Bordeaux. We explore why it became central to Bordeaux’s success and remains so highly regarded

Merlot grapes and wines at the heart of Bordeaux 

Merlot: Part of the Bordeaux psyche

It was a small yellow aphid that disregarded national borders, wiping out the livelihood of every grape grower in its way and there was no known cure nor effective prevention in its first devastating years. Even when a cure was discovered, growers were reluctant – and often financially unable – to use it.  As a result, phylloxera vastatrix  – vastratix meaning ravager – continued to nibble on the roots of vines across western Europe, sucking the lifeblood from the vines and leaving wounds for any passing infection. By 1900, 2.5 million hectares of France's vineyard had been uprooted, causing production to slump, encouraging dodgy dealers to make fake wine, and leading to mass protests.  The story of phylloxera in Europe started as a well-intentioned gift. In 1862, an American grape grower sent some cuttings of native vines to his friend in the Rhône Valley who planted them, unaware of the damage it would inflict on his compatriots. Within a year, local growers were lamenting their sick vines. Phylloxera had wanderlust, sparing no French region; nor did it respect the country's finest terroirs or illustrious châteaux.  However, a concerted national response to the potential ruin of the country's national beverage was not forthcoming. The French government was too busy putting on International Exhibitions in Paris (1867), opening the Suez Canal (1869) and waging war on Prussia (1870-71). In 1870, the government acknowledged there might be an issue, offering a 20,000 Franc reward for a cure. Remedies were offered including burying living toads in the vineyard, adding volcanic ash from Pompeii to the soil or inviting a marching band to play to the vines. Unsurprisingly, the vines continued to die. In 1880, a solution was finally accepted: graft European varieties to the roots of American vines. However, grafting noble French varieties - vitis vinifera - to the roots of these lowly American varieties seemed like sacrilege to many growers. It was thought they would affect the nobility of their precious wines. There was also the issue of cost: uprooting your vineyard, replanting and then having to wait between three and five years for a crop did not feed a family and the concept of state aid was still a long way off.  As a result, many tried to limp on for as long as possible, injecting carbon bisulphide, an expensive and toxic solvent used to vulcanise rubber, into the soil to stave off the inevitable.  The producers in the south of France were the first to be hit in the 1860s and they replanted with high-yielding hybrids. By the turn of the century, the Languedoc was producing more wine than ever before. However, the region's unscrupulous merchants made up for the initial shortfall at peak phylloxera by bulking out grape juice with sugar and water while others made wines from raisins. These practices continued despite the replanted vineyards returning to full production, causing a huge oversupply and depressing prices.  Urged on by a growing labour movement, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets in 1907 to call for change. The Champagne Riots of 1911 The Champenois followed suit, rioting in the streets in 1911 and the root of their troubles also lay with phylloxera.  In 1892, the Marne was invaded by its first phylloxera aphid and, by 1910, 40% of the region had been affected. But this was no time for production to fall: Champagne sales were booming and to make up for the shortfall, dodgy merchants (and some of the seemingly reputable houses) brought in wines from the Loire and the south of France by the train-load. The wines were made sparkling in their cellars and the bottles emerged, as if by magic, as Champagne. Supply and demand economics suggested that the growers should have been earning more for their fruit as phylloxera affected supply and sales boomed, but fake Champagne kept prices low. Having borne the cost of replanting their vineyards, this was not how growers imagined they would be rewarded and protests ensued.  While most vineyards in Champagne and beyond are now planted on American rootstocks, there are some vines and vineyard owners that play wine roulette and grow vitis vinifera on their own roots. For example, three plots belonging to Bollinger were planted in 1960 in the traditional pre-phylloxera way. One has succumbed to the vine louse but the remaining two parcels are the source of Vieilles Vignes Françaises, a rare Pinot Noir-based Champagne that provides a taste of a bygone era.  We asked Denis Bunner, Bollinger’s Deputy Cellar Master, about the Aÿ-based Champagne House's rarest wine, Vieilles Vignes Françaises, which is produced on its own roots.  Why did Bollinger begin producing Vieilles Vignes Françaises in 1969?  An English journalist Cyril Ray proposed the initiative to Madame Bollinger following a visit in 1967 and this inspired Madame Bollinger to create a wine from the precious vines to commemorate her 70th birthday, which saw the first bottle produced in 1969. The wine was launched in 1974. Are the vines pre-phylloxera? If so, they must be more than a century old. No, the current plots in Aÿ were planted in the 1960s but it is impossible to give an age to the vines due to the perpetual renewal and the way the root system grow [the system is called provignage, which is like vine fostering when there is an empty space to fill. Take a cane from one vine, train it down into the soil and partially bury it with the end sticking out until it forms a separate vine. This is also done in the Nacional vineyard at Quinta do Noval]. There were three plots that weren't grafted but there are now only two. What happened? third plot succumb to phylloxera?  The third plot in Croix Rouge de Bouzy was attacked by phylloxera at the end of the 1990s – the vineyard didn't have protective walls around it. The last vintage was 2004 as we had to uproot it when it fell prey to the infestation. How many acres do the two remaining plots cover?  The Clos Saint-Jacques (Aÿ) covers just over half an acre while the Clos des Chaudes-Terres, which lies within the boundaries of Bollinger’s own lands, covers a little over a third of an acre. In total, they represent 0.36 hectares. Is there anything special about the soil of these two plots that means it resists phylloxera?  The soil is not remarkably different from that in the rest of Aÿ and as per the rest of Champagne it features chalk. Is this special cuvee made every year?  No. Only in declared vintages. What is the average production of Vieilles Vignes Françaises?  This varies by vintage, but falls within the range of 2,000 to 3,000 bottles. A total of 2,420 numbered bottles of the 2009 Vieilles Vignes Françaises vintage were produced. Read more Editorial

Following the release of Bollinger’s latest vintage of Vieilles Vignes Françaises, we talk to Denis Bunner, Bollinger’s Deputy Cellar Master about the Aÿ-based Champagne house's rarest wine, as well as delving into the archives to explore the history of the fatal vine louse.

Phylloxera and Bollinger’s Vieilles Vignes Françaises on the wine grown from vines planted on its own roots and thus vulnerable to attack by the louse.

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