As our team arrived in Saint-Emilion under sunny skies to start our annual en primeur pilgrimage, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the mood in the camp was somewhat apprehensive. Ever since the end of the Burgundy campaign, like every spring, the spotlight turns to Bordeaux and the press surrounding the 2024 vintage has been somewhat pessimistic – with a backdrop marked by talk of tariffs in the US, falling prices and the eternal question of en primeur as a viable mechanism for distribution today.  I find so often that – at primeurs – vintages are reduced to generalisations that never do justice to the region’s diverse terroir. This being my eighth campaign, I remind myself every year that this week is so much more than just an opportunity to taste the latest vintage. It’s a chance to spend time with those behind the barrels and to hear their story, for producers to share their insight on the vintage first hand. With over 50 visits booked, there was plenty for us to get our teeth into before we could draw any meaningful conclusions. Our first visit of the week was at Cheval Blanc – and it provided an excellent first litmus test in determining the quality of the vintage. Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet highlighted the challenges brought by the sheer quantity of rainfall in what was one of the wettest winters for the region since records began. And the widespread rainfall – from the autumn of 2023 onwards – was the start of a series of challenges that would test even the most experienced of winemakers. After just our first morning of tasting, we could see that the 2024 vintage was throwing up a level of heterogeneity and diversity not seen in more recent, solar vintages such as 2022 and 2023. Challenges including mildew, uneven flowering, poor fruit-set and botrytis could be treated any number of ways with varying levels of success – the results of which were fascinating. Our full vintage report, due next week, will look more closely at the conditions of the year, producers’ reactions and the style of the wines. But, from our tastings across the Right Bank, we were pleasantly surprised by the quality on show in amongst the variety. The best wines of Saint-Emilion and Pomerol seem to have favoured a later harvest, risking losing fruit as they waited for phenolic ripeness. Many of our favourites have wonderfully lifted aromatics that are both expressive and concentrated – balancing the Merlot’s juicy fruit against the Cabernet’s texture and structure. This year, we spent just under two weeks in Bordeaux – our longest en primeur tasting trip to date. This allowed us to fit in a couple of extra visits into our tightly packed program. One of these was at Guillot Clauzel, a tiny two-hectare property nestled in Pomerol just a stone’s throw from Le Pin, and under the guidance of winemaker Guillaume Thienpont since 2018. Our visit highlighted that it was clearly possible to make excellent wines in 2024 regardless of price point or scale. The same is true on the Left Bank. In a year where the resilience of the Cabernet shone through, the best wines are quite classical. There’s impressive purity to the fruit on the mid-palate coupled with a backbone of acidity that brings length and drive. Saint-Estèphe and Pauillac seem to have been particularly challenging, with more mixed results (but some unashamed stars – just look at Montrose), while Saint-Julien, once again, offers a more consistent stable. Margaux and Pessac-Léognan’s lighter styles perhaps align best with the vintage’s natural style, and there are some particularly promising wines here. (While rarely a focus, it’s worth highlighting the quality of some of the whites this year too.) There is no year that we can remember in which it has been so important to get boots on the ground and taste en primeur – and taking the time to talk with producers to understand the specifics of the vintage. Producers have come to expect an unrivalled level of questioning when our team shows up. Now that the dust has settled, we can put our spittoons (and notebooks) away and take stock over the Easter weekend. We expect a steady stream of releases to start from as early as Tuesday next week with Batailley and Pontet-Canet set for 22nd and 23rd, respectively. Whatever the campaign has in store for us, we know that 2024 is a year to be selective. Consumers willing look past any pre-conceived ideas about the vintage will be rewarded. Keep an eye out for our full report, set to be published next week, as well as the very first releases

With teeth still wine-stained, our team is returning from almost two weeks tasting Bordeaux 2024 en primeur. Ahead of the very first releases and our full report on the vintage, our Bordeaux Buyer Hector Howes offers some early thoughts on the year – and why it deserved our longest trip to date

After almost two weeks in the region, Bordeaux Buyer Hector Howes offers his initial thoughts on the Bordeaux 2024 vintage and the wines it produced

Bordeaux 2024 en primeur – first thoughts on the vintage

Bordeaux 2024: first thoughts

This year sees the release of the 20th vintage of Cheval des Andes – Cheval Blanc’s operation in Mendoza. Since the team from the legendary Saint-Emilion estate embarked on the venture with Terrazas de los Andes, 25 years ago, much has changed – and this is the start of a new era for the property. What was once a working concept has taken root.  “This is the beginning of our adult life,” says Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet. “We have a real identity today.” It’s taken a quarter-century for the property to shake off the uncertainty of youth and find firm footing – something that hasn’t necessarily been easy.  “We made mistakes,” Clouet confesses. Not having a historic reputation to rely on, the team at Cheval des Andes had sought out high scores, chasing points to prove their worth. But, in a still Parker-dominant era, that meant making wines with “ripe grapes, a lot of extraction, a high level of alcohol – you [had] to show the muscle to explain that you are a great wine”, explains Clouet. “For a long time, the recipe was in the cellar; nobody cared where the vines were.” Now, however, that’s all changed.  From 2011, the team started shifting focus to the vineyard, working more closely with their French counterparts and vice-versa. The arrival of Lorenzo Pasquini (now the man at the helm of Ch. d’Yquem) in 2015 was key to the transition, as Cheval des Andes started to focus on a shared vision of fine wine – one that is about freshness, balance and ageing potential, and one that defines Cheval Blanc.  Only with a few wrong turns, however, can you be sure you’re on the right path – and Clouet is clear that those first 16 years, figuring out what Cheval des Andes should and could be, has been “super important” in helping them build “something with real sincerity, real authenticity”. Most importantly, Cheval des Andes is not intended to be, nor is a copy of Cheval Blanc: “It is, in our mind, absolutely an Argentine wine,” says Clouet.  The original 31-hectare vineyard is in Las Compuertas in Luján de Cuyo, a subregion of Mendoza. It is on these clay-dominant soils at around 1,000 metres’ altitude that Pierre Lurton discovered a plot of ungrafted Malbec in 1998. Planted in 1929, the vine material pre-dates phylloxera, descended from a selection imported to Argentina in 1852 – back when the grape dominated Bordeaux. This selection is key to the DNA of Cheval des Andes and, along with the huge diurnal shift, produces Malbec that is fresh, precise, perfumed and delicately structured. For Clouet, the “true” Malbec is closer to Pinot Noir in style – more floral than fruit-led, vibrant and even ethereal.  In 2001, the team purchased an additional parcel in La Consulta in the Uco Valley, at higher altitude and with more gravel-driven soils, a cooler site that has an even more significant diurnal swing in temperature. While they once might have used only a fraction of the estate to produce the flagship wine, they have moved to using as much as they can – to create a pure expression of the entire property, declassifying only plots that don’t fit in the blend or meet their stringent quality standards.  All 50 hectares are farmed with the same philosophy as their vines in Saint-Emilion – employing extensive cover crops, trees scattered throughout the vineyard, and with the same incredible attention to detail and focus on sustainability. “We work with the same vision and the same conviction,” says Clouet. One key difference, of course, is that irrigation is essential in this part of Argentina – but, here again, they’ve changed tack over the last decade or so. Rather than traditional modern drip irrigation where necessary water would be eked out drop by drop over the season as needed (“too artificial”, Clouet tells me), they irrigate extensively over the winter to ensure the soils are replenished fully between seasons (as well as help protect ungrafted vines against phylloxera), then – on a plot by plot basis – when the vines are starting to suffer, they give the vines around 40mm of water (still via drip irrigation), over 24-48 hours, replicating a day or two of steady rainfall.  They’ve reduced the height of the canopy (the engine of the vine for sugar production), while using trees, cover crops and minimal leaf-pulling to avoid sunburn. They’ve started pruning each vine according to its vigour, and are now picking significantly earlier – as much as two months earlier than 15 years ago. With this detail in the vineyard, the challenge is simply to guide the fruit through the winery: “No mistakes is enough in the cellar,” says Clouet.  In some ways, the wine echoes Cheval Blanc. While the Saint-Emilion property blends Cabernet Franc and Merlot, Cheval des Andes focuses on Malbec and Cabernet Sauvignon – the Malbec bringing freshness and silkiness that complements the backbone of powerful Cabernet. And the Cheval Blanc style, one of restraint and precision, shines through in recent vintages of the wine – and especially the soon-to-be-released 2021. As Clouet tells me, “Our vision is absolutely delicacy, freshness, balance, ageing potential, complexity.” Unlike Cheval Blanc, however, which needs 10 years in bottle to start even hinting at its potential, Cheval des Andes offers an immediacy – something that Clouet is clear doesn’t inhibit its ability to last; the 2021, for example, can be drunk now, but will evolve over the next 25 years at least, he tells me.  Even the association with the Cheval Blanc name doesn’t make Cheval des Andes an easy sell to fine wine lovers; but that, says Clouet, is part of what makes it fun – a challenge for the team to be pushed. Even better, his team gets the chance to learn and make wine not just once a year, but twice, as well as gaining additional insight on how Cheval Blanc might adapt to climate change. But Cheval des Andes isn’t just an intellectual exercise (that is merely an added bonus), Clouet firmly believes in the potential of this site – something they’re now finally beginning to realise. Browse all current Cheval des Andes listings or read more Editorial 

For 25 years, Cheval Blanc – one of Saint-Emilion’s leading names – has been crafting wine in Argentina. We sat down with Pierre-Olivier Clouet to find out more about the project today, and why the 2021 vintage is the most exciting to date

Technical Director Pierre-Olivier Clouet on the start of a new chapter at Cheval des Andes, the Argentinian wine project from Saint-Emilion’s Cheval Blanc

Turning the page at Cheval des Andes

“Meet my girlfriends,” calls Telmo Rodríguez down the phone, laughing as he flips his camera to show two enormous shaggy-haired mutts. The skies are crisp and blue on the other side of the screen, the sun beating down on Remelluri, his family estate in Rioja Alavesa. The camera swings across the horizon as he introduces me to one of his team before rushing indoors to sit down for our call. There’s an almost frenetic energy to Rodríguez – and that energy is what in many ways defines the maverick winemaker, who has been one of the transformational forces in Spanish wine.  His parents purchased La Granja Nuestra Señora de Remelluri – a farm that has been home to vines since at least the 14th century – in 1967. Growing up on this special property, young Rodríguez went off to study winemaking in Bordeaux, then trained at properties including Cos d’Estournel, Domaine de Trévallon, Chave and more. He returned home inspired and excited to use his new-found knowledge on the family property in the early 1990s. But his father didn’t welcome Telmo’s ambition: the market didn’t want great or even good Rioja, he told his son – the market wanted cheap Rioja. Although he wasn’t allowed to make changes to the red, Rodríguez was given free rein to create the property’s first white wine. And that wine rocketed him to fame. White Rioja has always been niche (today just 9% of the vineyard area is planted to white grapes), but in the 1990s its future was looking uncertain – with the traditional, oxidised style of wines such as López de Heredia’s Tondonia Blanco fallen from grace, and many producers had given up on making these wines (as with CVNE’s Monopole Clásico, which has since been revived). Rodríguez wanted to create a wine of place, rather than a wine of style, and used complex field blends planted at higher altitudes to do so. Fermented and aged in a combination of tank and oak, Remelluri Blanco was unlike any other wine in the region. Robert Parker wrote of the 1996 vintage that it was “the finest white wine [he had] ever tasted from Spain”. The multi-variety blend doesn’t include the region’s trademark white, Viura, and is technically illegal – a fact that perhaps has only increased its appeal.  But Rodríguez was frustrated by his father, by the limitations put on him and his wines. Restless and with a rift in the family forming, he flew the coop to focus on his own project. In Bordeaux he had become friends with a fellow Spaniard, Pablo Eguzkiza, who had been working at Pétrus, and together they had already started making wine – beginning with an old-vine Garnacha from Navarra in 1994. With that wine, Compañía de Vinos Telmo Rodríguez was born.  Their vision was to make real Spanish wine – the wines that had been made before, as they saw it, France started to sway the industry. When the deadly louse phylloxera had swept through France in the late 19th century, killing its vineyards, the nation looked south, across the Pyrenees to Spain. Producers travelled there to make wine and feed demand, and Rioja in particular saw an influx of business and money – but this uplift also came with French influence. In Rodríguez’s view, this was the ruining of the trade – Rioja, which had once been a wine of site, became a wine of oak. And soon, across Spain, the variety that once defined its many regions was being over-written with international varieties. Spain became known for cheap wine – and producers were racing to the bottom.  “The worst are the British,” says Rodríguez. “They say they know Rioja and they know Sherry, but, in a certain way, the British market killed Sherry and killed Rioja because they are very happy to have a cheap Reserva for a few pounds.” The dominance of what he describes as “industrial brands”, the larger houses that buy in fruit from across the region, aged in American oak for “traditional” styles, and French for “modern”, is abhorrent to him.  “I’m sorry, you don’t know anything about Rioja. Tell me one village. Tell me one taste. Tell me one landscape. Tell me one mountain. Nobody knew anything,” he says. He explains how Labastida – a village neighbouring Remelluri – was once the Vosne-Romanée of Rioja, home to 330 different wine producers in 1680. But over the years, that history has been blended away.  Together, Rodríguez and Eguzkiza set out to uncover and reveal the Spain of yesteryear, working with old vines, native varieties and traditional methods to champion what they saw as the true Spanish wines. From their beginnings in Navarra, they looked to Arribes del Duero, to Rueda, to Málaga, to Aragon and back to Rioja, then Ribera, Toro and Sierra de Gredos.   “Now we are showing what is real,” Rodríguez tells me, with a sense of satisfaction. In Rioja, for example, they created Bodegas Lanzaga in 1998, looking to focus on the terroir around the town of Lanziego. The Consejo (regulatory body), however, didn’t allow them to use the name of a village on the label until 2017. For almost two decades they protested this rule, featuring the name on the label, but redacted (inspired in part by the art of Jenny Holzer). Today, there is a clear, and growing, movement of producers looking to focus on single-site expressions of Rioja’s best vineyards, shifting away from cross-regional blends and the dominance of oak. This echoes what is happening elsewhere in Spain, as producers focus on indigenous grapes and identifying what makes each of its varied regions unique. It’s a revolution – one that Rodríguez has been at the forefront of. It's easy to think of this rockstar duo as flying winemakers – having so many projects scattered around the country, only touching down briefly to sign off on blends before they’re off to their next event. While inevitably their schedule is intense, their focus is firmly in the vineyard and on reflecting each individual place and site – rather than crafting a range that speaks of their influence. “It’s a very honest approach to a place,” Rodríguez says. The references throughout our conversation only emphasise this: Burgundy, the ultimate “terroir” wine, is where he finds his inspiration; while the Super Tuscans are repeatedly scorned for their internationality.  Matallana is quite possibly Telmo Rodríguez’s most ambitious project to date. He and Eguzkiza first made wine in Ribera del Duero in 1998, and have slowly built up 21.5 hectares of vines around the region.  “My dream was to do a very good Vega Sicilia. I wanted to do the Vega Sicilia that I used to drink in the past,” explains Rodríguez, talking about bottles from the 1940s, ’50s or ’60s. Back then, he says, it wasn’t an estate wine but fruit was sourced from around the region. For him, Vega Sicilia is now too “Bordeaux-style”. He argues that while in Rioja the soils are quite consistent, Ribera del Duero is incredibly varied. They have chosen to work with a range of vineyards across five villages – Sotillo de la Ribera, Roa, Fuentecén, Fuentemolinos and Pardilla – ranging from quartz-rich or pebbly soils reminiscent of Châteauneuf-du-Pape to chalky albariza and clay-heavy sites. This diversity is what helps bring complexity to the wine, with each one producing a different expression of Tinto Fino.   The work involved in each of the Compañía de Vinos Telmo Rodríguez projects is painstaking, tracking down special parcels, reviving soils and replanting or grafting where necessary, working organically and biodynamically, to achieve the quality they’re looking for. For Bodegas Lanzaga, for example, it was over a decade before they produced the first vintage of their top wine, Las Beatas, from a 1.9-hectare plot of the same name (first made in 2011).  For Matallana, they wanted to track down the region’s very best, historic vineyards in each of the five villages. But it’s not been easy. All too often they’d been abandoned, some needed re-planting entirely, or otherwise re-grafting with massal selections, and serious work to bring the soils back to life. They wanted to work with unirrigated bush-vines and field blends – vineyards farmed as they might have been in the 19th century. And then there’s the complex ownership: to buy just six of their 21.5 hectares took seven years, purchasing tiny plots from 40 different families.  Although they’ve been making wine here since the 1999 vintage, it wasn’t ready until relatively recently – and Rodríguez considers the 2014 the first “real” vintage of the project. Before that point they had made three wines, a selection of fruit from the oldest vines that went into the “Grand Vin” Matallana, a second wine M2 and the unoaked Gazur from younger plots. “They were prototypes, we were learning,” explains Rodríguez. From 2014, there is only one wine, with a change in the label to reflect the shift.  As with the older vintages from Bodegas Lanzaga, the label shows a list of redacted vineyard names – which are still not permitted to feature on the labels in Ribera del Duero. “All those vineyards are the guarantee of the purity of our wines,” says Rodríguez. In fact, the label is embossed, so beneath the censored text, you can feel the names of these terroirs. He’s moved to reduce the oak, using some foudres and tinajas (amphorae), while also acknowledging that the wine needs movement and oxygen to polymerise the tannins. The result, however, is a more delicate wine. At the end of the day, he says, “We don’t care about the winery… our wine is the landscape, is the soils.” The difference between the “new” and “old” Matallana is striking. The 2020 is pure, vibrant – a mineral wine with crystalline fruit that speaks of place.  “I don’t want to be pretentious, but we want to create another iconic wine from Ribera del Duero,” says Rodríguez. There’s no shortage of ambition here – and they’re looking to increase production to around 40,000 bottles a year (up from around 25,000 currently). “It took us 25 years… but we knew we were doing something rare, different.” The latest move has been to partner with Jean-Guillaume Prats (currently of Ch. Léoville Las Cases, previously of Ch. Lafite Rothschild and Cos d’Estournel), and start distributing the wine via La Place de Bordeaux, to bring the wine to an even bigger audience.  Rodríguez is now 61 – but there’s no sign of him slowing down. “People say that I’m too old to plant vineyards,” he says, clearly finding such a thought absurd. He’s just planting three hectares he tells me – vineyards that will be amazing, he feels, maybe in 15 years’ time. On the day we talk, he had five local youths coming to meet his team, the children of local viticulturalists in Labastida; they’d be making wines together with the best 2,000 kilos from each of their family’s plots – a project that has been going four years. There’s no looking back from this vigneron, whose eyes are firmly on the horizon, as he continues to push boundaries and forge a future for those that will follow him.  Explore all wines from Telmo Rodríguez and Matallana or read more Editorial 

Telmo Rodríguez is one of Spain’s most famous names. Since the 1990s, he has been a controversial figure, fighting for the nation’s vinous heritage. We caught up with the relentless revolutionary to talk about his journey, the real Rioja and his most challenging project to date

Telmo Rodríguez is one of Spain’s most famous winemakers. We caught up with him to talk his journey and his most challenging project to date, Matallana

Telmo Rodriguez – the eternal battle

Telmo Rodríguez: the eternal battle

“I can die happy now,” Jon Bonné chuckles to me. The writer spent almost a decade as the wine guy at The San Francisco Chronicle, and is now Managing Editor at Resy, having spent time at Punch, writing for Noble Rot, Decanter and many more in between. His latest book, The New French Wine, was released earlier this year and The New York Times wine critic Eric Asimov dedicated an entire column to singing its praises – something he almost never does.  The hefty, two-part tome has been a long time in the making – almost a decade, in fact. The idea was a frivolous suggestion, casually agreed to over one too many drinks (“unsulphured Gamay in Oakland – as one does”) with his editor in 2014, soon after the publication of his seminal The New California Wine. But what was conceived as part of his quest for “the next thing”, to build on the momentum of his first book, rapidly spiralled.  “It's very hard to see a bigger picture of French wine because it is so overwhelming,” Bonné tells me over Zoom. Initially he’d envisaged a few trips, a project that would take a couple of years – but it “kept growing and growing and growing”.  “There was this much bigger story that I was sort of stumbling into,” the writer says. He gradually realised that there was an “enormous meta transformation” taking place across France – and this is what the book wrestles with. As he writes in the book’s introduction, “I imagined the new French wine would be about the undiscovered country – the cracks between known places.” But as he soon discovered, the new French wine was everywhere – and it took him nine years to piece it all together.   The work is split into two separate books – The Narrative and The Producers, the former the story behind the reference guide that forms the latter. The Narrative is a deep dive into the face of France and its winegrowing today, broken down by region, with break-out essays on topics such as natural wine, farming and the appellation system. It’s a rich tapestry of stories, interjected with the frank and striking photography of Susannah Ireland and occasional illustrated map by Francesco Bongiorni, reminiscent of Art Deco postcards.  For Bonné, the “new France” is about postmodernism, about “wilful rejections of the b******t of the past”. It’s about a (re)focus on site, about producers seizing their destiny and hunting for a more sustainable approach – in the vineyard, winery and beyond – although it’s far from that simple. “To understand French wine and to love it, you simply have to embrace its messy, self-contradictory, and, yes, complicated postmodern reality,” he writes. He points to Muscadet and Beaujolais as two of the most exciting and representative regions of this movement – both having entirely reinvented themselves within a generation. Producers here, he tells me, are “doing the work and focusing on terroir and technique and farming”, while Champagne “has completely transformed its vision of what its wine should be”.  Change is most importantly, however, “an inclusive force” – and looking at who did (and didn’t) make it into The Producers, Bonné’s definitive gazetteer of the nation’s movers and shakers, shines a light on this. It’s not a list of the vignerons he loves, it’s a pain-staking selection of those he deems significant and meaningful in the context of the movement – encompassing both more traditional names and those on the fringes. Take the Bordeaux chapter; you’ll find Pétrus, Lafleur and Pontet-Canet, as well as many less conventional, smaller and often natural-leaning properties such as Clos 19 Bis or Ch. Julia – with “Benchmarks” and the more up-and-coming “Names to Know” highlighted.  It’s fascinating – and fun – to see these two, seemingly opposing strands of France’s wine scene woven together. When I queried the inclusion of these elder statesmen of French wine, he highlighted how, for him, Pontet-Canet perfectly exemplifies the change in France today, with the forward-thinking Tesseron family handing the keys to previous cellar master Jean-Michel Comme to do “radical, radical s**t”.  Bonné deliberately chooses to champion those who have revved the engine of broader revolution – and those who reflect that revolution’s values. When it comes to Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, for example, he describes how they “upheld the moral pillars of Burgundy and winemaking” and “use their power for good”; whereas one top Pauillac estate he vehemently tells me is “perpetuating the worst practices of the Bordeaux trade”. For him, “wine is a consumable” and, as 21st-century consumers, “people have a right to explore the values of producers”.   While Bonné certainly likes natural wine – and many of the movement’s figureheads feature in the book, he is far from an evangelist. When he first started thinking about the book, natural wine was different; “It hadn’t quite catalysed into this very specific cultural beast,” he says, a cultural beast born in Hackney, Bushwick or Paris’s 11th. He talks about the movement’s “sense of tragic fashion” and how, with its clique-y nature, it has “baked in its own expiration date”. There were, he tells me, producers that didn’t make the cut – those who act as a “cautionary tale” for natural wine. “There are wines that can be delicate to being transported. And then there are wines that are just f***ed up at the source,” he says frankly.   His outlook is broadly positive for France, the nation’s ongoing revolution and its vignerons, but the book also acts as a call to arms of sorts, for: “The enforcers of the old ways will be forced to adapt, or they will perish,” he writes.  It’s not a perfect book. With a work of this size (over 860 pages and 600,000 words), it is almost inevitably slightly out of date by the time it is printed – especially with the pace of change today. Lafleur’s entry, for example, talks of Acte but not Les Perrières. I’d also have loved to have captions for each of Susannah Ireland’s images, knowing where – and of whom – they were taken. But these are quibbles.   I can’t pretend to be unbiased. Bonné is one of my favourite wine writers. There’s a lightness to his phrasing, with dry humour and a palate that I tend to identify with – although I’d argue he’s become a little more funk-friendly over the years. His writing is intelligent without being arduous. Perhaps it’s because, like Andrew Jefford, he was and is a journalist first. What really fills his writing is a sense of joy, of almost gluttony – it’s still filled with the excitement that so many wine writers seem to lose, as they tire of bottle after bottle of exceptional wine. He’s still easily absorbed by the stories that make each one different. For me, he doesn’t fit neatly into the critic box, even though it’s a term he uses to describe himself repeatedly in our conversation. “The notion of a critic has devolved to a place where you are simply handing out numbers,” he explains, but to him his work is about “criticism at a deeper level”. It’s about “being able to dive into the culture and come away with the insights and interpretation, and explain why certain wines really do matter”.  And it is this that makes The New French Wine stand apart. It isn’t just a wine book; wine is the lens through which Bonné observes a broader cultural shift. Whether you agree with everything he says or not, it’s a joy to read, hold and look at. It’s a book that will prompt conversation, prompt you to uncork bottles, prompt you to consider quite how complicated – and endlessly fascinating – France’s wine scene is. And is there anything more French than that?  The New French Wine: Redefining the World’s Greatest Wine Culture (Ten Speed Press) is out now.  Read more Editorial 

Ten years after The New California Wine was published, Jon Bonné has published a new book – an epic tale of France’s revolution. Sophie Thorpe caught up with the author to talk about his ambitious project to capture The New French Wine

We sit down with Jon Bonne, the wine writer and author of The New French Wine, to find out more about his second book

Writer Jon Bonne on The New French Wine

Facing up to The New French Wine: Jon Bonné

Much has been written about Promontory. The property was discovered by Bill Harlan in the 1980s, hidden behind a ridgeline in Oakville, and its story – one that almost feels mythical – has been told many times (including by us).   Those stories, however, don’t prepare you for standing in this vineyard. “The territory”, as the team refers to the estate itself, is totally hidden from view – a good 10-minute drive from the winery (which looks out over the Harlan Estate vineyards), tucked to the south, over the hills from Dominus, found via a warren of dirt-tracks that cut through the forest, until – suddenly – you’re there.  Perched at the top of just one of the various parcels of vines, Cory Empting (Managing Director of Winegrowing) stops the truck as our jaws drop. We scramble to get out, blinking in the peaceful sunshine that beats down on an enchanting, untamed idyll. “There’s a quality to the silence out here,” Empting says – breaking the quiet that we’ve been soaking in. As the crow flies, Promontory isn’t far from Harlan Estate – yet the difference is, in Empting’s words, “kinda scary”. Fault lines make for a unique mix of soil types – sedimentary, volcanic and, most importantly and rare for Napa, metamorphic. Plots of vines are sparsely scattered across the wild, forested mountains, the undulating, varied slopes offering an almost endless range of aspect and microclimate. (As one alum told me, laughing, “It’s beautiful – but a total b**** to farm.”) The elevation is higher than at Harlan Estate – with the lowest point at Promontory the equivalent altitude of the highest point at its sibling property – making it generally cooler. Harlan Estate is manicured, while Promontory has a rawness about it – a sense that it isn’t, and never will be, totally domesticated. It's taken a long time to get here. Bill Harlan’s quest to create a Californian rival to Bordeaux’s First Growths (started in the 1970s) had kept him hunting for land, enough that would allow him to produce the same volume as the Left Bank’s most grandiose addresses. He bought his first 40 acres in 1984, the founding stone for Harlan Estate, and has continued tracking down special vineyards ever since, first for Harlan, then BOND and Promontory.  Although he’d first identified the location for Promontory in the 1980s (while hiking through this part of the valley), the property was developed by Girard Winery in the meantime, and he didn’t have the chance to buy it until 2008. Bill got a call that it was going on the market – and that’s when he rang up Will (his son, now Managing Director for the Harlan family of wineries) and Empting. “Then the economy started tanking,” Empting says – and suddenly the property that had been a stretch became increasingly affordable as its price dropped. The decision to buy was easy. But there was no reference point for the project, no historic bottlings to judge against, just a feeling about the place, and its potential.  “It was the wild west when we got out here,” Empting explains. The vineyard was in terrible shape – trees had been cut down and left where they fell. There were weeds growing taller than the vines. It had been left to become truly feral. There were even end-posts suggesting a row of Pinot Noir that was clearly Cabernet Sauvignon, while there were Cabernet Sauvignon clones that looked like nothing they’d seen before.  They committed to farming the site for three years before changing anything, so they knew what they were dealing with. But it soon became clear that the soils had been destroyed, robbed of organic matter, the vines emaciated, producing truncated shoots.  To date, they have replanted half of the 80 acres of vines. And the redevelopment work has been substantive, including un-doing terracing. They worked with superstar consultant agronomists Claude and Lydia Bourguignon (the first in the US to do so) to help regenerate the soils. But the philosophy here is ultimately Fukuoka-inspired: “How can we do one thing less? … That’s our church,” says Empting.  Fifteen acres have been replanted, rather unconventionally for Cabernet Sauvignon, untrellised – goblet-trained. This is partly because the metamorphic rock is so fractal that a unified hedge just didn’t make sense. Air flows in all directions, the sun hits each vine differently, they’re resilient for dry-farming and it allows the team to pick and move in any direction in the vineyard. Even more unusually, they’re planting rootstocks by themselves, grafting only once they’re three or four years old – when deemed ready. “I’m a Montessori parent,” Empting jokes, referencing what he describes as his “mixed pace” vineyards, letting each vine develop at its own rate. And this sense of responding to and working with, rather than against, the vines is key.  In a move that’s incredibly rare for hillside or mountain sites in Napa, their goal is to dry-farm. While the inspiration might have been wine quality (looking for more concentrated, balanced fruit), it is now ultimately about long-term survival in a changing climate. “We’re not going to have the water,” Empting says frankly. Convention suggests that each vine in the ground acts like a straw, sucking water from the soils. But, as Promontory have proven through experiments, it is not that simple – relating to the number of leaves on the vine, as well as its age, among other things. In fact, they have found that higher density plantings are easier to dry-farm.  To help avoid irrigation, they focus on respecting the vine energy – that means they don’t hedge or leaf-pull, and will only green harvest if they absolutely must (when nature throws them a curveball) – pruning to what they want the vine to grow, avoiding wasting any inch of the plant’s efforts. The resulting clusters are tiny, with yields reaching a maximum 38hl/ha, but often a mere 20hl/ha.   Cover crops and permanent grass cover, as well as grazing, have been key to repairing the soils. They’re still having to use a little bit of compost in some areas, Empting confesses almost guiltily – something he considers “a sign of imbalance”. Animals are a key part of “holistic farming”, Empting says, and he’d love to have chickens in the vineyards – “If the coyotes didn’t see them as a free meal,” he jokes. They’ll bring sheep in to graze early in the season, so that the cover crop has time to grow back. The regrowth can then be trampled naturally by the vineyard team as they work – operating as a rustic form of crimping or rolling. This aids water retention, the natural layer of “thatch” keeping the soils cool and preventing evaporation. If it’s not already clear, this isn’t a standard vineyard or estate – or, more accurately, family of estates. This is all part of Bill Harlan’s original vision, a 200-year plan to create a wine dynasty to match those of the Old World. The level of detail, effort and expense that goes into BOND, Harlan and Promontory is remarkable. They have a team dedicated to Research & Development – ensuring that they are at the forefront of viticulture and vinification, pushing any and every boundary in the name of quality.  One key element of this is their Vine Masters program – elevating what might historically have been seen as blue collar work to the skilled profession it really is.  The large majority of vineyard workers in California are of Mexican origin (some statistics suggest as high as 95%). There’s reason for this, with a long history of seasonal-working that stretches back to 1917, yet there’s often a division between vineyard and winery – a division that the family is working hard to broach.  The Vine Master program was first introduced at Harlan. The principle is not alien – a “Vine Master” is dedicated to a specific block, giving a sense of ownership, yet also meaning they know that block inside out. But – and this is what sets Harlan apart – to earn that responsibility (and it is a significant responsibility when the wine sells for upwards of £800 a bottle), the Vine Master has to go through a modular education program (developed in-house), passing both theory and practical exams. The Vine Masters can then take ownership for a block, and have the freedom to do what is required for their plot of vines. In what feels distinctly Californian and ever-so-slightly hippy-inspired, they’re also encouraged to, for example, hike through the surrounding hills, helping them think laterally.  Empting explains how one of the Vine Masters was sitting in his block on a break, looking up at a tree, and realised that trees naturally find their balance by dividing the diameter of their trunk fairly at each divide – only if there is sufficient girth will it split. He took this concept and pruned his block accordingly, only leaving multiple shoots where the vine could handle it. In the dry 2020 vintage, his vines were the only ones that reached the top wire (of the trellis), with the others all struggling. His methodology was rapidly implemented throughout the vineyard. The vineyard supervisor is more like a coach than a manager, and the vineyard work is more integrated with the final product. For example, the pruning process starts with tasting the wine from the previous vintage, so they can align on the energy of the vines and any challenges, before taking their shears to the vine. “You can’t prune a vine without thinking what it tastes like,” Empting says – yet that is what many vineyard workers will have to do.  This responsibility isn’t something that everyone wants – but skilled labour is, along with water, key to the future in California.  Empting expects the valley floor to be entirely mechanised in the imminent future – and if that’s the case, the question is: “How are you going to retain the talent that you have – and gain more?” he says. While originally they didn’t want to give each Vine Master too much land, they’ve found they work almost 40% faster than a crew – able to work more efficiently, doing what is needed when it’s needed, saving on the transition time within plots.  There’s been a constant evolution in the winery as well, inevitable as they learn more about this remarkable place, and realise the potential of its terroir. The challenge is to tame the significant phenolics – and the shift here fits with that familiar pendulum swing, with a move towards elegance. As with the vineyard, the goal is to do less not more – something that isn’t always easy. “We wait all year to turn grapes into wine,” Empting explains – the excitement sometimes becoming overzealous.  While soil health was, as Empting describes it, “the first hurdle”, David Cilli (Winemaker at Promontory) had been doing much in the winery, gradually dialling in the extraction, with shorter macerations and cooler temperatures (with a maximum of just 26˚C), halving the number of pump-overs. The wine is now mainly fermented in concrete (all with indigenous yeast) and aged in Stockinger foudre – ranging in size from 10 to 60 hectolitres – for 30-36 months.  When they first made the wine, they thought that they’d want and need to separate out the different blocks – since they had such varied profiles. They decided they were willing to sacrifice as much volume as was needed to make the best wine possible for the first vintage, and set about making various micro-blends, as well as one that included everything. The whole was so much more – its harmony so much more appealing. “They need each other, in a weird way,” Empting explains.   Until now, the wine has been made exclusively with the old vines, those that were planted when they arrived, with the new vines not yet mature enough (the young-vine fruit has instead been used for The Mascot). The 2022 will be the first vintage to include some of their earliest replants, which are now 10 years old.  While shifts here have mainly been gradual, 2020 was a significant moment. The first wildfire took hold on 18th August, although it was across the valley – far enough away for there to be no urgent threat, but the team was (especially with 2017’s fires fresh in their memory) on edge. Empting recalls spending time driving up and down the valley watching what was happening. They grouped together and decided to start picking on 22nd August – a good two weeks earlier than normal. They weren’t certain it was the right decision, but also weren’t prepared to risk everything to wait. Two weeks after they finished, the Glass Fire swept through the valley. Anyone that hadn’t picked was at significant risk of smoke taint.  Nature might have forced their hand, but it was a push they needed. The resulting wine stunned them all. It’s a world away from the high-octane reds that Robert Parker favoured – and any Napa stereotype. This is a bright, pure and elegant expression of site that sits at around 13%. And while the team’s fear was that it might not have the tannic depth of a true “Grand Cru” – a wine destined to be cellared – that is simply not the case.  They realised they didn’t need those extra two weeks on the vine for phenolic ripeness. The dry growing season had meant the vine only had a small crop to ripen, helping them out, but the year totally shifted their perspective. In 2021, they picked on the same date. In 2022 – a noticeably hot and dry year – they picked even earlier.  Tasting the 2020 alongside the 2016, ’17 and ’18, the difference is drastic – although the progression is there in the earlier vintages. It marks a sea-change for the estate – one that may divide pundits. But the 2020 matches their vision of this place: while they think of Harlan as a wine of gravity, Promontory is a wine of “lift”.  The Harlan family’s wines don’t come cheap – but you aren’t just paying for good wine (and it is, undoubtedly, very good). Yes, it’s a smart winery, with the very best equipment. But the money isn’t going on new barrels and expensive consultants each year, it’s being invested in the people, place and practices that guarantee its legacy. The 2018 has only just been released, so the 2020 won’t hit the market until 2025. But like anything these visionaries do, it will be worth waiting for. Tasting Promontory 2016 Promontory Will Harlan describes the 2016 vintage as one of the first wines that they felt allowed them to compete on a global stage. Still incredibly youthful, it’s somehow almost approachable yet has significant structure behind. There’s a plush richness to the fruit, a firmness and depth to the tannins that needs time, yet a vibrancy too. It’s just starting to become more supple, yet the phenolics grip onto the finish, drying it out very slightly. The fruit is starting to mellow, mingling with savoury tones. Significantly more weight than the other vintages. 2017 Promontory Deeper and darker, the 2017 shows an intensity and firmness – its framework almost aggressive after the 2016. The structure is boxy, yet also refined, and starting to meld together with the bright, fresh fruit. With air the wine shifts from black to red fruit, relaxing into itself. Fruit reverberates on the mouth-watering finish. 2018 Promontory The 2018 confirms the direction of change. Although on paper the wine looks similar to 2016 (in terms of analytics), this is significantly different – offering a transparency and vibrancy. Empting describes it as “athletic” – a fitting way to describe a wine that feels lithe. The fruit sits on the red spectrum, with super-fine velvet tannins forming a chiselled, linear structure. There’s a lift and florality to the nose, complementing the long, pure palate. 2020 Promontory This is a wine of amazing precision and perfume. A pivotal vintage for the estate, picked two weeks earlier than normal and before fires swept through the valley, it’s a stunning wine. Extraction was gentler and the alcohol is around 13%. It’s a wine of brightness and texture – a fine, chalky, powdered grip of tannins that complements the seamless fruit. The nose shifts with florals and earthier minerality, a savoury, saline edge to the crunchy fruit and juicy acidity. There’s purity and delicacy, with a finesse that is truly remarkable. Find out more about Promontory, or read more Editorial

The Harlan family isn’t like other families. We spent time with Will Harlan and Managing Director of Winegrowing Cory Empting to talk about Promontory, the vision and philosophy behind it – and why the 2020 vintage is a pivotal moment in this special estate’s tale

How the Harlan family is creating Napa wine estates that are destined to become the stuff of myth: Promontory, Harlan and BOND

The Harlan legend and legacy – Promontory

Legend and legacy in Napa: the Harlan family and Promontory

To Kalon. For any Californian winemaker, those two words represent the Holy Grail. This vineyard in Oakville, Napa, is undeniably the region’s most famous. Perched at the foot of the Mayacamas, west of Highway 29, this site has been recognised for producing fine wine since the 19th century. Literally translating as the “highest beauty” or “highest good” from Greek, today To Kalon is home to some of Napa’s oldest vines and best Cabernet Sauvignon. “This is a Grand Cru – a premier property,” Paul Hobbs tells me, a winemaker who has a long history with the site. As a grad student at UC Davis, Hobbs would swipe the second crop from a vineyard on Walnut Drive – what happened to be BV4, Beaulieu Vineyard’s original block of To Kalon. At Mondavi – the largest holder of the hallowed site – he got to walk the rows more legitimately, and used those holdings to build Opus One – the company’s joint venture with Ch. Mouton Rothschild (although the association with the site has generally been played down). Under his own label, he’s been making wine from the Beckstoffer section of the vineyard since 1999 – and his wines, along with those from Schrader, were some of the early bottlings that put the vineyard firmly on the fine wine map, earning high scores – and lots of attention. Indeed, it was a Paul Hobbs wine that made Tor Kenward believe the vineyard was truly special. André Tchelistcheff had spoken to Kenward about BV4, but it was one of Hobbs’s bottlings that made him realise its potential. He started working with Beckstoffer plots from 2005. 
“It’s not visually impressive; it doesn’t have that ‘wow factor’,” Kenward tells me. But start digging below the surface, and you realise that you’re in the “tenderloin of Napa”, with old creek beds that run through the site. It’s an alluvial fan that runs down from the Mayacamas, sitting almost on a bench – with very little elevation. But the soils here are varied, with deep, well-drained gravels that make it perfect for Cabernet Sauvignon.  Andy Erickson – a winemaker whose resume includes Screaming Eagle, Harlan, Dalla Valle, Mayacamas and many more – first worked with the site in 2012, on a single-barrel charity lot for an auction at his children’s school. When Constellation (owners of Mondavi and co-owners of Opus One) called him to give him the chance to work with it again in 2016, he didn’t hesitate. That year, he made the first wine for the To Kalon Vineyard Company – a project that is a revival of the brand created by H.W. Crabb (known variously as Henry Walker, Hiram Walker or Hamilton Walker Crabb) in 1886, the vineyard’s godfather. “Most people know the recent history of the vineyard, and the acclaim of the wines from the past 15-20 years. But the vineyard was known for producing remarkable wines all the way back in the late 19th century. Clearly there is something there,” Erickson says.  But this vineyard is weighed down with controversy – its borders endlessly debated, with producers vying for use of the To Kalon name.  The history of the To Kalon Vineyard It’s impossible to look at To Kalon today without tracing its origins. H.W. Crabb came west from Ohio during the Gold Rush, spending six months digging in the Sierras before settling in Oakville in 1868, buying 240 acres of land at the corner of Highway 29 and Walnut Drive. He planted a wide range of crops, first making wine in 1872 under the name Hermosa Vineyards (“hermosa” meaning “beautiful” in Spanish). In 1881, he acquired another 119 acres from Eliza Yount (whose name lives on in Yountville). On land to the west of his plots, owned by John Davis, he planted additional vines – buying the fruit off Davis to feed his increasing production. In 1886, he gave his company a new name: “To Kalon Vineyard Company” – and the legend was born. Crabb reportedly said, “The name To-Kalon… means the highest beauty, or the highest good, but I try to make it mean the boss vineyard.”
 To Kalon Vineyard Company rapidly became one of the region’s largest – and most well-respected – wine producers. His wines started winning awards at competitions around the world, and he was the first to start selling wine along the East Coast. He had planted a huge range of grapes – around 400 different varieties, including Malvasia, Riesling, Chasselas, Muscat, Refosco and Cabernet Sauvignon, with the latter in particular thriving. In 1889, he bought 168 acres on the hillside to the south, close to where Harlan is now based, although it was never planted with vines during Crabb’s lifetime. In 1891, Crabb bought Davis’s 135 acres (from which he’d already been buying the fruit). In total, Crabb had more than 359 acres.  But his success wasn’t to last – phylloxera arrived in the late 19th century, and recession along with it. In 1898, Crabb sold the 135 acres he’d bought just eight years earlier – and died one year later in 1899. The vines were ripped out, replaced by cherry trees under David Perry Doak in 1911, who in turn purchased another 500 acres of vines from John Benson, south of the border of the original To Kalon (across Oakville Grade Road), which is now all owned by Constellation (used for Mondavi or Opus One). After Crabb’s death, what remained of the To Kalon Vineyard Company was sold to ES Churchill at auction, taken over by his widow Mary Churchill when he died in 1903. Wines continued to be sold under the label until the arrival of Prohibition in 1920. The winery reopened briefly to sell wine in bulk in the 1930s, but the winery building burnt down in 1939. Four years later, Martin Stelling bought most of the property – 337 acres – and replanted. He sold 90 acres to Beaulieu Vineyard (the block that became known as BV4 – and was the plot used by André Tschelistcheff made Georges de Latour Reserve). In 1944, Stelling bought an additional 1,700 acres – the McGill Ranch, which included the parcels owned by Doak (both Crabb’s 1891 parcel and the 500 acres area south of Oakville Grade Road). He named the entire property Tokalon Vineyards, and in 1945 planted Sauvignon Blanc in I Block – the legendary parcel that is today used for Mondavi’s prized, old-vine To Kalon Fumé Blanc.  Tragedy struck again, however, with Stelling killed in a car crash in 1950. The property was once more divided, sold off in pieces by his widow.   
Rosa Mondavi, along with her sons Robert and Peter, purchased 132 hectares in 1962 for the family winery, Charles Krug. After Robert struck out on his own, he bought 12 acres for himself in 1966 (that remained in the Stelling family) – in the northeast corner of the 1968 Crabb parcel, where the Mondavi winery and visitor centre remains today. He bought a further 230 acres in 1968, and then took the Charles Krug section from the rest of his family in 1978. The first time the To Kalon name appeared on a Mondavi label – and the first time since the demise of the To Kalon Vineyard Company – was on the 1986 Fumé Blanc Reserve. The I Block – the Sauvignon Blanc vines planted by Stelling in 1945 – were singled out for the first time in 1995, for the vines’ 50th anniversary. The first red – Mondavi’s To Kalon Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon – appeared with the 1997 vintage. The To Kalon Vineyard’s terroir As already mentioned, To Kalon is largely an alluvial fan that stretches down from the Mayacamas to Highway 29. It is, however, a large piece of land (the exact area depending on where you draw its borders – see below for more on the controversy around this) – and as such the terroir varies considerably. The soils are richer downslope, closer to the Highway; poorer and better-drained higher up (where many – including Hobbs and Kenward – prefer to be). The gravel composition varies with the subtle slope differences and underground water.  “It’s like any cut of meat – there are better parts than others,” Hobbs says. With over 300 original acres (at least), this is a substantial vineyard (for comparison, Clos Vougeot is 125 acres). “It’s great if you have the name To Kalon, but could be pretty average stuff.” The Beckstoffer section is numbered and lettered: A to F, from road to mountain, with A1 south of A2. For Hobbs, he likes the blocks closer to the mountains, and those that aren’t shaded by the huge walnut trees that line Walnut Drive (to the south). Hobbs noted how much warmer Oakville is than Yountville – something he used to notice when driving in the evening home from Oakville to Yountville. The mountains block the sea breezes, meaning that the cooling effect happens, but more slowly. This is partly what makes it such a special place. Tor Kenward similarly prefers some of the middle blocks in B and C, where there are some of the vineyard’s oldest vines, but with lower vigour, as well as the leaner soils closest to the mountains. As for the MacDonald or Horton block: “You could argue it’s every bit as good as Andy’s piece,” Kenward says. It, along with the Detert block, was planted in the 1940s – and in fact those two blocks are now home to some of the valley’s oldest vines. Even closer to the mountains, the gravel content is even higher, and the fruit is picked up to a month earlier than elsewhere in To Kalon. Although until now most of that fruit has been sold to Constellation, there will be opportunity for others to work with it as that contract comes to an end.   
The Beckstoffer plots of To Kalon Andy Beckstoffer bought Beaulieu Vineyard’s block, BV4, in 1993. He’d just lost a prized site – Liparita, on Howell Mountain – when the 89 acres of BV4 came up. He’d worked the site for years and leapt at the opportunity to buy it. “It’s a mystery to me why they sold it,” Paul Hobbs told me, although word on the grapevine was that they needed to liquidate funds – indeed, it was around the same time that Mondavi went public for similar reasons. Phylloxera was once more raging through the region thanks to the widely used, non-resistant AXR rootstock.  The BV4 block was in bad shape when Beckstoffer took it over and he had to replant the entire site. Paul Hobbs was one of the first to use fruit from Beckstoffer’s plots, starting to work with him from 1995/96. “Andy didn’t really realise he had a Grand Cru property,” Hobbs says. Hobbs was given free rein to pick his plots, opting for four or five plots on the western side, furthest from Highway 29. The vineyard produced its first fruit in 1997; 1998 was a difficult year; but in 1999 Hobbs was able to produce his first To Kalon bottling (although it couldn’t say so on the label). “I was loathe to tell people how young it was – but the quality was so good,” Hobbs says, still starry eyed thinking about it. “It was only four years old, but producing stunning wines.” Most fruit is sold on its weight, by the ton, but Andy Beckstoffer created a different model – one that is intricately tied to the vineyard’s name and reputation – and arguably has increased its reputation. Producers who use his fruit pay him 175 times the bottle price per ton, with a ceiling at $50,000/ton; tying the value of the fruit to the value of the final wine. “For producers like me in those days, when I didn’t have the land or ability to buy land, Andy was a saviour of sorts,” Hobbs tells me. “Because I had access to one of the top vineyards in all of Napa. I had to pay – but at least I had access.”
  The To Kalon controversy: how big is it? And is it a brand or a place? Mondavi trademarked the name “To Kalon” in 1988, and “To Kalon Vineyard” in 1994. This gave them the right to use the name on any wine from anywhere – even beyond California – and meant that no one else could use the name, even if they had plots in what was considered the original To Kalon vineyard. The first Beckstoffer bottlings only mentioned the name on the back label; but in 2000, Schrader decided to put it on the front label. The now famous lawsuit commenced. “They shouldn’t have been able to trademark it,” Hobbs tells me. “Anyone from the original To Kalon estate should have the right to the trademark as well.” In 2002, Mondavi sued Schrader for using the name on their Beckstoffer bottling. Countersuing ensued, from both Schrader and Beckstoffer (the latter arguing that Mondavi was misleading clients by using the name for wines made with fruit from beyond the vineyard’s original borders). A settlement – the details of which remain a mystery – was made in 2003, but wines made from the Beckstoffer section can now bear the name “Beckstoffer To Kalon”.  Constellation bought Mondavi in 2004, and then Schrader in 2017. Reportedly attempts were made to trademark “To Kalon Wine Company”, “To Kalon Vineyard Company” and “Rooted in To Kalon” – something, unsurprisingly, that Beckstoffer objected to. The legal battle continues today, with a fight over the naming of To Kalon Creek, and The Vineyard House – owned by Jeremy Nickel, which sits on the 1889 hillside section – arguing for the use of the name as well.  The borders of the vineyard are a constant source of debate – and given the history above, you can see why.  Andy Beckstoffer considers the original To Kalon to be only the parcels bought by Crabb in 1868 and 1881. The 1889 parcel was never planted by Crabb, so most aren’t inclined to include it as “original To Kalon”. The Detert and MacDonald plots, however, aren’t acknowledged by Beckstoffer, but were planted – and, albeit more briefly than other plots, owned by Crabb. Then there’s the “Stelling extension”, the southern section added after Crabb’s death under Martin Stelling, that Mondavi considers part of the original vineyard, but some others do not. Given the sums fruit – and wine – bearing the To Kalon name command, it’s unsurprising that its usage is so disputed.  
To Kalon: what does the wine taste like?  So what makes the wine so special? Why do winemakers fight for the fruit, and consumers for the bottles they produce? Despite the sheer variety of the site, Tor Kenward is adamant that there’s a continuity, with a profile that that site gives Cabernet. He describes it as “wall-to-wall carpeting”, a plushness to the mid-palate, a softness, that means the Cabernet isn’t hard-edged. “There’s something about the ground there,” Andy Erickson agrees. For him, To Kalon has a distinct tannin texture – not as rugged as hillside sites, but richer, with a generosity in the wines. “They are dark, aromatic, but very broad and polished,” he says. “I think the vineyard brings forward many of the complexities of Cabernet Sauvignon, but delivers it in a very approachable and elegant package.” “It’s very identifiable,” Paul Hobbs says. “It’s a structural and textural thing mostly. It’s a freshness to this sort of tannin. It has grip, but it has this uplifting character.” He explains it like a skipping stone – you think you’ve got it, then another wave comes, the wine shifting on the palate. For him, one of the most distinctive things is that Cabernet sings alone here – much better than blended with other varietals. “It didn’t need the help of its brothers,” he says. “It’s a wine that’s at peace with itself… It doesn’t shock you, except in its beauty.”
 Who owns what today in To Kalon? Robert Mondavi: From the original 12 acres, Mondavi now owns 328 acres of To Kalon, including the Stelling extension. Has the rights to use the To Kalon name.  Opus One: The 35-acre Q Block was sold to the joint venture by Mondavi in 1981, with K block acquired in 2008. Although under Constellation’s ownership they could likely use the To Kalon name, Opus One doesn’t trade on this. (To Kalon Vineyard Company uses fruit from Constellation’s holdings, both Opus One and Mondavi plots.) UC Davis: a research block that was key in developing phylloxera-resistant rootstock
Beckstoffer: 89 acres, with fruit sold to a range of producers (currently 23), including Paul Hobbs, Tor Kenward and Schrader. Producers can use the name “Beckstoffer To Kalon” on their labels. MacDonald (sometimes referenced as Horton): Graeme and Alex MacDonald are the current generation, owning 21 acres of the 1891 parcel. When their great-grandparents bought the site in 1954 (along with the Detert plot – see below – from Caroline Stelling, Martin Stelling’s widow) it was planted with cherry trees. Advised by Robert Mondavi, the MacDonalds planted vines. From 1966, they sold grapes to Mondavi – holding some back for personal use from 2004, with the first MacDonald commercial release in 2010 (just 92 cases). Although historically 75% of production here has been sold to Mondavi, I’m led to believe that the contract is coming to a close and won’t be renewed. The MacDonalds can’t use the To Kalon name on their wines currently. Detert: Today owned by Tom Garrett, a cousin of the MacDonalds. This 25-acre plot was bought in 1954, along with the MacDonald parcel – divided between the buyers’ children giving the two plots today. There’s more Cabernet Franc in this section. Most of the fruit is sold to Mondavi (with the contract, as for MacDonald, coming to an end soon), and Detert can’t use the To Kalon name on their wines. The Vineyard House: Many dispute whether or not this is original To Kalon; it’s on the hillside area purchased (but not planted) by Crabb in 1891. This plot is owned by Jeremy Justin Nickel, who is the son of the late Far Niente proprietor Gil Nickel. It’s thought to have first been planted with vines in 1980. They can’t use the To Kalon name on their wines, but have taken court action over the issue.  Wineries with To Kalon bottlings  NB Not all of these will bear the To Kalon name on the label Mondavi Winery, Opus One, To Kalon Vineyard Company, MacDonald, Detert, Alpha Omega, Amici, Alejandro Bulgheroni Estate, AXR, Bacio Divino, B Cellars, Boich Family, Bounty Hunter, Cain Concept, Carter cellars, Ch Boswell, Jacquelynn, Kitchak, Cliff Lede, Morlet, Realm Cellars, Tor Kenward, Paul Hobbs, Schrader Cellars Read more Editorial 

The Napa Valley has many incredible vineyards, but To Kalon undoubtedly sits at the top of the tree. As the To Kalon Vineyard Company releases their latest vintage, Sophie Thorpe delves into the story of this iconic site – from its 19th century origins to the fight to use its hallowed name

Explore the history of To Kalon vineyard – and what makes it such an iconic site today. We spoke to Andy Erickson, Paul Hobbs and Tor Kenward to find out more

The tale of Napa’s iconic To Kalon vineyard

The tale of To Kalon

William Lowe has achieved a great many things in his life. At the time of writing, he’s the only Master Distiller to also hold a Master of Wine title. At the age of 41, he already has countless letters after his name from various academic qualifications in psychology and philosophy, and is months away from embarking on a PhD in Chemical Engineering and Biotechnology. “I’m a serial studier,” he says with a boyish smirk and an infectious giggle. “I can’t help it. I think I’ve had 17 consecutive years of exams in one shape or another.” Somewhat surprisingly, given the laboratory behind him as we speak and the very scientific qualifications he has to his name, Lowe doesn’t come from a science background. He joined the wine and spirits world one day after he turned 18, working as a bartender. He says his “very academic” family thought his choice to bartend was a phase. But, at 18, Lowe took his grandfather’s words “if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well” to heart – something he still believes to this day. “I took that not just to mean if you’re going to do something, do it as best you can. But genuinely it’s a question of self value. Why waste your time doing something to a mediocre standard? There’s just no point. We’ve got a limited time on this planet, haven’t we? So I thought, if I’m going to be a bartender, I want to be really good at it.” After bartending internationally and mixing drinks for the Queen and celebrities, Lowe ran bars and restaurants for a time, before he went into distribution and then education, training more than 10,000 people worldwide. From here, the man with the voracious appetite for learning moved into production. In 2012, he set up Cambridge Distillery – which started life in his front room. Rather than use a traditional copper pot still, Lowe fashioned a vacuum still with rudimentary apparatus to distil his fresh, seasonal botanicals according to their individual needs. “The methods that we use here were literally laughed at a decade ago,” he explains. “And then they were thought a curiosity seven or eight years ago. And then a bit weird but quite interesting five years ago. To the point now where what we do here has resulted in gold medals for quality for literally every product that we have ever commercially released, and that gets some attention.” Over the past 10 years, Lowe has produced a series of world firsts. “There was no such thing as gin in Japan before I did that,” he says with pride. In order to explain to the world why it was a Japanese gin, Lowe told everybody what it was made from and now there are lots of Japanese gins. “Every single one of them is based on a recipe I created here in Cambridge,” he bristles. Lowe says a lesser man would find that very frustrating but cites a “wonderful quote that most people only know the first half of”. “You know they say imitation is the most sincerest form of flattery?” He continues, “… that mediocrity can pay to greatness”. “It’s damning with faint praise,” he adds. “We see a lot of these products come along. I made the world’s first gin out of insects. A lot of other people have tried that too. I made the world’s first gin out of truffles. A lot of other people have tried that too. But I don’t begrudge people following because that’s great – it means we’re doing things right and that is excellent. “And actually, if the whole world takes this approach of going quality-first and really aiming to make the best gin they can make, rather than the cheapest gin they can make with the best profit margins, well then we are in a good place. But, there are things I have worked really, really quite hard on in here that are outside of a patentable space, so we’ve got some very well-guarded secrets. “For example, our Truffle Gin is not just juniper and truffle. But there is only one other person in the world, other than me, who knows the full recipe for that and he’s my Head of Production.” Lowe then adds quite seriously: “and we never travel in the same car.” During our hour-long video call, Lowe sits in front of his laboratory-cum-distillery and periodically pulls props from beneath the bench upon which he sits. He jumps up to show me the oar from the Oxford/Cambridge Boat Race – coincidentally, the day Cambridge Gin officially launched in 2012, Oxford infamously broke an oar – and he repeatedly holds up A1 photographs of the distillery in its various stages of development, and his favourite prop: a miniature copper pot still. He also, much to my delight, takes me into the laboratory – with index finger to lips like a child sneaking into a room he’s not allowed to enter. The laboratory surface is lined with five small stills that look nothing like the copper pot still miniature he regularly and animatedly holds aloft. “Instead of having one big one, I’ve got lots of little ones,” he says with that smile. “One of the first things that people laughed at when we were talking about this [distillery], is they said well that’s great but you can’t scale it so it’s pointless. My point was fundamentally that actually, I wasn’t trying to prove you could scale it. I was trying to prove I could make a better gin. Well, I’ve done that. Next problem is scaling it. And, if you can't make a bigger one, just get LOADS – it’s fine,” he grins. Lowe can have five different botanicals running five different regimes at five different temperatures and five different pressures all at the same time. The resulting liquid isn’t gin, he tells me, but “lots of little threads that I have to weave together into the tapestry that becomes gin”. His, now trademarked, nine-step approach is called a novo-dimensional distillation matrix. Lowe will talk about pressure and temperature but he, for aforementioned reasons, will not discuss the other seven. He says his commercial and production team, on occasion, accuse him of having NPD Tourette’s – NPD being New Product Development. “Because I do go quickly,” he blurts out. “By the time you’ve seen a new release from us, I’m normally three or four projects further down the line.” He says they had to strike a deal because his flights of fancy are “so brilliantly fun” and he finds them “very, very engaging” – but there are commercial realities that underpin his work. For this reason, Lowe has created a triage system for new product ideas. As a general rule, if it already exists then he’s not interested – unless he thinks the product that’s out there isn’t good enough and he can improve it, in which case he’ll “just make it better and explain how it’s better and then people get to taste it for themselves”. If it’s a truly new idea, then he will ensure the new product has a purpose and reason to be. His Truffle Gin, for example, was born out of a desire to create a digestif gin – because a waiter at a Michelin-starred restaurant once remarked that there wasn’t a gin “good enough” for the digestif trolley. After months and months of reverse engineering the taste profile for a “good enough” digestif – think chocolate, tobacco, leather, tar, smoke and forest floor – Lowe released a gin that has since gone on to win countless awards. He didn’t say, but I’d hazard it also now graces that digestif trolley. Lowe is ambitious – doggedly so. He says Cambridge Distillery set out with a singular objective to be the world’s leading luxury gin producer and that his goal has always been to be the best. He’s the world’s first gin tailor, who sits with private clients for an afternoon and creates a gin based on their specification. And every product he releases wins at least a gold medal in tasting competitions. When asked how this is possible, he responds: “I taste for a living. It’s my job. I’m the best part of a quarter of a century doing this now. And, within that quarter of a century, I have been judging both wines and spirits internationally for over a decade, I’ve been teaching the Diploma at the WSET, which is the highest qualification offered by the world’s biggest wine and spirits school. I’ve also been called out by people like the IWSC and the WSET who named me one of their future 50. British Airways named me as one of their 100 modern Britons for my services to the food and drink industry. And, last year, I became the world’s first Master Distiller to also become a Master of Wine. “And I’m not just telling you this to seek the approval that I’m yet to receive from my father – the point here is that I’ve got a good palate. I’ve been working on it for a long time. And the system I use makes that palate more accurate by a factor of 10 to the power of four. And that’s why, when I release a gin, I know it will get a gold medal. Because if it isn’t a gold medal standard then I just don’t release it.” Lowe’s next qualification is a PhD in Chemical Engineering and Biotechnology on the intrinsic liquid properties of quality in wine and spirits and how they map to the extrinsic perception of quality in a range of novice, amateur and expert tasters. This, he says, could have sat in psychology, philosophy or chemistry. He chose the latter as a “challenge” because he’s “pretty strong” on the first two. “What I’m trying to do at the moment is focus my efforts,” he says. “And focus them on the things that I think are smart goals which are objectively measurable and achievable. And stretching and challenging – because I’m not interested if it’s not a challenge. “For example, let’s face it, the work that is part of that PhD is what I would be doing anyway. The PhD gives me the structure and it imposes a timeline and it brings me that focus. So it is absolutely part of my ecosystem and it works because it works. “There were times when I was trying to balance my WSET Diploma with a part-time Masters in Forensic Psychology – that was a lot harder. Very, very different subjects and I found the switch between them very stimulating. But this is absolutely all guns trained on the same target.” Lowe says he became a distiller to solve problems others hadn’t. While he is seemingly laser-focused on gin, one can’t help but feel there are problems in other spirits categories that a man of his tireless energy is just itching to solve. When the question is put to him, he says simply: “Never say never.” Thankfully, as is often the case with the Master Distiller, he elaborates: “My wife is the voice of wisdom and reason within the business. I remember once being sat at our dining room table and I had two application forms in front of me: one was for the Master of Wine and one was for the Iron Man that I was intending to do later that year. “I was looking at these two things and thinking this is going to be tough and my wife looked at me and said: ‘Will, there’s no shame in it. You can’t be elite at everything…’ and I was just about to say ‘I bet I can…’ and she finished her sentence with the words ‘at the same time’. And that was it.” When asked how he finds the time, and quite frankly, the energy, for the many things he is currently focusing on, he says: “Time isn’t something you find. It’s something that you utilise. We’ve all got 168 hours in the week and it requires discipline and prioritisation. That’s how you make your time.” And really, really good gin. Learn more about Cambridge Distillery or read more Editorial 

There are a lot of impressive people in the drinks industry, but you’d be hard pushed to find somebody quite as accomplished and personable as Master Distiller William Lowe MW. Holly Motion asks the man with the golden touch about his incredible career to date

William Lowe MW, the world’s first gin tailor, on turning the smallest distillery in the UK (Cambridge Distillery) into the golden goose.

William Lowe MW on his gold-medal Cambridge gins

William Lowe MW: the man with the Midas touch

Bordeaux 2020 is the third in a trilogy of outstanding vintages for the region – but, talking to producers, one thing is abundantly clear: the year was not easy. Covid-19 aside, the year’s unusual conditions demanded attention in the vineyard. “It was a marathon,” Noëmie Durantou Reilhac of Ch. l’Eglise Clinet told me. Nicolas Audebert of Chx Canon and Rauzan-Ségla was more frank: “It was a f***ing tough year.” “Extreme” is the word that comes up time and again. It was both wet and dry, mild and hot – a contradiction in terms throughout, demanding producers’ attention. As Jean-Sébastien Philippe at Lafite described it, 2020 was “un millésime de vigneron" (a winemaker’s vintage). The winter and spring were mild and wet, replenishing water reserves and kicking off the growing season early. It was so mild – with temperatures on average around 2˚C warmer than usual – that there were already signs of budbreak at L’Eglise Clinet on 4th February. Flowering was early and homogenous; at Ch. Margaux it was a full 15 days ahead of normal, Managing Director Philippe Bascaules noted, bringing the entire season forward. This early start led to fears of possible frosts, but (unlike in 2021) the temperature barely dropped and the threat to crops was minimal. Overall, 2020 saw more rain than any other year in the last decade – however it fell almost entirely over the winter and spring, with subsequent concentrated bursts in May and August. This relative downpour was essential for what was to come, for the summer was parchingly dry. As Pierre-Olivier Clouet of Cheval Blanc explained, the spring provided the vines with enough reserves to survive the long, dry summer.  But the damp also brought mildew pressure – a particular challenge for those working organically or biodynamically. “On 12th May we had to spray copper by hand over 25 hectares of vineyards, as it was too wet to put tractors in the vineyards,” said Thomas Duroux at Ch. Palmer. Justine Tesseron at Ch. Pontet-Canet explained how dry breaks in the weather helped them avoid the damage seen in 2018, allowing them to get into the vines and spray. The mildew seemed to impact the Right Bank less, although work was still essential to avoid losses. Then in mid-June, a switch flicked and the weather shifted dramatically, becoming warm and dry. “It’s like only having two seasons instead of four,” Nicolas Glumineau of Ch. Pichon Comtesse explained, something he fears is becoming the new normal with climate change. The warm dry conditions concentrated the berries and then, as the vines gradually started to
become more stressed in August, slowed the vines’ growth. This was, Noëmie Durantou Reilhac of Ch. l’Eglise Clinet noted, important – helping to slow the sugar accumulation, and allow the phenolics to catch up. But the vines were stressed. “Vines are living beings and we ask them to go through a lot. If you were drinking a gallon of water every hour for a month and then had no water for two months…” Noëmie Durantou Reilhac said. The team at Pichon Comtesse was starting to worry as the leaves started to turn yellow and the vines were visibly struggling. But relief arrived in mid-August, with rain on
the Left Bank (with the least falling on Saint-Julien) and Saint-Emilion, although Pomerol had to wait until 1st and 2nd September for the weather to break briefly and provide the water the vines sorely needed. “This really refreshed the grapes, diluting the sugar content, but early enough to allow for concentration to build up in the berries,” Bascaules at Margaux explained.  From the end of August to late September, the mercury rose even higher. At Pichon Comtesse, with temperatures reaching 40˚C, Glumineau started to become nervous about the wine they’d be able to make, visibly seeing the berries reduce in size each day during the last two weeks of September. Cool nights were key at this time, preserving acidity and aromatics, despite the heat of the day. The harvest itself was fast and furious. Thanks to the homogenous flowering, everything ripened at once – and quickly. The whole season remained 10 to 15 days earlier than normal, and picking of the whites kicked off in mid-August, while the Merlot started coming in from early September, then the Cabernet from the middle of the month. Everything was in before the close of the month. Timing were similar to 2003, 2015 or 2019. Nicolas Glumineau noted that rainfall at the very end of September – falling on 25th and 26th – was of particular importance, helping “polish the tannins” on the last few plots of Pichon Comtesse’s Cabernet Sauvignon.

“It was a textbook perfect vintage,” Damien Barton Sartorius, Director of Léoville and Langoa Barton said – the only thing that upsets him is the volume of wine produced. The dry conditions broadly led to smaller berries with thick skins, and therefore less juice. In general, yields are a little down on 2019 and 2018, around 10 to 25% in most places, with the smallest crops in Saint-Julien (down 20% at Léoville and Langoa Barton, 25% at Ch. Ducru-Beaucaillou), and Sauternes and Barsac.  “It was a crazy, crazy vintage,” said Omri Ram of Lafleur. Rushing through the growing season like this, it’s clear it was, but producers aren’t shy about the results, nor should they be. The wines are superb – more classical than those of 2018 or ’19, with some comparing them to the wines of 2016, ’15 or ’09. Read more about the vintage in our overview or commune-by-commune breakdown

The 2018 and 2019 vintages might be tough acts to follow, but Bordeaux 2020 seems to be more than up to the job. We spoke to producers about the year’s extreme conditions – and the stunning results it produced

Chx l’Eglise Clinet, Cheval Blanc, Pichon Comtesse and more on the extraordinary conditions that shaped the 2020 Bordeaux vintage

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