Maule is the engine room of Chile’s wine industry. With over 37,000 hectares of vines, it is by far the country’s largest wine region, churning out a quarter of the nation’s production. Although it has a long history, first planted in the 16th century, its modern reputation is for providing cheap fruit to bulk out the blends that have become synonymous with Chile’s supermarket standard-bearers. But a quiet revolution is underway, with a small group of producers championing the old-vine heritage of this region. And now Francisco Baettig is adding his name to the list, shining a light on the region.  Baettig – the man who built his reputation crafting the iconic wines of Errázuriz, Seña and Chadwick – started Vinos Baettig with his business partner Carlos de Carlos back in 2012, laying down literal roots in the little-known, cool-climate Traiguén district of Malleco, on the same latitude as Patagonia. They made their first commercial vintage of chiselled Chardonnay and vibrant Pinot Noir in 2018, but that was just the beginning for the duo.  They had, Baettig tells me, always planned to make Cabernet Sauvignon. And that’s no surprise given Baettig’s background, having studied in Bordeaux and made his name crafting Cabernet Sauvignon blends that rival those of the Médoc. They decided, however, to start with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in the south, where they already had family ties and land was more affordable, while they hunted down the right site for their Cabernet project.  For Baettig, working their own vineyards is integral to Vinos Baettig, as is dry-farming – and, for Cabernet Sauvignon, Baettig was particularly keen to have old vines, and that, he shrugs sadly, is not so easy to find. As well as being resilient enough to be dry-farmed, older Cabernet Sauvignon vines generally produce lower pyrazine levels (compounds which are responsible for a green character in wine), as well as lower sugar levels at phenolic and flavour ripeness – allowing him to produce wines with more moderate alcohol levels.  He had previously worked with a parcel of Cabernet Sauvignon in Maule and loved the fruit from these low-yielding vines, which retained acidity and offered great aromatics, colour and gravelly tannins that are, in his view, almost Saint-Estèphe in style. It was he felt, “Cabernet with a special personality.” And so, they looked to Maule, but avoiding the warmer areas that can produce bigger, riper styles – instead they headed south of Cauquenes, towards the Cordillera de la Costa, or coastal range.  It took them over a year, but eventually they found an old País vineyard – planted 120 years ago – where two hectares had been grafted over to Cabernet Sauvignon. The grower was charging only 15 cents per kilo for the fruit – but the Cabernet was being harvested alongside the Pais, chucked in together and sold for a pittance. Baettig asked if he could quadruple the price and get it harvested separately. The grower couldn’t believe his luck.  Baettig and Carlos found another few vineyards that showed promise, which together formed the basis for the first vintage of Los Compadres Cabernet Sauvignon. This is one of their Vinos de Viñedo, or village-equivalent wines, with the name “Los Compadres” (close friends) a tribute to the growers with which they’re working. Alongside their “village” wine, however, Baettig always crafts a single-site bottling, a Selección de Parcelas (parcel selection, literally) – and that only ever comes from vines they own.  Fortunately, perhaps, the grower behind the 120-year-old País vineyard was looking to sell, faced with its economic unsustainability and developers queuing up for the land. The duo managed to purchase five hectares, including the two that had already been grafted to Cabernet Sauvignon, saving the centenarian vines from being ripped out of the ground. They grafted over the three remaining hectares to Cabernet Sauvignon in 2023 (with the fruit set to be used from the 2025 vintage). This site is now the source for their single-parcel Los Padrinos (meaning “the godparents”).  There are swathes of ancient vines like this, all at risk of being torn out for more profitable options. And it’s easy to see why, these old bush vines are beautiful – but yield tiny volumes. Baettig gets a mere two tons per hectare – “in a good year”, he’s quick to clarify. They’re dry-farmed – something that is rare in Chile’s dry climate, but made feasible by the high average rainfall in the Maule (between 500 and 700mm per year, although 2023 brought 1,000mm – welcome sustenance for Baettig’s just-grafted plantings). There’s no way of mechanising such old vines so all the work has to be done by hand – and Baettig’s plots see little more than sulphur and other organic treatments. If like most growers in the area, you’re only able to sell your fruit to the local co-op for cheap box wine, it’s easy to see why such efforts simply don’t make financial sense.  Alongside these parcels of old vines, there are vast, younger vineyards belonging to the likes of Concha y Toro and Santa Rita, yielding up to seven times as much fruit as their gnarly neighbours. Land here remains significantly cheaper than the more famous Maipo, Aconcagua or Colchagua (hence its appeal to the country’s biggest players) – but it’s the region’s distinct style of Cabernet that drew the Baettig team here.  For Baettig, towards the coastal range you find a totally different microclimate, producing wines of impressive tension and bright acidity. With the old País roots, the vines reach deep into the soil and produce limited yields of concentrated berries. The tannins have a particular imprint, less polished than those of Maipo, and given the fruit’s natural concentration and structure, it’s important to manage extraction carefully – with cooler temperatures, shorter maceration times and reduced pump-overs. Quite simply, Baettig says, they are “wines that you can age”. Fresh and verging on austere in youth, it’s easy to see the potential – and Baettig suggests the Compadres should age a good decade, while Los Padrinos will continue evolving far beyond that.   Baettig has already made waves with its Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, and – given the nature of these special vineyards – their Cabernet Sauvignon is guaranteed to do the same. But it’s not just the quality here that will make a difference. These sprawling plants, knotted, thick-trunked and twisted, have survived in spite of the economics. Having such a prestigious name invest in the Maule and its wealth of centenarian bush vines will help guarantee that this viticultural heritage isn’t lost for good.  Explore the full range from Baettig, including the first vintages of their Cabernet Sauvignon 

Baettig has pioneered Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from Malleco – but now they’ve released their first Cabernet Sauvignon. Sophie Thorpe caught up with Francisco Baettig to find out more about the project 

From Malleco to Maule: as Chile’s Baettig releases their first Cabernet Sauvignon wine, we caught up with winemaker Francisco Baettig to find out more

Discovering Baettig’s Maule Cabernet Sauvignon

The Maule mission: Baettig’s new Cabernet Sauvignon

“The only thing more fun than drinking wine is buying wine,” says Allan Frischman, our new Vice President of Global Client Reserves, arching an eyebrow and laughing. He should know – he’s been working in the wine business since the early 1990s, with the vast majority of that spent sourcing, studying, authenticating and selling fine wine collections for a leading auction house. As of this month, he’ll be working to develop our network of reservists and their portfolios – allowing our clients to both sell and buy even more than before, giving us – and you – access to the world’s finest (and deepest) cellars. Beyond this, he’ll be finessing local pricing for each market we work in and helping manage clients’ wine storage – a job for which he is uniquely qualified. Frischman grew up in New Jersey and never planned to get into wine – but he took a part-time job at college (“to pay for beer”, he confesses) in a wine shop. The shop’s storage system was divided by country and region, with a warren-like basement that he needed to navigate, finding the right bin for new stocks. Reading about the different appellations, and using his staff discount to buy the odd bottle, got him interested – but it was a bottle of 1975 Ch. Talbot, tasted at Mary Ewing-Mulligan MW’s International Wine Center that hooked him: “At that point, I knew that this is what I wanted to do.”  The economics graduate was working at Manhattan’s Morell & Co. when, in 1994, the laws changed. For the first time since Prohibition, wine auctions were permitted to take place in New York State. “I didn’t know anything at all about auctions,” says Frischman – but it didn’t stop him jumping headfirst into something new, organising the state’s first commercial wine auction since 1920. “I didn’t know if we were going to get 10 bidders or 1,000,” he tells me. He shouldn’t have worried, for that auction was met with such enthusiasm that he walked away from the event on cloud nine, confident that he had found his calling.  In the 30 years since, he’s seen the auction business transformed. The 1994 law change created a new hub for wine’s secondary market, with New York rapidly becoming a rival for its traditional heartland in London – and the Big Apple rapidly added its own signature. Until then, auctions were staid affairs, dominated by trade buyers with little action beyond the raising of paddles in muted crowds – in Frischman’s words, “something dreary that dragged on for 10 hours”.  But Zachys – one of the auction houses that popped up in New York – added American flair, a touch of Broadway jazz hands to turn auctions into events, gathering bidders at round tables with great food and wine. Traditionalists said it wouldn’t work – but they were wrong. No longer were auctions purely a way to buy wine, they became fun – they became a place for wine lovers to gather, eat, drink and be seen. Higher attendance meant more bids, higher hammer prices – and more consignments that in turn brought more business, and a shift from trade to individuals.  The late 2000s brought challenges. “The Dow Jones was tumbling and it looked like the world was about to collapse,” Frischman tells me, looking back at the worldwide recession. “It was terrifying and of course people stopped buying wine.” But as Frischman rapidly learnt, people were waiting for the bottom of the market – and then they started buying again. At the same time, Hong Kong abolished import duty on wine (initially halved in 2007 and removed entirely in 2008) – and, like New York in 1994, instantly became a new centre for the wine trade. “The Asian market evolved almost over days,” remarks Frischman. “It became extremely sophisticated very quickly.” American auction houses started opening offices in Hong Kong. “For a few years, Hong Kong was just chewing up all the wine and the big hammer prices were all [there].”  The most recent shift in the world of auctioneering has been the advent of real-time, online bidding – one forced by the Covid-19 pandemic. “There was a perception that it would discourage people to show up in the sale room and would also discourage people from leaving bids in advance,” Frischman says, explaining why the industry was perhaps a little slow to embrace the online sphere. Interestingly, however, he anticipates that before online bidding was introduced, maybe only 10% of lots went to bidders physically in the room. With consumers stranded at home, and the technology already up to scratch, online auctions rocketed – and opened the market to an even broader range of consumers, with bidding wars between wine lovers in Brazil, Singapore, London, New York, Hong Kong and beyond now the norm.  As auction houses realised that online auctions worked, the need for events and associated spend dropped – and the auction style established by Zachys in the 1990s has become significantly less common. You might argue that this also heralds the end of the auctioneer – but even online companies have retained the compère, the familiar patter still something that bidders want.   It isn’t just where and how wine was selling, but which wines were selling that has evolved. In the mid-1990s and early 2000s, Frischman notes how the US market centred on Napa’s cult Cabernets, along with wines from the likes Williams Selyem, Ravenswood and, of course, Bordeaux’s top names. “[There was] across the board demand for Bordeaux,” Frischman tells me, “but you couldn’t give Burgundy away.” Of course, that’s all changed now – and Burgundy, despite its extremely limited supply, has become the darling of the fine wine scene. As prices have soared for the Côte d’Or’s top wines, wine lovers have started looking elsewhere, to Italy (Barolo, Barbaresco and some Brunello), Madeira (especially older vintages) and the Northern Rhône (Côte-Rôtie, Cornas and Saint-Joseph) – but none have the liquidity of Bordeaux. “They [the Bordelais] don’t get enough credit for the sheer, mind-boggling amount of great wine they’re able to put out every year,” says Frischman.  Over the years, Frischman has become an expert authenticator – the sort of knowledge that can only be gained by handling immense volumes of fine wine, working closely with producers and getting up close and personal with the rarest bottles. In 2006, he went to check over some wines that had been sent to the auction house he then worked for by a young Asian collector. The consignment was significant, worth millions of dollars – but even from across the room, Frischman knew that the wines didn’t look right. Closer inspection only confirmed that the wines looked like fakes – and the auction house turned them away, sending them back to the collector, then a new name on the scene, Rudy Kurniawan. A couple of years later, he got a call from the FBI’s Jim Wynn, asking if he would be an expert witness in a wine fraud case against Kurniawan, who had – by that point – become prolific. “I inspected, I don’t know, 40 bankers boxes of stuff that they’d gotten from his home, stamps for corks, fake labels, fake import strips – all kinds of stuff,” he says. In a warehouse in Queens, he studied the evidence – “going through bottle after bottle after bottle and writing a report about why I thought that they were fake”. It was – and still is – the biggest wine forgery case to have ever taken place, and Frischman, along with fellow authentication expert Michael Egan, was essential to proving Kurniawan’s guilt.  Wine authentication has become an essential component of wine collecting, and a key reason to work with trusted merchants. There are people who suggest that as much as 10% of wine on the secondary market is fake, but – in Frischman’s view, having handled fine wine for over 30 years – “That’s a substantial overestimate.” Despite such claims, forgery has only become more sophisticated, and it’s important, he says, to work with someone who knows what they’re looking at. “You want someone who is experienced to look at the bottle and who is empowered to say, ‘I don’t like it – we’re not offering it.’” There’s a big difference, he explains, between being convinced something is fake, and being convinced something is real – and you always want the person checking wines you’re buying to be in the latter camp.  The wine business is a people business – and he’s been lucky to spend three decades getting to know the world’s foremost collectors, spending time rustling through cellars, lugging his fair share of cases in and out of vans, and cradling bottles of elusive vintages and cuvées. Beyond this privilege, he’s often found himself on the receiving end of collectors’ generosity – recognising a fellow enthusiast’s passion. When I ask him if there’s a bottle that stands out, beyond the 1975 Talbot that was his hook into the industry, his eyes mist over. It was, he tells me, on a trip to Tokyo, at a remarkable dinner that included some incredible wines, including the fabled 1947 Cheval Blanc. But it was a bottle of 1978 La Romanée-Conti from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti that stole the show: it was “breathtaking, magical”, he says. “I was practically brought to tears.” Until that moment, he’d never necessarily understood why collectors kept this prized cuvée, and didn’t sell it to fund their La Tâche or Romanée-Saint-Vivant – but this bottle made him realise just why people don’t. “This wine was perfect,” he says.  It’s easy, perhaps, to imagine the auctioneering world is over-run with wine investors, but that’s far from what Frischman has found. “The vast majority, regardless of what they say they’re doing, are buying to drink,” he says. On paper, that may not make sense – after all, who needs 30,000 bottles of wine? But that, as Frischman and any wine obsessive knows, is the collector’s mentality – and, deciding to sell, despite owning more wine than could possibly be consumed in a lifetime, is much harder than buying another case or 10.  When Frischman first started auctioning wine, he recalls talking to his father, who wondered if there was enough fine wine to sustain a career. The beauty, Frischman, now knows, is that there’s a new vintage every year – beyond that, and as he’s seen over the past 30 years, the wine world is constantly shifting, with an ever-expanding range of regions and producers. And he’s evolving with the industry, making a move of his own and bringing his expertise to FINE+RARE. We can’t wait to see what he’ll do. Whether you’re looking to buy, sell or anything else, contact Allan Frischman directly at allan.frischman@frw.co.uk

After two decades at one of the world’s leading auction houses, Allan Frischman has joined our team, as Vice President of Global Client Reserves. We caught up with him to dive into the world of auctioneering, his 30 years in the business and his new role

After two decades at one of the USA’s leading auction houses, auctioneer and wine authentication expert Allan Frischman has joined our team

Introducing Allan Frischman

Hammer time: Allan Frischman

There is a lyricism to the way Roberto Bava speaks. Beyond his unmistakeable Italian accent, his sentences rise and fall. Every word is a piece of music in and of itself, which is sometimes broken by an infectious burst of laughter. He drops his h’s and finds syllables where ordinarily there are none. It’s not hard to picture him holding court at the head of the table at the Vermouth di Torino Institute, or working the room at events with people, he says, who openly express their  dislike of vermouth. “You have this reaction against it because you remember your grandmother used to offer you an oxidised thing,” Bava tells me. Once they taste a vermouth that has been well-made and well-kept, it’s a whole different ball game. “You discover a totally different product,” he says. Introducing vermouth to an entirely new audience, or a familiar audience in a different way, clearly brings joy to Bava. He talks of an event the night before we speak when he offered vermouth to the guests. After a couple of sips, they stopped drinking wine and switched to vermouth for the rest of the dinner. “It was phenomenal,” he says with unabashed glee. “People are now tasting it and saying, ‘Oooh, this is goooood.’” Bava, and the three or four generations (he forgets which) of his family who have worked in the industry before him, have lived through vermouth’s highs and lows. After heady days in the 20th century when it was consumed neat as a welcome drink or “nice company to your book and solitude”, vermouth fell out of favour in the “hard decades” of the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s. “As a category, it was a little bypassed,” Bava tells me. Vermouth simply couldn’t compete with the marketing budgets of other products and they stormed to the fore, leaving the fortified wine “a little lost”. It wasn’t until the cocktail renaissance in the 1990s and the meteoric rise of the Negroni many years later (in the early 2000s) that the pendulum swung back in vermouth’s favour. “Vermouth is a good drink,” Bava says lyrically, “but it is also an instrument to make better other drinks.” When asked which cocktails of the many that are made with vermouth – think the Martini, Negroni, Manhattan, Adonis – has done the most for the category, the Vermouth di Torino Institute president says in a flash: “the Negroni”. He then adds in his melodic way: “As an Italian, and being a Negronista, it’s gotta be a Negroni.” Bava does then concede that it slightly depends on the country. In America, for example, he says, the Manhattan is king – even if people don’t necessarily realise vermouth is in it. Another reason vermouth has risen to prominence, according to Bava, is the improved quality and introduction of a Geographical Indication (GI) for Vermouth di Torino three years ago – something he refers to as a “little miracle”. In short, this means the vermouth must be made with at least one Italian wine, wormwood must be the predominant flavour and the wormwood used must be grown in Piedmont. The final liquid must be between 16% and 22% alcohol. For a GI, this is broader than others and allows many producers in the Piedmont region to use “Vermouth di Torino” on their bottles. Bava was instrumental in getting this classification for the region in 2019 and was rightly given the role of president at the Vermouth di Torino Institute. In three short years, Bava says the GI is paying dividends and making a real difference to the style and quality of Vermouth di Torino. “Vermouth was produced all over the world,” he explains, “sometimes losing a little of the identity”. It wasn’t until the GI was approved that vermouth producers from Turin, like Bava, could really communicate that a vermouth from Poland or Argentina wasn’t the genuine article. For that, you need to go to its birthplace of Torino, Italy. “Vermouth di Torino has been a benchmark for the whole category – and will be, for sure,” Bava adds energetically. “This [label] makes an important guarantee to the consumer because you know what is in the bottle. You know there is control, you know someone has checked, made an analysis, you know the ingredients, and this is not a generic product, it is a specific product and a protected product.” He makes the inevitable, and important, comparison with the wine world. “You can produce wine all over the world, but if you do wine in Barolo it’s specific. You can do table wine in France anywhere but if you go in Pauillac, of course, you have something else. So this is what’s gonna happen,” he explains. To date, 99% of Turin's producers have joined the fold to champion and protect the region’s appellation, including some of the biggest and smallest names. At present, Vermouth di Torino is the only vermouth GI recognised and protected in the category but Bava teases that there could well be more in time. With vermouth from its birthplace now protected and a much better understanding of how it should be kept – in the fridge once open and stored out of direct sunlight – it’s hard not to see its fanbase continuing to grow, especially as it ticks the low-alcohol box for a more mindful, younger consumer base. “The consumption is going to grow. It takes us some time. I’ve been working already 10 years,” he laughs. But Bava is certainly bullish now all the producers are working as one. With Bava spreading the word, in his enchanting and charismatic way, you can certainly see an appreciation for vermouth continuing apace. Explore all spirits or read more Editorial 

Vermouth has fallen in and out of vogue many times throughout its history. Buoyed by a new geographical classification and ever-growing classic cocktail appreciation, the future looks brighter than ever. Holly Motion reports

Cocchi Vermouth's Roberto Bava on the Italian drink's history, its new protected status and the classic cocktail renaissance

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