Honeysuckle, peach, jasmine. Ripe, perfumed and exotic, viscous and heady – but, at its best, with a mineral, saline line and phenolic grip that keeps its hedonism in check. Condrieu is a wine like no other – and one that couldn’t be much less fashionable if it tried.  And yet, its top bottlings are incredibly hard to find. The likes of Georges Vernay’s Coteau de Vernon or Guigal’s La Doriane fly out on release. Chapoutier’s Coteau de Chery is absorbed effortlessly by France’s finest restaurant wine lists. The iconic Château-Grillet has almost vanished from the world of retail since it was taken over by Artémis. Production might be limited – but it’s also clear that there’s more than enough demand for these very special wines from the Northern Rhône.  The appellation and its unique expression of the Viognier grape has a rocky history. The Romans were the first to cultivate vines in this corner of the Rhône Valley – and they’ve been there ever since. By the 17th century, the wines from the steep slopes around the village of Condrieu were renowned throughout France. In 1853, there were 143 hectares of vines in the region – but then plague and pest arrived: powdery mildew swept through the vines, swiftly followed by phylloxera, decimating vineyards across Europe. With two World Wars, as well as the industrialisation of the valley, the workforce fled the vines for more stable, salaried factory work: looking up at the back-breaking angle of its slopes, entirely unmechanisable, it’s easy to see why the region’s vineyards were almost entirely abandoned. When the Condrieu Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée (AOC) was created in 1940 (encompassing the villages of Condrieu, Vérin and Saint-Michel-sur-Rhône), just six hectares of vines remained.  Only eight of the potential 170 hectares were planted in the 1960s and Condrieu’s future looked uncertain. But one vigneron was quietly working to change that.  Georges Vernay – whose father Francis Vernay had helped create the appellation after planting his family’s first vines on the Coteau de Vernon in 1937 – believed in the alchemy between Condrieu’s biotite granite slopes and the Viognier grape. At the time, the region was best-known for its stone-fruit – with a kilo of peaches worth significantly more than a kilo of grapes. (The area is still known for its fruit today, Jean-Marc Roulot sources the apricots for his eau de vie and liqueur from the Rhône.) When Georges Vernay uprooted orchards to plant Viognier, people called him a fool.  “No one believed in Condrieu anymore, or in Viognier anymore,” Philippe Guigal – the winemaker and third-generation at the helm of his family’s company – tells me. Philippe’s father Marcel was another pioneer of the region, persisting in making fine wine from the region’s uneconomically steep terraces.  Vernay kept his faith too – championing Condrieu, but also Viognier. Almost all the Viognier in the world was planted in Condrieu at the time, and Vernay supplied cuttings to those outside the region – encouraging others to plant this distinctive grape. At the same time, he championed the region with his age-worthy wines, especially the now-iconic Coteau de Vernon.  By 1986 there were still only 19 hectares of Condrieu planted, but Vernay’s battle started paying off – wine-lovers fell for Condrieu’s rich, textural whites and plantings rocketed. There were 38 hectares of vines by 1992 and 217 by 2024. But it wasn’t just in the Rhône that Viognier finally found its footing – plantings appeared in the Ardèche, the Languedoc, Australia, California (especially with the wave of Rhône Rangers, led by Randall Grahm) and beyond. Viognier’s lustre had been restored.  Although now much more widely planted, it’s only in Condrieu that Viognier reaches such heights. Here, on steep terraced slopes in this hallowed corner of the Rhône, the vines sit almost directly on the granite bedrock – a specific type of granite laced with biotite, an iron-rich black mica. It’s this biotite granite that defined the original Condrieu appellation created in 1940 – encompassing vineyards around the villages of Condrieu, Vérin and Saint-Michel-sur-Rhône. The monopole appellation Château-Grillet (sadly unable to comment for this feature) sits within Condrieu, classified four years prior, and sharing the same biotite granite. The iron in the soils is key, lending much-needed tension to the potentially flabby Viognier.  Finding – and keeping – that tension is key to the best Condrieu. And it isn’t about acidity per se, but a sense of freshness.   For Emma Amsellem – who works alongside her mother Christine Vernay at Domaine Georges Vernay, “It’s a combination of different things.” She attributes much to their farming (which is both organic and biodynamic), as well as working with old vines and low yields (normally around 27-30hl/ha). Maxime Chapoutier – who works alongside his larger-than-life father Michel Chapoutier at the eponymous empire – echoes how important vine age is for Viognier, much more so than Syrah or Marsanne, he says. He finds Viognier starts to produce fruit of significantly more complexity at 20-30 years of age, but the vines can also lose interest if they’re too old.   “The beauty of the balance of Viognier comes from its dry extract – from its bitterness,” he explained. It is, Chapoutier says, the hardest grape to pick – harvest too early and you won’t have the necessary dry extract, but harvest too late and the aromatics are too much. Ansellem also emphasised the importance of picking date: although you want to retain as much natural acidity as possible, you also need Viognier to be sufficiently ripe – and the window is getting smaller and smaller with climate change.  The challenge, as Philippe Guigal puts it, is to keep the richness, the full expression of Viognier, as well as its drinkability and salinity. He introduced a Champenois-style cycle, very long and slow, for their Condrieu – something that helps bring out the grape’s aromatics and structure, a concept echoed by both Ansellem and Chapoutier, working with Viognier’s natural thick skins. Chapoutier also highlighted the importance of oxygenising the must and then racking as little as possible, retaining the lees to help build on the grape’s “noble bitterness”.  Guigal is also particularly careful with fermentation temperatures, feeling it is key to keep ferments under 12°C to avoid any potentially heavy aromas.  It's that dry extract that allows top Condrieu to age so beautifully too. Chapoutier explains how he likes to wait at least five years before opening their Coteau de Chery, but it can age for 25, developing more layers of complexity – with notes of honey, lanolin, gingerbread and dried citrus peel. “A great Condrieu is a wine that doesn’t taste of Viognier,” he says.  Tasting through a flight of the region’s top wines last week was fascinating – from Chapoutier’s remarkably fresh, floral Coteau de Chery to the decadent yet mineral Coteau de Vernon from Georges Vernay. More than anything was perhaps seeing the response from those tasting – the wines far surpassing their stereotypical expectations. Not all the haters left lovers, but they certainly had a newfound respect for the style; and those that were already fans fell even harder for its charms.  There’s next to no room for further plantings in Condrieu, largely thanks to Georges Vernay’s efforts championing the region, and quality in the appellation is higher than ever before. The style of its heady wines will always be divisive – and perhaps that’s a good thing given how limited production of the best wines is. Its cool credentials may not quite have caught up yet, but it’s time to open up to the region’s opulent embrace – you won’t regret it.  Top Condrieu cuvées to look out for  Chapoutier’s Coteau de Chery: From a single parcel of vines between 40 and 80 years in age, this is aged entirely in old oak (larger, 600-litre casks). Production is tiny (often only two barrels) and goes almost exclusively to restaurants in France.  Georges Vernay’s Coteau de Vernon: This is just a stone’s throw (100m or so) from Vernay’s other single-vineyard, Les Chaillés de l’Enfer (literally meaning the terraces of hell, for its steep south-facing slopes). From the region’s most famous pioneer, the vines were planted in the 1930s and 1960s, in a natural amphitheatre, producing a profound expression of Viognier that ages beautifully.  Guigal’s La Doriane: Guigal’s top Condrieu is a blend of their top five parcels across the appellation, averaging 35 years in age, matured in 100% new oak – which is seamlessly integrated with the concentrated and powerful fruit.  Château-Grillet: The tiny monopole appellation covers 3.5 hectares of vines. Owned by the Artémis group (owners of Ch. Latour) since 2011, its wines are some of the most sought-after in the world, largely disappearing into wine lists.  Yves Gangloff’s Condrieu: Renowned for its voluptuous style, in all the best ways, this bottling from this famous winemaker is rightfully prized.  André Perret’s Chéry: Known also for their Clos Chanson cuvée, Chéry also comes from the Coteau de Chery, from a three-hectare plot of 70-year-old vines.  Ogier’s Les Vieilles Vignes de Jacques Vernay: Only 125 cases are made of this wine per year, making it incredibly hard to find.  Marie & Pierre Benetière’s Condrieu: Possibly even harder to find than their astounding Côte-Rôties, Pierre was inspired by and studied under Vernay before making his own wines.   Explore all current listings of Condrieu or read more Editorial 

The epitome of Viognier, Condrieu makes some of the world’s most remarkable wines – yet this appellation in the Northern Rhône came close to disappearing. Sophie Thorpe dives into its brush with fate and how producers manage Viognier’s natural hedonism to create wines that stand the test of time 

Condrieu’s wines are better than ever. We talk to Georges Vernay, Guigal and Chapoutier about the appellation’s comeback 

Condrieu’s comeback with Vernay, Guigal and Chapoutier 

Condrieu’s comeback 

Broad in build and sporting a leather necklace, Mike Ratcliffe looks like a man who would be good at wrangling cattle. But that burly side is countered by an accent softened by time working and studying abroad (not to mention being married to a Brit), and a certain polish – even after an overnight flight from the Cape – that speaks of the business sphere. It’s clear that he’s no-nonsense – a man with ambition, and not one, I suspect, you’d want to get on the wrong side of. But it’s also clear that his savvy brand-building has been key to the success of Vilafonté.  He is a man with a plan – a 100-year plan, in fact. As of December last year, when co-founders Dr Zelma Long and Dr Phil Freese retired, Ratcliffe is the lone man at the helm of Vilafonté – a wine producer that has been attracting increasing amounts of attention. In a recent report for the Wine Advocate, Anthony Mueller wrote, “Vilafonté continues inching toward triple digits with a spectacular array of new releases” – awarding its 2021 Series C 99 points (making it the joint-highest-scoring South African wine to date, sitting alongside Sadie’s 2021 Palladius and an 1800 Muscat of Alexandria from Jaubert). But Ratcliffe’s not resting on his laurels: as he tells me, “If you’re going to do anything, go 100%.”  Ratcliffe’s family owned Warwick Estate – and as the world opened up to South African wine in the wake of apartheid – they realised they needed help developing their wines. Although Warwick was one of the nation’s stalwart names, “We were the big fish in the small pond,” says Ratcliffe – and to grow internationally, they needed outside input. They hired Phil Freese – then Vice President of Winegrowing at Robert Mondavi and responsible for planting the first Opus One vineyards – as viticultural consultant (for a “staggering” fee, Ratcliffe tells me). The investment paid off and after two years, they had made amazing progress – and Freese suggested they use Zelma Long (previously of Robert Mondavi, then Simi) to consult on the winemaking side.  At the same time Freese was working on his PhD, which involved research on the world’s oldest soils – many of which he discovered were in southern Africa. The oldest documented soil in Africa is vilafontes, thought to have originated 800 million years ago – and he, along with Long (whom he later married), started wondering about this soil’s potential for wine. The couple – along with the help of an investor Sydney Back – bought 40 hectares of land in 1996, at the foot of the Simonsberg mountain in Paarl, planting their first vines the following year. Vilafonté was born.  Ratcliffe had been working abroad as a skipper, before heading off to Roseworthy to get his MBA in wine in 1999, but had met Long and Freese through their work at Warwick, and was keeping an eye on their new venture. Soon after he returned back home, Sydney Back – a man Ratcliffe describes as “the Robert Mondavi of South Africa” – passed away, meaning Long and Freese were looking for a new partner. Impulsively, Ratcliffe volunteered – scrambling to get the money together in time for the deal to be finalised in 2001.   The trio made wines in 2000 and 2001 but only to get a feel for the site, planning to make 2002 their first release. Unfortunately, the vintage was tricky and Long told them firmly: “It’s good – but it’s not good enough.” It’s a decision that the bank didn’t necessarily appreciate (“That was a tough year,” says Ratcliffe) – but allowed them to launch with 2003, “arguably the best vintage of the decade” according to Ratcliffe (and a wine that he tells me is still “impeccable”). No one seems to be clear on how “vilafontes” became Vilafonté – whether it was a marketing decision to add a Gallic twist to the name, or just a mistake somewhere along the way – but it stuck.  They had originally planned to make a single Grand Vin, but the site had other ideas – producing two distinct styles, and so they created Series C (a Cabernet-driven blend) and Series M (a Merlot-driven blend). It may not make perfect business sense, having two flagship wines, but repeat experiments have (so far, at least) confirmed it was the right choice. While some plots clearly belong to C or M, the blends are different each year – and younger-vine fruit or anything that doesn’t fit is declassified to Seriously Old Dirt. This latter wine was launched with the 2012 vintage, using purchased fruit from around the Western Cape as well as declassified plots to provide an earlier-drinking entry-point to the Vilafonté brand.   The secret to the wines is the soil – incredibly poor, ancient soils, degraded and nutrient-deficient – meaning the vines really struggle. Even 27 years on, the vines are scrawny little things – producing tiny yields of concentrated fruit. It’s one reason that the site had – to their knowledge – never been planted, and local farmers were puzzled why anyone decided to put down roots here. Combine that with a “deeply pragmatic” approach (in Ratcliffe’s own words), and a long-term team dedicated to doing “the same thing over and over and over”, and you have the recipe for something special. In Ratcliffe’s mind, it’s key that they aren’t trying to create something new each vintage – but continue their pursuit of perfection with Series C and M. They work sustainably but sensibly, with cover crops, high-tech underground drip irrigation and a cellar that operates purely on solar power, but avoid certification or trading on any green credentials: for the Vilafonté team, it is all about the quality in the bottle.  For years, Ratcliffe juggled managing both Warwick and Vilafonté, but eventually sold his old family business to a California-based venture capital fund, allowing him to focus exclusively on Vilafonté. The property has just released its 2021s, the 18th vintage to emerge from the Paarl estate – and its top-scoring wines to date. Yet Ratcliffe is clear that this is just the latest step in his masterplan. The vines are yet to turn 30, and there are a few small parcels on the estate that could still be planted, while the team is constantly running trials – empowered to challenge everything they think they know. Just last December (2023), Long and Freese retired – after a four-year handover period, but will remain loosely involved. Ratcliffe isn’t looking back, though: as he says, “Our greatest wines are ahead of us.”  Vilafonté’s 2021 releases are available now  Read more Editorial  

The Wine Advocate is yet to grant any South African wine a perfect score – but some are getting close. Most recently, Vilafonté earned 99 points for its 2021 Series C. As it’s released, we sit down with owner Mike Ratcliffe to find out about this Paarl project and its rapid trajectory to stardom

Wine Advocate recently awarded Vilafonte’s 2021 Series C 99 points – we sat down with owner Mike Ratcliffe to find out more about the Paarl wine estate

Kicking the dirt with Vilafonte’s Mike Ratcliffe

Kicking the dirt with Vilafonté’s Mike Ratcliffe

Serge Valentin has been one of the few truly independent voices in the Scotch whisky world since the early 2000s. For two decades and counting, the Alsace-native has published his tasting notes and scores to an astoundingly large and loyal audience with his characteristically good humour and impartiality in what can be a deafening echo chamber.   Despite being one of the most well-respected authorities in the industry, Valentin has always written about whisky in his spare time, very much considering it a pastime that he dabbles in for fun. This is somewhat of a surprise, given the many people who part with thousands of pounds based on his views alone.  “Contrary to what many believe, I’ve never been a pro and have never actually worked in whisky,” the jaunty Valentin is quick to tell me. “It is all a kind of super-hobby to me and if you ever see me doing gigs, for example at whisky festivals, it is always for free, for fun and for friends.”   Valentin’s “proper work”, as he calls it, is in advertising and marketing, where he owns two agencies which employ around 2,000 people. These agencies, he says glibly, are “supposed to pay for my whiskies…luckily, they do”. It was a very different landscape when Valentin started writing about Scotch in 2002. Single malts had been marketed for 30-plus years but there wasn’t the seemingly insatiable demand and record-breaking prices that are commonplace today. It all began when Valentin, armed with bottles of his favourite Old Clynelish and Brora, sat down and shared his musings on his aptly named website WhiskyFun. This wasn’t a vanity project or a vehicle for freebies, this was a man writing about the whiskies he loved, just because he wanted to. From humble beginnings, WhiskyFun has become one of the most well-respected hubs for commentary on Scotch. Valentin follows a 100-point scoring system, like some of the great critics in the world of wine. For Valentin, however, 80/100 is a good score. His methodology is largely unchanged. He will spend an average of 30 minutes tasting a whisky (he does, on occasion, score rums and other spirits) – this can increase up to an hour if it’s a “good one” and take nearer 10 minutes if it is a “bad one”. He always compares several similar spirits, almost always from the same distillery, and never scores “out of the blue”. He tastes “alone, using the same parameters” (place, time of day, glassware, water etc.) and always writes as he tries, and then publishes once a day.  His write-ups are always short, honest, and unmistakably him. After all these years, it’s dumbfounding that he has the time or inclination to produce the near-constant stream of reviews that appear on his website.    It’s fascinating to see which liquids he scores – and, sometimes more intriguingly, the ones he doesn’t. “The choices rather depend on what I get and what I source, but my sample library is much larger than my tasting capacity,” he explains.   This all started as a passion project for Valentin and it’s abundantly clear that that fire burns just as bright today. He never takes himself too seriously and is evidently ill at ease with any comparison between himself and the greatly respected critics in the world of wine.    This is, in part, because the role of a critic in spirits is nowhere near as established as it is in wine. There are leading voices in the Scotch whisky world who undoubtedly carry considerable clout, but they aren’t critics in the traditional sense. While they might be prolific in their output and have seemingly healthy book retainers, they rarely score spirits and if they do, their tasting notes will be almost entirely positive (often because they are in a producer’s employ). The closest the spirits world has to a Robert Parker or Jancis Robinson MW is probably Valentin – although, he wouldn’t agree.   “I would say the roles are more and more the same in wine and spirits,” Valentin says, “even if there are fewer actual ‘critics’ in spirits. But it is coming in whisky.”  Valentin does feel there is a need for scores in collectable spirits, as – like wine – there isn’t always the opportunity for people to try before they buy. But the issue is not black and white, as is true of many things Valentin and I discuss.   “I see that scores [in whisky] become more like stock market recommendations these days,” he says.“I’m not too happy about that but that wouldn’t be the case if spirits, especially whisky, had remained a reasonably priced commodity,” he says, before adding: “But the cardinal sins are what they are.” It’s clear whisky drinkers respect Valentin’s voice, as they flock to his site in droves. What’s less clear, however – as an outsider looking in – is how producers feel about Valentin’s refusal to kowtow and sugar-coat his reviews.  “Producers have never quite known how to deal with independent voices,” he explains. “In general, they prefer influencers that they can pay and control, even if their audiences are smaller and less ‘on target’,” he adds, “for which I can’t blame them. Fortunately,” he continues, “not all distillers are the same. Some corporations are smarter than others and that often depends on the people within.”   When asked why he thinks people return to his site, which doesn’t have any of the bells and whistles you might expect from an ad man and is as no-frills today as it was two decades ago, Valentin says, as self-deprecatingly as ever: “I’m not really aware of everything that’s happening in the reviewing landscape, I have to say. If indeed people keep coming back to my assessment, that’s partly, I believe, because I started early and simply because they trust me. Trust is number one.”   In many ways, Valentin’s website is a collection. It’s a receptacle for his innermost thoughts and feelings about the things that matter most to him. Valentin has always been collector at heart. With an interest in stamps from childhood, he then graduated onto watches, wine and then whisky. The father of three has a broad and eclectic range of interests, including music (“all kinds”), advertising, motorcycling, wine, watches, food and travel which he has nurtured and indulged. Throughout the years, Valentin has had a front-row seat to the evolutions within these industries and the so-called art of collecting.   “Old-school collectors used to buy what they liked, never what was meant to see its value rise,” he says. “In the old days, you had to travel, to make phone calls, to go to festivals etc. Today,” he says somewhat ruefully, “you can buy anything, as long as you’ve got the money.” Valentin was ahead of the curve when he made the choice many years ago to buy as many different Old Clynelish and Brora single malts as he could, simply because they were his favourites. At the time, and up until 2005 to 2010, all whiskies – even the rarest – remained relatively cheap. After 2010, it was silly season and whiskies you could previously source were nigh on impossible to find or prohibitively expensive for some.  Valentin’s favourite whiskies have become some of the most desirable on the secondary market. Old Clynelish, produced before the distillery was rechristened Brora, have gained a huge following globally as people were charmed by the story and the characterful liquid the two distilleries produced. Now Brora is set to be re-opened, these single malts will only become more valuable. While his collection is no-doubt impressive – exact bottlings are not disclosed – there are some unicorns which still elude Valentin.   “Rather bizarrely and inexplicably, I prefer fatter spirits and fresher wines,” Valentin says, “in both cases with as little straight oak influence as possible. So, fat distillates, such as some coastal malts, some Jamaican rums etc. In wine, that would be the bright whites, Jura, Savoie, Rueda, Pacherenc, Irouleguy, Alsace, Wachau and Andalusia.”    “I know oak is crucial,” he adds, “you just shouldn’t feel it as such, according to my personal taste. But I insist, that’s personal.” Oak is a topic Valentin returns to several times. He feels it is the low-hanging fruit when it comes to innovation in the Scotch whisky industry.   “Sure, there are a few innovations around the casks,” he says, “but all makers use more or less the same.” The woods used are usually more active, which allows producers to sell much younger whisky for a good price while widening the ranges at the same time, he says.   “I’m not saying that’s bad,” he quickly adds, “but not many people are talking about the distilling regimes, the stills and so on, which was the number one topic 20 years ago.” He continues: “It is now all about wood. But, when we talk about wood that includes their flavouring with other spirits, wines, or even whiskies from other distilleries such as some peated ones, which is the latest trend, to peat single malts by doing some in-cask blending rather than bother with brewing and distilling some peated malt. “So, cutting corners for sure but on the other hand, I believe the average quality has risen pretty sharply. So, all remains good and well…”  This seems to be Valentin’s baseline. The whisky world might have changed but he believes it is the same at its core. There is an increase in branding and marketing (which is likely a source of joy and consternation for an ad man), there are more malts, and for the past five or six years, more distilleries from almost all countries.   “I’m not bored yet,” he says in his frank way, “and in general, whisky has got better on average, even if there are fewer utter glories and fewer total duds.”  If a man with Valentin’s reputation of no-holds-barred honesty is broadly happy, then we probably all should be too.   Browse all Scotch whisky  or  read more Editorial 

Serge Valentin is one of the most well-respected people in the fine spirits world. For decades, whisky enthusiasts have parted with thousands of pounds based on his reviews alone. Holly Motion asks him how it all began – and how the industry has evolved since he started writing about whisky for fun

Serge Valentin on the art of collecting, the role of the critic, and the changes he’s witnessed in the Scotch whisky industry over the past 20 years

Serge Valentin – the Joker in the pack

Serge Valentin: the Joker in the pack

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

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


FONDATA: Exploring Riesling's popularity

Riesling, it’s a tribal thing

The 2020 vintage is exceptional. Not only was it the earliest harvest on record, but the entire growing season – from start to finish – took place almost a month earlier than is typical. This meant véraison (the all-important ripening period of the grapes, when they change colour) took place in July and August as opposed to August and September.  This is significant because the angle of the sun is different, higher and therefore stronger, and the daytime hours longer, marking a fundamental shift in the annual lifecycle of the vine. It resulted in a contracted growing season and for many, lay the foundations of future vintages in a warming climate. For practically all producers, it was the earliest harvest ever. For many producers, all the grapes were in by the end of August. For the historic Bouchard estate, who have detailed records stretching back to 1731, 2020 was the earliest harvest in 300 years. Fortunately, this shift forward in the growing season didn’t seem to negatively impact quality – in fact, for many, it proved to be hugely beneficial. The Chardonnay, in particular, was largely unaffected by the shift both in terms of quantity and quality.  Pinot Noir suffered more with the drought, resulting in a drop in yield – quite drastically in some cases – but the quality, like the growing season, was exceptional, and for all the right reasons – the grapes reached full maturity, retaining lots of acidity, while also remaining very Burgundian in style. An early, hot spring kicked off the season, with the vines budding around a month earlier than normal (circa 14th April). Bouchard’s Frédéric Weber emphasised just how early and rare this is. The risk with an early season is frost: fortunately, unlike in 2021, the temperature didn’t drop too much, and there was little damage between budding and flowering. The warm weather continued and a mini heatwave in May affected some. At Domaine des Lambrays, Jacques Devauges blamed the heat for the coulure (poor fruit set, resulting in not all the flowers forming into grapes), which led to a significant drop in yields. Hudelot-Noëllat’s yields were also impacted by coulure and millerandage (resulting in fewer berries per bunch).  Pierre Duroché suffered similar issues in Gevrey-Chambertin, but for him this was not unusual. “My vines are so old, not every flower results in grapes but I am happy with this as it means there is no grape compaction on the bunches – keeping fruit intact,” he explained. With little frost or hail, the growing season is marked only by the lack of significant rain. Most of the Côte d’Or saw little to no rainfall during a warm but not excessively hot summer season. The dry conditions meant mildew and oidium were kept at bay, and there was very little disease pressure.  For many, the drought and heat saw the vines shut down for a period of time. Some believe this self-preservation effort is why the acidity levels remain high and the alcohol levels moderate, as the vines pressed pause on ripening, avoiding excessive sugar formation in the berries. Most of the wines are a full percentage less in alcohol compared to 2019, with reds averaging 13.5% and whites 13.2% at Bouchard, and acidity levels in the whites as high as the much-praised 2014s. For those whose vines could cope with the drought (and this varied drastically from vineyard to vineyard, rootstock to rootstock), the growing season was easy to manage – particularly when compared to the horror show of 2021, from which vignerons are still recovering. The drought in 2020, however, is significant for the yields of Pinot Noir. On the poorest soils – typically the most exposed Grand Cru sites, with minimal topsoil and therefore poor water retaining properties – the vines suffered excessive hydric stress.  On the Grands Crus of Clos Saint-Denis and Clos de la Roche, Domaine Georges Lignier’s Benoît Stehly watched helplessly as the leaves dropped off the vine mid-August, allowing the sunshine to burn his grapes. His production was almost halved on these exposed sites. (In fact, he produced more wine in 2021 than 2020.) Lignier seems to have suffered more than most producers we visited, although, on average, Pinot Noir yields were down by up to 40%. The northern wind in August was another significant factor, dehydrating the grapes, producing high levels of fruit and acid concentration, as well as thicker skins. The whites generally coped much better with the drought. Chardonnay clearly adapted to a drier season more easily, with yields for many at full capacity and the quality outstanding. For Guillaume Boillot at Henri Boillot, “C’est le top.” He describes the finished wines as “hyper-dynamic and balanced”. It was Boillot’s earliest harvest since 2003, beginning on 19th August, with all the grapes picked in nine days. They were not the only domaine to point out the similarities to 2014 when it comes to the freshness in the whites. While most picked the white wines in the third week of August, picking dates of the Pinot seemed to vary greatly and not only depending on location. The drought saw particular sites cope much better than others within the same appellation. More generally though, the Côte de Beaune Pinots were picked in August, whereas in the Côte de Nuits, vignerons either opted to pick before the rain in late August, or after.  Maxime Cheurlin at Domaine Georges Noëllat waited until the rains arrived on 28th August and picked as late as September 8th. Lamarche, Hudelot-Noëllat and Gros Frère & Soeur also waited. For Cheurlin, the rain helped completely change the phenolic character of the Pinot Noir – resulting in the finest wines he has ever made.  Like Cheurlin, Nicole Lamarche, in these drier vintages, has come to see the rain as her friend. With moderate alcohol levels from all but a few producers, it certainly wasn’t racing sugar levels that forced an early harvest for the Pinot. The 2020 vintage could mark the start of a more permanent shift in Burgundy’s growing season. If that’s the case, the results, for now, are encouraging. As Jacques Devauges of Domaine des Lambrays said at the end of our tasting: “If 2020 is the future of Burgundy, where do I sign?” Browse all available Burgundy

No two growing seasons are alike – but the 2020 vintage in Burgundy was particularly unusual (and also remarkably easy for its vignerons). We delve into the conditions that shaped the year’s wines

Exploring what made the 2020 Burgundy wine vintage so unique

The 2020 Burgundy growing season

Burgundy 2020: the growing season

Truffles: small, gnarly things. Equally ugly and alluring. Pungently intoxicating. Deliciously rare – and undeniably expensive. Alexandre Dumas described truffle as “the holy of holies”. Rossini called it “the Mozart of mushrooms”. Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin said just the name “awakens erotic and gastronomic ideas”. There’s something magical about the way these funghi lie just out of sight. The elusive treasures lurk beneath an otherwise unassuming forest floor, found only with the help of a specially trained hound. Once unearthed, however, they become the centrepiece to the world’s most expensive dishes, prized by Michelin-starred chefs and gourmands alike. They aren’t just another ingredient, however, there’s theatre to their presentation: the stage set in the kitchen, then served with a flourish tableside. For Rowan Jacobsen, author of the recently published Truffle Hound, one sniff was enough to keep him on the trail for three years. The Vermont-based writer was in Barolo in 2018 and on his way to the table, when he passed a giant white truffle under a glass cloche. Instinctively he lifted the dome: “I didn’t even make it to the table. Such a crazy smell. I was destroyed at the luncheon – I kept thinking about the truffle,” he tells me. That one flare of the nostrils had him hooked, and he’s been following truffle hunters around Europe ever since. His book follows his adventures – discovering “dreamers, schemers, and some extraordinary dogs” along the way. Piedmont is considered the home of the truffle – with the annual fair in Alba (running from October to December) the epicentre of the trade. White truffles (tuber magnatum), as found in Alba, are the crème de la crème of the truffle world – distinctly seasonal, flourishing in the autumn and winter. This brief window of opportunity is key to their appeal. As Donald Edwards, Head Sommelier at La Trompette, says, “What else can you have where the stopwatch of deliciousness is literally ticking by the table?” Of course, not all truffles are created equal. Black truffles are a third or a quarter of the price of white truffles and offer a very different aroma. Jacobsen describes “more pungent, more overwhelming” and “invigorating” scent of white truffle as “garlic, salami, almost gasoline” versus the “comforting, soothing, round” notes of “cured olives, cocoa and hazelnut” that he associates with black truffles. And while there is only one white truffle, there are two types of black truffle: the black winter truffle (or Périgord, tuber melanosporum, now mostly grown in Spain) and the black summer truffle (tuber aestivum, sometimes known as the Burgundy truffle but found all over northern Europe, including southern England). The latter, more widespread breed is not nearly as intense as its winter sibling, meaning more is needed for the same impact. One reason that white truffles carry such a premium is also that they have – so far – proven impervious to cultivation (although scientists in France have recently claimed to have cracked this). The truffle hunters, or trifulau, in Piedmont are therefore unsurprisingly secretive about where they find their treasure. Often speaking only a local dialect, these foragers roam the woods – often under the cover of darkness in search of “white gold”. Their dog will sniff their way to the right spot, pawing the ground and patiently waiting for their master to dig up their bounty. “It’s a billion-dollar industry totally dependent on dogs’ noses,” Jacobsen says, laughing at the absurdity. While the hunters might avoid the limelight, it’s not the case when it comes to their dogs, Jacobsen tells me. The canine connection is taken to the next level when you also depend on a four-legged friend for your livelihood. While pigs were the original snouts charged with sniffing out truffles, hunters switched to dogs in the 17th and 18th centuries. Lagotto Romagnolo is the “traditional” truffle-hunting breed (and comes with an associated premium, given their potential return), but today almost any dog is used. They simply need to be trained and have the right nose for the job. “Good ones are amazing,” Jacobsen tells me. “They can find a truffle 50 yards away in the forest and they just know it’s there.” Trifulau Luigi Rosso has been – along with his dog Danko (aged seven) – sniffing out the good stuff for 30 years. While it might look easy, he says that it’s incredibly difficult and can be dangerous for both hunters and their dogs, traipsing through forests in the dark. It is, however, all worth it for him. “The tranquillity that is in the air while you go for the truffles. The moon, the silence and only the sound of your footsteps on the damp leaves, then the joy of your dog when it finds one…” he tells me. The unique scent of truffle is what drives connoisseurs to seek them out – bidding on the finest examples for extortionate sums. “I feel like they've evolved to hit some deep pleasure receptors in our brains. When they're good you just want to luxuriate in them,” Edwards says. William Lowe MW – the man behind Cambridge Distillery – set about capturing the elusive flavours of truffle in his quest to create a digestif-style gin. The idea was born when looking at the digestif trolley in a Michelin-starred restaurant – and a sommelier who was scornful at the idea of a gin worthy of joining its ranks of fine Cognac and single malt whisky. “If you look at those rare and mature examples, you’ll see that the oxidative maturation process creates these beautiful earthy aromatic profiles sometimes referred to as ‘forest floor’. We wanted to achieve this profile through distillation rather than maturation, and truffles gave us the perfect route to do so,” Lowe says. “It took me a very, very long time. Because truffles are hard to deal with. They are packed full of volatiles, which is to say that truffles smell more than they taste,” the Master Distiller explains. “If you think it through – every time you open a door to a restaurant that is serving truffles, bang you get it straight away. But if you look at the food they serve truffles on and it’s always almost neutral dishes: creamy pasta, mushroom risotto. It’s never on super flavoursome dishes because if it is, you can’t taste the truffle anymore.” The challenge, however, was capturing something that doesn’t want to be caught, and finding the right level of truffle. “With truffle, chefs will normally do one of two things: either they’ll know you know it’s expensive so they’ll use loads of it so you can’t taste anything else for the rest of the meal – or they’ll do the opposite. They know that you know it’s expensive so they use so little that it’s the Emperor’s new clothes – you sort of have to search for it. It takes a genuinely skilled chef to use truffle well. And using it well is when you get all of that amazing aroma but you can still taste the other things.” This was what Lowe was aiming for – but it wasn’t easy. He spent months refining the distillation technique for truffle, but the flavour was only “ok”. He went back to the drawing board and decided that the problem was the truffle he was using – black wouldn’t cut it. “We went straight to Piemonte – white truffles from Alba. Gram for gram, worth more than gold […] and it came out and tasted a lot better than gold does so that’s an easy trade,” says Lowe. For trifulau Rosso, you need at least 10 grams on a dish (whereas, he says dismissively, restaurants will often only use a measly five) – with homemade tagliarini top of his list, although he also suggests trying it on panna cotta. He considers Pelaverga – a rare red variety that’s native to Piedmont – the classic pairing, but otherwise goes for one of the region’s other reds, Barbera, Barbaresco or Barolo. These are undoubtedly the classic pairings, following the simple rule of what grows together goes together. However, Jacobsen or Edwards don’t agree. “It couldn’t be more wrong. It really requires a white. The tannins clash with the aromatics,” Jacobsen says. The truffle specialist opts for Champagne, white Burgundy or cool-climate Californian Chardonnay – even Beaujolais. As for Edwards, he likes something that plays on the delicacy’s textural quality: “They work so well with buttery, umami-laden cheese sauces that I can't not want really classy Chardonnay. I want bâtonnage, I want really expensive but underplayed oak and I want ripeness with a gimlet-eyed stare of terroir behind. Basically, Burgundy, Mornington or the best of the Santa Rita Hills (I'll accept that other places also make perfect wines for this), plus if I can have a few years in bottle to build that sous bois flavour connection then all the better.” At the time of writing, we’re in the midst of the 2021 truffle season – one that has brought eye-watering prices. The hot, dry summer in Piedmont (unlike the wet conditions experienced in northern Europe) has led to a tiny crop – some say the smallest in history, driving prices up. Bloomberg has declared it “The Great White Truffle Crisis”. The white truffle needs such specific conditions that climate change, and – as Rosso tells me – the warmer autumns in Piedmont, pose a serious threat. While we consider Alba the spiritual home of white truffles, today most come from elsewhere. Both Central Italy and Le Marche, but also Romania, Serbia, Croatia and Hungary are all now hotspots for truffle hunting. Many of these regions are benefiting from the shift in climate, now having the ideal conditions to nurture the rare tuber magnatum. As for black truffles, the summer variety can now be found as far north as Sweden, but drought conditions mean that irrigation is becoming essential for existing orchards. Beyond climate, there are other challenges. In Piedmont, there are fewer forests than there once were, with more profitable vineyards replacing woodland (another reason that hunters are looking elsewhere). Also, the local trifulau are – in general – an ageing group. One truffle hunter, Carlo Marenda, has established a non-profit, Save the Truffle, to try and protect the region’s truffle hunting heritage – both by passing on the tradition to younger people and protecting the forests, nurturing the right environment for truffle growth. “It used to be that these forests were very actively used by farmers, peasants – fallen wood for firewood, leaves for animal bedding etc. So forests didn’t have a lot of undergrowth,” Jacobsen explains. “But then the world changed.” With the forest floor not being cleared, decaying matter acidified the soil – something that truffles hate. Truffles thrive in high pH soils, which is why they’re found on beds of limestone. To ensure the forests provide a welcoming home for the tubers, it’s essential they’re managed correctly. While there are certainly challenges to preserving the truffle’s place in Piedmont, the good news for gastronomes is that these tubers aren’t disappearing – just moving. After three years on the trail, Jacobsen is as enchanted by truffles as when he began. But he’s less keen on the hierarchy that comes with them. There are, he says, plenty more species of truffle beyond those currently on the market – but hunters can’t sell them, so keep them for themselves. He hopes the truffle culture will shift to grassroots foraging, rather than “waiters in tuxedos grating your precious morsel over your pasta”. However it reaches your table, it’s clear that the truffle holds a special allure – and the transience of its elusive scent, fading with the seasons, is what keeps us on the hunt. Truffle Hound is out now. Explore more Editorial 

Love them or loathe them, truffles are undoubtedly some of the most majestic ingredients on the planet. But, with a changing climate and an ageing cohort of specialist truffle hunters, the future of this rare delicacy is uncertain. Sophie Thorpe explores

Truffles are undoubtedly some of the most majestic ingredients on the planet. But the future of this rare delicacy is uncertain. Sophie Thorpe explores

Chasing truffles

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

In some parts of the wine industry, oak has almost become a dirty word. Many winemakers eschew its use, seeing it as something that homogenises varieties and styles with its overbearance, given its potential to dominate a wine’s final flavour. The use of new barriques in particularly has become less and less popular in varieties that are more prone to oxidation and whose delicate aromatic nature is lost to the perfume and spice of toasted oak. This certainly seems to be the case for the Italian varieties Sangiovese and Nebbiolo, for which there is a decided swing back towards more traditional, larger, old oak vessels that do not impart oak flavour to the wine.  Although Burgundy’s Pinot Noir and Chardonnay have a great affinity to new oak, its use is declining significantly. Today in the world of fine wine, terroir is the trumping card and if new oak is a barrier, then its use starts to be questioned – but the Bordelais have long been strong affiliates to long ageing in barrique and the additional complexity that this brings wine.   Amongst Bordeaux’s elite, there remains a strong endorsement for the continued dominance of oak. Hugely influential producers such as Ch. Margaux have no qualms about using 100% new oak. Winemaker Philippe Bascaules believes criticisms of overusing new oak are due to “the weakness of the wine” – rather than the power of the oak. For Bascaules, “The most important quality it brings is the evolution of the tannins,” – and this is something he is not willing to give up. After many years of experimentation, Ch. Palmer's Thomas Duroux (another of the region’s leading names) also believes the oak barrique is the vessel that best develops the tannin structure of a wine. For him, the 225-litre barrique provides the perfect ratio of wine to wood and level of oxygen exchange for “building the wine”, and thus creating more structural complexity. But for some vignerons, new oak does has its limits. Duroux himself is well aware of new oak’s ability to overpower other flavours and he tries to maximise structure, while not losing the primary fruit character and aromatic complexity of the wine during oak ageing. He has come to his own conclusion that the best approach is to age the wine in two phases.  From November to July, he ages the wine in 225-litre barriques (either new or one-year old oak). Then from the July after harvest to the following July, the wine is transferred to larger oak foudres (2,900-litre barrels). Duroux describes this second phase as, “the refining period, where the wine becomes more integrated, more delicate – without taking on oak flavour or oak tannin”. He started trialling this method in 2017 and now Palmer has 20 foudres in operation. For the 2020 vintage, 30% of the wine has been aged this way. Bruno Borie (Ducru-Beaucaillou), however, feels that the reason for using new rather than old oak is often misunderstood. It is not the flavour that is important, but the cleanliness of the vessel. With wines such as the reds of Bordeaux, where pH levels are fairly high, it only becomes more important, since the wines are prone to bacterial spoilage, something that plagued the region in the 1980s and ’90s.  “We don’t sell wood, we sell wine,” Borie says. “We just use new wood because it is clean and sterile.  Brett [Brettanomyces, which causes bacterial spoilage] is so dangerous.” Older barrels are difficult to clean effectively after use, agrees Margaux’s Bascaules, and when a barrel is beyond a year old, the risk of microbial spoilage simply becomes too high. For Duroux, the older barrels also develop a sulphate compound which can “dry out the wines”.   Oak flavours are undoubtedly integral to the flavour of Bordeaux – but even its strongest supporters are today more open to understanding and better controlling its effects. Although Bascaules has no plans to change how Margaux is made, he is excited to learn what the wine would taste like without oak.  Over many years working at the château, this is something he has never experienced and still does not know. He has plans to experiment with glass amphorae, the idea being that by knowing what Margaux tastes like without oak, it will help him better understand how different elements bring flavour to the wine. “Many flavours people assume are from oak are not,” he says. “Cabernet Sauvignon, for instance, can produce coffee-like flavours. Often it is the reaction of oak and fruit that creates the flavours together.” Using these new glass amphorae will bring a better understanding of Margaux’s DNA – or at least this is what he hopes. Borie also notes that long oak maturation is essential for extending the ageing potential of the wine, something alternative vessels simply cannot do. “We make wine for collectors, wines that can be cellared for decades. Bordeaux’s ageing potential is very important, it is one of its signatures,” he says. Since 2003, Borie has extended the time Ducru-Beaucaillou spends in oak from 12 to 18 months to further extend the wine’s 
longevity. “Longer maturation in oak brings a special textural complexity, a different level of integration – a melding of tannins,” he explains.  But there are others in Bordeaux committed to oak alternatives. One of the region’s top châteaux that has made a significant switch from oak is Ch. Pontet-Canet, which has been ageing 35% of its wines in concrete amphorae since 2012. For Pontet-Canet’s Justine Tesseron, “Too much oak hides too much of the fruit flavour.” The clay amphorae, she feels, “help to keep the freshness of the fruit and keep the purity of the wine”. Happy with the results, Tesseron is considering increasing its proportion in the future, convinced they aid them in retaining “a pure expression of what the terroir is giving us”.  But no one in Bordeaux is giving up on the oak barrel altogether. In fact, the strongest advocates of alternative vessels tend to think a combination of both is where you can achieve the most complexity. Guillaume Pouthier from Ch. les Carmes Haut-Brion is known as one of the more experimental vignerons in Bordeaux and was amongst the first to introduce clay and glass amphorae as an alternative to oak. He feels clay in particular is “very interesting” as it allows the same oxygenation as barrels but you keep the “freshness, you keep the first aromatics of the wine”. He has some 2018 still in clay amphora and it smells like it was just picked.   Ageing wine in glass containers, however, sees no exchange with oxygen, meaning “the tannins don’t evolve” and the resulting wine is “very pure”, something which he feels adds energy to a blend although can risk making the wine “too hard” if there’s too much. For Pouthier, small proportions of wine aged in clay or glass brings additional complexity to the wine, working in combination with oak-aged wine.   Despite these tentative steps into alternative vessels, some have been less than impressed with their experiments. Bruno Borie comically uses history as his guiding light: “Amphorae were used prior to the Romans. But the Romans introduced oak because they saw it as an improvement – they chose the gods of the forest. Being ancestors of the Romans, we should do the same.”  For the top growers in Bordeaux, such as Ch. Lafite, oak still remains an incredibly important element in their wine. With their own cooperage on site, they produce 90% of the oak they use each year, with the Grand Vin typically seeing 90% new wood. Lafite’s Jean-Sébastien Philippe believes that in addition to building volume in the wine, oak also adds important “aromatic and flavour complexity”. These additional layers of flavour are down to the skills of the cooper and, for him, are something that should be celebrated. “Light and delicate toasting – not vanilla or coconut – but toasted spice adds complexity to the wine,” he says. While Cabernet Sauvignon clearly has a great affinity to the barrique, Cabernet Franc and Merlot seem to have better results with larger oak foudres and amphorae. Nicolas Glumineau at Ch. Pichon Lalande is going to start trials with glass and concrete, having been really impressed by wines, in particular, aged in glass. “The more structured the wine, the better it is in terms of definition and tannic structure. I was impressed with the results with Merlot, but the Cab Franc was stunning,” he said.   Pomerol’s Ch. l‘Evangile is experimenting with ceramic jars, which they believe not only “preserves intensity, purity and freshness of the fruit, but causes a vortex [within the vessel] constantly moving the wine around, resulting in more contact with the lees, that brings a more rounded, silky texture to the wine” .  While their influence remains minor in the final assemblage, these new amphora advocates are convinced that their judicious use adds complexity to their wine – and oak alternatives look set to become a permanent fixture for many in Bordeaux. For châteaux, like L’Evangile, these experiments are happening in conjunction with a reduction in the percentage of new oak in recent years (from 80% to 50% for L’Evangile) and they are not alone.  Overall, despite the healthy levels of experimentation going on in the region, oak barriques still reign supreme in Bordeaux. In their trials with alternative vessels, many vignerons have fallen back in love with the unique properties of the oak barrique. While cement, clay and glass, as well as larger oak, will continue to play a minor role at some properties, it’s unlikely that the barrel will fall from favour anytime soon.  Read more about oak in Finding the balance: the art of the cooper or explore Bordeaux 

A region where producers were once known for using 200% new oak, Bordeaux has long championed the barrique. But at a time when winemakers around the world are looking to alternatives for ageing wine, we talk to Bordeaux’s leading names, asking whether their love affair with the barrique is over

Chx. Margaux, Palmer, Ducru-Beaucaillou and more on the Bordeaux region's relationship with the barrique – and why it may have fallen from favour

Aloxe-Corton

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Aloxe-Corton

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