Think of the Golden State and you imagine sunshine, orange trees and top-tier surf. But this past week, I’ve seen crazy winds, dramatic (and welcome) rainstorms, below-zero temperatures and more snow than anyone in Napa has seen for 50 years. In a similar way, it’s all too easy to shoehorn the region’s wines. Big Cabernet. Buttery Chardonnay. Those, like the sunshine and surf, are the clichés. But there’s much more than cliché to California, an area as large as many countries, and the wines made here. Over 1,000 miles from north to south, with vineyards sitting at altitudes of 50 to over 2,000 feet, cooling influences from the Pacific and San Pablo Bay, complex ancient soils (up to 140 million years old)… California is far from simple. And you’ll find everything from Arneis to Pinot, Grüner Veltliner to Schioppettino. This week, we’ve been on the road, exploring Napa and Sonoma, talking to just a handful of the producers that have made California such a special place for wine-lovers. The scale of this landscape is grander, with a sense of space to breathe, the parcels of vines tucked in amongst hills and mountains, with the expanse of coastline just a short drive away. You can see why it was – and is – a land of promise.
 While Napa and Sonoma are firmly established as fine wine regions today, their history is comparatively short. George Yount (who gives his name to Yountville) is thought to be the first person to plant grapes for wine in Napa in the 19th century, while Charles Krug was the valley’s first commercial winery, founded in 1861 – closely followed by names such as Schramsberg, Beringer and Inglenook. By 1889 there were over 140 wineries in the area. But phylloxera struck, then Prohibition, and the thriving industry’s expansion was sharply curbed. Producers that survived that difficult period found loopholes in the law, such as unofficial home-winemaking kits and sacramental wine. After Prohibition’s repeal in 1933, it took time for the industry to find its feet. The Mondavi family – who bought Charles Krug – was integral to its development, but the focus wasn’t immediately on fine wine. Figures such as Georges de Latour, Louis M. Martini and André Tschelischeff started changing the story, but it was arguably Robert Mondavi – who struck out on his own to found the eponymous winery – who led Napa into a new era, championing it as a region that could compete with the Old World. Of course, the now legendary 1976 Judgement of Paris was the turning point. When California came out on top in Steven Spurrier’s blind tasting, the world took note. Soon the cult of Napa Cabernet was born, and as Parker’s scores swayed palates, prices soared. 
But it’s unfair to think of that as the region’s story – for there is much more to uncover beyond the sheen of those 100-pointers. While of course some producers come with the polish you might associate with Napa, almost every winery we’ve visited has been fast to focus on the vineyard, whisking us out to walk or drive through the vines. As an agricultural state (grapes – both wine and table – are only the second biggest crop here, following the dairy industry, and with almonds only just behind), farming is at the heart of its culture.
 And it’s ever more relevant, with the region at the forefront of climate change – as this week’s extraordinary weather conditions show. Drought is an ongoing challenge (although recent rains have replenished groundwater), and wildfires have stolen headlines – especially in the 2017 and 2020 vintages (expect much more from us on this soon) – ravaging vast swathes of land, the flames and the associated smoke taking both lives and livelihoods. Despite these challenges, there’s such excitement here – with an electric vitality to the industry. Land prices in Napa are enormous – over half a million dollars per acre for the best sites, and planting any additional land is almost impossible. But that isn’t stopping its evolution, with shifting farming, winemaking, varieties and styles as producers look to redefine modern Napa. Head west towards the Sonoma Coast, where the ocean breezes and fog are bone-chilling, and new frontiers are being forged. The skies here are moody, thick fog cloaking the view of this exposed area, but fields of sheep and cows are being replaced with vineyards as people push limits to create restrained styles, especially of Pinot and Chardonnay. 
We can’t thank producers who have swung open their doors to us enough. We’ve already had so many fascinating conversations about the trends and challenges in the region, about what people are doing in the vineyard and winery and why, and tasted some remarkable wines. Hundreds of thousands of people headed west in the 19th century, drawn to this corner of the land of opportunity. Many didn’t find their fortune in the Gold Rush, but this is still a place that holds such promise.  Reinvention and revolution is the Californian way, powered by a uniquely American entrepreneurship. Forget the scramble for treasure, today the bold and the brave are creating their own destiny – and it’s filled with hope.
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After a week spent touring some of Napa and Sonoma’s best wineries, exploring the Golden State and what makes it so special. Sophie Thorpe considers why – three centuries after the Gold Rush – California remains a land of opportunity

After a week of touring Napa and Sonoma, we consider how California wine producers are creating their own destiny – and exceptional wines

Wine’s land of promise – California

Land of promise: California

Touching down in Burgundy last week was a shock. Coming from London’s autumnal hues, the hit of hot air as the plane doors opened was surprising – indeed, it’s abnormally balmy across much of Europe at the moment. It’s another reminder of climate change and the very real impact it is having – especially on viticulture and other agriculture. While the cool and rainy 2021 vintage felt like a return to the old Burgundy (with all its challenges), 2022 and 2023 were both modern vintages that speak of global warming. The region’s vignerons were in a good mood, with the 2023 vintage harvested weeks ago and the wines safely in the cellar. For once, they have had not one but two consecutive vintages offering decent volumes, helping to make up for a run of tiny crops. The cellars are – at last – looking a little less barren. Indeed, the regional body Vins de Bourgogne reported that 2022 represents a 75% increase on the measly volumes of 2021. The 2022 vintage, however, was the reason for and focus of our visit – getting our first taste of the wines that will be dominating the calendar for the next few months. As I’ve mentioned, this was a modern vintage, a year that is very much the new normal. The winter was cold, however warmer temperatures in February and March saw an early start to the season. Once again the mercury dropped in April with the threat of frost, however it didn’t seem to have major ramifications. The summer was warm and dry – with heavy rain in late June breaking the drought, providing essential refreshment for the vines in the year’s arid conditions. At Louis Jadot, Thibault Gagey explained how there were two weeks in August with temperatures over 35˚C, during which the vines shut down. Alvina Pernot explained how plots with richer soils – those with more clay and better water retention – fared better, pointing to Clos des Folatières as a site that thrived in the year, as well as older vines with deeper roots, those that could reach and draw upon water reserves. Picking started at the very end of August, with another contracted harvest during which the ability to pick what you wanted when you wanted key to quality. The good news was that the crop was plentiful, with most managing to achieve a full crop, with a maximum of up to 15-20% less for some of the Chardonnay. Looking at the season on paper, it’s easy to imagine the resulting wines might be dominated by their ripeness – but that’s simply not the case. We need to taste and talk much more into exactly why, however it seems that the generous yield was the year’s saviour. With so much fruit for the vine to ripen, sugar levels remained moderate. As in 2020, the grapes retained high levels of tartaric acid, bringing surprising freshness to the wines. The malic acid was degraded, but this meant that the malolactic fermentation had less impact on the final wines and their balance (although we anticipate that some may still have chosen to block it). From what we’ve tasted so far, the reds show particular promise – offering juicy, concentrated fruit without drifting into over-ripe or jammy, vibrant acidity and fine-textured yet very present tannins. Those we’ve tasted are amazingly open even though few have yet finished élevage – the ripe fruit shining through, but there’s a gravitas beneath that appealing, mouth-watering fruit. The whites, meanwhile, are classical in their fruit expression, with more traditional white peach, melon, pear and citrus. There’s good dry extract and density here, with balance too. They have natural tension, and there seems to be a pleasing bitterness that adds to their freshness, something we found consistent across producers so far. In general alcohols are modest, sitting mainly between 12.5 and 13.5%, for both reds and whites. This is only the beginning of our deep dive into the 2022 vintage, however we left the sunny streets of Beaune filled with excitement about the year. There is still much to discover and explore, and much, much more to taste to inform our full vintage report – but it’s clear already that this is a year with great potential, and one that you’ll want in your cellar. We’ll be publishing more on Burgundy 2022 in due course; in the meantime, browse all current Burgundy 2022 listings.

Fresh from our first trip to Burgundy to taste the 2022s, we offer some early thoughts on the vintage – a year that is showing great promise

Fresh from our initial trip to the region, we dig into Burgundy 2022 – a warm year that has produced some surprisingly fresh wines

Our first thoughts on Burgundy 2022 en primeur

Burgundy 2022 at first glance

Xiao-Li Meng, professore di Statistica Whipple V. N. Jones a Harvard e fondatore e direttore responsabile di Harvard Data Science Review, si è lasciato ispirare da uno studente per combinare vino e statistica — ottenendo intuizioni ben oltre quanto entrambi si aspettassero.

From wine tastings to data science, Xiao-Li Meng explores how statistics reveals simplicity in complexity – one glass, experiment, and insight at a time.

Wine, statistics & serendipity: A Harvard journey

Semplicità nelle statistiche, complessità nel vino, il resto nei biscotti della fortuna.

I. Distractions In 1987, when I was 18 and a dollar was worth more than twice as much as it is today, I started reading magazines: M, Esquire, GQ. Nearby, in our somewhat cultured Texas town, a new bookstore opened in a cavernous space that had formerly housed the shag-carpeted roller skating rink of our childhood. Through the front windows, which had before been darkly tinted to give the place an alluring den-of-prepubescent-iniquity vibe, now streamed bright, clean light, showcasing a look and layout that would become the interior design gestalt of today’s national-chain, big-box book superstore. The rows upon rows of open, dustless shelving bearing a veritable warehouse of volumes; the ceiling hung with its industrial innards on display; the enfilade of check-out cubicles; and the wall – the great wall – that displayed a preposterous-to-behold assortment of glossies, quarterlies, journals, newsweeklies, fanzines, tabloids, almanacs, and all other flora and fauna of magazines arrayed upon a rack perhaps 50 feet long.  I went in there to look for a book. I liked books, and, one day, I was sure I wanted to write one. But I got distracted and bought a magazine instead – that August’s issue of GQ, which still stands out in my mind as a thing of formative significance. At that time, the zeitgeist was defined by a Walkman-wearing version of the American Renaissance Man – the highly-ambitious, status-obsessed, money-motivated, health-nut known as a Yuppie. No magazine positioned itself more authoritatively in defining this new sociological creature’s lifestyle than GQ, and it did it with whiter teeth, snappier suspenders, better accessories, bigger polka dots and more caffeine in the ink of its display copy.  I remember that issue less for the photos by Richard Avedon or Steven Meisel, the words of Martin Amis or Frederick Exley, than for this: Erzeugerabfüllung. It was one of the longest, strangest strings of letters from the Roman alphabet I had ever seen. Neither did it seem designed to come out of someone’s mouth. But there it was in Alan Richman’s Wine & Spirits column, accompanied by a lovely still-life photograph of his topic: two bottles of Riesling Kabinetts on a white, sun-dappled tablecloth. Richman’s main point – made almost 35 years ago – still holds true: estate-bottled, table-quality German wines remain some of the least expensive, most delicious wines in the world, chiefly because – then as now – the labels, as he wrote, “cannot be understood by anyone who is not a part-time oenophile, linguist and cartographer”. One US dollar in Richman’s pocket, as I have already said, bought what roughly two-dollars-and-fifty-cents does today; what he was on the hunt for was a good dry white in a range that would now cost somewhere between 12 and 30 bucks, and he easily accomplished that by finding a dealer in New York City who carried a good selection of wines from the Mosel and Rheingau. At the time, I didn’t know the meaning or significance of any of this, but it staked a claim in my brain. The only wine I had ever tasted was the one served at our Episcopal church during Eucharist on Sundays. The flavour it had was of a strange, super-concentrated jam that somehow warmed your upper body. Even as a young kid, I liked it. But the adjectives these German bottles were squeezing out of Richman – “citrus-like”, “honeyed”, “tart-sweet” – weren’t close to describing what was in that chalice, even if you believed in transubstantiation. Was it because Richman’s wine was white, and the parish’s was red? Perhaps, but both colours of grape juice bottled by Welch’s tasted pretty much the same to me. No, I sensed there was something – a lot – I had to learn, and, along with the romance and beauty of the labels, and the contextual air of well-bred taste and cultural with-it-ness featured on the other pages, this, I feel sure, was the decisive moment, the true origin point, when I came to believe that among the many extraordinary things that make life worth living, not just words but wine reigns at the top.  I warned you about distractions, didn’t I? Because that would be my excuse for now informing you, as a quite apropos footnote, that, yes, there was something unusual about our church’s Communion wine. It was, as I have confirmed with the church, actually port (Taylor’s Tawny, to be more accurate), cut, according to tradition, with water. There is a good and fascinating reason for this. In 1701, when the War of the Spanish Succession kicked off, France also became an enemy of England, and its wines, as a result, were no longer made available for import. The Anglican Church searched for and found a replacement, the fortified wines of its new ally, Portugal, and port continues to be an acceptable option to pair with the Host.  II. Distillations A satisfying story, not unlike a satisfying life, is one that surprises you with the mystery of its unfolding. A thing pulls in a certain direction long enough to reach the proximity of something else which then turns toward a new destination. I had actually gone into that bookstore, as I said, to look at books. But I came out, even though I didn’t yet know it, with a different compass point. Within a few years, shortly after graduating from college, in 1992, I got hired by The New Yorker, where I stayed for almost nine years. I then met my future wife, who wisely laughed at the thought we might be able to survive in New York City on my meagre salary, so I went to Vogue, and soon after became the founding editor of Men’s Vogue. After 23 issues, and four years, the financial crisis laid an axe to many magazines, including that one. Eventually, I took on the editorship of Town & Country. Then, finally, in 2016, I moved up to Esquire, the magazine, as it happens, that didn’t offer me a job when The New Yorker did, and became that storied magazine’s editor in chief, until – well, you best read about that in The New York Times.  As far as distractions go, magazines were a good one. They made me who I am, gave me a tremendously worldly education, honed my taste, introduced me to all manner of accomplished people, required me to build quite a wardrobe, and paid me pretty well to do all of this, often with a glass of wine not far out of the picture. There was really no other way I would have ever got to taste all the bottles I have (a lot of the big names people whisper about from Burgundy and Bordeaux, Champagne and also Piedmont, Tuscany and Napa). I built a modest cave à vin of my own by buying the Smith Haut Lafittes of the world way before hedge-fund hoi polloi ran up the prices, and by having access to rare offerings, like 12 bottles of Fiorano, the legendary white wine Alberico Boncompagni Ludovisi, prince of Venosa, made before ripping out all his vines. I smelled the musty perfume of Margaux in the cellar as I watched the workers rack the wine by candlelight. I lured Jay McInerney away from the Wall Street Journal to become my wine columnist; and I once stood in Bordeaux’s town square, tight on 2002 Pétrus, trying with great focus to commune with the statue of Michel de Montaigne while my French friend, a true oenophile, extolled the majesty of the Big Mac’s special sauce.  As the editor of a magazine, curiosity is your profession, even to the point of distraction. Editors – writers, too – are prone to it. It’s a hazard of the gift, and having a jumble of ideas, if you’re any good, is key to making a magazine of any real intellectual or creative daring. Now as a husband and father of three, working from home and trying to be ‘present’, and a still youngish former editor and occasional micro-influencer trying to stave off the solitude to fathom and plot the next phase of a fruitful future, this skill of mine, the strength of which became even more magnified over two decades, is something of a family project.  The way I most often hear the word ‘distraction’ now, for instance, is when it’s being hurled at me in verb form by my wife or daughters accusing me of being more of a phone-enslaved screen vegetable than they are. (I respectfully disagree.) But it’s a sore point for two reasons. One, what I did as an editor is, in a nutshell, now what a smartphone essentially does. Not very imaginatively, of course, and not with taste or charm or originality, but with a bloody, money-grubbing ruthlessness that stalks every step of our digital peregrinations and doesn’t give a twist if the algorithms that are its brain make us its slave by retrofitting our attention spans for kindergarten.  The smartphone – not the former me or any of my fellow kind still in the media biz – is now the true croupier of culture, dealing out a targeted shuffle of Pavlovian temptations to the point of daily mental exhaustion. And, though this thing is in many ways my personal nemesis, I am, against every fibre of my being, too often its obedient servant. Aiming not to live according to the famous line by T.S. Eliot – “distracted from distraction by distraction” – I recently decided to at least take a serious inventory of my favourite ones, both those of the pre-digital sort (tennis, The Walking Dead, checking the mailbox, my sock collection) and those of the post-digital sort (the any and everything I do because my phone wants me to). Then I caught myself watching tennis on my phone and realised this might be harder than I thought. It’s enough to drive a person to drink, thank god! With that in mind, I like to keep a special something for the occasion around, in this case – what else? – two bottles of Riesling Kabinett, for it had struck me as more than a little weird that I’ve probably tasted fewer than a handful of German wines in my entire life. Part of the reason is that those I had were bad, and, like a lot of other simpletons about this great wine region of the world, I’d come to think of Riesling as a cloying elixir equal parts green Jolly Rancher, apple cider vinegar, and hairspray. This, I knew, was wrong, not true and, in terms of wine equity and inclusion, on the wrong side of history. But, if you happen to live in a place like I do – a bourgie swathe of Connecticut bordering New York City where the shops cater heavily to Cali-Fran-Taly banker’s tastes – it might take you a few stops to find what Richman recommended, an erzeugerabfüllung (estate-bottled) Kabinett (wine made from grapes with a minimum must weight/sugar content) Riesling, and when you do it will probably be coated in a fine sift of years-old dust. I bought a green (Mosel) bottle for US$16 and a brown (Rhine) bottle for US$20, both handsomely labelled. I opened them a few minutes ago and took several investigative swigs. The words bright, invigorating and snappy came to mind. One is indeed sweeter, and, though not my usual jam, it is tamped by a pleasing peachy tartness, and the classic overtone of honey isn’t making my palate feel doused with syrup. The other example is, as Richman said so long ago, a very finely layered creature with mineral clarity and an echo of baked bread, something a gluten-free person like me finds particularly appealing. A rather obvious thought: why haven’t I been buying this instead of throwing a ton of endless money at affordably bad white Burgundy, which is mostly a product aimed at fulfilling a desired outcome, like White Claw hard seltzer? III. Words But don’t let me get distracted, again. A writer really has to be careful about such things. Just think about it. Unlike, say, a painter or musician or actor or photographer, the process of writing requires zero physical exertion, no chance to score an endorphin release while sitting staring anxiously at a blank page. Of the many things in life that vie against the counter intuitive impulse to be glued to a desk, Cyril Connolly, in Enemies of Promise, his classic study of the things that distracted him (and others) from becoming a great writer, names the temptations but does not say much about why they’re so deeply tempting to someone who would otherwise be sitting alone in an empty room. Praise, money, fame, social prominence, affairs and journalism are the most common boltholes, according to Connolly, who, as a famously late sleeper that married three times, might have also added the bliss of unconsciousness and excessive alimony. In 1938, the year the book was published, he would never have imagined how hard the task might get without a cigarette. Smoking is a death wish, I know, but when you want to off yourself for still having a hundred pages to go, being able to snap open a nice lighter, flick some ash, stub a butt and inhale some lungfuls of focus-enhancing nicotine must have been kind of helpful. Connolly also doesn’t have much to say about drink except that artists who drink to excess do so “out of the consciousness of wasted ability”. According to that, the 20th century’s most famous literary alcoholics – Dorothy Parker, Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Styron, Elizabeth Bishop, James Joyce, Raymond Chandler, William Faulkner – might have left behind even greater treasures than they did. Because Ernest Hemingway did almost everything with more gusto than any of his peers, including running up his bar tab, as a drinker he belongs in his own sentence. He is the novelist who most romanced a good drink or nice bottle of wine as one of life’s great pleasures. Who didn’t want to have a vermouth with Jake when reading The Sun Also Rises? (Don’t, it’s gross, at least if you order it at one of those kiosks in Montmartre where the bottles are hung upside down with spring-loaded dispensers.) Or, track down a bottle of Valdepeñas, Hemingway’s favourite variety of Spanish wine. Or, get a drink at the bar named after him at the Ritz, in Paris, and then go somewhere on the Left Bank to order “a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine”.  In the early work, he is not boastful about drinking so much as he is the possessor of an unusual appetite for a good buzz. He is also, like Connolly, aware of the need to keep writing separate from drinking, and drinking within his control. It is hard to read the first paragraph of A Moveable Feast, in which he describes an “evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness”, except as a kind of terrifying admonition to himself. It is tragic that he didn’t heed his own advice. Late in his life, Hemingway became fond of rum daiquiris at the Floridita, his favourite bar in Havana, which might explain his taste for a prose style that soon became too often cloying self-parody. In one of the most extraordinary drinking sessions ever committed to words, in the roman à clef Across the River and Into the Trees, a 50-year-old Hemingway, who was smitten with a teenage Italian countess from Venice, fictionalises his infatuation with a last muse. In one stretch (that covers an evening-to-dawn crawl from Harry’s Bar, the grill at the Gritti Palace, a gondola and a hotel room), one half or another of the couple imbibes: one scotch whisky and soda; six Montgomery Martinis (15 parts gin; 1 part vermouth), two of which are described in size as ‘super’; a bottle of Capri Bianco; two bottles of Valpolicella; two bottles of Roederer Brut ’42; and two bottles of Perrier-Jouët. That is, I suppose, one extreme, and, clearly, not one to be tried at home.  The other might have been espoused by Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great critic and lexicographer. As a young man, he’d drained “many a bottle of wine” but loved port especially. (Perhaps Johnson, a devout Anglican who was born in 1709, in the midst of England’s 14-year war with Spain, also first encountered port as a boy at the Communion altar.) He describes himself to friend and biographer James Boswell as having been “apt to go to excess in it”, adding that, “therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it”.  Boswell, who worried about his own dependence on alcohol, even keeping a journal of his intake in an attempt to enforce moderation, argued for a third way, which some of the Romantics later adopted. Wine, he claimed, “produces truth; in vino veritas”. Hoping to persuade Johnson of his point, Boswell once convinced the critic to come down off the wagon for just one glass of claret, so Johnson “might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation”. Boswell reports what happened after the glass was emptied: “Johnson shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men,’” adding, “‘A man would be drowned by it before it made him drunk.’”  That actually reminds me of something I think I forgot to mention about Riesling Kabinetts – they’re also highly admired for their low percentage of alcohol. On that note, I think I’ll have another glass.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.

Jay Fielden, former editor of Men’s Vogue, Town & Country and Esquire, recalls how a magazine column on wine, read in a Texas bookstore, shifted his ambitions beyond journalism and set him on the path to becoming a writer of books.

Former Esquire editor-in-chief Jay Fielden reflects on magazines, writing, Riesling Kabinett and the distractions that shaped a life in words and wine.

Jay Fielden on Wine, Words and Distraction

How one became another  

In Sicily, for the feast day of San Giuseppe, they make a soup, a very plain soup of 
chickpeas, fava beans and wheat grains, all soaked and cooked separately before 
being combined with bitter wild greens and perhaps some broken pasta. It is a 
celebration not of poverty but in poverty. The richness of the meal comes from the 
time it takes, the hours of soaking and boiling, of picking leaves in muddy fields. 
The feast day of the patron saint of workers (and the stepfather of God) falls on 
the 19th March, full spring in the Sicilian countryside with the almond trees in 
blossom. San Giuseppe’s soup marks the last use of the previous year’s harvest, 
the last pulses and grains to be taken from the store which the summer’s baking 
heat and the rains of autumn had provided for the coming winter. It is both a soup 
and a celebration, but it is also a sacrifice – a sacrifice of time against an uncertain 
future, time given freely as a kind of guarantee. Cooking of any kind – but especially the lengthy processes of preserving, drying, 
pickling and curing – is really an act of optimism, an assertion that there will be a 
future in which to eat. And the more time and care you put into such a process, the 
more value you get out. For example, the longer a cure or a pickle takes, the longer, 
in general, it will last. In providing food for the future, this sacrifice also makes 
it much more likely that the future it was made for will indeed occur. A practical 
optimism, you could say. A spending of time, not just because you have little else 
to spend, but because it is prudent to do so. For much of the world now, of course, the situation is reversed: we can buy almost 
anything we want at any time we please and have it delivered almost immediately. 
And we seem to be encouraged to spend less time doing things like cooking. 
Time is a commodity, and rather than sacrifice our time, we’re encouraged to 
sacrifice time itself, to take shortcuts. Time is listed in any given recipe, along 
with the rest of the ingredients and equipment: two onions, one stick of celery, 
one carrot, 15 minutes preparation and two hours cooking time, but it is almost 
always consequently manipulated. Everybody knows – once they have followed 
a few recipes – that enough time is never given to cook an onion. ‘Sauté until soft 
and golden, about two minutes,’ writes the chef (or the editor insists so the recipe can fall into the category of ‘quick and easy weeknight suppers’ or ‘fifteen-minute 
meals’ or whatever it is they are currently trying to sell). The fact that nobody ever
sautéed an onion until soft and golden in less than 10 minutes is elided, sacrificed 
to the promise that this dish, now, will not cost too much of your time. Even recipes 
which can never be made quickly – soups, stews, cures – are touted as demanding 
just a little of your time and even less of your attention, your active time. The slow 
braise allows the cook to focus not on cooking, but on other things. To me, this 
is a lost opportunity. Yes, it is nice to know that dinner is safely squared away, 
puttering merrily to itself in a low oven. It is exciting to think that a jar of cabbage 
is slowly transforming into sauerkraut at the back of a dark cupboard. But if all we 
see is the prepared ingredients and the end result, how much do we miss of the 
metamorphosis in-between? Convenience is desirable, but over the last year, time has – for most of us – come at 
less of a premium. Even before that, though, I have always found a certain satisfaction 
in giving my complete attention to whatever I am cooking. This goes without saying for 
the quick and fast – for the doneness of a steak, or pasta, for deep-frying, or grilling 
delicate fish. However, it is also rewarding for the slower processes, for observing the 
slow changing of textures as liquids bubble and reduce.  If, for example, you are making marmalade, you could work out the setting 
temperature and, once the final boil has begun, insert a probe thermometer with 
an alarm set to sound when it reaches the precise temperature: all well and good. 
If, however, there isn’t a thermometer to hand – or, as is often the case, you only 
have one that is in sore need of calibration and therefore useless – you can fall 
back on the finger test your mother may or may not have taught you. Placing a 
stack of saucers in the fridge and – when you think the marmalade is nearly ready 
– spooning a little out onto a cold saucer, you prod the result with your finger to 
see if it wrinkles. What, then, if you don’t have a stack or even a single perfectly 
chilled saucer to hand? Then you have to watch the bubbles rise. 
The point of making marmalade or jam is not simply that you are cooking a liquid 
until it reaches approximately 105˚C, but rather that you are cooking a liquid until 
it becomes capable (as water is not) of reaching that temperature – which means it 
has to become thicker, stronger. The bubbles it creates, at first double the liquid in 
volume (bringing the inevitable worry that your pan is too small) before settling and 
lowering into a dense boil that threatens to catch on the bottom. Once you’ve seen 
it, that transformation is unmistakable, and if you had just stuck a thermometer 
in the pan and got on with something else, you would never have noticed. This 
(admittedly useful and in a working kitchen, essential) piece of technology would 
have removed you from the process, from the facts of cooking. This is true of any kind of technology – it is, by and large, its purpose. I am not necessarily suggesting 
that you replace your oven with a wood-fired stove and monitor the temperature 
with a questing hand (if you can’t hold it in there, it’s hot enough) – although that 
would, I think, be fun. Certainly, anything which makes our lives easier is not to be 
dismissed out of hand, but isn’t it always worth wondering what, at any moment, 
you can afford to lose? 
The point with cooking is that the time put in is not simply lost but rather spent 
or, invested – although sometimes you might not think it – wisely. A six-hour 
braise consumed in less than 30 minutes can seem hardly worth the effort, but 
only if you see the eating of food as the sole reason to cook it. When I think of 
meals I have cooked for other people, for birthdays or holidays or simply for 
the pleasure of company, it is rarely the eating of them – the few minutes of 
attacking a chicken or slurping up pasta or licking grease off fingers – which 
comes immediately to mind but rather their slow build-up. It’s the digging of the 
pit to build the fire that has to die before I bury the lamb, wrapped carefully in 
foil and sackcloth; the careful attendance to a boiling pan of stock, its bubbles 
changing in size and consistency as it gradually reduces into gravy; the oil 
slowly spitting out of a pot of ragù, its surface barely moving as it stews. These 
are the things I remember fondly, the nurturing process of bringing a meal 
together. And these moments aren’t solitary meditations – with any meal there 
is more to be done than just cooking something. There are salads to be made 
and dressings to be whipped, pasta to be rolled, tables to be set, cocktails to be 
mixed, and wine to be poured. The making of a meal is only a chore if you begin 
to do it wishing it were already over. If instead you begin to do it because you 
want to do it, with the end result of ‘something to eat’ as almost a by-product 
of a rewarding activity, then the pleasure you find in it changes. 
Although for most of us, it’s no longer – as it was for the Sicilians celebrating 
San Giuseppe – a matter of life or death. This choice to involve yourself 
purposefully in the everyday act of cooking, and otherwise preparing food, still 
has an air of sacrifice, of time exchanged in the promise of something greater. 
It is, I suppose, literally a sacrifice, as the time you allot to cooking is time 
you could have made available for emails, or exercise, or simply to idly scroll 
through Netflix adding films you will probably never watch to your list. But, as 
is the way of all such propitiatory acts, it is a sacrifice which contains the seeds 
of its desired outcome. What you put in determines what you get out, in the 
straightforward terms of a meal you can eat – but it is also its own reward. You 
know, as you reverently chop, or soak, or simmer, that you are investing your 
time to create something better than good. That whatever you are making will 
have a special richness to it. The richness of chickpeas, or water or gold.  This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

Margate-based chef and food writer, Thom Eagle, contemplates the value of spending more, not less, time in the kitchen.

Illustration by Stewart Walton.

Margate-based chef and food writer, Thom Eagle, contemplates the value of spending more, not less, time in the kitchen

FONDATA: Time for Food

Time for Food

The growing season in 2019, as is becoming the norm these days, started with a warm February and March, leading to an early budbreak at the beginning of April. An early budbreak leads to a nail-biting spring for the vignerons, where the window for frost damage is only extended. Fortunately, there were only a couple of occasions where temperatures dropped to dangerous levels, with most Chablis producers today well equipped either with smudge pots, electrical heating wires or water sprays to offset the frost damage.  At Long-Depaquit they lost just 5%, which was not a concern. Samuel Billaud notes that the frost was much more dangerous on the lower slopes of Chablis where damage was higher than the 1er Cru and Grand Cru sites which were largely undamaged. For Olivier Bailly, winemaker at Domaine Billaud Simon, it was not simply the direct damage of the frosts (particularly on the night of 14th April) but the resultant stress on the vine following the outbreak that saw yields further affected. However, the real issue in regard to yields, came down to flowering rather than frost, with a windy, rainy, wet period during May which meant yields were notably affected. This period led to a lot of heterogeneity in the bunches and also noticeable millerandage (which results in very small berries): this does not affect quality but markedly lowers yield. Unlike 2018, therefore, 2019 is a low-crop vintage with producers’ yields ranging from 20 to 40% below normal. Despite the poor flowering, the rest of the growing season was straightforward, with very little rain and plenty of sunshine, which meant excellent sanitary conditions in the vineyard with no rot at all and very little sorting required at picking. There were two short heatwaves, one at the end of June and another at the end of July, which did cause sunburn damage to exposed grapes but other than that, no sorting was required. Regarding temperatures and rainfall, it was similar to 2018 with average rainfalls down 50% on average. Temperatures were also a full 2.2 degrees above average during the growing season, which is quite extraordinary. When comparing the similar effects of drought and sunshine in the 2018 vintage, vignerons talked about how the high yields helped dilute the intensity of the sun. With half the crop, how did the grapes survive in 2019? Was this to be a low-acid vintage with abnormal tropical fruit tones like 2015 or 2003? Matthieu Mangenot, winemaker at Domaine Long-Depaquit, describes how something quite unusual happened. In the later part of the growing season, the grapes concentrated – with water in the berries evaporating from the skins. This increased sugar levels and therefore alcohol (typically to 13.4 to 13.8%, which is high for Chablis, but it concentrated the acid levels too. Despite the drought and heat, the acid levels sit close to great vintages such as 2008, 2014 and 2018, with a pH of 3.25 to 3.3 after malolactic fermentation. Olivier Bailly at Domaine Billaud Simon had even higher acidity levels (between 3.10 - 3.25 pH), stating, “It is the magic of Chablis to find Chardonnay retaining such acidity, despite the warm weather”.  The result is, as Mangenot told us, “undoubtedly a ripe, concentrated, powerful vintage, but with a freshness too, at the same time retaining real Chablis mineral typicity. It is a hot, warm vintage but it does not really behave like that in the glass.” The fruit ripeness is similar to ’15 – but there are no excess aromatics of over-ripeness or yellowness in the wine that is typical of the low-acid vintages like ’05 and ’06. The acid profile is much more like ’17, and very much still retaining a sense of place, avoiding the tropical fruit aromas of 2015. Samuel Billaud describes 2019 as “highly concentrated Chablis with sun-kissed aromatics – it is concentrated, with balanced structure and excellent minerality. It is a ‘gourmand’ [moreish] vintage, yet with tense, structural minerality.”  Our own impressions is there is no doubt a concentration and aromatic pungency to the wines, yet the nose retains the Chablis-esque chalky minerality and savoury dried-straw tone, as well as lifted floral aromatics. There is noticeable power, weight and warmth to the palate even on the Premiers Crus, with the top examples retaining mouth-watering acidity despite this opulence and concentration. They really have a wonderful combination of intensity and power, while retaining mineral typicity. Producers such as Samuel Billaud still has a majority of his 2019s undergoing élevage, with the Grands Crus left another six months in tank before being bottled. Despite them being babies the wines are already showing a lot of promise. Billaud compares his 2019s to the 2016s in terms of riper aromatics, but with much more concentration and minerality. It also has similarities to the 2017 vintage when it comes to structure and minerality, he says.  For Mangenot, the power and concentration allied with vibrant acidity and minerality makes this vintage hard to compare, “It doesn’t really taste like any other,” he says, “but for Chablis-lovers, it makes it a fascinating vintage to discover.” Read more Editorial

As the first Chablis 2019s are released, we talk to top producers in the region – including Samuel Billaud, Matthieu Mangenot from Domaine Long-Depaquit and Olivier Bailly from Domaine Billaud-Simon – about the vintage

We talk to top producers in the region Samuel Billaud, Domaine Long-Depaquit and Olivier Bailly from Domaine Billaud-Simon – about 2019 the vintage

2019 Chablis first look at the vintage

Chablis 2019: a first look at the vintage

"È stato un anno davvero terribile," dice Mark Gaskain. È settembre 2024 e siamo alla fine di quella che è stata una stagione di crescita difficile in gran parte dell’Europa – con piogge apparentemente senza fine. Fortunatamente, Gaskain sa che tali sfide fanno semplicemente parte del lavoro. È un agricoltore, nato e cresciuto, ora alla guida dell’azienda di famiglia e responsabile della produzione di 70 milioni di mele all’anno. Ma nell’ultimo decennio ha aggiunto un nuovo ramo all’attività – dopo aver venduto un’ampia porzione di terreno nientemeno che a Champagne Taittinger nel 2015. Quel terreno è ora la sede di Domaine Evremond – uno dei progetti di vino inglese più entusiasmanti fino ad oggi. 
 La storia è iniziata quasi un decennio fa. Patrick McGrath – fondatore e CEO di Hatch Mansfield, che rappresenta Champagne Taittinger nel Regno Unito – stava cercando di aggiungere un vino spumante inglese al portafoglio dell’azienda. Erano i primi anni 2010 e lui aveva intravisto un’opportunità in questa categoria nascente – ma Pierre-Emmanuel Taittinger suggerì che, invece di acquisire una tenuta esistente, McGrath avrebbe dovuto crearne una propria, lavorando con Taittinger. Taittinger aveva intrapreso un’iniziativa simile in California, creando Domaine Carneros con il loro agente statunitense, Kobrand, sotto la guida dello zio di Pierre-Emmanuel, Claude. Insieme, decisero di fare il grande passo. 
 Affidarono all’esperto di vini inglesi Stephen Skelton il compito di aiutarli a trovare il sito perfetto – che doveva avere terreni gessosi, pendii esposti a sud/sud-ovest (per la massima esposizione al sole) e un’altitudine inferiore ai 100 metri (con la temperatura che diminuisce di 1°C ogni 100m, qualsiasi cosa al di sopra sarebbe stata semplicemente troppo fredda nel clima marginale inglese). Si decise per il Kent – con facile accesso alla Champagne – ma ci vollero 18 mesi per trovare il sito giusto. Allo stesso tempo, i Gaskain stavano valutando la vendita di una parte dei loro terreni (un’avventura nella frutta morbida si era rivelata difficile e volevano tornare al loro core business delle mele). Il tempismo fu fortunato e i frutteti di Stone Stile Farm – intorno al villaggio di Chilham, a sud-ovest di Canterbury – erano perfetti. Come mi disse Alexandre Ponnavoy (Chef de Cave sia per Taittinger che per Evremond), se un sito può produrre buona frutta – è un buon indicatore del suo potenziale viticolo. Nel 2015, l’accordo fu firmato e il progetto lanciato con grande clamore all’Abbazia di Westminster. Domaine Evremond prende il nome da Charles de Saint-Evremond (1614-1703), un francese, saggista e primo ambasciatore dei vini di Champagne – che li portò alla corte di Carlo II – ed è sepolto a Poets’ Corner. Sebbene Didier Pierson – un viticoltore in Champagne – avesse già prodotto vino inglese sotto l’etichetta Meon Hill, Taittinger fu una delle prime grandi Maison di Champagne a investire in Inghilterra (Pommery aveva acquistato vigneti nell’Hampshire nel 2014). Non sorprende che la copertura mediatica fu estesa: i Champenois stavano arrivando per produrre vino spumante sul nostro territorio – e gli scettici francesi avrebbero dovuto ricredersi mentre il mondo iniziava a riconoscere la qualità dello spumante inglese. 
 Le prime viti di Evremond furono piantate nel 2017, con ulteriori aggiunte nel 2020 (il team si stabilì al Premier Inn locale per affrontare il lavoro in piena pandemia) e nel 2024. Il terreno qui presenta uno strato di argilla alluvionale sopra il sottosuolo gessoso che fa parte del bacino di Parigi, condiviso con gran parte del nord della Francia (inclusa la Champagne). Tuttavia, intorno a Canterbury, c’è più selce nel terreno – qualcosa che, secondo Ponnavoy, emerge chiaramente nel vino, conferendogli un carattere minerale e riduttivo. C’è anche una netta influenza marittima – che modera le temperature ma porta anche brezze oceaniche da Whitstable, che dista solo dieci chilometri. Per Ponnavoy, è la combinazione tra i terreni gessosi del sito, la morbidezza marittima e i venti marini – una “climatologia contrastante” – a definire i vini di Evremond. 
 Gaskain è profondamente coinvolto nel progetto – la sua conoscenza approfondita del territorio è una risorsa inestimabile, sapendo ad esempio dove si trovano le sacche di gelo potenziale o dove il terreno potrebbe essere troppo fertile per le viti. Lui e il suo team gestiscono quotidianamente il sito, guidati da Christelle Rinvelle (Direttrice dei vigneti Taittinger). Attualmente hanno 62 ettari di vigneti, suddivisi tra 45% Chardonnay, 45% Pinot Noir e 10% Meunier. Hanno piantato Chardonnay nelle aree con lo strato di terreno più sottile, consentendo alle radici di accedere quasi direttamente al substrato gessoso, mentre il Pinot Noir e il Meunier si trovano nei lotti più ricchi di argilla e ghiaia. Le viti sono ampiamente distanziate (5.000 viti per ettaro – metà della densità di impianto che Taittinger utilizza in Champagne) e allevate più in alto rispetto all’altra parte della Manica, permettendo una migliore circolazione dell’aria (che aiuta a gestire la pressione delle malattie) e una chioma più ampia (per favorire la maturazione). Sebbene non siano mai stati utilizzati erbicidi e ci sia un impegno concreto verso la sostenibilità, Gaskain è chiaro sui limiti della viticoltura nel Kent: “Il biologico è una follia in questo clima,” mi dice – come forse ha dimostrato il 2024. Sebbene il team disponga di irroratrici specifiche per la vite, Gaskain può anche utilizzare le attrezzature del suo frutteto – un vantaggio quando le condizioni sono difficili – e irrorare l’intero sito in un solo (lungo) giorno. 
 Hanno raccolto quantità minime di frutta nel 2018 e 2019, con la prima vendemmia di dimensioni commerciali proveniente dal 2020 (fortunatamente la vendemmia dell’uva si colloca comodamente tra quella delle Gala e delle Braeburn). I primi vini furono prodotti presso i vicini Simpsons e, dal 2020, si stabilirono in un vecchio fienile di cemento nel sito – con l’intera operazione alimentata da un generatore. Nel giugno 2022, iniziarono i lavori per una nuova cantina (“Eravamo fuori budget quattro settimane dopo l’inizio,” dice McGrath, con un sorriso stanco). La stessa azienda che lavorò al Tunnel della Manica scavò 83.000 tonnellate di gesso (circa 2.000 camion) per far posto all’edificio a tre piani che si estende per 20 metri sotto terra. Progettata dall’architetto di Reims Giovanni Pace, l’idea è che la cantina si integri nel paesaggio – piuttosto che imporsi su di esso. Ha la capacità di immagazzinare 1,5 milioni di bottiglie – tutto senza consumare ulteriore energia per il raffreddamento, grazie al naturale fresco sotterraneo. 
 I lavori sono stati completati in tempo per la vendemmia 2024 – un sollievo indubbiamente per il team. C’è qualcosa di affascinantemente britannico, leggermente improvvisato e da outsider in questa operazione – nonostante i capitali molto seri dietro di essa (finora si parla di 17 milioni di sterline investiti). “Tutti hanno dovuto darsi da fare,” dice McGrath. Potrà essere il CEO di Hatch e uno dei fondatori di Evremond, ma è anche il primo a indossare gli stivali di gomma per aiutare alla vendemmia – e ha trascorso più weekend tra i filari di chiunque altro. Vitalie Taittinger ha preso il posto del padre come Presidente di Taittinger, e la figlia di McGrath, India, gestisce il lato commerciale di Evremond – rendendo l’operazione davvero un’impresa di famiglia, anche se con un certo tocco di eleganza in stile Champenois. Con l’associazione a Taittinger, naturalmente, le aspettative sono altissime – qualcosa di cui McGrath è dolorosamente consapevole. Parlando con Ponnavoy – responsabile della vinificazione sia di Taittinger che di Evremond – c’è stato qualcosa di molto entusiasmante nel creare un progetto da zero, anche se non senza difficoltà. Ha insistito per conservare la piccola vendemmia del 2018 solo per la proprietà, permettendo loro di seguire i vini in vasca per diversi anni e conoscere meglio il sito. È stato un costo enorme e ha ritardato la prima uscita, ma qualcosa che ha ritenuto essenziale. 
 “Era davvero importante non fare la copia di un altro spumante, non produrre uno… ‘stile’,” dice. L’obiettivo, invece, era: “Identificare il terroir, identificare il suolo, identificare il clima e riprodurre tutto ciò nella bottiglia. Trovare l’identità di Evremond.” Inevitabilmente, c’è la tentazione di tracciare paragoni tra Taittinger ed Evremond, ma il team è chiaro sul fatto che si tratta di progetti totalmente separati, con DNA molto diversi. Lavorando con uva inglese, Ponnavoy ha ritenuto fondamentale gestire l’acidità potenzialmente pungente (e il vino subisce quindi una fermentazione malolattica completa), ma – per lui – la sfida più grande era evitare l’amaro che trova comune in alcuni vini inglesi. Gestire i composti fenolici per evitarlo era dunque essenziale, mentre si è concentrato anche sulla consistenza delle bollicine – lavorando per ottenere una mousse molto fine, qualcosa che ritiene distingua il vino dalla concorrenza. 
 Con il tempo, Evremond spera di produrre 400.000 bottiglie all’anno, anche se il primo rilascio ne conta solo 120.000. Ci sono piani per aggiungere una cuvée millesimata e una rosé una volta che le viti saranno mature e avranno imparato a conoscere il sito, ma per ora producono solo la Classic Cuvée non millesimata. Ora, a dieci anni dall’acquisto del terreno, l’Edition 1 della Classic Cuvée è pronta per il rilascio. Per un debutto, è un risultato straordinario – forse non sorprendente, data la caratura dell’operazione. Incredibilmente fine, tesa e stratificata, con note di conchiglia d’ostrica, iodio e selce, è un vino pieno della promessa di ciò che Evremond può realizzare. 
 La Classic Cuvée Edition 1 di Domaine Evremond sarà rilasciata giovedì 3 aprile: contatta il tuo Account Manager per registrare l’interesse o iscriviti qui per ricevere una notifica.

Dieci anni fa, Champagne Taittinger fece qualcosa di inaspettato: acquistò un terreno nel Kent. Alla vigilia dell'uscita del primo vino del progetto, Sophie Thorpe ha incontrato il team di Domaine Evremond per parlare delle sfide e dei successi della loro avventura inglese.

Champagne Taittinger bought land in Kent 10 years ago. As the first wine from the project is released, we talk to the team behind Domaine Evremond

Diving into Domaine Evremond – Taittinger’s new English wine

Alla scoperta di Evremond: il nuovo progetto enologico inglese di Taittinger

Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse clearly has some fantastic terroir. One of only a handful of top-rated Premier Grand Cru Classé B estates, it is beautifully positioned on the southwest-facing slopes of Saint-Emilion’s famous limestone plateau. The property gained notoriety with the release of its 1990 – a wine Robert Parker professed as being “the wine of the vintage” en primeur – in his view beating other legendary wines from the year, such as Margaux, Pétrus and Latour. After maturation in bottle, he went further and declared that it may be “one of the greatest wines made this century”. A legend was born. This historic estate has been in the Duffau-Lagarrosse family since 1847, but Joséphine’s recent take-over was far from straightforward. Prior to the sale, it was owned by 30 members of her family. With the majority wanting to sell the property. Determined for it to remain part of the Duffau-Lagarrosse legacy, the only option was to attempt to buy it herself – no small feat for the then 30-year-old. But this prime-positioned Saint-Emilion estate had plenty of bidders queuing to snap it up, undeterred by the €75 million price tag – a price far beyond Duffau-Lagarrosse’s means. Initially, it was a bidding war between neighbouring Ch. Angélus’s Stéphanie de Boüard and Clos Fourtet’s Matthieu Cuvelier. Then, however, the Courtin-Clarins family stepped in – and offered to partner with Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse. Joséphine met with Prisca Courtin-Clarins, Clarins CEO and the third generation to run her family’s cosmetic empire (which remains 100% family-owned). According to Duffau-Lagarrosse, they instantly hit it off and the synergy between them was obvious: two young, talented, ambitious French women. Duffau-Lagarrosse had all the technical know-how to make great wine, as well as a life-long experience of the estate.  Courtin-Clarins, meanwhile, had all the commercial experience and financial backing to help manage and develop the business side of the property. Joséphine invited Prisca to see the château and she loved it. Within a month of meeting, they had put in their own bid. With the family connection, their bid was favoured and the two of them became co-directors on 12th April 2021. Walking around the amazing labyrinth of limestone caves under the property (covering 650 square-metres), where Duffau-Lagarrosse now ages the wine, you can see how proud she is of her family estate and how excited she is for the future – now under her control. She admits that it all happened a bit quickly. After deciding to follow in her family’s oenological footsteps, she had deliberately stayed away from Bordeaux for as long as she could, knowing that her family ties would eventually pull her back. Born and raised in Pomerol after graduating, it wasn’t long before she was travelling around the world, learning to make wine in regions other than Bordeaux. Duffau-Lagarrosse has an impressive resumé, working under some of the world’s best winemakers. She worked with Ch. Margaux’s Phillipe Bascaules when he was at Inglenook in Napa Valley, before heading to Hawkes Bay in New Zealand to work on Bordeaux blends in a contrasting climate. Following her stint there, she went to Mexico to work on a project with famous Bordelais consultant Stéphane Derenoncourt, before returning to France and working in Burgundy with Maxime Cheurlin at Domaine Georges Noëllat – someone who had inherited an historic family estate at a similarly young age. Of all the vintages to take on such a legacy, however, 2021 was far from the easiest – a year that asked everything of its makers. “It was not easy,” she admits, a smile sneaking onto her face, “but I really enjoyed it.” As we tasted the 2021, we asked whether she’d had to chaptalise – a common practice in the year’s cool conditions. For a millennial born in the era of climate change, it was totally new to her, but she felt it was needed to round out the mid-palate. “So I called Burgundy,” she jests, a twinkle in her eye. Despite its challenges, Duffau-Lagarrosse is very pleased with her 2021 – the first full vintage under her lead – and as she should be. She certainly respects what previous winemaker, Nicolas Thienpont, had done with the estate over the last 12 years – consistently producing one of the top wines of the vintage. Without swerving away from his style, Duffau-Lagarrosse is still keen to put her own bent on the wine. Reducing the amount of new oak is perhaps the most obvious first step – although that is also understandable considering the vintage conditions in 2021. She is also keen to make sure extraction levels are very carefully monitored and this was particularly important in 2021. “We had to question everything,” says Duffau-Lagarrosse, but the challenges proved to be a fast-track for understanding the terroir she had inherited. And she wasn’t alone – hiring two of Bordeaux’s leading consultants, Axel Marchand (professor of oenology at Bordeaux University) and Julien Viaud (the co-owner of Michel Rolland’s consultancy, which according to Duffau-Lagarrosse, has a contrasting and complementary approach to Rolland’s philosophy of high extraction and high proportions of new oak). The new team is certainly one of the most exciting and positive developments in Saint-Emilion – especially given the recent tumult in the appellation. There is certainly a lovely balance to the Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse in 2021, and the wine has captured the beautiful, scented perfume of vintage’s top examples. It’s a wine that shows the promise of this vigneronne and address – one that is set to compete with the very best in the appellation. The legend is safe in the hands of its rightful owner. Browse all Editorial 

The 2021 vintage was a challenging year in Bordeaux – but at Saint-Emilion estate Ch. Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse, it was also the first with Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse at the helm. We visited the young vigneronne to find out what it means to take on such a legacy

1990 Beauséjour Duffau-Lagarrosse was declared “a modern legend” by Robert Parker. Now Joséphine has taken over the family estate. We visited to find out more

Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse on her family legacy

Generation Y: Joséphine Duffau-Lagarrosse

Promise

United States

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Non siamo in grado di elaborare il tuo ordine se contiene sia biglietti per eventi sia un prodotto vinicolo o un distillato nella stessa transazione. Per procedere, rimuovi dal carrello i biglietti dell’evento oppure il prodotto. Potrai quindi completare l’acquisto.

Controlla il tuo carrello

Password dimenticata

Siamo nelle fasi finali dellaggiornamento alla nostra nuova piattaforma di trading. Come parte di questa transizione, stiamo attualmente migrando tutti gli inventari di proprietà dei clienti per garantire unesperienza fluida e senza interruzioni.

La nostra nuova e migliorata piattaforma sarà pronta per te venerdì 4 aprile.

Grazie per la tua pazienza — non vediamo lora di mostrarti cosa arriverà.

Ops, qualcosa è andato storto

Non abbiamo trovato nulla da mostrare qui.

Non abbiamo trovato alcun risultato da mostrare qui.

Si prega di notare: potrebbero essere applicati costi di consegna, dazi e IVA

Il nostro sito è temporaneamente in manutenzione.

Modalità manutenzione

La pre-autorizzazione di un metodo di pagamento consente al tuo Account Manager di effettuare pagamenti per tuo conto, senza verifica del pagamento.

Pre-autorizza

Questa transazione è stata bloccata per un errore di autenticazione.

Errore di autenticazione

La tua carta di pagamento è scaduta. Controlla i dati e riprova.

Carta scaduta

Fondi insufficienti per saldare l'importo. Controlla i dati e riprova.

Fondi insufficienti

Questa transazione è stata bloccata dal fornitore di pagamenti per possibile attività fraudolenta.

Transazione bloccata

Scegli un metodo di pagamento diverso e riprova.

Errore sconosciuto

mostra tutti gli articoli che attualmente conservi con noi. Questi articoli possono essere venduti, consegnati o trasferiti.

Presso {shortName}

La tua allocazione verrà annullata. Sei sicuro di voler continuare?

Il tuo articolo pre-ordinato verrà eliminato. Sei sicuro di voler continuare?

La tua richiesta di consegna verrà annullata. Sei sicuro di voler procedere?

rappresenta tutti i vini che sono in tuo possesso e che sono stati consumati.

Questo è il prezzo che hai pagato per questo articolo.

Prezzo di costo

Dopo aver aggiunto il nuovo indirizzo, verrai reindirizzato a questa pagina.

Crea un nuovo indirizzo

La tua notifica verrà eliminata. Sei sicuro di voler continuare?

Il prezzo minimo al quale sei disposto a vendere. Se il prezzo di listino scende al di sotto di questo valore, la tua inserzione verrà rimossa.

mostra tutti gli articoli che hai pre-ordinato, inclusi i vini en primeur, e tutti gli articoli nella tua watchlist.

Futures

È possibile impostare un prezzo minimo per gli articoli in vendita basato su una percentuale del valore netto unitario attuale.

Puoi impostare un prezzo di mercato per gli articoli che stai vendendo basato su una percentuale del valore netto unitario corrente.

mostra tutte le azioni che hai effettuato sugli articoli nel tuo Portafoglio.

raggruppa ogni azione per tipo - Acquisto, Vendita, Consegna e Trasferimento in entrata - così è chiaro a colpo d'occhio cosa è successo a ciascun articolo.

Storico

mostra tutti gli articoli attualmente in transito da o verso {shortName}.

In transito

La consegna locale è gratuita per ordini superiori a 1.800 HK$ (in un'unica destinazione). Per ordini inferiori a questo importo, la consegna costa 150 HK$ fino a quattro casse e 50 HK$ per ogni cassa aggiuntiva.

Le spedizioni partono da €15 in Italia e da €45 verso la Svizzera e il resto d’Europa per un massimo di 48 bottiglie (75 cl). I costi variano in base alla destinazione. Per spedizioni più grandi è possibile richiedere un preventivo.

La data indicata di seguito è quella in cui il tuo ordine verrà spedito dal nostro magazzino locale. La data di consegna finale, insieme ai dettagli completi di tracciamento, ti verrà fornita una volta che il nostro team avrà elaborato la tua richiesta.

Puoi organizzare il ritiro presso il nostro negozio al 22° piano, 8 Wyndham Street, Central Hong Kong.
Gli orari di ritiro sono dalle 9:30 alle 18:00, da lunedì a venerdì.

Puoi organizzare il ritiro presso il nostro magazzino STI INTERNAZIONALE SPA, in Viale del Lavoro 57, 37051 Bovolone, Verona.
Gli orari di ritiro sono dalle 8:30 alle 12:30 e dalle 13:30 alle 17:30, dal lunedì al venerdì. Siamo chiusi nei giorni festivi.

Questo è il valore di mercato stimato attuale per questo articolo.

I prezzi impostati manualmente verranno sovrascritti. I vini già inseriti non sono interessati.

Aggiorna tutti i vini non inseriti al prezzo di mercato corrente.

Imposta tutto al prezzo di mercato

rappresenta tutti i vini attualmente presenti nel tuo Portafoglio che non sono conservati con noi. Premi l'icona

La mia cantina

Nome

Prezzo netto

Nuovo portafoglio disponibile

Nuovo portafoglio

Non hai alcuna fattura in questo momento.

mostra tutti gli articoli del tuo Portafoglio che sono attualmente sul mercato.

In vendita

mostra tutti gli articoli attualmente presenti nel tuo Portafoglio. Da questa pagina puoi eseguire azioni individuali su di essi.

Panoramica

mostra tutti gli articoli attualmente in attesa di un'azione da parte dell'utente.

In sospeso

Questo è il prezzo di mercato dinamico dell'articolo al netto del margine di negoziazione.

Questo è l'importo del profitto che riceverai se la tua inserzione verrà venduta.

I pagamenti pre-autorizzati consentono transazioni automatiche per tuo conto, garantendo pagamenti fluidi e senza complicazioni. Questo permette di elaborare addebiti ricorrenti, abbonamenti o pagamenti programmati senza approvazione manuale ogni volta.

Il numero di casse che desideri mettere in vendita

Il tuo articolo del catalogo verrà archiviato. Sei sicuro di voler continuare?

I tuoi articoli del catalogo verranno archiviati. Sei sicuro di voler continuare?

Prima di richiedere la consegna, puoi modificare la quantità per ciascun articolo nella tua selezione qui sotto.

*Il prezzo di mercato è dinamico e può variare. Al momento della vendita, dal prezzo finale sarà detratta una commissione di negoziazione del 10%.

Prezzo di mercato totale*

Il prezzo fisso personalizzato al quale desideri vendere ciascun articolo.

Dividi in {caseSize} singole bottiglie da {bottleSize}cl.

Titolo

mostra tutti gli articoli che attualmente conservi con noi. Questi articoli possono essere venduti.

Disponibili per la vendita — gli articoli conservati con {name} sono idonei per essere inseriti nel marketplace.

Profilo

Questo articolo si trova presso FINE+RARE.

Questo articolo si trova presso FINE+RARE HOME Hong Kong, ed è disponibile per la consegna o il ritiro in sede. La maggior parte delle consegne a Hong Kong può essere effettuata entro 3 giorni lavorativi; la data esatta sarà comunicata al momento dell'organizzazione della consegna. Le consegne internazionali richiedono tempi più lunghi, ti preghiamo di contattarci per maggiori dettagli.

I vini venduti en primeur saranno rilasciati dal produttore dopo limbottigliamento, tipicamente 18 mesi dopo la fine della cosiddetta campagna. Il tuo vino sarà poi conservato da FINE+RARE in un deposito doganale fino a quando deciderai di richiederne la consegna.

Ci riforniremo di questo articolo al prezzo garantito dalla nostra rete di fornitori e organizzeremo una spedizione rapida a FINE+RARE.
 I tempi di consegna dipendono da molte variabili, ma in genere per un approvvigionamento rapido sono 2-4 settimane.
 Una volta confermato l'ordine, ti terremo aggiornato sulla data di arrivo prevista.
 Ogni articolo viene controllato all'arrivo dal nostro team di esperti e le fotografie sono disponibili su richiesta (si prega di notare che potrebbero essere applicati dei costi).

Reperiremo questo articolo attraverso la nostra rete di fornitori e ne organizzeremo la spedizione a FINE+RARE.
 I tempi di consegna dipendono da molte variabili, ma una stima media è di 6-12 settimane.
 Una volta confermato lordine, ti terremo aggiornato sulla data di arrivo prevista.
 Ogni articolo viene controllato al momento della ricezione dal nostro team di esperti, con fotografie disponibili su richiesta (si prega di notare che potrebbero essere applicati dei costi).

Promise

Filtro

Attendere prego

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