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  

Dopo un inverno mite, senza gelate né grandine, da marzo a giugno è arrivata la pioggia. Peronospora e colatura sono comparse presto e non sono mai scomparse del tutto. Alcuni viticoltori hanno raddoppiato i trattamenti, poiché le tempeste hanno ripetutamente spazzato via la protezione. Alla fine della stagione, le precipitazioni si sono attestate intorno ai 1.200 millimetri, quasi il quaranta percento in più del normale. Il prezzo da pagare per le rese è stato pesante. Molti domaine hanno perso tra un quarto e il quaranta percento dei loro bianchi e, in alcuni casi, fino al settanta percento dei loro rossi. Da luglio in poi è tornato il sole, portando un ritmo più costante e uve sane per ciò che è rimasto. La maggior parte è stata vendemmiata tra la seconda e la terza settimana di settembre, con un'attenta selezione sia in vigna che in cantina. Ciò che è emerso è un'espressione più fresca, più fine e più tradizionale della Borgogna. I vini hanno un'alcolizzazione moderata, un'acidità chiara e un senso di sobrietà che piacerà a coloro che amano la linea classica e l'equilibrio della regione. Charles van Canneyt lo ha espresso al meglio: "Non è perché abbiamo avuto maltempo che abbiamo prodotto un vino cattivo". Le nostre prime degustazioni sottolineano questo punto. Da Paul Pernot i bianchi mostrano una freschezza vibrante e una profonda acidità, con il Puligny-Montrachet Les Folatières che si distingue per la sua tensione e grazia. Da Alvina Pernot, i 2024 portano la freschezza del 2017 e l'accessibilità del 2021, ma con maggiore profondità e compostezza. Louis Jadot, alle prese con pesanti perdite e una stagione impegnativa, ha parlato di "lottare per mantenere la Borgogna accessibile", producendo tuttavia vini precisi e armoniosi, tra cui St Aubin En Remilly, uno dei nostri appezzamenti preferiti e un'esclusiva FINE+RARE che siamo orgogliosi di aggiudicarci ogni anno, imbottigliato solo in magnum. Da Hudelot-Noëllat e Fourrier, i volumi sono incredibilmente piccoli, ma i vini sono limpidi, fragranti e inconfondibilmente tipici del luogo. La domanda sul mercato continua a evolversi. Negli Stati Uniti, il panorama delle aste rimane forte, con i collezionisti alla ricerca di vini d'annata in un contesto post-tariffario. Il Regno Unito continua a essere leader in termini di diversità e valore, supportato da una delle reti di importazione e agenzie più sofisticate al mondo. L'Europa centrale, in particolare Italia e Svizzera, è in costante espansione, con i collezionisti che guardano oltre i classici, pur continuando a preferire il Borgogna bianco, il Bordeaux rosso e lo Champagne. Hong Kong rimane il mercato in più rapida crescita per i vini bianchi, con un entusiasmo costante per lo Chardonnay pregiato e lo Champagne maturo.
 
Come il Borgogna En Primeur nascerà in questo contesto è incerto e certamente diverso dal Bordeaux En Primeur. Il crescente predominio del Borgogna bianco e la combinazione di rarità, qualità, desiderabilità e, in alcuni casi, valore ancora reale, segnano un'emergere che sembra al di sopra delle denominazioni e delle tendenze. Il Borgogna continua a evolversi secondo i propri ritmi, plasmato più dalle decisioni dei singoli viticoltori che dal ritmo collettivo. Quanto lontano arriverà questo ritmo dipenderà dalla rilevanza in un mercato in cui persino Michelin mette in discussione il suo marchio di punta, Robert Parker, e dove voci indipendenti come Jamie Goode, spinte da una curiosità sconfinata e libere da vincoli editoriali, continuano a mettere alla prova ogni ipotesi. Con Borgogna 2024, la scarsità definirà la campagna, ma lo sarà anche l'autenticità. I ​​vini sono plasmati dalle avversità, ma portano grazia e purezza. Quest'anno ci ricorda perché la Borgogna rimane la più umana tra le regioni vinicole pregiate. La prossima settimana condivideremo i nostri primi profili di produttori e le prime note di degustazione da tutta la Borgogna. Per ora, brindiamo ai viticoltori che hanno resistito all'anno e a un'annata fatta non di abbondanza, ma di spirito. 
Scritto da Patrick O'Connor (CEO), Craig Norton (Amministratore Delegato) e Antoine Ninot (Senior Buyer) di FINE+RARE, a seguito di una recente visita in Borgogna. Scopri tutti i Borgogna 2024 finora pubblicati.

La scorsa settimana siamo stati in Borgogna per un’analisi pre-campagna, incontrando alcune delle voci più rappresentative della regione. Conversazioni sincere, atmosfera riflessiva: ogni viticoltore ha raccontato un’annata che ha messo alla prova pazienza e resilienza.

Our early look at Burgundy’s 2024 vintage reveals a year of challenges and quiet beauty — shaped by resilience, balance and authenticity.

A first look at the Burgundy 2024 vintage

Borgogna 2024: prime impressioni

Alcune regioni vinicole seguono il proprio ritmo. Dai rossi dolci della Rift Valley etiope alle bollicine delicate degli Altos de Pinto Bandeira, Arnica Rowan esplora terre remote con approcci unici alla viticoltura e al vino, pensati quasi esclusivamente per la propria gente.

Arnica Rowan explores wines that don’t make it to the international market – with distinctive styles from Ethiopia, Brazil, Thailand and beyond

Discover the wines of Ethiopia, Brazil and beyond

Non destinato all'esportazione

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

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

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

Introducing Allan Frischman

Hammer time: Allan Frischman

Matthew Fioretti non è esattamente il tipo che piace a tutti. L’uomo al timone di Cerbaiona non usa mezzi termini – e ha opinioni ben definite su, beh, praticamente tutto, sospetto. Ma è anche incrollabilmente onesto, con un approccio schietto che risulta piacevolmente rinfrescante – e piuttosto insolito nel mondo del vino di pregio. Ha una visione e una storia da raccontare, ma non è una narrazione costruita da un’agenzia di PR; è la sua. 
 Fioretti è da tempo coinvolto nel mondo del vino, avendo gestito un’attività d’importazione negli Stati Uniti (Summa Vitis), focalizzata principalmente sui vini italiani. Si è trasferito in Italia nel 2004 e ha chiuso l’operazione Summa Vitis nel 2009, puntando a produrre vino in prima persona. Dopo alcuni tentativi infruttuosi, ha saputo che Diego Molinari – storico proprietario di Cerbaiona – stava cercando di ritirarsi. Insieme a un gruppo di investitori (il più importante dei quali è il collezionista americano Gary Rieschel), Fioretti ha acquistato la proprietà nel 2015, per una cifra che si dice si aggiri intorno ai 5,8 milioni di euro. 
 Molinari era ormai negli ottant’anni e, sebbene il sito fosse eccezionale, la proprietà era in cattive condizioni e necessitava di interventi. Come riportato qualche anno fa, Fioretti ha intrapreso subito un progetto radicale di restauro della tenuta e ha inaspettatamente deciso di declassare le annate 2014 e 2015 a Rosso di Montalcino, rilasciando solo nel 2021 il primo Brunello dell’era Fioretti, con l’annata 2016 – la prima interamente realizzata dal nuovo team. Ora, quasi un decennio dopo, Fioretti sta iniziando a realizzare la sua visione per la tenuta – come abbiamo scoperto durante una visita all’inizio di quest’anno, affrontando problemi che “non sono facili da risolvere”. La sfida, spiega, è stata quella di evolversi da “artigiano” a “atelier”. Sotto Molinari, la proprietà aveva acquisito una reputazione leggendaria, ma l’operazione era rudimentale – una tradizionale impresa familiare che faceva le cose come si erano sempre fatte. Fioretti vuole portare la tenuta nell’era moderna, elevando il terroir con precisione tecnica per creare vini che continuino l’eredità di Cerbaiona. È, dice, “una transizione che non mi aspettavo di fare”, ma che considera essenziale per salvaguardare il futuro di Cerbaiona. 
 La distinzione tra artigiano e atelier è sottile – ma si riduce a un’enfasi sull’artigianato più che sull’arte, con un impegno verso la coerenza, per cui precisione e igiene in cantina sono fondamentali, così come un elevato livello di conoscenza tecnica. Ammette di aver immaginato un approccio più “hands-off” in cantina, dopo aver importato molti vini naturali nella sua precedente carriera, ma ha rapidamente capito che la vinificazione di alto livello è piena di “compromessi necessari” (scendendo in dettagli come il problema della quercetina). Come mestiere, la vinificazione non può essere soggetta ai “capricci del produttore”, come suggerisce sia tipico dell’approccio artigianale. “Preferisco lavorare in modo più meticoloso,” spiega. 
 L’americano parla a ritmo serrato, passando da TS Eliot e il concetto di “critico puro” ad Albertolli e al neoclassicismo, in mezzo a dettagli tecnici su chiarifiche e filtrazioni. La tenuta è chiusa ai visitatori, deliberatamente, per evitare distrazioni da ciò su cui Fioretti vuole concentrarsi – fare vino. Mentre ci guida rapidamente attraverso la cantina, con la testa che ci gira cercando di assorbire ogni dettaglio, ci illustra esattamente come sta portando una nuova esattezza all’operazione. I vigneti sono stati tutti ripiantati e un oliveto in forte pendenza è stato sostituito da viti, con portinnesti e cloni selezionati provenienti dal vivaio Guillaume in Francia, per garantire la migliore materia prima possibile. Un tempo considerato troppo impegnativo da coltivare, Fioretti è convinto che l’ex oliveto possa essere il miglior sito della proprietà. Le vecchie stalle e il granaio che fungevano da cantina e deposito sono stati accuratamente ristrutturati, con l’installazione di impianti idrici e di drenaggio in tutto l’edificio, e l’aggiornamento di tutte le attrezzature. Elemento importante, Fioretti ha aggiunto un laboratorio interno completo – qualcosa di estremamente raro per una tenuta di queste dimensioni, tanto più in Italia, dove l’approccio high-tech non è affatto la norma. 
 L’uva ora viene tutta raffreddata dopo la vendemmia, diraspata e sottoposta a macerazione a freddo, utilizzando gas inerte per proteggere il mosto. Sebbene per le sue prime cinque annate Fioretti avesse utilizzato tini di legno verticali per la fermentazione, è passato all’acciaio inox per una migliore igiene e controllo della temperatura (preferendo un massimo di 26°C), oltre a poter programmare automaticamente rimontaggi e follature. Ha iniziato a co-inoculare per la fermentazione primaria e malolattica, così che i vini vadano in botte molto puliti – e possano essere solforati immediatamente. 
 Si tratta di aggiustamenti, modernizzazioni minori, ma uno dei cambiamenti più significativi che Fioretti sta apportando riguarda il tempo che il vino trascorre nel legno. Mentre Molinari prediligeva oltre quattro anni in tonneaux da 500 litri, Fioretti ha iniziato gradualmente a imbottigliare prima e utilizza una combinazione di barrique da 350 litri e botti da 15 ettolitri. “Anche due anni [il minimo imposto dal disciplinare] nel legno sono troppi,” afferma – prima di riconoscere subito che questa opinione è tutt’altro che accettata, e che legalmente non può ridurla ulteriormente. I vari consorzi forse non la apprezzano, ma è una visione sempre più comune tra i giovani produttori in Italia, frustrati dai requisiti minimi di affinamento in rovere e dal loro contrasto con i vini che i consumatori di oggi vogliono bere. Come dice Fioretti, tuttavia, “La nozione di legno è molto delicata.” E anche se preferirebbe poter affinare il vino in altri contenitori durante i primi due anni di vita, riconosce che l’élevage in rovere ha un impatto benefico sulla chimica del vino – aiutando la stabilità. Con un vino così amato, potrebbe sembrare controverso cambiare qualsiasi cosa – specialmente il modo in cui viene prodotto, ma questo non ha fermato Fioretti. Guardando alle vecchie annate della tenuta, persino alla leggendaria 2010 da 100 punti, talvolta rimane deluso, ritenendo che il potenziale sia molto più alto. Parte del suo piano per riflettere quel potenziale è imbottigliare prima, permettendo al frutto di emergere e dare al vino un miglior equilibrio – qualcosa che ritiene fondamentale per il potenziale di invecchiamento. È anche attento a mantenere il grado alcolico moderato, con un massimo di 14 o 14,2%, anche negli anni più caldi. E, cosa più importante, dice, un buon vino deve essere delizioso. Dopo aver assaggiato le annate 2019 e 2021 con Fioretti – i risultati, finora, lo sono davvero. C’è una vivacità e una purezza che li rendono irresistibili, senza sacrificare la struttura che permetterà a questi vini di durare nel tempo. 
 Accanto a Cerbaiona, Fioretti ha anche creato l’etichetta M.L. Fioretti, che descrive come “parte garagiste, parte petit château”. Era desideroso di esplorare vitigni autoctoni, che “fanno parte della famiglia – ma non sono tutti purosangue”, così come parcelle di varietà bordolesi (uve di pedigree indiscutibile) – purché piantate nel posto giusto. Il Casaglia Colorino è brillante e speziato, mentre il San Vito (purtroppo l’ultima annata è la 2021) è un Merlot meravigliosamente ricco e vibrante. Sono vini affascinanti che permettono a Fioretti di sperimentare di più – al di fuori dei vincoli della denominazione Brunello di Montalcino. 
 In modo controverso, Fioretti ha dichiarato Cerbaiona una “No Scores Zone”, riecheggiando il sentimento di Teobaldo Cappellano secondo cui i punteggi numerici sono divisivi, nella migliore delle ipotesi – e non rendono giustizia all’arte della vinificazione. Nelle sue note sull’annata 2018, Fioretti ha scritto: “Questa è un’altra annata per il conoscitore, il vero amante del vino e della vite. Pazienza se il ‘collezionista’ ne resterà privo.” Parole che potrebbero far storcere il naso a qualcuno, ma la motivazione è chiara: una passione sincera per il vino. È qualcosa che traspare chiaramente nella nostra conversazione – e nei vini che sta producendo. Non troverete valutazioni online per le nuove annate di Cerbaiona, ma una cosa è certa: li vorrete nella vostra cantina. 
 Esplora tutte le attuali offerte di Cerbaiona e M.L. Fioretti, o leggi di più sull’Italia

Finora non avete visto recensioni di Cerbaiona sotto la guida di Matthew Fioretti. Con l’arrivo dei primi punteggi delle ultime uscite, è utile considerarli nel giusto contesto: il focus resta su artigianalità e precisione tecnica. Nel 2024 abbiamo parlato con l’enologo alla guida del cambiamento.

It’s all change at the cult Brunello di Montalcino winery Cerbaiona since Matthew Fioretti took over in 2015. We sat down with him to find out more.

Change at Cerbaiona – Matthew Fioretti

Cambio a Cerbaiona: Matteo Fioretti

Navigating the world of whisky sometimes requires a compass. This glossary aims to untangle some of the most common terms that trip people up when it comes to the production and enjoyment of whisky

A guide for all the commonly used and misunderstood terms in the world of whisky. You’ll find everything you need to know when purchasing and enjoying whisky.

A comprehensive guide to whisky terms

Whisky glossary

It is little wonder there has been a veritable tequila gold rush, after celebrity-backed brands have sold in excess of $1bn, and the category continued to report double-digit growth during a global pandemic. This growth wasn’t just at the entry level – as some might expect – as online sales of reposado, añejo and extra añejo soared in tequila’s biggest market, the US. The thirst for premium-and-above tequila falls to 163 certified tequila-producing companies and 8,000 agave producers, which is not as easily sated as some might think when your agricultural product takes years to mature in the ground and in barrel. While category growth is undeniably cause for celebration, artisanal producers like Clase Azul are struggling to meet demand. Production is so time and labour-intensive that, with increasing popularity, Clase Azul is considering an allocation model in the UK, as already employed in other markets. The brand’s distinctive hand-painted decanters take two weeks to produce, made by local artisans from the Mazahuas, in the town of Santa María Canchesdá. Before bottling, the organic, non-genetically modified Blue Weber agave takes nine years before it can be harvested, 72 hours to cook, and the Reposado and Añejo are both aged in ex-Bourbon casks for eight months and 25 months, respectively. Clase Azul Ultra – their top tequila – is aged between five and seven years in ex-Sherry casks, making it a popular choice for whisky lovers. Founder Arturo Lomeli is adamant he doesn’t want to streamline any of this process and compromise on quality. “In terms of the quality," Chantal Serrano (Prestige Account Manager for Spirit Cartel, the company's UK distributor) explains, "if you really want to have real agave quality with all the certifications – organic, non-genetically modified – there’s going to be a point when you are limited.” Clase Azul already has a Mezcal offering that is made from wild, 12-to -15-year-old Cenizo agave which can only be harvested once a year. The Cenizo is slowly roasted using firewood and volcanic rock, then milled by hand using an axe. Next it is fermented using stone piles with red oak and double-distilled using an alembic copper still known as El Viejo.   Premium-and-above tequila has been reporting double-digit growth for the past five years, but some still do not afford it the respect it’s due, according to Serrano. “I think if you told some of the biggest producers of Cognac that you were going to shot it, then I think they will be scandalised. Tequila might not have been aged in a barrel for as long as some whiskies, but the plant had to mature at least on average for five to seven years and, for some producers, like Clase Azul, it is nine years, so appreciate that.”  It is increasingly difficult for producers to have this conversation with consumers when some companies are being forced to cut corners to meet the seemingly unquenchable thirst for all things agave. The use of diffusers to process, in many cases raw, agave piñas so the sugars can be fermented and distilled more quickly has become a popular way of circumventing the challenges. While diffusers are undeniably effective in extracting the potential fermentable sugars – 99% to the traditional brick oven and tahona method’s 70% – the change in flavour profile is not always a favourable one.   “The only objective is to extract as much sugar as they can from the agave,” Serrano laments. “And I can sort of understand why they do it because there is such a huge demand… but you then sacrifice quality.   “Unmatured agave or very young agave is being used in the production of these diffusers. Even some chemicals will be used sometimes. Because of the whole process, certain bitter flavours will be there that ideally need to be removed so you potentially even add some flavours to make it feel like it was a real product.”  For Serrano, the two products are like day and night. “You cannot compare [diffuser products] to a product that has been aged for many years. The producer took the financial risk of having that capital sitting there and waiting for it. It takes a lot of time to create a good product, but that is also the beauty about it.”   The involvement of celebrities in the industry has done wonders, shining a light on the category – but it can also confuse consumers, according to Serrano. “Because Clase Azul is a luxury product, a lot of people think we are just focused on the marketing and the image,” she says. But the company is focused on much more than branding, with a clear commitment to its community.  Clase Azul was set up by Guadalajara-native Arturo Lomeli after he identified a gap in the market for a higher-end tequila to be sipped and savoured, much like a whisky or Cognac. Lomeli favoured the fruitier, sweeter and floral notes a Highland tequila imparts versus the typically peppery, spicy and vegetal notes from the valley (Lowlands). As such, he set up shop in Jésus María, a small town near Arandas – one of the highest points in the Jalisco highlands.  Clase Azul is in esteemed company with a Positive Luxury Butterfly Mark for its sustainable efforts. Glenmorangie, Macallan, Château d'Yquem and other luxury drinks brands boast the same. In addition to reducing its plastic and water use, the decanter can be upcycled, and Clase Azul tries to work with fair labour providers and sub-contractors. “Clase Azul try and implement all these measures with the same aim of giving something back and being a bit more responsible as a brand,” Serrano adds.   Sustainability has become increasingly important as drinkers increasingly consider a brand’s environmental impact as part of their buying decision. While this is something that is encouraged by many producers, it can lead to some slightly less robust claims in the industry, according to Serrano.   “It can be frustrating because some brands might say, ‘Oh we do give back to our community or a charity, or we do one specific action and they think look at us we do a lot of sustainability,’” Serrano says. “Whereas, for me, Clase Azul really embodies these values. Arturo Lomeli, from the start, wanted to give something and be sustainable. It was not just a trend and he thought ‘let me do it’. He’s been doing it almost from the beginning with the brand.”  The demand for aged, sustainable tequila is clear and Clase Azul is well positioned to go toe-to-toe with anybody in a battle of style versus substance.   Discover more about Clase Azul or read more Editorial 

In a world filled with big brands, Clase Azul is a tequila producer looking to do things differently. Holly Motion finds out why the artisan brand is determined for tradition to trump trends

Exploring how the highly collectable artisan tequila Clase Azul is doing things differently by honouring tradition rather than following trends.

Exploring artisan tequila producer Clase Azul  

Authentic agave: Clase Azul

If you journey to the northernmost prefecture of Japan you will find Hokkaidō. Venture deeper into the Japanese island’s stunning national parks and forests and you’ll find its native quercus crispula – the mystical mizunara. Measuring up to 30 metres in height, with long, curved branches and broad leaves, the Japanese oak tree is undeniably majestic. In recent years, this humble tree, favoured by luxury furniture makers, has become an incredibly highly sought-after commodity in the whisky world for the slightly unusual characteristics of sandalwood, coconut and incense it imparts. It is so desirable, in fact, that a single barrel can easily cost 10 times the amount you’d pay for a standard Sherry cask. If you can get your hands on one at all, that is. Mizunara hasn’t always been as desirable as it is today. In fact, track back 10 to 15 years and very few people had heard of it, let alone deigned to put their beautifully crafted whisky in it. Its popularity neatly coincides with the sudden rise of Japanese whisky and Suntory’s decision to release a whisky that had been aged, albeit fleetingly, in this Japanese oak. What many didn’t realise at the time, and arguably still don’t to this day, is how problematic the mystical mizunara is to cooper, source and use as a maturation vessel. It takes approximately 200 years before a mizunara tree reaches the desired diameter for a cask (70-80cm). It doesn’t grow in a straight line, which makes creating staves a bit of a logistical headache for coopers. It has an extremely high moisture content (mizunara literally translates as water oak), and contains more knots than other woods, which is an issue when trying to make a cask watertight. It is also porous and prone to leakage. It's fair to say that it’s not a natural choice, and historically it wasn’t used in this way. Japanese distillers traditionally used European or American oak to mature their whisky because they were heavily influenced by Scotch traditions. But a shortage of casks during and after World War II forced them to look closer to home, to their native oak tree. Fast forward to today and the number of mizunara-finished whiskies is at an all-time high. As a consequence, mizunara barrels have only become more difficult (and expensive) to source. Andrew Rankin has worked in the whisky industry for 47 years – what he doesn’t know about casks isn’t worth knowing and his connections are enviable. None more so than his relationship with one of the oldest independent cooperages in Japan, from whom he sources a steady supply of mizunara for his new Scottish Highlands distillery Ardross. He describes the Japanese oak as a “fairly recent phenomenon” that was kickstarted by Suntory – a company he knows exceptionally well from his 20-plus years at Morrison Bowmore – where they filled an “absolutely tiny percentage” of Yamazaki into mizunara a decade ago. In the years that have followed, Rankin has been watching the mizunara market closely and is sceptical as to whether there is enough supply to meet demand. “It took me years to persuade Suntory to give us some mizunara casks,” he says. “At that time, I think it was 2010, we got three used mizunara casks and we got three new mizunara casks – and that was it. And it was a one-off. We weren’t getting a regular supply of it.” Even with his connections, Rankin says he doesn’t get a committed volume of mizunara each year because it is dependent on the level of deforestation and the quality of the wood. “We were due to get 20 [barrels] in at the beginning of this year,” he says, “but we still haven’t got them because of selection problems with the wood and shipping problems.” He’s hopeful they’ll arrive before the year is out, but there’s no guarantee. From the people I have spoken to, this lengthy wait is par for the course. East Asia Whisky Company’s Christian Leusder says it takes “approximately three years before you receive a good-quality mizunara barrel”. When you’ve parted with a staggering £8,000 per cask – five times the cost of a standard European or American oak barrel – it can be galling when other producers punt for a mediocre cask, which is only partly made from mizunara or is made from multiple trees, and sell their whisky for a similar price. These, arguably, poorer imitations can be with the buyer within a month or two because they take far less time to cooper and ship. Leusder believes the “massive” difference in cask pricing and considerable delay is worth it to produce something that isn’t just “bandwagon [and] off-the-rack”. Another bone of contention regarding mizunara is the length of time the whisky has spent in barrel, and whether the cask is fully or only partly made from the Japanese oak. Suntory UK Brand Ambassador James Bowker says the Japanese whisky behemoth is “lucky” to have a “relatively consistent, quality supply chain” that has been established over many years. These relationships enable them to fully age whiskies in single casks rather than cask transferring or finishing. “You’ll see this practice across our portfolio where we use mizunara,” he says. “It gives a more rounded, complex, tertiary profile rather than a simple hit of the primary cask notes.” However, Bowker is quick to acknowledge this expensive process which requires a “significant” time investment is not always possible – financially or otherwise – for some producers. Rankin says he really doesn’t know where all these producers are sourcing mizunara casks from because they are, naturally, far more scarce today than they were a decade ago. He is also sceptical about how long some of these whiskies have spent in mizunara and believes it takes at least five years to get any influence from the wood. “At the moment, you could put your whisky in a mizunara cask, roll it about on the floor, and say it is mizunara-cask-finished,” the Master Blender says. “And you probably know, and I probably know, that it is going on.” The people who don’t know, Rankin says, are the end consumers because producers are not currently required to be transparent about this on the label. East Asia Whisky Company’s Leusder picks up the point. “If you look at what Chivas Regal are doing, they are producing a lot of mizunara single malt whiskies which are just finishes and they don’t actually have an age statement so you don’t know how long they’ve been in there,” he says. “And I personally can’t really taste the mizunara out of it.” He continues: “Finishes can be gimmicky. They can go wrong. And they do not always yield the best product.” This is one of the reasons East Asia Whisky Company dips their toe in the mizunara pool but has no intention of fully submerging its feet. Its current Macallan mizunara series stops after the third release. A mizunara-finished Springbank and Bowmore release will follow, and then Leusder says the team might try and get their hands on a younger vintage and decide to age it in mizunara until the 40-to 50-year mark, when it will no longer be a finish. Dr Bill Lumsden, the genius behind Glenmorangie and Ardbeg for the past 26 years, has pioneered experimentation on every aspect of whisky production. It is telling that he has never released a product with mizunara oak in it. He says it is the taste profile, rather than sourcing and porosity, that puts him off the Japanese oak. “If I was to take Glenmorangie new-make spirit – and I’m neither confirming nor denying that I have done this – and mature it in a new heavily-toasted mizunara oak cask for 12 years, at the end of the day, I would have something that would probably taste a little bit bizarre,” he says. Lumsden says he always recalls doing a tasting in conjunction with The Glenlivet Master Distiller Alan Winchester and Suntory Chief Blender Shinji Fukuyo in London when Fukuyo presented a fully mizunara-matured whisky. Lumsden struggles to remember if it was Yamazaki but remembers the taste profile with crystal-clear clarity. He describes it in just two words: “bewilderingly strange”. Coming from a man who invented the Russian-oak matured Ardbeg Kelpie, which he says has elements of “the smell of burning rubber when a car has screeched away”, this is quite the review. Casting an eye to the future, there is little doubt producers will continue to release mizunara-finished whiskies – certainly in the short to mid term. Leusder says he thinks it will always be popular simply because it’s so rare, but predicts there will be a larger and widening gap between high and low quality. “There will be less and less of the high and more and more of the low,” he says, “and the market will be more and more confused as to which is which.” When pushed, Suntory’s Bowker says he absolutely thinks the trend will continue and other categories will start using mizunara. But, he adds with trepidation, that he hopes producers will “respect this special wood and ensure that consumers get to experience it at its best rather than being tempted by more affordable shortcuts as you so often see in this industry”. For the time being, at least, it seems like the mystical mizunara is going to continue to enchant producers and drinkers alike. And, unless things drastically change, the onus will be on the whisky drinker to watch out for the sorcery and find the magical liquid that undoubtedly exists. Browse all spirits or read more Editorial 

Mizunara has everybody spellbound. The Japanese oak – once relatively unknown and troublesome – is now desperately sought-after. Holly Motion speaks to some of the biggest names in the cask industry about what they really think of the mystical wood

Exploring why the Japanese oak mizunara – once relatively unknown and troublesome – is now desperately sought-after in the whisky world

Investigating the rare Japanese oak, mizunara

The mystical mizunara

VinLozano Imports

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Per ordini di alto valore consigliamo la spedizione con un corriere terzo. Gli articoli spediti tramite terzi rimarranno in OWC fascettate.

A causa della quantità richiesta, non potrai selezionare una data di ritiro. Ti preghiamo di inviare la richiesta e ci coordineremo con il nostro magazzino per confermare direttamente con te la data di ritiro.

A causa della quantità richiesta, non è possibile procedere con l'acquisto. Ti preghiamo di selezionare un servizio di terze parti oppure di modificare la quantità (è consentito un massimo di 48 pezzi).

A causa della quantità richiesta, non sarà possibile selezionare una data di spedizione al checkout. Ti preghiamo di inviare la richiesta e ci coordineremo con il nostro magazzino per confermare direttamente con te la data di consegna.

Fino a 499 bottiglie in deposito, la tariffa è di 39¢/bottiglia al mese oppure un addebito mensile minimo di 50 $ (copre fino a 142 bottiglie). Per oltre 500 bottiglie, la tariffa di stoccaggio è di 35¢/bottiglia al mese.

Lo stoccaggio viene addebitato a 40 HKD per cassa da 12 bottiglie al mese. Si applica una tariffa minima mensile di stoccaggio di 80 HKD, che copre fino a 24 bottiglie.

Tariffa di stoccaggio standard

Selezionando la spedizione tramite terzi, ti assumi la piena responsabilità del rispetto di tutte le normative e autorizzi Vinfolio a trasferire gli articoli alla parte indicata nelle tue istruzioni. Gli articoli spediti tramite terzi rimarranno nel loro imballaggio originale.

Gli orari di ritiro sono tra le 8:30 e le 12:00 e tra le 13:30 e le 16:30, dal lunedì al venerdì. I vini al Will Call che non vengono ritirati entro 10 giorni lavorativi saranno trasferiti in deposito e soggetti a una tariffa di stoccaggio di 1,50 $ per bottiglia.

Gli articoli verranno reperiti e spediti al nostro deposito di vini all'avanguardia per la migliore conservazione possibile, dove potrai organizzare il ritiro presso il nostro indirizzo di magazzino a Napa.

Ritiro in sede (Napa)

Hai inserito la password errata troppe volte. Il tuo account è stato temporaneamente bloccato. Attendi cinque minuti prima di riprovare.

Sembra che tu stia visitando da {country}, ti invitiamo a scoprire il nostro sito {nationality}.

Stai navigando da {country}?

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).

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