Pochi nomi in Abruzzo sono diventati ricercati quanto Tiberio, nota soprattutto per i suoi vini monovitigno Fonte Canale, Colle Vota e Archivio. Abbiamo incontrato Cristiana Tiberio per parlare del progetto e per degustare una verticale di questi vini straordinari e innovativi.

Sitting down with Cristiana Tiberio, cult Abruzzo winemaker, and tasting a vertical of Fonte Canale, Colle Vota, Archivio wines

Cristiana Tiberio – advancing Abruzzo

L'Abruzzo avanza: Tiberio

South Africa is one of the most exciting wine-producing nations right now. A new generation – led by the likes of Eben Sadie, the Mullineux, Chris Alheit and many more – has put the Cape firmly on the fine wine agenda. Its pinpoint Chenin Blanc, serious Syrah and laidback winemakers have made it the darling of the industry – yet this modish group of surfer-cum-winemakers seems a world away from the sweet wines of Constantia.  “Constantia Wyn” was South Africa’s original vinous export – savoured by the good and great of the 18th and 19th centuries. Bismarck, Frederick the Great, Louis XVI and George Washington are all noted to have enjoyed it, while Napoleon had vast volumes shipped to him in exile on St Helena (drinking up to a bottle a day) – and it was supposedly the only thing he wished to consume on his deathbed. The wine is mentioned by Dickens, Dumas and Baudelaire, with Jane Austen’s Mrs Jennings in Sense and Sensibility famously recommending it for “its healing powers on a disappointed heart”.  How, then, did such a legendary wine fall from grace? Economic downturn in the second half of the 19th century, followed by the arrival of mildew and phylloxera in the Cape, and the subsequent dominance of the KWV – the state-run cooperative – saw it vanish.  But in 1985, the Klein Constantia property was bought by Duggie Jooste. He replanted the vineyards, built a new winery and worked on overhauling the long-neglected estate. In 1986 he and winemaker Ross Gower produced the first vintage of Vin de Constance – their tribute to “Constantia Wyn” – released in 1990. It was made with Muscat de Frontignan (a particularly thick-skinned clone of Muscat) left to raisin on the vine, producing a luscious sweet wine, with no botrytis influence. It was an instant success – but quality and style was inconsistent, and Vin de Constance was just one wine in the range, rather than a focus.   It was only in 2012 that Klein Constantia embarked on a new chapter. The property had been for sale for a while and, as Vice Chairman Hans Astrom told me, it was “a bit dusty” and severely in need of attention. It changed hands in 2011, with Zdenek Bakala – an American-Czech billionaire – and British banker Charles Harman taking over, merging a year later with the Stellenbosch estate Anwilka, part-owned by Duggie Jooste’s son Lowell Jooste, Hubert de Boüard (of Ch. Angélus) and Bruno Prats (previously of Cos d’Estournel). Matthew Day – who had worked at the property since 2008 – took over as winemaker. While the estate still produces a full range of whites and reds, Vin de Constance is its flagship.  Now, a decade on, the importance of this shift is shining through. Being a “legacy winery” used to be “what got us in the door”, Day explains, but Klein Constantia is no longer trading on its past. The wines made between 1986 and 2012 were experimental, Day notes – with bottlings ranging significantly in sweetness (from 80 to 180g/l residual sugar) – but they were “vital in figuring out where we are going”. His favourites from that era are the 1987, 1991, 1995, 1996 and 2001 (“with 1991 and 1987 being at the top of that list”), but he’s more excited about the wines he’s producing today. “The older Vin de Constances are more in the style of being sweet wines, whereas the newer vintages are just wines,” adds Day.   Since 2012, they have gradually evolved the style, striving for balance and freshness, with increased precision. For Day, the aim is to make “a sweet wine that doesn’t taste sweet”.  The first shifts were in the vineyard, which since the mid-2000s has been farmed sustainably with some organic and biodynamic practices. The team planted more bush vines that ripen and raisin earlier in the season, therefore retaining more acidity. While they used to pick parcels from January to have high-acid components for blending, now – with the bush vines – they can pick a more uniformly ripe crop, yet not sacrifice acidity.  The end goal remains to have as many components as possible for blending, with the harvest team picking in passes and bringing between one and five kilograms of grapes in per day. While the wine used to vary in alcohol and sugar level, they now aim for around 165g/l residual sugar and 14% alcohol – where they think the best balance is found, varying slightly according to vintage.   The 2016 vintage was the first to be made in a new cellar – a practical and hygienic space. As for what actually happens in the cellar, the key changes have been around skin contact and élevage. The must now spends a week on skins, inoculated with a non-saccharomyces yeast to protect them from biological contamination and the development of volatile acidity, extracting all-important flavour compounds, but not phenolics. They then inoculate for alcoholic fermentation, which lasts between one and three months. They also started re-introducing the use of foudre for ageing the wines in 2016. From 2019, the wine will spend its first 1.5 years in new 500-litre barrels (encouraging the evolution of secondary flavours), before being transferred to older foudre for another 1.5 years (giving oak influence but without the ageing effect of micro-oxygenation).   Tasting the 2012 alongside the 2019 highlights the differences. The two vintages were similarly cool, both picked in April, and although the residual sugar is almost identical, the 2019 feels significantly fresher – with a pithy, textured freshness that offsets its sweetness.   This whimsical wine of yore might feel like a counter to the nation’s new wave, but it’s not so, says Day. “For me, Klein Constantia has always been at the forefront of the movement, but in a completely different way. We might not be as trendy as some of the newer producers, but we like to think the work we have done with Vin de Constance over the past decade has shown the world that South Africa has the potential to compete with the best of the best in the world.”   Browse all current listings from Klein Constantia or browse more Editorial

Loved by Dickens, Austen and Napoleon, the sweet wines of Constantia were legendary in the 18th and 19th century. But Klein Constantia – the estate revived in the 1980s – is done with looking back. Sophie Thorpe caught up with winemaker Matthew Day to find out what lies ahead 

Klein Constantia’s winemaker Matthew Day on the evolution of Vin de Constance, South Africa’s most iconic and historic sweet wine

A new era for Klein Constantia’s Vin de Constance

A constant evolution: Vin de Constance

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  

“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

The latest from Latour In the wake of last week’s launch of the 2016 vintage of the First Growth’s third wine, Pauillac de Latour, the Pauillac powerhouse will be releasing the 2013 vintage of the Grand Vin, as well as 2015 Les Forts de Latour, its second wine. The 2013 is only the second vintage of the Grand Vin that the property has released since it moved away from en primeur – and there’s no doubt, despite the vintage’s sometimes maligned reputation, that this is going to be highly sought-after. New from Champagne March brings with it a bounty of fine fizz releases. Top of our wish-list are the new wines from Henri Giraud – a House that produces small volumes of outstanding, terroir-driven wines, almost all of which are oak-fermented (and is, for that reason, often compared favourably to Krug). We’ll see the latest release of its multi-vintage cuvée (described by Jancis Robinson MW as “a sort of Montrachet of Champagne”) and the new, 2013 vintage of their top wine, Argonne. Keep an eye out also for 2007 Bollinger R.D. and Pol Roger’s 2012 Sir Winston Churchill.  Single-farm spirits The unfailingly modish and exciting Irish distillery Waterford has been making waves in recent weeks, having scientifically proven terroir’s influence in whisky. This month will see the latest spirits from the Irish distillery released – two single-farm single malts that offer a chance for you to explore the concept yourself. One comes from Hook Head – a site on the southern coast with clay-loam soils, while the other hails from Lakefield, with deep loam soils in County Laois. Burgundy There are still a few 2019s emerging from the Côte d’Or – including wines from Domaine des Lambrays and Le Grappin. Clos des Lambrays was a stand-out from our trip in October last year, while Aussie Andrew Nielsen’s Le Grappin wines (a darling of London’s restaurant scene) offer brilliant value year in, year out. The 2021 collection from Maison Leroy has almost entirely sold out, however we’ll also see the latest releases from the rest of Lalou Bize-Leroy’s empire – Domaine Leroy and Domaine d’Auvenay. Available, as ever, in tiny volumes, these are some of the world’s most collectable wines, and unmissable for Burgundy aficionados. Italian icons After a series of superlative 2016s from Brunello, Tuscany is on the mind. While Castello di Ama’s 2017 San Lorenzo is already available, the 2018 vintage of the Chianti Classico property’s flagship wine, L’Apparita, will be released in the coming weeks. Tasting through a selection of the range with our team, CEO Lorenza Sebasti told us that she and winemaker Marco Pallanti feel it’s “the best we’ve ever made”. We’ll also see the new vintage of Ornellaia’s entry-level bottling – Le Volte dell’Ornellaia, which provides an affordable and earlier-drinking taste of this Super Tuscan estate, ahead of the release of Ornellaia “proper” in April.

A new month brings another flurry of fine wine and spirits releases. While Bordeaux en primeur is on the horizon, March sees new vintages from Latour and the Grandes Marques, as well as releases from Tuscany, Burgundy and Ireland’s most exciting distillery: here’s our pick of the bunch

A new month brings another flurry of fine wine and spirits releases. Here, we pick the best of the bunch – from Latour, Castello di Ama, Waterford and more 

The wines and spirits to look out for this March

What to look out for this March

Schrader Cellars is one of Napa’s most decorated producers. The estate’s approach of pairing specific clones with the perfect site to produce the ultimate expression of Napa Cabernet has made it a critics’ darling – and the property is behind some of the most coveted fine wines on the market. To date, Schrader has received an astounding 35 100-point scores.  Schrader Cellers founder Fred Schrader and the estate’s winemaker Thomas Rivers Brown are huge fans of the To Kalon vineyard in Napa’s Oakville and much of the production from Schrader is concentrated on this single site, such is the obsession with the place and conviction in its quality.   To Kalon is home to some of Napa’s oldest vines and best Cabernet Sauvignon. There are more 100-point wines to originate from this vineyard than any other on the planet and many famous names have built their reputation on it. Schrader bottles different clones of Cabernet Sauvignon from this site, highlighting the nuance and personality that Napa Cabernet can achieve.  Stylistically, Schrader’s wines are immense, opulent and plushly textured, underpinned by elegant power. Schrader is high-octane Napa at its finest. It is immediately clear tasting through the range that these are precise wines. High alcohol, high levels of oak, high levels of concentration are all potential red flags when it comes to wine faults (these wines being much more volatile), but these Schrader bottlings are as clean as a whistle.   With a total production of just 2,500 to 4,000 cases each year, this is meticulous winemaking at its finest. It means winemaker Thomas Rivers Brown and his team can keep these high-octane wines protected from potential faults throughout fermentation and élevage, never losing the fruit clarity that so clearly defines these wines.  RBS is made entirely from the Cabernet Clone 337 from Beckstoffer To Kalon. Jason Smith – Schrader’s in-house Master Sommelier – explains that this clone is their most fruit-driven; it can achieve phenomenal levels of ripeness and is known for its bright, fruit-forward style. Tasting the 2017, the wine is super intense, though the power is measured, pulsing with energy that builds beautifully on the palate. The purity of fruit is impressive and the fruit flavours mesh so well with the new oak tones, while a distinct red fruit character dominates. It is beautifully balanced, despite its opulence. Due to Clone 337’s natural style, it spends less time in new oak – around 18-19 months.  CCS is made from Clone 4 Cabernet – also known as the Mendoza clone – in To Kalon. Clone 4 is known for its density on the mid-palate and is much more tannic and extracted than the RBS. The wine really does have a denser core and more intensity compared to Clone 337. The fruit character is also darker and much more brooding. The 2018 still has more to give and is a little clenched at the moment. The warmer 2018 vintage also would potentially emphasise that, but this is also the characteristic of the clone, built for longer ageing.  The Heritage Clone cuvée is made with Clone 31 – the original clone planted by Robert Mondavi in To Kalon. The 2019 is a breath-taking wine. This is perhaps partly due to 2019 being an incredibly expressive vintage, but what is most notable is how the intensity is matched by overriding freshness. The balance of concentration and acidity from Clone 31 (at least in this vintage) really gives the wine a distinct character. It is stunning – and the length is really quite something. Old Sparky is Schrader’s top cuvée – a mix of Fred Schrader’s favourite blocks from To Kalon curated and blended differently each year. To taste the 2012 out of magnum, a wine now with some bottle age, was a rare treat, but also confirmed the precision at work at Schrader. After 10 years in bottle the wine has fully unfurled, the tannins bring structure but are open-knit. The depth is extraordinary. There are the first signs of tertiary development but the aromas are still so pure. It is a heavenly bottle and such is its balance that it is going to age effortlessly, but why resist this any longer, it is perfect now.   Contrasting the three clonal wines side by side, it is undeniable that each of the wines have quite different personalities considering they are all Cabernet from the same vineyard and made by the same winemaker. When it comes to personality, the Heritage Clone bottling really stands out, but matches the other bottlings for its plushness and amazing fruit clarity. Old Sparky, as a blend of clones, also shows how well they can work together. Understanding the effects different clones have on wine flavour, structure, concentration and ageing potential is one more aspect to a wine’s make-up that, while not often so publicly addressed as with Schrader’s bottlings, has played an instrumental part over the last 20 years in building fine wine’s complexity.  The latest vintage from Schrader is released each autumn. Find out more about the estate and browse all current listings of back-vintages, or read more about California 

Top Napa estate Schrader Cellars has championed the use of individual clones of Cabernet Sauvignon in its quest for quality. Tasting through the range with the property’s own Master Sommelier Jason Smith, we explore how these pioneering wines have won the hearts of oenophiles around the world

Talking to Master Sommelier Jason Smith about Schrader Cellars’ use of single-clone To Kalon Cabernet Sauvignon to make the finest Napa wine

Clonal Cabernet Sauvignon with Schrader Cellars

Talking clonal Cabernet with Schrader Cellars

Noel Verset is a true wine legend of Cornas. In fact, the fine wine region might not even have existed today were it not for his resilience and that of his compatriots Auguste Clape and Rene Balthazar.  Today, Cornas is widely recognised as one of the world's greatest sites for Syrah production and although the history of winemaking in this village dates back over a thousand years, just 50 years ago it was largely a forgotten backwater of the Rhone Valley. Even up until the 1990s Cornas' top producers did not share the gravitas of the more established nearby villages of Côte-Rôtie and Hermitage. But it is now common for Noel Verset’s wines to out-price top  Côte-Rôtie and Hermitage due to its rarity and historical importance. Like much of Europe’s viticultural regions, Cornas was left devastated by the Phylloxera outbreak in the late 1800s. The onset of World War I, The Great Depression and World War II only further damaged the region. Production levels were in continual decline and many vineyards were left abandoned. Despite its dwindling production, however, Cornas was awarded its appellation status in 1938. Noel Verset and his vigneron father witnessed much of this downfall. Born in Cornas (in 1919)  Verset was working with his father in the vineyards by the age of 12. Despite the region being on its knees at this time, Noel and his father continued to manage vines on the steepest, most difficult and low-yielding granite sites, which they knew produced the finest wines in the region.  In 1943, after marrying his wife Aline Balthazar (sister of Rene Balthazar, another godfather of Cornas), Noel stopped working with his father and set up his own business. Five years later, Noel Verset purchased Domaine del Sabarotte, a 1.3-hectare vineyard,  from Cornas négociant Delaygue. Verset continued to secure arguably the finest plots in the Cornas appellation, including the lieu-dits of Chaillots, Champelrose and Reynard which are all very steep granite sites. The industrialisation boom in the 1950s further depopulated the region making it a largely forgotten site for wine production. According to John Livingstone Learmonth’s book on Northern Rhone, Cornas remained in a time warp right through the 1970s. From 1968 to 1976 Verset, now in his mid-fifties, was forced to take on a second job in the town of Valence,
unpacking parcels from railway wagons, working evening shifts whilst managing his vineyards during the day.   However, the northern Rhône's star was starting to rise, as wine collectors from around the world started to look beyond Bordeaux and Burgundy. Neighbouring Hermitage and Côte Rôtie were starting to enjoy fame and although Cornas was playing catch up, quality improvements were taking place as growers started to bottle their own wine.  It was slow progress. Auguste Clape was the first to bottle his Cornas in 1955 and by the 1980s only 20 of the 60 growers, including Verset, had followed suit. However, the greatness of these low-yielding, estate-bottled expressions needed time to show its potential. Verset and Clape's benchmark style for Cornas was fiercely traditional, rugged Syrah, built for bottle maturation.   Cornas was brought back from the brink by the tireless efforts of Noel Verset, Auguste Clape and Rene Balthazar. Between the 1970s and 2005, the appellation had doubled in size to more than 100 hectares and there was growing demand for its vertiginous sites. In 2001, and nearing retirement at 82 years of age, the sale of his original Sabarotte vineyard to Auguste Clape and Laurent Courbis yielded four times more than it had been valued at just six years earlier. Finally, the vineyards of Cornas and Verset's wines had gained the recognition they deserved.  
In 2015, Verset passed away, aged 95, but his legend lives on in his wines, which often fetch prices exceeding the very best Côte Rôtie and Hermitage bottlings.  A number of the most prized 21st-century Cornas wines hail from the plots Verset nursed over eight decades. Thierry Allemand bought his Reynard vineyard and would go on to become the darling of the new generation of Cornas while his nephew Franck Balthazar took over the Chaillots vineyard in 2006 and has become a highly respected Cornas producer in his own right. The current custodians of these have inherited the Cornas earth and they have Verset to thank for it. Noel Verset also used to sell two barrels of wine to respected négociant Tardieu Laurent who were producing their top Cornas Vieilles Vignes cuvee made from Verset’s wine blended with another Cornas legend Robert Michel’s wine. On discovering the connection we couldn’t believe our luck when we were able to source the cuvee from the widely respected 1999 vintage retailing at under £40 a bottle. If you can even find a Verset bottle from this period it is retailing at well over £400 a bottle. Of course, it is not the same thing, but the interwoven web of wine production can sometimes lead you to some pretty magical discoveries. Whilst the odd case of Noel Verset’s Cornas comes up on the market every now and then, you might have more luck sourcing the Tardieu Laurent Cornas Vieilles Vignes which he contributed to, up until the 2006 vintage.  Explore more Editorial 

Noel Verset is one of the world’s great wine legends. During his 75-year winemaking career, the vigneron was instrumental in putting Cornas back on the fine wine map. We explore the legend's impact

Exploring winemaking legend Noel Verset's impact during his 75-year career which has included putting Cornas on the fine wine map.

A legend of Cornas winemaking

Noel Verset: A legend of Cornas

Calon Ségur was my first ever en primeur purchase. There was such hype around the 2005 vintage and I was desperate to get my hands on something, anything. At the time I was a delivery driver for a small wine merchant and it was a luxury, but I could just afford a 12-bottle case of Calon Ségur. That alone is proof of just how cheap this wine was at the time, and how little in demand. The château always had pedigree, however. It was classified as a Third Growth in 1855 – a ranking that may even have been an underestimation, given its reputation today. Evidence of wine-growing on the estate dates all the way back to the 12th century. Since then, the property has passed through the hands of some of the most important winemaking families in Bordeaux. By 1718, the Marquis de Calon owned not just Calon Ségur but Lafite Rothschild, Latour and Mouton Rothschild. With the exception of Ch. Margaux, all the future Médoc First Growths were under his management, but he famously said, “I make wine at Lafite and Latour, but my heart is at Calon.” The quote inspired the heart that adorns every bottle. More recently, the vintages produced under Georges Gasqueton in the 1920s, ’40s and ’50s remain legendary. So, what went wrong? How could an estate, favoured over Lafite and Latour, fall so far from grace? In modern times, the blame seems to have been lain firmly at the feet of Madame Denise Gasqueton who took over the property after her husband died in 1995 and managed it until her death in 2011. But current Technical Director Vincent Millet says this is an unfair assumption. And he should know. If there has been one constant at Calon Ségur through its complete transformation, it is him – having started working at Calon in 2006. “Gasqueton was very traditional in her approach,” says Millet, “but her methods were not uncommon at the time.” Millet explains how the 1970s, ’80s and even ’90s were a lean era in the Médoc. Prices for the wines hit rock bottom and costs had to be cut to survive. Philippe Gasqueton – her husband – had instigated a mass uprooting of Calon Ségur’s vines, hoping to save on labour costs, which were the estate’s biggest outgoing. Although it’s hard to believe now, they pulled up every other row of vines. While Saint-Estèphe had a great reputation for Cabernet Sauvignon, it was harder to grow than the earlier-ripening Merlot, which typically produced more fruit. As Merlot gained in popularity, plantings in the Calon vineyards grew. By the time Millet joined the estate, Merlot represented 50% of the blend at Calon.  Millet is not critical of Gasqueton’s decisions. “It was necessary to survive,” he says. But he knew Merlot was not the best variety for the Médoc and he was keen to make changes. He’d spent five years working with Ch. Margaux, Mouton, Latour, Pétrus, Haut-Brion and Lafite Rothschild, examining the effects of filtration on wine. He then joined Ch. Margaux, heading up their research development department for eight years. By the time he reached Calon, he knew that changes in the vineyard would rekindle its reputation – a disappointment to Madame Gasqueton who had invested in a new winery just a few years earlier. But Gasqueton was open to Millet’s ideas and he convinced her to build a truly state-of-the-art winery at their other estate, Ch. Capbern. “Capbern became a laboratory,” explains Millet. It was their playground, providing much of the research that would inform the work at Calon. Soon before Millet’s arrival, Gasqueton started restructuring the vineyards to make sure they met the appellation’s minimum vine density. Millet then started dividing up the vineyard and identifying the best plots and replacing the Merlot. Importantly he also insisted that rather than harvesting the Cabernet straight after the Merlot, they would wait for the fruit to be fully ripe – something he remembers having to persuade Gasqueton was necessary. “We have to act when the grapes tell us to, not the other way around,” he explains. By 2008, Cabernet Sauvignon once again represented 80% of the vineyard – the same proportion as in the estate’s legendary period in the early 20th century. By the time Gasqueton passed away in 2011, the roadmap for changing Calon’s fortunes was already in place. The estate was purchased by the insurance company Suravenir in 2012. And the new owners, much to Millet’s delight, were happy to invest in the property. As the financial constraints lessened, Millet was able to implement changes rapidly. Under the new management, Millet found he could be more selective with the fruit. He could easily distinguish the best plots, as they were all now vinified separately. Amazingly, production of the Grand Vin dropped by almost half. Between 2000 and 2005 production sat at around 180,000-200,000 bottles a year. Today they make just 100,000 bottles of the Grand Vin.  The second wine Marquis de Calon became the expression of Merlot at Calon Ségur (almost a copy of Calon’s profile under Madame Gasqueton). But today Calon Ségur is distinctly Cabernet-driven and it is what Millet believes is the best interpretation of Calon Ségur and Saint-Estèphe’s terroir. There’s much more to the wine than Cabernet, however. “Calon Ségur is all about finesse,” he says. “It doesn’t have the terroir to make the powerful wines of Ch. Montrose or Cos d’Estournel. The wine would be too rustic if we tried to make it more powerful.” It’s this elegance that makes it unique in the appellation, defying Saint-Estèphe’s reputation for chunky, slightly awkward tannins. Today, the estate is firing on all cylinders and it has become the darling of Saint-Estèphe.  With its change in fortune, financial security and the capable hands of Vincent Millet, the property has rediscovered its terroir – the one thing that hasn’t changed over the centuries. I still have one bottle left of that first case of 2005 I bought – and it turns out, despite being the only thing I could afford, it was a brilliant buy. Having been able to taste through every vintage since has been fascinating, allowing me to follow the estate’s journey. Maybe with the final bottle, I will toast its 20th birthday. It will neatly mark a fascinating transformation of this once ugly duckling estate – that today has become Saint-Estèphe’s most elegant. Explore all current Calon Ségur listings or read more Editorial

Until relatively recently, Saint-Estèphe estate Calon Ségur rarely lived up to its Third Growth status, but today it is one of the region’s most in-demand names. Gavin Smith speaks to winemaker Vincent Millet about this property’s miraculous transformation 

Calon Segur’s winemaker Vincent Millet on this Saint-Estephe ugly duckling estate’s miraculous transformation

Talking to Vincent Millet of Calon Segur

Calon Ségur: the ugly duckling of Saint-Estèphe

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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

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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).

Darling

Filtro

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