Even as wine lovers new and old have more choice than ever and with many producers and regions challenging Burgundy’s supremacy, I’ll plant my flag firmly on the hill that everyone should take time to explore Burgundy (essay coming soon). But with 44 communes and hundreds of named vineyards, where should one start?

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Applying Some Discipline

It can be tempting to cannonball jump into Grand Cru waters and experience the depths and grandeur that Burgundy can reach, but I advise restraint. A Grand Cru Burgundy is almost assuredly going to impress, but the novice will lack the context that lower-level wines provide. If one doesn’t understand the gap between the good but accessible, how can one appreciate a wine like a Grand Cru in its entirety?

The good news of starting at a lower level is that the costs are less of an imposition. Furthermore, unlike in decades past, even humble Bourgogne Regionale wines can impress and delight courtesy of global warming’s impact on grape ripeness in the region. A wine from the Haute Cotes de Beaune or Nuits is no longer an afterthought. And villages like Chablis and many of the Maconnais wines can provide ample pleasure below the $30 mark. For red Burgundy, you’ll have to hunt for producers who declassify fruit to find those regional wines that overdeliver.

Between red and white Burgundy, I also would say that newcomers should undoubtedly start with white. The general wine industry retail model is to feature the latest vintage. Wine shops push the newest vintage forward, which is a problem for reds — village and premier cru reds often need a couple years to integrate. White burgundy sidesteps this issue, to a degree. You can buy recently released white Burgundies and have a wine that doesn’t feel like it’s missing anything or coming up short, even if it too could benefit from a couple years of bottle age.

The Rules Matter, Until They Don’t

France’s Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée (AOC) system guarantees quality through tiers — in Burgundy, that means regional, village, premier cru, and grand cru. But the system is binary: a wine either qualifies for an AOC or it doesn’t. At the regional level, this creates a labeling gap. A producer’s declassified village fruit gets dumped in with bulk wine from anywhere in Burgundy — a white t-shirt thrown in with the colors.

In 2017, after producers had pleaded their case for two decades, the rules finally changed. The number of Regionale AOCs was consolidated from 23 to seven. Alongside this, the Dénomination Géographique Complémentaire (DGC) system expanded, allowing producers to add a geographic qualifier to regional wines.

What that means for you is that when you come across a white Burgundy with an extra geographic qualifier, you’re generally buying something of better quality and tighter production rules. A wine labeled Bourgogne Côte-d’Or means the grapes must come from delimited parcels in the Côte de Beaune or Côte de Nuits, often including declassified Village-level fruit. You’ll see this regional modifier on a few other wines in the flight.

Before We Dive In…

To help guide you on your white Burgundy journey, I’ve pulled together five Burgundies, ranging from $27-$42, from across two vintages that should provide various points of entry. I tasted each bottle over three days, deliberately stressing them with oxygen exposure between sessions to see how they held up.

I’ve left out Chablis — a world unto itself — and the value-driven Mâconnais wines, which I featured in a previous tasting.

The Wines

I felt it fitting to start with one of my first Burgundy wines. This wine’s label tells two stories—one about the regulatory changes, one about the address.

First, this wine carries the Bourgogne Côte-d’Or designation we discussed. This designation covers parcels in the Côte de Beaune and Côte de Nuits that don’t carry a Village name on the label — either because they sit just outside a Village boundary, or because the producer chose to declassify them.

And that brings us to the second label secret: the address. Puligny-Montrachet is famous for its sharp, precise Chardonnays usually having a salty register in the finish. The majority of fruit is sourced from the Les Houlieres vineyard and a portion just over the Puligny-Montrachet AOC boundary. The domaine’s location is a five-minute walk from the most famous name in the village—Domaine Leflaive—who also use Les Houlieres fruit for their own Bourgogne Blanc. Talk about rubbing shoulders with nobility!

The Bzikot family were Polish immigrants who arrived in Burgundy just prior to World War II, and built up the domaine in the years that followed the war when land was cheap and available. Sylvain and Beatrice Bzikot now lead the domaine, but have opted to consolidate everything under their négociant label (Sylvain Bzikot) starting in the 2024 vintage. This will be the last label for this humble wine.

The wine undergoes full malolactic fermentation—converting sharp malic acid into softer lactic acid—to provide a creamy, buttery mouthfeel at the cost of some piercing acidity. This is balanced against a mixed élevage: 30% aged in stainless steel, 70% in oak with only 5% of that portion in new oak. There’s a deliberate attempt here to produce an early drinking Chardonnay that avoids feeling too simple.

Domaine Bzikot Pere et Fils Bourgogne Côte-d’Or 2023 – 13%, $26.40

Nose – Scents of lemon juice, lemon candy, lily flower, tarragon, and chives tiptoe out of the glass. Orchard fruits of green apple and peach march behind them. A touch of sour cream with a hint of saltiness adds interest. But a wrinkle of alcohol interrupts a rather classic nose. (5/9)

Palate – Crystalline peach shimmers gently, and as it begins to fade, cream and butter enter and provide support and weight without dipping into overt heaviness. It’s a genuinely lovely development courtesy of that delayed flavor hit. Despite this, there’s also a thinness here, a depth it never reaches. (5/9)

Finish – Oak provides plenty of scaffolding as the creaminess from the palate meets sharp green apple. Salted butter and almond coat the mouth in an oily texture. (6/9)

Impressions – Advertises as baby Puligny Montrachet and more than delivers on the promise. 2023 wasn’t a golden vintage for white burgundy, but it has led to some early-drinking wines and this plays to the vintage’s strengths. (3/3)

Conclusion – There’s a bit of fuzziness to this picture, like sloppy watercolors, but spend enough time and you can assemble a pleasant view. The simplest wine of this bunch and yet the most effective and amiable (it’s the wife’s favorite). In truth, I’ve had better years of this wine, though this isn’t lagging behind by much. The problem with an entry-level wine this solid is it makes climbing the range a tough proposition. (89/100)

Moving away from Puligny-Montrachet, just to the north we have Meursault. Here Chardonnays have gained a reputation for being plush, rich, and were the template that Californian Chardonnay emulated. The Boisson family here has been making wines for two centuries, with siblings Pierre and Anne Boisson releasing separate wines while sharing the same winemaking facility.

Pierre is also a long-time friend to Raphael Coche, son of Jean-Francois Coche of Meursault’s famous Domaine Coche-Dury. This kinship matters because Coche-Dury is one of white Burgundy’s most prominent practitioners of reductive winemaking — deliberately limiting oxygen during fermentation and aging. This preserves acidity, and also introduces particular aromas tied to sulfur compounds. When done well, and with time to integrate, the wines display seductive notes of gunflint and it helps preserve the volatile fruity aromas that might be lost (oxidized) when exposed to oxygen. The uptake in this style is partly in response to Burgundy’s premox (premature oxidation) problems in the early 2000s.

While driving in the tiny village of Nantoux (Haute-Côtes de Beaune), just above Pommard, Pierre noticed a bare hillside. Finding unplanted hillsides in Burgundy is uncommon, since the hills provide water drainage that promotes high-quality fruit. When Pierre inspected the soil, he found limestone—the same soil character that breeds the fine wines of his village. In 2016, he purchased the two-hectare plot and planted vines. The wine, translating to “The Stone Path”, represents a rare untapped part of the Beaune.

Pierre ferments and conducts full malolactic fermentation in barrel. He racks the wines—moving the wine from one barrel to another—at 15 months and the wine rests for another four months. There’s a very careful interplay here to control oxygen contact and acidity. The wine is bottled unfiltered.

Since the plot is brand new, the vines have barely hit their 10-year mark as of the time of writing, and only seven years old for the bottling of this wine.

Domaine Pierre Boisson Hautes-Cotes de Beaune – Le Chemin de Pierre 2023 – 12.5%, $36

Nose – A congested nose where floral elements, peaches, and pears fight against reductive notes of bacon fat and struck match. Nutmeg stands off on the sidelines. Medium-high volume and round in character. (5/9)

Palate – Juicy pear and yellow apple dance on the palate, but without much structural backbone underneath them. Medium-bodied and soft where you’d expect tension. (4/9)

Finish – The flavors almost roll out in a hurry. Almond butter, goat cheese, cream, and conference pear. A mineral element like river stones provides one last ripple of flavor. Oily and that texture lingers even if the flavors do not. (6/9)

Impressions – The intentionally reductive style here works against it considering its relative youth and the young vines. There’s a depth and concentration issue here, possibly a result of the vintage, and I’m skeptical of its ability to survive the several years it needs for those reductive elements to integrate. But a valiant effort to produce wine from a rare, unplanted plot in Burgundy. (1/3)

Conclusion – There’s a whiff of aristocratic air and composure here, but the hollowness holds it back from greatness while the reductive elements limit present enjoyment. (86/100)

If Pierre Boisson was trying to bottle lightning outside of his established village, then Pierre Girardin is after something entirely different with this wine. When talking with US importer Skurnik, Pierre Girardin couldn’t hide a smile when discussing this wine, “[It’s] very close to my heart, because it’s my entry level wine.”

Entry-level here means an astonishingly unusual blend of Meursault, Volnay, and Pommard fruit.

Pierre is the 13^th generation of his family to produce Burgundian wine (what’s the Boissons two centuries next to 13 generations?), but he didn’t step into a pre-built brand. His father, Vincent, sold off the Vincent Girardin domaine in 2011, but kept 4.5 hectares of his best sites to pass on to his son. Only in his late 20s, Pierre has been able to supplement his holdings with purchased fruit from top growers, building a tapestry of prized vineyards and parcels. For his white wines, he follows the same production methods across his cuvees—what changes in the location and the indigenous yeasts.

Despite the depth of history and tradition behind him, Pierre has no problem breaking from the rules and norms in the pursuit of quality. His “Éclat de Calcaire” Blanc (translating roughly to ‘a shard of struck limestone’) is an unusual blend featuring predominately Meursault fruit (eastern plots close to the hospital) joined by Volnay and/or Pommard—two villages that do not permit the village name on Chardonnay—depending on the vintage. Normally blending these parcels would become Regionale Bourgogne, just Bourgogne Blanc. However, Pierre Girardin has stripped that label (and baggage) as of the 2023 vintage. Why he chose Vin de France over Bourgogne Blanc isn’t documented anywhere I could find. My most generous read is that he’s making a quiet statement about the regulations he operates under.

In a slight departure from his other whites, Pierre shortens his aging time to nine months in oak followed by four months in stainless steel (not unlike Boisson). His 456L casks are custom commissioned from Francois Freres, one of the preeminent barrel makers supplying major domaines and wineries around the world.

Pierre Girardin Éclat de Calcaire Vin de France – 12.5%, $42

Nose – Also a reductive one but a little quieter and more austere than the Boisson. Bacon fat, struck matches, sulfur, burnt popcorn (sans butter) badger the nose. Underneath, some indistinct stone fruit lurks. Like the Boisson, the reductive style introduces a roundness here. (3/9)

Palate – Oak enters first, providing salted butter, cream, and almonds. Then yellow apple and pear glide in after. There is a fizziness here, suggesting a wine undergoing re-fermentation. However, this actually pairs wonderfully with the more overt oak here. A heavy wine capable of litheness. (6/9)

Finish – Veers more saccharine with hints of mango and ripe apple. Floral notes rise from the backdrop and an undercurrent of saltiness provides good structure and length. However, those reductive elements come back here introducing some awkwardness as they clash with what came before. (5/9)

Impressions – A wine that intentionally breaks Burgundy’s rules with its declassification. The name—struck limestone—says it all and the blend across Meursault, Volnay, and Pommard exists to isolate that mineral signature rather than promote any single village identity. On those terms, it delivers. (3/3)

Conclusion – A wine that succeeds in spite of or even because of this bottle’s particular faults. I could see this being a real stunner with some more age on it, but its reductive style works against it in its youth and in this lineup. I normally don’t comment on appearance much but this is notably cloudy and hazy. (87/100)

In Burgundy, the Côte d’Or (Côte de Beaune and Côte de Nuits) gets the prestige, and the Mâconnais the value. That leaves the middle part, the Côte Chalonnaise, in an awkward position. Historically, this subregion produced wines of quiet value, with a few 1er cru vineyards scattered around. The first village in the north of the subregion, Rully, actually sits on the same limestone shelf that its more northern siblings (aforementioned Puligny-Montrachet and Meursault) made their Chardonnay’s calling card. Success is not guaranteed in Burgundy and by the 1980s and 1990s Domaine de la Folie, once Rully’s standard-bearer, had slid considerably.

In 2010, Clémence and Sébastien Dubrelle took control over the domaine and breathed new life into it. By the end of the decade, critic Neal Martin was mentioning them alongside more famous names like Lamy-Caillat (I’ve reviewed their other domaine here) and Arnoux-Lachaux. Fueling their rise back to prominence are their two monopole (single-owner) vineyards: Clos du Chaigne and Clos Saint Jacques. Monopole vineyards are uncommon in Burgundy due to inheritance laws, and full ownership is often taken as a sign of more uniform quality since farming practices are consistent in the entire vineyard.

Both Clos du Chaigne and Clos Saint Jacques, with an average vine age of 50 and 70 years respectively, leverage that limestone shelf to provide a backbone for Chardonnay. Both vineyards face due east, but Clos du Chaigne sits further up the ridge. That altitude shift means the grapes do not achieve the same ripeness character as those in Clos Saint Jacques. The Dubrelles work with that natural edginess and raise the wine in 50% stainless steel. The other half is aged in oak, with 20% of it being new oak (10% of the total).

The 2019 vintage was well-regarded for white Burgundy so I had bought six of these on release, but quality has varied among each.

Domaine de la Folie – Rully – Clos du Chaigne 1er Cru 2019 – 13%, $35

Nose – We’ve moved away from the reductive style here and also gained a bit more volume. Ripe pear, yellow apple, and peach take centerstage, but are also joined by dried fruits. Behind them, nutmeg, white pepper, lime leaf, and a bit of leek assert their presence. (7/9)

Palate – Lemon, sultanas, and dried apricot jab the palate with power. Medium-bodied and with a strong assertive character courtesy of a higher acid level. (6/9)

Finish – Wonderfully pure vanilla. Elegance continues with honeydew melon, dried yellow apples, and mint. An echo of lemon pith and even hummus provides contrast against the rich flavors. But the curtain drops early, and there’s a flicker of alcohol heat. (5/9)

Impressions – Here this more elevated 1er cru site is treated with sympathy, and you can sense the kinship it has with some of the more northern wines from more prestigious locations. Yet there’s a chaos and imperfection here. (2/3)

Conclusion – I originally bought six bottles of this wine, drinking them over the last five years, and only the last two have been enjoyable. As they say, “There are no good wines, just good bottles.” Well today was a good bottle, and perhaps the lesson here is that a wine is ready on its own terms and timeline. Probably among the more explicitly less-oaked Chards in the lineup, yet it doesn’t feel outgunned here (the age likely helps). This just comes across as very complete if a tad chaotic and imperfect. (90/100)

I saved the biggest wine for last.

Olivier-Gard isn’t a name that’s familiar to many in the US, which shouldn’t be surprising seeing as they seemingly stopped importing altogether if their EU-focused website is any evidence.

The wines are made by fourth generation winemaker Manuel Olivier, and he quietly tends to modest plots surrounded by greater names. In years past, wines from the flanks and upper hills of Burgundy either lacked good soil drainage to produce concentration or lacked heat and sunlight needed to ripen grapes fully. However, with global warming today wines from Burgundy’s anonymous corners can delight and surprise.

This particular expression comes from vineyards only a few hundred meters from the Grand Cru vineyard Clos Vougeot in the Cote de Nuits. Clos Vougeot is surrounded by exclusively red wine producing villages, which makes this wine a quiet reminder that the rules can leave quality wines in the shadows. Aged 50/50 in oak and stainless steel, with an undisclosed portion in new oak. There isn’t much information to find online, but the ultimate proof is in the glass.

Olivier-Gard Bourgogne Hautes Cotes de Nuits – 13.5%, $29

Nose –Vanilla and scallion announce themselves generously with green apple, peach, and cream following. The wife says there’s a touch of salty bacon fat, but I don’t find it. (6/9)

Palate – Medium-full (the densest of the bunch). Yellow apples and stone fruits ping across the palate—it never seems to run out of yellow apples to throw at you. A rather forceful, imposing amount of oak, but the wine does not squander that power. Despite the oak this still has high acidity, which keeps it from sinking under its own weight. (6/9)

Finish – Cream, acacia flowers, lemon juice, and yellow apple. So much power here but the alcohol shows just a touch. When it starts to feel a bit too plodding, some floral accents lift up the whole affair. (6/9)

Impressions – I’d totally guess village-Meursault in a blind, or even really restrained Californian Chardonnay. If the Girardin is a wine that intentionally breaks appellation and commercial norms, this is a wine that works within its system’s obscurity to deliver surprising quality and powerful composure. (2/3)

Conclusion – Maybe it’s the American in me, but I can’t help but appreciate an underdog wine from a less respected subregion just bulldogging its way to the front. This is not your typical subtle Burgundy, but never feels out of balance. (90/100 – close score to my review here but with new/better notes).

Five white burgundies, four from the Côte d’Or and one from a village-level Rully in the Côte Chalonnaise. What’s apparent here is regardless of the varying quality, these producers are all pushing against their appellation’s rules and historical reputation, if not wielding them to their advantage.

Furthermore, two of these wines were explicitly made in a reductive fashion, a style that I suspect would prove difficult for newcomers and a style that needs time in a wine-drinking world that isn’t known for patience. Seeking out older vintages of these wines, or similarly reductive ones (ask your local shop), may help show you a path you genuinely love. In their youth, I admittedly struggled with them—and I drink heavily peated Scotch so I’m not faint of heart—which goes to show that you have to figure out your own palate, regardless of what the experts and critics love to praise.

The Bzikot is probably the wine that I’d want most often. To me it’s the platonic ideal of a Bourgogne Blanc: straightforward yet not simple with plenty of texture, bright orchard fruits, and a touch of salinity. Elegance that is in no rush. The wine I’d be most interested in rebuying and holding onto is the Pierre Girardin. I do genuinely think it has more to give, provided it has the age it needs. It’s a compelling, uncompromising wine coming from a gutsy man even younger than me.

An intro to red Burgundies will have to wait another day, but Domaine Audoin’s Bourgogne Rouge in Marsannay wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

Luckily, the French solved this problem ages ago, and no, I don’t mean with Pinot Noir.

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The Gamay varietal is the poster child for high acid, low tannin wine. It steers towards raspberry, cherry, violets, and usually a loamy character to provide some bass. It is indeed a cousin of Pinot Noir, but its clearest divergence is its leaner palate weight. When Gamay is done well, it’s not just a good wine—it’s a FUN wine. Gamay is the person at the party that doesn’t take things too seriously, whose extroversion never offends. The best of them bounce and pop.

While it’s grown in a myriad of places, notably in the Loire Valley, its most established home is in Beaujolais. Like many other wine regions, Beaujolais was plagued by a mass-marketed, cheap commercial product—Beaujolais Nouveau—but they have steadily climbed out of that brand trap to produce some exquisite wines.

Today, Beaujolais is probably as well-regarded as it has ever been. The world’s obsession with Burgundian Pinot Noir has led to spillover effects into neighboring Beaujolais, but unlike their northern cousins, Beaujolais is not crazy expensive. Better yet, depending on the style of production, Beaujolais can be extremely rewarding when consumed early. The ten different crus of Beaujolais provide ample territory for newly won acolytes to explore the grape’s many shades and guises. Prices can start around a reasonable $25 for the crus. Less for the still lovely Beaujolais village-level. You can check out Wine Scholar Guild’s excellent map here.

A Brief Digression into Fermentation

To understand Beaujolais and Gamay, you have to understand a few basics about how grape juice ferments into wine. Once grapes are picked, you need to kickstart fermentation, and the layman would assume fermentation always starts with yeast. In conventional winemaking that’s largely true, but yeast is the engine, not the spark. What actually comes first is the presence or absence of oxygen at the moment grapes are crushed.

Traditionally, the grapes are crushed in the presence of oxygen. This means that the grapes aren’t doing much metabolic work while they wait. Once they are crushed though, yeast (commercial or indigenous) starts eating the sugars in the juice and that’s how we get alcohol.

But many Beaujolais producers opt instead to ferment without oxygen. Grapes are loaded into a sealed vat (either to the brim or with CO2 piped in), and now deprived of oxygen, the cells within the grape try to survive by eating their own energy stores. As the weight of the upper grapes begins to crush those at the bottom, the ambient yeast suddenly has food and can get to work. This is called carbonic maceration — or semi-carbonic when the lower clusters crush under their own weight. The term is a slight misnomer; carbonic fermentation is more accurate. The misnomer is now too entrenched in the wine community to dislodge.

The Ripple Effects

The carbonic style of maceration and fermentation was spearheaded by four principal producers—Marcel Lapierre, Jean Foillard, Jean-Paul Thévenet, and Guy Breton— who became known through Kermit Lynch’s importing as “The Gang of Four”. The wines were as airy as chiffon, yet bold with bright fresh flavors more akin to a candy shop than a musky cellar.

These wines drew critical attention during the 1980s and 1990s, and there was a secondary narrative beyond Beaujolais’ new standard bearers: Carbonic maceration is the method behind Beaujolais’ brand issue—Beaujolais Nouveau. The Gang of Four weren’t just reasserting Beaujolais’ place in the wine world; they were doing it with the very tools that led to its dismissal. They were pushing that fermentation method to its zenith.

Within a generation, carbonic fermentation had become so synonymous with the region that “Beaujolais” and “carbonic” were essentially interchangeable in most American cellars.

The Morgon Duo

Five minutes of research into top Beaujolais producers will put the Lapierre name front and center. He leveraged his old vines, his preference for harvesting late, and his rigorous sorting to build a counterpoint brand to what Beaujolais had come to rely on. This was complemented by not using synthetic herbicides or pesticides in the vineyard and only using the bare minimum amount of sulfur dioxide (or none at all). Chaptalization — the addition of sugar to supplement insufficient ripeness — was also looked down upon. So many of these positions that seem commonplace amongst fine wines now were novel back then.

This Morgon is their most available cuvée, drawn from vines averaging around 60 years of age across multiple lieux-dits (named parcels within the appellation). After undergoing semi-carbonic maceration, it is aged for nine months in used casks. Today, the hallmark style is carried on by his son and daughter, Mathieu and Camille, after Marcel’s passing in 2010. The wines have not suffered in his absence.

Marcel Lapierre Morgon 2018

Nose – You would expect red fruits to strike your nostrils first, but instead incense, dirt, and leather rise gently from the glass. These bass notes, arriving first, pull you in to reveal a rich tapestry of cherry and blueberry coupled with spice aromas of cayenne and sumac. (7/9)

Palate – More red and blue berry fruits splash and tumble, all framed by a backbone of acidity on a medium-light bodied chassis. No rough edges to be found here, which only adds to its enjoyability. This suppleness comes at a cost, though: it lacks dynamism and development. (6/9)

Finish – Jasmine tea and twiggy, pliant tannins join the continued berry fruit. The bright but tempered acidity makes your mouth water. A moreish wine eager to be sipped again. (6/9)

Coherence – When a wine is one of the pillars of an entire stylistic offering that a region becomes known for, well you’ve not just made a wine, you’ve made a classic. (3/3)

Conclusion – Although the semi-carbonic style can often lead to Gamay wines that can lack the structure to age, this demonstrates that it is all the better for it. It wields its stylistic virtues with joyful confidence. And yet it’s not all lift and no substance, this is hardly made of chiffon. Earthier, grounded elements find their place on the stage, making this easy to love and rewarding to examine. A true crowd pleaser, provided your crowd thinks red wine is more than a dollop of fruit and tannin. 92/100

Georges Descombes Morgon 2023

If Marcel Lapierre was one of the pioneers, then Georges Descombes is a disciple. When young Georges took over his family estate in 1988, his north star was a Lapierre wine he had tasted in his youth. But making wines in that style requires more than just a shift in fermentation. Organic viticulture, reducing manipulation during vinification, lowering the use of sulfur—all efforts to try and place the fruit of the Gamay grape front and center.

About half of the estate’s holdings are in Morgon, spread amongst various hilly parcels on the distinctive decomposed schist and granitic soils. That granite naturally promotes florality and high-toned acidity, and Descombes mixes young vines and old vines (some approaching 50 years) to provide simultaneous freshness and density. And the semi-carbonic approach here makes for a Gamay that avoids overextraction and tannic heft.

Nose – This leads with bright blueberry, throws in a perfumed violet lift, then quiets into shadows of incense, allspice, and iron. (6/9)

Palate – Sharp acidity juxtaposes against sappy and stewed blueberries, plums, and cranberries. Despite this initial energy and momentum, it runs out of steam and like the Lapierre lacks development. (6/9)

Finish – The fruits continue but powdery tannins akin to oolong tea join in. And the finish provides a slightly sweet impression. (6/9)

Coherence – There’s a confidence and composure here conveyed by both the wine and winemaker. A faith in the fruit and vines that have undergone a slow transformation in an effort to be transparent. (2/3)

Conclusion – Lacks the dynamism of the Lapierre, which is likely a product of age. This is pretty textbook and refreshing even if it’s lacking a wow factor for me. With some age, it could find itself in a similar position as the Lapierre. Good company to keep. 90/100

The New Guard

Sometimes an outsider is what’s required. A fresh perspective that is able to find a new vein to tap. And sometimes you have to look backwards to move forwards.

Unlike many vignerons in Beaujolais, Anne-Sophie Dubois originally hails from Champagne. And her training was with Roblet-Monnot in Volnay, Burgundy—also not Beaujolais. Unlike many of the more talked about names in Beaujolais, Dubois made her name via her wines that undergo traditional fermentation. A quiet dissent from the zeitgeist in Beaujolais.

She started her operation properly in 2007, but by the mid-2010s she began utilizing more whole clusters with her fermentations rather than always completely destemming. The use of whole clusters (or not) is also a major feature in Pinot Noir, as I talked about with Timo Mayer’s wines here. In 2013, she met with Jacques Néauport, who shared non-interventionalist winemaking techniques he had learned from his mentor Jules Chauvet. That last name is critical—Chauvet was the father of “natural” winemaking as we’ve come to know it today, and he was hugely influential on the Gang of Four. I consider Dubois to come from the same school as “The Gang of Four”, albeit studying a different curriculum.

Though she has a small parcel in Moulin à Vent, Dubois’ 8-hectare (~20 acre) domaine is effectively all Fleurie—known to make a floral version of Gamay. This is a bit of a contrast to the earlier Morgons, which often feature an earthy backbone. Dubois is fortunate to have almost exclusively old vine material (40-60 years).

Since Anne-Sophie makes both a semi-carbonic fermented wine and a traditionally fermented one, I bought both wines to find the points of similarity and difference.

Anne-Sophie Dubois Fleurie “Les Cocettes” 2023

Nose – Bright cherry, strawberry, raspberry, and red licorice form the exuberant core, but violets and bubblegum press against that core from the sides. (6/9)

Palate – The wine enters swift and bright, buoyantly acidic. The same characters from the nose reappear, but new cast members join in—raspberry lemonade, grapefruit, and tree bark. A soft creaminess (possibly from lees aging) quietly sits in the background, almost drowned out by these more boisterous elements. (7/9)

Finish – More on those red fruits and over-steeped green tea coming from the stems used in winemaking. But the ending is a tad abrupt, though in keeping with the winemaking style, very crushable. (6/9)

Coherence – This is a textbook semi-carbonic Gamay, and a lovely representative of the lighter, floral side of the spectrum. A plucky wine, with so much acidity and fun. (2/3)

Conclusion – When drinking this it’s hard not to imagine being in the company of dancing faeries and good music. It’s already so pleasurable and giving even in its youth, yet I have no doubt a few years would do it well, just as the Lapierre benefited from age. 91/100

Anne Sophie Dubois Fleurie “Les Labourons” 2023

Nose – Though I had this wine on a separate day from the others, the difference between them is immediate. The nose is seductively savory, unafraid to gesture at new avenues. Cooking herbs—tarragon and sage—accompany coffee beans and sit alongside more classic raspberries and blueberries. A forest-y character adds further depth. We’re in notably darker territory. (8/9)

Palate – We have picked up more palate weight here, and that savory edge continues. Acidity still provides lift and buoyance as cherries and cranberries dance against more grounded elements of black licorice and cinnamon. (7/9)

Finish – Assertive but full of juxtaposed flavors and contradictions. Bright cranberry, but also dense juicy notes almost like plum. I don’t get tea notes here, which I’d gotten from the other Gamay wines. Almost sticky, sappy tannins here though you’d never think this was a “tannic” wine. I wouldn’t say there’s volatile acidity (VA) on this, but it has that same stickiness that aged balsamic vinegar has. (7/9)

Coherence – Here, Anne-Sophie Dubois is hellbent on finding the depths to Gamay’s opulent fruit. Fun is undoubtedly sacrificed here, but perhaps in pursuit of something more poignant. (3/3)

Conclusion – A wine full of contrasts and curiosities. I also noticed it had much more length or development on the palate than the other Beaujolais wines, which I assume comes from the fermentation style. But more than that, it’s a contemplative wine that forces us to ask what we gain from going against the verve. Sometimes a lot more. 95/100

This side-by-side showcases the wonderful world of wine in a focused lens. All of the wines are Beaujolais, all Gamay, all utilizing old vines (Lapierre’s are older), and three of the four were made via semi-carbonic maceration.

Unsurprisingly, the semi-carbonic wines have far more in common than they have differences, yet there are differences at the margins. Morgon is considered one of the denser Beaujolais crus and you could sense that with the incense notes and more of the tannins on the finish. Fleurie, being the lighter style, worked well in this younger frame where cranberry and raspberry burst and fell like fireworks. These sorts of wines are the polar opposite of big Napa Cabernet Sauvignons, Barossa Shiraz, Amarone, and Super Tuscans. And sometimes a refreshing red wine is just what the occasion needs.

I hope others are able to join alongside Anne-Sophie Dubois, and I’d be remiss not to mention Château des Jacques under Jadot’s ownership has consistently championed traditional fermentation. The technique creates a sappiness and density in the wines, demanding more patience and concentration from the drinker. If the semi-carbonic styled wines are made from chiffon, the traditionally fermented “Les Labourons” is sown from heavy satin.

Cabernet Sauvignon is the world’s most planted wine grape. No other grape, red or white, is dethroning it any time soon. Setting aside its popularity, I find the grape extremely boring. Give me a good Merlot or Zinfandel any day for my full-bodied red wine fix.

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Personal preferences aside, it’s understandable how Cab Sauv came to rule the wine world. It’s a relatively young cross between two other common grapes, Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc, and it’s less of a 1+1=2 situation and more of a 1+1=3. Cabernet Sauvignon is a thick-skinned grape that, when fermented, ramps up the fruitiness found in its Cabernet Franc parent. Plum, cassis, blackberry, occasional red fruits, and prominent, broad tannins are its calling card. Furthermore, Cabernet Sauvignon is a late-ripening grape, with deliberate late picking able to lead to a jammy density.

To Cabernet’s credit, it’s responsible for some of the most respected wines and wine regions in the world. Its two principalities, Bordeaux and Napa Valley, craft dense, age-worthy wines. As the wine world chased Robert Parker’s palate preference for heavy extraction and as global warming helped promote Cab Sauv’s virtues, Bordeaux and Napa Valley drifted closer to each other in flavor profile (and alcohol levels). Some of Napa’s most famous wines have Bordelais architects at the helm (see Dominus).

I’d also argue that Cabernet Sauvignon carries a consistent flavor profile irrespective of place (barring cold locations). This makes Cab Sauv one of the more easily identifiable grapes especially for novices, even if it’s in a Bordeaux/Claret style blend. It’s the Rolex of the red wine grapes: consistent and straightforward.

Cabernet Sauvignon is so strident, it begs the question, “Who shapes the wine, the grape or the winemaker?” I gathered a mix of six Cab Sauvs or Cab Sauv-dominant wines to answer that question.

The Wines

Francis Coppola Diamond Collection Black Label Claret 2022

His name may still adorn the label, but acclaimed film director Francis Coppola sold the brand and winery in 2021. To call this a big brand would be an understatement. Honestly, I hadn’t tasted this before but I got it as a gift, so here we go.

Nose- Strong cassis and plum, something almost like mint on the nose. Wet leaves. (4/9)

Palate- Swift fruit-forward arrival of blueberry and cassis, but then this immediately gets pushed out of the way for tough tannins. Clipped is the word. (1/9)

Finish- Bitterness continues. Over steeped black tea, blackberry, and something rubbery. A bit of alcohol is noticeable. Full-bodied. (2/9)

Impressions- I’d be hard-pressed to say this was from anywhere in particular though it was relatively identifiable as a Cabernet-based blend. (0/3)

Conclusion- The nose was actually rather nice, at least my bottle anyways. But then it was downhill from there with a clipped palate and unpleasant finish. With food and prior alcohol, I suppose it’d be harder to notice these problems, but I’m happy to leave it for conjecture. (77/100)

Paysan Old Vines San Benito County 2022

This is my contrarian wine. Paysan makes food-friendly wines. In the case of this Cabernet they source from a few old-vine vineyards in San Benito County. Unusual for Cab, they opt for a semi-carbonic maceration, and age in neutral oak. The aim is a bright, acid-supported Cabernet that leaves behind the dense cassis and chocolate notes of new oak. This was the only wine below 13% ABV—higher ABV usually coincides with more palate weight.

Nose- Fresh and more vibrant. Mostly black and blueberry, black cherry, a bit of graphite, and violet. A bit simple. (5/9)

Palate- What jumps out right away is the higher acidity. Stays with the fruits from the nose, but add in some red currant too. Juicy. Medium bodied (almost medium-light). (6/9)

Finish- Relatively sweet on the finish. Tannins are present but mild, almost leathery. (5/9)

Impressions- There was an undeniable freshness here, made all the more impressive by the hot, tricky vintage. Extremely sippable which isn’t something I associate with Cabernet that often. (1/3)

Conclusion- I had a Morgon (Beaujolais) tasting earlier in the week, and this felt like a Cabernet doing its best impression of Gamay’s freshness. Wonderfully light on its feet, yet not hollow. If you like lighter-style wines this is a solid purchase, but it’s a tad simple. (87/100)

Charles Krug Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2019

Charles Krug is actually the original Mondavi family winery in Napa, purchased by Cesare Mondavi at his son Robert Mondavi’s suggestion in 1943. Eventually, Robert would split off from the family and form his own eponymous, massive operation. This wine is their base level Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. I expected them to stick to the regional style: full-bodied, dense fruit, and with a high proportion of new oak to soften some of Cab’s tannins while contributing its own flavors and texture. It’s worth mentioning that 2019 was considered an excellent year in Napa. This wine was also a gift.

Nose- Plum, cassis, blackberry, oak, vanilla, cream…its textbook Napa Cabernet. Full of power. (6/9)

Palate- Not as buoyant as the Paysan, but that’s to be expected. Starts out good; loaded with fruit and then everything gets disjointed and crumbles. It turns bitter, metallic, and flavors blur together. Full-bodied. (3/9)

Finish- Noticeable alcohol heat with that iron fillings note. Some cassis and blackberry are struggling underneath. (3/9)

Impressions- A wine that was out of touch with itself. Awkward, incoherent, and fragile. (0/3)

Conclusion- In full disclosure, I had high hopes for this wine. The 2019 vintage was hailed as phenomenal and Charles Krug is a classic. Aside from the nose, which was genuinely lovely, this wine just could not get its act together. Sorry to poo-poo a gift but we keep it honest here. (82/100)

Terrazas de los Andes Reserva Cabernet Sauvignon 2022

Many bigger brands have an ownership stake (if not outright control) over some more prominent Argentinian wineries. Terrazas de los Andes is actually owned by Moet & Chandon (who are owned by LVMH). Argentinian wines tend to be fairly good values and the high altitude of many of the best vineyards helps preserve acidity in the final wines due to the big temperature swings between day and night. This wine was the third and last gift wine.

Nose- Broad, expansive nose. More textured. Blackberry, cassis, coffee grounds, sage, cream. (6/9)

Palate- Almost as good acidity here as on the Paysan. Medium-bodied. Black fruit along with some red cherry sneaking in. There’s oak here but it’s not overwrought, though it’s a tad muddled. Gets a little grippy with the tannins and starts to veer savory. (5/9)

Finish- Black tea, cassis, blackberry, but a tad rough. (4/9)

Impressions- A lot of character here, and the high altitude provides a freshness that keeps this wine from falling flat. (1/3)

Conclusion- A wine that has ambition beyond its capabilities. It’s trying to deliver powerful fruit and tension, acidity, and suppleness from the oak all at once. I wouldn’t say it succeeds at its many missions, but it falls short with great charm. (86/100)

Chateau Laffitte Carcasset Saint Estephe 2016

Our first Bordeaux and our first wine that’s starting to get up there in age. Bordeaux is largely split into three zones: the Right Bank (Merlot-dominant), Entre-Deux-Mers in the middle (white wine-oriented), and the Left Bank (Cabernet-Sauvignon-dominant). Sitting just south of Entre-Deux-Mers is Sauternais, home to the great sweet whites (which I covered in more detail here).

Saint Estephe sits on the Left Bank and is seen as one of the lesser “great” sub regions due to a lack of any First Growth classified estates (though it boasts Cos d’Estournel and Montrose as Second Growths). In 2016, the estate changed owners and Hubert de Bouard, the owner of the famous Chateau Angelus (right bank), was brought on to consult starting with the 2017 vintage (tough year, yeesh). I’ve tended to find Saint Estephe wines a bit tough and tannic in the beginning, and this wine reinforced that sentiment. But this was a great opportunity to check in after a few years.

Nose- Woah. Cumin front-and-center. Cardamom too. A bit of plum. Sourdough bread. Herbal, earthy, and rustic. (6/9)

Palate- Here the fruit comes back to the fore. Soft blackberry and black licorice. Cassis and sourdough bread. Good development and length. Medium-bodied. (7/9)

Finish- Cinnamon and cumin again. Light black teas, graphite, clay, and thyme. (5/9)

Impressions- Probably the weirdest, wildest tasting notes of the flight but it conveyed a great deal of elegance alongside the chaos. (1/3)

Conclusion- Among the oldest of this set, yet I remember having this upon release and it was brutal. A lesson in what patience can achieve as this had the supplest tannins. However, this isn’t that old for Bordeaux and yet fruit was a minority element in this wine. So if you have/see this, it is not a wine to hold onto for much longer, despite the exceptional vintage. (89/100)

Rocca di Castagnoli Buriano Cabernet Sauvignon 2015

As Tuscany’s DOC/DOCG rules hardened (Chianti requiring primarily Sangiovese to be used), a counter movement emerged where bold producers simply discarded the rules entirely in preference for planting French varieties. Since the wines from these French grapes couldn’t be bottled under the DOC rules, they were labeled as lowly “Vino da Tavola” instead. However, quality has a way of changing minds, and in 1992 these Italian wines made with French varieties (“Super Tuscans”) were legitimized with the broader Indicazione Geografica Tipica (IGT) classification.

Rocca di Castagnoli is a winery that developed within a historic fortress, and wine has been made at this site in some form since at least the late 1700s. Their “Buriano” wine is 100% Cabernet, which is worth stating since the Italians are fond of blending their native Sangiovese with it.

Nose- Blackberry, potting soil, and a meaty gaminess to it. Black licorice. (6/9)

Palate- Finely tuned balance between plush fruit and rustic elements, namely graphite. Lots of blackberry and cassis but also cream, violets, and cocoa powder. (7/9)

Finish- Cocoa powder, cream, plums, black licorice, smoky oolong tea, leather, and black pepper. (6/9)

Impressions- Power has been joined by suppleness here. Straightforward. (1/3)

Conclusion- I’ve had this wine for something like eight or nine years now, having a bottle every couple of years. It took its sweet time getting to its peak, but this is a lovely wine now that still has its best days ahead of it. (90/100)

What have we learned? Each wine, aside from the Paysan, was using oak of some form to help shape the final wine, and most of these wines were extremely fruit-forward. Both of these elements together led to wines that struggled with balance and lacked complexity. I’ll still stand by my position regarding Cabernet Sauvignon—it’s going to behave like it’s on rails, but that means the winemaker has to build the right track.

None of these wines were particularly expensive, but to hit genuine greatness with Cab Sauv, you’re often going to need to spend more than $35 unless you’re very diligent. New oak barrels aren’t cheap!

Parting question: Do you have a favorite wine that utilizes Cabernet Sauvignon? Any affordable recommendations?

Building on the success of the Chardonnay tasting, I organized another tasting with my friends, this time focused on Pinot Noir. I love a variety of red wines and styles, but chances are high that on any given night, the red wine I’d opt to pour would be Pinot Noir. Therefore, I gathered a group of friends and a selection of bottles to better understand how the grape varies from place to place, from producer to producer. So what makes this grape so special?

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The Heartbreak Grape

Pinot Noir is called the “heartbreak grape” because it’s frankly a nightmare to grow successfully. The close-knit berries can lead to mold, and it can succumb to a myriad of diseases. But when handled with diligence and care, Pinot Noir can craft some hauntingly beautiful expressions that are full of bright red fruits, notions of dirt or forest floor (what the French call sous bois), and occasional herbal tea notes. Certain soils can bring out a gaminess, and the grape’s supple texture, high acidity, and restrained tannins make it eminently food friendly.

Ask a pro, and they’ll say that Pinot Noir is elegance in a glass. Ask a winemaker what their favorite grape is or what wine they wish they could make, and you’re probably going to hear them say, “Pinot Noir”. You’ll see this theme run through several of the wines featured.

While Pinot Noir is most famous for its red wine guise, it comes in every shade and color. It’s a common feature in most champagne wines and it can appear as a rosé wine. It is also genetically prone to mutation and has spawned a number of variants—notably Pinot Gris/Grigio, Pinot Blanc, and Pinot Meunier.

Pinot Noir’s home is Burgundy, France, which is a cool growing region, but Pinot Noir has succeeded in warmer climates too. California, Italy, Oregon, Germany, Australia, New Zealand—it’s easier to talk of countries and territories that don’t grow some Pinot Noir. And the grape can be a transparent conduit for expressing its place of origin, its terroir. Despite being found all over the world, Pinot Noir typically carries a price premium courtesy of its cultivar difficulty. Winegrowers may call Pinot the “heartbreak grape” but so do consumers; it costs comparatively more, and quality can be a gamble.

The Tasting Theme

For this tasting, I set a price floor of $30 and a ceiling of $50 (illegal wine tariffs are brutal), and went one step further with selecting the wines. Any bottle from the Northern Hemisphere would be from the 2022 vintage, and anything from the Southern Hemisphere 2023. This would mean any given bottle would be close in age due to the flipped growing seasons.

With six bottles (one brought by a friend), I may have bitten off more than I could chew…

The Tasting Results

Like last time, I had everyone rank the wines from favorite (1) to least favorite (6). Folks were not allowed to assign equal rankings. These rankings were aggregated, and then also split between the Nerds (those who spend money routinely on wine to educate our palates) and Casuals (those who enjoy wine but aren’t spending their free time reading blogs like this).

Like golf, you want a low score here:

First thing that jumps out is that Bodega Chacra’s Barda won across the board. Everyone had it towards the top of their rankings (it would’ve tied with the Audoin for me had I allowed that). Kudos to Piero and the team down south for crafting an easy-to-love, affordable Pinot Noir. We probably would’ve killed that bottle had I not sequestered some away to do detailed tasting notes.

As for least favorite, it would look like the Americans did a poor showing. But the Nerds group only had two tasters, and myself and “Le” had a lot of palate divergence. She put the Audoin in last, whereas it was my second favorite. She put the Melville first, meanwhile it was my second least favorite. For the Casuals, both American wines were not well received, but also not much love for the Burgundy either!

Lastly, take notice on the scoring spacing in the Total column. There were some clear clustering of scores, which indicates simultaneous consensus and divergence. Although Timo Mayer’s Bloody Hill scored 2^nd overall, two tasters had it towards the bottom of their rankings.

Pinot Noir doesn’t just reveal the terroir—it reveals the drinker.

Regardless of everyone’s favorites and least favorites, all of the Casuals were surprised how much diversity a single-varietal wine had across different countries, regions, and production methods.

If you want details on the specific wines and my tasting notes and scores read on!

The Wines

Domaine Charles Audoin 2022 Bourgogne Rouge 12.5% Martine’s Wines $30

Like last time, I wanted everyone to get a grip on how Pinot Noir features from its home. Except due to Burgundy’s historical focus on terroir and soil diversity, Pinot Noir from one village can be notably different from the next. A “Burgundian Pinot” is an amalgamated concept, making it hard to select an ambassador.

But having a value-oriented theme gave me some direction, and while “value” and “Burgundy” are not commonly found together, quieter villages can deliver the goods. That brings us to the gateway of Burgundy, Marsannay. This village, found at the very top of the Côte de Nuits has no Premier Cru or Grand Cru vineyards. This made the wines fairly affordable (only attaining AOC status in 1987), despite more famous villages such as Gevrey Chambertin and Chambolle Musigny only miles away. Call it the Bushwick of Burgundy, its proximity to “greatness” has made it impossible to ignore, and Domaine Charles Audoin has been one of the leading talents putting Marsannay on Burgundy lovers’ map.

Charles’s son Cyril runs the estate now, and has pushed for organic practices, attaining certification in 2018. The hope is that these organic farming practices help bring all of the potential of their old vine plantings to bear. Old vine fruit adds undeniable depth to all of their wine cuvées and also helps bolster the grapes in the variable weather of the region. Even his humbler Bourgogne Rouge bottling comes from vines with an average of 50+ years, and the grapes are 100% destemmed and vinified in (presumably) neutral barrels. You can read more here.

Tasting Notes:

The nose comes across very complete. That classic sous bois undergrowth character shines here alongside clear cherries and marjoram. Palate features more fresh cherry juice and red apple skins, though a tad thin. Finish features cream, more cherries, a bit of bark, and black pepper. Very polished tannins, and feels very complete. This is pretty exceptional Bourgogne Rouge, which bodes well moving up for his proper Marsannay wines. This wasn’t the highest scorer, but it was probably my favorite to drink. 89/100 (7/5/6/1)

Lingua Franca 2022 Avni Pinot Noir Willamette Valley 13% $32

By most accounts, Willamette Valley, Oregon is the closest thing to Burgundy. However, I’ve always considered them markedly different. What better way to tease them apart than via a side by side? Like Burgundy, there are plenty of names to go with (like Drouhin), but I opted for relative newcomer Lingua Franca.

Located in the Eola Amity Hills AVA in the “middle” of the valley, Lingua Franca is a joint project led by Larry Stone, America’s ninth Master Sommelier, and Dominique Lafon of Domaine Comtes Lafon fame in Meursault. There’s a pretty clear mission here to take the winemaking approach that has been working in Burgundy, and apply it to its “cousin” in the Willamette Valley. To that end, Larry Stone bought a prime, long-sought-after vineyard location in 2012, and promptly planted Pinot Noir and Chardonnay vines.

Because their vines needed to mature, early bottlings featured a high proportion of sourced fruit from other Eola Amity Hills growers. Did that work against them with the critics? No. No it did not, with their first, 2015 “Avni” Pinot Noir scoring 91 points with Wine Enthusiast and Vinous Media critics. Talk about a strong start!

In 2021, the team sold the Lingua Franca brand to the large conglomerate Constellation Brands. However, the team still remains in place and are left to continue making the wine they were making, and the Avni bottling has seemingly only gotten better. The 2022 vintage that I bought got a pretty wild score of 94/100 from Wine Spectator and was ranked #16 on their Top 100 list for that year. Every wine magazine seems to treat Pinot Noir and Chardonnay with a more critical lens, so to see a 94pt score on a ~$30 bottle is basically unprecedented. But immediate praise can be a problem too, and I firmly believe the best wines are yet to come from this estate, especially as their vines mature.

Tasting Notes:

This one struggled on the tasting day, my memory was that it was a bit awkward. The nose doesn’t give that away though—clean and focused. Still on that cherry, but include strawberry. Instead of Burgundy’s undergrowth, there were hints of tobacco and cinnamon. A brighter affair. The palate comes across a tad gritty (certainly in comparison) and sharper in acidity, yet the cherries taste dilute. The finish features radicchio and slightly firmer tannins. Something edgy in the throat. Maybe none of this is helpful as far as tasting notes go, but it’s a very textural experience and not always pleasant. Not terrible, but unharmonious. 86/100 (6/5/5/0)

Bodega Chacra 2023 Barda Pinot Noir Argentina 13%, imported by Grand Cru Selections $30

You’d have to travel 6000+ miles from Lingua Franca to reach Bodega Chacra in Argentina, but for lovers of Pinot Noir that trip may just be worth it.

Bodega Chacra was founded by Piero Incisa della Rocchetta. The Incisa della Rocchetta family are in the shortlist for wine “royalty” having founded Tenuta San Guido and crafted the Sassicaia wine—undeniably one of Italy’s flagship wines. Piero was at a tasting in New York where he had a Pinot from the Río Negro region of Patagonia, Argentina, and after one visit he knew he couldn’t waste the glorious terroir before him.

That’s certainly a romantic story, but it seems Piero was also a bit of a pragmatist. Bodega Chacra has a three-hectare vineyard dating to 1932 and a seven-hectare vineyard dating to 1955. As we saw with the Audoin, old vine Pinot can really boost the quality. The remaining 14 hectares are younger vineyard that average 20 years of age and are predominately Pinot Noir with some Chardonnay. Piero is a devotee of biodynamics (a topic for another day), and thus incorporates lots of cover crops to support biodiversity in the vineyards. What’s more, 37,000 poplar trees were planted to provide cover from the brutal desert winds.

To my knowledge, Chacra have almost single-handedly led the charge for quality Chardonnay and Pinot from Argentina. The wine featured here is their entry-cuvée, the name Barda referring to one of the soil types. Importantly, 50% of the wine is aged in concrete and the other half in French oak (15% new barrels). Unlike oak, concrete is non-porous, which means the wine can settle without the effect of oxygen shifting the flavor profile. This keeps the focus of the wine on the fruit, with less of an emphasis on structure and tannins.

Tasting Notes:

The nose features a lovely purity of fruit, and the power behind that fruit is genuinely impressive considering the price point. Black and red cherries, a touch of dirt, leather, and rose petal. Still impressive on the palate. Silky with crunchy cherries and red currants and roasted white mushrooms (mild). The finish provides more berries again and a touch of chamomile tea and some river stones. A hint of brambles. There’s a faith in the fruit here given the limited oak on this wine, and that faith is rewarded. 92 (7/6/7/2)

Timo Mayer 2023 Bloody Hill Pinot Noir Yarra Valley, Australia 13%, imported by Winebow $48

Winemaker Timo Mayer probably sounds like a fever dream of a winemaker. A German-born, Australian winemaker (with an Aussie accent), crafting some of the world’s most strident Pinot Noir. Based in the Yarra Valley, Victoria, Timo Mayer is a passionate believer in using semi-carbonic maceration and including whole bunches (berries, skins, seeds, and stems) for most of his lineup. These winemaking techniques can often lead to wines with unusual notes, herbal edges, candied aromas, and a peculiar earthiness. His one-page website says it boldly, “Bring back the funk.”

With such vision and swagger you might think the wines would be aggressive and imbalanced with overblown tannins. Instead there’s a stunning elegance to them. Timo Mayer’s trick? By using semi-carbonic maceration and carefully deciding how much grapes to crush, the tannins from grape skins are kept in check. It’s all a delicate balancing act. While he started with Pinot Noir, he’s made singular expressions of Nebbiolo (not common to find outside of Italy), Cabernet Sauvignon, and Syrah.

My introduction to Timo Mayer was during my retail days. I did not get a chance to taste his lineup, but my colleague did, and swore to me that the Pinot was worth the hefty price tag (~$80 if I remember correctly). So I bought two bottles. The one I opened with family, and immediately charmed the table. The last one, I still have.

The bottle featured today is a bit unfair for the lineup considering it’s the most expensive. The Bloody Hill bottling is his “village” level wine (borrowing from Burgundy), and is one of his few wines where he destems the fruit—or rather his son Rivar does as this is his cuvée. So while I thought I was buying a Pinot with a stylistic counterpoint for the tasting, I didn’t quite succeed. How’d it get the name? Get it straight from the man. The 2023 vintage that I grabbed scored a 90pts from Vinous Media and 94pts from Wine Advocate, not that I needed convincing.

Tasting Notes:

On the nose, somehow the spectre of stems comes through. There’s a heft to this nose that the Audoin and Barda simply can’t keep up with. Ripe cherries, sandalwood, stems, plum, and even apricot. The palate features cherries in cream, plum, orange zest, and great texture. The finish leans on the oak a bit more, letting the fruit go into the background. Those cherries never quite leave, but the plum returns, orange zest again, leather, and nutmeg. A vague earthiness too. A wine of quiet power. 92/100 (7/7/7/1)

Melville 2022 Pinot Noir Estate Santa Rita Hills, California 13.2% $40

Melville was started in 1989 by Ron Melville, but it was in 1996 that the winery entered a new chapter when it moved from Sonoma County to Santa Barbara County in California in order to focus on Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. While Santa Barbara is actually similar in size to Burgundy, Melville sits in the Santa Rita Hills, located in the Western Santa Ynez Valley. The proximity to the sea and the wind currents help keep temperatures more moderate, and diurnal temperature shifts at night help preserve the wine’s acidity.

Melville, along with a handful of other producers, helped establish the Sta. Rita Hills American Viticultural Area (AVA) formally in 2001 (abbreviated as “Sta.” to avoid conflict with Chilean producer Santa Rita!). From my prior experiences, I’ve really enjoyed Sta. Rita Hills Pinot Noir. They generally trade elegance for more density and fruit, but that style can be lovely.

Today, Ron’s son Chad Melville is lead winegrower and winemaker managing 120 acres (~49 hectares). They only use estate-grown fruit, and are very meticulous in their farming practices. They deliberately have a high number of Pinot Noir clones (another topic for another day…) to help with biodiversity and vineyard resilience. By carefully yet aggressively stressing their vines via controlled irrigation, higher density plantings, and shoot thinning the Melville team can promote flavor concentration in the vineyard rather than the winery. The wine I picked is their base wine mixing parcels across their vineyards. I’m genuinely not doing the amount of details justice.

Tasting Notes:

Cherries and strawberries but also damp laundry that you set out too long. Celeriac and bruised apple. The palate is more composed. Dense red berries on par with the Bloody Hill, cream, orange zest. Starts silky and moves firm. Finish shows more red berries, red licorice (a tad sweet here), generic tea, and some tannin. Probably better in another two or three years as this is a bit uncoordinated at present (maybe an off bottle). 87/100 (5/6/5/1)

Leipold’s 2021 R Spätburgunder trocken Franken, Germany 12.5%, imported by Vom Boden $50

This was a generous gift from my wine nerd and friend! While technically off-theme as far as the vintage split goes, Germany is actually the third largest producer of Pinot, and therefore a great reference point. Unfortunately, the German Pinot Noir that gets exported is fairly pricey, and this cost about the same as Mayer’s Bloody Hill. Transparently, I hadn’t drunk a Franken wine before the tasting, but I have had German Pinot before. The region sits east of Frankfurt following the Main River, and sits due east from Rheinhessen and Rheingau (effectively the center of Germany).

Peter Leipold is a disciple of Peter Klaus Keller, yeah that Keller family I wrote about, and is based in the east end of Franken, Germany. Being so far east, frost is a legitimate concern every year, but it’s not like the Burgundians are safe on that account either. Peter Leipold’s family has been involved with grape growing for decades, but only spun up his own estate in 2018 after stints at the aforementioned Weingut Keller and Domaine Liger-Belair in Burgundy (unclear if it’s Domaine du Comte Liger-Belair or Domaine Thibault Liger-Belair but both are prestigious).

Franken’s varietal diversity is evident in Peter’s vineyards. Lesser known and lesser regarded Silvaner and Scheurebe are taken to new heights under Peter’s care where he carefully crafts wines from old vineyards. As for his Pinots, he is fond of reusing barriques from Liger-Belair alongside local Frankonian oak. The wine here, the Spätburgunder “R” is something analogous to a Burgundian premier cru coming from 30-year-old, east-facing vines and uses 20% whole cluster. Which I suppose puts it closer to Timo Mayer’s style than Audoin’s!

Tasting Notes:

On the nose, river stones, under ripe cherries, rice vinegar, mixed-lighter black teas. Green onion? On the palate, this is certainly German Pinot. There’s a sharpness here—the other wines were acidic too—but this acidity with little else to dull the edge makes for an intense sip. Under ripe red currants, cherries, and strawberries. Something almost gamey like venison. An acidic snap on the finish, the same style (though not flavor) as a green apple. Green sapwood and sharper apple. Although lower in alcohol, this is a tough, assertive wine. A good ambassador, but not a style that’s easy (for me). 88/100 (6/5/5/2)

In closing, this tasting was hugely informative for me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: learning about wine is best done in contrasts. Tasting one wine on its own is good, but developing a deeper level of knowledge requires side by side comparisons. If anything, this tasting deepened my love for the grape, and made me appreciate some regions and producers I had long been curious about. Like a good conversation, Pinot Noir will charm and often challenge you.

Some of these undersung indigenous grapes offer wine styles that are uncommon — or that might be expensive when made from the usual suspects. A lot of people love Pinot Noir and the silky mouthfeel and lighter tannins it provides. However, Pinot Noir is hard to grow, and hard to make, and thus carries a premium for anything decent. But it’s not the only game in town for light, low-tannin red wines. Enter Schiava.

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I first got introduced to the Schiava grape while at Forsythia, a NYC Italian restaurant specializing in handmade pastas (and recommended to visit). I was in search of a red wine that was low in tannin to please my wife. Aromas were light — think red berries and a bit of candy — but there was still enough tannin that you wouldn’t confuse it with a hearty rosé.

Schiava hails from the Trentino-Alto Adige region in northeast Italy, and the area was formerly a part of the Austrian Empire. World War I changed things politically, but this dual identity of Italian and Austro-Hungarian still permeates the region. It also explains the other name for this grape, Vernatsch.

By the late 1800s and early 1900s, the first winery cooperatives formed in Alto Adige (Andrian, Terlan, and Neumarkt all in 1893). Now there are about a dozen cooperatives and together they produce some 70% of all wine in the region. In the US, Andrian and Terlan (now one cooperative with separate brands) wines are relatively easy to source and continue to win respectable scores amongst the wine critics and trade magazines. Like many of Italy’s wine regions, Trentino-Alto Adige entered a second rebirth in the 1970s when it was included and codified into the DOC and DOCG system. In the 1980s, a focus on single vineyard wines corresponded to an increase in quality and an effort to curb yields. Curbing yields matters for Schiava as it is a vigorous grape (like its spiritual cousin Cinsault).

The tricky thing about Schiava: it’s not a single grape, but rather a family of closely related grapes. The principal three are Schiava Gentile, Schiava Grossa, and Schiava Grigia, but there are up to ~10 recognized sub-varieties in the Schiava family. By my research, the sub-varieties are often interplanted in vineyard and co-fermented to make a single “Schiava” wine.

I recently picked up three examples to better understand the grape. Let’s see if any really sparkle. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell if any were of a specific sub-varietal of Schiava.

Alois Lageder 2023 Schiava – More Technical Info Here – Translucent, as Schiavas typically are. The nose is a bit of a letdown. Mulch, windswept leaves, and dried ham. Some raspberry poking through. The palate is livelier with the raspberries and cherries reappearing, apple cider vinegar, and salt. The finish closes out with some stemmy tannins and that salt reappears. The off notes and lack of focus on the nose, coupled with the tough tannins, make this a hard wine to enjoy. 83/100

Kloster Neustift Abbazia di Novacella Schiava 2023 – More Technical Info Here – Translucent and with some ruby undertones. Much better nose by comparison. Bright raspberry and a touch of strawberry. Easygoing and fruity on the palate with nice acidity to keep things bright—dried apple, raspberry, and apricot. The finish is gently bitter with mild tannins. A pleasant, if uneventful Schiava. 86/100

Franz Gojer Vernatsch Alte Reben 2023 – More Technical Info Here – On the nose there’s a richness to this the others lacked. Jammy raspberries lead the way followed by licorice, and floral accents. A smoky meatiness though that faded with some air. On the palate this is silky and soft with more raspberries, a bit of cherry, and some nutmeg. The finish continues on the same thread with just a wisp of tannins. Very clean, and sort of like Pinot Noir had a baby with Cinsault. It’s missing some complexity, but still enjoyable — and it was my wife’s favorite of the trio (“You can buy this again”). 90/100

Sometimes exploring uncharted territory can lead to a mixed bag. It’s vital to your wine journey to learn about producers, styles, or even vintages that you don’t care for much. I’m not going to write off Alois Lageder or Abbazia di Novacella, but it’ll definitely be a try-before-buy.

As for Schiava/Vernatsch, I have only had about eight so far, but I believe the grape has real potential — especially as producers continue to dial in lower yields and experiment with how they utilize the sub-varieties. The grape sits at a simple, easygoing intersection between Pinot Noir, Cinsault, and Gamay, and is only in the early stages of its revival.

The best Schiava I’ve had so far is the Upupa Rot from Weingut Abraham (there’s the Germanic influence). It’s predominately Schiava but, depending on the vintage, they include some Pinot Noir for balance (<10%). But the Franz Gojer was quite close in quality for what it’s worth!

Have a favorite Schiava? Tell us below!

The world of wine is not without such quandaries, chief among them the phrase of “old vines”.

Much like “organic” food and “holistic” medicine, the term “old vine” is a malleable marketing moniker. Since the term isn’t regulated in any country or appellation (as far as I’m aware), there’s no set age requirement for a vine to qualify as old. Instead there’s a spectrum. There are old vines, and there are old vines.

Vines don’t produce fruit right away, a proper harvest won’t occur until typically three years after planting, and many producers won’t make and sell wine under their own label until vines reach 10 years of age. Vines reach maturity at around 30 years of age, but can survive for a hundred years or more under the right conditions. Australia holds the most commonly accepted continuously producing old vines—Langmeil Winery’s ~182-year-old Shiraz/Syrah vines. If the youngest is three years, and the oldest is ~182 years, then what counts as “old”?

Vines around 30-35 years old can reasonably be called “old,” since they’ve reached maturity—though most producers reserve the term for those 50 years or older. And the moniker varies across languages: vieilles vignes, vigne vechhia, or viñas viejas.

But why do old vines matter?

Left unchecked, a vine produces a lot of fruit — a problem for growers aiming to make high-end wine. The more fruit a vine carries, the more its energy and flavor precursors are divided among the clusters. Too much fruit means less concentration in each berry, leading to thinner, less flavorful wines. So growers aim to restrict yields — enough to concentrate flavor, but not so much that they can’t make a viable amount of wine. Making things trickier, different varieties handle yield stress differently: Pinot Noir often needs tight control to express nuance, while varieties like Cabernet Sauvignon or Grenache can crop more generously without losing character.

Growers can manage yields directly by cutting away excess grape bunches early in the season, forcing the vine to focus on what remains. But yield is only part of the story. As a vine ages, its roots delve deeper into the soil (sometimes 30 feet deep) tapping into more stable moisture and a broader spectrum of minerals. That deep root network doesn’t just make old vines more resilient to drought or heat spikes; it also smooths out vintage variation and contributes to the subtle, savory undertones often found in old-vine wines.

Older vines also regulate themselves. Their natural vigor declines with age, so they bear less fruit without aggressive pruning. The berries they do produce tend to be smaller, with thicker skins and more concentrated flavor. Add to that decades of genetic adaptation to their site, and you begin to understand why old vines are so revered: they’re seasoned plants that know how to balance themselves.

There’s a lot more to it, but simply put, old vines have deep roots and less fruit. Together, they make more flavorful grapes and more interesting wine.

Where did all the old vines go?

That seems like a simple question. After all, winemaking is thousands of years old, so shouldn’t old vines be a dime a dozen?

Sometimes it becomes necessary to replace a vine due to various health reasons, or because it simply is so old that it isn’t producing enough fruit. However, the big reason we have so few properly old vineyards (100+ years) is because of a little bug called Phylloxera. Originating in America, it likely caught a boat ride over to Europe where it plagued and ravaged vineyards virtually everywhere. I’ve covered it in more detail here.

Home Grown Old Vineyards

Wines made from old vines can crop up at fairly reasonable prices if you’re willing to do some digging. In fact, my first wine ever was the very humble (and very accessible) Bogle Old Vine Zinfandel.

In the U.S., most of our oldest vineyards are located in California. Plenty has been written about old-vine Zinfandel (and perhaps I’ll add my voice to the choir soon). But the oldest, continuously farmed vineyard in the U.S., the Bechtoldt Vineyard, doesn’t feature Zinfandel or even Cabernet Sauvignon—it’s planted to the humble grape Cinsault.

The Bechtoldt Vineyard is the third oldest vineyard on record with the Historic Vineyard Society, and the oldest Cinsault vineyard in the world dating back to 1886. That’s only 36 years after California became a U.S. state, and across the Pacific Ocean, the Meiji Restoration in Japan was in its final years.

But because Bechtoldt Vineyard was Cinsault (owners called their grapes Black Malvoisier for decades), it went underappreciated for many years as the majority of wine drinkers opted for heavy, powerful red wines that made Napa Valley infamous. Cinsault is nothing like those wines.

You’ve probably had Cinsault without realizing it — it’s primarily a blending grape and plays a huge role in Provençal rosé and other southern French wines, including those from the Rhône Valley. Globally, it’s made notable inroads in South Africa, Chile, and California.

Cinsault is a thin-skinned, high acid grape variety that is also high-yielding and drought resistant (a useful trait in its growing regions!), so winegrowers have to carefully manage it in order to make flavorful wines of distinction. Despite its high yields, it typically shows modest alcohol — around 12–13%, even in today’s warmer climate. It has some flavor similarities to Pinot Noir and Gamay, and its low tannins make it accessible in its youth even if it can’t always age well long-term.

Historically, Cinsault was largely ignored by critics—not without reason. Cinsault is rarely going to blow you aware with flavor; it’s a quiet grape. However, wine drinkers’ palates have notably shifted over the last decade, which means grapes like Cinsault are getting the appreciation they so long desired. And their high acid allows them blossom into gorgeous rosé wines when given the care and attention they need.

If you’re curious about old vineyards and wines coming out of California, I highly, highly recommend Randy Caparoso’s own Substack. His vineyard pictures alone are worth clicking for. He wrote the last link earlier detailing the history of the vineyard and how it was saved. It helps to walk in the footsteps of giants.

The Review

Birichino 2023 Bechthold Vineyard Old Vines – Vignes Centenaires

Mokelumne River Lodi, California – 12% ABV – about $30 for the bottle

Pale colored with magenta at the rim.

Nose- Tight upon opening, but give it some time and aim for it to be just slightly below room temp. Soft aromas of red currants, raspberry, cherry, and even a little blueberry mingle with accents of violet and black pepper. There’s a vague earthiness here that sometimes presents like wild herbs or fennel.

Palate- At only 12% ABV, this is wondrously light and silky on the palate. Driven by crisp, juicy red fruits and rosewater. Not diverse in its flavors, but almost refreshing in a way. Only mildly astringent.

Finish- Thin-skinned and light on tannins, it exits quietly with oolong tea, green stems, and cherry.

Despite the high heat of its locale, this Birichino Cinsault had all the texture of a cool-climate wine coupled with the overt fruitiness that high heat can deliver. Those juxtaposed traits made for a fun drinking experience with a wine that was wonderfully accessible in its youth. I haven’t had too many varietal Cinsaults before, but this wine had a lot of overlap with Gamay. However, these lighter style wines from lighter-bodied grapes can be deceptively tricky, much like top notch pizza or sushi. There’s less elements to work with (no overt oak), so the wine has nowhere to hide.

I would have wanted some more depth of flavor, particularly on the palate, but that’s a criticism I have also leveled at Cru Beaujolais. And this was a wine that you have to sit with and contemplate due to its subtler nature. Still, this was proof I need to explore more from Birichino’s range — it was great! Easy 93/100.

We know scientifically it was the egg that came first, so we’ll start there. Riesling was first mentioned by name during the 1400s in the German Rhine river basin and shares a parent with that other world-famous white grape variety, Chardonnay. That familial relationship will matter in a bit.

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Riesling and Germany’s Wine History

Riesling is undeniably among the world’s most versatile, expressive white grape varietals thanks to its soaring levels of acidity. From sparkling to still, bone-dry to exceptionally sweet, Riesling can do it all. Arguably, the only other grapes that can rival its versatility are Chenin Blanc and Furmint. The Unknown Winecaster on YouTube (seemingly inactive) did a fantastic overview of the grape if you’re unfamiliar.

Riesling’s history is long and riddled with highs and lows, and it’s interwoven with Germany’s own history. However, it did not start appearing as a mono-varietal wine until the 1700s, when the Rheingau producer, Schloss Johannisberg, converted all its vineyards to Riesling in 1720 (a winery that warrants their own write up).

By the 1800s, producers had begun mastering the practice of late-harvesting the grapes, using the higher sugar content to balance out Riesling’s often sharp acidity due to difficulties ripening the grapes in such cool climates. During the middle 1800s, Rheingau and Mosel Rieslings secured top prices, comparable to the top Châteaux in Bordeaux and Burgundy’s grand cru sites such as Montrachet and Corton-Charlemagne where Chardonnay reaches its zenith.

However, the good times screeched to a halt. Phylloxera in the late 1800s and both World Wars ravaged the industry, the landscape, and the economy. Like several other European countries, German producers opted for quantity over quality in the latter half of the 20^th century, mercifully spared from being on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall.

Curious consumers also faced a learning curve. In Germany, two classifications emerged, one for the grape’s ripeness (see image below), and the other for sweetness. While Spätlese refers to late(r) harvest grapes that are inherently sweeter, winemakers can ferment those grapes fully into a bone-dry Spätlese Trocken wine. Unless you know your terms, it can be tricky to understand if you’ve grabbed a sweet or dry Riesling wine from Germany.

Vineyards that would struggle to ripen, a confusing classification system for uninitiated English speakers, and an economic imperative to make bulk wine did not put Riesling or Germany’s wine industry in a positive light.

Perhaps no greater champion for Riesling has been Jancis Robinson, writer-extraordinaire and Master of Wine. She has been consistent (an uncommon trait today) in her praise, stating that Riesling—not Chardonnay—makes the world’s best white wines (Link 1 – Link 2). As Jancis Robinson MW wrote in the Financial Times in 2008: “If I had to choose one wine to show how great dry German Riesling can be, I would show a Keller Riesling. Those wines are the German Montrachets.” She still writes about Keller with praise to this day.

Weingut Keller

Keller had already been winning countless awards and top scores by the time of Ms. Robinson’s quote, but to the unacquainted it would’ve been a curious statement. Weingut Keller hails from Germany’s Rheinhessen region—not the more historically prestigious Rheingau and Mosel—and the region had largely produced bulk wine in the post-war period. Rheinhessen clocks in at about 27,000 hectares—roughly equivalent to all of Burgundy.

Klaus Peter took over his father’s estate in 2001, and promptly began moving away from the house style of sweeter wines to dry. It was both a personal decision and a practical one. Global warming and climate change had notably affected their growing season (NASA—yes that NASA—concluded that climate change had accelerated harvests by 10 days). Stephen Bitterolf, Keller’s US importer, writes in his book, vom Boden: Ten Years of Hocks & Moselles, “K.P. quickly corrected me, saying that his father made amazing dry wines when he could. It was just too cold most often to achieve the ripeness needed for balanced dry wines in the Wonnegau” (99).

Over the last two decades, the estate has grown from roughly 18 hectares to 25, with about half of them owned outright and the rest leased, an arrangement more commonplace than you might think with these top producers. Their son, Felix, joined full time in 2020 having apprenticed at another hallowed winery in Nahe, Emrich-Schoenleber. Felix has endeavored to add a sparkling wine program to the already impressive roster. In 2018, the winery collaborated with former apprentice Julian Haart to add a parcel of the Schubertslay vineyard in the Mosel to the mix (see the far right of the above image). Clearly a winery that’s not content to sit on their laurels!

The respect for terroir surely stems from the duo’s impressive background. Klaus Peter apprenticed under the Hubert Lignier and Armand Rousseau domaines in Burgundy, with Julia training at Muller-Catoir in the Pfalz. And there is a keen interest in fostering talent in the next generation with coveted internships offered on their own property.

All the talent, including their vineyard workers who occasionally must hand cut away hail-damaged grapes from their bunches, translates to wines of supreme balance. And yet the team is not inflexible. Klaus Peter isn’t afraid to eschew the dry style that made him famous for a sweeter style should the cru’s grapes call for it.

He also remains committed to offering affordable bottlings. The various undersung German varietals grown on the estate are all accessibly priced (though his Pinot Noirs can get pricey). Turning to the main grape of the estate, the von der Fels bottling represents young Riesling vines from several of his named vineyards yet is relatively easy to source with plenty of bottles made per year. Locally it costs about $35. For context, the trendy Burgundy domaine, Pierre-Yves Colin-Morey (PYCM), prices its basic Bourgogne Blanc Chardonnay at $72 per bottle. A bargain by comparison.

The Keller Effect

Rheinhessen’s resurgence was undeniably spearheaded by Weingut Keller, and now the region is seen as a hotbed of quality and experimentation—notably with Chardonnay and Spätburgunder/Pinot Noir.

However, reading about Klaus Peter and Julia Keller, I’d venture to guess that they would be humbler about their influence on Rheinhessen and Germany’s place in the wine world. But when the top wine, G-Max, fetches thousands at retail or more on a keen secondary market, their place in the pantheon is indisputable. Indeed, it’s hard not to write about them without reverence and awe. This duo decided to make unfashionable wine, from an unfashionable region, and not only did they succeed, but they changed the German wine landscape forever. Call it the Keller Effect when a winery has such an outsized impact on a grape, a region, and a country.

Unfortunately, much like vintages, wine industry data is often imperfect. Using data from deutscheweine.de’s 2023/2024 report, we can at least look at the export market for all German wine. I did inquire for Rheinhessen-specific data but got no reply.

What we can see is that export volumes fell throughout the 2000s. Despite the value of those exports wavering after the Great Recession, they regained traction to approach the highs of the century. In short, less volume but at higher prices.

Looking at Germany’s exports from a price-to-liter ratio, Germany’s winemakers improved their value-per-liter by 128%. What we can infer here is that German producers focused on quality wine, leading to lower vineyard yields and less exports, but the value of those better wines made up the difference. This tracks closely to Keller’s own approach of lower yields, higher quality.

Though the Keller Effect is correlational, sometimes there is no such thing as a coincidence.

The Review

Since I don’t have hundreds of dollars lying around for some of Keller’s hailed bottlings such as their Kirchspiel or Oberer Hubacker, I’ve opted for the entry Limestone bottling. This wine, along with the von der Fels, is joined by the Riesling Limestone Kabinett and the Riesling Trocken as the entry bottlings.

I actually find it more useful in many respects to judge a winery or brand on their base offering. If they can’t craft a compelling wine at more reasonable prices, why should I or anyone else trust them with hundreds of dollars to craft a compelling top wine? It’s the same logic as judging a TV show by its first episodes. Investment should be earned, not demanded.

I tried this wine 36 hours after receiving my shipment. Yes, I was excited!

Appearance – Pale yellow, nearly colorless

Nose - Quiet and a tad austere. A touch of white flowers, underripe peach, green apples, and river stones. A bit of soap. Very “typical” but the youth is apparent, making this a tad diminished.

Palate - Not diminished here though! Medium bodied, with a firm acidic attack that keeps the whole wine buoyant, engaging, and refreshing. Yellow apples, peach, and honeydew melon. A brief flash of lemon and lime juice along with scallion during its development.

Finish - That fruit basket continues on the finish though the yellow apples have morphed to green (though still not so acidic). Closes with mint leaves and a stoniness. A bit of residual sugar (I guessed 15g/l—email newsletter said 13g/l) provides balance and extends the finish.

In a single word: refreshing.

It’s not only a good wine, but a good introductory wine to Weingut Keller containing plenty of enjoyment and refinement. All of my favorite Rieslings have an almost effervescent, crackling acidity to them without being harsh, and this wine has that. The ~$30 is on the higher side for an entry-level bottling, but I don’t think anyone could argue against this after tasting it.

90+/100, with room for one or two more points if the nose regains some energy. To test that impression, I revisited the wine 24 hours later, and it had a little more volume to the nose. Notes that were once fleeting had more presence and thus better definition, though there were no new surprises to uncover. Since this vintage is still brand new, I’m confident the wine will evolve and improve over the next five years…if I can stay patient!

If I was smarter, I’d have ordered some of the von der Fels to try side-by-side or maybe even the RR to see what a jump in price provides.

If you’re interested in learning more about Keller and think my 1750 words wasn’t enough, don’t worry. Much more qualified wine critics and writers are well ahead of me.

1. https://v1.vinous.com/articles/keller-excellence-mar-2023

2. https://www.jancisrobinson.com/articles/kellers-new-mosel-adventure

3. https://winedecoded.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/ViewFromTheCellar_Sept-Oct2007.pdf?srsltid=AfmBOoqizaipZXG_DZ0TCh5AFx57SzNOoWOJlb58RWWJkjmUFYq5xMFc

But they were all of them deceived, for another grape was grown: in the lands of Cour-Cheverny, in the quiet vineyards near Château Chambord, King Francis I declared, by law, another grape be planted…Romorantin.

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Romorantin has all the characteristics that modern lovers of white wine cherish. It is high in acid, giving it great aging potential but also the potential to handle residual sugar. Aromatically, it lacks the lavish bouquet of Viognier or Gewurztraminer, but it’s hardly lacking either. Orchard fruits, citrus, quince, and nutty characteristics are all commonly found. Reading those flavor descriptions, you’d be forgiven if you thought I was talking about Chenin Blanc.

In truth, Romorantin was once far more plentiful. Before King Francis I allegedly had the grape planted in the commune of Romorantin-Lanthenay, its home was actually in Burgundy where it grew alongside its cousins, Chardonnay and Aligoté. It slowly spread to new territory in the Loire, but that screeched to a halt when the Phylloxera root louse plagued Europe’s vineyards in the latter half of the 1800s.

The solution to Phylloxera—grafting European vines onto American rootstocks—led to the elimination of many lesser-known grape varieties. Romorantin was nearly one of them, save for one last holdout in its quiet corner. There are only a handful of growers making wine from the scarce 60 hectares remaining. Despite the limited vines, winemakers have experimented with Romorantin, making off-dry examples along with structured, dry wines. While there is soil variation in Cour-Cheverny, the most common soils are sand—that Phylloxera does not like—or clay.

It is on clay soils that we find the rare vines for today’s wine. Henry Marionnet of Domaine de la Charmoise acquired four hectares of vines in 1998, including a tiny 0.36 hectare plot of Romorantin planted in 1850. Experts have been able to confirm the age of this miraculous parcel of vines, making it among France’s oldest. Tending to unique, ungrafted vines is something of a specialty for the domaine, which has seemed content to work unostentatiously.

So, when I found that a local wine shop had a few bottles left of this rare grape, from that very same parcel, I simply couldn’t resist. It’s an opportunity to drink genuine history, with vines as old as California’s statehood. It’s an opportunity to drink a grape most never encounter, to experience unique flavor combinations. And it was an opportunity to drink this wine at its aging peak, no waiting required.

The Reviews

Henry Marionnet Domaine de La Charmoise Romorantin Provignage 2012- the most expensive wine from the estate (cost me ~$55), this is fermented in tanks with native yeasts and does not undergo malolactic fermentation to preserve the fresh acidity. More details from the importer here.

Nose- Nutty first and foremost. Bruised lemon, pear, soursop/guanabana, white pineapple, and a hint of lanolin like you’d find in Chenin Blanc from Savennières.

Palate- Those fruits continue on the nose but take on a more dried fruit character. Running in parallel to the fruit is a salty edge—reminiscent of Riesling—along with acacia honey. Vibrant acidity here too, and this seems like it has plenty of life left in it.

Finish- Salty, nutty, and again on those fleshy tropical fruits. Throw some quince in there too. Dense and lingering.

Conclusion- Power meets grace in this varietal, and for any fans of Chenin Blanc, this will be right up your alley. Furthermore, you have to enjoy the character of aged white wines going into this particular bottle. I may not have had any Romorantin before, but a quality wine is a quality wine. 94/100

A few weeks later, that same store announced they had brought in the Provignage’s younger sibling—at unfortunately the same price. But given how positive my first experience was, I was keen to dip my toes in again.

Henry Marionnet La Pucelle de Romorantin (VdF) 2022 – In 2006 the Marionnet team took shoots from their original Romorantin vines and planted those new shoots, ungrafted, alongside the original vines. Now they are a 1/10 as old as the original planting. This was a great way to not only see a Romorantin without much bottle age, but a way to see how young vines differ from old vines (check out the color difference!). Only 2644 bottles made.

Nose- Young on the nose and mild. Lots of wildflowers, honeydew melon, a faint lanolin note, and something herbal and medicinal. Wormwood? Gentian? A hint of nettles.

Palate- Where the nose was simple, the palate is glorious. It is difficult to get a wine that has vibrant acidity AND heft. Lemon juice and lemon pith, pineapple, more of that herbal, bitter gentian-esque character. But creamy and round and despite the bitterness it’s never out of balance. I suspect they let this sit on the lees (the spent yeast after fermentation) for awhile.

Finish- Baked apples, apricot, honey, lemon pith, and more honeydew melon. Juicy, crisp, and crunchy fruits. Gives the sensation of sweetness but I suspect this has no more than 1-3g/L of residual sugar as is common with dry white wines. Then saltiness kicks as well harkening to the older sibling bottle.

There’s no ignoring that this is a simpler, more direct wine. However, this is no bad thing, after all, aged white wine (particularly one mimicking Chenin Blanc) is an acquired taste. This is supremely enjoyable. The bitterness here may turn some people off, but I don’t find it out of balance and it works wonderfully to balance the overt fruitiness to bring complexity to the whole affair. 91/100

Discussion for below: What’s the rarest wine or spirit you’ve tried? Did you enjoy it?

In my household, we cook a lot of dishes with tomato sauce in some shape or form. Unfortunately, tomatoes make for challenging ingredients when trying to pair with wine. Their high acidity often makes red wines feel weak and imbalanced, and the umami notes can jar with a lot of white wines that might normally have the acidity to compete. Once you start factoring in ingredients, like sausage, it can get even trickier.

The classic pairing is to lean on the Sangiovese grape, usually from Chianti Classico or the wider Tuscan area. The logic is solid. Sangiovese is a higher acid red grape varietal and it has some tannins to bite back against the savory, fattier elements that end up in the sauce. But what about #2? That would be the formerly maligned grape, Barbera.

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If you haven’t heard the name Barbera, that’s okay! It’s a red grape coming from the Piedmont region where the more famous Nebbiolo grape found in Barolo and Barbaresco rules the roost. Coming out of WWII, Italy, like many other countries, focused on quantity rather than quality. Barbera was a prime candidate: it’s vigorous leading to high yields, and it handles heat waves just fine leading to consistent ripening.

By the 1980s, Piedmont saw a renaissance, a modernization movement carrying the torch started by the Super Tuscan movement in the late 60s and 70s. As the “Barolo Boys” experimented with different techniques to make Barolo and Barbaresco more approachable, they also experimented and lifted up Barbera at the same time. Better vineyard management and reducing the yields went a long way.

Over the last decade or so, wine drinkers have embraced more “natural” wines (a fraught term for another post!), and, in turn, varietals and styles that aren’t so full-bodied. Barbera being medium-bodied at best and carrying high acidity, was well positioned to benefit from the preference shift away from the dark, rich fruit bombs of the aughts.

I’ve picked two Barbera’s at approachable prices to see how they worked with a vodka pizza I ordered.

Scarpetta Barbera del Monferrato 2022 – A wine project devised by Master Sommelier Bobby Stuckey and Chef Lachlan Mackinnon-Patterson meant to highlight regional wines and recipes. These are “table wines” meant to compliment a meal, rather than be the star of the show. This Barbera came in at $17.

Nose- Dirty plums, wet leaves, red licorice, cherry, and currants.

Palate- Delayed arrival and medium-bodied. Fleshy red fruits along with cooked apple. Decent acidity keeps this from being flatfooted. That big wall of flavor after about 2 seconds is enjoyable, but it lacks development from there.

Finish- Some fuzzy, modest tannins, Darjeeling tea, and cherry lozenges.

An adequate wine. The newer vintage features no oak, and I expect this version was produced in the same style. This straightforward Barbera may not rise to any level of greatness, but the other recommended red sauce pairing, Sangiovese via Chianti, is often just as guilty of that sin while costing more money. 86/100

Giuseppe Cortese Morassina Barbera d’Alba 2019 – Single vineyard Barbera from this Barbaresco-based producer. Aged for 18 months in Slovenian oak (not unlike Barolos and Barbarescos), leading to 8000 bottles produced. Price was $24.

Nose- Fresher. Brighter cherry and a bit of iris. Roses, plums, a hint of leather.

Palate- Medium-light bodied, but silky smooth the whole way through. Dried herbs mingle with sour cherry.

Finish- A pop of peppery tannins, but these mellow out to make way for juicy cherry, plum, and tobacco.

Despite 18 months in oak, you’d be hard pressed to notice given how fresh the nose is, but the oak clearly played a role in supporting and elevating the palate texture. A fun Barbera and a better wine with the pizza. 90/100.

Today’s head-to-head proves that you usually get what you pay for. The quality jump was definitely noticeable, not just by me but also by Ms. Wife.

Have a favorite Barbera? Never tried one before? Comment below regardless!

The Consequences of Innocent Misconceptions

In wine, the newcomer’s refrain can go something like this: “If this red or white wine is sweet then it has added sugar. If the wine was of quality it wouldn’t need added sugar, as sugar can cover up flaws. Therefore, if I’m trying to understand quality wine, I should be drinking dry wine. Dry wine is quality wine.”

I certainly thought that way in the beginning. It helped me steer clear of Meiomi Pinot Noir, which has more sugar than many off-dry wines. I drank bone-dry Rieslings, steered clear of fortified wines, and avoided ripe red wines from California, Australia, and South America because they seemed sweet. The consequence is that I became less experienced, less wine-educated, and…well…a snob. No one likes a snob.

So what about wines that were deliberately made to be sweet?

A Winemaking Detour

Sugar is a natural, necessary part of the winemaking process—of any alcohol production. So to write off any and all sweet wines is to write off hundreds of different styles, grapes, and regions. And there was one particular group of society that loved sweet wines: European nobility.

It’s easy to forget now when we have sodas, energy drinks, and entire supermarket aisles dedicated to sugar, but back before colonialization Europe didn’t have easy sugar cane production. Muslims and crusaders had brought sugar westward, but production was limited in Europe. Things that were naturally sweet became prized. Throw in alcohol and you’ve got a double whammyy. Sweet wines were so prized that royalty would assign escorts for its save travel, and Louis XV declared sweet Tokaji the “King of wines, the wine of kings.”

Fascinatingly, this style of wine is practically an accident—it’s grape growing gone wrong. To get such sky-high levels of sugar, you need to get super concentrated grape juice. You can get this through drying the grapes like raisins (the technique used for vin santo) or grapes have to get afflicted by a fungus called botrytis, which will shrivel the grapes on the vine. However, getting botrytis is not easy. You need a lot of humidity in the vineyard to encourage the fungus to develop and spread, which means you need large rivers in the vineyard region. Cultivating botrytis for sweet wines started in Hungary’s Tokaj region in the 1600s, and the technique later spread to France and Germany. The ability to cultivate botrytis lead to regions ascending to prominence during the 1800s. And to close this loop, botrytis is better known by its other name, “noble rot.”

Despite being a labor of love, consumption of sweet wines has declined for the last 50 years (alongside fortified wines). However, they’re still prized amongst collectors. The most expensive wine at auction is a super sweet Riesling.

Not every grape is suited for sweet wine styles. You need strong acidity to provide backbone to avoid drinking a gloopy, heavy mess. Chenin Blanc and Riesling are the preeminent mono-varietals that can deliver sweetness and acidity, but blending is also common. In the motherland, Tokaj, winemakers typically blend super acidic Furmint with softer, more aromatic Hárslevelű for their Tokaji wines (the “i” is possessive and silent, “a wine of Tokaj”). In Bordeaux, there are 10 regions for sweet wines, but Sauternes is certainly the most famous followed by Barsac, and winemakers typically blend Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscadelle.

Food Pairing and Buying

Because of the high levels of acidity, these wines are actually pretty food friendly, and because they are so sweet, they are often deemed “dessert” wines on menus due to their ability to withstand the sugar in desserts. But they also make for fun aperitifs for the brave. Good dessert wines balance out their extreme sugar with acidity, and it helps for them to be chilled, because at room temp they will lose this inherent complex balance.

When buying these sweet dessert wines, consider the heightened production costs. Botrytis lowers the yield from the vineyard due to concentrating the grape juice, and picking these grapes requires careful manual labor as pickers may need to separate the affected grapes from the unaffected. It is common to sell these types of wines in half-size 375ml bottles (Tokaji commonly comes in 500ml). Sauternes is probably the most available, and the easiest to get older vintages (advised). While I can certainly understand someone wanting to drink a full bottle of this elixir, it’s generally advised to keep portions small due to the sugar levels, which makes the half bottles all the better. In Sauternes, it’s common to have a ‘grand vin’ and a ‘second wine’ which carry a difference in quality and price. This means a half-size bottle of the ‘second wine’ could be an affordable $15-$20. The grand vin from famed estates will often run $30+ per half-bottle. At the high end you have Chateau d’Yquem which will run you +$200.

Enter our Two Challengers

We’re drinking two wines. A wine from Barsac’s well-reputed Chateau Coutet, and a small producer from Tokaj, Kvazsinger (Ka-vaz-inger). Both of these wines are being consumed rather young, as this wine style can withstand decades of aging.

Chateau Coutet Barsac

Chateau Coutet started first as a fortress in the thirteenth century before becoming and estate and vineyard in the seventeenth century. Thomas Jefferson, who seemingly drank for most of his official visit during 1785-1789 declared it the finest estate in Barsac. However, history is murky on when the use of botrytis became widespread in Sauternes broadly and Barsac specifically—at least the 1830s. For nearly 50 years, Chateau Coutet has been in the hands of the Baly family, and in 2017, Wine Spectator declared their 2014 vintage as #3 in their top 100 World Wines. The estate has some 38.5 hectares (95 acres) but the 2019 vintage saw only 11 hectares viable for botrytis.

The 2019 Chateau Coutet is a blend of Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscadelle (75%, 23%, 2%). The Semillon provides the aroma, Sauvignon Blanc the acidity, and Muscadelle acts like hint of spice. Fermentation was completed in barrel and then aged 18 months in 100% new French oak barrels. This, their ‘grand vin’, sees roughly 42,000 bottles made per year. While this packs a solid 142g/l of residual sugar, I couldn’t find any clear declaration of acidity levels.

Nose- It’s immediately aromatic but not overwhelming in power. Candied citrus fruits and their peels (tangerine), lime thyme, sultanas, and the beginnings of an oxidative character—for me walnuts and the char of crème brûlée. Beyond the flavor notes, it presents itself rather lean and focused. This carries through on the…

Palate - Sure, it’s sweet, but it’s not heavy courtesy of the acidity, and I almost tricked myself into thinking it wasn’t botrytized. More tropical fruits, particularly pineapple, explode on the palate. Add in honeycrisp apples, orange marmalade, and honeyed biscuits.

Finish - Closes on electricity with that acidity staying strong amongst more pineapple, apricot, cinnamon, and ginger. Syrupy on the close to remind you of the sugar levels.

Conclusion - Probably the lithest, sweet Bordeaux I’ve ever had, though rather young and simple. It would be fun to lay this down and compare against a more powerful vintage. 92/100.

Kvaszinger Winery

It started by happenstance. The family patriarch Odon Kvaszinger served as steward for Baron Vey, a job that entailed looking after the Baron’s vineyards and cellar. When the Baron lost a game of cards in 1929, Kvaszinger offered to cover his master’s debts by buying one of the Baron’s vineyards, Hatalos. Where Mr. Kvaszinger had the money to buy the vineyard outright isn’t so clear! The family didn’t waste the opportunity though and has held the 4HA vineyard through the turbulent 20^th century until present day, growing the estate in the process. While Hatalos vineyard is located due east of the famous winemaking village Mad, the winemaking is done further northeast along the Bodrog river.

The term ‘Szamorodni’ in the 2019 Kvaszinger Szamorodni Edes (Sweet) means “as it comes” and indicates that no Aszu sweet base wine was added. However, the term “Edes” on the label indicates that they picked grape bunches that were a mix of healthy and botrytized grapes together. The cuvee was 90% Furmint and 10% Harslevelu (both indigenous grapes to Hungary). Aged for 12 months in Hungarian oak, 20% of it being new oak. This came in at a 115g of residual sugar, which is just shy of the 120g/rs required for a Tokaji Aszu 5 Puttonyos (which also demands the use of Aszu sweet wine).

Nose – Intensely aromatic, but instead of tropical and candied fruits leading the charge, this is a more floral affair. White flowers (orchids), mango, cantaloupe and honeydew melon, and overripe apricots. A touch of nutmeg on the nose.

Palate – Rather perfume-esque on the palate. Strong synergy with the nose. Running concurrently with the fruit and the notable acidity is a spiced edge akin to paprika.

Finish – Plenty of honey and more mango and other sticky and dried fruits. A hint of steel, pickled ginger along with more nutmeg and paprika. More than a minute-long courtesy of the sugar, but there’s such strong acidity here that your palate is clensed.

Conclusion – An excellent wine that shows that a young, sweet wine can still pack plenty of complexity. A great value. 91/100.

Parting Thoughts

So Sauternes beat Tokaj? Well, not quite. I’ve said multiple times that a score isn’t everything. These are stylistically different wines with notably different production methods despite the decent amount of flavor overlap. The Coutet has a good two decades to cellaring ahead of it to benefit from, whereas the Kvaszinger, to my palate, is already excellent and interesting and meant for the short-term. With both wines coming in around $30, I’d actually grab the Kvaszinger for a quick fix—that heightened acidity over the Coutet makes it so refreshing!

Have you had experience with dessert wines? Any favorites? Comment below!

Spend any time researching culture and society today and you’ll run into an ugly word: polarization. Normally, polarization is applied to politics, where it has explained and contributed to the status of congressional gridlock and tug-of-war that’s lasted…most of my life.

But polarization doesn’t start and stop with politics. It runs rampant everywhere in our lives. Android or Apple user? Disney or Dreamworks? Coca Cola or Pepsi? Wine is no exception. Every worker in wine retailer would be filthy rich if they got $1000 every time they heard, “I don’t like Chardonnay.1” Bonus payout for that customer then asking for a white burgundy.2

Yet I think there are some grape varietals that can avoid polarization. They’re too friendly, too useful, and maybe even too affordable to disagree on. That’s how I think of Sauvignon Blanc, and maybe that’s why it is in the top 10 most planted wine grapes in the world.

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Sauvignon Blanc is also what I consider to be one the best “starter” grape varietals. For anyone even mildly interested in learning about wine, few varietals are more accessible. Regardless of the country or region, the grape generally sees mild-to-no oak aging (American Fume Blanc being a notable exception), and its aromatic profile makes it easy to identify in a lineup. The high acid profile and strident flavor make it extremely food friendly and food versatile, and since it’s so widely planted every shop is going to stock one. For my first wine review here, and probably our first post together, there is hardly a better option.

But I have a confession: I rarely drink it.

As versatile, as useful, as friendly as it is, I find the grape rather boring, and I’m not alone. Sauvignon blanc is as subtle as dynamite, the methoxypyrazine compounds found in the seeds, skins, and stems leads to a dominant flavor of green bell pepper (and the common descriptor ‘cat pee’). For food pairings, this makes Sauvignon Blanc great as a contrasting element. But on its own, Sauvignon Blanc reminds me of that friend whose personality is grating for anything beyond 30 minutes. I’d much rather drink a wine that isn’t trying to shout at me to pay attention.

Part of being a wine enthusiast or whisky enthusiast is actively reconsidering your opinions. Although the grape is rarely my first choice, I have savoured some spellbinding examples from Domaine Vacheron (Sancerre) and I adore Marc Deschamps’s Champs de Cri (Pouilly Fume). But are there challengers to the throne?

I selected four Sauvignon Blancs, two from France (but not from those aforementioned AOCs) and two from New Zealand. The challengers from New Zealand come with pedigree behind them. The Greywacke comes from the winemaker, Kevin Judd, who pioneered the New Zealand Cloudy Bay brand to prominence. Clos Henri is the offshoot of historied producer Henri Bourgeois, so you know that a family of 10 generations of winemaking can sort out how to make great Sauvignon Blanc. On the French side, Domaine Pierre in Touraine offers a glimpse into a “budget-Sancerre” as Touraine often gets called. My other French choice is from Domaine Pelle, which hails from a sister AOC to Sancerre called Menetou-Salon and shares the same famous soil type, Kimmeridgian.

It’s worth mentioning that Wine Advocate gave the 2023 Clos Henri Otira a 95/100 (!), and the previous vintage of Greywacke to what I grabbed scored anywhere from 91-93 points depending on the critic. I could not find formal reviews for the two French wines.

Greywacke 2024 – Unquestionably New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Lots of grapefruit, grass, and gooseberry. Also a bit of lime. Despite those notes, it presents broad and round and that measured approach carries into the palate, which lets pear and quince come forth. The finish adds pickled ginger, thyme, and tarragon for a spicier affair but closes out clean as a whistle with lemon juice and pith. 91/100.

Clos Henri Otira Glacial Stones 2023 – Grapefruit galore with just a twinge of that characteristic cat pee element. Freshly dumped driveway stones with all the dust lingering in the air. Clam shells, herbs, white flowers, and kiwi. On the palate this is light-bodied and super refreshing. Rice wine vinegar and juicy pear that leads to a finish of pickled ginger and tarragon. Clean yet punchy without being overwhelming. 91/100.

Domaine Pierre Touraine 2023 – A bit muted on the nose. Petrichor, pear, and gooseberry. There’s more weight (and less acidity) on the palate here although is not a heavy wine. Pear flesh, cucumber water, leeks, and more gooseberry. The finish has more sustain and is less aggressive due to lower acidity (or at least it feels like it). 88/100.

Domaine Pelle morogues – Menetou-salon 2023 – Unsurprisingly a lot in common with the Pierre, but more expressive on the nose. Gooseberries lead the way along with radish, cucumber, green apples, gooseberry, and floral accents. The palate is acidic but also plush at the same time. The sharp lemon-tinged entry sweetens up with green apples. The finish returns a bit to the gooseberries but a seductive saline edge creeps in—possibly a result of those Kimmeridgian soils. A better wine than the Pierre, and a more complete wine than either New Zealander and you’d hope so considering this was the most expensive. 92/100.

None of these wines are going to supplant my two favorites, but when the lowest scoring wine was an 88/100, then it’s a success all around! The Pelle was flirting with greatness, and I believe it might even benefit from another year or so in the bottle. The New Zealanders were a pleasant surprise as they presented with both power and poise, the Clos Henri being an exceptional value.

Farwell and until next time. Please drink responsibly!