Known for his tiny, iconic Pomerol estate Le Pin, Jacques Thienpont purchased this estate in Saint-Emilion in 2010. Giving it the name L’If (the yew tree), the property – positioned close to Troplong Mondot – is rapidly becoming as sought-after as its sibling. 

L'If

Explore the Saint-Emilion estate, L’If, owned by Jacques Thienpont of Le Pin – top Bordeaux wines 

Discover the wines of L’If, Bordeaux – owned by Le Pin 

More about L’If 

L’If

Old, low-yielding vines. I’ve written that phrase more times than I’d like to confess. But how much does it really mean when it comes to the quality of the wine in your glass? The 2023 vintage in Burgundy (read our full vintage report here) produced generous yields. In farming terms, that’s a good thing: a plentiful crop that restocks the cellars (and coffers). But the sheer volume of fruit (“a wall of grapes”, as Bouchard’s winemaker Frédéric Weber told us) posed its own challenge – and much of our time in the region’s cellars this year was spent diving into how they managed, or controlled, the yield. It seemed fitting, therefore, to address the topic in greater detail.  In the Old World, appellation rules will limit yields, with the yield generally decreasing as you move up the appellation system (see below a table detailing the maximum yields for Burgundy, for example). Of course, this indicates a relationship between yield and quality, implying less is better – and there is no doubt that excessive yields don’t produce fine wine. But how low is too low? There is a fashion for prizing vines that barely manage to ripen a bunch or two, but do they really make better wine than those producing a decent crop? Beyond our obsession with rarity, what are the consequences of less fruit per vine – and therefore, what does more entail? A note on measuring yield Before we get into the weeds of the matter, let’s address how we talk about yield. In the Old World, the most common measurement of yield is hectolitres per hectare (hl/ha), measuring the volume of juice or wine per hectare of vineyard area. In Champagne the standard measure is kilos per hectare and in Italy you may see reference to quintales per hectare (qt/ha or q/ha, with one quintal translating to 100kg), while in the US, producers are more likely to use tons per acre. We’ll dive further into the many variables here, but it’s worth highlighting that vine density isn’t taken into account by any of these measurements. Although a higher number of vines per hectare will generally mean a higher yield across the vineyard, the increased competition will also likely reduce the yield per vine. For this article, we have spoken to producers from a range of regions, but do note that yields are not comparable between varieties or region. Climate – with heat, sunlight and water availability, as well as the varying size of berries and clusters of any given variety, mean that there is no number that can be deemed a global average when it comes to yield. (Do look at this table compiled by the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley, comparing vine density, cluster weight and juice yields for various classic fine wine regions, to give you an idea of the differences between regions.) Given this, “high” and “low” yields aren’t equated to specific numbers here, but the concept discussed more broadly – and arguably more relevantly for those of us drinking wine rather than making it. Bearing all of this in mind, extremely approximate conversions can be made as follows: one tonne per hectare is approximately 7hl/ha, while one ton per acre is around 17.5hl/ha (Oxford Companion to Wine). Yields: how low is too low? “It’s not extreme mythology: low yields produce better quality,” Cerbaiona’s Matthew Fioretti tells me; for him, high yields risk dilution and sanitary problems – and at excessive levels, that is certainly true. But, as Myriad’s Mike Smith told me, the relationship is “not linear”. Mike Dunn (Dunn Vineyards) generally has low yields, but that’s not necessarily about concentration, he explains: it’s simply about how much they can ripen before winter hits. Up on Napa’s Howell Mountain, their poor soils and farming (avoiding irrigation and fertilisation where they can) naturally produce lower yields. He recently changed some of their Cabernet Sauvignon to cane (rather than cordon) pruning and, although they’re getting more fruit off the same vines, there’s been no loss in quality. “It’s all relative,” says Ivan Massonnat at Belargus in Anjou. He points to Saumur with its limestone soils, where producers can crop 45-50hl/ha without a problem, but on the schist soils that lie beneath his vineyards: “Forget about doing much more than 30-35hl/ha,” he says. And even that has proven challenging for him. In the seven vintages he’s produced at the estate, only two have come close to 30hl/ha, with the average around 15hl/ha, simply due to the challenges of each vintage. He’d have loved to crop more – but nature had other ideas, and vignerons have to adapt to the vintage. Massonnat explains how if you farm to produce yields that are overly low, you can end up with fruit that has high technical, or sugar, maturity, but isn’t yet phenolically ripe – leading to unbalanced wines. Smith echoes this, talking specifically about Beckstoffer Dr Crane, one of Napa’s legendary vineyards, which he finds likes to produce more – around five tons an acre (versus four in most of the vineyards he works with). He sees producers cropping to just three tons per acre there, and in warm vintages the fruit ripens too quickly for the phenolics to catch up. Philippe Bascaules – who was first appointed Estate Director at Ch. Margaux in 1990 – offers an interesting perspective, arguing that there’s no direct relationship between yield and quality. In Bordeaux in the 1970s, he tells me, yields were consistently low – 25-30hl/ha, with wines that were inconsistent. As the wines became more popular, with demand from the US in particular for the 1982 vintage, producers started aiming for significantly higher yields and chaptalizing much more. Soon, average yields had doubled to 50-60hl/ha – a level that was unsustainable, especially in challenging vintages such as 1992, ’93 and ’94. Gradually they implemented changes, introducing green-harvesting (in 1986 at Ch. Margaux) and reducing fertilisation levels in the 1990s. Today, he and his team aim for around 45hl/ha, “a good production” in his mind – but a level which also offers insurance against inclement conditions. Lowering yields is something that, for him, has brought greater consistency to both the estate and region across vintages – ensuring they can ripen the crop each year. Deliberately reducing the yield beyond this, however, wouldn’t offer any serious benefit, he says. Similarly, across the Durantou family’s estates on the Right Bank, including Ch. l’Eglise-Clinet, Noëmie Durantou Reilhac targets a yield of circa 42hl/ha. “The vine wants to produce fruit,” she says, “so if the yield is really, really low, something went wrong.” For her, it’s the balance that matters most. With very high yields, the resulting wines will lack concentration (“You cannot make in tanks what nature hasn’t done before,” she says), but equally if the berries are so small that there is barely any juice, you’ll have little but tannins left to work with. And, while hail or frost will reduce your yield, they won’t result in greater concentration. “I think it just comes down to stress,” Dunn tells me. And that’s a common thread for several producers, arguing that vines need to struggle to produce quality. As Sébastien le Golvet – of Champagne Henri Giraud, who works with the poor soils of Aÿ – says, “genii are born of suffering”. Suffering doesn’t always mean lower yields, however: arguably, Dunn says, in high-vigour sites, keeping higher yields will help increase stress, pushing the vine to work harder – and therefore produce higher quality. Elements impacting yield While it’s impossible for us to address every factor that influences yield, it’s worth – relatively briefly – highlighting a few additional influences beyond site (with poorer or richer soils), variety and vintage: Trellising: Trellising – the shape in which a vine is trained – can be used to control yield. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti emphasises how using alberello or bush vines is key to helping contain Sangiovese’s natural vigour. At Tiberio, Cristiana Tiberio’s oldest vines are pergola-trained, with a traditional Abruzzese system that encourages competition but also increases the canopy to aid photosynthesis and ripening. Vine material/rootstock: The material used in a vineyard is integral (as with Quinta do Noval’s Nacional vineyard, see below). Mike Dunn, for example, mentioned how one of his older vineyards was planted on St George rootstock, known for shatter and therefore limiting yields even further. Jean-Marie Fourrier (Domaine Fourrier) argues that the use of selected clones, rather than massal selection, has resulted in higher yields and the need to green harvest, something that he never does – aided further by the age of his vines (see below for more on this). Vine age: There’s no doubt that the element of vine age is conflated with yields and quality, with older vines often producing better fruit – but less of it. As Mike Dunn told me, the wines from his oldest vines are “more intriguing”, but at some point economics comes into play, and the level of production is financially unsustainable. It’s another non-linear relationship, however, as Durantou Reilhac explains: “Some 70-year-old grandmas can run and dance, and others are weaker.” Although most old vines will produce less fruit, she finds it’s far from uniform in her vineyards – and sometimes there will be young vines that produce less. Virus and millerandage: Virused vines will produce lower yields, and as with old vines, will reach a point where they are unsustainable. While on the surface virus is negative, certain producers do value the reduction in yield or slower ripening that is a result of disease – South Africa’s Hamilton Russell being one (with leafroll virus). Quinta do Noval persists with its own-rooted Nacional vineyard, suffering from phylloxera, with the vines slowly dying and yielding tiny volumes, to produce a particularly special and rare Vintage Port. Similarly, millerandage is a condition most commonly a consequence of poor weather at fruit-set, producing grape clusters with unevenly sized grapes, combining larger and smaller (or shot) berries – sometimes referenced as hen-and-chick. While this reduces yield, the phenomenon is sometimes valued for giving increased concentration to wine. Indeed, some particular clones – such as the Mendoza, Wente or Gingin clones of Chardonnay – are valued for their bunches with hen-and-chicks, and Bret Brothers, for example, even makes a special Cuvée Millerandée – with millerandée Chardonnay – from Les Quarts (a Pouilly-Vinzelles site recently awarded Premier Cru status). Cover crops: At Henri Giraud, Sébastien le Golvet feels that cover crops are essential to the quality of their fruit – and the yield. Sewn just before harvest, the cover crops provide competition up until flowering when they roll the grass mix, creating a bed that holds water and offers nitrogen to the soils, acting as a natural fertiliser – in a way both moderating then fuelling the vines’ growth. This is one hint at the extent to which the type of soils and level of organic matter, not to mention water availability, dictated by site and the farming methods, are all key. The previous vintage: There are two theories at play here. Firstly, conditions during what is known as the initiation phase of the vine cycle, which takes place alongside flowering, will dictate the yield of the following vintage. In 2023 in Burgundy for example, one of the factors in yield was that the spring of 2022 offered perfect conditions, laying the groundwork for 2023’s plentiful crop. As Sébastien le Golvet also explained, however, a large crop in one vintage can tire the vines, meaning they have less to give the following year. How wine producers manage yield The vine naturally wants to reproduce, to grow, ripen fruit and spread its seeds. Vignerons are tasked with taming the plant to focus its energies to develop fruit of concentration and complexity that will make fine wine. This is done in many ways, some of which include: Pruning: The first stage to set up the yield in an existing vineyard is pruning, leaving the appropriate number of buds per vine for the season ahead. The timing of this varies according to the producer, from December through to March, with later pruning helping delay the vine cycle, which is sometimes desirable. Alvina Pernot, for example, specifically pruned her vines shortly (ie to offer a lower crop) in 2023 to help the vines recover from the relatively high-yielding 2022 vintage. Lalou Bize-Leroy famously works with very low yields, and emphasises how important pruning is in this (Domaine Leroy harvested just under 30hl/ha in 2023, its highest ever yield – a number which would still be low by many producers’ standards). De-budding or suckering: In spring, producers will de-bud or sucker the vines, removing lateral shoots and providing further control of the potential yield, as well as the spacing and position of the crop. In 2023 in Burgundy, many producers emphasised how important this was. Hugues Pavelot described it as “drastic”, while Philippe Jouan passed through his vines twice. At Bouchard, Frédéric Weber explained how some of the buds produced two or three bunches in 2023 (rather than the normal one), meaning that even with extensive de-budding yields were very high. Green harvesting: Green-harvesting is the most discussed method of yield control, and one that divides producers. We spoke to several Burgundian vignerons who avoid it (Dominique Lafon, Jacques Devauges at Domaine des Lambrays, Philippe Jouan and Jean-Marie Fourrier, to name a few) – some of whom felt that they had no choice but to use the method in 2023, despite their best efforts. The reason against green-harvesting is that the vine will try to compensate, and that it can be avoided with managing the vineyard in other ways. That said, there are many top-tier producers that green-harvest, and feel it is key to the quality they produce (Ch. Margaux, Eglise-Clinet, Georges Noëllat and Olivier Bernstein, to name a few). And it’s not a decision that any take lightly, well aware that they are literally throwing away potential income. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti compares the vines to runners or cyclists – needing to carry as little weight as possible to get over the finish line. With Sangiovese, he finds it’s unavoidable, especially with the presence of “wings” or “shoulders” (smaller separate clusters that sit on the shoulder of the main bunch). The timing is key, and many producers emphasise the importance of green-harvesting early in the season. For Noëmie Durantou Reilhac, she aims to have this done prior to véraison to avoid twisting the stems (which would impact sap flow) and damaging the skins of the remaining bunches. She’ll do a final pass through her vineyards just before harvest, but this is a method of sorting rather than impacting the ripeness of the grapes on the vine. “There’s a certain point where you can reduce fruit, say a month away from picking, but it won’t do anything,” says Myriad’s Mike Smith. Like many producers, he favours green-harvesting mid-véraison to drop anything that is behind, helping even the ripeness of the crop – as Bascaules does at Ch. Margaux. In 2023, several Burgundy producers highlighted having to do multiple passes to reduce the crop – doing what was sometimes referred to as a “pink” or “blue” harvest on top of a green harvest. Canopy management: A vine’s leaves are its engine – responsible for photosynthesis. The larger the canopy, the larger the engine, therefore trimming the vine’s canopy can help lower its vigour, while keeping a larger leaf area can help encourage vigour. This needs to be considered alongside airflow (to avoid disease pressure) and shading of the bunches (which could delay ripening). If the canopy isn’t balanced with the volume of fruit, it can also negatively impact fruit composition – especially the acid make-up and development of colour and phenolics. Ivan Massonnat (Belargus) explained that in 2022 and 2023, for example, he used a high trellis, allowing a larger leaf area, to capture maximum light and photosynthesis to fuel the vines; but in 2022 he did the opposite, wanting to reduce the size of the “sugar machine”. It has, he notes, become common for large canopies to be used alongside low yields, especially by producers in Burgundy, something he feels has gone too far at certain addresses: “You can kill a wine with concentration,” he says. Some argue that trimming the canopy can encourage it to grow further, while others want to retain a large canopy to encourage root growth (Olivier Lamy feels that the vine has the same amount of growth above and below ground, therefore wanting to retain his canopy to the roots to drive deep into the soil). Lamy is one of a cohort of producers using “tressage”, or braiding, to tame the canopy – a technique pioneered by Lalou Bize-Leroy. For her the aim is to avoid cutting the apex (or growing tip) which would otherwise encourage the growth of lateral shoots. Producers such as Charles Lachaux have taken this even further, training vines to a single stake (more common on the steep slopes of Priorat, Côte-Rôtie or the Mosel) and weaving the shoots into distinctive arches.  The relationship between yield and quality is undoubtedly a tricky one – and one that every producer I spoke to feels is deeply complex. We couldn’t touch on everything here (the tiny yields for botrytised sweet wines, for example, or typically higher yields used for sparkling wine), but there’s plenty to consider. While it remains clear that excessive yields can produce dilute wines, with so many variables play, it’s also clear that less isn’t always better. Read more Editorial

Burgundy’s vignerons were blessed with quantity in 2023, but – when it comes to making fine wine – how much is too much? We spoke to a host of top producers to find out if low yields really do mean better quality

Do low yields really mean better quality when it comes to wine? We talk to Ch. Margaux, Cerbaiona, Eglise-Clinet, Belargus, Dunn, Myriad and more to find out

Understanding yield and quality in wine

Yield and quality: is less really more?

The air is cool and crisp, with the radiant blue skies that only late winter can provide. On the crest of the hill in front of me, a troupe is studiously pruning Ch. Lafite Rothschild’s oldest Cabernet Sauvignon vines, their roots sinking deep into the precious gravel soils that define the First Growth’s wines. Looking over a junior member of the team’s shoulder is Luís Pinto, making sure that no mistakes are being made as they shape the vines for the future, laying the groundwork for not just 2024, but the vintages beyond that. Sporting navy-blue Domaines Barons de Rothschild overalls (vintage, sadly out of production and unavailable for purchase – I asked), Pinto has been working at the estate for over 30 years, and now leads one of the vineyard teams. As you might guess given his name, his family is Portuguese, although he was born and raised in Bordeaux. In fact, his mother even worked the harvest at Lafite, and Pinto has pictures of himself as a child at the on-site nursery the château then had for workers’ offspring – perhaps sewing the first seeds of his future profession. As Louis Caillard, Vineyard Manager at Ch. Lafite Rothschild and Ch. Duhart-Milon, explains, Pinto isn’t an anomaly. Caillard heads up the 80-strong team which works across both properties (and are managed identically when it comes to the vines). The vast majority of this team are extremely local, coming from within a 20-kilometre radius of the château, and once they join the team, few ever leave. Much has changed over Pinto’s many years working these vines – offering an on-the-ground view of viticultural trends. He remembers a time when they would rip out hedges and trees to make room for vines, focused more on yield, now coming full-circle to reinstate the biodiversity that existed before. Today there’s more appreciation of the craft and calling of a vigneron, or vine-grower – a return to traditional vineyard management.  Looking at pruning, for example, Pinto explains how there are no set rules: “Each person prunes a vine as they wish,” he tells me. They respond to each vine, its needs, looking at the sap flow and thinking about its long-term future, rather than just the next season. It’s very Simonit&Sirch in approach – although Pinto is bemused by such a suggestion; for him, it’s how he learnt to understand vines. “All it is, effectively, is that we think,” says Caillard. “It’s always existed; it’s just that we had forgotten it a little.” The challenge is teaching this sort of instinctive approach to managing a vineyard. “I don’t follow a recipe anymore,” says Pinto. It’s not just knowledge he is trying to pass on to his team, but “a way of thinking”, he says, one that inevitably comes from experience, from making mistakes and learning from them. There’s a drastic difference between studying the theory from a book, and standing in front of a vine, secateurs in hand. Of course, the idea of making mistakes when the wine commands the reputation (and price) that Lafite does might seem daunting – but it’s this that sets top addresses apart. Lafite’s scrupulous approach to quality, declassifying any fruit that doesn’t meet its very high standards, is a luxury that not all producers can afford. For Pinto, it’s this dedication to quality and long-term view that has kept him at Lafite all these years. There are plenty of properties that will rip vines out once they reach a certain age, all in the name for better crop loads, but at Lafite, the philosophy is to see “how far we can take the vine”, nurturing parcels into old age. His work might be cyclic, following the vine’s yearly progression, but there are changes every year – an effort to constantly evolve and improve. This, perhaps, is what – for me – is most interesting about Lafite. It’s not just the finesse and elegance of its pinpoint Grand Vin that sets this estate apart, but the way in which it has quietly been changing the way Bordeaux works, pushing forward in its pursuit of excellence. For over a decade, they’ve had Manuela Brando leading their Research & Development; talking to her is fascinating, with trials on everything from biodynamics, rootstocks and treatments to umbrella-like covers as an alternative way to combat mildew. If successful, these trials are transferred to the wider vineyard – with training that means the team never stops learning. Just the other day, Pinto tells me, they had a session on agroforestry – something that he’s clearly fascinated by. Pinto seems relaxed, joking lightly with us, but is also quietly serious when it comes to his work, knowing that every decision they make in the vineyard is critical to the quality of the wine that eventually emerges from the cellar. “Every decision has an impact,” echoes Caillard – “and, in fact, nothing is simple.” Difficult it might be, but Pinto is pleased with the progression he has seen over the years. “You can feel the terroir a bit more again,” he says. The shift to organic, re-introduction of hedgerows and trees to the vineyard, which in turn has brought an array of fauna – butterflies and ladybirds, for example, has transformed the property. As an apiarist, he’s acutely aware of the wildflowers that now blossom and abundant bees they attract. At the end of the day, however, there’s no wizardry, he suggests, to what they do – it’s simple: “We respect the vines a bit more.” With the gloss of an estate like Lafite, a First Growth whose reputation is so immense, it’s easy to forget the work that happens behind the scenes. But, as Caillard knows all too well, “You cannot achieve anything technical without the people; people are key to everything we do.” People like Pinto, so clearly at one with their calling, the place and vines, are what make truly great wine – separating the excellent and exceptional. As our conversation draws to a close, Pinto returns back to his team, his stocky frame receding down the row of vines and weathered face turned once more to the bright sunshine, as deeply rooted in this terroir as the Cabernet Sauvignon that surrounds him. Browse all current listings of Ch. Lafite Rothschild, or read more about Bordeaux

As we continue to take you behind the scenes at Bordeaux’s top addresses, our latest feature shines a light on Ch. Lafite Rothschild. We caught up with one of its vineyard team, a vigneron who has dedicated over 30 years of his life to the First Growth’s vines

Taking you behind the scenes at Ch. Lafite Rothschild to talk to one of the Bordeaux First Growth’s vineyard workers

The call of the vine – Ch. Lafite Rothschild

The call of the vine: Ch. Lafite Rothschild

“It’s difficult when you don’t have vines, a winery, any equipment or money,” Stéphane Dief – co-owner and winemaker at Clos Manou – tells me. “You say you want to be a winemaker, but it is complicated. Our advantage, however, was being able to do exactly what we wanted.” Over the last 25 years, he and his wife Françoise have slowly grown their tiny estate in the northern reaches of the Médoc, beyond Saint-Estèphe, where they make wine that offers some of the best value in the region.  Saint-Christoly-Médoc – the miniscule village that is home to their domaine – is where Stéphane grew up, while Françoise is from less than 15km away. Although Françoise’s family had vines, neither she nor Stéphane were working in the production side of the business, but they fell in love with wine. Via his brothers-in-law – who worked at Ch. Mouton Rothschild and Ch. Rauzan-Sègla – Stéphane started tasting some special wines, buying older vintages at auction – and was soon determined to give it a go himself.  Together, the couple bought a mere 12 ares and produced their first vintage in 1998, 600 bottles that they labelled as Clos Manou – “Clos” because they felt it wasn’t grand enough to use “Château”, and “Manou”, Stéphane’s nickname. It was such a success that their hobby rapidly became a full-time gig and the duo left their day jobs in 2000.  In some ways it doesn’t sound like they were doing anything remarkable. They wanted to make attractive wines that reflected their site, and to do so with precision and care. Their ambitions were modest. And yet, for Bordeaux, their small-scale, hand-crafted approach was – and is – atypical.  They sought out specific parcels of old vines, those planted before clonal material became commonplace, favouring the natural complexity of massal selection. They chose to work only with high-density vineyards – around 10,000 vines per hectare, a point at which Stéphane feels the vines self-regulate, meaning there’s no need to green harvest and often less de-leafing required.  In principle, they are close to organic – however, in a bid to avoid dependency on copper, they use bio-controls that aren’t permitted under organics, specifically phosphonic acid. They don’t use any herbicides, insecticides or chemicals – but believe that copper, as a heavy metal that kills soil’s microbiome, is best used minimally, and they prefer to use something that doesn’t leave trace levels in the final wine.   Almost everything is done by hand, with 12 full-time employees working on the estate. There are no protocols or routines. “We do things by watching, observing our vines and drawing conclusions and echoing those conclusions the following year,” Stéphane says.  The 2003 vintage was a turning point. Robert Parker gave the wine 93 points – an incredible score for such a modest Médoc, writing that it was “better than many of the vintage’s ‘big’ names”, “drop-dead-gorgeous” and a “prodigious effort”. Given the critic was at his peak, his influence was significant – and suddenly Clos Manou was in enormous demand.  “C’est notre métier, mais notre passion aussi," Stéphane says – “It’s our profession, but it’s our passion too." That explains perhaps why, for 11 years, he didn’t take a day off. “My wife wasn’t very happy with me,” Stéphane tells me, laughing cheekily.   Today they have 18.5 hectares of vines, scattered between Saint-Christoly-Médoc and Couquèques, all within a three-kilometre radius. They sit across three different soil types – gravel over clay, limestone-clay and sand, with some sitting very close to the estuary itself. Stéphane thinks of them as three children – one of which, the gravel over clay, is naturally gifted. But just because the other two need a bit more work, doesn’t mean they are any lesser. There is, he says, no such thing as “un petit terroir”. One special parcel dates back to 1850. Planted before phylloxera swept through the region, it’s managed to survive thanks to its sandy soils. In certain vintages they make a special “Cuvée 1850” from the block.  Despite the vines averaging 45 years in age, the yields are generally good – sitting at around 50hl/ha. Stéphane emphasises that low yields don’t equate to better quality, necessarily – the balance of your vines is what matters most.  It’s undeniable that climate change has been a benefit here, beyond Saint-Estèphe, where once it was a struggle to ripen fruit. In 2018, Clos Manou had 15% alcohol – but, thanks to their clay soils, the pH was a vibrant 3.52, bringing great freshness to balance the wine. He’s still thinking about the long-term impact of the rising mercury, however, and experimenting with small portions of whole-bunch, inspired by the likes of Guillaume Pouthier at Les Carmes Haut-Brion. Stéphane feels that it can add tension and make the wines feel more dynamic, even on just 5% of the blend. “On est des vrais vignerons – comme il y a en Bourgogne," Stéphane tells me ("We are true vignerons – as there are in Burgundy"). Unlike larger properties where there are various directors who influence decisions – it’s just them deciding what to do. Despite looking further afield for their inspiration, he and Françoise don’t want to go against the grain of the region. “We want to be a bit unorthodox, but we are nevertheless Bordelais,” he says.  Clos Manou is, in essence, a family business. There’s nothing remarkable about their modest ways, but their freedom to start with a blank page has allowed them to create something that is no longer the norm. Inspired by the Bordeaux of yesteryear, everything is low-tech yet done with great precision. The wines are fresh and pure, yet distinctly savoury and earthy – with a natural intensity that points to their old vines. You can see the addition of larger oak and amphorae in more recent vintages, bringing more vibrancy. They are somehow rustic yet fine. Little has changed here since 1998; let’s hope that that remains the case, and the Dief family continue to craft humble expressions of Bordeaux that are very much extraordinary.  Browse all listings of Clos Manou or read more about Bordeaux 

At first glance, Clos Manou might seem run-of-the-mill. But this small estate in the Médoc is far from it. We sat down with Stéphane Dief to talk about how a hobby became his life, the freedom of a fresh start, and why his family’s wines are worth seeking out

We talk to Stephane Dief about his family estate in the Medoc, Clos Manou – one of Bordeaux’s best-value wines and best-kept secrets

Why Clos Manou is anything but ordinary

Anything but ordinary: Clos Manou

One hundred years ago, two men, inspired by the Scottish distilling tradition, produced the first Japanese whisky. In the years that have followed, the category’s fortunes – much like its founders’ relationship – have been turbulent.    The story begins in 1923 when pharmaceutical wholesaler turned Spanish wine importer Shinjiro Torii invested his family fortune in building the Yamazaki distillery, against their advice. Torii enlisted the help of wet-behind-the-ears chemist Masataka Taketsuru – who had spent time learning his craft in Scotland – to lead production on their first whisky, Suntory Shirofuda, which was released in 1929. The two men did not see eye to eye and parted ways following the dismal reception of Shirofuda. Taketsuru famously went on to found the other great Japanese whisky producer, Nikka, and their fierce rivalry persisted. This is one of the reasons Japanese distilleries, to this day, blend in-house rather than trade liquid. Despite this rocky start, the Japanese domestic whisky market looked bullish by the late 1930s – Yamazaki’s next whisky (Suntory Kakubin, released in 1937) was more warmly received and Taketsuru successfully re-entered the scene with his first whisky, Nikka Yoichi, in 1940.  Fast forward to the early 1980s and the category was in fine fettle – Suntory and Nikka had both released their first single malt expressions and there was plenty of cause for optimism. But this prosperity sadly did not last as a steep decline in consumption caused the Japanese whisky market to splutter and almost entirely stall, resulting in many distilleries, including Karuizawa, being forced to close their doors. Both Yamazaki and Nikka managed to stay afloat but their output was significantly reduced as the economy and category stagnated, marking a bleak 25-year chapter in Japanese whisky’s history.   When demand was reignited around the mid-to-late 2000s, it largely came from Europe. A perfect storm caused this spike in interest, including wider interest in Japan (think Bill Murray in Lost in Translation), the resurgence of the Highball cocktail (circa 2007) and Suntory’s Yamazaki Single Malt Sherry Cask 2013 being named the world’s best in 2014 – a first for the category. Around this time, the world was also introduced to Ichiro Akuto’s highly collectable Card Series and the lost distilling icon, Karuizawa. “The mad scramble for crumbs on the Japanese whisky scene is something nobody could have predicted,” acclaimed Japanese whisky writer and Ghost Series independent bottler Stefan Van Eycken tells me. “In the space of 10 years, the situation went from being able to buy a whole range of single-cask Japanese whiskies at a big electronics chain for peanuts to bottles not even reaching the shelves of liquor stores anymore. “Even I, who had been exploring the Japanese whisky scene in the ‘dark ages’, couldn’t have predicted that,” he says matter-of-factly. “If I could have, I would have rented a van, bought up all the bottlings that were available for purchase and I could have retired by now.” Yumi Yoshikawa joined the team at Chichibu in 2013 after a two-year stint in Scotland, first working in the Highlander Inn in Craigellachie – which will require little introduction for spirits journalists or enthusiasts – and at the Bruichladdich Distillery on Islay. “People didn’t know the value of aged [Japanese] whisky back then,” Yoshikawa tells me. “Or that Japan had a long whisky history,” she adds. Somebody who was instrumental in educating the world on these two points is Marcin Miller, a man whose fortitude dragged Karuizawa out of obscurity. The genteel and thoroughly entertaining former Whisky Magazine Editor turned drinks entrepreneur, recalls the landscape when he and business partner David Croll first tasted those fateful Karuizawa single casks in the early 2000s.  “The most common complaint [from whisky enthusiasts] at the time would seem to be that it's all very well for me tasting this stuff but we never get to see any where we are in Western Europe or Northern America,” he recalls. So the two men set about changing this by buying the remaining stock from the then-lost Karuizawa, bottling it, and making it available to the masses – with resounding success. It’s a gross misapprehension – held by many – that the duo meandered into a meeting room, tasted a parcel of Karuizawa, bought it on the spot, and bottled it shortly after, grinning like Cheshire cats as the coffers swelled. In truth, it was four and a half years of negotiation and countless sleepless nights during the process. When pallets of casks from the ghost distillery in a nascent whisky market were finally shipped to them, there was no guarantee the wider whisky world would be interested. “Whatever anyone says, it really was not easy…” He trails off, transported to that time, and all the challenges the pair transversed when bringing the mature Japanese whisky from a then-unknown producer to its now almost mythic status.  Miller talks of the “extraordinary, phenomenal effect” Karuizawa had on him. Croll, Miller and acclaimed drinks writer Dave Broom – who has since quite literally written the book on Japanese whisky – initially tasted 69 single-cask Karuizawa samples. “I would have bottled any of those casks,” Miller says, a fond smile warming his face. If it hadn’t been for Croll, who had lived in Japan for 30 years and owned a successful drinks business, Miller says they likely never would have got a foot in the door at Karuizawa – or secured the exclusive distribution rights of the much-lauded Chichibu and Hanyu. “I dare say Karuizawa would have been blended away into big plastic five-litre tubs of supermarket whisky,” Miller says reticently. When Van Eycken moved to Japan around the same time as Miller and Co were negotiating the Karuizawa deal, he hadn’t even realised whisky was being produced there. Japanese whisky consumption and production were at an all-time low and the general feeling, he says, was that the whisky made in Japan was “cheap and good for getting a buzz when going out, but that the good stuff – that you would savour – was Scotch, and Bourbon, to a lesser extent”. The intrepid Van Eycken was taken aback by the quality of the long-aged liquids he sampled on his travels and couldn’t understand why this sentiment wasn’t shared domestically or further afield. When Japanese whisky’s popularity did finally begin to soar, he was perfectly placed to fill the knowledge chasm with his widely acclaimed Nonjatta website and, later, his seminal work Whisky Rising – a fully updated second edition of which came out earlier this year.  “When I wrote the original edition in 2016, there were 14 active distilleries in Japan,” he says. “Fast forward to mid-2022 and there were 41 active distilleries (and even more in the progress of getting ready to distil),” Van Eycken tells me. All of the new distilleries, he says, are attempting to follow the so-called “craft model” with a single pair of pot stills and fairly limited production. The inspiration, of course, being Ichiro Akuto and his incredible accomplishments over the past 15 years at Chichibu. “But not everyone can be an Ichiro – though most new distillers are certainly hoping to be equally successful, if not more, than Ichiro,” he adds. Several of these new distilleries are located in and around the town of Karuizawa. “My personal feeling is that it doesn’t make a lot of sense to try and compete with the legend that is the (old) Karuizawa distillery,” Van Eycken is quick to add. “The liquid that was made there turned out to be something very special, and not only by design. I have had the dubious pleasure of tasting the new-make from the old Karuizawa distillery and it was absolutely foul.  “But during the maturation process, over 20, 30, 40 years, something magical happened. Some of this can be explained, but most of it is a hermetic mystery. We simply cannot know why decades later this harsh spirit transformed into a sublime whisky (in most cases). Even if you wanted to replicate this whisky – or aspects of it – you couldn’t.  “And hoping to match the quality of the (original) Karuizawa whisky… well, it’s good to aim high but it's a bit like naming your kid Roger Federer in the hope that he would turn into a tennis player of the same calibre. Why would you want to put that sort of pressure on the kid?”  Miller is humility personified and doesn’t want to come across as a wizened cynic or, in his words, “boring old fart”, but he’s not confident that all the country’s new distilleries are set for success. “I think people are now trying to replicate the business success but without the foundation of the liquid. They are selling Japanese whisky futures but who knows what the liquid is going to be like because it's not just A + B = C.” There is a cautionary tale in the annals of Scottish whisky distilling that Japanese producers might be wise to heed. Scotch has famously fallen victim to its own success – with booms and busts resulting in whisky lakes, or lochs, that have crippled the industry and forced mass distillery closures. In so faithfully replicating Scotch, there is a real danger Japan will find itself back in the 1980s when the likes of Karuizawa were shuttered. This time, however, there would be many more casualties.      “For the time being, the Japanese whisky scene continues to be marked by an unbridled optimism,” Van Eycken adds. “Distillers price their (invariably young) whiskies very high (compared with similarly established whisky markets around the world) and consumers snap up the bottles regardless of the (sometimes unjustifiably) high prices.”  This price war is one of the reasons Miller et al sold their remaining stock of Karuizawa, which had initially been priced fairly but wasn’t the case when they left the scene. The 1960 Karuizawa, for example, which yielded 41 bottles was released circa 2014 for £12,500. Within a decade, those same bottles were easily reaching $375,000. “That's not a bad return in 10 years,” Miller says caustically. “But that's not why we did it. If that had been our motivation, we'd have just held on to it and had 41 times that.” For those still in the industry – and disciples of it – there is a real push to protect the integrity of Japanese whisky and futureproof it. Yoshikawa picks up the point, outlining that the few have muddied the water for the many: “The rapid publicity and the reputation of Japanese whisky have led to its use of excessive PR strategies, even when this is not in line with the facts of the product.” For these reasons, she is an advocate of more stringent regulations, like the ones announced by the Japan Spirits and Liqueurs Makers Association in 2021 which aims to restrict certain practices – like labelling whisky that isn’t actually from Japan as Japanese whisky – akin to those enshrined and strongly policed in Scotland. But she, like many, thinks these could go further and believe it is important to continue scrutinising the practices of the small and larger players, ensuring there is greater transparency and less “skullduggery”, as Van Eycken puts it. As the ink dries on the past 100 years of Japanese whisky, no one knows what the next century might entail – but there's plenty of excitement. The landscape will undoubtedly change once more, and new giants and legends will likely emerge. For whisky enthusiasts, the challenge – as always – will be pre-empting the plot twists and securing bottles before they become little more than folklore.  Browse all Japanese whisky or read more editorial

As Japanese whisky enters its 100th year, producers are in a mad scramble to build the next legend. Holly Motion assesses whether previous fairytale endings can be repeated – and ponders if those individuals attempting to stand on the shoulders of giants might have a great fall

Exploring the epic story of Japanese whisky – from its genesis, to rebirth and future – as it celebrates its centenary.

100 years of Japanese whisky

A modern epic: 100 years of Japanese whisky

What defines a fine wine? For many, it is a bottle’s ability to improve with age. A wine’s longevity is even seen, by some, as the ultimate measure of its quality. It’s true that aged wine can be some of the most memorable – capturing an essence of time that’s impossible to recreate. The ageing process can be central to a wine’s (or, for that matter, whisky’s) progression to another, unparalleled level of complexity. Yet how a wine ages remains something of a mystery to both winemakers and collectors. There is still a great deal of conjecture about how a wine will develop, why it does so, and whether it is even worth the wait. Unlike whisky, wine is much less stable on its journey into maturity. As Christian Moueix puts it, “Wine is a complex matrix of thousands of compounds suspended in a delicate equilibrium.” This equilibrium is fragile, age a potential threat and a wine’s trajectory therefore incredibly difficult to predict. There was a time when wine drinkers dismissed the New World. Today, fortunately, that’s not the case – and it’s rightfully acknowledged for producing fine wine. However, some snobbery remains. Drinkers tend – beyond a handful of the very top names – to drink New World wines much younger than their Old World counterparts. Ask any oenophile about the oldest bottle they’ve drunk, and we’d put money on it being from Europe – Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Mosel, Alsace or Douro. Of course, one element is undoubtedly availability. The traditions of drinking Bordeaux (even from modest châteaux), for example, at full maturity – 20 or 30 years down the line – is not uncommon, and these wines continue to be regularly traded among collectors. New World wines at full maturity are much more of a rarity. Many of the younger regions in the New World still haven’t had the chance to build up such an extensive back catalogue, yet the wines have everything they need to comfortably age as long as their counterparts. Burgundy maestro Jean-Marie Fourrier, who now also manages Mornington Peninsula winery Bass Phillip in Australia, is an advocate for New World wines’ ageability, with Bass Phillip’s Pinot Noirs a case in point. But he believes the reputation for a shorter drinking window is partly due to practical, economic necessity. “When you start making wine at a young winery, you need a quick turn over, a quick return on investment,” he says. Therefore, producers craft wines that can be drunk younger. It is only once a winery, or a region, is established that winemakers can afford to have a longer-term approach and deliberately make wines to age or hold back stock. In this respect, the established classical regions of Europe have hundreds of years of history to fall back on. Napa has long since proved its mettle producing wines that can age. But just what it is that allows a wine to improve with age has been a hot topic of conversation in the region for decades. Tor Kenward – of Tor Wines – recollects a conversation between himself, Robert Mondavi and another legendary Napa winemaker, André Tchelistcheff over 40 years ago. Sitting around a table, they were trying to determine the key factor that makes great wine age. Was it the winemaking? The quality or concentration of the grapes? Or was it all about harvesting at the right time? Tchelistcheff – who trained in Europe and, by this time, had been making wine in Napa for over four decades – contemplated the suggestions. High acid levels (low pH), high concentration of tannins and oxygen management were all tabled and, while he accepted all were important, for him, a great wine for ageing needed “flesh”. By this, recalls Kenward, he meant the grapes needed a certain type of ripeness – not over, not under, but perfect physiological ripeness. Forty years on and Kenward still believes Tchelistcheff was right, yet it is an aspect often forgotten in the discussion of a wine’s ability to age. Finding this perfect window of physiological ripeness can be a challenge in warmer regions, and a warming climate, and therefore remains an obstacle for much of the New World. These regions tend to be warmer than historically marginal wine-growing regions of Europe, and therefore grapes can ripen quickly, but with this fast ripening comes a risk of reaching sugar ripeness before the skins have had the necessary time to reach maturity. Christian Moueix is one of the world’s most experienced winemakers, having managed both Pétrus, Trotanoy and other top Pomerol estates, as well as Napa’s Dominus. He agrees with Tchelistcheff that picking the grapes at optimum ripeness is a hugely important factor when producing wines that can age. “If harvested too early, grapes have a smaller quantity of extractible phenolic compounds and […] may not have formed the longer chains and bonds that make them stable.” On the other hand, when overripe, “These phenolic compounds are degraded through oxidation.” For Moueix, the temperate climates in Europe are ideal for “developing and maintaining a high ratio of phenolic compounds”, whereas in many New World regions, there is a propensity for excessive heat, over-ripeness and therefore oxidative winemaking which he feels is, “likely to contribute to wines that age prematurely”. In warmer climates, Moueix believes, “extreme heat, enzymatic and physiochemical reactions degrade anthocyanins within the berry, lowering the concentration of total phenolic compounds and subsequently, the wine’s capacity to resist oxidation, leading to premature aging”. For Moueix, then, a temperate climate (whether in the New or Old World) is key to producing wines that can age. It is, he believes, the reason why Dominus ages so well. This corner of the southern Napa Valley is relatively mild, thanks to the San Pablo Bay’s cooling influence. This slows sugar accumulation and gives the berries time for the tannins to ripen. They also don’t use irrigation, putting the vines under more stress, producing small berries with high phenolic concentration. Like Moueix and Tchelistcheff, Fourrier believes picking dates and high concentration of tannins is important – but he ties this to vine age, rather than the microclimate. “As vines get older, the size of the berries gets smaller,” explains Fourrier. It is this that gives a high skin-to-juice ratio and natural concentration. For Fourrier, this natural concentration is what gives ageing potential – rather than any actions in the winery. All are in agreement that the ageing ability of red wines comes down to the quality of the berries, rich in anthocyanins (ideally then from older vines) and picked at the right time in order to extract them at their optimal level of ripeness. But these factors affect Old World producers as much as those in the New World. Paul Roberts – Master Sommelier and COO of Colgin in Napa – makes a compelling point that New World regions in the right climate regularly produce higher concentrations of tannins than the Old World’s cooler climates. In fact, they have to pay close attention to extract less tannin during the winemaking, not more, to maintain the balance in the wine for it to age. Colgin’s mountainside IX Estate vineyard on Pritchard Hill produces berries that are, on average, 30% smaller than those grown in Pauillac. Often, Roberts notes, Napa Cabernets have higher skin-to-juice ratios than the Bordeaux First Growths – and therefore much more “anti-oxidant” tannins than their Bordeaux counterparts. According to Moueix’s belief that it is the concentration of tannins and phenolics found in the skins that protects wine from oxidation and degradation, this should mean that top Napa wines have the potential to outlive Bordeaux wines at the top level. Andy Smith, winemaker at the Russian River’s DuMOL estate, makes some of the region’s top Pinot Noir and, like Colgin, has no shortage of tannins in his grapes. Compared to Burgundy, his Pinot Noir has smaller berries, “with uncommonly thick skins that create huge natural power if you choose to extract fully”. For Smith, “this leads to a potential for powerful, deep wines with high structure for aging, and high natural acidity”. Like Colgin, it is an overabundance of tannins that is more of a concern at DuMOL. “The key is balancing the extraction,” says Smith, “to take the positive and leave behind the excessive elements from the skins.” For leading Chilean winemaker Francisco Baettig (Errazuriz, Seña and Chadwick) it is an excess of tannin, and an excess of extraction in some more ambitious wines, in the New World that has tainted its reputation for producing wines with long ageing ability. “There was an obsession for creating monster wines, with lots of extraction, trying to extract as much tannin as possible,” Baettig notes, looking back 10-15 years. Many producers in Bordeaux were doing the same at the time, but the different climates – the same elements highlighted by Roberts and Moueix for leading to higher concentrations of tannin – influence the tannin and extraction. “In Chile with higher intensity and higher levels of ripeness, the extraction happens much quicker,” he explains. This resulted in over-extraction – “wines that were rough, too tannic and did not age well”. For New World producers, better tannin management is clearly key to producing wines that can age. Producers like Tor, Colgin, DuMOL and Baettig all believe gentle extraction of tannin and reducing the wines’ contact with oxygen is fundamental for ageing. In cooler, less sunny European climates, it could be argued that in the past, due to the less easily extracted tannins, producers could get a way with being a lot less precise in their tannin management. With this in mind, Baettig notes the Old World might need to learn from the New World, how best to adapt their winemaking to the effects of climate change – and, in many ways, they already are. Vignerons are already looking back at sunny vintages such as 2005 and 2010 (with high levels of extractable tannins) and questioned some producers’ apparent over-extraction of tannins, adapting accordingly in years like 2019 and ’20. The transformation of grapes into wine is magical; the secondary transformation that can take place with maturity is possibly even more extraordinary. However, a wine with so much promise can disappoint if left too long – a frail, bitter example of its former self. It is no surprise that many drinkers choose to avoid such risks and savour wines in their more muscular youth. There is a cultural change too. DuMOL’s Smith notes that the average US consumer is not particularly interested in ageing their Pinot Noir and questions whether ageing wine is an outdated notion. In a society that favours immediate gratification, modern consumers are impatient and few have cellars in their homes. And the savoury flavours that come with maturity aren’t to everyone’s tastes. “There’s a big difference between positive evolution, plateau-ing and the gradual downward slope of oxidation,” he says. “All wine ultimately wants to become vinegar!” Because of this, some winemakers are deliberately pulling back from making wines that peak at 20 years, instead looking to produce wines that will appeal in youth and peak closer to 10 years, since that’s what their customers want. Even the most tannic red wines from the more traditional regions are these days much more approachable in their youth, something that just wasn’t possible just a few years ago (as noted by Lisa Perrotti-Brown MW). Making fine wine is an art – and especially so when it comes to building a wine for the future. Choosing the perfect moment to pick in the given climate, as well as the right style and level of extraction in the winery will determine a wine’s ageability – but only if the underlying quality of fruit is sufficiently high. With better winemaking equipment, we no longer need to wait for tannins to soften to enjoy even the best Bordeaux or Napa. Does that mean you can’t age it for a half-century? Or that it won’t improve over that period? Absolutely not. Fine wine – from both the Old World and the New – arguably has a longer drinking window than ever before – giving us ever more chances to savour it. Read more Editorial

What allows a wine to last 10, 20 or 50 years? And why is there sometimes a perception that the New World’s wines can’t do this? Gavin Smith talks to Tor Kenward, Christian Moueix, Colgin’s Paul Roberts MS and more about the key to making fine wine for the cellar – and if it’s relevant today

We talk to Tor Kenward, Christian Moueix, Colgin’s Paul Roberts MS and more about the key to making fine wine for the cellar – and if it’s relevant today

How to make wine for the ages

Quiet, even subdued, cautious, the Neal Martin on my screen is quite different to the garrulous character I’d imagined from his writing. On the page (or more often these days, the screen), Martin pokes fun at the wine industry, his articles often opening with satirical fiction that doesn’t hold back.  His reports and tasting notes are littered with music references (think Primal Scream and The Smiths rather than Wagner and Bach), and mentions that are sometimes pointedly popular – his first Bordeaux en primeur report for the Wine Advocate (taking over from Robert Parker) opened with a line from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. On our call, however, each word feels deliberate and considered, confident, but with a definite wariness that doesn’t quite fade.  Aged 50, the Vinous writer’s trajectory to wine stardom is unusual. Born in Essex, Martin grew up in a household that didn’t drink wine, so nor did he. In fact, he had no interest in it and blagged his way into the industry. In 1996, having lived in Japan, he applied for a role sourcing wines for a subsidiary of Japan Airlines: the only hitch that he didn’t know anything about wine at the time.  “I lied my way through the interview. I went to an off-licence the night before. Memorised some of the labels. I just reeled off a couple of names… [they] thought I was into wine and gave me the job,” he tells me, still rather bemused by their decision. Coincidentally Martin returned to the same shop last year, where unbeknown to him, his tale lives on as local offy legend – the famous wine taster that got his start right there in Leigh-on-Sea (with the owners even deeming him worthy of several selfies).  Unashamedly a terrible employee, he spent much of his time in his role for Japan Airlines starting his wine writing career (although it also sounds like there was a fair amount of lunching too). “I was kind of bored one lunchtime, bought a book on computer coding. I found I could make a webpage, and just kind of built the original wine-journal.com when I should have been working,” he says. From the novelty of creating a site, he started writing his own tasting notes. At that time the great wine writers were Michael Broadbent, Steven Spurrier and Hugh Johnson – English gentlemen, in short; charming, wonderful, but – for many – unrelatable, very “high culture”, as Martin puts it. He set out to be “more down-to-earth, funny, irreverent”.   “At the time, there was nobody else really doing that. There was this huge audience that liked to drink Bordeaux – but also liked Radiohead.” It struck a chord – and soon his self-built site was getting over 500,000 hits per month. No wonder therefore that in 2006 Robert Parker – then still at the height of his fame – approached the music-minded Englishman to join the Wine Advocate team.   Of course, Parker was renowned for not just the power of his palate and revolutionary points system, but for his personal tastes. Many argue that his preference for intensely ripe, high-octane, new-oak-aged styles shifted the entire world of wine – pushing producers to craft wines that would earn his favour. “Especially more to the end of his career, he had a certain palate… but people always forget that he reviewed German wines and Alsace and so on. So it becomes a little bit of a cliché,” Martin says of his once mentor.  The world of flavour is undeniably subjective, yet Parker was – by some – damned for just that, daring to express his personal preference. Total impartiality when it comes to the matter of taste seems impossible. After I ask whether or not he feels there’s room for bias in wine writing, Martin is clear: “I think a critic should stand up for what they believe in. Anyone can say the First Growths are great, DRC is great. I’d rather read someone who has a definite view on something, whether they like natural wines, or orange wines. Stand up for what you believe in. Then it’s up to the reader to decide.”  In fact, he goes as far to say, it’s potentially the lack of difference in views that has led to wine criticism becoming “a bit beige” in recent years – because now it’s a career, something upon which people depend for their livelihood. “It’s more of a risk if you say this famous name didn’t produce a great wine,” Martin notes. The danger of losing access to wines that are far beyond most critics’ budgets is a threat to the independence of wine writing, but also a massive obstacle to new voices in the industry. It’s an especial challenge given many of the wines Martin reviews – in particular older vintages – might only be pulled out at private dinners, hosted in producers’ homes. The very nature of wine – limited in production and fleeting in its consumption – leads to a reliance on the hospitality of its makers. Martin argues that for that exact reason the most independent “critics” are arguably those he describes as the “grands amateurs” – those who can afford to buy the world’s finest wines, and therefore say what they want.   Martin, however, feels there’s a line to be found where he can maintain distance yet be friendly – and, importantly, speak freely. He highlights Laurent Ponsot’s 2015s – which he gave relatively scathing scores – but, having known Laurent for many years, Martin was happy to tell the vigneron outright that he thought they were picked too late.  As for Martin, he had a lucky start with access to unbelievable wines in what he deems a “golden era” for fine wine in the 1990s, when top Burgundy and First Growths remained affordable for the many – and were poured freely by the trade. “I’ve never taken that for granted. Some of the wines I drink… they’re what my friends earn in three or four months. I never drink a wine and I’m blasé about it. But I’ve been around long enough to say what I think.”   Preserving his voice has always been of key importance to Martin – not willing to compromise on keeping his distinctively tongue-in-cheek tone, but also offer something more than just a tasting note. “When I joined Parker, it was an easy decision – he was a kind of god. But at the same time I wanted to make sure I could still write in the way I wrote,” he tells me. “Anyone can taste the wines and add a number, but for me it’s more interesting to create something that’s interesting, gives you insight… that’s the challenge: to write something people don’t expect,” Martin says. Does he feel he’s achieving that? His answer: “When my primeur report comes out, read the first three paragraphs and let me know.” [We spoke at the end of April, just before the report was published.]  For Martin, his love of music is integral to his work. Indeed, it seems that way – the record player and stacks of vinyl visible behind him on our Zoom call, his Instagram feed almost equally split between sleeve covers and labels – and he feels that it makes him a better writer. He looks back to Hugh Johnson (an avid gardener) or Michael Broadbent (pianist and art enthusiast) for precedent. “Wine can be a boring subject – but it’s when you put it with other things that it becomes more interesting,” he says.  Case in point is his recent article on Grand Mayne, he tells me: “It’s more about time, and parenthood, and… kind of sad in a way. To me, that’s the kind of counterbalance to the dryness about wine. It smells of strawberries and it’s 92 points. There’s the other side to the story – that’s the harder part to write, but for me it’s more satisfying.”  Indeed, he even self-published his book Pomerol (in 2012) to avoid the unwelcome interference of editors. In 2017, Martin made the leap to Vinous – joining fellow Wine Advocate alumnus Antonio Galloni’s new venture, and while he’s kept his voice, he’s also had to learn how to be edited “which was… quite a challenge for me at first,” he admits. “But actually now it’s something I really needed. I think they make better articles, it makes me think a bit more about writing.”  There have been a lot of bottles over the years (Vinous alone holds over 21,000 of his tasting notes), but it was a bottle of 1982 Montrose that started everything. “It wasn’t the best wine I’ve ever had by a long way… It’s a disappointing 1982,” he says. “Enjoy with modest expectations” reads his note from 2017 (88 points – upgraded to 91 points at his most recent tasting in 2018). Disappointing it may be, but it’s the bottle that made him sit up and take wine seriously, realising why people obsessed over it – although he’s clear that, for him, wine isn’t everything.  “Wine is my job – if it didn’t pay I couldn’t do it. I love wine, but I don’t think I’m obsessed with it. I don’t drink wine every day, and it doesn’t bother me if I don’t. If you think wine is everything, you’re missing something,” he says, frankly. I wonder how much this perspective has been shaped by Martin’s quadruple bypass surgery two years ago – a skirmish with the other side that has forced a visibly drastic lifestyle change, and about which he has been vocal.  In Martin’s own words, it’s a “bizarre set of circumstances” that set him on his wine-lined path, yet here he is, his pen and palate working in combination to make him one of the world’s most influential wine writers. While the golden era that allowed him to enter the industry might be over, he feels that – despite now being “very, very expensive” – in some ways wine is more accessible than ever.  “I meet so many more people from so many walks of life. I love it when you sit around the table and everyone’s from different countries. But as soon as you put a wine in front of them – everyone’s on the same level.” While one can’t argue that Martin champions the “everyman” reviewing the world’s finest wines, it’s remarkable in many ways that he hasn’t erred from his original purpose. Though the Essex-born critic doesn’t seem comfortable under the spotlight, on the page he’s at ease – free to fight against the pomposity of wine, with an irreverence and knowing self-ridicule that has put him front and centre in the industry – whether he likes it or not.  Read more Editorial 

Neal Martin – now of Vinous, previously the Wine Advocate – is one of the world’s leading wine writers. Sophie Thorpe talks to the determinedly off-beat critic about his path into wine and why there’s much more to life than brilliant bottles

Neal Martin – now of Vinous, previously the Wine Advocate – on his path into wine and why there’s much more to life than brilliant bottles

Neal Martin, striking a chord

Neal Martin: striking a chord

There’s little Graham Eunson hasn’t seen in his 30 years in the Scotch whisky industry. From pushing barrels at Scapa straight out of school to managing one of the biggest names, the Orcadian has worked in almost every production role at five Highland distilleries. Over the course of his career, the Tomatin Distillery Operations Director has been at the painful end of two consolidations and led the revival of a distillery lost for 22 years. For the past decade, he has had to pool all this knowledge and experience to bring a distillery that was once famed for mass production to single malt prominence. “I always say it’s the most fun I’ve had in the whisky industry,” he declares with a chuckle, “and I’ve loved every single one of the distilleries I’ve worked at.” Eunson talks with such fondness about the industry and all his colleagues that it’s easy to see why both his children have followed him into the profession. He refers to his route into the industry and progression through the ranks from mashman to stillman to brewer as the “old-fashioned way”. When Allied Distillers closed his first distillery during the 1990s whisky loch, Eunson faced a tough decision: leave his beloved Orkney or wave goodbye to a fledgling career he absolutely adored. His homeland lost that tug of war and Eunson moved his wife and one-year-old son to Aberdeenshire and Glendronach Distillery until that also closed its doors. Glenmorangie became Eunson’s third Highland distillery where he worked as Assistant Manager to Dr Bill Lumsden for two years before Head Office beckoned and he took over as Distillery Manager. After a decade in the role, the chance to reopen a ghosted distillery lured Eunson away. “My wife would argue I don’t have a romantic side to me at all, which is probably true, but when it comes to whisky I do – and the opportunity to re-open the distillery after such a length of closure was too much to resist.” On April Fool’s Day 2008, Eunson stood on the balcony in the Glenglassaugh still house looking at the rusted pipework where sections had been pilfered by thieves and seriously questioned if he’d made the right decision to leave the breathtakingly beautiful, not to mention functioning, Glenmorangie. “But I have to say, the sense of achievement on the day we first mashed in again, after about eight months of struggling to try and design everything to get it to work better… the sense of achievement was fantastic,” he says with real pride all these years later. The next call, to take on a newly created General Manager role at a distillery that was once the largest in Scotland and had fallen out of favour, came in 2011. If he accepted, Eunson would look after everything from the malt coming in, to the distillation, maturation and recipes for all the whiskies. “They sold it well to me,” he says with a wry smile. “Basically, the buck stops for everything with me.” Two years ago, Eunson was asked to choose his new title. After some thought, he suggested General Operations Director – “So GOD,” he laughs; in the end he had to settle for “DOD” – Distillery Operations Director. The beauty of working at Tomatin, according to Eunson, is that he and the 62-strong team are masters of their own destiny. “We have gone from being a distillery which made lots and lots of spirit to go into other peoples’ whiskies. To the complete opposite way round percentage wise,” Eunson says. In the 1970s, Tomatin produced 12.5 million litres of pure alcohol a year making it the largest in Scotland. Today, the Highland distillery produces less than two million litres a year. Of this number, 1.1 million goes into Tomatin in its various forms, roughly 400,000 litres are swapped with other distilleries in exchange for whiskies for their Antiquary, Talisman, Big T, Ancient Clan and other blends, and 100,000 litres is sold for cash. Apart from malting and bottling, every stage of the traditional production – milling, mashing, fermenting, distilling, ageing and blending – takes place on the 140-acre site. “It’s great to be in control of all that ourselves,” Eunson says. “In the last 12 to 15 years, we have had a complete change of tact. We’ve reduced the volumes we’re making and it’s all about quality over quantity.” The gear shift is clearly working. Since its rebrand in 2015, sales have soared by 83% and visitor numbers to the distillery are topping 50,000 a year (in non-pandemic times). Tomatin produces a range of unpeated single malts from the entry-level (£30 a bottle) to the 50-year-old-plus (£10k+ per bottle). In their vast warehouses, the team is sitting on almost 200,000 casks and Eunson oversees it all. “It is one of the few jobs I would have thought in the world that you can do for 30 years and still look forward to going into work,” he says. “My job is wide and varied and never the same two days running.” In his latest project, and the first “serious launch” since the rebrand, Eunson has sourced rare Monbazillac, Sauternes and Rivesaltes barrels to finish three parcels of nine-year-old single malt. In typically self-deprecating fashion, Eunson says: “The stars aligned basically. We had released our Sherry-cask finished Cuatro and were looking at alternatives and these wine casks became available. When the cooperage told me about them, I asked them to hold the casks and got straight on Google.” The cask finishing trend has been one of the biggest changes Eunson has witnessed in his career. He says: “It used to be, ‘Well if it was a tree at some point in its life then you can use it for maturing whisky’, whereas now there is so much more care and attention put into it. “Some of the companies I have worked for… Allied, no longer exist, so I can say what I want about them. They had codes on their stock system for seven-fill and eight-fill casks. By the time you’ve filled it seven or eight times, there’s not a lot of flavour going to come from the wood.” While Eunson says he’d never say the cask is the most important part of the process, he is not shy in professing it is the most influential. “What a lot of companies are doing now, ourselves included, is look at the raw materials – different barley varieties, different types of malt, different yeasts, different lengths of fermentation times, different cut points in the stills – you can play around with all of that but it is still only going to arguably contribute 25 to 35% of the final flavours. Seventy to 75%, even 80%, will come from the time spent in the cask during maturation. “So that is where we have to put the attention to detail because it’s going to have such an impact going forward onto the final character of the whisky we produce.” Computerisation is another huge change in the industry. And not one Eunson thinks is strictly positive. “It’s a good thing in that if you’ve got a computer and sensors running the pumps, setting the temperatures and suchlike, there is less room for human error and you get more consistency of spirit. So you know what your new-make spirit is going to be like but at the same time, that human error can sometimes lead to exceptionally unusual whiskies. You become almost a generic whisky, so we need to be careful to keep the individual characteristics there.” The Tomatin Distillery is semi-automated. It is still up to the Stillmen to decide when to make the cut and how fast to run the stills by controlling the steam valves. Whether it’s technology or trends, Eunson says the one constant in the Scotch whisky industry is change. “We are always changing and trying to be innovative and look at different ways of doing things while still trying to stick to the traditions that have been there and the rules and regulations as well." The industry might constantly be evolving but Eunson says the people within it are far more permanent. “We have a Head Warehouseman who’s been working with us since he was 18 and he’s now 67. He has more or less done the same job in the same distillery for 50 years. He is showing absolutely no intention of retiring and he’s probably the fittest guy we have on site in reality.” And how about Eunson? “I can’t see myself retiring at 60,” he says. “There is way too much that I want to do in the industry to even consider that. I’d probably think about retiring at 65… or maybe 66,” he quickly adds. We’ll believe it when we see it. Browse all Tomatin listings or read more Editorial 

After three decades in the whisky industry Tomatin’s Graham Eunson is more energised than ever. He tells Holly Motion why his latest role is the best yet

Tomatin’s Distillery Operations Director on the pace, and people, that keep him in the industry after more than 30 years working at the coalface.

Tomatin’s Graham Eunson on a life in whisky

Graham Eunson: a life in whisky

There are interviews, and there are conversations. And this meeting with Italian cashmere tycoon, Brunello Cucinelli, definitely falls into the category of the latter. Cucinelli has conquered the world with his products, his perception of style and beauty, and has published a book outlining his particular approach to doing business which he defines as “humanistic capitalism”.   This distinction between interview and conversation is a necessary contemplation; understanding the meaning behind the words, selecting them carefully, tasting each of them in a silent meditation. This is, in fact, the first step to allowing you into Cucinelli’s world, where external quality is just as important as inner quality. To him, as to late 18th century German philosopher Kant, beauty is a moral interest.   The word “interview” is composed of two parts: “inter”, which implies reciprocity, and “view”, which refers to sight; each looking at the other, trying to truly see. It is not a given that this is always successful.   A conversation, however, is different. The word derives from the Latin “conversari”, composed of “con” meaning “with” or “together”, and “versari”: to reside, to find oneself. It is a meeting – a graceful way of getting to know each other, or getting to know each other better. It is a way to agree upon certain behaviours and visions in order to truly share a physical place, as well as a state of being. In this conversation, we meet Brunello Cucinelli in Solomeo, Umbria, Italy. He reminisces that, The New York Times once published a map of must-see places in Italy – in which Solomeo was included along with Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples. Cucinelli states this with no small amount of pride.  Despite the lockdown, and an obligation to talk through a screen, encouraged by both the pandemic and by a sense of caution, Solomeo is truly the location of our meeting – and not just because Il Sogno di Solomeo (The Dream of Solomeo) is the title of his book, in which he recounts his life story, the roots of his success, and his vision as an “entrepreneurial custodian”. Solomeo enters through the window, breathing audibly in the background of the words and thoughts which define our conversation. It speaks through Cucinelli’s expressions, bringing to light a kind of organised peace within his sense of time, its horizons are centuries-old, and reside in diligent silence. It speaks of a knowledge acquired through generations passed, to be shared with generations to come.  We are in Umbria, just 15 minutes from Perugia and only one hour from Florence. Only 800 people live in Solomeo – a stunning, almost-abandoned medieval village brought back to life by skilful restoration work led by Cucinelli over the last 25 years. The village of Solomeo was revitalised as an allusion to Rome, the city of Emperor Hadrian’s soul, according to French novelist and essayist Marguerite Yourcenar. Creativity needs a “genius loci”, a safe space. Cucinelli restored a village that was “robust, useful, and beautiful”, as instructed by Vitruvius. Onora tutti gliuomini (“honour all men”) is the inscription displayed in Solomeo’s Piazza delleArti, and is also the motto which inspired Cucinelli’s humanistic capitalism. He believes gift-giving to be one of the kindest forms of the soul, and he loves to give presents of homemade oils and wines; believing that, in every gift, there is also a piece of Solomeo.   Cucinelli’s love of philosophy, and his habit of allowing the great minds of history to dictate his approach to beauty, is also a lesson Cucinelli learned in youth as a farmer, when he used to pull the ox plough and till the fields. In the evenings, his father would encourage him to admire the beauty of those ploughed fields, the neat ridges stretching over the hills.   His sensitivity to the idea of living in harmony with nature was born from this, as was his ability to recognise that there is greater value in that which is carried out with beauty in mind. His more practical attention to the selection of raw materials also stemmed from these roots – his respect for producers and collaborators, and his ability to think in terms of centuries, not years. All this has rendered Brunello Cucinelli one of the world’s most famous luxury brands.   Beauty is also a form of truth. As three Buddhist monks remarked to him, upon visiting him in Solomeo, there are three things which cannot remain hidden: the sun, the moon and truth. In order to live well, beauty requires you to take care of your soul, your mind and your body. This is why, at Cucinelli’s company, at half past five in the evening, the computers are switched off, the working day completed. The body, mind and soul need a life outside work, to be able to look themselves in the eye and overcome the “soul-ache” that creativity can also help to alleviate.  To him, beauty is also a business method; his humanistic capitalism was not cast aside even during the crisis sparked by Covid, during which time Cucinelli did not let a single employee go, or ask for any discounts from producers or suppliers. This is part of an ethical business vision which considers humanity as an end, and never as a means; it is defined by considering the businessman as a “custodian of creation”. Developing this idea of being a custodian, Cucinelli sees that luxe can be interpreted as an orchestrator of sustainable development.   Brunello Cucinelli smiles. He likes the words of 15th century Florentine Republic ruler, Lorenzo the Magnificent – “How beautiful is youth, / though quickly it does flee! / be happy if you want to: / for tomorrow may not come” – which recall an Italian sense of national pride. Although home to only 0.7% of the globe’s population, Italy boasts one of the the world’s top 10 economies; it excels at quality manufacturing and craftsmanship; it offers a welfare state which leaves no one trailing behind. He sees a great country and a golden era, in spite of the crisis. He does so with a pinch of the “Italiote”, as Plato called the people of Syracuse when he reached Sicily from Greece, “a population which feasts twice a day and never goes to bed alone”.  We are also like this, he says, before returning to consider the ideas of creativity and responsibility. “It really is possible to live in harmony with creation. And this makes us custodians, not consumers. I also think of my product as something to be desired, something to be inherited. That is why I chose cashmere. I wanted something that was already precious. I’ve learnt to transform it over time. I’ve made mistakes, had teachers and guardian angels that have helped me and taught me. But the principle was already clear to me, right from the beginning: to create beauty, you need to begin with something beautiful, from an exceptional raw material. And you also need to believe that it will last for centuries, not for years. Before it became fashionable, we had already opened a restyling and reusing department for our garments. Because, for a jumper to be beautiful and precious, it must also stand the test of time.”   “Verum factum”, as stated by 17th century Italian political philosopher Giambattista Vico: nothing is true unless it has been done. The humanistic capitalism in Solomeo is evident: an art of Renaissance-style trading which has taken over the world, yes. But it has done so with honour. It possesses a beauty which is markedly exclusive, moving against the crisis of civilisation. It is something that manages to make itself be considered as rare, something precious, only for you. It requires time, artisanal hard work and precision, fighting against the culture of impatience. In fact, Solomeo’s theatre is crafted from hand-cut stones, with walls built to endure. The company itself is located within a restored factory which opens out onto gardens and spaces where it is impossible not to inhale the surrounding beauty.  Most of the employees and managers within Cucinelli are young: this is because they are hard workers. It is also because beauty and fairness produce brilliance. Cucinelli is the one to engender this genius. “Oh, myesteemed men!” (O miei stimati uomini!) Cucinelli quotes Marcus Aurelius. It is from this statement that he has learnt to recognise value, to respect and admire, and to never rise above dignity. He applies the concept of remote working only when strictly necessary, because creativity dwindles and becomes degraded by a lack of human contact.   The story of humanistic capitalism is so long to recount (and so wonderful to hear) that Cucinelli has summarised it within his book, Il Sogno di Solomeo. These ideas, typically influenced by previous generations, took inspiration from the manual The Book of the Art of Trade by Benedetto Cotrugli – an Italian merchant during the Renaissance era – which speaks about “getting rich honourably”. One can choose whether to be “a seeker of work or a creator of work”: therefore, an entrepreneur is someone who creates development for themselves and for others. On one hand, there is the revaluation of the role of whoever decides to take this risk; on the other, there is the idea that they are doing so by enforcing a strong sense of ethic. A sort of return to business. An important lesson.  Cucinelli notes that, in Cotrugli’s story, this is fulfilled out of duty rather than pleasure. The death of his father in 1438 forced him to abandon his studies and take the reins of the family business. This was during a time when Italy was bestowing the Renaissance upon the world; and Cotrugli, who originated from Ragusa (currently known as Dubrovnik – which, at the time, was considered the fifth Italian Maritime Republic), was catapulted to Naples, in an environment where ethics and morals evidently left a lot to be desired. The family business, and by extension, he as the owner, “bought wool in Barcelona; turned it into cloth and thread in Florence and Prato, to then sell it on again in Constantinople and Venice”. Cotrugli travelled, visiting cities which formed the heart of that golden era. He breathed in the air of Florence, which was, at the time, Europe’s most powerful guild, and produced figures such as Donatello, Masaccio and Brunelleschi.   Among the 15 golden rules for “getting rich honourably” outlined within The Book of the Art of Trade, Cucinelli feels a “deep resonance” not only because of its modernity and its entrepreneurial insight, “but mostly for the system of values it imposes and passes on”, to “get rich honourably” by creating work and development with consistency. And he thinks back to the crisis, echoing the words of Roman statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero, as quoted by Cotrugli: we must not waver in the face of adversity or lose ourselves in our own prosperity. “Let’s talk about what this year has brought us, not what it has taken from us,” he states.   And this is the truest representation of a dedicated and kind businessman, who has spent half his time gazing up at the stars and loves to watch a fire flicker because it makes him “drunk on pleasant thoughts”. Life is blessed. We eat only what we must, so that there is enough for everyone. There was Seneca, there was Epicurus, and now there is the wonderful dream of Brunello Cucinelli and his beloved Solomeo. He spends his years contemplating centuries past and considering those to come. This, in itself, is a rare form of immortality.  In 2011, Cucinelli planted vines in the valley below Solomeo, and the first vintage of the wine made from this special site – 2018 Castello di Solomeo – is available from FINE+RARE. Read more about the project. This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue One

As Brunello Cucinelli launches his new wine project – Castello di Solomeo – we dig into the philosophy of the designer behind Italy’s cashmere empire. Educator and business guru Germana di Falco sits down with the fashion icon to discuss his philosophy on business and life itself 

Italian cashmere tycoon and fashion designer Brunello Cucinelli on his new wine project Castello di Solomeo and his business philosophy 