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The fog lifted by the time we started back over the schist mountains toward the eastern side of the island to visit one of Manu’s most colorful clients, Josée Vanucci, from Clos Fornelli. We crested the ridge and as we wrapped around the last hill we were greeted by a stunning view of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Once we hit the coast we headed south and into the Alérian Plain, named after the small coastal town of Aléria, an important Roman naval base for centuries now home to only a couple thousand inhabitants. Vineyard land on the Alérian Plain falls into AOP Corse, a broad reaching appellation without distinction. Josée’s vineyards are located on the foothills of the Castagniccia Massif, and the soils are deep clays tinted red by a plentiful iron content. Schist rocks were deposited from the eroding mountains and are scattered throughout with other alluvial gravels. The nights are cool and the days warm, so it’s a perfect place for viticulture. From the outside, the winery looks like a small white rectangular Cessna-sized airplane hanger with green rollup garage doors and CLOS FORNELLI written in big block red letters. On the inside, it’s a jungle gym of numerous floors and mid-level rooms, trap doors, hidden tanks, slanted concrete slabs with open drain gutters routed on the sides, and walls slathered with waterproof dark orange and white epoxy. There are only a few large oak barrels in the cellar and the rest is jam-packed with stainless steel and old concrete tanks. Last year, Manu introduced me to Josée as an American importer and she immediately switched to English, even when she spoke to Manu. I found her demeanor much more Italian-like than French, as is the accent on her English. I told Manu that if she could get into bottle the quality and purity of what she has in her vats, she’d really have something. She was fun to taste with and talk to and I had looked forward to seeing her again. Things had changed within the year, and it was noticeable in all the wines we tasted. We tasted the 2017s, most of which were still in vats. Of course, Manu had his usual critique for some of them (he has no reservation openly doing this, even with his top producers) and she admitted that 2017 was a challenge, as it was for everyone. I thought they tasted delicious and exciting. After a vat tasting that was as promising as last year, we went to the tasting room for the moment of truth. As she poured some of her other 2016s, I grew anxious to try her Sciacarellu, La Robe d’Ange, the one I remembered most from last year for its lifted, exotic aromas and endless charm. We tasted her 2017 La Robe d’Ange Vermentinu that had just been bottled. It was solid, but I preferred the salty flower power mineral bomb we tasted out of a different vat just thirty minutes earlier; she makes a couple of bottlings on each cuvée. Finally, she poured us the 2016 Sciaccerellu, La Robe d’Ange, and I couldn’t take my nose out of the glass. It was delightful and I thought it hadn’t suffered even the slightest loss from the bottling. The sensual aromas and the palate were equally inviting and I knew I had to bring this wine back to my friends in California—I was sure that some of them would go crazy for it. Risking misinterpretation with someone I didn’t know well, I candidly admitted to Josée that her wines were more pure pleasure than edgy and super sophisticated, and that I would be happy to just sit down and drink them by the pitcher because they were so delicious. She looked pleased and exclaimed that that is exactly the kind of wine she wants to make. Just like her, they are full of life, unpretentious and bring good vibes. I thought, we have enough intensity and seriousness in our portfolio, why not bring in some more just for pure pleasure?! These wines don’t seem specifically designed for the cellar; they’re for drinking early and we could always use more of those. A few days later I emailed Josée to ask if we could import her wines and she happily accepted. Running about forty-five minutes late, we hit the road from Clos Fornelli to Propriano, a small coastal village on the other side of the island—our third time from one side to the other in one day. Josée and Manu debated how long it would take and she insisted that he was nuts for trying to get there before everything closed, especially at that time of the year, when there aren’t many tourists on the island. Next Week: Of Corse, Part 4 of 9: “The Missing Link Between Rayas and Romanée-Conti?”

Our first visit with the Boys of Saumur started with the inseparable pair, Romain Guiberteau and Brendan Stater-West. As it turns out, Brendan (who spends his days working for Romain) hit a wall in his pursuit of trying to make something more of his work in Saumur. Late last year, he was eyeing a small parcel of vineyards for his new domaine, but it didn’t work out the way he’d hoped and he contemplated going back home to Oregon. Romain immediately stepped in to invest some of his own resources to keep Brendan’s dream alive, while preserving their working relationship; he was able to secure for him a short-term contract for two hectares of land on Brézé—one hectare of red and one of white. So now there is another new producer on Brézé, our favorite hill! J.D. and I were there to witness the cutting of the first vine on one of Brendan’s new parcels. The vines are old and in need of a lot of love, which these two will easily supply. The potential is very promising. Our tasting with these two was inspirational. Romain always aims to improve his ideas and it seems that his newest wines do just that. Brendan’s second vintage has taken a good jump up from his 2015, which was already a very successful first vintage. As usual, our visit with Arnaud Lambert was inspiring. He has turned another new corner with his wines and there are only good things in the air. He made a few special cuvées for us from Chenin in Montsoreau, a commune within Saumur-Champigny, right next to the river, and Bonnes Nouvelles, one of the historic lieux-dits of Brézé that was used in previous vintages for sweet wines, and they’ll be coming to California soon. Sadly, there were only two barrels of each of these two delicious wines, so the quantities are miniscule. More to come on that later. I’ve known Arnaud now for eight years and I’ve noticed that he has a newfound level of confidence and conviction. His 2015 reds are outrageously delicious and have begun to match the quality of his best white wines. His 2015s, 2016s and 2017s are exciting and forcefully continue the march upward. If you haven’t noticed yet, he has merged his two domaines under one name, Arnaud Lambert, which will make his work easier to follow. Arnaud and his wife Geraldine’s son, Antoine (the little guy in the pictures), is now three years old and charming everyone everywhere, just like his mom and dad. My time in the Loire was the shortest I’ve spent there in years, and it was sad to go so quickly.

On our way back down to Leo’s improvised shelter, Andrea and I debated if we had time to taste Leo’s wines because we had to drive back to Santiago. It was past five and what would normally take five hours to drive in any normal car would take us seven. We knew we’d have to take it easy out of fear that our tiny little red car might fly apart merely by going the speed limit. Pedro mentioned that he had to go as well, and that we had just a few minutes if we wanted to quickly taste Leo’s wines. The wind maintained its intense howl and Leo took a seat with a cooler full of wine. Dirk, Jorge and Jorge’s group sat down and made themselves comfortable as they readied themselves to size up Leo’s new vintage for import. Leo pulled out a bottle of white wine and offered us a taste. With my mind already in the car, counting the hours driving back to Santiago, I stuck my nose in the glass. The Pacific Ocean winds did their best to whisk the aromas of Leo’s white wine out of the glass and back into the Itata, but the strong will of the wine resisted. High-toned, but delicate ocean spray, baking spices, exotic white fruits and citrus flowers gently fluttered out of the glass like a kaleidoscope of baby butterflies. The aroma was beautiful and charming. My eyes now wide open, I stared at Andrea with a look of surprise; she and I had labored through so many bottles of mediocre whites from this country over the last nine years, and this immediately seemed liked something very different. We took our first tastes at the same moment. The white, Pipeño (named after the old wooden 8000 liter traditional aging vessel shaped like a pipe), was authentic and complex. Made of 90% Moscatel and 10% Semillion, it was ornate and unapologetically delicious, even to an importer like me, who mostly opts for racy, high octane mineral bombs from Europe’s best spots for Riesling, Chenin Blanc and Chardonnay. It was salty, finely textured and familiar, but it wasn’t the grapes that brought familiarity… it was the influence of its granitic mother. The white, Pipeño (named after the old wooden 8000 liter traditional aging vessel shaped like a pipe), was authentic and complex. Andrea Arredondo Half smiling and unsure, Andrea glanced at me, as if for permission to put her cards on the table. I knew she liked the wine (as did I!), but she knew it could be a mistake to say out loud so soon if the rest of the wines weren’t as good; believe me, we didn’t expect them to be. Our eyes were locked, keeping our secret alive going into the next set of wines made from Pais. Pais makes a rugged and tough wine. Louis Antoine, a displaced Frenchman living in Chile, helped take the grape to notoriety in the States by making it in a Beaujolais style, with carbonic and semi-carbonic fermentations. He had worked in the cellar with one of France’s greatest vignerons, the late Marcel Lapierre, and made a name for himself in the “natural wine movement.” He’s now the best known producer from that genre in Chile. We had tasted in Louis’ cellar the previous day, and he had shown us some Pais made in a more traditional way (no carbonic method). The wines were interesting, albeit unfinished and straight out of tanks. They were massively tannic, and Louis made it clear he knew they needed more time to soften before going into bottle. Zjos and Leo Leo pulled two Pais wines out of his cooler. The labels were very charming and had sketches we later learned were done by Leo, alluding to the history of the Spanish Conquistadors and their cultivation of the Itata. Both wines were labeled Pais and were separated by their soil types, “Volcanico” and “Granitico,” in red letters. Both wines were labeled Pais and were separated by their soil types, “Volcanico” and “Granitico,” in red letters. The first red in my glass was Pais grown on volcanic soil. The color was as light as you’d ever see for a red. A seductive and unusually elegant wine greeted my nose. Again, the intensity of the wind blew most of the aromas out, making it difficult to catch its subtleties. I stuck my nose further into the glass to confirm that I was smelling and tasting a wine like no other I’d ever had from Chile. The next wine was the Granitico Pais. It carried a slightly deeper hue of red and worked forcefully against the wind compared to the last wine. More powerful, but equally elegant as the volcanic Pais, the nose and taste were unmistakably marked by the soils we had just seen. Blood, metal, mineral, coarse salt, orange and dark red roses, and deep, but supremely elegant red and black fruits filled out my mouth, leaving me a little stunned. Again, the familiarity and impact of the granite soil was clear. I was impressed, but still couldn’t help second guessing myself with these first three wines. My wife looked at me, still waiting for a cue, and I shrugged my shoulders and said, “who knew?!” I walked over to Pedro, who was patiently waiting for us. I was excited about Leo’s wines but I wasn’t sure what to do. Here was the guy I came down to see and then I met this other guy, Leo, who was equally impressive and making wines that were very different than Pedro’s remarkably intense and authentic wines. I looked at Pedro and cautiously said, “I am a little surprised by Leo’s wines. I think I need to import them as well.” Pedro smiled. With his arms crossed, he looked over the rim of his glasses and said, “They are beautiful wines aren’t they? You should import them. We work together and it would be good for our region if you would represent both of us.” I looked at Pedro and cautiously said, “I am a little surprised by Leo’s wines. I think I need to import them as well.” Pedro and Leo embody the best of their country. As guardians of Chile’s nearly forgotten legacy, they are championing the Itata’s important history and the families who have cultivated these lands for centuries. The ancient families of the Itata face a modern world where big business moves faster in two years than these farmers have in the last one hundred. Luckily Pedro Parra, their most faithful advocate, is the voice for their inevitable rise to the top of Chile’s wine culture. The ancient families of the Itata face a modern world where big business moves faster in two years than these farmers have in the last one hundred. As we left the Itata and joined the Ruta 5 north, back to Santiago, Andrea and I were glowing with excitement. In the past, taking a trip there during the southern hemisphere’s summertime was about momentarily getting away from our regular routines and the short winter days in California. We used to go for Chile’s beautiful and rugged beaches, endless supply of delicious seafood (especially sea urchin!) and perfectly ripe, in-season fruits and vegetables. We’ll still go for these things, but in less than two days we experienced a new Chile and started making plans to return much sooner than expected. We felt like we had just scratched the surface in the south and got a tiny glimpse into the Chile we’d been searching for.

The May edition of the Inside Source Club, featured bottles from one of our true heroes of wine, Arnaud Lambert. It’s difficult to write about Arnaud without eliciting chuckles, because after just a few words one begins to sound ridiculous. He’s young. He’s talented. He’s hardworking. Thoughtful. Focused. Studious. Committed. Charming. You get the picture. Seriously, the guy is a dream, and we at The Source feel incredibly fortunate to be working with him. Oh, and, as you’ll taste, his wines are knockouts too. Though all the wines in May’s shipment come from the hand of Arnaud, the theme wasn't to showcase the hand of the winemaker. It was to talk about terroir, specifically how limestone expression is mediated by the presence of sand and clay. Indeed, we can approach Arnaud’s winemaking here as a control factor, an element we can now remove from the equation to better examine the differences in terroir between a handful of sites. But first, let’s complete the portrait of Arnaud, because he’s someone you should know. In 1996 Arnaud’s father Yves, a banker, began Domaine de Saint-Just in the Saumur region of the Loire (more on this below). Freshly returned from winemaking studies in Bordeaux, Arnaud joined him in 2005. They also made a deal with the Comte of the nearby (and spectacular) Château de Brézé to farm his vineyards and market the wine. Hence the two labels you see today, Domaine de Saint-Just and Château de Brézé (one day we hope both labels may be consolidated under one brand). Yves died unexpectedly and tragically in 2011, leaving the estate under the control of Arnaud. Arnaud had already begun the conversion of their vineyards to organic farming in 2009, work he continues today. It’s a long and assiduous process, as the soils in this region had been decimated by fifty years of chemical farming. Only in the last few years has Arnaud begun to see the reappearance of real verve in his soils. Where is Saumur? It’s in the middle Loire, as opposed to the upper Loire to the east (featuring Sancerre) and the lower Loire to the west (featuring Muscadet). While technically attached to the subregion of Anjou, Saumur perhaps has more in common with the nearby western Touraine, whose villages Chinon and Bourgeuil are also famous for red wines, as well as whites. The reds come from Cabernet Franc, the whites from Chenin Blanc. All Arnaud’s wines are grown just a few miles apart, on a vast and massive chalky limestone subsoil, known here as tuffeau. It’s just the top layers that differ. Before we get to the wines specifically, a quick shout out to the vintage. Three brutally difficult years in a row (hail, frost, deluge) and a bad start to 2014 was taking a psychological toll on the region. As importer Jon David Headrick observed in a note: “By the end of this stretch of vintages you could see the stress and strain on the faces of many growers. Many of their neighbors were going out of business. Money was tight. Vacations were cancelled. Prices were raised. The summer of their discontent, to bastardize Shakespeare, was in full swing.” In the 2014 summer, sunny days alternated with rainy ones—a recipe for disaster. Humid, warm weather invites rot, which began to grip the vineyards during July and August. Thankfully, September brought redemption, ushering six weeks of sublime sun that banished the rot, dried the vineyards, and ripened the clusters. The result is a vintage that luxuriates in sun-bathed ripeness, but retains snap thanks to elevated acidities. It drinks well right now, but will even harmonize more over the next several years. Saumur Blanc 2014 Château de Brézé “Clos du Midi” 2014 Domaine de Saint-Just “Les Perrieres” The Loire is lovely region, bucolic and calm, verdant with vineyards, forests, and farmland. It lacks the towering, steep spectacles of places like the Northern Rhone. Indeed, what passes for high altitude in this region are the low-lying hills (which could also be called mounds or hillocks) of Brézé and Saint-Cyr. Just a few miles apart these elevations face each other. Both have been sites of excellent Chenin Blanc and Cabernet Franc since at least the Middle Ages and probably much longer. Brézé is the more famous and slightly higher of the two in no small part because of the palatial Château that guards one side of it. Both are undergirded with that deep layer of tuffeau. And both feature a wash of different soils that vary between heavier clays and lighter sands deposited via millennia of the Loire floodplains. In the case of these two wines, we wish to demonstrate what difference the amount of clay or sand makes in a limestone-based wine. The Clos du Midi sits high on Brézé as one of the colder sites on the hill. With nearly ten acres in production, it’s a pretty big vineyard, so there is some soil variance, mainly with some clay holding down the bottom of the slope, while the upper slope is mostly sandy in nature. Lurking not far beneath it all is that soft, but dense limestone. You’ll notice the Clos du Midi’s electric acidity and wiry, lean body. Indeed, as Ted wrote in his original note, “When I first tasted this wine, it was like sticking my finger in a light socket!” Sandy terroirs tend to offer great ripeness, but not always much roundness, as the water drains quickly from the ground, leaving little chance for the roots to take it up and feed off the minerals in the soil. In (slight) contrast, check out the Saint-Just “Les Perrieres.” The flavors, which run between dried herbs, tea, apples, and lemons, are not entirely different, but the wine has more body and roundness due to the heavier clay and silt of this vineyard, which also has less slope. The wine is just as delicious, just has a slightly more rounded profile. Both are absolutely delicious and share the common thread of that densely chalky core. The other beautiful thing about both is their amazing versatility with food. Yes, fish and seafood are obvious and excellent matches. But the zippy acidity and sharp flavors will also pair beautifully with the bounty of spring and summer vegetables at your local farmers’ markets right now. Saumur Rouge 2014 Château de Brézé “Clos Tue-Loup” 2014 Domaine de Saint-Just “Montee des Roches” Again, we find ourselves comparing two hills with wines that are almost like siblings, sharing that powerful limestone signature, which in red wine allows for a powerful flavor stamp on top of a structure that’s elegant and complex without being too fleshy. The Cabernet Franc from Brézé is amazing. Raised only in old oak, it shows the large limestone rocks that lurk under the layer of clay at the vineyard. The clay provides the flesh, while the tuffeau gives that ethereal structure which somehow supports that riot of red and blacks fruit flavors. We love the complexity that follows, which range from notes of sweet spring flowers to heavier sensations of wet earth, gravel, and iodine. The terroir of Saint-Cyr’s Montée des Roches is a little different, with less than 20 inches of limestone-derived sand and a little clay before the tuffeau substrate begins. Arnaud works these soils very carefully, removing the superficial roots and encouraging the rest to dig deeper into the limestone, which for this wine they clearly do. It’s like drinking straight from the limestone. We can’t say it better than what Ted wrote, “The wine matches clearly its terroir with an immediately full mouthfeel brought on by the clay soils, followed by a straight, slightly tangy acidic finish from its rocky underbelly. The wine starts with rich dark earth and forest floor, spare in fruit and evolves into a perfectly supple and finely textured Cabernet Franc.” Please enjoy these delicious wines from the magical hills of Saumur and the charmed hand of Arnaud Lambert. Happy drinking! Don't miss next month's Inside Source edition. Join our Wine Club today and receive a 10% off all website purchases for the membership duration.

  In early January of 2017, Andrea and I left Chile’s capital, Santiago, to meet the renowned terroirist Pedro Parra for the first time.  Five hours into our drive, we exited Ruta 5 at Chillán to leave Chile’s long Central Valley and drive west, away from the breathtaking Andes, which form the border with Argentina. We continued toward the Pacific Ocean and into the ancient granitic hills of the Itata Valley, a place Pedro claims to be Chile’s promised land. As we got closer to the Pacific the wind picked up, gusts blowing our car from side to side, slowing us down while the trees lining the highway bent wildly back and forth.  As we entered Pedro’s hometown of Concepcion, the summer sky was bright blue and fresh, unlike the gray, smoggy ceiling above Santiago.  The further into the city we went the more the wind howled.  Along the right bank of the Bio Bio River, we passed through clusters of Chile’s modern commercial buildings, dilapidated midcentury, multicolored apartments and many shanties of the poor (very typical in any Chilean city). Eventually, we found our way to a street corner where we saw a familiar face that we’d only seen in photos. Standing alongside his German importer, Dirk von Streit (a tall German with Chilean heritage), Pedro immediately extended his hand to me for a warm shake and gave Andrea a big hug.  Right away, it seemed like we’d known each other forever. Andrea even joked that maybe I had met her just so I could cross paths with this Chilean scientist, who shared my lifelong fascination with rocks.  Every kid has unique interests, and mine happened to be a curious obsession with rocks and seashells.  I was so in love with them that when I was about five, I asked an old lady at church who usually wore seashell necklaces and bracelets if I could have them when she died.  I’m sure she really appreciated that—at least she smiled. Andrea drove our car so I could ride with Pedro and start the conversation I’d been wanting to have since I was a boy, and we all headed towards Pedro’s Itata vineyards, about 45 minutes away. In the passenger seat of his SUV was his rock hammer, a tool no geologist or terroir specialist would leave home without.  He put on Wayne Shorter and we rolled down the road, windows open because his air conditioner had just broken.  We leaned on the center console so we could hear each other over the jazz and the rushing wind, keeping our eyes on the mirrors so we didn’t lose Andrea, following in her mother’s bright red, roller-skate-sized Chinese-made car; it may be one of the slowest new cars in the world, so Pedro took it easy getting into the Itata.  He asked me a little bit about myself and I told him the story of how had he foiled my big research plans in Chile... For quite a while now, I’ve been developing a strong interest in Chile, my wife’s native country. I read about Pedro’s work a number of years ago while researching geological formations in Chile’s cooler southern regions, and years before I discovered him, I visited what was then Chile’s “new frontier” of cold climate terroirs, the Casablanca Valley.  The articles about the Casablanca were far more interesting than what I found when I got there.  At the time, my opinion was that Casablanca hadn’t even remotely pushed the boundaries of cooler climate grape growing, contrary to what has been written about it in various wine publications. Pedro stated that it’s actually very easy for wines from Casablanca to ripen to well over 16% alcohol in most years.  I was convinced there had to be more interesting soils in significantly cooler areas of Chile, terroirs that could express distinct personalities beyond cellar and vineyard techniques that force wines from uninteresting soils to be something they were never meant to be. For almost ten years, I had the idea to explore geological formations in the south of Chile and plant experimental vineyard blocks to vinify and isolate high quality terroirs.  I was ready to make the move on my project and even got a couple of talented winegrowers interested in joining me.  Just when I was ready to pull the trigger, I was stopped short after reading a few articles about Pedro’s work; he was already doing something exactly like what I wanted to do.  Besides having the home court advantage, he was far more qualified, holding a Master’s Degree in Precision Agriculture and a PhD where his main focus was terroir.  It was bittersweet, but Pedro spared me from a lifetime of research and experimentation. I let him know just how thrilled I was with his work.  He smiled, acknowledging this shared idea—one of a couple of ideas we would come to realize that we shared. “But Chile is deeply wrong with wine.” Part 2 of 6, "Of Rocks and Wine," will post next week. Find Pedro Parra Wines here To keep up with this story you can sign up to our email list, or check in next week at the same time and you will find part 2.

I met Peter for the first time in a small and unassuming house, deep in the Austrian wine country.  He lives in a quiet town, Spitz, tucked into the far western end of the country’s most famous wine region, the Wachau.  The first time I heard about Peter was from my friend Sariya, who supplies me with great Austrian wines.  She insisted that I meet this guy because she was sure that we would get along.  She said that he was very interesting and that he and I are a lot alike.  I wasn’t sure how to take that, but Sariya knows that I am a bit of a Peter Pan myself: feet rarely on the ground and head always in the clouds.  It’s true, like Peter Pan, I would prefer to never grow up. If you’ve never been to the Wachau, you need to add it to your bucket list.  It’s gorgeous, and the culture is sophisticated, yet relaxed.  Austria is one of my favorite culinary destinations; they make delicious dishes where you should avoid asking questions like:  “What part of the animal does this come from?”  Trust me, just eat it.  The local restaurants, heurigers, serve regional specialties and can house legions of tourists.  Here, you really have to keep your eyes on the road during summer because this area has a massive flow of older tourists who walk around like a bunch of stoned geese arguing about which way is South, as they stand in the middle of the road. The Wachau looks like something out of a fairytale.  It was forged by the Danube; over thousands of years, this river carved it's way through the southernmost part of a hard ancient stone formation, called the Bohemian Massif.  Here, the most important soil is called gneiss.  It is commonly referred to as “primary rock” because it's one of the oldest rock formations on the Earth’s surface as it originates more than 300 million years.  When you hold one of these hard rocks in your hand, it’s hard to imagine that this river gorge even exists because the stone seems almost impenetrable despite how intense the Danube could’ve raged in its early years. As far as the lay of the vineyard land and the style of wines are concerned, there are a couple of basics that are somewhat consistent.  First, the low-lying and more flat areas, which are rich in soil nutrition with easier water access for the vines, are where you mostly find Gruner Veltliners and other white varieties, save Riesling.  The Rieslings are usually planted on the steep hillsides, where the “primary rock” is the principal soil base.  There are also some labeling terms –specific to the Wachau – that represent certain levels of ripeness.  In order of ripeness, from the least to the most, the dry wines are classified as Steinfeder, Federspiel or Smaragd.  In short, these terms were created by a group of likeminded and highly skilled winemakers who, in 1983, established strict regulations under a code called the Vinea Wachau, as “a dedication to natural wine production and strict control.”  These guidelines deal with the origin of the wine, and impose regulations on things like additives, concentrators, “aromatizers”, and spinning cones. In short, this code is committed to the ideal “nature and nothing else”!  So, what the heck do all these spinning cones and “aromatizers” mean anyways?  I’ll tell you what it means…  It means that most people think that the wine is only a natural process, and that drinking wine must be good for you.  I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but today there is a lot less wine in a bottle, and a lot more other stuff.  A good friend of mine, who is a doctor, sends me studies that contradict the “health craze” surrounding wine; indeed, scientific evidence shows that wine can be a contributing factor to cancer.  The truth is that most wines are unethically made and are the likely culprits of these results. Those wines that are picked up at your local “natural market” for three or four bucks a bottle, that you place in your cart next to your “organic salmon” are the worst!  Well, the Vinea Wachau ain’t havin’ it!  Or, are they?...  I guess it depends whom you ask. Within the first five minutes of stepping into Peter’s world, I knew that Sariya was right.  I hadn’t tasted the wines, but I could tell that I was in for a long and interesting ride.  He invited me to his backyard to sit and chat about things.  We didn’t go straight to the vineyards or to tasting, which I really appreciated.  In all honesty, the main reason that I travel to visit vineyards and winemakers is to discuss what they discover about themselves in the process of crafting wine and how these discoveries are relevant to life. It’s the human element, not the technical aspect, that drives me.  Most people I know in the wine business think that I’m a technical wine junkie, but that’s only the lesser half of it.  I’m really in it to interact with great minds and to be exposed to the philosophy ingrained within people who make insightful, honest, and humbling wine.  It’s far more interesting to explore the process, the thinking, and the convictions that drive their choices, not just the result of their choices. As we sat on an old stone wall behind his house, Peter looked at me and asked with a sarcastic and ice-breaking grin: “So… what do you want to know?” as he threw his hands in the air and chuckled.  It was clear that he was acknowledging the discomfort of first meeting someone and diving into the conversation with the usual array of a thousand technical questions (which I had) about his winemaking and vineyards.  After all, what else would you ask a vigneron that you’ve just met?  You’ve got to establish some kind of street cred, no?  I smiled back at him and simply asked, “Why are you here?”  He looked at me a little caught off-guard.  I quickly rephrased, “I mean, why did you decide to come to the Wachau and not another place in Austria?”  Peter smiled as he probably realized that I already knew a little bit about him.  I knew that, two decades ago, after he finally grew up, he developed a career in graphic design and marketing.  Eventually, he’d had enough of that and decided to pursue his desire to make wine, which he’s now been doing for almost twenty years.  Peter turned away and looked at the ground to gather his thoughts.  As he focused deeper on the ground, he slowly eked out: “I came here… because there is no doubt to me that the Wachau is the greatest terroir in Austria.”  He paused, then he looked up at me, as though he was a doctor who was going to give me some rough news.  “But…”  Wait, let me back up a little bit… I arrived to Austria a couple of days before my visit with Peter to visit a few friends and several new producers that I was going to start working with.  I first visited the young Franz Hirtzberger.  Franz and I had become friends about ten years ago when I took a six-month bicycling trip through Europe with a friend.  We stayed in the Wachau for an entire week and Franz and another guy, Martin Wicker, took three days off just to hang out and drive us around.  Anyway, I try to catch up with Franz every time I come.  Shortly after I arrived, we started tasting through his 2010 range of wines, which were really impressive.  I was surprised that Franz didn’t seem convinced of the quality of the wines he had put in bottle this vintage.  He spoke about them as if they were a little light for his taste, which I thought was funny.  I mean, here’s a guy who is really at the top of the food chain, who just nutted a perfectly focused and elegant vintage, and he is speaking about how much more “light” it is compared to other vintages.  Light?  Hirtzberger?  That sounds like the perfect vintage for him…  Anyway, as we were tasting, he asked who else I was visiting.  I told him that we had just started working with Emmerich Knoll as well as Martin Mittelbach, from Tegernseerhof – both well-respected producers and friends of Franz.  Although I hesitated, I eventually let him know that I would visit, on the next day, a new producer in the same town as Franz, named Peter Veyder-Malberg.   The name set Franz back a little.  I could tell that he had an opinion, but he cautiously asked me what I thought about the wines.  I told him that I hadn’t tasted them yet, so I had no opinion.  As our tasting ended, Franz walked me to the door and said, “Tell Peter hello for me.”  Franz gave me a strange look, which is normal for Franz and then added: “I’d like to know what you think of the wines.  It’ll be interesting to hear your opinion.”  I asked what he meant by that, but he dodged the question with a big smile and repeated that he just wants to know what I think.  As I got into my car and drove back to Krems, I thought: “That was strange…  Maybe this guy Peter is doing some weird orange wine, or something...  Who ever heard of orange wine in the Wachau anyway?” The next day, I visited Emmerich Knoll and his next-door neighbor Martin Mittelbach.  They were both great tastings, completely opposite styles on this end of the Wachau where it’s easy to find wines that are more sun-touched and a bit more generous than the vineyards of the Wachau as you move west, towards Spitz.  The Knoll wines are top-notch and have a sort of baroque and refined intensity, while Martin’s wines have fierce angles and focused high-toned energy. It’s amazing how completely different these wines are even though they come from the same hills.  I had a great tasting with Martin in the morning and then I saw Emmerich for another tasting and a quick bite.  He already knew that I was going to visit Peter after lunch as they both work with me through Sariya.  As we parted, Emmerich said, “Give me a call when you’re done, maybe we can have dinner together.  Plus, I’m really interested to hear what you think of Peter’s wines…”  Like with Franz, I asked why.  “I’m just curious… They’re different, that’s all.  But seriously, call me, I’d really like to hear your opinion.” He had that classic Emmerich smile, the one where you are not sure if he’s teasing you or being serious. As I drove to Peter’s, I was laughing a little in my head thinking: “Ok, first Franz, and now Emmerich… Strange…  what the heck is up with this guy, Peter?” “… I hate the Wachau style of wine,” Peter finished.  Whoa!  Controversy!  I love it!  This honest and pointed comment immediately put a smile on my face.  Peter went back and forth between gazing at the ground and looking back up at me as he calmly explained that it was hard for him to enjoy the style of wines made from this superior Austrian terroir.  He couldn’t stand most of them because they were always big and powerful, even the so-called elegant producers.  And that, no one, but a few “outcasts”, were pursuing more natural ways to grow fruit.  He felt that the Vinea Wachau regulations force the hand of winemakers to make wine of a certain style, and that a lot of the wines are riddled with synthetic chemicals from the vineyards because they don’t regulate the vineyard practices; so long as you conform to their rules in the cellar, all is good.  He kept going and I just sat there and listened as the top spun, if you know what I mean.  The smile on my face must have been huge as I watched Peter pour his heart out with sincere conviction.  Why don’t you tell me how you really feel Peter?!  Man ‘o man!  I loved this guy and what he was saying.  He was singing to the choir and it was a big breath of fresh air.  Believe me, I have almost cried at the obvious use of chemicals in the vineyards of the countless great estates I visited throughout Europe.  There are many great wines made under these conditions and its hard not to wonder how much better they could be…  Through his tirade, I kept thinking: “This guy’s wines are either going to really suck or be insanely good.” After about ten minutes of putting it on the table, and believe me, it was all on the table, Peter looked at me with his big boyish smile. He knew that he was controversial, but his critique was justified.  He was an outsider, and no one on the inside was saying the same things that Peter found to be an obvious fault of the greatest region in all of Austria.  “So...”, Peter said with a Shakespearean voice to clear the heavy air, “What shall we do now?”  Time to see these “natural” vineyards!  I was excited by this exchange, but I was a little worried about the tasting because I have a terrible poker face.  If I don’t like them, he will know by look on my face. The first time I was in the vineyard with Peter was the same as all the visits I’ve had with him since.   The pure and joyous energy that radiates from this man when he is in his vineyards is truly incredible.  He calls his vines his children, and that’s exactly how it feels.  There was life everywhere: bugs, herbs, birds, grasses and Peter’s big smile. The pleasure and joy he manifests in the vineyards is how I want to feel everyday. He took me to his primary Riesling vineyard, Bruck, located in the Spitzer Graben, which is the coldest section of the Wachau.  The Spitzer Graben is fresh and beautiful.  Standing in his vineyard and looking across the way to the other side of the valley is breathtaking.  The air is so fresh and clear that it feels like you could reach your hand out and grab the little house you see miles away across the valley.  There is a special feeling in this place –the vibe is different from the rest of the Wachau.  He continued driving me around to show me new sites he wanted to buy and replant.  I was impressed by the tasks that he was taking on; only with an occasional helper, he wants to rebuild terraced walls that hadn’t been tended to in decades, some for over a century.  This is seriously hard work. It’s amazing how many lost, or forgotten, vineyards there are all over the place.  Some of them are right in front of your face, and you can’t help but wonder why there are not vines there anymore.  There are many places that I’ve visited, like Lessona in Northern Piedmont, or the “Vins de Vienne”, just north of Cote Rotie in France, that have ancient abandoned vineyards.  These places were forgotten after phylloxera devastated most of Europe in the late 1800’s; this terrible insect made way to a century of tough economic times and long, horrific wars.  Can you imagine facing phylloxera, which destroyed entire crops for decades, then going through World War I, followed by World War II, and finally, dealing with mental and physical post-war recovery?  I’m just a country bumpkin from Montana, so I can’t imagine it.  After these times, busting my butt up a steep hill to make wines that couldn’t fetch a decent price would be the last thing I’d want to do. This is one of the obvious reasons why it’s still easy to drive in places like the Wachau, or the Mosel in Germany, and find gorgeous hills that have been completely abandoned.  No one is touching them because the work on some of these steep hills is expensive and too damn hard.  Believe me, they are all over the place and, if you have the will, they are available.  I know a guy that has the will… The moment of truth.  We made our way back from the vineyards a bit early as spring had just started and nightfall was on its way.  I sat down in Peter’s cold, quiet house while he went downstairs to grab a box of wine.  He emerged with seven wines, which were already open.  He pulled out a couple of big hand-crafted glasses, made by the up-and-coming Austrian glass producer, Zalto.  Honestly, I don’t like to taste wines that have been open for a day or so on my first visit with a producer, but Peter was making such a small amount of wine that I didn’t ask to taste fresh samples.  As he poured the first wine into my glass, I couldn’t help it, I had to ask him how long the wine was open.  He looked to the ceiling, as though the answer was there, then at the bottles, still searching.  He paused and started to calculate: “Let’s see, I just got back from skiing, and I had some journalists visiting from Norway, and that was a little over a week ago, so, maybe ten days, I think…”  Great.  I’ve come all this way to deal with a guy who’s going to serve me up a box full of wines that I’ll have to wade my way through, searching for reasons why Sariya said I had to meet this guy.  He didn’t pour himself any, just me.  Perfect, he won’t drink his own wines that have been open for 10 days, but why not pawn them off on me? –I don’t mind, really, I don’t.  Maybe this is the kind of stuff that Franz and Emmerich were talking about…  Ten days?? First wine.  Not possible…  You’ve got to be joking me…  I stuck my nose all the way in this massive glass, looking for reasons to cut this wine to shreds.  Not a chance.  The aromas kept pulling me closer into a glass that revealed the smell and taste of these hills before man even existed.  I looked at Peter in disbelief.  He was oblivious to my initial reaction –probably because I was completely silent.  I stayed with the glass for quite a while.  I tasted and spat.  I had to move on.  I needed to taste more because this had to be a fluke, a lucky shot.  Despite how much this wine intrigued me, it was too early to put any of my cards on the table.  Second glass.  Nope.  Not luck: this wine was even more intoxicating than the first.  It was nuts!  I had to say something, but all I could manage to say was, “So, how long did you say these were open?”  “I don’t remember exactly, but I’m sure it was at the beginning of last week, so something like ten days, or maybe twelve.”  “Really?”  “Yeah, something like that, but I’m not exactly sure.”  The kicker?  It was Gruner Veltliner, not Riesling.  I was tripping.  I mean, great Gruner is pretty good juice, but for me it’s got nothing on great Riesling.  These first two wines, however, were unbelievable.  I kid you not, I was fixated on the second Gruner, Viessling, for over forty-five minutes, and it had been open for more than TEN DAYS! As I tasted the next wines, two other Gruners, from different vintages, my mind went nuts.  I started spitting out descriptors that I’d never even used before; they were flowing from my mouth like the Danube gone wild.  Eventually, Peter said, “Wow, you taste all that in my wines?”  “Yeah, man.  I’ve never tasted wines like these before.” He grabbed a glass and started tasting with me.  I was on fire and these wines brought me to a level of focus that doesn’t happen too often.  Peter started to laugh and told me that he’s never even looked at his own wines the way I was painting them.  He started tripping too.  We were like Cheech and Chong, “Hey man, do you smell that, man?”  “No man, smell what, man?”  “Really, man?  You know that smell, man.”  “Oh yeah, man, I can smell that now, man.” Then he brought out the guns –the Rieslings.  If tasting these wines were the last thing I’d ever done in my life, I would have been cool with that –I really would have.  I was single at the time so I had no one waiting for me.  Even if I walked out of Peter’s door after drinking these wines and forgot to look both ways and got slammed across the Danube by an oncoming semi?  Nope, I wouldn’t feel slighted in this life…  Plus, these Rieslings were beyond my capacity to fully enjoy, let alone comprehend.  In fact, they were so damn good that I didn’t even want to drink them.  I know, that’s a ridiculous thing to say, but it’s true…  I just wanted to lock in the smell and float down the river on my back and contemplate the meaning of life.  They were, crazy-good.  I’m sitting here trying to find a way to properly describe them, but I can’t –describing sublime perfection is not possible.  When I managed to finally put a sip in my mouth, that’s when I started flying through the Spitzer Graben with Peter Pan.  Peter had brought me to his Neverland, back to moments of bliss I felt when I first discovered wine.  Back then, I didn’t have a care in the world, and here with Peter, the feeling was the same.  He was serving me taste after taste from the fountain of youth –I was going to live forever!  On occasion, I’d slip out of this nirvana to come back into my flawed mind to debate if this was even possible.  I mean can a wine, any wine, do this to someone, especially after being open for ten days?  Have I gone mad?  What was even more astounding was that 2008 was his first vintage in the Wachau, and that’s what we were mostly tasting.  It was just insane –he was a rookie… Suddenly, it was 8:30.  I forgot to call Emmerich!  I told Peter earlier that I had to go meet up with him, but we both forgot.  By the time we realized what time it was, we had spent over four hours, tasting seven wines!  I know that may be hard to believe, in a moment which I lost track of both time and reality, but it really did take that long to simply attempt to grasp the depth of these wines.  Peter looked at his watch and said that it was probably best to call Emmerich and cancel because it was so late.  Cancel on Emmerich Knoll?  I can’t.  That’s crazy, Emmerich is a good friend (and a legend himself) and I always cherish my time with him.  Wait, I can’t leave this moment behind either…  Am I crazy?!   “Ok, can you call Emmerich for me?”  I was looking forward to getting back to Emmerich, but I was so thrilled to stay and dig in a little bit more with this guy.  He was special and I really wanted to stay.  So, I did.  We ended up going down the street to the local restaurant to sort out another bottle of Riesling, which was thrilling for me to drink a freshly opened bottle.  This newly opened bottle was a perfect wine.  It made me realize that the wines that were open for ten days hadn’t even begun to show any signs of fatigue from the moment they were open. Over dinner, we continued the discussion we started when I first arrived.  We went a little deeper and I got a great insight into the mind of someone whom, when it comes to wine philosophy and practice, I have come to consider a genius. I realized that Peter truly loved the Wachau, and that’s why he had strong opinions.  Also, I felt like, deep down, he wanted to be a part of this local group, but he simply couldn’t relate to their philosophy.  I now understood why Franz and Emmerich were curious about what I thought.  It wasn't only about the taste of his wines, it was probably about Peter's perspective on things.  The fathers of Franz and Emmerich were two of the main players that set-up the guidelines of the Vinea Wachau, which imposed strict regulations to keep quality standards of the wines from the Wachau at the highest level in Austria.  And believe me, it worked.  The Wachau is the undisputed king of Austrian wine regions, and it’s largely due to the Vinea Wachau.  If one wants to use the terms, Steinfeder (which we never see in the States), Federspiel and Smaragd, you must follow the rules.  What’s more, these juggernauts in the Austrian wine trade, were crucial in stopping the construction of a dam on the Danube that would have affected their great terroir and every other region close to it.  These guys are living legends, and despite their request to Peter that he join the Vinea Wachau and "go with the flow", Peter wouldn’t bend.  He couldn’t bend. So, what’s with all of these rules from the Vinea Wachau that Peter couldn’t accept?  One example is the regulation of must-weights, which refers to the amount of sugar in the grapes at the time of harvest and, to a lesser extent, the maximum amount of sugar left in the finished wines.  For example, the amount of sugar in the grapes to achieve the level of Smaragd ripeness must be at a minimum of 12.5% alcohol (with no maximum and not a tenth of a point less) and the remaining sugar in the wine must not exceed nine grams per liter.  In a cold area like Spitz, in order to achieve this requirement with natural alcohol, the vigneron may have to wait until the grapes are either somewhat dehydrated, or carry a little bit of botrytis (the noble rot).  The result is the concentration of sugar in the berry in order to meet the minimum amount required for a Smaragd wine.  One of my friends, who worked in the Wachau for three seasons, explained that, often times, there is no canopy left on the vines while they are starting to harvest their Smaragd grapes.  They may let it get to this point in order to reach the minimum alcohol requirement.  That’s extreme viticulture and a severe restriction for a place that has a different set of circumstances that the warmer parts of the Wachau. There are many other challenges for Peter regarding the Vinea Wachau; Sariya, however, distilled it down to one necessity for Peter – flexibility.  She also added, “Peter has a healthy disrespect for authority, so the rules in and of themselves are a problem for him.”  That is exactly it.  In order to remain flexible, Peter refused to bend to the Vinea Wachau. Why would he?  Flexibility is crucial for a creative mind, especially for one that is constantly thinking outside of the box.  How can he ignore the fact that disregarding the Vinea Wachau rules allows him to produce better wine? After visiting the Wachau for many years, I realized that, like many of the great wine regions in the world, they seem to have a myopic view on wine and viticulture.  Like many other famous wine regions, the Wachau’s “if the wheel ain’t broke, don’t fix it” is not a progressive mentality. Aside from the many little disagreements Peter has with them, this is likely another reason why Peter chose not to join the Vinea Wachau. I truly love the Wachau, but when Peter presented me with his predicament, I realized that the Vinea Wachau is fairly selective regarding their “nature and nothing more” mantra.  According to Peter, their rules solely concern the augmentation of the wines in the cellar; they do not address treatments and rules to better conserve the nature that exists in their vineyards.  It is possible that, back when the Vinea Wachau was created, they didn’t realize that the long-term implications of the unnatural vineyard treatments may undermine some of the life in their wines.  Today, it is impossible to walk in the vineyards of the Wachau and ignore what is obvious –the majority of soils are far from healthy.  Sadly, this is the case with almost every “great” wine region in the world.  I know what you’re thinking… But, no, the Vinea Wachau is not Captain Hook in this story…  The Vinea Wachau is the strongest captain in Austria, and deserves respect as it is served under honorable ethics. It must be said, however, that the boat looks clean from the outside; but once you get into the bilge, there’s a bit of work to be done. After our conversation, I realized that Peter’s plight makes sense: both the fastidious restrictions on the cellar work and the surprising absence of regulation on the vineyards affect the natural character of the grapes.  If Peter’s wines conformed, they wouldn’t carry the thrust and energy that his wines needed to makes us fly.  They would be too overweight and all grown up, past their youthful energy –boring adults.  Peter couldn’t clip his own wings for their ideals –his wings are both his freedom and his ideals.  If he did, he would no longer be the Peter that he wanted to be, and he wouldn’t make wines that bring out my inner-child and make me feel like I’m going to live forever while drinking these wines from Neverland. In the end, it was Peter’s Rieslings that brought me to this highest point of this enlightening experience and not the Gruners, which were amazing nonetheless.  I do enjoy drinking Gruner on occasion, but it’s not a wine that excites me to the level of the greatest expressions of Chenin Blanc, Chardonnay or Riesling –my holy trio of white wines.  The Rieslings that Peter makes are wines I would put at the highest level of all the white wines I drink, from anywhere in the world.  There are many other producers of dry Riesling that get me going, Germany’s Emerich Schonleber in the Nahe, or Klaus Peter Keller from the Rheinhessen are two of them.  However, if you were to ask me who makes my favorite dry Riesling, my answer would be swift and unflinching: Peter Veyder Malberg. Conceptually, Peter is completely in tune with my frequency.  I have visited well over 500 different estates in Europe, and in each of them, with the exception of maybe 30, I have spent a good amount of time talking about wine, geology, terroir and the nature of things specific to their vineyards and cellar practices. I’ve met only a select few vignerons who possess this type of rarified talent and determination that Peter has.  Amongst these elite, there are even fewer that do almost all the of the handwork themselves in their own vineyards, like Peter does.  Believe me, there is a difference in the work when the vigneron does it with his own hands.  Aside from the philosophy and emotion that drives Peter, he is a true technician in the cellar as well.  The mastery of his craft, combined with this great terroir, pave the way for the brilliant and subtle artistic expression of his wines. Despite my perspective, I don’t think that Peter looks at himself as an artist.  He gives me the impression that he is a man who understands that he’s just here for a moment in time.  He is humbly following his passion.  His unwavering conviction keeps him putting up rock after rock, back onto his ancient terraced vineyards.  He is clearly on his path, and no one else’s.  On a recent visit, I asked Peter about his love life.  He responded, “I don’t have time for that.  My vines need me.”  Peter’s vines are his Lost Boys, he feels at home with them.  Even if his Wendy did someday show up, she may have a hard time finding Peter Veyder-Malberg, but she wouldn’t have any trouble finding Peter Pan. I’m excited to see what the future brings to Peter and what impact he, quietly, might have on the Wachau.  For me, his wines already dance with perfection, so I can’t imagine how much better they could be.  In the scope of the great wines of the world, it will be impossible for those in the Wachau to ignore the results of Peter’s work.  Yes, they taste different from other Wachau wines, but that is the point.  There is magic and an energy that are singular to his wines. It’s clear that the codex of the Vinea Wachau seeks to preserve nature in the cellar, but somehow, most that follow its rules seem to be neglecting the nature that once existed in their vineyards.  I have walked many vineyards, and believe me, there is room for improvement, even in the vineyards of some of the greatest producers in the Wachau.  I may not have degrees to make such claims to the scientific community, but as Dylan pointed out, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”  I hope that more producers, who are already making great wines in the Wachau, will eventually start poking around Neverland to see what Peter is up to.  There is already one, and his wines are a remarkable departure from what was made just a couple of years before. My business partner, and long-time friend, Donny, went to visit Peter two weeks after I was there.  We could’ve probably gone together, but the timing wasn’t right for us.  I went off to Germany after my visits in Austria, and then to France.  Before Donny got to Austria, I sent him an email about my experience with Peter and told him that his wines blew my mind.  I hoped that we would share the same impression of Peter, and his wines.  We met up in Los Angeles after we both got back to California.  Of course, I wanted to know how everything was and what he was excited about.  He began to tell me an all too familiar story about his time with Peter and related to my experience of the energy of his vineyards.  He also told me that Peter went downstairs to get a box of wine that had a bunch of open bottles in it.  He also was completely blown away by what Peter poured for him, and like me, he was curious about how long the wines had been open.  “Hmm… Let me see.” I can imagine Peter inspecting the bottles like he had done with me two weeks earlier. “Ahh, I know…, almost a month ago…  In fact, these are the exact same bottles that Ted tasted.”

François Crochet (left) and Romain Collet (right) are two of the most talented vignerons from their regions. When we have access to the limited production of their value wines, we take everything we can. A Short Story On The Wines François Crochet's Coteaux du Giennois is no ordinary wine. It’s a special parcel on the right bank (east side) of the Loire River, just across from Sancerre and north of the Pouilly-Fumé appellation. Its soils are composed of glacial morraines littered with rounded silex rocks, rather than the jagged ones found on the southeastern area of the Sancerre appellation. What’s most unique about this vineyard site is its genetic material. With all the talk we make about geological imprints on wine, differences within the plant material can influence a wine in just as many different ways. Ancient cultivars have had a difficult road within the last century as many low-production, high-quality strains of specific grape varieties were ousted for those with a higher production than quality—a common challenge in much of the more successful European wine regions since World War II. François Crochet’s Les Perrois Sauvignon Blanc comes from a communal nursery project that began almost twenty years ago. It’s planted to Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Noir and Gamay, the three grapes that can legally bear the Coteaux du Giennois appellation. Within the vineyard is planted a collection of around two-hundred and fifty massal selections (well-adapted, ancient strains of a grape variety) collected by the local, well-known viticultural consultant company called, Ceps-Sicavac. The Ceps-Sicavac team, led by one of the most talented and progressive viticulturalists of our time, François Dal, worked with many vignerons in this part of the Loire Valley to isolate some of the oldest vine parcels and to observe them over a three-year period before making the selections to preserve and cultivate within Les Perrois. François Crochet preserves Les Perrois’ fresh, bright characteristics by fermenting and aging it in stainless steel for six months before bottling. Its general profile falls within the classic Sauvignon nuances of the region that includes iodine, wet stone, flint, citrus, and in 2019 a more generous helping of taut white and yellow stone fruit. Located a short twenty minute car ride toward the southwest from Chablis, and north of the Pinot Noir growing region, Irancy, is Jean Collet's Saint-Bris vineyard. Saint-Bris is a Burgundian outlier where Sauvignon Blanc and Sauvignon Gris have been the recognized and permitted grape varieties since the establishment of the AOP in 2003. While it can be somewhat routine for experienced tasters to recognize the differences between Chablis and Loire Valley Sauvignon Blanc, the differences between the latter and Saint-Bris present a greater challenge—same grape, same general geology, similar climate. Perhaps the greatest element of difference is the wealth and prosperity of Sancerrois by comparison to growers from Saint-Bris. Sadly, most of Saint-Bris is a virtual wasteland of chemical farming—not a surprising outcome for a wine that can rarely match even the price of a Petit Chablis AOC wine, even though it requires the same amount of effort to grow and produce. However, with the continuous rise in the price of Sancerre, when Romain Collet presented the opportunity for us to purchase some Saint-Bris he made from the well-run, sustainably farmed vineyard of his friend, we immediately jumped on it. Romain has developed a golden touch with white wine, so it was a no-brainer. According to Romain, Sauvignon Blanc and Sauvignon Gris were already a regular part of what is today’s Saint-Bris appellation as early as the eighteenth century; also found there was Chardonnay, Aligoté and Pinot Noir. The limestone soils are particularly poor in Saint-Bris, compared to Chablis, and they’re well suited to stifle Sauvignon Blanc’s vigorous nature, whereas Chardonnay there would struggle because of too much stress. Some years ago, I visited Saint-Bris in the early spring with Romain to better understand the appellation and to visit a friend of his who makes wine there on a very small scale. As we drove through, row after row of vines exposed the dreary farming conditions ubiquitous in the appellation—it was almost completely bare land without anything green in sight, except the vine shoots. There is at least one maker who works in organic and biodynamic culture, but few more, if even that. Romain’s grapes come from a friend’s vineyard on a north-facing slope and are farmed using sustainable methods without the use of any herbicides or pesticides. With quality in mind, Romain treats the grapes with the same respect he does with his organically farmed Chablis wines. His vineyard team picks the grapes into small 20-kilo boxes and in the cellar they start their fermentations spontaneously, and aging is done in old French oak barrels in order to round out the wines and soften the naturally striking acidity. The version of Saint-Bris at Domaine Jean Collet follows suit with the Chablis range, characterized with an increased level of suppleness, compared to what is typically found with Saint-Bris wines, so it lands stylistically closer to those grown in the upper Loire Valley. Click on links to see other wines from Jean Collet & François Crochet

Right bank Petit Chablis New months continue to roar in like tsunamis and sometimes we’re overwhelmed and suffocated by everything around us. Thankfully, we can lean on a good bottle of wine with good company to remind us of the fortune we have to love and live lives full of wine and food. Despite the ever-increasing market demand for Chablis, it remains the world’s best value for a strictly styled Chardonnay, and the character of its terroir continues to be as expressive as usual despite the regularity of solar beatdowns. Regardless of the conditions, each year keeps us engaged with its flint and iodine, even if sometimes the citrus goes tropical, and the acidity balance moves from one drinker’s preference to another’s, it’s still Chablis. Some vintages will cellar well while others burn hot with pleasure in their first few years and may fizzle out early, and this is not a new occurrence. Sébastien Christophe’s 2022 Petit Chablis and 2022 Chablis touched down, and, like every year, we’re not sure which one will come out swinging and which will have to shed its introversion in the second half of 2024—it’s a toss-up with each vintage! 2022 was much warmer than 2021 but the wines remain persistent and attractive. As usual, Sébastien’s interpretation presents a more tucked-in and straight style, despite all his wines being composed of sites on the right bank. Both are near the premier crus Montée de Tonnerre and Mont de Milieu and grand cru sites, mostly toward the south end—the Le Clos side. The Petit Chablis is up on the flatter areas and the Chablis vines are in and around the sloped combs and small valleys. Close to town, the right bank wines are known for their fuller profile and perhaps less minerally quality than most from the left bank. Both are raised in steel and, despite his work with only organic inputs over the last decade, these 2022s are from the first year of official organic conversion with thirty hectares to be certified in 2024. “We had a small risk of spring frost in early April but without consequences. The veraison process was slowed down by the excessive heat and lack of rain in May and the beginning of June. After some rainy episodes in June, the mid-veraison stage took place during the last days of July and was finally finished in mid-August for much of the vineyard. The persistence of high temperatures in early August allowed good ripening, with an especially significant reduction of malic acid during the first half of the month. In the third week of August, a series of storms and lower temperatures slowed ripening. The return of hot and dry weather in late August allowed maturation to proceed under favorable conditions, promoting a steady evolution of sugar levels and maintenance of good natural acidity. Overall, 2022 experienced unique and exceptional meteorological conditions but remains nonetheless generous and high-quality." “Chablis lovers can delight in 2022, hailed as a year to snap up. Those who got it right produced wines with both freshness and ripe fruit flavours, alongside crispness and signature salinity.” (…) “Although a warm and very dry vintage, yields were not excessive and, crucially, acidity is high. The resulting wines are very well balanced with a lovely combination of the freshness and minerality which typifies Chablis, combined with fleshy, ripe, stone- and tree-fruit flavours.” “It was a very good vintage with extremely healthy grapes” . “After a complicated year in 2021, winegrowers are smiling with the arrival of the 2022 vintage. (…) Some winegrowers started harvesting as August was ending, but most of them started harvesting in the first days of September.” “Generally, it is true that the 2022s are more tropical in style, but do not take that for granted. Clever use of canopy management, shading bunches from direct sunlight combined with early picking, means there was the potential to create Chablis representing the best of both worlds: seductive tropical hints without compromising the steeliness and nervosité that define Chablis.” Jean-Louis Dutraive, 2016 More Dutraive, you say? Ouiii! A few more goodies are dropping in from the 2022 vintage, a convincing return to form for this region that rolled the best they could with the climatic punches and unreal weather challenges such as hail tornados and unusual yearly visits from Jack Frost! Regionally, I find it to be the strongest lineup in consistency and elegance since 2014 and 2015—two very different years with tremendous merit and good yield, though very different in style. We have a dash of Ophélie Dutraive’s rare 2022 Moulin-a-Vent (only a few bottles allotted to requesting accounts), who is now in charge of the family’s domaine and is closely aided by her brothers, Justin and Lucas. Jean-Louis spends his extra time up in the notoriously rustic Ardeche living a provincial, fantasy-version of quasi-retirement; though he says he’s retired, he works all day in the vines when in Fleurie. Clos de la Grand’Cour The actual highlight is not the rarer of the two arrivals, but the reload of what we believe (and Jean-Louis often believes) to be perhaps one of the strongest wines in the range. The 2022 Fleurie Clos de la Grand’Cour, the medium-age vines–merely sixty years old–and grown in large old foudre and 228L fût de chêne (Le Clos, by contrast, is from slightly older vines in the same plot and raised in 228L fût de chêne) is often put in third place under the Champagne and Le Clos. However, over the years, Jean-Louis has often demonstrated that it can fight for the top of the podium every season; it only needs more time open (a difficult task for wines so immediately delicious) to earn your reconsideration in the hierarchy. I continue to lament that I wasn’t the believer in the potency of this cuvée in 2014 as I am now—it’s the wine I want the most from that vintage and the one of which I have the fewest bottles. I did not make the same mistake with the 2022.

On my third day I woke to find Ted and Andrea quietly pecking at their laptops in the living room, having already gone for a run down along the quays. I made myself some eggs and pod coffee, ate the last of our bread and not to be outdone, banged out a quick workout with my TRX in my room; like my hosts, I tried to maintain an exercise regimen throughout the trip. Then, as if an alarm had gone off, we packed up as quick as we could and ran out to go visit one of Ted’s most colorful producers. We drove an hour south to Lyon and then another east into the French Alps toward the Savoie, a wine region set amid mountain lakes and lush forests. As we entered the foothills, the slopes showed diagonally striated tiers, with trees growing in slanted lines like soldiers marching up ramps from left to right. Ted said that these geological structures were formed when limestone created by the deposit of countless tiny seashells fell in layers over millions of years, and then were pushed upward at these angles when the African plate hit the Eurasian plate over millions more. Sculptural sedimentary formations that look like ocean waves coming into shore known as Cuestas as well as sedimentary (sandstone) rocks also occur in the Savoie. All these shapes in the area remind him a little of parts of Arizona, where he lived for a time in his early twenties. Ted grew up in Montana, and was especially close with his brother Jim, who showed early signs of artistic talent, studied French, and in a characteristically eccentric move, took on a French name (Serge). He was good at so many things that it was always hard for him to apply himself in one direction; everyone thought he was too smart for his own good. But his Francophilia had an inevitable and indelible effect on Ted, who also became a student of the culture and fell in love with the country from afar. This eventually inspired Ted to leave Montana and go to Arizona after Jim left, the first step on a circuitous route that would eventually send him on the first of countless visits to Europe. Then, when Ted was living in Phoenix, he had a roommate named James Harrison, who showed the kid from Montana what it was to be worldly. Yet another Francophile, James had lived in Paris for a year when he was twenty-three, until he got caught working illegally and was kicked out. He was forced to leave a French wife behind, though they stayed in touch. Ted was in awe of James’s inexhaustible passion, creativity and charisma. Every morning James woke up and took a hit of weed and a shot of scotch. He played violin, harmonica, flute and piano, and would practice some or all of these, then work on a painting and/or write poetry each day before going in for a shift at the restaurant where they both worked. After he punched out he would often play his harmonica with the house jazz band. Ted said that it in those sessions, it seemed like he was unloading his soul. All the girls wanted James and the guys wanted to be him, and everything always seemed to go his way. Ted picked up an interest in cooking from him and they shared a passion for wine. The friendship had a profound effect on the path Ted would take into the future; James was like Dean Moriarty in On The Road, the erratic, magnetic mentor. Then, at some point, James moved to Fort Collins, Colorado, where a gallery in town put up installations of his paintings. They eventually lost touch, and about a year later Ted got the news that, like so many of his rarified kind, he had killed himself. Ted finished this story and we drove for a while in silence. He finally added that those were the years when he became obsessed with wine, which ultimately opened up countless other aspects of the world to him. Once he’s interested in something, he’s all in; when he was a small child he began collecting rocks, which was the start of his fascination with geology. He moved on to comic books and amassed a huge collection of early editions. Now his wine cellars are very well-stocked with many cases of the best vintages. We came upon the little town of Chambéry, the capital of Savoie, where we stopped for lunch. After parking in a big modern lot in the middle of a town square, we walked into a cute little village of old cobblestone streets that cut off at sharp angles between four-story buildings with refreshingly colorful paint jobs and green shutters. Pale reds, greens and yellows lined up between very few of the more familiar beige and gray structures seen everywhere else. Going on a hunch instead of the internet, we went into Café de la Place, a charming little joint with a zinc bar, about ten tables inside (the six outside were full on this beautiful day) and a chalkboard menu. The serveuse was friendly and efficient and smiled the whole time we were there. She exchanged jokes with the bearded man behind the bar and almost all of the customers who stopped by for a standing espresso pick-me-up. I ordered a Cervalas Lyonnais, a lightly cured sausage endemic to Lyon, with lentils, fingerling potatoes and a small salad on the side. It was presented simply in three little piles, like a home-cooked meal and came out surprisingly fast. The sausage was lean and like the potatoes, perfectly cooked to tenderness and not overly salted as similar dishes often are. I washed everything down with a blonde beer and was as satisfied as a hungry traveler can be. After making it quick, we jumped back into the car and started for the nearby commune and appellation of Apremont, known for a particularly dramatic and relatively recent geological event that laid down its very borders, nine hundred years ago. Ted immediately grew even more animated as he started telling the story—of course he was excited, he was talking about rocks. Next: Masson and the Mountain

It may have taken all year for us to finally arrive at a silver lining of gratitude for a unique year that continues to serve up one piece of humble pie after another. Finally some good news arrived that we can all be thankful for—the arrival of a potential vaccine, as well as… a few other things… So many in the wine industry push Beaujolais as the perfect wine for Thanksgiving, and they’re right to do so! But there are so many other wines in the world that fit the bill and also deserve a shot at the crown on this annual day of gratitude. While we’ll focus on some new talent from different places, there is indeed a Beaujolais in the mix that will confidently check the boxes of serious and delicious, and we’ve thrown in a white perfectly suited for the occasion as well. There’s only one white here because most people tend to buy more red wines for this day, despite the fact that white wine has a natural affinity for this kind of food, too. But let’s face it, I’m not trying to change your ways! I’m here to sell you the wine you want and deserve! Back to the Beaujolais thing… One of the reasons Beaujolais is touted as the perfect pairing for Thanksgiving is due to its softer tannins that don’t crush the food; big tannin wines are definitely for meats other than Turkey! Beaujolais’ fruit forward qualities match up with some of the sweeter dishes such as yams and cranberries, ones that seem to appear for this specific meal and rarely any other time of the year. This wine’s minerally texture and freshness do wonders for making each bite taste as fresh as the first—one of the original tasks for which a wine is to be relied upon for meals like this. Bojo simply goes with the flow. But so do so many other superstar performers that seem to get benched on this occasion for no other reason than they don’t say Beaujolais on the label! Today, it’s time to consider bending tradition a little, and try something different that will be equally as rewarding, if not more so. What is listed here for the big day are six wines that concede to the food and rise to the jovial nature of the occasion. We start with a single white from Austria and move on to reds from France, Italy and Spain, which are listed in order by weight and power, starting with the most delicate and leading to the fuller-flavored wines. Wine Details If there was ever a single white wine from Europe that fits Thanksgiving, it has to be Austria’s Grüner Veltilner. It’s a grape variety built of savory characters that go right along with the food, which makes sense, considering the fact that there are a lot of similarities between Thanksgiving and Austrian countryside fare. Also, it’s hard to dispute that the Mittelbach Federspiel Grüner Veltliner is likely the top-value wine in this region among its list of stellar winegrowers. What’s more is that it comes from some of the region’s most revered terroirs (for the geeks: Loibenberg, Kellerberg and Steinriegl). So why is the price so much less than the going rate? The grapes come from mostly young vines from a set of recently purchased vineyards for Weingut Tegernseerhof, the producer of this wine. Martin Mittelbach, the winegrower, wanted to observe how these new wines performed for some years in the cellar to determine what sections would go into his top wines, and what should go into his entry-level wines. For now, it's all in one cuvée and it's classic Mittelbach style: crystalline, energized, fresh, pure, and gulpable. Cume do Avia’s 2019 Colleita 7 Tinto is a total knockout and is the most common wine on my table since I took my cases home from Cume’s winery just an hour and half north of us in Portugal. This is a red wine that lands right in-between a red and a white in structure, finesse and energy. With the higher yield in 2019 (which was still only about 70% of what they hoped for in any case) the team decided to make an even more meticulous selection of grapes than usual for this blend, resulting in a more serious Colleita red, which it is, but it’s still so delicious and easy to quaff. It’s principally a blend of 49% Caíño Longo, 37% Brancellao, 10% Sousón, and Merenzao (known in France as Trousseau), all grapes that lead with perfume and vigorous freshness. Aged in an extremely old, large foudre, and at a mere 10.5% alcohol, this wine can be sorted out as fast as one wants, without morning repercussions… This makes it a worthy consideration for numerous bottles, all of which will certainly deliver. There isn’t a better Beaujolais we have on offer for the price than Anthony Thevenet's Morgon. It comes from organically farmed vineyards on gravely granite topsoil that range in age between sixty and eighty years, within the minuscule commune of Douby, combined with some from the famous lieu-dit, Courcelette, with Anthony’s parcel completely made of soft, beach-like granite sands. The result is a substantial Beaujolais predicated on elegance and grace, even from the 2017 vintage, where the alcohol level of many of the wines from top producers breached 14% and even went beyond 15%. At a mere 12.5% alcohol, it may even be too easy to drink. And for that reason you might need a few of these for dinner… No short list of wines from us should ever miss a wine crafted by the talented Arnaud Lambert. His Saumur-Champigny “Les Terres Rouges” is a charming and utterly delicious Cabernet Franc from Saumur-Champigny’s southernmost hill, Saint-Cyr-en-Bourg. The fragrant dark-earth notes of Cabernet Franc give the impression of black soils unearthed from a thick overlay of wet forest moss, grass and bramble. However, despite the impression and name (which translates to “the red earth”), the soil is light brown clay with alluvial sands atop white tuffeau limestone. The cool harvest conditions, the soil and bedrock, and a life spent in stainless steel tanks renders this wine medium bodied with a clean and refreshing finish. Indeed, the sand plays its part as well by elevating the fruits and flowers in the bouquet to the ethereal realm. This privileged location makes for consistent ripening, lending the final wine flush with an array of black and red fruits. Truly another total win for Thanksgiving. Undoubtedly one of the greatest jack of all trades for food pairing beyond fish has to go to Chianti Classico, especially those done in a way that they don’t obliterate the food, meaning: less new oak and extraction please, and thank you! The Riecine Chianti Classico is well above the cut for the price, and will, like the others on the list, be a top performer with food. This wine is for those who do want a little more oomph to their reds, but not a sledgehammer. Fruit forward with a seamless and refined texture, Riecine’s first tier Chianti Classico is serious Sangiovese, but with glou glou immediacy upon pulling the cork. Not solely a one-trick pleasure-pony, this wine has extra gears and demonstrates its versatility and depth with more aeration (if it can be resisted long enough). More classically savory characteristics of Chianti Classico begin to unfold after a little time open in its youth and surely with more maturation in the cellar, and are supported with the acidic snap from its high altitude and endowed with a sappy red fruit core. It’s grown on a limestone and clay vineyard and is aged in large old oak barrels to further highlight its purity and high-toned frequency. Get this one open early so it shines at the right moment. Fuentes del Silencio's Las Jaras is simply a bombshell for the price. Hey, who can boast a wine as serious for the price as this that comes from 80 to 150-year-old vines?! The blend is Mencía, Prieto Picudo and Alicante Bouschet, and this makes for a wine of unusual depth, concentration and surprising freshness. At an altitude of more than 2,600 feet (extremely high by wine region standards), the growing season is long and results in a wine of wonderful tension, texture and freshness. Once the cork is pulled, the wine immediately begins its vertical climb and builds from one strength to the next, and even day after day. It seems that this wine can easily last for a week after being opened and still deliver freshness and bright fruit. This is the bigger mouthful in the range, but it still stays the course with gentle tannins that don’t squash the meal.

Prádio vineyard in Ribeira Sacra It seems that just about everyone I know who didn’t get Covid prior to the recent holiday season has done so since, but somehow my wife and I have successfully evaded it despite an extensive pre-holiday tour around California to say hello to as many of our friends and customers (many of whom were also very good friends, along with some I hope will be falling into that category). We again wish all of you the best of luck with your health from our homebase of Portugal. Keep drinking good wine! I think it helps… We have a lot to talk about this month, so let’s dive in! New Arrivals Spain Fazenda Prádio, Ribeira Sacra First on our list of arriving producers is the new darling of Wine Advocate critic Luis Gutierrez:  Fazenda Prádio, from Ribera Sacra, run by former professional Spanish fútboler, Xabi Soeanes. We did a very quiet opening with his top red wine from 2018, Pacio, but with only 20 cases to spread around it was hard to justify a big promotion; we’ve been waiting for the 2019s to arrive, because we’re getting a lot more of them and we’re really excited about it! We’ll start with a snapshot of what’s done in the cellar because it’s the same for all the reds, and it’s very straightforward. Fermentations are natural and take place in granite lagars (rock vats) with varying capacities for about seven to ten days. Most of the barrels used for aging are 500L, old French oak and the élevage usually runs about eight months, simple production methods that showcase this architecturally terraced granite and schist terroir that overlooks the Río Miño. The first wine in the range is made of Mencía, the most famous grape in Ribeira Sacra. It’s this grape’s approachable nature that makes it broadly appealing and Prádio’s rendition has a great deal more layering and complexity than the typical Mencía due to its very shallow topsoil composed entirely of the granite and schist just centimeters below the surface. Prádio has just a few hectares and they’re shooting for the highest quality with this wine, which makes its modest price quite a deal. Right now they only have nine hundred vines of Merenzao, which produces a very sensual, aromatic wine with a fine mouthfeel of good natural acidity and little in the way of tannins. In France’s Jura, Merenzao is known as Trousseau. Elsewhere in Northwest Iberia it seems to have a hundred synonyms and turns up in many unexpected places. This wine is delicious and perhaps the most aromatic of the range. The only challenge is that my wife is so fond of it, which makes it hard to keep around the house when they produce so little of it. In the Jura, this grape is grown mostly on limestone terroirs which bring a broad palate feel and roundness compared to the finely etched lines of striking mineral textures imposed by these acidic soil terroirs. Once you taste it you’ll agree that the world would be a better and kinder place if everyone drank more Merenzao. Another fabulous grape that is seemingly only found in Northwest Iberia is one of my latest obsessions, Brancellao. Xabi has three thousand vines but this variety produces a much smaller yield than most, perhaps due to its open cluster shape and wider node spacing on the shoots. Its skin color is very pale and the wines take on very little color and tannin. Its winning attributes are its fresh acidity and beguiling-but-delicate aromas of fresh red fruits and soft spice notes. Xabi believes that this is one of the most important grapes for the area, and I totally agree. One of Galicia’s most untamed and perhaps most promising red varieties (in my opinion) is Caíño Longo. Prádio’s version of the variety combines all the elements of this truly great grape: good structure with its exuberant acidity and medium tannins, a wide range of aromatic and palate complexities, and that sort of inexplicable nobility and extra aromatic and palate dimensions shared by the greatest wine grapes of the world. The challenge for each grower is to break Caíño Longo’s acidity/phenolic ripeness code. The acidity can be monstrous if not picked perfectly, and if picked a little late, much of its high-toned red fruit and floral characteristics can quickly go to a more rustic side—a true asset when in balance with other fresher characteristics. Xabi believes that his Pacio Tinto, a calculated blend of all the red grapes, is the most complete wine in the range, and I might agree. While they have some single-varietal wines, his strong belief (shared by almost every winegrower in Ribeira Sacra) is that the sum of multiple parts make a better wine than single varietal bottlings. This is also a regional historical perspective, and it is due to the variability of the indigenous grapes in Galicia that seem to be exceedingly influenced by each season and furthermore by the great diversity of bedrock and soil types, aspects, altitudes, etc, of each individual vineyard. When one grape on the farm struggles, there are others that thrive. This is surely part of the reason the grapes of Galicia (and in much of Portugal) are so commonly blended. Indeed, they are fascinating on their own, but when blended together the dimensions are perhaps more subtle while the entire breadth of the wine is magnified. Pacio has it all and nails all the facets of palate and aroma. If you have each of the single-varietal wines before drinking this one, you will see how they harmonize together. New Arrivals France Arriving this month are wines from regions and producers that everybody wants. We can never seem to get enough to keep up with demand in these categories without momentary holes in continuity along the way. And while we usually have very solid allocations from each of these producers, don’t wait to get ahead of the game on these because they tend to disappear relatively quickly. Maxime Ponson, the mind behind Champagne Ponson Pascal Ponson, Champagne There was such a massive shortage of Champagne over the holidays! I was in California for a visit and you couldn’t even find the usually ubiquitous Veuve-Clicquot Yellow Label, even at Ralphs! (Not that any of us were looking to buy that…) But it wasn’t because Champagne’s stocks have run dry; it’s because those darn freight delays just won’t go away. But we cut a deal with the marvelous and young Maxime Ponson to bring in a massive shipment that was dispatched in August in hopes that it would make it to California for the holidays. Yes, you read that right: we ordered it in August, thinking that was enough time to receive it before Thanksgiving… It didn’t end up arriving, but it’s doing so now!  The new arrival of Maxime Ponson’s Extra Brut “Premier Cru” Champagne (dosage 7g/L) comes from his family’s organically farmed vineyards in La Petite Montagne, a subregion of Champagne’s Montagne de Reims, located west of Reims, the region’s capital. La Petite Montagne is home to some regional luminaries and top talents, like Prévost, Brochet, Savart, and Egly-Ouriet. They tend to seven different communes and only on premier cru (1er Cru) sites where they have seventy parcels that make up 13.5 hectares, the oldest of which being seventy years old and the youngest just recently planted. The bedrock here is chalk which Maxime says is softer than the chalk found further south on the Côte des Blancs because it’s more of a tuffeau, an extremely porous, sand-rich, calcium carbonate rock, similar to what is found in Saumur and other wine regions of the middle Loire Valley. The wine is a blend of 70% Pinot Meunier and the rest equal parts Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Best to get on the train soon because the shipping delays continue… François Crochet in "Le Petit Chemarin" François Crochet, Sancerre Another wine that has been in very short supply due to freight challenges and is always in a high demand is Sancerre. François Crochet’s 2019 single cru whites are finally arriving, and despite the overall riper character of the vintage (a perfect year for those of you who like a little less green in your Sauvignon Blanc), we can always count on François to be the one who still finds the freshness with his very early picking—something he’s put into practice since he took over from his father. Crochet's "Les Exils" vineyard composed entirely of silex From most elegant to most powerful of Crochet’s range, we start with Le Petit Chemarin. This wine has quickly moved to the top of the range for me based solely on its bright mineral characteristics and elevated aromas—a profile that has yet to be exhausted within my general view of wine. It’s substantial but flies high and always maintains a dainty but ornate frame. Next is Le Chêne Marchands, the flagship of the winery and the grandest cru in Bué, Crochet’s hometown. My challenge with this wine is that it’s always at the top of the range and sometimes I want his other wines to finally pull ahead of it, the way it’s fun to sometimes see an underdog beat the champion. Le Chêne Marchands is perhaps the most well-rounded in the range and has big mineral characteristics, medium-to-full structure and an endless well of fine nuances and broad complexities. Le Grand Chemarin is often marked with more stone fruits along with sweeter citrus notes than the others in the range. It has a more expansive body and bigger shoulders than many of the rockier limestone sites, like Le Petit Chemarin and Le Chêne Marchands. It’s perhaps equally as full as the next wine, but maybe with more fruitiness. It might share the title of most powerful in the range limestone terroirs with Les Amoureuses, but in a denser and stonier way. Les Exils is the outsider in François’ range of Sancerre single-site wines. It’s grown on silex (flint, chert) on a more northerly facing slope, while the others are all on variations of limestone, with more sun exposure. Les Exils is perhaps the most minerally concentrated of all, with mineral impressions that are heavy and dominant in the overall profile; perhaps flintier than the others (a seemingly natural characteristic influenced by its soils) and with less fruit presence and a grittier mineral texture than what the limestone vineyards impart to their wines. Les Exils is always a favorite because it’s a bit of a marvel of minerality in itself, especially when tasted with the rest of François’ exciting range. Les Amoureuses is perhaps the most upfront and powerfully expressive wine in the range. It has the biggest shoulders of all, and this is most likely due to its numerous clay-rich topsoil and limestone bedrock parcels. Each of its dimensions are strong and seem to tuck any subtleties further into the wine. It’s a perfect Sancerre for four or more people who want to break the ice at lunch or dinner with a nice refreshing glass that never stutters after the cork is pulled. The Chablis premier cru vineyard, Fourchaume Christophe et Fils, Chablis Sebastien Christophe’s 2019 premier crus are finally docking. We thought we’d get them a lot faster after a small batch arrived some months ago, but we decided to hold them to wait for the rest in order to make a proper offer. Sebastien’s Fourchaume vines planted by his uncle in 1981 are located in Côte de Fontenay, a lieu-dit situated on a perfect south face toward the bottom of the hill and next to the property’s dirt road at about 120-130 meters in altitude. This is by far the most muscular premier cru in the range, with an abundance of classic and complex Chablis characteristics. Montée de Tonnerre is directly ahead with Mont de Milieu on the next hill over Located south of the grand crus and the noblest of premier crus, Montée de Tonnerre, is Mont de Milieu, one of the most versatile premier crus in Chablis. Although it’s not much talked about, on that side of the river the slopes clearly have a tremendous amount of the Portlandian limestone that have made their way down the hills and are set in place by the sticky marne (calcium-rich clay) on Kimmeridgian marl bedrock. These soil elements and the south-to-southwest aspects on this side of the Serein River often have greater palate weight and roundness, and fewer intense mineral components than many of those across the river on the left bank, depending on each vineyard. Mont de Milieu has a great range of characteristics that put it in the stylistic center between the right and left bank. Finesse is its main game, but it has plenty of thrust that drives home its complex range of subtleties. Montée de Tonnerre is the flagship wine of Sebastien’s range (the grand crus, Blanchots and Preuses, are on their way soon as well), partly because it’s the most famous premier cru in Chablis, and for good reason. It demonstrates class and balance in every dimension from the acidity, fruit, mineral, seriousness, and pleasure. Sebastien’s parcel is located in the lieu-dit Côte de Bréchains, within the Fyé Valley. Its western aspect and deep marne mixed with Portlandian scree and Kimmeridgian marlstones contribute to its broad range of complexity and appeal. It shares nearly the same south-southwest aspect as most of the grand crus and largely the same soil structure as Les Clos; however, it’s topsoil is not as deep above the bedrock as in Les Clos, though it’s still deeper in most parts than the closest premier cru, Mont de Milieu. (Keep in mind we’re speaking in terms of mere centimeters in difference vis-a-vis topsoil depth.) While this could be mistaken for a photo of U2, it's Arnaud Lambert (left), Romain Guiberteau, Peter Veyder-Malberg (Austrian luminary with the glasses), and Brendan Stater-West (far right) Arnaud Lambert, Saumur Everybody wants Arnaud Lambert’s wines now, but there was a time not too long ago when no one had heard of him, when Brézé was just an obscure name on bottles produced by Clos Rougeard, which were readily available and collecting dust in many wine shops prior to around 2012. Arnaud and I talk a lot about wine and life. Normally I spend two to four days with him each year in Saumur—sometimes twice a year—and we meet up elsewhere as well. Arnaud is one of our company’s cornerstones. It could even be said that he is our company’s most O.G. producer. Our first contact was in 2010 when we first started The Source, soon after we tasted a few of his wines that he had shipped to our friend’s house in Provence. It was my first “sourcing” trip before I’d purchased a single bottle of wine to import, and I was there with the well-known, former sommelier Tony Cha. I went to France on that first trip with an empty portfolio and came home with thirteen, and Lambert was one of them. I would’ve never guessed that my interest in finding a “clean” Cabernet Franc to import from the Saumur area would lead me to the relatively unknown hill of Brézé and to what seems like the beginning of the redefinition of modern-day, dry Chenin Blanc. Clos Rougeard had their “Brézé” white but it was very rare (and hard as a nail in its youth…), and the rest of the hill had been almost lost to history. There is so much to tell about this chronology, but Arnaud’s entrance into our California market predated Guiberteau by almost two years. Somehow Arnaud and The Source have been on the same trajectory since our first meeting and we frequently talk about those times. My most vivid memory was of us standing in Clos de la Rue on a very cold day, when for the first time he told me the story of Brézé and the historical crus to which he’d been handed the keys. It was at that moment that I knew I did the right thing by leaving wine production (or at least delaying it for a couple of decades) to become a wine importer. I was so excited by the story that I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to fly home immediately and tell everyone about Brézé’s history, and I did. Of course, it took a few years before we jumped from Arnaud’s basic Saumur white and red into the single-cru wines, starting with the 2012 Clos David and 2012 Clos de la Rue. By the time those cru wines arrived, Guiberteau had already made his mark in the States, I believe his biggest initial splash was in California. And prior to Romain lighting our world on fire with his 2009 Clos des Carmes and 2010 Brézé, no one really gave Saumur white wines much attention; oh, how quickly things can change… On this container we will finally have our restock of Lambert’s Cremant Rosé and Cremant Blanc. Make sure to lock in what you need because while we have a good chunk to start, it gets dispersed very quickly. The same could be said for the arrival of his entry-level reds, 2020 Saumur-Brézé “Clos Mazurique” (no, Saumur-Brézé is not an official appellation, but it has a nice ring to it, no?) and the 2020 Saumur-Champigny “Les Terres Rouges”. On the Chenin Blanc front (always an exciting one!), we have some of our “exclusive” bottlings arriving. These are the result of many discussions I’ve had with Arnaud about exploring special plots inside his vineyards to see if there is a notable difference in quality. The deal was that we would taste the wines together each year and decide if they should be bottled or blended into other wines. In any case, I committed to the purchase of these fun and adventurous experiments and now we have four different small production bottlings: Montsoreau, Bonne Nouvelle, Brézé, and a Clos du Midi aged in old French oak casks and bottled in magnum. Two of those special bottlings have arrived. 2018 Saumur-Brézé “Bonne Nouvelle” and the 2020 Saumur-Brézé Clos du Midi “Special Bottling”, both of which only have two barrels in production—roughly 40 cases of each wine made in total. Our challenge with this bottling of Clos du Midi is that it’s normally bottled in magnums to differentiate it from the normal bottling, but this year he put it in 750mls and put the same label on it, which makes things a little complicated… It comes from further up on the hill inside the Clos du Midi where Arnaud says this section generates more power in its wines. The normal bottling is aged in stainless steel for eight months while this version is raised in neutral barrels for eight months and bottled and stored for six months before release; the difference is striking. The regular Clos du Midi is a fabulous wine with its straight lines, gorgeous mineral nose and easy accessibility, but this version of Clos du Midi has more thrust, slightly softer edges and a deeper core strength. Clos David dirt, a sandy mix of tuffeau limestone and tiny shell fragments 2019 Saumur-Brézé Clos David is arriving and that should prove to be another knockout for this vineyard. There is also a small reload of the fabulous 2016 Saumur-Brézé Clos de la Rue, which sold out pretty quickly once it was put on the market. Bruno Clair, Burgundy The 2017 Bruno Clair wines are finally arriving after their two-year delay. How fun it is to receive wines from this fabulous estate and this wonderfully fun vintage! It’s good timing for everyone who’s maintained their allocations over the years because the press finally pushed Clair into the upper tier in the recent 2017 vintage blind tasting. “Back to Burgfest: 2017 Reds – Blind” written by Vinous’ Neal Martin, posted on January 18th, and in it, Clair seems to have really stood out among many important producers (around 250 different wines tasted over five days), including the likes of Jean-Marie Fourrier and Armand Rousseau. A happy place: Estournelles St.-Jacques and Lavaux St.-Jacques (left of the long wall), Clos St.-Jacques in the center, and Les Cazetiers on the other side of Clos St.-Jacques. Clair’s Clos St.-Jacques received 97 points (and according to Martin, was the top between the five producers—for the second year in a row—who have parcels from this very special vineyard), Bonnes Mares 96 points, and Chambertin Clos-de-Bèze 98 points. Not a bad haul for a blind tasting! While blind tasting has its merits, for me it’s not an end-all be-all judgment. But what can be ascertained from this kind of tasting at this moment is that the wines are showing great now—not surprising for this vintage and not surprising for Clair either: we’ve been beating his drum for years. Most of it has already been allocated, but if you feel you missed the boat, please let us know. We’ll do our best to find some strays. Simon Bize Our minuscule quantity of 2018 Simon Bize wines is also arriving. These wines are in great shortage for us and will be allocated to those who have a history of following them. Bize did very well in 2018, a vintage that matches this winery’s historical style under the hand and mind of the late Patrick Bize, where structure leads in the wine’s youth and builds to greater complexity and a drinking window that will likely be a few years down the road when compared to their more red-fruited 2017s. I love this domaine and I love the wines every year for the spirit they contain. The versatility of the premier crus of Savigny-les-Beaune makes this appellation one of my favorites and I know no better producer than Simon Bize. Many of Bize's great premier crus are in this photo, including (from right to left, generally) Aux Vergelesses, Les Fournaux, Les Talmettes, Aux Grands Liards (not a 1er Cru), Aux Guettes, and Les Serpentières. Far in the background, on the top of the hill toward the left center, are the vineyards for Bize's Les Perrières Bourgogne wines.