Featured Producer
Clos Sainte Magdeleine
The ancient fishing village of Cassis has seen its fair share of visitors over the millennia. Greek colonists from Phocaea first arrived in the sixth century B.C., and with them came the timeless Ugni Blanc grape and viticultural savvy. The Romans later made their way here, as well as their Barbarian successors, followed by the medieval Counts of Les Baux, all the way to tourists of the modern era looking to escape the cold, dark cities. Cassis is not only an active port, but what Kermit calls “an earthly paradise.” The vineyards of Clos Sainte Magdeleine are particularly stunning. They jut out on a private cape to meet majestic limestone cliffs, poised spectacularly above the sparkling, azure Mediterranean. With landscapes such as these, it is only fitting that writers and poets alike have found inspiration in Cassis. Only a handful of vignerons today are fortunate enough to produce A.O.C. Cassis, and the small quantities available are largely consumed locally with fresh fish—the best way to enjoy them. The Sack-Zafiropulos family has been making wine here for four generations and has continued to craft wines of grace and finesse, just as they were when founder Jules Savon won the Gold Medal for the domaine at the World’s Fair in 1900. That they share their limited quantities with us makes this long-term relationship all the more special.Viticulture and vinification at Clos Sainte Magdeleine is under the direction of François Sack. The domaine bottles both a white and a rosé, the latter of which is especially limited. Sack just started the three-year long conversion to organic viticulture, a philosophic progression after years of sustainable farming. Clos Sainte Magdeleine’s success lies in an uncanny ability to capture a dichotomous nerve and sun-kissed unctuousness in their wines, making them both incredibly food-friendly and delicious entirely on their own.
André & Michel Quenard
The Savoie is a picture of fairy-tale perfection: snow-capped peaks, green rolling hills, wildflowers, and cold, sparkling mountain streams. This idyllic region hugs the western Alps, where Michel Quenard farms twenty-two hectares of vineyards along the steep, terraced slopes of the Coteau de Torméry around Chignin. The limestone scree that dominates this vineyard land has brought great diversity to the soils, and consequently, the wines. His grandfather started the domaine in the 1930s. Though he slowly increased the vineyard holdings, he also sold off most of his wine in bulk. It was not until 1960 that Michel’s father, André, began bottling under their own label. Michel joined the domaine in 1976. Today, he is joined by his two sons, Guillaume and Romain. While they are far from the only Quenards in Chignin, they are certainly the most well-known—perhaps this is due to the severity of their terrain and the quality of wines it produces. Andrew Jefford writes in his contemporary classic, The New France, “Michel Quenard and his father André are masters of the Bergeron grape, known in the Rhône Valley and elsewhere as Roussanne. They argue it should be limited to the best and steepest local sites where it can ripen fully, like the Coteau de Torméry, giving wines of real texture and perfume as it does so.” (p 122). We think it is one of the most unique and beautiful renditions of Roussanne in the world.Despite the domaine’s proximity to the Alps, the vineyards enjoy a surprisingly warm microclimate with southern sun exposure. Fig and olive trees are also found among the vines, unusual for such a snowy region. There are sixteen crus in the Vin de Savoie designation, and each commune is known for a different grape varietal. Michel’s vineyards are planted to some of the region’s best known: Bergeron, Jacquère, Mondeuse, Altesse, and Pinot Noir. Michel bottles eight different cuvées, seven of which are still, and the other a sparkling Vin de Savoie Brut, which is made in the méthode champenoise. The minerality of Michel’s vineyards expresses an alpine freshness and liveliness in his wines. His cuvées go beyond the simple “eclectic” that categorizes wines from the region; whether they are quaffed or savored, they are all unique revelations that reflect the complexity of their terroir and the fine artistry of this master vigneron.
Gregoletto
The Gregoletto family name can be found in historical archives dating from the late 16th, early 17th century, as viticoltori in the hills of Premaor di Miane, near Valdobbiadene. When driving through this area today, the true heart of what is now the Prosecco DOCG, one is struck by the primitive nature of these hills. Gazing up at the steep, rustic ravines covered in wooden stakes and head-trained vines, you instantly are aware that this area of the world has changed very, very little over the centuries—viticulturally speaking. The Gregoletto family has two real specialties: semi-sparkling wine made sui lieviti or on its lees (also known as col fondo), and still wine made from grapes most commonly used to make sparkling wine. They are among the very last growers in the Veneto to cultivate the indigenous Verdiso grape, making magnificent tranquillo and sui lieviti bottlings from it. They also make Prosecco in all of its forms: still, demi-sec, semi-sparkling, and metodo classico.All of the family’s work from the vines to the bottling is done by hand—artisanally, carefully, and patiently—based on oral traditions passed down over the centuries. Many of their secrets are closely guarded. The sui lieviti bottlings represent the history of this region before the Champagne method was invented. Secondary fermentation takes place in bottle slowly and a fine sediment forms in the bottom of the bottle–by carefully pouring the wine you can easily leave the sediment in the bottle. The Gregolettos recommend using the small amount of wine with this fondo or remaining deposit for making risotto! Rest assured, it is also perfectly safe to drink.
The Gregoletto family’s wines are incredibly pure, refreshing, and elegant and can be enjoyed effortlessly. They provide instant pleasure.
Domaine Maestracci
High in the foothills of Monte Grossu mountain, inland from Calvi, lies the granite plateau of Reginu, an area long known for U Vinu di E Prove – the wine of the Prove, as the micro-climate is known. The particularity of the plateau is the exposition to hot and dry daytime temperatures with high altitude cool nights, all within a short distance from the sea and regular maritime winds. The plateau has been continuously used for vine and olive growing for centuries, and was once the site of a major olive pressing operation that supplied a large part of France with its olive oil. In 1945, when the owner of the olive oil mill packed up and moved his operation to colonial Algeria in search of bigger land and greater profits, Roger Maestracci saw a golden opportunity and moved in. The departing olive oil baron had left behind a massive concrete structure with walls so thick the air inside stayed cool year round. Originally used to house the mill and the pressed oil, Roger adapted the structure for old wooden casks and concrete tanks and set about replanting vines on the property. Within a few years the domaine had established a firm reputation in the area and when it came time for Roger to retire in the early 1980’s he passed along the reins of the domaine to his son-in-law, Michel Raoust, who has since handed over the winemaking and winery management to his daughter, Camille-Anaïs Raoust. Given the particularity of the terroir and the diverse influence of the temperature variations and granite soils, Camille allows the red an extended time to age and mellow before release, at least two years in large oak casks, while the white is bottled young to maintain the freshness and iodized ocean breeze of the terroir. The wines Camille makes are quintessential Mediterranean food wines.
Giulia Negri
Taking over a well-established Barolo estate at the tender age of 24 is an incredibly daunting prospect, but for Giulia Negri, the latest in a 150-year line of grape growers in the Langhe commune of La Morra, the challenge proved irresistible. After completing studies in management and biology, and fresh off an inspiring trip to Burgundy where she truly began forming her palate, Giulia returned to La Morra motivated to learn all the secrets to making fine wine in her native Piemonte. She started small, releasing microcuvées under her own label, before finally taking over the totality of vineyard management and production in 2014.In the heart of the Serradenari cru of La Morra—the highest point in the Barolo zone, with vineyards culminating at 536 meters above sea level—Giulia passionately pursues her goal of crafting Barolo with a Burgundian sensibility. In fact, she even inherited small parcels of Chardonnay and Pinot Nero that her father planted on the estate’s cooler, north-facing sites, allowing her to pay tribute to the great wines of the Côte d’Or through the lens of Piemontese soil.
But Nebbiolo reigns in these parts, and Serradenari yields a Barolo of regal pedigree. The elevation, coupled with a complex mosaic of soils unique to this part of the Langhe, sets the stage for Giulia to create Barolos marrying delicate floral aromas and elegant fruit with a deep mineral foundation. With fine-grained, tightly knit tannins, her seductive wines charm in their youth but have the structure for serious bottle aging.
Upon Giulia’s arrival at the helm of the estate, the modest cellar was filled with small Burgundian barriques. After tasting all around the Langhe and learning from some of Barolo’s most distinguished growers, it quickly became clear that large casks were key to preserving Nebbiolo’s tension and mystical energy. With the goal of maximizing an honest expression of terroir, she has gradually replaced the smaller barrels with botti grandi. Her artisanal approach and espousal of traditional production methods extends to sustainable viticulture, eschewal of commercial yeasts and other additives, harvesting by hand, minimizing filtration, and long but gentle macerations in the cellar.
Barologirl, as she has become known, may still be the new kid on the block in La Morra, but tasting her wines reveals a fine touch and devout respect for tradition that already places her wines among the region’s classics. We are happy to urge you to include a bottle of Giulia’s lovely Barolo in your next order, and thrilled for you to see why we added her domaine to our portfolio.
Château Haut-Lariveau
Bénédicte and Grégoire Hubau do not come from winemaking families, nor did they pursue studies in enology or viticulture. Both natives of northern France, Bénédicte was a computer specialist and Grégoire a chemist. Without much ado, they decided one day to leave it all behind and start a new life as vignerons. After visiting an endless line of available properties in various regions of France, they finally came across Château Moulin Pey-Labrie, an estate in Fronsac that met their requirement for a terroir de caractère. Unconcerned by their ignorance in the field of winegrowing but reassured by their experience as avid consumers, they purchased the property and dove head-first into their new adventure, counting on their employees to teach them as they worked. The young couple’s eagerness to learn earned them free advice from all their neighbors, and they drank in every word. It quickly became clear which approaches matched their own easygoing, natural philosophy, and before long they were deftly handling the vineyard and winery work on their own. The problem with many winegrowers, as they see it, is that they decide what a vine should have rather than giving it what it wants. Just as each of us has a unique style and prefers certain clothes or hairstyles, they learned that each vine needs individualized care in order to thrive. In 1990, having mastered their new craft, they purchased a second property, Château Haut-Lariveau. Château Moulin, though not a physical château, bottles wine from both Canon-Fronsac and Fronsac. The fruit for these “easy-drinking” wines is sourced from the lower-slope clay vineyards of either Château Moulin Pey-Labrie or Château Haut-Lariveau.Though their growing experience has only shown that their instincts were right from the start, the Hubaus have tweaked their methods over the years in order to bring the reality of their work more perfectly in line with their vision. Refusing to slacken their strict quality standards, they frequently design their own equipment, including one machine that works the earth from below. In the cellar they consider themselves observers, letting the character of the land express itself freely and encouraging the greatest possible elegance and finesse in all of their wines.
Alex Foillard
To say that Gamay runs in the blood would not be such a terrible exaggeration for Alex Foillard. The son of “Gang of Four” Morgon producer Jean Foillard, Alex had early exposure to the world of wine, and more specifically, to the principles of sustainable farming and low-intervention winemaking that brought his father to stardom in natural wine circles, along with like-minded neighbors such as Marcel Lapierre, Guy Breton, and Jean-Paul Thévenet.Alex’s involvement in the family business began at a young age, as he took an early interest in the vineyards and enjoyed helping his father pick grapes during harvest. Intent on carrying on the family tradition of producing handcrafted cru Beaujolais, Alex studied agriculture at the Lycée Agricole in Montpellier, then earned a degree in viticulture and enology in Beaune, while simultaneously interning at a well-respected domaine in Nuits-Saint-Georges. Upon finishing his studies, he sought to earn further experience in vinification via additional internships in Australia plus another with a producer in Japan. Upon returning home to the Beaujolais, in 2015, Alex truly began dedicating himself to the family domaine.
The following year, and only twenty-four years old, he purchased his very own vineyards. With roughly a hectare each in the crus of Brouilly and Côte-de-Brouilly, Alex successfully diversified the Foillard cellars, until then full of Morgon along with the odd barrel of Fleurie. Though the vineyards were not certified organic, he immediately began working them according to organic principles. The 2016 vintage marked his first harvest.
Jean’s influence is evident in Alex’s solo cuvées: the wines have a seductive aromatic component, a silky texture, and a downright deliciousness that is unmistakably Foillard. After all, Alex used tried-and-true techniques to craft his wines: whole-cluster fermentation with natural yeasts, no fining or filtration, and no additives of any kind save for a minute sulfur dose at bottling. The new generation at Domaine Foillard has burst onto the scene with a bang, and the future is full of exciting possibilities for this talented Beaujolais youngster.
Domaine Monier
Jean-Pierre Monier is as happy and as grateful a vigneron as one finds. His small production wines certainly have not made him wealthy (far from it), but his effortless calm, natural sensitivity, and quiet conviction give him an enviable air of simplicity. He is the third generation of his family to be farming in Brunieux, a lieu-dit in the hills above the village of St-Désirat in the Northern Rhône appellation of Saint Joseph. Like his forefathers, wine is only part of his farm’s overall production. Apricot orchards complement the vineyards, and everything is farmed biodynamically. Between 1977-2001, Jean-Pierre sold his fruit to the local cave cooperative in St-Désirat, but the noticeable quality his vines were producing was enough to encourage him to bottle wines under his own label. Heavily influenced by the teaching and research of the German biodynamic guru, Maria Thun, Jean-Pierre earned certification in 2006.Northern Rhône expert, John Livingstone-Learmonth has developed a category for select vignerons of the region called STGT (Soil to Glass Transfer), of which Domaine Monier is a part. He explains, in his definitive classic, The Wines of the Northern Rhône,
This is a numerically small group, one that has survived the onslaught of marketing campaigns, press hype, fashions in winemaking, and wine school orthodoxies. There are a few other domaines that occasionally turn out unfettered wines in the STGT vein, but without the consistency. A sincere wish, of course, is that this group should grow in the coming years. (xiv)
With only five hectares of land to farm, all on gentle, higher altitude slopes, one might question the interest in working by such stringent standards. For a joyful artisan like Jean-Pierre, purity and authenticity are paramount, and his viticultural methodology is merely the most genuine manifestation of these ideals.
Domaine Le Sang des Cailloux
One glimpse of Serge Férigoule’s barbell moustache might be enough for one to be completely enamored with the wines of Le Sang des Cailloux, although they also speak remarkably well for themselves. This domaine’s name means “the blood of the stones,” and Serge Férigoule is most certainly the heart that links the two together. In 1974, Serge left winemaking school with a longing to return to the vineyards. He went to work for Monsieur Ricard’s family in 1979 to oversee the vineyards. Without anyone in his family to succeed him, Ricard decided to gamble by partnering with Serge in 1982. In 1990, after Monsieur Ricard’s retirement, Serge launched Le Sang des Cailloux. Vacqueyras had just been awarded an A.O.C. that same year, a timely twist of fate that helped Serge’s wines to become as celebrated as they deserve.All of Serge’s seventeen hectares rest on the great Plateau des Garrigues, where red clay, limestone, and the famous galets roulés, or rounded stones, impart a terrific intensity and depth to the wines. Given the aridity of the soil, the vines here are naturally prone to lower yields—this gives the wines their concentration and power. That Serge has been farming organically for years but has never sought certification says something about his philosophy. He is not looking to impress; only to make the best wines he possibly can. Serge is also sentimental—each year, the Cuvée Traditionnelle of Le Sang des Cailloux is named for one of his daughters, Floureto, Doucinello and Azalaïs. The “Vieilles Vignes” is also called “Lopy,” named for his hometown. His wines have everything we love about the Rhône – wild and chewy with great notes of leather, spicy garrigue, and smoky, black fruit.
Bruno Colin
Michel Colin was the third generation in his family to grow grapes in Burgundy within the prestigious Côte de Beaune. When he retired in 2003, he handed the property over to his sons, Philippe and Bruno, who split the holdings between them to bottle under separate labels. With the help of his wife, Stéphanie, Bruno farms eight hectares of land, in thirty different parcels scattered over five communes, with sometimes as little as just a few rows per parcel. To farm under these circumstances is quintessentially Burgundian, where the old Napoleonic codes of inheritance (evolved from Roman law) divide property equally among offspring. Parcels farmed by any one family continue to get smaller and smaller as they are distributed among relatives.He bottles Chassagne-Montrachet, Puligny-Montrachet, Saint-Aubin, Santenay, and Maranges. In the old family winery in the center of the village of Chassagne-Montrachet, he vinifies nineteen cuvées separately, twelve of which are premier cru! He uses traditional vinification methods and ages his wines anywhere from twelve to eighteen months in barrel, though he tends to vinify each parcel in a similar fashion. Bruno’s style shows beautiful balance, both aromatically and texturally, while showcasing the delicate minerality and nuanced complexity of each vineyard.
From the Blog
Richard Olney’s Final Book, Reflexions
by Jim Harrison, March 2000
Richard and Kermit © Gail Skoff
I was thoroughly swept away by Richard Olney’s Reflexions, which made me all the more saddened by his death this past July. There is ample evidence in Reflexions that no one on the planet has sat at better tables, most especially his own, or drank consistently better wines than Richard Olney. The evidence here and in his many other books, all of which I revere for their lucidity and range as books about food and wine that suggest, but not obtrusively, that there are standards that must be kept, no matter how implausibly high these standards might be. And this is all against a backdrop, a diorama, of a life lived with devotion and honor, of life lived as art itself.
If I have ever been to a home that may suitably be called magic it must be that of the Peyraud family in Bandol. The place has all the delicate mystery one senses in reading Alain Fournier’s Les Grandes Meaulnes (in English, The Wanderer) but also the very visceral, sensual quality of the best food one is likely to eat, prepared by Lulu Peyraud. Once there, there is not the slightest desire to ever leave, not for Paris let alone home.
I had been to Lulu Peyraud’s for lunch once before I met Richard in the spring of 1996. In the earlier trip I was with a Franco-American, Guy de la Valdène, who had taught me a great deal about both the French and their cooking. I was very excited at the time to learn that Richard lived in the area because I was so devoted to his work, much in the manner that I would have been in Mississippi had I known that Faulkner was down the road frying bacon for lunch to go with his bourbon. I’ve never been interested in differentiating between genres. The best is the best and we must take it on the rare occasions that we find it.
So in 1996 when I was on a French book tour, no more delightful than an American book tour except that, unlike in America, the food will carry you through, I drove to Lulu’s for lunch with my friend the French literary fixture and translator, Brice Mattieussent. I was a bit flustered, actually stunned, to find that Kermit Lynch and Gail Skoff were there with the fabled Richard Olney. In a curious, not improbable way, I had the same set of feelings I had had years before in London on spending time with John Huston. Were either of them still alive the comparison might strike them as far-fetched, but I can guarantee they would have been drawn to each other. In both cases I knew the work thoroughly before I met the man. And in both men there was an uncompromising, tenacious, and indefatigable pursuit of excellence, an implicit splendor that accompanies Kierkegaard’s “purity of heart is to will one thing,” whether it be the art of food and wine or the art of cinema.
In Reflexions and in person one senses that like many artists Richard was quite human, only more so. He was perhaps too indulgent with some of his friends but that is part of the territory, and I remember his laconic twinkle when I was carted away after a four-hour lunch and a great deal of wine to address a large audience in Marseille. He was sympathetic but knew the situation was comic. Luckily with a gallon of excellent Domaine Tempier Bandol in my system the audience became a flowery blur.
The next morning on the train from Marseille to Paris I remember reflecting that there was a specific grandeur to Richard Olney. This was a largehearted man, and his largeheartedness is everywhere in Reflexions, from his single-minded devotion to his work, to his lifelong love for his five brothers and sisters and his many friends. One can only imagine the loss felt by his close friends such as Kermit and Gail, Lulu Peyraud and Alice Waters, and his brothers and sisters and their children who were so close to him. Reflexions is an enchanting memoir of this life.
by Jim Harrison, March 2000
Richard and Kermit © Gail Skoff
I was thoroughly swept away by Richard Olney’s Reflexions, which made me all the more saddened by his death this past July. There is ample evidence in Reflexions that no one on the planet has sat at better tables, most especially his own, or drank consistently better wines than Richard Olney. The evidence here and in his many other books, all of which I revere for their lucidity and range as books about food and wine that suggest, but not obtrusively, that there are standards that must be kept, no matter how implausibly high these standards might be. And this is all against a backdrop, a diorama, of a life lived with devotion and honor, of life lived as art itself.
If I have ever been to a home that may suitably be called magic it must be that of the Peyraud family in Bandol. The place has all the delicate mystery one senses in reading Alain Fournier’s Les Grandes Meaulnes (in English, The Wanderer) but also the very visceral, sensual quality of the best food one is likely to eat, prepared by Lulu Peyraud. Once there, there is not the slightest desire to ever leave, not for Paris let alone home.
I had been to Lulu Peyraud’s for lunch once before I met Richard in the spring of 1996. In the earlier trip I was with a Franco-American, Guy de la Valdène, who had taught me a great deal about both the French and their cooking. I was very excited at the time to learn that Richard lived in the area because I was so devoted to his work, much in the manner that I would have been in Mississippi had I known that Faulkner was down the road frying bacon for lunch to go with his bourbon. I’ve never been interested in differentiating between genres. The best is the best and we must take it on the rare occasions that we find it.
So in 1996 when I was on a French book tour, no more delightful than an American book tour except that, unlike in America, the food will carry you through, I drove to Lulu’s for lunch with my friend the French literary fixture and translator, Brice Mattieussent. I was a bit flustered, actually stunned, to find that Kermit Lynch and Gail Skoff were there with the fabled Richard Olney. In a curious, not improbable way, I had the same set of feelings I had had years before in London on spending time with John Huston. Were either of them still alive the comparison might strike them as far-fetched, but I can guarantee they would have been drawn to each other. In both cases I knew the work thoroughly before I met the man. And in both men there was an uncompromising, tenacious, and indefatigable pursuit of excellence, an implicit splendor that accompanies Kierkegaard’s “purity of heart is to will one thing,” whether it be the art of food and wine or the art of cinema.
In Reflexions and in person one senses that like many artists Richard was quite human, only more so. He was perhaps too indulgent with some of his friends but that is part of the territory, and I remember his laconic twinkle when I was carted away after a four-hour lunch and a great deal of wine to address a large audience in Marseille. He was sympathetic but knew the situation was comic. Luckily with a gallon of excellent Domaine Tempier Bandol in my system the audience became a flowery blur.
The next morning on the train from Marseille to Paris I remember reflecting that there was a specific grandeur to Richard Olney. This was a largehearted man, and his largeheartedness is everywhere in Reflexions, from his single-minded devotion to his work, to his lifelong love for his five brothers and sisters and his many friends. One can only imagine the loss felt by his close friends such as Kermit and Gail, Lulu Peyraud and Alice Waters, and his brothers and sisters and their children who were so close to him. Reflexions is an enchanting memoir of this life.