The question of “natural” wine is among the industry’s most contentious. Everybody has an opinion. But should we really consider wine in such polarised terms? Nick Kemball from our Events team doesn’t think so.

I once heard someone joke that if you put five wine professionals in a room, you’ll end up with 10 opinions. Wine is a subject many people are passionate about. At its best, it serves as a centrepiece for conversation, with discussions flowing as freely as the contents of the bottle. But wine can also spark heated debates. And in my own experience, nothing gets wine enthusiasts more fired up than the question of “natural” versus “conventional” winemaking. 

There’s a great divide in the wine industry, it seems – one where it sometimes feels like you have to pick a side. I remember telling a tutor that my Coravin (a wine preservation system) didn’t work as well for the natural wines I was selling at the time. Their response, or at least the PC version of it: “Well, that’s your own fault for working with natural wines.” Though said tongue-in-cheek, this reflects a common sentiment in the industry.  

On the other hand, drinkers of natural wine would argue that the more intervention that takes place – additives, or mechanical processes like filtering – the more detached the wine becomes from its origin.  

There are valid arguments in both camps. But it’s also too complex and nuanced a topic to approach with a black-and-white perspective. And should you really have to pick a side? 

Organics and biodynamics

The term “natural” mainly refers to the winemaking process, such as avoiding additives. It says little about how the grapes were grown. Being organic or biodynamic isn’t a requirement for natural winemaking, though most natural winemakers will adopt these practices. 

Organics is an easy enough concept to get one’s head around. It primarily means that chemical fertilisers, fungicides and herbicides are forbidden (or, more accurately, “controlled”, as some may still be permitted in organic viticulture).  

The same is true of biodynamics, though this is a holistic approach to farming that views the vineyard as an organism in its own right: what is removed through viticulture must be replenished in the form of treatments. One such treatment is Preparation 500, which consists of cow manure buried in a horn. For traditionalists, there’s also an aspect of biodynamics that considers cosmic movements and their effects on the vine’s cycle – one reason, perhaps, why biodynamics is often dismissed as junk science. But whatever one’s view on these slightly less tangible concepts, the value of minimising chemical use of the vineyard, while also revitalising it, cannot be understated. 

Whether a producer is venturing down the organic or biodynamic route, the requirements may vary depending on their location, and there are a few certifying bodies to choose from: both Biodyvin and Demeter offer biodynamic certification, for example. Usually, they involve quite a rigid framework and with a lengthy and costly conversion process. 

In areas with more challenging, disease-prone climates, like Bordeaux, it’s a significant sacrifice to tie one’s colours to the mast of organics or biodynamics. In these regions, winemakers may decide to adopt these principles without following them to a “t”. By doing so, they forfeit the right to label their bottles as organic or biodynamic.  

This has led to slightly muddied waters, where its commonly accepted for a winemaker to say they “practice” organic or biodynamic farming without certification. Many producers find these certifications too prescriptive. As talented Burgundy vigneron Benjamin Leroux puts it: “If biodynamics is treated like a recipe, it doesn’t work.” 

Making wine naturally 

There aren’t many rules when it comes to natural winemaking – though there have been attempts at certification, most notably with Vins Méthode Nature in France. Really the term “natural” refers to a commonly agreed set of practices.  

First: using wild yeasts found naturally on grapes and in the air (rather than “commercial” yeast from a packet) to convert sugar to alcohol. The aim of this is usually producing more complex and varied aromas, a concept familiar to any sourdough bakers. Second: minimising additives and preservatives, like sulphur dioxide, to prevent the wine from tasting sterile (or, in high enough quantities, like sulphur). And third: avoiding processes like fining or filtration, to retain flavour and texture. 

What’s interesting is that, in isolation, these practices are not as contentious as you might think, even among the most classic wines of the world. Bordeaux Classified Growths like Château Palmer have recently adopted wild-yeast fermentations, while leading Burgundian producers like Domaine de la Romanée-Conti and Domaine Dujac have been using them for as long as can be remembered. It’s also quite common to minimise sulphur to enhance a wine’s aromatic profile. At Camille Giroud, winemaker Carel Voorhuis reduces sulphur at the crushing stage to produce wines with more open, generous aromatics. Nonetheless, he remains resolutely “not into the vin nature thing”. 

Fining and filtration are usually mentioned in the same breath. But winemakers like David Ramey, Californian Chardonnay guru, point out that these two processes shouldn’t be joined at the hip. Fining is a technique that uses additives (like egg white, casein from milk products or bentonite clay) to remove unwanted particles by binding with them and settling out. Ramey views filtration as much more industrial: passing wine through a porous medium, sometimes fine enough to remove bacteria and yeast. And it’s certainly compelling to see what this balanced approach can achieve. Ramey’s Chardonnays possess an incredible balance of rich texture against fine, clean and precise flavours. 

Navigating the middle ground 

A colleague recently mentioned to me that, although sceptical about natural winemaking, he viewed it as a force for good. This is a perspective I can relate to: being discerning in one’s tastes, while recognising that natural winemaking techniques can enhance quality – albeit with a greater risk of things going wrong. I’m sure the debate will pervade the industry for a while longer, and I’ll find myself in another heated conversation around a dinner table. But with so many of the world’s finest wines finding their place in the middle ground, why choose a side?

Browse our range of certified organic wines.

Frédéric Cayuela is one of our Account Managers in Tokyo, having worked around the world in the wine trade for the last 12 years. Here, he shines a light on the Japanese market – what’s changed since he’s been based there, and what the future might hold.  

My initial interest in wine began as a teenager. I was in Roussillon in the South of France, curiously observing my grandfather drinking his daily glass of wine. My palate was too young, not yet seasoned, so the finer flavours were lost on me. But this memory, combined with my first harvest at the age of 14, stirred an early interest in wine. 

My experience in the wine industry spans 12 years, two of which are here at the Berry Bros. & Rudd office in Tokyo. With about 25 different certifications, I am the embodiment of a “wine nerd”. During my time in France and Singapore, I worked in wine sales; and in Japan, I worked in wine media and as an instructor at the renowned Academie du Vin in Tokyo. 

Japan is a very mature wine market. When I arrived here five years ago, I was thrilled to meet some of the most knowledgeable Burgundy and Bordeaux experts I have ever encountered. That said, the Japanese market has undergone a significant transformation over the past few decades. The high-end French labels that were dominant in the ’90s and early 2000s have given way to a growing demand for Italian wines. This shift can be attributed, in part, to the rise of Italian restaurants in the country, which have quickly become the new standard, replacing the classic French gastronomic establishments. 

Beyond classic and renowned winemakers, I am seeing a growing interest in lesser-known and niche growers. Some regions and producers in this vein are proving especially popular: new generations of artisans in Burgundy such as Pierre Girardin, Alvina Pernot and Théo Dancer; and Dhondt-Grellet and Frédéric Savart in Champagne. There is a harmony between Japanese winemaking and an artisanal approach. Local makers produce wine of a very good quality; their pioneering works are widely admired and they are often depicted as superstars, which is heartening to see.  

I love the fact that Berry Bros. & Rudd has access to thousands of fine wines, unlike some other merchants. The plethora of opportunities means that every day at work is unique. How exciting! Personally, I have a strong inclination towards the wines of Burgundy and Champagne. I’m a passionate advocate for small new growers and artisan makers, and I’m delighted they’re proving popular with the local market here too. 

I also think that Mediterranean wine regions have a bright future in Japan, due to the emergence of a new generation of inventive winemakers. Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the South of France. Rioja and Priorat in Spain. My own French and Spanish origins may have influenced me here, but I’m always amazed by the talent and adaptability of growers in these regions to cope with the rising temperatures and effects of global warming.  

The Japanese market is endlessly exciting, and all sorts of regions and styles have a future here. I’m looking forward to seeing what the years ahead will bring.  

There’s more to Champagne than just bubbles and bling, says Edwin Dublin. Ahead of our Artisan Champagne offer, our London Shops Manager explores the artisanal, crafty side of the world’s most famous sparkling wine.

There has been a revolution in Champagne in recent decades. One that has affected how the wines from this region are perceived by critics, consumers and, indeed, by Champagne producers themselves. Several reasons account for this, but one important factor driving change is the increasing number and prominence of “artisan” Champagnes. But what do we mean by this term? How do these artisans relate to growers and other Champagne producers, and what has been their impact on the world of Champagne? 

What is Artisan Champagne? 

Let’s first consider the term “Grower Champagne”. By law, these are Champagnes created by small producers, from their own grapes and in volumes as low as tens of thousands of bottles per year. In contrast, the bigger Champagne Houses might make a few million or more bottles.  

These producers, often small family businesses, are allowed to source up to five percent of their production with grapes from other producers – either by buying them or swapping grapes of their own. This is useful if you want to make a rosé but only grow Chardonnay, for example. If you buy in more than this, you are classed as a négociant – which includes small or medium-sized producers like Champagne Marguet as well as those up to the size of Moët & Chandon, for example.  

“Artisan Champagne” has come into recent usage to include both growers and those smaller négociants who buy in more than five percent but in every other respect work like growers. Indeed, some growers have done this as the only way to expand in a region where land costs up to one million euros per hectare. It is not a legally defined term. 

The rise of the artisans 

Artisans and growers have become more prominent since the latter part of the 20th century. In 2009, a group of growers banded together to form an association (or salon), called Terres et Vins, to showcase their wines as an alternative to the big brands. This really announced their arrival on the world stage.  

There are now around 30 different salons. They host a range of events annually over the course of a week known as the Printemps de Champagne. I have witnessed the energy at these events myself for over a decade. It was here that I first encountered and tasted the Champagnes of Tarlant, Penet-Chardonnet and many others. A frequent sight during the Printemps is of artisans disgorging bottles by hand in the streets, outside two popular bars in Reims. Evidence indeed of the informal camaraderie and generosity of these people. 

In Champagne, artisans were espousing sustainable ways of working in their vineyards and wineries long before it became fashionable (and, increasingly, necessary). The use of organics, biodynamics and minimal chemical interventions here is not new: Fleury was the first Champagne producer to gain official biodynamic certification over 30 years ago, for example. This pushing of the envelope of production is what excites me most about these artisans and their wines. 

How artisans work 

These producers’ respect for terroir through working sustainably follows, in many ways, how things were before industrialisation. There are plenty of other examples of artisans looking to the past to create the wines of today and tomorrow.  

There’s the use of “minor” varieties like Arbanne, Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris and Petit Meslier; old vines; moving away from steel tanks for fermentation back to oak and other containers like amphorae and egg-shaped vessels; wild rather than cultured yeasts; shorter lees-ageing; and drier styles. 

Such techniques mean artisans create Champagnes that truly speak of terroir, taken to its apogee through single-vineyard expressions. Discovering less-familiar villages and producers through the smells and tastes of their Champagnes is a true delight – often with food, too, to which many are well suited. 

I’ve been going to Champagne for two decades now, and it is fascinating to observe the impact that these artisans have had. Their sustainable approach is now embraced by increasing numbers of producers in the region; it has significantly reduced the level of chemical interventions in vineyards, too. Informative back labels, common with these Champagnes, have surely inspired larger producers to now share similar information that was previously hidden. Often lower in price than the more well-known brands, these wines have both refreshed and brought a new audience to Champagne.  

But for me, the greatest impact has been to help foster the notion of Champagnes as more than just bubbles and bling. These wines can speak of the place and people who make them – terroir, if you will. These are great wines that just happen to have bubbles. Long may artisans continue to thrive.

Our Artisan Champagne offer is now live; explore the full range available here.

Scotland is haunted by ghost distilleries – places that once produced great whiskies, leaving only a limited number of casks behind. But within these casks lie some truly special liquids. This autumn, we’re shining a light on the story of Littlemill distillery, which closed its doors for the last time in 1994. Its remaining casks have been blended into two extraordinary collections, offering a unique taste of the past.  

Not so far from Glasgow, where the River Clyde opens its mouth a little wider to the estuary, once stood the buildings of Littlemill Distillery. Old photographs show a cluster of low, white-washed buildings with black slated roofs, the surface of the walls streaked with age; buildings suffused with an air of abandonment.  

These photos are all we have of them now. Production stopped in 1994, the distillery was dismantled in 1997, and a fire destroyed the buildings in 2004. Today, a housing development stands on the site. But I wonder, as you are drifting off to sleep, if you can still hear the roll of the barrels, the clatter of tools against the copper pot stills, the thrum of industry. If you can still smell the deep, fruity stench of the brewing barley; if you can taste it in the air.  

This is one of Scotland’s “ghost distilleries”. Its story dates back to 1772, making it Scotland’s oldest licensed site. The history here is a familiar one in Scotland, marked by closures and reopenings, changing hands throughout the centuries. But all activity would eventually grind to a halt in the 1990s, its fate later secured by the fire.  

Whisky heritage is soaked into the bones of the area – that stretch from Glasgow to Campbeltown, along the banks of the Clyde. During the 1800s, Glasgow was considered the “second city of the British Empire”, a hub of industry and trade. Blooming around it, the West of Scotland was the heart of Scotch whisky distilling. But as one century gave way to another, and the sun began setting on a crumbling empire, that industry moved north, into the Highlands and up to Speyside. In its wake, it left a landscape haunted by ghost distilleries, a trail of shelled-out buildings hinting at an industrious past.  

All that remains of Littlemill’s great legacy are archival records and casks. The last of these casks, acquired in 1994, now sit in the warehouses of Loch Lomond Distillery. They are precious things, the whisky still alive and breathing in the wood. And now, they’re safely in the hands of Master Blender Michael Henry, who has been making whisky with Loch Lomond Distillery for the last 17 years.  

It must feel like an immense responsibility to work with the last remaining casks of a distillery that will never return. “There’s a real mix of emotions,” says Michael, over a video call. “There’s the romance of working with a ghost distillery – a sense that you’re part of that history – so there’s a kind of sadness that that history has come to an end. But it’s also a celebration. We’re getting people to know about Littlemill, telling its story, sharing its liquid.”  

Working with these remaining Littlemill casks, Michael has crafted two new collections: the Cask Reflections Series and the Vanguards Collection. These casks are handled with immense delicacy and skill. Such a job requires an intimate knowledge of each cask, how the liquid is showing at any given time, knowing where the balance lies between the spirit character and the wood influence. How each piece fits within the wider puzzle, like a fragment of melody in a broader symphony.  

After all, these liquids are time portals, some of them made from whisky that was distilled half a century ago. Extraordinarily rare, they capture a moment that will never return. Knowing this, it must feel strange to drink such a thing. But Michael is unequivocal.  

“The thing about any whisky, no matter its history, is the fact that it’s made for drinking. It’s made to be tasted and enjoyed. That’s the most respectful thing we can do – the way we can pay homage to the distillers.” 

Three tasting notes 

Cask Reflections Release No.1 is made from a careful selection of 33-year-old casks, finished for four months in Japanese Mizunara oak. Mizunara is a floral, fruity and perfumed wood that is often used for furniture-making, with a porous quality that imparts flavour quite quickly, and requires a great deal of care to manage successfully.  

But the resulting whisky is something special. It shows a fragrant sandalwood character, with a delicate weave of caramel, white flowers, green apple and freshly cut grass. Sweet, varnished wood comes through on the palate, with a touch of cloves, warm vanilla and a lift of citrus.  

The Vanguards Collection – Chapter 1: Robert Muir is made from liquid that was distilled on 11th October 1977, telling a story of four decades spent quietly maturing in American oak. It has since been re-casked and finished in Oloroso Sherry hogsheads, followed by refill Bourbon.  

Wonderfully rich, it displays notes of salted toffee, chocolate, orange blossom and hazelnut, with a malty cereal character woven through, alongside juicy hints of nectarine and apricot. A chewy raisin-like note speaks to its time in Oloroso wood.  

The Vanguards Collection – Chapter 2: Jane Macgregor is named after Scotland’s first female licensee; her tenure was recorded at Littlemill in 1823.  

This beautiful expression is made from 47-year-old liquid, showing a clean, surprisingly delicate palate with a light, fresh body. On the palate, it offers delicate fruits such as apple, white pear and a hint of white grape, with an almost grappa-like quality.