Margaux, Latour, Trotanoy and so much more

Posted on January 5, 2026

New Year Wine Dinner with Friends

By Panos Kakaviatos for Wine Chronicles 

5 January 2026

Thanks to Tamar and Keith Levenberg for hosting an excellent dinner with Maureen Nelson, Joel Davidson and myself. I had not seen Maureen in ages, so it was especially great to see her: You haven’t changed one bit, Maureen! Each of us brought some fine wines to share.

We opened mostly Bordeaux. Since I am in Alsace, I also brought a Domaine Trimbach Clos Sainte Hune Riesling 2002 (96) to start things. I had purchased it from the winery upon release. It had a dark straw color, but never you mind: not a hint of oxidation. Although a bit musty upon opening, normal after being cooped up in a bottle for nearly 23 years, that blew off after I double decanted. Double decant a dry white, you may be asking? That can be useful, I say!

A somewhat soft spoken Riesling, as Clos Sainte Hune can pack more power. Medium bodied, but it builds, beckoning further drinking. The balance between 4.2 grams per liter of residual sugar and 9 grams of total acidity left a dry impression, with lemon peel, white stone fruit, and hints of wet earth but not “old” tasting. That last aspect merely added complexity to the picture. Over three hours later, for the cheese course, we returned to the wine, which was not put on ice or in the fridge, and I dare say that it improved with respect to freshness and vibrancy. The palate felt suave and smooth. A long, albeit subtle finish. Not powerful or intense, but subtle. A friend tells me that he refuses to serve quality Riesling unless at least 21 years old, and this 23-year-old wine proved his point. The estate dubs 2002 as an “outstanding vintage, especially for Riesling”. The alcohol clocks in at 13%.

Clos Sainte Hune has 1.67 hectares under vine on stony argilo-calcaire, or Muschelkalk, limestone terroir, exclusively planted in Riesling, and located in the heart of Grand Cru Rosacker, in Hunawihr. The limestone soil allows this Riesling to develop a specific aroma and a wonderful concentration of fruits. Dry yet succulent, of phenomenal complexity, this wine develops an extraordinary aftertaste of wet stone after a few years in bottle. The plot, which is approximately 50 to 70 years old, is south south east exposed and the yields are low. Annual production reaches about 9,000 bottles, depending on the vintage.

Thanks to our wonderful hosts for superb salami and foie gras, French bread, and caviar atop Tamago tofu, also known as egg tofu, which is a popular Japanese custard made from eggs and dashi (Japanese soup stock), not soybeans. Its name comes from the smooth, silken texture and square shape, which resembles traditional tofu. All of the above went especially well with the Clos Sainte Hune.

Thanks to Maureen Nelson, we kicked off with an excellent Les Forts de Latour 2000 (94), the second wine of Château Latour. What struck me was the youthful blueberry cool fruit and cassis, delivered smooth. A pristine expression not too tertiary but with hints of cigar box and plenty of plum like richness and excellent integration of the new oak. Shortly after release, the celebrated critic Robert Parker said that this second wine would evolve for about 15 years, but it is firmly in a pleasing drinking window at about 25 years in bottle, no doubt (at all) due to the unhurried ripening period of the 2000 vintage, plus an Indian summer that led to optimal harvest conditions, reflecting balance and poise.

Did you know that the wine was first labelled with this name in 1966? Grapes come from the edge of the famous Enclos at Latour and from plots located outside the Enclos, in Cru Classé areas of Pauillac such as Piñada, Petit Batailley and St. Anne, which have belonged to the estate for more than a century and whose vines benefit from a high average age (around 40 years). Furthermore some plots that could be used in the Grand Vin may finally be included in the Forts de Latour blend, depending on how their quality is judged during the blending tastings. Les Forts de Latour is produced with the same care as the Château Latour, both in the vineyard and in the winery. One main difference, apart from grape origin, is a lower proportion of new barrels – between 50 to 60% – for aging. The blend for Forts de Latour also varies from one year to the next, but there is almost always a higher proportion of Merlot (25 to 30%) compared to the Grand Vin. Not sure about the exact blend for the 2000.

Latour and Margaux: 1999 

We then tried the Château Latour 1999 (93), which I had purchased shortly after release, from a French merchant. It is interesting to note that Robert Parker dubbed the 1999 Latour “exceptional” for the vintage, a “modern day version of Latour’s magnificent 1962 or 1971” when he tasted the wine from barrel. Just over 25 years later, what’s the verdict? I had double decanted the wine four hours before it was served over Keith’s amazingly delicious filet mignon of elk (accompanied by equally fabulous and silky smooth purée de pommes de terre and haricots).

It is a good idea to aerate a wine of 25 years, to allow for any stuffy aromas to dissipate, and they did. The wine revealed quite a lot of fruit but also high-toned acidity that left its mark, in contrast to the more supple and richer Les Forts from the superior 2000 vintage. Over time, the 1999 exhibited floral and fresh meadow tertiary notes, as well as the telltale Pauillac graphite. While the 2000 showed fuller body and superior richness, I grew to enjoy the linearity of the 1999 Grand Vin. It had a longer finish, its inherent tension matching the richness of the elk nicely, but was not quite as good as the Forts de Latour from the 2000 vintage.

About 1999 

Why the 1999? Joel brought the Château Margaux 1999, so I thought it would be fun to compare the two First Growths from that vintage. While 2000 is seen as an exceptional vintage, especially in the Médoc, 1999 proved more challenging, taking a clear back seat to the 2000 due to unpredictable growing conditions: In August 1999, the outlook was reasonable despite a hurricane early in the season and wet weather late in the Spring. Then rain storms hit with a vengeance. Because we also enjoyed the Château Margaux 1999, I tried to look up precise station rain totals for Margaux vs. Pauillac in 1999, but they aren’t easily available online. I think that terroir differences support the idea that Margaux “withstood” the heavy late season rainfall better than Pauillac/Latour. So even if actual rain totals weren’t wildly different between the northern and southern Médoc in 1999, Margaux soils likely coped better with late showers, potentially preserving sugar accumulation and limiting dilution effects compared to Pauillac/Latour. Indeed, Château Latour displays deep, dense layers of coarse gravel on a subsoil of clay and marl while Château Margaux shows thinner, more superficial and finer gravel mixed with varying amounts of sand, limestone, chalk, and clay.

Château Margaux 1999 (96) – I recall first encountering this wine at the château with fellow wine aficionado Frédéric Lot, after it had just been bottled, back in 2001 during a visit to the estate, along with 1997, 1998 and 2000 – then a barrel sample. While the 2000 showed the most promise back then, the 1999 was my second favorite, followed by the (then) more charming 1997 and finally the (then) rather closed 1998. More recently, some seven years ago, over a vertical at Taberna Del Alabardero in Washington D.C., I rated it 94 as yielding a fresh bouquet of spring flowers and bergamot tea along with a touch of wet earth, the palate (then) lovely in its elegance, easy to drink, even though lacking the backbone of the 1996, which had been tasted alongside.

But chez Keith and Tamar, the wine had just been popped and poured, unlike the double-decanted Latour 1999. From the start, it displayed impressive palate depth, more so than the Latour 1999, which was medium-bodied compared to Margaux’s more full bodied aspect. The Margaux also displayed better focused red and black berry fruit, furthermore leading to wonderful crushed mint and tobacco expressions on the long finish. In a review from 2022, William Kelly compared it to the 1985 vintage, and that is quite a compliment. I can see why. I really liked the 1999 Margaux this time.

Château Trotanoy 1998 (97) – Thanks to Keith, this majestic wine also was served, and I immediately loved it, also as a superlative pairing to the elk filet. Trotanoy can be like Léoville Las Cases: it can take a long time to open up, but by Golly in January 2026, the wine sang. It stole the red wine show with mellowed power, sophisticated richness and suave tannin and fine dark chocolate notes along with Médoc-like graphite. A wine of layered polish, not gloss. With time in glass, it only improved. And consider just how good 1998 was for Merlot-dominant wines in Pomerol: powerful, concentrated, tannic, and long-lived reds with rich dark fruit and spice. After nearly 27 years in bottle, Trotanoy has entered an early drinking window. Yes, early! Many critics say that 1998 counts as one of the greatest Right Bank vintages ever. It is most certainly a benchmark vintage.

Jean-Pierre Moueix purchased the estate in 1953, but Château Trotanoy has been considered one of the premier crus of Pomerol since the end of the 18th century. The soil of Château Trotanoy is a combination of gravel and very dense clay which tends to solidify as it dries out after rain to an almost concrete-like hardness, hence the name “Trotanoy,” which can mean “too wearisome” in French. The Trotanoy vineyard slopes gently to the west. The soil at the highest point of exposure contains a good proportion of gravel, becoming progressively more dominated by clay as the elevation declines.

Under this clay is a subsoil of red gravel and an impermeable layer of hard, iron-rich soil known as crasse de fer. This soil diversity brings power, depth and complexity to the wine. Trotanoy is vinified in small concrete vats, while aging takes place in oak barrels, about 50% new oak. Trotanoy is a naturally profound, complex, richly-concentrated wine with outstanding aging potential, proven in this 1998. The wine possesses a deep color and a dense, powerful nose, repeated on the palate with the addition of creamy, dark chocolate notes, and a singular concentration of flavor owed to its very old vines.

A final red, vintage 1945 

Keith and I have been trying to source a bottle of Château Mouton Rothschild 1945 and share the cost among several wine pals, but it is evidently not an easy task. And what happens when one purchases such an old bottle and then encounters a cork or other problem? Keith sourced a Baron Philippe wine from the 1945 vintage, coming from, as the label indicates, the best vines of the former Mouton d’Armailhac vineyards. Much of the vines used to craft the bottle that Keith opened for us – the Château Mouton Baron Philippe 1945 vintage – would later be used for what has come to be known today as Château d’Armailhac. Upon opening I was struck by almost salty taffy aromas, not unappealing, and actually quite intriguing. The palate was more aggressive in nature and quite acidic. The wine, alas, was past due, as can happen with such old bottles. But kudos to Keith for bringing this to the table, as the label is gorgeous!

Château Climens Barsac 1988 (97) – For the superb assortment of cheeses, we enjoyed both the Clos Sainte Hune but also – especially with the blue type cheeses – the exceptional Climens from Barsac. I have always loved this wine, and thanks to Maureen for the half bottle, which did not disappoint. Time in glass yielded vivid notes of candied orange peel, crème brûlée, black tea and subtle ginger from the botrytis (noble rot).

The 1988 vintage in Barsac (and Sauternes) was outstanding, considered one of the best of the late 1980s, marked by excellent noble rot developing later in October after a warm and dry September, leading to rich, honeyed, and complex sweet wines with great acidity and aging potential. Château Climens along with Coutet produced great wines from Barsac in that vintage, still vibrant today, as proven over this dinner. And thanks to Keith and Tamara for the intensely delicious chocolate cake, which also paired well with the Barsac.

All in all, a great evening!

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Revisiting Weingut Bernhard Huber

Posted on December 29, 2025

Malterdingen, Baden-Württemberg: Burgundy Precision, Baden Soul

By Panos Kakaviatos for Wine Chronicles

29 December 2025

A visit to Weingut Bernhard Huber in Malterdingen is never just a tasting; it is a lesson in continuity, restraint, and conviction. I visited the estate on 11 November, in the calm that follows harvest – and a bank holiday in France. Julian Huber was not present that day, but a highly accomplished sommelier from the estate welcomed a friend and me, guiding us through an impressively broad and revealing lineup.

Few German wineries have shaped the modern understanding of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay as profoundly as Huber. Bernhard Huber was among the first to demonstrate that Germany could produce Pinot Noirs of genuine gravitas and longevity, not by chasing ripeness, but by embracing structure, restraint, and terroir. Bernhard’s frequent exchanges with Burgundy and his refusal to follow trends allowed him, already in the early 1990s, to craft wines that stood apart at a time when many sought power over precision.

When Julian Huber took over in 2014, aged just 24, expectations were daunting. A decade later, it is clear that he has not merely preserved his father’s legacy but sharpened it. Burgundy remains a reference point, but the wines today speak more clearly of Malterdingen, Bienenberg, Sommerhalde or Schlossberg than of any external model. The stylistic evolution is subtle but decisive: less overt oak, cooler fruit profiles, more reduction, and a striking sense of tension and salinity across both reds and whites.

The estate now harvests around 35 hectares, predominantly in Pinot Noir, rooted in weathered shell limestone soils that echo the Côte d’Or in their ability to confer finesse and longevity. Vineyard work is paramount, yields are modest, and sélection massale is used to refine the finest parcels. Grape variety has largely disappeared from labels: here, place matters more than nomenclature.

In the Glass: A Tasting Snapshot (11 November)

The tasting opened with their traditional method bubbly Blanc de Noirs, creamy yet precise, offering quiet depth rather than overt fruit. The dry rosé, produced since 2020 but pointedly without the word “rosé” on the label, underlined Huber’s philosophy: this is a terroir wine, smoky, reductive, and structured, aged 14 months in barrel with one-third new oak: decidedly not a casual summer pour.

We tasted through wines from the 2023 vintage, which, we learned, was warm and healthy overall, but punctuated by rain just before and during harvest. Larger berries and thinner skins brought mildew concerns, yet the finished wines show admirable clarity and balance rather than dilution.

Among the Pinots, the Malterdingen Ortswein (white label, red capsule) offered a classic, poised expression: fine red fruit, moderate alcohol (13%), and impressive depth for vines averaging 25 years. The step up to Alte Reben (red label) was immediate: older vines (around 45 years), lower yields, greater textural depth, spice, and tannic presence, still framed by Malterdingen’s signature finesse. Oak remains measured at one-third new, notably less than under Bernhard. The estate boasts many great growths, the equivalent of grands crus, designated in German as Grosses Gewächs or GG.

Whether a premier cru or GG level, distinctions sharpened. And I love the graphic design sense of the estate: white labels designate regions, while the red labels designate more premium level wines at village, premier cru or GG grand cru. Same for the whites, only labels for premium level wines are green.

• The Bienenberg GG was beguiling yet reserved, with more acidity, limestone-driven structure, and a flirtatious nose that belied a tightly wound palate demanding cellar time.

• The Köndringen, from younger Pinot Noir vines planted in 2018, was muscular and wind-swept, with spice, firm tannins, and a touch of bitterness.

• The Sommerhalde GG on red clay and limestone near the Black Forest at 350 metres in elevation showed wonderful balance and poise, though extraction here requires a careful hand.

• The Hecklingen, tasted from its very first vintage in 2023, felt frank but still finding its voice: tighter and more astringent than Alte Reben at the same price point.

Then came the standout: the Schlossberg GG. From an extraordinarily steep, wind-exposed slope, yields of just 25 hl/ha and production of roughly 1,500 bottles, this was a wine of rare harmony. It was airy yet substantial, with bright red cherry fruit wrapped in limestone freshness, tannins present but already spherical. A wine that feels both light and profound, and unmistakably complete.

The Whites: Quiet Authority

Chardonnay has been part of the Huber story since the late 1990s, and today it sits firmly among Germany’s benchmarks. The Malterdingen Chardonnay—direct pressed, unfiltered, minimal bâtonnage—was saline, mineral, linear yet generous, already sold out at the time of my visit. The Alte Reben Chardonnay in a gorgeous green label followed with Meursault-like breadth: buttery but precise, long, and quietly powerful (12.5%). Julian’s affection for Burgundy is no secret. His dog is named Perry, after Meursault’s Perrières.

At the top, Bienenberg GG Chardonnay showed greater reduction and acidity, white florals and chamomile, while Schlossberg GG Chardonnay took everything (yet again) a step further: crystalline, herbal, intensely saline, with remarkable length and composure. These are wines built not for immediate charm but for evolution.

A brief aside worth noting: the Breisgau cuvée (50% Pinot Blanc, 50% Pinot Gris), now in its third vintage, displayed what sommeliers aptly call the “Huber nose”—reductive, precise, and disciplined. Pinot Gris is picked early to avoid heaviness, resulting in a taut, gastronomic white of real interest.

A World-Class Estate, Quietly So

This was not my first encounter with the Huber estate. I first visited Wildenstein in 2014, walking the limestone-over-clay slopes with Bernhard Huber himself, just months before his passing. As I wrote at the time, one cannot help but notice the rocky surface and pronounced incline of this extraordinary site—a place that feels closer to Burgundy than to most preconceived notions of German red wine. Bernhard reminded me then that it was Cistercian monks who first planted Pinot Noir here, centuries earlier, laying the foundations for what would become one of Germany’s most revered vineyards. Wildenstein, just two hectares in size, was already widely regarded as producing arguably the finest Pinot Noir in the country, irrespective of price.

Historical records dating back to 1285 attest to Pinot Noir plantings known as “Malterdinger”, named after the village that remains the heart of the estate today. The continuity is striking. The vineyards have been in the Huber family for generations, but it was Bernhard and his wife Barbara, upon taking over in 1987, who began estate bottling under their own name. Until then, grapes and wine had been sold to a local cooperative. That decision—to bottle, to define a style, to look to Burgundy not for imitation but for inspiration—changed the trajectory not only of the estate, but of German Pinot Noir more broadly.

That 2014 visit remains vivid in my memory. Bernhard was generous with his time, walking me through the vineyards and later insisting we sit down for lunch, to taste the wines in their proper setting, as he put it—at table, with food, and without haste. Returning now, a decade later, tasting through the range under Julian’s stewardship, the sense of continuity is unmistakable. The wines have evolved, sharpened, and gained tension, but the foundations laid by Bernhard with patience, humility before terroir, and an unshakeable belief in Pinot Noir, remain firmly intact.

Around 90% of Huber’s production remains in Germany, and it is hard to find! Most wines at the estate were already sold out. Some are exported, particularly to Scandinavia, a market that is growing steadily. Demand far exceeds supply, especially for the Chardonnays and GGs, yet the estate resists hype. What defines Huber today is not ambition for expansion, but an unwavering commitment to style.

As Julian Huber has said, wines here are not meant to impress instantly, but to reveal themselves over time. Tasting across the range in November, that philosophy felt not like dogma, but lived experience. These are wines of discipline, restraint, and inner confidence: Burgundian in method, unmistakably Baden in soul.

Few estates pursue their vision with such consistency. Even fewer succeed so completely.

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What’s in a Name?

Posted on December 27, 2025

Why wine origin still matters

By Panos Kakaviatos for Wine Chronicles

27 December 2025

Every so often, the wine world is reminded that names are not neutral. They carry weight, memory, and meaning that must be defended.

Just before Christmas, Burgundy’s trade body, the Comité des Vins de Bourgogne, intervened after a major discount retailer aired a radio advertisement promoting a low-priced wine from the IGP Pays d’Oc. The advert praised the wine by evoking “this Burgundian grape with hazelnut aromas”, a formulation clearly designed to borrow the reputation of Burgundy while selling a wine with no geographical or cultural link to it. Within days, the campaign was withdrawn.

At first glance, this may seem like an overreaction. After all, Chardonnay is grown worldwide, right? From Napa to New Zealand, by way of Germany to South Africa. But Burgundy’s response was not about a grape name. It was about origin, precision, and the protection of a system that gives wine its meaning.

Take the bottle illustrated here: Chablis Grand Cru La Moutonne 2009, Domaine Long-Depaquit. Yes, it is Chardonnay — but that is only the beginning of the story. It is Chablis, a distinct appellation within Burgundy. More than that, it comes from a single, historic Grand Cru vineyard site, La Moutonne, uniquely positioned between Les Preuses and Vaudésir, and long recognised for its singular expression. Domaine Long-Depaquit, based in the heart of Chablis, farms some 65 hectares, including five Premier Crus and five Grand Crus, each with its own identity, exposure, soils, and voice.

This is what the appellation system exists to protect: not abstractions, but layers of specificity. Place within place. Within place! Climate, slope, geology, history, human interpretation. Burgundy is not Burgundy because it grows Chardonnay; it is Burgundy because Chardonnay grown there tastes like nowhere else.

When a mass-market wine uses Burgundy’s reputation as a convenient flavour cue, it flattens all of this complexity into a marketing shortcut. That is why the Burgundy Wine Council reacted so strongly. It was not out of arrogance, but out of necessity. Once meaning is diluted, it is difficult to restore.

The same logic applies beyond Burgundy. Champagne is not a synonym for sparkling wine. Porto is not a style descriptor. Barolo is not a generic red. These names are legally protected because they correspond to real places and collective histories. They also protect the consumer, who has every right to expect that a reference to a region implies more than a vague stylistic suggestion.

In an era when wine is increasingly marketed like any other fast-moving consumer good, the temptation to “borrow” prestige remains strong, especially at the lower end of the price spectrum. But prestige in wine is not decorative. It is cumulative and shared.

So yes, this was only a radio advertisement. But it serves as a useful reminder: in wine, names still matter. They matter because behind them lie vineyards like La Moutonne, and thousands of others, whose identity depends on respect for origin, without which wine becomes just another beverage.

 

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What Is Politics?

Posted on December 26, 2025

Reading a friend’s book, thinking politically

Book review by Panos Kakaviatos 

26 December 2025

There is a challenge to review a book edited by a friend, especially when that friend is a political scientist and one’s own professional life unfolds in a different, if adjacent, register.

Colin Hay and I have known each other for several years, tasting and reviewing wines in Bordeaux especially. But we both inhabit worlds that are political, though not in the same way. Colin approaches politics analytically, as a professor and theorist. I encounter it more obliquely, through media relations at the Council of Europe, and – perhaps unexpectedly – through wine writing, where questions of identity, power, tradition, and belonging are never far below the surface.

It is precisely this shared but differently practiced relationship to politics that makes What Is Politics? The Definitive Guide to Politics in Our Polarized Times such an interesting book to read from outside the academy, yet not outside politics.

Hay’s introduction sets out the intellectual ambition with characteristic clarity. Politics, he argues, is not reducible to what politicians do, nor exhausted by elections or institutions. It is a broader process of collective choice-making under conditions of contingency: conditions in which neither fate, tradition, nor technocratic management can plausibly absolve us of responsibility. This framing resonates beyond political science. Anyone who has watched cultural traditions defended, contested, rebranded, or instrumentalized (in gastronomy no less than geopolitics) will recognize the terrain.

The book’s structure reflects this expansive view. Each chapter approaches politics through a different analytical lens: power, moral choice, collective action, behaviour, identification, gender, cognition, ritual, rhetoric, crisis management. At times, the language is unapologetically technical. This is not a book that flattens political theory for ease of consumption. But its seriousness is also its virtue. It insists that how we conceptualizepolitics shapes what we expect from it, and what we excuse when it fails.

For me, the most compelling chapter is Vivienne Jabri’s “Politics as identification.” It is here that the book speaks most directly to the political moment we inhabit. Jabri explores how identities – national, ethnic, cultural, gendered – are not simply inherited facts but are produced, performed, and mobilized through practices of identification. Identity, in this sense, is not outside politics; it is one of its most powerful currencies.

What makes this chapter especially valuable is that it resists easy moral sorting. Identity politics is presented neither as progressive virtue nor as reactionary vice. It is shown instead as a political force that can enable recognition, solidarity, and resistance, but also exclusion, hierarchy, and simplification. The danger arises when identity hardens into destiny, when politics becomes a struggle over who is rather than what ought to be done.

Read this way, the chapter offers tools for understanding abuses of identity across the political spectrum. Progressive struggles for recognition can slide into moral absolutism; conservative or nationalist appeals to heritage can become civilizational dogma. In both cases, the move is the same: difference is essentialized, disagreement moralized, and politics reduced to a friend. That insight feels particularly urgent today.

Some readers may find the book’s conceptual vocabulary (gendered politics, performativity, institutionalized exclusion) more familiar or persuasive than others. The volume emerges from traditions of critical political analysis, and it does not pretend to ideological neutrality. But that, too, is part of its honesty. Like good wine writing, good political analysis is never written from nowhere. It reflects choices (of lens, emphasis, and framing) that deserve to be made visible rather than disguised.

Perhaps that is where my own reading converges with Colin’s project. Wine writing, at its best, is not just about flavour; it is about place, memory, power, legitimacy, and who gets to define value. Media relations at an institution like the Council of Europe is not simply communication; it is the careful navigation of language, identity, and representation in a crowded political space. In different ways, we are both engaged in what Hay describes as politics: making sense of collective choices under conditions of uncertainty.

What Is Politics? does not offer comfort, nor does it offer slogans. It offers something rarer: an invitation to think more carefully about the categories we use when we say something ispolitical, or insist that it is not. In polarized times, that invitation is not merely academic. It is political.

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Just in time for the holidays: Dinner at Giscours

Posted on December 12, 2025

Biodiversity contributes to Margaux Renaissance 

By Panos Kakaviatos for Wine Chronicles

12 December 2025

It had just rained when I arrived at Château Giscours – the eve of my birthday on 5 December this year. Under a veil of evening mist, the estate had fallen into contemplative quiet. As my car that early evening rolled down the long approach off the main D2 road that lines the famous châteaux of the Médoc, the first beings to welcome me were not employees. It was not the grand silhouette of the château itself. But a flock of Landes ewes, grazing peacefully in the semi-darkness. They lifted their heads with mild curiosity, as if to signal that at Giscours, the land speaks first.

This encounter was as charming as it was symbolic. Giscours is one of the rare Bordeaux estates where agricultural life has marked a return as integral to identity. The ewes – along with Bordelais cattle, goats, ducks, geese, and hens—form part of an eco-pastoral system that maintains more than 150 hectares of meadows, forest and parkland. The estate collaborates with the Conservatoire des Races d’Aquitaine to preserve endangered local breeds. Biodiversity here is not merely marketing; it has become part of the château’s identity.

But beyond that, the wines at Giscours have improved in quality. Markedly. I recall an old friend of my father’s, an avid Bordeaux buyer, back in the late 1990s. He said that “it is a waste of time to buy wines like Giscours when you can purchase Palmer,” referring to the superlative (also officially Third Growth in the 1855 Classification of Médoc wines) of Château Palmer. Admittedly, Château Giscours dipped in quality from the mid-1980s and 1990s, with a low price to be sure compared to Palmer, but Palmer was not as expensive back in the late 1990s as it became in the 21^st century.

While Château Palmer deserves a promotion in a theoretical revamping of the 1855 Classification, the perception of Château Giscours as a clearly inferior wine no longer holds. Indeed, Château Giscours now reflects a cream of the Third Growth crop (Note to readers, I have an article coming up next year in Decanter Magazine comparing all of the Third Growths).

Indeed, over the past two decades, and especially in recent years, the work carried out under the steady hand of Alexander Van Beek, director since 1998, has fundamentally improved the wines of Giscours. This transformation has not come through flashy shortcuts, but through attention to detail: vineyard restructuring, parcel-by-parcel vinification, precision harvesting, gentler extractions, and a clearer vision of balance over power. And attention to personnel.

Take the relatively recent hire (January 2021) of the young, but already experienced Jérôme Poisson, 43 years old. Poisson mirrors Van Beek’s focus on detail combined with his vineyard and vinification work across the world, from Chile and the United States, to Alsace, Italy and – since 2021 – Bordeaux.  He has contributed to the steady climb in the wine’s consistency, definition, and elegance. That is to say, wines that now marry Margaux perfume with substance and longevity.

This trajectory reached a symbolic milestone this year when Château Giscours 2022 was named Wine of the Year by Wine Spectator—a recognition that would have been less likely a generation ago. Today, Giscours no longer invites comparisons as a lesser alternative to its neighbors; it stands confidently on its own, a château that has rediscovered both its ambition and its place.

A bit of history 

We can go back the future to explain why the recent emphasis on biodiversity is part of the plan not only to make the wine better, but also to accentuate the proud history of the estate, which traces its roots to 1552, when Bordeaux draper Pierre de Lhomme established the first vineyards. Over the centuries, owners such as Jean-Pierre Pescatore and Édouard Cruse transformed the château into a neoclassical palace, modernized winemaking, and commissioned the magnificent park designed by Eugène Bühler, a master landscaper from Versailles.

Under the leadership of the Albada Jelgersma family, Giscours today continues its tradition of reinvention. The vegetable garden – tended daily by Ahmed Jaayjaa – supplies the château kitchen with seasonal produce. The herd maintains the fields. And in the cellar, a technical team oversees winemaking that blends precision with gentleness: optical sorting, cold macerations, intra-plot harvesting, and interplanting of old vines (some dating back to 1923). No less than 21 workers and their families live year-round on the estate, lending a sense of home to the place.

Magnificent holiday dinner 

Stepping into the château that evening felt like entering a sumptuous holiday refuge. A tall Christmas tree stood beside long windows framed by golden curtains. Candles flickered at the edges of the room; historical paintings dominating the walls. The décor – warm, intimate, refined – reflected a philosophy of hospitality blending elegance with ease.

A table was set with red-and-white botanical porcelain. At its center lay the printed menu for Dîner du vendredi 5 décembre 2025. By the time dinner ended, I photographed my two hosts standing by the fireplace: Poisson on one side, and estate chef Benjamin Laurent on the other, wearing the château apron. The fire behind them cast a soft glow on the carved wood mantel, creating a tableau that could have belonged to another century.

Chef Laurent, who arrived at Giscours in 2019 after formative years with Michel Guérard at the amazing Les Prés d’Eugénie and as a pastry chef at the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, prepared a meal that was a celebration of winter and of Giscours’s agricultural identity.

He opened with an unexpected, deeply comforting dish that looked like a fine cappuccino but was chestnut broth, enriched with chopped chestnuts, foie gras, and a hint of Armagnac. Its aromas instantly set the tone: rich yet airy, nostalgic yet precise.

The next course showcased Laurent’s technical finesse: seared scallops whose caramelized crusts contrasted beautifully with carrots and grilled hazelnuts in an umami like sauce capped with delicate ginger-coconut emulsion that added lift. “I like having flavors that at once confront one another but also work together,” Laurent remarked after the meal. It worked.

But it was the main dish – classic braised beef cheek in a Giscours wine sauce accompanied by silky potato purée – that best paired the Giscours wines that were served. It was a dish of depth, winter comfort, and classical balance.

And for the oldest Giscours, the 1966, I especially enjoyed the Brillat-Savarin with truffle in the cheese course, which included Vieux Gouda and fresh Chèvre de Touraine.

The dessert delivered a playful surprise: crispy gavottes with vanilla cream and house-made beer ice cream, a nod to the chef’s pastry roots and the estate’s spirit of innovation.

Accompanying the meal were three vintages that illustrated the estate’s evolution across nearly fifty years: Check out my Instagram reel on this dinner!

2015
A wine shimmering with a decade of youth, considered to be a great vintage for the Margaux appellation. Today, an adolescent with class, powerful yet polished, marked by suave tannins and a long, resonant finish. Still climbing toward its peak. Price on Wine-Searcher.

1990
More delicate, a touch thinned with age, the fruit softened. An instructive contrast rather than a standout, and perhaps the bottle/cork was not optimal.

1966
The revelation of the evening. The aromatics unfurled with breathtaking vitality: truffle, forest floor, powdered cocoa, musk, all rising from the glass with coherence and grace. On the palate, it began firm, then opened gradually, becoming medium-bodied, expressive, and flavorful. A dryness on the finish, yet the wine remained vibrant, very much alive. Seeing the 1966 beside its decanter, the candlelight catching the garnet hue, felt like a communion with Bordeaux’s past.

Highs and lows 

It is all about heights and valleys. In my many years visiting the Bordeaux region, I recall what Anthony Barton had told me back in 2002, when I was at Langoa Barton: each château has had its ups and downs. “In the 1920s for example, Léoville Poyferré was especially celebrated,” Barton said, “while we were not as well assessed.” Giscours may have had a bit of a valley from the mid-1980s to the 1990s, but the 1960s and 1970s proved superb. I still recall the 1970, a superlative wine drinking well still today, with a smoother palate than the 1966 for example.

I woke on my birthday to a quiet, misty estate. The ewes were grazing, a bit further from the château, as seen in the photo at the beginning of this text. I took a 20 minute walk, enjoying the fresh, pre-winter air. The night before had been more than a stay; it had been an immersion in a landscape shaped by centuries of human ambition and agricultural rhythm. Giscours is not frozen in time; it is alive, renewing itself with each season, each generation, each vintage. And savvy wine lovers should buy the wines. Before the dinner, I was impressed by the quality of the 2023 (Wine-Searcher price), a worthy follow up to the 2022 (Wine-Searcher price): despite recent tax increases, both affordable for the quality.

And one great way to find your favorite wines? Check out Capital One Shopping’s One Stop Wine Shop!

 

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