You shall find Calais engraved on my heart, said Mary Tudor. I feel the same

way, well not exactly about Calais, which is too far north to have vineyards,

but about France in general with regards to wine. I am omnibibulous: I taste

and drink wines from everywhere, but time and time again I come back to the

classics of France as defining my points of reference. I regard the biggest mis-

fortune ever in English foreign policy as the loss of Bordeaux resulting from

defeat in the Hundred Years' War. You get the idea.

The wines of France have changed enormously since wine production ex-

panded from Europe into the New World. France’s approach to wine has never

been so challenged as today. France retains its leadership for the top wines

based on Cabernet Sauvignon in the form of the Bordeaux blend, but now

there is competition from cult wines in California. It’s still possible to maintain

that nowhere but Burgundy has succeeded with the Holy Grail of Pinot Noir,

but alternative styles have emerged in New Zealand and Oregon. The Northern

Rhône remains definitive for Syrah with cooler climate character, but loses out

to Australian Shiraz if you are looking for full throttle warm climate expression.

Competition is fiercest at the geographical extremes: world leadership for dry

Riesling may have passed from Alsace to Australia, and for Sauvignon Blanc

from Sancerre to New Zealand; and it’s hard for wines from the warmer cli-

mates of the southern Rhône or the Languedoc to compete with the power of

the New World. Given the emphasis on that most French of concepts, terroir,

it’s ironic that where France still stands supreme is for wines where the most

intervention is involved. Champagne is the most manipulated wine produced

in France, yet reigns unparalleled in sparkling wine. In sweet wines there is

nothing to match a top Sauternes or possibly a Chenin from the Loire.

Some changes have been forced upon France by competition, others result

from natural forces, most notably global warming, and yet others are self-

inflicted by the political environment. But everywhere the scene is different

from ten or twenty years ago. It’s fair to say that the wines of France have never

been collectively better than they are today, but the more interesting questions

are how they have changed, how much they are driven by competition, and

how the styles will evolve in the future. If there’s any change common to

France as a whole, it is the trend to riper styles that is found worldwide.

The moment you move below the top level, the New World imperative for

varietal labeling produces more approachable, more fruit-forward, more

overtly delicious wines, with which it is hard for France to compete on either

sheer fruit power or price. Aided by more reliable climates, and less hindered

by tradition, the New World is able to respond more rapidly (if not indeed to

create) market forces that drive wine styles at all price levels. This competition

in export markets is certainly one major factor influencing styles in France. De-

cline in domestic support is another; even within France, Le Monde has

reported the end of the French love affair with wine.1 How will the (remaining)

traditionalists in France hold out against the forces of modernism?. But above

all, my question is: why has France retained my allegiance through all these

changes, and will it continue to do so?

The first part of the book describes the wine regions of France. Their tradi-

tions, the nature of the terroirs, the types of grape varieties that are grown, the

driving forces for change, all contribute to the character of each region. At the

end of each section, the reference wines identify examples that seem to me to

typify each appellation; in some cases, where there is a split between, for ex-

ample, modernists and traditionalists, there may be wines from each camp.

These are intended to be recommendations for wines that are generally avail-

able, and which offer a sense of the character of the appellation, not

necessarily to identify the top wines. Of course, at the end of the day, it’s the

individual producers who define what the region stands for, so the producer

profiles are intended not only as points of reference for finding wines, but also

to amplify the account of each region. Reference wines for individual produc-

ers in the guide are not necessarily the producer’s best-known wines, but those

that offer a good representation of the style, to provide a starting point for trying

the producer.

“Leading vineyards” has no single definition: it is a relative list rather than

based on absolute judgment (if such a thing were possible). Leading producers

range from those who are so prominent as to represent the common public

face of an appellation to those who demonstrate an unexpected potential on a

tiny scale. The list is naturally biased towards the major regions, with Bordeaux

and Burgundy well in the lead, but I have tried to represent as many appella-

tions as possible. It can be hard to convey the full sense of commitment you get

when visiting vineyards, but I have tried to give a sense of each producer’s

aims for his wines, of the personality and philosophy behind themto meet

the person who makes the wine, as it were, as much as to review the wines

themselves. It’s hard to contain the list—there’s always one more example

popping upbut as a whole it should represent the best of both tradition and

innovation in wine in France. And I owe an enormous debt to the hundreds of

producers who cooperated in this venture by engaging in discussion and open-

ing innumerable bottles for tasting. This book would not have been possible

without them.

Benjamin Lewin MW