Good wine needs no bush
William Shakespeare, Epilogue to ‘As You Like It’. The ‘bush’ was a bunch of ivy hanging above the door, denoting a tavern within.
‘Where are your vines?’ is the most common question I am asked by visitors to my winery, on a farm above Minster Lovell in the Cotswolds. It’s a small operation not dissimilar to so many family wineries across Europe and elsewhere - mom & pop operations they call them in the US. My view from the winery across to the beautiful, ancient Wychwood is, however, unobscured by vines.
It is true that when I tour wine regions I expect the wineries I land-upon to sit in the middle of ranks of vines. In many ways, like drinking a fine wine, the first ‘taste’ of the winery is established by the eye, from the grand sweep of vines leading to the Chateaux of Bordeaux or Champagne, the rustic roll of vineyards around the old stone wineries in Burgundy, or the higgledy-piggledy tumble in Alsace or the Rhine, dropping down to wood-smoking, cobbled, half-timbered family farms. All these are part of the construction of the identity, the flavour, of the winery and its wines.
Without my own vines, lined up in front of my winery, am I real wine producer? Don’t I lose something vital to the quintessential character of wine production? It’s a question I frequently ask myself - the following is an attempt to provide an answer.
The vineless view
The ‘modern age’ of English wine production probably starts in the ‘60s with a few small volume plantings of mostly Germanic varieties, typically made in to sweetened, somewhat floral wines. By the ‘90s, with a string of successes in international tastings, sparkling wine made in the style of Champagne became our primary and premium offering, typically grown and made in the south east of England in vineyard estates, complete with a winery, such as Chapel Down and Nytimber. A compelling part of their story was that the same chalk rose in the South Downs as that which underpinned Champagne. Probably the truth is that our (warming) cool climate, not too different from Champagne’s, suited the low sugars and high acidity required to make fine sparkling wine. This became our success story, and still dominates English production, making-up around 70% of output.
It has only been quite recently that serious attention has been turned to high quality still wines, often made by smaller or niche producers. It is becoming clear that with good techniques in the vineyard and winery, careful vineyard site selection and a fair wind, England can make beautiful, elegant, complex still wines, mostly white, using a range of varieties including internationally known classics such as Chardonnay or Pinot Gris, or more obscure varieties such as Bacchus, Ortega or Madaleine Angevine. It is not cheap or easy to do in such a marginal viticultural region but the results can easily stand alongside comparable wines from the rest of the world. Indeed, this marginality is perhaps what makes our wines so captivating, the long cool growing season leads to elegant, fresh and ethereal flavours.
I, like many, took to wine production after I chose to leave a perfectly lovely, secure job as a lecturer in theatre studies. My initial inclination, like many before me, was to have a small vineyard; 5 acres I was told was the minimum for anything that would make any commercial sense. Against the trend and grain of English wine production I wanted only to make high quality still wine, which is more precarious than sparkling in our climate. To complicate matters further, I naively came to the project wanting to make English (red) Pinot Noir, possibly alongside some other less ambitious, less fussy wines. I met with one of England’s foremost authorities on vineyard locations, who told me kindly but firmly that a) I was an idiot, and b) if I was to pursue my idiocy my only option was to go east: Essex certainly, East Kent perhaps, maybe Suffolk. It turns out that this eastern edge, even more than the south coast, is dry, sunny and sheltered, and as frost-free as it gets in England; the soil and low altitude are also well suited to vines. I might get away with other parts of the country - generally south and east - provided they too could boast these qualities, but East Anglia was the best bet. Certainly not the Cotswolds. Still wines need riper fruit grown in the warmest, driest parts of our marginal island: east!
Even had I upped-sticks and moved East from my home in Oxfordshire, and found some land, I would still need to wait 3 years from planting for the first useable crop (unless you buy a rarely available mature vineyard), and still need to build and equip the winery if I was going to make my own wine from my own grapes. Then there was the cost; land in England does not come cheap, and that is particularly true of good vineyard land, assuming the land agent knows it is - and given the trend for planting vineyards (I believe the biggest agricultural growth area) - they do know it. I was planning on setting up this project with my 25% tax free allowance (I was turning 55) from a 20 year USS pension. Unlikely to be viable - really.
Martin’s Lane Vineyard, Crouch Valley, Essex
It was while contemplating these climactic, geographic and commercial constraints that what now seems obvious struck me: producing wine is two jobs. One is fruit farming; understanding agriculture, soil, fruit, pests, disease, frost prevention, pruning, spraying, harvesting - and working in appalling weather. The other job is, essentially, fermented fruit beverage production; understanding mechanical processes, pumps, cooling systems, vessel types and their advantages, kit in general, yeasts and bacteria, flavour profiles, recipes and blending, even design and marketing. This second part of the process interested me far more - that’s purely personal of course, for many people it is the fruit growing that is more rewarding. It became apparent that you didn’t need to have a holistic vineyard / winery operation, indeed the idea of trying to get on top of both may well be detrimental. Most ‘all-in-one’ operations have 2 teams, however small, the winery and the vineyard. Of course in some cases one person does do everything.
English wine making is not unique in its separation of vine and winery. Think of the negotiants of Burgundy; buying grapes, sometimes juice or already fermented wine from small growers, to mature it in their own high quality barrels and vast cellars. These negotiants still operate today, some on a small scale making boutique wines, many others, larger scale, ensuring high volume consistent supply. Elsewhere across the world local cooperative wineries serve a community of growers who have no winery of their own, or who chose to only vinify a small proportion themselves. In California and Oregon the ‘urban winery’ located in a city is commonplace and the general practice in much of Napa is for growers to be a separate operation from makers.
So I was set; I would invest myself in the making of the wine, not the growing of the grape. With an early career background in theatre technical management I felt (quite without any knowledge) that I’d be able to set-up a small winery and a later career around theatre design was clearly going to equip me to market my product. My hobbyist’s love of Burgundy, and the fact I’d visited many domaines in France, was the final qualification that meant I was destined to be a great English winemaker.
For small scale producers (growers and makers) the advantages are clear: one’s investment of time, money and expertise are focused, and one’s options more open. In my case I was able to commit myself to learning the craft of winemaking, researching methods and equipment. I opted to buy unusual (for England) fermentation vessels: stoneware jars and a concrete egg, alongside more typical barrels and tanks. I researched and acquired the most gentle pump and pressing equipment I could find and a small bottling line suited to my scale. While all of this may have happened had I been planting and nurturing a vineyard through its first delicate years, I suspect my attention, and finances, would have been divided, losing focus on one or the other. This separation of vine and wine makes it easier for small, agile enthusiasts to join the party, rather than leaving it all to well-endowed players, and that can only increase variety and quality.
Rather quickly after the clarity of that moment I appointed a consultant, an international flying winemaker of renown, based in the UK, and searched for premises - a story in its own right.. My consultant put me in touch with one of the most respected grape growers in Essex. By an extraordinary stroke of good fortune (for me) a small allocation of fruit had just become available. These allocations from top vineyards are extremely hard to secure as they are highly sought after, but a combination of fortuitous timing, an unstable context (Covid) and my naive optimism seemed to work in my favour. A supply of nine tonnes of grapes, Pinot Gris, Chardonnay and Bacchus, was agreed. Quantities are based on previous averages, the actual can vary tremendously.
The winery
So how does my model fit in to the UK picture? In 2022 there were just under 900 commercial vineyards in England and Wales, but slightly less than 200 wineries. There are therefore plenty of vineyards with no attached winery, and though not visible in the statistics (as they don’t record ‘winery only’) I know of at least 10 wineries, including my own, that have absolutely no vineyards, and no pretence of it, celebrating their viticultural freedom. Of the other wineries a few (probably very few) will be wholly single estate, only making wines from their own vineyards. Others, of all scales, will have their own vines, but also buy from elsewhere to increase quantity or to secure fruit better suited to certain varieties or styles. Many also make wine under contract for vineyards without their own winery, releasing bottles back, branded as the vineyard’s own wine. Similarly vineyards operate very mixed economies of making their own wines, selling fruit, or having wine made under contract. There is at least one large brand of English wine that has neither vineyard nor winery - simply an office that finds grapes, organises their transport to a 3rd party winery, and when the wine is finished they package, brand and market it. The UK wine scene is, excuse the pun, very fluid. We are not locked in - yet - to complex regulations concerning the origin and naming of wines, nor do we have styles or traditions of wine or grape varieties associated with one particular region. Madeleine Angevine may grow well in the South West (one of the few varieties that does) and Pinot Gris in the East - but neither wineries nor public are yet identifying these as regional specialisms. Consequently there is absolutely no issue in terms of regulation or identity to prevent a wine being grown in Essex and made in Cumbria (it really happens).
This fluidity encourages a very versatile and varied approach to wine making, creating niches for all scales and ambitions. It encourages the development of new vineyards that discover they have fantastic climate, but have not developed the market, investment opportunity or infrastructure for wineries. Similarly, a winery can set up to serve a local community of wine drinkers, pubs and restaurants with no immediate vineyards: established simply because that’s where they live. This creates a localism that would be missing if one only made the wines in the region the grapes were grown, which is the common, if not exclusive, practice through most of Europe. The lack of vines also means that small wineries are not necessarily tied in to the same grapes (i.e. their own) year on year, having the freedom to experiment. This encourages small ‘disruptors’ who might want to try something different, and the possibility of unusual approaches and blends. This potential for innovation and reinvention also means wine makers remain agile, skilled in a range of approaches, techniques and blending options, not just those that the regional or family tradition dictates. This is the one of the reasons for naming my winery, Freedom of the Press. I have a press and the freedom to make the wines I want using grapes from any site I choose. A slightly illusory freedom it is true, as I would be a fool to give-up my Essex allocation. This versatility means that England (and Wales) is one of the most exciting wine regions in the world right now - or so said wine writer Hugh Johnson recently.
A downside often put to me is that the growers, surely, cannot be as interested in the quality of their fruit if they themselves are not making the wines; doesn’t the winemaker (or the wine label owner) have to control the vineyard in order to do best by their wine? I have not found this to be true in the slightest. The growers I work with are passionate about their fruit, they want to be known - for both pride and commerce - as among the finest producers in the country. Their output is grapes, and by grapes they will be judged, it’s for the winemakers not to mess it up! Needless to say I have no doubt I would make nothing like as good a job - and anyway, I’m in the wrong location. The other negative often cited is that I have to transport the fruit 100 miles to the winery, does that not damage the fruit? In truth it is in my winery only a few hours after it comes off the vines, it might be very little quicker between vine and press in a large 1000 hectare vineyard with the winery on site. Additionally in England in October it is cool. There may indeed be a problem if it were 30 degrees out, such as in Australia or California, but at the lower teens there is no negative effect.
And yet in the public mind it often seems that a winery must have vineyards. Why is this? One nagging doubt that I have about my own set up is that it’s not quite complete, that the holistic synergy of growing the grape and making the wine is somehow more authentic, more pure. The French have a notion of terroir, in a simple sense this suggests the wine is a product of its soil, but in a more complex sense it is that a wine is a product of its place, and only being true to your terroir can you make great wine. This cannot be done if ‘place’ is a moveable thing, if there is no sense of a vine and the wine belonging very particularly to the same, small, distinct part of the world -without that the magic is gone. And perhaps this also places a winemaker as some kind of alchemist of place, transforming the fruit of the land to the most noble of beverages, and like the notion of terroir this is a holistic practice where vine and winery are part of the same act. While probably more myth and story than any oenological reality, that story is powerful enough for my visitors to ask to see my vineyards.