Every so often, a new buzzword springs up in the wine world. Often rather nebulous, sometimes completely intangible, its role is pithily to reflect a trend gaining traction with the cognoscenti. Ten years ago, ‘minerality’ was all the rage; today, ‘salinity’ is in vogue. At the commercial end of the spectrum, we had ‘premiumisation’ – and now, a new term can be added to the vinous vernacular.
It was first coined, I believe, in the first Fine Wine Trends Report that I recently compiled for the London branch of the wine-themed private members’ club 67 Pall Mall. I was struck by the clear direction of travel revealed by the report, which was based around the habits and views of the club’s 3,800 bons viveurs. One line in particular summed up the mood rather neatly. Asked to outline the likely future path of the fine wine world, a creative respondent came up with a memorable new term: ‘In the next ten years, I would expect to see the “Burgundisation” of all wine regions and styles, right across the world.’
With my purist’s hat on, it’s a horrible, awkward butchering of a word. Burgundisation as bastardisation, if you will. But with my editor’s hat on, it’s inspired. Noun: the act of a wine region morphing into the stylistic and practical model of Burgundy, via an emphasis on precision of place, scale and approach. Not only does the term tally with the overriding market sentiment, but you know exactly what it means, if in an Economist headline sort of way.
It’s actually even more nuanced than it may seem. At first glance, the word sums up the move towards more subtle, restrained wines that harness elegance over power – the anti-Parker movement, if you will, that has taken hold over the last decade or so (it is surely no coincidence that Parker never really ‘got’ Burgundy). But there is more to this movement than just fashion and taste. For many who are inspired by it – be they winemakers or wine lovers – Burgundy is an ethos, a state of mind, a philosophy. And everyone, it seems, is trying to tap into it…
What the inventor of this word was perhaps unwittingly uncovering was the sum of everything that Burgundy represents: nuanced, mesmerising wines of place, produced on a small scale by historic, rural domaines that are often family-owned. The romantic image of the latter is – not withstanding the Bouchards, Jadots and Louis Latours of the Côte d’Or, or the luxury-goods portfolio ownership of Clos des Lambrays, Bonneau du Martray et al – the antithesis of that of the corporate behemoths that bestride parts of the Californian, Australian and, dare one say, Bordeaux wine scenes.
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