This figure of Meursault hasn’t lost an ounce of his charisma. At over 70, he still supports his son, Pierre, and his daughter, Anne, in running their own estates, with wit and mischief. A colorful life lesson!
Long dynasties of wine estate owners: not really your story, is it?
We come from very humble beginnings. Just a small story within the great history. On my mother’s side, a grandfather wounded in the Great War who never got to be a winemaker. On the other, a great-grandfather who came here as a tenant farmer in the 1850s, with nothing but a pickax and pruning shears, looking for a livelihood. Back home near Tournus, they didn’t replant after phylloxera. His son got luckier: he married a girl from Meursault who had vineyards. That saved him. When inheritance came around, my father ended up with one hectare of average-quality vines, plus another, unplanted, from my mother. We never lacked anything, but there wasn’t much surplus either. I can tell you, the old folks ate plenty of potatoes! And ‘œufs en meurette’ too: a bit of wine, some bacon from the food safe, onions from the garden, stale bread—that made a meal. And to think today it’s considered a bourgeois dish! Anyway, on December 8, 1954, I was born in the corrugated-iron prefab maternity ward in Beaune. It was freezing! I was so frail that my grandmother ran to fetch one of her acquaintances to be my godfather and baptize me right away—you wouldn’t have bet two cents on me!
And yet, little by little, you made your way…
I always knew I wanted to be a winemaker. It wasn’t out of resignation, after failing at something else. No, I dreamed of the freedom and independence this work offers. I didn’t need to go train in New Zealand, California, or wherever, either. The know-how, the skills—they’re right here at the “Viti” school in Beaune! The whole world comes here. Still, after school, in 1970, at 16, of course I couldn’t do whatever I wanted. I had to wait until 1978 to sign my first vintages. Encouraged by the Michelot, the Matrot and others, I turned to short ageing—things had to move fast—and bottling. No more of that “I’ll buy your production if I feel like it, at whatever price I choose.” Selling bulk wine to négociants was no longer an option. I wanted to sell my wine myself. And that’s how, after my marriage in 1980, Boisson-Vadot was born—before disappearing too, when Pierre started in 2004 and then Anne in 2008. There was no reason to keep our name. We harvest together, but the winemaking is each one’s own.
So what has changed from one generation to the next?
In the vineyards, we’ve cut back on chemicals—and thank goodness, those were violent poisons. The old folks had worked so hard with pickaxes that they overused them. That’s no good! It doesn’t have to be a jungle, sure, but who cares if there’s a dandelion here and there? In the cellar, ageing has evolved too. As early as 2000, Pierre wanted to give the wine more time to mature: 18 months in barrel instead of 12. That allows it to reach completion, to go to the end of its journey. Then it becomes indestructible. Before, with the pneumatic press, we’d press hard to extract every last bit of lees—that’s the very essence of good wine. Then you forget it. After 14 months, you rack it. Bottling is scheduled. The time for a well-earned rest approaches, provided the wine has done its work beforehand. At that point, during tasting, you have to listen to what it tells you. Most often it says, “Leave me alone, let me live my life.” It’s the wine that decides. It commands, not the winemaker.
And what about sulfur?
We wait until the very last moment to add it, and sensibly—during ageing, three or four times. The oenologist advises; we interpret. But never right after pressing—that weakens the wine. Protecting it too much doesn’t do it any good. You have to raise it a little tough. The monks of the Abbey of Cîteaux understood this well. They matured their wines not in cool cellars but in storehouses, exposed to wide temperature swings. By the end of its ageing, the wine was strong enough to withstand transport—it had been through worse!
Speaking of temperatures, how do you view climate challenges?
It’s nothing new! The history of old vintages is full of them. Back then, it was no joke! Whereas today, truly bad years are rare. At worst, one color makes up for the other. 1974 and 1975 were tough for reds, but whites were fine. And even if, generally speaking—especially with Pinot Noir—if you want it to end up decent, it has to start out good, even very good, there are always exceptions. Time can play strange tricks. 2007 was not at all ready to drink. Now, it’s superb. 2003 was marked by tiny harvests and very low acidity. And yet, I opened one for my 70th birthday, a Monthelie—it was exceptional! The wine had naturally found its balance again. So fresh, so youthful… I can tell you, there wasn’t much left in the bottle!
And tomorrow?
We like having wine in the cellar. That’s our wealth. And we have the tools for it. So, we don’t set limits. If an opportunity to expand arises, we take it. That’s how we acquired vines in the Mâconnais, near the Château de Cormatin, an hour from here. The vines looked good, the grapes were beautiful… We also replant a lot, as much as possible from our own massal selection. The result? Pierre now has 18 hectares, 15 in production, Anne 4.5. The outcome: dozens of cuvées of truly… accomplished wine!