Wine Expert Boris Fishman ’01 Explores the Industry’s Evolution In the Rhône Valley

Editor’s note: Boris Fishman ’01 has written about wine for The New Yorker, Travel + Leisure, Food & Wine, and other publications. His latest story in The New York Times, “There’s More to Wine Than Just a Cancer Warning,” argues that the surgeon general’s new warning misses the complex joy of this type of alcohol. For the PAW, he explores the evolution of French winemaking in a region steeped in tradition.

What does France’s Rhône Valley bring to mind? The traveler may think of the gastronomy of Lyon and the former papal seat of Avignon, which bookend the valley. The wine drinker may recall fruity warm-weather Côtes du Rhône reds from the southern part of the region — drinkable, though not as legendary as the world’s-best appellations of the Northern Rhône (Hermitage, Cote Rotie, Condrieu among them).

At least this wine drinker did, until a September trip to the Rhône. When I arrived in Avignon by the TGV express from Paris, there was a gentle sun in the sky and the mistral — the powerful wind that sometimes defines life in the region — was in its ninth consecutive day. “The mistral gets into your bones,” my taxi driver said. “It starts to make you crazy after a while.”

To my untrained eye, not much had changed since my last trip here a decade ago. I drove north from Avignon through impossibly picturesque rural hamlets — like Séguret, site of a higher-level Côtes du Rhône named after the village — passing the same old stone farmhouses, olive trees bent by the mistral, and rows of vines split by the road. (It being September harvest season, I was also dodging the cute little trucks transporting grapes from vineyard to winery.)

That timeless impression misses the quiet revolution under way. By some accounts, half the winemakers in France will reach retirement age in the next decade. In America, it’s newsworthy when three generations of a family have stayed in the same business, but in France that’s the exception: at Château l’Ermite d’Auzan in the little-known Costières de Nîmes appellation, whose proximity to the scorching Languedoc is mitigated by its proximity to the Mediterranean and the salt marshes of the Camargue, Tanguy Castillon is the 10th generation in his family to run the domaine. Jean-Louis Chave, perhaps the greatest producer in the Northern Rhone, is the 25th.

Every time the succession succeeds feels like a small miracle, because there’s nothing automated about it — human beings have to decide that they wish to yoke their lives in the same way their parents and grandparents had. Jean-Marie Amadieu, the winemaker at Pierre Amadieu in Gigondas — the southern Rhone’s second-best-known appellation, whose limestone soils and higher elevation makes for fresher reds than those from iconic Châteauneuf-du-Pape — tried to focus on other academic subjects, but found himself reading viticulture books at night. “When everything goes well, working with your family can be very precious,” he said over dinner at Le Mesclun, a gourmand’s destination in tiny Séguret.

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Boris Fishman ’01

These winemakers are bringing new perspectives to viticulture in the Rhône. At Domaine Gassier, also in the Costières de Nîmes, Isabelle Gassier is using her experience working for natural winemakers in Sonoma to help convert her family domaine to biodynamic growing practices, a holistic approach that involves taking care of people as well as the land. The property has 25 homes for its workers, a scholarship program, and profit-sharing with employees.

After returning to l’Ermite d’Auzan after stints in California and Oregon, Castillon persuaded his father Jérôme to start treating ailing vines with essential oils instead of chemicals; the only fertilizer comes from a herd of sheep that spends its summers grazing in the Alps and its winters in the family’s vineyards. (L’Ermite d’Auzan also welcomes guests for tastings, and there I had the best dinner of my trip: cod brandade, local bull — yes, bull — bourguignon over local rice, and fougasse.)

It’s this mix of tradition and innovation that makes a trip through rural France so precious and heady, a different perspective from the usual cathedrals and museums. The region as a whole, unable to ignore climate change, is weaning itself from the fruit bombs that gave the Rhone its market share, if not its prestige, toward reds with more freshness and finesse, and a greater variety and sophistication in whites. In the Luberon appellation, nearer to Provence than to the Rhône, Sylvain Morey is using the region’s limestone soils and higher altitudes to make such elegant reds that they can’t help recalling the wines of his legendary Burgundy winemaking family.

At Clos Bellane, which has holdings all over the region, Stéphane Vedeau makes whites of such mineral cut that in a blind tasting, they would stand with Chablis. At Château de Montfaucon in Lirac, I had a clairette, one of the region’s signature white grapes, from 150-year-old vines — tasting of stone fruit, white flowers, and fennel — that had at least a decade of age-worthiness, an idea that would have invited a laugh only several years ago. For now, these bottles cost a fraction of the wines they are beginning to rival. (Montfaucon and Bellane both welcome visitors for tastings.)

Even the northern Rhone, which produces some of the greatest syrahs in the world, is finding ways to move forward. Large houses such as Chapoutier are converting to biodynamic, and slowly transforming historic towns like Tain-l’Hermitage — in Chapoutier’s case through the recent construction of the Fac & Spera luxury hotel, where the Marius Bistro serves up dishes like pork pluma in morel cream.

Tain-l’Hermitage is also the home of the Valrhona chocolatier. I stayed at 2 Coteaux, a charming hotel that overlooks the bridge that connects Tain-l’Hermitage to the St. Joseph appellation on the other side of the Rhône, and I ended my days the same way: Eyes at the window, truffle in hand, my soul quietly transformed by a day in a country that, for all its challenges, remains like no other. 

Where to eat 

Le Gout du Jour (Avignon): At Chef Julien Chazal’s Michelin restaurant, a six-course tasting menu goes for 70 euros, or about a third of what you’d pay in New York.

Carre du Palais (Avignon): This restaurant and wine school with a deep cellar looks onto the square in front of the Palace of the Popes, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that served as the seat of Western Christianity during the 14th century. This is where I tried a cuvee aptly called La Relève, or “The Next Generation,” from the producer J. P. Lafond, a marvelously creamy and herbal unfiltered white blend of grenache blanc and clairette from the Lirac appellation.

A Taste of the Rhône in Princeton

Born in the Mâcon in southern Burgundy, Laurent Chapuis came to the United States to study finance. He quickly realized he was more interested in wine. In 1996, he opened what was then, and what remains, Princeton’s only independent wine shop: Princeton Corkscrew. His supply focuses on producers working conscientiously in the vineyard and minimally in the cellar, and in lieu of scorecards and wine ratings, there’s the infectious enthusiasm of Chapuis, who makes an annual trip to Europe to visit his producers.

Here are three of Chapuis’ in-store favorites from the Rhône:

Maison Tardieu-Laurent "Le Becs Fins" Côtes du Rhône Blanc 2023 ($17)

“This is one of the great white wines of the Rhône Valley,” Chapuis says. “It has a deep-gold color, with aromas of citrus fruit giving way to a palate of white stone fruit. It’s fresh, pretty, and intense, an archetype of the new generation of Côtes du Rhône  whites. If this was from Burgundy, it would be $40.”

Domaine d'Arbousset Lirac Rouge 2020 ($25)

Gerald Lafont is one of the most sought-after oenologists of the Rhone Valley — he makes wine for more than 40 wineries, many in Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Domaine d’Arbousset is his own project, from vines passed on to him by his father, some of which are so old Lafont doesn’t know the varietals. This classic southern Rhone blend of grenache, syrah, mourvèdre, and a smattering of those mystery grapes is “deep, intense, soft, beautiful, pristine, and aromatically driven,” Chapuis says.

Domaine Durand Saint-Péray 2021 ($35)

Saint-Péray is the southernmost appellation in the northern Rhone, known for its white and sparkling wines. This white has an intense tropical aroma of dried fruit and a round, rich palate of ripe stone fruit held in check by the fact that 2021 was a cooler vintage. Aroma, freshness, and substance — a Chapuis signature.

Boris Fishman ‘01's new novel, The Unwanted, will be published by HarperCollins in March. He teaches creative writing at the University of Austin.