93% Tempranillo, 5% Garnacha, 2% Viura.

Organic.

Just outside Haro, a modest 6.5 hectares of Rioja Alta hillside whisper stories that most bodegas have long forgotten. This is Bodega Akutain, a family affair now steered by Jon Peñagaricano, whose father planted the first vines four decades ago in this wind-whipped patch of limestone and clay. No PR fanfare. No flashy tech. Just hands in the soil, eyes on the weather, and a cellar dug deep into the earth.

Akutain does not source from far-flung growers. Their four vineyards, all within shouting distance, are harvested by hand and carried minutes, not miles, to the winery. That intimacy shows. Each parcel is vinified solo.

Their wines age longer than the bureaucrats require, resting in cool, silent dark on a medley of American and French oak, some fresh, some old enough to have its own vintage tales. Every six months, each barrel is emptied, breathed, and returned by hand. Nothing filtered. Nothing forced.

The bottle we have landed in this edition (Rioja Crianza 2020) is a traditionalist’s dream with a modern heartbeat. Tempranillo leads the charge, flanked by splashes of Garnacha and a touch of Viura. After fermentation in tank, the wine sees 20 months in oak. Once bottled, it hibernates another eight months in their underground cave before emerging into the light.

What you taste is the old soul of Rioja: ripe plums and soft prunes folded into dried herbs and a gentle drift of vanilla that tucks itself into the savoury core. But the real magic hits on the finish: a clean, salty flick that speaks of calcareous earth and unhurried farming. This is not wine that performs. It confides. Give it a bit of air, a wide glass, maybe even a carafe, and it’ll tell you a story worth listening to.

100% Jacquère.

Certified organic (Ecocert) practising biodynamic.

Brice Omont farms some of the steepest, most breathtaking vineyards in France (abandoned terraces carved into schist and slate high above the Tarentaise valley). What began as a rescue mission for forgotten mountain vines has become one of Savoie’s most exciting wine stories. The vines are wild, the yields low, and the work brutal. On the east-facing terraces, temperatures reach 50°C in summer, thanks to the schist that acts like a magnifying glass.

And yet, the wines move with elegance, clarity, and alpine light. Whites raised gently in fibreglass and old oak. Reds fermented in whole bunches with minimal touch. No chemicals. Almost no sulphur. Everything by feel, by season, by soil.

But the bottle in your hand, Silice Blanc, comes from Brice’s négoce project, Maison des Ardoisières. Think of it as a side hustle with soul. He sources grapes from three small organic growers in Apremont, vines between 50 and 60 years old, rooted deep in limestone scree and clay-limestone soils. He oversees everything. Winemaking is as hands-off as the hillsides are hands-on: fermentation and aging in fibreglass for nine months, a whisper of sulphur at bottling (under 20mg/l).

The result? A white wine with the crisp snap of mountain air. Notes of lemon zest and white flowers give way to a soft, textured mid-palate, a bit of gras, as the French say, before tightening into a clean, stony finish with a lick of lime and quinine. It opens slowly, beautifully, over days, like a high-altitude flower turning toward the sun.

It is not trying to be grand, but there’s something quietly noble about it. A wine born of ruins and rebuilt terraces. A wine with both feet in the stone.

100% Palomino.

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