Domaine Les Capréoles

"You're in France, aren't you?" my friend Rexi asked excitedly after seeing my latest Instagram post. However, it's not the stories about wine or the photos of vineyards that made him think I’ve crossed the Alps. It's the unique atmosphere.

When you arrive in Beaujolais you actually have the feeling of entering into a different ecosystem; one made up of hills and valleys dotted with castles and villages, but also one of convivial lunches, country inns, bistros, outdoor cafes, wineries and Michelin-starred restaurants.

There is a place for every lifestyle and every mood, as long as you are in no hurry and have plenty of time to enjoy it. In fact, here the clock moves at the pace of ripening grapes.

It is 2 p.m. and, as I stand with Simona in the square before the imposing manor house at Domaine Les Capréoles, a scorching hot sun beats down upon us. The air is broiling and, with only the occasional puff of breeze to provide the most fleeting of respites (italics intentional!), it feels as if we’re standing in an oven.

Dressed in a red T-shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts, Cédric bounds out the front door, a smile on his face and his hand already outstretched towards me. He wants to hurry through the formalities and get straight down to fun. "What the hell else would you be here for?" is the rhetorical question he asks us. 

Since 2014, Cédric Lecareux and his wife Charlotte have been the owners of these 5.5 hectares in the small village of Régnie-Durette. After five years working as the manager of the Gérard Bertrand Group's estates, Cédric decided to buy his first 3 hectares. Since then, despite the fact that his commendably ambitious goal of converting production (firstly back to organic and then to biodynamic) hasn’t been without its challenges, he has never looked back.

We follow him into the shade (hurray!) of the estate's wooded area as he takes us on a tour of his vineyards, set on a south-facing slope. 
Standing between two rows of vines, Cédric begins to draw in the air, just as if he had a paintbrush in his hand, outlining the borders of his domain and pointing out all the characteristics of the valley and the distant, but nevertheless effective, mountain range that shelters his grapes from the westerly winds. 

With a smile on his face, he recounts how difficult it was, at the beginning, to work on these vines.
Pruning the vines is fundamental to making a wine a great wine and Cédric’s first year with his new vines was uniquely challenging in this respect. Indeed, following many years of conventional viticulture, each vine had to be individually prepared to get it used to being worked by the plough. 
The use of herbicides had, in fact, led the roots to wander along the surface and had accustomed the stumps to lean and bask on the ground, making it quite impossible for a plough to pass between the vines.

We take our leave of the vineyards and make our way to the production area.
From painter to physiotherapist and now to Benedictine monk, Cédric leads the way, a huge bunch of keys clutched firmly in hand. Ancient keys, they are made to open centuries-old solid wooden doors, heavy to push as they rotate and squeak on their hinges. 

We enter the production room and are assailed by a delightful air, fresh and natural. Simona and I decide that we're done with the parched world outside and that we're going to stay in here forever: refreshed and exquisitely cool.

Here Cédric explains that in old French the name Capréoles refers to the tendrils of the vine. He and his wife chose this name because of everything it stands for and which is described on their website as follows: 'the reference to History and Tradition, the natural support that allows the vertical growth of the vine but also the idea of the relationship they want to establish with those who appreciate their work'.

Cédric then goes on to tell us something that is not on the website: namely that the story of Domaine Les Capréoles is first and foremost the story of a love story between him, his wife and the estate’s previous owner.  

For more than two centuries, the estate had been in the possession of the Mouton family. Cédric and Charlotte were enraptured by its venerable stones, enchanting wooded setting, ancient vaulted cellars and the adjacent vineyards. When they made their offer to the last descendant of family, Sophie, the latter made it clear that her willingness to sell was entirely conditional on the buyers’ acceptance of the estate’s continued transfer and running. Cédric and Charlotte assured her that they were more than willing to pass it down and ensure its continued running and... voilà, les jeux sont faits.

As I reflect upon his words, I am immediately struck by the following comparison: if the Tuscan wine regions are proud, sociable and easy-going, those here are equally proud, but more reserved and marked by family loyalties stretching back to distant times. 

As I am whisked away, my nostrils flared to savour it to the full, Cédric explains to Simona that for him and most people like him, developing and drinking natural wine is much more than a question of taste; it is a question of values, and therefore a precise choice of conduct, a political stance if you will.

In France, the art of vinification is practiced by a select group of individuals whose membership is so limited as to almost be akin to a secret society. Governed by strict rules, only those who respect them and learn their etiquette, may gain the right to make wine. Natural winemaking, on the other hand, is entirely different. Sharing and collaboration are fundamental: instead of closing oneself off within a narrow and select circle, the inclusion of and openness to every provenance, cultural reference and budget are actively encouraged. 

The time has come for us to begin our tasting. Seated under the vaulted ceiling, we follow Cédric with our eyes as he arranges a series of bottles before us on the table.

I like them all, and not just for their quirky and imaginative names. However, if I had to choose, my pick would be Axiome. This time, however, the name is not a fictional one and the word, in French as in English, needs no further explanation.

Likewise, no explanations are required to convince us that this wine is a masterpiece. Exquisitely crafted, just like the others, it has something different about it, something that speaks to me on an emotional level, as well as a sensory one, and that I would therefore define as artistic. I realize that I may not be making myself clear, but I still attempt, in my own way, to share this thought with Simona and Cédric; and he, in his own way, must have understood something, because he replies, as if following me: “just like artistic production, wine production is a form of freedom, no one can determine how to create it.” 

In latter years, southern Burgundy has opened up to art, gastronomy and foreigners, who are now buying holiday homes in the area. And the best news for us is that the wines of Beaujolais are growing and improving with every passing year. Cédric's labels are proof of this; indeed, they are the very axiom. 

We didn’t stick to our decision. Perhaps the tasting has erased all traces of it from our memory.
We are once again back in the sun, still blazing hot, but we barely notice: we are too caught up in Cédric and his - what did he call it, earlier? - choice of conduct. 

Chatting with Cédric has truly been a pleasure. Enterprising and visionary, his energy has put us in a good mood and, despite the heat, we feel decidedly upbeat. 

As we say our goodbyes, he stands motionless under the sun. Not because he’s watching us leave, but because he’s gazing up at the clock: he is waiting for his Margot, the wine whisperer, to come home from school and run up the driveway.