No other region can claim such a high concentration of a single grape variety than Beaujolais. Gamay Noir takes up 96 percent of the vineyard land. (Chardonnay makes up the rest.) Within that homogeny, though, is a world of variation, in both quality and flavor profiles. Thousands of little decisions make up the infinite differences. Beaujolais is the Skittles of wine: in it, it’s possible to find every flavor of the rainbow. A full spectrum of fruit, licorice, mineral, river rocks, mushroom, toast, spices, and oak is only a partial list. Tannins can range from sandy to sharp, velvety to a mere figment of your imagination. Acidity can range anywhere from dull to piercing; wines can be light as rain or jammy and decadent. 

Terroir, of course, is the first arbiter of a grape’s expression. But here in communal Beaujolais the Burgundian concept of ranking vineyards or bottling them separately is a relatively new and rare phenomenon. There are noted differences between the 12 appellations: Beaujolais, Beaujolais-Village and the 10 cru, but the definitions are hardly uniform. Even Morgon’s typicity of strawberries and licorice doesn’t turn up in every wine across its 1,040 hectares. While farming choices certainly come into play—everything from underlying philosophy, to pest and weed control, vine training, pruning and harvest dates—what truly defines Beaujolais in the bottle are the winemaking choices its vignerons make. And this is true even among the region’s winemakers who farm traditionally—that is, without chemicals.

The domaine formerly known as Marcel Lapierre—it’s now Domaine M & C Lapierre, as it’s now run by Marcel’s children Camille and Mathieu—follows the Beaujolais tradition of blending a cuvée from across their Morgon sites. When tasted alongside other Morgon, you wouldn’t know if you are experiencing differences in winemaking or differences in terroir. Many estates, both classic and new (like Domaine de la Grosse Pierre) are bottling single named parcels or vineyards, as it's done in Burgundy. This means we can now compare multiple wines from the same vineyard. Terroir does define any Beaujolais, but it doesn’t explain the sometimes stark differences between vines being grown in the same place. 

Which brings it back to how vignerons interpret their terroir. If each climat, parcel, vineyard, or cru provides its own particular color palette, winemaking methods are the brush strokes, and how a producer chooses to execute them determines the final expression. Mee Godard’s Côte du Py versus Louis-Claude Desvignes’ Côte du Py makes for a perfect example. The former demonstrates a muscularity, chiseled definition, deep purple fruit; the latter a more filigreed structure with strawberries, figs, high-toned florals, and a decidedly mineral finish.

Winemaking in Beaujolais: The History

One of the kickass things about Beaujolais is it invented a new way to make wine in the 1930s—carbonic maceration—and then defined the practice of semi-carbonic maceration. Both are still the norm across the region, but standard vinification methods are starting to take hold in some of the region's most renowned wineries, making way for even a broader selection of styles.

In “normal” red winemaking, grapes are harvested, by hand or machine, tossed into a vessel, usually destemmed and lightly crushed but sometimes as whole bunches, or a combination of both. Wild or inoculated yeast on the outside of the grapes consume the sugar in the pulp to produce alcohol, with carbon dioxide as a byproduct (and a few other bits and bobs). Voila, wine. 

In carbonic maceration, whole bunches of fully intact grapes—which must be harvested by hand—are piled into an airtight container, sealed, and flushed with carbon dioxide, removing the oxygen. The anaerobic conditions trigger an enzymatic reaction—intracellular fermentation—which just means fermenting from the inside out. Some of the compounds produced taste of bubble gum, banana, kirsch, and strawberry. When the alcohol reaches 2 percent, the berries burst and normal fermentation takes over. Carbonic maceration makes finished wine that’s lighter in color and body, with lower acidity and tannins, and occasionally notes of spice, vanilla, cinnamon, or almond thanks to the must’s extended time in contact with stems. Beaujolais Nouveau is the world’s most well-known example, but wineries from around the world employ the method for simple, fruity, very quaffable wines.

Semi-carbonic is a combination of the two methods. Whole bunches, hand harvested, into a tank which can be sealed or just covered. The weight of the bunches at the top crush the berries at the bottom, and the juice released submerges some of the whole bunches, creating an anaerobic environment. The must starts to ferment, releasing carbon dioxide, allowing the rest of the bunches to ignite in enzymatic magic. The wine gets the best of both worlds, with a little more concentration, complexity, deeper color, and higher acidity, but with vibrant fruit and silky tannins.

Jules Chauvet, a chemist and viticulturalist and the father of natural wine, used his science bona fides to understand and control the process of semi-carbonic maceration. In the 1980s he taught his disciples—including Marcel Lapierre, Jean Foillard, Jean-Paul Thévenet, and Guy Breton, the quartet that were dubbed the “Gang of Four” by importer Kermit Lynch—how to farm without chemicals, harvest optimally, and monitor fermentation with a microscope and ongoing analyses. This permitted them to make delightful and clean wine without adding sulfur. It elevated the wines of the region, and put Beaujolais on the map for eschewing the standard chemical-laden practices at the time. It was wine like their grandfathers made, but with greater consistency.

Women Winemakers in Beaujolais

Camille and Mathieu Lapierre, of Domaine Lapierre, still make wine exactly as their father Marcel (the OG member of the Gang of Four) was taught by Jules. They are serious wines, yet so well designed, with a seamless structure and so joyously drinkable, you might mistake them as simple. They are anything but. 

Many in the next generation—like Pauline Passot, who took over her family vineyards and established Domaine de la Grosse Pierre; or Connecticut-born Michele Smith-Chapel of Domaine Chapel—adopted the Chauvet principles for their own versions of semi-carbonic wines. While they compare to Lapierre in their drinkability, Passot is focused on terroir expression, leading to a distinct lineup with more persistent minerality. Smith’s wines have varied more with the vintages as she finds her footing as a winemaker, but the 2023 Fleurie is excellent, with more assertive aromatics and a perfectly balanced structure.

Considering how different the wines of Louis-Claude Desvignes—like Lapierre, also now in the hands of his children, Claude-Emmanuelle and Louis-Benoît—and Mee Godard are, you’d think their winemaking methods would be radically different. But both created a personalized hybrid method, destemming about half of their fruit depending on the vintage and the parcel. The Desvignes wines show more carbonic influence with redder fruit and comparatively softer tannins, while Godard's goal is to craft a more ageable Beaujolais.

The darling of Fleurie, Anne-Sophie Dubois, started out with a completely Burgundian approach. Her single-vineyard Labourons and vine selection L’Alchimiste were 100 percent destemmed, and aged in Burgundy barrels. At first, she used a gentle infusion method for lighter extraction than the wines of, say, Mee Godard. Then in 2015 she moved closer to the Godard/Desvignes camp and started adding whole bunches for more succulent fruit and tension. The same year she embraced traditional semi-carbonic maceration with the release of Les Cocottes. All three wines are distinct, but clearly all made by the same woman—and are some of the greatest wines of the region.

The human element of terroir isn’t discussed as much as the climatological and geological factors, but it’s just as important. Or so I thought when sitting on Pauline Passot’s shaded terrace in front of Domaine de la Grosse Pierre, my first stop on my first visit to Beaujolais this spring. Passing around my baby, with her young boys running wild, snatching fresh strawberries and local cheese off the platter in front of us, we watched the late spring sun set over the pink Chiroubles hillside. Sipping on Pauline’s 2023 Morgon, she welcomed me to the good life, and swore this perfect moment is the norm in these parts.

The joie de vivre persisted through all of my winemaker visits over the next three days, and through every wine we drank. When I went back home, I was struck both by how diverse the wines tasted—tannic and inky, soif and fresh, sunny and savory, easy and contemplative—and if the higher-than-average number of women in charge also contributed to the feeling of peace in the air. 

When I asked Camille Lapierre if being a woman offered any opportunities or challenges not faced by her male counterparts, she said no. Ten years ago it was a different story, with men doubting her ability to drive a tractor, or manage a winery. Today more than 50 percent of her staff, in all areas of the business, are women. 

France, and many European countries have a support system for working women: Government-mandated paid maternity leave, access to affordable childcare ,and universal healthcare give women, in theory, the social net necessary to be able to pursue a career.

Challenges, of course, remain. As Michele Smith-Chapel put it, “The largest challenge of my life has been trying to ensure that our children live an enriching life and simultaneously working to improve myself as a vigneronne. It’s striving for a balance which in truth, I have found, is unachievable.”

But where the government fails, the Beaujolais community steps in. "People here love to share: share a moment, a thing,” said Lapierre. “If [you] need help, you just let people know and they will come to help you. People know agriculture is hard and you have to work together to make it all work well.”

“I love this area for that,” she continued, ”to be together with no infighting or competition between estates. We are helpful. Joyful. It is very rare to hear someone say something bad about anyone.”

That thing you taste in your glass of Beaujolais? It’s not the granite in the soil or the sunshine. It’s not Gamay or enzymes. It’s not each vigneron's differing approach to bring out the truth of Gamay and their land. It’s not a feminine sensibility or a past generation’s patriarchy. 

It’s love.

Must-Try Bottles from Beaujolais

2022 Anne-Sophie Dubois Les Cocottes Fleurie ($33)

Dubois' effusive semi-carbonic bottling. Bright lavender and violet aromatics, with juicy purple fruit, spice, mineral, refreshing acidity, and just enough tannin to add a touch of grip. It’s not lacking for anything—except for another bottle.

2022 Anne-Sophie Dubois L'Alchimiste Fleurie ($37)

Not quite as serious as Labourons or as juicy as Cocottes, but a good midpoint. Blended from a few parcels of 40-plus-year-old vines. It’s got complexity and an easy structure, but shows the imprint of her individual style, packaging Beaujolais joie de vivre into a taught, more structured form. 

2022 Anne-Sophie Dubois Les Labourons Fleurie ($40)

Gamay in Pinot Noir’s clothing. Her 70-plus-year-old, super-steep high-elevation vineyard makes for a notably complex wine. Black cherry and plums, violets, roses, cedar, spice, fresh-turned soil, a touch of herbs and a pencil shaving minerality. Will only get more complex as it ages, but it's incredible now.  

2023 Domaine Chapel Charbonnières Fleurie ($45)

A real step-up in quality from past vintages and now possesses both the vivaciousness of a Lapierre (Michele and her husband David met while working there). You can sense the poise of the winemakers coming into their own. Lighter, and with more mineral concentration than in years past, with very pretty violet aromatics.

2023 Domaine de la Grosse Pierre Chiroubles ($25)

Those who haven’t been hip to these wines have been missing out. But part of me wants to keep them a secret, because the prices are unbeatable for the quality. This “basic” Chiroubles has rose petals on the nose and shows the deep sandy granitic soil through round delicate tannins, white pepper, and a touch of minerality. Supremely slurpable.

2023 Domaine de la Grosse Pierre Claudius Chiroubles (NA)

This hasn’t arrived stateside yet, but be sure to pounce once it does. (The 2022 cost all of $29.) From a selection of 90-year-old vines grown on deep decomposed granite soil in the lieu-dit of La Grosse Pierre. It’s got more forceful, round tannins, a slightly darker, deeper fruit profile, and much more intense aromatics. 

2023 Domaine de la Grosse Pierre Morgon (NA)

From the 40-year-old vines in the lieu-dit of Douby in Morgon (which has pink granite and limestone soil for sharper, more defined tannins and slightly brighter acidity). The strawberry-sunshine-licorice Morgon thing is ever present, but with added spice and an almost chocolatey note (aged in concrete, no oak here). Joie de vivre in a bottle. Buy extra, this will age beautifully over the next 5-10 years.

2023 Domaine Louis-Claude Desvignes Corcelette Morgon ($30)

Sixty-year-old vines give a clear Morgon sense of place with more severe, limestoney tannins and higher acidity. Plenty of red fruit and licorice, but right now this is very youthful and will need a bit of time to become more cohesive and allow the minerality to come to the fore.

2022 Domaine Louis-Claude Desvignes Côte du Py Morgon ($33)

From 70- to 80-year-old vines. Strawberry, black cherry, and fig with a sanguine minerality and a lot of spice. Silky tannins, balanced acidity, and a long finish. The 2023 promises to be even brighter and more mineral than the hotter 2022 vintage.

2023 Domaine M & C Lapierre Morgon ($40)

Much more lifted than the luscious fruit would lead you to believe. Ripe strawberry and youthful vivacity bound out of the glass, but plenty of acidity keeps it light on your palate. Typical licorice and spice there now but this will have lots more to show in another few months as it settles into itself. Reminds me of the '18—which aged beautifully—but with more acidity.

2022 Mee Godard Côte du Py Morgon ($39)

I tasted the entire line up of Godard's wines in the spring and there wasn’t a misstep among them. Even her Chardonnay—not a grape I usually embrace in these parts—was a delight, and all the wines felt more open than they’ve been in the past. Côte du Puy is known for its blue stones, for a sanguine spice in the wines. Her three parcels average 60 years old and made for a deep, dark wine. Chiseled around the edges of your palate and beguiling.

2022 Mee Godard Corcelette Morgon ($45)

Seventy-year-old vines from the purely granitic lieu-dit of Corcelette. More typical Morgon red fruit but with dark herbal notes, like sage and thyme. Juicier than the Côte du Py, but more tannin than other producers’ efforts. These are vin de garde and you will be rewarded with more complexity if you want a few years to drink it.

2022 Domaine Mee Godard Grand Cras Morgon ($38)

This is a parcellaire of Côte du Py, from the bottom of the lieu-dit, with 40-year-old vines. The tannins are more supple, yet ever present, the fruit is still blackberry and spice, but juicier and giving. Her wines from 2022—a very warm vintage—feel more lively and lifted than many of her neighbors, and all clock in around 12.5 percent ABV.