Despite the vast size of the Loire Valley wine region, few of its winemakers have acquired folklore status. But mention the name Nicolas Joly, and nearly anyone who has even a passing interest in organic wine can recount his tale: A high-flying ex-banker who left it all to make wine, stumbled upon a book by Rudolph Steiner and became one of biodynamics’ most fierce and surely most vocal proponents. For nearly 50 years, Joly has practiced what some might call extreme biodynamics on 12th century Chenin Blanc vineyards near Savennières. His three cuvées have become almost as mythical as the man, with each release being carefully allocated, whilst spurring much debate about typicity, consistency and to what degree oxidative notes are friend or foe.
For the last few decades, Nicolas has taken on the role of biodynamic evangelist– travelling and lecturing (some might say pontificating) about its merits. Meanwhile, the winemaking reigns have largely been taken by his children, primarily his daughter Virginie, who has been trailing her father in their vines since she could walk. While Nicholas is still a regular presence, Virginie is leading an exciting new direction for the domaine and stamp is now clearly on the wines– or as much as it could be in a domaine committed to absolute minimalist winemaking. She is following the entrenched path of her father but is implementing her vision and, as she puts it, “making the wines I want, and the terroir wants, to make.” It’s a slow evolution through small practical changes like earlier picking for more freshness and less sugar.
Over the years, more than a critic or two has raised an eyebrow at the extreme naturalism practised here, but the vineyards tell the real story– gnarled vines erupting between grasses and flowers in vineyards that literally buzz with insect life and an undeniable energy. This highly-restrained approach creates wines that defy description, though frequent attributes like electric, dense, saline, luminous and tannic hint at the juxtapositions that await in each bottle.
Perhaps the difficulty in characterising the Joly wines leads many to focus on technical details, which is ironic given that the entire operation is among the least technical we’ve ever visited. There are vines, soils, plants, animals and an occasional person who passes through with some clippers or a backpack of herbal treatments to mist over the vines. No tractors, no tillers, not even horses anymore (as they found they caused too much soil compaction).
The cellar has old oak barrels for fermenting and ageing, and the high-pressure washing machine is likely the only thing with an electric plug. Each parcel is harvested at the ideal time, grapes are pressed, and the juice goes straight into the barrel. It is a process that seems almost too simple, too straightforward, given the complexity of the wines. Yet Virginie says their work is constantly being refined to address the effects of climate change: “What my father could say twenty years go is no longer true. You press the grapes, pump the juice and go on holiday for three months… this is not true anymore.” She runs through a long list of climate-related challenges, but affirms that the Joly response is often to do nothing, “You can save things by adding chemicals, yeasts, and trying to control everything,” she says. “But you lose the essence. You produce Coca-Cola.”
