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It just struck me. Next year, I will have worked 30 years for one company. The days of wine. Laughs, we had a few.  Allow me to clamber creakily into my rocking chair by the fire, while I reminisce in quavery tones about the good old days.

Some of the changes I have witnessed in our business over the years have been commercially-driven, others the result of cultural shifts. Resist the urge to use the word paradigm. The way we sell, talk about, even drink, wine has changed considerably, as it will always change, with the emergence of new generations of drinkers. Currently, the wine trade is agonising (for which read ‘beating itself up’) about the preferences of Generation Z, how to capture the hearts, minds, and above all, the purchasing power, of the next age of young consumers. Grouping whole generations into these preference categories is exactly the pointless activity that gives us wine trade folk unnecessary heebie-jeebies. 

Many of my unreliable memories about life in the trade are recounted in A History of an Unusual Wine Company in 10 ½ Chapters, a biography recounting the progress of a small caterpillar group of naïve/intrepid wine sellers becoming a more professional butterfly company that ultimately reached (one way or another) a worldwide audience whilst managing to retain its ideals and much of its original identity. In the sense that whenever we tried something different, trade people would roll their eyes and utter comments such as: “that’s such a Les Caves de Pyrene thing to do!” As well as being a celebration of our sheer existence, the book related various instances of being original, taking risks and sticking to principles. It recounted examples of where success was arguably down to believing in what you were doing (and enjoying the ride). Inasmuch as there was a moral to the book, it was that fond ideas can become reality if you work hard enough to make it happen. 

When I joined Les Caves de P, we numbered four bodies in total. With a battered van and unknown wines matched by our unknown reputation, we were propelled by some strange romantic love of wines of south west France and the Languedoc. It was like supporting a team in the lower reaches of one of football’s nether leagues. You felt that others admired your devotion to a lost cause but would never take you seriously as a vendor of wines.

If this sounds suspiciously like the pious nostrums spouted in self-help books, believe me that luck, serendipity and naïve stubbornness certainly played a part in getting to where we are today.

As personnel were replaced over time, the nature of the company was also bound to change. Somehow, we became bigger. Relatively secure and successful. The days of trampled shoe leather and ear fleas are a distant memory, although a scant few of us can still remember what it was like to be on our uppers.

When I joined Les Caves de P, we numbered four bodies in total. Most of the business came out of our small shop in Guildford. We hawked wines to a handful of local Surrey bistros plus a few French restaurants in London. With a battered van and unknown wines matched by our unknown reputation, we were propelled by some strange romantic love of wines of south west France and the Languedoc. It was like supporting a team in the lower reaches of one of football’s nether leagues. You felt that others admired your devotion to a lost cause but would never take you seriously as a vendor of wines.

Autres temps, autres mœurs.

Without publicity or notoriety in the trade, leads were few and far between.  And without the internet, no-one could “look us up” and see what we were about. We were thus ploughing a very lonely furrow.

Of course, wine information in general was equally hard to come by. Classic books were our oracles. Jancis Robinson listed her noble grape varieties in Wines, Vines & Grape Varieties. Hugh Johnson, Michael Broadbent, Serena Sutcliffe, Steven Spurrier and Oz Clarke were heavyweights of the wine lit scene. Wine courses taught received wine wisdom. all about the classic regions and varieties. We were at best the obscure row of Aligoté next to a grand cru vineyard. (Okay this is out-of-date – we all prize Aligoté now!). Our artillery, such as it was, was confined to smart-value vin de pays from southern France and some Gascon appellation wines. Was the wine world clamouring for these wines? Was it heck.

To sell wine, one had to be thick-skinned and persistent. The cold-often frigid-call was the only means of contacting a prospect. Effectively this rocking up on someone’s doorstep with a polite smile, proffering a wine catalogue with a business card, was like shouting into a hurricane. Occasionally, you might leave an open bottle in the hope that it would be sampled and be the siren song for its virtues, prompting an instant desire to list it. However, if a restaurateur or sommelier didn’t want you hanging around, you left. In other words, don’t call us, we’ll call you!

The other, and perhaps more effective, method was to network like crazy. Attend any and every tasting, party or dinner regardless of merit, eat the rubber chicken, and pump people for information in the nicest possible way. Social milieus were neutral territory. Outside the adversarial buyer/seller context, you were able to be yourself as well as use these moments of brief camaraderie to acquire information. 

Discovering who to sell to was tricky enough, let alone ascertain the names of responsible buyers at each establishment. There was no Instagram or Linked In to look up which would might you to piece together the relevant information. Our reference points were invariably The Good Food Guide, Egon Ronay, Time Out Restaurant Guide and Harden’s. And gossiping with fellow trade members. Nowadays, one can open a restaurant or retail web page, look at the wine list and decide whether the target is suitable, and if so, how to approach it and whom you should talk to. 

If you weren’t traipsing in off the street on the off chance, contacting potential customers had to be done using a landline. So quaint! In which case, one had to navigate the gatekeepers of the switchboard or a stern manager who would evaluate whether your call was either useful or desirable.

If, mirabile dictu, you managed to snag your customer-victim and sell them some wine, then conveying information and keeping them au courant was not a cinch. In the 1990s, we were still sending letters and faxing (thanks to Alexander Bain – not the grower in Pouilly-Fumé!) and Giovanni Castelli for that little invention).

E-mailing is the natural order of the day now, although we have customers who hardly ever respond even on this simple medium and require texting, Whats-Apping, or Insta-messaging to elicit any response.

To sell wine, one had to be thick-skinned and persistent. The cold-often frigid-call was the only means of contacting a prospect. Effectively this rocking up on someone’s doorstep with a polite smile, proffering a wine catalogue with a business card was like shouting into a hurricane. Occasionally, you might leave an open bottle in the hope that it would be sampled and be the siren song for its virtues, prompting an instant desire to list it. However, if a restaurateur or sommelier didn’t want you hanging around, you left. In other words, don’t call us, we’ll call you!

Contacts are easier to come by these days. With history under our belts and somewhat of a reputation, potential customers will contact us. To convert speculative interest into a living, breathing, interesting account requires diligent nurturing, the best of sales craft.

The wine scene has altered dramatically in thirty years. Whereas once a few merchants operated in the wine trade,  now there are a few hundred. And whereas once a wine buyer in an establishment would have a relationship with the owner of a company, now buying is mediated through wine reps, sales desks, credit control, and automated ordering. Efficiency is prized as much as quality. In a frenzied competitive market, sales reps in wine companies are running around more and more chasing business, because they are worried that they will lose customers to competitors who will put together better offers. As the Red Queen says in Alice in Wonderland: “Here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place.”

And money is key.

On one level of business, wine lists are no longer about wine and are instead simple revenue-raising commodity brochures. Now, you have to formulate proposals for inspection in order to be nominated to supply a group. This will involve form-filling, contracts, incentives, targets, and in many cases, financial rewards. Money has never talked louder than it does at this moment, and major wine companies will need to use brand support to clinch these big one or two year contracts. This bidding for business has an inflationary effect. Big restaurant groups are demanding hundreds and thousands of pounds for sole supply. Big wine companies are acceding to these demands. Wine policy is increasingly dictated by accountants and shareholders. The biggest deal is usually seen as the best deal. Wine is just a by-product in these cases. Large wine companies are effectively buying business turnover.

Although the above disadvantages smaller companies, they don’t have to worry about losing business to the next big bidder that comes along.

Arguably, the two most common words in the wine world are gross and profit (GP for short). Remember the days of 66.7% gross profit margins? Pepperidge Farm remembers. I can remember further back than that! When you could easily populate a list with exceptional wines under £30. When cash margins were as much the rule as the exception. When the bean counter mentality did not dominate discourse and actions. Glass price ceilings were made to be broken, but price rises on wine lists have been exponential rather than gradual. With some virtuous exceptions, there are few establishments that don’t adhere rigorously to high margins (which so penalises the adventurous drinker). With the cost of wine increasing year on year, the value of wine in restaurants has gone down and down, making it an almost luxury commodity for diners.

On a more positive note, wine service overall has changed for the better. As a former sommelier, I have never been a fan of often intimidating, overly-formal wine service. Somms are usually younger, more engaging, more travelled, more open-minded, more willing to listen and communicate. There are now so many more women in the wine trade. And younger people too.

Here are some of the other changes that have occurred over the past thirty years. In no particular order:

• The irresistible rise of organic wines, biodynamic wines and natural wines. Even twenty-five years ago, the concept of an organic wine was unusual, biodynamic farming was considered a voodoo science practised purely by eccentrics, and the natural wine scene did not exist at all. Scroll on a quarter of a century…
• The proliferation of the wine (and other gastronomic) fairs and ancillary events (such as wine conferences). Is all the hoop-la sustainable? No, but deemed necessary, in the sense of if there is one thing worse than being talked about, that is not being talked about. Even if a winemaker has no wine to sell, they will still attend a fair to be part of the general conversation.
• The disappearance of the national newspaper wine column. Pepperidge Farm remembers the great wine columnists who would craft beautiful discursive prose. Editors now give their wine writers very short shrift, and the columns have dwindled into brief pieces padded with supermarket wine of the month recommendations. The better wine columns and information sites have disappeared behind paywalls and are aimed at professionals. 
• The growth of the monetisation of wine and advertorial writing.
• Social media replacing the authoritative wine expert as a means of communicating about wine. Viral word of mouth, the picture and meme painting a thousand words.
• The demystification of wine through wine courses.
• The proliferation of podcasts. Guilty as charged! The success of this format is down to the busy lives we lead. There are two types of podcasts: one is polished to a fault, cleverly edited, and designed to stand the test of wine. The mission here is to inform. The other is a rough cut with likeminded people rapping about whatever topic moves them. #justanotherwinepodcast is in the latter mould, mixing information and opinion in equal measure.
• The proliferation of jargon when describing wine. My bête-noire is a tasting note that sounds like a cross between a regurgitated thesaurus and the fruits being proffered at Goblin Market.
• Moving away from new oak maturation in certain regions to reflect changing taste in markets around the world. One of my wine mentors used to describe certain wines as tasting like under-wined oak. These wines are still being made, but are they still being drunk?
• The word “terroir” deployed willy-nilly. Although the expression has been used since the 15th century, it has become a marketing tool for a lot of producers who make distinctly un-terroir-like wines!
• The growth of wine tourism. Travel is so easy, that so many regions are accessible. Wineries have set themselves up to receive visitors and do cellar door sales (good for margins).
• Appellation becoming irrelevant. Partly because so many appellations have been devalued by the oppressive bureaucracy that runs them, often driving the best and most innovative producers to leave the system.
• Wine lists are still being curated. This reminds me of the 11th doctor saying: I could be a curator. I’d be great at curating, I’d be “The Great Curator.” I have a feeling this pompous word  – used in conjunction with wine lists – originated in the US and is much beloved by PR companies to suggest a grand artistic endeavour. In short, it means putting together a bunch of wines you like from your favourite suppliers. Assembling a balanced list of good value wines involves knowledge and common sense – neither rocket science or artistic credentials.
• Wine being treated as booze/alcohol by a succession of governments, as a cash cow, a commodity to be taxed.  I admit, I am pro wine. It is not just any drink. Wine has formed a part of culture and civilisation for thousands of years. Governments see all alcohol as the enemy. This is cultural philistinism meets joyless Presbyterianism wrapped up in something or other!

Trends… 

• Yakety yak English wine. This is, of course, now a thing. The real proof will be to taste whether the country’s still wines progress over the next few years (with vineyards experiencing the positive effects of climate change – big if). Commercial interest in English wine has increased greatly and this has manifested in an aggressive PR campaign. However, the still wines are relatively overpriced, and the quality rarely matches what you might buy from various other countries.
• Georgia (and her wine) have been discovered –the darling of the left-field wine enthusiast. Wine pilgrims beat a reverential path to Georgia to rediscover their love of wine culture. Georgia reciprocates, welcoming them with open arms, endless feasts, and plenty of incapacitating chacha.
• On the wane – the regard for Californian and Australian wines in the UK. This is not a scientific observation, but, whether it is price or carbon footprint or ineffectual pr or simply a desire from restaurant and retail buyers to major in European wines, these particular countries are not as apparently popular as they once were. To be fair, the UK market is probably not very important to Californian producers and the wine industry, and Australian wines are still very much part of our wine culture, albeit less dominant than they used to be in their 80s and 90s heydays.
• Growth in rosé and white wine drinking at the expense of red wine. We can thank a mixture of climate change, the new generation of wine consumers who prefer lighter and brighter wines, and the middle class embracing a more Mediterranean diet and wanting wines to match. Wine is no longer only encountered in posh restaurants; it is drunk in pubs and bars, drunk in parks, viewed as a refreshing drink, something to relax around and socialise with. 
• Orange/skin contact wine! – Georgian wines, Gravner, Radikon and the Friuli gang may have started the orange bang, but their influence has spread to winemakers throughout the world. The popularity of these wines (sometimes referred to as the fourth colour of wine) is evidenced by listings in restaurants and on the shelves of independent retailers. The orange wine phenomenon exploded between 2015 and 2022, being associated with the growth in popularity of natural wines. The new, more adventurous, drinkers loved the textural nature of the wines, which offered them the structure of red with some of the feeling of whites.
• The New Spain – the name of a book, but also the move away from massively oaky wine styles towards more gastronomic wines. Spanish producers began to rediscover indigenous varieties, old vineyards, and make wines with a lighter touch. So, let’s acknowledge:
• Non-fortified sherry. Sherry has always been about how wine develops over time in the cellar. But what if the wines were not fortified and farming was not just a means to produce grapes for a process? The wine world is full of experimentation, which in itself is often the rediscovery of traditional methods. Which is why we are witnessing more wines being made… 
• Under flor. We can be fairly certain that veneration of the Jura vin jaune has played a part here. But not all flor winemaking takes the process to such an extreme. Flor is a tool for the winemaker, and its presence gives a unique accent to the wine affected by it.
• PET NAT! (and ancestral/col fondo wines). The market may be nearing saturation here. Many are seasonal in that you would drink them late spring into summer. Some producers are experimenting with later releases and extended lees ageing to bridge the style gap between pet nats and traditional method sparkling wines.
• Austrian oak! A.K.A. you had me at Stockinger. These barrels are the ultimate wine accessory (let’s give a nod and a wink to eggs and amphorae).