December 12, 2024 - 1 comments
Didier Grappe : the Jura in resistance
We interviewed Didier Grappe and it's fascinating! A 20-minute podcast in which Didier talks openly, with sensitivity and passion, about the true price of wine, frost, hybrids, the Jura, treatments and sulfites, genetic selection in wine, AOCs, and transmission...
Available on:
- Apple Podcast : https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/raisin-vin-naturel-gastronomie/id1784675196
- Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/show/1XQ5BgMAekl2zJ0qlrqXRO?si=mXkeUaLzSGuRedtuVHKb0g
- Deezer : https://deezer.page.link/rNUK11xQYae9tmm79
Below you will find the transcript of the podcast with Didier Grappe.
At the beginning, did you encounter difficulties in finding outlets and marketing your wines?
I started in 2000. I remember a time when no one wanted to drink Jura. It was seen as an acidic, oxidative wine. Nobody wanted it, to the point where now the whole world wants to drink Jura. Back then, Jura wine was only sold in Jura. It was really just the locals who drank it. And now, we’re at a point where, if a café opens in Copenhagen, it’ll have four Jura wines on the menu. Everyone wants Jura. Even though we make up only 0.3% of French wine production, we’re tiny. No, we’re lucky. But I have colleagues, for example, in the Loire, and sometimes I see their prices at 7-8 euros a bottle—it’s not right. It should be worth 25 euros a bottle. But they’re lost in a much larger market.
What is your opinion on wine prices at the moment?
We want to keep popular prices. We have Savagnin ouillés at 12 bucks, and I think we're still the cheapest in zero-sulfite wines in the region. Do local and popular! We want to stay close to Europe and keep prices accessible. When I go to a wine bar with a markup coefficient of 2-2.5, I like being able to buy bottles at 20 bucks or 25 bucks. At 25 bucks, it’s fine—you’ve paid for your round. But damn, for bottles at 60 bucks, you’d better have good friends around the table. Where they speculate, it’s usually the estates that don’t produce much. And it’s all supply and demand. There’s always a millionaire out there who can drop 300, 400, or even 500 bucks for a bottle.
How was your year?
We've already had frost and lost about two-thirds of the harvest. It's still too early to say whether the loss is 80% or 60%—we just don't know yet. Some buds are starting to come out now, and they might produce some fruit. We have hybrids that are producing fruit again after the frost. So, for now, things haven't changed too much. We'll know more in about 15 days. But we've already taken a big hit. Fortunately, we had two good years in a row—2022 and 2023. If we average it out over three years, even producing just a third of the harvest would be okay. Still, it’s a very complicated year. This spring, it’s been raining constantly—rain, rain, and more rain.
How did you get started in wine?
I started by working for my neighbor, who was a winemaker. I would help out on weekends. He has since passed away. Then I began acquiring my own vines. I went to school to get my agricultural diploma and eventually settled down. I managed to recover a lot of empty, bare land—fantastic land that had been without vines for 80 years. It was rested, untouched by pesticides, and absolutely magnificent.
20 years ago, it was very affordable to buy here, in the Jura, compared to today?
Twenty years ago, it was very affordable to buy land here in the Jura compared to today, especially in Arbois, where there’s now incredible land pressure. As soon as a piece of vineyard land becomes available, 150 people are after it. But for me, it was easy. I was regularly offered vines—I could accept or refuse as I pleased. I was able to buy the land I wanted. Back then, it was really straightforward. Today, young people can only get hold of old, overworked plots—exhausted land that’s hard to cultivate and produces very little.
I have three plots in the commune, and this one is the largest. I can see the vines from my cellar, which is very practical for the harvest. It makes a big difference because I can decide whether to keep the press closed or open, depending on the work being done. And then there’s the convenience of proximity. The farthest plot is just a kilometer away, so bringing in the harvest or heading out to work can be done by bike or even on foot.
Do you keep your wines a little?
A little, but I don’t keep much. I’m more excited about the new vintages than the old ones. However, Jules—my son and partner—would like us to keep more. It’s true that when we have special guests, it’s nice to be able to offer older vintages.
What was the place of hybrid grape varieties in the Jura?
Pierre Overnoy vaguely recalls that in the 1950s, about a third of French vineyards were planted with hybrids—they were everywhere. He also remembers everyday wine. In Pupillin, they quickly switched to AOC classifications and uprooted most of the hybrids. In the southern Jura, hybrids were more common. Farmers often grew them alongside their 10 cows, a hectare of vines, and a few fruit trees. That was the agricultural model at the time. There were very few full-time winegrowers. In the Jura, only about ten families focused solely on vines. The rest combined small-scale farming with a bit of winemaking. If you look at old houses, you’ll see barns, stables, and small cellars. Hybrids suited that lifestyle—they required no treatments and could be neglected during haymaking season. But the AOCs banned hybrids, and that changed everything. Today, there are almost no hybrids left in France, even though they once accounted for a third of the vineyard area—400,000 hectares, or half the size of today’s total vineyard area.
There were smear campaigns against hybrids, and farmers were given bonuses to uproot them. The introduction of AOCs also pushed many farmers to specialize in vines or livestock. Those with a few cows and vines often expanded their herds and farm buildings, leaving winemaking to the specialists. The traditional mixed agricultural model disappeared.
In the 1950s, there was a significant wine crisis caused by overproduction. Vineyards in North Africa, which didn’t exist before, had been established, adding to the surplus. Farmers in France were cultivating 400,000 hectares of hybrids while wine consumption was declining. Prices collapsed, and two solutions were implemented. First, they lowered the acceptable volatile acidity rate from 1.6 to 0.88, making it harder for North African wines—produced in hotter climates—to meet the standards. Second, hybrids were banned from AOCs, and farmers were incentivized to uproot them, leaving vines to the winegrowers. This shift was driven by the overproduction crisis, not quality concerns. Back then, ecological considerations didn’t matter.
I was in Beaune in 1999, and when I mentioned hybrids, people said that mildew and powdery mildew were non-issues—they could be treated easily. But in reality, some regions still fail to harvest despite 15 treatments. Valentin Morel compares this approach to keeping patients in palliative care—treatment after treatment, with vines barely surviving. If you stop treating traditional grape varieties like Chardonnay or Poulsard for 3-4 years, they die. They simply can’t perform enough photosynthesis and exhaust themselves. Meanwhile, hybrids and rootstocks found in the wild thrive without intervention, producing large amounts of grapes. Yet, we continue to rely on phytosanitary products to sustain conventional grape varieties, while hybrids remain disease-free and robust—even under high mildew pressure. That’s why some of us in the Jura and Beaujolais decided to reintroduce hybrids and produce natural wines, without treatments in the vineyard or the cellar. Our hybrids have required no treatment at all, and in years with severe mildew pressure, they’ve outperformed treated Chardonnays. They’re beautiful, with no harvest losses.
In the past, the Jura had hundreds of grape varieties, and the wines were entirely different from today’s. They were made without sulfites and weren’t based on industrial yeasts—it was all traditional. But in the 1970s, the focus shifted to technological wines marketed as “tradition.” True tradition was much messier: people made their own grafts, vineyards were chaotic, and there was no standardization. White and red grapes were often blended, creating free, expressive wines. However, the push to standardize changed everything.
There are brilliant hybridizers, like Valentin Blattner and Borioli in Switzerland, creating exciting new varieties. The INRAE (French National Institute for Agricultural Research) is also working on hybrids, but they focus on creating varieties that resemble Chardonnay or other familiar grapes. I'm afraid I have to disagree with this approach. Instead of copying traditional varieties, we should explore hybrids' vast possibilities. Once you know a vine, you can collect wood, have it grafted, and plant whatever you want. The opportunities are endless, and we don’t need to limit ourselves to imitating the past.
Can we recognize wines made from hybrid grape varieties blindly?
In blind tastings, the reds are still quite recognizable. I love them, but they often have a fresh forest-fruit quality, sometimes a little watery. The mid-palate can drop off slightly. I do enjoy them, but yes, I can usually identify them. However, with whites, it’s much more challenging. Telling the difference between a Chenin and a Savagnin, for example, would be very difficult.
Can you tell us about your hybrid vines?
I planted my hybrids eight years ago, and we also replanted some four or five years ago. The younger vines have struggled with the dry weather; some grapes shriveled. We did some sorting but deliberately let some of the affected grapes through. I think those grapes contributed an acidic tension that works well with the wine. Hybrids also have the advantage of setting fruit again after a frost—the counter-buds are productive.
We’ve had frost in 2017, 2019, 2021, and 2024. While we might go 25 years without frost, right now, we’re experiencing a terrible series. There are plenty of extreme measures being used to combat it—heating wires, oil heaters, wind turbines paired with oil burners, even helicopters to stir the air. It’s mind-boggling to see straw, wood, and other materials being burned to heat the clouds just to save a few buds. I can’t support this kind of agriculture.
We need to stop relying on carbon-based energy to protect a few buds. Burning fuel to "heat the clouds" produces thick black smoke and feels unsustainable. At some point, we need real alternatives—like hybrid grape varieties. These vines set fruit again naturally. For instance, in 2019, Valentin Morel’s hybrid vines were completely frozen, yet he still produced 30 hectoliters per hectare. It was a satisfying harvest for a frost year—and without burning carbon.
That’s why we enthusiastically advocate for these grape varieties. For us, they’re all about resilience and quality, with no downside.
Vitis Batardus Liberata Association
Today, there’s an association called Vitis Batardus Liberata, bringing together all the natural hybrid enthusiasts. There are about thirty of us winemakers involved. In the Jura, there’s Valentin Morel, Yves Roy, and me. In Beaujolais, we have Hervé Ravera, Romain des Grottes, Geoffrey Estienne, and, of course, many more I’m forgetting, including Nadia Beaune.
The goal of the association is to promote these grape varieties and spread the word to winemakers, encouraging more people to plant them. We’ve also reached out to the press and sommeliers, but my real focus is on the winemakers themselves. I want us to organize visits, taste wines together, and foster curiosity. We already welcome many visitors—winemakers included—and I see a lot of interest, especially among young people just starting out.
Commercially, the demand is massive, especially in Paris. There’s a growing awareness of what untreated vines can offer. People love the taste—it’s a pure marvel to work with. These vines require no treatments. Compared to Chardonnays that need to be treated, where we can’t even set foot in the vineyard because of the sulfur smell, untreated vines are a breath of fresh air. Even organic vineyards, treated with sulfur and copper, still carry a distinct odor. If you hug an organic winemaker in the summer, you can smell the treatments on them—it’s a product that lingers.
With hybrids, we’re offering plants that avoid all that pollution. And we want to promote them far and wide. Things are slowly changing; some appellations are starting to authorize hybrids here and there on a trial basis. It’s a step forward, and we’re excited to be part of the movement.
AOCs and tradition
For me, AOCs (Appellations d’Origine Contrôlée) have completely missed the mark. They’re weighed down by inertia, unable to keep pace with the rapidly changing climate. This obsession with pseudo-tradition is absurd. Fortunately, there are a few liberties being taken in French wines, but the weight of this so-called tradition is suffocating.
Take the wine bottle, for example. It’s not even a traditional container. Before the 1940s, wine was sold from the tap because bottles were prohibitively expensive. As Pierre Overnoy recalls, Henri Maire would trade a bottle of wine for an empty glass bottle and a kilo of potatoes because bottles cost more than the wine itself. For most of our 2,000 years of viticulture in the Jura—dating back to the Romans—wine wasn’t bottled. It’s only in the last 60 years that bottles became commonplace.
The same goes for grape varieties. For centuries, vines weren’t treated. Farmers propagated plants naturally by cuttings and harvested without the need for pesticides or treatments. It’s only since the 1970s that treatment with chemicals became the norm. AOCs began in 1936, but by the 1950s, most French grape varieties had been stripped of diversity. Today, only 40 varieties dominate, with 96% of vineyards cultivating them. These are categorized as either “sensitive” or “very sensitive” varieties.
Savagnin, for instance, is classified as sensitive, and Chardonnay as very sensitive. This lack of genetic diversity is a significant problem. We’ve selected and created grapevine champions that are frail, requiring constant care to survive. Instead of this monoculture approach, we need genetic diversity and hardier vines.
Wine has been standardized into an agri-food product, with labels like “oxidized,” “reduced,” or “mousey,” used to criticize wines without considering how these characteristics contribute to a wine’s bouquet. It’s like someone accustomed to processed cheese tasting farmhouse cheese and rejecting it because it “smells funny.” The same applies to natural wines. Certified tasters, conditioned by oenological precision with sulfites and yeasts, often dismiss them for being unfiltered, sparkling, or reduced, without appreciating their authenticity and complexity.
I often compare wine to music. If you want to listen to Rammstein, you’re not going to choose Vivaldi or Michel Sardou. AOCs, to me, are like Michel Sardou—technically polished, with the best lyricists and arrangers, but lacking soul. I prefer dissonance, the diversity of sound, much like the diversity of wine. AOCs have sought to standardize wine, deciding what’s “good” and what’s not.
I left the appellation system entirely. It’s a relief, but the journey was difficult. Young winemakers especially face humiliation. After struggling with climate challenges, laboring without mechanization, and sacrificing so much, they present their wines for approval only to be told their product “harms the appellation.” It’s crushing to hear they can’t call their wine Côte du Jura.
I’ve experienced this firsthand. I fought to understand the system, even serving as an elected member of my appellation union. But there are two agricultures—conventional and natural—that are irreconcilable.
For example, I can’t legally call my wines Savagnin, even though the appellation has registered the grape as a Jura variety alongside Trousseau and Poulsard. Fraud prevention laws prohibit me from labeling a wine “Savagnin de France” or putting “Jura” on the label if I’m outside the AOC system. While I can sell a Chardonnay as “Vin de France,” I can’t do the same for Poulsard or Trousseau. That’s just how the laws work.
Have you stopped using cork?
In 2018, I faced significant issues with cork closures. Cork taint, leaky bottles—everything seemed to go wrong. We even had to rewash all the bottles. The number of corked bottles was disheartening, and it felt like an endless cycle of problems.
That’s when we decided to switch to screw caps. Since then, the issues have disappeared. Yes, we lost two or three small customers who preferred cork, but the peace of mind has been worth it. Bottling is already an incredibly stressful process. Questions constantly loom: Will the wine hold up? Will it oxidize? Will there be cork taint?
Imagine this: if one bottle out of twelve is corked, it ruins the customer’s experience. If you’re selling two boxes, you know there’s a chance one or two bottles in the shipment will have issues. It’s frustrating and unsustainable.
Now, with screw caps, I don’t have to worry about leaky bottles or cork deviation. That’s a huge relief, considering all the other stressors—unpredictable weather, challenging fermentations, unpaid invoices. Eliminating one major source of anxiety has made all the difference. Going back to cork? No, it’s not even an option anymore.
And your son, has he always wanted to make wine?
At first, not really. Jules completed a three-year vocational training program, followed by a year as an employee, and now we’ve been partners for two years. But in the beginning, it was a bit of a struggle—almost a drama. To succeed in this profession, you need a fire in your heart and a deep passion for it.
Winemaking is a job I love, but it’s undeniably thankless at times. Much of it is repetitive—pruning for three months, or top grafting, which involves cutting a plant, splitting it, and inserting two buds, all day long. I enjoy it, but to sustain this work, you can’t just endure it; you have to genuinely love it. Initially, Jules didn’t feel that way.
Things changed when he went to school. That’s when it clicked, and he started to truly enjoy the work. Now, he loves coming to the vineyard, which is the key to making it in this field. Without enjoyment, it’s impossible—though that’s true for any job. A mechanic or a teacher who doesn’t love what they do is a disaster.
These days, Jules has found his rhythm. Many of his childhood friends now work in vineyards too, drawn by the appeal of natural winemaking. What once seemed like a “redneck job” has become something trendy and fulfilling. Ten years ago, if you’d asked these young people what they wanted to do, winemaking wouldn’t have been on their list. But now, they’re in the vineyards, happy and thriving.
