Drinking with a small group of friends the other day, we were discussing which wine region we would take to a desert island. One friend very sensibly suggested the Loire Valley, because almost every style of wine is made there: dry, sweet, sparkling, white, red, rosé (we’d have to persuade producers to start making fortified wine). But another, who’s French, said, without hesitation, Beaujolais.

Now, that’s a more limiting option because Beaujolais is 98% Gamay, the remainder Chardonnay. We had to ask, could one drink nothing but Gamay on a desert island? Well, yes we could.

My aunt moved to Villefranche-sur-Saône in 1987, the largest town in Beaujolais (with a population of just over 35,000). In the late 1980s and early 90s, I visited her often with my family. We drove around the region, appreciating the greenery, rolling hills, and picturesque villages. I was aware it was wine country, but didn’t really know what that meant. At the local restaurant, my aunt would invariably order a glass of Beaujolais and we would make fun of her for always ordering the same thing.

I look back with regret that I didn’t realise just how privileged I was to visit Beaujolais on such a regular basis thirty years ago. It’s a wonderfully beautiful, timeless region which produces some of the finest and most underappreciated wines in the world. I returned there five years ago and it felt like nothing had changed: the culture, the landscape, the dusty cellars. And that’s what I love most about Beaujolais; it’s like going back deep into the past while being able to appreciate the present.

Beaujolais has long been seen as the underperforming, immature sibling to Burgundy. That proximity to Burgundy has cast a shadow Beaujolais hasn’t always been able to escape. Furthermore, phylloxera and war prevented the region from developing a distinct identity. In the 1960s, Beaujolais Nouveau was created in order to differentiate Beaujolais from other regions, but became an overly commercial and clichéd summation of Beaujolais as a low-quality, drink-now wine.

When my wife and I moved to California, she began to represent a Beaujolais producer which shares its name with one of the premium Beaujolais villages, Moulin-à-Vent. That was less than seven years ago, but even then their marketing angle was to classify themselves as “southern Burgundy” rather than Beaujolais in order to detach themselves from the region and to emphasise their focus on quality.

photo courtesy (c) Château du Moulin-à-Vent and (r) Franck Juery

Thankfully, Château du Moulin-à-Vent now proudly promote themselves as a Beaujolais producer. In the last five years, Beaujolais has established a reputation, in large part thanks to sommeliers in restaurants, as a region which makes high-quality wines which are approachable when young but have enough concentration and complexity to be worth ageing. That Beaujolais is not Burgundy is no longer a source of embarrassment.

Château du Moulin-à-Vent are located at the centre of Beaujolais’s best vineyards, but the fact that Burgundy and northern Rhône producers are investing in the region underscores its potential. Domaine le Grappin is a Burgundian collaboration between a New Zealand and English couple based in Beaune; they also make a superb Gamay from Côte de Brouilly. Alain Graillot is a producer seminal in the revival of wines from the northern Rhône, the other, more southerly side of Lyon. Now his sons, Antoine and Maxime, have a winery in Beaujolais called Domaine de Fa. Beaujolais has become one of the most dynamic and exciting wine regions, even if it is focused on just one grape variety.

I used to work at the independent store Back Room Wines in Napa, where there’s a small corner devoted to Beaujolais which local winemakers regularly gravitate towards. Now, WholeFoods, a major, high-end chain owned by Amazon, stock one of Château Moulin-à-Vent’s wines priced at around $32. Great Beaujolais isn’t just for wine geeks now; it’s for everyone.

Gamay is no longer a dirty word. Producers in the Loire Valley are making sensational wine from the variety, a little lighter than the best Beaujolais but similar in style (check out Domaine Sérol or Jean-François Mérieau). Here in California, the potential remains untapped but producers such as Arnot-Roberts, Jolie Laide, and Kosuge demonstrate that Gamay is a versatile variety which, as long as yields are limited, can work well in a moderate climate—just like that of Beaujolais.

There is something about Beaujolais that makes it feel personal. I was speaking to another friend who’s from Champagne, and she told me that a friend of hers had moved to Beaujolais and loved it so much she was staying there for life. And that’s what wine is about: connections. Somehow, those connections lead back to Beaujolais so often. So, let’s all meet on that desert island and drink Beaujolais.

some wines to try

Château du Moulin-à-Vent “Couvent des Thorins” Moulin-à-Vent 2018 ($32; ✪✪✪✪✪)

On a property dating back to 1732, Château du Moulin-à-Vent was originally called Château Thorins, hence the name of the winery’s new release. The village Moulin-à-Vent is named after its windmill, which stands on the winery’s property. Fermented with 20% whole cluster and aged for 16 months in stainless steel, this is a spicy, juicy, round, and highly approachable wine.

Domaine de Fa “En Besset” Beaujolais 2018 ($25; ✪✪✪✪✪)

From one of the highest vineyards in Beaujolais near the villages of St-Amour and Julienas, one can almost tell it’s made by a northern Rhône producer due to its grainy tannins, earthy texture, and spicy pepper aromas.

Du Grappin Côte de Brouilly 2017 ($35; ✪✪✪✪✪)

Andrew and Emma Nielson are based in Burgundy, but also source fruit from blue granite soils in Côte de Brouilly, one of my favourite Beaujolais crus. Just as Domaine de Fa feels like it’s made by a Rhône producer, likewise this wine from a Burgundy producer has a distinct Pinot aspect to it. The best Beaujolais, like all of these three wines, tastes like a cross between Pinot Noir and Syrah, spicy, grainy, and meaty.