An urban winery?

This is the second in a series of posts about the process (personal and practical) behind setting-up Freedom of the Press. They are broadly in chronological order - sometimes organised thematically - but of course written well after their actually happening.

So, in late 2019, early 2020 I came to the conclusion that what I had in mind for my project (and the next 15 years of my life) was a winery without vineyards. Broadly this could either be a contract winery - making wines under contract for people with vineyards but no winemaking equipment or expertise (but then I had no expertise either, so that was out) or what has become known generally as an urban winery, making your own wines from grapes purchased from others. This seemed to be me!

An urban winery is ‘a thing’.  In a practical sense it is simply a winery in a city which - more or less by dint of its location as much as ambition - does not have a vineyard.  Its operational model is to buy grapes from vineyards elsewhere, in England or indeed abroad, and turn them into wine.  These have existed for hundreds of years.  In France they are called negociants, in England they were shippers and bottlers.  The port, sherry and claret business grew-up on this model, and it was dominant too across the regions of France.  This ‘negotiant model’ does not have much favour with oenophiles, wine aficionados and purists.  It breaks the connection between fruit and wine, land and bottle.  The argument seems to be that grape growers will not try so hard if their name is not on the bottle, and perhaps that negotiants are more interested in bank balances than sublime experiences.  It is also underscored by a bucolic aesthetic tendency to imagine a winery is only ‘valid’ if surrounded by vineyards - naturally in gently rolling countryside.  Up until this point my own experience of visiting wineries/vineyards  has been most complete if one drives down a rutted track, through vines to an old farmhouse with crumbling outbuildings, or even a glamorous glass construction with a modern tasting room and restaurant overlooking the vineyard.  This is odd.  You don’t visit a brewery and expect hops and grain fields (maybe once, not now), nor a potato plantation round a gin distillery.  Glenfiddich, if I remember rightly, is surrounded by highland cattle - not a typical ingredient.

And this is where the ‘urban winery’ as distinct from ‘negociant’ or ‘bottler’ has found a wholly symbolic niche.  If one is able to place it in the same cultural frame as micro-breweries, gin artisans, and more broadly the world of boutique, crafted, pop-up and local produce then one may excuse the absence of vineyards - indeed vineyards in this scenario could be construed as unnecessarily atavistic baggage, interfering with ones ability to be responsive, inventive and innovative, culturally relevant, ‘hip’ and indeed urban.  Rules - who needs rules!  It does not need saying that the urban winery scene blossoms where these values hold sway: the ‘interestingly happening’ parts of chic cities. They also have the huge commercial advantage over their rural siblings of putting a winery in the middle of large populations with cash and a tase for locally made things of quality, ‘authenticity’ and innovation, but still selling directly to the public rather than through merchants.  The winery is in control of its own story, its own theatre, and it’s story is vibrant relevant, urban, chic.  And the margins are better..

I should add at this point that I  swore not to use the following terms in connection with my project: boutique, artisan, authentic.  I am sure they have a place, and can be used with irony-free integrity.  Sadly, not by me.  It might be my age - or listening to too much Ed Reardon. I do not doubt for one moment the unarticulated intention behind projects that describe themselves in those terms - it’s just the terms themselves.

London has several urban wineries, Gateshead has one, as has Cambridge.  I don’t believe yet there are any in Brighton or Bristol - but give it time (and probably by the time this blog comes out).  But importantly from my perspective, there were none in Oxford.  There was (at the time of setting-up my winery - just prior to the pandemic) one micro-brewery in the city, which also operated as a social enterprise.  It is on a rather unprepossessing industrial estate on the edge of town but is one of the most exciting venues in the city. There is also one artisan distillery.  Literally artisan, calling itself The Oxford Artisan Distillery.  Their theatre has a fabulous scenography of steam punk and cotswold stone barn and - their gin is excellent.  Neither are surrounded by their ingredients.

In retrospect the notion of establishing an ‘urban winery’ came upon me with startling clarity, and wholly evident advantages.  It had a kind of zeitgeist that a person in their mid 50s can feel genuinely self-satisfied about having landed-on.  In practical terms it meant that I only had one new skill to develop (winemaking) rather than two if one were to include growing the grapes.  I only had one package of infrastructure to set-up, not two; the time frame was shorter as I did not have to wait for planted vines to slowly reach maturity; and I did not have to move house in order to be in ‘grape-growing territory’.   Overall it seemed much more handleable.  The search commenced.