Gérard Bertrand. The Life His Father Left Behind.
Gérard Bertrand. The Life His Father Left Behind.
Gérard Bertrand. The Life His Father Left Behind.
At 22, he was playing rugby and suddenly responsible for his father's vineyards. For a while, he tried to live both lives.
At 22, he was playing rugby and suddenly responsible for his father's vineyards. For a while, he tried to live both lives.
On 2 November 1987, Gérard Bertrand sat in his father's office chair for the first time.
Georges Bertrand had died in a car accident five days earlier. His son was 22.
The day before the accident, they had talked about rugby and wine. Gérard later recalled that his father had described the future he imagined for him.
Georges had introduced him to both worlds. Gérard's first harvest at Château de Villemajou was in 1975, when he was ten. His father was also a rugby referee and helped establish a club in their village.
Now Gérard had vineyards, a wine brokerage and around 25 employees to manage. He wasn't planning to give up rugby.
For the next several years, he worked in wine during the week and played rugby on weekends, eventually captaining Stade Français.
He retired from the sport around thirty.
In an interview with La Revue du vin de France, Bertrand described his father as his hero. He also recalled wondering, years after Georges's death, whether wine was genuinely his own choice or simply the path his father had shown him.
By then, he had already established a company under his own name and begun expanding beyond the family estate.
The Boss Has Gone Mad
In 2002, Bertrand became fascinated by biodynamics.
He had been introduced to the approach partly through Aubert de Villaine of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. Then he read Rudolf Steiner's agricultural lectures.
Three times in a row.
He later admitted that he hadn't understood everything on the first reading.
Biodynamics combines organic agricultural practices with preparations and a farming calendar influenced by lunar and planetary cycles. Some of its underlying theories remain scientifically disputed.
Bertrand was sufficiently intrigued to try it at Domaine de Cigalus.
Rather than convert the entire property immediately, he and his team began with a small experiment, comparing conventionally cultivated vines with vines managed biodynamically.
According to Bertrand, the differences became apparent in both the vineyard and the cellar.
He wanted to go further.
His colleagues weren't particularly enthusiastic.
In an interview with The Drinks Business, he recalled that they thought he was mad.
And the first years gave them reasons to worry.
Yields fell sharply. The team was learning unfamiliar methods, making mistakes and trying to understand how to apply biodynamics across different vineyards.
In a later interview with La Revue du vin de France, Bertrand acknowledged those early difficulties.
Richard Planas, his director of estates, came from a conventional agricultural background. Bertrand described him as a particularly rational man.
It must have been quite a conversation when the boss announced that he wanted to organise vineyard work partly around the lunar calendar.
Bertrand persisted.
The experiment at Cigalus eventually became a much larger programme. From 2007, the company began converting its other estates.
By 2024, according to the company's published figures, 930 hectares across 17 estates were cultivated biodynamically, with 830 hectares Demeter-certified.
For a business of that size, biodynamics requires far more than a philosophical commitment. Vineyard teams need training, different working practices and enough coordination to manage numerous sites.
Bertrand believes the approach has improved the vitality of his vineyards and the freshness of his wines. Those are his assessments, rather than proof of every principle associated with biodynamics.
He has also argued that modern winemaking can produce technically competent wines that increasingly taste alike.
His preferred alternative is wine that tastes of a particular place.
I like the contradiction here: a man building an international wine business while resisting the idea that all his wines should taste the same.
The Rose Underneath
Bertrand's ambitions haven't stopped at the vineyard.
He has studied businesses such as Robert Mondavi, Torres and Antinori, paying particular attention to how they developed international recognition.
His own company grew through acquisitions, including Château l'Hospitalet in 2002, and expanded into hospitality and wine tourism.
Then there are the bottles.
Côte des Roses has a rose sculpted into its glass base.
The design wasn't Bertrand's invention. It came from Mélitine Courvoisier, who won the 2010 Verallia Design Awards with a concept called Soirée à Rosé.
Bertrand adopted the idea, and Côte des Roses was commercialised in 2013.
In a statement published by Verallia, he explained that the shape of a bottle, its label and even its closure belong to the overall presentation of a wine.
He has applied that thinking to other collections.
For Clos du Temple, designer Marie Legallet created a bottle with a square base and proportions inspired by the golden ratio.
The Art de Vivre collection comes in natural-clay bottles reminiscent of ancient Mediterranean amphorae.
But the rose remains my favourite detail.
Courvoisier's idea was to combine two gifts in one: a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
It's rather charming. And certainly easier to carry.
Wine is never just wine. Sometimes it comes with a family history you didn't exactly choose.
On 2 November 1987, Gérard Bertrand sat in his father's office chair for the first time.
Georges Bertrand had died in a car accident five days earlier. His son was 22.
The day before the accident, they had talked about rugby and wine. Gérard later recalled that his father had described the future he imagined for him.
Georges had introduced him to both worlds. Gérard's first harvest at Château de Villemajou was in 1975, when he was ten. His father was also a rugby referee and helped establish a club in their village.
Now Gérard had vineyards, a wine brokerage and around 25 employees to manage. He wasn't planning to give up rugby.
For the next several years, he worked in wine during the week and played rugby on weekends, eventually captaining Stade Français.
He retired from the sport around thirty.
In an interview with La Revue du vin de France, Bertrand described his father as his hero. He also recalled wondering, years after Georges's death, whether wine was genuinely his own choice or simply the path his father had shown him.
By then, he had already established a company under his own name and begun expanding beyond the family estate.
The Boss Has Gone Mad
In 2002, Bertrand became fascinated by biodynamics.
He had been introduced to the approach partly through Aubert de Villaine of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. Then he read Rudolf Steiner's agricultural lectures.
Three times in a row.
He later admitted that he hadn't understood everything on the first reading.
Biodynamics combines organic agricultural practices with preparations and a farming calendar influenced by lunar and planetary cycles. Some of its underlying theories remain scientifically disputed.
Bertrand was sufficiently intrigued to try it at Domaine de Cigalus.
Rather than convert the entire property immediately, he and his team began with a small experiment, comparing conventionally cultivated vines with vines managed biodynamically.
According to Bertrand, the differences became apparent in both the vineyard and the cellar.
He wanted to go further.
His colleagues weren't particularly enthusiastic.
In an interview with The Drinks Business, he recalled that they thought he was mad.
And the first years gave them reasons to worry.
Yields fell sharply. The team was learning unfamiliar methods, making mistakes and trying to understand how to apply biodynamics across different vineyards.
In a later interview with La Revue du vin de France, Bertrand acknowledged those early difficulties.
Richard Planas, his director of estates, came from a conventional agricultural background. Bertrand described him as a particularly rational man.
It must have been quite a conversation when the boss announced that he wanted to organise vineyard work partly around the lunar calendar.
Bertrand persisted.
The experiment at Cigalus eventually became a much larger programme. From 2007, the company began converting its other estates.
By 2024, according to the company's published figures, 930 hectares across 17 estates were cultivated biodynamically, with 830 hectares Demeter-certified.
For a business of that size, biodynamics requires far more than a philosophical commitment. Vineyard teams need training, different working practices and enough coordination to manage numerous sites.
Bertrand believes the approach has improved the vitality of his vineyards and the freshness of his wines. Those are his assessments, rather than proof of every principle associated with biodynamics.
He has also argued that modern winemaking can produce technically competent wines that increasingly taste alike.
His preferred alternative is wine that tastes of a particular place.
I like the contradiction here: a man building an international wine business while resisting the idea that all his wines should taste the same.
The Rose Underneath
Bertrand's ambitions haven't stopped at the vineyard.
He has studied businesses such as Robert Mondavi, Torres and Antinori, paying particular attention to how they developed international recognition.
His own company grew through acquisitions, including Château l'Hospitalet in 2002, and expanded into hospitality and wine tourism.
Then there are the bottles.
Côte des Roses has a rose sculpted into its glass base.
The design wasn't Bertrand's invention. It came from Mélitine Courvoisier, who won the 2010 Verallia Design Awards with a concept called Soirée à Rosé.
Bertrand adopted the idea, and Côte des Roses was commercialised in 2013.
In a statement published by Verallia, he explained that the shape of a bottle, its label and even its closure belong to the overall presentation of a wine.
He has applied that thinking to other collections.
For Clos du Temple, designer Marie Legallet created a bottle with a square base and proportions inspired by the golden ratio.
The Art de Vivre collection comes in natural-clay bottles reminiscent of ancient Mediterranean amphorae.
But the rose remains my favourite detail.
Courvoisier's idea was to combine two gifts in one: a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
It's rather charming. And certainly easier to carry.
Wine is never just wine. Sometimes it comes with a family history you didn't exactly choose.
