Americans love a winner, General George Patton famously said, in a speech to the US Army during World War II. We Brits, on the other hand, have a reputation for championing the underdog. I sometimes wonder whether it was my British background that led me to develop a deep and enduring love for Beaujolais during a challenging period for the region.
I first visited Beaujolais in the early 2000s, when its producers were suffering from the economic hangover that came with the end of the nouveau boom. The reputation that Beaujolais had developed in the 1970s and 1980s as a source of simple, fruity wines that were rushed to market on the third Thursday in November every year had long driven its image. Little did anyone realize back then that nouveau would still dominate perceptions of the region more than two decades later and blight its winemakers’ commercial prospects in terms of communicating Beaujolais’s capacity for making high-end wines.
And yet it was clear to me, even then, that there was something special about Beaujolais. There’s a wildness to the landscape that feels at odds with the manicured vineyards of the Côte d’Or, roughly an hour’s drive north. Nevertheless, as a wine lover, I couldn’t help but realize that complexity was hardwired into the region. Its undulating hillsides offer the vineyards both a variety of exposures and a range of altitudes, while the abundance of old bush vines that cling to the slopes presages complexity and concentration in the finished wines.
What I didn’t know then, but came to realize while researching my book over the past two years, was that hillsides and old vines are only part of the Beaujolais story. Extensive research into the region’s geology has revealed an extraordinary diversity of soil types—so many, in fact, that Beaujolais has been awarded Global Geopark status by UNESCO. And the multiplicity of approaches to winemaking adopted by Beaujolais’s producers adds further layers of nuance to the stylistic palette afforded by the terroir.
Beaujolais is coming into its own again. The sheer brilliance and diversity of the region’s wines are beginning to be recognized, at long last, by wine professionals and wine lovers alike. Maybe, for once, I’m backing a surefire winner.
—Natasha Hughes MW
The one thing that most people know (or think they know) about Beaujolais is that its wines are made using a technique called carbonic maceration. At best this is a half-truth. In reality, there are a number of vinification methods used in the region, each of which has a big impact on the style and structure of the wines it produces. When considered together, the incredible variety of winemaking techniques employed in Beaujolais makes the region one of huge enological complexity.
While most alcoholic fermentations depend on yeasts to metabolize the sugars present in ripe grapes to produce alcohol and carbon dioxide, in Beaujolais a different kind of fermentation is more typically practiced. Both carbonic maceration and semicarbonic maceration are based on intracellular fermentation (albeit to differing degrees). Intracellular fermentation occurs when enzymes within uncrushed grape berries transform the sugars present into alcohol without the need for yeasts or oxygen (intracellular fermentation is an anaerobic process). In tandem with the conversion of sugar to ethanol within individual grapes, the enzymes that steer the process also produce a range of aromatic compounds as metabolic by-products. These, in turn, contribute to the fruit-forward profile of wines made in this way. Mathieu Lapierre, of Domaine Lapierre, in Villié-Morgon, describes these reactions as being similar to the enzymatic processes at work when meat is hung by a butcher in order to develop a broader and deeper array of flavors than might be found in recently butchered cuts. In addition, intracellular fermentation is a less efficient way to convert sugar to alcohol, and this typically results in more modest levels of alcohol in the finished wines, although the difference between a wine made this way and one that undergoes a more conventional alcoholic fermentation is generally less than 1% ABV.
Pure carbonic maceration (often referred to in Beaujolais as dry maceration) is rare. When large volumes of grape bunches, still attached to their stems, are tipped into a fermentation tank, the bunches at the bottom tend to get squashed, and will therefore expel juice. In order for the fermentation process to be entirely intracellular, therefore, winemakers wanting a dry maceration need to withdraw any juices pooling at the bottom of the tank on a regular basis (these juices are typically fermented separately and may be back-blended into the finished wine). Winemakers will also need to pipe carbon dioxide into the top of the tank, where it sinks down into the tank, forming an inert blanket of gas that protects the whole bunches from the formation of mold or attack from bacteria and other unicellular undesirables. While the latter step is easy to implement, the rigorous withdrawal of juices from the bottom of the tank means that true carbonic maceration is a technique that can only be employed by artisanal producers making small volumes of wine each year.
Producers who’ve decided to work with semicarbonic fermentation (the majority of winemakers in Beaujolais) have an altogether easier life. Not only do they not have to worry about drawing off the must from the bottom of their tanks, they typically don’t need to pump much, if any, carbon dioxide into their tanks (apart from in the first day or two of the fermentation process). Once the juices at the bottom of the tank start to ferment, winemakers can rely on the action of the yeasts in the fermenting must to release carbon dioxide into the tank, thereby protecting the liquid from any risk of oxidation. Typically, in a tank where semicarbonic maceration is taking place, there are three types of fermentation going on at the same time. At the bottom of the tank, “normal” (alcoholic) fermentation takes place, with yeasts metabolizing the sugar in the must to produce alcohol. At the top of the tank, whole bunches remain intact, and therefore all fermentation in this part of the tank is “true” carbonic maceration. What takes place in the middle of each tank, though, is often a bit of a mix, with whole bunches undergoing intracellular fermentation, albeit at a slower rate than at the top of the tank, while floating in a soup of fermenting must. It should be noted that while this account provides an overview of the essential processes at work in a semicarbonic maceration, there are as many variations on the theme as there are winemakers.
It’s worth noting that the boundary between “true” carbonic maceration and semicarbonic maceration is a blurry one, particularly in warm vintages where the berries’ thick skins mean that they don’t squash all that easily and so maintain their structural integrity even at the bottom of the tank. The upshot in these instances is that what was originally intended as a semicarbonic maceration becomes, de facto, a more or less dry, full carbonic maceration—at least during the earliest parts of the process. (In such cases, if semicarbonic maceration is what’s required, the producer may press some of the bunches to ensure that juice is released.) Furthermore, many producers in Beaujolais have different definitions of where the boundary between carbonic and semicarbonic macerations lies. For some producers, the winemaking technique can only truly be called carbonic if the juices at the bottom of the tank are regularly drawn off to create a dry maceration, while for others it’s a carbonic maceration if the tank is blanketed in carbon dioxide and sealed at the start of the fermentation process and no remontages are used, even if there is juice being fermented by yeasts at the bottom of the tank.
Either way, in the case of both carbonic and semicarbonic maceration, the enzymatic fermentation in the whole berries doesn’t typically run to completion but grinds to a halt, leaving some unfermented sugars present in the grapes. The jus de tire, the liquid portion, is drawn off from the bottom of the tank and stored separately, while bunches are pressed to create the jus de presse. This pressing process releases sugar-rich juices that are free to complete their alcoholic fermentation in the presence of both yeasts and, initially at least, oxygen, which gives the unspent yeasts an energy boost. The jus de tire and the jus de presse are typically blended together to finish the ferment.
The kind of fermentation employed in most wine regions around the world is also practiced in Beaujolais, particularly—but not exclusively—in the crus. In this technique, often referred to in Beaujolais as Burgundian winemaking, the bunches of grapes are destemmed on arrival at the winery and lightly crushed before being tipped or pumped into the fermentation vessel. Yeast—either cultured or “indigenous” (yeasts carried in from the vineyards on the skins of the grapes and those already present in the winery)—metabolize the sugars present in the must to produce alcohol and carbon dioxide, a process typically referred to as alcoholic fermentation. This practice usually allows for more vigorous extraction of tannins and color than would be the case with any other winemaking method used in Beaujolais, and also creates a different suite of aromatic characters, as there is no intracellular fermentation.
An extra layer of nuance is created by the use of an additional technique that further blurs the boundaries between Burgundy and Beaujolais. Since I started my research for this book, I’d found myself wondering about the difference between the use of whole bunches for carbonic and semicarbonic maceration (techniques associated with Beaujolais) and the use of whole bunches in fermentations for Pinot Noir and Syrah, as practiced in Burgundy and the Northern Rhône, as well as in other regions where these grapes are grown. (Whole-bunch fermentation is also practiced with other grapes, although less frequently than with Pinot and Syrah.) It’s not uncommon, particularly in ripe vintages, where the stems that hold the bunches together are well lignified (ripened to a point where they have lost all or much of their “green” character), for growers to include a varying proportion of whole bunches in their ferments to lend freshness and focus to their wines. Given that producers can cite up to 100 percent whole-bunch use, how, I wondered, did this technique differ from those practiced in Beaujolais? The answer is foulage. The difference between the use of whole bunches associated with carbonic or semicarbonic macerations and fermentations described as whole bunch (but not carbonic or semicarbonic) is that, in the latter case, the whole bunches are gently pressed in tank to allow juice to be released, a technique known as foulage. This, of course, creates an immediate difference, as there is no enzymatic fermentation here, but there is a lot of contact between the fermenting must and the stems. You may be wondering by now why I’ve meandered into a digression about winemaking as practiced on other grapes in other regions. The reason is that it turns out that a number of producers in Beaujolais practice foulage to varying degrees.
There’s a further vinification technique used in Beaujolais, although typically winemakers don’t tend to talk about it much because of its strong association with wines of modest quality. In thermovinification, the juices from the crushed grapes at the bottom of the tank are drawn off into a heat exchanger, where they are warmed to temperatures of around 60 degrees Celsius and then gently sprayed over the bunches remaining in the tank, remontage-style. Alternatively, the must from destemmed grapes may be passed through the heat exchanger and then piped into a tank. Either way, the heating process usually lasts for a few hours before the tank is chilled down and fermentation—whether alcoholic or semicarbonic—can then proceed. The application of heat at this initial stage of the winemaking process helps to release a number of compounds, ranging from anthocyanins that lend a more intense color to the wine to low levels of supple, rounded tannins. Thermovinification also, typically, helps to suppress unripe, green flavors in order to achieve a homogeneous, if somewhat bland, fruity profile in the finished wines.
This suppression of undesirable aromatic characters may help to explain why thermovinification was adopted with enthusiasm in the past. The pressure on négociants to make vast lakes of Beaujolais nouveau at the peak of global demand for these wines meant that they, in turn, pushed growers to supply massive quantities of grapes at low prices. As a result, the grapes that were being used to produce these entry-level wines typically came from high-yielding vineyards where vines struggled to fully ripen their bunches. In addition, thermovinification is a useful tool for eliminating any trace of off-flavors derived from rot in the bunches. This was an absolute blessing in rainy vintages, where growers would otherwise have to get rid of a sometimes significant proportion of their production. In both instances, thermovinification is a key weapon that winemakers would have at their disposal to allow them to use fruit that would otherwise be deemed unfit for purpose.
Thermovinification has one further advantage. The technique helps speed up the winemaking process, and speed has always been of the essence to producers aiming to go from picking grapes to bottled wines in the short window of time before the Beaujolais nouveau deadline of the third Thursday in November. This technique is still widely used for the production of many nouveau styles, although the primeur wines made by more artisanal domaines are made using brief semicarbonic macerations rather than thermovinification.
The above account of the four main winemaking processes used in Beaujolais appears to suggest that each technique exists in its own separate silo. This is not necessarily the case. Some producers make cuvées that blend elements of various winemaking techniques—it’s not uncommon, for instance, for a winemaker to routinely use both whole bunches and destemmed grapes in varying proportions in their ferments. Others might blend a little thermovinified juice with wines made from semicarbonic fermentation after fermentation is finished, or mix the issue of destemmed and semicarbonic fermentations together. Yet others adapt the winemaking techniques they use according to what they perceive to be the requirements of each individual vintage.
One thing that I’ve learned to be wary of during my visits to Beaujolais is any reference to “traditional vinification.” Traditional is in the eye of the beholder and is used, variously, to refer to fully carbonic, semicarbonic, and destemmed “Burgundian” styles of winemaking.
Both semicarbonic maceration and “Burgundian” fermentations have a claim to be regarded as Beaujolais’s traditional way of making wine. Fully carbonic macerations—especially those inflected by the use of very cool temperatures—have less of a right to be regarded as the ur-style of winemaking in the region, for the very simple reason that the ability to pipe carbon dioxide into a tank and chill it right down has come with more modern advances in technology. True, the warm temperatures that prevail around harvest time in Beaujolais are a relatively recent phenomenon, so fermentations may once have started at cooler temperatures, but refrigerating grapes down to 10 degrees Celsius or so prior to the start of fermentation, or ensuring that active fermentations are chilled down to below 20 degrees Celsius, takes access to electricity and sophisticated cooling mechanisms.
There’s definitely a case to be made for the antiquity of the stack-it-in-a-tank-and-let-it-ferment approach to vinification that finds echoes in semicarbonic fermentation (albeit with contemporary inflections in most cases these days). Nevertheless, there are also valid arguments to be made that alcoholic fermentation and firm(ish) extraction also have a rich tradition in the region, and it is likely that this was the dominant way in which wine was made in Beaujolais during the nineteenth century, and probably well into the twentieth century. Some producers in Beaujolais have never made wine any other way.
There is no real benefit to be had in being didactic about which of the two fermentation practices has the better claim to be Beaujolais’s traditional method of winemaking. Nor, for that matter, is it appropriate to take a position about which is better. Wine lovers should, instead, rejoice in the huge variety of approaches to vinification seen in Beaujolais, which only serves to increase the extraordinary diversity of wines made there.
This excerpt first appeared in The Wines of Beaujolais, written by MW Natasha Hughes and published by Académie du Vin Library in September 2025. It has been minimally edited for style, length, and audience. Used with permission.
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