BY NEAL MARTIN | SEPTEMBER 2, 2025

“This is a man's, man's, man's world. But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl…”

So sang James Brown in a rare moment where he put down the funk and delivered this searing R&B chart-topper in 1966. Are these lyrics sexist, or do they simply portray the gender inequality that was endemic at the time? In fact, these words were written by a woman, Betty Jean Newsome, inspired by her boyfriends’ remarks, one of whom was James Brown.  In any sense, they are apposite words for the first evening in a weekend dedicated to Château Lafleur, because whilst offering commentary upon the flights, it was brought to my attention that I kept referring solely to Baptiste Guinaudeau and unintentionally erasing his wife Julie from the story. In that instant, I understood that at the heart of Lafleur is not just a propitious vineyard, but two husband-and-wife teams: Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau, then Baptiste and Julie Guinaudeau. To quote my own Pomerol tome, these couples give Lafleur its heartbeat.

Having expounded on Lafleur and the Guinaudeaus over many years, this is an opportune moment to shift the focus to Julie Guinaudeau. Whilst most of my tastings are held with Baptiste, Julie is never far away, working in one of their vineyards or tinkering in the winery, keeping the ship afloat, as they say. Julie Guinaudeau is just one in a matriarchal lineage that made Pomerol what it is today. Flick back through the pages of Pomerol’s history. Catherine Conseillan played a pivotal role in Pomerol’s formation in the mid-eighteenth century. There is Mme. Loubat, the grande dame at Petrus, and Mme. Ducasse at L’Evangile. Today, Juliette Couderc has stepped into Mme. Ducasse’s shoes and works with Saskia de Rothschild. There is Noëmie Durantou at l’Église-Clinet and Marielle Cazaux at La Conseillante, not forgetting Dany Rolland at Le Bon Pasteur and co-founding their laboratory in Catusseau. Germane to Lafleur, let us raise a glass to Marie and Thérèse Robin. Together with their brood of chickens clucking round the winery, the Robins ran Lafleur and Le Gay from 1946 after the sudden passing of their father, André Robin, unwittingly creating a legend.

Perfect weather for a tasting on the banks of Attersee. The rain clouds disappeared the day before the event and returned the day after!

This two-day event on the idyllic banks of Attersee in Austria, between azure lake and soaring mountains, marked four decades of Lafleur under the aegis of la famille Guinaudeau. Organisers Katharina and Konstanin Wölf’s late father, Carlo, was a close friend of Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau, and the bond between the two families continued to the next generation. That history fostered a relaxed and jovial atmosphere that neatly counterbalanced the serious task of tasting over 50 wines. The tasting centred upon magnums of every vintage of Lafleur between 1985 and 2022, all of which had been shipped from the estate in May. Adding to the light-heartedness were local musicians who sang, strummed and parped throughout the lunch and two dinners, which featured special menus by Michelin-starred chefs Konstantin Filippou and Phillip Rachinger. Were there lederhosen? You bet. Not for the chefs, though, they were in their whites.

During the Saturday afternoon, I sat down with Julie Guinaudeau to find out more about Lafleur’s present-day “mother.”

“My family is originally from the Lot-et-Garonne towards the southeast of Bordeaux,” Guinaudeau told me, looking radiant as ever in the Austrian sun. “They were farmers. They owned vines, although the fruit was sold to the co-operative. I would often work in the vineyard with my parents, though I never made wine. My parents were not connoisseurs. They just enjoyed drinking wine now and then like everyone. I studied in Bordeaux for the baccalauréat. This is where I met Baptiste when I was 16 years old. At that time, I had no idea about Lafleur. The college where we studied agronomy was not far from Lafleur. I continued to study oenology for a BTS [a two-year vocational degree].”

Julie Guinaudeau, obviously enjoying this lunchtime tasting of the most recent vintages of Lafleur.

I cheekily asked Julie if Baptiste bought a bottle of Lafleur on their first date, though she laughed and noted that it was something less expensive.

“The first Lafleur that I drank was with the Guinaudeau family. It was a bottle of 1989. I remember that it was explosive and precise. It had floral, rose-like aromatics that are typical of Lafleur. I had grown up learning about the quality of vegetables and meat, training my palate. This informed my appreciation of what makes a fine wine. Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau, plus my friends—including Carlo—organised dinners and blind tastings of Grand Vins…lots of Bordeaux. I was educating myself, learning the differences between wines grown on clay-limestone or gravelly soils. I was soon helping with the vinification, so my learning was rapid.”

The first vintage that Julie Guinaudeau helped craft was the 2001 Lafleur. I inquired about the distribution of responsibilities around the wineries. Who does what?

“We share a lot of the duties. I am mainly involved in the production, the viticulture and the vinification—that is where my heart lies. I am in the winery all year round as the technical director,” she said.

I asked whether there are as many women on the team as men. “Of course,” she replied, as if anything else would be untenable. How many other Bordeaux estates could say the same?

Aside from Julie Guinaudeau’s full-time role in running the estate, of course, she has her own family to look after. “I have three daughters; the oldest, Joséphine, is 16 years old. She is interested in wine, but at the moment she is not so interested in tasting wine, whereas the two younger daughters, Mathilde and Elizabeth, are more interested, even though they are too young. They are often around the chai. Their favourite part is the remontage [pumping over] and écoulage  [running off the free-run juice after fermentation]. They started asking questions when they were six years old, why we were doing this or that. But they’re young and they have to live their lives first. To make a Grand Vin, you have to be passionate, and they have to have that.”

For details about Lafleur’s vineyard and vinification, I refer readers to my 2018 article, Enigma Variations: Lafleur 1955-2015, or—if you own an elusive copy—to my book, “Pomerol.” But as a quick reminder, Lafleur is the 4.5-hectare vineyard adjacent to Petrus, albeit with very different soils and grape varieties, Lafleur boasts more glacial gravel deposits, with around half the vineyard planted with Bouchet, the local term for Cabernet Franc. Quoting Jacques Guinaudeau from my Pomerol book, “You have more personality and complexity if you make a wine sympathetic to the terroir rather than making your own wine.” That philosophy rings true 15 years later.

There were some raised eyebrows when Jacques and Sylvie Guinaudeau took over Lafleur, as the familial ties were not immediate. Jacques was the second cousin of Marie and Thérèse Robin and had run Château Grand Village in Mouillac since 1979, so perhaps some questioned whether he was up to the task. That was answered by the Guinaudeaus’ maiden vintage, the sublime 1985 Lafleur, following an interregnum when Christian Moueix and Jean-Claude Berrouet made the wine. The Guinaudeaus rolled up their sleeves and began reconstituting the vineyard. Around one-quarter needed to be replaced, since the Robin sisters were never predisposed towards replanting superannuated vines. Following the passing of Marie Robin in 2001, the Guinaudeau family was able to buy Lafleur, though they had to relinquish Le Gay to the late Catherine Père-Vergé to finance the deal.

The Wines

Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. To assess, contrast and above all enjoy 37 consecutive vintages of such a rare wine from magnums with perfect provenance was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that to my knowledge had never been undertaken. The tasting notes speak for themselves, so I will offer my takeaways from the event.

Without wishing to state the bleeding obvious, there is no doubting the quality of Château Lafleur. That said, Lafleur is not a crowd-pleaser and never has been. It does not kowtow to fad or fashion because the Guinaudeau family—and for that matter, their predecessors—have always allowed the vineyard to speak for itself. Perhaps because of that, Lafleur marches to its own tune.

The triumvirate of 1988, 1989 and 1990 Lafleur in magnum. I cannot recall ever tasting all three together.

When Lafleur is firing on all cylinders, it is spectacular. Perhaps the 2000 Lafleur is the apogee and epitomises a wine that future connoisseurs will revere, like the 1982 Lafleur. My other pick of the “Jacques and Sylvie” era would be the aforementioned 1985 Lafleur. The pressure must have been immense. The 1985 had to deliver after the Guinaudeaus had wrested control of the estate from other interested parties with deeper pockets. To this day, the 1985 remains a magnificent debut. I place the 1989 above the 1990 Lafleur. However, in magnum format, the gap between them is narrower. The 1995 and 1998 Lafleur are standouts from the nineties, a decade when Lafleur reflects the swings of successive growing seasons. That is borne out in the more challenging early years of that decade. One vintage that ought not to be overlooked is the 1999 Lafleur, unenviably sandwiched between the 1998 and 2000. The 1999 is a delightful, almost carefree Pomerol that you can drink now whilst waiting for the 1998 and 2000 to reach their peak. From the first decade of the 21st century, the 2001 and 2005 Lafleur are both stupendous. One surprise was the quality of the 2008 Lafleur, which I rated higher than the more feted 2009, a contrarian view given the vintage reputation. More recently, both the 2010 and 2019 are peaks, but that decade is a mountain range of summits. Over-performers like the 2012 and 2017 represent some of the best values in the market.

Lafleur. Needs. Time. More than any Right Bank wine, Lafleur needs a decade to reach its drinking window, even in supposedly less-concentrated vintages. This was reaffirmed during this tasting. Even though, like many of its contemporaries, Lafleur’s tannins are nowadays sculpted with more finesse and a far cry from the behemoths once unwittingly created by the Robin sisters, these wines will reward the patient if time is allowed to weave its magic.

There is stylistic consistency irrespective of growing season. Perhaps the only time a season “defeated” Lafleur in the modern era was 2013. Though as good as you will find in this nadir vintage, the 2013 Lafleur was the only wine in this tasting that lacked personality, a Lafleur with a vacant stare. Likewise, the 1993 Lafleur comes across rather astringent—I have fonder memories when it was around a decade old. Should the Guinaudeau family have bottled the entire crop of ’93 or ’13 under Les Pensées as they did in ‘87 and ‘91? Maybe. Then again, both represent unadulterated translations of their vintages, and I respect that.

Speaking of the Les Pensées, the magnum format of the 1987 was so good that I suggested to Baptiste Guinaudeau that it is worthy of the Grand Vin. It was far better than the three or four bottles I’d encountered in recent years. One aspect to remember about Les Pensées is that it was originally conceived as an orthodox second label. Now, Les Pensées is a de facto separate cuvée born in a delimited part of the vineyard—the spur of sandier soil that traverses the rows. Julie Guinadueau mentioned that at harvest, they have to indicate to pickers where that part lies since the grapes ripen at a different pace.

This tasting included flights of Lafleur’s other wines, including Les Champs Libres, Les Perrières and Les Pensées. Les Champs Libres is certainly an ageworthy Sauvignon Blanc, and the highlight was the splendid 2014. I just have reservations about the 2016, which seems to have a fixed reduction that smothers the fruit expression. Julie Guinaudeau recalled it was difficult judging the appropriate amount of SO2 in 2016 due to the smaller volume of fruit. The Les Perrières, which replaced the “Acte” series, comes from three hectares on limestone soils, a massal selection of Merlot and Bouchet taken from Lafleur. Les Perrières is becoming a coveted wine in its own right, certainly a different expression, more linear and slightly more brittle in texture. What it does share with Lafleur is a propensity to age.

Final Thoughts

This epic tasting reaffirmed my appreciation for Lafleur and its stablemates that have established their own identities. It is not the first Lafleur vertical I have undertaken, but it is the only one that provided an uninterrupted view of an entire era with the assurance of perfect provenance. More than the wines, the tasting emphasised the idea of Lafleur as a family-run enterprise. Unlike some estates, here you never have the sense of one eye watching what others are doing, peeking over the proverbial garden hedge. Focus is entirely upon what occurs within their own walls. That engenders a soupçon of solipsism, not in the negative sense (not least because the Guinaudeaus socialise with neighbours), but because they chart their own course even if contrary to perceived wisdom. No shareholders’ expectations. No decision by committee. No outside interference from interested parties. No intra-family internecine squabbling.

Almost on cue, a month after this tasting, the Guinaudeau family issued a press release on August 25, the crux of which read: “…we have decided to cease adhering to the appellations of Pomerol and Bordeaux beginning with the 2025 vintage.” This is a major decision, one that I am sure was not taken lightly by all concerned. Given my sentiments in the previous paragraph, I find it unsurprising. Following this year’s heatwaves, combined with the spectre of global warming, a second press release confirmed that the family felt they had no choice but to unshackle themselves from AOC rules to protect vines from accumulating water stress. Consequently, they reduced canopy height and foliage density and practiced targeted irrigation on the driest parcels. Having undertaken these actions, the only option was to forsake AOC status, although the family pointedly stated that “…the planting of other grape varieties would be a grave mistake.” The burning question is whether this will set a precedent and others will follow, or—preferably, I might add—AOC rules will be relaxed.

Returning to this tasting of the soon-to-be most famous Vin de France in the world, the biggest takeaway was the vital roles that Sylvie and subsequently Julie Guinaudeau play. Both have as much “grit under the fingernails” as anyone.

“It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World” could be applied to the Bordeaux wine industry in 2025, more so than, say, Burgundy, where there are more women running estates. Today, the message is no less relevant insofar as many women in successful partnerships frequently fail to receive their fair dues, and there is less acknowledgement of the crucial roles they play. Watching the Guinaudeau daughters splash in the lake and, later, the older ones helping pour the wines impressed upon guests the idea of a family running a major Bordeaux estate. Assuming that winemaking is in their DNA, and as Julie Guinaudeau herself mentioned, the daughters follow in their parents’ footsteps by their own volition, Lafleur will always be enhanced by a woman’s touch. 

© 2025, Vinous. No portion of this article may be copied, shared or redistributed without prior consent from Vinous. Doing so is not only a violation of our copyright but also threatens the survival of independent wine criticism.

---

You Might Also Enjoy

Enigma Variations: Lafleur 1955-2015, Neal Martin, November 2018

A Century of...Fives, Neal Martin, June 2025

Bordeaux: The Crisis Laid Bare, Neal Martin, June 2025

Intellect & Senses: Bordeaux With Time, Neal Martin, March 2025

A Place Beyond Praise: Bordeaux 2022, Neal Martin, February 2025