My Hot Take On Cool Climate Wine

1970’s Oregon labels - note the 11.5% abv

What “Cool Climate” Used to Mean

Before climate change and modern viticultural advances, European wines were much lower in alcohol than we think of today. Historical research suggests that still wines in the Middle Ages often finished around 5–11% ABV. Some of this reflects the fact that wines were diluted for everyday drinking—but it’s also a reflection of what grapes could realistically achieve in truly cold climates. Sugar accumulation was slow and inconsistent, often limited by weather long before grapes reached full ripeness.

Even into the 19th and early 20th centuries, Burgundy remained a marginal place to grow grapes. Fully ripening Pinot Noir and Chardonnay wasn’t guaranteed, and many vintages simply didn’t accumulate enough natural sugar to ferment to what we’d now consider a “normal” alcohol level (roughly 12–14%), leaving producers to rely on chaptalization.

Chaptalization—the practice of adding sugar to unfermented grape juice so yeast can convert it into alcohol—doesn’t make wine sweeter. It simply bumps alcohol from, say, 10% to 12%. It became especially common in cool regions like Burgundy, Champagne, and parts of Germany, where grapes historically struggled to ripen fully.

We saw similar challenges much more recently here in Oregon. When Pinot Noir was first planted in the Willamette Valley in the 1960s, the region was widely considered a gamble. Cool seasons, inconsistent ripening, and dramatic vintage variation were the norm, and most wines came in below 13% alcohol.

Fast forward to 2026, and the contrast is unmistakable.

Sweating in the “cool” region of Piedmont last October in 90 degree heat

Where We Are Now

Today, both Burgundy and the Willamette Valley look very different. Pinot Noir from both regions now routinely sits closer to 14% alcohol, sometimes higher—reflecting both a warming climate and advances in viticulture that allow grapes to accumulate sugar more reliably.

You might be wondering: if the climate is getting hotter, why not just pick earlier to keep alcohol lower? And many do. But it’s not that simple.

Alcohol is an easy metric to point to, but it’s really just the surface-level evidence of a deeper shift. To understand how climate reshapes wine, we have to look not only at how ripe grapes get, but how long it takes them to get there.

Why Timing Matters

When talking about ripeness, you’ll often hear the term Brix: a measurement of sugar content in grapes. Sugar matters because it directly correlates to alcohol–the more sugar in the grapes at harvest, the more alcohol in the finished wine.

For Pinot Noir, there’s a relatively narrow picking window (generally 21 - 24 Brix) that allows the wine to ferment with balance, without tipping into excessive alcohol or losing acidity. But how long it takes to reach that number matters just as much as the number itself.

In regions with lots of high-heat days, grapes can reach that target very early; sometimes by mid-August! At that point, the winemaker has no choice but to pick. If they wait, sugar rises quickly, acidity drops, and the wine risks becoming unbalanced or jammy. 

So they pick at the right Brix—but because the grapes had such a short growing season, they didn’t have time to develop much complexity beyond fruit. You often get friendly, enjoyable fruity flavors, but not a whole lot more.

By contrast, in regions with more moderate temperatures, it can take much longer—sometimes until mid-October—to reach that same sugar level. And something different happens. The grape has time not just to accumulate sugar, but to develop non-fruit flavors: earth, herbs, vegetal and savory notes, texture, and nuance. Acidity stays in better balance. Alcohol remains more moderate. This longer, slower ripening is what we really mean when we talk about complexity.

There’s no right or wrong here. Wines from shorter, hotter growing seasons can be delicious and powerful; but they’re different from wines grown slowly in cooler conditions.

Soga Takahiko, Japan’s cultiest winemaker, in his snowy Hokkaido vineyard (© Ukita Yasuyuki)

Why Japan Felt Like a Reality Check

Many of the wines we tasted hovered around 12–12.5% alcohol, sometimes even lower. The growing season is long and moderate. Fruit is present, but it isn’t the headline.

More than once, people in our group (who drink a lot of Oregon Pinot Noir) smelled the wines and asked, “Is this off?” or “Is something wrong with it?”

Nothing was wrong. We were simply tasting wines shaped by a climate that is, by today’s standards, truly cool.

Instead of ripe cranberry and juicy pomegranate—aromas many of us associate with Willamette Valley Pinot Noir—we were getting wet leaves, forest floor and tart huckleberry. Confusing at first, but completely logical when viewed through the lens of a long, cool ripening season.

It was a reminder of how much our palates have adapted to riper styles, even when we still think of ourselves as lovers of “cool climate” wine.

So… Maybe It’s Time to Reframe

Language matters. And right now, the way we talk about climate in wine hasn’t quite caught up with reality.

Oregon and Burgundy are still cool relative to places like Bordeaux and Sonoma—which were long considered moderate but now feel much closer to warm. But Burgundy and Oregon themselves are warm when held up against regions like Japan.

That may mean rethinking what we call cool, moderate, and warm—especially as vineyards continue to be planted in places once considered “too cold,” like Japan, British Columbia, and southern Patagonia.

It also means winemakers are being forced to adapt. But Oregon, for once, has a leg up on Burgundy…

In Burgundy, the vineyards identified centuries ago as the best—the Grand and Premier Cru sites—were prized because they were the warmest places where grapes could reliably ripen. Today, those sites are now becoming too warm. But stepping away from them isn’t just a stylistic choice; it’s a financial one. Those classifications are baked into land values, reputations, and labels, so abandoning a Grand Cru vineyard in favor of a cooler, less celebrated site can mean walking away from generations of cultural and economic capital.

Oregon doesn’t carry that same historical weight. Without Grand or Premier Cru designations, producers have far more freedom to adapt. That’s why you’re seeing new vineyards planted higher up hillsides, farther west toward the Coast Range, and in cooler pockets with higher diurnal swing… sites where grapes can hang longer and ripen more slowly.

The climate is changing. Wine is changing with it. And if we want to keep understanding wine—not just drinking it—we need to update both our vocabulary and our expectations. 

Some Exciting News!

Before I sign off, there’s something I’m thrilled to finally share…

This newsletter is the last one you’ll receive through Kajabi. Starting next week, I’m moving this conversation over to Substack!

Substack allows me to create a more sustainable version of this newsletter, including an optional paid tier for those who want to taste together on a more regular basis. I’ll share exactly what that looks like next week, and I hope you’re as excited about it as I am!

There’s nothing you need to do. You’re already subscribed. Just know that next Sunday’s newsletter will come from Substack instead of Kajabi, so if you don’t see it by midday, take a quick peek in your spam or promotions folder.

Mostly, I just want to say thank you. This community means the world to me, and I’m excited to take this next step forward with you–raising a glass to what’s to come.

See you on Substack!

Cheers,
Kelsey 🍷