This one might get me in trouble... my thoughts on natural wine

I had originally planned to tell you about my favorite wine bars in Paris this week. But after posting this video about a few that didn’t quite hit—and seeing the wild response it sparked in you—I figured I’d better address that first.

So while I hope today’s newsletter doesn’t feel too negative (I promise we’ll get back to sunshine and kumbaya next week), I wanted to expand a bit on what I said in that video, and share my thoughts on the controversial natural wine scene unfolding not just in Paris, but in Portland, LA, New York… really everywhere.

Everyone’s wringing their hands about how wine is dying, consumption is down, Gen Z isn’t drinking, etc. etc.—but then you walk into an event like Portland’s The Wild Bunch, packed with 500 humans under the age of 40, and you realize that’s not entirely true. Young people are drinking wine—they’re just not drinking the same wine their parents and grandparents drank. They’re drinking natural wine.

Now, let me take a quick moment to define what I mean by natural wine. If you’ve followed me for a while, you know I’m a huge proponent of minimal intervention—wines made by small producers, farmed responsibly, and crafted with as few additives as possible. (If you’ve browsed our list at Arden, you’ve seen this in action.) But when I say natural wine here, I’m talking about producers who take it even further—those who are dogmatically opposed any corrections at all, especially sulfur dioxide, which is often the one thing that can correct common winemaking flaws like volatile acidity, ethyl acetate, and tetrahydropyridine (aka mouse. Yes, it’s a real thing—and no, you don’t want it in your glass). In these circles, those flaws aren’t just tolerated—they’re often celebrated as proof the wine hasn’t been “messed with.”

I assumed—or at least hoped—that this trend was something only the youth of America was embracing. But on this recent trip to France, I was genuinely surprised (and more than a little bummed) to find that many of the most popular wine bars in Paris were pouring wines that were flawed to the point of undrinkable—or at the very least, unenjoyable. We left glass after glass untouched, and as the days passed, our expectations of finding good, clean wine got lower and lower.

I guess I had this fantasy that the French, by virtue of being French, would just naturally have better palates. (They invented terroir! They wrote the wine textbooks! They gave us DRC, for god’s sake!) Or maybe I just hoped that French producers would be better at making clean wines without needing to manipulate them.

Because here’s the thing: problems do arise in the winemaking process. I’ve heard people say they want to “let the wine make itself,” but the truth is… wine doesn’t make itself. Vinegar makes itself. Otherwise, winemakers would be out of a job and we’d all be picking 100-point Barolo straight off the vine. (Sign me up for that alternate universe.)

When I picture the art of natural winemaking, I think of the Olympic sport of curling. (Yes, I know it’s not the most thrilling event—but stay with me.) The players scrub like hell to clear a path so the puck can glide smoothly down the ice, easy as you please. That’s what good natural winemaking looks like: the winemaker working twice as hard behind the scenes—cleaning, testing, making fast decisions, changing course when needed—so the wine can skate through with no impediments.

There’s always a learning curve when it comes to new natural producers. I’ve tasted wine from natural producers on their tenth vintage that I loved—but I couldn’t stand it on their first. Just recently, I had the pleasure of tasting with Hardy Wallace, a true icon of the natural wine movement. His original brand, Dirty & Rowdy, made waves when it debuted in 2010—but while it was groundbreaking, it wasn’t my cup of funky tea. His new label, Extradimensional Wine Co. Yeah!, had me wary… but I shouldn’t have been. The wines were clean, delicious, and expressive—with not a hint of mouse in sight.

This is a trend I’ve seen again and again with minimal intervention producers: they get better at it as they go. And that’s why, here in 2025, I don’t think there’s any excuse for serving flawed wine. There are so many winemakers out there doing it right—farming organically, fermenting naturally, not adding anything (except maybe just a touch of SO₂), and making wines that are clean and expressive of their region and varietal.

Because when someone pours a wine that’s clearly flawed and calls it “terroir-driven,” I want to throw up my hands. Terroir is supposed to be about place—about what makes that wine taste unique because of the where it comes from. But when that personality is buried under volatile acidity and funk, and I can’t even blind taste the varietal? That’s a problem.

It’s a nuanced conversation. One one hand, I’m delighted that young people are drinking wine. If pét-nat and cloudy reds are the gateway drug that gets a new generation curious, I’m here for it.

But I also hope their palates evolve. I hope they get curious about what wine tastes like beyond flawed flavors. And I hope they begin to hold the same high standards for the quality of the wine itself as they do for the philosophy behind how it's made.

Personally? I don’t want to drink wines that smell like nail polish remover and taste like a mouse cage. And I definitely don’t want to pay top dollar for them.

I think we can do better—as winemakers, wine buyers, and wine drinkers.

I’m not saying we all have to like the same wines. I am saying: you’re allowed to not like what’s trendy. You’re allowed to say, “Hey, I don’t care that this wine bar has 100k Instagram followers—I think this wine is gross.” Your palate is valid. You don’t need a sommelier—or a hipster in Carhartt—to confirm it for you.

Cheers and until next week,
Kelsey