Updated: Mar 30
I hunt down value wines with soul, the kind that tell stories, spark debates, and challenge your assumptions about what good and "affordable" can taste like. The deal: Hong Kong prices with free delivery in urban areas. Six-bottle minimum. Ready to explore? WhatsApp 852 66236746 or email cf.lau@dunndunn.hk - Kevin K Tang
(AI photo)
Château Latour-Martillac 2017 from Pessac-Léognan is full of tannins and black-currant flavours. This dense wine has a strong structure, thanks to its dark tannins and ripe fruit. I gave it 93 points on my blog, Dunndunnplus.com, and Wine Enthusiast gave it 93 points as well. I stand by every point.
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2017 was the underdog vintage that few people believed in.
There is an ignorance that looks like expertise, not from those unaware but from those convinced they know and do not check. Bordeaux négociants quietly dumped 2017s, merchants sold without a story, and most never tasted the wine. It was a frost year, uneven and difficult. Most judged without trying; the rest relied on hearsay, repeating vintage folklore until it became fact. Nobody questioned it. In the Hong Kong and Chinese markets, people simply moved on.
Château Latour-Martillac 2017 earns 93 points for its structure and character, not its vintage label. If it were labelled 2016 or 2018, it would be in high demand. This wine is dismissed because of vintage bias, not true quality.
But it has a 2017 label, and for many people, that is enough reason to ignore it.
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Let’s talk about the consumer—the self-proclaimed value hunter. This is the person who talks about the joy of drinking well for less, the importance of finding overlooked bottles, and how silly it is to pay just for a label. These people are vocal, common, and persuasive.
They will not buy this wine.
Some see the score, sense the value, and wait, not from doubt but calculation. If buyers stay away and no one champions the wine as a deal, prices drop. Then these patient hunters move quietly, not to champion but to seize. That is not value hunting; it is patient predation.
Everyone agrees the wine is good, but nobody buys it. That is not a bad situation for someone who understands its value.
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Pessac-Léognan is not Pauillac. It does not ask to be judged against a warm, ripe year. The gravel, the structure, the tannins — they resolve, they do not soften. A dense 2017 Pessac is not a vintage failure. It is the appellation speaking. The frost shaped the yield. The terroir shaped the wine. Most never stopped long enough to hear the difference.
Price hesitation is rooted in the Bordeaux setting, with 2017 priced as if it were a great year. Merchants could not move stock, consumers faced price mismatches with the story, and no one corrected the narrative. This pricing misalignment perpetuated undervaluation.
That is not just the consumer’s fault. The system protected its own profits and left the wine behind.
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The people who will enjoy great wine in ten years are those buying it now at these prices, while others wait for approval.
The market is not always wrong, but it is almost always slow to catch up. It is also usually driven by things other than the wine itself.
The stories said this wine was finished before it even began. The pricing system let it down. The market ignored it. Yet it remains, quietly and stubbornly, without apology.
The question was never about the wine. It was always about the people who couldn’t see it.
Château Latour-Martillac 2017 is still the underdog. It is still worth every cent, even if nobody wants to spend money on it.
I hunt down value wines with soul, the kind that tell stories, spark debates, and challenge your assumptions about what good and "affordable" can taste like. The deal: Hong Kong prices with free delivery in urban areas. Six-bottle minimum. Ready to explore? WhatsApp 852 66236746 or email cf.lau@dunndunn.hk - Kevin K Tang
AI Photo.
Wine in context, and beyond. We are not here just to drink.
Some wines impress right away, while others feel genuine. The 2012 Château Lagrange is the second kind. It might not grab everyone’s attention, but if you pour it with care and give it time, you’ll find something more valuable than flashiness: honesty. It shows a winemaker who respected a modest year and gave it back to you just as it was.
This is important. In a market that loves showy wines and expects something special, honesty is worth standing up for, clearly and without apology.
The Vintage and the Wine
2012 wasn’t a standout year for Bordeaux, but it was a solid one. The summer was unpredictable, yields were modest, and the wine didn’t have the depth of 2009 or 2010. Critics gave Lagrange scores between 89 and 91, which feels fair—neither too harsh nor too generous. The wine smells of blackberry, cedar, a bit of tobacco, and dark chocolate. On the palate, it’s open, elegant, and silky in the way that only Cabernet Sauvignon from deep Médoc gravel can be. It’s not rich or heavy, but has a structure and finesse that rewards patience.
One person called it simple, another said it lacked depth. Both were right, just as a clear autumn morning isn’t a thunderstorm. Lagrange 2012 never tried to be something it’s not.
This is a Third Growth Saint-Julien that stays true to its classification, its land, and its year. In a world full of exaggeration, that’s something you can respect—even admire.
The Man and His Philosophy
Matthieu Bordes, Lagrange’s Director General and head winemaker since 2013, speaks plainly: “Today our inspiration comes from our terroir. My team and I strive to express each plot’s character and reveal each grape’s finesse and elegance.” He adds, “We never face pressure to increase quantity. Each year, we make the best wine, even in small amounts.”
These aren’t just marketing words—they reflect a real philosophy. The results come from paying attention to the land, the year, and the 103 plots that Bordes’ team tastes blind, months after harvest, before choosing what goes into the grand vin. The process and the outcome go hand in hand; each supports the other.
This is what Aristotle called phronesis, or practical wisdom. The craftsman knows the right result before he can explain it, and works toward that goal. To outsiders, it might seem like going in circles, but to those involved, it’s careful, disciplined work.
On Stewardship and Its Limits
Bordes’ philosophy is to give exactly what the land offers and let the wine speak for itself. This approach is visionary because it puts the land and tradition first. The winemaker follows the terroir, the vintage, and the estate’s reputation. He acts as a steward, not a showman, working within standards that have been set before him: the classification, the rules of the region, and a community of critics and buyers. Bordes doesn’t decide what makes a good wine; he works within a definition that’s been shared, tested, and proven over time.
Not every field follows this logic in the same way. Hong Kong’s Chief Executive John Lee has made a similar point, saying his administration’s value is shown by its results, which suggests that outcomes justify the process. As someone from Hong Kong, I find this troubling. Results do matter. But Bordes is judged by people who are free to disagree, free to give his wine a low score, or simply walk away. He is held to a standard that existed before him. In Hong Kong today, it feels like the tasting notes are written before the glass is poured. In Bordeaux, at least, the critic and the winemaker are different people.
Those who know, truly know. In wine, that means real expertise with no shortcuts. In government, it means keeping doors open, especially for the people who are part of the system.
Updated: Mar 27
I hunt down value wines with soul, the kind that tell stories, spark debates, and challenge your assumptions about what good and "affordable" can taste like. The deal: Hong Kong prices with free delivery in urban areas. Six-bottle minimum. Ready to explore? WhatsApp 852 66236746 or email cf.lau@dunndunn.hk - Kevin K Tang
There is a kind of wine that never gets written about properly. Not because it lacks merit, but because it lacks a title. Château Potensac has no classification. It sits in the Médoc appellation—the northern, less glamorous stretch of the Left Bank—outside the famous 1855 hierarchy. No Grand Cru Classé rosette on the label. No investor frenzy. No auction room drama. Just a wine, made with quiet seriousness, that has been outperforming its appellation for as long as anyone has paid attention.
Yet, the bones of this place are anything but modest. The same technical team behind Léoville Las Cases works these vines. The 60-hectare vineyard sits only six kilometres north of Calon Ségur. Its soils—gravel over clay and limestone—bring, in certain parcels, a character closer to St. Emilion than to typical Médoc. Some vines are over 80 years old. This is not a château that stumbled into quality. It was built for it, quietly, without the classification it arguably deserved in 1855.
That is the first underdog. Now add the second.
The 2012 Bordeaux vintage does not announce itself. Jancis Robinson called it "a timorous vintage"—small, cunning, cowering. It succeeded only by the skin of its teeth and with immense effort in both vineyard and cellar. The Médoc fared poorly. Late-ripening Cabernet Sauvignon was still underripe at the end of September. Then, around 100mm of rain hit the Médoc in the second week of October, causing dilution and forcing hands. Only estates with the means to declassify, sort obsessively, and sacrifice quantity could make something worth drinking. The cash-strapped could not afford to. This was a vintage that separated the serious from the merely adequate.
Potensac is serious.
Early notes from the barrel described dense cassis fruit, depth, and grip. Some greenness needed smoothing. That greenness—the Cabernet's honest confession of a difficult October—was always the question mark over this wine. But then Neal Martin, tasting it in the bottle, said the 2012 Potensac surpassed his expectations from the barrel. I met Martin in person in Wellington, where we were both invited writers and commentators — and what struck me then holds true on the page: he does not give ground easily. He anchors his assessments carefully. "Surpassed from barrel" means the wine did something in the bottle that the young sample did not fully promise. The greenness smoothed. The fruit deepened. The wine became more than the vintage suggested it had any right to be.
By the time other critics caught up, the picture had clarified. Wine Enthusiast called it one of the showpieces of the Médoc—structured, firm, and with strong Cabernet character. It gave both dry tannins and juicy black currant fruits, still youthful, and built to age. The nose had moved from the tart, red-fruited profile of its youth toward blackcurrant and black cherry. There was graphite and pepper on the palate. Solid. Smooth. Quite long. The transformation is real—from red to black fruit, from tart to riper. It is the story of a wine finding itself with time.
But here is the honest tension, and any serious piece about this wine must address it. One taster, revisiting the 2012 recently, noted the fruit appeared to be fading faster than the tannin. That is Médoc's particular cruelty in lesser vintages—the structure outlasts the flesh. At fourteen years old in 2026, this wine is at a crossroads. The window may be open. It may be closing. It may already be shut in certain bottles.
I have not tasted the 2012. I say that plainly because it matters. The wine exists, for me, entirely in the testimony of others: in Martin's quiet astonishment, in Wine Enthusiast's admiration, and in the single anxious note about fading fruit. But years of knowing this appellation, this ownership, and this winemaking philosophy is not nothing. Here is my honest projection: a medium ruby with a tight rim, less than two millimetres of garnet at the edge. Dark fruits are still present, but no longer leading — giving way to soil, to oak, to something mineral and saline at the finish. The limestone in those parcels, finally speaking. This is not a tasting note. It is an informed imagining. And the wine sells for almost nothing — an unclassified château, managed like a classified one, from a vintage that punished the careless and rewarded the disciplined, now available for the price of a casual restaurant pour of something far less interesting.
If you love the Médoc's muscularity, cedar, graphite, and slow unfurling, this wine deserves your attention and risk. Decant for an hour. Serve with lamb. Decide for yourself if the double underdog delivered.
I suspect it did.
