At Full Throttle, Until the Very Last Moment

Michel Rolland always lived at a fast pace. Even in his seventies, he barely slowed down, as Neal Martin noted days ago. Now I understand why. For Rolland, work and life were the same. One doesn't slow down for enjoyment, does he? Consulting wasn't just a job for him; it was how he experienced the world. Travelling to Argentina, tasting in Bordeaux, blending in Napa—these were not separate from living; they were living. Slowing down would have meant becoming someone else.

His laboratory noted that even at the very end, he was "still full of energy, projects, and travel plans." He was in Argentina just weeks before his death, on the 2026 vintage.

I first met him before 2000. That meeting changed how I taste wine and influenced everything that followed.

He described microoxygenation not as a winemaker’s trick but as a philosophy. To him, it was a careful step, just enough oxygen to soften tannins that resisted on their own. He saw it not as manipulation, but as patience in practice. Critics saw it differently. Many argued that adding oxygen made wines uniform and erased individuality. Some claimed it was a shortcut that masked flaws or sped up a process that should happen slowly in the barrel. Rolland knew these claims, but always insisted microoxygenation was not about cutting corners or creating a formula. For him, it was a tool, as useful or dangerous as the person using it. While others argued whether the method was cheating or genius, Rolland had already moved on.

What stands out most to me is how he viewed fruit. He believed fruit was the true heart of wine, showing exactly where a grape grew and ripened. Everything done in the cellar either supported that truth or worked against it. He said that hiding the fruit was not a style choice, but a mistake.

He spoke about this calmly, without any drama. That’s what I remember most. Once, during a tasting at his office, I watched as he quietly swirled a glass, tasted, and then listened to a winemaker defend a more aggressive style. Rolland didn’t interrupt or raise his voice. Instead, he asked just one question, "But can you still taste the vineyard?" There was a pause, and then a gentle smile. He believed the answer to that question mattered more than any technical debate. He shaped wines on five continents, advised over 150 estates in 14 countries, and talked about fruit the way a painter talks about light: as the thing everything is meant to reveal.

He was ahead of his time. Today, people talk a lot about minimal intervention, letting vineyards speak, and keeping the winemaker’s ego out of the way. Rolland was already having those conversations quietly, years ago.

He died on March 20, 2026, at 78. He was still working, still travelling, and still making plans. Michel Rolland never slowed down.