Antoine Sunier, Regnie, Cru Beaujolais

Happy Thanksgiving! There’s something about November—the chill settling into your jacket, the sidewalks slick with wet leaves, and the faint drift of your neighbor’s wood fire curling through the air—that makes me crave serious Gamay. This is the moment in the year when white wine politely steps aside, and all I want is a red that warms the chest without shouting for attention. The kind of bottle you pull after a long day when the kitchen lights are low and dinner is still just an idea. And for that exact mood, this is the wine I reach for. Year after year, Antoine Sunier turns out some of the most heartbreakingly pure wines in all of Beaujolais—wines from Crus that operate like the Grand Cru villages of Champagne, entire places elevated by terroir alone. A tiny group sits at the summit of Cru Beaujolais—Foillard, Lapierre, Dutraive, Métras—and I’ll tell you without hesitation: this bottle stands shoulder-to-shoulder with them. Beaujolais of this quality has long been called poor man’s Burgundy, but nothing about this wine feels poor; it glides with the silk, perfume, and quiet seduction of a Chambolle-Musigny, while remaining as effortlessly drinkable as anything you’ll open all fall. If you haven’t yet surrendered to the world of great Cru Beaujolais, this is the place to start.

Beaujolais is technically the southernmost extension of Burgundy, though its spirit is entirely its own. The region is built on rolling granite hills, forests, old farmhouses, and wind-swept slopes that feel worlds apart from the Côte d’Or. Quality follows a clear ladder: Beaujolais Nouveau, Beaujolais AOC, Beaujolais-Villages, and finally the ten Cru Beaujolais appellations—which run north to south as follows: Saint-Amour, Juliénas, Chénas, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie, Chiroubles, Morgon, Régnié, Brouilly, and Côte de Brouilly. Each Cru possesses its own soil fingerprint—decomposed pink granite, schist, blue volcanic stone, sand, and pockets of clay-limestone that reconnect parts of the region to classic Burgundian geology. Régnié lies just south of Morgon yet sits noticeably higher in elevation, giving it extra lift, red-fruit brightness, and aromatic finesse—qualities that make it one of the most naturally Burgundian in feel.

Antoine Sunier, originally from Dijon, didn’t grow up in a winemaking family; instead, he entered the world of wine through his older brother Julien, who introduced him to the ethos of low-intervention, terroir-first Beaujolais. After studying enology in Beaune and training under Jean-Louis Dutraive and Jean-Marc Brignot, Antoine founded his domaine in 2014. His cellar approach is painstakingly gentle: all fruit is hand-harvested and sorted carefully in the vineyard before arrival. Fermentation follows the traditional semi-carbonic method in closed concrete vats—whole clusters only, no de-stemming, and nothing but indigenous yeasts. Maceration typically runs 8–15 days, after which the wine flows by gravity into a mix of about 80% seasoned Burgundy barrels (nearly 10 years old) and epoxy-lined concrete tanks. Élèvage lasts roughly eight months before bottling, which is done without fining or filtration, with only a minimal touch of SO₂. The 2023 vintage is a knockout—ripe, balanced, and aromatically vivid—an ideal canvas for Sunier’s style. This year’s Régnié is especially transparent and perfumed, shimmering with energy and mineral clarity.

The 2023 Régnié pours translucent ruby and leaps from the glass with highly perfumed notes of wild strawberry, raspberry, cranberry, rose petals, crushed granite, and delicate spice. The palate is pure silk—red fruit, fine tannins, faint savory notes, and that signature Sunier lift that feels like it was poured over alpine rocks. Serve just below cellar temperature (around 55°F) in Burgundy stems to maximize its floral aromatics. At the table, it’s brilliantly versatile: perfect with roast turkey and cranberry, pork loin with herbs, roast chicken (see attached recipe from Zuni!), mushroom dishes, charcuterie, pâté, and even salmon or trout on a cold night. It’s the kind of wine you can drink all evening without fatigue—and exactly what late fall and early winter call for.