The scene takes place on the day of the Beaujolais Nouveau celebration, in the early 2010s, in a chic establishment in Biarritz, southwestern France. A young oenologist is preparing wines for tasting when she is taken to task by a stranger: "Are you still working with Lapierre? Be careful. Since Marcel died, it's his son who's taken over, and he's making a mess!" The young woman listens, gritting her teeth. Then, as she was about to greet the intruder, she slipped him her business card: "Here, I'll leave you my contact details. That way, you'll know how to reach the sister of Lapierre's son, the one whose work is shit!"

While Camille Lapierre recounts the anecdote with a smile, the look on her face is unmistakable: time has passed, but she hasn't forgiven that moment of stupidity. Marcel Lapierre died of cancer on October 11, 2010, and it's an understatement to say that many of his competitors in the Beaujolais region were eagerly anticipating the people who would carry on his work. Lapierre had become a benchmark in France and around the world, the king of Morgon and natural wine alike, after years of being regarded as a madman. Shortly before his death, the French Wine Review even referred to him as the "Pope of Beaujolais." And everyone knows that being the son of a pope is not a comfortable position to be in.

Twelve years have passed. That's a long time in human terms, but for a vineyard, it's no time at all. We're sitting in the shade of a tree, in Villié-Morgon, some 50 kilometers north of Lyon. The pretty courtyard separates the houses from the winery, at the heart of the estate. Opposite us is Mathieu Lapierre, 41. While watching the fire – he was a cook in a previous life and hasn't lost his touch – he listens to his sister Camille, 36, who joined him in 2013.

This story in Biarritz makes Mathieu laugh more than it annoys him. "It's human, and it's true that I had no interest in failing for the first vintage, in 2011. In fact, I was lucky because it was a superb year. But in reality, I'd been working with Marcel for quite some time. We'd made the last few vintages together, so I wasn't a newcomer at all."

Joys and constraints

The idea of taking over from his father was not an easy one. At least, Mathieu wasn't prepared for it. "It fell into my lap in 2004," he says. "I was living in Canada when my father came to me and said, 'you know, my mole... well, it's not a mole.' He had melanoma. He knew he was doomed, so he added that if I wanted to take over, I had to get back to France fast." Of course, the children had always been involved with the life of the estate, punctuated by the immutable chronology and joyous tumult of the grape harvest. They knew all the joys and constraints, the anguish of the little mistakes that can ruin everything, and the joy of producing wine that you believe in. But they had left to make their lives elsewhere – Mathieu in the kitchen, Camille as an oenologist.

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