I am sitting in a courtyard at the Saxon Hotel, adjacent to some very substantial Koi fish, telling Benoît Gouez about that one time I was sitting in the Orient Express, adjacent to Napoleon’s hat. I was en route to his part of the world — Champagne — to celebrate the champagne that the cellar master of Moët & Chandon spends the better part of his days perfecting. The hat was one of the five certified tricornes that once adorned Napoleon’s head, and on that occasion, we were focused on the Brut Imperial, named in honour of the bearer of the hat.
He pours me a little commemorative coup, and we admire the marvellous consistency and magic trick this golden liquid can perform. In one taste, I am back on the gilded train, watching the famous hat fall off its perch.
But Gouez is in South Africa to mark the 10th anniversary of Moët & Chandon Grand Vintage 2016, the latest release in the house’s singular vintage series. Unlike the dependable consistency of Moët & Chandon Brut Impérial, Grand Vintage is made only when the year has something worth saying.
“Every single vintage has to be unique,” Gouez explains. “It has to tell the story of the year, the climate, the decisions we made in the vineyards and the winery.”
For 2016, that story is one of adversity followed by grace. Spring in Champagne was wet and punishing, bringing disease pressure and anxiety for growers. Then summer steadied. By harvest, the fruit was ripe, healthy, and expressive. Gouez calls it “an ending of excellence born from turbulence”, with a style defined by roundness, serenity, and a seamless mouthfeel.
He explains it all in fashion terms for me: Grand Vintage is the bespoke suit, Brut Impérial is the little black dress. He elaborates that, like the LBD, “It seems always the same, but in fact it evolves all the time.” Consumer tastes change, climate changes, lifestyles shift, and the house adapts while preserving its identity.
One of the clearest examples is sugar. When Gouez joined Moët in 1998, Brut Impérial sat near the upper sweetness limit of the brut category. Since then, dosage has been steadily lowered, reflecting a global preference for freshness, precision, and restraint. South Africa, he notes, traditionally loved the fruitier style of Nectar Impérial, but palates are maturing. More drinkers are moving toward brut.
What is striking is how fluently Gouez moves between poetry and process. He speaks of “emotional precision”, of needing to be “square as an engineer and round as a creator”, Then he describes fermentation tanks fitted with microchips that measure carbon dioxide flow every five seconds, allowing the cellar team to guide each ferment in real time and avoid oxidation or reduction faults.
Technology, in his view, should never erase terroir. It should reveal it more clearly. On climate change, he offers a startling duality. “As a winemaker, I’m very happy. As a father, I’m concerned.” Warmer temperatures have brought riper grapes and eliminated the under-ripe “green” vintages of old Champagne. But harvests now begin weeks earlier, often in August, and the long-term implications remain uncertain.
For all the technical brilliance, his most cherished champagne moment is unexpectedly simple. Not a rare bottle in a palace cellar, but arriving home midweek, opening Brut Impérial, and sharing a glass with his partner for no reason at all. “The best champagne,” he says, “is the spontaneous one.” Who am I to argue?
From the May issue of Wanted, 2026
