Château Léoville Las Cases
1982 Grape Varieties Limited Edition
A few days ago, I was invited to Château Léoville Las Cases for a truly special tasting. It wasn’t a wine event in the usual sense, but rather a rare opportunity to step, even briefly, into the mysterious world of winemaking.
The moment I walked into the estate, my eyes were immediately drawn to a set of 1982 Grape Varieties Limited Edition bottles quietly breathing on the table. Soon I learned that I would be tasting each individual varietal that went into the Grand Vin, and then blending my own version of Las Cases 1982—followed by a comparison with the official wine itself.
My goodness, what kind of experience would that be? I couldn’t even imagine. I’ve attended countless tastings over the years, but never anything quite like this.
As for how my own “AMA blend” turned out? Well, let’s keep that a secret for now. Before revealing the answer, I’d like to walk you through the tasting process, especially the four individual varietals and how each one performed.
Before we began, the estate’s representative explained that since 1979, Las Cases has kept a small quantity of each varietal used in the Grand Vin—vinified, aged, and bottled under exactly the same conditions as the final blend. Originally, this was a purely internal project to study each grape’s expression. But over time, it took on a life of its own. Year after year, the charm of these single-varietal wines deepened, and collectors began asking if they could experience them too. Eventually, the Delon family decided to turn this behind-the-scenes experiment into a limited-edition set, allowing more Las Cases lovers to share in the magic of the blending journey.
1982 Single Variety Tasting
Petit Verdot 1982:
(The estate told me that in 2011, all Petit Verdot vines were uprooted, and the variety had already been excluded from the Grand Vin since 2002.)
The Petit Verdot stood out immediately for its color—much deeper than the others, especially at the rim, showing barely a trace of orange even after 43 years. Its high acidity and assertive tannins remained vivid, giving the wine a strong and unmistakable personality. Aromas of cranberry and preserved plum had emerged with age, yet the structure still showed remarkable firmness, particularly on the finish, where the tannins displayed a touch of temper.
Merlot 1982:
(Sourced from the plots of Bois de Camuis, Bois de Juillac, and Le Grelat.)
At first sniff, it felt slightly tired, but a gentle swirl awakened an unexpected freshness. The palate surprised me even more: none of the sticky sweetness typical of hot vintages, but instead a bright, juicy sweetness. Unlike the typical image of Merlot, this one carried a touch of “cold fireplace” aroma reminiscent of aged Left Bank Cabernet. Yet after 43 years, it felt somewhat soft on its own, as though it needed a companion with more tension to hold up its frame.
Cabernet Franc 1982:
(All from La Vigne Rouge, the oldest vineyard on the estate, with vines up to 93 years old.)
It was said that the 1982 Cabernet Franc was entirely fermented in cement tanks. But who could have expected that after 43 years, it would still be so captivating? The greenness of youth had long faded, replaced by notes of pine resin and sandalwood—subtle yet profound. The structure wasn’t particularly powerful, but just when you thought it was over, a sudden burst of firmness appeared on the finish, like a surprise counterattack that made me quietly applaud.
Cabernet Sauvignon 1982:
The moment Cabernet Sauvignon took the stage, the energy in the glass changed completely. At once, you understood why it is—and always will be—the undisputed king of the Left Bank.
Resinous freshness, peppery spice, dark blackberry and lingering sandalwood intertwined through 43 years of aging, layer upon layer, forming a seamless whole. The tannins, refined by time, retained their clean-cut structure while gaining impressive depth. What amazed me most was that its edge had not been dulled by time; instead, it had evolved into calm confidence. Through that nearly translucent liquid, you could almost sense its steady gaze—clear, poised, and still radiant with life.
After tasting the four varietals, I moved on to the official 1982 Las Cases, recorked in 2015. The official blend was 60% Cabernet Sauvignon, 26% Merlot, 9% Cabernet Franc, and 5% Petit Verdot. I won’t go into detail here—you can find my full tasting note on my website—but suffice it to say, it’s one of those wines every true wine lover must experience at least once in a lifetime. I gave it 97 points.
Then came my turn to blend. My general idea was to increase Cabernet Sauvignon, reduce Merlot, and preserve as much as possible the purity and finesse of Cabernet Franc.
AMA Blend No.1:
Cabernet Sauvignon 70%, Merlot 15%, Cabernet Franc 10%, Petit Verdot 5%
When I tasted this first version, I was honestly surprised. Despite raising Cabernet Sauvignon by 10% and lowering Merlot by 11%, the wine I made turned out unexpectedly soft and rounded—utterly lacking the power and authority I associate with Las Cases. That wouldn’t do. Time to try again.
AMA Blend No.2:
Cabernet Sauvignon 77%, Merlot 13%, Cabernet Franc 8%, Petit Verdot 2%
This time, I didn’t go too far with the Cabernet. I wanted to retain some of Merlot’s plushness while highlighting the delicacy of Cabernet Franc, so I made the bold decision to cut Petit Verdot down to 2%. The moment this blend came together, I knew I’d found it. The authority, the nobility, the unmistakable majesty of Las Cases—all of it returned. As I tasted, I couldn’t help but smile and think: perhaps I do have a winemaker’s instinct after all. Then again, maybe that’s a bit too ambitious.
After finishing my first two blends, I realized something curious: every version I made turned out smooth and gentle. Even the estate team found it hard to understand. With 77% Cabernet Sauvignon, my Las Cases should have roared with power—but no, it remained disarmingly graceful. Maybe that’s what people mean when they say wine reflects its maker. I suppose my own easygoing nature makes everything I touch rounder and softer. Perhaps I’m better off staying a wine critic after all.
Before attempting a third blend, I decided to stop—not because I ran out of ideas, but because I was genuinely content. I’ve always believed it’s better to stop at the right moment than to chase perfection endlessly. Leaving a “version three” to the imagination felt somehow poetic, a reminder that the most beautiful moments are often those left just out of reach, waiting for a knowing smile from afar.
That day’s tasting was pure joy. The experience was intimate, distinctive, and filled with ritual. I’m sure every true wine lover would feel the same—a thrill for this “game reserved for insiders.” I later learned that only 100 sets of this single-varietal collection exist worldwide. To encounter one, then, is nothing short of destiny.
