How the Porsche 911 Turbo Became a Performance Legend
Once meaning merely a forced-induction engine, turbo came to signify so much more
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The turbocharger is, at its core, an elegant piece of engineering. Two interconnected fans: one is spun by the force of an engine’s exhaust flowing over it, a motion that is then transferred to the second fan to make it spin, compressing the air and helping it generate more power. It’s been around for more than a century — found first in planes, ships, and trains, then working its way to trucks and passenger vehicles. These days, they’re ubiquitous in automotive lineups, their ability to provide more power from a smaller package a key tool in gaming government fleet efficiency mandates.
But only one car can claim to be the trendsetter that made “turbo” a household name: the Porsche 911 Turbo.
Ever had a coffee maker, vacuum, or hair dryer with a “turbo” function? You can thank Porsche for that. With the 911 Turbo, the brand took a simple mechanical means of boosting an engine and turned it into a synonym for speed and power, signifying performance in any context. Even Porsche does it now; you won’t find a turbocharger on the all-electric Taycan or Macan EV, but the automaker still uses the T-word to denote the most powerful variants.
To learn the roots of the term’s current common use, however, we have to trace the lineage of Porsche’s turbocharged sports cars back to the first time Zuffenhausen slapped a snail on a 911’s flat-six. This is the history of the Porsche 911 Turbo.
1975: The 930 marks the start of the 911 Turbo legacy
The very first 911 Turbo wasn’t technically even called the 911 Turbo. Instead, it was known as the 930 Turbo — 930 being the designator used at Porsche to describe the model. (Keep in mind, this was back when the 911’s internal code was still just, well, 911.) The brand had been dallying with turbocharged engines for race cars since the 1960s, but in order to push into the series it wanted, it needed to homologate a vehicle for production that the racers could then be based on. So, come 1975, the automaker slapped a turbocharger on the 3.0-litre flat-six used in the sharp-edged Carrera RS 3.0 and dropped it in a 911 to make the 930.
Okay, it was a little more involved than that; engineers also upgraded the brakes, suspension and gearbox to accommodate the extra power — the latter actually a four-speed manual rather than the five-speed of regular 911s, but the added torque compensated for the difference. From the outside, the most notable change was found at the rear, where a massive spoiler dubbed the “whale tail” for its resemblance to a cetacean fluke increased downforce and helped the engine breathe; wider fenders also added panache.
Generally subtle changes, but the results were anything but. The engine’s 256 horsepower for European versions and 234 ponies for American ones wasn’t groundbreaking by today’s standards, but thanks to a delicate curb weight of around 1270 kilogram and a rear-mounted centre of gravity that aided the rear-wheel-drive car’s acceleration run, that first Turbo — or Turbo Carrera, as it was first known in the U.S. — did the 0-96 kph dash in 4.9 seconds, according to Car and Driver’s testing at the time. It was the first of many eye-popping results the Turbo would rack up in that benchmark trial over the generations.
Just as notable as the acceleration was the manner in which it was delivered. The 930’s big KKK turbocharger was notorious for its turbo lag, kicking on like an afterburner between 3000 and 4000 rpm. If that happened in a turn, the car was given to a sudden bout of oversteer; lifting off the throttle under those circumstances (a natural reaction) could make it worse. Add in the short wheelbase, and the Turbo developed a reputation for spinning out of control, leading it to receive the nickname of “Widowmaker.”
A batch of updates came in 1978, when Porsche pumped the engine up to 3.3 litres and made a few other adjustments to push power in European models to 221 kilowatts and U.S. ones to 196. The brakes, suspension and aerodynamics also received in-kind changes; the revised spoiler was dubbed the “tea tray.” By 1980, shifting emissions regulations made it too hard for Porsche to sell the 930 in the U.S. or Japan; by 1986, though, it was back, with power now up to 210 kilowatts and targa-top and convertible versions entering the fray. A new front end also became available for special order: the so-called Flachbau, or “flatnose,” which swapped out the classic round-eyed 911 face for one inspired by the 935 race car and its ever-so-Eighties pop-up headlights.
1990: After 14 years, the second generation Turbo arrives
After 25 years on sale, the original 911 was finally retired in 1989, replaced by a new generation known internally as 964; to the public, it was still known simply as 911. The future of the 911 Turbo, however, had already been revealed by that point under another name. The Porsche 959, unveiled in 1986, was a bleeding-edge piece of automotive tech that turned the Turbo concept up to 11: it packed a compact 2.8-litre twin-turbo flat-six in the back that made an astounding 331 kilowatts horsepower, but routed it to all four wheels. Comfortable enough to drive daily yet swift enough to claim the title of the world’s fastest production car, it was unlike any street-legal machine the world had ever seen.
So when the new 964-generation 911 Turbo debuted in 1990, it would have been reasonable to expect it to follow closely in the 959’s tire tracks. In fact, though, the super-Porsche was so cutting edge, its influence would be more greatly seen in the following generation of Turbo (more on that in a bit). At launch in 1990, the 964 Turbo stuck with the 3.3-litre engine of the final 930 models — hence the car becoming known as the 911 Turbo 3.3 — albeit tweaked to turn out 316 hp. Likewise, its body more closely resembled the 930 than the 959; it still bore a tea tray spoiler out back, for example.
That first version was just a stopgap, however. By the car’s third model year, in 1993, Porsche had pulled together a more powerful motor to slide into the rear-mounted engine compartment, creating the 911 Turbo 3.6. As the name implies, the new motor — which, in naturally aspirated form, had launched with the 964 generation — displaced 3.6 litres and spun up 264 kilowatts. It wasn’t long for the world, lasting only a year, but it stuck around long enough to earn a star turn in the first Bad Boys film.
Porsche had one last card to play with the turbocharged 964 before it faded away. At the end of production, the company sent 93 chassis to its Exclusiv division to have them built into the 911 Turbo 3.6 S, which packed extra power — more boost and other adjustments turned the wick up to 283 kilowatts — as well as unique air intakes and spoilers. The Flachbau treatment also returned as an option, although the headlights were now exposed. The Turbo 3.6 S was the first time Turbo and S were paired together, but it wouldn’t be the last.
1995: The third Turbo channels the 959’s legacy
The third-generation 911, known internally as the 993, first hit the streets in 1994 in Carrera form, and it landed with a bang. The tip-to-tail update not only brought a fresh, more streamlined design to the iconic sports car, it also civilised it, revising the suspension to tame some of the car’s more unruly traits, updating the 3.6-litre engine and adding a sixth cog to the manual gearbox.
And, with the arrival of the 993-generation 911 Turbo in 1995, the spirit of the 959 finally made its way to the mainstream sports car. The 3.6-litre flat-six was now twin-turbocharged for improved response, just like the 959; more consequentially, 959-style all-wheel-drive now came standard, helping the Turbo make the most of its 298 kilowatts. As always, flared fenders and a big spoiler in the back visually distinguished it from lesser 911s, but the new rear wing was more organically integrated into the design — less of a whale tail, more of a geologic feature.
The combination of 400 horses and four-wheel grip meant the 993 Turbo could redefine straight-line acceleration for the average driver. In Car and Driver testing, the car blitzed from 0-90 kph in 3.7 seconds — quick today, downright insane almost 30 years ago. As if that weren’t enough, Porsche quickly offered a factory option kit to add even more power, taking the flat-six to 316 kilowatts for the 1996 model year.
Then, as the 993 generation was starting to wind down, Porsche once again decided to spice up the 911 Turbo with a model wearing the S badge. Power was up, of course, to the aforementioned 316 kilowatts — but unlike the old 3.6 Turbo S, the top-shelf 993 Turbo received all the bells and whistles, from extra leather trim to carbon fibre add-ons to unique air intakes for the twin-turbo six. It didn’t make the Turbo much quicker, but it did make it more desirable — even if it meant a 60-percent higher price over the non-S version.
2000: The fourth-gen Turbo ditches air cooling, adds an automatic
The 996-gen 911 that debuted in 1998 was undoubtedly the most controversial ever built, before or since. Under the hood, it marked the end of the era of air-cooled engines; outside, it was the first 911 of a whole new visual era for the brand, with ovoid headlights first used on the original Boxster — lights that were unflatteringly compared to fried eggs. Still, it was undoubtedly more refined, growing in size and boasting stronger steel. It was a new 911 for a new millennium.
The 996-generation Turbo that hit the streets in 2000 boasted the same new chassis as naturally aspirated 911s, but the engine used twin turbos to make 414 hp. As had become common, it boasted a wider body and a fixed spoiler; in a new twist, however, the end of the spoiler could rise up further for added downforce, much like the ones on lesser Carreras.
The biggest Turbo-specific change, however, was found between the standard all-wheel-drive system and the boosted engine: in addition to the familiar six-speed manual, for the first time, an automatic was available. Tiptronic, as Porsche called its torque converter automatics, had been a feature of lesser 911s since 1990, but its appearance in the Turbo was still a novelty when it arrived a decade later. The five-speed slushbox offered manual control via steering wheel buttons for drivers who still wanted a sense of control, but the convenience of set-and-forget driving in less exciting moments — and it only lost a few tenths of a second to the manual in the 0-96 dash.
As had become the norm, small, gradual changes was the story of the turbocharged 996. A factory power pack joined the mix not long after launch, pushing power to 331 ponies. Come 2003, the droptop Turbo returned in the form of the 911 Turbo Cabriolet, the first time an official open-roof version had been offered since the last days of the 930. Then in 2004, the Turbo S returned, equipped with the 331-hp engine and a few extra features like new carbon-ceramic brakes as standard.
2006: The fifth-generation Turbo corrects the looks, improves the rest
Porsche fans ultimately made peace with many of the changes the 996 brought, with one main exception: the new headlights. A 911 should have round headlights, was the word — so, when the 997 generation arrived in 2004, it did so once again boasting exactly that.
The shift from 996 to 997 was less severe than the jump between previous generations, largely focusing on cosmetic updates and other gentle refinements. When the new 911 Turbo arrived in 2006, it followed suit; the new front end was a little less bright-eyed and a little more classic Porsche, and the 3.6-litre twin-turbo boxer-six now dialled up to 352 kilowatts . A new feature called the Sport Chrono package let the turbos boost up to 17.4 psi instead of their usual maximum of 14.5 in 10-second bursts, enabling the car to punch out an extra 59.6 newton meters over its usual 63.72 newton meters for passing and hard launches. It paid off: in C/D testing, both six-speed stick and five-speed Tiptronic versions clocked a 3.4-second 0-96 time.
As with the 996, a convertible followed, arriving in 2007. Unlike the past generation of 911, however, a hefty midlife refresh showed up not long after. The so-called 997.2-generation 911 showed up first in base model guise; the styling was gently revised, but the big news was in the powertrain, where new direct-injection flat-sixes appeared in the rear and a new seven-speed dual-clutch gearbox replaced the five-speed Tiptronic. PDK, as the new transmission was called (it stood for Porsche Doppelkupplungsgetriebe), traded the torque converter of conventional autos for a pair of clutches that enabled instantaneous movement between gears, improving shift times — and, thus, performance.
As such, of course, it was offered on the new 997.2 Turbo that debuted in 2009, an option alongside the six-speed manual. It was joined by a whole new engine: a 3.8-litre flat-six that made 367 kilowatts. Combined with the Sport Chrono package and its launch control feature, the PDK made the two-pedal 911 Turbo the one to beat off the line: C/D saw it blitz from 0 to 90 in 2.9 seconds. The PDK version also saw the first appearance of paddle shifters in a 911 Turbo, although they were technically an option; awkward steering wheel buttons were standard.
Unlike past versions, the 911 Turbo Cabriolet launched at the same time as the coupe; a new 911 Turbo S also arrived sooner than with past generations, debuting in early 2010 only about half a year after the regular version. It saw power dialled up to 390 kilowatts, and Sport Chrono standard; in a move that would set the stage for future Turbos, it was only available with PDK.
2013: The sixth-gen 911 Turbo bids adieu to the manual
The 991-generation 911 that was revealed in spring 2011 ahead of going on sale later that year was yet another sea change for the model, one almost on the scale of the 996: it was larger, heavier, and more luxurious than before, with a more refined design to suit the new decade.
The 991’s 911 Turbo debuted two years later in spring 2013; most of the changes versus the Carrera were par for the course — a wider body and combo fixed/pop-up spoiler, standard all-wheel-drive, turbocharged motor — a couple of changes stood out. The 911 Turbo and Turbo S coupes launched simultaneously, the former packing a 513-hp version of the 997.2’s 3.8-litre boxer-six and the latter making 411 kilowatss; more importantly for fans of clutch pedals, the Turbos had gone two-pedal, with the PDK becoming the only gearbox available. Unsurprisingly, though, it paid off at the drag strip: C/D pushed a Turbo S from 0 to 96 kph in 2.6 seconds, one eyeblink behind the 1000-hp Bugatti Veyron. A few months later, Cabriolet versions of the two cars joined the party; speccing the droptop added just two-tenths to the coupe’s time.
2015 saw a thorough facelift for the 911, with the new version dubbed the 991.2; much like the 997’s midlife shift, the design changes were minor, but the powertrain saw bigger moves. The big news for the Turbo was that its name suddenly went from a description that set it apart to a title referring to its performance: for the first time, lesser 911s were also turbocharged, Porsche reducing displacement and adding boost to the flat-six in order to meet emissions standards while also adding power.
The 991.2 911 Turbo and Turbo S, which arrived in late 2015, followed the usual life-cycle update trend of adding power; the Turbo was dialed up to 540 ponies, the Turbo S to 580. The updates let the Turbo match the pre-facelift Turbo S’s 0-60 times, enabling buyers to feel more secure in their decision to upgrade after just a couple of years. Deep-pocketed cognoscenti, however, were offered a chance to grab the 911 Turbo S Exclusive Series coupe in 2017; a factory power upgrade pushed it all the way to 452 kilowatts, while it also added every option in the book and slathered extra leather and microsuede across the interior. It was the modern equivalent of the 993-gen Turbo S — albeit one where buyers were restricted to gold paint.
2020: The seventh-generation 911 Turbo further sharpens the spear
The 992-generation 911 that launched in late 2018 was as big a change as the 991, boasting a larger new platform, an increased focus on tech (for the first time, an all-digital instrument panel sat ahead of the driver), and a look that aimed to distill the 997 and 991 generations into a single package. The PDK was up to eight speeds now, and it wasn’t just standard, it was mandatory; a manual was only added to select models after launch.
The 991-gen Turbo models appeared in 2020, first in Turbo S coupe and cabrio form in March (in what could only be considered an inopportune time to launch a new car) and then in Turbo hardtop and soft top variants in July. A new engine was under the hood — a 3.7-litre twin-turbo monster based on the 3.0-litre one of the 991-gen Carrera and Carrera S, dialled up to 427 hp in the Turbo and 641 in the Turbo S. Both were quick: C/D saw the Turbo S coupe do 0-96 in 2.2 seconds, and the regular Turbo do it in 2.4.
Ballistically quick as they were, however, all those cars used a dual-clutch gearbox as had been true since 2013, and used all-wheel-drive as all Turbo had since 1995. Which is why it was a surprise and a delight for old-fashioned Turbo fans when, in spring 2022, Porsche revealed the 911 Sport Classic: a Turbo-based 911 coupe with a fixed ducktail spoiler, rear-wheel-drive and a seven-speed manual gearbox. Its twin-turbo flat-six had to be dialled back to 404 kilowatts to accommodate the stick shift, and the 0-96 time rose to 3.7 seconds — but the buyers of the 1,250 examples made likely didn’t care. After all, while the 911 Turbo always put down impressive acceleration times, they were never the point; the whole package was.
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Gifts from the Gods
’Tis the season to be cheerfully flashing the credit card. And we’ve curated the ultimate Christmas wish-list.
Buying a holiday gift for the person who has everything is no easy feat. But fear not: Robb Report ANZ is here to help. We’ve assembled gift ideas for 2024, ranging from state-of-the-art fashion, to cutting-edge home design and high jewellery
Whether you’re shopping for a world traveller, a dedicated diamond lover or a budding watch collector, the gifts below will impress even the most discerning personalities on your list.
Over the Rainbow
Cartier Tuttitutti ring, POA; cartier.com
The Crown’s Jewels
Rolex Oyster Lady-Datejust, around $245,000; rolex.com
Hit the High Notes
Amouage Cristal & Gold Man eau de parfum, $2,990; libertineparfumerie.com.au
Hoop Dreams
Van Cleef & Arpels Bouton d’or bracelet, around $66,000; vancleefarpels.com
Neat Package 
Glenmorangie’s Signet Highlands single malt $370; glenmorangie.com
Wristy Business
Tiffany Elsa Peretti® Split Cuff, $35,000; tiffany.com
Best Foot Forward
Fendi Flow sneakers, $1,650; fendi.com
Silver Lining
Buccellati caviar bowl, around $11,500; buccelati.com
Perfect Shot
Ardbeg The Abyss single malt whisky, around $27,500; ardbeg.com
Living the Cream
Ralph Lauren Purple Label Gregory tuxedo jacket, around $5,460; ralphlauren.com
The Big Sleep
Louis Vuitton bed trunk, $325,000; louisvuitton.com
Flower Power
Hublot MP-15 Takashi Murakami Tourbillon Sapphire Rainbow watch, POA; hublot.com
Slip Service
Christian Louboutin Dandelion Strass Eternity loafers, around $7,395; christianlouboutin.com
The Cutest Couple
Fairfax & Roberts Manhattan Collection Burmese red spinel and diamond earrings, $79,000; fairfaxandroberts.com.au
Mix Master
Armani Club cocktail cabinet, POA; armani.com
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Connoisseur: Champagne, Anyone?
Intellectually stimulating and beautiful to drink, Champagne is no longer clinging to staunch traditions. The category is now exploding in radical new ways.
For collectors and quick-to-pop connoisseurs, there’s never been a better time to focus their energies on Champagne. Quality has shot up dramatically in the last 15 years, with industry players and pundits all betting on the benefits of a more diverse expression of terroir across the entire region.
Fancy a vintage, rosé or single varietal to drink throughout a meal? Increasingly finessed examples of Champagne from small grower-producers (those who don’t sell their grapes to the big houses but instead focus on their own boutique labels) means the list at your local restaurant is showing more divergence than ever, with extra-dry, low-pressure and low-dosage styles also playing a starring role. Even major houses like Bollinger, Krug, Louis Roederer are bottling better Champagne than they have in decades.
Case in point, Dom Pèrignon. This past October, big daddy D partnered with Jean-Michel Basquiat’s estate to produce artful holiday packaging for its 2015 vintage release. This means Basquiat—the renegade Brooklynite credited with elevating graffiti to the realm of high art—has joined the ranks of artists like Björk, David Lynch, Jeff Koons and Karl Lagerfeld who have all been tapped previously to deck out the curvy black bottle.
Midnight revellers queued down the block in New York’s East Village to enjoy Basquiat’s mastery at The Brant Foundation—and a night of free-flowing Dom. It was another highly considered collab in a world of high-brow hookups. Yet the embracing of the artist’s manic style only underlines how much this luxury lynchpin has changed. Champagne today criss-crosses the social spectrum, and while demand continues, beneath the gloss and glamour of 21st-century spin, the variety is going back to its roots.
The real revolution in Champagne is happening under the feet of makers, where earthy experimentations are the order of the day. Big houses like Krug and Louis Roederer have been shaken up by individual visionaries like Anselme Selosse who came along and overlaid a more Burgundian-type philosophy over the tightly regulated region. Since the grower-producer category exploded, it’s radically shifted perceptions away from the idea that Champagne is all about the label, to get people talking about what’s inside the bottle.
And in tiny wine bars, top hotels and trendy restaurants, you can dine out on once-obscure drops from fantastic producers like Egly-Ouriet, Larmandier-Bernier, Berêche et Fils, or Vouette et Sorbee to savour wines you simply couldn’t buy 10 years ago. Master of Wine, Ned Goodwin, believes Champagne is one of the most exciting categories of wine on earth right now, evolving faster than any other scene. “The grower revolution has been around for a while. But in terms of the quality, I mean: wow!” he says, shaking his hair from his eyes.
As this bona fide wine expert explains in his charismatic rapid-fire style, makers are breaking free of stereotypes to truly showcase their own backyards, and are on a mission to share not only their unique terroir but also their own family’s quiet corner of culture. “They’re striving to create wine that is properly demarcated not only by the way they are crafting it but by the geologies and the mesoclimates it represents.”
If the 20th century was about terrific winemaking, then the 21st century is about the vineyards; specifically, the health of the soil and the commitment to crafting wine in the vineyard, not in the blending room. It’s quite a shift for a region that’s been obsessed with luxury marketing and formal dinners at stuffy manor houses. Today you’re more likely to see a trending winemaker photographed in overalls next to their horse or chicken coop, sprouting about their biodynamic methods, as you are to find one standing in a Michelin-starred kitchen in a bow tie.
Progressive producers like Chartogne-Taillet from Merfy, Cedric Bouchard in the Côte de Bars, Laherte Frères from Côteaux sud d’Épernay and Ulysse Collin from west of Congy in the Côteaux du Petite Morin, on the very southern tip of the Côte des Blancs, are gaining worldwide recognition. Tourism to the region, as a result, is exploding. But the end consumer is the real winner, with more to explore than ever before.
As wine critic Nick Stock points out, tiny labels are better placed to share their wares because of the trust the wider public have developed in the Champagne category.
And while a softening of the general luxury market has occurred over the last five years, intriguing, mood-lifting new experiences are still being prioritised by punters. Moreover, a new generation of winemakers are shedding light on the diverse terroir that lies beneath Champagne so we can taste so much more that we would ever have dreamed could be possible.
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Connoisseur: Speaking Volumes
Underscoring quality over numbers, Champagne Jacquesson has secured its place in history—even in the face of a corporate buyout.
Champagne Jacquesson has come of age. With greater finesse than any other fledgling house, the brand has reinvented itself. By placing a priority on high-quality grapes, it has forged a style that embraces a fuller bodied elegance.
For connoisseurs building up a cellar, Jacquesson is a must-have luxury. The Cuvée 700 is its flagship Champagne, and the house is often referred to as a “baby Krug” in wine circles as their base wines are matured in cask and then sold in a blended style.
Don’t be fooled by the minimal packaging, though: for over 20 years, Jacquesson has captured the attention of those in-the-know for its prudent vineyard management which allows for a terrific expression of terroir. Based in the French village of Dizy, the label’s output stands apart for the character and concentration of its fruit. Their wines consistently deliver a mouth-filling Champagne that’s beautifully balanced, as complex as a white Burgundy and full of delectable chalk. Admired above all for its brave decision-making in the vineyards, Jacquesson now has 19 hectares being farmed using organic methods.
Champagne critic and author Tyson Stelzer has followed the label’s trailblazing, anti-establishment ascent more than most. “Jacquesson has done more to dramatically shift production than almost any other small producer,” he says. “They made a massive revolution by tearing up contracts with most of their growers and slashing production. They did the exact opposite of every other house for the sake of upholding quality. And now their wines have exceptional depth and character from large-format, open vinification and well-managed, mostly, estate vineyards.”
Perhaps it’s the house’s formidable elegance, expressive style and long ageing capacity that helped them to attract a buyer, when it was acquired by the François Pinault-owned Chateau Latour in December 2022. With a strategy to stay small but beautiful, Pinault’s holding company Artémis Domaines seeks to purchase land with unique terroir all over the world. It currently holds some of the most prestigious estates in the world, across Burgundy, Bordeaux, Napa Valley and now, Champagne. Highlights include Château Latour in Pauillac, Clos D’Eugenie and Clos de Tart—both in Burgundy—and Château-Grillet located in Rhône Valley.
Jean Garandeau, managing director of Artémis Domaines, says that although the holding company is ultimately owned by the luxury conglomerate Kering, it’s business as usual at Jacquesson.
“Yann Le Gall and Mathilde Prier still form the core of the winemaking team despite ownership changes. They are young, talented and very naturally leaders in their field, so clearly there was no point to change them,” he says in his serious French tone.
Granadeau knows only too well what people will think; that the best vintages of Jacquesson are behind them. But he refutes the idea resolutely. “We don’t want to grow the company,” he says. “We don’t want to change the boutique-style positioning of the brand at all. We prefer to do less but to make the best quality possible. The first priority at Jacquesson is to always make sure that the best possible fruit is held for the Cuvée 700, and if we realise that this cuvée can live on its own without specific plots then we can look to bottle some single vineyard wine, but this is not something we are doing every year.”
This distinction is an important one. It means that single-varietal, single-plot and single-vintage wines from Jacquesson are rare, more sought after and only eventuate in excellent years when quality and quantity allow. These wines have been known to be exceptional, the kind collectors and drink-now connoisseurs lust for.
“Running after volumes is really not our strategy,” insists Garandeau. “We are really much more focused on the singularity of the wines and of course the quality. We want to share the emotions of these wines with the universe.”
And we want what they are bottling in our glass.
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Connoisseur: Around the World in Six Sips
Your one-way ticket to the planet’s fizz hotspots.
As the Champagne region’s output has diversified, so too have the number and names listed on restaurant wine lists. Champagne lists are now longer, reflecting a trend toward splitting a bottle of Champagne to start a meal, in place of white Burgundy.
To make shopping for your next drop that much easier, we have compiled our favourite places to explore the Champagne region, from afar. No matter where you find yourself next, from a quiet place run by Francophile in Ginza, to the grand old arcades of Paris’s second arrondissement, we give you some of finest Champagne lists written.
COQODAQ , New York
Lip-licking deliciousness awaits at a hip new bar that presents the classic pairing of Champagne and… fried chicken. Strange, yes. But here’s the thing: the tiny bubbles and high acid of the Champagne tempers the salt, spice and rich chew of chicken—to tasty effect. And on this compact list you will find first-rate rosé from great makers like Billecart-Salmon, blanc de noirs from Côte des Bars producer Fleury, and cheeky half bottles of Krug Grande Cuvée.
12 East 22nd Street; coqodaq.com
Legrand Filles & Fils, Paris
For obvious reasons, the French capital is the best city in the world for Champagne quaffing, and this iconic Parisian destination doesn’t miss a beat. Founded in 1880, the restaurant and wine store occupy two sides of a covered arcade in the 2nd arrondissement. Expect to stumble across rare back vintages of Jacquesson, fresh and complex examples from Bérêche et Fils, and sporadically seen Frederic Savart bottles.
1 Rue de la Banque; caves-legrand.com
Lita, London
Nestled in the heart of Marylebone, this bistro is a chic spot from which to enjoy a memorable glass. Amid a modern, Mediterranean-inflected backdrop, rare drops are waiting to be discovered—from Chartogne-Taillet Sainte Anne brut to delicious rosé examples from the likes of Charles Heidsieck and Bollinger. Chef Luke Ahearne creates a confident seasonal menu that guests can dip in and out of, from tiny snacks to fully fledged meals.
7-9 Paddington Street; litamarylebone.com
La Nuit Blanche, Tokyo
The perfect place to scratch an itch for French wine. Devoted owner Toshi Haba carries an inventory of around 6,000 wines, 1,500 of them hailing from the Champagne region. Here, it’s possible to run the gamut of taste, from tiny grower-producer imprints to long-forgotten back vintages by the grand marques.
7-chōme-2-8, Ginza; la-nuit-blanche.therestaurant.jp
Gimlet, Melbourne
At Andrew McConnell’s upscale cocktail bar in Cavendish House, his team has prepared a bible-sized wine list with an enviable Champagne selection (including an entire page devoted to cult producer Jacques Selosse). Beverage manager Anthony Pieri was recently honoured at Australia’s Wine List of the Year Awards for presiding over one of the best wine catalogues in the country. Come for the glamorous Chicago-style building, stay for the immense choice of tipples.
33 Russell Street; gimlet.melbourne
Le Parc at Domaine Les Crayeres, Champagne region
With direct access to the province’s latest and greatest, this restaurant’s list is consistently voted the best in the world. Indeed, for serious Champagne lovers, there’s no better address in Reims. Featuring around 1,000 local examples and more than 2,000 French wines, the list is divided into style, maison, cooperative, region and vigneron. But, really, most drops can be filed under “Incredible”.
64 Boulevard Henry Vasnier, Reims; lescrayeres.com
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Trust Issues
In a case of life imitating Succession, bitter family infighting plagues the houses of Murdoch, Pratt and Rinehart. But are the sufferings of the super-rich intriguing because of schadenfreude, or for what say about ourselves?
What could better illustrate a famous family divided than a convoy of its children arriving in separate black SUVs, then mounting the steps of a Nevada courthouse. The Silver State’s court system is fabulously discreet, thus the perfectly private setting for three of Rupert Murdoch’s children—Elisabeth, James and Prudence—to wage war on their father and his bid to change the family trust in favour of his eldest son, Lachlan.
Rupert Murdoch’s retirement last year cemented Lachlan, executive chairman of Fox and chair of News Corp, as his chosen successor. He’s never denied his children would compete for that crown. When asked if son Lachlan was his “natural heir apparent” in 1995, he responded, “Well I’ve got another son, and a daughter” (forgetting, presumably, in that moment his eldest child Prudence from his first marriage). In 1997, Murdoch told a journalist that his three children had agreed his successor would be Lachlan, the “first among equals”. (Again he’d overlooked Prudence, who later said she received a huge apology and the biggest bouquet she’d seen. According to Vanity Fair, Prudence is the only sibling “not directly competing for his business affections”, yet Murdoch’s oldest child still rolled up to Reno’s Second Judicial District Court in September.)
The ruthlessness and brutal pragmatism—even amorality—required to be politically powerful and inordinately rich are not qualities we’ve come to attach to being a good mum or dad. We just don’t view love as something subordinate to our financial interests. Certainly up to a hundred years ago, children of the West were regarded as smaller adults; one’s child was expected—depending on their class and circumstances—to either stay silent and elsewhere, or to labour for little pay with useful little hands. But more recent visions of good parenting include notions of warmth, encouragement and guiding the young to an uneasy mix of selfhood and citizenship (to being completely themselves and sharing their toys). Contemporary parenting ideals tend not to include pitting siblings against each other for favour or fortune, rewarding the progeny most like yourself, or battling three of your children in a probate court to protect the interests of a fourth.
Yet who does anyone appoint in old age as their executor? Surely it’s the person who seems most reliable and sensible among your offspring, the one whose values around money and legacy align most closely with your own. Why then shouldn’t the chairman emeritus of Fox Corporation and News Corp choose a successor on those same terms, just because we’re talking US$21 billion (around $31.7 billion) and the future of conservative media?
He’s not the only Australian-born billionaire battling their children. Mining magnate Gina Rinehart vehemently rejected her son and daughter’s accusations of “fraudulent and dishonest design” in a protracted legal battle. John Hancock and Bianca Rinehart claim to be the rightful owners of Hancock Prospecting’s 50 percent stake in Hope Downs mine, left to them in 1992 by its founder, their grandfather Lang Hancock, in the family trust. Gina Rinehart, worth US$30.5 billion ($46 billion) and Australia’s richest person, argues that another legal dispute over ownership of the iron ore complex prevents that transfer of wealth, but John and Bianca want the $4.8 billion now.
Then, of course, there are the Pratts. Paula Hitchcock is fighting her half-siblings—billionaire Visy boss Anthony Pratt and his sisters Heloise and Fiona—to prove that as the love child of their father, the late packaging magnate Richard Pratt, she’s legally entitled to a share of the Pratt Family Trust. Born to Richard and his long-term mistress, socialite turned horse trainer Shari-Lea Hitchcock, in 1997, Paula’s asking the NSW Supreme Court to nullify a deed of exclusion that cut off her inheritance as a child.
She was not forgotten in her father’s will when Richard Pratt died in 2009. Paula inherited the waterfront house in which she’d been raised in Watson’s Bay, a rural property on the NSW South Coast and reportedly more than $22 million in shares. “It doesn’t matter how much you have,” said the Australian Financial Review’s Patrick Durkin, trying to explain on The Fin podcast why enough is never quite so for children of billionaires. “People will always want more.” But it’s as equally human that a child—whether they’re from a long marriage or a love affair, whether they be fully grown or not even close, whether the spoils in question are the Pratts’ $24.3 billion net worth or a cabinet of porcelain ladies—sees their own standing and the love of their parent reflected in how big the portion of the pie served to them.
Of course there’s another party in these outsized, juicy family dramas. It’s us, the spectators. But our response to the decimation of a famous family can’t be reduced to schadenfreude. Why else would we find ourselves siding with this heir or that lovechild, in the way we hope for a win for this Roy or that in Succession (depending on which loathsome character is on-screen in the moment)? Intra-family squabbles are so commonplace, so petty, so ripe with lifelong resentment. It’s their naked, bloody humanness—alongside the aberration of money trouncing family bonds—that’s the stuff of art.
The short-changed illegitimate son Edmund in Shakespeare’s King Lear seethes, “Why bastard? Wherefore base?” before plotting his half-brother’s destruction. The children of an ageing warlord butcher his kingdom and each other as they grab for power in Akira Kurosawa’s Lear-inspired epic, Ran. In the Book of Genesis, Jacob cheats his older brother Esau out of his dying father’s blessing and buys his birthright for a well-timed bowl of soup.
Why, even Rupert’s second wife, Anna Murdoch, in her 1987 novel Family Business, has the main character—a newspaper proprietor whose two sons and daughter are rivals for the empire—admonish her children: “I thought you would come to trust and respect each other. I thought that responsibility would teach each of you humility. I was wrong. It taught you greed and disloyalty and hatred.”
Anna Murdoch could have asked for half of a fortune in her divorce from Rupert in 1999. Instead, as mother to Elisabeth, Lachlan and James, she insisted on the creation of the Murdoch Family Trust. It would ensure her three children and Prudence would have equal control of the empire—one vote each—while Rupert had four votes. (Grace and Chloe, his daughters with third wife Wendi Deng, would have an equal stake and no vote). Now Murdoch Sr wants to amend the “irrevocable” family trust so that Prudence, Elisabeth and James can’t dethrone Lachlan after his death. Just as Anna Murdoch feared her family would be corroded by the fortune, the 93-year-old Rupert fears his fortune will be corroded by family. He believes that after his death, the kingdom he’s built will fragment under the influence of the more politically moderate siblings. (James, for one, has expressed frustration over what he called News Corp’s “ongoing denial” of climate change.) For the ageing emperor Rupert Murdoch, only one child can be relied upon to preserve the commercial value of the empire.
The Nevada probate commissioner found that Murdoch could change the trust if he’s able to show he’s acting in good faith and for the sole benefit of his heirs. When he married his fifth wife Elena Zhukov at his Californian vineyard in June, neither James, Prudence, nor Elisabeth attended the wedding.
Illustration by James Dignan
