"It's too rainy. It's too hot. There's typhoons. There's no local expertise. Native hybrid varieties won't work. Taiwanese people only want to drink foreign wines, who even wants a Taiwanese wine? It's far too difficult, you won't succeed."

For over a decade, Vivian Yang (Chinese name: 楊仁亞; Yang Ren Ya) of Taiwan's Weightstone Winery (威石東酒莊) had heard the buzzing in her ear - the naysayers certainly weren't wrong, but perhaps most importantly they aren't right. Vivian was surely going to do everything in her power to keep her promise to her late father, and see to it that Taiwan was to have a wine of its own that it could be proud of. And true to her word, Vivian made the impossible happen with her Taiwanese wines - wines that not only conveyed Taiwan's terroir, but were also fully made with local hybrid varieties. So exemplary were her wines that they were even selected for Taiwan's Presidential Inauguration State Banquet. "When the banquet advisors discussed which brand of wine to choose, they unanimously recommended Weightstone, which moved me deeply," reflects Vivian. Yet her success was nothing short of a miracle made reality through sheer persistence, will, and a willingness to dream big.

Taiwan's history with alcohol making, much less winemaking, has been incredibly nascent, and that's even as the tropical climate island at the northern tip of the South China Sea has seen winemaking efforts as early as the 17th Century (the earliest record of wine grape cultivation in Taiwan is dated as 1673), with other forms alcoholic beverages, namely rice wines having been brewed even further back. For the better part of 300 years since European sailors began marking the island out on a map by the name Formosa in the 1600's, Taiwan would see itself under the rule of a host of colonial powers, including the Dutch, the Spanish and the Japanese. This would result in a variety of influences on the island's alcohol making practice, and along with that, see a spread of grape varieties brought over from around the world take root in Taiwan, some of which included the vitis vinifera varieties of Muscat Hamburg and Muscat of Alexandria, as well as vitis labrusca varieties of Delaware and Niagara, amongst others. Perhaps most pertinently, it was the Japanese who had introduced several notable grape varieties to Taiwan, namely the hybrids Black Queen ( 黑后; Hei Hou) and Golden Muscat (金香; Jin Xiang), along with having instilled formative practices such as the pergola horizontal trellis system which sees the vines form a roof-like canopy (versus an upright trellis that is more common outside of Taiwan), which were adapted to the island's tropical climate, therefore selecting for more resistant varieties, and a cultivation system that kept the fruit away from the ground's moisture, and also allowing the hybrids which are tightly bunched to space out. This became the foundation of Taiwan's winemaking philosophy.

Hybrids Golden Muscat (金香; Jin Xiang) and Black Queen ( 黑后; Hei Hou).

Nevertheless, fast forwarding to the 1900's, what started out as encouragement and support for alcohol-making would turn into arguably the island's most important, if not divisive, character within the alcohol industry - the 1922 establishment of an alcohol monopoly. With the new ruling, all private production of alcohol was banned, across wines, spirits and beers, with then only the local government singularly in charged of alcohol production. This was fuelled by the Japanese colonial government's need for tax income, and had followed similar bans and setting up of state monopolies on other essentials that even included salt. In the decades following, the stated-owned and operated Taiwan Tobacco and Liquor Corporation (TTL) would by default become the largest (because it was also the only) alcohol producer on the island, and would accumulate substantial tax income that was to be used for areas of government spending such as infrastructure development. The TTL would most notably come to be known for the highly popular Taiwan Beer and also its Yushan Kaoliang Chiew (a nationally and culturally important sorghum spirit), amongst a wide variety of alcohol types that it would singlehandedly produce. 

Even as the Japanese colonial powers would eventually leave Taiwan in 1945, with then the Chinese government beginning to associate more closely with the island, the 80 year long reign of the state-owned TTL alcohol producer would unsurprisingly create a long lasting impact both upstream and downstream, shaping the growers who supplied its needs and also those who would have had privately produced alcohol in competition. Whilst the TTL had impressively undertaken work to produce a wide variety of alcoholic beverages, it's efforts with winemaking were particularly crucial, as national security concerns emphasised the need to continuously stock up on consumer staple rations, in specific rice, which was at the time popularly used to produce a local variant of a rice wine which the island - and even so, Asia more broadly - had long been accustomed to making and had culturally appreciated and enjoyed. The goal was therefore to replace rice with grapes that would be used for winemaking, which the government had hoped to enact by offering high prices to farmers, set based on quantity of produce, for their grapes, anointing it as now a high value crop charged with the responsibility of uplifting Taiwan's agricultural economy. 

This of course spurred an almost immediate redirection for farmers who would now turn to setting down vineyards the moment the stated contracted price for grapes now carried a premium price per tonnage which out-competed that of rice. Given that rice had up till that point been the island's primary cash crop by a mile, the resulting acreage of vineyards that would take its place was to become substantially extensive, at its height achieving some 5,400 hectares that stretched from the central to northern Taiwan, supplied by thousands of farmers who each held on to a minuscule average holding of just under 1 hectare of vines. This nevertheless would carry over to two generations in those 80 years of Taiwan's wine monopoly.

Going downstream, given the extensiveness of the state monopoly, whilst many smaller scale, independent alcohol makers had initially sought to quietly persist and preserve their craft, the close to century long ban would eventually snuff out essentially all such practice. Whilst this might have dented the ambitions and financial prospects of many alcohol producers, that is but the tip of the iceberg, with Taiwan having been home to many indigenous alcohol makers, who had often carried on the practice from one generation to the next through verbal and visual customs. It is said that Taiwan is the home of the indigenous Austronesians who have inhabited the island for over 6,500 years, and till today remains a core part of Taiwanese culture and society. When the ban took effect, these winemaking traditions would eventually fade out, with today a small yet strong resurgence in efforts by the indigenous community to revive their winemaking practice.

Nevertheless, what started out with great optimism with the government's strong backing for grape cultivation and fervour for winemaking, would quickly run up into formidable roadblocks. Firstly, because the government's contracted price was based simply on tonnage (by weight), farmers were squarely focused on producing as much grapes as possible with little regard for quality. This meant that in order to maximise yields, farmers would squeeze as much out of vines as possible at the expense of vine health and also often harvesting too early which produced under-ripe fruit. Due to Taiwan's geography, sitting at 23 degrees North, the island falls outside the traditional winegrowing latitude bands of between 30 and 50 degrees North or South, which not only places its harvest season in opposition to the the typical August to October window (August is incredibly hot in Taiwan, with also a frequency of typhoons), but also due to the constant heat, vines can in fact be pushed to make two harvests annually. And so optimising for a stellar payday, farmers would often harvest twice, depleting the vine's energy (and shortening its lifespan without giving it the traditional dormant rest period that would usually happen in winter) and weakening the concentration of the fruit, as well as carry out harvest in June so as to avoid the typhoons, which meant that the grapes came in at overly high acidity and far too low sugar levels (grapes often registered 11 Brix, which would yield a 6% ABV wine, less than half of what is standard). Consequently, the wines produces were often of poor quality, which was further exacerbated by a weak consumer market that had yet to materially develop a taste for wines.

What followed was a persistent over-production of wines that were left unsold, which over time became financially difficult for even the government to support for long. Even when the government had eventually figured to incentivise farmers to harvest the fruit at higher sugar levels, few growers would take up the offer due to the high risk of a typhoon that could wipe out their entire crop and leave them with nothing. Ultimately, the government was forced to cut contracted prices and the quantity it would purchase, which was of course met with heavy criticism from many farmers who had now for decades come to completely rely on the government subsidies, and finally by 1997, the system would completely shatter, with the entire program nullified. The decades long promise of top quality Taiwanese wines never became a reality. 

The pushback was sweeping and ferocious. What took 80 years to establish these extensive vineyards, would be completely uprooted in just the several years following, leaving only 30 hectares of vines remaining. By 2002, Taiwan would officially join the World Trade Organisation (WTO), which mandated that the island liberalise its industries, and therefore monopolies on stronghold cash cows were now open for competition - private winemaking was now back on the table. Quickly thereafter, private alcohol producers from winemakers to whisky distillers and beer brewers would emerge, some of which, such as whiskymaker Kavalan and craft beer brewer Taihu Brewing, have gone on to prove their world-class capabilities. Nevertheless, even as regulations changed, the inherent tyranny of winegrowing in Taiwan, coupled with the 80 years blackout period in the island's winemaking as a result of the TTL's monopoly, meant that there was little gained in experience or insight into wine cultivation, with most aspiring winemakers eventually failing to gain meaningful ground.

Sparkling wines and fortified wines have emerged as ideal for the Taiwanese terroir.

“In Taiwan, after 80 years of the monopoly, there are no longer any prior examples for wineries to follow,... Winemaking in Taiwan was a lost art. Everything needs to start from scratch,” says Chen Chien Hao, a professor at the National Kaohsiung University, who was tasked by the government to assist local winemakers, and has since become an important figure in Taiwan's developing wine story. Chen would take into account Taiwan's climate, of typhoons and constant heat which could easily exhaust the vines by encouraging multiple harvests annually, and the use of hybrid varieties which whilst resilient did not perform as well in flavour, which he would then triangulate on a map in search of similar yet successful winemaking regions. This put him on to Portuguese Madeira, an island off the coast of Morocco, in northern Africa, which has historically been famous for its namesake fortified wines. Consequently, by adapting Madeira winemaking techniques, Chen was able to assist several Taiwanese wineries in producing the island's first internationally recognised wines. 

Ben Yang (Yang Wen Bin) who had desired to produce Taiwanese wines and had thus established Weightstone Winery. (Right) Yang walking the vineyards with his daughter Vivian (in green).

Nevertheless, it was up to Ben Yang (Chinese name: 楊文彬; Yang Wen Bin) to set in motion the next leg of Taiwan's wine story. Yang had been the second-generation to helm of the family's Sinon Corporation (興農; Xing Nong), which serves as Taiwan's leading fertilizer and pesticide producer, and like his father, had long held a deep interest in agriculture, and had also wanted to produce something that could not only showcase Taiwan's beautiful terroir, but that its people could be proud of. In 2009, when Yang was invited to attend a showcase by the Taichung District Agricultural Research and Extension Station of its newly cultivated Taichung No. 3 hybrid varietal, he was thoroughly compelled by the trial wines that were made with it. He had observed that Taiwan's teas and fruits were often highly prized, with its technology unquestionably cutting edge, and so figured that surely the island was capable of producing world class wines. Invigorated and charged with a strong sense of purpose, Yang would move quickly to establish a 5 acre plot in Puyan, where he would cultivate the newly renamed Musann Blanc (木杉; so named after the combination of "Mu" which pays homage to its Muscat parentage, and "Sann" to mean the number "3" in Chinese, referring to its original Taichung No. 3 name, and finally "Blanc" to easily identify it as a white grape variety).

The aromatic Taiwanese Musann Blanc.

"While Taiwan isn't the perfect place for growing wine grapes, unsuitable doesn't mean impossible! Our wine is like the mountain in front of you. It looks gentle and makes you feel comfortable and close to it, but you will also find that it is rich and diverse and has many possibilities."

By 2012, after extensive searching, Yang would officially establish the Weightstone Winery in Puli ( 埔里), which sits at the foothills (480 meters altitude) of the Central Mountain Range in Nantou County, situated in central Taiwan. The location had once been the coastline of an ancient lake, and as such, its "Weightstone" name had come from the 3,500 year old fishing net stone weights that were found in the nearby Water Frog Cave area. And so flanked by Taiwan's grand mountain ranges, it was envisaged that the winery's 4.6 hectare vineyards of clay soil and limestone, could be protected from the island's typhoons, whilst also enjoying natural wind ventilation and good drainage. From here, Yang would emphasise the focus on promoting Taiwan's hybrid varieties, and therefore would cultivate mainly the new Musann Blanc, along with the mainstay Golden Muscat and Black Queen.

Ancient weightstones once used by indigenous fishermen in the Puli area where Weightstone Winery now resides.

The winery would be symbolised with its logo that evoked elements from Yang's favourite temple, with then a Taiwanese water buffalo in the center to represent a spirit of resilience and its importance in agriculture, and finally adorned with an infinity knot below that carries the family's blessing. Flanking the central design are totems that symbolise the four seasons through the imagery of a plum blossom, orchid, bamboo and chrysanthemum flower. With both Eastern and Western qualities, it would finally incorporate the character 亞 (Ya), that is a nod to Yang's daughter, Vivian, whose Chinese name is Yang Ren Ya.

With all things set in place, the winery was just missing one crucial feature - Ben Yang's daughter, Vivian.

Vivian Yang (楊仁亞; Yang Ren Ya), who went from not knowing that pineapples grew on the ground to creating Taiwan's most exciting wines.

Vivian would heed her father's call to join his newly established Weightstone Winery in 2013, and yet up till that point, Vivian was neither experienced in viticulture or winemaking, nor even really much of a wine drinker herself! Born in Taiwan, and educated in Canada, having been encouraged by her father to take up finance where she had instead hoped to study film in Paris, Vivian had admitted to being a city kid who was the furthest thing from farming, much less in the challenging Taiwanese subtropical climate - "[I] didn't even know pineapples grew on the ground!" says Vivian. And so when she got the call to return home, at the time having been living in Brazil, Vivian was initially hesitant, citing her lack of farming experience and worries of disappointing her father and losing his big investment. Yet, it seems that it was precisely for those reasons that her father had thought it was time for his daughter to return and develop a more intimate relationship with the land. After all, their family had gone from humble cattle farmers to establishing one of Taiwan's most important farming supplies enterprise.

Unfortunately, when Weightstone Winery would debut its first wines - a white and two sparkling - in 2017, its founder, and Vivian's father, would tragically pass away just the year prior, having never seen the fruits of his labour. “Although he did not live long enough to see the results of this vision, I was able to work with him from the beginning of this journey and am proudly continuing in his footsteps," says Vivian, who says that Weightstone was an "unexpected gift" from her father that has changed her life and given her a deep sense of purpose.

"I believe he is watching, knowing the joy of everyone in the restaurant drinking our wines, and he must be very happy." 

Without prior winegrowing experience and little local domain expertise to draw upon, Vivian would initially rely on the advice of consultants brought in from Napa Valley, USA, and South Africa. Together they would study the terrain and examine farming methods, bringing from abroad pruning methods, cutting out irrigation and implementing cover crop regimes which would help to naturally concentrate the fruit, as well as moving towards sustainable farming practices, having removed any use of fertilisers and pesticides, so as to encourage the vines to grow along with the seasons. They would also invest heavily in establishing subsoil drainage tiles, a 100-year storm drainage system, and also slope ditches, which they had hoped would help with conserving water and soil along the riverbank that was prone to erosion. Yet just a week later, much of it was destroyed by heavy rains. Yet choosing to see things positively, Vivian would reflect that "Fortunately, it rained heavily after only a week, which made us realize the problem. What if we had encountered it after we had planted the whole plant? Every difficulty has a good intention behind it. If we make any progress, it's because we encountered difficulties; if everything is always smooth sailing, we won't have the opportunity to learn."

Weightstone uniquely works with only Taiwanese hybrids. (Left to Right) Honey Red, Musann Blanc, and Black Queen.

Yet greater challenges laid ahead. Vivian had initially sought to import grapes of well-known international varieties from abroad, from Chardonnay to Cabernet Sauvignon, and yet before the vines could enter Taiwan, they were stopped by customs and had to undergo a stringent quarantine period first where they would be planted in a greenhouse and assessed for any diseases they might introduce to the local flora. Unfortunately, the vines would die out even before they made it out of quarantine, which left Vivian to conclude that for better or worse, she simply had to just focus on bringing out the best from the Taiwanese hybrids. Again, choosing to see the silver lining, Vivian would express that this was perhaps for the best, as her father had singularly wanted to convey the Taiwanese terroir through local wines and to demonstrate success with native varieties that could reinvigorate the land and its farmers, and as such, had these international varieties proved successful, Weightstone would perhaps not be making singular Taiwanese wines. "My father is a very idealistic person, very proactive in many things. He often said, 'You have to do it to understand the details and problems. It's precious that Taiwan has its own varieties, and we should support it.' They are children of Taiwan. Should we abandon them just because they are small and grow slowly?" says Vivian.

"Of course, there are painful moments, moments of helplessness, but every year when that happens, I just pick myself up and get through it, that's all. I always recall my father walking through the vineyard, bending down to pick up a loose stone, carefully wiping it with his hand. That humble figure before the land reminds me to maintain a sense of awe for nature. Whenever faced with challenges, I would look up at my father in heaven and ask him "Dad, what would you do if it were you?", and I could feel his protection and draw upon his strength."

Consequently, the team would sought to identify other local growers that Weightstone could purchase fruit from, yet this was again incredibly difficult as it came with a stipulation that the farmers would have to cultivate vines according to Weightstone's ethos, which in particular meant keeping to just one harvest per year. This meant undoing the decades of state supported practice of maximising yields, which had been exhausting and harming the vines, as well as convincing farmers to only harvest when ripe regardless of typhoon concerns. Yet with few wineries left to purchase their fruit and at ever decreasing prices, several growers would eventually yield, which allowed Weightstone to expand their fruit sourcing to the Houli and Erlin areas. 

And so after years of searching for common ground, Weightstone and its associated growers would move towards a growing season that was opposite to Europe, with harvesting taking place in winter (since Taiwanese winters also weren't cold enough for vines to go dormant) when the climate is cool and dry, following which the vines are allowed to rest until late February, whilst bud break is set to occur once the monsoon season is past. By shifting the growing season, Weightstone has since been able to avoid monsoons, whilst achieving higher sugar levels in their fruit and more balanced acidity. Whilst Weightstone's radical initiatives and commitment to sustainability has meant that yields were now substantially lower, which initially hurt financially, it's since set itself apart with the quality of its fruit, its leadership in establishing itself as a winery benchmark for environmental sustainability, and as proof for other farmers to be convinced that maximising quantity should not be the primary goal.

Today, Weightstone manages itself several vineyards in Nantou, Taichung and Changhua, with several contracted growers in Houli and Erlin. This access to a diversity of terroir allows Weightstone to match the land best suited for the particular hybrid, with Musann Blanc and Black Queen planted in the alluvial sandy loam soils of Changhua, whilst the Golden Muscat is planted in the silty clay loam soils of Houli, and then closest to home, all varieties that Weighstone works with are planted in their Puli vineyard of clay loam soils. Avoiding the intense morning heat, harvest is conducted at night, with each cluster hand picked and sorted in the vineyard, before being transported in refrigerated trucks to the winery by sunrise. In the winery, the winemaking team takes a hands off approach, gently pressing the fruit and preferring to allow the fruit to express itself and determine what wines should then be produced that harvest.

Given the local climatic conditions and the need to often harvest early, with the Golden Muscat and Black Queen also often tightly bunched which can cause leakage if harvested late, the fruit produced therefore often of high acidity, Vivian has also sought to use that quality that would otherwise make it unsuitable for still wines to her advantage, by producing sparkling wines. Whilst Taiwan had yet to have its own sparkling wines made as per the traditional method used in Champagne (of two fermentations), Weightstone would prove its pioneering prowess in creating the first sparkling Taiwanese hybrid cuvee for the winery's big debut. “Weightstone isn't intentionally unique; it's just that the weather and grape varieties are different, which naturally creates its uniqueness. I have no winemaking experience; and so I just directly face it as is. We were a blank slate, but because of that, we had no preconceived notions about wine,” explains Vivian.

"We want to authentically present the flavors that came from the interplay of the grapes, climate, and soil in that year. You see, our wines are all very light; some are sparkling, and some are rosé. Many people might wonder, shouldn't wine be 'strong'? But the grapes grown in our land are best suited for wines that aren't heavy! [But] The natural flavors of fruit are already very rich; they don't need to be overpowering!"

And so in 2016, Weightstone would launch its first three wines - a Musann Blanc white wine and two sparkling wines, a Blanc de Blancs from Golden Muscat and a Gris de Noirs (Grey from Black) from Black Queen. The winery has since expanded to include an Experimental "WE" Series which is a blend of multiple vintages and varieties, and even features a Pet Nat, a Frizzante, a Rose and the winery's first still red. This was met with great acclaim, with Weightstone clinching many honours such as being named as one of the world's Top 13 "Best New Wineries", as well as picking up a slew of awards at international wine competitions hosted by Decanter and the International Wine Competition (IWC). Yet perhaps most vitally, Weightstone's wines would find its place in not only Michelin-starred restaurants, but also served during Taiwan's state Presidential Inauguration banquet in 2024, and was even selected as a representative gift from the Taiwanese President to diplomatic allies. "My father's biggest hope was that one day state banquets would use wine made in Taiwan, and I never thought it would come true. We didn't deliberately promote it; everything happened naturally, and I think that's the most powerful thing. Our wines are not just commodities, but a way of life, allowing people to feel the charm of the Taiwanese land in every sip," says Vivian.

Nevertheless despite Weightstone's early debut success, which had already come on the back of overcoming numerous daunting challenges, Vivian is clear that the work is not over. As with wine regions around the world, Weightstone too faces mounting challenges in securing labour, as well as coping with the unprecedented pace of climate change. The unpredictable climate has meant that in particularly harsh vintages, Weightstone's yield can drop by as much as 80%, which disallows the winery from producing at its necessary scale. Yet, for every setback, Weightstone has continued to forge on and in so doing has earned greater successes. More recent vintages have validated Weightstone's innovative approach to cultivation, with brix sugar levels in its fruit almost doubling since the start. "The grapes are so healthy and ripened, even the birds were competing for the delicious abundance!" laughs Vivian.

"Although it sounds philosophical, I think running Weightstone is like being a person. The most important thing is character. You need to be very clear about your goals and accumulate positive energy. So you need to constantly review whether your initial intentions for doing things are off. Once you've made a decision, you have to face whatever comes your way... I don't want people to say that I inherited a winery from my father, that's so cliché. I feel that this is a gift my father gave me before he left. He changed my life, brought me a very solid meaning, and made my life completely different."

Into the future, Weightstone has continued to experiment with newly emerging local hybrid varieties, such as the Taichung No. 4 red grape, whilst still strongly committed to taking care of its land, learning and better understanding the Taiwanese climate and terroir, and also supporting the growth of winemaking expertise locally, as it looks to produce innovative new wines that bring out the best in local varieties.

Kanpai!

@111hotpot