bon appétit: How One Man’s Obsession with Fruit Created the UK’s Most Exquisite Spirits

Barney Wilczak and his tiny distillery are bottling the wildness of the orchard.

BY OSAYI ENDOLYN

May 12, 2025

“The fruit is coming.”

The urgent phone call that Barney Wilczak anticipates typically comes in the middle of the night. The caller is one of his local farmer partners who has just walked their orchards to touch, smell, and taste the fruit. The brief exchange notifies Wilczak that the quince, perry pears, blood oranges, raspberries, or damson plums destined for distillation are ready to harvest. A distiller of groundbreaking eaux de vie, Wilczak describes his work as being “in service to the fruit.” Part of that service is to represent the fruit at its highest level of flavor, to harness its essence. So the processing must begin right away. Wilczak takes the farmer’s call as his cue, rises in the early darkness, and prepares to receive by the truckload literal tons of fruit.

Wilczak built Capreolus Distillery in 2016, on the same property as his childhood home in Cotswold, southwest England. His eaux de vie have an almost unnerving ability to transport the drinker to those abundant fields. The region is known for its endemic fruits, many of which don’t appear in other parts of the world. The name Capreolus refers to the deer that frequent Wilczak’s garden. “They’re the most beautiful native deer we have and they’re so ephemeral,” he says. “You see them and then they disappear. It felt apt, as we try to capture things that only last for moments.”

That late night/early morning phone call from Wilczak’s farmer collaborator wouldn’t have been a surprise. Wilczak firmly believes that production revolves entirely around the wisdom of the trees and the people who cultivate them, not marketing drives or quarterly sales targets. Every piece of fruit that arrives at the distillery is hand-sorted to check for outliers of “too much softness or spring,” before it is hand-pressed and guided through distillation and bottling.

Hand-sorting gooseberries at Capreolus. Photograph By Barney Wilczak

You might say that Wilczak practices a type of conservation: His farming supports much-needed biodiversity, and drinkers around the world can experience hyperlocal plants they wouldn’t otherwise have access to. The quince evokes notes of cinnamon, fig, and dark cherry. It tastes of earth yet bright twig and leaf—to drink these eaux de vie is to be situated in terrain.

“Last year we spent 7.5 hours sorting 700,000 individual raspberries. That’s 3.6 tons,” Wilczak says, with a look of bewilderment. All that fruit, time, and effort across a team of four people, yielded roughly three hundred 375-ml bottles. With a sense of pride and maybe surrender, he adds, “It’s ridiculous.”

Wilczak has fans, if not acolytes, of his so-called ridiculousness. Among them, famed cocktail bartender Ryan Chetiyawardana, professionally known as Mr. Lyan, who features Capreolus eaux de vie at Seed Library in London’s Shoreditch, Washington D.C. bar Silver Lyan, and Super Lyan in Amsterdam. He credits Dawn Davies of The Whisky Exchange for introducing him to the spirit. “It was revolutionary to try an eau de vie that represents my favorite fruits as a UK native,” Chetiyawardana says. “Barney sees the whole essence of the plant as not just a biological creature, but what it stands for. I was flabbergasted.”

A view of the orchard

Preserving nature in the bottle

Wilczak found distilling through his love of nature. As a student he thrived in botany and biology, but couldn’t make sense of working nonstop in a lab. He pivoted to study photography and specialized in conservation. In brief, he became a plant photojournalist. “I was photographing habitat restoration on six continents, building media libraries for botanic gardens in 118 countries.” Alongside his studies, he developed a hobby for making ciders, exploring the technicalities of distillation and méthode traditionnelle, a style of winemaking that involves a secondary fermentation in the bottle. The leap to distilling was not a huge jump. “It all comes down to a love for plants.”

As he approached age 30, Wilczak experienced “a bit of a life crisis.” He didn’t want to only document plants for visual archives. He wanted to promote the growth and appreciation of those plants for others. “I realized that people are obsessed with varietal differences in wine, but it’s also true of every single fruit.”

When Wilczak launched Capreolus, his bank account was overdraft by eight pounds, but supported by his partner Hannah Morrison, whose taste became imperative to Wilczak’s process. Everything was once done by hand and muscle, though he’s since acquiesced to buying a mill. He committed to work with farmers within a fifty-mile radius of his home-distillery, and just recently purchased meadowland to plant quince trees, which will soon bring that particular eau de vie production within range (it was previously the lone outlier).

His focus on local farmers came down to pay equity. “Early on I was talking to someone in Finland about wild-picked cranberries and they said, ‘We’ll get them to you for 2 euros per kilo.’ I knew that was really really cheap for wild-picked fruit,” he explains. The fruit would be picked in Russia. “What are the labor laws there? What are people getting paid?” Wilczak wanted to work with people he could meet, with operations he could see. “We wanted to pay people a proper wage, focused on farming well,” he says, a nod to the price point of his lineup, which can range from about $90 to $185.

With his local focus, he learned that there was not “a single piece of overlap in flavor or aroma.” The realization inspired him to learn how these individual expressions manifested. He spent about seven years studying fruit distillation practices in epicenters of Austria, Germany, Italy, and France, and translating non-English books on the subject.

After distilling perry pears from 200-year-old 45-foot trees, Wilczak was shocked. The distillation didn’t smell like fruit. “It smelled like sun-warmed bark, ripe and unripe wood, autumnal leaves, and almost like the grass around the trees,” he says. “My self-guided education had a huge focus on a technological, yield-driven way of working, but that robbed the eau de vie of complexity and organic structure,” he continues. “I became interested in making eaux de vie that are truly organic and expressive of where they come from.” That meant becoming dogmatic about respecting the inherent knowledge of the trees and the ecosystems that allowed them to produce such varied fruit. “Suddenly, the eaux de vie started to smell like the orchards.”

Black currant eau de vie in progress. Photograph By Barney Wilczak

Around the world with eaux de vie

In New York City, Jorge Riera, wine director at Frenchette, Le Roc, and the newly revamped Le Veau d’Or, features Capreolus eaux de vie as the finishing touch on leisurely, decadent meals. “It’s mind-blowing,” Riera says. “The delicacy, the finesse, the floral notes that Barney gets out of it. I was blown away.”

Riera first tasted the lineup in 2018 in Vienna, Austria, at Karakterre, a 14-year-old natural wine conference celebrating producers primarily from central and eastern Europe (the festival now has a NYC iteration going into its fourth year). Riera immediately called his importer, PM Spirits, to see about getting Capreolus to the States. “With the raspberry eau de vie, you feel the fuzz of the fruit in the nose,” he goes on. “They work with nature and it’s beautiful. But for me, I see the result at the dining table. I see the emotions from people immediately.”

One of the more evocative eaux de vie is the damson plum, a quintessential British fruit. “Old recipes of distilling damson take on this slightly jammy, tart note,” Chetiyawardana says. “Barney manages to capture the smell of the blossoms as you walk past the bush. It has that white flower elegance. The purple fruit notes encapsulate the tartness of the skin and the yield of the flesh. It pulls through to this wonderful fresh almond note from the kernel.”

For this writer, Capreolus eaux de vie feels like falling into a safe, warm memory you didn’t know you had. The damson plum is an example of Wilczak’s conservation ideology: “No one knows what to do with a cooking plum; it’s something we’ve lost from our vocabulary. We can let these things slip away. But if we want those genetics as a resource given changing climate, we have to give a justification for them to be grown.” His exquisite bottles make for a compelling reason. The only experience better than sipping Capreolus is to share it with someone as willing to be moved as you.

Seven Fifty Daily: What’s Driving the Growth of Calvados in the U.S. Market?

As Americans’ love for apples coincides with a rising appreciation for brown spirits, Calvados finds a new home in the U.S. market

Calvados is a traditional spirit dating back to 1800s France, but it’s experiencing exponential growth in the U.S. Photo Courtesy of Rogery Groulty Calvados.

In the U.S., cider is no longer enjoying the amazing growth of the past decade, but apples remain a perennial favorite among Americans. Meanwhile, the popularity of brown spirits continues unabated, expanding to embrace brandy as well. These two trends have collided to bring Calvados, France’s classic apple brandy, into more American homes and bars than ever before.

According to the Interprofession des Appellations Cidricoles (IDAC), Calvados exports to the U.S. grew 70 percent in 2021, and then repeated that feat again in 2022, making the U.S. the second largest export market for the apple brandy, after Germany. Numbers like these sometimes need to be taken with a grain of salt coming out of the topsy-turvy years of the pandemic and the global shipping crisis.

Nicolas Palazzi, the owner of PM Spirits, imports three Calvados producers, Roger Groult, Eric Bordelet, and Domaine du Tertre. According to Palazzi, importers are overstocked after bringing in extra product to protect themselves against shipping challenges, and he expects import volumes to level out. 

But Guillaume Drouin, the third-generation owner of Calvados Christian Drouin, feels the trend has legs. “Within the brandy category, apple brandy is doing very well,” says Drouin. “U.S. cider producers have started to produce apple brandy, and there are many more American apple brandies on the shelf than even just five years ago. Calvados is the historical apple brandy of the world, so hopefully it’s taking part in that trend.” 

On this point Palazzi agrees, noting that American drinkers have typically heard of the U.S. apple distillate Applejack at the very minimum. “Calvados, being the big brother of Applejack, being more complex by design, and being from a region where the name signifies something in terms of history, means it’s not as hard to sell when you already have that frame of reference.”

Indeed, the data suggests that this confluence of trends is driving a new wave of interest in Calvados among U.S. consumers and professionals alike.

From the Orchard to the Bottle

Normandy’s Calvados is one of the three classic brandies of France, alongside Cognac and Armagnac; it’s also the only one not made from grapes. The region’s history of producing apple- and pear-based spirits extends back at least five centuries, and the name Calvados came into use after the French Revolution. Production methods were formalized by the end of the nineteenth century, around the same time that Calvados rose in popularity across France, while its grape-based competitors struggled with the effects of phylloxera.

To make Calvados, apples are harvested and vinified as cider without any additions of gas, acid, or sugar, and the cider is then distilled and aged in wooden casks. A mix of apple types are permitted, but at least 70 percent must be bitter or bittersweet apples, and the rest classified as sharp or sweet; all are apple varieties that would otherwise be inedible to human palates.

Owner of Calvados Christian Drouin, Guillaume Drouin (pictured above) believes the sudden interest in Calvados spirits has staying power in the U.S. Photo courtesy of Calvados Christian Drouin.

The traditional Calvados orchard is planted with tall, high-stem trees, with fewer than 300 trees per hectare. Modern orchards are more densely planted with smaller, low-stem trees that are easy to manage and higher yielding, but are more work intensive. High-stem vineyards allow for cow pasturing and other uses among the trees. Many leading producers favor high-stem vineyards, and some use them exclusively.

Types of Calvados

Today, Calvados is made under three different appellations spread across Normandy and dipping occasionally into neighboring departments. The largest, Calvados AOC, makes up 70 percent of production, and is typically distilled in a column still; 35 percent of the apples must come from high-stem vineyards and the spirit must be aged for a minimum of two years. The Calvados Pays d’Auge is the oldest AOC, created in 1942. It’s a smaller area, has the same aging requirements, but is more stringent regarding apple sources, 45 percent of which must come from high-stem orchards. Calvados Pays d’Auge, uniquely, must also be double distilled in a pot still. While other Calvados can have substantial amounts of pears used in their production, Pays d’Auge limits pears to 30 percent of the fruit used.

In contrast, the newer, more southerly Calvados Domfrontais AOC, created in 1997, requires a minimum of 30 percent pears; the area is dominated by high-stem pear orchards. Calvados Domfrontais is produced using a column still and must age for at least three years before bottling; despite the longer aging requirements, the column still and high pear content typically yields a fresher, lighter style of Calvados.

All the Calvados appellations are open-minded regarding labeling rules, allowing age and quality statements on products that meet the given requirements. There is enough room within the regulations for producers to offer specialty products, so Calvados is able to keep up with trends found among other brown spirits. For example, Calvados can be aged in different types of vessels, such as older barrels left over from a previous generation, and bottled separately.

Christian Drouin has collaborated with distilleries such as Hine Cognac, Calle 23 Tequila, and Caroni Rum to use their barrels to finish Drouin Calvados bottlings. Drouin, Groult, and others have stepped outside the Calvados appellation to produce unaged apple brandies as well. Some producers have also introduced cask strength Calvados, bottled without being reduced back to 40 percent alcohol.

Small Producers, Small Environmental Impact

Compared to other French brandies, Calvados is well-suited to fit in with the craft ethos of America’s brandy scene, with a wide range of medium and small producers. “Calvados is still a very craft category,” says Drouin. “Even the bigger Calvados producers are very small compared to the Cognac or whiskey industry.” Calvados overall includes 8,000 hectares of orchards, making it just over a tenth the size of Cognac. Nonetheless, Calvados includes about three hundred producers, a greater number than in the more famous grape brandy region.

Drouin says Calvados’s green credentials also deserve to be better known. “We examined the carbon footprint of our company, and we calculated that every time we produce a bottle of Calvados, the equivalent of three kilos of CO2 is absorbed,” says Drouin. “So it’s probably the only spirit in the world which can show, without any effort, a negative carbon footprint.” According to the IDAC, Calvados orchards on average sequester 35 to 50 tons of carbon per hectare over a 25-year period, and the orchards also provide four times the habitat for bees and other pollinators than other field crops. 

Calvados is also seamlessly sustainable, requiring very little in the way of reducing the carbon footprint of the spirit’s production. Photo courtesy of Roger Groult Calvados.

That footprint is tied to the small volume produced per hectare—about one quarter that of grape brandy—and the biodiversity in the orchards, with cows grazing on the grass beneath the trees. In addition, the traditional, tall-tree orchards require no spraying. Workers visit the vineyards for pruning and harvesting, but little else; it’s very minimal interference compared to grain fields or vineyards, where tractors might pass through on a weekly basis. “It’s nothing new,” says Drouin. “It’s historical. We just have a protected way of production that’s sustainable.”

Calvados and American Cocktail Culture 

While the pandemic spurred more off-premise purchases of Calvados, Drouin says 70 percent of their sales go to on-premise outlets. Leanne Favre, the creative director of Leyenda and Clover Club in Brooklyn, says that as a spirits geek she enjoys Calvados neat at home, but that sales in the two bars are mostly in the form of cocktails. “It’s getting a lot more showtime in cocktails and on menus than I’ve ever seen before,” she says.

Favre adds that the wide range of styles available, from lighter, fresher examples to more aged expressions, means Calvados has a lot of different uses today, and needn’t be confined to autumnal, seasonal drinks. “It’s amazing how much range Calvados can bring to your menu when you start including it.”

More and more Calvados producers have been visiting the U.S. market and promoting their spirits, and Favre praises the Calvados industry for recent initiatives that have helped highlight the variety the category can offer. “You had forty different producers banding together; it really showed how dynamic the category can be, just like Mezcal,” she says. “It’s really worth it to try different producers and expressions.”

Clear as a Bell

These elegant (but electric) digestifs are the perfect pick-me-up, nightcap, and grand finale—all in one glass

BY AMIEL STANEK PHOTOGRAPH BY ISA ZAPATA

Once the dessert forks have been surrendered and everyone swears they couldn’t possibly take even one more bite, a final pour of something special on Thanksgiving just feels right. While I can see the merits of trotting out a bottle of bark-bitter amaro or a mellow bourbon that’s seen a few years in oak, these days I take a different tack. When I want to round out a big meal in style, the choice is clear—a clear spirit, that is. I’m talking about things like eau-de-vie, grappa, mezcal, and clairin. Though these liquors are unique in terms of their geographic origin, composition, and production, they share a brazen character, making them ideal meal-enders. Instead of relying on extensive aging in wood to lend complexity, each spirit tastes unabashedly of the raw materials from which they were distilled and the places where they were made. Heirloom apples. Hand-harvested grapes. Pit-roasted agave. Wild-fermented sugarcane. These idiosyncratic products are as lively and expressive as the day they trickled out of the still; with no time spent in barrels to discipline their rougher edges, flavor has nowhere to hide. And at the end of a rich meal, one sharp sip immediately snaps you back to consciousness, like a cold plunge after a sweaty sauna session.

As is the case with all booze, spirits made with care by small, independent producers are going to be more compelling and often boast a price tag to match. But this is the most special of occasions, after all—when else are you going to break out the good stuff?

CYRIL ZANGS – DOUBLE ZÉRO EAU-DE-VIE DE CIDRE

This bright 100-proof apple brandy is a collaboration between culty Normandy cider maker Cyril Zangs and renowned distillery Calvados Roger Groult. It smells and tastes like a brisk fall stroll through an orchard: ripe fruit, a crisp breeze,

LAURENT CAZOTTES – GOUTTE DE REINE CLAUDE DORÉE

Laurent Cazottes’s eaux-de-vie are the stuff of legend, crafted from small parcels of his own lovingly tended trees and vines. To make this style, Cazottes painstakingly dries and hand-pits greengage plums before fermentation, which yields an extraordinarily concentrated elixir.

CLAIRIN VAVAL RUM

Traditional clairin, perhaps Haiti’s most revered spirit, is rum for mezcal nerds. Made from freshly pressed heritage sugarcane varietals and fermented with no added yeasts, each distillation is a unique expression of terroir. This one, from second-generation producer Fritz Vaval, is sunny and herbaceous, each sip gracefully ping-ponging between delicate flowers and salty funk.