Green ant new unfiltered wine, A little red clay stove. Evening falls and the sky promises snow, Will you share a cup with me? – Bai Juyi, "A Question for Liu Shijiu"
As mid-October passes, the crisp reality of autumn sets in. With the mornings and evenings growing noticeably cooler, a certain warmth returns to the Chinese dining table. For centuries, as the autumn winds picked up, the practice of warming wine—wenjiu—became one of the most poetic rituals of the season.
A Thousand Years of Warmed Wine
The custom of warming wine has deep roots in China. As far back as the Shang and Zhou dynasties, bronze wine vessels like the tripod jue were designed with long legs specifically so they could be placed directly over hot coals. By the Han and Tang dynasties, more sophisticated porcelain warming bowls (wenwan) had come into fashion. Rather than placing the wine directly on a fire, the wine ewer was rested in a bowl of hot water, allowing the liquid inside to heat gently and evenly.
This practice was not merely about warding off the cold; it was a matter of flavour. Early Chinese wines were fermented and often unfiltered. Gently heating them helped clarify the liquid and volatilised the aromatic compounds, making the bouquet much more pronounced. From the famous tale of "warming wine with green plums" in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms to the "little red clay stove" immortalised by Tang poets, a warm cup was the ancient Chinese response to the changing seasons.
The Balance of Temperature and Aroma
Today, the art of distillation has made baijiu the centrepiece of the Chinese banquet. Modern baijiu is pure and clear, rendering the ancient necessity of boiling wine obsolete. Yet, temperature remains a crucial element in the tasting experience.
The aromatic compounds in baijiu are highly sensitive to heat. On a chilly autumn evening, gently warming a cup in the hands, or resting a small ewer in a bath of warm water, can dramatically awaken the spirit's esters. For strong-aroma baijiu, this slight increase in temperature encourages the bouquet to open up, softening the texture on the palate. Naturally, because modern baijiu is high-proof, it should never be boiled; resting the vessel in warm water (around 30 to 40 degrees Celsius) is just enough to release the aromas without sacrificing the spirit's balance.
Autumn in Mianzhu and a Cup of Qifu
In Mianzhu, Sichuan, October brings misty autumn rains to the foot of the Longmen Mountains. As the temperature drops, the distillery enters one of its busiest and most vital seasons. Beneath the red-grain caps, in the yellow-mud pits of the Qifu distillery, the five grains are quietly undergoing their two-month solid-state fermentation, guided by over a thousand microbial species.
On a cool evening like this, gathering around a table with good friends is the perfect occasion to open a red porcelain bottle of Bainian Qifu · 8. This 52% vol strong-aroma flagship brings together the distinct qualities of sorghum, wheat, rice, glutinous rice and corn. At room temperature, it already offers a full pit aroma, but if a small ewer of the spirit is gently warmed, its smooth entry, lingering sweetness and nutty, caramel-like finish unfold with even greater complexity.
With the soft glow of the dining room and a glass poured in moderation, a warm cup of baijiu does more than chase away the autumn chill. It brings a touch of unhurried comfort to the table, just as it has for over a thousand years.
