Every time I return to my Roero notebooks, something different catches my attention. Usually, that comes after spending a few minutes squinting at my handwriting and the notes I somehow managed to wedge into every available margin. Sometimes it’s a conversation with a winemaker. Sometimes it’s a note about the sandy soil beneath my boots. Other times it’s a simple reminder that crossing one river can completely change the way you understand a wine and the land that shapes it. Roero Nebbiolo has quietly become one of those discoveries.
The world of fine wine never stands still. For decades, the spotlight on Piedmont has shone almost exclusively on the right bank of the Tanaro River, where the legendary hills of Barolo and Barbaresco have long defined the region’s reputation. Collectibility, soaring prices, and powerful, age-worthy wines became the benchmark for Piedmontese Nebbiolo.
Cross the river, however, and the story begins to change.
For those unfamiliar with Nebbiolo, it is the undisputed noble grape of northern Italy, a fascinating enigma in a glass. If Nebbiolo is new to you, don’t let its delicate appearance fool you. It pours a pale, translucent ruby-orange color that resembles the graceful look of a light Pinot Noir. Its color has fooled more than a few first-time Nebbiolo drinkers into expecting something soft and delicate. Nebbiolo has other plans. The moment it touches your palate, it reveals remarkable intensity, with firm tannins and vibrant acidity that are far bolder than its appearance suggests.
While Pinot Noir is often known for its silky elegance, Nebbiolo is built with more structure and staying power. In its traditional growing areas, those tannins can take years, sometimes even decades, to soften, making it one of Italy’s great cellar wines. Don’t let that intimidate you, though. As you’ll discover, Roero Nebbiolo offers a beautifully approachable side of the grape without sacrificing the character that makes Nebbiolo so unforgettable.
The Grape Born from the Fog
The name Nebbiolo is derived from nebbia, the Italian word for fog. The name is thought to come from two distinct characteristics of the grape. First, during the late autumn harvest in October, a thick blanket of fog regularly rolls across the Piedmont hills, enveloping the hillside vineyards in mist.
It’s the kind of fog that makes you half expect someone to emerge from it, although in Roero it’s far more likely to be a winemaker than Mr. Darcy. Second, as the berries ripen on the vine, they develop a dense, powdery white bloom across their dark skins, making the clusters look as though they have been lightly dusted by that same morning mist.
Don’t let Roero Nebbiolo’s approachable nature fool you into thinking it is somehow less than its famous neighbors. The way we travel, and the way we experience wine, has changed. I’ve noticed more and more wine lovers and travelers looking beyond the regions everyone already knows. They’re seeking out quieter tasting rooms, smaller wine regions, and family-run wineries where authentic experiences, beautiful landscapes, and genuine conversations are still part of every visit.
The answer lies on the left bank of the Tanaro.
On the left bank of the Tanaro, the steep, forested hills of the Roero DOCG reveal a completely different expression of Nebbiolo. Here, fragrance takes the place of sheer power, silkiness replaces muscle, and elegance becomes the wine’s defining characteristic.
Drawing from trip and digging back into My Roero Notebooks, I wanted to revisit why this side of the river is finally stepping out from the shadow of its famous neighbors and earning a reputation all its own.
A River Divides Us: The Tale of Two Palates
The Tanaro River is not just a body of water; it is a profound geological boundary line and one of the reasons Nebbiolo can taste so remarkably different despite growing only a few miles apart.
On the right bank, the Langhe is built on ancient limestone, clay, and marl. These dense, compact soils produce Nebbiolo with tremendous structure, firm tannins, and incredible longevity. They are wines that often reward patience, sometimes spending a decade or more in the cellar before showing their full character.
Cross the river into Roero, however, and the landscape changes almost immediately. The ground beneath your boots becomes lighter and sandier, and with it comes an entirely different expression of Nebbiolo. Those sandy soils are one of Roero’s greatest gifts, helping produce wines known for their elegance, fragrance, and remarkably approachable tannins.
More than once during my visit, I found myself reaching down to scoop up a handful of Roero’s sandy soil. It’s one thing to hear someone explain terroir. It’s another to hold that soil in your hand, let it slip through your fingers, and realize you’re touching the remnants of an ancient seabed.
Because sand allows vine roots to spread more freely than dense clay, it encourages Nebbiolo to express a very different side of its personality.
The difference is immediately noticeable in the glass. Roero Nebbiolo’s tannins are naturally softer, finer-grained, and remarkably silky, even when the wine is young. Instead of leading with the familiar notes of tar and leather often associated with Nebbiolo, Roero opens with fragrant aromas of wild strawberries, raspberries, dried violets, and a gentle touch of white pepper.
If you’ve ever found traditional Nebbiolo just a little too serious, Roero might be the bottle that changes your mind. It is still an intellectual wine, absolutely, but one that doesn’t seem to mind if you simply call it delicious.
How Sand Saved the Vines
Roero’s sandy soils did more than shape the character of its wines, they also helped protect its vineyards. During the phylloxera epidemic of the late 1800s, the tiny root-feeding louse that devastated vineyards across Europe struggled to survive in loose, sandy soils. While much of the continent was forced to replant vineyards onto American rootstock, pockets of Roero were naturally protected by the very sand beneath the vines. It’s one more reminder that sometimes the greatest gifts of a wine region begin underground.
The Wild Roero Landscape
I’ve always been drawn to places where the landscape becomes part of the story, and Roero was no exception. Unlike some wine regions where vineyards seem to stretch to every horizon, Roero still feels wonderfully untamed. Vineyards share the landscape with ancient chestnut forests, thriving fruit orchards, quiet villages, and deep wooded valleys. It’s a place where biodiversity isn’t a modern buzzword, it is the historical reality of the terrain.
The most dramatic feature of that landscape is the Rocche, a spectacular spine of towering sand cliffs stretching from Pocapaglia to Santo Stefano Roero. Created thousands of years ago when the Tanaro River changed course, these erosion-carved canyons plunge into dense forests, creating one of the most unexpected landscapes in northern Italy.
The Great Geologic Theft
The dramatic Rocche cliffs owe their existence to a prehistoric event geologists call the Tanaro River Capture. Around 250,000 years ago, the Tanaro River changed course, carving a new valley through Roero’s soft, sandy soils. Over thousands of years, erosion sculpted an 11-kilometer network of jagged cliffs, ravines, and deep gorges that look like a miniature Badlands dropped into the middle of Northern Italy.
During my visit, I was struck by the raw, almost melancholic beauty of the Rocche. The cool, damp stillness of the forests meets the warm, sun-baked energy of the steep, south-facing vineyard amphitheaters in a way that’s difficult to appreciate until you’re standing there. Looking across that landscape, I understood Roero Nebbiolo a little better. Fresh yet complex. Delicate yet beautifully structured.
When you visit Roero someday, give yourself time to linger here. I have a feeling you’ll leave understanding the wine a little better, too. You’ll also understand why Roero has never needed to compete with its famous neighbors. It has always been confidently, and beautifully, itself.
The Guardians of the Left Bank
Roero Nebbiolo isn’t shaped by sandy soils and dramatic landscapes alone. It is also shaped by the families who have cared for these vineyards for generations. During my time there, I had the privilege of sitting around the tables of family-run estates, listening to stories that had been passed from one generation to the next, often over a glass of the very wine we were discussing.
There is an unpretentious warmth to the hospitality in Roero that is difficult to describe until you’ve experienced it yourself. Visitors aren’t simply welcomed into a tasting room; they’re invited into the working heart of the winery, often by the very people who planted the vines, farm the vineyards, and make the wine. It’s exactly the kind of hospitality that has me counting the weeks until my return to Roero.
I’ve come to believe that’s part of Roero’s appeal. More and more wine lovers aren’t just looking for another bottle to add to the cellar. They’re looking for a story they’ll remember, a conversation they’ll talk about long after they return home, and wines that belong around a dinner table as much as they do in a tasting room.
Roero Nebbiolo delivers exactly that. It reflects the people who make it as much as the land where it grows, combining elegance, authenticity, and a quiet confidence that never feels the need to announce itself. By the time you leave, it isn’t just the wine you remember. It’s the people who poured it for you.
The New Paradigm
To experience Roero is to realize that travel shouldn’t always be about visiting the pinnacle of a textbook list. True discovery happens when you dare to look across the river, step off the beaten path, and explore a destination at your own pace.
The left bank of the Tanaro is no longer simply an alternative. Roero has become a destination in its own right, where nature still outnumbers the tourists, where the soil remembers the sea, and where Roero Nebbiolo reveals a side of the grape that surprises both first-time and experienced wine lovers alike. Approachable enough to enjoy from the very first sip, yet complex enough to reward every glass, it is a wine that invites curiosity rather than intimidation.
Some places have a way of calling you back. Roero has quietly become one of those places for me. I’m looking forward to returning during the harvest season, hoping to catch the beginning of the vintage and bring you fresh stories straight from the cellars for the next chapters ofMy Roero Notebooks.
If you’ve been following this series, you’ll recognize some of the stories and places I’ve shared before. As I found myself returning to my notebooks, though, I realized Roero Nebbiolo and the remarkable landscape that shapes it deserved a closer look. Some of that story had already found its way into earlier articles, but it never felt complete. Until the next chapter, you can explore the rest of my Roero journey, from its fascinating history and elegant white wines to its unforgettable food traditions, here:
To learn more about Roero Nebbiolo and the other wines from this region visit: The Consorzio Tutela Roero
Tomorrow, I head back to Roero with another notebook tucked into my bag and every intention of writing more legibly this time. I’m looking forward to seeing familiar places again and finding a few new ones along the way. There are tables I’ve missed, wines I’m more than happy to taste again, and people I’m looking forward to catching up with. Mostly, I’m curious to see what catches my attention this time around.
I have a feeling the new notebook won’t stay blank for long. Roero gave me plenty to write about the first time, and something tells me I’m not finished yet.
Grazie per aver letto(Thank you for reading.)
About Elaine
Elaine is an international award-winning travel writer, wine writer, photographer, and WSET Level 3 wine professional who believes every destination has a story worth telling. Through Drink In Life, she explores wine, travel, gardens, books, food, and the quiet moments that make a life well lived.
Welcome to part one of a deep dive into the French 75 cocktail history—an ongoing investigation that, during my latest archival search, began to feel like that famous, shimmering mirage scene from Lawrence of Arabia. There, vibrating in the hazy distance, was the definitive answer I was looking for. I could almost make out a name, a legendary bar, perhaps even the exact person who invented the French 75. All I had to do was keep moving toward it. Except every time I thought I was getting closer, the truth shifted a little farther away.
Henry created it. No, Harry created it. It happened at Ciro’s. Or perhaps Henry’s Bar. Maybe it was born at the world-famous Harry’s New York Bar. One archival source confidently supplied a date while another offered a completely different one, and somewhere along the line, Champagne appeared in an original French 75 recipe that initially didn’t contain bubbles at all. At one point, I found myself staring blankly at my computer thinking, where is the real story hiding?
Searching for the Real French 75 Story
What began as a straightforward search for the origins of one of the world’s most recognizable cocktails quickly dissolved into a maze of competing names, conflicting dates, and recipes that looked nothing alike. Many of these claims have been repeated so often across the internet that they have hardened into established, unquestioned facts. Untangling them required serious digging. Old cocktail books, digitized newspapers, wartime accounts, and more internet rabbit holes than I care to admit have all become part of the search.
Just when I thought I had one piece of the puzzle settled, another archival source would introduce a different bartender, another Paris bar, or an even earlier iteration of the drink. Somewhere between Henry and Harry, wartime Paris and an American newspaper, the history I thought I knew began to unravel.
So, where exactly does the true story of the French 75 begin?
Before the French 75 Cocktail, There Was “The 75”
During World War I, the Canon de 75 modèle 1897, better known as the French 75mm field gun or Soixante-Quinze, was celebrated for its lethal speed, accuracy, and rapid fire. It was France’s most recognizable weapon of the war, and its terrifyingly potent reputation quickly attached itself to the drinking world.
One of the earliest documented references to the drink appears in a 1915 American newspaper. The report detailed a beverage called the Soixante-Quinze in connection with the famous war correspondent E. Alexander Powell, who reportedly brought the recipe back “from the front.”
This early potion combined gin, applejack, grenadine, and lemon juice. It was a far cry from the elegant, effervescent libation we recognize today.
There was no Champagne, no sugar, and certainly no elegant flute. Instead, we find a heavy-hitting spirit combo carrying the 75 name. What the newspaper doesn’t tell us is who first pulled the shaker out to create it. Powell may have brought the recipe home, but importing a cocktail and inventing it are two very different things.
The Soixante-Quinze Cocktail Appears in Wartime Paris
A year later, the historical trail crosses the Atlantic back to France. In 1916, the British publication The Sphere described the atmosphere of wartime Paris and mentioned a soixante-quinze being served at the American Bar at Ciro’s.
The lively social scene at Ciro’s Bar in Paris, a few years before it became a wartime hub for Allied officers and one of the earliest recorded homes of the ‘soixante-quinze’ cocktail.
Illustration by Sem, c. 1911. (Source: Public Domain / PICRYL)
The account described a drink featuring Calvados and attributed its invention directly to the bar’s “mixer,” though it frustratingly omitted both the bartender’s name and the exact measurements. It is a intriguing piece of evidence because it firmly places a cocktail named after the weapon inside a Parisian bar during the Great War. It doesn’t, however, neatly align with the 1915 American account that predates it. Instead, it adds another layer to a puzzle that was already growing intoxicatingly complicated. Six years later, a published cocktail manual would throw another name into the ring.
The 1922 “75” Cocktail and Henry’s Bar
In 1922, legendary Belgian bartender Robert Vermeire published his definitive guide, Cocktails: How to Mix Them. Among its pages sits a recipe simply titled the “75” Cocktail, calling for dry gin, Calvados, grenadine, and lemon juice. Once again, Champagne was entirely absent from the glass.
Cocktails How To Mix Them – Robert Vermeire 1922-SCRIBD
What makes Vermeire’s entry crucial isn’t just the formula, but his historical commentary. He noted that the cocktail was highly appreciated in Paris during the war, named after the famous field gun, and was “introduced by Henry of Henry’s bar fame in Paris.” This text provides our first published, contemporary attribution pointing directly toward Henry’s Bar. However, modern eyes must read carefully: Vermeire chose the words “introduced by,” not “invented by.” When attempting to untangle a century-old mystery, distinctions like that matter.
Who Was the Henry Behind Henry’s Bar?
Modern cocktail historians have identified this figure as Henry Tépé, the proprietor of the popular Henry’s Bar on the Rue Volney. It is an intriguing piece of data, but as researchers, we must separate contemporary evidence from later historical consensus.
Vermeire himself only gave us “Henry.” He didn’t supply a surname or declare him the absolute inventor. While Henry’s Bar absolutely belongs in the narrative, his exact role in creating versus popularizing the drink remains a question that surviving archival documents refuse to answer cleanly. As if one unidentified Henry weren’t enough to sort out, cocktail history was about to hand me a Harry.
Harry MacElhone and the 75 Mystery
Anyone researching the French 75 will inevitably cross paths with Harry MacElhone, the titans of 20th-century bar culture and the mastermind behind Harry’s New York Bar in Paris. His name is frequently credited with the cocktail’s birth, but the primary texts tell a more nuanced story.
By 1926, MacElhone’s own Harry’s ABC of Mixing Cocktails included a recipe for the “75” Cocktail. His version called for Calvados, dry gin, grenadine, and a dash of absinthe. The lemon was gone, and Champagne had still not arrived.
This drink belonged firmly to the earlier, non-sparkling family of 75s. MacElhone’s connection to the recipe is undeniable, but it is not documentary proof that he stood behind the bar and birthed the sparkling drink we pour today. Over decades of storytelling, those granular distinctions simply evaporated.
Henry or Harry: Who Created the French 75?
It is incredibly easy to see how the historical wires got crossed. We have a Henry at Henry’s Bar and a Harry who ran the most famous American bar in Paris. We have Ciro’s serving a version during the war, all unfolding within the tight-knit, gossipy ecosystem of Parisian cocktail culture. Add a century of casual retellings, and it is a short leap for Henry to become Harry, an introduction to become an invention, and a legendary bar to be crowned the definitive birthplace. The simplified version makes for a clean marketing story; the messy historical record gives us something far more fascinating.
When Did Champagne Enter the French 75?
The most interesting thread linking these early iterations is the complete lack of wine. Whether it was the gin and applejack of 1915, the gin and Calvados of 1922, or the absinthe-spiked version of 1926, none of them sparkled.
That narrative shifted completely in 1927 with the publication of Here’s How! by Judge Jr. (the pseudonym of humorist Norman Hume Anthony). There, printed in black and white, was a drink explicitly called the French 75, and Champagne had finally entered the picture.
The 1927 recipe called for two jiggers of gin, one part lemon juice, a spoonful of powdered sugar, cracked ice, and enough Champagne to fill the rest of a tall glass.
It is remarkably close to the French 75 we recognize today, although its tall, ice-filled presentation is a long way from the modern flute presentation that has since become associated with the cocktail.
The little note at the bottom of the recipe makes the distinction wonderfully simple: club soda gives you a Tom Collins; Champagne gives you a French 75 and, I would argue, a considerably better outlook on life.
This is the milestone where the name and the recognizable sparkling formula finally aligned in print. Yet even this discovery leaves the biggest question unanswered: who first decided that the earlier 75 needed Champagne? By 1927, the French 75 had arrived on the printed page, but the person responsible for putting those bubbles in the glass remains frustratingly out of reach.
Who Really Invented the French 75?
When I first began writing this piece, “Who invented the French 75?” felt like the ultimate destination. The deeper I go, the more convinced I am that pinning it on a single name misses the point entirely.
What we are looking at is not a singular light bulb moment, but a beautiful convergence of histories:
The legacy of the wartime Soixante-Quinze weapon.
The evolution of a high-proof, non-sparkling wartime tonic passed between correspondents and bartenders.
The mastery of Paris’s finest hospitality icons recording its changes.
The mid-Prohibition American adaptation that finally introduced the luxury of Champagne.
Perhaps the French 75 had a single creator. A century later, the surviving evidence simply doesn’t allow us to name that person with confidence. What it does reveal is a journey. And finding where those separate trails meet on the palate is infinitely more satisfying than forcing history into a neat, packaged answer that the archives simply don’t support.
The French 75 History Is Still Being Written
After all this digging, I have accepted that the French 75 isn’t going to give up all of its secrets easily. An old menu answers one question and raises two more. A newspaper article introduces a character but leaves out the plot. Recipes evolve, bars close, and memories dissolve into folklore.
My research is far from over, especially now that I know how many versions of French 75 history are still being repeated as fact. There are more early recipes to track down, conflicting stories to untangle, and undoubtedly a few surprises still waiting to surface.
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Why 2027 Marks 100 Years of the French 75
That 1927 appearance in Here’s How! is also why 2027 will mark the centennial at the heart of the first International French 75 Day. Earlier drinks carried the 75 name, but the 1927 recipe is the earliest documented version I’ve found in French 75 history that brings together the French 75 name with gin, lemon, sugar, and Champagne in the form we recognize today. One hundred years later, on May 29, 2027, the inaugural International French 75 Day will celebrate that anniversary and the remarkable journey the cocktail took to get there. And after this much historical digging, I think I’ve more than earned the right to stop researching for the evening and make one.
Want to know how all of this research turned into an international cocktail day? Read The Unexpected Creation of International French 75 Day for the story behind the idea, why May 29 matters, and how one cocktail became a much bigger project than I ever expected.
Thanks for reading and joining me as I continue digging into French 75 history. I’d like to know what you think: who deserves the most credit for the French 75, or after more than a century of conflicting stories, is its true creator destined to remain a mystery?
About Elaine
Elaine is an international award-winning travel writer, wine writer, photographer, and WSET Level 3 wine professional who believes every destination has a story worth telling. Through Drink In Life, she explores wine, travel, gardens, books, food, and the quiet moments that make a life well lived.
Welcome to Drink In Life. I’m Elaine Luxton, an international award-winning travel writer, photographer, wine expert, and founder of International French 75 Day. Through stories of wine, food, culture, history, and travel, I explore the people and places that give every destination its unique character. I’m glad you’re here.
