THE GRAPE ARGUMENT Bordeaux's François Mitjaville is adamant that making wine is simply farming. Colin Hampden-White

TO SPEND A FEW HOURS in the company of Bordeaux winemaker François Mitjaville is to touch on philosophy, the concept of civilization, the language of flavors, the brushwork of Picasso and the simplicity of terroir.

His style is like no other. Visitors to his small château, Tertre Rôteboeuf, high above the slopes of Saint-Laurent, just outside of Saint-Émilion, are advised to make it their last visit of the day. If they don't, they will almost certainly miss their next appointment. A quick, 20-minute visit can easily stretch into the night as Mr. Mitjaville scurries around, pipette in hand, holding court and pouring wines from his many barrels.

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Three Mitjaville wines worth seeking out.

But those who make the journey almost always return surprised by the man, his wines and their distinctive character.

Mr. Mitjaville, 65, wasn't born into a winemaking dynasty. He grew up in Paris and it wasn't until he was in his late 20s that he had the opportunity to take over the then-failing Château de Tertre. Before that he worked in his wife's family's wine-haulage business—and perhaps it is this foundation that keeps him grounded. For, despite his philosophical bent, Mr. Mitjaville is adamant that making wine is simply farming.

Good terroir, he argues, isn't an intellectual concept—it is simply a place where the flavors of the fruit produced from the vine are better; with wine it is grapes but, he says, we could easily be talking about potatoes. "With wine, we are in front of a natural produce and when we are in front of a natural produce you don't try and paint Guernica," he says. "You don't choose the colors of your painting; you don't choose the flavor of your fruit. You are stupid if you think I am a creator."

Perhaps so, but anyone who has come across his wines will tell you that they belie their provenance. Although they are made with Merlot and Cabernet Franc, the smell is evocative of red Burgundy—a wine created from Pinot Noir. One scribbles down notes of sweet cherry, spice, dried figs, sometimes a floral element and sometimes tobacco. Texturally, they are very light, easy to digest and—dare I say it—dangerously easy to drink. It isn't surprising that in wine circles Mr. Mitjaville retains a cult following.

Wine has not to be impressive, it has to be emotional.

A great wine, he says, is something civilized. By this he means a wine that invites you to drink it. He rails against the modern practice of making wine that is big, massively extracted with fruit and high alcohol. For Mr. Mitjaville, a wine should have concentration of flavor but in essence it should be delicate, reflecting the subtleties of the land where it is grown.

To talk about the strength, the power, something impressive, is to miss the point. "All these modern words pass by the real beauty of the flavors," he says. "Wine has not to be impressive, it has to be emotional; it has to make you dream."

Mark Savage, who has been importing Château Tertre Rôteboeuf since the late 1970s, says part of Mr. Mitjaville's secret is minute attention to detail and a lot of man-hours per vine. This, and an understanding of the land he works. Which means it is a good wine to buy in difficult vintages—as Mr. Mitjaville says: "Good terroir jumps over the difficulties of the climate."

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