MEET THE SOMM | Eric Li
A Sommelier in the London Club, which he joined last year, Hong Kong-born Eric Li came to wine after a degree in law and business – much to the chagrin of his parents…
I grew up in Hong Kong in a very traditional family. My parents worked incredibly hard to get my brother and me into the right schools, hoping we would go on to careers in law, medicine or finance. I followed exactly the same path as my brother and, aged 16, moved to Brighton to board at Lancing College. From there I went to Warwick University to study law and business.
During the summer holidays I returned to Hong Kong to intern at law firms and shadow barristers. One evening, after a long day in court and a big win, my mentor gathered us all to celebrate and opened a bottle of Clos du Marquis 2009. I was 19, and far more used to cheap beer and terrible cocktails. I had no idea what I was drinking, but he explained that it was a Bordeaux from a great vintage. Suddenly I was holding something sophisticated and intriguing, a glass that seemed to have a whole story inside it. It was something of an epiphany.
I started reading about Bordeaux, learning about the Left and Right Banks, and going to wine dinners around Hong Kong. My parents were quite anti-alcohol, largely because my grandparents were very fond of the Chinese spirit baijiu, which isn't particularly good for you. But many of my friends' parents were collectors who opened remarkable bottles at dinner. Looking back, I drank some extraordinary wines without having the faintest idea what they were.
At university, I realised that law wasn't for me. Business interested me much more, so straight after graduating I went into restructuring in Hong Kong. I advised CFOs of distressed companies on rescuing and stabilising their businesses: restructuring debt, managing cash flow and, essentially, helping them survive. Three years in, I had come to hate it. I struggled to find any purpose in it, and I often felt unqualified to advise people who had been running their companies for more than a decade. I wanted to see more of the world, so I looked for work in London and joined PwC.
There, London's wine bars captivated me. I loved their energy, and above all the people, who came from such different backgrounds. Wine expanded my horizons and became a bridge into another world. So, even though I had just earned my accounting qualification, I took a job at a small French wine deli on Bermondsey Street.
When I told my parents I'd left my corporate job for a wine bar, they asked if I was out of my mind. "We've given you the best schools, the best connections, the best opportunities. Why would you throw it all away for a job that doesn't require an education?" To them, hospitality was a lowly profession. I was deeply upset that they weren't behind me. But when I stood in their shoes, I understood completely. So I asked them for one year: a year to do what I felt I had to do and commit to it fully, while they left me alone to do it.
I started on front of house, but my passion soon showed, and more responsibility followed. I chose the weekly wines by the glass, bought for the business, attended tastings and hosted events. The first months were hard, and I often asked myself why I was doing it. Gradually, though, it became a mission: to champion certain wines, understand different regions and get to know the people behind the bottles. It became part of who I was. I was happier, I was thriving, and the people around me could see me coming into my own.
Things really stepped up when I joined Noble Rot, at the original (and, to me, still the best) site on Lamb's Conduit Street. There I learned about service, how to respect a bottle and serve it properly, and how to read people. Above all, Noble Rot taught me how to celebrate wine.
I kept hearing that if you wanted to learn as much as possible about wine in London, Noble Rot and 67 Pall Mall were the two places to be. As a sommelier, you want to taste the benchmark bottles you might otherwise only ever see at auction, and there is no better place for that. When I saw that 67 Pall Mall was hiring, I applied.
I've been here almost a year now, and some bottles have stayed with me. Domaine Georges Roumier Bonnes-Mares 1985 was so beautiful: fragile and emotional, a wine you almost hold your breath for. Lafleur 1989 was satiny and elegant without losing any of its power. Many people come to wine through Bordeaux or other big, powerful styles, because bold flavours excite the palate first. That's how I started too. But as my palate has developed, I've been drawn to layers and nuance. I love restraint, and I love having to dig a little deeper to discover something.
That sense of discovery is what I love about Burgundy. The climats fascinate me, and I enjoy the intellectual challenge of understanding them. I also love Burgundy's culture, shaped over generations by artisans who respect the land, fall in love with their vines and soils, and seek a unique expression of every plot. And they do all of that with just two grape varieties.
I saw this first-hand on a trip I organised there, the highlight of which was meeting Bastien Wolber in Volnay. Bastien makes a tiny amount of wine that feels alive and utterly unique, blending the elegance of Burgundy with the energy of the Jura. He is a superstar in the making, and his wines are already highly sought after. Yet he welcomed me in, and we tasted our way through almost every barrel. I'll never forget it.
I'm also drawn to the Loire, Savoie, Jura, Bugey and Languedoc-Roussillon. For me, minimal-intervention winemaking isn't just exciting. It's essential to preserving the most original expression of a place. Transparency and purity are far harder to achieve than power and richness, the qualities so prized in Bordeaux during the Parker era. But times are changing, and enthusiasts are slowly coming to appreciate refinement and layers.
At 67, the focus is more on the classics than it was at Noble Rot. But I've often brought low-intervention wines to the more open-minded Members and watched them be genuinely surprised by how good they are, often at a fraction of the price of the benchmark bottles.
About a month ago, I had an important call with my parents. Three years had passed since I first told them I wanted to work in wine. In that time, the places I'd worked and the people I'd met had shaped who I am. I told them I had found my element and wanted wine to be my career for the rest of my life. I told them I wanted to contribute to the wine world in every way I could. They could see how much I'd grown. "OK, now we understand," they said. "We can feel your passion, and we can see you're on the right track. We're proud of you. Keep working hard."
With them on my side, I feel even more driven. In time, I'd love to move into wine buying and help curate a list. Longer term, I want to travel and write about wine and eventually perhaps learn to make it, maybe starting with a micro-négoce and building a portfolio to bring back to Asia. Because to me, wine is not just another beverage. It's an art painted by nature, people and grapes, rooted in history, geography and culture, and always open to interpretation and discovery.
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