By Al drinkle
“The bottles we had recklessly drained were the last of a fabulously rare and wonderful vintage that Annie's father had been particularly looking forward to. Heaven only knows what treasured Spätlese from the banks of the Upper Mosel: nectar beyond compare. They had prudently blamed the choice on me. Outrage had finally simmered down to the words: ‘Well, your thirsty friend must know a lot about wine.’ (Totally untrue). ‘I hope he enjoyed it.’ (Yes). It was years before the real enormity of our inroads dawned on me.”
- Patrick Leigh Fermor, A Time of Gifts
Frost struck many of Germany's vineyards during the first days of my visit this past April. This annual trip is the consistent highlight of my year, but my excitement to discover the flavours of 2023 gone liquid was curbed by the heartbreak of friends losing significant portions of their crop. The probable upshot of this is touched upon at the very end of this report, and will of course be one of the focal points when these pages address 2024 in a year's time.
It was a solo trip this year, which has its benefits and detriments. It's certainly great for spontaneity, and most of the evenings were less rowdy without travel companions (depending on which winegrower I was pulling corks with). However, and although I'm not prone to loneliness, the long drives were invariably more cumbersome and I missed having somebody to share the moments of elation with — like when a grower overcame all obstacles and presented a collection of fundamentally incredible wine.
Apparently cannabis has been legalised in Germany, but I didn't seek it out thinking that it couldn't hurt to take a couple of weeks off. Don't get me wrong, though; it's not as if I stumble through life in a haze of nug smoke! The jazz cigarettes just work miracles in regards to one crucial activity that has always eluded me — namely, sleeping. And thus, I didn't sleep for the majority of the trip which in turn afforded me an abundance of time for reflection. So here's where my mind wandered as I stared at the ceilings of various hotel rooms…
Not for the first time I was overwhelmed by the impassioned nature of those involved in the nexus of German Riesling. The growers are the true heroes, of course, but also those who selflessly proselytize on its behalf, and others who distribute and sell it in an attempt to make a modest living instead of pursuing any number of more profitable careers. The final drinker is also essential. German Riesling lovers are still treated as tangential fetishists within the international wine community. Many, if not most, professionals claim an adoration and respect for the category, but very few invest any effort in promoting it, much less integrating it into their own lives. After all, it's wine and it's for drinking, not merely “respecting”.
Personally, when it comes to white wine my focus has become almost singular. I've even become borderline useless in my assessment of other white wines. Even when they're pleasant and charming, or maybe even complex and delicious, to me they usually represent such an egregious compromise that I find it impossible to entertain their utility! Regarding commercial considerations (ie. buying wine for Metrovino to sell), sourcing such wines becomes synonymous with patiently waiting for the wine-drinking world to realize how astoundingly and comprehensively magnificent German Riesling is — and in the meantime, I want to help ensure that the “compromise” is as rewarding as possible. If variety is the spice of life, it can also distract from the fact that German Riesling often possesses an intrinsic profundity and peerless pleasure-giving capacity that other entire categories could never hope to achieve. I'm cognizant that even Riesling producers feel that I'm a bit too extreme in my ideologies, but I'm not going to sugarcoat them for you.
Johannes Leitz introduced me to his energetic son, Antonius, as, “Al Drinkle, you know, the if you don't like Riesling you're a f*cking idiot legend!". It's hard to believe that this sagacious colloquialism was first emblazoned on T-shirts almost 15 years ago. At the time, I thought of it as a statement that should be made with vehemence — as a direct provocation to doubters and naysayers. But with the passing of years, it's become a far less confrontational dictum in my mind. Perhaps it's a matter of confidence, but I no longer want to sensationalise or start fights, so the statement has morphed into a calm but wholesale dismissal of those who refuse to see the beauty.
I feel more strongly about the greatness of German Riesling than ever, and I'm still willing to invest immeasurable time and effort in leading stubborn horses to cool, clear water. What's changed is my default to pulling my hair out when so many of these horses would rather lap up sh*tty stale mudpuddles than the pristine hydration on offer. Not liking German Riesling isn't a stance that can be compared to not enjoying a certain type of music or not being interested in a particular genre of literature — it isn't like saying, “samurai films, no, not my cup of tea". While a modicum of space can be left for subjectivity, it's actually more akin to not liking gorgeous sunsets, altruistic human kindness or fresh sheet night. So the “f*cking Idiot” crusade continues, but in a pacific, collected and respectful way. (That's right, I've reached a degree of inner peace in which I can respect that which I don't understand… I just can't understand that which I can't understand).
Further reflections fell upon the politics within the German winegrowing scene, and unfortunately even amongst those of us internationally who are wholly on board with this country's resplendent Riesling achievements. Things aren't always as friendly as they might be, as cliques, jealousies and a general lack of camaraderie abounds. Sometimes one wishes that the growers themselves were more collegial (though many of them very much are, and especially in certain regions). This is unfortunate for a category that's still very “underdog”, because each good bottle of German Riesling sold and enjoyed anywhere at any time is a win for partisans everywhere.
Metrovino works with a wide range of German growers. We've got partners who are the unchallenged, “money is no object” elites; others with more utilitarian pursuits; producers who span the spectrum of conventional to organic, biodynamic or regenerative farming; hometown heroes; up-and-comers and beyond. They’re all important players in the story of German wine that we’re attempting to tell, and I have little patience when our roster of estates is questioned or criticized by people who haven't the slightest f*cking conception of how German Riesling works in the Alberta market. The fact is, it DOESN'T work. My colleagues and I make it work. If we were running a 20-seat wine bar in Berlin or distributing our portfolio throughout the entire United States, our values and selections might be more quaint. As it is, we’re promoting German Riesling in the Canadian prairies the best way that we know how. We’re doing it our way, and we’re doing it proudly and unapologetically. On that note, we’re immeasurably grateful to everyone who is supportive of this important movement — even if you've never bought a single bottle from Metrovino!
The 2023 Growing Season
The winter of 2022/2023 wasn't particularly cold, but happily the vineyards were supplied with a good amount of groundwater during its segue into spring. A cooler-than-usual April resulted in a comparatively late budding, gratefully with no frost risk, but things really switched gears in May. Oliver Müller of Wagner-Stempel (Siefersheim, Rheinhessen) noted that the onset of warm weather inspired an explosion of vitality, and that manual work in the vineyards had to be carried out at breakneck speed as the vines burst into action. Some growers reported having to abide a harvest-like schedule just to set canopies! June was also warm, and often hot, presenting an ideal situation for flowering. This in turn engendered what would have been an unprecedentedly gigantic crop were it not for complications to come later in the season.
Many growers began a significant yield reduction in the summer, partly to thin out the inordinately compact bunches but also because such an abundance of fruit isn't conducive to concentrated wine. Then rain came at the end of July, not giving up until the beginning of the Riesling harvest. Sadly, Rheinhessen's Wonnegau district was subjected to devastating hail, as were a few specific parts of the Mosel.
The rainy weather persisted, eventually overlapped with warmer temperatures, which is when the real challenges began. This difficult situation coincided with the ripening swing of Burgundy varieties, and growers working with these cultivars had to make some really hard decisions. Was one to harvest potentially unripe fruit, or hope that a change of weather would catalyse sugar levels before the spread of rot became unmanageably deleterious? But our focus being Riesling here, I'm happy to report that this late-ripening grape was to pursue its full physiological development into an absolutely beautiful autumn — but the road to get there was bumpy, and by no means was the harvest itself easy.
With such lovely weather following an abundance of precipitation, ripeness was achieved in congruence with significant rot pressure. Vineyard crews might have been comfortably working in shorts and T-shirts, but the warmth didn’t ease the tension in the vineyards. The Rheingau seemed to be the exception in part, some growers reporting a clean and plentiful crop, but elsewhere the Riesling harvest began with an intense pre-selection, dropping considerable quantities of clusters that were turning into vinegar so that the collection of healthy fruit could commence. Even estates who value the convenience of machine harvesting for gentler slopes or less expensive cuvées had to proceed this way if they wanted clean wine. In other words, they had to conduct a “harvest” of unacceptable fruit by hand before expediting the harvesting of healthy fruit with machines! So much for the promise of a bumper crop…
Oskar Micheletti of Von Winning (Deidesheim, Pfalz) and Alexandra Künstler of Weiser-Künstler (Traben-Trarbach, Mosel) each shared having to examine every individual bunch both optically and aromatically, as sometimes a healthy-looking Riesling cluster would belie the vinegar rot that a seasoned harvester would recognize by its smell. The latter noted how exhausting each day was given these demands, in the worst cases almost having to examine each berry.
On that note, it's worth pointing out that if the Pfalz, Rheinhessen and Nahe were all subjected to significant challenges, the Mosel and its tributaries seemed to have the most daunting time. The summer rain established itself slightly later here, but it was significant enough that berries began to burst in early September in the Mittelmosel. Throughout the valley, disease pressure called for the greatest sacrifice of fruit. I'm confident that there's lots of sh*tty bottles out there with labels that read both “Mosel” and “2023”, but the growers that worked carefully, selected scrupulously and timed everything right could make sensational wines.
Physiological ripeness was generally accompanied by slightly higher must weights than in the previous couple of years, and if the spread of rot alone wasn't enough to force the expedition of the harvest, acidity levels were dropping quickly in the warm weather. Resultantly, there's a greater range of prädikatsweine than in the last two years. Anybody who wanted to could make Auslese in 2023, and though the vast majority of botrytis was malignant, when healthy manifestations could be safely isolated near the end of harvest, the results are potentially extraordinary.
Almost everybody reported swift, smooth fermentations due to the high levels of nutrients in the must afforded by the rain, but probably also because of the slightly warmer cellar temperatures during the beautiful autumn.
The 2023 Rieslings
My visits this year were restricted to the addresses of existing partners (14 of which have Riesling in the ground), but I also spent a day tasting at the VDP's Mainzer Weinbörse where I sampled a Riesling or two from every single attendee from the Mosel, Nahe, Rheinhessen, Mittelrhein, Saschen and Saale-Unstrut, as well as a smattering from the Rheingau, Franken and the Pfalz. In other words, my experience with the vintage is through the lens of overperforming growers, and though there are some failures, the assessment that follows is based upon Rieslings that show the best side of 2023 — the sorts of wines that will begin arriving at Metrovino in the next month or two.
There's much to love about 2023 German Riesling. The wines possess a breathtaking, spellbinding sense of harmony, albeit in a slightly riper and richer register than the previous two vintages. Happily, this is without the aromatic evidence of warmth embodied by some ‘18s, ‘19s and '20s. The 2023s have stubbornly long finishes, soaring on and on with enchanting harmonic inertia.
At the risk of taking anthropomorphism too far, 2023 German Rieslings taste like they love you. One could argue further that one is most capable of genuine, undistracted love if one has first learned to love one’s self. Good 2023 German Rieslings are confidently delicious and stridently complex — little about them is demure — and the gregarious expression of these qualities seems to communicate a desire to make the drinker happy.
In their extremely young state, the 2023 Rieslings are vivid, accessible and jubilant. Those that have already been bottled don’t seem to be suffering from the process in the least. The whimsical term “blossom juice” occurred to me early on in my exploration and became a recurring thought as I continued to taste. There’s a fervent springtime florality to the way that the wines smell, allied with buoyant late-season northern fruit. Peaches, nectarines, cherries and especially the most incredible heirloom apple qualities abound — like the kind of apple that must have tempted Eve! In 50 Foods, Edward Behr writes that apples, “have a generous acidity, a sweet-sour intensity with aromatic high notes”, which also describes German Riesling, and this simple but evocative description often came to mind. The fruit qualities on display are coercingly lavish, but even the high pradikätsweine align more with northern fruit as sorbet as opposed to anything tropical.
Minerality is present as an incredible undertone in 2023, playing a supporting role with commendable integrity. The ozone of lightning frequented my notes, although I predict that this facet of the wines will prove to be ephemeral. Petrichor, too, came up a lot and even the fruity wines finish with a deep saltiness. Rieslings from volcanic soils in particular exude an elegant “chilliness” — aromas and flavours that are icy, glacial and chiselled, but fascinatingly not austere, serving as a brilliant framework for the masses of fruit.
In beautiful contrast to all this, many of the earlier-harvested Rieslings also incorporate a gorgeous spectrum of ripe herbaceousness. Think along the lines of aloe vera, alfalfa, mizuna, sassafras, cucumber or spearmint. Especially in wines with a hint of sweetness or those that showcase the aforementioned apple qualities, these nuances contribute to a fascinating complexity.
More importantly, given that the flavours of young Riesling can change quickly, the 2023s are beautifully concentrated with an intense and enchanting textural presence. This is partly due to an abundance of extract and partly because of a graceful integration of playful acidity. On the former point, Oliver Müller in western Rheinhessen cites the highest levels of dry extract since 2010 (though some Mosel estates cited merely “average” extracts), and regarding the latter, everybody noted lower acidity levels than 2021, and some claimed their collections to be lower than 2022.
But there's a wonderful way that the acidity sits in the wine. It's not the overriding electric current of 2021, and it has none of the sharpness of many 2022s. If the most conspicuously unbalanced 2022s featured acidity akin to a poorly-transferred piece of digital music, one could say that the 2023s have the warmth and fluidity of a vinyl record. There’s flow to the acidity, and this being German Riesling there's certainly no shortage, but the acid serves its role admirably without being the talking point of the vintage. Any wines that tase the palate were probably purposefully crafted to do so by their makers (in pursuit of an odd trend that's presently taking place in Germany), but psychotic structuring is not a common theme this year.
Levels of residual sugar that sound daringly low on paper somehow work beautifully in 2023. Several growers smiled mischievously as they shared that such and such Riesling harboured a mere one or two grams of RS, and I braced myself for unyielding austerity only to taste a completely harmonic and resplendent wine. Sascha Schömel of Dönnhoff (Oberhausen, Nahe) claimed that inordinate levels of extract can “stand in” for residual sugar, but many (myself included) proffered this argument in 2021 — which might prove to be true for that vintage in a decade or so. In the meantime, instead of being denuded by their lack of RS, the assertively dry wines of 2023 offer a breathtaking vista of aroma and flavour. Even many of the GGs (and equivalents) taste and feel juicy, and not to the detriment of their complexity.
As is common in vintages of concentration and extract, the entry level wines are significant overperformers that will be fun for restaurants to pour by the glass. Through most collections, the presumed hierarchy upwards is firmly in place as the 2023 Rieslings display exceptional terroir transparency. They're true to their regions and their sites, and if you don't have the experience to anticipate how a Wehlener Sonnenuhr might taste different from a Graacher Himmelreich, for example, the 2023s will help to highlight such contrasts.
Many argue, perhaps with some justification, that the retention of residual sugar is an impediment to the idea of terroir, but 2023 is happy to shatter that notion. Tasting through AJ Adam's five Kabinette or Dönnhoff's three Spätlesen would cause the uninitiated to assume that perhaps the wines were made from completely different grapes. The disparate profundity of flavour in these and other collections are glorious and simultaneous celebrations of both terroir and fructose.
With the rapid accumulation of ripeness at the end of the growing season, there was a short window for harvesting true, light Kabinett in 2023. This entry point to fruity prädikatsweine is a great success in terms of quality this year (the endearing balance of the wines seemingly transcendent of style), but many of the wines labelled “Kabinett” are in fact the grower's lightest and most delicate Spätlese. There are those who would argue that it's a bargain to pay Kabinett prices for what is actually Spätlese concentration, and there are others like me who bemoan the spiritual absence of this extraordinary category. However, if Hofgut Falkenstein's were the only 2023s that you tasted, you would think that it was the most classic Kabinett vintage in a generation — and AJ Adam's ever-growing lineup of Kabi is spellbindingly true, along with a few wines from a few other estates. That being said…
Spätlese is the absolute star of 2023. My point-form version of this report suggests that I provide a roll-call of those who made miraculous versions this year, but that would basically require listing every talented grower who attempted it. But this raises a bit of a conundrum… Do any of you actually drink Spätlese?!? I'll be the first to admit that I personally need to up my game, and it's a good time to do so.
The Spätlese category has undergone a minor and quiet revolution since I've been dedicating myself to German wine. These days I'm often surprised by the ponderous thickness and sweetness that I find in bottlings from the mid-aughts to the mid-teens. The norm during much of this era was to make wines that were impressive and important — garnering high points while catalysing diabetes — but few were conducive to drinking (often this is true even as they mature). What I'm increasingly seeing are Spätlesen in their classical form — where residual sugar elevates the aromas and flavours of medium-bodied wines that can be consumed at the table with food, or enjoyed down to the last drop on their own to best appreciate an unbridled complexity. The Spätlese of today can actually be appealingly diaphanous, vibrating with a tensile and mouthwatering sense of energy. Of course it helps if one is willing to give even these rationalized versions a decade or two to melt into themselves, and the brilliant 2023s in particular will admirably repay cellar time.
As mentioned, and after a few years without much dessert wine, Auslese and Beerenauslese were produced in some quantity in 2023. They share the spellbinding balance and open-knit complexity of other categories from this vintage — sometimes with the brittle vividity and stillness of good Eiswein (of which there was none that I heard of).
Though it's complicated to track how and why the abundance of good 2023s ended up the way they did, it's pretty easy to deduce how the weak wines fail. You can taste the rot. Just a bit might show as a weird gingery dijon bite, usually accompanied by volatile acidity. A bit more engender flavours of the fruit in your compost bin as opposed to that on offer at the farmer's market. If the fruit was also overcropped, which might have been tempting for unscrupulous growers, you ended up with a vacuously dilute wine whose underwhelming flavours would be overwhelmingly rotten. The successful Rieslings of 2023 are delightful, but it's definitely a vintage with a dark side, and it would be wise to focus on good growers (or to buy from wine merchants who know what they're doing!).
What Else Is Going On in Germany?
There's a lot going on in Germany besides Riesling! First, there’s sparkling wine, with which the Germans are obsessed, and almost every single grower that we work with makes at least one. This typically means that the base wine comes from the grower in question, and a sparkling specialist with the requisite infrastructure would render it effervescent for them. But increasingly we're seeing “pét-nats”, just like we're seeing them everywhere else. Except perhaps for the use of Riesling, I can't claim to have a clear view of what might constitute a definitively “German” expression of bubbly. Most traditional bottlings understandably attempt to emulate Champagne, and the pét-nats have the regional anonymity common to their style. However, we're proud to have a relationship with Griesel & Compagnie who are fizz specialists based in the Hessische Bergstraße, and their wines are both unique and extraordinary. The more time I spend with their energetic and talented team, and the more I drink their wines, the more excited I am about this project. Were Metrovino a bigger player in a bigger market, there are a couple other inordinately talented sparkling producers that I'd be happy to offer in addition.
German Pinot Noir, or Spätburgunder, has become one of the most compelling European wine stories of the moment, and you can read up on the details here. We’ll continue to explore this category with rabid enthusiasm.
There's increasing hype around Chardonnay. Sure, it's a great grape, and there's every reason to believe that it will continue to excel in Germany, but I can't even conceive of what it would take for me to care about yet another source for Chardonnay, regardless of how good it might be. David Schildknecht has criticized German winegrowers for their collective obsession with celebrating what they, too, can achieve, instead of taking pride in their singular talents. The buzz around Chardonnay is a great example of this, but since it's hardly an exaggeration to say that decent wine from this grape is being made in every single winegrowing region in the world, I simply can't conjure any excitement for German examples (with apology to those in Germany who are making excellent wine from the grape).
To a great extent, I feel this way about Sauvignon Blanc as well, although I'm actually convinced that Germany is making better wine from this grape than anybody else — explicitly including the Loire Valley. So if for some obtuse reason you'd rather drink Sauvignon Blanc than Riesling, you could do worse than drinking one from Germany.
On the other hand, Pinot Blanc, or Weissburgunder, is perhaps the world’s most underrated white grape, and Germany's got more of it in the ground than any other country. It maintains a classy sense of talcy creaminess, seemingly regardless of how far north it's planted or how electric it can simultaneously be. Like Riesling, Weissburgunder is worthwhile on a vast qualitative spectrum, whether the occasion calls for a tasty, ephemeral cuvée from an estate like Darting, or a powerful yet intricate salt-bomb from the magicians at Wasenhaus.
There are countless other grapes and styles that Germany does well, with Scheurebe, Silvaner, Trollinger and Lemberger being particularly worthwhile examples of the former. Of course, like everywhere else, there's plenty of “natural” wine. We'll dabble when we see fit, but the focus will remain on Riesling and Pinot Noir — respectively, the greatest white and red wine grapes in the world.
A Word on Prices
With few exceptions, good German Riesling is one of the most underpriced categories on the planet. We work with inordinately talented winegrowers, many of whom farm predominantly steep slopes, and many of whom work entirely by hand. Several of these estates are recently established, and some haven't been out of the zone of financial precariousness for long. Nobody wants to do this work for free, and all this is augmented by the fact that there's been an explosion in the cost of, well, everything. You've seen it yourself, and it's not just gasoline, celery and vinyl records that have gotten more expensive — it's also bottles, labels, corks, cardboard boxes, water, fuel, beer and literally everything else that goes into making wine.
I’ve visited all of our German winegrowing partners — most of them countless times over countless years. I've seen their facilities, ridden in their vehicles and eaten in their homes, and I can assure you that none of them are getting rich off of us! I support their desire to be fairly compensated for the hard work that they’re doing, and I encourage you to do the same. However, I worry that the frost that struck the vineyards this April might permanently change the positioning of German wine in the marketplace.
To many growers (including some in the elite camp), the devastation was so comprehensive that prices will absolutely have to go up, and from my experience, they'll probably never go back down. This is entirely reasonable and entirely unfortunate, and worst of all, there will be less wine to go around. In almost all cases, the 2023s were priced before the frost struck, and the vintage produced reasonable quantities of very good wine. Riesling lovers should pay attention, and consider stocking up as prices are the lowest that we'll ever see again in our lives — maybe by a little and maybe by a lot.
Thank you to Oliver Müller, Barbara Gudelj and Andreas Adam, who have proofread portions of this article for accuracy.
