(Manfred Klimek)
The Markgräflerland, a region of cosy inns set amongst rolling hills stretching towards the Black Forest, is an area that has long been deliberately overlooked in German viticulture – including, and above all (shame on me), by me. Perhaps because it doesn’t cultivate any great myth. Perhaps also because it is home to a grape variety whose name has roughly the same erotic appeal as a savings bank branch just before closing time: Gutedel. The very word conjures up images of a walking frame, a spa park, and a bottle in a retirement home.
Yet it is precisely in this variety that a modernity, already recognised, lies – one that can now become – and must become – truly remarkable.
For Chasselas – as Gutedel is known in the French-speaking world, and as many winemakers here rightly use on their labels instead of ‘Gutedel’ – possesses qualities that suddenly seem highly intriguing once more: low alcohol content, mild acidity, exceptional drinkability and yet a certain punch on the palate. Not a banal muscle-bound behemoth, nor an aromatic overload. Rather, a wine that strides rather than marches. Younger consumers in particular, who are increasingly turning away from the overwhelming glut of high-alcohol, brutally oaky or hyper-fruity wines, might suddenly discover in it something that the wine world has often lacked of late: the natural elegance of understated greatness. The Markgräflerland region begins to get exciting precisely where it no longer hides its supposed weakness. For Chasselas will never be Riesling. Never Sauvignon Blanc. And that is precisely why a new identity could emerge from old vines.
It is interesting to look to the other end of the German-speaking world: to Burgenland, on the Hungarian border – and at the astonishing parallels. There, too, winemakers have been working for years to bring regionally typical varieties out of their provincial shadow. Blaufränkisch, for instance, was long regarded as a rustic Eastern European variety with acidity issues and a rustic harshness. Today, it is used to produce some of Europe’s most exciting red wines. And even Grüner Veltliner – less commonly grown in Burgenland, though it is the variety’s country of origin – is suddenly taking on a different significance there: less DAC bureaucracy, less ‘Pfefferl’ folklore, more substance.
Both regions share something fundamental: they lie on the outermost climatic (yet similar) and cultural fringes of the German-speaking world and have long had to fight against the prejudice that they do not quite belong. The Markgräflerland, with its warm Burgundian influence and its proximity to Switzerland and Alsace. Burgenland, with its Pannonian heat and its centuries-long ties to Hungary.
It is precisely for this reason that both regions seem astonishingly modern today.
For the future of viticulture will probably not be decided where everything appears standardised and perfect, but rather where distinctive characteristics have been allowed to endure. You can now sense this clearly in the Markgräflerland, particularly amongst a younger generation of winegrowers who no longer treat Chasselas as a relic of tradition, but see it as an opportunity. The variety demands enormous precision. Too high a yield and it becomes insipid. Too much intervention in the cellar and it loses all its vibrancy. Yet when it is done right, it produces wines with a distinctive blend of saltiness, herbal notes and astonishing energy.
At the same time, the region’s Pinot Noir is also undergoing a remarkable evolution. Indeed, Burgundy currently runs like an invisible thread through Baden – not as a copy, but as an embodiment of finesse, freedom and terroir.
This was also evident in the Kaiserstuhl, where I tasted wines at Franz Keller’s and Bernhard Huber’s estates that, in their precision and inner tension, go far beyond what many international consumers still associate with German wine. Friedrich Keller and Julian Huber have long been part of that small group of German oenologists who have understood that greatness does not stem from overripeness or extraction, but from balance, texture and terroir.
The Pinot Noirs, in particular, have now reached a standard that would have been almost unimaginable in Germany twenty years ago. No more jammy feats of strength, no more masquerade of oak, no more cloying internationalism. Instead, cool depth, polished tannins and remarkable precision.
And this is precisely where the real story of this journey begins.
For the Markgräflerland does not end at the border. Culturally and climatically, it extends into Alsace. There, amongst limestone, the Vosges and the Rhine plain, some of Europe’s most interesting wines are currently being produced. Wines that focus less on prestige and fanfare and more on terroir, complexity and drinkability.
In the coming weeks, from mid-June, *WELT am SONNTAG* will publish a four-part print series on the exceptional wines and estates of this region – including Blankenhorn, Brenneisen, Leon Boesch, Rieger, Schlumberger-Bernardt and Ziereisen. A journey through that narrow stretch of Europe between the Black Forest, the Rhine and the Vosges, where wine is currently becoming incredibly exciting. And young!