The Best European Wine Regions You’ve Never Heard Of
Nikola Tesla, prolific innovator and perhaps among history’s most popular Serbs, anticipated in 1935 that “within a century, coffee, tea, and tobacco will be no longer in vogue. Alcohol, however, will still be used. It is not a stimulant but a genuine elixir of life.”
In Serbia, at least, history has shown him incorrect about the former– Serbs are still passionate smokers and coffee drinkers– however extremely ideal about alcohol. The nation has a long legacy of wine making: The Romans presented viticulture there, digging canals and planting vines during their 500-year occupation. In the 19th century, Serbia was among the most essential wine-making locations of the Austro-Hungarian empire– and when phylloxera damaged the vineyards of Burgundy and Bordeaux, the French turned to this region to satisfy their thirst. In fact, I got my own Serbian white wine education at the elbow of my France-based aunt and uncle, who as soon as offered me a memorably scrumptious bottle produced in Serbia by French expats.
Today, a number of Serbia’s wineries are focused on the slopes of Fru & scaron; ka Gora, a mountain simply northwest of the capital, Belgrade, and in the agrarian eastern region of Negotin. But wine making was decimated in the 20th century. Simply 25 years back, the country was involved in the decade-long dispute that followed the break up of Yugoslavia. The future of viticulture was threatened by aerial bombings and economic sanctions. Therefore I landed in Belgrade for my Serbian red wine trip, asking myself, What occurs to white wine after war? And how was it that a landlocked corner of the Balkans could produce and export some of Europe’s most fascinating wines?
As my spouse, Nikos, and I drove east into Negotin, far from the industrial sprawl of Belgrade, we passed sleepy towns and knotted trees growing through the walls of dilapidated stone homes. Significantly, the only people visible were older women (and the periodic guy) keeping vigil on benches and stoops.
“We require more individuals like us,” stated Mick O’Connor, an English wine maker who runs Vinarija Raj with his Serbian partner, Beka, in the wine-making town of Rajac. He suggests resourceful vintners prepared to transfer to the countryside, like he performed in 2011– but he also simply suggests people. Most of the town’s population has left, pushed out for many years by joblessness. Under Yugoslav leader Josip Broz Tito, in power from 1944 till his death in 1980, personal vineyards ended up being state-owned, and the policy continued into the 1990s under Slobodan Milo & scaron; ević, Serbia’s infamous very first president. Villagers wrecked their vines to change them with more rewarding crops, and numerous acres of vineyards were abandoned. Policies of quantity, not quality, were executed. An old train track, which was used to transfer bulk wine throughout the Yugoslav era, runs past O’Connor’s winery– a rattling tip of the past.
But across the green hills of Negotin, there remain hundreds of pivnice, stone homes developed solely for the storage and pleasure of red wine and rakija, an alcohol made from fermented fruit that is popular throughout the Balkans. Serbia has asked UNESCO to consider these structures for World Heritage status– a promising effort to protect Serbia’s wine-making future. And a little however growing number of wineries are reemerging in this region, run by both regional and foreign wine makers: The weather condition is great, the land is low-cost, and there’s a strong enough history to keep people anchored.
After a tasting with the O’Connors at Vinarija Raj, where we tested Serbian varietals like Crna Tamjanika– a strong, fruity wine made from the eponymous black grape– we drove to Francuska Vinarija in neighboring Rogljevo. Here, a French couple named Cyrille and Estelle Bongiraud make French-style natural wines with Serbian style. The couple moved from Burgundy more than a years ago, intoxicated by the landscape and the richness of the soil. Their grapes consist of Gamay, Tamjanika, Gra & scaron; evina, and Riesling; though the way of production is extremely French, Francuska white wines have an apparent, earthy Negotin taste. It was the Bongirauds’ white wine that I had tested with my household, all those years earlier. It is produced primarily for export, however at Francuska, you can have a casual tasting straight from the barrel.
The next morning, we drove a half-hour to Manastir Bukovo, a complex of 14th-century structures that consists of a working Serbian Orthodox abbey. On a hill overlooking the town of Negotin, the soft-spoken Dad Platon works 12 acres of land with a level of spirituality rarely discovered in the alcohol market. “We have actually always been connected to wine,” Platon stated of the ancient order.
He put us a glass of still-not-quite-ready Chardonnay, an overwhelming banana scent on the arrangement. “Producing it is perhaps the very best thing we can do.” Only a handful of individuals are allowed to visit the vineyard daily– “We like people, but we should secure our monastic life,” he stated.
There was far more to see– the hospitable winemakers and natural social lubrication had extended each visit by hours– however we headed back through Belgrade to the Fru & scaron; ka Gora red wine area, also in the middle of a resurgence. Under Tito, much of Fru & scaron; ka Gora’s forest was maintained as a nationwide park. With winemakers drawn to the fertile mineral soil– 10 million years earlier, this was an island on the Pannonian Sea– the past few years have seen a surge of development.
“Even a decade ago, this sort of white wine culture was unimaginable,” discussed regional oenophile and blogger Du & scaron; an Jelić as he joined us on our trip. There are more than 30 wineries in the location, but our very first stop was Deurić Vinarija, established in 2006. We were offered a glass of Probus, a full-bodied mix with notes of blackberry and tobacco named after the wine-loving Roman emperor who planted the first vines in Fru & scaron; ka Gora. Part Cabernet Sauvignon, part Kadarka, a complete put is the color of a newly cut beet, however sticks to the glass in long, rust-colored tears. The standout, though, is a 2016 Chardonnay, of which just 80 bottles were left (78, after our visit). Last, we visited Vinarija Kovačević, which– despite having actually functioned because 1895– put Fru & scaron; ka Gora on the map when it opened its brand-new facilities in 2001.
At the end of the journey, we went back to Belgrade, a city in the middle of radical urban improvement. The government is excitedly investing in facilities tasks, and brand-new homegrown hotels, dining establishments, and stores are rewriting the rules of what it indicates to be Serbian. Wine culture is growing here, too. Chefs, turning their attention to regional active ingredients, are matching their dishes with Serbia’s acidic, food-friendly red wines– unheard-of in the city’s best restaurants simply a few years ago.
We sat down for supper at Serbian wine bar Ambar, where we ordered Balkan treats such as bacon-specked kebab and red peppers stuffed with kajmak, a Serbian cream cheese. As I sipped my glass of Žilavka, I was reminded of something stated previously that day by a dapperly dressed winemaker called Milo & scaron; Jojić at Mačkov Podrum, a vineyard back in Fru & scaron; ka Gora. “Red wine is a reflection of the state of society,” he informed me. If that holds true, then Serbia deserves a see.
