By Al Drinkle
“My winejar slung from a cold branch, I keep
looking far away. Here in this midst of this
dreamed sleight-of-hand, what could ever
tangle me in the world's tether of dust?”
- T’ao Ch’ien
It hit me really hard one night. It wouldn't have been so bad had I been on an early morning vineyard walk or reading in a hotel room, but it happened during dinner in a busy restaurant. I'd had my share of Riesling (including some from the 2022 vintage, about which, read on), but it was finally catalyzed by the glass of Henrik Möbitz Spätburgunder that I had in front of me. Taylor Koch — my colleague and fellow adventurer — and I had engaged in some heartrending conversation on the highway earlier that day, and now he sympathetically looked on as I wept over my food with the restaurant bustling around us.
It was partly the weighty and recurring realization that life itself has no meaning, and is in many ways a big, fetid turd. This isn't a profound conclusion to me, nor does it preclude the notion that we therefore shouldn't bother with it. In the absence of intrinsic meaning, we all need to find or create worth, validity and pleasure for ourselves through viable distractions. These distractions must occupy us thoroughly enough to balance out life's interminable burdens as we pass our days in the modern world, and I find that as I get older, I'm less judgmental about how my fellow humans pursue this. Whether it's coaxing noises out of wires strung across a piece of wood, whether it's whacking a tiny white ball across an aggressively-fertilized field, or whether it's painting tiny figurines for use in fantasy tabletop role-playing games doesn't matter at all. It's those who have no such distractions that worry me, because these seemingly insignificant preoccupations literally save us.
Saliently, and amidst a truly intense schedule, at the table that night I finally relaxed to the point that reality set in, and I realized the extent to which wine — as a subject and a culture even more than a beverage — regularly wards off my own existential turmoil. This realization materialized in the very heartland of where its significance for me is at its most acute, and I couldn't fucking handle it… at least not with dry eyes. We’d been meeting with winegrowers for days at that point, some of whom have been friends for over a decade. We caught up and we laughed and we tasted their liquid memories of yet another unprecedented growing season. Each of these talented people probably remain oblivious to the extent that their work imbues my life with optimism, beauty and the conviction to persist.
One might argue that my winegrowing friends expend way too much energy tending grapevines, and I way too much thought contemplating their results. This, one might continue, is cumulatively useless, a marathon wank session and a waste of time, the results of which we could easily do without. After all, there's far more important things to consider, like wars, elections, crises, investment portfolios, you name it! It's true that it's “just wine". It's also true that we could all cover our ears to music, stop immersing ourselves in nature, cease the reading of poetry, pull the flowers from the ground and take the paintings off our walls. We could continue to eradicate all of these little things until the meaninglessness of life overwhelms us, and then we could all drink the dosed kool-aid (or industrially-made wine, which is basically the same thing), and lay down on the grass in forfeiture of existence.
Unlike music or literature, wine is something that obsesses and fascinates me without tempting my own participation in its conception. Though this is certainly an impediment to my potential insight, perhaps it ensures an innocent, childlike appreciation of wine's charms. It also helps to keep my imagination alive. Do I sometimes take it too seriously? The fact that wine occasionally precipitates public weeping would indicate that I do. But perhaps it's easier for us to lay our souls bare when we're not grappling with the demons of creation. For example, I know a recording engineer who claims that years of studio work has somewhat robbed him of his enjoyment of recorded music. He's too aware of the process to find allure in results that others would likely appreciate. I often notice something similar when tasting with winegrowers, whereby a component of a wine that intrigues me might be derided as a spurious result of some technique to them.
What's most exciting about wine isn't what can be learned, but the emotive mysteries of aroma and flavour that remain when explanations have been exhausted. Party-poopers will always persist with their conjectures, but it's particularly inspiring when winegrowers, all of whom are invariably more scientifically-minded than myself, can be equally enchanted by these mysteries. This could encompass the recurring terroir characteristics of a specific site. It might include a wine whose analyses entirely belie the way that it presents itself in the glass. One might also cite a growing season whose wines deviate drastically from the style that everyone expected given its weather.
Thrillingly, 2022 German Rieslings give us much to ponder in the way that they embody these mysteries, as well as others… and they’ll serve us well as we face another year, striving to elude the world's tether of dust.
The Heat and the Drought
The summer of 2022 was a sweltering one in Europe. I was in London, England in July when that historical city experienced its highest temperature ever recorded — 40° Celsius on my 40th birthday! In the meantime, and in a part of Europe just as poorly equipped to handle the heat, German wine country was also getting roasted. Many described it as the hottest summer ever, while a few claimed that '18, '19 and '20 were comparable. Excepting regional variations, some of these claims must be erroneous, but what isn't debated is the challenge posed by what was unanimously reported as the driest summer in recent history, making 2022 the fifth vintage in a row characterised by extreme weather of some sort.¹
The trend towards irrigation continued, but for the purists, I must reference something that I said about 2020. Namely, nobody was out there wastefully splashing water about, nor was it the case that quality-minded growers committed to a scheduled, thoughtless irrigation regime, “just in case". When discussing irrigation in winegrowing regions with no history of such practices, the hapless farmers are simply providing the vines with a feeble modicum of the water that they would get if it would simply rain once in a while. As it was, some of the growers that I visited earlier this month had just finished replanting vineyards that they had planted only last year — most young vines with shallow root systems did not survive the drought.
Johannes Leitz met with specialists at the winegrowing university of Geisenheim to ask how his Californian winegrowing colleagues, for example, cite the virtues of dry farming in their drought-stricken neck of the woods, whereas the practice has seemed so daunting as of late in the Rheingau. He relayed the sensible theory that many wine regions of California (and beyond) are synonymous with hot and dry weather, and that the advent of these conditions are far from recent. These vineyards probably aren't planted to Riesling for one thing, and once young vines get a foothold into the ground (perhaps with the help of irrigation), they adapt to reliably hot and dry growing seasons. Many German and Burgundian producers mentioned something similar to me in regards to 2020 — specifically, that the vines seemed to be “learning” how to cope with the heat, which had become a pattern. But then 2021 was inordinately cold and wet like the old days, only to be followed by the opposite extremes in 2022. This isn’t a conducive pattern for the adaptability of vines.
Johannes Leitz and Al with the Ehrenfels castle and Berg Schlossberg vineyard in background.
At the height of the summer heat in 2022, the Riesling vines were in survival mode. They weren't photosynthesising, sugar was not accumulating, acids were not developing… they were more or less in shock, and nothing was happening. This would have a significant impact on the resulting wines, and for many, it rendered decision-making later in the growing season rather difficult. The Riesling harvest began far earlier than usual, and was rather compact at most addresses. Everybody started picking in September, and with the exception of a scant few late-harvest specialties here and there, it was more or less wrapped up by the middle of October — a full month earlier than in 2021. But by that point, it wasn't shorts and T-shirt weather anymore…
Along with the paucity of heat that began in September, the rain that the vines had so desperately needed during the summer instead showed up in time to interrupt the harvest! Though it was a bit too late to have any significant efficacy, the rain also didn't pose any notable threat to the crop. Had the weather remained hot, its appearance would have been an unmitigated challenge, probably catalyzing armies of rot a la 2006, but gratefully, it coincided with the drop in temperature. Yes, it's annoying to work around rain during harvest, but Oliver Müller (Wagner-Stempel) noted that it slowed ripening to such an extent that harvest could be executed according to strategy as opposed to panic, and Alexandra Künstler (Weiser-Künstler) reported that the rain helped fill the tiny berries with a bit of very welcome water.
Weiser Künstler’s magical Ellergrub vineyard.
Yields varied more according to the estate than the region, but the drought was not conducive to a generous crop. Several growers made less wine than in the previous vintage, which is saying something, but this was often self-imposed. In A.J. Adam's case, for example, clusters were sacrificed throughout the summer in order to alleviate the stress on the individual vines, and fruit that showed any sign of heat stress was discarded at harvest. Just as ignoble rot was hardly a problem in 2022, the inordinately hot and dry summer was curiously not conducive to high-oechsle dessert wines. Even Spätlese wasn't abundant, and as per the wont of the international wine-buying community, much of the riper Riesling fruit was dedicated to dry bottlings.
Taylor and Oliver Müller in Wagner-Stempel’s Heerkretz vineyard.
The 2022 Paradox: Cool Riesling From a Hot, Dry Summer
While trying to strategize how to irrigate your drought-stressed, single-staked vines growing on a rocky, 60° slope, you're probably not intuiting that in a few short months, you'll have a cellar full of animated, refreshing wines of moderate ripeness, modest alcohol levels and, in the case of off-dry styles, effortlessly integrated and discreet residual sugar. This certainly isn't what happened in ‘03, '09, '11, '15 or '18, and yet, such wines are representative of 2022. It's no surprise that during the scorching heat of the summer, the vines responded with a sustained period of shocked stasis, but this almost never becomes one of the saving graces of a growing season. Had it been less hot or less dry — just enough so that the vines didn't panic for weeks on end — I might be writing about the tropical aromatics, plush textures and elevated alcohol (or sweetness) levels that we associate with a typical warm vintage. Happily, there is very little that's typical about 2022.
As banal as it might sound, the 2022 German Rieslings can be absolutely delicious. They were a delight to sample at our various meetings, and when “tasting” segued into “drinking” in the evenings, the bottles emptied at an uncanny rate. At any estate worth buying from, this inimitable charm begins in earnest with the basic cuvées, and every single one of our producers made highly gratifying introductory wines. Andi Spreitzer describes '22 as an “open vintage”, and indeed, the wines are easy to read and easy to enjoy. The average '22 is jovial or affable, without being extroverted or bloviating. Even at this early stage, very few are cryptic, opaque or inscrutable.
Andreas Spreitzer with Sarah and Eva enjoying a sip in Hallgartener Hendelberg.
If 2021 was a year of dew-soaked, verdant, morning wines, the '22s are yellow, playful elixirs of warm evenings. Both vintages are piquant, but '22 is more crunchy. On paper, 2021 is an inordinately high-acid vintage, but the acidity is somehow less discreet in 2022 — it sits a bit higher in the wine and crackles instead of buzzes. Kai Schätzel found his routine practice of malolactic conversion to have great efficacy this year, and Daniel Wagner of Wagner-Stempel is happy that he chose not to further acidify his basic cuvées as he might have done earlier in his career based on analyses alone.
Outside of the Mosel (and sometimes within it!), the '22 Rieslings are euphorically fruity. Even at estates like Wagner-Stempel or Dönnhoff where the styles typically tend towards stones, salts and minerals, you'll find shameless effusions of ravishing late-season fruit. Producers who are synonymous with such qualities, ie. Spreitzer, have veritable fruit riots on their hands. As mentioned, this has nothing to do with tropicality, and instead we have an abundance of peach, greengage plum, heirloom apple, bosc pear, rainier cherry, alpine berries and the like. All of the aforementioned is shiny, cool, taut and snappy, often supported by marine, petrichor or herbal notes. There's a salad that I like to make in the summer that combines peaches, cherry tomatoes, fior de latte and mint with a high acid dressing, and many of the '22s curiously reminded me of this combination.
Andreas Adam in his newly acquired Wintricher Ohligsberg parcel.
The Mosel Valley, explicitly including the Saar, is where you'll find the most fervent sense of “minerality” in 2022. This is common, but this year the slate — or what we have no choice but to credit to slate — has an inimitable brassy clarity, even as it shares the stage with a crescendo of yellow and green fruit, all shimmering and lip-smacking. The Mosel is also where I witnessed the most stark renderings of terroir, with different single-site wines from the same producer often tasting like they're from different planets. This happened along the Rhein and Nahe as well, although outside of the Mosel the quality hierarchy seemed like it was a bit compressed at times. To be fair, though, if the most exciting 2022 Rieslings came from the Mosel, so did the most troubling, and as elsewhere, this was dependent upon producer. As already mentioned, Andreas Adam noted that huge sacrifices had to be made in his own pursuit of quality, and certainly not everybody can afford to do this.
Given 2022's fascinating modesty of ripeness, alcohol and sugar levels (where applicable) are both down in comparison to the last several years, with the exception of 2021 at some addresses. Additionally, since there's not much in the way of dry extract and no shortage of acidity, the wines feel kinetic and light on their feet. Perhaps for this reason, even the GGs and equivalents, not to mention the Spätlesen, are inordinately lively and appealing.
This brings us to the question of ageability, regarding which I would prefer to remain agnostic this year, and for three reasons. The first is that the wines are generally appealing enough now that there's no great need to age them.² I've been at this long enough to know that delicious young wines don't negate the possibility of delicious old wines, but unlike Riesling from many other vintages, such as the GGs from 2021, you don't have to wait in this case, so perhaps you should take advantage of that. The second reason I don't want to give a categorical conjecture on the ageability of 2022 is that I don't feel like there's a strong vintage-specific hallmark that either guarantees or precludes a promising future. I encountered many wines that seem to be built to last, and others that didn't, and much of this seemed more relevant to the grower than to style or region. Lastly, I wonder if the hot and dry conditions of the summer have contributed the precursors for TDN to the wines. This is mere conjecture, but there's a chance that at least some of the wines will go through a more-egregious-than-usual petrol phase as they develop. We shall see, and I’d be happy to be wrong.
Perhaps, given all this talk about fruit and charm, it might sound like the 2022s are wanting in the complexity department. Sometimes this is the case, and sometimes it's not… There are certainly wines of inestimable complexity, though only a few growers achieved outright profundity across their entire portfolios. In general, the average level of intricacy is slightly down from what we saw in vintages like 2019 or 2021. I don't have to tell you that deliciousness isn't a negation of complexity, but if you had to choose between the two, what would you pick? This isn't necessarily a vintage of cerebral, Byzantine or thought-provoking Riesling, but the wines are by no means simple or facile. And when a sip of something can make you smile to the extent that so many 2022s will, you won't care that they're not massaging your big, sexy intellect at the same time.
The Boy Who Cried Kabinett
To my delight, Kabinett is increasingly garnering the popularity and respect that it deserves. The fatuous view that it represents the lowest qualitative rung on the prädikatswein hierarchy is receding in favour of Riesling lovers’ increasing desire for levity, and this is a good thing. I hope that the prices that Klaus-Peter Keller and Egon Müller are obtaining for their Kabinette, not to mention the fact that we just sold magnums of Schätzel’s 2021 Pettenthal Kabinett for $769, remain anomalies of the category, but one can’t deny that such price tags are helpful in generating esteem for the style. For decades, achieving Spätlese or even Auslese ripeness levels hasn't been the slightest bit of a challenge in most growing seasons, and in fact, cultivating fruit for true Kabinett (without simply harvesting early) probably requires greater skill. This discussion arose at Dönnhoff, and Sascha Schömel shared that the comparably low prices of their Kabinette, two of which come from very steep sites, are compensated by their far more expensive GGs. This is undoubtedly the case at other addresses as well, although it’s becoming more common for growers to denote the significance of this most singularly German category through their pricing.
Kai Schätzel with his new vineyard workers.
The problem is that far too often, especially in warmer vintages and amongst growers who don’t value the unique virtues that the category can embody, what’s labelled as “Kabinett” is actually a grower’s lightest Spätlese. Surprisingly, 2020 provided a few welcome exceptions to this, but 2021 was the greatest vintage for true Kabinett that I’ve ever seen in my career. I promoted the wines vociferously, and bought irresponsible quantities myself — particularly when the summer of 2022 was playing out in Europe and I feared that we’d never see this style again. I recognize that I’m becoming the boy who cried Kabi, but I have to tell you that, seemingly against all odds, 2022 is another excellent vintage for real³ kabinett. This is one of the great paradoxes of the vintage, and I couldn't be happier to be able to offer another round of these lightweight, exhilarating and singular wines.
More so than in 2021, the Mosel and its tributaries are the greatest sources for Kabinett this year, despite noteworthy successes from Schätzel in the Rheinhessen and Dönnhoff in the Nahe, among others. But the Mosel reinforced its supremacy with this style in 2022, and the collections from Adam, Weiser-Künstler and Hofgut Falkenstein are all spellbinding. We’ll even see debuts from a couple new Mosel mates, so stand by.
Al with mates Johannes Weber and Lars Carlberg of Hofgut Falkenstein.
When 2022 Fails
I taste with excellent producers, and often don't experience the dark side of a vintage until the wines that embody it start trickling into the marketplace. That being said, we knocked on a few new doors this year, and behind some of them we encountered wines that had problems. Admittedly, one of these problems plagued the odd wine even within the lineups of elite producers.
When 2022 fails, it tends to fail texturally. I mentioned that the wines show a “crunchy” acidity, but some of them are actually jagged and clunky, making even 2021's high level of acidity seem to unfold with analog fluidity in comparison. Remember the advent of MP3s, when your friend would copy an album for you that was riddled with static and coarse, digital shards? There are 2022 Rieslings that taste like that, and some of them actually hurt. For growers who seek higher acids and lower must weights, simply harvesting early wasn't the right answer this year. In fact, it's debatable as to whether or not that's ever the right answer! When discussing this with Johannes Weber of Hofgut Falkenstein — an estate that's emblematic of light, high-tension Riesling — he pointed out that there's a holistic art to achieving physiologically-ripe Riesling at low sugar levels, and though some vintages of late might be sympathetic to corner-cutting, 2022 isn’t one of them.
Before you ask, I don't believe that unbalanced acidity will knit with time. Young wines whose futures we wish to believe in can be shut down, inexpressive, wound up or difficult to read, but they cannot be egregiously out of balance. In short, such wines are useless now and they'll be useless when they're mature, and I've endeavoured to keep them off of Metrovino's shelves.
What Else is Going On Besides Riesling?
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. In the past, this would typically mean that the base wine came from the grower in question, and a sparkling specialist with the requisite infrastructure would render it effervescent for them. This is still common, 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. The traditional bottlings understandably attempt to emulate Champagne, and the pét-nats have the regional anonymity common to their style. However, we have a new 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.
The cellar at Griesel & Compagnie.
German Pinot Noir, or Spätburgunder, has become undeniably exciting. The typical examples of the past couple of decades were heavily extracted, ponderously oaky and needlessly alcoholic, which is precisely the last style of red wine that we need from Germany (as if there aren't enough other countries producing such wines). Increasingly, growers of Spätburgunder are pursuing fresher, more vibrant examples that their colleagues in other, warmer countries aren't capable of producing. Germany has the third most plantings of Pinot Noir on the planet, and it's been in the ground there for hundreds of years (although exactly how many hundreds remains a topic of debate). As Burgundy continues to alienate us with mutating typicity and truly outrageous prices, Germany's emerging Pinot Noir culture is becoming one of the most compelling European wine stories of the moment. The new generation are making wines that are distinctive, transparent and relatively affordable — and almost always from responsibly-farmed land. My one minor frustration is that too many talented young growers continue to follow the predictable Burgundian ideology of “awarding” their best wines with garish new oak. I hope that as they gain confidence in their work, they'll recognize that the flavours of a faraway forest have nothing to do with their own terroir. In the meantime, Metrovino will leave such wines in Germany as we rabidly pursue this stimulating category.
Particularly in Baden and the Pfalz, 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. To a great extent, I still 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, utilitarian cuvée from an estate like Darting, or a powerful yet intricate salt-bomb from the magicians at Wasenhaus.
Alex Götze of Wasenhaus and Taylor admiring the view.
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. Prices have been justifiably creeping up here and there, but with 2021 and now 2022 we have vintages in which everybody had to work much harder than usual to produce much less wine than usual. 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.
Shipping rates have also increased exponentially in the past few years, but they aren't presently any worse than they were when I was writing the 2021 vintage report last year. What has changed drastically since then is the fact that the Canadian dollar has become a gigantic piece of shit in relation to the Euro. This unfortunate situation will certainly have a deleterious effect on the 2022 Rieslings, as it will on all other European exports until our currency strengthens.⁴
Finally, every single German producer that we work with has increased their prices this year, some by a little, and some by a lot. I have visited all of them. 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 work that they’re doing, and I ask you to please be ready to pay slightly more than last year to enjoy their incredible wines.
