EN
English
French
- Chris Boiling
- 2025-05-08
As I return my room key to the hotel receptionist, she informs me: “You are staying another night.”
“Am I?” I inquire. I thought I was about to be leaving Albania’s capital, Tirana, and heading south to a winery and vineyard near the border with Greece, about a three-and-a-half-hour drive away. I’m keen to check the progress of my 2023 red blend – Albania’s first premium red featuring an indigenous grape variety.
“There’s been a change of plans. It happens,” she says, smiling.
‘It happens’ is a phrase I’ve heard a lot during this wine project, which began in 2022 with the idea of making six wines from lesser-known grape varieties in four countries in one vintage and writing about the experiences for Canopy.
When I started my adventure in Eastern Europe, I thought it was such a great idea that I couldn’t believe no-one else had done something similar. Now, of course, I’m thinking differently.
There have been many problems and setbacks. “It happens.” The vines have been hit by hail, the grapes have succumbed to mildew, yields have been low because of the summer heatwave and autumn rain. Plans have been upended at short notice. “It happens.”
Wines have disappeared or dropped off the radar...
I ring up a winemaker to check on the condition of my foot-stomped, hand-plunged Blaufränkisch, inquiring if it is ready to be racked to a barrique, only to be told it’s already gone into a large barrel with the rest of the Blaufränkisch from that vintage.
I attempt to be the first to make a Kadarka from three different regions in Hungary, using three different producers and technologies (steel, oak and Flexcube). The first producer informs me that, unfortunately, the bought-in grapes are not the right quality for this project. It happens. I understand. A Kadarka from two producers in regions that harvest two weeks apart could also be interesting.
But, after a year, the second producer sends me a message to say my wine has been bottled. I politely explain (again) the whole point is to create a multi-region blend – something different to what is already in their portfolio and something new and exciting for the market. Concepts, plans and creative ideas easily get lost in translation. It happens. More than I expected.
However, I’m very pleased and excited about the wines that made it all the way to bottle. I now have a collection of six wines, which I’ve just started introducing to potential on- and off-trade buyers. I’m calling it the most interesting, distinctive and unusual collection of wines from one producer. The first tasting was for the sommeliers at a Michelin three-star restaurant in Italy (above).
The first consumer event was a seven-course dinner at a restaurant in Sussex, England (below). Diners described it as a “fantastic” evening as it gave them the chance to taste grapes they never knew existed. But sales are still pitifully small. And I’m concerned.
So, I’m reflecting on the things I’ve learned during this project, which is due to continue this year with white wines in Spain (a Forcada) and Ukraine (a Telti-Kuruk), and a Madeira featuring Terrantez. I still believe there is a market for a unique range of small-batch wines with great backstories – rare grapes that have been raised into fine wines with a little experimental winemaking. But I’m asking myself some crucial questions…
Why is it so hard to make money out of wine?
I never expected to make a fortune from this project, but I did expect to recoup my expenses. I’m not sure that will happen. I’ve done a few tastings with critics and influencers, and the feedback on the wines has been uniformly positive. They are surprised by the quality of these relatively unknown grapes and the fact that I have been able to put together such a fascinating range of wines.
I’ve also done a few tastings with somms and independent retailers, but I’ve found it so hard to get wine businesses to make a commitment. They don’t say no, but they don’t say yes either. Is this normal? Or will the sales happen eventually?
It’s frustrating because I’ve heard so many times that what the trade wants are top-quality, distinctive wines. That’s what I’m offering. I thought they would be excited to buy such a range, so they could offer something exclusive to their customers and take them on a journey of discovery.
Interestingly, the first wine out of the blocks – a modern amber wine from Georgia (above) – is selling reasonably well in a Georgian-owned wine bar in Peckham, London. The irony is that Peckham is most famous in the UK for a sitcom called Only Fools and Horses, in which one of the catchphrases is: “This time next year, we'll be millionaires!”
It happens, but probably not in my case and not with this project. After 25 years, the TV brothers did become millionaires – by finding and auctioning a rare watch! Time will tell.
The retail prices for my limited-edition wines, I think, are fair. So, I don’t think that’s the issue. They range from £18 for the rosé (a single-vineyard Kékfrankos, fermented and aged in oak) to £60 for a handcrafted sparkling wine featuring the unique pairing of Pearl of Victoria and Grüner Veltliner.
Do I need to think more ‘commercially’ and go for some easier sales?
After producing ultra-niche wines in 2022 and 2023, last year I felt it was time to produce something a little more commercial: the collection’s first rosé. A premium rosé from Hungary. With the family-run winery Gál Szőlőbirtok (above) on Csepel Island (near Budapest), we have produced ‘a serious gastronomic rosé’ – a single-vineyard Blaufränkisch/Kékfrankos with two hours’ skin contact, fermented and aged in oak for five months with weekly bâtonnage for the first four and a half months. This wine will be bottled later this month, ready for release this summer.
There was only one barrel, so we only have 400 bottles. I think it’s a lovely dark-pink rosé with wonderful strawberry flavours and a creamy texture. But will this rosé be enough to turn this project from red to black? Let’s hope it happens.
Why do so many wine lovers overlook the hidden gems of Central and Eastern Europe?
I started the project to raise the profiles of grape varieties that I love and think deserve a chance to shine in a top-class wine. These include Kisi and Khihkvi in Georgia, Muscaris and Souvignier Gris in Austria, Laški rizling and Rumeni Plavec in Slovenia, Pugnitello in Italy, Debine e Zezë and Mavrud in Albania, and Blaufränkisch in Slovenia and Hungary.
One of the most exciting finds is the high-acid hybrid grape Pearl of Victoria (Viktória Gyöngye, a Hungarian crossing of Seyve-Villard 12375 and table grape Pearl of Csaba). Its potential for producing high-quality traditional-method fizz is enormous. I blended the Pearl of Victoria with 50% Grüner Veltliner (half of which was fermented and aged for six months in oak). No-one has done this before, but the result is a very classy sparkling wine from Etyek, Hungary’s first PDO for sparkling wines – although neither of these varieties is allowed in the top category Etyeki Pezsgő wines. Being a hybrid, the Pearl of Victoria grapes were sprayed 50% less than the varieties permitted in the Etyek-Buda PDO – Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris and Pinot Blanc. It makes a refreshingly lovely change to sip a sparkling wine that isn’t made from Chardonnay, Pinots or Glera.
Sparkling wine producers around the world should take a look.
How can I get people excited about a DRV’s eco-friendly credentials?
I naively thought that I would be able to sell my amber wine from Austria on its benchmark eco-friendly credentials. It was sprayed with about 10% of the copper and sulphur of a nearby organic Chardonnay vineyard – and soil analysis revealed no copper toxins in the soil at the end of the season. But, during tastings, the focus always shifts to its ‘natural’ and ‘orange’ elements.
During a recent event, while describing the wine, I realised it covers three of the most divisive categories in the sector: natural, orange, hybrid. How did that happen? It wasn't the intention to make life super-difficult for me.
But I love this wine. And one influencer described it as the best orange wine she’d ever tasted. I’m now trying to push it with the term DRV, believing DRV (short for disease-resistant variety) is a more user-friendly term than PIWI (PilzWiderstandsfähig). I know it’s going to be a tough sell, but I still think I can make things happen with this wine. Show me one that tastes better and is more sustainably produced.
Is clay king?
I’m especially pleased with all the wines produced in clay.
For the Austrian amber wine, we put the DRV grapes in amphora, oak and stainless steel. But the final blend of 85% Muscaris and 15% Souvignier Gris is all from amphorae (above). The Muscaris from amphora simply shone, so we blended it with a little Souvignier Gris from amphora to make the wine a little more interesting, complex and subtle.
This project also inspired the addition of amphora to a red-wine project in Tuscany which aims to promote the revival of the ancient grape Pugnitello. Next month, I return to San Felice (below) to see how it is developing compared to the Pugnitello in steel and the more traditional oak barrels.
The first wine released – and the only one currently on sale in the UK – was made in a qvevri. A fascinating experience: going to Georgia to learn about the ancient art of winemaking in qvevri firsthand.
Qvevris are such brilliant vessels for skin-contact wines; it’s obvious why they have stood the test of time and are undergoing a revival.
The idea behind my Kisi and Khikhvi co-fermentation was to combine traditional Georgian winemaking (a qvevri buried in the ground, six months of skin contact) with modern reductive winemaking techniques to retain the lovely aromas and flavours of the two indigenous Kakheti grapes. So, the qvevri was chilled to -1°C to receive the grapes; after a couple of days of manual punchdowns (below), we used netting and French oak staves fanned out like the spokes of a bicycle wheel to keep the cap submerged for the rest of the fermentation; after which the qvevri was sealed with glass and silicone; and the headspace was filled with nitrogen to prevent oxidation.
It’s quite tannic and will probably be at its peak in a few years. At a recent tasting at 67 Pall Mall in London, it was lined up against a Gravner from 2016 that was four to five times more expensive. But I can see the direction of travel for my wine and I’m telling potential buyers to purchase a case of six so they can drink one a year and track its evolution.
Why is it more difficult to do something different with white grapes?
The initial range comprises a sparkling wine, rosé, three amber wines and a red. There are currently no white wines in my portfolio. My attempts at making a white wine in Croatia using one of its many wonderful indigenous grape varieties have been thwarted by the weather and small yields. My attempts at making a white wine in Ukraine have been thwarted by language barriers. Because my project is so unique, it is hard to explain it to those who don’t have a complete grasp of English.
A white wine project in Spain to help promote the ancient grape Forcada has been postponed a couple of times because of poor vintages. This year, however, I’m hoping to produce a Forcada in association with biodynamic producer Parés Baltà in the Penedès region. But, so far, the best expressions of this indigenous variety are from stainless-steel tanks. Experiments in oak and amphora have not worked so well. The name of my brand is Crazy Experimental Wines. The wine production needs to have an element of experimentation. So, what am I going to do? Let’s see what happens this vintage.
After visiting Ukraine twice to make wine since the full-scale invasion by Russia – and being thwarted more by misunderstandings than the ongoing war – I’m still hoping to make a white wine there. It’s a fascinating country with some excellent indigenous varieties. With my attempts at producing a Sukholimanske in Odesa and a Bakator in the Zakarpattia region failing, I have set my sights on a Telti-Kuruk. The producer speaks excellent English. The only issue is the proximity of the vineyard to the frontline.
Should I shift the focus from skin-contact wines?
Five of the six wines feature an element of skin contact. From two hours to six months. Two hours for the rosé is reasonable and 30 days for the Slovenian red (80% Blaufränkisch) is understandable. But three of the six wines are amber. Skin contact for these wines is from 20 days to six months. The wines, however, are very different:
Why did I think social media would be more effective?
Social media isn’t turning out to be as great a sales tool as I was expecting. I’ve garnered a reasonable amount of publicity for this new project, but apart from one expression of interest from a wine bar and shop in Budapest wanting to stock the Hungarian sparkling and rosé, the publicity hasn’t led to any direct sales.
I still feel I need to pump out posts, but don’t have the same enthusiasm.
The most effective sales method so far is the old-fashioned face-to-face meeting with people I know. But I don’t know as many adventurous decision-makers as I thought.
Staying in Tirana an extra night, I dine at a modern restaurant flourishing its Michelin-star ambitions. The food is excellent, the ambience is exceptional, and the staff are exemplary. They are keen to learn more about my Albanian red featuring Debine e Zezë and Mavrud (above) and my wine project. Could this be the turning point for my crazy harvest adventures? A chance meeting that becomes a profitable partnership. It happens. I hope.
“Am I?” I inquire. I thought I was about to be leaving Albania’s capital, Tirana, and heading south to a winery and vineyard near the border with Greece, about a three-and-a-half-hour drive away. I’m keen to check the progress of my 2023 red blend – Albania’s first premium red featuring an indigenous grape variety.
“There’s been a change of plans. It happens,” she says, smiling.
‘It happens’ is a phrase I’ve heard a lot during this wine project, which began in 2022 with the idea of making six wines from lesser-known grape varieties in four countries in one vintage and writing about the experiences for Canopy.
When I started my adventure in Eastern Europe, I thought it was such a great idea that I couldn’t believe no-one else had done something similar. Now, of course, I’m thinking differently.
There have been many problems and setbacks. “It happens.” The vines have been hit by hail, the grapes have succumbed to mildew, yields have been low because of the summer heatwave and autumn rain. Plans have been upended at short notice. “It happens.”
Wines have disappeared or dropped off the radar...
I ring up a winemaker to check on the condition of my foot-stomped, hand-plunged Blaufränkisch, inquiring if it is ready to be racked to a barrique, only to be told it’s already gone into a large barrel with the rest of the Blaufränkisch from that vintage.
I attempt to be the first to make a Kadarka from three different regions in Hungary, using three different producers and technologies (steel, oak and Flexcube). The first producer informs me that, unfortunately, the bought-in grapes are not the right quality for this project. It happens. I understand. A Kadarka from two producers in regions that harvest two weeks apart could also be interesting.
But, after a year, the second producer sends me a message to say my wine has been bottled. I politely explain (again) the whole point is to create a multi-region blend – something different to what is already in their portfolio and something new and exciting for the market. Concepts, plans and creative ideas easily get lost in translation. It happens. More than I expected.
However, I’m very pleased and excited about the wines that made it all the way to bottle. I now have a collection of six wines, which I’ve just started introducing to potential on- and off-trade buyers. I’m calling it the most interesting, distinctive and unusual collection of wines from one producer. The first tasting was for the sommeliers at a Michelin three-star restaurant in Italy (above).
The first consumer event was a seven-course dinner at a restaurant in Sussex, England (below). Diners described it as a “fantastic” evening as it gave them the chance to taste grapes they never knew existed. But sales are still pitifully small. And I’m concerned.
So, I’m reflecting on the things I’ve learned during this project, which is due to continue this year with white wines in Spain (a Forcada) and Ukraine (a Telti-Kuruk), and a Madeira featuring Terrantez. I still believe there is a market for a unique range of small-batch wines with great backstories – rare grapes that have been raised into fine wines with a little experimental winemaking. But I’m asking myself some crucial questions…
Why is it so hard to make money out of wine?
I never expected to make a fortune from this project, but I did expect to recoup my expenses. I’m not sure that will happen. I’ve done a few tastings with critics and influencers, and the feedback on the wines has been uniformly positive. They are surprised by the quality of these relatively unknown grapes and the fact that I have been able to put together such a fascinating range of wines.
I’ve also done a few tastings with somms and independent retailers, but I’ve found it so hard to get wine businesses to make a commitment. They don’t say no, but they don’t say yes either. Is this normal? Or will the sales happen eventually?
It’s frustrating because I’ve heard so many times that what the trade wants are top-quality, distinctive wines. That’s what I’m offering. I thought they would be excited to buy such a range, so they could offer something exclusive to their customers and take them on a journey of discovery.
Interestingly, the first wine out of the blocks – a modern amber wine from Georgia (above) – is selling reasonably well in a Georgian-owned wine bar in Peckham, London. The irony is that Peckham is most famous in the UK for a sitcom called Only Fools and Horses, in which one of the catchphrases is: “This time next year, we'll be millionaires!”
It happens, but probably not in my case and not with this project. After 25 years, the TV brothers did become millionaires – by finding and auctioning a rare watch! Time will tell.
The retail prices for my limited-edition wines, I think, are fair. So, I don’t think that’s the issue. They range from £18 for the rosé (a single-vineyard Kékfrankos, fermented and aged in oak) to £60 for a handcrafted sparkling wine featuring the unique pairing of Pearl of Victoria and Grüner Veltliner.
Do I need to think more ‘commercially’ and go for some easier sales?
After producing ultra-niche wines in 2022 and 2023, last year I felt it was time to produce something a little more commercial: the collection’s first rosé. A premium rosé from Hungary. With the family-run winery Gál Szőlőbirtok (above) on Csepel Island (near Budapest), we have produced ‘a serious gastronomic rosé’ – a single-vineyard Blaufränkisch/Kékfrankos with two hours’ skin contact, fermented and aged in oak for five months with weekly bâtonnage for the first four and a half months. This wine will be bottled later this month, ready for release this summer.
There was only one barrel, so we only have 400 bottles. I think it’s a lovely dark-pink rosé with wonderful strawberry flavours and a creamy texture. But will this rosé be enough to turn this project from red to black? Let’s hope it happens.
Why do so many wine lovers overlook the hidden gems of Central and Eastern Europe?
I started the project to raise the profiles of grape varieties that I love and think deserve a chance to shine in a top-class wine. These include Kisi and Khihkvi in Georgia, Muscaris and Souvignier Gris in Austria, Laški rizling and Rumeni Plavec in Slovenia, Pugnitello in Italy, Debine e Zezë and Mavrud in Albania, and Blaufränkisch in Slovenia and Hungary.
One of the most exciting finds is the high-acid hybrid grape Pearl of Victoria (Viktória Gyöngye, a Hungarian crossing of Seyve-Villard 12375 and table grape Pearl of Csaba). Its potential for producing high-quality traditional-method fizz is enormous. I blended the Pearl of Victoria with 50% Grüner Veltliner (half of which was fermented and aged for six months in oak). No-one has done this before, but the result is a very classy sparkling wine from Etyek, Hungary’s first PDO for sparkling wines – although neither of these varieties is allowed in the top category Etyeki Pezsgő wines. Being a hybrid, the Pearl of Victoria grapes were sprayed 50% less than the varieties permitted in the Etyek-Buda PDO – Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris and Pinot Blanc. It makes a refreshingly lovely change to sip a sparkling wine that isn’t made from Chardonnay, Pinots or Glera.
Sparkling wine producers around the world should take a look.
How can I get people excited about a DRV’s eco-friendly credentials?
I naively thought that I would be able to sell my amber wine from Austria on its benchmark eco-friendly credentials. It was sprayed with about 10% of the copper and sulphur of a nearby organic Chardonnay vineyard – and soil analysis revealed no copper toxins in the soil at the end of the season. But, during tastings, the focus always shifts to its ‘natural’ and ‘orange’ elements.
During a recent event, while describing the wine, I realised it covers three of the most divisive categories in the sector: natural, orange, hybrid. How did that happen? It wasn't the intention to make life super-difficult for me.
But I love this wine. And one influencer described it as the best orange wine she’d ever tasted. I’m now trying to push it with the term DRV, believing DRV (short for disease-resistant variety) is a more user-friendly term than PIWI (PilzWiderstandsfähig). I know it’s going to be a tough sell, but I still think I can make things happen with this wine. Show me one that tastes better and is more sustainably produced.
Is clay king?
I’m especially pleased with all the wines produced in clay.
For the Austrian amber wine, we put the DRV grapes in amphora, oak and stainless steel. But the final blend of 85% Muscaris and 15% Souvignier Gris is all from amphorae (above). The Muscaris from amphora simply shone, so we blended it with a little Souvignier Gris from amphora to make the wine a little more interesting, complex and subtle.
This project also inspired the addition of amphora to a red-wine project in Tuscany which aims to promote the revival of the ancient grape Pugnitello. Next month, I return to San Felice (below) to see how it is developing compared to the Pugnitello in steel and the more traditional oak barrels.
The first wine released – and the only one currently on sale in the UK – was made in a qvevri. A fascinating experience: going to Georgia to learn about the ancient art of winemaking in qvevri firsthand.
Qvevris are such brilliant vessels for skin-contact wines; it’s obvious why they have stood the test of time and are undergoing a revival.
The idea behind my Kisi and Khikhvi co-fermentation was to combine traditional Georgian winemaking (a qvevri buried in the ground, six months of skin contact) with modern reductive winemaking techniques to retain the lovely aromas and flavours of the two indigenous Kakheti grapes. So, the qvevri was chilled to -1°C to receive the grapes; after a couple of days of manual punchdowns (below), we used netting and French oak staves fanned out like the spokes of a bicycle wheel to keep the cap submerged for the rest of the fermentation; after which the qvevri was sealed with glass and silicone; and the headspace was filled with nitrogen to prevent oxidation.
It’s quite tannic and will probably be at its peak in a few years. At a recent tasting at 67 Pall Mall in London, it was lined up against a Gravner from 2016 that was four to five times more expensive. But I can see the direction of travel for my wine and I’m telling potential buyers to purchase a case of six so they can drink one a year and track its evolution.
Why is it more difficult to do something different with white grapes?
The initial range comprises a sparkling wine, rosé, three amber wines and a red. There are currently no white wines in my portfolio. My attempts at making a white wine in Croatia using one of its many wonderful indigenous grape varieties have been thwarted by the weather and small yields. My attempts at making a white wine in Ukraine have been thwarted by language barriers. Because my project is so unique, it is hard to explain it to those who don’t have a complete grasp of English.
A white wine project in Spain to help promote the ancient grape Forcada has been postponed a couple of times because of poor vintages. This year, however, I’m hoping to produce a Forcada in association with biodynamic producer Parés Baltà in the Penedès region. But, so far, the best expressions of this indigenous variety are from stainless-steel tanks. Experiments in oak and amphora have not worked so well. The name of my brand is Crazy Experimental Wines. The wine production needs to have an element of experimentation. So, what am I going to do? Let’s see what happens this vintage.
After visiting Ukraine twice to make wine since the full-scale invasion by Russia – and being thwarted more by misunderstandings than the ongoing war – I’m still hoping to make a white wine there. It’s a fascinating country with some excellent indigenous varieties. With my attempts at producing a Sukholimanske in Odesa and a Bakator in the Zakarpattia region failing, I have set my sights on a Telti-Kuruk. The producer speaks excellent English. The only issue is the proximity of the vineyard to the frontline.
Should I shift the focus from skin-contact wines?
Five of the six wines feature an element of skin contact. From two hours to six months. Two hours for the rosé is reasonable and 30 days for the Slovenian red (80% Blaufränkisch) is understandable. But three of the six wines are amber. Skin contact for these wines is from 20 days to six months. The wines, however, are very different:
- “Kisi me slowly, gently” – a Kisi and Khikhvi co-fermentation made in a qvevri in Georgia, with six months’ maceration.
- “DRV #1” – a blend of two disease-resistant varieties from Austria. The 85% Muscaris was left on skins for 20 days. The 15% Souvignier Gris underwent an unusual vinification: about 70% of the skins were removed during the fermentation, as they floated to the top, but the berries that sank were left there among the gross lees for more than two years. This helped to protect the wine with only a little sulphur added prior to bottling. Unfined and unfiltered.
- “Oh, natural!” – another low-intervention skin-contact wine. This one, from Slovenia’s northeast, is a pimped-up Laški rizling – a co-fermentation with whole Traminer berries. The Traminer berries spent 28 days in contact with the free-run from the Laški (Welschrielsing, Riesling Italico). It matured on lees in used oak for a couple of years. Again, the only thing added was a little SO2 prior to bottling.
Why did I think social media would be more effective?
Social media isn’t turning out to be as great a sales tool as I was expecting. I’ve garnered a reasonable amount of publicity for this new project, but apart from one expression of interest from a wine bar and shop in Budapest wanting to stock the Hungarian sparkling and rosé, the publicity hasn’t led to any direct sales.
I still feel I need to pump out posts, but don’t have the same enthusiasm.
The most effective sales method so far is the old-fashioned face-to-face meeting with people I know. But I don’t know as many adventurous decision-makers as I thought.
Staying in Tirana an extra night, I dine at a modern restaurant flourishing its Michelin-star ambitions. The food is excellent, the ambience is exceptional, and the staff are exemplary. They are keen to learn more about my Albanian red featuring Debine e Zezë and Mavrud (above) and my wine project. Could this be the turning point for my crazy harvest adventures? A chance meeting that becomes a profitable partnership. It happens. I hope.
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