Terry Theise tastes the latest releases from Georg Prieler in Burgenland.
One of my favorite growers (and people) whom I have watched, happily, as he emerged from his tentative beginnings and arrived at a place among the stellar. I approach these wines with a sense of occasion. Georg Prieler is an icon producer of Blaufränkisch, and an excellent producer of Pinot Blanc, and he makes the most interesting rosé I know.
As a merchant I worked with the Prielers almost from the start. I was pulled in by an excellent and original Weissburgunder, during a time I’d started to see that Austria had really drawn a bead on this variety. I discovered that Engelbert Prieler—“Bertl” to his friends—was also a believer in Blaufränkisch, and his single-site Goldberg bottling was one of the most noteworthy wines of a then-nascent movement to create masterpieces from the variety.
In those days the wine was marked by broody tannin and an opacity that didn’t yield for many years. (It was rather at odds with the vibe of the family, which was quippy and almost relentlessly cheerful.) But when you finally could taste through that stubborn veil, a remarkable thing could be glimpsed.
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Prieler had two children, and in 1999 his daughter Silvia was lured back to the estate from a career in the sciences. She was assisted by her quite young kid-brother Georg. Things seemed stable. When I made my visits, I’d sit with the family, directing any questions I might have to Dad (as I’d been taught to pay that honor to the elder, even if the kids were “in charge.”) Bertl wouldn’t hear of it, deflecting each of my questions back to his kids, insisting “I’m just a simple farmer now, at home in my vineyards.”
When I would compliment a wine, he would interject “That was the result of some outstanding work in the vineyards,” and when I caught on I would preface all further praise by turning to him and saying “My goodness, the vineyard work for this wine must have been miraculous!” To which he would blush becomingly and murmur “Well, yes …”
In 2013 Silvia met me at a Champagne bar in Vienna (“Le Cru”) to tell me she was leaving the estate to return to her earlier career in scientific research. Georg was ready, she said, “And even if he isn’t I’m close by and just a phone call away.” The siblings worked in tandem until Georg took sole control in 2011.
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With my once-a-year visits I often saw developments in what felt like time-lapse photography. By Georg’s third year I discerned a shift, in the wines and in him. He had assumed command. The wines were changing, and for the better.
It is in effect the story of modern Austrian wines—reds especially—in microcosm. The overt flavors of wood were in retreat, and tannin was yielding to fruit, and both cask and tannin were learning to serve rather than dominate the wines.
Georg has added land, discontinued a few wines that didn’t engage him, and is now regarded as one of the icon-producers of Blaufränkisch. He has both maintained and broadened the estate Pinot Blancs, turned the rosé into a singular and fascinating example of an often-mundane genre, and assumed his proper place among Austria’s elite. He himself would demur from such lofty praise, but despite his chipper demeanor he is dead-serious about the wines, and pleased when they’re tasted attentively. When I asked him if my interpretations of his wines’ developments over the years were credible, he replied “As always you feel every step I take. There is no secret for me (wink emoji).”
Indeed, the reds have improved so powerfully that they threaten to overshadow the still-excellent whites. (It reminds me of Ziereisen’s wines, actually.) The path you beat to the door is for those dramatic reds, and once you’re inside you discover some “pretty damn good” whites as well. But a new offering from a recently obtained site suggests the whites, too, could assume elite status before much longer.
2021 Prieler St-Laurent +
This is the current vintage, and perhaps because of its extra aging (27 months in large casks) it arrives with none of the reductions to which the variety is prone. In fact it shows as much aromatic charm as the grape can show, and it begs to be sipped.
The palate shows the warmth of the region with the coolness of the vintage. Tannin is dispersed and “dusty” and fruit is subsumed into an enticing leathery umami. The finish is long and peppery. It grows on limestone and mica-schist and is beautifully salty and generous with all of 12.5% alc. Georg considers it an homage to the variety and has long sought to adapt to its caprices and moods.
It seems incidental—it is incidental for an elite champion of Blaufränkisch—yet it’s a grail-quest to bend this variety to some sort of decent comportment. In effect the wine is “perfect” as it is balanced and wholesome and entirely good. It doesn’t stand with the great St Laurents of Austria, but many of those have issues of their own (brett and reductions, more or less fleeting) and I admire a wine that grasps what it reaches for, and if you know St-L (and love it as I do) you can be glad of a wine as thoroughly good as this.
Physiologically “sweet,” highly salty and smoky, it shows the typical roundness of the Pinot type with an influx of the rugged Southern Rhône vernacular. Generous, expressive, textbook St-L.
I tasted it a second time four days later, and it had blossomed aromatically into an intensely appealing wine with as much clarity as the variety can show. A “cool” pouring temp seems ideal for it—I pulled it from my (now) 51º cellar and placed it in a 65º kitchen for 75 minutes, and while I apologize for the geeky detail, it did the wine proud. Now I’m craving moussaka …
2020 Prieler Blaufränkisch OGGAU “Johanneshöhe” +
Grown on fossil-bearing limestone, the site is unclassified and is thus offered as a registered trademark for a village-wine according to, you know, the nerds who decide these things. It’s the entry level BF. The estate has moved into the ’21 vintage for at-the-door buying.
It shows the basis, the floor for Blaufränkisch, and accordingly it also shows how superb the variety is, when even the least ambitious wine is this good.
It has the rich gamey aroma of Australian lamb; herbs and pepper are subtly present, but this isn’t an “examination of BF,” as much as it’s a wine between untroubled drinking and “so fascinating you can’t look away from it.” It’s an utter riot from the Jancis glass, so excellent you start asking “Is there a mistake? This can’t be the cheap one….”
I’m a geek for black peppercorns, as you may know. I never got the bougie salt thing, but peppers are an amazing world. The top Blaufränkisch tend toward the intensely ferrous nature of Sarawak pepper, whereas this one strides along a balance beam between the eucalyptus Madagascar and the floral Tasmanian. (I’m telling you man, pepper is a world.) Meanwhile, the deliciousness and animation this little guy delivers is well ahead of its modest cost.
This is another bottle I left for four days, mostly because I wanted to drink the “better” BFs with grub, to see if they were really that good. Now the wine reeks of violets and blackberry jelly … which leads me into a digression.
We talk about BF in terms of pepper and minerality and garrigue and mint and iron and acidity, but in many wines there’s a floweriness that’s sometimes covert and sometimes explicit. And I’m theorizing that it is exactly that floweriness that develops into the curious resemblance to Pinot Noir we sometimes see in mature Blaufränkisch. It calls to mind the exquisite 2021 Pinot Noirs from Ziereisen, and this could be placed among those wines—perhaps next to the Talrain—without standing out as “other.”
2021 Prieler Blaufränkisch Ried Pratschweingarten +
(It’s Leithaberg DAC, and the actual site-name is “Pratsche”, on limestone and mica-schist)
It’s the mid-level wines to lead into the grand crus, and in many vintages, it contains fruit from the crus. This ’21 has over 6 g.l acidity, likely the highest of any of the world’s serious reds.
The aroma is simply classic BF and the palate is so good you’d be forgiven for assuming it was one of the crus. The wine is markedly and admirably pure; Georg says “Nothing happens in the cellar that wouldn’t have happened 70 years ago,” and it allows us to see the basic excellence of the variety when it hasn’t been pimped with this or that.
It’s elegant, almost creamy from the Riedel Chianti Classico (tailored exactly to a wine such as this) and has more cut and explicit peppercorn and iron from the Jancis. Nuance or texture—up to you. I’d pour into both glasses even drinking for fun, as the distinction is almost as fascinating as the wine, nor do I want to sacrifice the hedonic joy of the Riedel. The Jancis enunciates the wine better but it also stretches its contours and makes it feel slimmer.
What a superb variety this is! I’ve had it at mealtime twice now, and this is the second “tasting,” and now the wine’s become nice and bloody. (Some might think “brett” but I doubt it, as it’s specific to the Riedel glass.)
2021 Prieler Ried Marienthal ++
(I assume the variety appears on a back label along with the DAC verbiage. “Oggau am Neusiedler See” is the commune of origin and this is on the main label. We also have a diam cork now. Alas we also have a STUPID HEAVY BOTTLE, so vexing from a certified-organic estate)
I’m less familiar with this cru, and have always found it more umami-driven than the more up-front clarities of Goldberg. Marienthal needs to be coaxed out of its primordially obscure shell—but when it emerges….
Still, ’21 is nothing if not explicit, and the palate entry here is ridiculous, combining a sort of glace de viande of concentrated terroir with a forthright gesture of pepper and berries. It’s bloody, Wagyu in a glass, and I’m not sure how a wine manages so much density without being opaque. Still, it’s the more enveloping of the two crus, and the finish is so dense it’s as though some ultimate concentrate of the wine is being injected through a syringe.
Again, to create such a wine carrying the acidity it does, and offering every clear parameter of greatness while frustrating the taster who needs to string together adjectives… such a thing defies credulity. If you need nuances in stark relief the Jancis will help, excitingly, but I like the murmurs and inferences of the Riedel. It’s like the virtues ascribed to music on vinyl, the warm analog power.
As it develops it takes on elements of porcini, dark chocolate, and Burgundy truffle, and seems to sough into a gentler texture. It also bears mentioning that such a wine could barely have been made 15 years ago in Austria; oak is so seamlessly assimilated here, and tannin is so well managed, that elemental flavors blaze forth in all their innate specificity. Such a wine warrants every bit of “international attention” without glomming on to the ”international style.” I want to weep for joy.
2021 Prieler Ried Goldberg +++
(The same things apply here as for the Marienthal. The commune is Schützen am Gebirge now.)
An icon of Blaufränkisch, since Georg’s father started making it (I think) in the 70s, and whose wines are aging magnificently in many cases. The terroir is variously described as “slate” or mica-schist, but in either case it is singular in Burgenland and actually seems to join hands across the distance separating this cru from those of Uwe Schiefer (in Südburgenland).
Goldberg is the Forster Kirchenstück of Blaufrankisch. It is utter terroir, abstracted from fruits or berries but serving up a lavish smorgasbord of mints, resinous herbs and peppercorns in a juiciness so overwhelming you’ll infer a sweetness which of course isn’t there. Goldberg is also less voluminous than Marienthal; it’s every bit as convincing but here you don’t feel that it seeks to convince, but merely to be its wild and serene self.
I’ve been tasting wine for 45 years, and I still can’t fathom how a wine can be so giving without actually asserting at all. This much I do know; when you feel the breath of divinity in a wine, that effortless beatific glow, that’s the most accurate predictor of greatness. (Another clue is when every freaking cell in your body screams when you try to spit the wine.)
Lately there have been photos of the night sky as seen from the surface of Mars, where there is no atmosphere to cloud the view, and it comes to mind as I consider the curiously loving clarity with which each molecule of flavor can be seen in this wine. I hope you are lucky enough to land a bottle of this, because you will wonder not only at its beauty but also at its evanescence and its precise spiciness and its font of kindness. You may thrill and exult over the Marienthal, but you will meditate and dream over the Goldberg.
Over the days the bones of the wine emerge, in contrast to the Marienthal, which grew more smooth. Behind the primary fruit of the Goldberg—discreet in any case—lies an iron spine of minerality and an acid-driven rigidity that stretches from Alpha to Omega across the palate and allows you to take time considering each thing this wine has to reveal. We receive a stern and loving blessing.
Pieler’s white and pink wines
2023 Gemischter Satz “Kalkterassen”
“Limestone Terraces” are the origin for this field-blend of Gelber Muskateller, Pinot Blanc, Grüner Veltliner, Sauvignon Blanc, and Welschriesling. Muscat dominates the fragrance, which I don’t mind at all.
With 13% alcohol it isn’t quite a glugger yet it’s so entirely yummy what else do you do with it? Once again there’s a physiological “sweetness” expressing as an umami-driven surmise of actual sweetness—which it does not have, but the impression may be bound into the intensely grapey and floral aromas.
It sings its lusty little heart out from the Jancis. Joyful, life-affirming, wonderful wine! And even a “scale” as deliberately vague as mine isn’t equal to what this wine is. I can’t “give” it a plus but I also can’t possibly recommend it more highly, and while it’s too ripe to glug heedlessly, I think I’d take my chances.
It took me a few days to “taste” it again—I couldn’t keep my hands off it, plus my wife was crazy about it—and honestly, how do you know when to taste it? Ostensibly it’s the little wine to precede the earnest whites, but it’s so absurdly engaging it wreaks havoc on whatever you taste after. Plus it’s reassuring, in light of (too) much of the natty community, that you can have glou-glou without the doo-doo.
2023 Chardonnay Schützen
The vineyard “Sinner” is now a registered trademark. It consists of fossil-bearing limestone and slate, and the wine is made entirely in steel.
As such it is elemental once again, showing the is-ness of Chardonnay without the usual flourishes. At 13.5% alcohol it feels a little top-heavy, though the flavors are attractive. There’s a certain minerality, a sweet straw flavor inherent to ripe Chardonnay un-fucked with, and really, plenty to appreciate and no fault to be found.
(Sound of shoe dropping) It’s just that often with Chardonnay I can respect the achievement of a wine without being in a hurry to drink it. I acknowledge its salty mineral grip, and the wine has my unqualified respect. But … it’s Chardonnay. There’s really only a few places where we need Chardonnay planted, and we know what they are. Otherwise, and regardless of the many very good wines it might make, it simply isn’t needed. This is apart from its salability, of course, and growers make wine that people want to buy, and so, okay, Chardonnay. I must be a real fuss-pot, because this wine is appealing in many ways, but I’d bet this land is capable of better things.
I liked it more to sip than to “taste.” That happens, and it’s not insignificant. I like the apple butter finish. I like the wine if it comes to that. No one would taste it and think “This wine shouldn’t exist,” but I wonder whether the entire genre should exist, the heedless sprawl of a grape that only makes outstanding wine in a few privileged places. But enough of my curmudgeon-y ways. If you must have Chardonnay at all costs, you can do much, much worse than this entirely pleasing wine.
2023 Prieler Pinot Blanc Schützen, Ried Seeberg
A little skin contact for this “basic” steel-and-lees Pinot Blanc. It was the wine that brought me to Prieler many years ago, when I drank it in a nearby restaurant, found it arrestingly original and compelling, and had to ask “Where’s this grower located?” only to learn he was a few steps away. (Literally; he was at a neighboring table!)
I think it’s more interesting than the Chardonnay though many tasters might feel otherwise. The skin contact encourages many inviting elements we sometimes also see in ripe GV—the oleander and flowering-field and mimosa—but it also delivers a coarseness of texture I’m less persuaded by. It’s a group of fascinating elements that have yet to congrue, as is explicit from the Jancis glass. I mean, flavors are all well and good, but they need to add up to flavor, and here they’re still in strife. Still, this isn’t the first time I’ve felt that ’23 doesn’t “play well with others.” I recognize all the signature elements that make this wine so significant but they feel like puzzle-pieces strewn about the floor.
Sometimes wines like this can knit together over the days, and I’ll taste it again a couple days from now and again after that.
SECOND “TASTE” after sipping a couple times while supper cooked, the aromas have knitted and the wine is far more inviting now. It’s still rather pitilessly expressive from the Jancis, but whatever its actual “issues” (as contrasted to those I imagine) it’s a more interesting wine than its brother Chardonnay. There remains a certain strife between wine-and-vintage, and I hate the “needs time” trope, but I do think this wine will reconcile its factions in a couple years.
Knowing its pattern over decades of vintages is both an advantage and a drawback. I have in mind a paradigm of Prieler Pinot Blanc Seeberg, and I contrast each new iteration to that model, which means I taste inferences of all the vintages I’ve known. That gives me a contextual template, which is good, but it also precludes tasting the wine qua wine, which is less good. But—I am confident in my forecast that 1-2 years patience will reward us.
2022 Pieler Pinot Blanc Alte Reben
(Leithaberg DAC)
Here’s the start of Pinot Blanc with attitude. Sixteen months on the fine lees show as an aroma both toasty, angular and subtly creamy.
Structurally the wine enters with some density of texture, fleshes out in the mid-palate, and finishes as though it’s stretched out to a point of surprising astringency—as is the case with some ‘22s.
I know wines like this. Tasters encounter them all the time. So much to like—in this case the toasted semolina, the implied florals, the classic varietal shellfish flavors, the white-corn polenta—and then we wonder at the abrupt sharpness at the end. This micro-focus is what they pay us (or lately do not pay us) for, and we agree, taster and reader, that this is a truthful description of the wine, at least filtered through one person’s palate. That none of this pertains to how the wine might be used is a thing we elide over.
So let me say it again. If you’re drinking this wine you’ll like it, as I myself do, but if you’re “examining” it you may (or may not) be annoyed by the finishing briskness. That said, it’s nice and salty also, as it makes its way out.
It’s been a useful food-wine, as we’ve had a plenitude of chanterelles lately and the wine likes them, especially when I sprinkle my home-made saffron salt over them while they cook. Sure, the toastiness of the wine is a little emphatic, and sure, the tertiary finish dissolves into a buttery sort of grit, but we tasters do not actually need to fixate on such things. I mean, here I sit with my Let the record show … While in my actual, you know, life, I’m happy to have a glass with my chanterelles.
2022 Prieler Ried Haidsatz
(Again, and kind of absurdly, we’re supposed to “know” that this is Pinot Blanc, though I suppose it appears on the back label, together with the DAC rigamarole … ) (It is, for the record, Pinot Blanc.)
Grown on limestone over a schisty base, the wine smells like gangbusters. We’re in a place that speaks the language of white Burgundy now, yet here we have a chomp of mineral, more acidity, and a different kind of saltiness. It has plenty of personality, assertively so, but attains a kind of serenity at the finish, where there’s just a sideways flick of phenolic action.
If I say “toasted oats and cranberries” I can only insist the association was valid at the time. (!) No one will quarrel with “saltiness.” There’s also a gras that is less buttery than it is duck-fatty.
An ambitious Pinot Blanc, very good if not the best vintage I’ve tasted, but these efforts are well worth making.
Yet for all its power and authority, the wine is oddly perishable, showing oxidation over a small number of days. This is acceptable in light of its basic shellfish-stock nature, yet more exposure of terroir would be welcome.
2022 Prieler Ried Steinweingarten +
(Allow me to fuss—yes, again, I know. STUPID HEAVY BOTTLE. It’s Pinot Blanc. It’s from Schützen am Gebirge. As long as I live I will never understand why it was assumed we consumers would just *understand* that a site-name alone would suggest a grape variety, in a very recent labeling-system without hundreds of years backing it up. I sympathize with every grower who has to be buffeted by all these metaphysics and must alter the label accordingly, often at the cost of clarity.)
A recent acquisition for Prielers, a limestone site that gets morning sun only, a boon in a warm climate zone. And this wine attains the qualities the others strove for. If the previous PBs seemed to have Côte d’Or whites as their north stars, this one looks to Chablis.
It’s sophisticated in its depths, this beauty. It’s not ostentatious and it doesn’t lead with seductive flavors. It shows a really perfect poise of minerality, depth and grip; its wood is convincingly absorbed into its overall vinosity; it’s fantastically salty, and its eagerness of expression can be indulged in view of its many valid gifts.
It’s like a 1er Cru Chablis that’s not especially “Kimmeridge-y” and each time I taste (or sip) it I like it more.
2023 Prieler Rosé “vom Stein” +
100% Blaufränkisch, from a single site on cretaceous limestone. It’s always been a wine with attitude—“I like it a little wild,” Georg has said—and I love its character and its lack of overt seductiveness. It’s like a rosé that’s a Mensa member; plenty good-looking but preternaturally smart. It’s also absurdly lovely from the Jancis glass. Indeed this is among the more (relatively) mainstream vintages, and nothing the matter with that.
It’s one of those wines I have praised for so many years I risk repeating myself. So as briefly as I can; it’s an articulate and interesting wine that happens to be pink, but the explicitly intricate flavors along with the little hint of snark makes this a wine that spills over the banks of its genre.
