WEINGUT BEURER

I got off the train in Stuttgart and waited amongst the bustle for Jochen. I was exhausted from just having finished harvest with Daniel & Jonas Brand in the Pfalz, but eager to see entirely new terrain. Jochen emerged from the crowd with his charming gap-toothed smile, and after navigating a maze of parkades and construction, we were in his iconic Jeep Wrangler. (Its back-mounted spare tire is emblazed with the words 'In Riesling We Trust')

We sped out of Stuttgart between the towers built by Porsche and Mercedes, where we were immediately met by vines. Like many regions in the world, urban sprawl has started to claim some of Wurttemberg's most prized sites – not to mention the city's environmental impact has shifted the mesoclimate substantially (heat, pollution, drainage, etc.). A little over an hour south, we arrived in Stetten, Jochen's hometown.

We took a series of back roads, winding our way through small farms with chicken coops and apple trees, a considerable departure from the more intensive agriculture of the Pfalz. I had left Germany's breadbasket behind, and now I was in its garden. The sheer number of trees surprised me – these were the German forests of legend I had somehow avoided until now, their mystery easily felt in the chilled air. As we broke out of the woods, steep vine-covered cliffs revealed themselves. The valley is almost an amphitheatre of vineyards, with the quaint town nestled in the middle.

We were ~350m above the valley floor, looking down over an east-facing plot of forty-year-old Riesling vines planted on Kieselsandstein. This dense sandstone intermixed with feldspar, mica, quartzite, and dolomite is found only at this elevation and yields wines of gorgeous clarity, poise, and power.

We took a couple of switchbacks up to Jochen's highest site, an Erste Lage (Premier Cru) destined for his Junges Schwaben cuvée. This impossibly beautiful vineyard is surrounded on three sides by a frigid forest, sucking the autumn sunlight right out of the air. It is quiet as we walk up the rugged stone steps, weathered nearly beyond recognition. We're far from cars and houses, even the birds are hushed. His biodynamic preparations are buried here – it feels spiritual. The old vines are interplanted with quince trees, adding to the extraordinary biodiversity. At ~400m, we can see the whole valley yet feel completely isolated and serene. Stubensandstein, this vineyard's iteration of sandstone is more porous and crumbles readily between your fingers. The wines are ethereal, gossamer, almost pointillist.

Further down the slope (~315m), you'll find Riesling planted on Schilfsandstein, their final iteration of sandstone. This soil type was formed in ancient reed beds at the bottom of a shallow sea. Its higher iron content gives the wine a brash sense of power even at lower levels of alcohol. Although Jochen's Rieslings are all delicious when young, this is my personal favourite for youthful imbibing.

Their lowest Riesling vines are planted in Gipskeuper. The combination of gypsum, iron-rich red mudstone, and chalk makes for superb tension between freshness and umami. The western wall of the valley above Stetten also features Bunter Mergel, marls that are ideal for Jochen's red grapes.

Across the valley, an equally impressive wall of vines looms over the town. Its dominant feature is Pulvermacher, a Grosses Gewachs (Grand Cru) that stretches 94 acres across the mid-slope. Jochen's sections of this vineyard are south and west facing on Kieselsandstein. Unlike his Erste Lage (which we can easily see in the distance), which feels like a silent place of worship, this vineyard is regal, basking in the sunlight, thrilling you with its gregariousness.

The old vines aren't topped; Jochen wraps the highest shoots around the top wire, encouraging the vine to focus its efforts elsewhere while avoiding potentially damaging cuts. Cover crops are left to grow wild between the rows, providing shelter for beneficial insects, preventing evaporation, and encouraging the vines to root deeper. When an old vine dies, Jochen replaces it with his own selection massale. He chooses vines that yield tiny berries and loose clusters for propagation, but you can see massive genetic diversity from plant to plant – not only in the fruit but in the leaves. This is built-in complexity with the convenient side-effect of biodiversity. Instead of harsh chemical sprays, he's relied on teas made from chamomile, horsetail, nettle, and willow to improve his vines' microbiome and improve their natural resilience to fungal and bacterial blight.

Jochen's approach to appropriate picking time is primarily based on his father's philosophy which goes something like this: Vines produce grapes to reproduce; they make sweet ripe fruits to attract birds who will eat the grapes, deposit the seeds elsewhere, and perpetuate the species. Grape seeds turn from green to brown when they are viable, meaning the vine itself decides when the grapes are truly ripe. By popping open the grapes and examining the seeds, Jochen can gauge when the time is right.

He'll nearly always do a pre-selection for his best wines, picking 50-75% of the fruit early, leaving only the most beautiful grape clusters on the vine to ripen even further. The vine can then put all its efforts into this reduced crop, making for ultra-concentrated flavours. It is risky, but the quality is undeniable. Jochen does all he can to wait for the rising moon phase, believing it guarantees greater power in the grapes. I was fortunate enough to taste from two barrels of Pulvermacher harvested over a month apart; the early picked rendition was linear and taut, while the later picked version was opulent and dense. Once blended, the wine will be as fresh as it is structured.

Below the Grosses Gewachs, we tasted through a dozen clones of Riesling planted side by side. Each had a unique flavour profile and a distinct ratio of acid to sweetness. Jochen hopes these vines will adapt to their environment, providing more diverse material for his selection massale. Due to Vitis Vinifera's propensity for epigenetic changes over a single lifetime, this methodology is anything but farfetched.

Nearly adjacent, on an equivalently treacherous slope, you'll find Jochen's elderly Trollinger vines facing due south. The large clusters of fat juicy berries yield one of my favourite wines, but locally this delicate grape is a joke. Never destined for glory, let alone export, it typically yields lightly coloured jug wine. Thanks to lower yields, expert farming, and concentration by saignée, this wine is as fresh as it is complex and satiating.

Two serendipitous occurrences resulted in one of Jochen's most personal projects. Firstly, he attended a lecture by Dr. Christine Krämer on ancient grape varieties indigenous to Wurttemberg. He was so curious that he began asking around and slowly acquired over two dozen nearly forgotten cultivars. He's argued that if they've survived the drastic climate shifts over the last several hundred years, perhaps they'll be resilient enough to survive the current climate crisis. The varieties include  Adelfränkisch, Roter Urban, Fütterer, Kleinweiß, Räuschling, Heunisch, Honigler, Ahorntrauben, Neuburger, Gelben Orleans, Frühroten Veltliner, and Affenthaler.

Secondly, he noticed an abandoned and overgrown parcel in Pulvermacher, just beneath Yburg's seven-hundred-year-old ruins. He planted this steeply terraced vineyard as a field blend of these varieties, interspersed with almond, quince, and peach trees. Wild herbs grow between the sporadic rows, and birds nest in his birdhouses. This oasis, perched above the town, is a true monument to biodiversity.

Jochen also has vineyards in Schnait, the town in the adjacent valley. We harvested Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier for Sekt. These were their first grapes of the year, a full two weeks after the harvest had finished for the Brand Brothers in the Pfalz, which perfectly illustrates the cooler climate, impact of elevation, and Jochen's strong bias for ripe flavours. We harvested under the threat of rain, but periodic sunshine warmed our small team, mostly retirees from the village who volunteered in exchange for a nice lunch, socializing, and a little wine. Jochen's team set up a picnic table at the top of the vineyard, where we ate Schwäbische Maultaschen (a regional stuffed dumpling) and Kartoffelsalat (the Swabian rendition of potato salad). Riesling from this town also goes into his entry-level blend, adding another layer of complexity and freshness.

The final vineyard we visited, Silbersrain, was just south of Stetten. We had to drive through the forest to get to this isolated plot. The west-facing slope is surrounded on three sides by trees, perfectly mirroring his Junges Schwaben vineyard, just out of view across the valley. The young vines, planted to selection massale, are rooted in Stubensandstein.

After leaving the local co-op in 1997, Jochen quickly began experimenting with wild fermentation. He liked the results, and four years later, his entire production was spontaneously fermented. Understanding that the yeast that performed fermentation live in the vineyard, it only seemed logical to stop killing them with synthetic fungicides. By 2012, the winery received Demeter Biodynamic certification.

His winery is right off the main street, marked by an antique Unimog whose bed is consistently filled with pressed grape skins for his compost pile. His garage functions as a pressing station, which operates nearly all day and night during harvest. A hose leads from the pan to the subterranean cellar, allowing gravity to move the fresh juice or wine without excessive pumping. Grapes themselves are moved downstairs by a horrifyingly archaic elevator. The vaguely steam-punk contraption would give anyone claustrophobic nightmares as it clanks and rattles its way awkwardly down a dozen meters, seldom stopping at the right time.

Much of the fruit is stored in a cold room, crushed or whole berries depending on the cuvée. This pre-fermentation maceration helps Jochen get the most out of his fruit without extracting excessive phenolic compounds. Even after spending weeks on skins, his Rieslings look pale and clear.

Jochen has devised an ingenious system to prevent acetobacter or other spoilage organisms from infecting any of the wines. A canister of CO2 is connected to small blue tubes that run all over the winery into every vat. He jerry-rigged some sort of contraption that periodically releases the ideal amount of gas (there are magnets involved; I don't pretend to understand). It blankets the must or wine, preventing bacterial and fungal growth while also preventing oxidation. I was lucky enough to climb the ludicrously tall ladder to set up the tubes for harvest time – I'm not usually scared of heights, but that was even a little much for me, proving once again I'll do anything for wine.

Jochen is cheerful and lighthearted. He's almost always smiling, eyes twinkling and mischievous. He moves incredibly quickly for someone who destroyed their knees in a skiing accident. I suppose anyone determined enough to become a European BMX champion can withstand a few bumps and bruises.

To inspire his team, he challenged everyone to a barrel-lifting contest. He says he's been able to lift one over his head every year since his first vintage, a feat he handily proved to a laughing crowd. Somehow, after some practice, I managed to do it myself, barely avoiding a concussion or slipped disc. 

Underneath that playful exterior, the gears are turning. Although he's less flagrantly experimental than in his younger years (there may have been an esoteric vintage or two), he's constantly scheming ways to improve. He scrutinizes his beliefs, fine-tuning every part of the process without becoming too rigid. He's precise in the cellar – everything is spotless, and systems are checked and rechecked. To keep a clear head, he doesn't drink from the first day of harvest until the last day of harvest. When sleep is limited, and emotions are high, sobriety isn't a bad idea.

When things went sideways, the tank's leg broke, spilling perfect clusters of Pinot Noir into the elevator; he didn't point fingers. He quickly reassured his team, came up with solutions and trusted they'd learn from their mistake. He recounted a similar mishap in his first vintage resulting in perfectly botrytized Riesling raining down all over the crush pad. Legend has it that after salvaging what he could from his hands and knees, the wine ended up being one of his best. Needless to say, he never repeated the incident and knew better than to make anyone feel any worse than they already did.

Timo, Roman, and his son Adrian all have their roles to play. Timo coordinated much of the picking while I was there, ensuring bins were in place, and volunteers knew how and what to pick. His smile is infectious and was always a source of positivity for the team. He somehow finds time to be a firefighter in his off time. Roman, their winemaking intern, is as bright as he is hard-working. He's a true problem solver whose absolute dedication to the craft and attention to detail is inspiring. Adrian is primarily involved in sales and representing the winery, but during harvest, he's fully engaged in the process, driving the forklift and getting his hands dirty late into the evening. I adore his passion for wine culture and eagerness to share his region with the world.

Marion, Jochen's wife, was the master of the kitchen, introducing me to all the local cuisine I could ask for, including Schwäbische Linsen mit Spätzle, a dish I'll undoubtedly be whipping out for cold winter days. Even Jochen's mother, well into her eighties, refused to be idle. She used the vines to steady herself, picking grapes as quickly as any of us, gingerly working her way down the treacherously steep slope.

I also got to know the small team of Romanians that not only help Jochen during harvest but during the growing season as well. They always showed up with a fantastic attitude, and despite the language barrier, we managed to bond, especially over dual-coloured chimera grapes. I'll always be jealous of that 80s purple tracksuit.