Oskar Maurer and Serbia’s natural wine revolution

From being criticised for his unconventional wines to finding them in the cellars of top Michelin-starred restaurants, Oskar Maurer is a reference for natural wine production in Serbia. We spoke to him about his winemaking philosophy and much more

Oskar Maurer is the maverick of Serbian winemaking. Annually he releases over twenty labels onto the market, each with their own unique and arguably unrepeatable characteristics. Many other experimentations will never see the light of day, save for those fortunate to be his guinea pigs.

He has become one of Serbia’s leading proponents of natural wine; a movement that prizes minimal intervention throughout the entire process, from agricultural practices to winemaking in the cellar. It remains a divisive approach. Proponents argue that it is the purest expression of the lie of the land; wine that hasn’t been forced to adhere to a predefined goal but instead is carefully nurtured to reveal the distinct characteristics of each plot and vintage. The absence or limited use of sulfites also means fewer headaches.

Raphaël Dayan, owner of Organski Podrum in Belgrade, insists that natural wine has been around for thousands of years, with the oldest evidence of its cultivation found in Georgia, Iran, Egypt. Indeed, all wines were natural until industrialization in the Twentieth Century. As knowledge expanded, so greater control was exerted over the process. In doing so, the excitement and unpredictability of nature was lost. Wine became an industry.

There is, however, no real legal definition of natural wine. Artistic labels or eco-conscious language doesn’t necessarily mean natural wine practices have been adhered to. One needs to ask questions about the producer. For Raphaël, that is part of wine culture; slowing down, learning about the land and winemakers, and tasting the results.

Raphael suggests thinking conscientiously about wine as you might for organic food. ‘From a health perspective, there’s a lot to be said for natural wine - the lack of additives or preservatives, products that are well-farmed,’ he says, ‘but the wines also taste better, smell better and are more expressive and alive.’

There are, however, more cynical voices. Issues with fermentation can lead to undrinkable or at least inconsistent wines. One bottle can be fabulous, the other a stinker, even within the same vintage.

The wine world itself wasn’t always ready to embrace natural wine. ‘Sommeliers told me that the wine had a problem’, Oskar recalling his early experiences in the late-nineties. ‘I started too early’, he grins, ‘no-one wanted to buy it’. Distributors had no interest in stocking his unfiltered wines. Casual and stocky, Oskar belies his years; maybe to the virtues of spending so many hours in the vineyard.

As his confidence waned, so he added limited amounts of sulfites and filtered his wines to make them more acceptable. It was, as he describes it, a ‘small compromise’. A 2012 collaboration with Isabelle Legeron - a Master of Wine, who supported him in the winery – reinforced his commitment to producing wines without sulfites (or at least with only very minimal levels). Without this vote of confidence, Oskar’s natural wine principles would have been further confronted by the realities of an unwelcoming market.

Ever more experts are today dedicated to natural wine. ‘We are no longer in the darkness, in the bad group category’, says a vindicated Oskar. Distributors as distant as San Diego are striving to tell his story.

It is a take partially grounded in the rediscovery of native grapes, the loss of which Oskar rues. Kadarka, Grašac, Tamjanija, Bakator, Furmint, and Sremska Zelenika are but some of the grapes spearheading Oskar’s voyage. Yet his journey is more nuanced. This is not about native versus international sorts, the latter in which he also excels, but a question about where these indigenous varieties were originally found.

Oskar’s Kadarka 1880 derives from some of the oldest Kadarka vineyards, but it is a heritage lost. The Kadarka of the past was, for Oskar, touched by ‘Pannonia, the Balkans – even some of the roots are coming from Turkey’. This was the original, the definitive, Kadarka; one that very few winemakers grow today.

For Oskar, the region boasts potential about which it is unaware. ‘Fruška Gora was one of the best wine regions in the world in the Sixteenth Century’, he begins, ‘it was drunk by kings and aristocrats’. ‘It’s never too late to rebuild this story’, he contends, ‘to plant local grapes every year – but it takes time’.

Another indigenous variety that excels in Oskar’s hands is Grašac (or Graševina in Croatia), which he insists ‘was born in Serbia’. It is often known as ‘Welschriesling’ or ‘Italian Riesling’ to placate the Viennese marketplace where it was historically sold; a market place that basically determined the fortunes of wines from the Balkans.

Fodor 2019 has been ranked by Decanter magazine as one of the best examples of Grašac. Proximity to a nearby lake means the grapes are often affected by Botrytis Cinerea or ‘Noble Rot’, a fungus that attacks the grape skins, speeding up the evaporation of water, leaving a concentration of sugars. It is aged in large barrels exceeding 1,000 litres.

Oskar is also committed to delving into the past for inspiration. His Sott 2022, a sweet wine which contains twenty-two different herbs, is inspired by centuries old recipes. It simultaneously offers immunity and hedonism through wine.

‘The terroir gives character to the wine’, Oskar insists, downplaying with considerable modesty the role of the winemaker. A feeling for nature is key to nurturing this terroir. ‘You must follow the rhythm of nature – go in a dance with nature’, Oskar contends, ‘but you are not the director – you don’t get to decide what is local’.

His vineyards look and feel different. Plants and grass are left to grow. Nut trees have been planted near the vines; ‘there is a symbiosis’, Oskar insists. He mentions biodynamic philosophies and Buddhism but is beholden to neither. Instead he exhorts the need for freedom for the vines - ‘to understand their voice and let them break freely’.

Oskar shakes off the stuffy, predictable confines of wine descriptors. Speaking about his Fodor 2022 Grašac, Oskar describes some rudimentary herbs and spices, and then ‘from the barrel you mostly feel marijuana’. The assembled disciples look nervously at one another.

His names and labels are suitably eccentric. A prickly cactus illuminates his Pét-nat, whilst a pussy’s reflection in the waters is that of a lion. A funky chicken, replete with earring and shades, adorns a bottle of Merlot. ‘Crazy Lud’, 'Babba', 'Karom', and 'Rebel'; names not typically associated with wine. Yet Michelin starred restaurants are queuing up to stock Oskar’s creations.

Despite an almost dizzying array of labels, many with only limited production, Oskar recounts in encyclopedic details the specific vinification each underwent; the days of maceration, the spontaneity of the fermentation, and the size of the barrels in which they were stored. All this in his third language, English.

Nor is Oskar alone. Serbia boasts several natural winemakers producing captivating expressions of local grape varities, including Aleksandar Todorović, Ernő Szagmeister, and Estelle and Cyrille Bongiraud are the founders of Francuska Vinarija. It is a movement that is earning recognition beyond Serbia’s borders.

Natural wine is more than just a method. It entails a philosophy dedicated to exploring and restoring a forgotten past, delving into the history books to determine what was and is genuinely local, whilst ensuring vineyards that are heterogenous and harmonious. Whatever your views on natural wine, Oskar’s story, although not easily replicable, is an inspiration for those dedicated to exploring wines that truly express their context.