Georg Breuer - Berg Schlossberg 2017

The Rheingau is even more neglected in this blog than the Nahe region. It’s fitting that I’ve wanted to open this bottle from the Rheingau for a long time, as we continue with aged Riesling. Or at least semi-aged Riesling. The comment for my last article that “aged” means something completely different will come up here as well. And that’s okay, because technically that’s certainly true. But I’ll fight on my hill and maintain that eight-year-old white wine comes into the glass much less frequently for many wine drinkers than one might assume in the bubble we’re in. And also that many similarly priced Grosses Gewächs switch to the downward slope after a shorter time. This bottle could perhaps be left lying for another 20 years. Maybe even longer. Although honestly, I wouldn’t trust the piece of tree bark that I fished out of the bottle neck to last 20 years. The wine, however, I would, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I hope for those who still have the wine in their cellar that appearances are deceiving when it comes to the cork and that it holds up. From Georg Breuer winery, we had the Berg Rottland from 2018 in our glass a few years ago. But if we’re honest, even though the Nonnenberg is occasionally elevated as the secret star, the division at Breuer is quite clear: There’s the Berg Schlossberg and then there’s everything else. And the Berg Schlossberg is and was one of those wines that, if you drink Riesling, you’ve somehow picked up on as legendary. The secondary market prices were already easily in the three-digit range when I was able to get this bottle at the list price of just under 60 euros, and now the winery prices have caught up. This has two effects for me. First, I’m a bit afraid to pull the cork from the bottle, because if it’s ruined, it’s ruined, and there’s no second bottle and there won’t be one. Second, due to the increased winery prices, the same will happen to current vintages. So it will be a one-time experience again, as so often, and indeed that has its own charm.

The Rüdesheimer Berg Schlossberg is located west of Rüdesheim, just before the Rhine makes a bend, directly on the river with a view to the south. From here, the vines can look across at vineyards in the Nahe region and vineyards in the Rheinhessen region. You can’t get more of a wine tri-border area than this, and to add to the picturesque excess, the ruins of Ehrenfels Castle stand in the vineyard. The vines grow here on quartzite and slate, which together with the river and the steep slope shape the microclimate. The wine is aged in old and large wooden barrels.

As already mentioned, the cork was, let’s call it difficult. But it held up. And the first smell makes you grin with relief. At the beginning, there’s a lot of peach and then herbs, stone, and this subtle kind of creaminess that nudges you and says, hey, by the way, I’ve been in the bottle for a while. And then the Riesling leaves your lips so salty that you can’t be sure if you’re standing by the sea. For me, this remains one of the craziest taste impressions that fermented grape juice can develop and one that captivates me every time. The wine is fresh, crisp with lively acidity that doesn’t seem intrusive, and far back on the tongue it disappears with a minimal bitter note. Quite different from the last two bottles in this series. Both of them lacked the saltiness, and the Schlossberg somehow seems more austere, more unapproachable, more compact, but at the same time with at least as much length. As if the wine takes place in less space but uses this space much more intensively. The feeling of being able to chew on the wine certainly contributes to this. It’s an impressively good Riesling that at least makes you understand why it has the status it has.

More air brings more fruit into the wine. There’s now mango and apricot that seem ripe, not in the sense of age in the wine, but in the sense of having hung on the tree for a long time. Even with more air, the wine doesn’t taste a bit older, but significantly changed. The extreme saltiness becomes less, the fruit balances it out more, and at the expense of the extreme tension, it gains something like comfort. Whether that’s better or worse, I don’t even want to consider.

And this development continues overnight. It becomes even creamier, softer, somewhat less austere, and far back on the tongue you think you can detect the maturity in the form of a corner of butter caramel. It is, I’m honest, not the development I would have expected. That such an extremely stony, salty wine becomes something like a comfort Riesling, I wouldn’t have thought it possible. The sea air never completely disappears, but fruit, stone, salt, and herbs have managed to create a perfect balance. Every sip impresses.

I have no idea how typical or atypical this is for a Breuer Schlossberg. And let’s not kid ourselves, I will almost certainly never find out. This, much more than what I usually write about, is a snapshot, a record of a bottle that won’t come again. This is, even more than usual, primarily for myself. Because what I know now is that eight years, despite crumbly tree bark, were just the nursery for this wine. I know (again) how magnificent Riesling can be and unfortunately I also know that hype is sometimes at least a little justified. And I also know again that I’m not sad about the one bottle that I so often only have. That I’m at peace with it being empty now. And that is perhaps the most important insight today.

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