Riesling is fast disappearing from the Cape’s vineyards. Tim James looks for signs of a possible international riesling renaissance – could it save us from the shameful situation where we no longer grow this finest of all white varieties?

Yet the majority of chardonnay- and sauvignon-drinkers remain unconvinced, whatever the literary stylistics which riesling’s propagandists deploy. Mattinson continued his paean by gloomily remarking that riesling ‘is to wine what Levi’s 501s are to the clothes industry – good when new, sometimes better when old, and ... now in the midst of a sales slump that doesn’t make much sense’.

It is a slump that bewilders enthusiasts. For riesling can meet any reasonable demand placed on it except (and this may be significant) finding much use for the flavours of oak. It can make some of the world’s finest dry wines and some of the most sumptuous sweet ones, and every shade in between. It can make straightforward but characterful everyday wines as well as magnificent treasures with a life-span to put cabernet to shame. Riesling’s chief glory, perhaps, is that through all these permutations it retains its varietal distinction, while also being the most transparent of grapes in allowing its vineyard origins to show through.

There are signs that, internationally, riesling might be experiencing the early stages of a much-heralded renaissance, even if it is far from claiming the eminence of ‘Hock’ and ‘Moselle’ a century and more back, when well-matured German wines jostled Bordeaux for prestige and price at wine auctions. Admirers of the best Cape examples should hope that a move back to fashionability happens fast, and happens locally too, for riesling here is a highly endangered species. In 1994 it occupied a fairly respectable one percent of the national vineyard; the subsequent decline has been at the rate of one tenth of a percentage point annually, to 417 hectares in 2001. If this rate of enthusiastic uprooting continues, there will very soon be none at all grown here. The 1998 edition of Platter listed 45 varietal rieslings, the current edition only 19, with sémillon doing far better, and even the modish upstart viognier catching up fast.

Why this widespread consumer disdain? The complex answer would certainly involve invoking the winelaws of Germany – homeland of riesling and its greatness – which favoured big business rather than quality, and in various ways allowed the grape’s and the country’s image to be contaminated by the insipidly sweet character of lesser varieties made in industrial fashion. Add a labelling system which was not easy for a new generation of wine-drinkers to understand, particularly if they were not up to ponderous nomenclature in gothic script. In South Africa the authorities seem as devoted to supporting mediocrity as their German counterparts: hence the continuing situation where an obscure variety called cruchen blanc is allowed to flatter itself as Cape riesling; the real thing, its reputation contaminated by this officially sanctioned confusion, must be called Weisser or Rhine riesling.

It must not be forgotten, of course, that at the highest end riesling does, in fact, still command enormous praise and concomitant prices from its small but passionate band of admirers – though the highest rewards go particularly to Germany’s great dessert wines, itself hardly the most applauded style on wine’s fashion catwalk.

An important element of riesling’s unfashionability, connected with dominant post-war practice in Germany and exported to other producing countries, is, in fact, its association with sweetish, or at least off-dry, wines. Despite the bit of residual sugar increasingly to be found in mass-appeal New World chardonnays, sweetness is officially much frowned upon by chic drinkers of white wine. It is difficult to think that they can have ever allowed themselves to respond from the heart and the tastebuds to the thrilling balance of sweetness and acidity in a light aromatic riesling!

A change in fortunes?

A move to dryness is behind the tentative recovery perhaps beginning in riesling’s international fortunes. For a few decades now Germany itself – particularly the warmer regions which allow grapes to reach greater levels of ripeness – has been switching to drier styles for its better table wines. While early examples of wines without a balancing sweetness tended to produce acidic monsters that only the Germans learned to love, winemaking skills now ensure that dry rieslings conform to international expectations (though the Hugh Johnsons of the world retain their love for the off-dry versions).

The great irony of the current problematic international situation of riesling (and the connected one of German wine generally), is that the most likely saviour comes from a quarter which has been largely destructive of the claims of classic styles and classic wine regions: Australia. There is a great deal of the grape in Australia, though its image was muddied there too, by the indiscriminate application of the name to just about any lacklustre white wine. Decline in vineyard area has set in. But a number of producers have in the last decade or so put a good deal of effort into their rieslings – and into marketing it, with great effect. Given Australia’s image as a producer of eminently drinkable wines of quality, this can only do the rieslings of Europe (and, dare we hope, South Africa) some good. Will the revival dawn?

If it does, it is not only Germany and Australia that have fine riesling to offer. Alsace is the only French region permitted to market riesling – a restriction that has also no doubt played its part in rendering the grape unfashionable in a world dominated by French varieties. Some of the Alsatian rieslings are excellent, and the general standard is high. The majority of them tend to dryness – although the lack of certainty about what one is getting in terms of sugar is not helpful to consumers.

The best rieslings of Austria – mostly from the small Wachau region, but also from the adjacent Kamtal and Kremstal – are certainly among the world’s finest dry versions. They are in some ways a cross of the dominant Australian style (dry, from fully-ripened grapes, powerful with at least fairly high alcohols) with the complexity and more delicately structured balance of the German model of dry wines, found at their best in the Rheingau and Franken regions. Few of these great Austrian wines (which are already expensive – around £20 at least on the British market for the top ones) have alcohol levels below 14%, yet manage to avoid clumsiness. The Austrians tend to drink them shamefully young, but, like all good rieslings, they will improve for many years in the bottle and last for even longer.

Ageing of riesling is a significant aspect when it comes to comparing New and Old World examples. While Australian and South African rieslings will age much better than other varieties from those countries, they develop the characteristic terpene, petrolly nose (loved by some and abominated by others) much more quickly – and usually more coarsely – than their European, cooler-climate counterparts. While Australia has proved that relatively warmer areas can produce good riesling (necessarily of a different style from that of marginal climates like the Mosel’s), riesling will never be a hot-country wine – I am not convinced by Robertson riesling, for example; to me it tends to the hard and coarse, and is not a wine that can age gracefully.

Wanted: commitment

Perhaps what we need in the Cape is a real advocate-champion of riesling or, even better, a group of them, like the winemakers who achieved such great things in Australia’s Clare and Eden Valleys. Constantia, already producing good rieslings at Klein Constantia, Buitenverwacht-ing and Groot Constantia, or Elgin, led by Paul Cluver Estate, would be the most suitable site for our own renaissance. Stellenbosch too has some fine offerings, notably Thelema’s.

One does not sense, however, great commitment to the possibilities of this great grape. Even at Klein Constantia, for example, they have uprooted some of their riesling vines, and one gets the impression that the remainder are living on borrowed time – because the wines, although they do well enough and are represented on numerous fine restaurant lists, take a few years to sell out a vintage (and are thus closer to ideal drinking when sold, which is a strange idea to today’s marketers!), and do not make as much money as chardonnay and sauvignon blanc. As this is the one local white wine I make a point of buying a case of each year, for Klein Constantia riesling to disappear with the rest of the Cape’s rieslings would be for me a sad as well as a shameful matter.

The saving of riesling in the Cape is not, though, merely a sentimental matter. If you’re not already a convert, do yourself a favour. Next time you want a wine to complement a spicy Thai dish (or smoked salmon for that matter), try a just-off-dry riesling, with a crisp acidity. Or anytime, if you feel ready for an aperitif, or something with food, with a touch more class than sauvignon blanc and a little more character than most local chardonnays (or, less judgementally, anytime you simply think it might be nice to have a change), lay hands on a bottle of good local riesling and open it, along with your mind.... Doing your bit to save the last scraps of riesling vineyard in the Cape should prove to be a great pleasure.