Written by: Krešimir Kožić, Vinski klub
If you take wine even a little seriously, you have hardly avoided the term “natural wines.” But the question is — do we actually know what we are talking about, or are we merely repeating a trend?
The first problem begins with the name itself. “Natural wine” sounds like something that simply happens on its own in the barrel, without a human hand. That, of course, is complete nonsense. Wine is a product of civilisation, the result of knowledge, experience and decisions — in other words, of everything that is the opposite of mere “naturalness.” To take it to the extreme, the only truly natural wine would be one made without a winemaker. Such a wine, fortunately or unfortunately, does not exist.
And a definition? There isn’t one either. Nowhere in the world does a clear, official body of legislation on natural wines exist. So we lump everything into the same basket — from superb skin-macerated whites to cloudy, oxidised and often faulty products lacking basic oenological discipline. Orange wines, unfiltered wines, wines with no added SO2, biodynamics, spontaneous fermentation — everything fits under the same “natural” label. It is roughly like putting fine gastronomy and an undercooked dish under the same heading.
And the taste? Here things get even more interesting. Natural wines can be brilliant — clean, complex, deep. But they can equally recall a sour craft beer, kombucha, or something you would sooner expect in a laboratory than in a wine glass. Aromas of yeast, fermentation, yoghurt, teas, and even oxidation or “fatigue” often dominate. The fruit is frequently pushed into the background.
Advocates will call it authenticity; sceptics will call it a fault.
As a rule, natural wines have higher acidity and somewhat lower alcohol, which gives them stability but not necessarily drinkability. One of the most persistent misconceptions is that such wines are healthier. They are not. Alcohol is alcohol, regardless of the ideological framing. If someone claims to have drunk a few bottles of natural wine and woken up fresh as a daisy, they are either not telling the whole truth or they are a rare medical phenomenon.
The absence of sulphur (SO2) is often cited as an argument. But the truth is simple — wine without SO2 does not exist. It is a natural by-product of fermentation. Everything else is marketing or a misunderstanding of the process.
So should you drink natural wines? Absolutely — but with caution and without illusions.
In my experience, roughly 75% of everything called natural wine today simply fails to meet basic quality criteria. In the remaining 25% hide some genuinely exciting, authentic and great wines. The problem is that you often have to wade through a great deal of mediocrity and flaws to reach them.
An even greater problem arises when the wine stops being the subject and ideology takes its place. The moment the choice of wine becomes a political or worldview declaration, we have lost the point. Wine is not an identity manifesto; wine is pleasure.
Recently a respected domestic “natural” winemaker told me that he drinks natural wines exclusively. Exclusively. My response? His loss. Consciously renouncing an enormous part of the wine world is hard to call open-mindedness.
Drinking wine is not an endurance test. If someone describes a wine to you with the words “it’s difficult, sour, volatile, but with some effort you can drink it,” ask yourself a simple question: why would I do that?
And let us be clear — natural wine can be fantastic. When it succeeds, it is one of the most exciting wine categories today. These are wines with authorship, attitude and character. But not all of them are like that, far from it.
That is why the advice is not “trust the label,” but taste, compare and think.
Instead of labels, I will single out a few winemakers who, in my judgement, do serious work in this idiom:
- Alonso & Pedrajo
- Frank Cornelissen
- Edi Keber
- Marcel Deiss
- Clau de Nell
The conclusion? Enter the world of natural wines with your eyes open — perhaps you will find something fascinating, and perhaps together we will ask ourselves whether the emperor is, after all, a little naked?
