We gathered every Australian example of textural riesling – that is, rieslings whose acidity has been balanced by a quantity of residual sugar, but that are not sweet enough to constitute dessert wines – we could find and set our expert panel the task of finding the wines that compelled the most. All wines were tasted blind, and each panellist named their top six wines. Below are the wines that made the panellists’ top-six selections from the tasting.
Our panel: Linda Stanzel, assistant winemaker and viticulturist, Kerri Greens; Andrew Miller, owner and winemaker, Artis; Hannah Maltby, winemaker, Mac Forbes Wines; Jim Mullany, wine retailer, Atlas Vinifera; Hayley Williamson, owner and wine buyer, Nina’s Bar & Dining; Jarryd Menezes, sales representative, Alimentaria; Clarissa Lorenzato, sommelier and wine merchant, l’Enoteca at Mercato Centrale.
This wine appeared in the top six lists of Mullany, Maltby, Miller, Williamson, and Menezes. Mullany praised it as “a wonderful example of riesling’s aromatic potential, with an exuberant nose of honeysuckle, orange blossom, zesty lemon, melon and ginger. On the palate, the wine shows a mouth-filling textural richness. The flavours are reminiscent of a summer fruit salad – the perfect foil for the wine’s steely tension. Imagine honeyed apricots wrapped around an electric cable, which reverberates on the long finish.” Maltby called it “a rollercoaster! This riesling draws you in to the glass with aromas of nutty, toasted bush honey, jasmine and a little herbaceous edge, but then makes a rapid about-face with the palate more reminiscent of an old classic – the magnificent pine-lime splice. Great balance with luscious fruit and tactile chalky structure. It feels generous but finishes savoury with a surprising elegance. This little number is putting the ‘rizz’ back in riesling.” Miller noted that he “almost overlooked this wine at first as it was initially a bit closed. However, when I revisited it, it showed delicious aromas of bruised kaffir lime leaves alongside some toasty notes indicative of tertiary development. The palate has well integrated sweetness and zesty acidity, with good concentration and length.” For Williamson, this was “a classic, crowd-pleasing style – apples and pears on the nose, followed by a palate of sweet white peach, nectarine, and creamy lemon curd. A subtle umami chewiness adds depth to the palate, balancing the delicate notes of Thai basil and jasmine. This wine is accessible and easy to love – yet layered enough to engage a true riesling connoisseur.” Menezes described it as “a lovely expression of dry riesling. The nose is redolent of honeysuckle nectar, with hints of kerosene. Lemon and lime notes on the palate are softened by the presence of fleshy Nashi pear flavours. Incredible balance on display here, with stony minerality holding the white floral elements in check. Dry, yet generous and balanced.”
Maltby, Menezes, and Williamson all included this wine in their top six selections. “This is a riesling that just makes you smile as soon as your nose hits the glass,” Maltby observed. “It’s got that ‘cool rain on hot gravel’ aroma that is both deeply nostalgic and instantly refreshing. As it opens up, it shows lime zest and waxed citrus with a spray of orange blossom – this really unfurls in the glass. The delicate touch of sweetness on the front-palate is silky and elegant, with beady acidity, talc-y structure and a lick of stony minerality holding everything together in a tight frame. Super-classy!” Menezes noted, “It’s a shame that the market fears riesling with residual sugar. This is a great expression that shows exactly what we’re missing out on when we fetishise dryness. Candied lemon drops and honey on the nose, with lemon sherbet, gooseberries and pineapple following through on the palate. It’s sunshine in a glass – and, dare I say it, a great way to deal with a hangover.” Williamson found it “like a fresh apple pie cooling on a windowsill! These freshly baked aromas carry through to the palate with apple, honeysuckle, sugar biscuits and lemon curd on display, lifted with a lick of spice. A nice chewy texture here – a refreshing and easy-drinking wine, yet one with enough complexity to invite deeper contemplation.”
Selected by Mullany, Williamson, and Stanzel in their top six picks. Mullany described “a precise and confident nose reminiscent of blanc de blancs Champagne. Meyer lemon, mineral salts, apple and white peach notes jump out of the glass, along with a twist of lime. The energy continues as the wine hits the palate, with riesling’s characteristic mouthwatering acidity given a starring role. It’s tightly coiled, showing notes of just-ripe nectarine and lemon myrtle, as well as a stony quality that delivers an impressive mouthfeel. Drink a bottle of this in the summer sun – and tuck another one or more in the cellar, so you can watch this beauty unfurl over time.” For Williamson, it offered “aromas of lightly bruised Golden Delicious apple – in the most appealing way – with a touch of yoghurt-like tang. The palate bursts with electric yuzu citrus fruits, balanced by yellow nectarine and savoury honey tones, the whole underpinned by a chalky minerality. This is a food-friendly wine that begs to be paired with something fresh and spicy – think Thai som tum salad.” Stanzel remarked, “I love minerality in riesling – this variety often shows a sense of place when grown on more rocky soils, and this wine expresses that sense of place beautifully. Pretty spring blossom notes and lemon zest dominate the nose, and the palate is balanced between both fruit sweetness and acidity. The delicate texture leaves me wanting to drink more!”
Lorenzato and Mullany both featured this wine in their top six selections. “What immediately stands out is the colour – a warm, golden yellow that suggests maturity and depth,” Lorenzato observed. “The nose is almost Champagne-like, with aromas of bread crust, yeast, and freshly-turned earth layered over ripe yellow fruits. Hints of green olive, sultanas, apple crumble, and that classic riesling ‘petrol’ note weave everything together. On the palate, citrusy acidity brings freshness, while a touch of skin contact adds texture and light tannins for a subtle grip. It feels savoury and slightly oily, with the sweetness of sultanas peeking through. I’d pair this with my grandmother’s bread-and-sultana cake – the wine’s balance of salt and sugar would echo perfectly with that rustic, comforting dish.” Mullany called it “a stylistic outlier in the lineup, the wine has qualities reminiscent of fino Sherry and vin jaune from the Jura. Forget everything you know about riesling for a moment, and revel in its aromas of bruised green apple, salty brine, fresh hay and lightly toasted nuts. On the palate, it’s light on its feet, with filigreed acidity and silky fruit weight – the Granny Smith apple flavour perfectly balancing the more oxidative notes. This is the product of a deft hand in the winery, and also a welcome portrait of riesling from a different angle. Pair with Comte cheese!”
This wine made the top six lists of Menezes and Lorenzato. Menezes found “hints of white jasmine and pear skin on the nose. Just a whisper of residual sugar evident on the palate – think honeysuckle clinging to the glass, but balanced by a sleek, Granny Smith apple–like acidity. The structure is harmonious, with a finish of honeydew and wet stone minerality.” Lorenzato described it as “delicate and floral at first, with yellow blossoms drifting from the glass. Cassis, honey, lemon marmalade, and a hint of sugary candy add sweetness, while fresh herbs – think wild mint – bring lift. A faint whiff of sulphurous reduction lingers quietly in the background – a sign this wine has years ahead of it. On the palate it’s soft and lightly sweet, with bright freshness and a balanced level of alcohol. Persistent yet gentle, it feels both easy and elegant. I’d love this alongside pasta alla marinara bianca – no tomato, just sweet prawns, garlic, and a sprinkle of chilli (ideally the aromatic kick of Sichuan chilli).”
Stanzel and Maltby included this wine among their top six selections. “This wine jumps out of the glass, full of white flowers and freshly squeezed lemon on the nose,” Stanzel noted. “On the palate, it hit all aspects: a touch of sweetness up front, a beautiful acid line on the finish, along with extended length and a beautiful texture. Floral and zesty, it reminded me of lemon iced tea – yum!” Maltby found “a pretty little riesling with musk sticks and red apple peel on the nose. Great drive – nice and tight through the core, but with a generosity that builds and holds lovely presence on the palate. Zippy lemon sherbet and crushed herb notes dominate the palate, with a savoury hint of iodine on the finish. It’s super-clean and refreshing, with a gravelly, silty structure that would sit beautifully with a rich seafood bisque on a cold stormy night by the fire.”
Williamson and Lorenzato both selected this wine in their top six. Williamson described it as “brimming with pure, ripe riesling character – it instantly brought Germany to mind! The aromas are mineral and chalky, layered with crushed pineapple fruit and herbal notes of pineapple sage. On the palate, it’s crisp and crunchy like Granny Smith apple skin – showing floral honeysuckle, juicy lime, toasted almond, ginger, white pepper, and beeswax notes. A complex wine that has a nice phenolic grip.” For Lorenzato, it showed “bright yellow with golden glints – a vibrant colour that promises energy. The nose is layered with subtle sulphurous notes, dried summer grass, wet stone, and earthy moss. It smells almost like standing near a mountain stream in late summer. The palate surprises – instead of showing richness and roundness, it’s sharp and fresh, with lime-driven acidity that crunches and crackles. The rocky, stony notes expand across the mouth, leaving an earthy, savoury, salty aftertaste. Characterful and compelling, this is a riesling that feels made for seafood ramen – the nori seaweed echoing its briny, mineral edge.”
Williamson selected this wine in her top six, describing it as “a fascinating and textural wine with a savoury elegance – aromas of yellow peach skin, sourdough and milk biscuits (the ones you dip in tea) lead the way. The palate balances zippy acidity with a full body that shows notes of ripe yellow peach flesh – perhaps even preserved peaches – alongside apple skin, freshly-turned earth, and a gentle ginger spice. The finish is soft yet rich – this is a true ‘thinking wine’ that would reward slow enjoyment over an evening as it continues to evolve in the glass.”
Miller chose this wine for his top six selections, noting “a restrained nose initially, but it opens up shortly with aromas of lemon and blood oranges. A complex palate driven by quandong and ripe Meyer lemon fruits, with a slightly toasty hint of tertiary development and slate-y minerality. The residual sugar, zesty acidity and textural phenolics are all beautifully harmonised together – and the finish is long, inviting you to take another sip or three. Lovely wine.”
Menezes featured this in his top six selections, calling it “a wine of precision and power – bone-dry and immediately inviting. A fine dusting of white pepper rides a core of lemon pith, preserved Meyer lemon, and preserved kumquat, all laced with a faint chalky minerality. The palate is sharp, but with a long finish softened by the faintest hint of residual sugar – a masterclass in the way a touch of sugar can add texture without adding perceptual sweetness.”
Among the wines selected by both Maltby and Stanzel for their top six. Maltby found it “bright and vibrant on the nose – pink grapefruit and red apple skin, with a dusting of florals. The palate is incredibly textural, with great drive and effortless fruit purity – a wine that is so crunchy I can almost picture biting into a bunch of the grapes that made it. A little chalkiness and some spiced lime bring all of the elements into a beautiful balance – this would be a cracking riesling for Friday night Thai takeout.” Stanzel summed it up succinctly: “Powerful. Layered. Lengthy. Exotic. This wine has everything from blossom notes to fruit characters of peaches and lemon peel – there’s plenty to unravel here. It hits all the spots on the palate – front, middle and sides – with some sweetness up front, fruit weight in the middle, and a mineral acidity to finish. Wow.”
Mullany included this in his top six selections, observing that “this riesling turned up in the glass like a Rolls Royce at the Menzies Hotel. It’s more grown-up than many in the lineup, with a developing aromatic complexity – there’s preserved lemon, mango skin and crushed quartz, alongside a lovely butterscotch note. The palate has fine grip and an impressive depth of fruit – ripe lemon, yellow peach and honeydew intermingle with wild mint and Devon clotted cream, leading to a delicious and driven finish.”
Miller’s top six selection showcased “exotic aromas of jasmine and lime blossom prepare the palate for what’s to come. Intense notes of ginger, quince marmalade, and candied orange peel all contribute to a luscious, perfectly balanced palate – one that finishes both long and refreshing. This is a wine defined by its elegance and structure – one that just happens to be sweet, rather than a wine defined by its sweetness alone.”
Lorenzato chose this wine for her top six, describing it as “dark gold in the glass, vibrant and alive. The aromas glow with honey, caramel, dried apricot, and yellow sultanas, underscored by a mineral streak that suggests time in amphora or concrete. On the palate, zesty lemon acidity lifts the wine, balanced by firm tannins and refreshing texture. Herbal notes unfold slowly after each sip, making it long and persistent. There’s a beautiful balance here – salinity, freshness, alcohol, and tannins all pulling in the same direction. I can’t help but imagine it with a creamy vegetable curry: the wine’s sweetness softening the spice, while its structure slices cleanly through the sauce.”
Stanzel picked this wine for her top six, noting it was “aromatically youthful, this riesling was leaner in style with more mineral drive – super-bright, zippy and fresh. Dryer in style, this wine had a very moreish texture and fruit weight across the palate, along with a great long acid line. It ticked all the boxes of drinkability!”
Featured in Miller’s top six, he described “vibrant aromas of lemon and kumquats flow from the nose onto the palate. Wet pebble minerality and textural phenolics create shape and definition on the palate. The crisp and cleansing acidity on show contributes to the long and refreshing finish.”
This wine appeared on both Menezes and Miller’s top six lists. Menezes remarked, “This wine had me coming back to time and time again. Jasmine and lemon flower on the nose, with a palate dominated by beeswax, honeycomb and Key lime. There’s a faint perception of sweetness here, but the finish is very much dry.” Miller found “aromas of ripe pineapple and passionfruit that translate directly on the palate. Textural phenolics effortlessly marry the residual sugar on show with the wine’s crisp acidity, resulting in a very pleasant easy-drinking style.”
Stanzel selected this wine in her top six, observing that it “seems to be either showing some age, or has had some oxidative handling with some barrel work. Super-layered, with characters of quince and notes of honey on the finish. There is some residual sugar up front that coats the palate at first, and finishes with layers of complexity. A thinker, not a drinker – it would pair wonderfully with roasted pork and its crackling.”
Lorenzato and Menezes both included this wine in their top six selections. Lorenzato found it “aromatic and intriguing, with quince, ripe lemon, yellow flowers, and a faint whisper of petrol layered over rock, wet stone, and marine herbs. A salty sea breeze lingers in the background. Off-dry on the palate, it’s soft and rounded, with citrusy acidity sharpening the edges. The salinity cuts neatly through the sweetness, leaving the wine balanced and bright. I’d pair it with a lemon-and-ricotta crumble or soft cheeses – the wine’s sweet-salty interplay would sing with such a dish.” Menezes noted, “The residual sugar here is pronounced, but the wine’s fresh acidity tames its impact. Lemon cordial, nectarine and apple on the nose – hints of lemon balm give it a fresh accent. The interplay of searing acidity and gentle sweetness makes this wine dangerously drinkable – utterly smashable, in fact!”
Among Mullany’s top six selections, he featured “alluring aromas of ripe yellow apple, grapefruit, lime and honeycomb emerge from the glass, as well as subtle notes of toast and flint. The mouth-filling apple and citrus flavours are intense and provide structure to the wine – in turn elevated by the invigorating acidity. Notes of hay, chamomile and cultured butter provide intrigue on the lingering finish. An ideal match for poached salmon.”
Both Mullany and Lorenzato featured this wine in their top six. Mullany called it “a classically focused riesling, which plays its notes as if from a tightly wound violin. On the nose, there’s lemon sorbet, kaffir lime, river stones and orange blossom. On the palate, the wine pops with juicy acidity and a captivating saline character – opening with crystalline lemon, followed by white peach, musk sticks, and pine needle. The wine has a lovely level of flavour extract that builds texture, and adds a slate-y nuance that takes you to the steep slopes of the Mosel. Despite this Germanic callback it is, however, a proudly and resolutely Australian expression of riesling.” Lorenzato described it as “straw-yellow, with golden highlights – bright and attractive. The nose is classic riesling – petrol and kerosene notes mingling with salty sea spray, apple, lemon, and fresh herbs such as marjoram and saltbush. On the palate it’s dry and refreshing – the lemon tightening into lime, the acidity crisp and mouth-watering. Herbal notes carry through to the finish, long and persistent, giving the wine a savoury depth alongside its citrus drive. It feels like a true beach wine – perfect for oysters, scallops, or sashimi on a sunlit afternoon by the water.”
Miller included this wine in his top six, noting “restrained aromatics that open up to delicate lemon blossom with a hint of lime peel. These citrus flavours flow onto the palate, alongside a slight kumquat note. The residual sugar here is well integrated with the wine’s crisp acidity and textural phenolics. The breadth of texture makes it feel as though it’s possibly barrel-fermented. It ticks all the boxes for long ageing potential – even if it’s not quite at its destination yet.”
Maltby selected this wine in her top six, describing “exotic florals and snazzy finger lime with the tiniest hint of rosewater on the nose. Lovely balance and good drive – this is playful on the palate, with herbaceous citrus notes, mealy phenolic grip, and a cleansing finish. A delicious introduction for anyone looking to explore the world of textural riesling.”
Among Stanzel’s top six wines of the day, she found “a more delicate, drier style of riesling, with pretty fruit weight and classic Australian riesling characters of lemon and lime juice. The texture here comes from beautiful phenolics. Would I like another glass? Yes, please – with a side of fish crudo!”
Williamson chose this wine for her top six, calling it “one of the most intriguing wines of the line-up. It opens with aromas of pear drops, sugared mint lollies from the milk bar, and a fleeting pine forest note. The palate combines bright acidity with flavours of herbal lemon thyme, lemon flesh, pineapple, white nectarine, and a hint of ginger – the whole rounded out by a touch of freshly baked bread. A wine that’s distinctive and full of character – perhaps not for everyone, but endlessly compelling.”
Among Maltby’s top six selections, she found “oodles and oodles of florals! Plus a sexy little bit of preserved lime. The nose lures you in to thinking this will be an especially racy riesling, but there’s an incredibly pleasing touch of sweetness that brings just enough generosity to the palate to balance it. Makrut lime dominates the palate, with a saline edge – it’s tightly wound, with grippy phenolics that evolve nicely as the wine opens up in the glass.”
No grape variety is more closely associated with Germany than riesling. Historical evidence and DNA analyses point to Germany, specifically the Rheingau region, as its likely birthplace, and it has long been Germany’s most widely-planted variety. (Excluding, that is, a mercifully brief period in the late twentieth century when riesling was outpaced by one of its undistinguished descendants, müller-thurgau, which ripens more readily than its noble parent.) While its full genetic lineage has yet to be untangled – and possibly never will be, owing to its advanced age – DNA analyses have proven that it is either the parent or a child of gouais blanc, the so-called “Casanova of the grapes”, and is thus related to over eighty-one other grape varieties including chardonnay, gamay, and aligoté. As Germany has historically been an important centre for grapevine science, it is also the parent of a number of human-engineered ‘crosses’, including the aforementioned müller-thurgau, kerner, scheurebe and rieslaner.
Although it is definitely both flavoursome and aromatic, winemakers around the world adore riesling for its ability to clearly transmit a clear sense of the place where it has been grown, with many arguing that, in this regard it, beats the much-lauded chardonnay. As such, it’s hard to generalise about what riesling normally tastes like – depending on where and how it is grown, the finished wines can taste floral, fruity, spicy, or deeply mineral. Unless grown in very warm climates, though, it tends towards high and vibrant acidity – a fact that helps make riesling-based wines some of the longest-lived white wines in the world, with high-quality examples easily keeping pace with similarly-pitched bottles of red Bordeaux.
Despite its association with sugar, riesling is inherently no more sweet than any other grape variety. The berries of all grape varieties accumulate natural sugars as they ripen across the course of the year. These sugars are mostly glucose and fructose, in roughly equal quantities, as well as small amounts of other, more complex sugars such as arabinose, rhamnose and xylose. When wine grapes are crushed and yeast cells come into contact with the juice, those yeasts consume the sugars and excrete both ethanol (alcohol) and carbon dioxide – thus creating wine.
While nearly all of the sugar content in grapes is normally converted into alcohol – with the exception of the more complex sugars, which cannot be broken down by winemaking yeasts – a winemaker can choose to arrest the fermentation process, leaving some of the glucose and fructose in the wine unfermented. These natural grape sugars will then lend their sweetness to the finished wine. Wine professionals refer these sugars as ‘residual sugar’ or RS – so called because they come from the original grapes, rather than being a later additive. (Winemakers in certain parts of the world can in fact add cane or beet sugars to their wines for various technical reasons – but most notably sweet wines are created by stopping fermentation rather than by adding sugar from external sources.)
For this reason, any grape variety can be turned into a sweet wine, if the maker chooses to do so – and likewise all grape varieties can be made into dry wines. Despite this fact, wine drinkers around the globe continue to consider riesling somehow inherently sweet. Sommeliers and wine store clerks worldwide have learned to dread guests’ assumptions that riesling wines are necessarily sweet – just as they also gnash their teeth at the fact that wine drinkers who have been switched on to the delights of dry rieslings can equally be weirdly resistant to ever letting a perceptibly sweet example past their lips. While the Australian wine industry has had its own role to play in the association of riesling with sugar content for consumers in this country, the root cause of the issue can be sheeted home to riesling’s original stomping ground, Germany.
Traditionally, German rieslings were, by and large, fermented to dryness – with only a small number of some very sweet examples made from grapes affected by the ‘noble rot’ botrytis as the exceptions. While bitterly cold winter temperatures may have caused some ferments to pause temporarily – yeast cells go dormant if the temperature gets too cold – any wines that had been bottled from those paused ferments would have been at risk of exploding as temperatures warmed back up in spring. (As anyone who has made ginger beer at home will know, fermentation also creates carbon dioxide – which can generate explosive results if it takes place in normal glass bottles.) It was only at the start of the twentieth century that German winemakers gained access to technologies such as temperature-controlled fermentation vessels – which could put the brakes on a fermentation at any desired stage of sweetness – and sterile filtration, which could remove yeasts from the half-fermented wine before bottling, rendering it stable. Somewhat ironically, this technology arrived around the exact same time that Germany’s actions over the course of the two World Wars caused international demand for Germany’s rieslings to almost completely dry up.
While international consumers rather patriotically put down their glasses of Wehlener Sonnenuhr, German consumers picked up the baton of riesling drinking in the aftermath of World War II – and after the deprivations of the war, which included sugar rationing, they had something of a collective sweet tooth. This lead to the codification, in 1971, of Germany’s famously difficult-to-parse prädikat system, which categories wines by the quantity of sugar present in the grapes at the moment of harvest – not in the finished wine – along a scale that moves upwards from Kabinett through Spätlese to Auslese. Wines labelled with these terms can possess sugar levels that range anywhere from ‘quite dry’ to ‘just-short-of-dessert-wine sweet’. (Further up the scale from Auslese are the fearsomely sugary Beerenauslese, Trockenbeerenausele, and Eiswein, all invariably made into incredibly unctuous, nectar-like dessert wines.) To help consumers, producers might add supplementary labelling terms such as trocken (‘dry’), feinherb (literally ‘finely tart’, but perhaps better translated as ‘harmoniously dry’) or halbtrocken (literally ‘half-dry’) – while others use different, unofficial systems such as the colour of the cap on the wine or a pinpoint on a scale on the back label to convey its sweetness. Many others choose only to indicate the wine’s prädikat – and the only way to estimate how sweet any given bottle might taste is to calibrate the listed prädikat against the wine’s ABV and hope that you’ve crunched the numbers correctly.
Given the confusion generated by prädikat labelling – which can sometimes feel like an elaborate ruse designed to keep sommeliers in paid work – it’s perhaps not surprising that the wines that made sweeter examples of German riesling popular internationally did not use this system. These wines were instead labelled as Liebfraumilch – literally ‘our lady’s milk’, after the virgin Mary – and they had approachable, anglophone brand names such as Blue Nun or Black Tower that helped them garner acceptance in an world where many consumers still had living memories of World War II. They also weren’t exactly rieslings, either, often containing a good whack of müller-thurgau or other high-yielding riesling descendants. Nonetheless, the association between German riesling and sweetness stuck – even as German consumers themselves turned away from these wines in favour of bone-dry rieslings throughout the 1980s and ’90s.
Riesling was one of the earliest grape varieties planted in Australia, with the first verified cuttings landing in Australia in 1838 courtesy of German vinedresser Johann Stein, who had been brought to Australia by William Macarthur to supervise his vineyards. The variety was unsurprisingly embraced by South Australia’s German settlers, keen to preserve their traditions, who committed it to the ground in areas that are still regarded as prime territory for the variety – the Clare and Eden Valleys. Australia’s early rieslings would no doubt would have been rustic affairs, employing rudimentary winemaking facilities and practices, and like Germany’s earlier examples they would have been fermented through to dryness for the sake of stability. As with many of Australia’s pioneering wine efforts, most of those riesling plantings fell into neglect during the early part of the 20th century – when table wine as a whole was, well, mostly off the table. Australian consumers instead turned to fortified wines, and riesling had no starring role to play there.
The national taste for fortified wines inadvertently gave riesling’s standing in this country a boost during the resurgence of table wines in the 1950s. That resurgence walked in lockstep with a technological revolution in winemaking, which saw purity of fruit expression take the lead. Australian winemakers invested heavily in technology such as temperature-regulated fermenters and pressure tanks to preserve freshness and prevent oxidation – technology that enabled winemakers to produce reliably clean and fruity wines that helped popularise table wine as an everyday beverage. And many of those wines were semi-sweet sparkling wines made largely from riesling – fun, flippant beverages that could introduce the joys of table wines to palates conditioned to sweetness from years of drinking syrupy fortified wines. Those early mass-market sparklings were immense commercial successes in their day, with brands such as Orlando’s ‘Barossa Pearl’ and Leo Buring’s ‘Sparkling Reingolde’ (a fizzy version of a simple white he had been making since the 1930s) competing with the now-forgotten horrors that were Kaiser Stuhl’s ‘Cherri Pearl’ and ‘Pineapple Pearl’ – fruit-infused wines made by a young Wolf Blass, the “serve cold” advice on their labels appearing in hindsight as more of a stern warning than a serving recommendation.
It’s easy to look at these fruity, simple wines from our contemporary vantage point and snicker – but without ‘Barossa Pearl’, Orlando’s Colin Gramp may never have had the resources to plant the Steingarten Vineyard in the Eden Valley: a rocky, marginal site that is still seen as hallowed territory for the now-dominant bone-dry Australian style of riesling. Likewise, without ‘Sparkling Reingolde’, Leo Buring and his head winemaker John Vickery would not have been able to indulge the pursuit of dry riesling in the way that they did from 1955 onwards, bottling dry examples from sources in both the Clare and Barossa Valleys. (These sources included the famed Florita Vineyard, grafted over from fortified varieties to riesling by Vickery in 1962.) While it took a while for these dry rieslings from the Clare and Eden Valleys to find commercial success, they eventually became the standard within this country – taut and eye-wateringly dry expressions that can age for decade after decade, not dissimilar to Hunter Valley semillon. The making of this norm-setting style of riesling likewise followed a relatively strict ‘recipe’ to preserve purity – with the fruit picked relatively early to maintain acidity, then fermented at low temperatures in stainless steel, using inoculated yeasts, until bone dry. There were few deviations or experiments allowed – this was simply how riesling was made here. And few makers saw any need to change that as the category boomed throughout the 1970s and ’80s, until chardonnay came along and sent both demand and plantings into a sharp downward spiral – though one that was thankfully not terminal.
That bone-dry and high-acid character wasn’t the only thing Clare and Eden Valley rieslings shared with Hunter Valley semillon – many of those semillons were in fact labelled as ‘Hunter River Riesling’. Hunter winemakers were under no misunderstanding of the grape genetics at work here – instead, the word ‘riesling’ was used as a generic term to indicate wine style. (Similarly, there were wines labelled ‘Hunter River Chablis’, ‘Hunter River White Burgundy’, and ‘Hunter River Hock’, none of which would be permitted under current Australian wine labelling law.) Semi-sweet wines made from the variety crouchen – which had been confused with semillon since its arrival in Australia in the 1850s – were likewise labelled ‘Clare Valley Riesling’. In order to distinguish true riesling wines from these impostors, Australian winemakers took to labelling actual rieslings as ‘Rhine Riesling’ – a move that only added to the confusion. Thus while nearly every example of Australian riesling throughout the 1970s and ’80s was vinified dry, that erroneous association between riesling – especially cheaper examples of riesling – and sweetness has persisted. Indeed, for many Australian riesling drinkers, a preference for almost masochistic levels of dryness is seen as the epitome of sophistication – with the corollary that sweeter styles are seen as the province of rubes.
Yarra Valley producer Mac Forbes was one of the first modern Australian winemakers to embrace the idea of including varying degrees of residual sugar in his rieslings as an ongoing, quality-focused venture. “From a winemaking point of view, it’s changed so much,” he says. “I remember my first couple of rieslings in 2006, we had Clare producers coming through, and they were like, ‘That’s not how you make Riesling.’ It wasn’t like, ‘Why are you doing that?’ but more, ‘This is the recipe, and you’ve diverged’.”
Winemaker John Hughes grew up on a vineyard in the Clare Valley, but was equally inspired by the wines of Germany as he was by local tradition when he launched his Rieslingfreak label in 2009. While he makes a suite of dry wines, Hughes also pays homage to styles with residual sugar as a feature. “When I first made my ‘№ 8 Polish Hill River Riesling’, a Kabinett style, I was seen as going outside the square, and really pushing the boundaries for riesling,” says Hughes. “The 2019 ‘№ 8’ scored the Chairman’s Trophy at the Clare Wine Show. The trophy was great, but Nick Ryan’s speech was even better. He was giving the Clare Winemakers a subtle hint to further explore the grape of their region, and to go outside the boundaries.”
“We had Clare producers coming through, and they were like, ‘That’s not how you make Riesling.’ It wasn’t like, ‘Why are you doing that?’ but more, ‘This is the recipe, and you’ve diverged’.”
Residual sugar levels aren’t the only means by which Australian makers are breaking free from the orthodoxy of the bone-dry Clare and Eden Valley norm. Makers are starting to play with short periods of skin contact – not enough to push the wines into orange/amber territory, but soaking skins for a few hours or overnight to imbue the fermenting juice with more complex aromatics (there are more of those in the flesh closer to the skins) as well as some phenolics that can enhance the finished wines’ structure. It’s a move that’s not uncommon in Germany and Austria, but one that requires viticultural finesse in the sunnier climes of the Clare and Eden Valleys. “Riesling does have a history of sunburnt fruit carrying through to the wine,” says Forbes, “which is potentially why there was an aversion to any phenolics in riesling for so long.” When the sun beats down on riesling grapes, and when water is hard to come by, those grape skins can become thick and tough. Happily, says Forbes, “I think it’s now all being managed a lot better in the vineyard.”
“When I first made my ‘№ 8 Polish Hill River Riesling’, a Kabinett style, I was seen as going outside the square, and really pushing the boundaries for riesling.”
Not only are viticultural practices now tuned to avoid sunburn and heat and water stress – even in a warming world – but riesling is also now planted in regions that are significantly cooler than the Clare Valley. Perhaps counterintuitively, these cooler zones can also often produce riesling with more weight and drive, thanks to the conditions allowing for longer and slower ripening. They also show off a different flavour spectrum. Tasting notes for traditional bone-dry Australian rieslings are dominated by the word ‘lime’ – lime juice, lime peel, lime pith, kaffir lime, Bickford’s lime cordial – with lemon riding shotgun. Delve into the world of tasting notes for German riesling, particularly ones with some sugar in them, and that narrow citric band explodes into a fan of flavours that include orange citrus fruits and peel, as well as stone fruit and tropical fruits. Some tasters even mention forest berries in their notes. As Australian riesling expands beyond the Clare and Eden, and as more producers are comfortable with leaving a little residual sugar in their wines, we’re starting to see a similar diversity of flavour here, too.
It’s important to note that even the German rieslings labelled trocken (‘dry’) often have a good deal more sugar than anything you might see in an Australian riesling, with German labelling law up to nine grams of residual sugar for this category. That’s a level we would typically refer to as ‘off-dry’ here – but thanks to the variety’s high natural acidity, the sugar acts as ballast, adding weight, richness, flavour and texture, but not noticeable sweetness. That’s where things can get quite interesting, as wines with a surprisingly high level of sugar can appear not particularly sweet – the sugar balances the acidity, while also allowing for the inclusion of other elements, such as phenolics from the grape skins, to add even more textural detail. Additionally, the presence of residual sugar in the wine can alter its aromatic and flavour profile. So while Australian makers have traditionally emphasised the linearity and acidity of their rieslings – the steely cut and thrust of the bone-dry style that continues to flourish, as it should – there is now an increasing diversity of expression in Australian riesling, often driven by sugar content. That diversity makes off-dry Australian riesling a very exciting category – and one that’s increasingly impossible to pigeonhole.
Our panel: Linda Stanzel, assistant winemaker and viticulturist, Kerri Greens; Andrew Miller, owner and winemaker, Artis; Hannah Maltby, winemaker, Mac Forbes Wines; Jim Mullany, wine retailer, Atlas Vinifera; Hayley Williamson, owner and wine buyer, Nina’s Bar & Dining; Jarryd Menezes, sales representative, Alimentaria; Clarissa Lorenzato, sommelier and wine merchant, l’Enoteca at Mercato Centrale.
Maltby kicked off the discussion by noting that while the line-up had a common thread of some quantity of residual sugar, there was a surprising diversity within the category – especially in terms of perceived sweetness. “There was everything from wines that I perceived as totally dry, to wines I perceived as quite sweet – and there was a really lovely level of balance across the board,” she said. “It wasn’t just dozens of the same wines. There were definitely some really interestingly different wines in here.” Mullany agreed, adding, “I really like that term ‘perceived dryness’ – because we’re trying to forget about how many grams per litre of residual sugar is in the riesling,” he said. “It’s more about, ‘How does it taste? And do you like it?’”
Williamson agreed that discussions about whether a wine is sweet or dry limited the range of possibilities for the category, but she wasn’t convinced that residual sugar quantities should therefore be hidden from consumers. “If you look at, for example, Mac Forbes’s wines, it’s important to compare something like the ‘RS7’ versus the ‘RS28’ – because they both look like they’ve got almost no residual sugar necessarily,” she said. “And I think that’s kind of an interesting way we can look at the RS, rather than trying to hide it.” Reflecting on the German prädikat system, she added, “The German system is based on ripeness [at harvest], anyway, not on sugar content – so that’s probably something we should be talking about, too.”
“There’s a lot of consumer fear around sweet wines. But that’s sort of our failing for not explaining how acid and sugar work together.”
Maltby, who makes wines for the Mac Forbes Wines label, argued that the transparency of listing residual sugar content front and centre on the labels was a means of consumer education. “I definitely think that, as producers, we owe it to consumers to educate them better about residual sugar,” she said. “I think the reason that we’re so hung up on discussing ours is because there’s a lot of consumer fear around sweet wines. But that’s sort of our failing for not explaining how acid and sugar work together. You see those little things on the backs of labels that are a sliding scale of dryness, and I think that’s helpful for consumers, because it’s a perception thing as opposed to a raw number. The number doesn’t necessarily tell you a lot about what could be in your glass.”
While Miller lauded any initiatives that made it easier for end consumers to intuitively understand the perceived sweetness of a riesling they were considering purchasing, he cautioned that a badly implemented system could backfire. “You can risk confusing consumers as well,” he said. “Even something as simple as pinot grigio versus pinot gris confuses people. Syrah versus shiraz confuses people. So we might sit around the table and discuss it, and think it would make a lot of sense to have some technical terms to describe different styles of riesling – but not everyone is sitting down to dozens of glasses of riesling in a day and really understanding those styles.” He added that one of the gateways to enjoyment of these styles of riesling is their versatility at the table: “As producers, maybe we need to think a little bit more about the types of food that we recommend for wines and how to serve them – because obviously some bone-dry rieslings are great with, say, oysters, but you wouldn’t want a sweeter riesling with an oyster. Sweeter rieslings can go really nicely with other things, though … maybe we don’t necessarily need to define the terminology, but at least educate about drinking occasions or food types for pairing a bit better.”
“One of the great points of this exercise is to encourage consumers to get excited about different styles of riesling that do have some residual sugar in them, and to embrace that. Maybe they’ve been a little bit reluctant to embrace it after being burnt by Blue Nun–style wines …”
Mullany argued that as much as producers might want to avoid labels such as ‘off-dry’, consumers have the collective power to determine what these wines would be named – not the producers. “In terms of like how you label it, I think consumers and people in general naturally like something to hang their hat on – like, ‘Is this an oaked chardonnay or an unoaked one?’ ‘Is this dry or off-dry?’ I think it’s just inevitable,” he said. “One of the great points of this exercise is to encourage consumers to get excited about different styles of riesling that do have some residual sugar in them, and to embrace that. Maybe they’ve been a little bit reluctant to embrace it after being burnt by Blue Nun–style wines … but a key thing might be just to say that people should be open to that other style – whereas in the past, it might have been a more difficult sell.”
Menezes noted that the diversity on display in the lineup had as much to do with the diverse conditions in which the fruit was grown as it did with technical questions such as residual sugar levels or whether winemakers had used skin contact or lees work. “I struggle with picking place in Australian riesling just because I feel like there’s a hell of a lot more variability than we would see coming out of, say, Germany or Alsace,” he said. “Clare Valley is iconic in the landscape of Australian riesling, so I think we almost know what to expect from Clare riesling … a couple of the wines today reminded me of Tasmania, but it could also just as easily be from Henty or Geelong, right?” He added, “The soil profiles are so different. There’s so much variability within the soft profiles within Australia.”
Maltby argued that the riesling variety’s famous transparency when it comes to terroir expression meant that, for her, the wines more readily showed the soil profile they were grown in rather than their region. “I think more so than place in this lineup, soil profile stood out more – which is why it can be hard to say which region it’s from, because each region has multiple soil profiles. But I think you could really tell that some were definitely from more granitic kinds of soil, and there were others that really had that clay kind of tackiness,” she said. “Maybe it’s because we don’t have rules enforcing certain regional expressions, but you get that purity that comes through from all the different soils – you can see red soils coming through, for example, and that’s very exciting.”
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