In his 1992 book The Wine and Food of Austria, one of the most comprehensive texts on Austrian wine to date, the British writer and wine historian Giles MacDonogh wrote of Blaufränkisch: “One of Austria’s most widely planted black grapes, it has often been confused with Gamay, but its origins are probably Hungarian rather than French. Blaufränkisch can make chunky raspberries and white-pepper scented wines but the grape has the drawback of being slightly short and fast-ageing. Some growers have successfully experimented with blending it with other varieties more calculated to make up for these defects.”
MacDonogh’s words came at the precipice of a revolution that would redefine the variety for the new millennium. Just three decades ago, Blaufränkisch was little understood, even by wine’s greatest scholars. It is not French, it is probably not Hungarian, and it is certainly not Gamay, though it can taste like raspberries. More importantly, a wide range of examples, spanning Central and Eastern Europe and beyond, prove that great Blaufränkisch is cellar worthy and fully capable of supporting itself, free of defects needing correction with Cabernet.
Blaufränkisch continues to be underappreciated by the global wine community, but it is an easy grape to fall in love with. Other than Riesling, Blaufränkisch is Central and Eastern Europe’s only international variety, with a classic home in multiple countries. Its influence spans from Austria and Hungary to Germany and Czechia to the Balkan Peninsula and even to the United States.
Yet Blaufränkisch has not yet been embraced as a truly classic grape, alongside the likes of Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, and Syrah. A hand-sell abroad and even in its domestic markets, Blaufränkisch lacks the name recognition of its French counterparts, and most is made in countries better known and respected for their white wine cultures.
Further, Blaufränkisch’s track record for quality wines is relatively short. Handicapped by quantity and cost pressures during the Soviet era, producers have only recently unlocked the grape’s ability to produce terroir-driven wines. Master of Wine Caroline Gilby, a leading authority on Eastern European wine, remarks, “It was only in the mid-2000s [that] I started to see people going, ‘You know what? We’ve got to treat this differently. We can’t make Cabernet out of Blaufränkisch.’ It’s quite a new kid on the block. You’re only talking 20 years of history, maximum, of people moving in a serious quality direction.”
Still, Gilby extols its virtues: “I think it delivers the things that a great grape needs to. It makes delicious wines. It makes wines that deliver a sense of place. And it makes wines that have ageability.” With any luck, this contemporary wave of great Blaufränkisch heralds a new era for the variety and for Central and Eastern European red wines. Where did these Blaufränkisch wines come from, where are they today, and where are they going?
Blaufränkisch was not explicitly documented until 1862, at a fair in Vienna, but it is likely centuries older. Since the Middle Ages, a suite of quality cultivars have been assigned the description Fränkisch, meaning from Franconia (Franken), the region in central Germany. These include a grape detailed in the 18th and early 19th centuries as Schwarzfränkische, now believed to be Blaufränkisch. Simply meaning “blue Franconian,” the name Blaufränkisch is directly translated in many of the grape’s localities, most notably in Hungary as Kékfrankos. While the Austrian name Blaufränkisch refers to a German history, the grape is called Lemberger—and, less often, Limberger—in Germany itself. Both names allude to the towns in Austria from which they were imported into Germany—Lemberg in Styria and Limberg in Lower Austria.
To make matters more complicated, a 2016 study conducted in Germany found that Blaufränkisch probably did not originate there or in Austria but in the Štajerska region of northeastern Slovenia. Here, the variety is called Modra Frankinja, another translation of Blaufränkisch. In Croatia, Serbia, and Czechia, the grape is known as Frankovka, while Frankovka Modrá is used in Slovakia. A separate set of names speak to the longheld belief that Blaufränkisch hailed from Burgundy. Borgonja (Burgundy), also used in Croatia, and Gamé, as it is called in Bulgaria, refer to how Blaufränkisch was mistaken for Pinot Noir and Gamay.
Many producers and wine critics point to the naming confusion as a major hinderance for the variety on the global market. Says Gilby, “I think the name is a problem. For a start, people don’t know that all those grapes are the same thing.” While Gilby advocates for Kékfrankos as a universal name because the grape’s largest hectarage is in Hungary, others prefer the pronounceability of Lemberger or the stronger existing brand of Blaufränkisch. Many of the variety’s champions do concur, however, that establishing an international reputation for the grape will be difficult without presenting a united front.
Blaufränkisch is not a particularly difficult grape to grow. Roland Velich, the owner and winemaker of Moric, in Burgenland, explains, “Blaufränkisch is a late-ripening variety with a thick skin, which means it can stand thunderstorms, major rainstorms—which we’re facing more and more over the last several years.” The variety is slightly predisposed to mildew, but generally its disease pressure is low, especially in the dry, sunny climates where it is most found. Blaufränkisch is also winter hardy, making it a popular choice for colder, more northerly climates. Producers must be vigilant, however, as it is early to bud and late to ripen. Accordingly, it demands a long growing season, and threats of spring frost and early cold spells in the fall can damage the crop.
Yet Blaufränkisch’s greatest gift is not its ease in the vineyard but its ability to communicate that site. Dorli Muhr, the owner of Weingut Dorli Muhr and a key voice on Blaufränkisch in Carnuntum, one of Austria’s winegrowing regions, says, “Blaufränkisch has this wonderful talent to show differences, like Pinot Noir, of neighboring vineyards. You look at the soil and you think it’s the same, but it tastes, every year, different. And then you dig into the soil and you see, oh, there is a reason.” She continues, “Blaufränkisch is a translator of the terroir that we have.”
Winegrowers are quick to liken Blaufränkisch to Pinot Noir, waxing poetic with romantic comparisons to Burgundy. Their reasoning is obvious in the glass—great Blaufränkisch, like great Pinot Noir, is laden with spice, earth, and fresh berry flavors; is light to medium bodied; and finds a deceptive power in a taut spine of tannin. That Blaufränkisch is no heartbreak grape only speaks to its promising future.
Velich says, “The only thing I want to do is make Blaufränkisch that tastes like Blaufränkisch in Burgenland.” Since Moric’s inaugural 2001 vintage, Velich has been a leader in the 21st century’s charge in establishing Blaufränkisch as a variety of the highest caliber in Austria and abroad. His home of Burgenland is the epicenter of that movement. Although Burgenland, and Austria more broadly, has a long history with the grape, it is only in recent memory that Blaufränkisch wines of consistent quality have emerged.
Austria’s red wines, which already had an uncertain identity within a definitively white-wine culture, struggled with industrialization in the years following World War II. New viticultural practices prioritized mechanization and high yields, resulting in red wines that were anemic, overly acidic, and lacking in tannin, body, and flavor. The lackluster reputation of Austrian reds grew poorer, as the wines tasted thin and unpleasantly green.
Philosophies toward producing Blaufränkisch began to shift in the 1970s and ’80s, with wineries such as Großhöflein, Deutschkreutz, Deutsch-Schützen, and Horitschon vinifying more premium examples, bolstered by the favorable 1977 and 1979 vintages. And while Austria’s infamous glycol scandal in 1985 decimated the market for top-tier Austrian wines, it forced a correction toward more sustainable, quality-driven vineyard practices that paved the way for much better Blaufränkisch. In 1986, Ernst Triebaumer, in Rust, harvested his Ried Mariental Blaufränkisch, still considered a cornerstone achievement for the variety and among the earliest evidence of its potential.
In the 1990s, as the global palate turned feverishly to red wines, and in particular big red wines, Blaufränkisch in Burgenland, too, got bolder. More extractive examples, heavily influenced by new oak and sometimes blended with Bordeaux varieties, were bottled. These wines, molded to increasingly popular international styles, brought Blaufränkisch an initial wave of prestige but often sacrificed the grape’s remarkable transparency in the process. The more recent crop of acclaimed Blaufränkisch producers, epitomized in Velich’s wines at Moric, have forced the pendulum to swing back in the opposite direction, with site-specific wines guided by more measured hands in the cellar.
Velich says, “There are not that many places in the world with an indigenous variety that can offer a character like Blaufränkisch. Blaufränkisch from Burgenland is so unique, in that it has all the important characteristics of wines which give joy, . . . this kind of lightness and freshness and, when it ages, more complexity.” In Burgenland, the Alps unfurl into the wide expanse of the Pannonian Plain, which defines much of Blaufränkisch’s territory in Central and Eastern Europe. The plain (also referred to as the Great Hungarian Plain or the Carpathian Basin) invites warm, drying winds that lower disease pressure and augment the sunny climes. “It’s often described as the warmest part of Austria—but it’s still not warm,” admits Velich. This is an important distinction when comparing Burgenland and its Blaufränkisch with other great red-wine terroirs.
Velich’s wines come from Mittelburgenland, known colloquially as Blaufränkischland and one of Burgenland’s six DACs. Rounded with a firm core of tannin, these Blaufränkisch wines, grown in heavy loam soils, are among the most powerful and ageworthy Austrian examples. South of Mittelburgenland, some of the spiciest, most savory Blaufränkisch is grown in the comparatively cooler climate and distinctive iron-rich schist soils of Eisenberg DAC. (Eisenberg translates to “iron mountain.”) To the north, Blaufränkisch from Leithaberg DAC earns particular renown. Grown in limestone soils, often at elevation in the foothills of the Leitha Mountains, the wines made here are lighter, more acidic, and more restrained than many from elsewhere in Burgenland. Examples from Neusiedlersee, the DAC along the eastern banks of Lake Neusiedl, are richer and riper because of the lake’s moderating effects and the area’s warmer climate. And although Blaufränkisch is the leading grape variety of Rosalia DAC, examples from the tiny region are scarce.
More than 90% of Austria’s 2,500 hectares (6,200 acres) of Blaufränkisch are in Burgenland, but, in Lower Austria, the diminutive but historic Carnuntum DAC has also made important strides with the variety. The region produces more Zweigelt, but Blaufränkisch grown along the Spitzerberg, which rises from the Carpathian Mountains near the Slovakian border, yields some of Carnuntum’s most elegant wines. The sandy limestone soils retain water poorly in an already dry climate, which can speed up ripening for Blaufränkisch. Muhr explains, “If it gets more water, if it has more humidity in the soil, it takes longer until it gets balanced. So in the end, we are not unhappy if we get a little rain just before harvest.”
It is on the Spitzerberg, in Ried Roterd, that Dorli Muhr’s grandmother Katherina was gifted a 0.17-hectare (0.42-acre) parcel in 1918. Its vineyard, then, was a field blend of both red and white varieties. While Blaufränkisch was long present in the area, its prospects were unrealized, as fruit was largely sold to the local cooperative to produce inexpensive wines. Despite her connection to Carnuntum, Muhr took a winding road back to Blaufränkisch. Following a successful career in wine public relations, she was inspired to make her own wines and first purchased property in Tuscany’s Maremma region. She later moved to Porto, following her then husband, Dirk Niepoort. “While I was living in Porto and the Douro, I realized what I was really looking for was freshness,” a quality she was challenged to find in Portugal, but also one that she was not confident she could achieve along the Tuscan coast.
Instead, she returned to her roots, with a passion reignited for Austria’s lands and for Blaufränkisch. Muhr says, “I realized that, for me, what I really was interested in was continental climate, dry climate, and old vines.” Her wines have reset the standard for Carnuntum Blaufränkisch. She explains, “The Burgenland Blaufränkisch is usually bigger than our wines. I like to compare [ours] to a prima ballerina, with a lot of tension, a lot of muscles, a lot of power, a lot of strength, but not a gram of fat. It is just vertical energy, very lean but very intense.”
Austrian examples of Blaufränkisch may get the most visibility, but the grape’s largest hectarage is in Hungary. Kékfrankos is Hungary’s most cultivated variety, and its 8,000 hectares (19,800 acres), spread throughout the country, constitute nearly half of all global plantings. Sopron, in the northwest, is sometimes called the capital of Kékfrankos. It is a natural extension of Burgenland, sharing Lake Neusiedl on its southern shores. Several producers, including the lauded Weninger, own vineyards on both sides of the border.
Kunság, Hungary’s largest wine region, is also the largest grower of Kékfrankos. Accessible, easy-drinking, fruity wines are made in the plains north of Serbia, primarily between the Danube and Tisza Rivers. More serious are the examples coming from the smaller Szekszárd region, just east of Kunság. Zoltán Heimann Jr., the winemaker of Heimann & Fiai, says, “I think loess soils give quite a nice ripeness but at the same time a supple, fruit-forward expression of the variety.” Asked to generalize, Heimann explains that the tannins of Szekszárd Kékfrankos are softer than those of many of the Austrian wines, but he finds a great stylistic breadth in the region. He says, “The window for harvest dates is really open. It really gives a freedom to the winemaker to express whatever they want.” With his goal of “freshness and vibrancy,” Heimann uses a set of enological practices—ranging from whole-bunch fermentation to cement and clay amphora aging—to create a lifted profile.
Although plantings are concentrated in Austria and Hungary, Blaufränkisch is planted across Central and Eastern Europe. In its likely native Slovenia, Blaufränkisch yields youthful expressions in hilly Štajerska. The wines show slightly more heft to the east in Prekmurje, the region bordering Hungary, where the Slovenian landscape opens to the Pannonian Plain. Similar styles are found next door in Croatia’s Slavonia and Danube regions. Blaufränkisch is important to Serbia’s red wine industry, while, beyond the Balkans, it flourishes as the most planted red grape of Slovakia and Czechia.
In Germany, Lemberger plantings have steadily grown over the past 40 years. With less than 500 hectares (1,200 acres) harvested in the 1980s, today German hectarage has quadrupled to just under 2,000 hectares (4,900 acres). Lemberger vineyards are confined almost entirely to Württemberg (with some spillover into neighboring Baden), where Graf Neipperg is believed to have introduced the variety in the 19th century. Here, Lemberger achieves some of its finest expressions, the most revered coming from top single-vineyard sites and qualifying as Grosses Gewächs. The region’s relatively warmer climate is needed to ripen the variety.
Still, German Lemberger is identified by its leaner profile. Explains Rainer Schnaitmann, one of Württemberg’s leading interpreters of Lemberger at his namesake winery, “There are high differences between night and day temperatures. Perhaps we can leave it a bit longer on the vines without producing too much alcohol. Certainly, a huge advantage of this grape is not going into over-ripeness.” Whereas Burgenland Blaufränkisch can be fleshy and expansive, German Lemberger can be greener and more herbaceous, and with tighter, more angular tannins that benefit from either age or air.
Like many Württemberg producers, Schnaitmann grows his Lemberger alongside his Spätburgunder, and the two are quickly compared. While Spätburgunder is an easier sell, and, though Schnaitmann is notably modest when discussing his Lemberger, he admits he is “afraid for the future of Pinot Noir in our region.” The latter ripens two to four weeks before his Lemberger, with harvest arriving as early as August and climate change accelerating the Württemberg growing season. Schnaitmann says, “I planted my first Lemberger in 1995. For me, this grape is not yet there, but it is the promise for the future.”
Despite the Burgundian ethos adopted and championed by so many Blaufränkisch producers, one critical distinguishing factor from Pinot Noir is the multiple traditions of incorporating Blaufränkisch into blends. While capable of achieving outstanding finesse and transparency in its monovarietal wines, Blaufränkisch can impressively maintain its typicity when blended, including against heftier varieties known to readily overpower other lighter grapes. Gilby says, “It has that sort of bright freshness—cherry and cloves or violet character—that on its face is subtle, but it hangs onto that character and keeps it, even when faced with a big Cabernet.”
Blends of Blaufränkisch with Cabernet Sauvignon or other French varieties were common at the turn of the millennium. Like so many winemakers during that era, ambitious Blaufränkisch producers sought to elevate the variety’s standing and appeal to international consumers by combining local heritage with globally recognizable grapes. Examples of these wines are still commonly found in Austria as well as throughout Central and Eastern Europe. The most aspirational bottlings are lavishly oaked and deeply extracted, to varying degrees of success.
But combining Blaufränkisch with local blending partners often yields more unique cuvées that speak to the variety’s versatility. In Austria, Blaufränkisch is often blended with the country’s two other principal red varieties: Zweigelt (Rotburger) and St. Laurent. (Zweigelt, Austria’s most planted red grape, is a crossing of St. Laurent and Blaufränkisch achieved by Friedrich Zweigelt in 1922.) These Austrian red cuvées range in seriousness, but, in each case, Blaufränkisch serves as the wine’s backbone, providing important tannic structure and a spicy complexity to nuance the fruitier, primary notes of Zweigelt and the velvety approachability of St. Laurent.
In Germany, the Württemberg equivalent is the Lemberger-Trollinger blend. Although Blaufränkisch is more celebrated, Trollinger (Italy’s Schiava Grossa and the most common of the Schiava varieties) is the region’s most planted red. Historically, these Trollinger-Lemberger blends were inexpensive and often fermented off-dry. Schnaitmann describes the style as his “enemy number one” and seeks to reimagine the tradition for more contemporary sensibilities. His Anders cuvée, a part of Dirk Niepoort’s larger Nat’Cool project, is instead made dry, without sulfur additions, and meant to be drunk young and chilled.
Blaufränkisch’s most important blending traditions, however, are Hungarian. The country’s flagship red Bikavér, or “bull’s blood,” is bottled in opposite corners of Hungary: Eger and Szekszárd. Eger, nestled in the northeast between Budapest and Tokaj, produces the most famous of the Bikavérs. Grown in the region’s famous volcanic soils, Egri Bikavér is more powerful, sometimes impenetrable in its youth. PDO law designates that Kékfrankos contribute 30% to 65% of the blend, while the balance is composed of a mélange of Hungarian, Eastern European, and French varieties, including Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, and, surprisingly, Pinot Noir. Although many producers lamentably take a kitchen-sink approach to their assemblage, compiling wines from their vineyard scraps, the best Bikavér wines are much more intentionally designed. And while all Egri Bikavér wines require a minimum of six months in barrel, the region has also implemented a quality pyramid, with increasingly stringent vineyard and cellar practices for the Superior and Grand Superior categories.
Heimann says, “People often say that Eger wines have such longevity. On the other hand, Szekszárd is quite charming and more like an open book.” For Heimann, Szekszárdi Bikavér should maintain the inherent freshness and finesse of the region and always put Kékfrankos front and center. The variety is required at a minimum of 45% in Szekszárd, alongside 5% Kadarka, another regional specialty. (Heimann is, in fact, nicknamed Kadarka Man.) Heimann contrasts his wines with both the high-volume wines of the socialist era and the Bikavérs that succeeded them in the 1990s and 2000s. These, like the aforementioned blends, adopted a more international style, with a dominant influence of Bordeaux grapes.
Nevertheless, Heimann acknowledges that the other varieties, both Hungarian and French, can serve the wines well. “I think a beautiful, low-yielding Merlot from a nice, historic parcel, aged in barrique, is very important.” He has continued with a recipe for Bikavér that his mother found success with in 2011. Curiously, that blend includes a small percentage of Sagrantino, the intensely tannic red variety of Umbria’s Montefalco. The recommendation was made by Gál Tibor Sr., the former head winemaker of Tuscany’s Ornellaia and a producer of Egri Bikavér. Tibor brought a Bordelais viticulturalist to the Heimann estate to consult on prospective varieties that could yield high-end blends. Searching specifically for grapes with both strong acidity and tannin, the Heimann family ultimately planted Sagrantino as well as Tannat for its similar attributes.
The vividness of Bikavér’s sanguine name fantastically captures the savory rusticity found in so many examples of the wine. Several competing legends claim to explain Bikavér’s etymology, the most prevalent of which references the siege of Eger in 1552. For centuries, Eger was located at the border of the kingdom of Hungary and the Ottoman Empire. According to legend, Captain István Dobó heard of an imminent invasion, and, believing all efforts of defense to be futile, he instructed his soldiers to overindulge in the local wines. When the Ottoman army arrived, they found their Hungarian counterparts dripping with the red liquid and believed they had drunk the blood of their bulls to bring strength and virility in battle. Alarmed, the Ottomans retreated.
It’s unlikely that this story is true, especially considering that the region was probably planted predominately to white varieties in the mid-16th century. Further, Egri Bikavér is first named in 1851 in a local book of proverbs, and the first documented depiction of this legend was written only in 1899, in Géza Gárdony’s novel Egri Csillagok (The Stars of Eger). Jenő Gröber provided the earliest recipe for the wine shortly afterward, describing a blend of Kékfrankos, Blauer Portugieser, and Menoir in 1912.
Documentation of Szekszárdi Bikavér predates Eger’s, initially noted in an 1846 drinking song by the poet János Garay, who writes of a local wine with the color of bull’s blood. The wine already had its famous proponents in the following decades. The illustrious composer Franz Liszt was a known fan and sent 50 bottles of the wine to Pope Pius IX.
Although the grape remains mostly confined to Europe, Blaufränkisch did cross the Atlantic nearly a century ago and has made a small but significant mark in the wine culture of North America. The first Blaufränkisch vines on the continent were planted in 1930 by two Hungarian brothers in British Columbia. It took another 50 years, however, for American Blaufränkisch to be commercialized.
In 1975, John and Anne Williams, along with Jim Holmes, planted the first vineyard on what would become Red Mountain AVA. Those initial vines for their Kiona Estate included Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, and Riesling, but the following year they expanded to Blaufränkisch—for which they have always used the German name Lemberger. The suggestion came at the behest of Walter Clore, the famed viniculturalist recognized as the father of Washington wine and with whom John and Jim had worked at a Washington State University extension in the 1960s.
JJ Williams, John and Anne’s grandson, explains, “They were running a long-term experiment to determine the viability of Vitis vinifera in Washington State.” Concerned with frost and winter freeze, Clore looked at cold-hardy grapes. “Lemberger rose to the top in terms of interest and intrigue,” says Williams, not only because of its appropriateness for Washington’s continental climate, but also because the traditional Blaufränkisch styles of that era were unoaked and inexpensive to produce. For a brand-new region, planted a year before even California was put on the map with the Judgment of Paris, Clore knew it was imperative to keep costs low while building a market for the wines.
Today, Kiona faces the opposite problem. Admits Williams, “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to grow Lemberger in a place where you can charge three figures for a bottle of Cab.” Red Mountain is now one of the preeminent terroirs of the Pacific Northwest, known for its prestige Bordeaux-style wines. While it may make more sense for the Williams family to graft over their Blaufränkisch vines, they show little interest in breaking their long-standing tradition with the variety.
Nor do they want to disappoint their customers. Kiona has amassed something of a cult following for its Lemberger since the inaugural 1980 vintage. Still, Williams admits to recent changes with Kiona’s Lemberger bottling, beginning in the mid-2010s, explaining, “We wanted to eliminate stylistic overlap in our portfolio. We wanted to push the Lemberger more to a claret style—like a Red Mountain nouveau.” Steering away from the earlier, more extractive version, bathed in new barrels, Kiona’s current Lemberger is produced exclusively from free-run juice and without new oak, with the goal of crafting a lighter, fresher wine. This summer, the tasting room even performed an A/B test, chilling a portion of the Lemberger samples. When chilled, they achieved a 47% increase in sales.
Kiona is not alone among Washington’s Blaufränkisch producers, though several other estates purchase Blaufränkisch grapes from Kiona to a make everything from still red wines to pét-nat. And while the state once cultivated 250 acres (100 hectares) of the variety, plantings today hover closer to 50 acres (20 hectares).
Another tradition, however, has since emerged on the opposite coast. New York has become Blaufränkisch’s most important American region. Blaufränkisch first arrived here in the mid-1990s, quickly finding a new home in the Finger Lakes. Although only 72 acres (29 hectares) are reported statewide today, with 62 acres (25 hectares) in the Finger Lakes, many of the most esteemed producers work with the variety. It has been embraced as a marquee red of the appellation, following Cabernet Franc and Pinot Noir.
New York’s early examples of Blaufränkisch did not demonstrate the full quality potential of the variety on the East Coast, however. Following a career in viticultural and enology research and development at E. & J. Gallo, Nancy Irelan left California after purchasing what would become her Red Tail Ridge Estate in 2003. While Blaufränkisch was already planted, Irelan found the vine material to be lacking. She says, “There were a couple of challenges with the clones being used. They tended to be very vigorous and high yielding, and the clusters would produce very large, thin-skinned, very densely packed clusters,” dangerously increasing disease pressure.
In addition to improving clonal selections, Irelan also wanted to show that Blaufränkisch could stand on its own as a monovarietal wine. In the early 2000s, most Finger Lakes producers used Blaufränkisch as a blending variety rather than allowing it to take on the starring role. She appreciates Finger Lakes Blaufränkisch for the “spicy, peppery character” she finds in the wines. “It’s not what I’d consider a heavy, aggressive red,” she says.
Still, Irelan does also produce a Blaufränkisch and Cabernet Franc blend, a coupling that has become somewhat of a signature cuvée for the Finger Lakes. Her Blau Franc blend is made in a chillable style. She explains, “I’m looking for something that has a brighter and lighter personality. There’s a gravelly character from Cabernet Franc in the Finger Lakes, and that complements the brighter, mouth-popping fruit you get from the Blau.”
“I think Blaufränkisch is one of the best grapes in the world,” says Dorli Muhr. “I think it can stand at the same level as the best Pinot Noirs, the best Syrahs, and the best Cabernets.” Despite its much longer history of production as a workhorse variety, Blaufränkisch appears ready to enter the upper echelons of fine wine. And while the arrival of top-shelf Blaufränkisch is relatively recent, it has demonstrated extraordinary diversity in that time. Its wines range from site-sensitive monovarietal reds to structured blends to crunchy rosés. Blaufränkisch has even amassed a healthy number of natural wine producers, who transform it into everything from ancestral method sparklers to carbonic glou-glou.
Still, this latest era for Blaufränkisch is not without its challenges. Although Blaufränkisch has largely redefined the quality potential of Austrian and Hungarian red wines, its recognition is limited, both at home and abroad. Schnaitmann says, “I thought the Austrians already conquered the world with Blaufränkisch, and I’m learning these last few years they didn’t.” Whether because of confusion around its varied names or historic reputational hurdles, many have yet to discover everything that Blaufränkisch can offer. Blaufränkisch may be a grape on the rise, but this new chapter is nowhere near its last.
Nehrer’s Ried Poschen was harvested from a vineyard that has been documented since 1570. Flavors of raspberry coulis and tart cherries meld with more savory tones of roasted game, nutmeg, cayenne, and smoky fallen leaves. With finessed but structured tannins, the wine balances the wilder side of the variety with a mouthwatering purity of fruit. Aging takes place for 18 months in Austrian oak tonneaux.
Moric’s Lutzmannsburg Alte Reben stands in a league of its own—a resounding testimony to Blaufränkisch’s potential for making world-class wines. Produced with grapes from 80- to 100-year-old vines, it is expansive, powerful, and complex. Silky but gripping tannins frame flavors of elderberry, sarsaparilla, and sage. This is among the most expensive examples of Blaufränkisch on the market, but the more readily found Burgenland Reserve captures much of the same energy.
Schnaitmann offers a lean and savory interpretation of Lemberger, with flavors of petrichor, paprika, thyme, and pine. Tight and youthful when poured, the wine blossoms in the glass. Aged for 18 months in neutral 300- and 500-liter oak barrels, this is a Lemberger with the capacity to age. While this bottling exemplifies Schnaitmann’s style, the introductory and midtier Steinwiege and Simonroth Lemberger wines afford similar pleasures.
A historic winegrowing estate dating back to 1251, Burg Ravensburg is likely one of the first places where Blaufränkisch was planted in Germany. This entry example charmingly encapsulates the inherent freshness of German Blaufränkisch, with notes of tarragon, rosewater, and lifted berry flavors. Burg Ravensburg’s wines are often released with some age, but, at seven years old, this introduction to the category still shows remarkable youth.
Dorli Muhr’s monovarietal and single-vineyard wines should not be overlooked; her Ried Spitzerberg Obere Roterd is a benchmark for the Blaufränkisch variety. But her entry Carnuntum is a freshly red-fruited introduction to the region, as well as an example of the synergies of Blaufränkisch and French grapes when blended with intention. This wine, composed of 65% Blaufränkisch and 35% Syrah, is the result of Muhr’s trials of an assortment of varieties in her vineyard.
A far cry from rustic examples, this is a vibrant, elegant Bikavér, made with 65% Kékfrankos, 5% Kadarka, and 30% combined Syrah, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, and Sagrantino. Without overpowering the native grapes, the French varieties give the wine a welcome familiarity, with Merlot’s velvety tannins and plummy notes particularly accessible. Heimann’s lighter touch should not take away from the seriousness of the wine. Its slow evolution in the glass suggests an ability to age.
Kiona’s Lemberger is the only wine on this list to hail from what is clearly Cabernet country. The wine’s fleshy body can handle its 14.1% ABV, and flavors of macerated blood-orange peel, watermelon, and hibiscus create a compelling profile against the wine’s chewier tannins. There is an inherent deliciousness, and a hint of hedonism, to the wine. It is matured for eight months in neutral oak barrels before bottling.
Nancy Irelan achieves a stunning purity in her Finger Lakes Blaufränkisch, which offers freshness, blue fruit, and velvety tannins. Aged in a combination of large Schneckenleitner casks and neutral French oak barriques, this Blaufränkisch is a testament to the variety’s international potential.
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Excellent piece, Bryce. I loved the insight into my favorite grape and especially your spotlight on Dorli Muhr—she’s not only the most thoughtful winemaker I have met, but also one of the most genuinely wholesome people out there.
I've had a soft spot for the Kiona Lemberger since the first time I tried it almost two decades ago, and I'm glad that they're still growing it, even if it doesn't make a lick of sense financially
Lämmler is top class. From Schnaitmann, but also Aldinger. Why no one imports Aldinger (at least to my knowledge) is a headscratcher. Superior stuff. Burg Ravensburg claims to have a bottle of Lemberger in their cellar from 1860, but I have not seen it, and in any case, they say it arrived there from von Neipperg.
Bryce... very good article. Thank you...!