Beer caps, bold labels, and pride in the terroir: The stories told by Tomáš Trejbal’s wine
Tomáš, what makes a natural winemaker?
There’s a lot of debate over the definition of “natural winemaking.” Even natural winemakers themselves aren’t entirely clear on it — we simply lack a precise definition. In any case, this term refers to a different approach to vineyards and wine production. The adjective “natural” is, of course, derived from the word natura, meaning nature, and that should be the central tenet of this philosophy — to work in harmony with nature and to recognise that we can produce good wine only when we grow high-quality grapes.
A “natural winemaker” can only be someone who works in the vineyard with minimal chemical protection and treats the vines gently, while also processing the grapes in accordance with this philosophy. In the cellar, it isn't just about not using sulphur, as is often dogmatically claimed, but rather about the overall approach, including minimal manipulation and a non-invasive approach to both the must and wine. In the public eye, however, anyone who leaves the wine on the skins just a little longer or claims to minimise contact with sulphur can be considered a natural winemaker. Similarly, the label “wine made from organic grapes” merely refers to how the grapes were grown. That’s another reason why I don’t want to categorise myself in any way. If I use such a term, I’m engaging in a certain form of marketing as a winemaker and thereby conveying a message to the customer.
I think I’ve slipped into this category because I decided to do things differently than is customary here in Mělník. I’ve come to the conclusion that Mělník doesn’t need another Vondrák, Kraus, or Kušina, but that it could use a different approach. Some variety. So that people who come here for wine have an alternative. In the vineyard, we use copper and sulphur, but we don’t use any other chemicals, and certainly not in the cellar — we’re strict about that. This applies even when we process grapes that aren’t from our own vineyards. We don’t yet have enough vineyard area to be self-sufficient, so we can’t do without purchasing a certain amount of grapes.
What path led you to the vineyard and the cellar?
I’ve been importing Mosel wines to the Czech Republic since 2004, but it wasn’t until a chance encounter with the Austrian winemaker and former actor Florian Schumann that the world of natural wines opened up to me. At the time, he was a completely unknown winemaker. We met by chance at the VieVinum 2012 festival. And imagine this — after we agreed to collaborate following our tasting at 11 a.m., Noma spotted him at 2 p.m.! So his first wines ended up at La Degustation Bohême Bourgeoise and at Noma. Florian Schumann was a great inspiration and mentor to me in the early days. His enthusiasm and conviction about an authentic or natural approach to winemaking were contagious. Oh, and those wines!
A few years later, I met Jarda Kroužek, who’s now a friend of mine, and then Mirek Říha, a pioneer of the natural approach to winemaking and viticulture in Mělník. As it happened, one of them just happened to have a winery available, and the other offered me a vineyard. Since then, I haven’t known which way to turn. When I was making my first pét-nats — with shards from exploded bottles flying around the cellar and Riesling dripping from the ceilings — the first person I called was Florian.
Your wines are full of punk, poetry and audacity. How did these elements make their way into the bottles?
I have no formal training in winemaking, so I’m not a wine expert; my theoretical knowledge came only from hearsay. And yet I set out to grow grapes and make wine entirely on my own terms and against all convention. I think there’s a certain audacity in that. Instead of standard bottle caps, we use beer caps; the images on the labels tell their own stories just like the wine does; the vineyard isn’t neatly trimmed short, but is full of flowers, herbs, butterflies, pheasants, partridges, birds of all kinds, hares — and sometimes even deer take up residence there. Everything lives in harmony. I see that as a sign of punk. And poetry — that’s the finished wine. You sit down, pour yourself a glass, and say to yourself: So, this is my wine. You perceive different flavours, aromas, colours, and energies.
I’ve also been lucky to meet wonderful people who helped me in the beginning to describe and define what I actually do in the world of wine. One of them was Karel “Kay” Buriánek. Based on our long conversations, he wrote a few texts for me that are truly unique.
However, despite all the boldness, punk spirit, and poetry, I try to remain humble. I know full well that building a winery is a task for several generations. And we’re not from a winemaking family — we didn’t have anyone to learn from. We experiment, we learn, we make mistakes — and we rejoice when our plans work out.
Moreover, the climate in the Mělník differs significantly from that in South Moravia. How do the grapes fare in this region?
Thanks to its geographical location, Moravia is warmer, so the grapes ripen better there. In every village, you can go from cellar to cellar, tasting and asking questions, whereas here in Bohemia, there are only a few of us. But we do have something to be proud of, and that’s our terroir. When it’s a good year in the Mělník region, we can produce fantastic and unique wines here on the marl soil that are competitive even on a European scale.
I recall, for example, the excellent wines from Vojta Kušina’s Školní statek — Rieslings from 1999, 2001, and 2003. Perhaps the best wine I’ve ever tasted from Školní statek was the 2003 Pinot Blanc. I’m also inspired by the wines from Mirek Říha. His Rieslings from the 1990, 1999, and 2001 vintages, which we recently tasted, confirm both Mělník’s potential and the fact that an authentic approach is the right path. After all, Míra has been practicing it for almost thirty years.
You do have a little bit of Moravia here after all — I see you’re bottling Pálava. How did it end up in your cellar?
Pálava? That was a happy accident. One grower here tends to a few rows of this variety. For years, a distinguished professor used to come here to pick the grapes and make his own wine at home. But during the COVID pandemic, he fell ill, so I told myself I wasn’t going to leave them there — I’d put them through some experiments, as befits our winery.
And since we were doing it anyway, we decided to do it differently than they do in Moravia. We left the grapes on their skins longer, and the result was a beautiful and unusual wine. We only had fifty litres of it, and as luck would have it, the demijohn broke right before bottling. As the wine flowed into the drain, it smelled wonderful, but I didn’t speak to my colleague Milan for three days afterward. The following year we tried it again, this time successfully. You’ll find Pálava in the orange cuvée Dada, for example. Although it’s a variety with no history here in the Mělník region, it’s interesting both from a winemaking and consumer perspective.
On one of the stainless-steel tanks, I see the words “Riesling The King.” Who is this king?
Riesling is the king — there’s no other royal grape variety. And on the label is my grandfather — he was a king, too! In 1945, he escaped from forced labour in Berlin and walked all the way home; later, he slapped a communist bigwig; at seventy, he didn’t hesitate to get into a fight at a pub or subdue an enraged bull. So the association was clear. But it all started with an idea from my friend, graphic designer and illustrator Beata Mitrengová, thanks to whom the concept for the labels — based on family photographs — came to life. Each photograph tells the story of one of the family members — from my great-great-grandfather all the way to my daughter.
The grapes also come from the Mělník region. Ambiente’s creative chefs recently used them to make verjus for a sauce to accompany Mělník-style zander, which was served at the De Luxe pop-up. Which vineyard did they come from?
We were looking for grapes that hadn’t been treated with any chemicals. Given the focus of the De Luxe pop-up, I wanted something authentically from Mělník. And I discovered that there’s an ancient, famous, but abandoned vineyard called Koráb. Among other varieties, Red Riesling has been growing there for years, so I headed over. I fought my way through grass a meter and a half tall and elderberry bushes, but I managed to gather a small amount of grapes that are indigenous to Mělník and wild.
As a natural winemaker, how do you deal with pests and diseases?
Our first year, 2019, was sun-drenched, and we sprayed the vineyard with sulphur just once as a preventive measure. In 2020, when there was extreme rain and humidity, we tried to stick to this approach, but in the end, to our dismay, we didn’t harvest a single bunch of grapes from the entire hectare. Back then, we could’ve easily taught a class on grapevine diseases right there. It was a big lesson, and we had to rethink quite a few things. Now we prefer to apply sulphur and copper sprays more frequently. It’s best to prevent problems.
We’re currently planting a new vineyard and making sure it meets the criteria for organic certification in the future. I don’t consider it a priority myself, but it’s important to our customers. We plan to plant a small vineyard covering 3,000 m², where we want to use alternative methods for preparing the soil before planting.
Although it’s a major trend, not all wine lovers are familiar with natural wines. Which of your wines would you recommend to a “newcomer”?
In my ideal world, natural wine simply tastes like good wine — it doesn’t have any labels attached to it. And that’s our Coco cuvée. It meets the criteria for natural wine — it was aged on the skins, and is unfiltered, but it’s fragrant and fresh. It’s easy to drink, clean, and almost clear — in short, it offers everything people usually enjoy.
