It takes courage to set aside one’s ego and let nature shine: In conversations with winemaker Milan Nestarec
Milan, why did you decide to devote yourself to wine?
I come from a family of winemakers, and I’ve been helping out in the vineyard since I was a boy. My dad is a trained sheet metal worker, but in the 1990s he went to Germany, where he worked for winemakers and at a grapevine nursery. After returning, he planted his own vineyards, and in 2004 we harvested our first grapes — which were still grown conventionally at the time — and initially just sold them.
I eventually earned a degree in winemaking, but for a long time I considered it a handicap and admired winemakers who came from other fields. I identified with their view of wine — that it is a tool for self-expression — and envied them for not being burdened by the dogmas and prejudices one picks up in school, which aren't easy to shake off.
And yet you managed to do just that. What made you start making natural wines?
My high school teacher, Jára Osička, and Petr Nejedlík introduced me to the natural approach, but my mindset didn’t truly shift until 2008, when I visited the Friuli and Collio regions on the Slovenian-Italian border. We started farming organically and stopped using anything that, in my opinion, didn’t belong in wine. Back then, we lost all our customers and had to start from scratch.
A lot of failed wines ended up down the drain, but even that was an important phase, and it didn’t discourage me. Quite the opposite, actually. Wine seems like a simple matter — you bring in the grapes, crush them, and let them ferment — but in reality, there’s a process full of details behind it, and something can always go wrong. If you play it safe, you’ll make good wine, but it's only when you’re not afraid to take risks that something exceptional can emerge. By “taking risks,” though, I don’t mean reckless experimentation.
So what does taking a risk mean to you?
To me, it’s the courage to set aside your ego and let nature shine through. It’s a process of growth, and I believe that wines mature alongside the winemaker and their perspective on the world. Just compare my first wine to my latest — it used to be cloudy punk wine for hipsters, but now I know that taking risks and letting nature have its say requires a vast amount of knowledge, which I’m still gathering and will continue to gather my whole life.
I had big ambitions to be “the best,” and I struggled internally with the fact that we don’t focus solely on a few varieties as they do in Burgundy and other famous regions. But then I told myself that life is too short and we need to work with what we have. There’s no point in imitating wines from France and southern countries; it’s better to embrace their relationship with wine and winemaking.
So you set your ambitions aside?
I thought about what my mission actually is, and I came to the conclusion that I want to give the world normal wine and make it accessible to everyone. I don’t want to produce wine for the top ten thousand, and words like “natural,” “authentic,” “raw,” or “slow” bother me more and more because they sound elitist. Yet just a few years ago, I was pretty militant. Today, I’d slap myself for presenting our wines as the only right choice.
How do you present them today?
I actually don’t know how to do that — just as I don’t know how to sell them — which is why I value our distributors so much. But as soon as I see a sign that says “Milan Nestarec Winery” somewhere, I ask them to cross out the word “winery,” because it doesn’t capture the essence of our work. I’d define Nestarec in a similar way to how Apple presents itself: we shatter myths and stereotypes, and, by the way, we make good computers.
The point is, we’re not just winemakers. Through wine, we promote certain attitudes, and on our labels we directly present people with ideas that they don’t have to — but can — reflect on deeply. For example, the “Forks and Knives” series was created at a time when I was bothered by the fact that in the Czech Republic, wine and food are treated as separate entities, even though they are inseparable, and the name “I am not a big wine” expresses my disagreement with winemakers who constantly talk about terroir and “great wines.”
What is essential to you in the vineyard and in the cellar?
Freedom. That’s why I make natural wine. I have a problem with authority, so I’ll probably never understand, for example, the system of classified wines, where some committee decides how my wine should taste. After all, I know best what it is and what it should be like, because I know the soil, the cellar, and its entire story. I’m grateful to the people who buy our wines even without the “late harvest” label, allowing me to support about twenty employees. We can do whatever we want, and that’s not something to be taken for granted.
How do you evaluate wine?
For me, two qualities are important. The first is drinkability. People sometimes talk too much about wine and forget to drink it, which is a shame, because it’s much better to relax with a glass and chat about life. My second major focus is the energy in the wine, and I admit that the winemaker’s character is also crucial to me. Whether we like it or not, that character is reflected in the bottle, even if not everyone notices it.
How does your personality come through in your wine? I’ve heard that Nestarec is “young and restless”…
I’ve heard that Nestarec is arrogant, which is why he doesn’t sell his wine in the Czech Republic. That criticism always upsets me. Thanks to our participation in natural wine festivals and our collaboration with Honza Čulík and various winemakers, we established many contacts years ago, and today we export most of our bottles to about forty countries around the world. But when I was recently asked which destination I’d like to export my wine to, I answered without hesitation: home.
I feel like in the Czech Republic, people don’t distinguish between arrogance and healthy self-confidence, and as soon as you promote yourself a little more and stand up for yourself, they condemn you. I’m a bit of a braggart by nature, but that doesn’t mean I’m not humble. Even young and restless Nestarec is getting older, and so is his approach. I’ve matured, and I want to make wine that’s easy to drink, has a lower alcohol content, and, above all, has good structure. That’s not so easy, because most light wines end up being thin and lose their depth.
Are you also making technological advances?
We’re currently focusing on bottling. It can actually devalue the final product and has a major impact on whether you preserve the wine’s essence and that energy in the form of natural CO2. I don’t believe in bâtonnage, where the wine is regularly stirred on the lees, and we’re developing a system to ensure that not too much air enters the wine during bottling, because air displaces CO2 and disrupts the wine’s delicate structure.
I’m also interested now in what’s known as a “field blend,” where different varieties are blended by harvesting all the grapes from a single plot and fermenting them together. Moravia is known for its wide range of grape varieties, and I foresee a bright future for cuvées — after all, they’re already gaining the same recognition worldwide as single-varietal wines. I also believe that work should be fun, and I find that fun in both blending and creating limited editions, which we plan to sell in our online store in the future.
Milan’s barrels are ageing a Pinot Noir called “Honey Comb,” into which remnants of honeycombs with honey from their own bees were placed, as well as a carbonic Pálava, which is produced similarly to Beaujolais — whole, unbroken grapes are placed in a tank, where the fermentation process begins under a protective layer of CO2.
Do you even have time for anything other than wine and the vineyard?
I enjoy reading, I like art, and I find it inspiring to draw on the creativity of people from other fields, which can be beautifully incorporated into winemaking as well. That’s precisely why Betonárka came to be — a project my wife Mirka and I came up with. The site where we’ve been living for a year now was home to a coffin-making company in the 1990s, then Mr. Krejčí’s winery, and also a concrete plant. It was from that concrete plant that this space was born — a space that doesn’t yet have a specific concept. I’d like it to be gradually shaped by the people who come here to meet, share experiences, exchange new ideas, and spread joy.
It seems to me that you let a lot of things just flow. Do you have a clear vision for the future?
My head is full of ideas — including, for example, a LAB where we could test various co-ferments and other things that agriculture provides, which are either undiscovered or forgotten. As for visions, I have only one: to live well. I liked what Jarda Dušek said — the essence of a dream is elusive, and living your dream is actually foolish, because it’s something that constantly eludes us and that we’ll never achieve. Five years ago, I never would have imagined that our wine would be what it is today, and I can’t imagine what it might be like in another twenty years. I can only hope that people will love it as much as I do.
Recommendations from Milan:
3 winemakers worth getting to know and tasting: Zsolt Sütö from Strekovo, Christian Tschida and Rudolf Trossen, who once sent people to Milan Nestarec’s booth to taste wine from some unknown guy from Bohemia at a festival in Koln.
