David Whitley goes sampling pinot noirs in the world’s smallest wine-producing country.
Winery in winter
It is possibly the most absurd winery in the world. In icy cold conditions, suitable for drinking mulled wine but certainly not growing it, are a few short rows of vines.
They look shrivelled up for the winter, as well they might, and a few hardy goats amble amongst them. The backdrop is thoroughly spectacular, however, with the snow-doused Alps making the tiny vineyard look even smaller.
World’s smallest wine-producing nation
This little patch of viticulture is pretty much it for the world’s smallest wine producing nation. According to United Nations figures, Liechtenstein produces just 80 tonnes of wine per year. For a sense of perspective, compare that to the five million churned out by France. Or, even better, the 77,000 and 45,000 produced by Algeria and Uzbekistan respectively.
Effectively, therefore, the entire country’s output is the result of one stubborn individual deciding that it’s perfectly possible to make a great pinot noir here. Even if it’s on pretty much the only flat piece of land in a microstate almost entirely dominated by huge peaks.
It would be pretty much obligatory to go in for a sample based on this alone, but it gets even better once you discover precisely who that nutter is. The vineyard belongs to the Prince of Liechtenstein. It’s not just exclusive – it’s royal too.
History of Liechtenstein
It’s rare to get a winery owned by the ruling family, but then again, it’s even rarer that a country is named after the person that bought it. Liechtenstein dates back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire and Imperial Germany, where lands and estates were routinely horse-traded amongst a few rich families.
Capitalising on a rival falling on hard times, Johann Adam Andreas Liechtenstein bought the domain of Schellenberg in 1699, and shelled out on neighbouring Vaduz in 1712.
His prime motivation was to get a seat in the Imperial Reichstag; under the arcane rules of the day, the requirement for this was to have lands directly held by the Empire.
The Liechtensteins had plenty of land in Bavaria and Austria, but none of them counted. These token purchases sorted that little problem out, and were then ignored as much as humanly possible.
However, over the years, they became more than just strategically useful. The two domains were merged and given the family name while the empire started to crumble.
As the the nation-state model took over from the random assortments of dukedoms and principalities, Liechtenstein was left as a forgotten throwback. Not incorporated into anything else, it remained and became a sovereign state almost by accident.
It wasn’t until the ascension of Prince Franz-Josef II in 1938 that the family could actually be bothered to live in the country they ruled.
The wine industry in Liechtenstein
Since the Princes have deigned to pay attention, the country has industrialised massively. Out went the dairy farming, and in came the false teeth factories. Liechtenstein proudly boasts that it is the world’s leading exporter of dentures, as well it might.
However, the wine industry (low scale that it may be), dates back to well before the country had its belated co-option into the modern world.
When that land was purchased four centuries ago, a fledgling wine-making operation came with it. Like an old, forgotten bank account, it kept plodding away whilst its owners probably knew very little about its existence.
The Prince of Liechtenstein’s winery
This is no longer the case, and there appears to be a fair bit of princely pride invested in the winery. It appears to be labouring under the impression that it is in some sun-drenched Mediterranean idyll, and is painted in a warm, summery pink.
There’s a rather grandiose villa feel inside, too – certainly more high and mighty than quaintly rustic. A few people scurry around in a room that’s clearly designed for functions, but nobody seems desperate to attend to a curious straggler walking in off the street.
During opening hours, it is possible to just amble up for a free tasting. It’s on the outskirts of Vaduz, but that’s just a short stroll from a bus station in a hilariously miniscule capital ‘city’ of fewer than 6,000 inhabitants.
With no-one by the tasting table, it’s possible just to wander around in the Prince’s lair with impunity. There’s an extensive cellar containing wines from across the world – Australia to Austria, South Africa to Switzerland – while the main foyer is crammed with cases of bottles bearing the Liechtenstein label.
These, it emerges upon close inspection, don’t count as part of that meagre 80 tonnes. Most of them are grown on the family’s estates in Austria, which is frankly cheating.
Wine-tasting
Eventually, a member of staff saunters down the stairs and discovers that there’s a stranger nosying around the Prince’s Precious Things. It’s time to drink Prince Hans-Adam’s finest tipples.
Tastings of anything under the Liechtenstein label is free. A bottle of one of the Austrian-grown varieties (Liechtenstein brut, for the sparkling wine obscurists) is opened and glug-glugged into the glass. Not bad. Not bad at all. But it’s the exclusive stuff that’s the real drawcard.
The Vaduzer Pinot Noir 2006 is part of that 80 tonnes. It is only sold in Vaduz, and the only way to get hold of the world’s smallest wine producer’s vintage is to go there and get it yourself. To slug it back for free in the royal Hofkellerei, therefore, seems overwhelmingly decadent.
The real surprise comes with the taste though. Forget all thoughts of buying a bottle just to take back as an amusingly undrinkable gift along the lines of Ukranian pseudo-Champagne or Welsh Cabernet – it’s fantastic.
Sharp, crisp and instantly more-ish (to use the technical wine tasting terminology), it appears as though the mountain air and sub-Alpine soil has worked wonders.
Whether it’s post-digestive donations from the goats, or a hitherto unknown tradition of wine making in a country ignored ignored for so long even by its own rulers, it’s a drop fit for a king. Or rather, a prince.