If you look at a map - and here is a map...
... it seems a bit unfair, doesn't it? They have more or less the same climate and terroir as the much more lucrative northern Italy. Slovenia and Croatia are almost extensions of Italy. But then, the 20th century dealt the lands and their wine industry a bad hand, didn't it? The wrong kind of wars and Communism pushed them off the center stage, never mind that these countries never spawned anything like the duchies of Tuscany and Piedmont that put Italy in the limelight. Even the language doesn't trigger the same sense of familiarity as Italian.
What they do have are unique grapes and an even more unique wine-making history. Long before the rise of the trendy "Orange Wines", Balkan winemakers were making white wines with at least some skin contact. The whites taste different, exotic, but I can't really tell if that's due to the characters of the grapes or the effect of skin contact.
I've been drinking haphazardly through the Saro Imports portfolio for the last 2-3 years. Saro is the love child of the friendship and partnership of two wine lovers. Eran Elhalal, a former Manhattanite chef originally from Jerusalem and of Bosnian origins (hence the connection to the Balkans), and Ido Levran, with over a decade of experience in Tel Aviv wine bars and stores. They carved a niche where nobody expected to find one - usually, you'd have to be either super trendy or super cheap to sustain a livelihood, but Ido and Eran found a middle ground, good value wines with touches both of Balkan heritage and hipster appeal, and they've been doing very well.
I've been reading a book about the Balkan wars of the 90's, which rekindled my interest, perversely enough. I wound up ordering a few wines from Slovenia, which actually sat out those major wars.
Kobal, Sauvignon Riserva, 2016
Just about every Balkan white I've tasted saw skin contact, although not necessarily long enough to be an orange wine. This sees 3-5 days of contact, then 20 months sur lee in used barrels. I think it's a fascinating wine, even if few will easily spot its Sauvignon Blanc DNA, which feels clenched in an iron fist of salt. If you could grow vines in a salt mine, this is what the wine would smell and taste like. There's enough lime and peaches to balance the minerals, but it might prove a tough ride for the novices and it's one of the few whites that I would consider decanting, if I wasn't too lazy to look for and wash my only decanter. (Apr. 16, 2021)
Kobal, Sauvignon, 2020
This is the younger and less expensive version, which gets 'only' three days of skin contact and then a few months of tanks. While it's friendlier and more accessible, I think you would easily recognize its family relationship with the Riserva. The mineral, saline character gives it away, as does a slight heaviness on the palate, which does not detract from its fruitiness, in fact, it underlines it. (Apr. 19, 2021)
Kobal, Bajta Haloze Belo, 2018
This totally an orange wine. It comes from the Podravje region in Styria, in northeastern Slovenia. It's made of Pinot Grigio, Welschriesling, Chardonnay and Traminer and goes through 37 days of maceration and fermentation on the skins, and then aged for two years in used barriques. Don't ask me why I decided to try an orange wine again after almost two years. Call it curiosity. It's orange, alright, so deeply orange it almost looks like a rose. The nose reminds me of a jam with all the sweetness sucked out of it, just orange peels and spices and the kind of room where the dust never settles down. It's yeasty and dry, and tastes like it should be dirty and funky, but for some reason it manages to escape that trap. (Apr. 18, 2021)
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