Features
Between Roots and Reinvention
A dual-perspective of Hungary’s wine regions in transition between historic preservation and global progress.
15 August 2026
Buda and Pest divided by the Danube, yet historically intertwined. (Photo Credit: Jaclene Liew)
Two Cities, One Identity (Budapest, Jaclene)
Drawing back the curtains at the Hilton, the flat landscape of Pest across the Danube contrasted sharply with the hilly cobblestone Buda behind me. Budapest had felt deceptively unified, a divide I hadn't realised existed until my first visit a decade ago. Two merged identities, forever negotiating what it means to become one.
Little did I know, this tension would follow us into its countryside.
Definition in Limestone (Etyek-Buda, Jaclene)
Half an hour from Budapest, the pale limestone soils crumbled under my black boots beneath a thin blanket of snow. In a country defined by volcanic terroir, Etyek felt restrained — less burdened by history, more intent on definition.
Since 2017, Etyek has pioneered sparkling wine standards in Hungary. The Etyeki Pezsgő regulations restrict permitted varieties to Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, and Pinot Blanc, aligning stylistically with Champagne, with a mandatory minimum of 24 months on lees.
The ambition is clear, even if the results are still catching up. While the sparkling wines did not dazzle, other expressions showed Etyek’s potential.
The limited barrels of Pinot Noir available on allocation at Rókusfalvy Estate stole the hearts of everyone, with some even likening it to “Gevrey-Chambertin”.
At Etyeki Kúria, the dry Zenit clearly stood out. Created in Hungary in 1951, this early ripening variety is suited for the cool elevated vineyards. Located in the “vineyard of Budapest”, Etekyi Kúria capitalises on its proximity by providing storage facilities for wineries further away. With higher margins from this income stream, they demonstrate that purely romanticising terroir does not sustain a winery.
Not every bottle convinced us, but each estate offers a glimpse of promise.
Tradition with Modernity (Tokaj, Jaclene)
Tokaj may be Hungary’s most important wine region, but it holds a special place in my heart. I used to import its top producers to Singapore, memorising different vineyards’ names and microclimates long before I could pronounce all the villages. For a region that once shaped my business and personal life, arriving this time felt more like a quiet homecoming.
This is by no means an easy region to understand. Tokaj is both the name of the region, and one of its 27 villages. Tokaj PDO permits only six varieties, all white. Native to Tokaj, Furmint is prone to botrytis. It makes up more than 60% of the vineyards, with Hárslevelű trailing at 30% and then Sárga Muskotály (Yellow Muscat). Kövérszőlő, Zeta, and Kabar plays second fiddle.
Tokaj rose to fame in the 17th century for its botrytised Tokaji Aszú, prized when refined sugar was rare. This trip however, we tasted mostly dry wines, the volcanic soil of different vineyards shining through more distinctly.
Today, Tokaj feels caught between eras, with the old and the new coexisting uneasily.
The old guards, led by the Szepsy family, fiercely protect heritage. The father-son duo’s decades of research into vineyards and Furmint clones benefit the region and beyond, while championing the recent Mád Origin Control to further distinguish the village. Yet the younger generation, from Barta Pince to Zsirai, lean toward reductive expressions; some even challenge visual tradition by releasing their wines in Burgundy bottles.
But the deeper tension is reflected in both scale and style. Traditionalists release Aszú only in exceptional vintages, guarding rarity and monumentality. Larger operations like Sauska Tokaj and Oremus release annually, prioritising approachability and consistency.
I analyse these shifts through the lens of market forces and brand positioning, processing them as problems to solve. But Vincent’s different.
He rarely spoke during tastings. While the group dissected wines into structure and flavours, he listened first: to the winemaker, to their stories; understanding beyond the technical sheets.
Vincent typed on his iPhone, while I preferred to document in my palm-sized notebook. Every now and then, I glanced at his screen. Instead of tasting notes or scores, I saw brief notes about the fragments of conversations or the way the wines moved him. Often, these were the same things I had just scribbled.
As others debated over styles, we often drifted into hushed conversations about the producers’ motivation. Sometimes, a look sufficed. Just a few days in, I realised we weren’t only tasting the same wines but also searching for the same thread: beyond taste, how the wine made us feel.
Vineyard classification once hinged on botrytis potential, but dry Furmint now dominates production – a jarring disparity every producer lamented. For a region balancing heritage with changing global paletes, dry Furmint may well be its bridge, proudly expressing its terroir while drawing new attention back to its unrivalled sweet wines.
I once believed preservation was the only honest path forward, that continuity proved loyalty. But running up Szent Tamás vineyard one winter morning, recalling the quiet conviction of Ádám Tóth of Barta Pince, I found a deeper appreciation for the next generation. People come and go, but vineyards endure. Quality and preference are, after all, not the same. Progress, too, can be bottled with intention.
The Art of Blending (Eger, Vincent)
If Tokaj represents the royalty of Hungary, then Eger would be its workhorse. Bikavér, or bull’s blood, is based upon an ancient legend: these outnumbered noble Hungarian warriors, sporting long beards dripping with crimson liquid rumored to be the blood of bulls, repelled foreign invaders. How much truth the tale truly holds is anyone’s guess, but we do know that red grapes were not even planted in Eger until the Turkish occupation.
Egri Bikavér was Hungary’s modern answer to fine wine; the first wine of quality produced from a demarcated area. Egri Bikavér’s regulation can be confusing; it must be a blend of at least four varieties, with Kékfrankos (Blaufränkisch) as the base but not exceeding 65%. Herein lies the irony of Bikavér – apart from Kékfrankos and Kadarka, there just aren’t many notable Hungarian red varieties.
The irony was not lost on us at St Andrea, one of Eger’s leading lights, helmed by the father-son duo. Speaking with György Jr, he lamented that he couldn't increase the Kékfrankos in his blends, which he believes is the soul of Bikavér, nor can he reduce the international varieties. Despite the stature of St Andrea, Dr György maintains an air of humility that is acknowledged by the group, including a knowing glance from Jaclene halfway across the table. He freely admitted they erred in planting mostly international varieties early on and has since been replanting with indigenous varieties, though in viticulture, results take years, if not decades.
Stylistically, Egri Bikavérs are almost antithetical to the typical narrative of great wines. There is no ‘noble’ variety, and instead of single vineyards as Jaclene goes into much depth in Tokaj; here it's either on the Nagy-Eged-Hegy, arguably the best terroir in Eger, or not. Even then, with the freedom to plant varieties at will, the individuality of the terroir plays second fiddle to the whims of the winemakers. And yet these are wines of character, as bold and proud as the legendary defenders of Eger, protecting their heritage while striving to stand against the world’s best.
Looking Beyond Tradition (Villány, Vincent)
Compared to Eger’s focus on Hungarian history, Villány pivots entirely. The region has found great success with Bordelaise varieties and has consistently garnered international recognition, with its most famous advocate being Michael Broadbent who proclaimed that “Cabernet Franc has found its natural home in Villány”.
