Does Place Matter Anymore For Wine Drinkers?
What new changes to the German wine law can tell us about the value of place in an age of terroir denial.
In so many of my wine conversations over the years, the most challenging question from consumers that always pops up is this: Why are some wines so much more expensive than others? Often, the question is posed as a variation of this: What’s the real difference between a $50 bottle and a $15 wine? Or even more accusingly: Can you really tell the difference between a $100 wine and a $20 wine?
No matter how it’s phrased, what underlies the query is the nagging sense from everyday wine drinkers that it’s all bullshit. That the values of various wines are at best arbitrary, and at worst are something used by sommeliers and collectors to keep wine exclusionary.
You’d think by now that I’d have a stock answer that easily and convincingly explains all this. But no. Inevitably, I talk about place, about how wine that comes from special places tastes differently. I ramble about how certain prestige regions or winemakers command more money due to their history or cultural importance, or the fact that certain wines have come to be seen as an “investment.” I gingerly tap-dance around the intangible, ineffable concept of terroir. Much of the time, the person I’m talking to remains unconvinced.
These days, in the middle of a worldwide wine crisis, it’s never been tougher to sell wine based on place. In fact, over the past couple of years, I’ve observed that a certain type of wine influencer/educator has begun to steer completely clear of talk about terroir. At the low end, the focus is on a certain populism focused on, say, wine in cans or alternative packaging. But much of the higher-end natural wine chatter also avoids a deep discussion of place. While the best natural-wine producers are committed terroirists, a lot of the derivative, middling natty wine talk is way more about winemaking technique and philosophy—which are similar whether we’re talking about Sicily, Loire, Oregon, or elsewhere. After all, you can make “zero/zero” wine anywhere.
I’ve been thinking about this declining interest in terroir among everyday wine consumers for several months now—ever since I came across an interesting, if esoteric, bit of wine-nerd news. At the end of 2024, the German Winegrowers’ Association presented a draft of what will become a vineyard classification system for all German wine.
Specifically, it sets out criteria for designating special sites as “Erstes Gewächs” and “Großes Gewächs” (essentially Premier and Grand Crus) for vineyards that meet the highest level of quality. Each region’s wine association will create their own regulations, and assemble a panel of experts to which winegrowers can submit vineyards for consideration. According to the German wine publication Wein.Plus, “in addition to other factors, the tasting of five vintages of the wine applied for by experts and the bottle price achieved in the past will also play a role.” This framework of quality will soon become part of the nation’s notoriously strict wine law.
Yes, I know, this all sounds very German. And much of the groundwork for this law has been in place for a few decades through the trade association Verband Deutscher Prädikatsweingüter (VDP), a group of around 200 top wineries that already promotes strict quality standards. These include the group’s own well-established classification pyramid vineyard sites: Gutswein (the basic, value wine); Orstwein (labeled by village); Erste Lage (from “Premier Cru” vineyards). At the top, wines from the “Grand Cru” VDP vineyards are called Grosses Gewächs, or “GG” on the label. A Grosses Gewächs always must be a dry wine.
The VDP, in a press release, calls its vineyard classification system “one of the most homogeneous and demanding in the world,” one that is “is recognized worldwide and has strengthened the reputation of German wine,” and one which “required renunciation, self-criticism, and focus” to develop. Says the release, “The VDP classification was developed with great commitment and through decades of hard work, with its members drawing on international models such as Burgundy.”
So far, the VDP has cautiously endorsed the idea of expanding its quality-pyramid model to wineries and vineyards across Germany. But the organization warns: “The transition to a universally valid regulation must be carried out consistently, without time pressure, and with caution, building on the experiences that have been made.”
In an interview with Wein.Plus, VDP president Steffen Christmann was more blunt. “German winegrowing is taking a big risk by declaring a Premier Cru and a Grand Cru. There is a huge risk of embarrassing ourselves,” he said, especially if middling German wines from lower-quality vineyard sites, thanks to pressures from big companies and large cooperatives, begin carrying prestige classifications. “We absolutely need a reference to the quality of the origin,” he said. “The grapes for Erstes or Grosses Gewächs can only grow in vineyards of outstanding quality.”
One outcome, of course, will be rising prices for top German wines. A major criterion for these top vineyard sites will most certainly be strict harvest yields. If winegrowers can only produce 5,000 liters per hectare for Grosses Gewächs versus 10,000 liters for a Gutswein, that will mean that Grosses Gewächs will be much, much pricier than the standard value dry wines.
Which leads us back to the same question I always hear from wine consumers about price, quality, and value. Christmann, in the interview, speaks to this fundamental problem that the wine world faces: How to talk to consumers about which wines from which vineyards are worth more money. “Wine lovers basically have a hard time finding their way around,” he said. “I feel the same way myself. In my private wine cellar, I sometimes have to write the prices of the wines of my fellow winegrowers on the bottles to know to which level a wine with a fancy name belongs.”
Look, I am a committed terroirist. I believe a sense of place is among the most important things in wine. But I also know that it’s not an easy thing for many American wine drinkers to understand. If Christmann, one Pfalz’s top winemakers, is confused by the quality-price ratio of wines from various vineyard sites in his own corner of the world—what hope is there for the rest of us?
I’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this!
This piece originally appeared in The New Wine Review (now owned by Unicorn Auctions).
Place still matters, I even think consumers grasp the basics, though it's a mistake to talk to them about "terroir" like a wine nerd. Everyone intuitively understands that Napa or Burgundy wine is amazing not (solely) because of the talent of the winemakers there, so then it must be because the grapes grown there are somehow "better". From there, it's not difficult to have them understand that the same grapes taste different depending on where they're grown - while the grape itself is important, it's less important than the place, which may or may not bring out certain varietal charictaristics in the final wine.
Climate, soil types, drainage - it all matters. Whether it matters $40 or $100 worth of difference, that's up to the individual. It's easy to mention a few of these examples and just let them peek at the larger intricacies without boring them.
"Terroir" is largely an obvious concept, more than we give it credit for - things taste at least slightly if not significantly different depending on where it's grown. But the way we tend to romanticize it is something only *some* consumers are going to care about. And that's fine - it doesn't mean terroir doesn't matter, it means the romantic notions surrounding terroir might not matter. Those aren't (quite) the same things. Save the romanticism for the romantics. Talk normal to the normies. If someone's budget is $20, awesome, show them something terroir-driven in that price range. If they ask whether something that costs $150/bottle is really worth it, tell them the truth: it *might* be, to them, personally, though there are authentic reasons for the price, which are varied and at least somewhat esoteric.
"Look, I am a committed terroirist. I believe a sense of place is among the most important things in wine. But I also know that it’s not an easy thing for many American wine drinkers to understand."
I work in the wine tourism space, so I'm biased, but I could not agree more with your sentiment here. Place is EVERYTHING in wine. For me, place is the most interesting thing about wine. The intersection of geology, climate, history, culture, agriculture, culinary tradition, local economy, etc.—it all adds up to what makes wine special. Without terroir, who cares? What is there to differentiate wine from other mass market alcohol?
And with the caveat that traveling to set foot in the world's various wine regions is a barrier for many, I think learning about place is actually one of the more accessible ways to appreciate wine. It's much less daunting for your average person to say, read about Burgundy (or even go there), than it is to engage with wine from the WSET kind of technical approach to the genre (and more fun too!).