Right, darlings, let's talk about the wine world's most polarizing trend: natural wine. It's the hipster's nectar, the sommelier's latest obsession, and the traditional winemaker's worst nightmare—all rolled into one cloudy, funky, absolutely fascinating bottle.
Natural wine is having a proper moment. Walk into any trendy wine bar from Brooklyn to Berlin, and you'll find enthusiastic devotees waxing poetic about "living wine," "real wine," and bottles that taste like "a barnyard in the best possible way." Meanwhile, classical wine critics are clutching their pearls and muttering about volatile acidity and Brett contamination.
So what's all the fuss about? Is natural wine the future of viticulture, or is it just naked emperors and marketing spin? As someone who studied oenology in France—where this whole movement got its modern legs—I've got thoughts. And believe me, this conversation is far more nuanced than Instagram would have you believe.
Here's where things get delightfully murky, because—plot twist—there's no legal definition of "natural wine." None. Zilch. Quelle surprise, right?
But generally speaking, natural wine is made with:
Think of it as winemaking in its birthday suit. Grapes, fermentation, time, and a whole lot of nerve. The resulting wines can be cloudy, funky, unpredictable, and—when done well—absolutely transcendent.
The lack of official regulation drives some people bonkers. Without clear rules, anyone can slap "natural" on their label, which has led to plenty of greenwashing and consumer confusion. Some purists insist on zero sulfites; others accept minimal additions. It's the Wild West, basically, which is either exciting or terrifying depending on your perspective.
Here's the brilliant irony: natural wine is simultaneously the oldest and newest way to make wine.
For thousands of years—from ancient Georgia's qvevri to Roman amphoras to medieval monasteries—winemakers had no choice but to make "natural" wine. There were no commercial yeasts, no temperature-controlled fermentation, no sulfur dioxide tablets ordered from a catalogue. Wine was wild fermented, unfiltered, and probably a bit funky.
Then came the 20th century, and with it, modern oenology. Suddenly winemakers had access to all manner of technological wizardry: cultured yeasts for predictable fermentation, sulfites to prevent oxidation and spoilage, fining agents to clarify wine, enzymes to extract more color and tannin. Wine became safer, more consistent, and—some would argue—a bit soulless.
The modern natural wine movement kicked off in earnest in the 1980s in France, particularly in Beaujolais and the Loire Valley. A group of rebellious vignerons—led by legends like Marcel Lapierre, Jules Chauvet, and the "Gang of Four"—started making wines with zero sulfites, indigenous yeasts, and minimal intervention.
They weren't trying to be trendy; they were reacting against the industrialization of wine. Beaujolais had become synonymous with cheap, banana-flavored Nouveau made with carbonic maceration and loads of additives. These pioneers wanted to return to terroir—to make wines that tasted of place, not process.
By the 2000s, the movement had spread globally. Japan's natural wine bars became cult destinations. Brooklyn sommeliers started championing cloudy Pet-Nat. Australian winemakers began experimenting with amphora fermentation. What started as a fringe French rebellion became a full-blown international phenomenon.
Making natural wine is not for the faint of heart. It requires serious skill, intuition, and a willingness to accept that some vintages might go sideways.
It all starts with organic or biodynamic farming. Natural winemakers believe that healthy soil and balanced ecosystems produce better grapes. No synthetic chemicals means more work—more tilling, more hand-weeding, more vulnerability to pests and disease. But the trade-off is grapes with more concentrated flavors and stronger natural defenses.
Many go even further with biodynamics—treating the vineyard as a living organism, using preparations made from cow horns and quartz crystals, planting by lunar cycles. It sounds absolutely bonkers, but some of the world's most celebrated wines (Domaine Leroy, anyone?) are made this way.
Wild fermentation is where things get properly exciting. Instead of adding commercial yeasts that guarantee a clean, predictable fermentation, natural winemakers rely on the indigenous yeasts present on grape skins and in the cellar. This can produce far more complex flavors—but also more risk of stuck fermentations or off flavors.
No fining or filtering means the wine stays cloudy. You might see sediment, haziness, even little floaty bits. This isn't a flaw—it's a feature. All those particles contain flavor compounds, texture, and complexity that would be stripped out by filtration.
Some natural winemakers ferment in amphora or qvevri—ancient clay vessels that allow gentle micro-oxygenation without imparting oak flavors. Georgian winemakers have been using buried qvevri for 8,000 years, and the technique is having a renaissance in Italy, France, and beyond.
The big question: to sulfite or not to sulfite? Sulfur dioxide (SOâ‚‚) is a preservative that prevents oxidation and kills spoilage organisms. Conventional wines can contain 200+ ppm; organic wines typically stay under 100 ppm. Natural wine purists use zero. Others add tiny amounts (10-30 ppm) at bottling as insurance.
Right, let's tackle the elephant in the room: sulfites. This is where natural wine becomes a proper battleground.
Why conventional winemakers use SOâ‚‚:
Why natural winemakers avoid it:
Here's my take: sulfites aren't the devil, but they're not necessary in every wine. The best natural winemakers have figured out how to make stable, age-worthy wines without them—through meticulous cellar hygiene, perfect grape selection, and sheer bloody skill.
But let's be honest: zero-sulfite wines are fragile. They need cold storage, careful transport, and knowledgeable retailers. Buy a natural wine that's been sitting in a hot shop window? You're rolling the dice, darling.
Natural wines taste different. Sometimes wonderfully so. Sometimes... not.
Common flavor profiles:
The funkiness is polarizing. Some people find it complex and fascinating—like a stinky cheese that becomes delicious once you get past the aroma. Others find it off-putting or outright faulty.
And here's the rub: variability. One bottle might be brilliant; the next from the same producer might be corked, oxidized, or over-fermented. This inconsistency drives critics mad but is part of the natural wine ethos—wine is a living product, not a factory-made commodity.
Personally? I love a good funky wine with the right meal. A cloudy Beaujolais with charcuterie? Chef's kiss. An orange wine with aged Comté? Absolutely smashing. But I also appreciate clean, elegant wines made with minimal intervention but some sulfites. It's not binary, darlings.
Natural wine is a global phenomenon, but certain regions have become hotbeds of innovation.
The birthplace of the modern movement. Gamay wines made with carbonic maceration, zero sulfites, and pure joie de vivre. Producers like Lapierre, Foillard, and Thévenet set the standard.
Chenin Blanc and Cabernet Franc heaven. Winemakers like Domaine de la Taille aux Loups and Olivier Cousin make wines with terroir so transparent you can practically taste the limestone.
The land of orange wine—white grapes fermented on skins like reds, producing tannic, structured, deeply complex wines. Radikon and Gravner are the godfathers.
Just over the border from Friuli, Slovenian winemakers have been making skin-contact wines for generations. Movia and Guerila are brilliant.
Sonoma and Mendocino are natural wine hotspots. Look for Donkey & Goat, Scholium Project, and Martha Stoumen—adventurous winemakers pushing boundaries.
The Aussies have embraced natural winemaking with typical enthusiasm. BK Wines, Lucy Margaux, and Jauma make exciting, unfiltered, energetic wines.
These are the legends who built the natural wine movement:
Natural wine has its detractors, and some of their points are spot-on:
Anyone can call their wine "natural." There are no legal standards, no certifications (well, a few tiny ones, but nothing universal). This leads to greenwashing and consumer confusion.
Bottle variation is real. One bottle might be divine; another from the same case might be faulty. For consumers paying $30-60 per bottle, that's frustrating.
Some natural wine zealots act like they've discovered the One True Way to make wine, dismissing anything else as "industrial swill." This holier-than-thou attitude alienates people who might otherwise be curious.
Natural wines are often expensive—$25-80 per bottle is common. Some of this reflects higher production costs (organic farming is labor-intensive), but some is pure hype and Instagram cachet.
Critics argue that some natural winemakers excuse legitimate faults (volatile acidity, oxidation, Brett contamination) as "character" or "authenticity." There's a fine line between funky-good and funky-bad.
My view? These criticisms are valid. The natural wine world does need more transparency, better quality control, and less smugness. But that doesn't invalidate the philosophy itself. When done well, natural wine is utterly brilliant.
Natural wines shine with foods that have similar funky, fermented, umami-rich character:
Pairing: Cloudy, unfiltered Beaujolais with washed-rind Époisses or aged Comté
Why it works: The earthy, barnyard notes in both the wine and cheese create harmony rather than clash. The wine's acidity cuts through the cheese's richness, while the funky flavors amplify each other. It's like a deliciously stinky symphony.
Pairing: Orange wine (skin-contact white) with kimchi, sauerkraut, or pickled vegetables
Why it works: Both the wine and the food are products of fermentation, creating a natural affinity. The wine's tannins (from skin contact) can handle the acidity and spice of fermented foods without being overwhelmed. Orange wine's texture and complexity match the funky, sour, umami flavors perfectly.
Pairing: Gamay or light-bodied natural red with pork rillettes, country pâté, or air-dried salami
Why it works: The wine's freshness and acidity cut through fatty, rich cured meats. The fruit-forward character balances the saltiness, while the wine's earthy undertones complement the savory, umami-laden meats. Low tannins mean the wine won't dry out your palate.
Pairing: Skin-contact white or light natural red with roasted beets, carrots, and mushrooms
Why it works: The wine's earthy character mirrors the caramelized, umami-rich flavors of roasted veg. Natural wines often have a rustic, soil-driven quality that vegetable-forward dishes absolutely love.
Ready to dip your toes into the funky end of the pool? Here's how to start:
Natural wine bars are your best entry point. The staff can guide you, you can taste before committing to a bottle, and you'll meet fellow enthusiasts. Look for bars with a rotating selection and knowledgeable sommeliers.
Certain importers specialize in natural wine and have excellent quality control:
Not all natural wines are aggressively funky. Begin with more approachable producers:
Your first natural wine might be a revelation or a head-scratcher. If it tastes "funky" or "weird," that's normal. Give it time to open up, pair it with food, and approach it with curiosity rather than judgment. Not every bottle will be for you, and that's okay.
Also: store it properly. Natural wines are temperature-sensitive. Keep them cool (ideally around 55°F/13°C) and drink them within a year or two unless the producer specifically says they're age-worthy.
Written by Sophie, The Wine Insider
Educated in oenology in France, reporting from the frontlines of wine culture