Cloudy bottles. Unfiltered textures. Something that smells a little…barnyardy? Natural wine has officially arrived, and depending on who you ask, it’s either the future of winemaking or a hipster science project gone wrong. Somewhere in the middle lies the truth—and for small South African producers, that middle ground is where the magic can happen. Or not.
Let’s get something straight: funk is not a flavour. Or at least, not one that guarantees quality. In the right wine, a bit of wild character—some skin contact grip, a hint of oxidative nuttiness, that indescribable something—can make it sing. In the wrong one, it’s a hot, vinegary mess with delusions of grandeur.
I’ve tasted both.
There’s this romanticized idea that natural wine has to be unpredictable to be authentic, but honestly, unpredictability without control is just chaos. Bad wine is bad wine. If you’re going to push boundaries—ferment with native yeasts, skip the Sulphur, leave it cloudy—then let it be part of a good wine. Use the funk as a feature, not an excuse.
Take Lourens van der Westhuizen at Arendsig. He’s my winemaking idol—not because he makes natural wine for the sake of it, but because his approach is grounded. Minimal intervention, maximum expression, and zero compromise on quality. I recently tasted the Longridge Chenin Blanc—also low-intervention, and absolutely stunning. Textured, alive, and clean as a whistle. That’s how it’s done.
But I’ve also tasted wines—often in the experimental or Garagiste space—that are riddled with Brett, prematurely oxidized, or so volatile they’d make your eyes water. It’s like they’re trying so hard to be different, they forgot to be drinkable. And that’s where the danger lies. When the experimental space becomes a dumping ground for flawed wines passed off as edgy or raw, it does more harm than good.
Because for small producers, these wines are ambassadors. They’re often hand-sold, shared at farmers markets or small tastings, and they carry the weight of the winemaker’s whole story. If someone’s first experience of “natural wine” is a murky, mousy mess, they’re not coming back for more. And worse, they’re writing off the entire movement.
Let’s also not forget that this is still a food product. Hygiene, sterilization, and cleaning practices aren’t “commercial” sins—they’re essential. You can make wild wine, but your equipment better be spotless. Your barrels clean. Your hoses flushed. Just because you’re fermenting with native yeast doesn’t mean you get to skip the basics. Natural winemaking isn’t about neglect—it’s about trust. And trust is earned through clean, careful craft. No one wants to drink a “story” that comes with a side of spoilage.
Authenticity matters—but so does skill. And maybe that’s the secret sauce: balance. The best experimental wines aren’t reckless, they’re deliberate. Made by people who know the rules they’re breaking—and why.
So sure, leave your wine unfiltered. Let it go wild on skins. Embrace the yeast and the funk and the texture. But don’t lose the plot. Make it delicious. Make it intentional. And maybe, just maybe, make it weird.
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