Ripe stone fruit, wild herbs, and a deep, slightly smoky mineral tone. There’s weight here and nothing is sharp, everything is integrated. Long, contemplative, and a little hard to pin down in the best way.
From old vines of Riesling planted in the highest terraces of the Ungsberg, this compact, elegant Riesling is of such density and detail that it gives the impression it will reward drinkers for decades to come. Built on a backbone of pristine stone fruit and an intense, stony minerality, it is a wine of quiet brilliance and profound energy.
Jakob Tennstedt
Jakob Tennstedt has found perhaps the two wildest vineyards in the Mosel. Tucked into a steep, forested side valley near Traben-Trarbach, his vineyards don’t overlook the river—they face silence. Dense woods, wind, and isolation. It’s a place that feels untouched, and that sense of remove runs through everything he does.
Jakob farms just over a hectare of old Riesling vines, many between 50–100 years old, some still on their original roots. From the start, everything has been organic and biodynamic—not as a statement, just as a baseline. The vineyards feel more like gardens than anything else: wild grasses, flowers, insects, and a kind of quiet coexistence. Even the materials reflect that mindset—birch branches and natural wood replacing conventional posts, because they belong there.
In the cellar, the approach is just as instinctive. No formulas, no lab work guiding decisions. Harvest is done by taste and feel. Healthy botrytis is welcomed. Fermentations unfold slowly in old fuders—sometimes over a year—before the wines continue to rest in barrel for as long as they need. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is corrected. No fining, no filtration, no sulfur.
What comes out the other side doesn’t fit neatly into Mosel expectations. These are dry Rieslings, but not sharp or linear in the usual sense. The textures are layered, the aromatics wide-ranging—sometimes veering into savory, oxidative, even slightly untamed territory. And yet, nothing feels out of place. There’s a calmness, a cohesion, a sense that everything is exactly where it should be.
Jakob isn’t chasing a style, or aligning with any movement. His work sits adjacent to the natural wine world, but separate from its trends. This is something more inward—personal, deliberate, and deeply felt.
Production is tiny. The wines are labeled simply, often named after birds or insects rather than places, a quiet workaround to the constraints of classification. But underneath it all, this is still classic Mosel at its core—old vines, steep slopes, Riesling—just seen through a different lens.
