Razor-edged and mineral to the core. From a high, breezy site over fractured grey slate, this is Falkenstein in its most linear, crystalline form. Salt and citrus pith, with a cool green edge. Feels like standing barefoot on wet rock.

Hofgut Falkenstein

Erich and Johannes Weber have been quietly shaping this small estate since the mid-’80s, farming steep grey-slate slopes around Niedermennig and Krettnach with nothing but hand tools, intuition, and time. No chemicals, no shortcuts — just grass between the vines and a deep respect for how the land wants to grow.

Each parcel is its own little universe. Grapes are hand-harvested, whole clusters pressed, and the juice runs by gravity into old fuders — massive wooden barrels, each tied to a single plot, often named after whoever farmed it generations ago. 

The results are Rieslings that crackle with clarity and nerve — salty, bright, and feather-light, but structured with quiet intensity. Every fuder tells its own story, and each bottle feels like catching a specific current in the Saar’s cool flow.