I sit in a cramped van, nursing a particularly nasty hangover from a winey night before. We’d hired a car to take us to the Tatra Mountains for a day. Apparently, the Slovak side is supposed to look like the Polish side, though less developed – more raw, its dogged preservation against commercialisation akin to something of national pride.
Really?
Yes, really!
Is the beer or wine culture bigger here?
Beer, of course – but us Slovaks would make anything into a drink, even honey!
I guess the nectar of the gods is worshipped all over the world.
I did come here for wine, and some earlier research has brought me to two native grape varieties that may be of interest, Devin and Dunaj, both of which I never got to try.
It rained heavily the night before, and I hurry into a wine bar on the outskirts of Bratislava Old Town, soaking wet. A man in his fifties greets me with the most enthusiasm I’ve ever seen in Eastern Europe. He struts from his gaggle of friends, all men in their fifties by a round table, bonding over cards and gossip.
Hello! Do you need to warm up with some wine? Where do you live, London? There are a lot of Australians there. I used to live in London.
Yes, I’ve come here for two glasses, one white, one red. Maybe a Devin, and a Dunaj? I’d like to try something native.
No, Devins are always made too sweet. I don’t like them. I’ll give you something else.
A glass of Noria appears in front of me. I take a sip.
Have you ever been to Clapham? There’s a great bar around, but my memories there were really ‘intense’…
I take a whiff of the glass, savouring the aromas of citrus, honey, and spices.
It’s a Traminer descendant. This is actually my wine, see my name on the label? It’s my baby.
He pours another glass whilst I was distracted with my table neighbours. The only other customers in the room, these two young Frenchmen already deep into their third bottle of red. The table of men in their fifties introduce themselves to the duo. What do you do for a living in France?
I trade antiques, the first one responds.
Yeah, right, his friend snickers. By antiques, he means 99% Pokémon cards.
That got everyone’s attention. My host sneaks yet another top-up of Noria into my glass while I wasn’t looking.
Yes, I do it all online. That’s why I’m here now, and not home in France.
What’s the highest valued card you’ve ever sold?
About €14,000.
The men in their fifties were thoroughly impressed. I walk over to the display cellar, a wall-sized wooden cupboard displaying one bottle for every variety of grape that they have available. I make a mental note to buy a bottle of Devin before I fly home.
Slovakia boasts a long history of winemaking, starting with Rome, thriving through the Austro-Hungarian Empire and well into the 20th century; supplying everything from crisp whites to tannic reds to European royalty.
And then the Soviet Union came. Like many countries in Eastern Europe, they made our wines s***, because we had to mass produce them in such large quantities that their quality and reputation suffered. Now no one knows anything about Slovak wine.
As for the glass of red, I tried a Svätovavrinecké, a spicy, velvety, aromatic, berry-heavy grape, descendant of the mighty Pinot Noir. Apparently this varietal has no future in Slovakia, despite its ambrosian flavours. It’s too hard and expensive to grow, you best try some now before they stop making them. Economics always wins.
Six glasses later, I pay my bill for the night: 2 items, €12.
Thank you.
Love, N.
Last Modified 8 January, 2026
