By Jaclene Liew dipWSET and Vincent Tan 

Both authors are based in Singapore, and have travelled to Hungary in January 2026 on a ten-day study trip with the Sommelier Association of Singapore.

Two Cities, One Identity

Budapest, Jaclene

Drawing back the curtains at the Hilton, the flat landscape of Pest across the Danube contrasted sharply with the hilly cobblestone Buda behind me. Budapest had felt deceptively unified, a divide I hadn't realised existed until my first visit a decade ago. Two merged identities, forever negotiating what it means to become one. 

Buda and Pest divided by the Danube, yet historically intertwined. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Little did I know, this tension would follow us into its countryside.

Definition in Limestone

Etyek-Buda, Jaclene

Half an hour from Budapest, the pale limestone soils crumbled under my black boots beneath a thin blanket of snow. In a country defined by volcanic terroir, Etyek felt restrained — less burdened by history, more intent on definition.

Etyek-Buda vineyards, where Hungary’s sparkling ambitions are being defined. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Since 2017, Etyek has pioneered sparkling wine standards in Hungary. The Etyeki Pezsgő regulations restrict permitted varieties to Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, and Pinot Blanc, aligning stylistically with Champagne, with a mandatory minimum of 24 months on lees.

The ambition is clear, even if the results are still catching up. While the sparkling wines did not dazzle, other expressions showed Etyek’s potential.

The limited barrels of Pinot Noir available on allocation at Rókusfalvy Estate stole the hearts of everyone, with some even likening it to “Gevrey-Chambertin”.

At Etyeki Kúria, the dry Zenit clearly stood out. Created in Hungary in 1951, this early ripening variety is suited for the cool elevated vineyards. Located in the 'vineyard of Budapest', Etyeki Kúria capitalises on its proximity by providing storage facilities for wineries further away. With higher margins from this income stream, they demonstrate that purely romanticising terroir does not sustain a winery.

Not every bottle convinced us, but each estate offers a glimpse of promise.

Tradition with Modernity

Tokaj, Jaclene

Tokaj may be Hungary’s most important wine region, but it holds a special place in my heart. I used to import its top wines to Singapore, memorising different vineyards’ names and microclimates long before I could pronounce all the villages. For a region that once shaped my business and personal life, arriving this time felt more like a quiet homecoming.

This is by no means an easy region to understand. Tokaj is both the name of the region, and one of its 27 villages. Tokaj PDO permits only six varieties, all white. Native to Tokaj, Furmint is prone to botrytis. It makes up more than 60% of the vineyards, with Hárslevelű trailing at 30% and then Sárga Muskotály (Yellow Muscat). Kövérszőlő, Zeta, and Kabar plays second fiddle.

Tokaj rose to fame in the 17th century for its botrytised Tokaji Aszú, prized when refined sugar was rare. This trip, however, we tasted mostly dry wines, the volcanic soil of different vineyards shining through more distinctly.

Szent Tamás in the village of Mád, one of Tokaj’s historic first-class vineyard. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Tokaj’s underground cellars with Cladosporium cellare mold, a hallmark of traditional maturation. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Today, Tokaj feels caught between eras, with the old and the new coexisting uneasily.

The old guards, led by the Szepsy family, fiercely protect heritage. The father-son duo’s decades of research into vineyards and Furmint clones benefit the region and beyond, while championing the recent Mád Origin Control to further distinguish the village. Yet the younger generation, from Barta Pince to Zsirai, lean toward reductive expressions; some even challenge visual tradition by releasing their wines in Burgundy bottles.

But the deeper tension is reflected in both scale and style. Traditionalists release Aszú only in exceptional vintages, guarding rarity and monumentality. Larger operations like Sauska Tokaj and Oremus release annually, prioritising approachability and consistency.

I analyse these shifts through the lens of market forces and brand positioning, processing them as problems to solve. But Vincent’s different.

He rarely spoke during tastings. While the group dissected wines into structure and flavours, he listened first: to the winemaker, to their stories; understanding beyond the technical sheets.

Vincent typed on his iPhone, while I preferred to document in my palm-sized notebook. Every now and then, I glanced at his screen. Instead of tasting notes or scores, I saw brief notes about the fragments of conversations or the way the wines moved him. Often, these were the same things I had just scribbled.

As others debated over styles, we often drifted into hushed conversations about the producers’ motivation. Sometimes, a look sufficed. Just a few days in, I realised we weren't only tasting the same wines but also searching for the same thread: beyond taste, how the wine made us feel.

Vineyard classification once hinged on botrytis potential, but dry Furmint now dominates production – a jarring disparity every producer lamented. For a region balancing heritage with changing global palates, dry Furmint may well be its bridge, proudly expressing its terroir while drawing new attention back to its unrivalled sweet wines.

I once believed preservation was the only honest path forward, that continuity proved loyalty. But running up Szent Tamás vineyard one winter morning, recalling the quiet conviction of Ádám Tóth of Barta Pince, I found a deeper appreciation for the next generation. People come and go, but vineyards endure. Quality and preference are, after all, not the same. Progress, too, can be bottled with intention.

The Art of Blending

Eger, Vincent

If Tokaj represents the royalty of Hungary, then Eger would be its workhorse. Bikavér, or bull’s blood, is based upon an ancient legend: these outnumbered noble Hungarian warriors, sporting long beards dripping with crimson liquid rumoured to be the blood of bulls, repelled foreign invaders. How much truth the tale truly holds is anyone’s guess, but we do know that red grapes were not even planted in Eger until the Turkish occupation.

Egri Bikavér was Hungary’s modern answer to fine wine; the first wine of quality produced from a demarcated area. Egri Bikavér’s regulation can be confusing; it must be a blend of at least four varieties, with Kékfrankos (Blaufränkisch) as the base but not exceeding 65%. Herein lies the irony of Bikavér – apart from Kékfrankos and Kadarka, there just aren’t many notable Hungarian red varieties.

Tasting through different barrels of what makes a Bikavér. (Photo by Wines of Hungary.)

The irony was not lost on us at St Andrea, one of Eger’s leading lights, helmed by the father-son duo. Speaking with György Jr, he lamented that he couldn't increase the Kékfrankos in his blends, which he believes is the soul of Bikavér, nor can he reduce the international varieties. Despite the stature of St Andrea, Dr György maintains an air of humility that is acknowledged by the group, including a knowing glance from Jaclene halfway across the table. He freely admitted they erred in planting mostly international varieties early on and has since been replanting with indigenous varieties, though in viticulture, results take years, if not decades.

Stylistically, Egri Bikavérs are almost antithetical to the typical narrative of great wines. There is no ‘noble’ variety, and instead of single vineyards as Jaclene goes into much depth in Tokaj; here it's either on the Nagy-Eged-Hegy, arguably the best terroir in Eger, or not. Even then, with the freedom to plant varieties at will, the individuality of the terroir plays second fiddle to the whims of the winemakers. And yet these are wines of character, as bold and proud as the legendary defenders of Eger, protecting their heritage while striving to stand against the world’s best.

Looking Beyond Tradition

Villány, Vincent

Compared to Eger’s focus on Hungarian history, Villány pivots entirely. The region has found great success with Bordelaise varieties and has consistently garnered international recognition, with its most famous advocate being Michael Broadbent who proclaimed that “Cabernet Franc has found its natural home in Villány”.

Villány most certainly put Hungary on the international wine map earlier than Tokaj dry wines or Egri Bikavér. It begs the question: does success matter only if achieved on your own terms, or is success simply, success?

I first encountered Villányi wines years ago with scepticism, until Gere’s Kopar quickly humbled me. Meeting Andrea Gere and her husband Christophe, who guided us through the vineyards of Kopár, Ördógárok, Csillagvölgy, and Konkoly, was truly striking. Standing atop Ördögárok, or the Devil’s Ditch, next to a statue of the Virgin Mary, safeguarding the vineyard in her silent prayer, the grandeur of the place was unmistakable.

Grandeur, a word that I should have reserved for Sauska. Here, the narrative shifts from rustic charm to contemporary edge, a change that’s even quite evident in their labels, where wines are named after prime numbers, an ode to Christian Sauska’s love for mathematics. Unlike typical large establishments that tend to be subtle, our visit quickly became a debate about climate change, vineyard suitability, philosophies, and of course Hungarian wine’s future. It was in that very moment, where opinions divided and passion rose, that I couldn't help but widen my eyes when the usually amiable Jaclene fiercely defended her views with such vigour one could not imagine from such a slight frame. We might not have come to an agreement that day, but it was clear that despite all, we were all united in our passion for wines.

We met Maul Zsolt next, a bear of a man who produces wines exactly as he enjoys, without so much as a glance at modern trends and market suitability. Here are massive wines of concentration and hedonism, some oaked for six years in double or triple casks, yet you feel the humanity in the wines – not from the names of the family each cuvée bears (Krisztina, Dániel, and Dávid), but how deliberate and intimate every winemaking decision seemed.

The historic Jammertál Cellar, owned by the Bock family since 1850, housing library wines dating back to 1981. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Our final visit was to Bock, one of the few estates in Hungary that have been around since before the world wars. Throughout the trip, we had many opportunities to try older vintages with winemakers who were all too enthusiastic to show us their early works. Sadly, they rarely lived up to the hype and I personally found the younger vintages drank better. Bock, though, bucked the trend in spectacular fashion; we tried both the 1997 and 1999 Cuvée Bock, and they were absolutely singing. Jaclene had been pursing her lips at faded vintages all week, but her eyes immediately lit up tasting these. If these two bottles were any indication, the wines from Villány would definitely be one to watch out for.  

One Lake, Many Stories

Balaton, Jaclene

Lake Balaton, to me, represents breezy summers by the “Hungarian Sea”. Arriving in Csopak this time in January suggested I had only known one season.

“It is snowing!” I ran out of the bus, the snowflakes catching in my grey scarf.

My only impression of Balaton, with its 10,000 hectares under vine, was 'table wine'. Within it lie six PDO subregions. The iconic variety is Olaszrizling (Welschriesling), with a three-tier hierarchy of Balaton Bor echoing Burgundy's classification: regional, village, vineyard. The simplest style often ends up in fröcc, an iconic summer wine spritzer.

Winter over Lake Balaton, with a view from the hill of Káli Fekete-hegy. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

We huddled in the cold air atop Káli Fekete-hegy at Szent Donat. As he hopped around the different tanks in his cellar, Tamás Kovács’ passion for expressing his terroir through Olaszrizling was evident. His voice rose in enthusiasm showcasing his recent harvest which included Furmint and Kékfrankos.

Several producers started replanting the near-extinct varieties, including Csókaszőlő, Kéknyelű, and Juhfrak. Certainly not commercially-driven, but identity anchored. International varieties add another layer of divergence. Weingartner Olivier’s skin-macerated Pinot Gris with evident salinity captured my attention, akin to the Pannonian Sea that once covered the region. Even producers near Balaton’s borders, like Turay Family Winery in Neszmély, share the same vibrant spirit and courage in exploring unconventional blends.

Fatigue surfaced as we tasted more. Unfamiliar vineyards, countless varieties, style disparity — this region simply has no single narrative to hold on to.

Within Nagy-Somló, the scale shifts dramatically. Somlói Vándor’s 4.5 hectares produce in a year what Kreinbacher averages monthly. Four Coquard presses lorded over us at Kreinbacher as we experienced the industrial efficiency meant for nationwide distribution. Here, experimentation in the vein of Weingartner Olivier would be a scant consideration.

Outside Szent Donat, Vincent took my precious bottle of Turay’s Nectar from my hands. I had raved over this non-alcoholic infused must so much that the generous couple insisted on gifting me. Given my tendency to drop things the past ten days, I handed it over without protest while instructing him to guard it with his life for tonight’s pálinka.

“Two bottles! You look like an alcoholic,” I laughed, filming him. He pulled a face muttering something about us sabotaging his reputation.

Behind him, the picturesque vineyards sloped towards Lake Balaton through trailing snowflakes. I instinctively turned my camera. Squinting through the fog at the lake, I realised it was not Balaton that lacked clarity – but me. The lack of singularity is precisely its identity.

Refinement Through Restraint

Sopron, Vincent

Our final stop to Sopron carried a sense of anticipation; my first visit to Steigler had ended with a midnight tasting in its cellar, sampling the entire portfolio with a couple of pálinkas thrown in for good fun.

Sopron’s historic streets mark Hungary’s western gateway to Austria. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

Compared to other regions, Sopron seemed suspended in time. It's a quaint little town with tiny roads seemingly not meant for modern cars. With its cobblestoned streets, it truly felt like we had stepped into the Middle Ages.

Meeting Tamás from Steigler Wines for the second time was still as much fun; for a man who witnessed the fall of the Iron Curtain, he behaved with all the enthusiasm and glee of a child. He seems intent on making everything. Zöld Veltelini (Grüner Veltliner) appeared in sparkling, dry, skin contact and oaked forms; Kékfrankos in white and pétillant-naturel. I thought the single vineyard Steigler Kékfrankos, which I almost strong-armed him into letting us try, truly shone and showed just what potential Sopron had. It was evident everyone shared my sentiments as the room fell silent while we tasted the wine, until the loud clang from Jaclene’s glass jolted everyone back to reality.

In a way, Steigler represented how I found the wines of Hungary: ambitious and exploratory, its potential occasionally obscured by excess. In our crowded wine market, attention is finite and only the strongest expressions endure. The question was never whether Hungary should embrace change, but how deliberately.

What Endures, What Evolves

Vienna, Jaclene

Fading Sunset on our final day as we crossed the border toward Vienna. (Photo by Jaclene Liew.)

A soft orange glow seeped through the bus window as we drove towards Vienna.

Fresh from Sopron, heads bent over our phones, we completed an end-of-trip survey. Every so often, I turned my screen to Vincent to show him a line or two. ‘Suitability for the Singapore market?’ He glanced at my answer and smirked, then angled his phone toward me in return.

As I hauled my purple luggage towards the bustling train station in the twilight, the stark contrast hit me – the quiet snow-dusted vineyards gave way to commuter urgency. Once the imperial centre that propelled Hungarian wines across Europe, Vienna now wears its grandeur lightly. Ten days ago, I arrived remembering only division. Now we understood something different.

Vineyards endure because they are rooted. But roots do not resist change, they steady it.

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Jaclene Liew dipWSET and Vincent Tan