Hungary's wine story runs through one place above all others: Tokaj, in the far north-east, where the Bodrog joins the Tisza beneath the volcanic Zemplén hills. A royal decree usually dated to 1737, in the reign of Charles III, named the settlements entitled to call their wine Tokaji and forbade bringing grapes in from outside — one of the first legally drawn wine boundaries anywhere. Hungary has twenty-two wine districts, but this is the one with a global name, and UNESCO inscribed its historic cultural landscape in 2002.
Tokaji Aszú was the sweet wine of European courts, and the region kept the motto that went with it: vinum regum, rex vinorum, the wine of kings and the king of wines. Four decades of state-controlled production after the Second World War flattened its reputation, and rebuilding only began in earnest in the early 1990s. Tokaj's cellars are tunnels cut into rock, their walls furred with a black mould, Cladosporium cellare, that feeds on evaporating alcohol.
What Hungarian wine tastes like
Tokaji Aszú is the region's calling card, and it is unlike other sweet wines. The colour runs from deep gold to amber, the texture is thick and almost syrupy, and the flavours go to dried apricot, orange marmalade, quince, honey and caramel.
What stops it cloying is acidity. Furmint carries enormous natural acid, so a wine with 120 grams of sugar per litre or more still finishes bright rather than heavy. Ageing in wood adds a nutty, tea-like edge.
Dry Furmint tastes completely different: brisk and firm, with green apple and pear, a lick of smoke or wet stone, and a slightly waxy texture. Hárslevelű — the name means "linden leaf" — is softer and more floral, and Sárgamuskotály brings grapey Muscat perfume.
