"They say I don’t allow anyone to enter my wine cellar. Which isn’t true at all," says Joško Gravner dismissively. Still, his reputation for being an unpredictable character precedes him, and causes guests and visiting media to think twice about picking up an ordinary glass of water, let alone about how they phrase their questions.
"Difficult as hell," complain some that have dealt with him one way or another and discovered they weren’t to his taste – and he made sure let them know about it.
Others understand the pioneer of biodynamical viticulture in Oslavia, and see him differently – as an honest, warm, special person and winemaker who has perfected his craft to the very last detail, and has blazed the path for other natural wine growers in Slovenia (by serving as a role model, since he doesn’t really like to do mentorship.)
However, both groups acknowledge that he is an extremely principled man who doesn’t bow down to anyone. He despises bureaucracy and says that analyses are only relevant for those who are not confident in their wines. During our conversation, he was involved in a battle with the Italian legal system because he had refused to install an 8000-euro device for measuring carbon dioxide in his wine cellar. "I’m not going to pay for it. I’d rather go to prison than have someone who has never seen a wine cellar boss me around just because he has 'Doctor' in front of his name and follows the laws that are dictated by the industry. I have a candle in my cellar, and that’s the best indicator of CO2," he tells me firmly.
The winery is devoid of anything that isn’t "absolutely necessary" – anything that doesn’t, in his view, add to the quality of the wine. The cellar doesn’t have stainless steel or electric lighting; instead, its central area consists of buried amphorae, an underground shrine with indirect lighting and a chair for meditation surrounded by giant terracotta amphora mouths. The amphorae act as a womb in which wine can live and breathe.
Cleansed of everything unnecessary
The complete reduction of everything to the bare minimum can also be seen in his home, where he has given up TV years ago, even though he still misses live coverage of basketball games. In his living room, the whiteness is broken only by a single large canvas, several wooden chair and two tables – one of them featuring a white orchid and the other one a photo of his late son Miha, whose death in 2009 left a deep mark on Gravner and temporality slowed down some of their joint projects that were already in the making.
Unlike some Brda winemakers across the border, Gravner didn’t attain his status as an "icon," a "legend," and a "wine god" – as some, mostly foreign publications describe him – just because of a well-conceived marketing campaign, extroverted performances, or active participations at wine festivals or society events.
The Gravner mythos is also kept alive because of the winemaker’s personality. He took over the winemaking business from his father and uncle, but he revolutionized it and reduced it to the bare essence. "When I was 19, I suggested to my father during the pruning process that we prune the vines in the moonlight, and he said, You know, Joško, if you observe the moon, you’ll end in the ditch," he says when recollecting the beginning of the Gravner brand, which dates back to 1973. Maceration followed 20 years later. By the way, Jožef Gravner eventually backed down and pruned half of his vines under the moonlight, and the other half with no regard to the time of day. It’s no surprise which one went to ruin first.
Almost a step before the rest
Joško has always been a few steps ahead of others. When winemakers across the border began to experiment with a few Georgian amphorae, Gavner was already reaping praise for his journey to the Caucuses in the 1990s, when he came back with 90 amphorae. He was being acknowledged for reviving an almost forgotten, 6000-year-old tradition of kvevri vessels from Georgia.
And when others who had offered between 10 and 15 wines began to discover that foreigners were most interested in the Rebula variety, Joško was already botting the last vintages of his Breg variety (Chardonnay, Sauvignon, Pinot Gris, and Welschriesling) and was beginning to focus exclusively on Rebula, the Queen of the Brda Region. Of course, he also tried not adding any sulfur, bit he decided that small amount was nevertheless needed. "Today, some people pretend sulfur is the worst thing in the world, but if they realized how much sulfur there is in vegetables, fish, bottled water, juices, and raisins… But when it’s in wine, it’s horrible."
