Adrians Weingut

Autumn hung low over the hills of Aargau, its gold fading under a sky that couldn’t decide between rain and mist. The air carried that cool dampness that makes the earth smell richer, the kind that settles into clothes and lingers on the skin. It was the kind of day where the season felt in flux, the vines still clinging to their leaves, unwilling to let go.

I met Adrian Hartmann in Oberflachs, where limestone juts through the soil, the land facing south to catch the last warmth of the year. Quiet, measured, he carried the air of someone who doesn’t waste words or movement. His winery, Adrians Weingut, is small—just four hectares—but each vine, each decision, feels deliberate. He started in 2016, after years spent learning in different Swiss regions, absorbing techniques, philosophies, the patience required to make wine that speaks for itself.

Letting the land lead

Walking between the vines, their leaves a worn shade of yellow, Adrian talked about what he refuses to do. No synthetic treatments. No chemical fertilizers. No shortcuts. Not out of stubbornness, but because forcing the vineyard into submission never works in the long run. “You work with nature, or you fight it. The second option never ends well.”

Here, the soil is old, the limestone holding tight to what the vines need. The slopes let just enough water drain away. The sun is generous but never too much. “We don’t chase power here. We look for balance and elegance.”

Asked which of his wines resembles him most, he thought for a second, then smiled. “Pinot Noir. It’s deep and it doesn’t give everything away at first. It needs time.”

A tasting without distractions

The sky had darkened, the air shifting. We stepped inside, the scent of damp barrels settling in around us. Adrian poured the first glass. Pinot noir, of course.

Pinot Noir
A quiet wine at first, its nose full of red berries, just a touch of spice underneath. The sip was light but firm, the kind that makes you pay attention. Tannins fine enough to slip by unnoticed until halfway through the glass. It’s the kind of wine that belongs on a table, next to a plate of something slow-cooked—like the region’s roast pork with prunes.

Riesling-Sylvaner
The kind of white that makes you sit up a little straighter. Bright, crisp, laced with green apple and fresh herbs. Sharp enough to cut through a plate of raclette, clean enough to match lake fish. A wine built on clarity, not complication.

Elbling
This was the surprise. A grape nearly lost to time, now growing again in these vineyards. Tart, bright, a hint of salt. The kind of white that belongs with oysters or something simple—bread, cheese, an afternoon that stretches longer than planned.

No noise, just wine.

Adrian doesn’t fill space with words. He doesn’t need to. His wines carry the conversation, each one shaped by the land he works with, not against.

Walking away, the vineyards stretched out behind me, a mix of bare wood and stubborn leaves, holding on just a little longer. Aargau doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t need to. For those paying attention, it’s already there.

Find his wines at: : adrians-weingut.ch