alcohol-free wines are part of the nolo drinks trend.
Credit: Franck Legros / iStock via Getty Images Plus
(Image credit: Franck Legros / iStock via Getty Images Plus)

We live in strange times. How appropriate, then, that the weirdest development ever to affect the wine world is now its hottest trend. Namely, NoLo (no- and low-alcohol wines).

Definitions of these terms remain fluid; neither the EU nor the UK has yet fixed its terminology, while the USA defines ‘non-alcoholic wine’ as being under 0.5% alcohol by volume and ‘alcohol-free wine’ as being under 0.05% abv. Low-alcohol wine has a wide spread of definitions; best to check the abv on the label rather than relying on generic descriptors.

Why weird? Simple. If you’re used to the taste of wine, these drinks are profoundly disappointing. They taste shallow and empty. Any fresh fruit juice or smoothie blend is richer in flavour and texture, more exciting to drink, more nutritious and generally much cheaper. Mineral water is as beautifully packaged and more refreshing; it often sparkles, too.

Fine tea from China, Japan and India is more complex and satisfying, and accompanies food well (see Fiona Beckett’s feature in Decanter magazine’s January 2026 issue) – at whatever temperature you wish.

Energy drinks and soft drinks offer a parallel universe, from classics such as Coke, 7 Up and Irn-Bru to whacky and ephemeral fantasy creations. There is no need to drink NoLo wine.

Should these products even be called ‘wine’? No. The dictionary definition of wine (Merriam-Webster in this instance, but all agree) is ‘the alcoholic fermented juice of fresh grapes used as a beverage’. Wine is alcoholic. No alcohol: no fermentative complexity. NoLo alternatives are soft drinks based on denatured wine as an ingredient. I’m not, though, going to win this nomenclature argument. Here’s why.

The wine world, under siege at present, desperately needs this sales outlet for its grapes. NoLo may help keep wine producers solvent while they wait for better times – or prepare an orderly exit, if declining wine consumption is a permanent trend.

A more important reason, though, takes us back to weirdness: the disappointing flavour doesn’t matter. Abstaining drinkers still want the wine experience. They want the culture, the history, the complexity and the sophistication of wine. They want something that looks like wine, poured from a weighty and portentous container. They want something with the chic and allure of wine. When they pour the drink into a ‘wine glass’, they want to dream of the aroma and flavour complexity of wine. They want something not too sweet to match food. They want the wine ritual; they may even want to spend extravagantly, just like real drinkers do for real wine.

The trend is surfing upmarket. Château Sigalas Rabaud, a Sauternes premier cru classé, will launch a NoLo version later this year; others will follow. These drinks will cling on to the ‘wine’ name like a climber on a cliff edge, abetted by the wine world at large.

Yes, quality will improve. I had a chance to taste and judge 26 NoLo contenders over the summer; some are much better than others. A sparkle helps fill up the empty middle; so does a little sugar. Tannin can be a problem; acidity often lacks juiciness; but perfume brings interest, and some subtle oak flavour can help.

Among the widely distributed producers in the tasting who succeed in denaturing wine to make soft drinks of modest palatability are Carl Jung, Weingut St Antony, Becksteiner Winzer, Chavin, Levin, Oddbird, La Gioiosa, Torres Natureo and JP Chenet.

I don’t always drink alcohol – and enjoy the ‘time off’. Forget soft drinks prepared with denatured wine; I relish steaming sencha tea, a freshly made citron pressé, an orange juice from Pret or a glass of Vichy Catalan or Ste Yorre water. They all refresh. They all have a middle.

In my glass this month

La Pèira Blanc, Pays d’Herault 2022

(Image credit: Credit Unknown)

A sumptuous winter white for those whose January (like mine) remains undry: the La Pèira Blanc, Pays d’Herault 2022 (£82.80 Corney & Barrow) offers powdery honey-and-mimosa scents. It’s rich and structured: vinous, vivacious and commanding. The almondy flavours are sustained. Its core is based on Roussanne, Marsanne and Viognier, but Grenache and Clairette sometimes tiptoe into the blend, too. Close harmonies from this sub-Larzac Languedoc.

Andrew Jefford
Andrew Jefford

Andrew Jefford has written for Decanter magazine since 1988.  His monthly magazine column is widely followed, and he also writes occasional features and profiles both for the magazine and for Decanter.com. He has won many awards for his work, including eight Louis Roederer Awards and eight Glenfiddich Awards. He was Regional Chair for Regional France and Languedoc-Rossillon at the inaugural Decanter World Wine Awards in 2004, and has judged in every edition of the competition since, becoming a Co-Chair in 2018. After a year as a senior research fellow at Adelaide University between 2009 and 2010, Jefford moved with his family to the Languedoc, close to Pic St-Loup. He also acts as academic advisor to The Wine Scholar Guild.

Roederer awards 2016: International Wine Columnist of the Year