Naboso means barefoot in Slovak. Close to the ground, nothing between you and the earth. It's not just a name — it's a position.
Nadja Peltzer grew up in Germany, discovered wine while working at a winery in Austria, and then landed in one of Copenhagen's best natural wine bars, where she spent years building a palate and a point of view. It was there that she met Andrej Miklušičák — a Slovak winemaker who had been quietly making wine for over a decade, mostly unknown outside his own country. They fell in love with each other and with the idea of doing it together in his hometown of Svätý Jur, a medieval wine village ten kilometres from Bratislava, in the foothills of the Little Carpathians.
Five hectares on granite bedrock and sandy topsoil, south-facing, all organic. They do everything themselves — tending the vines through the year, harvesting at the right moment, foot-crushing the grapes, watching the fermentation, bottling, labelling, and waxing every single bottle. Andrej's palate is extraordinary. Nadja handles sales, travels to markets, and makes ceramics under her brand earthea — vessels shaped from the same instinct that drives the wine.
The cellar is a 17th-century building on the main street of Svätý Jur. Gravity transfers. Spontaneous fermentation. Neutral oak and acacia barrels. No filtration. The wines don't leave until they're ready — which usually means years, not months. The label series uses artwork by Dorthe Kalhøj of Galleri Kalhøj, Copenhagen: a different face on every bottle, every vintage. Collector's items, and the reason people who don't know the wine still pick it up.
One more team member: Ryba, the vineyard terrier. Self-appointed Security Manager, full-time presence, no plans to retire.
Their philosophy hasn't changed since the beginning. Natural wine, yes — but stable, without faults, drinkable and enjoyable. If they don't love it, it won't leave the cellar. That standard is why people wait for the allocation.
