Want to see a different side to Vienna? Board the Austrian capital's wine train

With a clank and a wheeze, the little train clatters up the cobbles, its blue and yellow frame juddering. A pair of signs warns passengers not to smoke or eat ice cream — which seems oddly specific — but as I’m bounced about, it becomes clear that even the most carefully balanced scoop wouldn’t survive the motion of this service, which has all the suspension of a trampoline. Two hikers pause in amusement as the locomotive revs and we shoot up and around a country lane, quickly turning into an even narrower one marked with an arrow and the words ‘Heuriger Sirbu 200m’. I survey the valley, whose sides are terraced with mustard-yellow vineyards, recently harvested. The hedgerows are bright with spindle, the berries like tiny pink pumpkins. I can barely believe it, but Vienna lies just a 20-minute ride away, its grand facades and gold-tipped spires catching the sunlight.

Carrying a dozen or so riders, the Heurigen Express is a miniature, two-carriage train that runs from April to October. It takes passengers into Vienna’s hilly suburbs to visit wine taverns known as heurigen, where customers can drink homegrown wine and eat local produce — often among the vines. Setting off from Heiligenstadt, in the northwestern district of Döbling, it travels up to the neighbouring municipality of Nussdorf, allowing passengers to hop off along the hilltops of Nussberg and Kahlenberg for panoramic views of Vienna. It then descends to the old winegrowing village of Grinzing before winding on to the Mayer am Pfarrplatz heuriger, where Beethoven lived for a time in 1817.

It’s no surprise that the heuriger is central to Viennese identity, given that Vienna is the only world capital operating a large-scale wine industry from vineyards located within the city limits. I’m riding alongside Gabi Knöbl, a guide from family-run Rebel Tours Vienna, who tells me that ‘heuriger wein’ means simply ‘this year’s wine’ and that many producers open their vineyards for visitors to taste the fruits of the harvest during the warmer months. Bottles are usually paired with plates of local produce, such as liptauer (a paprika-spiced cheese spread), smoked sausage and potato salad. It’s a tradition with roots in the late 18th century, Gabi explains. “The idea started officially in August 1784 when the Habsburg emperor, Joseph II, issued a landmark decree that granted residents the legal right to sell their own produce on their own premises at any price.” Today, that simple concept remains at the heart of heuriger culture.

As we trundle past signposts chalked with images of bottles, gramophones, corks and holey cheeses, I find myself longing for a taste of the city’s wines, 80% of which are white. Stopping by the wooden benches and green parasols of Mayer am Nussberg, I climb down to scour the menu, which lists bottles of grüner veltliner, wiener gemischter satz and riesling. There are salads, too, along with wurzelspeck — dry-cured pork belly. But with the autumn wind beginning to needle my ears, I fancy something warming, although I can’t find hot food on the menu. “This is a buschenschank,” says Gabi, joining me. “It’s like a heuriger but it has a strict legal definition. It can only be open from April to October, four days a week, and you can only sell cold food. It’s popular in summer with young people.”

On her advice we hop aboard the waiting train and bump our way downhill to visit sister establishment Mayer am Pfarrplatz— a heuriger where the aroma of roasting pork wafts through the vine-covered courtyard. It’s only 6pm but the tables are filling up — all locals, according to the perfectly coiffed head sommelier, Pascal Raab. I slide into a cushioned booth and listen to the cheerful glug as he pours a freshly opened bottle into my glass. It’s the city’s signature wiener gemischter satz, a bottle as unique as it is delicious. Its crisp and faintly citrussy with a fruity, pear-like finish. “The name means ‘mixed set’,” says Pascal. “Legally, it must be made from a minimum of three grapes and a maximum of 20. They’re not just blended in the cellar — the grapes are grown together on the field, on the vineyards, interplanted.”

Those fields are found mainly in the 19th district of Vienna, which was once part of the Roman Limes — a series of fortified borders along which the Romans started growing Italian vines in the third century. Since then, Vienna’s vineyards have proliferated, owing to the city’s location and the limestone sediment in its soil, which enhances moisture retention. Walking me towards the hot buffet, Pascal describes how the Danube River brings wind into the city alongside warmth from Eastern Europe. Vienna is also surrounded by forest, enhancing the air quality and allowing for cooler nights in the vineyards. “The triangle of warm, cold and fresh makes for ideal wine-growing conditions,” he adds.

We arrive at a glass counter filled with dishes of stuffed olives, pickled onions and a number of cheeses, creamed and whipped into peaks. Most have come from small farmers and regional suppliers. Pascal hands me a tray and explains that my gemischter satz requires a pairing with “something fatty and rich like schnitzel or backhendl — a type of fried chicken served with a slice of lime”. It’s hard to choose between the spinach strudel, chicken legs and crisp pork belly still sizzling from the oven. There’s blood sausages and truffle salami, too, along with a fridge of florentines, apple strudel and chocolate-coconut domes known as kokoskuppeln. I learn from Pascal that I’m in time for martinigansl, a slow-roasted goose served only once a year, but opt for the slightly lighter option — a creamy goose soup containing cubes of dark, tender meat.

Not usually keen on white wine in cold weather, I’m surprised to find it’s a perfect partner to a cast-iron pan piled with steaming slabs of soft pork and gravy-drenched crackling, all held together by the sturdiness of dumplings and cabbage. Suddenly, an accordion groans to life as an elderly musician starts up a cheerful waltz. It’s clear how a love of wine has shaped the social lives of this city’s residents, but Vienna’s wine culture runs deeper still.

Going underground

The next day, I find myself in the Old Town, walking in single file down a set of damp-smelling stone steps. Inside the cavernous space, a high-tech vending machine hums quietly. Stepping closer I realise it’s a wine dispenser: 25ml for €1 (87p); 75ml for €2 (£1.74); and 125ml for €3 (£2.61). I round the corner and spot a couple sharing a bottle and a plate of cheese at a wooden table, rugs spread across their laps. As I inspect the row of wrought-iron lockers — filled with half-drunk bottles of wine, chess boards and racks of champagne — I’m struck by the feeling of having uncovered a closely guarded secret.

The Hidden Wine Cellars tour with Wien Mal Anders is a two-hour journey through the city’s underground world of wine, taking in everything from a former air-raid shelter to a crypt and a cellar dating back to Roman times. Beginning on foot by St Stephen’s Cathedral, the tour has brought my group to the wineBANK, a members-only space containing two private cellars, 17 vaults and 231 lockers capable of storing 21,160 bottles. “Most people in the city live in apartments where it’s too warm to store expensive wines,” says my guide, Reinhard Grebien, switching from German to English for my benefit. “You rent the locker, you store your wine and in the hot summers you come down to drink and escape the heat.”

Arranged around high tables, we sip glasses of a mellow 2020 red zweigelt from Edlmoser Weingut & Heuriger — a heuriger located in the southern Viennese district of Mauer. The glass-fronted cellar in front of us is stacked with wheels of mountain cheese the size of car tyres. They’re the property of Anton Sutterlüty, who prepares them in the Bregenz Forest mountain range, then transports them here to mature for up to five years, before shavings of the cheese are paired with wines during tasting sessions.

With the wine creating a warmth between the group, I strike up conversation with a young woman named Xenia Lamprecht, a Vienna local who’s here with her husband. She tells me she moved to the city from Frankfurt in 2018 as a lawyer but was so taken by Vienna’s history and culture that she quit to train as a city guide. Like me, Xenia is here to learn about the city’s wine tradition, although she admits her interest is “less about the history and more to enjoy drinking lovely wines in a special atmosphere”. Xenia believes autumn is the best time of year to visit heurigen, when the leaves are turning and it’s not too warm. Her favourite is Windischbauer Wein, on Nussberg hill, because of the views and produce, which ranges from house-smoked fish and Breton sardines to bread made with hand-caught anchovies. Everyone is exchanging details as we make our way back up to street level, with Xenia urging me to return when they begin heuriger-hopping again. “There really is no lovelier way to enjoy Vienna,” she says, and I can’t disagree. This is a city whose culture is forever being poured, shared and refilled.

Three more restaurants to try

1. Doubek

To say chef Stefan Doubek takes pride in precision is an understatement. In front of an open fire, he prepares a 19-course menu in a spotlit, darkened room where flashes of pan-flame light up the walls. Expect dishes like grilled scallop dipped in roscoff onion broth, charcoal-smoked citrus carabinero (a large red prawn) and cod in lime-leaf oil.

2. Edelgreisslerei Opocensky

A 10-minute walk from Vienna Hauptbahnhof station, this little gem looks like a deli but houses tables at the back — many usually taken up by local diners stopping in for beef broth and dumplings. With a daily-changing menu created by the owner, Barbara, this is the city’s cosiest spot for hearty meals. Expect pork knuckle and sauerkraut, fennel lasagna and local, biodynamic wines.

3. Figlmüller Wollzeile

For traditional schnitzel, it’s hard to beat this historic restaurant. Established in 1905, it’s where Viennese diners still congregate at the weekend for chilled potato salad and sweet dollops of lingonberry jam, served alongside crisp pork escalopes so big they hang off the plate.