Steve's Wine Post

I'm a layman. Real wine experts would wince at much of what I have to say. But that's okay; it's like singing karaoke. Once in a while you hit the right note, most of the time the applause is merely polite. I can fit everything I have to say about wine into one blog post. That should tell you something.

First, a word about snobbish wine writing. If you think a Cabernet tastes like blackcurrants, fine. But if you describe a Muscat d'Alsace as reminding you of "wood smoke drifting across a meadow of honeysuckles in mid-July," you're full of shit.

I used to have a lot of bottles in my wine cellar. But then something happened, something very damaging to a wine collection: I drank them. I suppose I should feel bad about all the empty slots in that wooden rack, but the damage I did was so much fun to do, and I learned so much doing it, I'd do it again.

Now what goes onto the rack pretty much comes off again straight away, as I have achieved wine-consumption-equilibrium. But a few things aren't allowed to be touched. Like the rare 1981 German reds, because my wife and I met in 1981 in Germany. Like the 1962 Tokay, because JFK was president when its grapes swelled on their vines.

I have two Tokays, actually, the second one from later in the 1960s (I keep them in a dark cabinet in the cellar and haven't seen them for years, so I don't remember the date). A friend of mine also has a pair of Tokays, from different years in the 1960s. He wants to get together for a vertical tasting. But I don't know. That's four bottles of old wine, and I'd want to have all of my friends with me when the corks came out. Besides, JFK was president . . .



My favorite wine is Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Although thirteen different grapes (both red and white) are allowed in the region, Châteauneuf gets its distinctive flavor from the Grenache, which doesn't seem to do well elsewhere in the world. It thrives in the southern Rhône, though, and when handled right results in a fruity, full-bodied wine with a distinctive peppery flavor---my favorite flavor in wine. When not handled right it turns out dull and flat; I've been happy with about one in every three or four bottles I've sampled.

I live in Riesling country, so it's the grape I know best. Among the great, noble grapes of the world, Riesling is probably the most underrated. Many characteristics distinguish it but I'll limit myself to one: the sweeter it's made, the more astonishingly delicious it becomes.

Few wines strive to be sweet. In fact, most sweet wines have had sugar added. The reason is because during fermentation the yeast gobbles up the natural sugar and turns it into alcohol, and today's standards require the alcohol content of the wine to be the maximum possible (I think wines over 13% are overpowered by the flavor of ethanol, but wine experts all seem to disagree with me). You can stop the fermentation to leave the wine naturally sweet, but your alcohol content will be low. So you ferment to dryness and add sugar.

Late harvest Rieslings, however, contain so much natural sugar that they can ferment to reasonably high alcohol content and still remain sweet. Intensely sweet. The trick is to allow the grapes to rot on the vines, until they begin to resemble raisins; the loss of water concentrates the sugar, and the fungus that causes the rot makes an essential contribution to the flavor. Look for "Auslese," "Beerenauslese," or "Trockenbeerenauslese" on the label; they make superb desert wines.

Riesling achieves its finest grandeur in "ice wine," wine made from berries harvested after the first frost, while they're frozen on the vine. The water is locked up as ice, so only sugars come out of the press. The result is an oh-my-god super-sweet nectar that almost has the consistency of a creme liquor. Good Rieslings are made on the vine, not in the vat.

"Liebfraumilch" is a blend of grapes, including Riesling, from a variety of regions. It's made solely for export to the United States where it's consumed exclusively by Americans who know nothing about wine.



I've done a lot of traveling, and of course I've brought home wines from every place that makes them, including places like Hungary and Turkey. But those wines have never tasted as good at home as they did where I bought them. My worst luck has been in Spain. Spanish food and wine make me moan with pleasure; I actually sway slightly from side to side if the meal is particularly good, and from where I sit (literally) there's no better compliment you can pay a host. But when I bring home the same wine I had at the table, it tastes bland, and somehow it always goes sour within six months.

That's because wines get homesick and die if they venture too far away from home. They evolve with the food consumed in their home region. Actually, the food and wine evolve together, creating an "experience" that's difficult to export. Does this mean you have to serve German food with a Müller-Thurgau? No, but it does mean that Müller-Thurgau likes pork. That Rioja gets along right comfortably with Serrano Ham. That those extraordinary spicy wines they produce in Sicily make googoo eyes at hot peppers.

Matching wine with food is an art, one that I've never developed. I don't like rules in general; many red wines go wonderfully with fish, for example. But I do think the wine chosen for the meal should be one that doesn't over- or under-power the meal.

Some wine writers will tell you wine and chocolate don't go together at all, and that only a neophyte would combine them. Again, I disagree; a robust red wine like a Barolo makes a very good companion for chocolate.

What else? Oh, let's see:

I think Bordeaux wines are the most reliable of all, but unless you shell out a lot of money they're among the least interesting.

California Cabernets are the best buys for the money.

Pinot Noir and I have never had a really good experience together. I don't get the hype. At all.

My absolute single best wine experience was a business dinner in London with an Australian Syrah. I don't know why British food gets such a bad rap; all of my meals in England have been delicious. I'm a big fan of pub food and Indian cuisine.

If I happen to have a Chardonnay, which is unlikely, and you happen to want it, it's yours for the asking.

I understand the role of wood in wine making, but I don't want to taste wood in my wine.

My first love was Valpolicella. It remains a staple in my house to this day.

What's your favorite wine or wine experience?



(All the pictures reproduced in this post are from Travellers Wine Guide GERMANY, by Dr. Hans Ambrosi and Kerry Brady Stewart, Sterling Publishing, 1990. The last picture is a scene from my town; the route past these bridge houses is one of my favorite walks.)