Asian fusion dishes. “It’s the king of wines,” says chef Jonathan Waxman, who goes so far as to recommend it with slow-cooked spring lamb. “It can go the distance from white wine food to red wine food.” The worst thing I can say about Austrian Riesling is that it doesn’t come cheap. A great bottle from F. X. Pichler can cost as much as seventy-five dollars. But you can catch the buzz with examples in the twenty-dollar range from Domäne Wachau or Salomon. The qualitative distance between the good and the great is relatively short. Impress your sommelier or your wine merchant by calling out for a Wachau or a Kamptal Riesling. And prepare to impress yourself.
THE SEMI-OBSCURE TREASURES OF ALSACE
A few years ago I wrote about the impossibility of finding a wine to compliment asparagus. That was before I went to Alsace and before I had lunch with Olivier Humbrecht and his Scottish born wife, Margaret, in the garden of the Domaine Zind-Humbrecht. Margaret, who looks quite a bit like Téa Leoni, apologized for the simplicity of the lunch, which consisted of just-picked local white asparagus and speck—a light, prosciutto-like ham that is a local delicacy—while Olivier, who is big enough to create his own weather, opened a couple bottles of 1990 Zind-Humbrecht Muscat (which looked, in his massive paws, like half bottles). Apparently, everyone in Alsace knows what I was about to discover—that asparagus and Alsatian Muscat are boon companions. And most wine critics and sommeliers know that Alsatian white wines are more versatile and food-friendly than those of any other wine region in the world, even if they haven’t yet convinced the average American wine drinker of this fact.
Alsace has always had a bit of an identity problem, sitting as it does on the border of France and Germany, which have traded it back and forth for centuries. It is in many ways a world unto itself, a north-south ribbon of land studded with medieval villages straight out of Grimm’s fairy tales, separatedfrom France by the Vosges Mountains and from Germany by the Rhine River. It the only major wine region in France where wines are labeled by grape varietal—the most important of which are Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc, and Muscat.
Oceans of plonk are produced here for the supermarkets of Europe, but several dozen small domaines turn out complex, site-specific wines that can age for decades. Connoisseurs argue late into the night about the relative merits of Ostertag, Kreydenweiss, Boxler, Beyer, Dirler, Barmès Buecher, Trim-bach, Hugel, Marcel Deiss, and Schlumberger. All of these domaines produce great wines. As for me, let’s just say I got goose bumps when I turned in the driveway of Zind-Humbrecht, on the outskirts of the little town of Turckheim.
Zind-Humbrecht is a good place to initiate a love affair with Alsatian wines, because it makes virtually every type— thirty-five different cuvées in the ′99 vintage—almost half of which is exported to these shores. It’s also a showcase for artisinal, natural winemaking; although it doesn’t flaunt the fact, Zind-Humbrecht, like several of its neighbors—including pioneers Barmès Buecher and Ostertag—strictly adheres to biodynamic principles of viticulture, a radical form of organic farming. Just in case you like the idea of a chemical-free wine that’s been nurtured with the ash of butterfly wings.
Olivier Humbrecht is a twelfth-generation winegrower; in 1947 his father, Léonard Humbrecht, stopped selling grapes to the local cooperative and started buying more vineyards and making his own wines. After a stint in the army and a year in London, where he met his wife, Margaret, at a bus stop on theKings Road, Olivier returned to the family business, inheriting more than fifty different vineyards in Alsace. Like an indulgent parent, Olivier sees his job as standing back and letting those plots speak for themselves. I could name six Sonoma Chardonnay
THE SEMI-OBSCURE TREASURES OF ALSACE
A few years ago I wrote about the impossibility of finding a wine to compliment asparagus. That was before I went to Alsace and before I had lunch with Olivier Humbrecht and his Scottish born wife, Margaret, in the garden of the Domaine Zind-Humbrecht. Margaret, who looks quite a bit like Téa Leoni, apologized for the simplicity of the lunch, which consisted of just-picked local white asparagus and speck—a light, prosciutto-like ham that is a local delicacy—while Olivier, who is big enough to create his own weather, opened a couple bottles of 1990 Zind-Humbrecht Muscat (which looked, in his massive paws, like half bottles). Apparently, everyone in Alsace knows what I was about to discover—that asparagus and Alsatian Muscat are boon companions. And most wine critics and sommeliers know that Alsatian white wines are more versatile and food-friendly than those of any other wine region in the world, even if they haven’t yet convinced the average American wine drinker of this fact.
Alsace has always had a bit of an identity problem, sitting as it does on the border of France and Germany, which have traded it back and forth for centuries. It is in many ways a world unto itself, a north-south ribbon of land studded with medieval villages straight out of Grimm’s fairy tales, separatedfrom France by the Vosges Mountains and from Germany by the Rhine River. It the only major wine region in France where wines are labeled by grape varietal—the most important of which are Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc, and Muscat.
Oceans of plonk are produced here for the supermarkets of Europe, but several dozen small domaines turn out complex, site-specific wines that can age for decades. Connoisseurs argue late into the night about the relative merits of Ostertag, Kreydenweiss, Boxler, Beyer, Dirler, Barmès Buecher, Trim-bach, Hugel, Marcel Deiss, and Schlumberger. All of these domaines produce great wines. As for me, let’s just say I got goose bumps when I turned in the driveway of Zind-Humbrecht, on the outskirts of the little town of Turckheim.
Zind-Humbrecht is a good place to initiate a love affair with Alsatian wines, because it makes virtually every type— thirty-five different cuvées in the ′99 vintage—almost half of which is exported to these shores. It’s also a showcase for artisinal, natural winemaking; although it doesn’t flaunt the fact, Zind-Humbrecht, like several of its neighbors—including pioneers Barmès Buecher and Ostertag—strictly adheres to biodynamic principles of viticulture, a radical form of organic farming. Just in case you like the idea of a chemical-free wine that’s been nurtured with the ash of butterfly wings.
Olivier Humbrecht is a twelfth-generation winegrower; in 1947 his father, Léonard Humbrecht, stopped selling grapes to the local cooperative and started buying more vineyards and making his own wines. After a stint in the army and a year in London, where he met his wife, Margaret, at a bus stop on theKings Road, Olivier returned to the family business, inheriting more than fifty different vineyards in Alsace. Like an indulgent parent, Olivier sees his job as standing back and letting those plots speak for themselves. I could name six Sonoma Chardonnay
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