Germany's divine white wine is heaven-sent for summer, but the labels are straight from hell. By Nancy Ross Ryan
Photo by Laurie Proffitt
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Celestial Riesling Germany's divine white wine is heaven-sent for summer, but the labels are straight from hell. By Nancy Ross Ryan |
Photo by Laurie Proffitt |
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"You must be kidding!" That's what I said to my trusted advisor at the wine and spirits store where I have shopped for the past 15 years. I had asked him to recommend a wine for summer drinking, one that would make a refreshing aperitif as well as match a variety of summer foods -- and I was expecting any answer but "German wine." "This is a joke," I continued. "You're going to say Blue Nun, aren't you?" But my longtime counselor wasn't smiling. He looked sad. "I was going to -- and I will -- wholeheartedly recommend Riesling. But Liebfraumilch," he lamented "is the mistaken association too many Americans make with German wine." Then he described to me the present-day plight of German wines. Because Germany is primarily a beer-drinking nation, the demand for everyday wines is less than it is in, say, Italy and France. Consequently most of the wines that Germany produces fit into the "quality" as distinguished from the "table" wine category. The whites, particularly the Rieslings, are among the world's best. Their glory lies in the perfect balance between sweetness and acidity -- resulting in white wines of incomparable complexity, subtlety and richness. Their production is labor-intensive because the best vineyard sites are steep riverbanks. The northerly regions in which the Riesling grape thrives results in a long, slow maturation period. There was a time when Rieslings' price reflected their royalty. "At the end of the 19th century German Rieslings from the Mosel and the Rheingau [regions] were the most expensive wines in the world, commanding prices higher than those of the top growths in Bordeaux. Although the quality of the finest wines remained high, the fall from zenith to nadir took less than 50 years. Only two decades ago German wines were synonymous for cheap, sweet plonk," write Armin Diel and Joel Payne in German Wine Guide (Abbeville Press, New York, 1999). The "cheap, sweet plonk," they speak of is synonymous in my mind with Liebfraumilch (a wine bottled under several labels including Blue Nun). Liebfraumilch is not a varietal but a blend of white grapes, its sweetness unbalanced by acid, which became very popular in the 60s and 70s in America. But since those early days of wine drinking -- when our taste buds preferred sweet, unstructured wines -- Americans have turned toward dry, big wines. Oaky California Chardonnays are a clear indication of what I think of as "The Bigger the Better" trend. These rich, buttery wines are anything but food friendly. Good dry and off-dry Riesling, on the other hand, is wonderfully versatile with a wide range of foods: venison, pheasant, wild duck and other game, domestic duck, and roast chicken and turkey. And, now that I am exploring these well-crafted wines for myself, I have found that a well-made spätlese is perfectly suited to spicy foods: barbecue, Thai curries, grilled salmon, curried shrimp. And German Rieslings are great for summer because they tend to be low in alcohol, most range from 9 to 10 percent, some are 11 percent (alcohol by volume). And since I have uttered the word "spätlese" I should explain my struggles with German wine terminology. Generally speaking, according to the experts, wines are labeled according to the ripeness of the grapes when they are picked, which determines sugar content. From dry to sweet the Riesling labels can read: kabinett, spätlese and auslese. (Beerenauslese and trockenbeerenausese are dessert wines made from grapes with very high levels of sugar.) And then there is the trocken (dry) and halbtrocken (half-dry) that can also pop up on labels. But just knowing that kabinett is dry, spätlese off-dry and auslese off-sweet to sweet doesn't mean much, because in Riesling the balance between sweetness and acidity is all. A perfectly crafted spätlese can seem drier than a mediocre kabinett. So how can you tell? (That was the very question I asked my wine guru.) Certainly not from the labels. The German wine label is an unsolvable conundrum unless you speak fluent German and are a German wine expert. It can contain up to 11 different pieces of information. For the uninitiated the most important of those are: the grape variety (Riesling), the alcohol content, the vintage year, the residual sugar (kabinett, spätlese, auslese), and above all else, the producer. My wine advisor said that to find good producers was the key to finding good Rieslings. The region is important as well. Among Germany's 13 wine regions, the six best-known for Riesling in the United States are Mosel-Saar-Ruwer, Rheingau, Pfalz, Nahe, Mittelrhein, and Rheinhessen. Consequently wines from those regions are most available. My search began with three of his recommendations: An estate-bottled kabinett Riesling 1999 from the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer region made by Maximin Herrenberg. The label is almost impossible to decipher. In addition to dozens of German words in both large ornate old English type and small sans serif type there is the picture of a wine estate entirely surrounded by green vines except for the puffy white clouds in the blue sky above it. To the left is a large gold-rimmed medallion encasing some prancing red mythological beasts in a heraldic crest. Two naked angels are leaning into the medallion, and -- to the far left -- a gold wine stein with a lid sits beside a gold tray bearing two wine glasses. Oh yes, did I mention the scrolls at the bottom and banners at the top? It gives me a headache. But the wine inside the bottle -- pure, unadulterated heaven. A delicate floral aroma greets, invites and caresses, and to my palate the wine delivers a burst of ripe fruit perfectly and amazingly balanced by a crisp, high acidity. This Riesling weighs in at a modest 8.5 percent alcohol. After that I'm good to go. On my next visit, his recommendation is an estate bottled 1998 spätlese Riesling from the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer region made by Dr. H. Thanisch. This one comes from a particular vineyard site -- Juffer-Sonnenuhr -- in Braunenberger. Did I figure this out for myself? Not a chance. I looked at the label and concluded that Brauneberger Juffer-Sonnenuhr was the winemaker because that name was the largest. Then my wine advisor informed me that there was another producer named Thanisch. This label was only slightly less ornate than the previous label, and only the wine within the bottle motivated me to go back for more. It was slightly sweeter than the first and offered the same gorgeous aroma, rich, ripe fruit, and crisp, high acidity. This was only 9 percent alcohol -- compared to many Chardonnays at 12 and 13 percent. The next label, a 1999 estate-bottled spätlese Riesling from the Rheingau region (9.5 percent alcohol) was almost readable. There was only one heraldic crest and the producer was Schloss Schonborn -- in nice big Roman type. The wine was wonderful, and I was hooked on Riesling. So I know what I'm going to be doing this summer: hunting down great German Rieslings. But I will be doing it with the help of a knowledgeable wine merchant because I am convinced that is the only way to navigate the labels. The future does offer some relief. German wine regulations were changed in July 2000, to allow two new designations for German wines: Classic and Selection. Classic means dry style wines that are characteristic of the best quality of a specific region and varietal. Selection also means dry but indicates premium wines from a specific region, vintage and vineyard site. And we should be seeing these new labels in September, 2001.
By the bye, did I mention that it's hard to find a German Riesling that costs more than $20? |
LIQUID ASSETS - July/August 2001