Riesling is still haunted by the ghost of Liebfraumilch, despite the fact that wine writers from around the globe call it the arguably finest white wine grape in the world.
"The Scene of Suffering is a destructive or painful action, such as death on the stage, bodily agony, wounds, and the like." (Aristotle)
After a splendid tasting of white wines we decided to finish the leftover wine at a newly opened Italian restaurant in Manhattan. Arrangements had been made beforehand in the form of a phone call to the restaurant to ensure they would be fine with us drinking our own wine and paying a corkage fee.
The waiter was very friendly. He thought it rather amusing that we had a backpack full of wine bottles discreetly sitting under our table. However, the owner of the restaurant, who happened to dine with friends at the table next to us, did not find it amusing at all.
After we poured the remainder of a 1976 Deutz champagne he came over and told us that the restaurant's policy does not allow consumption of any wine which is not sold by the restaurant. We mentioned our phone call earlier today. He replied that this had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Since we were given wrong information from his staff he would make an exception for tonight. He wished us a pleasant evening and returned to his table.
We thought that this was quite kind of him. We felt innocent, but such diplomacy impressed us enough to send over to his table the only Italian wine we had brought with us, a 2003 Trebbiano d'Abruzzo from Edoardo Valentini. The bottle immediately caught the attention of his companions (one turned out to be a long-time admirer of Valentini's wines). In an act of generosity we also passed along the 1997 vintage of the same wine, all coming straight from the backpack under our table. Being of a rare vintage, the 1997 caused a small riot at The Owner's table.
The ice had broken. The Owner told us that we should have revealed to him earlier that we are obviously true connoisseurs and that it was his honor to have such knowledgeable guests in his restaurant. He apologized for the rather rough treatment earlier on and would send us a bottle from his wine list as a reparation. Now, this was the kind of treatment we liked. Once this relationship of mutual respect had been firmly established we gladly shared our other wines with The Owner and his friends: a Chablis Grand Cru, a white Rioja from 1964 and a wonderful German 1976 Riesling Auslese from the Mosel valley.
Every bottle we sent over was looked at critically and passed on with affirmative nods. Every bottle? Well... except for one. For inexplicable reasons the Riesling was treated with unabashed indifference after a short glance at the label. No one even bothered to taste it. It was painful to watch the uncorked Ürziger Würzgarten Auslese sitting on their table, slowly warming up, dying the death of oxidation. How was it possible that at a table of obvious wine lovers a 1976 Riesling from one of the finest producers in the Mosel region could be so blatantly dismissed?
Germany's wine law of 1971 had a disastrous effect on the German wine industry. The notion of terroir was declared a myth and sugar levels in the grape equated with quality. There is no Premier Cru or Grand Cru as in France to denote the finest wines based on the soil and climate where the grapes are grown. In Germany it's all about the ripeness of the grapes, no matter whether they are grown on the best steep vineyards in the Mosel or on some flat piece of land that used to be a potato field two generations ago. This glorification of sugar levels lead to the bulk production of cheap wines which were only sweet and not much else, destroying the reputation of those German Rieslings which combine residual sugar with crisp acidity to create almost symphonic wines.
After phylloxera probably the second most powerful single force of destruction in wine history. Liebfraumilch along with its ally Blue Nun flooded the export market with cheap, undistinguished sugar water, which blurted the word "Riesling" to the consumer, even if in reality there was hardly any Riesling in it (30% by law, but does anyone really know?). These cheap and cloyingly sweet bulk wines from the new Grosslage vineyards flooded the international market and thus destroyed the excellent reputation German Riesling enjoyed before.
The amount of information given on a German wine label, along with relatively long names for vineyards written in Gothic typefaces, are said to intimidate the consumer. However, I have yet to hear someone say that s/he does not drink German Riesling because the labels are so scary. Interestingly, only German wines are accused of lengthy names although a closer look at other wine labels makes the Riesling Kabinett from the Mosel rather short-spoken.
Compare these consumer-friendly names:
with a typical scary German example:
As long as something recognizable is on the label such as the name of the grape or a region, it will give a timid customer, who finds himself surrounded by hundreds of wines in the store, the necessary confidence to make a purchase. In the lower price category the label design (or the kind of animal depicted on it), not the number of letters, is what draws people's attention. Anyone spending $15 or more for a bottle of wine will be grateful for more detailed information that German wines willingly offer. However, I admit that reading Gothic lettering may not be everybody's cup of tea.
But let me come back to our dinner in the aforementioned Italian restaurant for a moment. It was unlikely that people with a penchant for the eccentric wines of Valentini would be overwhelmed by a label reading "Ürziger Würzgarten Riesling Auslese". So why did they firmly eschew this truly wonderful wine? Was the sleek Mosel bottle still standing untouched on the table because they knew an Auslese will most likely be sweet? Riesling is known for its versatility. It can be bone dry or voluptuously sweet. Had we brought a bottle of Sauternes I am almost certain it would have been received with lip-smacking enthusiasm, as most things French do. France... Germany... could the place of origin have been the culprit?
I strongly believe that Riesling's main problem is that in people's minds it is... connected with Germany. Outside of our own country we Germans are viewed as people whose only sense of humor is the fact that we are not afraid to wear Lederhosen in public. We are known for the manufacturing of reliable cars and for the cold electronic sound of Kraftwerk. But not so much for our joie de vivre.
That rather pale Vin de Pays rosé may not be a stunning wine, but it evokes the mediterranean hills of Provence. The limpid Frascati is... well, limpid, but it just seemed perfect with the prosciutto in the enoteca outside of Rome. Germany's only cultural reference abroad seems to be the Oktoberfest in Munich. Unfortunately, because all it brings to mind are tribal dances on Bierzelt tables and bad hangovers. That does not help Riesling very much. It will be rather difficult to create an image of Germany that is as romantic as that of a Tuscan landscape, but if Germany only would promote its traditional cuisine with more confidence it would help Riesling in a time where matching food with wine seems more en vogue than ever before.
Wines from France, Italy or Spain will always have it much easier because these countries have cultivated their national food culture and their wines can build on a rich culinary history. Does one connect fine wine with a Bratwurst? Probably not. If we (i.e. the Germans) had given the world foie gras or Jamon Serrano, Riesling would most likely be on more wine lists in restaurants.
Take the example of Austria. Its cuisine is very similar to that of Germany. One can find it increasingly in upscale Manhattan restaurants such as Wallsé, Café Sabarsky or Danube, whereas German cuisine is represented by the Hallo Berlin food cart vendor on 54th St. Nothing against the food cart. But the sidewalk is not the place of fine cuisine.
The German Wine Institute is trying to create a new awareness of Rieslings amongst retailers, sommeliers and, of course, consumers by organizing large-scale tastings in the US such as the yearly "Riesling Week". Loyal Riesling devotees organized their own Rieslingfest this summer on Staten Island. But it may take a while to fix what the 70s in Germany destroyed. The switch from high-alcohol and heavily oaked white wines to wines which are less opulent but more elegant and truthful to their origin is long overdue. The persistently excellent Riesling wines produced world-wide will eventually return to Riesling the appreciation it deserves. At least, I hope.