Old Rheingau

Tragedy, Farce, and Irony

2009-08-01T15:32:00.000-07:00

The stars aligned themselves this afternoon and I had the rare opportunity of attending an "official" wine-tasting event. This happens rather infrequently so I jumped at the chance. The wines consisted of various German and Austrian brands, some of which I was familiar with and some not. In any case, it was a good opportunity to retaste and taste anew.

Each student of sociology should be required to attend a wine-tasting event. Today's tasting, like all others I have been to, provided a fascinating (and horrific) glimpse into how rumors get started...first as tragedy. The host of such an event; whether a merchant, vintner, importer, etc, speaks of the poured wines in rather elusive terms that exist outside the parameters of normal conversational language. You might hear of a wine's "explosiveness," "shyness," or even "sexiness." The unique nature of vinous discourse is rather familiar to wine drinkers and non wine drinkers alike, but this is not the theme of the post, so there is no need to delve further into this for now.

As the drinker pulls away from the pourer, she enters into the next stage of wine tasting. This is the point where strangers begin awkward conversations over their raised glasses. Either from past experience or by looking about the room, the novice taster is smattered with images of swirling, sniffing, and spitting. Our taster follows suit to fit in amongst the pack. A funny thing happens when comparing notes with other tasters. The very same words that the host has used to describe the wines are bandied about in a free and open way. If not the exact words, the taster has felt an unconscious invitation to stretch the bounds of conversational discourse by describing a mundane drink in rather bombastic language. Tragedy has become farce.

Irony is seldom without profit, and in this case, wine tasting is no exception. Through the exoticness of language and the intellectualilty brought forth to analyze the glass, the wine has been mystified, and even made spiritual. The wine is made to possess qualities that cannot be understood without full concentration. "Sexiness" is no gift bestowed upon each and every ordinary item. It has to be earned. The wine earns it through the inventiveness of its benefactor-host. The drinker is enraptured by the claim and seeks to find it for herself. Of course, the drinker will not allow herself to be slighted by a possible lack of sensory discrimination. Maybe it's the wine's sugary mouthfeel...or maybe it's the wine's complete dryness...either way, in the name of not being outdone, the drinker will find the "sexiness" in the glass. And the reward for the drinker's efforts; why, the drinker is compelled to pat herself on the back for such outstanding work by purchasing a bottle at $59.99. Tragedy becomes farce becomes irony.

The former art of the tasting note

2009-07-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

Times change. Ideas change. Reality is the stain on the sofa that resists all attempts to remove it. The death of the notorious wine tasting note may have been proclaimed years ago, but its all-pervasive presence betrays the falsity of such a claim. You can recognize a tasting note by its superflous wordiness and references to peculiar fruits that one otherwise never comes across in a lifetime. In some fields they call it a "sound-byte" or "clip." For outsiders gazing in at the world of wine, they call it bullshit. This is an underestimation of the tasting note's role however. The tasting note has never been meant to simply describe the contents of a wine. Endless discussions over a tasting note's "authenticity" and "objectivity/subjectivity," as have taken place in countless wine mags and internet forums, miss this point. Theodore Adorno argued that form is very much a part of expression. How you say something matters...sometimes more than what you say. For decades, the tasting note was a unique canvas on which only wine was expressed. It was a way to manufacture "distinction," not just for particular wines, but for all wines as a singular category. Even a 72-point Santa Rita Hills Pinot, as long as its faults were expressed through the form of the tasting note, possessed something that no other product in the world had...its unique form of expression.

The rest of the commercial world has caught up to wine. A stroll through your local mall will reveal that the tasting note has been made ubiquitous. All products are now over-described in as few words as possible. The adjective has become the supreme word form. Distinction is not earned but rather it is attributed, most often by the very producer or seller of that which is being objectified. The poetic form of Stefan George, with its grandeur, myths, and fantasies, first duplicated in the wine industry, has now become common form. Just add points.

The reaction of many wine-critic critics has been to write-off the tasting note as if it had always been flawed. There is no doubt that the tasting note has been sapped of its power, but not for the reasons usually cited. There is no reason why in the past decade that we should have become so concerned with objectivity as to discredit the tasting note and its palate-fatigued author. Verbal assaults on the over-worked wine critic and their decision to evaluate "non-blind" certainly raise valid points, but they fail to address the underlying problem of the long-dying, but still-breathing tasting note. Let's put the problem this way. While the grape and the olive once shared primacy among the ancients, the grape has long held sway over the olive among the moderns. This has changed in the past decade. The slimy olive, for a long time known only to the consuming public as either "black" or "green" now has adjectival depth. The grape, at least in its fermented form, no longer holds court over a host of lesser-cherished food types. Many foods, including olives, cheeses, meats, and chocolates, have crossed the boundary from nourishment to discernment. Wine, which once sat alone in this category--thanks in large part to the tasting note--now has company.

Ultimately, we also view the tasting note as dead or dying, but not because of its many flaws. Rather it is no longer a unique form. Nevertheless the form persists, partly because it has been so successful and partly because affecting change is a monumental task and the so-called "democratization" of wine, whether we believe in it or not, makes change an even greater challenge. Part of our task is to join the cacophony of voices, even those with nasty defensive tones, in finding a new form.

Why Old Rheingau?

2009-07-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

The German Rheingau is nothing without its paradoxes. It was, for centuries, one of the most renowned wine regions in the world. Today it is mired in mediocrity, a barely recognizable shell of its former self. In many ways the Rheingau went the way of German society. The former monasteries and noblemen that once populated the region and brought its wine to fame were largely swept away during the time of the guillotine. A bourgeois revolution did not take hold in the Rheingau however, and the aristocracy refound favor on the region's gentle hills. The settling of Prince von Metternich in the Rheingau's Schloss Johannisberg following his efforts in defeating the Revolution should not be seen as coincidental. The political and economic mood remained static because the wine still demanded the continent's attention. By 1900, the relatively progressive viticultural ideas in wine regions such as the Pfalz and along the Mosel River enabled vintners in those areas to catch the Rheingau in terms of quality, and then to eventually surpass it (although recognition of this transition amongst consumers would lag decades behind). The Rheingau survived its near-death experience, but according to some critics, remains comatose.

A central purpose of this blog is to assess the quality of Rheingau wines by way of various tastings. Given the increasingly limited availability and escalating prices of Rheingau wines, this can at times be a form of self-flagellentism. Even the great importer of German wines, Terry Theise, who can single-handedly secure a lifetime of modest wealth for a winemaker, is brave enough only to bring two Rheingau estates into the American market. These two successful estates, Josef Leitz and Weingut Spreitzer, were part of a small "counter-culture" that emerged about ten years ago to find that the world had no longer heard of the Rheingau. It's time to lick the wounds, pull the corks, unscrew some caps, and taste the wine.

No less important than tasting the wine is putting the drink in historical and sociological perspective. No industry, save politics and sports, is as prone to glibness, rehearsed repetition, and the same-ol' same-ol' as wine. Perhaps the casual wine drinker and reader finds comfort in rediscovering information he or she already knows? This is not our goal however. We hope to provide a new perspective on an old region and its wines. Much of this inspiration comes from our seven-month stay (Oct. 2008-April 2009) in the Rheingau village of Eltville. During this time we had the opportunity to meet many native Rheingauers and to traverse the landscape by train, bus, and foot. We were charmed with the Rheingau's mysterious and timeless sense of its own past.

Finally, as surely must be codified somewhere in blogdom, we will make ideologically-infused and under-informed comments in the realm of politics, culture, economics, etc. There will be plenty of grammatical errors and terrible sentence syntax. You'll be astounded by our broad generalizations for which we will provide little to no evidence to support such grandiose claims. We will thus be carrying-on one of blogging's most important traditions.