(Manfred Klimek / photo: Emil Bauer Winery)
Wine and the Choice of Words (WamS, August 2011)
I can’t stand hearing it any more. And it’s been getting on my nerves for years. People are constantly telling me that tonight, with their meal or whilst relaxing, they’re having a ‘nice glass of wine’. Or – even more audaciously – a whole bottle of fine wine. Such beauty is almost unbearable; it takes my breath away every single time. I’d love nothing more than to grab the person by the throat. ‘Lovely wine’? What utter nonsense!
Do people drink ‘beautiful wine’ in France? No! In Italy? Rarely, too. In Austria? Hardly ever, needless to say. So why do Germans constantly drink ‘beautiful wine’? Are their lives that dreary? What’s the opposite of ‘beautiful wine’, anyway? ‘Ugly wine’?
The Germans drink ‘fine wine’ because wine isn’t part of their everyday culture. Wine is a reward, something special to be enjoyed and celebrated in upmarket settings. And in those settings, it has to be a fine wine. That’s how they talk themselves into thinking the plonk from the discount supermarket is something special. Three euros and ninety cents. But a ‘fine wine’. Absurd.
Rarely does a country have more ridiculous terms and categories for wine than Germany. Take ‘terrace wine’, for example. It’s supposed to be as young and unassuming as possible, yet fruity and lively, so you can drink it on your balcony in the summer. But I’d much rather drink a Meursault or a similarly full-bodied Burgundy on my balcony. Even with barbecued meat. That’s better than those bland ‘terrace wines’, which only sell because consumers are talked into believing they must stick to the rule of drinking a certain type of bland wine outdoors in the sunshine.
Or ‘fireplace wine’ – yet another idiotic label. ‘Fireplace wine’ refers to heavy red wines that you don’t drink with a meal, but which, according to the rules, must be consumed in front of a blazing fire or in a similarly relaxed atmosphere, as if it were some sort of medicine. Such a wine must be left to breathe for several hours beforehand, before being drunk lukewarm. Then the wine experts nod: ‘Yes, yes, a proper fireside wine. How expressive.’
Another such absurdity is the ‘everyday wine’. Entire communities of wine enthusiasts search desperately through blogs and online forums for this jack-of-all-trades. Everyday wine is usually red and is supposed to taste like a good Bordeaux, but cost only a tenth of the price. And it’s not supposed to give you a headache either. In other words, a wine that leaves you wanting more, but which is easy on the wallet if you want to drink it every day. Yet most Germans don’t drink wine at home every day. And so the crates of ‘everyday wine’ are emptied within 12 months. Not within 12 days.
Why can’t it just be a good wine? Why does all this wine-related nonsense still prevail? And why must there be so-called ‘wine punks’ in Germany – wild types, mostly with tattoos, leather clothes and a hard stare, who make drinking wine appealing to their own and a younger generation, as if this were a mission of world-historical significance? Nevertheless, I’ll take up the cudgels: Personally, I prefer these crazy ‘wine punks’ to the pretentious wine writers who’ve saddled us with ‘terrace wine’ and ‘fireside wine’. After all, the wine punks want to normalise the way we approach wine; they want to bring wine into our everyday lives and make it uncomplicated. To stand out and live unconventionally, they need that rough-and-ready edge, because the chatter about wine is still the preserve of a bourgeoisie that is, ultimately, philistine and utterly boring.
Why can’t you just drink wine in Germany? The way they do in Italy. Without giving it much thought. Why do people try to create an aura of honesty around cheap wines? And cast suspicion of fraud over expensive ones? And why must a wine column always include a wine recommendation? Well then, here’s one. I recommend an everyday wine, a Bordeaux that doesn’t cost much and can be enjoyed any time: the 2009 Château du Retout. It tastes lovely slightly chilled, whether on the terrace or in front of the fire. And even with a safety pin stuck through your cheek. That should be description enough.