(Claude Auguste / Photo: Messe Düsseldorf / animated image: runwayml)
There is a strange reflex in the world of wine: as soon as something comes under pressure, people start rehearsing its swan song. This applies to grape varieties, to regions – and now also to trade fairs. For some time now, I’ve kept hearing this tone of voice whenever the name ProWein is mentioned. Too expensive. Too German. Too empty in some halls. Not glamorous enough compared to Paris. That’s probably all true. And yet, next Monday I’ll be boarding a plane to take me from Verona to Düsseldorf.
Not because I believe that the future of wine will be decided there. But because, right now, ProWein is a place where one ought to be seen.
I’m a solicitor, not a romantic. But I’ve met enough winegrowers in my life and drunk more than enough wine to know this: viticulture isn’t a business like any other. It’s a profession with a memory. Spanning generations. With vines that outlive their owners.
And that is precisely why wine fairs are not merely markets. They are gatherings of a profession that needs to reassure itself that it still exists.
ProWein was once a triumph of the European wine world. In the 1990s, as the wine boom gathered pace, winegrowers from all regions flocked to Düsseldorf. Traders from America, sommeliers from Tokyo, journalists from London – they all met there amidst tasting glasses and spittoons, as if it were the Davos of wine.
Today, the mood is different. Wine is under pressure, both morally and economically. The world is drinking more cautiously; some have even stopped drinking altogether. At the same time, competition is getting tougher, markets more complicated and logistics more expensive. And suddenly, a trade fair like the one in Düsseldorf no longer seems like a given, but rather like an institution that has to justify its existence.
I understand this scepticism. But I also consider it short-sighted. Because wine is a cultural practice. And cultures rarely disappear because they are bad – they disappear when their advocates stop believing in them. That is why I am flying to Düsseldorf. Not to see every hall. Not to taste 500 Rieslings. But to do what one should do in times of crisis: show up.
It’s a strange paradox of our industry. Winemakers like to talk about community, tradition and provenance. But as soon as a trade fair starts to falter, many suddenly start calculating like investment bankers: where can I get a better return on investment? Where’s the bigger stage? Where’s the nicer restaurant district? That may make economic sense. But wine has never been just about economics. ProWein may no longer be the most glamorous venue in the industry. But it is still a meeting place for the European wine world. A place where German, Austrian, French, Italian and Spanish winemakers not only promote their wines, but also meet one another.
I know young winemakers from South Tyrol, the Wachau and the Jura who met there for the first time. I’ve listened to importers from Canada there who suddenly discovered a small winery in Burgenland (Gut Oggau). And I’ve seen two old winemakers from the Moselle and the Rhône discussing a Franconian Silvaner as if it were a matter of world philosophy – which, in fact, it was!
Things like that don’t happen on the internet. They happen where people look each other in the eye, raise a glass and say: ‘Have a go at this.’
Perhaps – no, certainly – that is precisely why I’m flying, despite all my doubts. Because an industry that is currently debating its future needs places where its members can meet in person. Paris may be more beautiful. The food may be better. The hotels cheaper. But Düsseldorf is – at least for a few days in March – still a place where you can see whether the European wine world is still holding together.
And if I’m honest: in times like these, you don’t just head for the winners. You’re human. A wine drinker. And you show solidarity!