German Catalog 2006 USE THIS ONE.qxp - Michael Skurnik Wines

I would ask the pragmatists to consider this
question. How, in a world of wines made by an
indisputably prevailing set of practices in pursuit
of a given result, will there still be room for the
quirky, the asymmetrical, the evocative? Or, are
we content to permit such wines to disappear? Is
this the wine-world—is it the world—in which we
wish to live? If not, how do we prevent it?
I am not placing value judgements on
“modern” methods. Many of them are benign.
Nor is this the time to argue against the falsifications.
Some people think it’s fine for ballplayers
to use steroids! I am asking for consideration of
the consequences inherent in a belief system. It is
certainly true that regions such as, say, Priorat,
were unknown and unavailable twenty years
ago. Yet to my palate this signifies very little, for
Priorat’s wines join an international glom of hotclimate
reds whose wines are, in the old phrase,
much of a muchness. Yes, there is another (yet
another) source of big-ass reds. I’m not sure why
I should care.
In cuisine there comes a point of ennui when
all one sees are the same luxury ingredients in
nearly interchangeable preparations. Monday
it’s squab stuffed with foie gras in a truffle nage:
Tuesday it’s squab stuffed with truffles in a foie
emulsion; Wednesday it’s truffle-crusted foie
gras in a squab jus, and eventually it becomes a
meaningless farandole of dishes constituting the
luxury-dining-experience, which you could have
in Hong Kong or Los Angeles or Las Vegas or
New York or Kuala Lampur. It becomes a membrane
separating you from the world, swaddling
you in a specious bliss, seducing your senses. I
imagine this when I taste yet another big wine
indistinguishable from myriad other Big Wines,
and yes, it might well be superior to the weird
little wine that grew there before—might be—but
what does it signify? That people in many different
places can suss the formula and apply it?
I’m not sure why I should care.
And yet we romantics must yield the point:
the floor has risen, and this is a good thing. Our
struggle is to applaud this while protecting the
ceiling. And the “ceiling” isn’t merely new
stratospheres of hedonism (even more ripe fruit,
even more intensity: more more MORE) but
rather those wines uniquely great. What other
great wine is great as the best Loire Chenins are
great? As the best Barolos are great? As the best
Jurançons, the best Mosel Rieslings, the best
Grüner Veltliners, the best Grand Cru Chablis?
Ultimately it isn’t greatness we must protect—it
is uniqueness. Preserve the unique, and greatness
will take care of itself.
The pragmatists need to realize there are
risks inherent in their aesthetic.
And we romantics need to realize certain
things too.
We have misapplied the concept of terroir to
excuse flawed wines. This concept is precious.
We need to respect it, and use it with care.
We have been guilty of a form of puritanism;
if it tastes unpleasant it must be virtuous.
The pragmatists ought in turn to acknowledge
theirs isn’t the only form of pleasure. There
are worlds alongside the sensual, and wine can
be intellectually and spiritually nourishing, and
people can desire these experiences, and the true
hedonist isn’t threatened by them.
I wonder if we cannot all unite behind the
value of diversity. I would like to think so. From
my high-rise window I can often see raptors
soaring and swooping through the sky, and I
love these big graceful birds. But I could never
imagine myself feeling “I sure love these big
hawks, and other big birds too, eagles, buzzards,
and I sure wish all birds were like these because
they give me such pleasure.” What of the
assertive red cardinal? The graceful heron? The
silly woodpecker? The pensive dove? I want to
live in a world of thousands of different wines,
whose differences are deeper than zip-code,
each one of which shows me the unending variety
and fascination of this lovely bit of green on
which we walk.
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