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

32
Label Basics
German labels are similar to Burgundy labels. Both
tell you who produced the wine and where it was grown.
The Burgundy label asks you to infer the grape variety
(which isn’t difficult), and the ripeness level (which is difficult)
and further asks you to accept that a wine’s quality
is, for legal purposes, solely determined by the plot of
land on which the grapes grew. The most miserable vintage
or the most wretchedly over cropped vineyard can
still be labeled Grand Cru.
In Germany,
ripeness is all.
Theoretically, the
vineyard doesn’t
matter, though it
is named. The
inference there is
that any plot of
land is capable of
ripening grapes to
this or that level.
The “better” vineyards
show themselves
by offering
types of flavors
which may be
subjectively
judged superior,
but there’s no room for interpretation when it comes to
specific gravity of grape must. It’s there or it’s not.
The common complaint is the German label is too
verbose. Here’s a nice terse response: bullshit. If this were
the label of a French wine, we’d be subjected to “Grand
Vin du Mosel-Saar-Ruwer, mis en bouteille au domain
Selbach-Oster, viticulteur a Zeltingen, Grand Cru
Schlossberg du Zeltingen, Vendange Tardive, Riesling . . .”
get the picture? The difference is that you feel urbane and
seductive speaking the French words. In German you feel
like Seargent Schulz. (I was on a little warpath in Germany
last month, correcting my colleagues’ mispronunciations
until I was sure they’d spit in my soup. I don’t object to our
mangling the complicated dipthongs, but any drooling
idiot can say Zone-en-ur (Sonnenuhr). So please, gimme a
break about the German label.)
Here’s what it means: Selbach-Oster is the producer.
If you see the word Weingut in any proximity, that’s your
signal. A Weingut is a winery which estate-bottles its
wine. Look for that word. Vintage is self-evident.
Zeltinger Schlossberg identifies the site and locality.
Zeltingen is a place from which the populace, whether
Homo Sapiens or the progeny of vitas vinifera, are
known as Zeltingers. O.K., New Yorkers? Schlossberg is
a vineyard. How are you supposed to know that? It’s
always the second word in the sequence. Meursault
Perrieres. Zeltinger Schlossberg. NBD!
Now the German departs radically from the French.
It makes the grape variety explicit, Riesling in this
instance. And it specifies the ripeness of the fruit at harvest.
I’m not prepared to go through the whole “this is
Kabinett, this Spätlese” thing again. It’s tiresome and you
know it anyway.
In some instances the label tells you how dry the
wine is (by means of the words Trocken and Halbtrocken).
The phrase Qualitätswein mit Prädikat is a bit of bureaucratic
puffery. Quality wine with special distinction, right!
The distinction in this case is that the wine is not chaptalized.
Chaptalized wines can only be labeled Qualitätswein
b.A.; they aren’t subject to predicates. Only Germans have
perversely decided that chaptalized wine is ipso facto
inferior wine. The French cheerily go on consuming just
about all their wines except the most southerly, not caring
that sugar was added to the grape must to boost the alcohol
a few degrees. The German bureaucrats continue their
wild romp through our tenderest sensibilities with the
Amtliche Prüfungsunummer which is in essence a quality
control number awarded by an official tasting panel
which certifies that the wine meets certain minimum standards.
That word Gutsabfüllung means estate bottled.
Think about it: it’s actually shorter than mise en bouteilles
au domaine; it’s just a single word instead of a seven-syllable
phrase. And then finally on the bottom we find Mosel-
Saar-Ruwer, in this case the region of origin. The French
wine denies us even this basic courtesy. No “Grand vin de
Bourgogne” here. We are thrown upon the dubious mercy
of the BATF, which will require “Red Burgundy Wine” to
appear on the strip label.
No, there’s nothing inherently complex about
German wine labels. Long words, sometimes. Yet when a
sommelier approaches the table, he seldom recommends
the “Sancerre Reserve du Monts Dammes from Cotat;”
he suggests the Sancerre. Same here. Don’t spell it all out
in all its excruciating length. Suggest “The Zeltinger for
Monsieur’s pork ‘n beans?” Some of the more arcane
ramifications of the label can be interesting to students
of logic, or just for a chuckle over some precious bureaucratic
geekiness, but you really don’t need to know it. Do
you have to know all the queer codes on an airplane ticket
in order to board the plane? But your travel agent can
see all kinds of information in those strange little glyphs.
Learn it if you care to.