The slender bottles of four of the better-known Alsace producers point to one of the region’s hurdles in America: They resemble German bottles.
Photo: TOM E. SMITH
Alsace AwakeningBy Todd M. Wernstrom"France hasn't discovered Alsace yet. In Paris, it's Loire for whites and Bordeaux for reds," laments Jean Trimbach, who, along with his brother, Pierre, represents the twelfth generation to produce wine at his family's storied house. Much the same could be said about Alsace's standing in the United States. Few serious wine collectors would argue the proposition that Alsace's whites are at the very top of the world's white wine pecking order. Fewer still would dispute their tremendous value and unrivaled versatility with food. And yet the wines get little press here and practically none of the adulation heaped on the world's reigning whites: Chardonnay from Burgundy and California, and Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire and New Zealand.
Located in France's far northeastern corner, Alsace is symbolically and literally cut off from the rest of the country by the imposing Vosges mountains on its western border and the mighty Rhine (Rhin in French) to the east. "Globally, Alsace has a communication problem. Our Riesling is beautiful, and for the price…," says Frédéric Blanck, his voice trailing off.
"I don't understand why someone would pay $30 or $40 for a Chardonnay when you can get grand cru Riesling for $25." This statement from Blanck, who, with his cousin Philippe, runs Domaine Paul Blanck, a house that has gained quite a following in important export markets over the last ten years, alludes to several of the factors that operate to hinder his region's wines from attaining their rightful place on American tables.
While the region is undeniably French, its most important grape, riesling, is associated with the nation found just across the river. And just as importantly, that grape, along with a handful more that includes pinot gris, gewürztraminer, muscat and pinot blanc (to name the more well-known ones), certainly will never be mistaken for either chardonnay or sauvignon blanc, no matter the oak regimen. A quick parse of Blanck's pricing comparison suggests even more fertile ground for consumer confusion: How can any wine labeled "grand cru" cost as little as $25, a price closer to everyday Pinot Grigio than even the "humblest" Corton-Charlemagne? A consumer willing to give such a wine the benefit of the doubt couldn't be faulted for being suspicious, especially after suffering from 20 years of California "reserve fatigue."
And these are just a few of the myriad obstacles that Alsace's vignerons face in the United States (not to mention their domestic market). Yet at the same time, these winemakers are overwhelmingly bullish on America. Yann Beyer, the 14th generation to make wine at Léon Beyer, aptly sums up: "I know there's a lot of potential in the U.S., so that's why I go regularly, even though the travel costs more than I sell. America has the money and the [wine] culture. That's why I believe in it. But we have to be careful that our wine doesn't become like milk," he cautions. "We're losing our culture to standardization."
Beyer's sentiment is routinely echoed in Alsace. Exploiting their region's uniqueness instead of trying to manufacture "popular" wines is precisely why Alsace, unlike just about every other major French wine region, continues to send more wine to the United States each successive year. According to Alsace's wine trade organization, CIVA, 2.8 million bottles reached U.S. shores in 2005, though this figure is but a fraction of the amount of Bordeaux, Champagne, or even Sancerre, Americans drink in any given year. So, while the news is good for Alsace generally, there is ample room to improve because the United States ranks only fifth as an export market behind Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and Denmark, an unusual placement for wine from such an important French region.
Gregarious Jean Albrecht, the 18th generation to run his family's firm, Domaine Lucien Albrecht, offers a tongue-in-check explanation for Alsace's seeming scarcity on American tables and store shelves: "I blame the retailers and restaurateurs - they keep the wines for themselves! But seriously, I think American consumers are getting the Alsace message." Perhaps, but as pointed out by the more taciturn Jean-Michel Deiss of Domaine Marcel Deiss, "We're small - 15,000 hectares [37,000 acres] - and it was only 25 years ago that we decided to expand to America." That is, of course, not literally true. Alsace has a very long history of both making wine and shipping it elsewhere. But Deiss is certainly figuratively correct. With few exceptions, the American experience with wines like Riesling is almost entirely German; therefore, Alsace has had to do a great deal to overcome the association.
But doing so continues to be complicated by the very essence of what Alsace white winemaking is all about: There are six authorized white grapes (pinot noir is the only red in the region), and it seems that every domaine puts out several lines, each of which features all six.
In order, the six white varieties are riesling, pinot blanc (which includes the related pinot auxerrois), gewürztraminer (spelled without the umlaut in Alsace, though the reasoning as to why given by several producers isn't particularly convincing; "because we're French" doesn't explain the ë in Moët, Perrier Jouët or the Loire's Huët, among many others), pinot gris, sylvaner and muscat. An outgrowth of this too-much-of-a-good thing problem is that those six varieties obviously are not chardonnay and sauvignon blanc, something that cannot be minimized. For all the talk of Riesling or Viognier or Grüner Veltliner being the next big not-Chardonnay, only Sauvignon Blanc (and for now, anyway, Pinot Grigio) has really captured the American palate in any meaningful way.
Christophe Ehrhart, directeur général and winemaker at Josmeyer, a wine concern dating to 1854, agrees that extensive lineups do nothing but confuse consumers. "We send only five different bottles to the United States; before, we had up to 40 and that's just too much. I think the problem is that there are so many styles in Alsace. It can confuse consumers," he says. In order to cut down on marketplace "clutter," Josmeyer's excellent grands crus are offered only on a pre-sale basis and, even then, only when they are deemed ready. "We taste through the cellar every year to figure out what to put on offer," Ehrhart notes.
Forging through the region's plenty is a task
well worth taking on by consumers looking for something different. Alsace possesses one of the world's most varied flavor palettes, offering a wine for just about any cuisine, and not just the obvious "white with fish" mantra. The spicy and floral nature of most Alsace whites makes them ideal with Asian dishes, especially those with heat, regardless of the main ingrediant. The supple body of the wines make them suitable for sauces of any consistency. In short, one can never go too far wrong when doing food/wine pairings by choosing a bottle from Alsace.
As summed up with the same laser-like focus that his family's wines possess, Léonard Humbrecht, notes, "Americans are used to bigger, richer wines. Alsace wines have always been 'transparent.'" That word is used often by vignerons in Alsace. Of course, few would associate the attribute of transparency with the lush wines produced by Zind-Humbrecht,
a concern that dates only to 1959 when the two now-hyphenated family names were joined along with their domaines. The Humbrechts have a winemaking history that stretches to the Thirty Years War in the early 17th century, a war that marked a period of vineyard destruction and population exodus in the region that wouldn't be matched perhaps until World War II (though there would be many other eras of difficulty for Alsace in between).
For consumers looking for whites that exhibit purity of fruit above all else, Alsace's "transparency" may hit just the right note. Though there is oak everywhere in Alsace, something that might come as a surprise to casual drinkers of the wines, it is almost always in large format rather than smallish barrique, and is also almost always very, very old. Oak's impact is therefore subtle, imparting perhaps a bit of roundness, but very little of the overt woodiness found in much of the world's oak-driven whites.
Humbrecht could be speaking for the region as a whole when he assesses the salient feature of his wines: "There's never malolactic fermentation; the wines have a lot of acidity. We're not scared of malolactic because by the time our juice is in the barrel, there's very little malic acid left anyway. That's why our wines are gras [fat]. Too much malic acid is bad. We try and get our grapes very ripe - low yields help. Our wines are very ripe; it's not always possible, but we try. Fruity wines are good; big is good. But depth is very important."
Of course, there's gras and then there's gras, and few can challenge the richness of a Zind-Humbrecht bottle, which is why the family's Clos Saint Urbain, Clos Jebsal, Clos Windsbuhl and various grands crus, including Brand, Hengst and Rangen, are accorded cult status by collectors in America, perhaps the one producer held in that regard here.
The absence of malo, the confluence of climate and soils (said to be the most complex in all of France, containing everything from alluvial deposits to volcanic ash and just about every other classic winegrowing mineral, clay and stone), and the very nature of the grape varieties themselves result in wines that are inevitably about nuance, even when they are at their richest. American palates don't have a ready tasting reference for them. Even Riesling,
as well known as a varietal as it is and has been, is nothing like German, Austrian or North American versions when made in Alsace, where they show more fruit than petrol, more citrus than stone fruit, and a distinct brininess that is refreshingly evocative of sea air and mist.
And there is no "Grigio" in Pinot Gris from Alsace either. In fact, Pinot Gris is probably more different from Pinot Grigio - even serious versions from Friuli and the Alto Adige - than any other Alsace varietal is from its counterparts elsewhere. In Alsace, Pinot Gris is often smoky, usually quite rich, and loaded with stone fruit aromas and flavors, making it a far cry from the lemony-fresh Grigio style gaining popularity in the United States. Gewürz
is Gewürz for good or ill - it is one of the few varietals that consumers either love or hate.
Perhaps because they've grown up with these varieties, vignerons from Alsace don't necessarily share the observation that their grape diversity is part of the problem of convincing more Americans to look beyond the whites they're most comfortable with. Frédéric Blanck says simply, "Our grapes are not sauvignon and chardonnay - particularly gewürztraminer - that's a good thing."
Some would even go further. "Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Pinot Gris, they're not that unusual. I think Americans get them. And they know they're great with food," says Colette Faller, who, along with her daughters, Catherine and Laurence, runs fabled Domaine Weinbach, situated amid the Clos des Capucins (the French spelling of the order) where it is said that vines have been grown since AD 890.
One producer who realizes that his region's grapes are "hard" for Americans to swallow is Albert Seltz. "I dropped the U.S. market ten years ago because I thought America wasn't ready for our style. There was a will, but the market just wasn't ready. Now I think Americans know a lot more; they're going to restaurants, cooking and having good wine. It opened my eyes the last time I was there. America has totally changed in the last ten years," he observes.
The engagingly fervent Seltz has just reentered the market, and he'll be trying to make a name for his 27 acres with perhaps Alsace's least-appreciated white variety: sylvaner. While many, if not most, producers grow and bottle sylvaner, none speak of it in the elevated terms that Seltz does. So highly does he rate it that he went to court and won the right to label his Zotzenberg Sylvaner as a grand cru, even though, by law, only riesling, gewürztraminer, pinot gris and muscat are permitted the honor. He is fast to point out that the vineyard itself has long been tied to the fortunes of sylvaner, and it has only been through institutional prejudice that it hasn't been accorded the respect it deserves. He says assuredly, "I want to be the reference for Sylvaner. You have references for Riesling, Pinot Blanc, Pinot Gris and Gewürz, but
no one is trying to do this with Sylvaner."
In addition to the numerous wine styles based on the number of important varieties, Alsace has something else going for it that Americans should be attracted to: Alsace is green. A walk through the vineyards during the winter reveals growth everywhere. In fact, Alsace has been at the forefront of the move toward organic and biodynamic vineyard practices. And no producer is more practiced at sustainable and responsible viticulture than Marc Kreydenweiss, who along with his wife, Emmanuelle, and sons Manfred and Antoine, works some 32 acres in northern Alsace. "Indeed, in Alsace, more and more vignerons abstain from weed killers and the like and let grass grow between rows. It seems that this trend has been increasing in the last ten years here. I'm proud that our region is so ecologically aware."
Kreydenweiss, who took over the family domaine when he was 23 years old (the family's roots in winemaking reach back to the mid-17th century), made the decision to "go green" a long time ago, saying, "Sometimes in your life, you feel the need to make changes. I had the desire to eliminate reliance on chemicals a long time ago, and then I met François Bouchet [an early proponent of biodynamics], and I felt it was time to try this culture." Kreydenweiss is often referred to by other winemakers when the subject of organics and biodynamics comes up. (The family stretched its
eco-friendly reach south in 1999 when it purchased Domaine des Perrières near Châteauneuf-du-Pape.)
Putting aside varietal variety, what seems to be more of an identity problem for Alsace is its aforementioned confusion with Germany. Of course, the region's history of being in the middle of a tug of war between the powers on either side of the Rhine provides ample justification for it. This legacy has resulted in some very basic difficulties for Alsace's vignerons as they try to raise their profile in the United States. Alsace, with its gingerbread houses and German-sounding place names, seems very Teutonic, indeed. Sauerkraut is as ubiquitous as are the tall, skinny bottles of white wine. "Most consumers don't understand the style of Alsace wines. The main thing is the bottle shape. That's a major handicap for us. Some consumers know, but there's still a lot of confusion. The wines would do better if we could use Burgundy bottles," asserts Bernard Sparr, directeur général of Domaine Pierre Sparr, one of the ninth generation of Sparrs in the business. Even acknowledging how well Trimbach has done in the United States and elsewhere, Jean Trimbach notes, "We should have changed the bottle 30 or 40 years ago, but we can't now." >
For producers who are trying to gain a foothold in America, bottle shape is even more of an obstacle, particularly to consumers who still have vague memories of sugary hangovers brought on by the Blue Nuns of the '70s and '80s. "This is our bottle and we're not allowed to change it; it's difficult, but it's our identity - perhaps we have to work on the labels. I think we're not good with that, particularly for export markets. We have our traditional labels, and you're judged by your labels when consumers don't know you. We have to change, but don't want to radically," says Fabienne Hering, wife of Jean-Daniel Hering, who is the fifth generation winemaker at Domaine Hering. The 25-acre estate, half of whose holdings are in Kirchberg, a grand cru in northern Alsace, has only been in the U.S. market since 1999 and has much work to do in order to reach American consumers. Because Hering's wines are on the dry side, they are at least stylistically what American consumers say they want; the issue is getting them to take a chance on a tall, skinny bottle few have ever seen before.
Some producers show less of Fabienne Hering's resignation to Alsace's bottle plight; rather, they embrace it. "The bottle is our heritage," states David Ling, longtime manager of many key export markets for the twelfth-generation Hugel firm. "And now some people even want to put 'Pinot Grigio' on the labels," he adds in disbelief.
In the straightforward and thoughtful manner that he addresses all questions, Frédéric Blanck offers, "I'm not sure the German thing is a problem anymore. But if there is any left over, what can we do? Put a French flag on the label? We have more explaining to do. But the first thing to say is that these are good wines; just because we're French doesn't mean the wine's good anyway."
Certainly none would deny that there is some residual perception of Alsace's wines being somewhat sweet because of the misplaced association with Germany. But beyond the obvious similarity of the bottle shapes, there is no denying that Alsace's whites have indeed become sweeter over the years, and that this is one of the most problematic issues facing its winemakers in America. "There have always been sweet wines in Alsace - for the German palate - but it was maybe 20 years ago that it really started to become more prevalent. There are too many sweet wines that are not vendange tardive [late harvest, which, though not sweet by definition, always have higher sugar levels than those made with grapes harvested earlier]. Sugar creates the illusion of richness and ripeness," Trimbach explains.
Yann Beyer agrees, noting, "A lot of the sweeter 'classic' [meaning the entry-level Riesling, Pinot Blanc, etcetera, wines that sport the basic Alsace AOC designation] and grand cru wines are really declassified wines that didn't qualify for VT or SGN [Alsace's botrytised Sélection de Grains Nobles sweet wines]. Producers read the tasting notes and see that sweeter wines get better scores so they try to make sweeter wines." Beyer's not-so-subtle jab at wine critics is shared by many Alsace producers who believe that the writers - and by extension, consumers - say one thing and do another.
Blanck believes that "Pinot Blanc and [classic] Riesling should have less than five grams [of residual sugar] so they'll always be very dry. But when the consumer says dry, he really doesn't want bone-dry - it's the same in France. Dry, but not too dry, that is the question," he notes, chuckling at the Shakespearean tone of his statement.
Few deliver drier wine than Léon Beyer, a producer who dates to the late 16th century and whose hometown of Eguisheim has 40 winegrowers among its 1,400 inhabitants meaning that just about everyone is directly or indirectly involved in the wine trade. Of Beyer's 50 acres, 37 are accorded grand cru status; in addition, another 125 acres are worked by Beyer, a practice quite common in Alsace whereby the field work that produces the purchased fruit is actually done by the end buyer and not the vineyard owner. Beyer's output of 58,000 cases is fairly large for an exporting producer, yet only ten percent of it comes to the United States, a figure that is small for a concern of this size. The U.S. market fluctuates between eighth and tenth for Léon Beyer, and while Yann Beyer would like to see the American portion of his family's exports go up, the house's style will not change in order to do so. "We don't make wine for contests; we make dry wine with fruit," he says. "You can be sure that when you order a Léon Beyer wine, there won't be any residual sugar. Sugar can cover up flaws."
Léonard Humbrecht concurs, adding, "There's too much chaptalization in Alsace. Sugar can hide problems. We think our wines have depth. We don't 'make' sugar; we don't 'make' acidity. We use only natural yeasts from the grapes and let nature take its course."
Alsace's grapes often end up with a great deal of natural sugar to begin with because of the ideal climate and fortunate geographic placement of the region. The Vosges act as a shield against precipitation and other bad weather from the west - in neighboring Lorraine, thunderstorms and lightning can pelt the landscape while the sun shines on the Alsace side. The summers are hot and the winters quite cold, but overall the climate is warmer than on the other side of the Rhine. Alsace's numerous rivers and streams help retain warmth so that vines don't get frostbitten (interestingly, despite its proximity to the Rhine, it is generally thought that this great river, one that provides so much assistance to German winemakers whose fruit would otherwise struggle endlessly for ripeness, has little, if any, affect on Alsace's vines). The results are whites that have significantly higher potential alcohol than those from Germany without a noticeable loss of sugar to obtain it. Whereas German wines frequently register below 10 percent alcohol by volume, Alsace's are typically 13 percent and often even higher. So, although they share some varietals, there is no mistaking one from Alsace; its wines, even at the basic level, are never light bodied.
The dryness issue really becomes one of notice to consumers; after all, a ripe grape can only be made so dry. "Sugar in Alsace is like tannin in other places," explains Maurice Barthelmé, one half of the two-brother team responsible for making and selling the well-structured and poised wines of Domaine Albert Mann. "Today our wines probably have less residual sugar than they did ten years ago," notes Jacky Barthelmé, the house's winemaker, before he is interrupted by his brother (something that they do to each other often as they good-naturedly banter back and forth). Maurice adds, "The problem is how do you decide what information to give to the consumer - especially as the wine ages. It may start out moelleux [quite sweet], but ten years later it's much drier. The biggest problem is when someone wants a dry wine and gets one that's a little sweet. They'll never come back," a scenario that buyers of Mann's wines aren't likely to experience, given that this house is about a decade ahead of the drying curve.
But the latter part of his statement sums up the penalty the region as a whole pays when a consumer's expectations are disappointed. Jacky jumps in and finishes Maurice's point: "The problem is that there are too many different gradations. I don't think sweetness can be defined because ten grams can be off dry and it can be bone dry. It's better for the consumer to have an impression of the house's style."
One response to the problem - a problem that most Alsace producers not only acknowledge but agree is a major impediment to their wines taking their rightful place toward the very top of American wish lists - is obvious. "We're going to change our back labels. We're putting a dryness scale on them," Bernard Sparr says. "Even for the dry wines," adds Séverine Schlumberger of Domaines Schlumberger, whose family is as steeped in Alsace's history as just about anyone's. The simplicity of the "solution" is attractive. But as pointed out by Hugel's David Ling, "You can't put the grams on the back label because they don't mean anything." Most consumers don't relate to the raw residual sugar numbers to begin with, and even a color-coded scale probably won't help much either. One house's 10 grams can drink like another's 20 and still another's 4.
In the end, Jean Trimbach's assessment is probably closest to the truth. "When we talk dry, we act dry. Some producers talk dry, but don't deliver dry. Ultimately in the long term, the consumer will choose. There is nothing that can be done on a bigger level," he says.
Producers would be wise to take note because Trimbach is unquestionably the house that has done more to promote the region's wines in the United States than any other, essentially paving the way for its neighbors. Of the 100,000 cases produced per year by Trimbach, 40 percent come to America. To put that figure in perspective, 40 years ago, only 1,000 cases of Trimbach reached American shores. The firm dates to 1626 in Riquewihr, the quintessential Alsace village with its steep, cobbled streets and close-up views of the even steeper vineyards (it is Alsace's most-visited destination). Trimbach relocated to its present home in Ribeauvillé after selling its original domicile to Hugel, which still occupies it. Trimbach's signature style is among the driest of the dry; its famed Clos Sainte Hune Rieslings exude a bracing minerality and freshness even when made in the VT and SGN styles. As Trimbach notes, ultimately the consumer will choose, thereby forcing the decision on the competing producers. Given that the leading label in the United States will no doubt remain Trimbach's, the drying trend will certainly continue.
While sweetness is really just a matter of taste,
the issues surrounding the Germanic place names are more perplexing to American consumers and therefore more far reaching for Alsace's producers. Though there is (thankfully) very little undecipherable Gothic script found on Alsace bottles, the names of important wine towns, vineyards, clos and, most significantly, the 50 grand cru vineyards might just as well be so scripted based on how little resonance they have for consumers, even those who purport to know more than just a little about the region's wines. Rarely, if ever, do they bandy about names such as Brand, Furstentum, Hengst, Osterberg, Rangen, Schlossberg or Zotzenberg, and these are among the easiest to actually pronounce and the source of some of Alsace's most profound wines. Pity the shopper when faced with Altenberg de Bergbieten, Gloeckelberg, Zinnkoepflé and the like.
And it's a shame, too, because the codifiers of Alsace's AOC went to great lengths to simplify a classification system that is, in many ways, the antithesis of Burgundy's arcane collection of generics, villages, premiers and grands crus. In Alsace, there is AOC Alsace and Alsace Grand Cru, and that's about it (VTs and SGNs are handled a bit differently; there are also increasingly good and very well-priced sparkling wines labeled Crémant d'Alsace).
As if the language problem were not enough to hamper understanding, and thus appreciation of Alsace's higher-end production by consumers, there are two clearly demarcated positions on the usefulness of the grand cru appellation. That there is even a question about the relevance of an elevated standing for certain vineyards, one that consumers the world over assume must have some merit - grand cru sounds grand after all - is nothing short of remarkable. But it has existed since the category was officially recognized in 1975. There are the true believers, none more ardent than Schlumberger, the holder of more acres of grand cru vineyards than anyone else in Alsace (and large portions of some of the least tongue-tying ones, such as Kessler, Kitterlé, Saering and Sporen).
And there is the empowered minority that for what it lacks in numbers makes up for in talent because it includes some of the greatest producers in the region. A scan of their bottles will never give any clue as to the favorable provenance of many of their wines, but Hugel, Léon Beyer and Trimbach, to name but a few of the more recognizable firms, have longstanding reservations about the grand cru system. "We don't put 'Grand Cru' on our bottles. Some of the grands crus are very large and the soils don't necessarily share the same microclimate throughout," Yann Beyer says, noting the primary objection of the nonbelievers.
Size is relative, but it is true that many of Alsace's grand cru vineyards are quite large, at least from a perception vantage point. They range in size from
7.5 acres to about 200, and given the region's complex mix of soils, it's nearly impossible for there to be much uniformity of composition within the larger ones. By way of comparison, the largest white grand cru in Burgundy (not counting Chablis Grand Cru) is Corton-Charlemagne's 111 acres, with Montrachet's 19 being closer to the norm.
Of course, it could be argued that Classified Bordeaux vineyards are significantly larger, but Alsace's viticultural practices are more akin to Burgundy's than Bordeaux's. In speaking to producers on both sides of the labeling issue, one doesn't get the sense that there is any lingering hostility between the two "sides" - at least any that is perceptible to an outsider. Instead, Hugel's David Ling puts it thusly: "For us, the grand cru doesn't bring us anything more; it's not that we're against them in theory. In fact, 'Grand Cru' was our trademark and we ceded it to CIVA. If and when the requirements for grand cru are tightened, we would be open to putting the vineyard on our bottles." (Hugel's "grands crus" are found in its Jubilee lineup. For Trimbach, the Frédéric Émile Riesling comes from two grand cru vineyards, Geisberg and Osterberg; Clos Sainte Hune from within the Rosacker Grand Cru; and the sublime Cuvée des Seigneurs de Ribeaupierre Gewurztraminer is from Osterberg as well.)
But the division, no matter how amicable, does create a marketing problem in the United States. The spread between grand cru prices is so vast that it tends to trivialize the designation. And when this is coupled by the fact that bottles with lieu-dit designations often cost much more than grands crus, though they sport the humble AOC Alsace ranking, consumers may just reach for the entry-level bottle priced at $15 instead. Séverine Schlumberger, whose family produces 67,000 cases per year and sends roughly 10 percent of that quantity to America, acknowledges the difficulty for consumers. "Our grands crus don't have the age or the notoriety of Burgundy's. We missed the 'French wine train' in some ways. When France was recognizing grands crus under the AOC system, we were under German rule. We're 100 percent estate bottled, but we have to stay at négoce prices." She notes that price variations have a lot to do with the size of the domaine. "Smaller ones, like Zind-Humbrecht, for example, have to charge more," she continues. "I believe in the grands crus 200 percent. Fifty years ago, who knew what a Corton-Charlemagne was? Now it's a reference. There's no reason to think that some of our grands crus can't be as well."
Many of Schlumberger's vineyards are as steeply terraced and difficult to work as those found in the very northernmost part of the Northern Rhône. And just as Côte-Rôtie's single vineyard wines have risen to prominence from virtual obscurity in the course of a generation, Séverine Schlumberger has high hopes for Alsace's grands crus as well. "The grand cru sales are too low. My dream is to have people respond to Kitterlé like they do to Corton-Charlemagne. Some people want to create a lieu-dit appellation that would be like a premier cru designation. I think it's fine if a producer wants to use a lieu-dit, but it's too early to introduce a new appellation. Consumers don't even understand the grands crus yet," she says.
Comparisons to Burgundy are frequently made by vignerons in Alsace. Jean-Michel Deiss, who, along with his partner, Marie-Hélène Cristofaro, produces 10,000 cases per year at Domaine Marcel Deiss, isn't in either grand cru camp. Rather, he may just be the purest purist in Alsace. "I think Alsace is very like Burgundy; we have lots of different terroirs and lots of great terroirs. We could put the information about the terroir on the label, but instead we put the grape on the label, not the terroir. We need to express the terroir more than the grape," he asserts.
For Deiss, it's not enough that a grand cru or lieu-dit is featured on a label; he insists that the consumer must know what the terroir itself tastes like, something that is of far more importance even than the grape in the bottle. His grands crus give no clues as to what
they are composed of, and he blends more than
most producers who export to the United States.
"A consumer who looks at a label must know whether he is buying generic Riesling - which certainly has a place - or Riesling that reflects terroir, and not just because it says 'grand cru,' but because it does reflect where it's from. We must stop selling wines that are not what they claim to be. It's a question of transparency," Deiss says. He knows that he's asking a lot of consumers, American or otherwise, but also understands that, ultimately, only some will take the time to really grasp what Alsace has to offer.
Or, as succinctly put by Cristofaro, "Single varietals are like the alphabet; once you learn it, you want to read the book - the terroir. It's as though we in Alsace don't believe in our terroir, though maybe in Burgundy, they're too confident!"
Confidence is an interesting choice of words. For all the skill of Alsace's vignerons, for all of Alsace's long history in the wine trade, and for all of the indisputable evidence that Alsace's whites are as well made as any anywhere, far too much emphasis is placed on its lower-end wines in the U.S. market at the expense of its grands crus, lieux-dits and other high-end wines. Given all the factors weighing against Alsace's producers in the first place - the nature of its multiple grapes, German confusion, the sweetness issue and grand cru questions - winning over befuddled consumers with $12 bottles seems challenging, indeed. As pointed out by Albert Mann's Jacky Barthelmé, "The wine must be good when it's young, but must have the capacity to age."
By implication, to be considered great, a wine must be long lived. As an outsider who has lived among Alsace's vignerons for some 33 years, Hugel's David Ling may have the best handle on Alsace's seeming inferiority complex. "People think that Riesling is Riesling and that's not so. I think the French do not believe in the wine. Alsace has always been treated with disdain by the rest of France. Alsatians are schizophrenic and that permeates the selling attitudes," he says.
As the wines continue to sell in America, that confidence should grow. Many of the leading producers are run by the children and grandchildren of the generation that had to confront Alsace's last upheaval in the 1940s. Bernard Sparr pointed out that his town, Sigolsheim, one of Alsace's most important, was completely destroyed during the campaigning of the winter of 1944-45, and that it took a decade just to clear the vineyards of unexploded ordinance.
So, in many ways, the producers of Alsace are reserved by nature. One thing that they all seem to agree on is the unbounded potential of the U.S. market for their wines. "When I come back from the U.S., I have lots of positive energy for Lucien Albrecht [specifically], and Alsace generally," Jean Albrecht enthuses. "America is dynamic. Here in France we're told to drink less. In America, people are drinking and tasting wine [more]. It's beautiful. We do wine dinners in the U.S. and see that more of our wines sell in your restaurants than in Colmar!"
Séverine Schlumberger adds, "It's becoming easier and easier because of things like Pinot Gris in Oregon. Even Santa Margherita [Pinot Grigio] has helped. Our grapes are becoming more recognizable to consumers."
As pointed out by the buyer for Florida's largest wine store chain, wines from Alsace have always been hand-sells, and while that may remain so, consumers would do well to reach out for them much more often; there really is no substitute for Alsace's combination of body, nuance and food friendliness in the white wine world.
Tasting Bar
The wines that follow were tasted in Alsace with their makers in February; they were not tasted blind.
Domaine Albert Mann
1998 Riesling, Schlossberg Grand Cru - $25: Of this wine, Maurice Barthelmé notes, "The more consumers are educated about Alsace's wines, the more they'll appreciate wines in this style." Classic big Riesling packed with lime peel, nuts and minerals. (The '86 is still stingingly fresh, though its flavor profile was more subtle. Alsace Riesling with a bit of age on it always reminds me of Corton-Charlemagne, the "leanest" of the great white Burgundies.) Score: 95
1998 Pinot Gris, Altenbourg, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $90: 170 grams of residual sugar with lots of obvious botrytis notes, but perfectly balanced; oozing with apricot marmalade, brown spice and heavily buttered bread flavors. (The '83 is lovely, luscious, but not overtly sweet.) Score: 94
1996 Pinot Gris, Hengst Grand Cru - $38: This "antidote" to Grigio points to the significant style difference of Alsace Gris; pungent, deep, smoky with banana peel and truffle notes. (The '79 shows how much lovelier Alsace's whites get with age with its more linear, gravelly scents and flavors.) Score: 94
Domaine Albert Seltz
2005 Vielles Vignes Sylvaner, Zotzenberg Grand Cru - $32: Albert Seltz says that his Sylvaners "will always be about pear," and this one is Poire William without the heat; rich and oily with quince notes. Score: 93
2005 Sylvaner de Mittelbergheim - $13: Fresh, fruity with apple and, of course, pear notes; a classic goat cheese partner. Score: 91
1998 Gewurztraminer, Zotzenberg Grand Cru, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $N/A: Delicate and lithely balanced in the face of lots of residual sugar; like drinking a buttery peach tart. Score: 95
Domaine Hering
2006 Pinot Blanc - $12: Unusual for Pinot Blanc in that it smells like it has body; bright, appley with tingly acidity; clean-as-a-whistle. Score: 90
2005 Pinot Gris, Kirchberg de Barr Grand Cru - $27: Pinot Gris, but in an invitingly leaner style; lime, lychee and crushed stone aromas with pineapple and apricot flavors adding the right touch of ripeness. Score: 93
1985 Gewurztraminer, Clos Gaensbroennel - $N/A: Richer in the nose than the mouth, a trait that is very common with older Alsace whites. Perfumed with ample pineapple, stone fruit and coffee bean flavors. Spicy freshness. Score: 94
Hugel
2005 Gentil - $12: A traditional field blend style resurrected by Hugel after falling out of fashion belies the so-called simplicity of Alsace's entry-level wines. Lively and loaded with apple and pear; dusty gravel notes add complexity. Score: 91
2003 Jubilee Gewurztraminer - $41: Perhaps the least "scary" Gewürz I've tasted; a perfect introduction to the varietal. Subtly floral, with notes of lychee and stone fruit. Spiciness appears in the close. Score: 93
1988 Gewurztraminer, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $N/A: Very Hugel in that it doesn't hit you over the head with its charms: apricot marmalade, honey, tea and brown spice are a few of them. Very long and rich with the perfect degree of sweetness. Score: 96
Josmeyer
2005 Muscat - $N/A: Forward, almost spritzy with apple, honeydew and mixed nuts throughout. It's unfortunate that there isn't more muscat planted in the region because it's a nice bridge between the distinctive nature of Alsace's main grapes and varieties consumers may be more familiar with. Score: 90
2005 Kottabe Riesling - $14: Subtle, steely, then opening to piercingly fresh lime peel and oily slate. Very typical of Josmeyer in that
it seems to mask its complexity and power at first blush and then springs them on the taster. Score: 94
2001 "H" Vielles Vignes Pinot Auxerrois - $50: The "H" signifies that the fruit hails from the esteemed Hengst Grand Cru but by law Auxerrois may not be so honored on a label. Drinks like a combination of Riesling's classic leanness and Auxerrois' simpler palette of apple, stone fruit and nuts. Quite dry and beautifully balanced. Score: 93
1995 Riesling, Hengst Grand Cru, Vendange Tardive - $N/A: The nose immediately gives away the late harvest nature of the fruit; ripe, jammy flavors of candied apricot, peach preserves and crème brûlée exhibit sweetness but close very dryly; superb balance. Score: 95
Léon Beyer
2005 Gewurztraminer - $17: Classic white flower, pineapple and mango notes; surprisingly dry, though Yann Beyer says that very dry Gewürz is actually more traditional than the fatter versions common in the last 20 years. Score: 92
2001 Comtes d'Eguisheim Riesling - $43: This is Beyer's "grand cru." Sinewy, though ripely chewy, and more about minerals than the citrus and apricot notes it shows. (The '75 is huge and intense with apricot, hazelnut, coffee bean and brown spice notes; incredibly long.) Score: 95
1983 Quintessence Gewurztraminer, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $N/A: A cured meat sweet-ness leads to perfectly balanced, lush aromas and flavors of mango flan, peach preserves, buttered pear, smoke and tea. Even with so much flavor, the wine is all about texture. Score: 95
Lucien Albrecht
2004 Riesling, Clos Schild - $105: Typical steely, minerally, cleansing Riesling in the nose; takes off in the mouth with pear, apple and tangerine notes; impeccable balance and weight. (The '83 is "alive and kicking," notes Jean Albrecht, with lots of orange marmalade, cured meat and crushed gravel flavors.) Score: 94
2001 Pinot Gris, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $69 (375 ml): A whopping 220 grams of residual sugar never tasted so well balanced. Thick, but not cloying with oily apricot and smoke notes. Score: 95
1989 Pinot Gris, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $N/A: Velvety, though surprisingly "lean" with brown sugar covering stone fruit tart, candied apricot and crème brûlée flavors. Exquisite balance and not a hint of alcohol - a dangerous proposition for the drinker. Score: 94
1971 Pinot Gris, Pfingstberg Grand Cru - $N/A: Technically predates the grand cru designation itself. Very long, very serious and very well preserved with notes of stone fruit, cured meat, smoke and honey. As good as an old wine can get. Score: 97
Domaine Marc Kreydenweiss
1997 Pinot Gris, Aux Vignes, Clos Rebberg - $47: Commences with tropical fruit notes and a suggestion of almond paste, then settles down to lime peel, kiwi and spicy minerals. Score: 93
1994 Riesling, Le Château, Kastelberg Grand Cru - $73: Rich, but linear in the way that Riesling with some age can be. Apricot, dusty slate and lime peel that punctuates the minerally finish. Score: 95
1989 Pinot Gris, Le Moine, Moenchberg Grand Cru, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $N/A: Perhaps the perfect sweet wine. Subtle but very present burnt orange, citrus peel, nuts, coffee bean and toffee notes - almost Madeira-like. Ginger and apricot preserves round out the finish. 230 grams of beautiful balance and concentration. Score: 98
Domaine Marcel Deiss
2003 Altenberg de Bergheim Grand Cru - $99: Big, but controlled; lots of nuts, citrus and flowers; buttery fruit and spice (maybe gewürz?). Score: 93
2003 Burg - $52: Rich, though lithe (riesling?) with lime and orange peel dominating the nose; marmalade in the mouth. Very long. Score: 95
2002 Rotenberg - $55: Plush, round, superbly balanced and tingly. Dried apricot, nuts and flowers abound. Score: 95
Domaine Paul Blanck
2004 Gewurztraminer, Furstentum Grand Cru, Vendange Tardive - $N/A: Gently floral in the nose; positively lush in the mouth with lychee, orange blossom and clove notes. Score: 94
2003 Riesling, Schlossberg Grand Cru - $33: Rich, though still quite young; massive flavors of stone fruit, nuts and lemon curd are "cleaned up" nicely by the lime peel in the close. Score: 95
2002 Pinot Gris, Furstentum Grand Cru - $19: Deliciously jammy peach, apricot preserves and hazelnut flavors. Great balance with a dry close that refreshes the palate. Score: 94
Domaine Pierre Sparr
1998 Gewurztraminer, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $48: Pretty nose doesn't give away the lusciously sweet flavors waiting to be sipped. Honeyed stone fruit, candied mango and brown spice; perfectly balanced. Score: 95
1993 Riesling, Altenbourg - $53: Huge, flinty and oily; classic old Riesling with notes of apricot and nuts; beautifully lean finish. Score: 95
1990 Pinot Gris, Mambourg Grand Cru - $72: Nicely aged notes of yellow flowers and honeydew melon. No fat at this point in its life; ripe but sinewy. Score: 93
Domaines Schlumberger
2004 Riesling, Les Princes Abbés - $18: Subtle, dusty and lean; cleansing minerals and citrus. As good as it gets at this price point. Score: 90
2004 Riesling, Kitterlé Grand Cru - $36: A petrol whiff frames classic Riesling notes of lime peel, minerals and flowers; a steely, refreshing mouthful. (The still young '85 is even more minerally than the '99.) Score: 95
2000 Gewurztraminer, Cuvée Anne, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $81: Understated, but super rich ripe; stone fruit marmalade, brown butter, honey and crème brûlée notes are layered, and balanced by spices. Score: 94
Trimbach
2005 Riesling - $16: Of this wine, Jean Trimbach says, "No terroir; just pure Riesling." Impeccably fresh, steely, minerally and loaded with citrus notes. Score: 92
2001 Riesling, Clos Sainte Hune - $155: Beautiful, deep, rich and lean all at once. Dried apricot, lime peel, minerals and nuts follow through to the impossibly fresh, almost spritzy close. (The '85 was unbelievably complex, layered and perfectly balanced; the epitome of élan.) Score: 97
1989 Frédéric Émile Riesling, Vendange Tardive - $65 (375 ml): Almost briny (in the best possible way), nutty and deep. Dried apricot, honey, lime, and at this age, nearly dry. Outrageously enjoyable. Score: 98
Domaine Weinbach
2005 Réserve Muscat - $35: Ripe and grapefruity; notes of apricot pit and pear round it out nicely. Score: 91
2005 Riesling, Cuvée Sainte Catherine, Schlossberg Grand Cru - $75: Ripe and tropical yet, in the words of Madame Faller, "dry but not acidic." Delicious flavors include lime, kiwi, nuts and minerals; magnificent now but so much life left. Score: 96
2002 Gewurztraminer, Mambourg Grand Cru, Sélection de Grains Nobles - $100 (375 ml): Passion fruit and apricot conserve frame the perfect degree of ripe, sweet notes of caramel and crème brûlée. Somehow manages to finish dry in the face of so much rich, buttery sweetness. Score: 96
Zind-Humbrecht
2005 Riesling, Rangen Grand Cru - $100: Burgundy-like in that it's packed with mouthwateringly ripe and buttery stone fruit, and is practically bursting at the seams, yet lime peel and mineral notes keep it from becoming a caricature of richness. Score: 95
2005 Gewurztraminer, Wintzenheim - $45: Léonard Humbrecht describes the wine perfectly when he says, "It's pure Gewürz." Flowers, nutmeg and white fruit are intensely ripe, though surprising acidity keeps the package together. Score: 94
1990 Riesling, Brand Grand Cru, Vendange Tardive - $225: Classic old Riesling but with a degree of richness usually not found in those of a certain age. Pronounced lime peel and hazelnut notes with a bit of butterscotch adding layers to the still-youthful wine. Score: 96 - TMW
Todd M. Wernstrom is the executive editor and frequently writes about French and Italian wine.
