The spelling of grape names can be fraught. Iconic viticulturalist Georg Scheu once delivered an address, accompanied by a poem, wittily satirizing those who would replace Sylvaner’s romance “y” with “i.” In 1940, that was risky. Scheu’s country had become a terror state, and those being spoofed weren’t known for their sense of humor. Pfalz vintner Rainer Lingenfelder long labeled his Sylvaner: “Ypsilon – Homage to Georg Scheu and his Rebellion against the ‘i’-dot Bureaucrats [i-Punkt Bürokraten]” — which gained hilarity in translation given the fatuous Nazi policy of enforcing “Germanic” spelling. (Even the “c”s in Cabinet and Bernkasteler Doctor…
David Schildknecht trained in philosophy and worked as a restaurateur before spending a quarter century in the U.S. wine trade. His tasting reports, ones from Austria and Germany prominent among them, have since the late 1980s been fixtures of Stephen Tanzer's International Wine Cellar; Robert Parker's Wine Advocate; and, since 2015, Vinous. A columnist and feature contributor for Wine & Spirits, The World of Fine Wine, and Austria’s Vinaria, he is responsible for the German and Austrian entries in the The Oxford Companion to Wine and a co-author of the 7th edition of Robert Parker's Wine Buyer's Guide. David has also addressed issues of aesthetics in contexts academic and otherwise, and his life in wine leaves time to pursue his passions for cooking, music, history, and his infinitely tolerant wife of five decades.
For a Jewish baby boomer like me, the Holocaust was always part of my DNA. Yet, I was not the child of survivors. My Polish grandparents were safely in the United States by the 1920s. The family they left behind were mostly killed. In yeshiva, where I spent a dozen years splitting my curriculum between religious and secular studies, we were frequently subjected to footage of emaciated bodies, piled up for burning or disposal. Teachers didn’t hide the numbers tattooed on their arms. But the personal horror stories my cousins told of Polish concentration camps and ghettos were the images…...
Sekt embodies free spirit, hedonism, even — in its blatant disregard for rules — punk. The limitless maximization of lust for life and the unadulterated joy of the sensual assume the spotlight, while ethics and morals are asked to exit stage left. Whether it’s to christen a ship, toast a victory, or celebrate a birthday in the office (back when we did things like this), bubbles embrace the sparkling side of everyday life. A flash of glam on an otherwise wretched Tuesday afternoon. Sekt is bound to nothing and to no one, neither to food nor occasion. And that’s why…...
It was biodynamic wine that helped me to find my footing in Europe. Yet, as a Black American woman living in Europe, Rudolf Steiner's interests and views present a complicated and troubling legacy.
Words are like viruses. They appear in culture and may lie dormant then suddenly they are everywhere, swirling about, adapting to their hosts, mutating to survive. In the wine world, this process can happen fast. "Purity," it turns out, is anything but pure.
