Her child, she thinks, is a Riesling. Of all the varieties in the world, she inevitably returns to this one. There is something in the grape’s singular ability to convey fragility and strength, ephemera and eternity, that mirrors motherhood and frames the child in her mind’s eye. The child could have reflected a multiple of varieties, a blend perhaps, or a different hue. She remembers a strawberry-scented evening of pink Cinsault in a South African game lodge, bottomless glasses as sundowners, followed by a queasy morning-after, and a realization that the child — then little more than a flicker —…
Born in Madrid, brought up in Paris, Clare went to boarding school in the UK but lived for the holidays and the flights ‘home’ with her brothers to her Diplomat parents whose work took them to more colorful destinations including Mexico, Belgium and Poland. Four years at Cambridge University immersed in French and Spanish literature were halcyon. She left with a future husband but no idea what to ‘do’ in the world, so turned to wine. She has worked as a wine buyer, seller and story-teller ever since, travelled the world, met fascinating people involved in wine of all nationalities including Chinese pirates and Russian spies, and cemented a true passion for all things vinous. In 2014, Clare and her family moved near Napa where she works full time as a wine buyer, often driving up and down the Silverado Trail. She is the California correspondent for Decanter.com and has had pieces published by Tim Atkin MW and the Academie du Vin Library. Much to her huge joy, Clare became a Master of Wine in February 2021.
“Die Luft war raus.” The spark had vanished; the bloom was off the rose. That was the phrase circulating in the weeks before ProWein opened, in emails, on the phone, in the particular silence that greets an appointment calendar nobody has the energy to open. Executing pre-fair rituals felt like a chore. My cowboy boots weighed heavy; my playlists, uninspired. And I wasn’t alone. Wine Paris closed its seventh edition in February with 63,541 trade visitors from 169 countries, up 21 percent in a single year. My social media feed was full of smiling faces and hand-lettered “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” signs,…...
Truth be told, I relish the fact that the phrase “kabinett trocken” feels like an oxymoron to so many people. For all reasonable drinkers who have come to reflexively associate the word “Kabinett” with an off-dry Riesling, the fact that a Kabinett can be both 1) dry and 2) not Riesling is jarring. An oxymoron right up there with “freezer burn,” “peacekeeper missile,” and “airline food.” Yet, that’s only one part of a much larger obsession…er, story. Kabinett trocken reduces the grandest terroir to its most essential, most fundamental, most tangible, and most immediate. A few exceptional Kabinett trockens have been among…...
It was the first hour of my first shift, and of course, it was a “Manhattan Cocktail.” I pictured the flashcards heavy in my pocket from the cram-session the night before: Rye whisky, sweet Vermouth, and bitters. Don’t forget the cherry. To that point, I had known Vermouth as little more than a grandmother’s drink, the bottle dying a slow oxidative death in wood-paneled curios around the world. So after making the guest’s request, and in the name of job experience, I downed the remaining jigger of inexperienced overpour. Later, I would comment to the bar manager that it tasted a…...
