Topic: TN: Pierre, poisson & penguin lust (Alsace, pt. 5, long, img)
Author: Thor Iverson
Date: 20040209143446

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Paris

The cheese that keeps on giving The lapin not-so-agile

Alsace

Monsieur is a great connoisseur The Beyer necessities Boxler rebellion An unfamiliar malady

Penguin spring

Trying to fall asleep between something akin to pneumonia is bad enough. Waking up in a similar condition, but accompanied by French morning television, is even worse. Today's breakfast menu of inexplicable broadcast delights:

The Regis & Kelly-esque couple from the previous morning is back. This morning, they're...um, well, is there a polite way to say that they're pantomiming fellatio? Repeatedly? It seems like some sort of theme for the day. Perhaps it's yet another French national holiday. Suddenly, things are looking up...

Next channel: "Beavis & Butthead" in French. Enough said.

Yet another channel: a man in a penguin suit screams at a tall model with plastic and metal springs in her hair. She responds by kissing him. This tableau resists all attempts at interpretation, and I begin to wonder if I'm taking too much cold medicine.

Deux drives

Behind the blue door

Theresa chooses to take advantage of a sunny, quiet day by doing close to nothing in our garden. For me, nose running and throat constricting, sitting still isn't particularly relaxing. So I take the car and the camera northward to the southern Bas-Rhin, turn mountainward to enter the vignoble, and wind my way southwards along the route des vins, stopping in both vineyard and village to soak up the atmosphere and, hopefully, a little fresh-air healing.

Dambach-la-Ville is a largish town (for the route des vins) with a pretty, slightly imposing church on a central square. Its streets are mostly deserted, except for a few small knots of elderly Germans on some sort of bus tour. Chatenois is a different experience, with a quiet and somewhat murky canal bisecting a town that looks to have been a victim of multiple world wars in its regular modernity...though architecturally, the half-timber still reigns supreme. Its streets are busier, filled with locals running errands. St-Hippolyte is the brightest jewel on my mini-tour, with private gardens blossoming in a riot of lush green vines and the kaleidoscopic colors of asymmetrical façades looming over streets that surround a brisk, clean river glistening with silvery trout. Every third building seems to feature one of those glass-windowed half-barrels that announce the presence of a winemaker: proprietor's name, sun-faded bottles, and prices all in alignment, from the ubiquitous Edelzwicker right on down to grains nobles gewurztraminer.

Flowing in regimental columns and rows around every village – from small tributaries slashed into the dense Vosges forest to the flat expanse of the Rhine's agricultural ocean – are vines, each village merely an island struggling against the rushing tide of grapes. Here the opulent, dark vegetation of south-facing slopes basking in sunshine, there the thinner, questing twist of east-facing slopes trying to soak up each ray of light. Young, tender shoots strain for overhanging wires between the thick, knotty trunks of their viticultural great-grandparents. And everywhere there's the quiet tension before the storm; spring has arrived in force, yet the full blossoming of the vines' labor remains some weeks in the future. All is anticipation. Everywhere is potential.

I'd be carried away by the poetry of it, except that I have to stop and blow my nose every fifteen seconds. Which pretty much destroys the mood.

Dambach-la-Ville aspires

Back at the gîte, I gather Theresa and we drive the dismal and industrial eastward road into the heart of Colmar. I've never been a fan of this city, finding too little of it charming enough to make up for the urbanity and tourist-pandering of the rest, but somehow today it redeems itself a bit, the old city's twisted alleys full of foot-pounding life stirring up the dusty history of the ages. We're here for two reasons: fresh fish at the Monoprix (which Laurence Faller has assured us is as good as we'll find in the immediate area), and a stop at a real estate management company recommended to us by the owner of our gîte. Our dream of ownership in Alsace never really goes away, and this is a tentative but positive exploration of the possibilities. Maybe someday...

Riesling ascendant

"I'm sorry," Jean Trimbach, our usual host at his family's legendary winery, had written via email, "but we will all be on vacation, and the domaine will be closed."

"Oh, what a shame," I'd replied, proceeding to lay it on more than a bit thick. "It just won't be Alsace without a visit to Trimbach."

Days went by. Perhaps a week. And then: "My brother Pierre will receive you at 4 p.m. Enjoy him." And with that somewhat cryptic phrase, our regular visit to one of our favorite wineries in the world was secured.

But what, we wondered, would Pierre be like? On one previous visit to the domaine, he'd practically sprinted away as Jean pointed him out to a small group of tasters. On another, he'd somewhat reluctantly stood still just long enough for the briefest of introductions, then cantered away at an even higher rate of speed. Hubert – refined yet welcoming – and even the gruffer Bernard had at least stayed long enough for a few small-talk pleasantries. Pierre remained a mystery; a much-admired winemaker we could only marginally claim to have met.

Forêt, Vignoble & Chapelle de Scherwiller

Pulling into the open gate of Trimbach's courtyard some weeks later, these questions are still on our minds. What sort of visit will this be? We don't have to wait long to find out, as Pierre emerges from the office to greet or confront these interlopers, whoever they may be. Clad – as both Jean and Pierre so often are – in a bright polo shirt, Pierre is a muscular sculpture with the signature Trimbach features under a healthy tan, and an overall look akin to an extremely butch Freddie Mercury. The shyness of previous visits is gone, or at least put down for the day, as he extends a hand in greeting.

Pierre Trimbach exudes confidence without the frequent accompaniment of ego, a quieter kind of self-satisfaction not at all immune to sudden bursts of curiosity, yet one imagines that he rarely acts without contemplation. There's a slight intractability to his statements on wine that, while open to eventual reconsideration, are obviously very firmly-held against most philosophical challenges. As with most Alsatians of our acquaintance, there is a Germanic reserve in place that, eventually, melts away to reveal a Gallic warmth as a certain level of comfort is reached, though there's an important difference: with Jean and many others, the melting is usually accomplished only by a healthy application of wine. Pierre, perhaps less burdened with the glitzy necessities of public relations, relaxes with less chemical provocation.

The Trimbachs never seem hugely eager to show off their cellar or their vineyards (our first few visits included a brisk downstairs walk-through), and barring special arrangements most guests spend all their time in the tasting room. As both Jean and Pierre put it, "it's a cellar, it's like all the other cellars, you've seen them before," and they're right, but it does fill one with a certain curiosity to experience, say, barrel-tasting or vineyard exploration with the winery's principals. (This isn't unique to Trimbach; with the notable exception of Paul Blanck, few of the best-known names regularly do more than bottle-tasting unless one specifically asks.)

Vineyard near Kintzheim

And so here we are, sniffing wine in the domaine's slick tasting room. Pierre doesn't adhere as rigidly to the "available-in-your-market" lineup Jean always presents, and so there are a few differences between this and our previous visits. However, we do start in the usual place.

Trimbach 2001 Pinot Blanc (Alsace) – Like most of the well-known producers' bottlings, a (roughly) 50/50 blend of pinot blanc and auxerrois, showing ripe apricot and steel with piercing acidity. Young now, this is more austere than – though potentially superior to – the tremendous 1998. And, for those who care, fiercely dry. In any case, a few years of cellaring are not at all unwarranted.

Pierre is enthusiastic about the 2001 vintage, calling it a ripe, "classic" year with "excellent vendanges tardives and pure botrytis." He speculates that it "may be better than 1989," which is quite a statement for any winemaker to make, and expresses special affection for gewurztraminer: "we had our highest sugar levels ever, 27 to 29 degrees of potential alcohol."

Trimbach 2001 Riesling (Alsace) – This is the négociant version, bottled less than a month before our visit; though the effect of a recent bottling is obvious, it would be hard to call the net effect a necessarily negative one. The wine is all blinding structure, showing almost excruciatingly delicious raw steel with a little juicy lemon just starting to emerge on a long, long finish. If the négociant version is this good, I can't wait for the estate versions. Pierre calls this excess structure "a character of the vintage: all tartaric acid."

Trimbach 2000 Riesling "Réserve" (Alsace) – Shifting gears to estate grapes and a ripe, fat year gives a much more open expression of the Trimbach style: fuller-bodied lime and juicy, "ripe" steel with a lush, fruity nose and a very long finish. There's plenty of potential here, but also drinkability over the near term.

Wine on the barrelhead

As Pierre digs around in a cabinet for more riesling, I ask him about the looming addition of a premier cru designation for Alsatian vineyards. His lack of enthusiasm is immediately obvious, and he rants for a while, concluding that "to add another 100-150 German words to our bottles will help no one." I'm tempted to respond "maybe the Germans," but decide against it.

Trimbach 1999 Riesling "Cuvée Frédéric Émile" (Alsace) – Much more open than one expects a CFE to be at this stage, undoubtedly a vintage characteristic. There's walnut and a touch of stale green apple, grapefruit, and a more generous fruitiness to the finish than is usual; more atypicality. The fundamental mineral core of this wine is present, but in lesser intensity than in previous vintages, and this will probably be an even earlier-drinking CFE than the riper 1997. The finish is long and all its elements are in balance, so I suspect this will age and develop, but it will never be the expression of pure liquid iron that the best CFE can be.

"How about the 'Cuvée M?'" I wonder out loud.

"Since 1998, it's in the 'Réserve.'" I ask why. He shrugs. Apparently, that's all I'm going to get on this issue.

Trimbach 1997 Riesling Clos Ste-Hune (Alsace) – Close followers of the domaine will know that, in a highly unusual move, Trimbach released the (excellent) 1998 before the '97, leading to a lot of speculation about what might be "wrong" with this vintage of their (and Alsace's) flagship riesling. Pierre admits to no problems, merely stating that the wine needed another two years of bottle age to represent newly-released Clos Ste-Hune. There's certainly nothing amiss with this bottle; in fact, it's one of the more remarkable young Ste-Hunes of the last decade, showing stunning blood orange aromatics in a thick purée of lead crystal, with flaky crustacean carapace and a powdered crystalline finish. It's a wine of unbelievable intensity and balance, all poised on a pillar of lurking minerality in a silken sheath common to so many of the world's truly great white wines. And this is unquestionably one of the very greatest.

St-Hippolyte (Praelatenberg in the distance)

At this point, Pierre opines that Trimbach's two best rieslings become "indistinguishable" with age. I dispute this, though not without mercenary intent; I know that if I press the point, he'll be forced to prove it in liquid form, though my disagreement with the statement is genuine. We banter back and forth for a few minutes, and then Pierre disappears out the door...reappearing a few minutes later with a pair of unlabeled bottles. Theresa offers to manage a blind tasting for the two of us, but Pierre refuses, preferring to pour the wines himself.

Mystery wine #1: Trending towards gold. Orange rind and calcium softening to creamy red apple with a light dusting of spicy nutmeg and very light oxidation. The finish is medium-short. (Trimbach 1985 Riesling "Cuvée Frédéric Émile" (Alsace))

Mystery wine #2: Even darker, with petrol-laced minerality. Firmer than the previous wine, with a touch of apple and walnut on the finish, but it seems slightly more mature. (Trimbach 1985 Riesling Clos Ste-Hune (Alsace))

That the wines are a CFE and a Clos Ste-Hune is obvious; the question is which is which, and of what vintage? I guess early eighties, and I'm not far off, but manage to switch the identity of the wines, thinking #1 less advanced and thus more likely to be the Ste-Hune, #2 more steely and thus more likely to be the CFE. Theresa, who nearly always prefers CFE to Clos Ste-Hune, explains this to Pierre as she waxes rhapsodic over the performance of the CFE. And it turns out that the choice of wines is no accident; 1985 is the first vintage over which Pierre asserted complete winemaking control. On our specific point of contention, however, I feel vindicated: the wines are quite dissimilar, even at eighteen years of age. I decide not to try and bait him into a comparison of even older wines.

As we move from riesling to gewurztraminer, Pierre injects the offhand comment that "with pinot gris, there's less soil influence, but more ripeness and higher sugar levels." This would not appear to be a compliment coming from him, and perhaps that is why we don't taste a single pinot gris.

Pierre minds the store

Trimbach 2000 Gewurztraminer (Alsace) – Spiced peach with a mild steel core and a faintly rubbery note. Is this already closing down, or just a little wan for a 2000 gewurztraminer? It's hard to tell from this bottle, though future tastings back in the States indicate the former.

Trimbach 1998 Gewurztraminer "Cuvée des Seigneurs de Ribeaupierre" (Alsace) – Lychee and spicy minerality with smoked nuts and structure to spare. A beautiful, classic, long-aging gewurztraminer; as good as this wine has even been, at least in my memory. And, as usual, quite dry.

Trimbach 1997 Gewurztraminer "Cuvée des Seigneurs de Ribeaupierre" (Alsace) – A huge, full-bodied counterpart to the more structured 1998, showing extra-ripe peach and pear with layers of lush body and a hint of sweetness, which is very unusual for this wine, but probably unavoidable in a '97. People who don't like the skin bitterness of dry gewurztraminer will prefer this to the '98, and it's an excellent example of the variety, but the former is a fundamentally superior wine.

Trimbach 1998 Gewurztraminer "Vendanges Tardives" (Alsace) – Harvested at 17% potential alcohol. Rich peach, pear and lychee dusted with coriander and cinnamon. Long, full, and complete with terrific nervosity; yes it's quite sweet, but flawless balancing acidity makes it somewhat unique among gewurztraminers of this type. The finish is as endless as this wine's apparent aging potential.

Theresa swoons in ecstasy over the wine, drawing a semi-amused stare from our host. While Theresa explains herself, the level of comfort we've achieved with Pierre becomes apparent with this hilarious exchange (in English, unlike most of our conversation):

Geisberg, Osterberg and their future receptacles

Theresa: "I'm a gewurztraminer slut."
Pierre: "I thought you were a Frédéric Émile whore."

I nearly spit my gewurztraminer across the room. Theresa, possibly for the first time since I've known her, actually appears to blush a bit.

Trimbach 1994 Gewurztraminer "Sélection des Grains Nobles" (Alsace) – 21% potential alcohol, harvested in early November. Thick pear syrup and orange rind with incredible nerve and minerality buoyed by crisp acidity, something Trimbach seems to achieve so effortlessly in these profoundly sweet wines. Absolutely classic, with many, many years ahead of it.

A cry comes from an upstairs window of the family house. It's late, and Pierre is being summoned to dinner by his wife. Some commands cannot be ignored, and this is one of them, so we bring the tasting to a close with some purchases and fond farewells.

"Say hello to Jean," I add as I sign a credit card receipt. Pierre assents, adding something that nearly causes me to drop my pen.

"He's on vacation in Scotland. With Olivier Humbrecht."

Is nothing sacred?

What’s the dill with trout?

Riesling descendant

Suffused with happiness (despite my continuing sickness) from a remarkable tasting, much-needed after yesterday's difficulty, we return to our residence for dinner. I stuff a few clear-eyed river trout with aromatics and herbs, and uncork yet another bottle from a producer whose products are in complete contrast to the steely austerity of Trimbach, yet express their origins with no less power and clarity.

Boxler 2001 Riesling (L30M) (Alsace) – Firm limestone and lime rind with a tight blend of malic and tartaric acidity, iron-flake minerality, and a long and spicy finish. Unquestionably more generous in its youth than what we've tasted this afternoon, but giving little away in terms of structure and potential.

And with that, it's back to my sickbed. Fearing both penguins and springs in the dead of an Alsatian night, I eschew the television. Though it doesn't help me sleep.

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