Functioning on adrenaline and elation alone, I found myself aimlessly wandering the streets of Jerez de la Frontera one morning earlier this year. I was feeling rapturously jet lagged all over again despite the consistent time zone, having sacrificed an entire night of sleep in order to expedite my arrival to this magical place. I couldn't possibly have been happier.
Alcohol, and therefore wine, is under attack from seemingly all sides. Most pertinently, categorical warnings issued by the World Health Organization and US Dietary Guidelines (the former based in part by “research” and support by Canadian neo-prohibitionists and the latter by the ICCPUD, a group tasked with the prevention of underage drinking) state that “no amount of alcohol is safe for human consumption”. That's quite an assertion.
Nobody lacks self-discipline like us at Metrovino. We make valiant attempts at restraint, but you’d never know it given the fact that we import 80+ disparate German Riesling labels each vintage. Despite its amorphous parameters, every year we encounter phenomenal wines in our travels that don’t fit neatly into our bloated “portfolio”. When a brief encounter with such a wine makes clear that a future without it would be impoverished, empty and meaningless, we import said wine for reasons of emotion — regardless of its lack of glass-pour potential at restaurants or inherent appeal to trophy hunters.
This past April, winegrower Andreas Adam and I made a short drive to the village of Leiwen for dinner. Upon leaving the main road, I noticed a building alongside the Mosel river that conjured several memories for me. "Has that hotel and restaurant closed down?” I asked. After all, Andreas was the one who had recommended it to me so many years ago. He lamented that their doors were indeed permanently closed, and over dinner I recounted the following memory.
We lost Nika, our spiritual inspiration and irreplaceable canine family member, in November of 2019. Almost immediately, my wife decided that our cat, Bébert, was suffering acute loneliness from the loss. Nika and Bébert had merely coexisted, but I didn't dissuade my wife from projecting our own sense of emptiness upon the seemingly indifferent cat. By the end of December we would welcome an additional family member into our household.
There's much to love about 2023 German Riesling. The wines possess a breathtaking, spellbinding sense of harmony, albeit in a slightly riper and richer register than the previous two vintages. Happily, this is without the aromatic evidence of warmth embodied by some ‘18s, ‘19s and '20s. The 2023s have stubbornly long finishes, soaring on and on with enchanting harmonic inertia.
Springtime had technically begun but the skies remained obstinately indifferent. I was on a solo woodland retreat to nurture my dominant but neglected introverted side, and had just finished reading a novel of extraordinary breadth and insight. The afternoon, like the morning, was mine to do whatever I wanted, so I bundled up for a leisurely stroll through my isolated, snow-swept environs to digest what I had just read.
One of the most exciting things about tasting through any wine region is hearing about different grower’s tactics to overcome challenges and usher beautiful wines into being. Despite the potentially enormous variation of strategies voiced, each proffered as if any other pursuit would result in abject failure, one can taste countless collections of compelling and delicious wines. However, nobody else that I know who's achieving such high levels of quality with Riesling is doing so through such idiosyncratic methods as Kai Schätzel.
My maternal grandfather was tough, even by the standards of his bygone generation. The eldest son of German immigrants, he grew up on a farm in Lymburn, Alberta where an unflagging work ethic was the motif of his life from the very beginning. Almost 100 years later during this chaotic but sentimental time of year, I find myself thinking of him more than usual.
