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The experiences keep on piling up fast and furious. And even though I want to hook up my readers to a sort of poetic IV system for a constant line of what I saw and learned, I must remind myself to slow down and do it more like a drip feed. Sorry. My brother was a doctor. I’m used to medical analogies.
Since I last posted, I’ve been to Alsace, the Jura, and back to the Jura. Looking at this Jura bounce, I see that I’m eager to drink so much of the stuff I will finally tire of it… and reach for wines from other world regions I’ve been neglecting. Which leads me to Alsace.
Alsace is the region of France nestled up to the German border, struggling for recognition and new drinkers. It's been this way for decades. Historically writers have blamed their lack of audience on identity and language confusion. Is the area German or French? Are their grapes French or German? Are the wines dry or sweet? Certainly, the 80s with a profusion of the gloopy wines Robert Parker favored didn’t set the stage for future success. Nor do the current mostly regrettable cremants. But there is another Alsace that is blooming, so where is the drinking world's curiosity?
Upon arrival in Paris, I saw many Alsatians on wine lists. Almost every spot had one by-the-glass. Wow, great. As a world bellwether, if in Paris, the States are next. No?
Just to double-check myself that Alsace hadn’t taken New York by the collar while I wasn’t looking, I asked Pascaline Lepeltier at Chambers. Does she sell any? “Yes,” she said, “But only if I sell them.” This means if someone puts their wine choice in her hands, they could end up with an Alsatian bottle—no one chooses them on their own steam. With that, I ask you, when was the last time you bought a bottle of Alsatian wine for home or in a restaurant?