When I return home from yet another business trip bloated with too many rich meals and multi-wine occasions, I often opt to leave wine alone for awhile, until I really thirst for it again. I don’t want to drink reflexively, just because drinking wine is What I Do: I want to want it.
Sometimes I don’t want it for almost a week. Sometimes I want it in a day or two. But however long my chill-out lasts, when I first want wine again I always want one particular kind of wine, and only one.
Muscat!
There are wines one likes sensually. There are wines one loves sentimentally, or appreciates intellectually, or responds to spiritually–or all of these at once. But not Muscat. This I thirst for wolfishly. Though I sip it like the oh-so-responsible adult I am, what I really wish I could do is lap it up from a stream. It is pure body-need and body-joy.
I need to clarify that I mean dry or nearly-dry Muscat. I admire Beames de Venise and the like, and a Winter night sometimes brings a yearning for one of those creamy, amber Rutherglen Muscats. But the only sweet Muscat I really love is Moscato D’Asti. I like my Muscats innocent and virginal.
When I think of perfect dry Muscat I can only think of Andrew Jefford’s superb phrase, which he wrote about Beaujolais but which applies to many wines; it has almost no capacity for greatness, but an almost infinite capacity for goodness. And “goodness” is a thing too rarely spoken of in our wine-world. In the Pfalz there’s an aphorism holding that “There’s nothing better than that which is good,” and we all know the classic phrase, “The great is the enemy of the good.” Hugh Johnson writes cunningly that every roast chicken needn’t be truffled. We are so besotted by our lust for the Great, for the Nth-degree of palate-porn, that we can forget our simple thirst for wine.
I admit this has to do with my being a wine-pro. When you spend your days working at wine, you look for something to drink recreationally, so I lay a lot of emphasis on the fun-factor. But lucky me; I think I landed on something. I think I’m starting to remember the value of the simply-good. The modest. The useful, the helpful, the honest and graceful and unaffected. We need to remember to appreciate such things, or we risk turning wine into a commodity and not a companion. If we only wish to consume exalted experience we are in peril of ignoring something fundamentally human, and we forget that upon which every peak stands.
Who are we, when the good isn’t good enough?
Which brings me back to Muscat.
A good Muscat is above all clear and forthright. It drips with clarity and candor. It reeks of the grape. It enters the palate like cold spring-water, biting with spice and so exuberant all you can do is grin. It has never known anything that wasn’t laughter. It is refreshingly free of gravitas. It is replete with the spirit of play.
The greatest homes for Muscat are Alsace, Austria, Germany and Piemonte.
Alsace Muscat: In Alsace wines labeled ‘Muscat’ can be made either from the “true” so-called Yellow Muscat (a.k.a. Muscat a Petite Grains) or from Muscat Ottonel. The latter is easier to grow, earlier ripening, not so finicky, and more opulently (though less finely) scented. In practice most Alsace Muscat blends the two in varying proportions. I am only aware of one pure-Ottonel, from Julien Meyer, but perhaps there are others. Alsace Muscat is a vanishing species, disastrously, as its yields are unreliable, as is its clientele. As a rule it’s made to be drunk young and sportingly vital, as an aperitif, and such Muscats are indeed wonderful, especially in hot weather.
But there is another community of somewhat less frivolous Muscats, some grown in Grand Cru vineyards. These offer additional dimensions of flavor without affecting solemnity. I don’t know them all, but amongst those I do know, these several stand out:
—Dirler (sometimes called Dirler-Cade);
—Grand Cru Hatschbourg (from Voegtlinshoefen; a superb vineyard not entirely realized by the vignerons of the village, none of whom are stellar but most of whom make very good Muscat, such is the quality of the Cru);
—Ernst Burn and his Clos St. Imer, in fact a segment of the fine Grand Cru Goldert;
—Zind-Humbrecht Grand Cru Goldert, which might well be the greatest Muscat in the world, a wine of scope and stature and adamant minerality. Seekers of Muscat’s exquisite frivolity are advised to trade down to ZH’s ‘basic’ Muscat;
—Bruno Sorg Grand Cru Pfersigberg, a scrupulous, diligent and mineral Muscat. Sorg’s occasional “basic” Muscat is nothing to sneeze at, and good Muscats can be found all over his home-village of Eguisheim;
—Albert Boxler Grand Cru Brand, which is a shy critter who only appears 5-6 vintages out of 10, but when it appears, DOES it appear! One of the most terroir-saturated Muscats you will ever drink, yet still seething with its catty vitality;
—Rolly-Gassman has no Grand Crus but usually makes vineyard-designated Muscats somewhat on the perfumey Ottonel wavelength, often containing a little residual sugar, and which are exceedingly fine.
There are doubtless many fine Muscats in the bas-Rhin–I’ve had a few myself from Gilg (Mittelbergheim) and Klipfel (Barr) but my cellar is groaning with Muscat as it is, and I’m wary of finding any more must-haves!
German Muscat: These, called Gelber Muskateller–are always yellow-Muscat, and are becoming fashionable just as their cousins are becoming unfashionable across the border in Alsace. They are economically foolish to grow, but boy they taste wicked-good. Higher in acidity and lighter in body than their Alsace counterparts, the ones I know best hail from the Pfalz, and include:
—Minges, whose first vintage 2005 is an especially ravishing Auslese;
—Meßmer, whose Muscat often contains a modicum of sweetness and is all the better for it;
Other growers from the Südliche Weinstrasse, some of whom produce Muscat; the great names include Wehrheim, Rebholz, and Müller-Catoir, who makes the only German Muscat which stands comparison with the best of Zind-Humbrecht; almost shockingly limpid and spicy, with a seldom encountered note of opal basil.
(Full-disclosure note: I represent many of these Germans professionally, but then, I’m a fiend for Muscat.)
Austrian Muscat: These can either be labeled Muscat Ottonel or Gelber Muskateller but must be varietally pure, i.e., no blends. The yellow Muscat grows increasingly trendy, and this we are duly grateful for. Once again, I’m commercially involved with most of these, but let’s put it this way: just because all my Muscats are good doesn’t mean I have all the good Muscats!
—Berger makes his usual charming, refreshing wine;
—Nigl makes–hardly surprisingly–a Riesling-like Muscat with remarkable detail;
—Bründlmayer has made exquisitely charming Muscat;
—F.X. Pichler is, I assume, still producing his powerhouse Muscat Smaragds which can make you want to howl at the moon.
–Styrian producers can show some of the loveliest Muscats in the world, with a sweetly grassy note that is uniquely theirs. A few are experimenting with a more ‘serious’ profile of Muscat, from their better sites, with encouraging results. Names to look for include Polz, Tement, Erwin Sabathi, Wohlmuth and many others. Styrian Muscat is close to a sure-thing on the gulp-o-meter.
In closing, I find it reassuring that a wine exists that reminds us how to be happy. Muscat is a conveyor of simple joy. It scampers like a kitten, and it will not allow us to preen over our adorable palates. It aligns the pleasure-poles, and it’s way, way cheaper than therapy! Let’s add more of it to our lives, and help keep IT alive, this gurgling reminder of how fine it is to simply be alive
Terry Theise is a leading importer of wines from Germany, Austria and Champagne. Since he also happens to be one of the world’s most insightful writers about things vinous, we hope to continue running contributions from him on an occasional basis. To read more of his writing and learn more about his wines, go to: