A Layman Explores Wine 23

by William Powell

I, for one, have discovered that I am pretty average in the way I tick when it comes to many things. Most of the things I discover as “hot new finds” tend to land in the lives of very, very many people at exactly the same moment, and these days that hardly bothers me. At 14, that would have been reason enough never to give the new thing in question so much as another glance, but nowadays I like the Amazons, Netflixes and Facebooks of this world, no matter how incredibly mainstream that might be. I like my burger medium, my rock neither too hard nor too soft, and I can finally admit that overly dry white wine makes my toenails curl violently upwards.

Winter and Favourite Wine

I also prefer summer to winter. Sorry – #thatsjusthowitis! The only distinctive trait that elevates me above the sluggish mass of sun worshippers is that I can also appreciate extended spells of temperatures above 30° C. But otherwise, I am pretty average here too. I simply like it warmer and find nothing romantic about my fingertips freezing off. Constantly “falling flat on my face” does not warm my heart either – not even with ice skates on my feet.

But there is something I love about winter, and that is meat and poultry dishes with gravy and dumplings! Duck with pointed cabbage and carrots ... lamb shoulder with rosemary and chickpeas ... roast pork with glazed onions and root vegetables ... yummy. And always dumplings and a rich, delicious gravy alongside ... oh please, please, please, yes!

Which Wine Goes with the Rooster

Coq au vin, however, will probably not be appearing on our winter table very often from now on. Not that I do not enjoy this plump bundle of joy in red wine – au contraire, mon ami – but I had to learn the hard way that it is apparently a highly controversial dish.
I can no longer even remember how the best of all wives and I came up with the idea of cooking the French rooster in the first place. Or how, in our ignorance, we could have thought it was a good idea. Naive dreamers that we are. Perhaps everything would have gone well if we had not made the mistake of buying the chicken we needed from a fashionable poultry dealer.

Personally, I was already gasping for breath at the sight of the feathered-fowl specialist’s imaginative pricing, and my wife’s composure also began to flutter during the discussion about the wine required. For my good lady confidently dared to voice the apparently obscure theory that dishes prepared with wine do not require the same wine to be served with the meal. Surely there was no need to pour expensive grape juice into the sauce, said my magnificent, practical wife.

Blotches on His Face

A simple wine with flavours similar to those of the wine being served to drink would surely do the job. I must confess that the disgusted expression the white-clad poulterer bestowed on my mistress gave me a little satisfaction for a few seconds. Normally, I was the one earmarked for reactions like that, and it almost felt good to be standing only in the second row of the grubby children for once. But of course, it is an entirely different matter with her – after all, you do not have to worry about Wonder Woman either. Mrs Powell initially listened politely as the salesman – with agitated red blotches on his face – explained to her that coq au vin was a French dish – from Burgundy, no less!

Accordingly, only a Burgundy – a red one, specifically, and specifically from Burgundy – could possibly be considered for the dish and its high quality. My wife did not even raise an eyebrow when the fellow added that, of course, there was no need to go to excessive expense, but it really ought to be a 2009 Domaine Faiveley Beaune 1er Cru 'Clos de l'Ecu'. Or something similar. When he finally mentioned that said wine did not even cost 50 euros a bottle, my good lady merely gave a dry laugh and had apparently had enough of Monsieur Poulet. As she smilingly paid for the chicken, she asked innocently.

Pinot Noir from the Palatinate

“You don’t happen to have that in a Tetra Pak?” Not even I would have been stupid enough to fall for such a clichéd provocation. Mr Chicken obliged her by exploding in a fit of shouting, yelling that we should leave his shop and actually trying to wrest the purchased bird back out of my hands. Admittedly, he only did that after my wife asked a customer standing beside her whether there might be a Jaques Weindepot nearby.

In the end, we enjoyed Spätburgunder from Thomas Hensel with the rooster. The sauce got to taste a bottle of Aufwind – the rest of us had fun with the Höhenflug edition.
Incidentally, my wife is currently making plans for Alsatian-style chicken and is absolutely determined to seek advice from her trusted expert poultry dealer. There is a smell of Riesling and war in the air.