Part 4 (1/2)
Dr. Johnson, when not on his water diet, was known for the strength of his head and once famously drank thirty-six gla.s.ses of port at one sitting ”with a sugar-lump in every gla.s.s” without showing any effects. But port port could cover a mult.i.tude of wines, some of them sinful. When Johnson challenged his friend and benefactor, the wealthy brewer Henry Thrale, whom Johnson referred to as his ”Master,” to a drinking compet.i.tion, it was not port he suggested. In the presence of f.a.n.n.y Burney, he said: could cover a mult.i.tude of wines, some of them sinful. When Johnson challenged his friend and benefactor, the wealthy brewer Henry Thrale, whom Johnson referred to as his ”Master,” to a drinking compet.i.tion, it was not port he suggested. In the presence of f.a.n.n.y Burney, he said: I wish my Master would say to me, ”Johnson, if you will oblige me, you will call for a bottle of Toulon,” and then we will set to it, gla.s.s for gla.s.s, till it is done; and after that, I will say, ”Thrale, if you will oblige me, you will call for another bottle of Toulon,” and then we will set to it, gla.s.s for gla.s.s, till that is done; and by the time we should have drunk the two bottles, we should be so happy and such good friends, that we should fly into each other's arms, and both call together for the third!
Three bottles of Toulon might have been enough to set Thrale a-going-according to Johnson, ”his conversation does not show the minute hand, but he strikes the hour very correctly”-but what actually was it that he was thinking of? Go into a restaurant or a bar now and call for a bottle of Toulon-we have conducted this experiment so that you do not have to-and you'll be met with blank looks. Explain that Toulon was, in the eighteenth century, a center of the French wine trade, and that the wines of Toulon would probably now, geographically, fall into the Cotes de Provence, and some light will dawn, resulting in the offer-the odds are still roughly four to one-of some light, dry rose, the stuff of holiday memories on the Cote d'Azur. The Provencal wine growers are making efforts to move out of this frisky, slightly frou-frou ghetto, mindful perhaps of their heritage as arguably the most ancient wine-growing area of France; certainly the Provencal landscape of vines, olives, and lavender would have been familiar to the ancient Romans, though Narbonne disputes the claims of Ma.r.s.eilles to precedence in the matter. Whatever the historical truth, Provencal growers are leavening their Cinsaut-and Grenache-based roses with some serious red wines. Two of the essential varietals in red and rose Cotes de Provence, Mourvedre and Tibouren, have ancient roots in the region, and Syrah has been identified as being the progeny of two other grapes from southeastern France, Dureza and Mondeuse Blanche. Somehow it is contrary to nature to imagine the Great Bear, the tremendous, squinny-eyed, skew-wigged, dropsical Johnson, planning to illuminate his and Mr. Thrale's friends.h.i.+p with the sort of cool rose more suited to balmy evenings on restaurant terraces in Gordes or St. Paul de Vence, dreaming of selling up and moving to the sun. Far more satisfying to think of the two of them working happily through the third bottle of something more akin to a new-style Provencal red, ideally from Bandol, with Mourvedre, Tibouren, and Syrah's forebears working in their veins.
And yet ... Johnson was opinionated about wine, but no sn.o.b. After all, it was he who wrote to his friend Samuel Richardson asking to be rescued from the bailiffs. ”I remember writing to him from a sponging-house”-where debtors were confined until their friends could spring them by paying their debts-”and was so sure of my deliverance through his kindness and liberality that, before his reply was brought, I knew I could afford to joke with the rascal who had me in custody, and did so, over a pint of adulterated wine, for which, at that instant, I had no money to pay.” Conviviality and friends.h.i.+p, as ever, took precedence over what was in the bottle. Perhaps it was, after all, a skinny quotidian rose he had in mind.
Why is hock linked to Queen Victoria?
ACCORDING to Dr. Johnson in his to Dr. Johnson in his Dictionary, hockamore Dictionary, hockamore (the English rendering of (the English rendering of Hochheimer Hochheimer) and its shortened form, hock hock, referred to ”old dry strong Rhenish,” that is, Rhine wines made primarily from the Riesling grape. This was in the eighteenth century, and England had been importing Rhenish wines since the medieval period-Samuel Pepys notes in his diary in the 1660s his regular visits to ”Rhenish wine houses.” In transport terms, it was an easy journey for the wine: by barge down the Rhine, stopping only to pay tolls at every pa.s.sing castle, and by s.h.i.+p across the North Sea. Thomas Jefferson noted in 1788 that the wines of Hochheim, along with those of Rudesheim and Johannisberg, were the most expensive in the Rheingau, and indeed, hock was one of the world's most expensive wines in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Michael Broadbent has pointed out that at the Christie's sale in 1808, a dozen bottles of ”Very Old Hock” sold for over 10, the highest price for any wine at auction between 1766 and the 1880s.
Thus, before Victoria was even thought of, hock was a fas.h.i.+onable wine in England. Why, then, do wine cata logues ascribe to Victoria the responsibility for the wine's popularity? Most wine merchants do not claim to be historians, but the story of Victoria and her liking for hock is part of the wine trade's folklore. Undeniably her devotion to her consort, the German-born Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, led her to embrace many things German, including their wines. When they traveled to Germany in 1850, they visited the town of Hochheim, and the linking of hock and Hochheim was obvious. And what royalty did, many others followed.
What is sad is the falling into desuetude of the term hock hock to refer to wines of quality. By the 1970s, a hock was a generic white German wine, usually sweetened, which could regularly be found in large bottles on the bottom shelves of supermarkets. to refer to wines of quality. By the 1970s, a hock was a generic white German wine, usually sweetened, which could regularly be found in large bottles on the bottom shelves of supermarkets.
Ceremonial: shall we combine?
IF YOU SHOULD be invited to dine at High Table at one of Britain's oldest universities, your host may well ask this question, which is less sinister than you might think. ”Combination” is one of the most appealing of the many wine-based ceremonies, and a sort of reversal of the old (and thankfully now defunct in civilized society) custom in which the women retire to the drawing room and the men stay behind at table to get blind drunk (in the eighteenth century) or to bore each other with talk of money and off-color jokes (the nineteenth and twentieth centuries). be invited to dine at High Table at one of Britain's oldest universities, your host may well ask this question, which is less sinister than you might think. ”Combination” is one of the most appealing of the many wine-based ceremonies, and a sort of reversal of the old (and thankfully now defunct in civilized society) custom in which the women retire to the drawing room and the men stay behind at table to get blind drunk (in the eighteenth century) or to bore each other with talk of money and off-color jokes (the nineteenth and twentieth centuries).
College dining is, of course, collegiate in nature, with the students and Fellows (the senior members of the college) eating in the same room, generally simply called ”Hall.” But instead of the junior members being thrown out like so many ladies, the Fellows and their guests throw themselves themselves out, retiring to drink wine-usually port, claret, or a sweet dessert wine. out, retiring to drink wine-usually port, claret, or a sweet dessert wine.
In other words, they combine with each other. (Cynics say that the tradition arose so that the senior members could get blotto without setting a bad example to the juniors, though the more observant might say that it works both ways and is merely the civilized turning of a mutual blind eye. But things are more decorous these days, anyway.) Customs vary. At Magdalene College, Cambridge, for example, people sit in groups of two or three at small occasional tables arranged in a semicircle, looking out over the courtyard and illuminated by candlelight, and the wines are brought round by the most junior Fellow present. The strict rule is that you may not, as you sip your claret and nibble your Bath Oliver biscuit, sit next to the people you were sitting with at dinner.
At other colleges, they proceed to another version of the dining table, where, as well as biscuits, there may be cheese, fruit, nuts, and a collegiate snuffbox; in these cases the wines are kept in circulation, and strictly in a clockwise direction, so that each person gets the bottle presented to his or her right hand (and hard luck if you're a southpaw).
Some years ago we had the good fortune to sit next to a distinguished woman, no longer young, who had acquired her husband-a lord, no less-by virtue of this tradition. He had invited her to High Table at his college, and after dinner, distracted by the presence of her beloved, she had inadvertently pa.s.sed the wine-”a rather indifferent Sauternes,” she said; ”I remember it clearly”-the wrong way wrong way. The ancient don on her right was startled and perplexed, she said. Quite obviously he didn't know what to do at the sight of a bottle appearing by his left hand.
”Then I had a flash of inspiration,” she said. ”I noticed the old chap was in a wheelchair. So I stood up, took his brakes off-I was a nurse at the time, my dear, so I knew all about wheelchairs-and wheeled him an entire circuit of the table in an anti-clockwise direction in an anti-clockwise direction. I thought that if he arrived at the wine anti-clockwise, it would be the same as if the wine had arrived at him clockwise. Saved the day. Well Well. My beau watched entranced and afterwards said it was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen, that it was quite clear that I'd do I'd do, and would I do him the honor of becoming his wife. So that that, my dear, is how I became Lady ---.”
Combining is seldom so literally interpreted. But it remains a charming tradition of commensality over wine. (And one small word of advice: there is no need for even the shyest to find themselves conversationally stuck. All you need to do is turn to your neighbor at such an occasion and say, ”Tell me, what are you working on at the moment?” And he will tell you; boy, will he tell you.)
What wine is ”pampered by the sun”?
GERMANY'S southernmost border runs in a wiggly line for 250 miles east-west at between 47 southernmost border runs in a wiggly line for 250 miles east-west at between 47N and 48 and 48N. This means that all all of Germany's vineyards are north of the great French winegrowing regions of Burgundy, Bordeaux, and the Rhone. It is for this reason that Germany's production, like England's, is mainly of white wine. However, the southwest corner of the country, Baden, around Freiburg im Breisgau, is proud to be one of the hottest regions of Germany. To the visitor, Baden has almost a Mediterranean feel, despite its being a long way north of the sea. Here, three-quarters of the total acreage is given over to red grapes, primarily Pinot Noir, called Spatburgunder in Germany. The climate also means that Baden whites are generally more alcoholic than other German whites. This is because the suns.h.i.+ne enables the natural sugars in the grapes to rise to a higher level than is possible in the cooler north of Germany by harvest time, and the higher the sugar level, the higher the alcoholic strength. Baden wine is promoted as of Germany's vineyards are north of the great French winegrowing regions of Burgundy, Bordeaux, and the Rhone. It is for this reason that Germany's production, like England's, is mainly of white wine. However, the southwest corner of the country, Baden, around Freiburg im Breisgau, is proud to be one of the hottest regions of Germany. To the visitor, Baden has almost a Mediterranean feel, despite its being a long way north of the sea. Here, three-quarters of the total acreage is given over to red grapes, primarily Pinot Noir, called Spatburgunder in Germany. The climate also means that Baden whites are generally more alcoholic than other German whites. This is because the suns.h.i.+ne enables the natural sugars in the grapes to rise to a higher level than is possible in the cooler north of Germany by harvest time, and the higher the sugar level, the higher the alcoholic strength. Baden wine is promoted as von der Sonne verwohnt von der Sonne verwohnt, which translates as ”pampered by the sun.” As applied to children, the usual English translation of verwohnt verwohnt is ”spoilt,” but this translation would not, perhaps, convey exactly the nuance desired. is ”spoilt,” but this translation would not, perhaps, convey exactly the nuance desired.
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Was Pliny the first Robert Parker?
GAIUS PLINIUS SECUNDUS, known to posterity as Pliny the Elder, is probably remembered primarily for being killed, perhaps by sulfur fumes, perhaps by a heart attack, as a result of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius over Pompeii. But in his own day, for centuries thereafter, and among those today who are interested in the ingathering of knowledge, Pliny was famous above all for his known to posterity as Pliny the Elder, is probably remembered primarily for being killed, perhaps by sulfur fumes, perhaps by a heart attack, as a result of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius over Pompeii. But in his own day, for centuries thereafter, and among those today who are interested in the ingathering of knowledge, Pliny was famous above all for his Naturalis Historia Naturalis Historia. In its thirty-seven books, he surveys all of nature-animal, vegetable, and mineral, and sometimes human. He is indefatigable. His nephew and adopted son, Pliny the Younger, wrote about his uncle's work habits (Letters (Letters 3.5.1416): 3.5.1416): In retirement only the time for the bath deflected him from his studies. (When I say ”the bath,” I mean when he was in the water, for when he was being sc.r.a.ped and toweled, he was either listening to or dictating something.) When on a journey, as though freed from other preoccupations he devoted himself solely to study. His secretary sat by him with a book and writing-tablets; in winter his hands were s.h.i.+elded with gauntlets so that not even the harsh temperature should deprive him of any time for study. For this reason even when in Rome he was conveyed in a chair. I recall his rebuke to me for walking: ”You could,” he said, ”have avoided wasting those hours.” For he believed that any time not devoted to study was wasted. It was through such concentration that he completed those numerous volumes [of Naturalis Historia Naturalis Historia].
He clearly lived up to the conviction he wrote in the Preface to Book XVIII: Vita vigilia est Vita vigilia est-life is being awake.
Pliny was born in AD AD 23 and went through several careers. He was an equestrian or cavalry officer, serving in Germany; he then had a very active legal practice; following this, he was appointed to a number of high procurators.h.i.+ps-that is, he was a senior civil servant-in which he won a reputation for integrity. Finally, in semiretirement, he was given command of the Misenum fleet, that part of the Roman navy stationed in the Bay of Naples. His sense of duty plus his curiosity killed him: when Mount Vesuvius erupted on August 24, 79, he led a detachment to the disaster area, landed at Stabiae, went into the city, took a nap, left it too long, and, when he was dragged out to the beach, collapsed. It was this curiosity that drove him to learn, and duty that drove him to write up what he had learned. His literary work was carried out alongside his official work, which apparently did not suffer from a lack of his attention. His output was phenomenal, but all that remains is his 23 and went through several careers. He was an equestrian or cavalry officer, serving in Germany; he then had a very active legal practice; following this, he was appointed to a number of high procurators.h.i.+ps-that is, he was a senior civil servant-in which he won a reputation for integrity. Finally, in semiretirement, he was given command of the Misenum fleet, that part of the Roman navy stationed in the Bay of Naples. His sense of duty plus his curiosity killed him: when Mount Vesuvius erupted on August 24, 79, he led a detachment to the disaster area, landed at Stabiae, went into the city, took a nap, left it too long, and, when he was dragged out to the beach, collapsed. It was this curiosity that drove him to learn, and duty that drove him to write up what he had learned. His literary work was carried out alongside his official work, which apparently did not suffer from a lack of his attention. His output was phenomenal, but all that remains is his Naturalis Historia Naturalis Historia.
Book XIV is devoted to the vine and wine. He lists, he describes, he considers, and he often p.r.o.nounces. ”But where,” he asks, ”can we better make a beginning than with the vine?” He describes the various ways of cultivating the vine, and follows this with a discussion, which is pages long, of the many varieties of grapes and their uses. He talks about famous wines of former times, the oldest of which was the wine of Maronea grown in the seaboard parts of Thrace, as described by Homer. He also celebrates a more recent vintage, the vintage of Opimius, called such because it was the year of the consuls.h.i.+p of Lucius Opimius; this was 121 BC BC, and it was probably as memorable because it was also the year of the a.s.sa.s.sination of Gaius Gracchus ”for stirring up the common people with seditions” or proposals for reforms. That year the weather was so fine and bright (”they call it the 'boiling' of the grape”) that wines from that vintage, according to Pliny, still survived nearly two hundred years later. He did add, however, that they had ”now been reduced to the consistency of honey with a rough flavor, for such in fact is the nature of wines in their old age.” Nevertheless, if an amphora of this wine cost a hundred sesterces the year it was made, 160 years later a hundred sesterces would buy only one-twelfth of an amphora of the wine-”so large,” he exclaims, ”are the sums of money that are kept stored in our wine cellars! Indeed there is nothing else which experiences a greater increase of value up to the twentieth year-or a greater fall in value afterwards, supposing that there is not a rise of price.” The Opimian vintage was an exception, because it continued to improve beyond twenty years-although clearly not for two hundred.
Pliny predated the 1855 cla.s.sification technique by nearly two thousand years when he listed Italian wines in order of merit, for, he says, ”who can doubt ... that some kinds of wine are more agreeable than others, or who does not know that one of two wines from the same vat can be superior to the other, surpa.s.sing its relation either owing to its cask or from some accidental circ.u.mstance?” He then cla.s.sifies Italian wines into first-, second-, third-, and fourth-cla.s.s wines, other wines, and foreign wines. He does not, however, follow fas.h.i.+on blindly. Many commentators have exalted Falernian wine, and indeed, he remarks that ”no other wine has a higher rank at the present day.” Pliny, however, puts it into the second cla.s.s, although he does praise the estate of Faustus because of ”the care taken in its cultivation;” but, he adds, ”the reputation of this district also is pa.s.sing out of vogue through the fault of paying more attention to quant.i.ty than to quality.” Modern parallels leap to mind.
Finally, he is firm on the vexed question of terroir terroir. In his discussion of the areas in Italy where good wines were made, he gives Campania as an example of a region that, ”whether by means of careful cultivation or by accident,” good wines had recently been produced from new areas of cultivation. On the other hand, there were areas where decent wine would never be made, no matter what efforts were taken: ”as for the wines of Pompei [sic], their topmost improvement is a matter of ten years, and they gain nothing from age; also, they are detected as unwholesome because of a headache which lasts till noon on the following day.” Therefore, ”these instances, if I am not mistaken, go to show that it is the country and the soil that matters, not the grape, and that it is superfluous to go on with a long enumeration of kinds, since the same vine has a different value in different places.” In any case, ”everyone has his own favorites,” and ”I would not deny that other wines also deserve a high reputation, but the ones that I have enumerated are those on which the general agreement of the ages will be found to have p.r.o.nounced judgment.”
So what can we say about Pliny as wine judge and wine writer? First of all, he was almost unbelievably hardworking; he also tended to castigate those whom he thought were not working as hard. His curiosity was capacious and his command of detail admirable. Although he was willing to admit that others might think differently, he clearly saw himself as having the last word. His work is still read with pleasure and profit two thousand years after his death: will the same be said of any of today's well-regarded wine writers two millennia hence?
Which Liebfraumilch isn't Liebfraumilch?
POOR LIEBFRAUMILCH has had a bad press in recent years, perhaps because of its a.s.sociations with branded supermarket wines such as Blue Nun, the sweetish, fruity, ma.s.s-market harbingers of faux sophistication and nightmarish Abigail's Parties in carefully managerial housing estates. has had a bad press in recent years, perhaps because of its a.s.sociations with branded supermarket wines such as Blue Nun, the sweetish, fruity, ma.s.s-market harbingers of faux sophistication and nightmarish Abigail's Parties in carefully managerial housing estates.
Poor Liebfraumilch. You couldn't call it glamorous. Blue Nun's main compet.i.tor in the 1970s, for example, was that icon of unsophistication, Mateus Rose. And the fruity, low-acid Muller-Thurgau varietal from which most cheap Liebfraumilch was made was largely grown because it was a more profitable crop than k.n.o.bbly, proletarian old sugar beets. No, not glamorous.
Poor Liebfraumilch. Its name isn't even German, but a sort of pidgin Deutsch; the real version would be Liebfrauenmilch-”beloved lady's milk”-a reference to the Virgin Mary (just as the Blue Nun herself bore striking resemblances to the traditional iconography of Mary, but not enough to rouse the Catholics).
Despite its multiple, generic, and downscale by-blows, the original Liebfraumilch, from the Liebfrauenstift-Kirchenstuck, the vineyards around the Liebfrauenkirche in Worms, can still be had. But Madonna Liebfraumilch, as it is labeled, is not a Liebfraumilch. It is far too posh for that, being officially a ”QmP”-a Qualitatswein mit Pradikat, the top level of the German cla.s.sification-while its decla.s.se relations are mere Deutscher Landwein, one up from the bottom.
Poor Liebfraumilch.
What wines did Chaucer's pilgrims drink?
BORN THE SON and grandson of vintners (wine importers), Geoffrey Chaucer, who lived from c. 1343 to 1400, was primarily a civil servant, although of an exalted sort. He had married the sister of the third wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster and younger son of King Edward III, and Gaunt's patronage was important in securing Chaucer's appointment to various positions. But Chaucer had another life, that of a reader, translator, and writer of books; and grandson of vintners (wine importers), Geoffrey Chaucer, who lived from c. 1343 to 1400, was primarily a civil servant, although of an exalted sort. He had married the sister of the third wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster and younger son of King Edward III, and Gaunt's patronage was important in securing Chaucer's appointment to various positions. But Chaucer had another life, that of a reader, translator, and writer of books; Canterbury Tales Canterbury Tales is only his most widely known. is only his most widely known.
Wine was plentiful in England. Part of Chaucer's payment for some years was a jug of wine each day, while later on he was to receive a cask of wine each year. Wine makes a frequent appearance in the Tales Tales, although what type of wine is often unclear. In the Prologue, for example, the Summoner drank strong red wine, while the Host at the Tabard, a high-cla.s.s hostelry, provided strong wine for the group of pilgrims. What was it? The obvious answer should be red wine from Bordeaux, which at that time still belonged to the English Crown. But most Bordeaux wine was not ”strong”: rather, it was very light red (what the French called clairet clairet) or even the color of a rose. Indeed, Hugh Johnson in his Story of Wine Story of Wine points out that it was what the French called a points out that it was what the French called a vin d'une nuit vin d'une nuit. The grapes were trodden, and the wine fermented on the skins in the vat for no more than twenty-four hours-a single night-before the liquid was run off into barrels to ferment as a clear, pale juice. A small proportion of the must (juice) was left in the vat with the skins to become redder, but the resulting wine was too harsh and dark to serve on its own; some would be added to the paler wine to darken it and give it some ”edge.” Johnson compares it to modern Beaujolais Nouveau. The Tabard was too upmarket to give the pilgrims the inferior wine, and therefore it seems likely that Chaucer's ”strong wine” must have come from elsewhere.
A strong possibility is that it was wine from Spain. From about 1250, wine was regularly s.h.i.+pped from Bilbao to Bristol, Southampton, and London. The best wines were very good: when prices were fixed by Edward III in 1364, the best Spanish wine cost the same as the best Bordeaux. Coming from a hot climate, the wines were high in alcohol and therefore strong. It is arguable, then, that the Host's strong wine was a good-quality, alcoholic red wine from Spain.
Chaucer mentions other wines, including the aromatic and flavored. One was Ypocras or Hippocras, drunk as an after-dinner digestif or served with cakes as a late-night collation. This was made with either red or white wine, although red was usually preferred, as its greater robustness was thought to aid digestion. According to The Customs of London The Customs of London (1811), you should take a quart of red wine, an ounce of cinnamon, a half ounce of ginger, a quarter of an ounce of white pepper, and half a pound of sugar, bruise the spices, and put the sugar, spices, and wine into a woolen cloth made for it. You then let it hang over a vessel until the wine has run through. Other recipes call for bringing the wine to a boil with the spices and honey (rather than sugar, which was relatively rare and expensive), straining it through a muslin bag, bottling it, and leaving it to mature for a month. The name came from Hippocrates's sleeve, which this bag was thought to resemble. Hippocras was clearly a type of mulled wine, and its popularity continued well into the seventeenth century, when Pepys enjoyed it. It evolved into hot punch, the eighteenth-century favorite in both Britain and the colonies. (1811), you should take a quart of red wine, an ounce of cinnamon, a half ounce of ginger, a quarter of an ounce of white pepper, and half a pound of sugar, bruise the spices, and put the sugar, spices, and wine into a woolen cloth made for it. You then let it hang over a vessel until the wine has run through. Other recipes call for bringing the wine to a boil with the spices and honey (rather than sugar, which was relatively rare and expensive), straining it through a muslin bag, bottling it, and leaving it to mature for a month. The name came from Hippocrates's sleeve, which this bag was thought to resemble. Hippocras was clearly a type of mulled wine, and its popularity continued well into the seventeenth century, when Pepys enjoyed it. It evolved into hot punch, the eighteenth-century favorite in both Britain and the colonies.
Another heated and flavored wine that makes an appearance was clarree, which apparently took its name from vinum claratum vinum claratum, or clarified wine. The base here was sweet white wine, which was first boiled with honey, and to which were added cinnamon, cardamom, white pepper, and ginger; as with Hippocras, clarree was then strained and left to mature.
One wine mentioned by Chaucer, Vernage, was not a concoction as were the others. Rather, it was a wine of great luxury from Italy, and was made from the gentle pressing of dried bunches of grapes-in effect, from raisins. It was very sweet and relatively high in alcohol. By the early fifteenth century, however, it had practically ceased to be imported into England, although, according to one writer, it had a beautiful red color and aroma, it was not too sweet, and it had an exquisite taste. But it was too expensive to be widely available in public inns: only three out of some four hundred in London served it, and these were undoubtedly inns patronized by the Quality.
There are at least two possibilities for the indeterminate nature of the wines in Canterbury Tales Canterbury Tales. First of all, specific types of wine were usually irrelevant to the stories, and Chaucer himself reportedly did not care overmuch for wine. But the other was that having much detail as such was unusual, although the purchaser presumably did know the country of origin of the wine he bought. (But what was was the Pardoner's ”white wyn of Lepe,” which was a ”wyn of Spaigne”?) When you purchased wine, you usually depended on the merchant, ordering from him, say, five casks of wine from Gascony or a b.u.t.t of malmsey or two casks of Rhenish. The merchant would then supply it, but it is doubtful whether a list of estates and appropriate tasting notes were included with the delivery. the Pardoner's ”white wyn of Lepe,” which was a ”wyn of Spaigne”?) When you purchased wine, you usually depended on the merchant, ordering from him, say, five casks of wine from Gascony or a b.u.t.t of malmsey or two casks of Rhenish. The merchant would then supply it, but it is doubtful whether a list of estates and appropriate tasting notes were included with the delivery.
What was the ambrosia of the G.o.ds?
THIS IS A question that's bound to come up sooner or later, often (in our experience) triggered by something special from Chateau d'Yquem or a particularly fine Tokaji, maybe a Banyuls or a gla.s.s of Klein Constantia. Whatever, the thing that sets them off-”Ah, the ambrosia of the G.o.ds!”-is usually something sweet and white. question that's bound to come up sooner or later, often (in our experience) triggered by something special from Chateau d'Yquem or a particularly fine Tokaji, maybe a Banyuls or a gla.s.s of Klein Constantia. Whatever, the thing that sets them off-”Ah, the ambrosia of the G.o.ds!”-is usually something sweet and white.
Sometimes they may say nectar nectar instead of instead of ambrosia ambrosia, but the truth is, it makes little difference: the words seem originally to have been used interchangeably, though ambrosia ambrosia has some seniority in the matter. Subsequently, nectar seems to have become the drink of the G.o.ds, and ambrosia their food, but that's more from custom than precision-precision being unattainable because it's unlikely that there are any G.o.ds on Mount Olympus, and if there were, we wouldn't know what they drank. has some seniority in the matter. Subsequently, nectar seems to have become the drink of the G.o.ds, and ambrosia their food, but that's more from custom than precision-precision being unattainable because it's unlikely that there are any G.o.ds on Mount Olympus, and if there were, we wouldn't know what they drank.
The word ambrosia ambrosia, in this context, may be one of those fascinating coincidences that give rise to false but enduring a.s.sociations. It may be derived from the Greek for ”immortal”-hence its a.s.sociation with the G.o.ds-but is far more likely to come from the same root as amber amber and to mean ”sweet-smelling.” A similar word- and to mean ”sweet-smelling.” A similar word-amrita-is used for the food of the Hindu G.o.ds, and the most probable explanation is that both ambrosia and nectar are forms of honey. The drink of the G.o.ds, therefore, was mead, an ancient alcoholic drink made from honey fermented with water and yeast, and frequently flavored with fruits and herbs or secondarily fermented with raisins. Mead has been around for at least three thousand years: Pliny and Aristotle both discuss it (Pliny called it milit.i.tes milit.i.tes and differentiated it from honey-sweetened wine), and Anglo-Saxon heroes drank and roared in the mead hall. Though largely obliterated in modern Europe by wine and beer, it has ironically returned to public consciousness-at least in certain quarters-by its reappearance as the drink of choice in Dungeons & Dragons games, pseudo-medieval fantasy fiction, and the many computer games that echo the genre. and differentiated it from honey-sweetened wine), and Anglo-Saxon heroes drank and roared in the mead hall. Though largely obliterated in modern Europe by wine and beer, it has ironically returned to public consciousness-at least in certain quarters-by its reappearance as the drink of choice in Dungeons & Dragons games, pseudo-medieval fantasy fiction, and the many computer games that echo the genre.