Part 4 (2/2)

[image]

Curiously, some sources won't have it. In this translation by James Davidson, Hermippus, the one-eyed Athenian comedy writer of the fifth century BC BC, has the G.o.d Dionysos talking about wine, including the Mendaean wine, with which the G.o.ds themselves wet their soft beds. And then there is Magnesian, generous, sweet and smooth, and Thasian upon whose surface skates the perfume of apples; this I judge by far the best of all the wines, except for blameless, painless Chian.

This last suggests that even Dionysos himself, the G.o.d of wine, was not immune to hangovers.

Did Clarence really drown in a b.u.t.t of malmsey?

ACCORDING to Shakespeare's to Shakespeare's Tragedy of Richard III Tragedy of Richard III, Act I, Scene IV, George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence, brother of King Edward IV and of the soon-to-be King Richard III, is murdered in the Tower of London in the following manner: SECOND MURDERER: ... Come, shall we fall to work?FIRST MURDERER: Take him on the costard [head] with the hilts of thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-b.u.t.t in the next room.SECOND MURDERER: O excellent device! and make a sop of him.[...]SECOND MURDERER: Look behind you, my lord.FIRST MURDERER: (Stabbing him.) Take that, and that. If all this will not do, I'll drown you in the malmsey-b.u.t.t within.(Exits with the body.) The Duke of Clarence, age twenty-nine when he died, was a turbulent, treasonous nuisance. Shakespeare has him dream, on the night before he was killed, about drowning in the sea (prescience!) and going to h.e.l.l, where the ghost of a man he had killed at the Battle of Tewkesbury calls him ”false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence.” He had joined with his father-in-law, the Earl of Warwick, the most powerful man in England save the king, in attempting to overthrow his brother King Edward IV, imprisoning Edward and executing Edward's father-in-law and brother-in-law. Although forgiven by Edward, Clarence continued to involve himself in other plots and conspiracies during the Wars of the Roses, always hoping to supplant him as king. He was arrogant and unstable, wholly lacking in political skills, and full of wild talk. By 1477, he was morbidly-some say paranoically-suspicious, convinced that Edward wanted him murdered. He even burst into a session of the Privy Council, shouting wild accusations against some of Edward's followers. Edward had had enough, and in January 1478, he charged him with treason. The Bill of Attainder (an Act of Parliament used to convict political opponents of treason without having to go to the bother of putting them on trial) was pa.s.sed by both the House of Commons and the House of Lords, and on February 18, 1478, he died-or, as it was put, Clarence was no more. The story that he was killed as tradition says has some contemporary support. Dominico Mancini, an Italian scholar who visited England from about late 1482 until just before Richard's coronation, wrote five years after the event that Clarence was ”plunged into a jar of sweet wine;” Philippe de Commynes wrote in his Memoires Memoires fewer than ten years later that ” fewer than ten years later that ”Le roy Edouard fist mourir son frere, duc de Clarance, en un pippe de malvoisie, pour ce qu-il se vouloit faire roy, comme l'on disoit.” Furthermore, he says that Clarence was invited to choose the manner of his death, and he chose to be drowned in a b.u.t.t of malmsey. On the other hand, Shakespeare has him stabbed, which does not appear in his historical sources, so perhaps he at least did not entirely believe the tale.

[image]

When we think of malmsey now, we think of madeira wine, but for Shakespeare this was not the case. The island itself was only discovered in the fourteenth century, and it was only near the end of the sixteenth century that a wine industry was fully established. The term, in fact, was used for a range of unusually rich, sweet, long-lasting white wines produced in Greece, on the Ionian Islands, and on some of the Cyclades, but especially on Crete (then called Candia), which was the source of the best and most luxurious malmsey wine. The name malmsey malmsey is actually a corruption of the word is actually a corruption of the word Malvasia Malvasia ( (malvoisie in French, as per Commynes), the name of the grape, and did not refer to a specific wine; rather, it denoted any strong, sweet wine from Greece and the islands of the eastern Mediterranean. The size of a b.u.t.t was also different from the modern equivalent: while today it is 172 gallons, in 1483 a b.u.t.t held only 108 gallons, but this was still large enough to drown a man. in French, as per Commynes), the name of the grape, and did not refer to a specific wine; rather, it denoted any strong, sweet wine from Greece and the islands of the eastern Mediterranean. The size of a b.u.t.t was also different from the modern equivalent: while today it is 172 gallons, in 1483 a b.u.t.t held only 108 gallons, but this was still large enough to drown a man.

Many modern historians think that the whole story is ridiculous, and tend to restrict themselves to remarking that Clarence had been condemned to death and died in the Tower. There is the possibility, however, that at least part of the story is correct: that he died in a b.u.t.t of liquid, but that it was not malmsey. This was the argument put by John Webster Spargo in an academic article some three-quarters of a century ago. Because historians over the years appear to have a.s.sumed that this was a method of execution known nowhere else, it therefore could not be authentic: rather, it was merely a jest. However, Webster argues that in the Netherlands, there were examples of those charged with heresy being drowned in a vessel of water. He then cites a business letter written in 1479 as evidence that malmsey was common in London at the time, and thus the presence of a large wine barrel in the area of the Tower that housed n.o.ble prisoners also would have been common. (It was the merchants of Venice who created the demand for malmsey in England.) But what was in the barrel? Webster argues that ”if the b.u.t.t had still contained wine at the time of the execution, it would not have been available for occupancy by Clarence, for the head of the barrel would still have been intact.” His conclusion was that it was an old malmsey b.u.t.t, which, still having a capital value, had had its head knocked out and been filled with water to keep it from drying out. There is an additional argument against death by sweet wine: both murderers refer to a malmsey-b.u.t.t, not a b.u.t.t of malmsey-and there is a distinct difference between a water bucket and a bucket of water.

We shall, of course, never know for sure, but what is certain is that the First Murderer's announcing to Clarence that ”I'll drown you in the water-b.u.t.t within” would not have quite the same romantic resonance.

Can anyone remember why we drink to forget?

THAT REMINDS US of the one where this guy is getting plastered in a bar and the barman says, ”You've had enough, pal,” and the guy says, ”No, no, you can't do this to me, I'm drinking to forget,” and the barman says, ”Forget what?” and the guy thinks for a bit and says, ”I can't remember.” of the one where this guy is getting plastered in a bar and the barman says, ”You've had enough, pal,” and the guy says, ”No, no, you can't do this to me, I'm drinking to forget,” and the barman says, ”Forget what?” and the guy thinks for a bit and says, ”I can't remember.”

That reminds me of the one ... The cry of the bar room bore throughout history. But there's some truth in the joke: we do try to drown our sorrows in wine. Alas, there is also some falsehood in the joke, because-as anyone who has lived with a drinker knows-it simply doesn't work. After a while, even the most hardened drunk becomes maudlin. Color, bouquet, taste, finish-all are subsumed in an onrush of terrible ... The cry of the bar room bore throughout history. But there's some truth in the joke: we do try to drown our sorrows in wine. Alas, there is also some falsehood in the joke, because-as anyone who has lived with a drinker knows-it simply doesn't work. After a while, even the most hardened drunk becomes maudlin. Color, bouquet, taste, finish-all are subsumed in an onrush of terrible remembering remembering, as grievances and hurts bubble to the surface on a tide of tears.

The drunk never remembers anything new to be sorrowful about. The reminiscences seldom vary: his mother was cruel to him, his father abandoned him, his wife had an affair, he was bullied at school and unappreciated at work. All are legitimate sadnesses, but through the refracting gla.s.s of wine they are magnified, rehea.r.s.ed, and magnified again. We may drink to forget, but what we forget is ... how to forget.

And now science has come out in support of the terrible memoriousness of the drunk. An article published in the Journal of Neuroscience Journal of Neuroscience in 2007 declared that moderate amounts of alcohol offer the brain a challenge to which it responds by improving memory. in 2007 declared that moderate amounts of alcohol offer the brain a challenge to which it responds by improving memory.

But one has to judge intake carefully. One of the article's authors, Professor Matthew During of the University of Auckland, told the Daily Telegraph Daily Telegraph that ”contrary to popular belief, our work suggests that heavy drinking actually reinforces negative memories.” that ”contrary to popular belief, our work suggests that heavy drinking actually reinforces negative memories.”

Which still doesn't explain why it also makes the opposite s.e.x look so very much more attractive.

[image]

When is antifreeze a bad thing?

FOR SEVERAL YEARS in the early 1980s, there was a run of high-yielding harvests in Austria. This increase in the quant.i.ty of grapes was a real threat to the wine industry, because the grapes made thin, acidic wine. Unfortunately, the overwhelming proportion was bulk wine produced for German supermarkets and other large consumer outlets, and they wanted what their customers wanted: cheap, medium-sweet wine. In desperation, many of the brokers dependent on that market decided to sweeten the wine. The problem was, sugar could be detected, so, reportedly on the advice of a wine consultant, the bulk wine producers added diethylene glycol, whose primary use, it was said, was as a component of antifreeze for automobiles. It was indeed not detected. What broke the scandal was the attempt of one producer to claim the cost of the diethylene glycol as a business expense on his tax return. in the early 1980s, there was a run of high-yielding harvests in Austria. This increase in the quant.i.ty of grapes was a real threat to the wine industry, because the grapes made thin, acidic wine. Unfortunately, the overwhelming proportion was bulk wine produced for German supermarkets and other large consumer outlets, and they wanted what their customers wanted: cheap, medium-sweet wine. In desperation, many of the brokers dependent on that market decided to sweeten the wine. The problem was, sugar could be detected, so, reportedly on the advice of a wine consultant, the bulk wine producers added diethylene glycol, whose primary use, it was said, was as a component of antifreeze for automobiles. It was indeed not detected. What broke the scandal was the attempt of one producer to claim the cost of the diethylene glycol as a business expense on his tax return.

The result was utter disaster. The Austrian government announced that about 300,000 liters of the wine had been s.h.i.+pped to Germany, but then it was discovered that in the city of Cologne alone, 490,000 bottles of tainted wine had been impounded. German orders were canceled. The U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms announced that twelve brands of wines imported from Austria had been found to be contaminated, and they advised consumers to drink no Austrian wines at all until all had been tested. As some hundreds of Austrian wines were imported into the United States, this was expected to take some time. Adulterated wine was also discovered in the Netherlands, France, Britain, Switzerland, and Poland. Matters were not helped when it was revealed that a Beerenauslese that had won a gold medal the previous year had been dosed to increase its body and sweetness. Austrian wine exports virtually ceased. The small village of Rust in Burgenland hung a banner over the highway proclaiming that it was ”the prettiest wine-growing town in Austria-with unadulterated wine.” Nevertheless, a Ruster Beerenauslese 1983 was found to have been adulterated.

Nor was it the Austrian government's finest hour: they had waited for three months after the discovery before warning the public. They were then forced to react by the furor. It was reported that at least thirty-eight companies were involved, and, fairly rapidly, two of the men involved found themselves in jail. Of more permanent benefit, Austria pa.s.sed what are possibly the strictest wine laws in the world, which carry significant penalties for those who break them.

Many Austrian producers, as well as those who drink Austrian wine, now believe that the scandal was the best thing that could have happened to the industry. Many middlemen were forced out of business, and the producers therefore had to deal directly with customers themselves-and this encouraged the production of better wines. This was helped by a generational change, as younger winemakers, many familiar with the wine world outside of Austria, succeeded to positions of responsibility. The watchword became quality, with the result that Austrian wines today can hold their own with some of the best in the world.

There is an irony in all of this. It was probably the case that the scandal fed on what was an easily understood threat: drinking antifreeze. In fact, most antifreezes consist mainly of ethylene glycol, not not diethylene glycol: diethylene glycol would only be half as good in preventing your car's radiator from freezing up. Therefore, what was added to the wine may not have been nice, but it was not antifreeze. This simple misconception probably reflects the regrettable lack by most journalists of a basic knowledge of chemistry. diethylene glycol: diethylene glycol would only be half as good in preventing your car's radiator from freezing up. Therefore, what was added to the wine may not have been nice, but it was not antifreeze. This simple misconception probably reflects the regrettable lack by most journalists of a basic knowledge of chemistry.

Care for some Gevrey-Chambertin with those organ pipes?

THE MONASTIC PROFESSION has always been curiously compet.i.tive, and nowhere more so than in Ottobeuren, just thirty miles as the crow flies from Weingarten and the birthplace, in 1710, of Karl Josef Riepp. On the death of their father, Riepp and his brother Rupert moved to Strasbourg to learn organ building with the great Andre Silbermann. In 1741, Riepp married a woman from Dole, formerly capital of Franche-Comte in the Saone Valley, before settling in Dijon. Not content with confining himself to organ building, Riepp was admitted to the wine merchants' corporation of Dijon in 1748. has always been curiously compet.i.tive, and nowhere more so than in Ottobeuren, just thirty miles as the crow flies from Weingarten and the birthplace, in 1710, of Karl Josef Riepp. On the death of their father, Riepp and his brother Rupert moved to Strasbourg to learn organ building with the great Andre Silbermann. In 1741, Riepp married a woman from Dole, formerly capital of Franche-Comte in the Saone Valley, before settling in Dijon. Not content with confining himself to organ building, Riepp was admitted to the wine merchants' corporation of Dijon in 1748.

Twelve years later, the monks of Ottobeuren decided to commission a new organ for their new basilica-and one that would outs.h.i.+ne Gabler's instrument at Weingarten. Despite Gabler's having enrolled his son as a novice in the Ottobeuren monastery, word of the chaos of the Weingarten contract had reached the monks' ears. Riepp put in a bid; not only was he an Ottobeuren man, but he was also, unlike Gabler, actually an organ builder. It was time for the return of the native: Karl Josef Riepp got the contract.

Promising the monks a fine instrument in the new German style, Riepp nevertheless delivered, between 1761 and 1766, a tremendous, powerful, and magnificent instrument in what was unmistakably the French French style. The monks of Ottobeuren didn't complain, for every time Riepp sent a consignment of organ pipes up from Dijon, he included a few ”sample” cases of his wines; by then, he was no longer just a merchant, but owned vineyards in Vosne-Romanee and Gevrey-Chambertin, and his vintages were gaining a reputation for themselves. style. The monks of Ottobeuren didn't complain, for every time Riepp sent a consignment of organ pipes up from Dijon, he included a few ”sample” cases of his wines; by then, he was no longer just a merchant, but owned vineyards in Vosne-Romanee and Gevrey-Chambertin, and his vintages were gaining a reputation for themselves.

Predictably, the ”samples” produced firm orders in return, and-despite Riepp's declaration that ”if there are better organs in Europe, then my name's Jack”-it seems that he made more money on the wine than he did from the organ.

Karl Josef Riepp died in Dijon on May 5, 1775, leaving a certain degree of financial confusion and some n.o.ble vineyards to his wife, Anne-Francoise, and some equally n.o.ble organs to posterity. And, of course, some very happy monks.

Did Slovenia turn the British into a nation of wine drinkers?

IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, the Germans referred to England as the land the Germans referred to England as the land ohne Musik ohne Musik (without music); it could certainly be argued that, at least until the 1970s and 1980s, Britain was the land (without music); it could certainly be argued that, at least until the 1970s and 1980s, Britain was the land ohne Wein ohne Wein. This is not, of course, to say that wine was not drunk; rather, beer was the usual drink, supplemented by gin. A special occasion might call for champagne; Christmas certainly called for a gla.s.s of (usually sweet) sherry. But as for wine's making a regular appearance with meals, this was relatively rare, even among the upper-middle and upper cla.s.ses, the traditional buyers and drinkers of wines.

The Second World War appears to have changed this. Many Britons spent at least part of the war in France and, especially, Italy, where the south was occupied by the British and American armies from 1943. Many soldiers there discovered the regular-and for those countries, normal-pleasures of a gla.s.s of wine with their meals or over conversation with friends, and when they returned home, they wanted to continue this new way of life. But what to drink? Fortunately, Slovenia came to the rescue and provided a wine that took the new drinking cla.s.ses by storm, becoming the best-selling white wine for several de cades. This was Lutomer ”Riesling.”

This wine came from the region of Podravja, and the actual grape is the Laski Rizling-the Germans were outraged at the theft of the name of their revered grape, and forced the Slovenians to change it and use its proper name. The grape must (juice) was fermented at the winery, s.h.i.+pped in bulk to Ljubljana, substantially sweetened with unfermented grape juice (sussreserve) and perhaps some extra sugar, fortified with sulfur to keep it from going off, s.h.i.+pped in tankers to the London docks, stored, and bottled as needed. Britain became awash with medium-sweet white wine. It went down easily, it was cheap, and it gave an added touch of sophistication to many British house holds. Everyone needs a starter wine-few are born preferring a grand cru grand cru claret or an acidic muscadet-and for many Britons, Lutomer provided it. Most went on to develop a taste for dryer wines. But there was one regrettable result, which was that a liking for sweet white wines, whatever the quality, is now often perceived as the mark of a person who lacks sophistication, and who certainly knows nothing about wine (except that she knows what she likes). claret or an acidic muscadet-and for many Britons, Lutomer provided it. Most went on to develop a taste for dryer wines. But there was one regrettable result, which was that a liking for sweet white wines, whatever the quality, is now often perceived as the mark of a person who lacks sophistication, and who certainly knows nothing about wine (except that she knows what she likes).

Does the wine of Antipaxos exist?

H. G. WELLS wrote a story called ”The Magic Shop” that is centered upon, not surprisingly, a magic shop. His narrator finds it on London's Regent Street, although ”I had fancied it was down nearer the Circus, or round the corner in Oxford Street, or even in Holborn; always over the way and a little inaccessible it had been, with something of the mirage in its position.” wrote a story called ”The Magic Shop” that is centered upon, not surprisingly, a magic shop. His narrator finds it on London's Regent Street, although ”I had fancied it was down nearer the Circus, or round the corner in Oxford Street, or even in Holborn; always over the way and a little inaccessible it had been, with something of the mirage in its position.”

There are wines like that, and perhaps the wine most like that is the fabled wine of Antipaxos. Trawl the Internet, rummage through the books, and you will find numerous references to it ... but all of them different, always over the way and a little inaccessible. Some say it is light and white and fragrant, others that it is rich and red; some say you will occasionally find it for sale, others that it is never never sold, but kept-it is made in tiny quant.i.ties, of course-for the families who make it. Occasionally a writer who has fallen under the spell will recount the tale of a taverna owner who takes a particular liking to him or her (”I felt that Ta.s.sos and I had become firm friends”) and produces an unlabeled bottle from some secret recess that transports them into a strange and hazily contemplative mood as they stumble home through the olive groves ... sold, but kept-it is made in tiny quant.i.ties, of course-for the families who make it. Occasionally a writer who has fallen under the spell will recount the tale of a taverna owner who takes a particular liking to him or her (”I felt that Ta.s.sos and I had become firm friends”) and produces an unlabeled bottle from some secret recess that transports them into a strange and hazily contemplative mood as they stumble home through the olive groves ...

[image]

Well, Antipaxos itself exists, for sure, a mile or so south of the tiny Ionian island of Paxos. Paxos itself is an odd place: legend has it that a s.h.i.+p, piloted by one Thamus, was sailing from Italy to Greece, and as it pa.s.sed the Paxos sh.o.r.eline, a voice cried out, ”Thamus, when you get to Palodes, be sure to proclaim that the great G.o.d Pan is dead.”

And Antipaxos is a mere speck in comparison. But we have had the Antipaxos wine and can solve the mystery. The wine of Antipaxos is a slightly sweet, quite heavy white wine, light red in color, a bit like a Beaujolais; it's notably heavy and alcoholic, quite chewy with tannin, while at the same time being dry and amber-yellow with a hint of eucalyptus and honey, dark, almost black, and heavily fruited with blackcurrant and raspberry.

In other words, it's any number of things. Each time, one is told that this this is the genuine, the is the genuine, the only only Antipaxos wine, whether it's on sale in the bakery in Gaios, the tiny capital of the island, or produced by a local from the depths of his olive-oil ware house in a plastic gas can, or materialized from the cellar of a Lakka taverna in an unlabeled bottle, or however it comes. Antipaxos wine, whether it's on sale in the bakery in Gaios, the tiny capital of the island, or produced by a local from the depths of his olive-oil ware house in a plastic gas can, or materialized from the cellar of a Lakka taverna in an unlabeled bottle, or however it comes.

It is, in short, a mystery. For the wine bluffer, this is a G.o.dsend. If anyone speaks of the mysterious Antipaxos, you can simply say, ”I know it well,” and describe anything that comes into your head, secure in the knowledge that, at some time or other, someone will have drunk something called Antipaxos that is exactly exactly as you have described as you have described. It is indeed a veritable Proteus of wines, a shape-s.h.i.+fter, an elusive reminder that some things are beyond our ken. It would, of course, be a simple matter to putter over to Antipaxos, climb the hill, and ask a few questions, but that, we feel, would somehow spoil it. Much better to let it remain as it is: wine's equivalent of the Magic Shop.

When should wine smell of petrol?

<script>