 |
| This is vinegar? |
 |
| Weinessiggut Doktorenhof in Venningen |
 |
| First a little courtyard lesson |
 |
| And what a courtyard! |
 |
| Down in the caves |
 |
| With a monk's cloak, of course |
 |
| Vinegar Maidens |
 |
| handblown vinegar goblets |
 |
| Life can't be ALL vinegar |
 |
| Prost! |
“I’ll have a shot of vinegar and while you’re at it, keep some handy to top off the ice cream.” Sound bizarre? Not to diners at the famous Four Seasons restaurant (Chicago) and not to the vinegar makers at Weinessiggut Doktorenhof who take the very sweetest dessert wine, trokenbeerenauslese, or eiswein (for an explanation of German wines see an earlier stroudallover blog entry), add a hundred year old “mother,” an alcohol-eating bacteria, and age the liquid in oak casks for five to fifteen years. What you get is a sweetly delectable aperitif that sits on your tongue like your favorite dessert and rolls down your throat with scarcely a bite.
That’s an unexpected twist on an ancient product. Vinegar in one form or another wanders aimlessly through all of human history. It’s probably been around since some Neanderthal teenager left the rock off his father’s grog jar. Hippocrates, the father of medicine, prescribed it for stomach ailments. Roman legionnaires drank it with water. Those who lived in the Middle Ages used vinegar to prevent diseases. Evidently, it had a spotty record with the black plague. But, even today, medical practitioners praise vinegar for its healthful qualities. As for me, I just found a new favorite designated driver’s drink.
Weinessiggut Doktorenhof does the whole job. Grows the grapes, such as Spätburgunder, Weißburgunder, and Gewürztraminer, in their expansive vineyards, changes the wine into vinegar, infuses the already sweet vinegar with herbs, or fruits, ages it in huge casks in dark cellars, and ties the whole together process with vinegar as you’ve never tasted it. Most of the vinegars, carrying such interesting names as “Fig,” “Mozart,” and “Angels Kiss the Night,” are bottled and sold as aperitifs. Good marketing move not to call them “Hoof of Ox,” or “Catch-a-whiff.” Doktorenhof vinegars are also used to make everything from pralines to mustard, to vinegar-flavored coffee. Even the modern paintings on the walls were created with vinegar based paints. I like to use these fabulous vinegars in vinaigrettes. (see stroudallover on making your own)
Makes you want to drop in for a visit, doesn’t it? You have to sign up for a tour, which takes about 90 minutes. First an overview in the courtyard, then inside to don monk’s cloaks and descend into the cavernous cellars. In the candle lit darkness, with somber tones of Gregorian chants echoing, your guide explains in German the thorough process of making vinegar that is like no other. To the non-German speaker, whose vocabulary could fit on a postage stamp and still leave room for the Gettysburg Address, the spiel sounds like this: Vinegar, blah, blah, five years, blah, blah, sweet wine, blah, blah…followed by raucous laughter, which you immediately join in on. Thumping of casks. Procession to the next cellar chamber. More blah, blah, and tasting mustard for no particular reason. But, the mustard is grand. The non-German speaker beside me whispers, “Why are we tasting this?” She expects me to know? I’m saved by the blah, blahs beginning again. I put my finger to my lips to signify the need for complete silence while I concentrate on understanding the incomprehensible.
We ascend from the depths of darkness, doff our cloaks and follow to the tasting room. At last. This time our guide, uses a different tact. Non-German speakers are seated in the back row of the spacious room. The guide ambles on endlessly in German, then approaches us to mention, “This first vinegar is called Fig.” Armed with that vital bit of information, we eagerly await the vinegar maidens, who pour excelsior from slender bottles into tall-stemmed, thin goblets hand-blown for this specific purpose. They roam the room, passing out small portions to the jubilant crowd. There are also small dishes of breads and chocolates strategically placed for you to cleanse the palate between samplings.
The first thing that hits you when you gingerly take a sip of Fig is its remarkably sweetness, with only the barest touch of sour. In other words, it’s the most un-vinegary vinegar you’ll ever taste. The second trial is of a darker variety, Angels Kiss the Night. I’m sure the night felt pretty good about it, and I certainly did. Next came Mozart, followed by Cassanova. Followed by cheering and stamping of feet. All were sweet and all were distinctive. The vinegar maidens filtered through the crowd, topping us off. Chocolates, which went particularly well with Mozart, disappeared. All the bread was gone. The now restless throngs shuffled off to the buying room. They’d suddenly gotten a rebellious urge for more vinegar.
Tele: 06323-5505
