Petrol, It's What's for Dinner

I was poured my first real glass of Riesling in 2009, in a classroom in Koblenz, smack in the heart of the Germany's Mittelrhein region. I was surrounded by classmates who had grown up smelling, drinking, and knowing Riesling the way this southern New Hampshire girl knew cider. I stuck my nose into the glass and tried, like the others, to look thoughtful. I closed my eyes and inexplicably pictured my first car. A 1977 powder blue Grand Prix with white leather seats and a gas tank bigger than I was. I remembered lying on the grotesquely large hood in late spring, falling asleep in the sunshine to the perfume of elderberry blossoms, lemon soda and gasoline. Because that oversized car had not only an oversized fuel tank but an oversized leak as well. And at sixteen, it took almost a month of getting under 10 miles to the gallon to figure out that I was leaking gas faster than I was tanking it. 

But back to the classroom. Fifteen students went around offering their thoughts. They spoke of residual sugar, freshness, acidity, of lemons, of limes, of juice and peel. One person spoke of 'petrol,' and almost everyone nodded. I flipped through my German/English dictionary, glad I had sat near the back. When had the discussion moved to cars? Langenscheidt and Berlitz failed me. I held my breath and tried to look small.

It was my turn and I took a deep breath: ““Maybe, I guess. Yes, but first I should probably know....what's petrol?”

Well that was awkward.

And so began a beautiful thing. I was riesel'd. My quest for petrol, in all of her forms and intensities, has since led me on a journey of German wine from Baden to Saale-Unstrut, starting and ending with slate (“schiefer”) of all colors. The sweet smoke of the wet stone, like standing in the New Hampshire mountains after a summer rainstorm. Or a peach orchard in late summer with the fruit so ripe it falls into your hands. Or a basket of fresh apricots soft and sweet and tart all at the same time. That's Riesling. Or gas, pure and unfiltered, combined with slate smoke, and ripe peaches that not only call back to youth but promise of a complex, honeyed seduction in liquid form.

Yeah, that's Riesling. And this is me. And maybe someday when I have a car again (hopefully one with better mileage), I'll redefine petrol. But for me, especially with gas prices where there are, I'm happy to have the petrol notes in my glass, not in the tank.

Prost!