Gewrztraminer hits just the right notes
By Jamie Gabrini
When I was eight, my father bought an old farmhouse. It had features like a pantry, wood-burning stoves, and parlors, all of which sounded so exotically antiquated to me. But what captured my fancy the most was the player piano that came with the house, nestled happily in the south parlor. It was very out of tune, but it worked! My brother and I would take turns pumping the pedals as hard as we could to make the scrolls of music speed along. I loved to push the thick pedals, alternating left-right-left-right. Each squeeze seemed an isolated effort, but necessary for the cohesion of the song. When feeling impish, I’d purposely alternate between fast and slow pedaling to create disjointed music; other times, I’d try to create a seamless song, as smoothly woven as can be.
Gewrztraminer always reminds me of that old player piano: with each sip, ripe, sweet tropical melody alternates with spicy acidic rhythm. Poor quality Gewrztraminers end up disjointed noise, but when a Gewurz is made well, its a joyfully composed score that continues to charm and delight.
The problem, however, is finding good-quality Gewrztraminers. I’d long relied on Lenz’s from Long Island, but an off vintage, followed by a drastic price increase, have made me hesitant to rave about it as I once did. I bought a New Zealand version once - God help me - and rued the day I’d brought that dastardly bottle in to my house. I’ve consistently enjoyed Blanck’s, so I bought a half bottle the other week when I had a hankering for that viniferal ragtime. It was as fun and lively as expected, but I hadnt exactly planned a proper meal to go with it. I saved a sip for a friend who tasted it and declared Mussels!
That, dear readers, threw me for a loop.
When I think of mussels, I think of Chardonnay. I suppose this is simply a force of habit, but I usually do a simple Chardonnay and butter base. I think once I went crazy and used a Cotes de Gascogne and fennel. But Gewrztraminer? It hadnt even occurred to me. What, I asked, could possibly match the lovely composition of it? I decided to combine the very sweet and savory spice that I loved in the grape. And so, after much consideration, this is what I did:
Take a 2-lb. bag of mussels and rinse them out well. Most mussels are farmed, which makes cleaning them a breeze. In a heavy Dutch oven, melt about two tablespoons of butter over medium heat. Add a sliced Vidalia onion and a sliced Fuji apple and let them cook down until the onion is translucent and the apple is tender-soft. Add a hefty dose of curry (I used a tablespoon of Turkish curry), a dash or two of cinnamon, and a cracking of black pepper, and stir well. Pour about a cup of white wine (preferably that which will be served with dinner) and let it simmer. Add your mussels and put on the lid, allowing the mussels to cook about five minutes (I always err on the side of caution because eating undercooked seafood is not the way I plan on meeting my maker). Scoop out the mussels once theyve all opened and stir in some cream to the apple-onion base. Simmer briefly before pouring the liquid over the mussels to coat them well. Serve with fresh pumpernickel bread.
This was one of those meals that couldnt have been more spot-on. I served it with Lobergers 2003 Gewrztraminer from Alsace. In general, Im a huge fan of Alsatian wines, and this wine rocked out despite the vintage. Heady floral aromas jumped out of the glass, with sweet, overripe cantaloupe bursting on the first sip. The ragtime flavors alternated: pineapple-melon fruit, bitter-clove spice. It worked wonderfully with the apple, curry, cream, and caraway seeds in the bread. In the center of it all, stony minerality drew yet another link to the shellfish. Loberger managed to eke out bursts of fruit along with bursts of acidity, which is a strange and rare accomplishment.
I was thrilled by the wonderful composition. Had I been able to invite one guest to appreciate it, Scott Joplin is my only choice. It was that kind of meal.
