Ali Thomas writes Ali was born and raised in South London. After a brief foray into Classics teaching, they now work for Howard Ripley Wines, doing mostly admin. All their spare time is spent playing Ultimate Frisbee (they won the European Championships in Poland with their team last year) and attending drag shows. Ali identifies as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns.
Electric beginnings
I fell into the wine world by accident. Covid had put paid to my plans to travel around Europe for a year, so I was jobless and back living with my parents. Seeing how restless I was (and genuinely needing an extra pair of hands), my dad took pity on me and asked if I could make myself useful at his wine business. Doing data entry for hours on end was not particularly thrilling, but it beat doing nothing at all. After a few months, he invited me on the buying trip to Germany to taste the 2021 vintage - let no one tell you nepotism is dead. A trip abroad to taste Riesling? Sure, sounded more interesting than looking at spreadsheets all day!
Our first appointment was at 8.30 in the morning, at a grand ‘big name’ producer. In a very correctly set out tasting room, we began with several trockens and feinherbs. Then the Kabinetts came out…and kept coming. I had no idea that one estate could produce so many different cuvees. When we finally got to the end of the Kabinetts, my heart sank as I realised we still had just as many Spätlesen and Auslesen to go. Our scant breakfast had not prepared me for a Riesling marathon, and my head buzzed with a sugar headache, my notes becoming shorter and shorter, even as the wines became more complex. This was not going to be the fun jaunt I had envisaged, I decided as we left.
Our next appointment was a 45-minute drive away. I drank water, nibbled on a pretzel, and rested my head against the cool window as we headed away from the Mosel, towards Trier and the Saar. We arrived at a large but unassuming farmhouse, from which sprang a man with muddy jeans, a wide grin, and curly brown hair that was standing on end as if he had been electrocuted. This was Johannes Weber, of Hofgut Falkenstein. He bounded over.
“Sebastian! So great to see you. And this is your oldest? Great to meet you! It’s such nice weather, we’ll taste up by the chicken coop, let’s not stand in the dark cold cellar, ok?” He rushed off.
We made our way through the kitchen garden and sat in the warm on a rough wooden bench, chickens ambling jerkily around, grumbling to themselves. An elderly cat sunned itself nearby. Johannes strode into view from around the corner of the house, carrying bottles and glasses, and set them down on a rickety garden table. He couldn’t remember what we had on order, he said, so he’d picked a selection of what was showing best that week, starting with dry Kabinett from the Niedermenniger Herrenberg. It sparkled in the light, condensation forming on the glass. The nose was fresh and mineral, promising slate, crisp apple, lemon. With the warmth of the sun on my hair, and Johannes chatting animatedly in German to my dad about the vintage, I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip.
Electricity. It was like biting into a lime, the acidity was so brisk and so immediate. All my tiredness was swept away in a flood of freshness, like I’d drunk from an icy mountain stream. Green apple and juicy lemon took my tongue hostage and refused to enter ransom negotiations. I nearly swallowed, but the thought of three more appointments later in the day prevailed, and I ruefully spat into the long grass by the bench. My mouth tingled, and I wondered if it was the electric quality of his wines that made Johannes’ hair stand on end. Each wine that followed was more breath-taking than the last. Everything was perfectly pure, precise, direct, and uncompromisingly lean and slaty, from Kabinett all the way to Auslese. The wines refused to fade into the background, they demanded attention, and they deserved it. At the end of the tasting, my teeth hurt, but I didn’t care. I was hooked.
Photo of the author by Joscha Mayer Photography.
