Great Travel News Syndicate

Gérard Basset

Gérard Basset is arguably Europe’s greatest sommelier.

There are few who have earned the sobriquet “the world’s greatest wine taster.” The late Harry Waugh, one of England’s most gifted wine merchants, who was so popular in the U.S. that he had a dining room in a restaurant in Tampa, Fla., named after him, was one. Robert Parker, the Baltimore-based wine critic who invented the 100-point tasting scale, is probably another. Michel Bettane, the French wine critic who wrote for La Revue de vin de France for more than 20 years, could be thought of in this bracket.

But when it comes to qualifications, one man has sniffed and slurped his way through more wine examinations than perhaps any other. That man is Gérard Basset, 54 years old, who boasts not just a Master of Wine qualification, but also a Master Sommelier, and a Wine M.B.A. from the Bordeaux École de Management, for which he wrote a thesis on the psychology of the wine list. If that wasn’t enough, in 2010 he was named world champion by the Association de la Sommellerie Internationale (ASI) in Santiago, Chile. If anyone can claim to be the world’s greatest sommelier, it is probably him.

Not bad for a man who left school at 16 with no formal qualifications, began his career washing dishes at a hotel on the Isle of Man and, in 1977, when he first came to Britain from his home in France, knew absolutely nothing about wine. So last summer, when it was announced he was to be awarded an Order of the British Empire in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List, the fairy tale was complete.

“It was such a beautiful day,” he says, in an accent that retains much of the character of his first language. “If I go back to my childhood, I was very anti-royal. We thought these English people were crazy—we, after all, killed our kings. But when you live in England, you understand more the importance of the monarchy. It took me a while, but slowly I became quite fond of the queen.”

In the end it wasn’t the queen who bestowed the medal (for services to hospitality) but the Princess Royal, Princess Anne, who charmed him with her French while the band at Windsor Castle included two Edith Piaf scores in their playlist. “It was a nice touch,” he says. “The whole day was very special.”

There is something intrinsically intimidating about being in the company of a sommelier. No matter how much you know about wine, when you walk into the hushed theater of fine dining and are handed a leather-bound wine list with its countless bins and vintages, the heart always skips a little faster. Not so in the company of Mr. Basset. Modest, almost to the point where he is deferring to your wine knowledge, he admits to being a generalist who can never “know it all.”

“If you say ‘I know everything’ then you never learn,” he says. “You learn from everyone, those who are much more qualified and those who are not.

“I very much believe you have to carry on learning. For all the courses I have done, yes, they have been beneficial, but I have done them because they are very interesting, fascinating.”

He believes wine lovers are living in part through a golden age, as across the board quality has never been higher. He cites the quality of wines in France and Italy, which have come back with a new, lighter style. But he also laments the fact that most of us can no longer afford the very top wines from France.

“If you were comfortable a few years ago,” he says, “and you had a good job and were earning a good living, not mega-rich; you could afford Château Lafite or Latour. But now, who can afford to spend £600 on a bottle of wine to drink at home?”

He began drinking wine at home as a boy growing up in France. Back then, he used to mix it with water—two parts wine, eight parts water, a drink he still enjoys to this day. It was football that brought him to England, when his hometown club, AS Saint-Étienne, then one of the top clubs in Europe, came to play Liverpool in what would now be the Champions League quarterfinal. Liverpool won 3-1 in what has gone down as one of the most historic matches in the club’s history. It must have left an impression on the young Gérard, as he returned a few years later, eventually settling in the south of England, where he worked as a sommelier in Hampshire. In 1994 he co-founded the Hotel du Vin chain in Winchester, selling it 10 years later to MWB Group Holdings for £66.4 million. Not ready for retirement, in 2007 he opened TerraVina—a boutique hotel with a Napa-inspired restaurant—in the New Forest with his wife Nina.

This is where we meet, at first over a glass of water, but later a glass of Côte-Rôtie, a dense, damson-flavored wine made on the hills of the northern Rhône, not far from where he grew up in Firminy. It is a wine that hasn’t succumbed to the sometimes polished, overripe, high-in-alcohol style found in increasing numbers in his favored Napa.

“We are moving to a point where the American domination of wine through publications such as the Wine Spectator and the influence of Robert Parker is reaching a plateau,” he says. “People are a bit fed up with all of these big wines. I like some of them but when you taste them and they are 15.5%-16% alcohol, it is too much.”

He points out that the natural-wine movement—wines made from organic grapes by artisans with very little intervention in the winemaking—in many ways is a reaction to the sometimes forced, viticulturally exceptional wine styles seen on the market today.

From a winemaking perspective, the wines have never been better but, he says, like football, you can’t have a team full of 11 exceptional players. In the final blend you sometimes need grapes with too much acidity and tannin, in other words, grapes that might be left on the sorting room floor today.

“In old Bordeaux vintages such as Latour ’61 or ’69, they didn’t have sorting tables. I think we have gone toward a style that is too polished and that is why we get so many jammy wines. There’s room for everything but when it is too one-sided, then it is wrong. I think the natural wine movement has brought an element of almost rebellion.”

But he’s not inclined to say more, as, far from being a wine bore, he doesn’t wear his knowledge as a badge of honor or pretend wine tasting is an exact science. “It’s not,” he argues. “It’s highly subjective.

“Some days you don’t taste well,” he says. “If you feel tired, or if it is later in the afternoon.” He smiles. Even the best are fallible.

Write to Will Lyons at william.lyons@wsj.com

By CORINNA DA FONSECA-WOLLHEIM

New York

In the summer of 2009, cellist David Finckel and his wife, pianist Wu Han, were in Prague, visiting the Lobkowicz palace that is nestled inside the castle. As concert musicians and presenters—they are the artistic directors of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center—the name was familiar to them. Joseph Franz Maximilian Lobkowicz, at the turn of the 19th century, commissioned some of the finest string quartets from Haydn and Beethoven; the “Eroica” Symphony is dedicated to him. While they were admiring the paintings by Velázquez, Tintoretto and Brueghel on display, a man entered the room, whom Mr. Finckel recognized from his visitor’s guide as William Lobkowicz, the current owner of the palace. Without pausing to think, says Mr. Finckel, “I chased him down, jumped in front, stuck out my hand and said, ‘I just have to thank you for helping Beethoven!’”

This month, Mr. Finckel is repaying his debt in the form of “Immortal Investments,” a festival at Alice Tully Hall presented by the Chamber Music Society that is dedicated to the men and women who financed and inspired great music. The opening concert on Feb. 10, featuring the vivacious Jupiter Quartet, celebrated the Lobkowicz legacy; concerts on Feb. 24, 26 and 28 will honor two visionary women whose patronage enabled some of the most groundbreaking works of the early 20th century.

“As a musician,” says Mr. Finckel, “I just have to stop and think: If Beethoven’s Opus 18 quartets didn’t exist, what would the world be like? We take a work like the ‘Eroica Symphony’ for granted. It’s like the Rock of Gibraltar—it’s always been there. But it might not have been there had the composers not been inspired by or pleaded with a patron, or had they not had some composure in their lives because someone gave them a little money.”

The relationship between patron and composer became more personal—and prone to negotiation—when the era of liveried composer-servants came to an end in the late 1700s. While a court composer like Bach turned out works in the service of a longtime employer who, as Mr. Finckel puts it, “needed music the way we need milk,” the Romantic era brought with it the ideal of the autonomous artist who needed a sponsor—not a boss.

When Beethoven, always a prickly self-promoter, became impatient with the hustle for patronage—the kind that earned him a gold snuffbox from King Friedrich Wilhelm II in return for two cello sonatas—it was Lobkowicz who organized a consortium of donors to pay the composer an annual stipend that granted him creative freedom.

As the 19th century progressed, composers became more autonomous. “Brahms never accepted a commission in his life,” says Mr. Finckel. “He always wrote what he wanted to write.” That his music was nevertheless shaped by its dedicatees was the premise of the Chamber Music Society concert on Feb. 12 of works written for the virtuoso violinist Joseph Joachim. Without him, it is unlikely that Brahms would have written as testosterone-charged a piano quartet as the G-minor Opus 25, which was given an incandescent performance by Mr. Finckel and Ms. Han, joined by violinist Daniel Hope and violist Paul Neubauer.

The culture of salons put women at the center of artistic production. The final concerts of the festival focus on two American contemporaries, Winnaretta Singer, Princesse de Polignac (1865-1943) and Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge (1864-1953).

“The two women could not have been more different,” says Mr. Finckel. “Polignac was, by all accounts, a wild and crazy woman. She was flamboyant, she was generous—she supported hospitals and charities—but her real world was her salon. She created her own universe around her, and she was like a center of gravity that pulled people toward her. Coolidge was much more businesslike, more of a public servant.”

The roster of talent they cultivated speaks for itself. In her Paris salon, Singer hosted writers, artists and composers—including Erik Satie and Manuel de Falla, Marcel Proust and Jean Cocteau, Sergei Diaghilev and Igor Stravinsky. The works she commissioned from them were often substantial and included operas such as Falla’s “El Retablo del Maese Pedro,” Darius Milhaud’s “Les Malheurs d’Orphée” and Stravinsky’s “Renard.”

Just as impressive, says Mr. Finckel, was her adventurous approach to programming. Concerts in her home might feature early music by John Dowland and Heinrich Schütz alongside recent compositions by Gabriel Fauré and Polignac’s husband, the amateur composer Edmond de Polignac.

Coolidge, a gifted pianist based in Washington, D.C., combined a wide-ranging curiosity about new music with a clear focus on chamber music, a genre that she felt needed more passionate advocacy in America. In that vein she commissioned string quartets from Béla Bartók, Sergei Prokofiev, Benjamin Britten and Arnold Schoenberg, and chamber works from Samuel Barber and Stravinsky. Her foundation commissioned “Appalachian Spring” from Aaron Copeland, a work that will be at the center of the Feb. 26 and 28 concerts.

While Mr. Finckel’s aim is, above all, to celebrate the work of past patrons, he also hopes some audience members will be inspired to emulate them. For pointers, they might look to the concerts on April 5 and 26 showcasing chamber works commissioned by new-music power couple Linda and Stuart Nelson and by Klaus Lauer, a fiercely modernist concert presenter and hotelier from Germany. “He really knew what he liked,” says Mr. Finckel. “And people were like, if he’s that passionate about it, I’ll go along for the ride.”

Ms. Fonseca-Wollheim writes about classical music for the Journal.

A version of this article appeared February 21, 2012, on page D7 in some U.S. editions of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: In Praise of the Patron.

By LETTIE TEAGUE

What would happen if an unattractive, middle-age man opened a wine bar in Manhattan? Probably not much—at least in terms of press coverage. But if a young woman with serious drinking credentials and a closet full of cute dresses did the same thing? If you’ve followed the buzz around Corkbuzz, you already know the answer. Laura Maniec, the 32-year-old Corkbuzz proprietor, has become the putative “It Girl” of the New York wine scene since she opened her wine bar on East 13th Street some three months ago.

Ms. Maniec first won fame at age 29 by becoming the youngest woman in the world ever to be named a Master Sommelier. She was also the wine director of BR Guest restaurant group, a position she held for 10 years before deciding to open a place of her own with a small group of investors, all family and friends.

I asked Ms. Maniec how it feels to be the “It Girl.” She took off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her dress as she settled into one of the sofas at the front of the wine bar. “I hate making statements about myself,” replied Ms. Maniec, looking uncomfortable enough to suggest this was true. “But humbly, humbly, humbly I think it’ s because I’ve formed relationships with people over the years. For example, when Jean-Baptiste Lécaillon of Champagne Louis Roederer wanted to hold a tasting of off-vintage Cristal, he called me.” Off vintages? That didn’t sound like the sort of thing an “It Girl” of wine would be offered, I said. “We also tasted some great vintages,” Ms. Maniec conceded.

The Corkbuzz wine bar is open seven days a week and Ms. Maniec has yet to miss a single day. She’s on premises about 12 hours every day, which often includes teaching classes in the back of wine bar. The classes started in January and so far topics have ranged from introductory (Wine 101) to Pairing Wine with Takeout Food. Her most recent class, How to Choose a Wine for a Date, took place on Valentine’s Day. “Wines that are easy to find and to enjoy,” she explained.

I suggested trying a glass of wine from the list. What did Ms. Maniec like—or, in her words, what was she ‘crushing on’ these days? The 2009 Clos Cibonne Tibouren rosé from Cotes de Provence, she said decisively. “I’m surprised by how much rosé we’re selling in the dead of winter. I’ve ordered nine cases so far.” The wine was slightly oxidative, less like a classical rosé than a real cross between red and white in texture and aroma. It was a tad esoteric, like much of the wine list. “This list suggests to me that you really want the drinkers to talk with the staff,” I observed, looking over listings such as Botani Moscatel Seco and Ascheri Pelaverga Verduno.

Ms. Maniec looked alarmed. “That’s not good. That’s not what I want. I don’t want someone to have to talk to us if they don’t want to. I need to do something about that,” she said, picking up a copy of the list for further examination. “I want at least 40% of the wines to be recognizable names,” she said, pointing out Chardonnay and Muscadet. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe it should be 50%.”

She related a story about the recent visit by her sister, who lives in Chicago (where the next Corkbuzz may open as early as next year). “My sister loves New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, but I didn’t have any. I felt bad about that.” Her sister had to settle for an Albarino, a white wine from northern Spain. “But I could find some good wines,” mused Ms. Maniec. “It wouldn’t have to be something obvious like a Marlborough Sauvignon—maybe a wine from Nelson. I have a lot of notes somewhere on some New Zealand Sauvignons that I tasted.”

Never mind the credentials or the cute dresses: It’s the fact that she truly wants people to be happy when they’re drinking wine—whether it’s a Spanish Moscatel or a Santa Barbara Chardonnay—that makes Laura Maniec the “It Girl” of wine in New York.

A version of this article appeared February 17, 2012, on page A16 in some U.S. editions of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: In the World of Wine, She’s ‘It’.

By ELIZABETH GUNNISON

Laura Gardner for The Wall Street Journal

Aquavits have been made in Scandinavia since at least the 15th century by distilling fermented potato or grain mash and flavoring it with savory, herbaceous ingredients.

“SKÅL!,” WE CRIED, and no sooner had I set down my thimble-sized glass than a colossal Swede slapped me on the back and seamlessly refilled it. Then we began again, lilting through a new melody, my bleary eyes struggling with the foreign text spelled out phonetically before me.

This is how I whiled away one long summer night at a wedding reception on the Baltic coast of Sweden: hearing toasts, crooning local drinking songs and draining a profusion of little nips bottles of something called snaps (which is pronounced “schnahps,” but is very different from dessert-like schnapps). My first glass was a mouthful of pure licorice; the second, redolent of rye bread; others gave off the earthy taste of cardamom or a bitter marmalade kick.

Such was my introduction to aquavits (or aquavites or akvavits), high-proof liquors that have been made in Scandinavia since at least the 15th Century by distilling fermented potato or grain mash and flavoring it with savory, herbaceous ingredients. Caraway seeds—which account for rye bread’s flavor—are always included in a traditional aquavit. Cumin, lemon or orange peel, cardamom, dill, clove, aniseed and fennel are also typical. Some aquavits—particularly Norwegian ones—are mellowed with barrel aging, while others are consumed young, raw and crystal clear.

These savory spirits form perfect counterpoints to the bold flavors commonly found in Scandinavian cuisine: pickled and smoked fishes, ripe cheeses, rye bread and dill-inflected potato salads.

Regardless of the flavor or production method, there’s only one way to drink aquavit in Scandinavia: straight up, from a small, stemmed glass. The tradition is referred to as “drinking snaps,” and it is not for the faint of heart. In Sweden, drinking snaps is mostly reserved for celebratory occasions like weddings, Christmas and Easter; in Denmark, they’ll do it over a long lunch; Norwegians prefer to sip their aquavit, which is a sensible place for the snaps novice to start.

Countless varieties of aquavit are available throughout Scandinavia, but its rarer in the United States. Here are a few of my favorite bottles available stateside and instructions on how to make your own at home.

A Lesson in Homemade Aquavit

Despite the ample supply of commercially available aquavits, it’s still common for Swedes to make their own. “A family will have its own aquavit recipe, just as Indian families have their own unique garam masala recipe,” said Keri Levens, the beverage director at Aquavit Restaurant in New York, who oversees the eatery’s in-house infusion program. While true aquavit production involves distillation, you can cop the same effect by infusing a store-bought spirit with any number of savory ingredients. Here are Ms. Levens’s ground rules, plus a few of her recipes.

1. Start with a neutral spirit. Ms. Levens recommends potato vodka—such as Boyd & Blair, Chopin or Teton Glacier— which picks up flavors better than grain vodka due to its higher viscosity.

2. Clean your ingredients thoroughly. Cut all the pith from citrus to avoid bitterness, and toast hard spices to intensify their flavors. Chop or slice fruits and vegetables into manageable pieces; the more surface area, the more flavor gets extracted.

3. Use a clean glass jar as an infusion vessel. A vodka bottle works fine, provided your ingredients fit through the small opening.

4. Different ingredients require different infusion times, ranging from a few days to a few weeks. Taste is the best judge here. Once the infusion is complete, strain finished aquavit through a coffee filter. It will keep indefinitely in the freezer.

Classic Aquavit

Toast ¼ cup coriander seeds and combine with 750 ml potato vodka, leaving to infuse for one week. Add ½ bunch dill fronds (from crown dill if available) and let infuse for three to four more days. Strain and store.

Fig and Cardamom

Toast ¼ cup cardamom pods and combine with 750 ml potato vodka, leaving to infuse for one week. Wash and halve ½ cup dried black mission figs and add to the infusion for four to five days more. Strain and store.

Horseradish

Peel, wash and coarsely chop a horseradish root. Combine ¼ cup chopped horseradish with 750 ml potato vodka. Leave to infuse for one to two weeks. Strain and store.

Three Brands to Sample

Lysholm’s Linie Aquavit.

Norway’s signature spirit is barrel-aged in sherry casks, and spends almost four months on the deck of a ship that crosses the equator twice. The motion and temperature fluctuations along the way are said to lead to a mellow, balanced final product. It might sound like pure marketing gimmick, but Lysholm has been at it for two centuries, producing a dry, smooth-drinking amber aquavit that’s softly spiced with caraway and hints of aniseed, fennel and coriander. Drink at room temperature. 42% ABV, $30

House Spirits Distillery Krogstad Aquavit.

There’s no rule that says great aquavit has to come from Northern Europe. This one is made according to a classic recipe by the same Portland, Ore.-based micro-distiller that produces Aviation Gin. The brilliantly clear spirit is flavored primarily with star anise and caraway, imparting a licorice zing that recalls pastis or ouzo. Ideal served right out of the freezer, alongside flavorful, rich foods like smoked salmon, strong cheeses and cured meats. 40% ABV, $30.

North Shore Distillery Private Reserve Aquavit.

This spicy, small-batch spirit out of Lake Bluff, Ill., is another example of high-quality aquavit made stateside. North Shore’s aquavit picks up its straw color and caramel notes over six months spent in American white oak barrels. Cardamom and cumin dominate, complemented by hints of lemon grass and pink peppercorn. Serve chilled or at room temperature. 45% ABV, $30.

A version of this article appeared April 21, 2012, on page D8 in some U.S. editions of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Sipping the Spirit of the North.